warning: *18+*lots of angst, gun violence, extremely sad natasha.
wc: 2k
pairing: wanda x natasha
A/N:very extremely sorry about this one, thinking of getting back into writing just need to work on not writing very sad stuff haha. Please enjoy, feedback is always welcomed!
———-
It had been months since Natasha and Wanda could spend any time together since getting married almost two summers ago.
Between Natasha’s promotion in the office and Wanda being overwhelmed by art projects, the newlyweds it was nearly impossible to go out with each other. Natasha was feeling distant from Wanda, she did not want to lose her.. Wanda is her everything and if she were to lose her that would be the day that she breaks.
Wanda was feeling the same way, she had moments where she thought that Natasha was cheating on her because of all the late nights she’d stay out working, one day Wanda got too much into her head and decided to follow Natasha for the whole day, she broke down in her car later for even thinking that Natasha could be capable of cheating once she seen that her wife only left the office to buy lunch or coffee.
The morning started off like any other, Wanda’s alarm would go off first at the bright early hours of 5:30 AM. Normally she wouldn't be awake until 6 AM but today was a very special day for the newlywed couple; it's their 2 year anniversary of being married. Wanda wasn't sure if they were going to have time to spend this special day together so she made sure that they would at least get the morning together.
Once Wanda got done with getting dressed and completing her morning routine she made her way downstairs into the kitchen and started on making breakfast, she decided the best way to wake up her love would be breakfast in bed served with her lover's favorite coffee, black with one sugar and a dollop of honey. Wanda would never understand how she could drink her coffee that way. Once the oatmeal was set on a low temperature to maintain its heat, wanda decided it would be the perfect time to tend to her garden. Her garden was her special place, it's where she’d go after a long day at work or after an argument with Natasha. The garden was her place and Natasha knew never to disturb her while she's out there so she always just opted to stare at her through the kitchen window with a mug of her coffee.
–
Once the food was decorated lovingly amongst the tray Wanda carefully took the items upstairs to their shared bedroom. She lovingly smiled looking at Natasha sleeping so contently in their bed, her red fiery hair sprawled out on the pillows, her mouth slightly chapped and open releasing small snoring sounds that Wanda always found so cute. Setting the tray on the dresser wanda made her way to Nat’s side of the bed and shook her awake,
“Wake up my love,” She whispered, when Nat made no indication of waking up, Wanda straddled her waist and started trailing kisses from her shoulders to her neck and finally on her lips.
She squealed once Natasha awoke and in a swift motion pulled Wanda under her so that now she was on top and leaving wet kisses all over wanda’s face.
“Happy Anniversary my beautiful wife,” Wanda giggled up at her lover and kissed her on the lips, “Happy anniversary baby, I made you something,” Natasha smiled rolled onto her side allowing Wanda to stand up and go across the room.
“Okay, close your eyes and count to ten please,” Natasha sighed and closed her eyes smiling, once she got to 5 Wanda instructed her to open her eyes. Natasha's heart filled with warmth at the contents in front of her. She tearfully looked up at Wanda and smiled.
“Thank you baby,” Wanda bit her lip and smiled back at Natasha.
Wanda was always so good with the small things, never in Natashas life had she been treated with the kindness and love as Wanda does. Before Wanda her life was dull and filled with gray shadows, always in the dark and on autopilot. However, the night that she met Wanda through a mutual friend her world slowly started to make sense again, she found comfort in Wanda. Her lover was the answer to all her problems.
“Hey Wendy,” Natasha called out to her assistant, “ Please cancel all my evening meetings, it's my anniversary and I want to surprise my wife.”
Wendy smiled and nodded, “ Of course Mrs. Romanoff, anything else?”
“Yes, could you please call and make a reservation at Gustoffs Kitchen for 5:30 PM please?” Natasha asked, her assistant smiled and left her bosses office to complete the tasks that she had been requested to complete.
Gustoffs Kitchen was a famous Sokovian restaurant in New York, it was the location of their very first date together. Natasha had planned that day to a tea, she knew that Wanda would be her forever partner and made sure that their first night out together went perfect. After learning about where Wanda came from and the destruction of her hometown after the war Gustoffs Kitchen just made sense. They made all of Wanda's favorite Sokovian dishes and meals. This place was so unique because everything was homemade, it filled Wanda with comfort every time she ate from there. The most heartbreaking part of this all was that this restaurant had a deeper meaning to Wanda, it's how she was able to remember her parents and twin brother who had passed away in an automobile accident when she was 16.
Natasha sent a text telling her to be ready by 5 PM for Wanda to be ready, once wanda received that message a smile immediately overtook her face.
“Was that Nat?” Wanda looked up to see Bucky standing outside of her office door. Bucky was her coworker, working alongside her designing art galas for the various artists that work for their studio.
“Yeah she tells me to be ready by 5,” Wanda replied back to Nat with a red heart and looked back up at Bucky, “Today is our anniversary,”
Bucky smiled and crossed his arms, “You should go, I’ve got everything covered here.”
“I couldn't ask you to do that…” It was currently only 2 PM, Wanda could be working until 3 the latest just so that Bucky wasn't overloaded with the different designs they had been working with.
“I’m sure Wands,” Wanda gave an appreciative smile and packed up her things to get ready.
Natasha thanked the florist for the flower arrangements she had called in days ago, this set was super special it was called ‘прекрасная любовь’ which translates to beautiful love.
At around 4:30 PM Natasha started the journey back home where she would meet her beautiful wife and treat her to the best evening she deserves. Natasha nervously made her way up the steps of their front porch, she didn't know why she was nervous. This was the same woman she had been waking up to for years, she didn't know what love really meant but she knew that with love no matter how much time passes you’d still get nervous picking up your lover for a date.
She took a deep sigh and raised her shaky hands up to the door. Within a matter of seconds Wanda was opening the door and Natashas breath fell out from her lips. Wanda looked incredibly beautiful, her hair left alone on soft curls, she was wearing a red scarlet dress with a slit on her right side and black heels which put an extra few inches to her height.
“You look beautiful baby,” Wanda smiled and accepted the flower arrangements going inside to place them in a vase in the middle of the dining room table.
“Let me take a look at you,” Wanda couldn't say much as Natsha pulled her closer so their hips were touching. Placing her hands lazily on Natashas shoulder, Wanda leaned in for a slow and passionate kiss.
“I love you,”
–
Thanking the hostess the two lovers made their way back to Natashas car, unlocking the car Wanda thanked her as she opened the door for her allowing her to claim the passenger seat of the car.
Once Natasha made her way to her side of the car they fell into a comfortable silence as they drove to their next destination of the perfect evening so far.
“Thank you by the way,” Wanda started, squeezing her hand on Wanda's thigh she replied back, “ For what baby?”
“I don't know, for today,” Wanda started messing with Natashas ring as she continued, “ Not just for today though, for everything… thank you for showing me that love is still out there despite everything we have lost, I know I wasn't the easiest to be with back then, so thank you for sticking by my side.”
Natasha teared up a bit and turned her view from the road to give Wanda a small smile as she replied, “ I will stay with you until the end of time,” She took Wanda's hand and kissed it before interlocking it with her own.
Everything was going perfect, the two lovers were walking around the pier at the state fair that was taking place, they experienced the warmth of the sunset at the top of the ferris wheel where they shared an innocent kiss. Holding hands as Wanda pointed out the giant stuffed animal she wanted, it was a giant Koala that Natasha was determined to get for her.
Many tokens and frustrating rants of the game being rigged she finally won the Koala for Wanda who immediately hugged it and gave Natasha a sweet kiss as a thank you for the wonderful and cuddly gift.
Once the firework show started the air was starting to get a little colder and without hesitation Natasha offered up her jacket that Wanda gratefully took, her body instantly feeling warm.
As they were admiring the pretty light show up in the sky, a little north to them shouting could be heard and not just any shouting it all sounded scary, Wanda flinched as a gun shot was heard in the distance. That was enough for Natasha to spring up into action.
“It's okay,” She stated as she helped Wanda stand up from their place in the grass, “ Come on baby lets go, I'll keep you safe just stay behind me okay?”
Wanda nodded as she took a hold of Natasha’s hand holding onto it tightly. Natasha was also as equally as scared as Wanda but she maintained a strong front to not freak Wanda out even more, especially since she has severe anxiety.
“Stay close,” Natasha whispered as the shouting got closer, muttering a silent curse word under her breath as she noticed that the shouting was happening two cars down from their own. Meaning they would have to walk past the group that was now forming in the parking lot to get to their car.
Natasha knew something wasn't right when three gunshots were heard and the group started to disperse like a bunch of little ants, she looked around confused thinking that maybe the police were here and that's why they were running, she was proven wrong when Wanda started grasping at Natashas arm releasing little gasps of air.
Natasha’s whole world went crashing down as Wanda fell to the ground, blood spilling from the wound the bullet had caused the Koala that was in Wanda's possession laid abandoned two feet away from her with blood splattered all over the light gray fur.
Natasha fell to the ground with her where she noticed the teary green eyes with blown out pupils moving frantically to and fro.
“Please baby, stay awake… help is on the way,” Natasha sobbed, with a delicate cold hand Wanda used the last bit of her strength to wipe a tear away from her face.
“It's okay baby,” Wanda coughed as blood spilled out from her lips, “it's my time to go malyshka.”
“No!” Natshas screamed at the top of her lungs, she cuddled Wanda's limp body close to her rocking back and forth muttering ‘no’ over and over again.
You wake wrapped in warmth and possession, caught between love and power, only to discover that being home doesn’t mean being safe. As walls tighten and secrets surface, you realize you aren’t just protected, you’re central to a game far bigger than you knew. And whoever is watching just made their move.
Word Count: 4.1K
Masterlist
The morning light doesn’t so much as creep into the room as it claims it, one golden stripe at a time, painting the rumpled sheets, the discarded silk robe, the curve of Wanda’s bare shoulder. You wake not to an alarm, but to a sense of weight. A delicious, anchoring heaviness that pins you to the mattress. Natasha’s arm is a band of iron across your stomach, her face buried in the back of your neck, her breathing a slow, hot rhythm against your skin. Wanda is pressed to your front, one of her legs thrown possessively over yours, her fingers splayed across your ribcage, just beneath your breast.
You are the filling in their sandwich, and for the first time in what feels like years, you are utterly, completely still. The buzzing anxiety from the night before is gone, smothered under the sheer physical reality of them. You let your eyes drift shut again, just feeling. The smooth, cool cotton of the sheets. The warm, musky scent of sleep that clung to them from the night before last, a ghost of your last time together in this bed. The steady, synced heartbeat you feel through Wanda’s palm and Natasha’s chest.
A fingertip traces the underside of your breast, so light it could be a dream. But it’s not. It’s Wanda. You feel her shift, her lips brushing your collarbone.
“You’re awake,” she murmurs, her voice sleep-rough and thick. It wasn’t a question.
You hum in response, nuzzling into the pillow. “Mmm.”
“Good.” The word is a puff of warm air. Her hand moves, cupping your breast fully now, her thumb making a slow, circling pass over your nipple. It tightens instantly, a sharp, sweet pull of sensation that shoots straight to your core. You suck in a quiet breath.
Behind you, Natasha stirs. Her arm tightens, pulling you back more firmly against her. You can feel the softness of her breasts against your back, the hard line of her thigh against yours. Her lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear.
“Morning, malyshka,” she rasps. Her voice is even lower than Wanda’s, a gravelly promise that vibrates through you. One of her hands slides down from your stomach, over the dip of your navel, coming to rest low on your abdomen. A claim. A question.
The dreamy peace of a moment ago crystallizes into something sharper, hotter. You are awake now, in every cell. The separation, the fear, the loneliness, it all funnels into this desperate need to be touched, to be proven to. You arch your back slightly, pressing your ass against Natasha, your breast more firmly into Wanda’s hand.
“I missed this,” you whisper, and it sounds like a confession.
“We know,” Wanda says, and there’s no pity in it, only a dark, understanding hunger. Her thumb flicks over your nipple again, harder this time. “We felt it, too. Every night. Empty bed. Cold sheets.”
Natasha’s hand presses down, a firm, insistent pressure. “Made a decision last night, while you were out making friends with the fish.”
“Oh?” You’re breathless. Wanda’s other hand is now skating down your side, over your hip, tracing the seam where your thigh meets your body.
“Mmhmm.” Natasha’s teeth graze your earlobe. “Decided we’ve been remiss. Letting you feel insecure. Letting you doubt your place.”
Wanda’s lips are on your throat now, open-mouthed kisses that trail upward to your jaw. “Your place is here. Between us. Under us. Ours.” With the last word, her hand leaves your breast and hooks under your knee, hiking your leg up over her hip. The movement opens you up, and Natasha’s hand on your abdomen slides lower, her fingers threading through your curls.
You gasp, your head falling back against Natasha’s shoulder. The dual assault is overwhelming. Wanda’s mouth is on yours then, swallowing the sound, her kiss deep and searching, all tongue and heat. At the same time, Natasha’s middle finger finds your clit, not entering, just rubbing slow, maddening circles around the swollen bud.
You break the kiss with a moan, twisting between them. “Please…”
“Please what, darling?” Wanda asks, her eyes glowing faintly with crimson. Her power isn’t engaged, but it’s there, a hum in the air, a warmth that kisses your skin. “Use your words.”
You’re trembling. “Please, touch me. More.”
“That’s my girl,” Natasha purrs. Her finger finally slides down, through your slick folds, and pushes inside you with one smooth, firm stroke. You cry out, the stretch, the fullness, the sheer rightness of it making your toes curl. “God, you’re wet. Soaked for us already. Did you dream about this?”
“Yes,” you pant, your hips rocking against her hand. “Every night.”
“Show me,” Wanda commands softly. She releases your knee and instead takes your hand, guiding it down her own body, over the flat plane of her stomach, through the triangle of auburn hair, and between her legs. She’s just as wet, hot and silky. “Show me what you dreamed of doing to me.”
Your fingers slip into her, and she lets out a sharp, gratified sigh, her forehead pressing to yours. The intimacy of it, of touching her while Natasha fills you, is almost too much. You move your fingers inside Wanda, mimicking the slow, deep thrusts Natasha is using on you. Wanda’s breath comes faster, her hips pushing into your hand.
“That’s it,” she encourages, her voice shaking. “Just like that. You remember how I like it.”
The room is filled with the sounds of skin sliding on skin, ragged breathing, and soft, wet sounds. The sun climbs higher, bathing the three of you in its indifferent light. There is no mafia here. No traitors. No firewalls. There is only this: the sweat beading between your breasts, the bite of Natasha’s teeth on your shoulder, the clutch of Wanda’s muscles around your fingers.
Natasha adds a second finger, curling them inside you, and you shout, your back bowing. “Daddy!”
The name, the submission in it, seems to ignite something in Natasha. She growls, a low, animal sound, and her pace turns punishing, her fingers pistoning into you. “Again,” she demands.
“Daddy, please, I’m close,”
“Not yet,” Wanda counters, her own movements becoming frantic against your hand. She captures your mouth again, her tongue tangling with yours, stealing your breath. “You cum when we say. Together.”
The control is absolute. You are suspended on a knife’s edge, pleasure coiling so tight it’s almost pain. Natasha’s thumb finds your clit again, rubbing in time with her thrusts. Wanda’s hand covers yours, showing you a new rhythm, harder, faster. You’re sobbing into Wanda’s mouth, a broken stream of “please, please, please.”
“Now,” Wanda gasps, her body tensing, a flush spreading down her chest. “Now, baby.”
The permission is all you need. The world whites out. Your climax crashes over you, a tidal wave that pulls you under. You convulse around Natasha’s fingers, a raw, broken cry torn from your throat. At the same moment, you feel Wanda clamp around your hand, her own release shuddering through her, her cry muffled against your lips.
Natasha holds you through it, her fingers working you gently, prolonging the waves until you’re whimpering and oversensitive. Only then does she slowly withdraw, bringing her glistening fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean, her eyes locked on yours. The sight is so blatantly erotic it makes your spent body clench again.
For long minutes, the only sound is the three of you trying to catch your breath. Wanda collapses onto her back beside you, a satisfied, dazed smile on her face. You’re still sprawled half on Natasha, who hasn’t loosened her hold.
Finally, Wanda turns her head. “Your turn, my love,” she says to Natasha, her voice lazy.
Natasha shakes her head, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Later. This was for her.”
The tenderness in her words, after the intensity of what just happened, makes your eyes prickle. You crane your neck to look at her. “But you didn’t,”
“I got what I needed,” she says, and she means it. The possessive light in her eyes, the relaxed set of her jaw, she’s sated by your pleasure, by your submission. It’s a power dynamic you’re still learning, but in moments like this, you understand it in your bones.
Wanda props herself up on an elbow. “We should get up. There will be things to do. Reports.”
“Fuck the reports,” Natasha says, but she’s smiling. She gives your hip a light slap. “Bath. Now. All of us. You’re sticky.”
The master bathroom is a monument to marble and steam. Natasha turns on the waterfall showerhead and the multitude of body jets while Wanda lights candles, the mundane domesticity contrasting wildly with the lingering scent of sex on your skin. You step under the hot spray together, and it’s less about getting clean and more about touching. Soapy hands sliding over curves, shampoo being massaged into scalps, quiet kisses under the pouring water.
Wanda washes you with a reverence that borders on worship, her hands gliding over every inch of you, as if re-memorizing your terrain. Natasha watches, leaning against the tile, her gaze a physical weight. When Wanda’s soapy hand slides between your legs from behind, washing you there with slow, intimate strokes, you moan and lean back against her.
“Just cleaning, darling,” Wanda whispers, but her fingers linger, circling until you’re trembling again.
Natasha pushes off the wall then, her own needs evidently deciding not to wait for “later.” She turns you gently, pressing you back against the cool marble. “Hands above your head,” she instructs, her voice barely audible over the water. You comply, and she pins your wrists with one of her own, a display of effortless strength that makes your stomach flip. Her other hand parts your folds, and she kneels in the shower, the hot water cascading over her back.
The first flat stroke of her tongue along your slit makes you jump. It’s hot, so much hotter than the shower, and impossibly soft. She licks you like you’re something precious, a long, slow savoring that has your knees buckling. Wanda steadies you from behind, her hands on your hips, her breasts pressed to your back.
“Look at her,” Wanda murmurs in your ear. “Look at your Daddy, on her knees for you. You’re the only one who gets this. The only one.”
You look down. Natasha’s eyes are open, gazing up at you through the spray, her expression one of fierce concentration and devotion. She dips her head again, her tongue finding your clit and sucking it gently into her mouth.
You cry out, the sound echoing off the marble. The contrast is everything, the hard, unyielding wall at your back, the punishing grip on your wrists, and the devastating softness of her mouth. She eats you with a single-minded focus, her tongue dancing and flicking, her lips sealing around you. Wanda’s hands move to your breasts, rolling your nipples between her fingers, pinching just shy of pain.
“She loves the taste of you,” Wanda breathes. “Can’t get enough. Missed it so much.”
The words, the sensations, the sheer ownership of it all sends you spiraling faster than before. This climax builds differently, deeper, warmer, a rising tide rather than a crashing wave. Your moans turn into a continuous, low whine. Natasha feels it, feels your muscles fluttering against her tongue, and she doubles her efforts, humming against you, the vibration tipping you over the edge.
You cum with a choked scream, your body seizing, water spraying everywhere as your legs give out. Natasha holds you up, her mouth staying on you, drinking every last pulse and shudder until you’re weakly pushing at her head, oversensitive and spent.
She rises, water sluicing off her, and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on her lips and tongue. It’s filthy and perfect. “Good girl,” she says against your mouth.
Wanda turns off the water and wraps you in a huge, fluffy towel, drying you with the same care she used to wash you. Natasha towels her hair, watching the two of you with a softness she shows to no one else.
Back in the bedroom, wrapped in robes, the mood shifts. The real world starts to seep back in through the cracks of the door. But you feel different. Anchored. Theirs.
Wanda sits at her vanity, brushing out her damp hair. You sit on the floor between her knees, leaning back against her. Natasha stands by the window, looking out at the grounds, a phone in her hand but ignored.
“We have to be careful today,” Wanda says, her voice back to its usual melodic precision, though her fingers trail through your hair. “But you will be with one of us at all times. No arguments.”
“No arguments,” you agree quietly.
Natasha turns. “Tony messaged. He’s close to a breakthrough on the firewall. Thinks he can isolate the mimic algorithm by tonight.”
A chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning skates down your spine. “What happens then?”
“Then we know who’s trying to frame you,” Natasha says, her voice going flat and cold. “And we pay them a visit.”
The promise of violence is clear, but it doesn’t scare you. It feels like justice. Like protection.
Wanda bends, her lips brushing the crown of your head. “You are our heart, little one. No one touches our heart.”
You believe her.
Later, you’re in the library, curled in a large armchair with a book you’re not reading. Natasha is at the desk, scowling at a ledger. Wanda is across the room, speaking in low, tense Russian into her phone. The domesticity is an illusion, but a comforting one.
Your body still hums from the morning. A pleasant ache between your legs, a tenderness on your skin where teeth and hands had claimed you. You catch Natasha looking at you, her eyes dark. She winks, and you blush, looking back at your book.
The door opens and Yelena strides in, a stack of folders in her arms. “Paperwork from the downstairs dungeon,” she announces, dropping it on Natasha’s desk. “Boring. No fun torture requests at all.” Her eyes land on you. “You. You look well-rested.”
You duck your head, feeling the blush deepen. Yelena grins, a sharp, knowing thing.
Wanda finishes her call and sighs. “The shipment from Prague is delayed. More headaches.”
“We’ll handle it,” Natasha says, but she’s looking at you again. “Come here.”
You put your book down and go to her. She pulls you into her lap, right there at the desk, ignoring Yelena’s raised eyebrow. She nuzzles your neck, her hands settling on your waist. “You’re distracting me.”
“You called me over,” you point out.
“I know.” Her hand slips inside your robe, palming your breast. “I wanted a distraction.”
“Natasha,” Wanda says, a warning and an indulgence in one.
“She’s mine for a minute,” Natasha replies, not taking her eyes off you. Her thumb rubs your nipple. “Aren’t you?”
You nod, breath catching. “Yes, Sir.”
Yelena makes a gagging sound. “I am leaving before I see something that requires brain bleach. Try to keep the estate standing, yes?” She leaves, shaking her head.
The moment the door clicks shut, Natasha’s mouth is on yours. It’s a hungry, consuming kiss. One hand stays on your breast, the other slides down to grip your thigh. You can feel her arousal through both your robes, a hard, hot line against your hip.
Wanda walks over, her expression unreadable. She stands behind the chair, looking down at the two of you. Her fingers thread into your hair, not pulling, just holding. “Greedy,” she chides Natasha softly.
“You had her first,” Natasha murmurs against your lips.
“And I’ll have her last.” Wanda’s other hand comes to rest on Natasha’s shoulder, a show of unity. “But you can have her now.”
The permission seems to unleash something. Natasha stands, lifting you with her, and lays you down on the large, polished desk. Ledgers and pens scatter to the floor. The wood is cool and hard against your back. She pushes your robe open, baring you completely to the dim library light and Wanda’s watching eyes.
“Watch her, Wanda,” Natasha says, her voice thick as she shrugs out of her own robe. “Watch her fall apart on this desk.”
Natasha doesn’t kneel this time. She stands at the edge of the desk, hooks your legs over her shoulders, and bends you almost in half. The position is exposed, vulnerable, incredibly deep. She doesn’t use her fingers this time. She guides herself to your entrance, the broad head of her strap pressing against you.
You’re still loose and wet from earlier, but she’s big. You feel the stretch as she pushes in, a slow, inexorable invasion that steals your breath. Your head falls back against the desk, your eyes finding Wanda’s. Wanda is watching, her lips slightly parted, one hand resting on her own stomach, as if she can feel it too.
“Oh, God,” you whimper as Natasha sheathes herself fully, hips flush against your ass.
“Not God,” Natasha corrects, her voice strained with her own restraint. “Daddy.”
She pulls almost all the way out and slams back in. The force of it makes you cry out. The desk creaks. This is different from the shower, different from the bed. This is raw, powerful fucking. Each thrust jars through you, hitting a spot deep inside that makes you see stars. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the slick wood.
Wanda moves then. She comes around the desk, leans over you, and kisses you, swallowing your moans. Her hand slips between your own bodies, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, frantic circles that match Natasha’s punishing rhythm.
You are completely surrounded, completely used, completely loved. The dual stimulation is too much. The coil snaps fast and hard. Your orgasm rips through you with a silent scream into Wanda’s mouth, your body clamping down on the length inside you so hard you hear Natasha curse above you.
She doesn’t stop. She fucks you through it, her own pace faltering as her pleasure peaks. With a final, deep thrust and a guttural groan, she stills, her body tensing as she finds her release against you.
For a long moment, the only sounds are ragged breathing and the ticking of the library clock. Natasha carefully lowers your legs, pulling out gently. You’re a boneless, trembling mess on the desk.
Wanda strokes your cheek. “Beautiful,” she whispers. She looks at Natasha, who is leaning heavily on the desk, her head bowed. “Both of you.”
Natasha straightens, a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction on her face. She helps you sit up, pulls your robe closed, and kisses your temple. “Mine,” she says simply.
“Ours,” Wanda corrects, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The word lingers between them.
Mine.
Ours.
You’re still trembling when Natasha helps you sit upright on the desk. The world feels slightly tilted, like gravity shifted and hasn’t quite settled back. Your skin is warm, oversensitive, claimed in ways that don’t require marks to prove it.
Wanda steps closer, her hand sliding into your hair, fingers gentle now. “Look at you,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “Completely undone.”
You swallow, still breathless.
Natasha adjusts your robe, tying it closed with precise fingers. Her movements are careful, almost clinical after the chaos of moments before. That contrast always makes your stomach flip, the way she can go from force to focus in a heartbeat.
“You’re steady?” she asks quietly.
You nod.
She studies you anyway. She always does.
Only when she’s satisfied does she straighten fully. Wanda presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering longer than usual. Something unspoken passes between them.
The world is returning.
It always does.
The ticking clock. The distant hum of security systems. The faint vibration of Natasha’s phone against the desk.
Reality doesn’t knock. It barges.
Natasha glances down at the screen and the shift is immediate, not cold, not distant, but sharpened. Focused. You recognize that look. It’s the one that belongs to the boss, not the lover.
“Tony,” she says.
Wanda exhales slowly and steps back, her hand leaving your hair. “Put it on speaker.”
Natasha answers.
“You have something,” she says without greeting.
Tony’s voice crackles through the phone, fast and energized. “Yeah. I cracked the third firewall. You’re not going to like what I found.”
The air in the room changes.
You sit straighter.
Wanda moves closer to you instinctively, one hand resting on your shoulder.
“What is it?” she asks, her tone velvet but razor-edged.
“There’s a redirect embedded in the mimic algorithm,” Tony continues. “It was designed to activate only if we brought her back to the mansion.”
Your pulse spikes.
“What?” you breathe.
Natasha’s jaw tightens.
“Say that again,” she says evenly.
“It’s geo-triggered,” Tony replies. “The system pinged when her tracker crossed the estate perimeter. Whoever built it anticipated you pulling her out of the safehouse.”
A silence falls heavy and suffocating.
Wanda’s fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder.
“So they knew we’d bring her home,” Wanda says softly.
“Not knew,” Tony corrects. “Counted on it.”
You feel it then, not fear exactly, but awareness. You aren’t just a target. You’re part of the game board.
Natasha’s eyes flick to you.
“She doesn’t leave this room,” she says.
You bristle immediately. “Nat-”
She steps forward, hands on either side of your face, forcing your attention back to her. Not rough. Just absolute.
“This isn’t a discussion.”
Wanda crouches in front of you, calmer but no less firm. “They want you here. That means this was always the next move.”
You swallow. “So what do we do?”
Natasha doesn’t hesitate.
“We make sure they regret it.”
Tony clears his throat on the line. “There’s more. The firewall didn’t just redirect. It transmitted.”
“Transmitted what?” Wanda asks.
“A confirmation. Location. Status.”
You feel it like a drop in your stomach.
“They know she’s back,” Tony finishes.
The room goes still.
Natasha ends the call without another word.
Then she turns to Wanda.
“Lockdown,” she says.
Wanda nods once.
Within seconds, the mansion shifts. You don’t hear alarms, Wanda’s too elegant for that, but you feel it. A subtle hum through the walls. The wards tightening. The perimeter sealing.
Somewhere downstairs, you know Clint is moving. Bucky. Steve. Sam.
The inner circle doesn’t panic.
They prepare.
Natasha helps you off the desk and onto your feet. Your legs are still unsteady, but her grip is solid.
“Bedroom,” she instructs.
“I don’t want to hide,” you say quietly.
“You’re not hiding,” Wanda replies, rising to her full height. “You’re central.”
The phrasing makes something spark in your chest.
Central.
Not fragile.
Not burden.
Necessary.
They guide you down the hallway together, one on either side. The mansion feels different now, charged, alert. You catch a glimpse of Yelena striding quickly past with Kate close behind her, murmuring something low. Carol and Maria appear at the base of the stairs, already in discussion, tension but no hostility between them.
Maria glances up and meets your eyes.
This time, there’s no resentment there.
Only resolve.
They move.
You reach your bedroom and Natasha closes the door behind you. Wanda crosses to the windows, checking the seals even though she already knows they’re secure.
“Talk to me,” Wanda says, turning back to you.
You take a breath.
“I don’t want to be the reason someone else gets hurt.”
Natasha steps closer. “You’re not the reason.”
“They’re using me.”
“Yes,” Wanda says plainly. “Because you are the most important thing we have.”
The honesty steals your breath.
Natasha tilts your chin up gently. “They think you’re a weakness.”
analysis. you woke up in a strange home, it was a rich home. definitely not yours since you struggle financially, when your lawyer reveals herself to not be a real lawyer and a dangerous woman in the mob, you found yourself to be completely regretful on how you lacked attention to the contract she had you sign. your life? completely in her hands.
pairing. corrupt lawyer/mob boss!nat x puppy!reader
wc. 3.2k
warnings. dark themes, masc natasha (🧎♀️➡️), mob boss natasha, age gap (Nat is in her 30's, Reader is in her early 20's), gunshot wound, suggestive themes, starvation, illness, natasha literally just treats reader like a dog.
authors note. happy birthday to my dear friend, luv ya D! so grateful to have you as a friend :).
taglist. @toorain @loneliestafterparty @littlewhorticulturist @the-lesbians-made-me-do-it
You woke up with an ache in your shoulder, your throat dry. A soft groan had left your lips as you rolled onto the silk sheets of your mattress, what did you do yesterday to where your shoulder ached this badly. A hand went to rub at the muscle, to try and find where the knot was located. Your eyes opened widely at the feeling of bandages instead, you felt your mouth dry as you sat up on the bed. The room, it wasn’t yours. The white walls were a clean contrast to your beige walls in your apartment, the vanity in the corner of the room had a selection of perfumes and different materials for makeup. The mattress you had laid on was more comfortable than your own at home. You realized you were in a different change of clothes as well, a white tank top with black shorts. Who has changed you? You felt bile form in your throat at the thought of someone seeing your body. You had hoisted your legs over the edge of the mattress, immediately standing up as you felt white specks fill your vision at the quick motion of standing. Steadily putting one foot in front of the other to the dresser to find yourself a better pair of clothing to conceal your skin. You were never a big fan of showing as much skin as you have now, your legs usually carried bruises and you’d rather not share them off to the prying eyes of the public.
A knock had sounded on the door, you jumped, turning immediately to see the door creak open to see the familiar red hair. Natasha’s features were sharp, the redhead herself was only in a tanktop and black sweatpants herself. Her red hair was pulled back into a loose bun with her baby hairs sticking out, her eyes focused on your form standing over the dresser, “Why are you standing pup? Aren’t you still feeling sore?”
Her voice was monotone, her accent laced within her words. You had gawked at her, the toned biceps and the sharp jawline of the redhead had you staring. But you shook yourself out of it, you gulped. Out of everything else, you wouldn’t have expected your own lawyer to walk through that door, “Ms. Romanoff? What happened? Why am I here?”
Your voice was soft as you sputtered out the questions to your lawyer, your bottom lip wobbled as you swallowed. She tilted her head at you, she slowly walked forward to you as she let her hand slip to your cheek. Her thumb rubbing circles under your eye softly, “You’re home, that is all that matters. You’re here because you signed my contract,”
“Contract? The contract was for you to help me with my case,” You asked softly, confusion found your eyes as you tried to stop yourself from leaning into the redhead's soft touch against your face.
“The contract you signed to be mine, or did you forget?” She hummed softly, an amused grin found her features as if she was treating the situation like it was a normal day of the week for her. She gently guided you to sit on the mattress, her hands moving to feel at the bandages as she inspected them to ensure they were clean, “Good, your shoulder looks fine pup. Bucky ensured it was a clean shot,”
“I was shot?” You had responded so quickly as surprise filled your features. But your mind registered over the idea that the redhead knew who shot you. Then your mind dwindled over the idea of the contract, the contract you signed. But you don’t remember reading over that you signed yourself over to her. You remembered how careless you were, you actually never read over it. Your jaw clenched as you felt the redheads calloused hand rise up over your throat, “But, you’re a lawyer, you are supposed to help me,”
Natasha grinned at your innocence, the naivety of you asking such silly questions. Her hands came to cup your face, she settled herself to straddle your thighs as she towered over you. The feeling over her weight in your lap had you trying not to fluster so easily. Your eyes roving over her biceps one more time as she explained ever so softly to you, “My darling, I am no lawyer. I just so happen to be one of the most world-known boss’s of the mob, it’s just no one suspects it from when I work as a lawyer to free my men from the authorities,”
“And you my dear, were so careless while signing that contract you didn’t even realize that you signed yourself to be my personal little thing. My own arm candy, my own little puppy,” She purred, her lips pressing a light kiss against the tip of your nose, before turning your head to the side ever so slightly, “I can’t wait to learn everything about your sweet little body, such a gorgeous girl, as much as I wanted to touch while changing you out of the bloody clothes I wanted you to be awake for our first time,”
You swallowed, you can’t tell if it’s fear or the actual idea of the redhead talking to you had your stomach doing flips. Your core reacts immediately but you let out a soft whine, your hands shaky as Natasha let out one more sentence, “Plus, I did get you out of trouble pup. You’re considered dead, no court case, no murder, and it was so easy to just make it seem like you were dead, you’re all mine,”
You didn’t know when you reacted, but your hands came up to push at Natasha’s shoulders roughly to get her off of you. You shook your own head, trying to refuse the words the lawyer–mob boss–was spilling into your mind as you hissed out, “No, I’m not yours, you lied to me! It has to be illegal so it’s not existent!"
Her eyes narrowed as she stumbled to her feet at your push, her jaw clenched as her expression darkened. She clucked her tongue, “Watch it pup, you may be injured but that will not hold me back from laying my hands on you,”
“You’re dead now to the public, there is nothing illegal towards you. I gave you a contract to sign for my work, it technically was not a lie since it’s for my work of business in the undergrounds of it all, so it still is technically legal. I just didn’t tell you what job it was for,” She added, a smugness found in her tone as she smirked at you. You were shocked, even astounded on how so easily she twisted your own words against you. She reached a hand out and mockingly patted you atop of your head like a dog as she offered, “Are you hungry? I’m just about to eat dinner, join me pup,”
You felt that emptiness in your stomach, the familiar beg for hungry in your abdomen but the idea of eating with Natasha, the woman who lied to you and is holding you hostage, had you finding that refusal quickly, “No, I’m not hungry,”
Natasha tilted her head, retracting her hand away from you as she walked to the door, “You only eat with me, if you don’t want to eat with me then you will not eat until you dine with me,”
The declaration of her words let a shudder roll down your spine. She opened the bedroom door and the sound of a lock clicked shut, leaving you alone for the rest of the night.
—
It had been a few days since you initially woke up in the room that isn’t your home, you hadn’t left the room you were caged in. Every morning and evening the sound of knuckles would rap against the door with the sound of the redhead asking you if you were to join her for meals and every single time you said no. You would rather starve in the room than sit with her at a dining room table eating like nothing was happening, like you weren’t held captive by a woman who was supposed to be your lawyer who turned out to be the boss of the mob. You took the time in the room to rest, to heal up on the injured shoulder. When you woke up the first time it was clear you were given drugs to dull the pain, now, you’re lasting off of nothing and even moving your shoulder a tiniest bit in a way that would make it scream in pain was a reminder that you are lasting in a room with no painkillers.
You took the time to evaluate the space you were in, not like you had anything better to do. You went over to the vanity first, white stained wood with a contraption with different containers holding different products. The skin care set that you liked was nestled neatly in the largest space of the contraption, you swallowed. It was clear Natasha had taken information off of you, but when? When did the redhead start stalking you, when did the woman know mostly everything about you? That is what worried you, how naive you were. Other than the skin care products there did seem to be make-up nestled in the smaller containers with a hair brush laying on the desk, the mirror round and endorsed with colors of gold and red for the rim. You had tried opening the drawers, but they didn’t budge. Natasha had clearly locked them to store something away that was sealed shut in there and that only raised your curiosity more. Beside the vanity was a dresser with the same white stained wood appearance, six drawers you had counted. Each had different types of clothing that seemed to be in better shape than your closet at home.
There was one window, but it was sealed shut and for what you could tell is that you were on the second-story of whatever building you were in. Was it a house? That is what you assumed, Natasha didn’t seem like the type to be dumb enough for an apartment complex to hold you on the second floor. Plus, the view you got was all countryside with a pond nestled near the building. You got a straight view of the sunset from the window, you had tried the door. It was locked as you expected and you heard a male voice on the other side that had told you that it was no use to try and leave the room. Clearly Natasha was prepared, a guard outside and most of the items accessible were harmless in a fight. You doubt a pillow or a hairbrush would be able to take out the redhead who you assumed was good enough at fighting for such a large title.
The sun had set, you were laying against the soft sheets as your empty stomach had growled. Your head pounding and your shoulder ached, your vision was spotty as you felt a soft lull in your head to just close your eyes. You ignored the spots in your vision, not finding it too worrying as you closed your eyes and passed out.
Natasha had been sitting in the dining room, finished with the meal after a long day of sitting in her study planning out operations for the upcoming months. Footsteps coming down the stairs didn’t have her lift her head, it was clear that it was Bucky walking down the stairs. By the noise of it, it was just him, she let out a sigh, “Let me guess, she didn’t want to come down and eat,”
“No, I think she just fell asleep a few minutes ago,” He responded, reporting back to the redhead. She had trusted Bucky for years, he was her right-hand. The man she went to when she needed to figure shit out and he was the one to follow the woman into anything, he blinked as he sighed, moving to head towards the front door, “Headin’ to the club, wanna tag along?”
“No, someone needs to keep an eye on her,” She responded briefly, her chair pulled back as she stood up and grasped at her plate and the second plate she had prepared for you. Setting it in the fridge for leftovers as she washed her own dish in the sink, “Go have fun Buck, I can handle it,”
The sound of the front door closing left the house in silence, you fell asleep. It was only six in the evening, too early for you. She had dried her hands off, a habit she had since she was little. No matter what, she never liked it when her hands got wet from any source of liquid. Always needing to wipe them off whenever they did get wet, she was in a black dress shirt with pants. She had taken her boots off when she was done with work, she stepped up onto the staircase as she made it to your room. Her knuckles pressed against the wood of the door as she husked out, “Pup?”
There was no response, and her hand had turned the handle as she unlocked it. She had stepped into the room, her eyes falling onto your slump figure on the bed. The first thing she noticed is that your skin was paler, your features soft as she walked over to the bed and crouched down to be in-level with your face. Her lips pursed, her hand reached over to press against your forehead. You weren’t responsive, you looked incredibly pale and she felt you heating up. A hand had shook your shoulder, she coaxed quietly, “Wake up, come on pretty girl,”
When you made no response, no movement coming from you a curse had left her lips as she had lifted you into her arms. Cradling you against her chest as your head had slumped and fallen onto her shoulder as she ensured you were secure against her as she bumped the door wider with her hip to move to her own bedroom. Natasha was careful, a tedious process as she settled you on the bed. She moved with care, an odd sight for such a powerful woman as she shed your clothes and changed you into one of her shirts that covered your thighs. She also removed the bandages off of your shoulder to clean your wound and bandage you up again with clean ones. Once she ensured you were in a comfortable position, Natasha had walked back downstairs to prepare a meal for you to eat. Nothing that would be too heavy but will provide you with a good amount of nutrients to get you healthy again.
–
Your head pounded, you felt a warm weight against both your sides as your cheek pressed into the warmth. Eyes fluttering beneath your closed eyelids, it was comfortable and you found no reason to complain at the moment. The pillows in the room were great, and you felt like you wanted to fall asleep again until you felt something scratch against your scalp. Your eyes opened within an instant, toned thighs were nestled against your body with your head nestled against someone's abdomen, the familiar scent of Natasha had filled your nostrils as you let out a shudder.
“Easy there darling, don’t move too quickly,” Natasha cooed, the sound of a book closing as you looked up to see the redhead. Your body was nestled between Natasha’s thighs and your head was on her abdomen and she was acting like you two have done this for years, if it weren’t for the hand on your shoulder you would’ve scrambled away. Your muscles felt weak, your head pounded and you knew if you were quick with your movements that you would be dizzy. Natasha had watched you intently, her hair in a loose bun as she had swapped into a black crop tanktop and black sweatpants. Reading glasses placed above her nose as they were pushed slightly down so her eyes were peering at you above them. You swallowed, your lips in a thin line.
“Why the long face? You seemed very comfortable when I laid down,” She teased, her extra hand coming to run through your messy bedhead as she gently helped you sit up between her thighs. Her hand reached out for the tray on the bedside table to pull it onto your lap as you sat between her thighs, guiding your hand to the fork to coax you to pick at the eggs first. She had gotten you toast and jam, eggs with a little bit of yogurt to start. She hummed, “Eat slowly puppy, you’re going to feel sick if you eat it too fast,”
You rolled your eyes as she guided you, telling you how to handle yourself like you were an incapable toddler. A soft grumble of complaint left your throat before you scooped up egg onto the fork to slowly bring it to your mouth, the taste was pleasant. Usually it wasn’t, but with the hunger rumbling in your stomach it made it feel like it was a delicacy you never had before. You hummed in content, Natasha let her chin rest on your shoulder as she watched you eat the food off the tray, her eyes admiring your jawline and the way you chewed. Her head nestled forward into the crevice of your neck, her lips placing soft kisses against your soft skin as she had her hands move to hold your waist against her.
“You gave me quite the scare, you’re going to eat with me from now on. It is no longer a request,” She murmured against your neck, a soft whine left your throat as the mob boss declared that you can no longer avoid not eating with Natasha. You had finished off the plate, watching as Natasha moved to settle the tray on the night stand again as she moved to coax you to lie down again between her thighs.
You were quiet, not fussing. Natasha liked that, you cooperated with her and didn’t fight against her hands when she guided you to rest. Maybe it was because you were still exhausted, feeling the sickness of not eating holding your mind rather than you fighting back against her. She let her fingers run through your hair again, letting out a soft sigh as she went to pick up her book again.
“How long,” You rasped out against Natasha’s abdomen, your eyes had flicked up to look up at Natasha from against her stomach. Your body still, tense as your eyes held a fierceness in them. A glare, and she stared down at you like she wasn’t afraid of the daggers you were staring into her, “How long am I stuck here,”
She heard the question, a hum left her lips as she thought. It was a mockery, she wasn’t thinking. She knew. She knew she wasn’t going to let you go, not since you were so willing to lay with her. Not since your unconscious mind had curled into her when she sat in the bed after cooking you a meal and that your warmth seeped into her skin unlike any of the other girls she had. You were different, she liked you. Her hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye as she gave you a pat, “Forever darling, until the day that you die. You are mine, and you always will be,”
Welcome to my favourite reads from January. These are not all my favourites, of course, but these are the ones I have specifically read in January and at the start of February.
Did any of them make it to your list? Did I make it to your list?
PSA: 18+ will mean both anything that includes smut as well as/or those who have 18+ Blogs.
︴Wanda Maximoff x Reader;
🖋 MARKED BY HER by @summer2224 ( ☆ ) ( ☾ ) ( ☣︎ )
›››› Y/n (early twenties) never expected to catch the attention of Wanda Maximoff. As a new para at Westview Elementary, your focus is on helping students, not getting involved in the lives of their parents. But when you step in to protect what you assume is a single mother being harassed, you unknowingly insert yourself into a world you have no business being in. Because Wanda Maximoff is not just a mother. She is powerful. Ruthless. Untouchable. The head of an empire built on control, feared by those who dare to cross her. She rules her world with an iron grip, destroying those who deserve it, sparing no one, except you. You should be nothing to her. Just a teacher. Just another face in the crowd. So why can't she get you out of her head? And why does it feel like, no matter how hard you try to escape her world... you're already in it?
⊱ Summers writing has me in an actual chokehold, I swear. This was the first story of Summers that I have read, and honestly, it was amazing; it is still ongoing. I read this story properly in, like, 3 days. The way Summer describes every situation, every detail, I can feel myself on the page. It's the first darker story I have read, and I need more. I went through so many emotions; I was screaming and crying at 3am, shouting loud "No!" and "OMG!" and "WHAT?1 WHAT?! WHAT?!" I have to say, without a single doubt, this story is top of my list on any recommendation list and has fully become my favourite story I have EVER read. And that is saying something! Thank you, Summer, for giving us the beauty and warmth of your stories and gracing us with such incredible writing. Summer moulds and explores these characters and plot like it's her job; I feel very lucky to experience any of her stories.
🖋 What's my name? by @introverted-author ( ☆ )
›››› You wake up with the urge to be a brat. Wanda doesn't quite approve.
⊱ Listen, I love stories with brating so much, and as someone who is realising she's a soft brat, this fic had me hooked!! It was perfection. I loved every detail, and the writing, as always, was incredible and beautifully done. Maybe I am biased, as it was my request, but I genuinely think the writing was so strong, and I could not tear myself away for even a second.
🖋 Don't make me jealous by @summer2224 ( ☆ )
›››› Jealous Wanda. Tight dress. Tight grip.
⊱ Possessive Wanda. Need I say more?
︴Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Reader;
🖋 THE COLOR OF YOU by @stuiie ( ☆ ) ( ♡ ) ( ☾ )
›››› Falling in love is never easy, but what if your heart pulls you towards the two people you should never fall for? For years, you've admired Natasha from afar, your best friend Yelena's captivating older sister. Complicated? Absolutely, especially since the innocent admiration slowly turns into a full-blown crush. But it gets even messier because Natasha is married to Wanda, the kindest, most gentle-hearted person you've ever met. As you grapple with the fear and confusion of your forbidden feelings, you find yourself drawn to Wanda as well, her warmth and kindness like a soothing balm to your fragile heart. Caught between the intense pull of your feelings for Natasha and Wanda and the fear of your best friend Yelena discovering the truth, you find yourself in a storm of conflicting desires that could shatter everything you hold dear.
⊱ Stuies writing is honestly so wonderful, and it was the first Wandanat x Reader story I read. The detail is beautiful, and as she moves through the story, it keeps me hooked on every page. There's just a way in which she writes that makes me never want the story to end and excites me for the next page. It's soft, but some darker topics weaved in. It's everything I love about reading.
🖋 (No title) by @splattynatty1984 ( ☆ ) ( ♡ )
›››› No summary.
⊱ This had me sobbing in the best way. It's so soft and just everything I needed to read. I am very touch starved, and haven't been hugged in like five months. This was a need and was so beautifully written. Thank you for this, Splatty, as always!
I have a request for NSFW, Top!Wanda, maybe Reader being a bit mouthy, bit of a brat, not like full on brat, but enough to frustrate Wanda! maybe wanda edges reader? maybe making her beg to cum? Something like that? you choose where you take it!
-🌻(Beekneelsformommy)
𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥'𝕤 𝕞𝕪 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖?
summary: you wake up with the urge to be a brat. wanda doesn't quite approve.
a/n: we don't speak about how long this sat in my inbox. chronic illness is a bully but as a certified brat i had so much fun writing this one and i hope it was worth waiting for @wandanatsbee!!
crossposted on AO3
You’re not sure what’s gotten into you today.
You usually pride yourself on being Wanda’s good girl, eager to please and always seeking praise from your girlfriend and dominant. But that morning as you open your eyes to an empty bed, there’s a sort of restless energy taking control of your limbs, making your thoughts race. And with that energy comes a boldness that Wanda rarely sees and highly disapproves of.
The first infraction comes when you walk downstairs and enter the kitchen where Wanda is cooking breakfast. You give her an innocent good morning kiss and once she turns back to the stove, you boost yourself up onto the kitchen counter—something Wanda has made very clear in the past is unacceptable.
Wanda quirks an eyebrow at you, her curious gaze searching yours. Why would you so brazenly break a rule in front of her like this? You simply bat your eyelashes innocently and in response Wanda’s gaze hardens.
“Are you going to come down from there, Y/N?”
You shake your head as you playfully swing your legs, a grin spreading across your face. Your heart rate is already picking up at the thrill of Wanda’s disapproving scowl—and more specifically, what scenarios that disapproval could lead to.
“Get down,” she orders, her voice gentle but firm with exhilarating authority. “Now.”
You relent, using the cupboard below to boost yourself off and back to the ground. The bang of the cupboard is loud, but nowhere near as loud as Wanda’s wordless displeasure as she stands with her arms crossed, assessing you.
“Is that how it's going to be today, malyshka?”
“I don't know what you mean, Wanda.”
The emphasised use of her name rather than her title confirms your bratty mood. Wanda slowly tilts her head, green eyes narrowing in warning. It should dissuade you, and most days it would, but today it only fuels the fire. “Careful, malyshka. Little girls shouldn't start games they can't win.”
How are you meant to resist a challenge like that?
Your bratty attitude persists throughout the day. You pester Wanda as she works in her home office, you refuse to eat the lunch she prepared, claiming you want something else instead. You blatantly ignore her request for you to do your university readings for the week, deciding to play video games instead. And never once do you call her by her title—‘Mommy’. By the time you’ve finished dinner, you know that Wanda is at her breaking point. She just needs one final nudge over the edge.
That’s how you end up on the living room couch, straddling Wanda’s lap as she quirks an eyebrow at your bold move.
“Wanda,” you whine, throwing your arms around the back of her neck. “I wanna play.”
Wanda purses her lips, her patience clearly waning. Perfect. “Nuh-uh. That's not how we ask, dorogaya. Try again.”
“Please, can we play?”
Wanda raises her eyebrow, awaiting the final piece of the puzzle.
Adrenaline floods your veins as you come to the crossroads. Here, you decide how the rest of the night plays out. You see it in Wanda's eyes—she thinks you're going to surrender. And any other day, you would have.
But instead you decide to give her one final push and disrespect her one last time.
“Please, Wanda?”
Scarlet flares faintly in Wanda's narrowed eyes as her grip tightens almost painfully on your waist, her fingers sure to leave marks. “Very well then, malyshka. You've made your choice.”
You shiver in anticipation, heat pooling low in your gut as you imagine all the different ways this could go. Wanda is normally a gentle domme. She rewards your obedience with sweet words and loving touches, always doting on you. But when tested, she can be downright cruel. And god, have you been testing her.
“You're going to go to the bedroom and strip. I want to find you kneeling on the bed, hands on your thighs. And don't think for a second about touching what's mine. Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, who?”
You smile innocently as you clamber off her lap, offering a response just before you retreat to the bedroom. “Wanda.”
Wanda’s eyes burn into your back as you escape down the hallway, undoubtedly glowing with scarlet rage. The very thought is enough to make you shiver, the ache between your thighs begging for relief. Relief that you know you won’t get until Wanda deems you’ve earned it. With how you’ve acted today, that could be anywhere from an hour to tomorrow night.
You quickly act once you hit the threshold of the bedroom, stripping and folding your clothes neatly on the dresser—you’ve already pushed your luck far enough. You assume the familiar position at the foot of the bed, knees resting on the mattress, palms face down on slightly spread thighs, head lowered. The picture of a perfect submissive. Something you have no intention of being just yet.
Time drags out, the ache of your empty cunt making what is probably a three minute wait into what feels like hours. You know that Wanda’s holding back, making herself wait, wanting you to stew in the threat of punishment. If only it actually worked as a deterrent.
A gentle coo pulls your mind away from your throbbing clit, Wanda’s presence shifting the energy of the room even as you keep your head down. “Aw, look at you. I haven’t even done anything yet and I can see your pretty pussy practically glistening.”
She moves closer to you, reaching a hand out to gently tilt your chin up until your eyes meet. You gasp as you see that she’s stripped down to her lingerie, red lace that doesn’t leave much to the imagination and makes your head spin.
Scarlet wisps dance in her eyes and her power is almost a tangible force in the air, a faint static like the calm before the storm. “You might act all tough, but I know exactly how to break you. You’re going to regret your insolent attitude today, dekta, I can promise you that.”
Your chest tightens in anticipation as Wanda turns and disappears into the walk-in wardrobe, undoubtedly searching your toy drawer for her instruments of choice. You picture the drawer’s contents and shiver, wondering exactly how Wanda plans to torment you. She certainly has plenty of options, none of them pleasant (all of them exactly what you want).
A terrifying grin is on her face as she emerges from the wardrobe, hands behind her back. She comes right up to the bed and lays the items out one by one on the sheet beside you, each new addition sending a fresh wave of wetness through you.
Four burgundy silk scarves. A bottle of lube. A small but powerful vibrator. The final item makes your mouth turn dry—a sizeable scarlet dildo, thick and veined; Wanda’s favourite and one that always leaves you feeling her for days.
Wanda smirks as she notices the shallowness of your breathing, the dilation of your pupils. She’s always far too smug about how easily she can turn you to putty in her hands. But then her face softens, voice gentle as she checks in, “Colour, baby?”
You can’t help but smile, Wanda’s care for you wrapping you up like a blanket. You trust her beyond what you ever thought possible, knowing that no matter the scene, she truly never wanted to actually hurt you. You were always safe with her. “Green, Wands.”
“And what will you say if you’re not okay?”
“’Yellow’ if I need to communicate something but not stop the scene and ‘red’ to stop altogether.”
“Followed by aftercare, no judgement,” she reaffirms, a point she always makes clear before a scene.
You nod and she smiles warmly, letting the tender moment linger for a second before her expression hardens once more. Her following instructions are cold, detached, even as they send heat directly to your pussy. “Lie back, limbs spread.”
You obey, shifting back until your head lies on the pillows, spreading your limbs so you’re spread-eagle on the bed. You can’t help but squirm as Wanda’s eyes drift up your exposed body, lingering on your soaked cunt and pebbled nipples. She looks like she wants to eat you alive.
Her movements are graceful, precise as she moves to kneel beside your torso, two burgundy scarves in hand. Her touch is almost reverent as she takes each wrist and restrains them to the headboard, gentle but firm. You don’t miss the way her breath quickens as you give the restraints a testing tug, nearly moaning as the scarves don’t budge. She practically has a fetish for tying you up (not that you’re complaining).
She repeats the process on your ankles, binding them to their respective corners of the bed. When she’s finished, she comes to kneel between your spread legs, admiring her handiwork. The scarves hold you firm and you know you couldn’t escape them even if you tried. You are trapped, cornered. And you love it.
Wanda’s smirk is sadistic as she slowly picks up the vibrator, letting the silicone rest on the crease of your inner thigh. You’ll get no tender kisses, no gentle foreplay. That is for good girls—and today, you are anything but.
“One last chance, dorogoya. Are you going to address me properly? Or do I need to remind you what happens when you decide to be a little brat?”
You’re practically trembling with need, anticipation making your breath come in short gasps. You’re sure you look pathetic but the throb of your cunt currently overrides your embarrassment.
Wanda fixes you with crimson eyes, her voice low with warning. “Last chance: what’s my name?”
Your smile is so innocent, completely at odds with your current position as you casually answer, “Wanda Maximoff.”
The responding look in Wanda’s eyes is almost feral.
She doesn’t waste a second, pressing the vibrator to your throbbing clit and switching it on to the lowest setting. A low groan escapes you at the sensation, resisting the urge to grind against it—now that you finally have some relief, you don’t want to lose it.
Wanda holds eye contact, her eyes still glowing red, her gaze intense, observing every minuscule change in your facial expression. You feel exposed, vulnerable. It’s perfect. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she turns the toy up a notch, a strangled moan escaping you as your eyes involuntarily close. But the instant your eyelids close, a hand is firmly gripping your jaw and your eyes shoot open to see Wanda’s face, barely an inch from your own.
“Keep those eyes open, pretty girl,” she growls, her fingers digging in harder. “You don’t get to hide from me.”
Wanda doesn’t move even as she turns the toy up again, her eyes boring into yours as her fingers hold your jaw still in an iron grip. It’s taking all of your effort now to refrain from bucking your hips, the relentless pulse on your clit building heat in your lower belly. Whimpers keep escaping you, pleasure building up, up, up until your thighs are shaking and high-pitched moans are tumbling from your lips.
Unsurprisingly, Wanda recognises the signs of your impending orgasm and reminds you of the rules. “Ask permission.”
“Please, please, let me come, I need it so badly.”
Her following action shouldn’t surprise you. With all that has already transpired today and the sadistic gleam in Wanda’s eyes, it should have been expected. But it still makes you cry out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as your climax is abruptly ripped away from you.
“No.” Wanda pulls the vibrator away, drawing back so she’s towering over you from her position between your legs. You whine, trying to chase the toy but are thwarted by tendrils of chaos magic pinning your hips to the mattress.
“Aw, you didn't like that, huh? I suppose it's just too bad that you've been so bad today. And disrespectful little brats don't get what they want. Address me properly, and maybe I'll help you out with that needy cunt of yours. I know it must be aching so bad.” She’s right, of course, and her mocking tone only makes your cunt ache more. “Come on Y/N, what's my name?”
“Why, did you forget it? Wanda Django Maximoff.”
The atmosphere is tense as Wanda slowly tilts her head, silence stretching as she considers you. You have to battle to restrain the pitiful whine begging to escape you.
“Right. Clearly you need... a different kind of persuasion.”
The uncertainty causes a chill of dread to rush down your spine as Wanda removes herself entirely from your body, settling a generous distance away by the foot of the bed. Crimson light blooms in her hand, tendrils caressing her fingers as she twists her wrist. Those tendrils cross the space between you, ebbing and flowing like a stream, as they wrap around your thigh. You jolt as low, teasing vibrations hit your clit and you can’t help but moan as you realise that her unyielding magic is holding the vibrator to you. It’s inescapable.
Wanda looks on with a twisted sort of amusement as you buck your hips—whether to get closer to or away from the sensation, you’re not entirely sure. You’re thinking less and less rationally, crumbling more and more, and you know that it won’t be long until Wanda gets what she wants (just as she always does).
“You know,” she muses, reaching over to the side and taking both the thick dildo and the bottle of lube in her hands. “I was going to use this on you.”
She uncaps the bottle, squeezing a generous amount into her palm before she takes the dildo in her hands. She meets your eyes with a smirk as she wraps her hand around the silicone length, slowly pumping her hand up and down the shaft. It has your stomach flipping and your breath stuttering, a reaction she notices if her soft chuckle is anything to go by.
“I was going to edge you a few times,” she says, her hand continuing its motions. “Maybe make you cry. And by then, I knew you would break. But now? Now, I’ve had enough of your bratty attitude. And brats don’t get pleasure—brats get denied. Brats get to simply watch.”
You watch on helplessly as Wanda rises on her knees, spreading her thighs and pulling her panties aside. She’s absolutely soaked. Her pussy is swollen, clit begging for attention, and copious amounts of wetness coating her thighs. You whimper at the sight, silently begging her to untie you and let you touch her yourself. Her eyes flash red as she reads your mind and she grins.
“No.”
And with that, she begins to sink down on the dildo. She groans as she sinks down on it and you can see how much her entrance is stretching around the thick silicone cock. It makes your own clench around nothing. When Wanda finally bottoms out she cries out, head thrown back in pleasure. Wanda is always so vocal about her pleasure and you live for her moans, every single whimper and groan sending heat to your very core.
And then she starts to move.
“Blyat, I’m so full,” she manages, her accent thick as subtle wisps of red weave their way around her skin. “You feel so good, Y/N, you’re making me feel so good.”
Wanda’s truly a heavenly sight. She rises up and down on the dildo, gaining momentum as she gasps and curses. Her breasts gently bounce with each thrust, her head thrown back and the muscles in her neck straining as she breathes heavily. The underwhelming stimulation on your clit is practically a taunt as you watch her in the throes of pleasure, your name falling from her lips as though it’s you driving the cock into her.
“Filling me up so well—blyat—fucking me so good.”
The crimson magic surrounding her begins to glow brighter, the feeling of static in the air intensifying with the pace of Wanda’s thrusts. The hand not holding the dildo comes up to cup her breast, toying with her nipple as she mutters something in Sokovian under her breath.
You want to cry at the inequity of it all, of Wanda on the edge of an orgasm while you lie there being granted only a taunting tease. You’re only just clinging to the cliff of control. The surface is icy, you can’t get a grip, and you know now that your fall is inevitable. Wanda is inevitable.
The moment that the realisation crashes into you, Wanda cries out as she momentarily stills, reaching that coveted peak. A gentle pulse of crimson energy floods out from her body as she rides out her high with a desperation that makes you ache in your very being. It’s all too much and your grip finally slips. You plummet off of the cliff, trusting that Wanda will catch you.
“Mommy.”
Wanda lowers her head from where it’s thrown back, meeting your eyes with a fire that feels more intense than anything you’ve ever seen before. She slowly rises off the dildo, setting it aside before crawling closer again, once more kneeling between your legs.
“There it is. Come on now, was that so hard?” Her voice is mocking, cruel. It only makes you wetter. “What do you need, sweet girl?”
You’re barely coherent at this point. All you’re aware of is the pleasure coursing through your body, simultaneously overwhelming and nowhere near enough. You’re rapidly falling into that headspace that you love so much, and from the grin on Wanda’s face you know that she can see that too.
“Please, Mommy, god—!”
A sob interrupts your words as the vibrator turns up to what must be the highest setting, the constant buzz almost unbearable against your tortured clit. “I need to come, please let me come—Mommy!”
Wanda hums in consideration, head tilted as she assesses your shaking body, sobs of overstimulation wracking your frame. God, you need to come, more desperately than you ever needed anything before. But you need more to reach your high—and Wanda knows that.
“I don't know, dekta. Do you think you deserve it after today? Only good girls get to come.”
“Fuck, Mommy, please, I'll be so good for you, I promise, I'll be your good girl, just—fuck—please let me come!”
Wanda continues to regard you, pretending to consider your plea. You know it's all for show—she decided your fate before she even stepped into the room. “One final test for my good girl. What's my name?”
“Mommy!”
Before the title has even finished falling from your lips, Wanda swiftly thrusts two fingers inside your tight pussy, cursing under her breath as she sets a brutal pace. You're lost in ecstasy, barely aware of the incoherent rambles tumbling from your lips. You cry out sharply as Wanda adds another finger, the slight stretch burning deliciously.
“So tight, dekta,” she purrs as she continues to ram into you, curling her fingers just right. She's on a mission and nothing's going to stop her now. “Your pussy’s clenching around Mommy's fingers so tight. I can feel you fluttering, are you close?”
“So close, Mommy, I'm so—fuck! Right there!”
Wanda begins to massage that spot deep inside you and white spots dance in your vision. The movement of her fingers added to the relentless buzz of the vibrator has you careening towards the edge, desperately praying with all your being that Wanda doesn't rip it away from you.
“Beg for it. Beg Mommy to let you come.”
It takes all of your ability to corral letters into words and words into a sentence, but you manage to force out, “Please, Mommy, let me come.”
Wanda smirks widely as you tremble and sob beneath her. She leans down until her lips brush your ear and then whispers exactly what you need. “Come for Mommy.”
It's explosive, as blinding and destructive as a supernova. Pleasure takes over every cell of your body as you scream, desperately riding Wanda's fingers as the waves of pleasure crash over you. It's bliss, it's overwhelming, it's perfect, and you never want it to end.
But end it must, and slowly but surely the high fades from your body and your exhausted limbs sink into the mattress as gentle aftershocks roll through you. Wanda is attentive, quick to remove the vibrator before it becomes painful, using her magic to quickly untie you. She lays down beside you, gathering your shaking body in her arms as she whispers reassurances and praises.
Your face finds a home in the crook of her neck, the scent of her perfume and something uniquely Wanda pulling you down deeper into the cotton wool that is subspace. You know that in a few minutes, Wanda will encourage you to drink some water, to eat a small snack, and corral you into a bath. But right now, you can just lie there, cocooned in Wanda’s arms, feeling at peace and so, so in love.
“You were perfect for me, malyshka,” Wanda whispers into your ear, her fingers stroking through your hair. “So perfect.”
“Love you, Mommy,” you mumble out through the fog. The words sound unintelligible even to your own ears but Wanda smiles warmly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
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.
analysis. you, a early adult who is juggling three jobs and struggling financially is charged with murder against your neighbor who was brutally stabbed in the middle of the night. unable to hire a lawyer, the department has assigned you one of the lawyers they offer. little did you know that trusting this gorgeous redhead was going to play in a major change in your life.
pairing. corrupt lawyer/mob boss!nat x puppy!reader
wc. 0.8k
warnings. dark themes, masc natasha (🧎♀️➡️), mob boss natasha, kidnapping, gunshot wound, evil natasha (no she isn't she is just kindly rehoming you to her house), age gap (Nat is in her 30's, Reader is in her early 20's).
authors note. prologue written before i post chapter one…
“I didn’t do it,”
The words that left your lips were immediate as soon as the door opened to the office you were dropped off in. The redhead that had walked in with a file in hand had stared directly into your eyes as soon as those words had blurted out of your lips like a cry for help. Natasha smirked, her body moving to sit in the chair across from you as pity adorned her features. Which to be honest, was faux. She had no pity, yet she was interested in you, her eyes scanned your features. You looked exactly like you did when the police officers took your photos when they brought you to the station to get interviewed for the investigation of a murder.
“As much as I’d like to believe you sweetheart, I can’t exactly help you out if that is all you’re going to say,” She said smoothly, setting the vanilla folder in front of her as she opened it up to look at the documents of your arrest and the statement that was made from the police department. Her tongue clicked against the top of her roof, you didn’t choose Natasha as your lawyer. No. You didn’t have the funds to hire one so the department had picked a lawyer for you to go to the court for your statement.
“I don’t even really know who Ms. Danvers was, why would I kill her?” You had stated rapidly, tears were finding your eyes as you pleadingly looked at the lawyer in front of you. Hands shaking as you brought them together against the table to pick at the skin above the crevices of your nail beds. A calloused hand had grabbed yours, the comfort of the lawyer odd but it was appreciated.
“Look, I get why I would be suspected. Just a lone, freshly young adult who is struggling financially while juggling three jobs, but I swear on my mama’s life that I have not talked to Ms. Danvers for more than five minutes in my life, she was just my neighbor who I never knew,” You explained, your tone shaky as you had your tongue lick over your dry and cracked lips. Wetting them as you let out a soft exhale, feeling the redheads hands draw back to pull out a white sheet of paper that had the word contract listed atop of it.
“This is for you to sign, it’s needed for my services specifically,” A finger tapped gently against a blank line for your signature to be placed alongside with the date beside it. A soft grin found her face, “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make sure you aren’t jailed for something you didn’t do,”
You analyzed the sheet carefully, the words blurring in your vision as you just grabbed the pen and blindly signed your name without looking it over. Without a second thought you knew you wanted to get out of this nightmare. You had briefly conversed more with the lawyer until you were allowed to leave the office.
You had parked further down the street to prevent yourself from getting jammed into traffic. You moved to the passenger side of your vehicle to throw your bag into the seat before you felt a hand muffle against your mouth. You tried to scream but the sound was muffled, feeling yourself be pulled into the alleyway. Your body thrashed, doing everything in your power to fight off whoever had grabbed you. You weren’t going down, no, you still had a fight to win to prove your innocence to the judging eyes of the law. That is when you heard the loud bang, a gunshot. You ducked your head, who shot a gun? Who got shot? Your mind was dizzy, blanking before your hand went to reach the sudden ache in your shoulder, the feeling of liquid on your palm had you freeze. Your breathing picked up in fear, panicking before you felt everything around you blur and turned black.
–
The security cameras showed everything, except for the face of who had grabbed you. The detectives looked over it carefully, when it was mentioned that you weren’t home when an officer swung by the check up on you, they went to the location where your cell phone was last pinged. Your car is still in the same spot, passenger door open with your phone sitting in your purse. The only sign was blood on the cement of the alleyway. The footage of you being shot in the back of the shoulder was repeating itself.
“I’m doubting whoever shot her took her in to the hospital,” One detective spoke out, voice monotone as they added on, “There’s no way she’d survive that shot after twenty four hours, that footage was taken yesterday around 4:30 p.m. and we’re watching it now at 6:00 p.m.. I just say, call her dead and call her the murderer of Danvers, case closed,”
Murmurs of agreement filled the room, each person filing out of the room carefully before they shut the footage down on the device. Closing the case, and the primary suspect called dead.
Notes: None? Unless we count delicious tension as a note.
Summary: 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.
An: There’s a poll going on right now! Ch.13 this week but not update next week or wait next week for Ch.13 voting closes tomorrow evening.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist 1 | Masterlist 2
Your father, at least the man who raised you, had a past worth running from. It's evident in all of the documents. Neither you nor Natasha could concretely piece together his upbringing.
The first relevant papers you find are his adoption papers, followed by some legal name changing papers. He was born Arno Carbonell, to a mother, Maria. The father's name wasn't given.
The first court case happened to be about that. It was a petition from the father to have his name added to the birth certificate.
“Why isn't his name properly documented?”
Natasha sighs in frustration, “I don't know, it should be. Maybe they already assumed it would be redacted. Which isn't necessarily a good reason, but it's what I'm thinking. I'm guessing this is where the name Howard is coming from.”
You squint at the document you're reading. It's a criminal case. It lists your mother and Arno as witnesses.
“Nat, look at this,” you pass the file over to her.
“This sounds like they saw something they weren't supposed to see. Hardy v. Industry. These feel so vague for law papers,” she scans the paper.
“What does that mean?”
Nat doesn't look up, “It could mean that something is being covered up by some very powerful individuals. Judges, politicians, criminals.”
“Well these papers are proving that my dad was involved in that kind of life one way or another.” The information disheartens you.
The tone of your voice has Natasha reaching for your hand. “Don't let these documents tell you who your parents were. Maybe you didn't know this side of them, and maybe it was for the best. They probably just wanted to be parents that you could be proud of.”
You deflate, “I know. This is just-”
“A lot,” Natasha finishes for you.
You clear your throat, “Yeah.”
“You want to take a break?”
You're quick to answer, “No. I think I noticed something.”
“Tell me.” Natasha's thumb starts to absentmindedly stroke the back of your hand.
“I think my father may have been an informant of some kind. A lot of these court documents have him as a witness. The one I gave you is the only one that mentions my mother. Maybe he was working with the police or…”
Natasha doesn't hide her surprise, “Or the mob.”
“Did things just get easier or more complicated?”
“Definitely more complicated. Obviously we have a direct connection to the mob, but they hate people snooping around in their business. If we start poking and prodding other bosses, it could get ugly,” the lawyer admits.
She can see the gears turning in your head. The look of defeat lingers around your eyes. She knows the feeling all too well.
Natasha stands, pulling you up with her, “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
She doesn't look back as she pulls you along, “We're doing what every lawyer does when they find a breakthrough that doesn't necessarily feel like a huge success.”
“Which is?”
“Drinking,” Natasha responds firmly.
You follow her to the kitchen and watch quietly as she opens a cabinet pulling out two glasses as well as a brown alcohol.
“I assume you didn't do much drinking in or before prison.” She puts some ice into one of the glasses.
“Nope.”
Her movements slow as she pours. “I prefer my drinks straight, but the ice will take some of the harshness away for you.”
You take the drink from her. You sip it tentatively. It doesn't burn when it goes down your throat, it's warm and almost toasty. The flavor isn't exactly pleasant, but you find yourself taking a larger sip after the first.
“I've only had communion wine and maybe one of those fruity little seltzers before.”
Natasha laughs, “How does this compare?”
“Honestly it doesn't,” you think to stop talking there, but you don't. “In prison, there were certain guys that had like toilet wine and shit like that, but there was no chance in hell I was drinking any of that.”
“Didn't pique your interest?”
You shook your head, “I was more of a smoker.”
Natasha's eyebrows shot up, “You smoke?”
You take another drink. “Everyone smokes inside.”
“Peer pressure?”
Your tongue darts out minimally, swiping over your bottom lip. “No, not really.”
You squirm under her gaze. She's not going to ask you, she wants to deduce it for herself.
“Stress,” she says it like she's sure.
She's right.
“That, plus some anxiety. It's the mechanics of it all. The inhale and exhale. It's grounding,” you feel your voice faltering as you speak.
There's a little shame in it.
“I'm not a smoker, but Wanda is. She's partial to joints, cigars if she's celebrating.”
You let out a dry chuckle, “Why is that not surprising?”
“You two have a lot in common,” Natasha lets it slip out.
You scrunch your eyebrows, “You think?”
Her eyes drag across your body, now she's the one sipping, “I'm starting to.”
Neither of you say anything, but you both feel it. The statement had charge behind it. There was something building in the air. A thin layer of tension. You wanted to chalk it up to the alcohol, so did Natasha. However you both know it doesn't kick in this fast.
“Sharing whiskey with my wife, should I be worried?”
“To be determined,” you keep your eyes on Natasha as you speak.
Wanda strides across the room, standing next to her wife. She plucks the glass from the woman’s hand, taking a long sip.
“So we have good news and bad news. That's the only time she pulls out this particular whiskey,” Wanda deduces.
“Good news, we found out quite a bit about my father.”
Natasha continues, “Bad news, it's looking like he was either working for the feds or the mob. To be honest I'm leaning towards the mob.”
“What makes you think that?” Wanda’s attention sharpens.
“All the vague documents. The amount of witness statements alone, it's like the guy was everywhere. I think he belonged to a family and they used him to take down members of other families,” the lawyer hypothesizes.
“Start looking at the other parties in the cases. Give me some names, and I'll see what I can find.”
Natasha gives her concerns freely, “You think that's a good idea?”
Wanda responds playfully, “I can be stealthy.”
The red head gives her the look. The one that says this isn't the time for jokes.
“You're getting a little hands on lately,” Natasha’s voice is clipped when she says it.
Wanda sighs, “Detka, it's fine. I'm fine.”
You clear your throat, “I don't want to assume, but don't you have people for this kind of thing?”
Amusement re-enters Wanda’s eyes, “You scared something's going to happen to me too?”
Heat blossoms across your face.
“Wanda,” Natasha scolds her wife.
The Don puts her hands up in surrender, “I'm joking, it's all jokes. Since you're both so worried, give me the names and I'll pass them along to someone who can get me some answers.”
“Good, now-” Natasha starts but Wanda has more to say.
“This a victory or at least a large step towards it. I think we should celebrate.”
Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, “Celebrate. I hope you don't mean what I think you mean.”
You chime in, “I thought the drinks were celebratory.”
Wanda nods, “They are, but I was thinking something bigger. I honestly don't think we properly celebrated your release.”
The red head pinches the bridge of her nose, “Are you serious? Do you think now is really the time?”
“What are you guys talking about?”
The couple share a look with each other. You can tell there are words passing through their eyes, but you can't necessarily hear the conversation.
“Have you ever been to a party, malyshka?”
The answer is technically yes. You had been to birthday parties, some barbecues, neighborhood street parties, but something inside of you was saying that didn’t count. It felt like they were referencing a different kind of party.
You shake your head, “No not really.”
“Even more of a reason to have one,” Wanda smiles.
Natasha’s eyes soften as they fall on you, “I guess if you've never experienced it then one party won't hurt.”
Wanda claps her hands together. “Fantastic.”
You look at Natasha, “Should I be worried?”
It's Wanda who answers you, smiling something devious, “Oh definitely, you just gave me permission to give you the best experience of your life.”
You see something in them then. Maybe it's just the alcohol, but they have this look in their eyes. It feels predatory.
Natasha’s gaze is soft, but underneath you can sense something else, maybe even something she wants to hide from herself.
Wanda has more excitement in her eyes. You remember painting with her, how close she was. The feeling of her circling around you, this feels like that.
You don't say anything, there's nothing to say. You simply lift your drink to your lips, bracing yourself for what you just signed up for.
Because bars are places where things don’t follow you home.
You’re sitting alone, nursing a drink you don’t even like, when she takes the stool beside you like it was always meant to be hers.
“Rough day?” she asks.
You snort. “Yeah you could say that.”
She smiles—soft, knowing, like she understands more than she should. There’s something calm about her, something steady. The kind of woman who makes chaos feel survivable.
You talk. About nothing. About everything. About work without names, about loss without details. She listens like it matters.
At some point, she says, “I’m Wanda.”
"Y/N"you smile up at her
You leave together.
And for one night—just one—you let yourself believe this can exist in a vacuum.
Morning comes too soon.
She’s gone when you wake up.
You tell yourself that’s how it was supposed to go.
Your first day at the compound medical wing.
You’re nervous. New position. New team. New life. You rehearse your introductions in your head while walking into the conference room.
Then you hear her voice.
“Good morning.”
You freeze.
She turns.
Same woman from the bar. Same eyes. Same calm.
Except now she’s wearing authority like a second skin.
“I’m Wanda Maximoff,” she says to the room. “I’ll be leading this department.”
Your stomach drops through the floor.
Her gaze lands on you. Holds. Flickers—just slightly.
Then she smiles, professional and unreadable.
“And you must be the new doctor.”
Just like that, your one night becomes a complication.
She pretends nothing happened.
You try to do the same.
But she challenges you in rounds. Pushes you harder than anyone else. Defends you when others question your calls.
Sometimes, when no one’s watching, her eyes soften like they’re remembering something they shouldn’t.
You tell yourself she’s single. She never says otherwise.
You don’t ask.
But..some mistakes feel better if you don’t name them.
It happens weeks later.
You’re grabbing coffee in the common area when a woman approaches you—confident, sharp, devastating in a way that makes your chest tighten.
She studies you for a moment.
Then she smiles. Not kindly.
“So,” she says, tilting her head,
“are you the girl who’s been sleeping with my wife?”
The room goes silent
Your blood turns to ice.
“I—what?”
She crosses her arms, eyes flicking briefly toward Wanda’s office.
“Wanda Maximoff,” she says coolly. “My wife.”
The word hits harder than any accusation.
Your voice comes out thin. “She never told me she was married.”
The woman’s smile fades—not into rage, but into something wounded.
“She never does,” she says quietly.
You confront Wanda that night.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, heart breaking louder with every word.
Her composure finally cracks.
“I didn’t think it would matter,” she says. “And then it did.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Her eyes shine. “I didn’t mean to hurt you Y/N.”
You laugh bitterly. “You don’t get points for that.”
She reaches for you. You step back.
This time, you leave.
You learn the truth the hard way.
Some loves begin with magic.
Some with mistakes.
And some—like yours—start with a lie neither of you knew how to stop.
And somehow, impossibly…
You still don’t know how to stop wanting her.
You don’t mean for Wanda to find out about Jackson.
It just… happens.
Jackson is kind in the way that doesn’t demand anything. He laughs easily. He asks questions and waits for the answers. When he looks at you, there’s no complication—no history trying to claw its way back into the present.
So you say yes when he asks you out.
And then yes again.
And somehow, word travels.
It’s late when it happens.
You’re at home, shoes kicked off, Jackson having left an hour earlier with a soft smile and a promise to text you tomorrow.
The knock at the door is sharp. Urgent.
You already know.
You open it—and there she is.
Wanda Maximoff, standing on your porch like she’s barely holding herself together. Hair slightly undone. Eyes red, not from crying but from trying not to.
“Hi,” she says.
Your heart does something stupid.
“Why are you here?” you ask.
She swallows. “Because I can’t pretend anymore.”
You don’t invite her in.
She steps forward anyway, voice rushing now, like if she stops she’ll lose the nerve.
“I know you’ve been seeing someone. Jackson.” A pause. “He’s… good. Everyone says so.”
You cross your arms. “That’s not your concern.”
Wanda flinches—but nods. “I know. I know it isn’t. But I need you to hear this.”
Silence stretches.
Then she says it
“My wife slept with my best friend.”
The words hit the room and shatter.
You blink. “What?”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” Wanda continues, voice breaking despite herself. “It was months. And I found out the same week I met you.”
Everything rearranges itself in your chest.
“She didn’t just betray me,” Wanda whispers. “She broke something I don’t know how to fix.”
You sit down hard on the couch.
“She asked me if you were the girl I was screwing,” Wanda says bitterly. “As if she hadn’t already destroyed us.”
Your voice is quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed,” she says. “And because when I was with you… it was the first time in a long time that I didn’t feel like I was already gone
She steps closer now. Careful. Like you might disappear.
“I love you,” Wanda says. Just like that. No grand speech. No magic. Just truth. “And I hate myself for loving you while I was still married. But I hate it even more that I had to watch you walk away.”
You stand. “Then why does it matter that I’m seeing someone else?”
Her laugh is hollow. “Because I hate that it’s not me.”
Her eyes search yours, desperate and honest
“I hate seeing you smile at someone who doesn’t know how brave you are. I hate that I don’t get to be the one you come home to.” She exhales shakily. “And I hate that I might have lost you before I ever really had you.”
Your chest aches.
“But I won’t ask you to choose me,” Wanda adds quickly. “I don’t get to do that.”
You whisper, “You already did.”
She nods, tears finally slipping free.
“I’m getting a divorce,” she says. “Not for you. For me. But I need you to know… what I feel is real. It always was.”
You look at her—the woman who complicates everything. The woman who still knows exactly how to undo you.
“And Jackson?” Wanda asks softly.
You don’t answer right away.
Because the truth is—you don’t know.
And that uncertainty hangs between you, heavy and familiar
You stare at Wanda for a long time.
At the way she’s standing in your living room like she doesn’t deserve the space she’s taking up. Like she’s already accepted the worst outcome and showed up anyway.
“You don’t get to tell me what you feel,” you say slowly. “And then decide for me what I deserve.”
Her eyes lift. Hope and fear collide there.
“Jackson is good,” you continue. “He’s safe. He’s everything you’re not right now.”
Wanda nods. “I know.”
But he’s not you.”
The words land between you like a confession and a surrender all at once.
“I tried,” you say. “I really tried to move on. I went on dates. I laughed. I pretended my chest didn’t hurt every time I heard your name.”
Your voice breaks. “And it still didn’t change the fact that when I picture my life… you’re in it.”
Wanda’s breath stutters.
“You hurt me,” you say. “And I don’t forgive that easily.”
I wouldn’t expect you to,” she whispers.
“But I love you,” you finish. “And apparently that makes me an idiot.”
She laughs softly through tears. “It makes you brave
Wanda moves closer—not touching, not yet.
“I’m not asking you to fix me,” she says. “Or to wait while I figure myself out. I just need you to know that if you choose me… I will choose you back. Fully. Publicly. Every day.”
You search her face. The honesty. The fear. The certainty underneath it all.
“Then don’t lie to me again,” you say.
“Never,” Wanda answers immediately.
“Don’t hide behind your pain.”
“I won’t.”
And if this gets hard—”
“It will,” she says.
You smile sadly. “Then stay anyway.”
Her hand finally reaches for yours. Warm. Steady.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She kisses you like it’s not a mistake anymore.
Slow. Certain. Like she’s memorizing the truth of you instead of running from it.
When she rests her forehead against yours, she whispers, “I’m so scared.”
You squeeze her hand. “Me too.”
She smiles softly. “Good. That means it matters.”
And for the first time since that bar, since the lie, since the hurt—
It doesn’t feel like falling.
It feels like choosing.
Years Later
It’s a normal night.
You’re both tired. You’re barefoot in the kitchen, hair messy, wearing one of her sweaters. Wanda is leaning against the counter, watching you like she still can’t believe you stayed.
“You ever think about how messy we are?” you ask casually.
Wanda hums. “Constantly.”
“And how statistically we should not have worked?”
She smiles. “Yet here you are.
You shrug. “Still complicated.”
She straightens.
“No,” Wanda says gently. “Not complicated.”
You turn to her. “What?”
She walks to the drawer. Pulls something out.
It’s not a ring.
It’s a small piece of paper.
Your stomach drops.
She smooths the paper on the counter between you.
Written in her handwriting—slightly slanted, careful like she rewrote it three times:
We are a mess.
We’ve hurt each other.
We’ve survived things that should have ended us.
I don’t want perfect.
I want you.
For all of it.
You stare at it, breath shallow.
Wanda’s voice is quiet now. Steady. Certain.
“I spent years thinking love had to be earned through suffering,” she says. “And then you stayed. Even when it was easier to leave.”
She meets your eyes.
“I don’t need a ceremony. I don’t need magic. I just need to know that you’ll keep choosing me… the way I choose you.”
She slides the paper toward you.
“So,” she whispers,
“will you marry me?”
You laugh—and then immediately cry.
“Are you proposing to me with a piece of paper?” you manage.
Wanda smiles softly. “It worked once.”
You step into her space, forehead against hers, tears soaking into her shirt.
“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
Her breath shudders like she’s been holding it for years.
She kisses you—not desperate, not afraid—just sure.
When she pulls back, she murmurs, “I’m not running this time.”
You smile through tears. “Good. Because neither am I.”
The paper ends up framed.
On the wall.
Not because it’s fancy.
But because it’s true.
And every time you pass it, you remember—
Some love stories don’t start clean.
They start broken.
And still… they become forever.
Later, you’re curled up on the bed, the room lit only by the city glow slipping through the curtains.
The world feels far away.
Wanda lies beside you at first, just looking at you like she still can’t believe this is real—that you’re real, that this life is hers now.
“You’re awfully quiet,” you murmur.
“I’m memorizing,” she replies.
She leans in and kisses you—slow, tender, right on your lips. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just full. Like a promise already being kept.
Then another kiss. Softer. Lingering.
She trails her mouth to your cheek, your jaw, the place just below your ear, her breath warm and familiar. Her hand settles at your back, grounding, protective, like she’s anchoring herself to the moment.
You sigh, fingers curling into her shirt.
“I love you,” she whispers against your neck.
She kisses there—once, twice—unhurried, reverent, like she has all the time in the world now.
warning: *18+*lots of angst, gun violence, extremely sad natasha.
wc: 2k
pairing: wanda x natasha
A/N:very extremely sorry about this one, thinking of getting back into writing just need to work on not writing very sad stuff haha. Please enjoy, feedback is always welcomed!
———-
It had been months since Natasha and Wanda could spend any time together since getting married almost two summers ago.
Between Natasha’s promotion in the office and Wanda being overwhelmed by art projects, the newlyweds it was nearly impossible to go out with each other. Natasha was feeling distant from Wanda, she did not want to lose her.. Wanda is her everything and if she were to lose her that would be the day that she breaks.
Wanda was feeling the same way, she had moments where she thought that Natasha was cheating on her because of all the late nights she’d stay out working, one day Wanda got too much into her head and decided to follow Natasha for the whole day, she broke down in her car later for even thinking that Natasha could be capable of cheating once she seen that her wife only left the office to buy lunch or coffee.
The morning started off like any other, Wanda’s alarm would go off first at the bright early hours of 5:30 AM. Normally she wouldn't be awake until 6 AM but today was a very special day for the newlywed couple; it's their 2 year anniversary of being married. Wanda wasn't sure if they were going to have time to spend this special day together so she made sure that they would at least get the morning together.
Once Wanda got done with getting dressed and completing her morning routine she made her way downstairs into the kitchen and started on making breakfast, she decided the best way to wake up her love would be breakfast in bed served with her lover's favorite coffee, black with one sugar and a dollop of honey. Wanda would never understand how she could drink her coffee that way. Once the oatmeal was set on a low temperature to maintain its heat, wanda decided it would be the perfect time to tend to her garden. Her garden was her special place, it's where she’d go after a long day at work or after an argument with Natasha. The garden was her place and Natasha knew never to disturb her while she's out there so she always just opted to stare at her through the kitchen window with a mug of her coffee.
–
Once the food was decorated lovingly amongst the tray Wanda carefully took the items upstairs to their shared bedroom. She lovingly smiled looking at Natasha sleeping so contently in their bed, her red fiery hair sprawled out on the pillows, her mouth slightly chapped and open releasing small snoring sounds that Wanda always found so cute. Setting the tray on the dresser wanda made her way to Nat’s side of the bed and shook her awake,
“Wake up my love,” She whispered, when Nat made no indication of waking up, Wanda straddled her waist and started trailing kisses from her shoulders to her neck and finally on her lips.
She squealed once Natasha awoke and in a swift motion pulled Wanda under her so that now she was on top and leaving wet kisses all over wanda’s face.
“Happy Anniversary my beautiful wife,” Wanda giggled up at her lover and kissed her on the lips, “Happy anniversary baby, I made you something,” Natasha smiled rolled onto her side allowing Wanda to stand up and go across the room.
“Okay, close your eyes and count to ten please,” Natasha sighed and closed her eyes smiling, once she got to 5 Wanda instructed her to open her eyes. Natasha's heart filled with warmth at the contents in front of her. She tearfully looked up at Wanda and smiled.
“Thank you baby,” Wanda bit her lip and smiled back at Natasha.
Wanda was always so good with the small things, never in Natashas life had she been treated with the kindness and love as Wanda does. Before Wanda her life was dull and filled with gray shadows, always in the dark and on autopilot. However, the night that she met Wanda through a mutual friend her world slowly started to make sense again, she found comfort in Wanda. Her lover was the answer to all her problems.
“Hey Wendy,” Natasha called out to her assistant, “ Please cancel all my evening meetings, it's my anniversary and I want to surprise my wife.”
Wendy smiled and nodded, “ Of course Mrs. Romanoff, anything else?”
“Yes, could you please call and make a reservation at Gustoffs Kitchen for 5:30 PM please?” Natasha asked, her assistant smiled and left her bosses office to complete the tasks that she had been requested to complete.
Gustoffs Kitchen was a famous Sokovian restaurant in New York, it was the location of their very first date together. Natasha had planned that day to a tea, she knew that Wanda would be her forever partner and made sure that their first night out together went perfect. After learning about where Wanda came from and the destruction of her hometown after the war Gustoffs Kitchen just made sense. They made all of Wanda's favorite Sokovian dishes and meals. This place was so unique because everything was homemade, it filled Wanda with comfort every time she ate from there. The most heartbreaking part of this all was that this restaurant had a deeper meaning to Wanda, it's how she was able to remember her parents and twin brother who had passed away in an automobile accident when she was 16.
Natasha sent a text telling her to be ready by 5 PM for Wanda to be ready, once wanda received that message a smile immediately overtook her face.
“Was that Nat?” Wanda looked up to see Bucky standing outside of her office door. Bucky was her coworker, working alongside her designing art galas for the various artists that work for their studio.
“Yeah she tells me to be ready by 5,” Wanda replied back to Nat with a red heart and looked back up at Bucky, “Today is our anniversary,”
Bucky smiled and crossed his arms, “You should go, I’ve got everything covered here.”
“I couldn't ask you to do that…” It was currently only 2 PM, Wanda could be working until 3 the latest just so that Bucky wasn't overloaded with the different designs they had been working with.
“I’m sure Wands,” Wanda gave an appreciative smile and packed up her things to get ready.
Natasha thanked the florist for the flower arrangements she had called in days ago, this set was super special it was called ‘прекрасная любовь’ which translates to beautiful love.
At around 4:30 PM Natasha started the journey back home where she would meet her beautiful wife and treat her to the best evening she deserves. Natasha nervously made her way up the steps of their front porch, she didn't know why she was nervous. This was the same woman she had been waking up to for years, she didn't know what love really meant but she knew that with love no matter how much time passes you’d still get nervous picking up your lover for a date.
She took a deep sigh and raised her shaky hands up to the door. Within a matter of seconds Wanda was opening the door and Natashas breath fell out from her lips. Wanda looked incredibly beautiful, her hair left alone on soft curls, she was wearing a red scarlet dress with a slit on her right side and black heels which put an extra few inches to her height.
“You look beautiful baby,” Wanda smiled and accepted the flower arrangements going inside to place them in a vase in the middle of the dining room table.
“Let me take a look at you,” Wanda couldn't say much as Natsha pulled her closer so their hips were touching. Placing her hands lazily on Natashas shoulder, Wanda leaned in for a slow and passionate kiss.
“I love you,”
–
Thanking the hostess the two lovers made their way back to Natashas car, unlocking the car Wanda thanked her as she opened the door for her allowing her to claim the passenger seat of the car.
Once Natasha made her way to her side of the car they fell into a comfortable silence as they drove to their next destination of the perfect evening so far.
“Thank you by the way,” Wanda started, squeezing her hand on Wanda's thigh she replied back, “ For what baby?”
“I don't know, for today,” Wanda started messing with Natashas ring as she continued, “ Not just for today though, for everything… thank you for showing me that love is still out there despite everything we have lost, I know I wasn't the easiest to be with back then, so thank you for sticking by my side.”
Natasha teared up a bit and turned her view from the road to give Wanda a small smile as she replied, “ I will stay with you until the end of time,” She took Wanda's hand and kissed it before interlocking it with her own.
Everything was going perfect, the two lovers were walking around the pier at the state fair that was taking place, they experienced the warmth of the sunset at the top of the ferris wheel where they shared an innocent kiss. Holding hands as Wanda pointed out the giant stuffed animal she wanted, it was a giant Koala that Natasha was determined to get for her.
Many tokens and frustrating rants of the game being rigged she finally won the Koala for Wanda who immediately hugged it and gave Natasha a sweet kiss as a thank you for the wonderful and cuddly gift.
Once the firework show started the air was starting to get a little colder and without hesitation Natasha offered up her jacket that Wanda gratefully took, her body instantly feeling warm.
As they were admiring the pretty light show up in the sky, a little north to them shouting could be heard and not just any shouting it all sounded scary, Wanda flinched as a gun shot was heard in the distance. That was enough for Natasha to spring up into action.
“It's okay,” She stated as she helped Wanda stand up from their place in the grass, “ Come on baby lets go, I'll keep you safe just stay behind me okay?”
Wanda nodded as she took a hold of Natasha’s hand holding onto it tightly. Natasha was also as equally as scared as Wanda but she maintained a strong front to not freak Wanda out even more, especially since she has severe anxiety.
“Stay close,” Natasha whispered as the shouting got closer, muttering a silent curse word under her breath as she noticed that the shouting was happening two cars down from their own. Meaning they would have to walk past the group that was now forming in the parking lot to get to their car.
Natasha knew something wasn't right when three gunshots were heard and the group started to disperse like a bunch of little ants, she looked around confused thinking that maybe the police were here and that's why they were running, she was proven wrong when Wanda started grasping at Natashas arm releasing little gasps of air.
Natasha’s whole world went crashing down as Wanda fell to the ground, blood spilling from the wound the bullet had caused the Koala that was in Wanda's possession laid abandoned two feet away from her with blood splattered all over the light gray fur.
Natasha fell to the ground with her where she noticed the teary green eyes with blown out pupils moving frantically to and fro.
“Please baby, stay awake… help is on the way,” Natasha sobbed, with a delicate cold hand Wanda used the last bit of her strength to wipe a tear away from her face.
“It's okay baby,” Wanda coughed as blood spilled out from her lips, “it's my time to go malyshka.”
“No!” Natshas screamed at the top of her lungs, she cuddled Wanda's limp body close to her rocking back and forth muttering ‘no’ over and over again.
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: Y/N really needs this job, no matter what powerhouses Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff have her do. They’ll certainly make her work for her paycheck.
SUMMARY :: wanda maximoff is the ceo of maximoff industries. she realizes she needs to marry an american citizen to keep residing there & her target ends up being you - the employee she treats the worst way possible.
꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: natasha romanoff’s two-year-old daughter, nova, is just like her—guarded and slow to trust— but when nova's longtime pediatrician is replaced by the younger, warm-hearted dr. Y/N L/N, gaining nova's trust quicker than any other stranger did, something shifts.
꩜ ۫ . GENRE :: single mom!natasha, pediatrician!reader, non-red room past au. (age is non specified but reader is not past twenty-five)
꩜ ۫ . WARNINGS :: fluff, slow burn(?), strangers to lovers, emotional intimacy & warmth, hurt/comfort, death mention (no need to freak out here, just read), fussy mini-widow.
word count :: 3.2k // masterlist
an ; pleeeaaaseee tell me i haven't been the only one craving for full fluff lately so im serving y'all some. also stan mama nat 100% !
Natasha stood in the middle of her living room, holding one tiny crumpled pair of pastel pink socks. Across from her was her two-year-old daughter sat on the floor in her diaper and nothing else, arms crossed, bottom lip out, expression fierce.
“Don’t want pink,” Nova declared, enunciating each word like a threat.
Natasha exhaled through her nose with all her will patience. “We’ve been through this, milyy. All the purple ones are in the laundry. The pink ones are clean, soft, and objectively non-threatening.” (sweetie)¹
“No!” Nova shouted. “Pink is ugly!” Though, the word sounded more like 'ugwy'.
“You said pink was beautiful yesterday.” Natasha squatted down beside her, her voice still calm — or, well, calm-ish. “You told Steve it was your ‘princess color.’”
Nova looked her straight in the eye. “I changed my mind.”
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something in Russian.
“We’re already fifteen minutes late, malen'kiy, and I will not let a pair of $3 Target socks be the reason we miss your check-up.”
The mini redhead, clearly unfazed by her mother’s internal spiral, picked up a stuffed giraffe and began chewing on one of its ears.
Natasha knew this battle. She knew it oh so well.
She’d fought aliens with less resistance than her daughter gave her over anything remotely involving clothes. But she also knew that at the end of the day, she was a puddle for this kid.
A helpless, hopeless puddle.
“Okay,” The elder sighed, standing up. “No socks. Go rogue. But you have to wear something, baby. Can we at least agree on pants?”
Nova considered this. “Dinosaurs.”
Recently, most things she liked where boy-ish due to constantly being around Nathaniel at the Barton's. He and Nova were bestfriends in the whole universe at this point and wherever Nate went or whatever he did, Nova followed.
Not even half an hour in the car :
“I swear on all that is sacred, Nova Rose Romanoff—if you throw that juice pouch one more time, I am turning this car around.”
A dramatic little sigh came from the backseat.
“No!” Nova shrieked.
“That's your third one,” Natasha muttered through clenched teeth, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Third. And it’s not even 9 AM. What happened to the child who loved apple juice yesterday?”
“Changed my mind,” Nova declared, legs kicking against her car seat like a storm.
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose at the red light. “You're two. You don’t have a mind to change.”
But Nova only huffed, her lips put in that usual exaggerated pout with crossed arms that amused the Russian. Nova was a sweetheart but could also be stubborn at times. And she didn't hesitate to be hard headed with her mama just to get the last word.
Oh Natasha cursed at herself from how excited and eager she was about getting a mini version of herself two years ago.
She regretted that now because it just seemed like fighting herself but a younger version.
This was her morning. A typical Wednesday. Natasha Romanoff, former top SHIELD agent and current certified toddler negotiator, on her way to what should’ve been a quick pediatric check-up—Nova had other plans.
“No juice, no socks, no talking,” Nova added firmly from the back. “Only Mama.”
Natasha glanced in the rearview mirror. “I am Mama.”
Mini Widow blinked, “Then just you. No Doctor Lady.”
Natasha frowned. “Since when do you not like Helen?”
“Don’t want.”
“Too bad. You’ve got a check-up.”
Nova crossed her arms. “Nova will bite her.”
“You will not bite your pediatrician. Biting doesn’t earn you candy, volchitsa.”
But Nova wasn't taking the interdiction. They arrived at the clinic a few minutes later — Nova attached at her mom's hip, hands gripping Natasha's shirt sleeve because her tantrums switched to her being clingy now.
The receptionist at the front desk greeted the Russians with a cheerful smile.
“Miss Romanoff, Nova, it's good to see you two again.” Natasha gave a small polite smile in return, only so because she was familiar to that receptionist. “Just a heads-up, Dr. Helen’s on leave for a few months. You’ll be seeing Dr. Y/N L/N today.”
Natasha blinked. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Dr. Y/N. Helen’s niece.”
Natasha’s mind stuttered. Helen had always been steady. Older, gentle, just clinical enough to keep Natasha comfortable. Nova had barely warmed up to her. The idea of a new doctor, without warning, had Natasha’s protective instincts spiking like wildfire.
“Right,” She muttered. “Fine.”
“Romanoff?”
And here appeared someone who was definitely not Dr. Helen L/N like she, nor Nova, expected.
Natasha turned toward the soft voice — and her defenses faltered.
You, younger, fresher-faced, stood in the doorway wearing light blue scrubs covered in little whales, a clipboard in hand and an apologetic smile on your lips.
Despite so, she followed you after you nodded toward the consultation room and made your way back inside, the door left open for them to come in.
The consultation room looked the same as always — seafoam green walls, a faded Captain America poster on one side, a low exam table with crinkly paper.
“Sorry to surprise you,” You said. “Helen let me take over while she’s recovering. You must be Natasha — and this is Nova?”
“She’s...not great with change,” Natasha said, her voice dry.
“She doesn’t have to be,” You replied gently. Then you crouched down. “Hi, Nova. I know I’m not Dr. Helen, but I’m gonna take care of you today. Would it help if I let you pick the color of the stethoscope?”
Nova didn’t speak. She narrowed her eyes and Natasha held her breath.
You pulled a drawer open just enough for a rainbow of stethoscopes to peek out — bright red, yellow, purple, even a glittery one.
“This is a trap,” Nova whispered.
You grinned. “It’s not. But it is sparkly.”
And instead of doing so much as hiding behind her mother's leg or start to pick a tantrum over not wanting to be approached by a stranger, Nova crept forward slowly, like a suspicious cat, catching Natasha off guard. She pointed. “That one.”
“The purple one?” You asked.
Nova nodded.
“Solid choice,” You smiled. “I think purple’s the color of royalty.”
“She is that,” Natasha muttered under her breath.
From that moment on, Nova was suspiciously cooperative — by her standards. She tolerated the stethoscope, allowed you to check her ears (with some bribes). She even answered your questions, one-word at a time and even insisted on holding your hand instead of her mother’s.
However, threw a tantrum when you checked her heartbeat too long.
But you never flinched. You just worked around it, speaking softly, giving her control in little ways.
It worked.
She made you sit against the wall, clumsily dragging the tape along your arm.
Natasha watched it all from the corner. Her expression unreadable — but her eyes didn’t miss a thing.
“She’s spirited,” You said once Nova finally sat still, cheeks flushed from all her fuss and fun.
“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Natasha replied. “Most people call her a gremlin.”
“She’s two,” You stated. “Being a gremlin is part of the job.”
Natasha raised a brow. “You have kids?”
“No. But I’ve been around enough toddlers to know they run the world.”
The Russian’s mouth twitched. Just slightly. It wasn’t a smile — not quite — but it was something close. “Not many people handle her like that.”
“She’s not difficult,” You added honestly. “She just needs to know I'm not faking it.”
That got Natasha’s attention.
Your eyes met hers, and for a second, the air shifted. So you kept going,
“Kids like her? They read people. If I'm not real, they won’t trust me. She trusted me today. Not fully — not yet, at least. But she didn’t bite me.”
“She did threaten to,” Natasha deadpanned.
You chuckled. “Progress.”
Nova suddenly climbed into Natasha’s lap, curling up against her shoulder with an exaggerated yawn. Natasha automatically wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her unruly curls.
“Tired already?” she murmured.
“I bite you later,” Nova whispered.
Natasha smirked. “Looking forward to it.”
You turned back to them with the updated chart. “She’s doing great. Still on the taller end of the spectrum, but healthy. Oh, and the sparkly band-aids? She can take two.”
Nova perked up immediately.
“Three,” She countered.
You leaned in, voice conspiratorial. “Only if you promise not to bite your mom.”
Nova considered. Then nodded once.
Natasha watched the exchange, something warm blooming behind her ribs. And when you handed Nova the band-aids — purple, sparkly, with tiny bears — she watched her daughter’s face light up, and for the first time all morning, she felt her tension ease.
Natasha looked down at the toddler in her lap. Nova was peeling a band-aid and trying to stick it on Natasha’s cheek.
Nova Romanoff was a different child now. Well—not different. She was still dramatic, stubborn, and suspicious of anyone who came too close to her cereal bowl. But ever since she met you, she had decided that pediatric visits weren’t all that terrible.
Which both impressed and annoyed Natasha.
Impressed, because Nova wasn’t exactly the trusting type.
Annoyed, because—well. Because Natasha wasn’t sure why it annoyed her.
Two weeks after that first visit, Nova skipped into the clinic wearing matching socks (a rare feat) and handed you a crumpled sticker she’d saved from home.
“It’s a giraffe,” She declared. “Because your neck is long.”
Natasha almost choked on her coffee. You just laughed like it was the best compliment you’d gotten all day.
A month later, Nova insisted on drawing you a picture. It featured a vaguely human blob and Natasha didn’t ask questions.
By the third visit, Nova was sitting calmly on the exam table, letting you check her ears while humming some nonsense song she’d made up.
“Do you bribe her?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes as Nova happily let you touch her hair (which she never let anyone except her mama do).
You gave her a look. “Just magic,” You replied with a small smile. “The good kind.”
Natasha hated how easily you smiled.
No—she didn’t hate it. She just… noticed it too much for her liking.
She noticed the way you talked to Nova like she was a person, not a checklist, not an obligation.
The way you remembered little things—like that Nova hated cold stethoscopes and loved green lollipops. The way you never looked at Natasha like she was some intimidating figure with a history, but just a mom trying to juggle a complicated toddler and too much coffee.
The crush snuck up on her. Quiet. Persistent. Inconvenient.
She told herself it was just admiration or professional respect.
Hormones, maybe.
But it was a week later when the random run-in happened.
Natasha wasn’t planning on going into the bookstore while it was raining, but Nova had seen a plush unicorn in the window and launched into a full dramatic plea to “rescue it from the loneliness.”
So there they were—Natasha in jeans, a hoodie, and a ball cap pulled low. Nova bouncing beside her with the unicorn clutched tight to her chest.
They were turning down an aisle when the elder redhead heard your voice.
“I know I said one book, but it’s three for two. That’s like financial responsibility, if you think about it.”
You were talking to yourself. Or to your basket. Either way, it made Natasha pause.
You hadn’t seen her yet.
She watched you for a moment longer than she meant to—sleeves pushed to your elbows, your face lit up softly by the overhead light, hair always pulled up in that lazy but somehow flawless ponytail. There was a little crease between your brows as you tried to decide between two picture books.
Nova didn’t hesitate. “DOCTOR GIRAFFE!”
You got startled, almost dropping the books. Then you turned—and grinned.
“Well if it isn’t the Romanoffs,” You spoke up. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Unicorn emergency,” Natasha deadpanned.
You nodded solemnly. “Those are the most serious kinds.”
Nova marched forward. “Look! Her name is Rainbow Power. She needs to read books or she’ll be lonely.”
“Sounds like she’s going to need at least two stories a night,” you said, crouching to eye-level.
Nova lit up like a lantern. “Three.”
“Now you’re just negotiating like your mother.”
Natasha, from behind, cleared her throat. “She gets that from someone else.”
You stood and gave her a knowing look. “Right.”
There was a pause. A quiet, soft moment that neither of you filled immediately.
“I didn’t know you liked this place,” You said after a beat.
Natasha shrugged. “It’s close. And Nova likes the kids’ section.”
You glanced at the overflowing display of picture books and then back at her. “Well, next time you come, let me know. I’m here more often than I’d like to admit.”
Nova tugged on your sleeve. “Can Rainbow Power and I read with you?”
You looked at Natasha.
She blinked. “Oh. I—”
“I mean, only if you don’t mind,” You stated, voice easy. “We could grab the little beanbags in the corner. No pressure.”
Natasha looked at Nova. Then at you.
Then at Nova again, whose face had the kind of hopeful look that could shatter steel.
“…Sure,” Natasha said slowly. “Why not.”
It wasn’t a big deal. Just a few pages read in quiet voices, with Nova nestled between you on one side and Natasha on the other. The sound of the rain outside softened everything.
You let Nova “help” you turn the pages and didn’t correct her when she misspelled an unknown word you read because, yes, the little one picked-up on words and expressions very fast for her age. Natasha noticed the way you smiled, the way you listened. Really listened.
It wasn’t dramatic or heart-pounding. It wasn’t some movie-worthy lightning strike.
But by the time Rainbow Power had been tucked into Nova’s arms and three books had been read twice, Natasha realized something kind of terrifying:
She wanted to see you outside that clinic again. For no medical reason whatsoever.
And for Natasha Romanoff, that was a problem.
Natasha had faced aliens, robots, espionage, and near-death missions.
But nothing —nothing— was as nerve-wracking as standing outside a pediatric clinic with slightly sweaty palms, wondering if she should pretend she just forgot to reschedule a check-up for Nova. Again.
“She’s not even going to be in today,” She muttered to herself, leaning against the wall with her phone out, pretending to scroll. “This is dumb.”
Because ever since the bookstore run-in, Natasha hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you.
It wasn’t just the way you made Nova feel seen and safe. It was the way you talked to her, too. Like she wasn’t broken or sharp-edged. Like you liked her just the way she was, awkward silences and all.
So yeah. Maybe she wanted to see you again. Not as Dr. Y/N. Not as Nova’s pediatrician.
Just you. Y/N.
She exhaled slowly and walked toward the clinic doors before she could talk herself out of it. Again.
You were at the front desk, head tilted toward the receptionist as you scribbled something down. You looked up when you heard the soft chime of the door.
Your smile appeared instantly. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mother.”
Natasha blinked. “You... say that to all the moms?”
You grinned. “Only the ones who have daughters with opinions about giraffes.”
She didn’t know what to do with that, so she nodded like that meant something.
There was a beat of silence. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaned slightly on the counter.
“Everything okay with Nova?” You questioned gently.
“Yeah,” Natasha said quickly. “No check-up today.”
You arched a brow. “Then what brings you in?”
Here it was. The moment.
Natasha had practiced this. Sort of. She’d stood in front of the mirror and said ‘Hey, do you wanna grab coffee sometime?’ about six different ways, all of which made her sound like she’d been hit on the head recently.
But now?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing came out.
“Uh...” She started, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to your face.
You waited, patiently soft.
“I was just—nearby. And I remembered that Nova left one of her, um… plushies. Here. Maybe.”
You blinked. “Oh? Which one?”
“Uh. The… purple one?”
You turned to look behind the desk. “Do you mean the sparkly goat that she tried to trade me for three dinosaur stickers?”
“…Possibly.”
You retrieved the plush and set it gently on the counter. “She’s been safe and sound. We gave her honorary staff status.”
Natasha huffed a laugh. “Good. She’s a tough negotiator.”
Another pause.
You tilted your head. “Was that all?”
She had to ask. Now or never.
Natasha cleared her throat. “Actually—there was something else.”
You straightened slightly.
“I was wondering,” She said slowly, cautiously, like the words might turn and bite her, “if… sometime soon… if you wanted to get a coffee.”
You blinked again.
Then smiled.
Natasha panicked. “For Nova. I mean. Obviously.”
Natasha pushed on. “Like—for Nova to be around other adults. Or whatever. She needs social enrichment, and you’re good with her, and you like books, and—coffee—do you like coffee?”
You nodded slowly, huffing a chuckle. “Yeah. I do.”
“Great,” Natasha said, as if she’d just run a marathon. “That’s good.”
There was a moment of silence. Then your lips quirked.
“Natasha,” you said gently. “Are you asking me out?”
Natasha froze.
You watched her, head tilted, kindness glowing in your expression. “Because if you are, you don’t have to make it about Nova. I’d say yes.”
Natasha stared.
“You would?”
You laughed. “Is that surprising?”
“I don’t—usually do this.”
Your voice dropped an octave. “Ask people out?”
“Yeah. Especially not doctors.”
You leaned closer, resting your elbows on the counter. “Especially not ones your daughter wants to share juice boxes with?”
“She never offers juice to no one,” Natasha said solemnly. “Not even her aunt.”
“Wow,” you teased. “I’m honored, then.”
Natasha rubbed the back of her neck. “So... uh. Saturday? Coffee?”
“Saturday,” you confirmed. “Text me?”
She nodded. You handed her the sparkly goat plush and slid a small card with your number across the counter.
“I’ll see you then,” you said, smiling like you already knew it would go well.
Natasha turned to leave, goat in hand, face slightly flushed.
From the car, Nova clapped her hands as soon as Natasha opened the door.
“Did you ask?”
Natasha sighed. “Yes.”
Nova leaned forward with wide, expectant eyes. “Are you gonna kiss her face?”
“Not yet.”
Nova slumped dramatically. “Then what was the point?”
Natasha had changed her shirt three times.
And by changed, she meant stood in front of her mirror and stared at herself in increasingly uncharacteristic sweaters before giving up and putting her black leather jacket over a soft green tee that Nova called “the nice one.”
“You look like a sandwich,” Nova had declared, munching toast in her pajamas. “That’s good.”
“Thanks?” Natasha muttered.
Now she was sitting across from you in a cozy, not-too-loud, not-too-crowded coffee shop tucked beside a bookstore. You were already there when she arrived — somehow both casual and radiant in a dark wool coat and soft scarf. You’d greeted her with that easy smile that made her forget basic words.
She’d brought Nova’s sparkly goat plush in her bag, just in case she needed a conversation starter.
So far, she hadn’t needed it.
“I’m glad you called,” you said, sipping your drink, warm mug between your hands.
Natasha glanced at you. “Yeah. I, uh… I’m glad you said yes.”
You gave her a look that was kind and teasing at once. “I don’t make a habit of saying no to smart women with adorable daughters and terrible flirting skills.”
Natasha huffed. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You tried to blame your attraction on a plushie.”
“I panicked!”
You grinned, and Natasha couldn’t help but return it. This was easier than she thought it would be. Less terrifying.
You talked. About Nova, about books, about how you once tried to volunteer at a wildlife rescue and got bitten by a duck.
Natasha laughed out loud — not just the quiet breathy laugh she gave people who expected her to be human. A real one.
You looked at her like the sound made your chest warm. And maybe it did.
“I think she likes you,” Natasha said quietly, eventually, her coffee going lukewarm in her hand.
“Nova?”
She nodded.
“She doesn’t like many people.”
Your smile softened. “I noticed. She reminds me of you. The way she watches first, then chooses. The way she doesn’t pretend to like people she doesn’t trust. But once she’s in… she’s in. Loyal. All heart.”
That made something tight and tender twist in Natasha’s chest. She looked down, unsure what to say.
“I like her,” You added gently. “A lot.”
Natasha looked up.
Your expression was soft. Honest.
“I like you, too,” You continued, voice quieter but honest.
And just like that, she wasn’t nervous anymore. She was just—warm. Surprised by how easy it felt to be seen like this. Genuinely.
She opened her mouth to say something — she didn’t know what yet — when your phone buzzed on the table.
You glanced at the screen, the easy light in your face faltering.
Natasha caught it instantly.
“Everything okay?”
You didn’t answer right away.
The phone buzzed again. Same name. You swallowed hard.
“Sorry,” you said under your breath, already reaching for it. “It’s the hospital. Where my aunt—where Helen is.”
Natasha sat straighter. Her voice was steady, low. “You should answer.”
You did.
“Y/N L/N speaking,” you said gently. Then a pause. A longer one.
Natasha couldn’t hear what was said, but she didn’t need to. She saw it in your face — the slow, unraveling expression. The way your hand clutched the phone just a little tighter.
Natasha sat up slightly, noticing the change in your posture — the way your shoulders drew inward, bracing.
Your face froze.
The warmth of the café blurred into the background. Natasha could hear the blood rush behind her own ears as she watched your expression fall.
Your voice cracked, so quiet. “What?”
Another pause.
Then, shakier, “When?”
Your hand, gripping the phone, trembled slightly. Natasha reached out on instinct, her fingers brushing yours across the table — steady, grounding.
You finally nodded, though your eyes were wet. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll… I’ll be there.”
You hung up slowly.
Natasha didn’t pull away. “Y/N?”
Your mouth opened, but no words came. Just a few seconds of shallow breathing. And then, quietly, as if afraid saying it out loud would make it more real:
“It was the doctor...”
Natasha’s chest tightened.
“Helen, She—” You blinked quickly, trying to hold it together. “She passed. A few minutes ago. Complications from the surgery last week. It wasn’t supposed to be—she was recovering—she was—”
“I’m so sorry,” Natasha said softly, voice low, warm.
There was a beat of silence. Then you stood abruptly, grabbing your coat, your phone. “I have to go. I need to—tell my mom. I need to be with her. I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” Natasha said, rising with you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
You shook your head, head spinning. “No—no, it’s fine, I can—”
“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
That silenced you.
You nodded, eyes glossy.
“I didn’t—” Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t ready.”
Natasha reached across the table without thinking, hand finding yours.
You didn’t pull away.
“She was stubborn,” you said quietly, blinking fast. “She’d been sick a while. But she kept joking about living to a hundred. I really thought we had more time.”
“I’m sorry,” Natasha said again, and she meant it with everything she had. “I can drop you wherever you need.”
You smiled, shakily. “Thank you.”
She drove you in silence, the kind that wasn’t empty — just soft, full of understanding. When you reached your apartment, she put the car in park and turned toward you.
“I’m here,” she said. “Okay? If you need anything.”
You nodded. “I know.”
A beat of quiet passed.
Then you leaned in and hugged her — not long, not lingering. Just real.
You stared at her, eyes glossy and wide, and then nodded. You exhaled, shaky and heavy.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
“It was a good coffee,” she said, softly.
You gave a tiny nod. “I’m sorry the date ended like this.”
“It didn’t end,” Natasha said gently, watching you. “It just paused.”
You looked at her, startled.
“I’ll wait,” she added. “As long as you need.”
For the first time since the call, something warm flickered in your eyes. You reached out, pressed your hand lightly to her arm.
“Thank you, Nat”
Natasha sat in the car long after you left, staring out the windshield, her heart caught somewhere between grief and something softer.
The funeral was small.
Helen had never wanted something grand. She hated pomp, avoided big parties, and always joked that if more than twenty people cried at her funeral, she’d come back and haunt them out of embarrassment.
Still, when you saw the turnout—old colleagues, a few former patients, your mother with red-rimmed eyes clutching tissues in one hand—you wished she could see it. The quiet reverence. The soft way people spoke her name.
The flowers were lavender, her favorite. The casket simple. She would’ve liked that. No drama. Just love.
You stood at the front with your family, hand squeezing your mother’s as the minister spoke.
But your eyes kept drifting back.
To Natasha.
And Nova.
The redhead sat near the back, dressed in quiet black. Her expression was unreadable to most, but you could tell—there was softness in the way she held Nova close on her lap, fingers gently stroking the girl’s back as she clutched a small bouquet of lavender sprigs in her chubby hands.
Nova had insisted on bringing them. Said they were “for the nice lady who always smelled like books.”
Natasha had tried to explain death to her. The finality of it. But Nova, being Nova, had decided she didn’t like final things.
“She’s just sleeping in the stars now,” she told Natasha with a frown. “We should still bring flowers.”
So they did.
After the service, you moved outside with the others. The overcast sky had held off for most of the morning, but a light mist had begun to fall. It wasn’t cold—just gently mournful, like the weather knew not to shout on a day like this.
Natasha approached as the crowd started to thin.
“Hey,” she said softly.
You turned. The moment your eyes met hers, the grief cracked your composure. You didn’t sob, but you blinked too fast and clutched your arms like they were the only thing keeping you upright.
Natasha didn’t hesitate.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you.
You sank into her without thinking. She was solid. Quiet. Steady.
Nova reached up with her little bouquet and pressed it gently to your arm.
Your throat burned as you knelt to her level, taking the lavender with trembling fingers.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” you said, voice breaking.
Nova hugged you, small arms warm around your neck. Natasha watched her daughter with something soft in her eyes, like she couldn’t believe how easily she’d chosen you.
“I don’t want you to be sad,” Nova whispered. “You’re my doctor friend.”
You smiled through the ache. “I’m really lucky to be your doctor friend.”
Natasha gave you time, didn’t push, just stayed by your side as people offered their condolences. She was your anchor without trying to be.
Eventually, when only a few people remained, she touched your shoulder gently.
“Want me to walk you to your car?”
You nodded.
The walk was quiet. She carried Nova, who had started yawning, cheek pressed to her mother’s collarbone.
“I wasn’t sure I should come,” Natasha admitted, keeping her voice low.
You glanced at her.
“I’m glad you did,” you said honestly.
“She meant something to you.”
You nodded. “She raised me. My parents were around but… Helen was constant. She’s why I went into medicine. Why I even thought I could do it.”
Natasha didn’t say anything at first, just listened.
“She must’ve been proud.”
You looked at her.
“She was,” you said. “She told me that. But I don’t think I ever told her how much she meant to me. Not really.”
“She knew,” Natasha said quietly. “Because I see the way Nova looks at you. And the way you look back.” Natasha offered a small smile. “It’s the same way you probably looked at Helen.”
Your eyes filled again. But this time, they didn’t spill. You breathed through it.
“Do you want to come in for a bit?” you asked softly. “Just for tea or something. Nova can nap if she wants.”
Natasha hesitated. “Are you sure?”
You nodded. “I’d like the company. And I think Nova wants more cookies.”
Nova stirred on her shoulder at the word cookies but didn’t protest. She just murmured, “Only if she makes the round ones.”
You smiled. “I always make the round ones.
And just like that, you left the funeral behind — not the grief, not the loss, but the moment — stepping slowly toward something that felt a little like healing.
A few weeks after Helen’s funeral.
Grief wasn’t loud. It came in stillness. In the half-sipped tea you forgot on the windowsill. In the voicemail you kept replaying just to hear the voice again. But it didn’t stop life.
You had gone back to work. Your patients needed you. Nova needed you. And — though you never said it aloud — you needed them too.
Especially Nova. And her mother.
It had started with Natasha picking Nova up after a check-up and asking if you wanted to grab lunch — “for Nova,” she’d said, like it wasn’t obvious she needed the pause too.
Then a few shared weekends — trips to the park, early brunches where Nova smeared syrup on both your sleeves. Movie nights with blankets and popcorn and a fussy two-year-old who always ended up asleep in one of your laps.
And slowly, quietly, without much fanfare, you and Natasha just fit.
Not in a whirlwind. Not in a fairytale.
But in the way you leaned toward each other when you laughed.
In how Natasha always texted you when Nova said something funny — she just told a pigeon to “get therapy” because it kept pacing.
In how she learned how you took your latte and always handed it to you without asking.
And in the way your apartment now had Nova’s favorite cup and spoon in the cabinet.
On a quiet Sunday evening, the three of you sat on your couch. Nova was curled between you, cradling a stuffed dinosaur you’d won her at a spring fair. She was almost asleep — half-lidded, thumb in her mouth, one hand tangled in your sweater.
Natasha’s voice was quiet.
“She didn’t used to be like this.”
You looked over.
“She hated new people. Didn’t even let Clint hold her until she was almost two.”
You smiled, brushing a lock of hair from Nova’s cheek. “She’s still selective.”
“Exactly. That’s what gets me.” Natasha tilted her head slightly toward you. “She trusts you. Just clicked with you. It scared me at first.”
You blinked. “Scared you?”
“I’m not used to… things happening easily. Or quickly. Or softly.” Natasha looked down at Nova, then back at you. “You were soft with her. Patient. The kind of love that doesn't ask anything in return.”
Your heart ached in a good way.
“I liked you too before I even realized I did,” she said, almost like a confession. “And then you lost Helen, and you let me be there — even when you didn’t want to talk. That meant something.”
You watched her. “You mean something to me, too.”
Silence settled again, but it was warm.
Nova shifted in her sleep, turning into Natasha’s side with a little sigh. Natasha reached over and gently covered her with a throw blanket.
“She asked me last night if you were family,” Natasha murmured.
Your breath caught.
“And I told her… ‘not yet.’”
You smiled. “What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Then you better ask her fast.’” Natasha looked over at you, the corners of her mouth lifted. “So… I’m asking.”
You tilted your head, heart thudding softly. “Asking what?”
“To be part of your life. For real. Not just parks and tea and polite texts. I don’t want to just orbit around you anymore.”
You studied her — the nervous flicker in her gaze, rare and raw. The honesty. The slight tremble of her fingers as they brushed against yours.
“I don’t want that either,” you whispered.
And then, quietly, with Nova fast asleep between you, Natasha leaned in.
It wasn’t a movie kiss — no swelling music, no dramatic lighting. Just lips that found yours like they’d always known the way. Slow. Sure. Finally.
When you pulled back, Natasha rested her forehead against yours, exhaling something like relief.
Nova stirred.
Natasha blinked down at her, and you both waited — but all she did was mumble, “Can I have pancakes for dinner?”
You both laughed.
“You spoil her,” Natasha said with affection.
“She spoils me,” you replied.
And with Nova snuggled safely between you, the three of you sat in the dim, quiet room.
The silent treatment started as a joke, a playful bit after Lizzie hid your favorite sweater as a prank. You’d both laughed until you cried, but then… you’d decided to commit. Just to see.
Elizabeth Olsen, your radiant, usually unflappable Lizzie, didn’t catch on at first. She’d made you coffee that morning, humming, brushing a kiss against your temple as she passed. You’d remained stoic, sipping the coffee silently. A flicker of confusion in her eyes, then a smile. The game is still on, she must have thought.
It was in the soft, grey light of the following morning that she made her first real move. You were feigning sleep, the warm weight of her beside you a familiar comfort. You felt her stir, then the gentle press of her lips against your cheek, sleep-soft and sweet. The instinct to melt into it was visceral, but you committed. With a slow, deliberate motion, you lifted your hand and wiped the kiss away.
You felt her go still. You could picture it without looking: the way her brow would furrow slightly, the playful curiosity in her green eyes shifting into something more intent. She was quiet for three heartbeats. Then, she leaned in again. This kiss was firmer, planted on the same spot, a silent question. Are you sure?
Again, you wiped it off.
This time, you opened your eyes. She was propped on an elbow, her hair a messy halo, staring at you. There was no smile now, just a deep, searching look that saw right through you to the stubborn, playful core. Without a word, you threw the covers back and slid out of bed, walking with what you hoped was dignified detachment toward the en suite bathroom.
You heard the soft, stunned exhale behind you. A victory, small and hollow.
The shower water hissed to life, hot and steaming. You were just stepping under the spray, the world a blur of white noise and heat, when the glass door slid open. There she was, completely unabashed, slipping in behind you. The water slicked her blonde hair instantly, her skin glowing. She moved close, her front to your back, and pressed a lingering kiss to the slope of your wet shoulder.
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t turn. You just reached for the body wash, the silent treatment a fortress you were determined to maintain.
You felt the shift in the air before you felt her move. The playful tension snapped. In one fluid motion, her hands were on your hips, spinning you gently but firmly. Your back met the cool, tiled wall, and her body pressed against yours, caging you in. The water cascaded over both of you, but her gaze was the most intense thing in the room.
“Okay,” Lizzie said, her voice a low, husky murmur that cut through the water’s roar. Her eyes were dark, earnest, no longer playful. “Enough.” A drop of water traced a path from her temple to her jaw. “You win. The joke was funny. Now it’s not.” She leaned in, her forehead almost touching yours. “Talk to me. Please. Stop this.”
The silent treatment crumbled, not out of surrender, but because the raw, vulnerable plea in her eyes was more than you could ever truly ignore. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the ghost of a smile finally touching your lips. You’d seen the legendary Elizabeth Olsen command screens and red carpets, but here, naked and vulnerable in a shower, asking you simply to see her again, was the most powerful performance of all.
Okay,” you whispered, your first word in nearly a day.
The relief that washed over her face was instantaneous, brighter than the steam around you. She didn’t smile yet, just searched your eyes, making sure. Then, slowly, she leaned in and kissed you—a real kiss, deep and tasting of promise and shower steam. This time, you didn’t wipe it away. You kissed her back, your silent apology and your answer, all in one.
The concession in your whispered “okay” was all the permission Lizzie needed. The tension didn’t break; it transformed, shifting from playful stand-off to electric charge. The hand that had pinned your hip slid around to the small of your back, pressing you flush against her.
That’s better,” she murmured against your lips, her voice a rough caress itself. “I missed that sound.” She kissed you again, deeper, swallowing the soft gasp you made as her thigh nudged between yours. The water streamed over you both, but the heat building between your bodies was its own force.
She broke the kiss only to trail her mouth along your jaw, down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing your pulse point. “You think you can just give me the silent treatment?” she breathed, the words vibrating against your wet skin. “Drive me crazy all morning and then just… stand there?”
Her hand left your back, sliding down over the curve of your rear, a possessive, kneading grip. “You think I don’t know every little sound you make?” Her other hand came up, thumb brushing your lower lip. “The way you sigh right before you fall asleep. The little hitch in your breath when I touch you here.” Her fingers dipped lower, tracing a tantalizing, slow circle that made your legs tremble.
A moan, low and involuntary, finally escaped you. It was lost in the shower’s spray, but she felt it vibrate through you, saw your head tilt back against the tile
“There it is,” she coaxed, her voice pure, velvety sin. “That’s what I was waiting for.” She captured your lips again, her kiss bruising and demanding now. “No more silence, darling. I want to hear you.” Her fingers finally found the sensitive, aching heart of you, applying a slow, maddening pressure. “I want to hear how much you missed me, even when you were pretending you didn’t.
Another moan, louder, torn from your chest. Your hands, which had been hanging uselessly at your sides, flew up to grip her slick shoulders, nails digging in.
“Louder, sweet girl” Lizzie commanded, her own breathing becoming ragged. She increased the pace of her fingers, a masterful, intimate rhythm. “Let me hear it. Let me know I’m the one who gets to do this to you. That I’m the one who gets to break that stubborn little silence.”
Her words were a dark, delicious counterpoint to the sensation coiling tight in your belly. Every whispered command, every filthy, perfect promise, wound you higher. You were babbling now, a stream of her name, of broken pleas and affirmations.
“Lizzie, please… I… oh, God…”
“That’s it,” she praised, her own composure fraying, her movements growing more urgent. Her forehead rested against yours, her eyes locked on yours, watching you come completely undone. “Come on. Let go for me. Show me you’re mine.”
It was the possessive, raw edge in her voice that finally shattered you. The world dissolved into blinding white sensation, the water, the steam, the tile all fading away as you cried out, the sound echoing off the shower walls, a symphony she had conducted with her touch and her words. She held you through it, her arms strong around you, her own quiet groan of satisfaction a vibration against your neck as she felt you convulse around her fingers.
As the waves subsided, leaving you boneless and clinging to her, she gently turned you both so the water cascaded over your spent bodies. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder—the same spot she’d kissed before—but this time, you turned your head and caught her lips with yours, a slow, grateful, tender kiss.
“No more silent treatments, please” she whispered, her voice back to its usual softness, though laced with a smug, affectionate triumph.
Breathless, you could only nod, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. The message was received. Loud and clear.
The tenderness of the afterglow was a sweet, hazy blanket, but it was quickly woven through with a new, deeper kind of heat. Lizzie’s kiss had gentled, but the look in her eyes hadn’t softened—it had only intensified, darkened with a renewed purpose. Her hands, which had been soothing down your back, began to roam again, mapping your body with a possessiveness that made your breath catch anew.
So quiet again?” she murmured, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. The words were a low tease, but the intent behind them was absolute. “I don’t think so. I don’t think we’re done.”
One hand slid down, over the curve of your hip, urging you to turn slightly, guiding you with an insistent pressure. Your back met her front, the cool tiles a contrast to the furnace of her body against you. You could feel the hard, eager line of her against your lower back, a silent promise that sent a fresh jolt of desire straight through your core.
Her arm came around your waist, holding you securely against her. Her other hand, slick from the water and the evidence of your climax, traced a path lower, over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped, your head falling back against her shoulder.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” she whispered, but it wasn’t a reassurance to calm you. It was a claim. “You feel so perfect like this. All mine. Still trembling for me.”
Her fingers, knowing and deliberate, found you again, but this time their goal was different. They stroked and prepared, spreading the slickness, working you open with a patience that was its own exquisite torture. Every soft, circling touch drew another helpless sound from your lips.
“Baby…” you breathed, your hand reaching back to tangle in her wet hair.
“I know, baby,” she cooed, her voice thick with her own need. “I know what you need.”
You felt her shift behind you, the subtle alignment. Then, the blunt, insistent pressure of her, not with her fingers this time, but with the smooth, firm silicone strap she’d reached for without you even noticing. The realization hit you a second before the sensation did, and a broken moan was torn from your throat.
That’s it, my love” she groaned, her own voice strained as she began to push forward, achingly slow, letting you feel every incremental inch. “God, you take me so beautifully.”
The stretch was profound, a filling, claiming pressure that stole the air from your lungs. She didn’t rush, holding herself deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel the incredible, full sensation of being utterly possessed by her. The water sluiced over your joined bodies, a primal backdrop.
“Tell me,” she demanded, her mouth hot against your neck. Her hips began a slow, rolling retreat, then a thrust back in, deeper this time. “Tell me you feel me.”
“I feel you,” you choked out, the words a ragged sob of pleasure. “Lizzie, I feel you… you’re everywhere.”
“I am,” she vowed, her rhythm building, each thrust a deliberate, powerful surge that pushed a cry from your lips. The angle was devastating, hitting a place inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “I’m right here. Filling you up. Making sure you remember who you belong to.”
Her words were filthy and perfect, a soundtrack to the slick, rhythmic sound of your bodies joining. Her arm around your waist was an iron band, holding you up as your legs threatened to give way. Her free hand slid up to cradle your breast, thumb circling a taut peak, adding another layer of sensation.
“You’re so deep,” you whimpered, your knuckles white where you braced against the tile.
“Deeper,” she promised, and her thrusts became more urgent, less controlled, driven by the same frantic need she was stoking in you. The careful rhythm shattered into something more primal, more hungry. The slap of skin, the spray of water, your combined moans—it all blended into a single, overwhelming symphony.
“Come for me again, baby” she commanded, her voice guttural, right on the edge. “Let me feel you come around me while I’m inside you. Let me feel you give me everything.”
It was an order you couldn’t possibly disobey. The coil inside you, which had never fully unwound, pulled taut and then snapped with a violence that made you see white. You cried out, a raw, uninhibited sound, your body clamping down around her in pulsating waves. The force of your climax triggered hers; with a sharp, bitten-off shout of your name against your shoulder, she drove into you one final, shuddering time, holding herself deep as she rode out her own release.
For long moments, the only sounds were the shower and your ragged, mingled breaths. She stayed buried within you, her forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, her body trembling against yours. Slowly, carefully, she withdrew, turning you gently to face her. Her eyes were hazy with spent passion, but fiercely tender.
She cradled your face, her thumbs wiping away water—or tears—from your cheeks. “Silence is overrated,” she breathed, leaning in to kiss you, soft and deep and full of a profound, wordless understanding. The quiet between you now was a different kind—a comfortable, sated, unbreakable peace.
"I don't want to watch cartoons." You lean across the couch, reaching to swipe the remote out of Wanda's hand.
"Behave yourself, Puppy." Carol pushes you back, extending her arm behind her to keep the remote out of your grasp. "We're watching Homeward Bound, you like this one."
"No." You scowl and clamber on top of her to continue your fight for the remote.
"Sit down." Wanda snaps, poking her head into the room at the commotion. You pout at her but drop your butt back against the seat of the couch when she raises and eyebrow at you. "You know better than to argue with Daddy." You huff, leaning back against the couch and fold your arms over your chest.
"Aww pouty baby." Carol teases and pinches your cheek. You yank your head away, not giving her the time of day. She reaches around and tries to get the other side but you shover her arm away.
"Stop it." You snap and wiggle away, squirming as far away from her as you can get on the couch.
"Don't be a grump." Carol rolls her eyes as you brush off her attempt to pester you. "You heard Mommy."
"I'm not arguing." You grumble and pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself. You've been in a bad mood all day and had already received multiple warnings from both women about your behavior.
"You're not being cooperative." Wanda flicks the light in the living room off as she returns with a bowl of popcorn. She sighs at your position and takes the spot between you and Carol. "Why don't you come cuddle while we watch, that'll help you."
"No." You grumble against the skin of your knees. "I wanna watch something scary."
"No." Wanda shuts that down fast. "You'll have nightmares all night."
"I will not." You protest as Carol finally clicks on the movie and it starts playing. "Let me pick."
"No." Wanda hisses, turning to affix you with a look that has your blood running cold. "Just watch or you can go to bed early."
"Bitch." You whisper the word, so quietly you barely hear it yourself.
"Excuse me?" Wanda whips her hand out with lightening speed and grabs your chin. "What was that, Mutt?" Her expression is terrifying. You're vaguely aware of the movie pausing in the background. The room fills with silence as she awaits your response.
You swallow thickly. "Nothing, Mommy." You shake your head, fear filling your body. "Can we just watch the movie?"
"Go to the kitchen." Wanda snaps and tangles her hand in your hair.
"No, Mommy. Not the soap." You really don't want her to put soap in your mouth.
"You can have the soap or you can get spanked by Daddy." Wanda says, raising her eyebrows.
"How many spanks?" You ask, trying to get all the details before you agree.
"No, you pick and then I decide." Wanda says.
You weigh your options, last time she put soap in your mouth, you were coughing up bubbles for hours. "Spanking." You mumble quietly.
Carol stands up, all too happy to give you the spanking you ask for. She takes the place beside you and yanks you over her lap. "Please don't do it hard." You pout at Carol, hoping she'll take pity on you but she frowns at you. Wanda's fingers hook in your waistband and yanks your pants and underwear down. "I'm really so-" You're cut off as she slaps your ass without warning.
"Quiet, Puppy." Wanda snaps. "25 spanks and then you will sit quietly and watch the movie." You bite your lip, stifling a whine. There's no use arguing now, it's best to just take it. "Count for Daddy." You're expecting it, but the next slap still makes you jump.
"One." You whimper. You count, teary eyed as she spanks you repeatedly. Every time your voice falters she makes you repeat the number dragging out your punishment. By the time you reach 25 your ass is burning and throbbing. Tears run down your cheeks and sobs wrack your body.
"Hush." Wanda shushes you, kneading the bright red flesh of your butt. You cry in pain, looking back at Carol with glassy eyes in a silent plea.
"Are you going to behave?" Carol asks. You nod as she rubs your back, soothingly. "I'm convinced." She looks over you to Wanda.
"I'm sure you are." Wanda muses. She stops rubbing your bruised flesh at least, instead her hand drops lower finding the dampness between your legs. You whimper and can't help but hump into her hand. You hadn't noticed how aroused you've gotten but now that she's brought attention to it, you can't think of anything else. "Oh Puppy, quite the mess you've made."
She drags her fingers teasingly through your folds. You drop your head onto the couch cushion. Wanda pulls her hand away a second later, eliciting a whine from your throat.
"Bad puppies don't get Mommy's fingers." Wanda tuts and yanks your underwear and pants back up. "You sit there in your sticky mess and think about your behavior."
She pushes you off Carol's lap onto the ground. You pout at the loss of contact from each of them. "Aw poor puppy." Carol teases down. "Come here." She pats the couch beside her and you jump back up, squeezing between them. You try settle on the couch, squirming at the uncomfortable feeling between your legs.
"Sit still," Carol whispers in your ear. "And I'll take good care of you later." You still at her words, finally settling in a comfortable position at the promise.
"Is that so?" Wanda glares at Carol over your head.
"Shhh, movies starting." Carol pointedly avoids Wanda's stare and keeps her eyes fixed to the TV as the opening credits finally start. Wanda rolls her eyes at her wife but after a moment she switches her gaze to the screen and starts to lazily scratch at your ears. You relax, finding your peace between them.
