Origami Around
taylor price
tannertan36
Janaina Medeiros
Acquired Stardust
Misplaced Lens Cap
AnasAbdin
art blog(derogatory)
@theartofmadeline
Stranger Things
Sweet Seals For You, Always
NASA
Sade Olutola
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
Today's Document
★
blake kathryn
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Not today Justin
seen from Canada
seen from Canada
seen from Mexico
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Hungary
seen from Türkiye
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Brazil
@wlwfanfictionss
masterlist <3
hello hello lovely people, here is my masterlist for all my fics:
*=smut/suggestive
Natasha Romanoff fics:
Saviour Complex *
All Too Well
Forever home
Wanda Maximoff fics:
Lost Time *
Six feet tall and super strong *
camping trip *
Yelena Belova fics:
Christmas miracle (part 1)
Save in your arms
The morning after (part 2 of save in your arms) *
Sweet goodbyes
Kate Bishop fics:
coming soon!
Sersi fics:
Till Death
Rachel Brosnahan as Lois Lane — Superman (2025) dir. James Gunn
Just watched Superman.......Meet the new love of my life
Guys im back from hiding lol. Give me all your yelena×reader fanfic ideas !!!! Ill write something bc I already miss her:/
OLIVIA COOKE — FOPE "All in Me" Campaign (2025)
good morning!
Animal crossing and Elementary 🤔
CRIMINAL MINDS AND STARDEW VALLEY
Micky says hi
Tumblr Code.
If I ever see any of you in public, the code is “I like your shoelaces”
that way we know we’re from tumblr without revealing anything
I’m just going to say this to strangers until i find a tumblr person
must keep reblogering!! Im going to be so suspicious if any one tells me this now!
Remember the answer is: I stole them from the president.
always reblog tumblr identification
good god this just crossed my dash in the year of our lord 2023
I LIKE YOUR SHOELACES??? IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2024??
Let’s take it to 4 million, folks!
almost there!
TO 4 MILLION!!!!!!!!!
THE ORIGINAL SHOELACES POST?? ON MY DASH IN 2024??
shoelaces. on your dash. in 2025.
We are so back
The Maid - Part 2
Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*
Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*
18+ only, read at your own risk
Word count: 4705
Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.
AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.
*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.
Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.
The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.
“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.
“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.
“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”
Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.
Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.
“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”
“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.
“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.
“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”
“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”
“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”
“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”
You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.
The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.
The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes.
“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate.
Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.
While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.
It’s you.
“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”
Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.
“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.
“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.
“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out.
You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”
“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.
“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”
The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan.
“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.
“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”
Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.
But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.
“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”
“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.
“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.
“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.
“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.
When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”
“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”
“Good night, Natasha.”
She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.
***********************************************************************
Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.
“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.
“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”
“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.
“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”
“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.
“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.
“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”
Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?
“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”
“Enjoy!”
As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”
Less than a minute later, you respond.
Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.
Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you.
***********************************************************************
“Table for two, please.”
“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.
“No,” you respond.
“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes.
Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.
“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”
“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”
You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back.
“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases.
You turn and wink at her.
“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”
The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie.
“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”
“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.
“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”
“That’s very kind of you,” you say.
“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you.
“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha.
“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.
“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.
The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.
“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.
“Thanks, Tony.”
“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand.
The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her.
The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.
The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.
The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this.
She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”
“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you.
As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.
“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.
“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though.
The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.
The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.
“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.
“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.
“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”
“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.
“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.
You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”
There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.
“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.
“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.
***********************************************************************
A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.
She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.
“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”
“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn.
She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly.
“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”
“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.
“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.
But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor.
Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.
“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”
Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.
How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her.
“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”
A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration.
Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.
“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind.
“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”
You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.
Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue.
“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”
Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer.
“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”
Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”
“But there’s really only one place you belong.”
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”
Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours.
“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.
“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”
A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.
“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.
The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.
You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀
To be continued...(hopefully)
Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰
Literally already give us more this is so good omllllll
Devil Is A Babygirl. 3
Part 3 | What’s The Safe Word? Part 1 | Checkmate Part 2 | Whatever You Tell Me To Do Reader x Kathryn Hahn AU
Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: this one is a pure smut NSFW 18+, dominance, submission, legal age gap, dirty talk, pet names, hardcore, aftercare top Reader x top-but-all-of-a-sudden-bottom Kathryn (I should've created a tag already) tagging @wlwfanfictionss @milflovers4
Kathryn draws to you again, hastily jerking the belt of your pants in a bossy, bold, and brash way and squeezes one of your breasts with the other hand. She’s clearly aware of your aroused state and hardened nipples.
‘Wait, wait, none of that,’ you take her hand and make it clear by the look on your face that it’s not how it works.
‘Show me your bedroom.’
She grins slyly, extravagantly ruffling her hair and guides you through the hall to another work of art kind of room with a huge bed in it.
‘Command me, honey,’ she says, sinking down on the bed and sitting up, leaning on her hands and spreading her legs wide open. She’s teasing you again, but this time aggressively and with so much fervor that you can literally feel the blood boiling inside you. And goodness, her breasts look so incredible at this angle.
‘Be a good girl and stand on all fours,’ you say strictly, with a painful anticipation in your stomach.
‘Make me, baby, I’m so naughty,’ she speaks in a lecherous way, playing with you.
Her hair is tossed to one side again; she took care of that, knowing that seeing her bare neck and ear piercing turns you on. Kathryn leans on a bed and pouts at you, tilting her head with a seductive gaze from under her forehead.
You approach the bed, and she reaches out for you; she rubs her head and face on your hips and groin, biting your leg through the fabric of your pants, growling like a feral wolf, persistently gnawing the waistband, trying to get you going.
‘Such a savage, naughty girl you are,’ you stroke her hair and tug lightly on it, enjoying her desperate begging.
‘Stand on all fours and turn around, behave.’
She moves revealing her ass totally exposed, her breasts falling down—she’s so ready for you, ready to be fucked, possessed by you.
‘You’re so beautiful, babygirl,’ you’re standing behind caressing her buttocks with your both hands, ‘you know that?’
She says nothing and just delightfully purrs.
‘I’m dead fucking serious. You have the most beautiful body, Kathryn,’ you slide your hands along her spine to her neck, caressing her shoulders and gently squeezing her breasts on the way back. ‘And your tits…really the world wonder.’
‘The lord gave me these,’ she teasingly chuckles.
‘I bet,’ you briefly pinch her nipples.
‘Ahh…’ she howls, gracefully arching her back in a horny catlike manner, begging you to enter her folds while you’re deliberately examining her soft beckoning shapes.
You climb up on a bed and stand on your knees, moving closer to her, giving her butt a slap and teasing her pussy with a soft palpable hand brushes.
‘Y/N, please…fuck me,’ she utters with a pleading whimper.
‘Shh, baby,’ you bend over and whisper, ‘everything comes to you at the right time.’
As you clutch her hair firmly, she throws her head back and emits another filthy sound. With your other hand, you capture one of her breasts, making her body exude the raw lust within her.
‘I gonna make you cum for me, Mommy,’ you say in a deep, lecherous voice and pull her head down, pressing it against the pillow; a few moments later you yank it back up with a sharp jerk.
‘Suck,’ you command her again, massaging her evocative, plump lips. Kathryn obediently follows and sucks on your fingers when they enter her mouth. The feel of her tongue gliding over your fingertips and the skillful nibbling of her teeth sends strong vibrating pulses to your pussy.
‘You love sucking, Mommy, don’t you?’
You can make out just her hungry, wanton moans as she goes for it more intensely, sucking deeply and forcefully. So mother-fucking sexy, and I haven’t even started fucking her cunt.
Your other hand delicately follows the path along her spine up to her ass to give her cheek quite a heavy slap.
‘If not for that ringard girl, I’d have fucked you in that restaurant, you know,’ your fingers are slipping through her puffy folds into her soaked pussy.
She’s so eager, you can tell by those loud, depraved sounds she makes while giving your fingers a full-force blowjob.
‘Kathryn, you’re such a dirty girl, your pussy’s dripping already.’ You push your fingers deeper inside her, rhythmically fucking her spongy soft spot and giving her clit thumb touches once in a while. She responds with every part of her body, twitching and squirming and repeatedly whining with each thrust, but you know it’s not enough.
‘Give it back,’ you pause and pull your fingers out of her mouth and swollen pussy to taste her on them. She is so delicious wow.
‘Mommy’s been a good girl,’ you say, ‘I think you deserve to be praised with a damn good hard fuck, don’t you?’
‘Baby, please,’ she pleads, lifting her ass and dropping her head onto the pillow.
‘I’ll do anything you want,’ she lets out a sweet little cry.
‘Down on your belly.’
When she lies down and turns her head to glance at you, you eventually take your clothes off.
‘You’re stunning, baby. I saw it from the day we met,’ she murmurs.
‘Were you checking me out, naughty girl?’ you smirk.
‘Like you haven't been checking me out, too,’ Kathryn says back and smiles at you.
‘Speaking of rules,’ you suddenly recall, ‘what’s the safe word?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘I want you to come up with one,’ you say.
‘How about…ringard?’ she snorted.
‘So ringard it is,’ you chuckle getting closer to her side, ‘now I’ll fuck you properly.’
***
Kathryn raises herself slightly on her elbows, allowing you to slip your hand beneath her breasts and hold them while positioning yourself behind her along her body. You push her legs apart with your knee, slowly pulling your fingers inside her.
‘You can handle three, I suppose.’ She nods, lifting her ass towards you.
She growls beneath the weigh of your body, as you thrust deeper, stretching her cunt inside out, pressing against her back, holding her tightly in a passionate embrace.
It’s like leading an entire symphony, ensuring every part of you is engaged in fucking her pussy, gripping her tits, pushing your cunt against her side, kissing her, teasing her earlobe, grabbing the skin of her neck with your teeth and deeply inhaling the scent of her wet hair as if it were oxygen. Your sweating bodies are merged, moving in sync, and you sense her proximity like never before.
As the non-stop insistent thrusts become harder progressively, Kathryn lets out hoarse, guttural cries of pleasure that are beyond imagination, leaving you in a state of ecstasy, tripping on that gorgeous predatory sex with her. You never experienced anything like that before—now you were connected to your new demonic self that she revealed through her strong feminine power.
You fuck her wildly, driven by insane desire, and although your hand is sore, it doesn’t matter anymore—your whole being is centred on giving her ultimate pleasure and ensuring she is yours for eternity. Kathryn is on the verge to her orgasm, bouncing her hips up and down, rubbing her clit against the blanket’s fold, while you are fucking-fucking-fucking-fucking-fucking-fucking her hardcore.
Fuck! This is the most incredible thing to live for.
You grope her nipples, pinching them painfully hard to enhance her sensations, and finally her body shudders under your profound touch—the roughly fucked woman lets out a deliberate shriek and growls for quite a bit of time, clenching your fingers with the swollen, ruined walls of her pussy. If not for the soundproof windows, the whole 7th arrondissement would hear your unrestrained moans.
‘You’re such a whore, Babygirl,’ you pull out and suck on your fingers, savoring her honey, ‘and so fucking delicious.'
‘I’m your whore,’ she turns to kiss you and gasps against your lips.
‘Hold me please,’ you whisper all of a sudden.
‘Come over here, sweetheart, come to Mommy,’ she says softly wrapping you in a tight hug with her gentle yet toned arms.
‘Crazy, are we?’ you mumble, resting your head on her shoulder, forever lost in her lovely, messy hair.
‘I love crazy,’ Kathryn plants a kiss on your forehead, and you quickly drift off to sleep.
***
Anybody wanna see my new cat? she is very cute
LOOK AT HER
Devil Is A Babygirl. 2
Part 2 | Whatever You Tell Me To Do
Part 1 | Checkmate Reader x Kathryn AU
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: NSFW 18+, dominance, submission, legal age gap, public sexual activities... top Reader x top-but-all-of-a-sudden-bottom Kathryn (I should've created a tag already) tagging @wlwfanfictionss @milflovers4
*** Kathryn covers her eyes with her hand and leans on it for a moment. She’s struggling, you can tell, trying to bounce back to her composure, but it is absolutely futile at this point.
As you lean closer to the woman, you feel a sharp scent of Guerlain Patchouli Ardent filling the air, as if the fragrance emanates from her hairdo. Such a familiar smell to you already. You breathe it in and say faintly against her ear:
‘Touch yourself.’
She lets out a sigh that is almost a moan, which strikes you with another wave of pleasure.
‘Y/N,’ she suddenly lingers, looking at you languidly though pretty much lost, ‘oh god…’
‘What do you want, Kathryn?’ you wonder, trying not to scare her away.
She closes her eyes for a second and takes a deep breath, than gives you a strong gaze, as if to show you that she’s still in charge there and she can stop whatever’s happening whenever she wants.
You’re captivated by her features: her delicate fair skin, contrasting with rosy cheeks, glowing like peaches; her blood-red lipstick slightly smeared, the wrinkles around her mouth, her perfectly shaped puffy eyebrows.
Kathryn is just within reach, looking at you with her stunning, sparkling blue eyes that have a slight cute downturn at the corners—and you savor her like a vampire.
The devil though she was, for you she seemed to be an approachable one. Such a babygirl.
Kathryn looks cocky all of a sudden—she raises her chin and seductively bites her lip, leaning on her chair, and you must admit, that just this single move can make you get down on your knees beneath her. Though you stick to the plan.
‘Touch it,’ you command her again, in even more audacious manner.
And so she slides her hand under the table and obediently ushers it beneath the clothing of her pants, covering it with her jacket.
You feel blurry and burnt, this desire is almost unbearable, but this is what you wanted and now she’s willingly giving it to you.
Stealthily and unnoticed, she raises her hand and slowly moves it to her lips, shadowing it with her thick hair.
Fucking hell, she is so hot.
She sucks on her middle finger, staring at you wildly, firmly, fervently. Kathryn is figuring you out as well, to know where to push to make you surrender—it’s a battle, a playground, a never ending game. And at this moment nothing really matters or even exists, apart from you two and this damn tiny table.
‘Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you…’ a girl in a vibrant dress with a ridiculous ponytail jumps out of nowhere.
Kathryn startles but quickly resumes her bossy demeanor.
‘You probably don’t remember me, I’m a fashion blogger, there was an editorial for GUCCI—’
‘GUCCI Overdrive, I can recall. It’s Andrea, isn’t it?’
‘Oh my god!’ screamed the girl, ‘you remember my name! I’m sorry, I’m embarrassing myself…’
‘It’s okay, honey,’ Kathryn looks at the girl with an artificial social grin. ‘Is there something you wanted?’
‘Oh, no, but, actually…’ the girl blushes, ‘can I take a selfie with you please? It would be such an honor, and my followers will drop dead seeing the fashion icon and genius Kathryn Hahn on my insta!’
Jeez, this is really embarrassing.
‘No problem, hon, come here,’ says Kathryn casually.
She knows what she’s doing, you know what she’s doing.
Trying to make me jealous, ‘hon’? Nice try baby, but jokes on you.
‘Do you want me to take a picture?’ you finally join this fascinating social interaction.
‘Oh, you’re such a doll, thank you!’ Andrea squeals with joy.
Gah, that’s disgusting.
She leans towards Kathryn and grins at a camera when you look for the ‘best’ angle to make Kathryn worry as she was sitting there with her fly undone.
It's a bit of a little mischief and pleasure to watch her squirm in her seat, briefly concealing the waistband of her pants behind her jacket. Of course, you would never compromise her, but it was a lovely payoff, just playing around and bluffing.
At last, the girl disappears and you are together again in peace.
‘Well that wasn’t awkward at all, was it?’ you chuckle.
Kathryn squints her eyes with a displeased grin, yet she cannot resist you. How bad you want to touch her, to taste her—she has no idea.
‘We gotta be heading home soon, I guess. Too many eyes for my liking,’ she says, finally fixing her pants and hair. Such a mess.
‘But let’s finish the dessert first,’ she winks at you and smiles amorously, ‘shall we?’
After quite a long pause, you lean closer and say in a deadpan tone:
‘Which one?’
***
You exit the restaurant and walk to her car; the driver opens the back door for you both. The game has only started, and despite this unresolved sexual tension, you feel satisfied—no doubt, she must be drawn to you after everything that just has happened. Savoring this longing and anticipation is a peak of pleasure, but you need to clarify matters. In private.
The car pulls up to your house and for a brief moment she gazes at you, but you cannot figure out what she’s about to say. It’s risky to say anything anyway.
‘Goodnight, Kathryn,’ you say, stepping ahead of her, gracefully leaving the car, ‘I’m here if you need me.’
‘Goodnight.’
When you are in your apartment you find your personal phone and send her a short text:
We need rules
She leaves it on ‘read’ for the weekend, obviously.
***
Next week is a total mess. There’s a lot of things that must be done before the Parisian craziest make-or-break fashion week. Kathryn put you in charge of the whole editorial/production team all of a sudden; but it’s not like a promotion or something—it’s a pure torture, a pay back, to say the least. Too many people to communicate with, too many tasks to operate with, and the deadline is always now or never, so you simply don’t have time to reach for her. So is she, endlessly having meetings and welcoming international editors in her office.
In a lunch break you send her another message:
Roof
Gladly, there’s no one here, which is a rare matter, since nearly everyone in the fashion industry is a smoker, constantly crafting their quirky roll-your-owns. Evidently, everyone but you, so it will be weird if someone sees you there. But fuck it, you’re almost out of patience.
And then Kathryn appears.
‘Come here,’ you say calmly. She approaches.
‘What are you doing?’ you ask looking at her seriously.
‘What are you talking about?’ she gives you the surprised look.
‘I’m talking about you, not behaving,’ you look at her bewildered face, but you know, she’s loving it. Deep down.
‘It’s inconvenient to work, when you’re ignoring me,’ you continue in a strict tone.
‘I…it’s just…’ she mutters.
‘It is what?’
‘You’re so young…I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Well, considering your position, I’d be worried about your potential suffering.’
‘That’s true,’ she sighs and looks down.
‘Kathryn, look at me, look at me.’
She lifts her chin hesitantly and you see nothing but her longing, when you’re piercing her with your fervor.
‘Tell me what you want,’ you demand.
‘I don’t know,’ she murmurs moving closer to you.
‘You like to be told what to do, don’t you?’
‘No…I don’t know.’
‘Why did you come here then?’
She stares at you, being her bossy mess and inevitably failing, crashing and falling.
‘You sent me a message,’ she mutters.
‘That’s what I was talking about.’
‘Mm?’
‘Close your eyes, Kathryn,’
She obediently does so.
‘Say: I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.’
‘I’ll do…’ she whispers.
‘Yes, whatever…’
‘Whatever you tell me to do.’
‘Repeat.’
‘I’ll do whatever you…tell. me. to. do.’
‘Good, now open your eyes.’
‘Y/N…’
‘Yes?’
‘Let’s go somewhere private.’
‘I cannot. I’ve got shitloads of work you gave me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You’re a bad girl, Kathryn.’
She closes her eyes and lets out a loud sigh, and in the same instant you turn around and walk away.
***
Naturally, you desired to touch her insanely, showering every inch of her body with kisses, to make her growl in infinite pleasure, but however compelling it sounded, you didn’t want to push—now you aimed for a long game. It wasn’t just a casual experience that you’ve been practicing with others. It was solely her, who awakened that drive and darkness within you.
You were new to it, but it felt like some primal thing at the same time, as if you were born to be like this—but only with Kathryn, who was just a couple of dozen years older than you. She radiated this ‘mother’ energy in her being, and as much as you wanted her to fondle you, you’ve been dreaming of taking control and fucking her to oblivion.
Thinking of all those things, you go back to your work, polishing the schedule and managing the production crew for the fashion shows. It’s hard to concentrate though you’d never let her down and her treasure house of Renaissance, that she’s been building for years.
‘Ms. Hahn asked me to deal with our photographers. Can you fill me in?’ Isabelle says grotesquely, leaning on your table. Hm, that’s cute.
‘And she needs you, urgently, comme d'hab,’ she chuckles, ‘how are you handling this, by the way?’
‘Not gonna lie, fashion weeks are total madness, but that’s the reason why people like us are sacrificing ourselves to this world, isn’t it?’
Isabelle looks at you puzzled and puffs in a French manner. ‘Honestly,’ she lowers her voice, ‘I was asking about our iron lady.’ She’s gazing suspiciously while you figure out how you are supposed to react not to compromise your new kind of relationship.
‘That’s a good metaphor, you know, she’s like the Eiffel Tower, perfectly splendid, but there’s a tough crowd on the rooftop, so only the strong must survive,’ you wink at the girl and she blushes.
‘You’re so funny, Y/N, I’m glad that you work here. We should grab a coffee some other day,’ she says.
‘And oh my god, where did you get that necklace? It’s adorable!’ She leans over and touches the chain gracing the bare skin of your neck, pure flirting with you like a cat in heat.
At that moment, the door to Kathryn’s office swings open, and you notice out of the corner of your eye that she’s looking at both of you.
‘What wasn’t clear about the word ‘urgent’, Isabelle?’ she says in rather a harsh tone. Someone’s in trouble, poor girl.
‘Sorry, ma’am, Y/N was just sharing with me all the contacts.’ She looks down taken aback.
‘Y/N,’ Kathryn snaps her fingers, ‘come to my office, please.’
Seeing her jealous and furious is another sort of pleasure, you have to admit.
***
‘What the…what was that?’ she yells, as the door behind you closes.
‘What do you mean?’ you say nonchalantly, though trying to hide how turned you are by her sudden shift in attitude toward you.
‘Flirting with that girl, that’s what I mean,’ Kathryn comes closer and stays just within a few inches of you, drawing you in with her perfume as before.
‘Is it disturbing you?’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘It was the other way around, if it helps,’ you cautiously reassure her.
Kathryn remains silent for a while, staring at you with those anxious yet adorable eyes of hers.
‘As I told you—we need rules,’ you say, ‘I don’t want to hurt you as well.’
‘Okay, sorry…It was inappropriate,’ she circles the table and sits in her chair. ‘Please, have a seat, the walls are soundproof but still transparent.’
‘Nothing is perfect, is it?’ you smirk. ‘You wanted something?’
‘To check on the status…actually, no, forget it,’ she mumbles, clearly distracted.
‘What do you want, Kathryn? I’m asking you again.’
‘God…’ she covers her forehead with the brush of her hand and leans on it.
‘It will not work otherwise. You have to tell me.’
‘Alright, alright,’ she tries to calm down, taking deep breaths.
‘Kathryn?’
‘I want…you. I can’t stop thinking about you.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about you either,’ you reveal.
‘Would you come to my place tonight? You could tell me more about the rules…’
‘Of course, Kathryn.’
***
She resides in one of the most upscale neighbourhoods of Paris, in the 7th arrondissement, so she asks the driver to drop you off on the quai de Voltaire, so you can stroll along the Seine and enjoy some fresh air.
‘This is me,’ she points to the huge semi-circular green door and a balcony above it, decorated with elaborate bas-reliefs depicting small, chimera-like creatures. Needless to say, the view must be spectacular: her windows overlook the Louvre and the Tuileries Garden. On top of that the Musée d’Orsay is only a ten-minute walk away. Such a gem indeed.
‘Wow, I’m speechless!’ You cannot hide your amazement, when you enter her apartment.
‘Well, honey, being the ‘iron lady’ literally comes with the territory,’ she smirks. ‘You think I have no idea what they call me behind my back?’
‘I think it’s quite flattering to be compared to one of the world wonders.’
Kathryn laughs. ‘You are probably right, I should’ve though about it on the bright side.’
‘Whats wrong with the Tower, by the way? Do locals hate it?’
‘I guess they just don’t like hustle and bustle around it, and that it’s the hyped tourist attraction, so it could be considered outdated, a bit of a…ringard, if you know what I mean. And I’d never want to become something like that.’
‘You’d never be anything like that, Kathryn. You’re stellar and you’ll always be a winner, so you can shine whatever the weather is. Don’t give a shit about what people say about you.’
‘I never did, to be honest. Not until recently.’
‘Why is that so?’
‘It’s…you, you,’ she mutters and flops down on the couch. She leans back with her eyes closed and exhales.
‘I wanna see you, Kathryn,’ you softly command. The woman seems perplexed and curious.
‘Take this off.’
She tentatively reaches for the buttons of her broderie georgette dress.
‘Not like that. Stand up.’
She does as you say.
‘Tear it,’ you’re walking on edge and you’d probably fire yourself for that, but you cannot help it, you’re unstoppable now.
She looks shy, but damn regal with that languid flame in her eyes. And just when you're about to stop her, Kathryn rips off a gorgeous Prada runway piece that costs three of your monthly paychecks.
Unholy fuck, she’s insane, I am insane.
‘Don’t stop,’ you sigh, hooked on her feral behavior.
Kathryn looks you in the eye, taking off her black fine lace brassiere and staying there exposed, among the spacious living room adjacent with luxurious furniture, art decorations and warm cozy lighting. Mommy’s lovely dollhouse, huh.
‘The panties are coming off, too,’ you command, but your voice is almost trembling. It’s so hard to resist her, this is the sweetest torture, that makes your own underwear forever ruined.
She eagerly submits to you, clearly enjoying it, and there’s less fear in her eyes.
‘Are you comfortable in these?’ you look down on her heels.
‘Frankly speaking, sometimes I hate them.’ You both laugh, as she throws them away.
‘Oh my god, you’re so small,’ you come closer, and now the height difference becomes obvious.
She looks up at you like a devoted dog, waiting for the next command. You brush your hand across her cheek and lift her chin without loosing eye contact. Now she’s a hair’s breadth away, and the soft breath of her beckoning lips gently warms your mouth.
‘My Babygirl,’ you whisper.
She gets up on her toes to kiss you, and god, how badly you want it, but you’re true to the game and pull back a little just to tease her for a few more seconds.
Your gaze travels over parts of her face, now lingering on her eyes, her lips, her eyes again, her lips…you feel blurry, you cannot control yourself anymore. Your lips meet each other in a strong uncontrollable wave of lust, which piercing vibration hits you both right in your hearts and core. You are kissing her nonstop, choking with hunger, holding her in your arms, caressing and squeezing her soft naked body, pressing her against your silky shirt with the big neckline—oh, that silver chain must be so hot by now.
‘Hey,’ you exhale as you finally break off the kiss and look at each other.
‘Hey,’ she smiles and rubs her nose against yours.
The Louvre pyramid glows green through the window.
***
Anybody wanna see my new cat? she is very cute
Devil Is A Babygirl
Dearest Gentle Readers, based on this outrageous post and your votes, I wrote Reader x Kathryn AU, Devil Wears Prada-coded. Here we go! Part 1 | Checkmate Summary: AU! Upon landing a job at prestigious Renaissance magazine, you find yourself the assistant to powerful and sophisticated CEO and editor-in-chief Kathryn Hahn. Sounds risky and challenging, but the tables turn as you become closer. Sometimes it's hard to tell which one is the real devil. It's envisaged to be smut with top/service-top Reader and top-but-all-of-a-sudden-bottom Kathryn, but I must warn you that writer's fantasy is fluid and unpredictable, so everything's possible.
Word count: 2.7k Warnings: NSFW 18+ (in the future), dominance, submission, legal age gap. tagging @wlwfanfictionss
Fuck, it’s 10:20 already! You’re cursing the alarm, creepy guys in the streets, Parisian public transport de merde, bloody cyclists ignoring the red lights, but first and foremost, yourself for being so dumb and watching Netflix all night before the most important job interview in your life. There’s only one in a lifetime chance to get a position like that.
Working in fashion wasn’t something that you logically planned—it was your biggest childhood dream; thus, you’ve been daydreaming like a baby and not actually doing anything for years until your graduation, when you finally realized that it’s going to be now or never: either you quit your job as a journalist at a news paper, or you risk regretting everything until you become old and outdated, like the leather items of the Vetements SS19 collection. So you put your shit together and changed the course, working overnights as an assistant during fashion weeks, writing columns for small fashion magazines and going full force climbing the editor’s slippery career ladder. You wanted to eat it all without a shame, to achieve the unachievable.
Kathryn Hahn was the unachievable. Oh, she was a high-heeled devil, CEO of Renaissance—one of the most trending magazines out there, and frankly speaking, it was the only alternative to Vogue, which lately had become…well…just boring.
Kathryn was hands down the best editor-in-chief in the world of fashion, new Anna Wintour in your personal opinion; besides, one doesn’t simply have a head office in Paris being American. Needless to say, that was a huge motivation—you dreamed of working with her, writing for her, eating her (not literally, but who knows), learning from her, doing anything to get there at the pinnacle of your career; but now it wasn’t just a dream, it was a plan and you’ve calculated everything. Well, everything but your time management on this day, apparently. Bloody Netflix, I should’ve taken sleeping pills instead.
It’s 10:55 when the elevator doors slide open, and you finally breathe in a hallway, trying to calm down and not give the worst impression possible, with messy and sweaty appearance. Luckily, a person at the front desk says there was an urgent call and you’ll have to wait for an extra 5 minutes. How fortunate.
You find a cooler nearby and pour yourself some cold water. So this is it, just be yourself, do your best, you got everything, you know everything, and there’s no escaping anyway.
The door opens and a young girl in total black (well of course, it’s a fucking world of fashion) greets you with a charming French accent and walks you inside the office. You take a few steps further on shaken legs, thanking yourself many times for choosing a suit paired with loafers and no heels for today.
And then you finally see her—in a spacious office with French windows and historic rosettes on the huge ceiling, she sits leaning back casually in her chair, studying you with a trademark smirk on her face. She’s wearing an off-white suit, and her wavy hair seems a little disheveled, tossed to one side. However, you know for sure a fact that it’s a work of art, meticulously done by her personal stylist. The same goes for her makeup and nails. God, those exquisite rings on her gorgeous fingers…
As you begin to realize that you’ve been staring at her in some other way that was absolutely unprofessional, you stop short and introduce yourself. But Kathryn has already noticed your shameless gaze and smiled.
‘Nice to meet you, Y/N. I need to give you a heads-up that I have a meeting in ten minutes, so you have seven to impress me. Started now,’ she says firm though in a warm manner.
You've been ready for this, so discussing your career path, education, strengths, and prospects is stressful but manageable. Kathryn listens carefully, piercing you with her pale blue eyes. Incredibly beautiful, distinctly different in person. She seems to be softer than you envisioned, but still it’s going to be challenging to figure her out, you suppose.
‘I would tell you more, but seven minutes are over and I wouldn’t dare to disrupt your schedule,’ you finish your speech with a flirtatious hint. You actually did your best, in spite of everything, and it was invigorating.
‘What a perfect sense of timing, I appreciate it,’ she says ostensibly nonchalant.
She stands up and guides you to the entrance. You bid farewell, and that's the end of it. You don’t know shit, but something tells you it’s going to be alright. Or maybe it’s endorphins racing inside you.
As you walk out of the building, you feel so much relief. All in all, the job is done for now, and all you need is to wait for their final decision. It doesn’t depend on you anymore, so you stretch your back and access 'Saved Places' folder on Google Maps that your friend kindly shared with you—it wasn’t so easy to find a damn good cup of coffee in the city of Paris.
***
First thing on Friday morning, you receive the email and hesitate to open it for a second. You have a good feeling, but still it’s panicky—the game is on and you’re not a quitter. In the end, breathing in and out deeply, you open your eyes, and—oh goodie, I'm a winner—you got the position. But wait… ‘a personal assistant of Kathryn Hahn’ it says. That’s weird. I was interviewed for an editor’s job.
You are confused, though you couldn’t get rid of those thoughts that were racing in your head over and over since yesterday. Being her assistant means being her right hand, seeing her everyday and…oh you’d better not over-dream this baby.
***
On Monday you arrive at the office at 9:45 sharp, but there’s no one to open the door. You wait until 9:55, check your phone, the email, where it says 10:00 clearly, so it doesn’t make any sense—who on earth shows up to work on time, or even late in this business? Working in hardcore media, you were always ready to get ahead of everything, plus good manners and all that.
‘Bonjour!’ that French girl calls you from behind, ‘you’re early today.’
‘Hey, am I? I got the email, it said—’
‘Oh, no, in Paris, no one comes to the office that early. Not even in fashion. Well, just security and me,’ she laughs.
‘I'll remember that,’ you say still with surprised eyes. ‘By the way, I'm Y/N.’
‘Isabelle, enchanté.e,’ she smiles.
‘Enchantée, Isabelle. And you are…’
‘A secretary. You must be her new PA, right?’
‘Turned out that I am,’ you respond rather concerned.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s…nothing. Could you please give me some hints as to what’s going on there?’
‘Oh, it's not something you need to worry about. From the looks of you, you're really good at this, I can tell. It girl, huh?’
‘Well I don’t actually define myself as a girl,’ you sigh, covering your habitual displeasure with a polished smile.
‘Pardon, I didn’t know. So it’s gonna be…It-person then?’
‘Yeah, I think that will do.’
But who uses this term now anyway?
***
At 10:03 you’re in the waiting room and smiling to yourself. Jeez these Frenchies are something else.
There’s literally no one there, apart from secretary and staff. Thank goodness they don’t use the guillotine these days, or they’d definitely be executed for such an awesome schedule. Okay, that was a dark one.
‘A lovely morning, Y/N, isn’t it?’ A familiar low voice sudden makes you shudder.
She walks her way down the hall—different suit, same perfume, golden ear piercings, big horn-rimmed glasses on her prominent nose. God, she’s sexy.
‘Come to my office, Y/N,’ she beckons, 'there’s much work to do.’
When you come in, Kathryn tosses her little pink Jacquemus bag on a table, and you smile at how cute it is.
‘Like it?’
‘Nice piece, but I like the way it goes with your suit better,’ you say, testing the ground.
‘Tell me more about my suit,’ she seems curious.
‘It blends well with your pale skin and perfectly highlights the color of your beautiful eyes,’ you reply without hesitation.
‘Hm,’ she stutters.
‘Was it too much?’
‘Not at all…’
Oh my, is she blushing or am I tripping?
‘Thank you,’ she smirks and looks at you over from head to toe, 'you’ve got good enough taste to work here,’ she adds as if to show you who’s in charge.
You notice everything. Everything.
‘I’d hazard a guess that you may have a question about your position, don’t you?’
‘I’d be glad to know, though I trust your decision. This is the best place I ever dreamed of working,’ you admit.
‘Is it?’ She adjusts her large spectacles and looks at you over them. Fuck, you feel so wet already.
‘Without a doubt.’
‘Good. So I’ve been reading your résumé, and yes, I know about your background in journalism, and it’s pretty impressive, but after our meeting last week I thought I’d rather have someone like you by my side. It's a rare case where a position like this opens up.’
‘That’s…flattering, Kathryn,’ you’re trying to choose the right words so she won’t think you’re disappointed or something, ‘but what happened to the previous assistant, if I may ask?’
‘As it turned out, I couldn't trust them.’
‘And how do you know that you can trust me?’
‘I have a feeling, and my gut tells no lies,’ she chuckles.
You silently look her in the eye for a few seconds. You wait.
‘It’s a hard job,’ she continues, ‘harder than any editor’s job, believe me. I’m not just the CEO, I’m also the editor-in-chief, so I have every right to devour your soul, hon,’ she winks at you.
As inappropriate as it sounds, you melt under that “hon” and look away, a bit startled.
'So what do you say, Y/N?’
‘It would be such an honor.’
‘Good, that’s what I wanted to hear.’
***
And that’s how you started working at Renaissance, spending hours with Kathryn, attending meetings and special events, infinitely networking and trying to remember faces, brands, names and mastering your French. Of course, on top of all the fashion hustle and bustle and paper rigmarole, you could never just ignore it—your endless desire for her—so you practiced your flirting skills and seduction techniques as well.
You studied her slowly but surely, and it was convenient, because it was part of your job to know in advance what she needed, to learn her schedule by heart, not to mention what she ate for lunch and what route she preferred in the city. Gladly there were times when she spent her lunch breaks just with you, not filling it with another business meetings. And that’s when you noticed that she started opening up to you and telling more about herself, and it's no longer just a boss/assistant relationship—your gut told no lies either.
Your seduction worked, you could tell. You complimented her on her looks, almost everyday, but you did it very subtly, not to lay it on with a trowel or suck up to her bossy ass. But you needed Kathryn to make the first move. That was the plan.
One Friday night, she invited you into her office. Well, technically is was Isabelle who came into your office and said ‘it’s urgent’, rolling her eyes.
‘You summoned me, Kathryn?’ You ask, closing the door behind you.
‘I did,’ she takes her glasses off. ‘Honey, what are you doing tonight?’
‘Well… finishing my work and heading home I guess. But if there’s anything you need—’
‘What would you say to dinner? You’ve been working so hard for months and I’ve been meaning to thank you handsomely.’
‘I’d say yes! Just give me five minutes please,’ you say eagerly. There’s no need to hide it at this point—she’s just made her move.
‘I'll wait for you in the car, don't be late!’
You won’t be, obviously.
***
The restaurant is cozy yet exquisite. It turned out to be one of those very old Parisian establishments that had been around since the eighteenth century, but of course were renovated to become more chic and prohibitively expensive.
Kathryn glances at you over the menu and you feel the arousal building inside you. The waiter brings wine, pours it into glasses, and lights a candle on the small round table between you. Everything is just perfect but too ordinary for your liking, as you prefer a bit more spicy and ‘complicated’.
‘Have I told you that you have beautiful hands, Kathryn? If it’s not too much,’ you make the first pawn move.
‘No, you haven’t, I’d remember that,’ she blushes. ‘You’re a charmer, aren’t you?’
‘Never thought of myself in those terms. It’s just that I tend to notice beautiful things and prefer to talk about them,’ you say, ‘if it doesn’t cause any harm, of course. Does it?’
‘No, it doesn’t, hon, I’m flattered. It’s a pleasure to be complimented by a person like you.’
‘And how do you see this particular person?’ you ask, now making the knight’s move.
‘Well, they are straightforward and rather shrewd, they have a sophisticated style and composure, they are witty and…pretty handsome.’
‘Are you flirting with me, Kathryn?’ You checkmate her with your bishop, feeling a thrill in your veins, in your core, in your whole being.
‘Maybe,’ she says keeping her eyes fixed on you. ‘How would you feel if I were?’
‘That it would be totally inappropriate, considering my position,’ you smirk.
She blushes and giggles again. And at that moment, you push your leg slightly under the table and touch her calf with the tip of your foot. She closes her eyes and lets out a short gasp of surprise.
‘I can stop if you want me to,’ you gaze at her seriously. ‘Make me stop, Kathryn.’
In that instant the waiter approaches your table. Bad timing. Though actually…
‘Avez-vous choisi un dessert, messieurs-dames?’
Kathryn is about to say something when you stop her short and address the waiter.
‘Crème brûlée pour madame, s’il-vous plaît.’
He nods and disappears into thin air while you enjoy the look on Kathryn's puzzled face.
‘You love it, don’t you?’
‘I do…’ she says rather doubtfully, staring at you, trying to figure you out.
‘Will you eat it for me, please?’
‘Yes,’ she says it firmly this time.
She looks at you with her languished eyes yet figuring out what’s going on and why she suddenly behaves like that.
The waiter serves her a plate with a famous French dessert and you hand her over a long spoon, giving her a soft finger brush. She responds with barely noticeable smile, yet remaining concerned.
‘Break the crust and try it,’ you command.
She does as you say, though you sense she’s new to this role, but for some reason she doesn’t hesitate. That keeps you curious, you didn’t expect her to let you dominate so easily. Or maybe she really did trust you from the beginning, and that trust has grown even stronger.
As she puts a spoon in her mouth you say:
‘No rush, take it slowly.’
She savors, maintaining the eye-contact with you.
‘Do you like it?’
‘I do.’
‘Do you want more?’
She nods.
‘Would you taste it with your finger?’
She watches the other tables, her cheeks reddening.
‘I won’t push you.’
Kathryn looks at you defiantly with a cheeky spark in her eyes, then dips her finger into the dessert and gracefully licks it.
‘Suck it,’ you command.
She stares at you as if even anxiously, yet furtively bites the tip of her finger and sucks on it.
‘Deeper,’ you slide your hand under the table and stroke her knee. Kathryn flinches at your touch, but nudges her leg closer to you and sucks her finger with much endeavour.
‘Good girl,’ you whisper.
Her face is embarrassingly flushed, and god, you'd fuck her right here on this table.
***
