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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death.

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society.

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul.

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even.

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach.

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought.

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily.

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit.

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball.

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony.

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone.

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize.

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life.

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future.

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

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eddie bracken as orville wingait in summer stock (1950)

#don't get it wrong abigail whacking orville upside the head is during their comedy backstage 5 sec to Resolution ending rush #literal last minute conclusion crunch in unsurprising formatting lol; i chose a more peaceful gif to end on. note the prior one's [feet Up]#i hope this illustrates There Is Much Material. more clips than this & truly as good or better a role as any others to choose from here #summer stock #conveniently it's apparently wingait in the movie but via that casting news this (2023) role is wingate #tcm fancam life...we've all been there. akd talking abt meet me in st. louis like maybe i should rewatch lol. have to muddle through someho #anyways there's for sure room to like grab a little thread of plot and enhance it in this story. e.g. orville & abigail could talk Thrice #their B-plot / more idiosyncratic romance there is still >>>>>> the main JUDY & GENE one unsurprisingly even w/o a third convo lol #whoops the main guy is an asshole. judy/jane learns she loves show business so just kinda may as well be in love w/the show guy ig #like girl you don't have to be...but ofc already although her & orville's dynamic is pleasant enough she seems somewhat disinterested #while fascinatingly for our purposes though orville is framed a bit like [this NERD] he can't be too dunked on b/c [romantic B-plot]#meanwhile abigail's Undeserving Of Gene/Joe (she is but she's too good for him) qualities being just that she's been too Indulged so like #in her lack of protestant ethic farm work she's so conceited & sensitive that she wants to rest & not be yelled at???#smash cut to for real judy/jane on Opening Night like asking tentatively like oh romantic interest you're Not gonna yell at me..??#but she's been Hard Working so she will tolerate the physical AND emotional demands. but she's also more Talented than abigail #so joe need not be mean to her Anyways like. okay wild maybe we could rework that but congrats abigail for NOT ending up w/him fr #meanwhile orville's arc (joe has none to speak of save realizing he wants to make out w/this other woman now) is as clear as anyone's #extricate himself from otherwise only getting to be an extension of his father who is generally interfering / directing / demeaning him als #another ''well i don't know about that'' element in that when orville Does tell him to cut that out his dad actually just rolls with that #and becomes more amicable lol like well that does work out & it's unsurprisingly like cmon orv you can't LET him treat you like that...#and if you didn't? he'd just be like ''oh haha okay''...like is abigail supposed to be ''right'' abt uhh romance there but yet she's just #too sensitive to handle Tell Don't Ask / No Apologies? maybe; but they both end up getting to Not Stand For It lol. i think that that would #ofc still be fun to develop. whereas w/joe it's like uh maybe make him Not a huge asshole in the end / judy p much in love w/Showbiz....#abigail & orville out here decidedly Not About Nonsense....but still a bit zany ig such that after the [imagine the foley] hit: it's good #like i'm sure it's ''orville's still enough of a NERD to be chill w/that'' & ''abigail's still DIFFICULT enough to put her foot down''#['50 gender politics] we all know that couple whose flaws & idiosyncrasies allow them to Apologize & Ask & use their inside voices #and be all upset if someone's trying to demean them. unlike True Romance of the man who won't bully his wife if she earns it :')#joe could instead uhh be a harried director who's actually Wrong for being a dick to his gf (if we even include that) w/the various sources #of pressure to make a show Work but there's all this req'd spontaneity / flexibility anyways & he learns that even if he's clenching throug #it he can Not take it out on other people / Make it succeed by Making ppl do anything. & also jane reminds him of Passion for this.

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magicalmanhattanproject · 4 months

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man im just like. thinking about egg signs and how they've evolved over the course of the qsmp and how the qsmp has evolved over the course of the qsmp and just feeling so much love and affection for every part of the project. i dont have any grand overarching point with this just. like. here's a history of egg comms bc of the kind of person that i am

so wayyyy back ten months ago now at the start of the short and sweet egg event that was planned to last maybe a month at most, the eggs had their own custom, decorated signs!

[ID: Leo with a pink sign with an egg on the bottom corner that reads "hello" in all caps. Her nametag reads Leonardo. End ID]

They were extremely simple, single word signs. There was hello, hola, story, feed, sleep, and maybe one or two more and each was its own separate sign. The eggs could only communicate the most basic needs in words and everything else was through minecraft body language or just hoping their parents guessed right.

But obviously, there was a lot more that parents wanted to hear from their children. I'm not sure who was actually first, but the earliest departure from this system I know about is BadBoyHalo giving Dapper a simple oak sign so he could name his pet slime. (Screenshot from @/lxrd-ren)

[ID: Dapper wearing a diver's helmet standing next to a tiny slime in a boat with an oak sign reading "Bouncy (slmecicle but better)" End ID]

Parents quickly realized how much more convenient this was and pretty soon every single egg had stacks of signs to communicate with.

The next innovation came from Vegetta, who was the resident mod knower at the time. He knew about colored canvas signs and gave Leo signs in her favorite color purple because he loved her and gave her everything she wanted.

[ID: Leo's bed in her room under some Fooligetta fanart with a purple sign reading "<3" End ID]

Colored signs obviously had a lot of advantages. Being able to tell at a glance which egg placed which sign was a huge step forward in eggs being able to have long, complicated conversations as well as leaving obvious marks of their personality everywhere they went. It took a little while for them to be standard for every egg though. Bobby never stopped using oak signs even after Richas and Pomme both showed up with colored signs.

[ID: Two signs reading from right to left a red Pomme sign reading "we already started working on a guillotine factory" and a dark grey Dapper sign reading "thats the most french u have said so far pomme" End ID]

And this was the system for a while! And it worked pretty well for most people! The biggest struggle most people had was egg signs not being translated, but streamers adjusted to that by reading signs out loud so the translators would pick up on them. This also lead to adorable and fascinating dynamics like Richas swearing in signs he wrote for Bad and then warning Bad not to read them out. There was also the genuinely phenomenal development of Leolingo where Leo writes only in Spanish to Foolish because it's easier for her to write and he takes his time to puzzle his way through it and learn in a way that's super cool to watch someone else do onscreen.

Then Tubbo joined the server. And Tubbo himself had no problems at all with the system, but he is dyslexic and he casually mentioned offhand that it was getting kind of annoying to read signs after a ten hour long stream and the admin team Fucking Cooked.

Within 24 hours, they had TTS working on the signs. Within 48 hours, it was working on books too. I can't remember how long it took to get translation working, but it was definitely under a week.

And this opened up a whole new world of possibilities for the entire QSMP. The admin team has been on top of capitalizing on it for story purposes, but also just allowing the egg admins to speak in their native languages to everyone whenever they want has been so enriching for everyone involved. Leolingo is awesome but Foolish has been learning Spanish insanely fast and his process is a lot slower and more frustrating than most people can do in front of an audience of thousands of people without feeling discouraged. That's also one language. We've had everything from Foolish being able to check his work a bit more faster to Phil insisting on his eggs taking a day to speak to him in their native languages to Ramón writing a book for Fit in Cantonese, a language we haven't even seen on the server in any other context!

And all of it is fully understood and fully communicated! Sometimes the translators mess up but no one expects them to be perfect and people ask for clarification if the translator says something that doesn't sound right. It's not only a massive step forward in communication technology, but it's a great demonstration of how to use it and when you can and can't rely on it.

And finally, the most recent innovation! One of BBH's viewers sent him a dono saying they had trouble reading certain signs because they were too low-contrast. Bad, Richas, and Pomme just. Took it upon themselves to fix the problem right there and then. Based on One (1) bringing up their own personal struggle, those three came up with new signs that innovate tremendously on the originals.

[ID: Two separate images of the before and after. The first is the egg signs in their original colors with the corresponding egg's name written on them to demonstrate the font color and the second is in the new, higher contrast colors with the same text. The new signs also have custom decorations for each egg. The second picture also has two signs from Pomme in all caps that read "Send all the love to Richas he spent a whole night making this he's the best <3" End ID]

There are three main innovations visible in the above pictures

1: Obviously, the colors are higher contrast. The signs with white text have darker colors and the signs with black text have lighter colors.

2: The colors themselves are lower saturation. Richas said this made it easier for him personally to read them so he corrected that way, but that's open to change if it causes difficulties for more people than it helps

3: The decorations are for accessibility reasons! People with various different forms of colorblindness will find different sets of colors easier or harder to distinguish, but any of them can look at the decorations and use them to identify whose sign is whose instead.

But! Those innovations are not why I made this post! It's these ones!

[ID: The backs of the new signs when placed on the ground. Most visible are Chayanne's with vines and a hardcore heart, Sunny's with shining sunglasses, and Pomme's with an apple and the Eiffel Tower. End ID]

Richas added distinguishing marks to the backs of the signs too! This is something that Bad brought up specifically as something he wanted because it was hard for him to tell who was talking when he was using TTS from behind signs and couldn't see the colors at all.

We went from custom egg signs (a hotbar or so of words and nothing else to communicate with) through a long journey of expanding communication and expanding who we're bringing along on the communication and how easily they can join in and we've circled all the way back around to custom egg signs (they can say anything they want in any language they want and anyone will know it's them saying it from any angle)

and i guess i have enough feelings abotu that to write All This about it

#sorrelposting #qsmp

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delirious-donna · 2 months

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The Temporary Assistant [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: I’ve been obsessed with the exhausted lawyer for some time now, but this is the first time I’ve written a fic for him… please be kind cause I baby.

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: NSFW, pwp, established relationship, reader is assumed to be a little bit on the booby side, pseudo boss/subordinate dynamic, spit as lube (don’t do this folks), Higuruma is a breasts man, nipple play, little prep, cumshot

Masterlist

“She quit. What do you mean, she quit?”

Higuruma massaged his tired eyes in steady circles, huffing out a laugh at your exasperated questioning and the equally perplexed look on your face.

“Darling, I don’t know how else to phrase it other than the young lady no longer works for me,” he offered with fatigue lacing his tone. It was late, and he didn’t want to be having this conversation for the third time today. The first had been with his partner at the law firm they jointly owned, and the second with the agency supervisor his previously employed assistant worked for.

Nanami hadn’t been surprised at the news, a fact that bothered Hiromi more than he cared to admit. His partner was not one for pulling his punches, so Hiromi was accustomed to his sometimes blunt manner of speaking, but it still hurt to think that Kento had seen something coming that he had been blindsided by.

“I’m only surprised she lasted this long.” Those were his parting words as Hiromi stalked dejectedly back to his office at Nanami’s insistence that his assistant would be far too busy to spread her attention to them both. Not words he’d been happy to hear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Higuruma. That’s not like her, but I’m afraid it’ll be at least two weeks until I can provide a replacement.” The agency supervisor sounded genuinely shocked at the sudden resignation, and his day simply went from bad to worse.

Hiromi flopped onto the couch, his head lolling back with his eyes sliding shut from the weight of his fatigue. It had been mounting all day, and now that he was home, where he should be finding solace in the comfort of his surroundings and his loving wife’s embrace, he was hit suddenly with a fresh reminder of the shit he’d landed in.

A soft hand caressed the side of his neck, inducing a shiver of relief. It was followed by the weight of your body settling over his spread thighs, your head resting against his shoulder. His suit jacket still hung from his lithe frame, the button undone and the shirt beneath badly wrinkled from the long commute home, but you didn’t care about his untidiness.

He felt every quiet exhale fan his throat, the ghost of a smile finding its way to his face despite it all. Your nimble fingers burrowed into the knot of his tie, loosening it until you could pull it free and toss it away. “What are you going to do, Hiromi? I know you have that court date coming up… it’s a busy time. How about Nanami’s assistant?”

“Not an option. I already tried,” he muttered with a shrug.

Opening his eyes, he peered down at you tucked into the crook of his neck, a hand inside the collar of his shirt and your nails grazing gentle patterns over his collarbone. He chewed his lip, fearful to broach the idea planted by his partner when his foot was almost out the door. “You could always ask your wife…”

Selfishly, he indulged himself in your affections, your scent that permeated every corner of the home you shared and let his fingers, stiff from the cold, warm against your feminine curves. You might not be so keen to indulge him once he suggested you work as his temporary assistant, so he would take what he could until push came to shove.

“Your fingers are icy, Hiro. Come here,” you chided with a click of the tongue, though he knew it was only born of concern for his health. Hiromi hummed happily, grateful when you pressed his palms together with yours on either side and blew hot air to dispel the chill.

“What would I do without you?” He whispered, sitting upright and nudging your nose with his when you glanced at him. Hiromi’s eyes drooped, heat dusted his cheeks at the proximity, and when you let out an airy giggle… he swore he swooned all over again. Just as he had when he first met you and fell in love.

He doubted he would be in the position he was today had it not been for you. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he would be here at all if he hadn’t met you when he did, but that was a story for another day.

You admired the side profile of your husband, eyes low and hazy with appreciation of his strong jaw and prominent nose that hooked just so at the end. “Good thing you’ll never have to know.”

Hiromi groaned aloud, burying his face between the soft skin of your décolleté. His cool lips skimmed the tops of your breasts, first on one side then turning to the other, making you shudder and hum. Your fingers threaded through his black hair, tugging firmly at the roots just how he liked, and his hips jerked in response.

A great fuck and a good night’s sleep would fix him, you were certain of it. It wouldn’t resolve his work issue, but Hiromi worked better with a clear mind, and you knew it was murky as bog water right now. Your man was a brilliant lawyer, dedicated to working towards a more just legal system for those normally underrepresented along with his partner, but he was a terrible workaholic.

You couldn’t count the nights he traipsed home from the office at an ungodly hour only to drag his tired body into his home office to continue where he left off. Only coming to bed when you physically dragged him away from his keyboard and desk with threats of pain and not the kind he typically enjoyed.

It couldn’t be easy to be his assistant, though you knew damn well that he was a good man. The poor girl probably had enough of the endless expectations and incessantly long hours which were necessary to get through all of his demands because he refused to finish at five like normal people. On the few occasions you’d stopped by his office, you could see the fraught expression written all over her young face and how her eyes pleaded with you to distract her boss enough so she could catch up with the mountain of requests waiting for her attention. Poor girl…

Ready to go to town on your poor overworked and stressed husband, you rocked your pelvis against the seam of his zipper, pushing his head further into your chest whilst his cock twitched and hardened beneath you. Hiromi practically purred, the sound muffled and vibrated right down into your soul. The possibilities were endless, and you were considering if you should slide to the floor and bathe his cock in your spit or ride him until all that wicked tension left his body when he suddenly paused.

His hands moved to your waist, the pressure firmer than expected and he gently slid you back along his knees so you were no longer planted over his poorly concealed erection. The flicker of guilt burnt in his whisky-smoked eyes, and it soured your smile. Hiromi shook his head and exhaled deeply, his eyes flitting away from yours.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered.

“You… can’t fuck your wife?” Your voice broke into a laugh that had nothing to do with amusement and everything to do with the bitter twist of uncertainty in your stomach. “Since when?”

“Don’t say that. I want to, but I need to ask you something first.” Hiromi cupped your face in his hands, leaning in to press what he hoped were reassuring kisses to your forehead, cheeks and lips. “Then you can decide if you still wanna… y’know.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion forming like a snake ready to strike, and your arms folded tightly across your chest. He swallowed nervously, struggling not to ogle your beautiful breasts that he would be fully buried in by now and likely suckling on had it not been for his damned conscience.

“Spit it out, Higuruma.”

Oh, he was in trouble.

Hiromi cleared his throat and fixed you with a beseeching look. “Will you be my assistant?” He rushed on when you visibly bristled. “It’s only for two weeks until the agency can find me a replacement and, and… it was Kento’s idea!”

“Throwing Kento under the bus isn’t going to save your hide, Mr Higuruma!” You slid sideways onto the couch, ignoring the groan of disappointment from beside you. “You know very well I am in the midst of my PhD. How could you think it would be feasible for me to come work in your office as an errand girl for a fortnight?”

“Well… I have a plan,” he said, both pointer fingers coming together as he continued to give you the best impression of those adorable dogs with the droopy eyes.

When he didn’t elaborate immediately, your eyebrows rose and you nudged his knee with yours.

“R-right. I know you’ve been writing your paper here at home. So, I thought that maybe I could also work from home. You could help me out and continue your work in between the things I need.”

Dammit, that wasn’t quite the terrible idea you had initially anticipated. You eyed your husband from head to toe, and he desperately tugged at your folded arms until he could take your hands into his. He kissed across your knuckles, nuzzling his cheek, rough from a faint five o’clock shadow, into the back of your hands.

“Hiromi…” you warned, but he was almost too overjoyed to hear his given name once more to heed the warning in your voice.

“Two weeks. That’s all. And I promise not to ask for too much, only the absolute necessities that I can’t manage myself. Please?”

How could you deny him when he asked so sweetly and especially when you knew just how under the cosh he was with his upcoming trial? It would only interfere with your deadlines if he didn’t uphold his promises, but you chose to believe that he would. After all, Hiromi was rather keen on keeping his balls attached to his body.

“Fine, but you owe me.”

The first week went by without incident. It was an adjustment, to say the least, but once you found your feet and Hiromi got used to not having to leave at the arse crack of dawn, it was rather lovely to see more of your handsome husband.

Being able to sit down at the small kitchen table to eat lunch together was a daily treat, and it filled you with triumph when he would eagerly seek you out in the kitchen with his nose sniffing out whatever delicious treat you had prepared that day. Ensuring Hiromi ate during the working day was, more often than not, a struggle, with several text messages bouncing back and forth until he acquiesced–but not now.

Maybe it was the lure of stolen kisses or the giggles shared when you called him Mr Higuruma, breathlessly pressing your body into his and squealing playfully when he pawed at your backside in turn.

You’d be lying if you weren’t enjoying the pseudo roleplay of boss and subordinate. Playing pretend with a power balance that didn’t translate to your relationship outside this current scenario. There was no top or bottom, no dominant or submissive, just two people enraptured by each other. Sometimes you led, and other times he did. Your marriage was well-balanced, and you loved that about Hiromi. He wasn’t threatened by a woman that initiated, in fact, he loved it—loved you. So this new experience, where he was large and in charge at all times, was certainly thrilling, but not everything was smooth sailing.

Hiromi was demanding, to say the least. When he was engrossed in a specific piece of work, he had a way of speaking that made you want to smack him round the head with one of his many manila folders, preferably one of the thicker ones.

No wonder his assistant had quit if he regularly spoke to her in the clipped manner you had heard on more than several occasions now. Only your intimate knowledge of the man kept your tongue in your head and your hand away from the folders. Niceties were time-consuming when he was against the clock. He didn’t mean to be cold, and you told yourself this over and over, but it still hurt, just a little.

Higuruma could get used to this.

He idly wondered how he would feasibly make the transition back to office working once this temporary fix came to an end. He didn’t miss his morning commutes, the packed trains that felt like being crammed into sardine tins, nor the chill of the office before the heating had a chance to warm the rooms sufficiently.

It was a treat to be able to roll out of bed and right into his desk chair. If he wanted to start at 6am, he could, though you would chastise him thoroughly if he dared to. He knew you liked your morning snuggles, and so did he. Waking slowly to your soft snores which he liked to call purrs, and soaking in the smell of your sleep-soaked skin whilst his hands roamed every inch of your softness he could reach. It made it easier to escape the clutches of sleep, knowing you were waiting for him.

However, the star attraction of the current situation was you. Never had he cast an appreciative eye over one of his assistants, not even before he met you, but you were his wife, and he couldn’t help but gawk at his sheer dumb luck. There was something altogether forbidden about the fantasies in his head which, of course, made them all the more alluring.

The first few days at home he had stayed in comfortable clothing, favouring the sweats he’d wear around the house on the weekends and his old college sweater, but quickly, he realised that this didn’t work for him. He needed the structure of his routine even if he wasn’t venturing past his front door, so the suits returned—starched collars and a black tie at his throat. As if to match his energy, you started to dress formally too, and what a treat that was.

Pencil skirts that he didn’t think he’d ever seen, blouses that nipped in your waist, pinafore dresses that swished around your thighs and most decadent of all–lace-topped stockings.

You were driving him to distraction, and the worst of it was that he was certain you didn’t realise. It made him sound shorter than he liked, his words coming out clipped, and his pleasantries sounded cursory rather than heartfelt. You were doing your best to accommodate his needs whilst still working on your paper, and here he was, wishing to bend you over his desk to run his nose and mouth over your squidgy thighs, the meat of your backside and the seat of your underwear until it soaked through with his saliva.

By the time the second week rolled around, Higuruma was a volcano, ready and raring to erupt at the slightest breeze or incident. The lunchtime kisses were no longer satiating his desires, nor were the evenings spent worshipping at the altar of your puffy, spit-covered pussy. It wasn’t enough to scratch this very specific itch.

“I’ve made the copies you asked for, Hiromi. I’ve also updated your calendar with the pre-agenda meeting that came through from the opposing side. Was there anything else for now?”

Hiromi audibly moaned when your wrist grazed his fingers, setting down the documents in question and lingering by his side, waiting for an answer. He tugged sharply at the knot of his tie, feeling choked for air—starved of logic.

As he glanced up at you, he paused. Your bottom lip was held fast between your teeth, eyes positively alight with playful mischief. So maybe you were more aware of the thick-as-sticky treacle tension than he gave you credit for. He fixed the cuffs of his shirt in an attempt to mask the shake of his hands, setting his pen down before leaning back in his chair. It creaked in protest, and you raised a hand to stifle a laugh.

“Actually, there is something else, and it cannot be put off a moment longer,” he drawled with a tone that suggested he was going to dictate a letter or something equally menial.

You were not expecting him to spin his chair towards you and yank you down by the arm into his lap. The shriek that left you was genuine, only silenced towards the end by the firm melding of warm, insistent lips. His hands were everywhere and all at once; squeezing the tops of your arms, ripping at the buttons that hid your cleavage from him and skimming beneath the tight hold of your skirt until it rucked around your hips.

There was such urgency to his movements that you struggled to catch up, but finally, you broke apart from his mouth, saliva strands webbing and breaking apart as your tongue passed through them and across your swollen lips. “Mr Higuruma! What would your wife say?”

It was meant as a spicy joke, a nod to the little games that had been at play and the dynamic the two of you had fallen into, but you sensed immediately that it didn’t go over well. He stopped fumbling with the buttons of your blouse, half of them free from their holes and the lace of your bra now prominently on show, breasts firmly squeezed together given the constraints of the material.

“I-I would… never. I mean…” You watched the desire in his eyes shift to panic, and you shushed him with a finger over his lips. Your heart ricocheted in your chest at the sincerity, and if you believed you couldn’t love him any more than you already did, it proved untrue when you witnessed the devotion that shone in those whisky-coloured eyes.

“I know. It’s okay,” you murmured, closing the distance and trailing your lips over his jaw and up to his ear. “I like it… keep going, please?”

Oh gods, how could he have ever deserved a woman like you in his life? Hiromi whimpered, his eyebrows pinched together, and he felt that final strand of restraint snap clean in two. His lip trembled for a second before he was on you again. Hungry kisses pathed down your throat, a hand at the back of your head to keep you close and manoeuvre you exactly as he wanted.

You scrabbled at his tie, pulling it free with a whip crack until you could toss it behind you and return your focus to his shirt so you could scratch at his chest and leave red welts across his skin.

“No.” The frantic lawyer shook his head, pressing his fingertips over the fresh mark he’d sucked into your neck simply to watch you whine from the pressure of the blooming bruise. “Belt, now.”

Jumping at the ragged command that rasped from Hiromi’s throat, you complied without teasing or complaint. Working the tail of his leather belt through the buckle and sighed at the clatter of the metal when it rattled free to join his tie somewhere unseen in the room.

“Fuck… take it out, please.”

He didn’t wait for you to say anything, nor did he wait for you to pop his top button or lower his zip. He was too focused on freeing your bountiful tits and taking them into his mouth. Your eyes raised to the heavens when his hot needy tongue licked around your nipple, the lace cups shoved down to push your breast up and into his face.

For long moments, you only watched as he laved you with his spit, lips drawn around your pert buds to elicit that deep-seated squirm of pleasure that echoed between your thighs. Hiromi lifted his gaze to your face, making sure you watched as he sandwiched your breast together with his broad palms so he could suckle both nipples at once. Your jaw slackened, your stomach sucked in, and your hips undulated atop his thighs.

It invigorated the tightness of your hold on his cock, drawing it out of his briefs followed by his heavy balls to stroke him hard and fast. He could take it, you knew that, his purpled cockhead sticky from precum that painted your fingers and palm. You paused with his foreskin pulled back, fingers ringing his base to use your other hand to tickle the seam of his balls. He jerked up with a muffled grunt, a resounding pop echoing in the study when his lips pulled free of your breasts.

“Need you, Sir. Please, want this,” you paused to squeeze his shaft in emphasis, “Inside me.”

“Little fucking temptress, you know that? Should’ve bent you over this desk days ago…” He growled against your collarbone, marking it with his teeth.

Higuruma stood abruptly. You squealed and anchored an arm around his neck, refusing to give up your possessive grab of his throbbing dick. He turned and shoved the back of his chair flush against the edge of his desk to stabilise it before dropping you into the leather seat and folding your legs back to your chest.

His rough fingers pinched into the fat of your thighs, fiddling with the sticky bands of your lace stockings and damn near ripped them. You would have complained had it not been for the raw emotions written all over Hiromi’s face, his eyes fixed on the seat of your underwear and the obvious stain that was caused by his ministrations.

Bending his knees to drop closer to you, he savoured your mouth with his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to curl over your teeth. He filled his hands with the fat of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart and massaging the roundness with little gentleness. It was all you could do to moan, the sounds swallowed greedily only to be replaced by a pleading keen when he tugged your underwear away from your cunt. The fabric bunched around your knees, and you assumed he’d move back to remove them fully, but he didn’t. Instead, he twisted the material until it was tight around the bend of your knees, pinning you in place.

His long slender fingers stroked your pretty slit, coming away with remnants of your arousal and using it to mix with his precum that continued to weep onto your hand. Hiromi’s head sagged forward, black hair falling into his eyes as a long string of saliva fell from what he’d gathered behind his teeth to your sensitive clit. He smeared it around the bundle of nerves, scissoring his fingers until he could tug it feverishly.

“Hiro… fuck me already. Goddammit, I’m gonna blow,” you whined, painfully aware that you were dangling by a thread.

You helped him lead his cock to your entrance, tapping it against your folds to see the tendons in his neck strain and giving you some semblance of smug satisfaction. When he finally notched where you needed him most, your breathing was coming so rapidly you faintly worried you might pass out from this. The air was so thick you struggled to inhale, drowning in this faux forbidden tryst.

He groaned, long and low. His nose nudged into your warm cheek as he bent even lower and pushed into your velvet heat. “That’s it. This pretty pussy is sucking me in—fuck—oh, you like that?” He teased, his hips drawing back only to plunge in again, and deeper this time when he felt you clench around him.

You gripped his forearms, head lolling against the headrest when his cock reached your depths, and the coarse midnight patch of hairs at his pelvis rubbed delicious friction into your pert little pearl.

“Mhm… mhm. Keep going. Don’t stop.”

Higuruma could have laughed at the absurdity of your words. What made you think he could stop even if he wanted to? You were hugging him too perfectly, pulling him back in each time he withdrew his hips. The rhythmic pap of his full-to-bursting balls against the split of your ass rocketed him closer and closer to the finish point, enough so that he fisted the base of his dick to stave off his looming orgasm. He wasn’t ready for this to end, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop either.

The tails of his shirt escaped his trousers and obscured the view of his cock disappearing into your warm cunt, and he growled in frustration. You were so close to the precipice of your orgasm that you didn’t realise why he was growling, only moaning at the primal noise and clenching down hard enough that Hiromi’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Releasing his hold on your thighs, he grinned wolfishly at the imprints of his fingertips on the backs of your legs. With his heart pounding rapidly, he ripped his shirt up his torso and gripped the material between his teeth. His cock sawed in and out at a pace that was losing its rhythm at an alarming rate.

He’d never looked like this before, crazed with desire and burning heat covering the apples of his cheeks. The whisky smoke in his eyes was barely visible due to how blown out his pupils were, and you lifted a hand to caress his cheek. His eyes cut to you, hips rotating whilst buried against your cervix, and with a sharp nod, he asked you to cum for him. His thumb sought out your clit, working it from side to side whilst his balls drew painfully tight and the first lick of molten heat dripped at the base of his spine.

Your eyes rolled over, limbs going lax and pliant pinned between the chair and his body. Your toes curled within your stockings, thighs trembling and butterflying open onto the arms of the chair. Hiromi rode out your high, slowing himself just so, but he couldn’t hold back for too long.

With a willpower that shocked him, he pulled out at the last moment and pumped himself until thick viscous spurts of cum shot across your exposed breasts and stained the blouse covering your stomach. He convulsed so intensely his knees nearly buckled, long drawn-out whimpers ripping from his throat, and you watched it all through hooded, blissed-out eyes.

Hiromi sagged forward, his forehead pressed against yours as he fought to catch his breath. His cock twitched as it softened, the sensation worsened by your toying little fingers exploring his sensitive skin and rubbing the mixture of his and your arousal into his pelvis and across his balls. He didn’t know what to say. The fantasy lived out was so much more than his imagination could conjure, but he still felt a little vulnerable now it was over.

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and licked over his parched lips. Words caught in his throat, but they were cut off by the trill of his phone on the desk as it vibrated across the wood. You handed it to him with a shy smile, and he answered it after smoothing back his hair.

“Mr Higuruma?”

“S-speaking,” he answered, clearing his throat urgently.

“I’m calling from Clerical Angels. Unfortunately, I have bad news. It is going to be another week before a new assistant can start. I’m sorry for the delay, I know it must be an inconvenience…”

Your eyes widened at the conversation you could hear as clear as day, meeting his steady gaze with cheeks that burned with a combination of mild embarrassment and intrigue. One more week.

“Not at all. I think I can cope, my wife is happy to bend over backwards for me.”

Oh, Hiromi would pay for that comment… but not for at least another week.

#delirious writes #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #higuruma smut #higuruma hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #jjk higuruma #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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wandasaura · 3 months

Text

THE ONE YOU REACHED FOR

summary — after you decide to be a brat as a means to get natasha’s attention, she punishes you, though wanda thinks she’s entirely too soft

warning(s) — married wandanat, dom/sub relationship, bratting, punishment, grinding, humiliation, spanking, orgasm control, daddy kink, minor choking, strap-on usage, degrading, praise, oh so much reassurance, aftercare, wanda being a menace, reader being a menace right back, essentially enemies to lovers but reader’s stubborn, men/minors dni

authors note — this series was inspired by gold rush on ao3! i highly recommend checking it out! that being said, i may have gotten carried away with this dynamic but i absolutely adore wandanat and the budding relationship between wanda and r (even if r is too stubborn to see it yet), apart of the you are in love universe

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Natasha’s office was cold. Your legs and arms were adorned in a layer of goosebumps that even a night in the Antarctic would envy, but she made no indication that she even noticed your violent shivering. You were just thankful she hadn’t made you face the wall, at least now you could watch as she sifted through emails and excel word documents with ease. Your nose scrunched in disgust when you caught sight of a particularly grueling math equation, but she had tackled it with grace, something she did frequently. Nothing could rattle her composure, not even your brattiness on the hottest summer day New Jersey had seen all season.

You heard Wanda’s footsteps before you saw her, but there was no doubt in your mind that the auburn-haired Sokovian was the one coming up the stairs. Nobody else had a key to the house, nobody save from you and well, you were already inside. The Maximoff’s were a high profile couple. Even before you’d gotten into a relationship with Natasha had you known of their existence. It was hard not to know of them, their multi-billion dollar law firm was at the top of its game and every celebrity and major corporation wanted them on their side. You’d want them on your side too if it ever came down to it, but thankfully you’d managed to stay out of trouble. Legally at least.

You saw Wanda before Natasha did, though you knew the scarlet-haired woman had heard her office door squeak on its hinges when she entered. Your cheeks flushed pink when Wanda’s eyes met yours and she raised a questioning brow at your predicament. She didn’t address you, no she completely ignored you in favor of sparking up conversation with her wife, the woman you had initially sought attention from.

“What’s she doing here?” Wanda questioned smoothly, her perfectly manicured hands finding their rightful place on Natasha’s shoulders, working out a knot near the nape of her neck. You huffed your annoyance, watching them with narrowed eyes as you pulled your arms closer around your torso and tried to keep warm. Initially, the cold had been comforting. It was blisteringly hot outside, and when you’d entered your cheeks had been flush from the sun, but now you wished Natasha would turn down the air conditioning or at least take pity on your chattering teeth and throw you the hoodie that laid unused on the couch beside her.

“Wanted attention. She almost had it too.” Natasha shrugged, turning her head just enough to meet Wanda’s waiting lips. Their kiss was sweet, nothing short of marital, but it made your belly burn with envy as you watched Wanda get what you wanted.

“She’s freezing, Nat.” Wanda rolled her eyes softly, having noticed the slightest tint of blue that adorned your usually very pink lips. She reached for the hoodie on the couch, chucking it over to you despite her wife’s protests. That was all the attention you received before she was back to being entirely occupied with her wife. “How long has she been in the corner?”

“Mm, bought half an hour.” Natasha mused only half interested in the conversation Wanda was attempting to have, her fingers already back to typing frantically on the noisy keyboard. Typically, you loved the sound of her typing. It was fast paced and soothing, but now you wanted nothing more than to throw the keyboard across the room and demand she never touched it again. You were in no position to be making such demands, but still you let yourself imagine the satisfaction of the action.

You slipped the hoodie over your head, smoothing down your wild hair the second your hands had slipped past the tight cuffs at the bottom of the sleeves. The article was warm and well worn, though all you really cared to notice was how it smelled distinctly of citrus and calm. You could identify the softest note of coconut and maybe mandarin, and your brows furrowed. Natasha wore vanilla. She never ventured into anything fruity, claiming she herself was fruity enough to spare the general public of smelling it too. That meant the hoodie had to be Wanda’s, and while irrational, you felt like it burned your skin by just touching you.

“What’d she do? Bite too hard?” Wanda teased, not even glancing in your direction despite you being the topic of conversation. It was utterly humiliating, but you’ve learned to expect nothing less when Wanda’s around. The woman has a real knack for getting under your skin, intentional or not. “You should really train your pet better.”

“I’m not a pet.” You huffed out, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly, but your outburst was ignored by both women. If you didn’t know superpowers were just a thing of fiction, you would’ve believed that you’d become invisible.

Natasha laughed at Wanda’s assumption, though she shook her head in response. “I asked her to give me five minutes. All the money I give her, you’d think she would’ve gotten herself a watch. Needy little thing couldn’t even last three before she was crawling into my lap and trying to undress me.”

“You're answering Pepper’s emails.” Wanda laughed amusedly, completely bypassing Natasha’s summary of events, not at all surprised by your unwillingness to be patient. Patience seemed to be your biggest undoing, even after seven months of being taught the importance of it. “She’ll have a heart attack. It hasn’t sat in your inbox for at least two weeks yet.”

You couldn’t see Natasha’s face, but you could imagine her rolling her eyes. After almost a year of being under contract with the lawyer, you’d come to know her mannerisms like the back of your hand. This type of back and forth wasn’t new to you, but it’s the first time you’d been forced to watch without any kind of attention yourself. To say you hated it was an understatement.

“Did I tell you that you could leave that corner?” Natasha growled, not even having to look over her shoulder to know that you were starting to migrate toward them. Your footsteps were light, perfectly inaudible, but as well as you knew her, she knew you even better.

“I want you!” You whined rather petulantly, not caring how you came across, not caring that you’d probably just earned yourself at least twenty spanks for not only talking back to her but for leaving your post before you’d been given permission. You’d played this game too many times before. Wanda had seen you play this game too many times. But still, you never learned how to make things easy for yourself.

“Did I tell you that you could leave that corner?” Natasha all but growled, still not turning around to give you even a sliver of attention. Your usual soft and attentive dominant was uncharacteristically cruel today, and you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were toeing a little too close to the line

“No.” You answered meekly, digging your naked toes into the hardwood floors beneath your feet. Shame flooded your senses, a desperate need to be good coming over you and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Please Daddy. I don’t wanna stand in the corner anymore. It’s cold!”

“I swear, Nat. You need to do something about her attitude.” Wanda remarked, her eyes focused on her perfectly manicured fingers as she poked and pushed at her cuticles, entirely uninterested in your predicament.

“Yeah? And what would you suggest?” Natasha scoffed rather uninterestedly, switching through her tabs until she’d gotten back to her excel spreadsheet and transferred whatever finances she’d been focusing on for the last hour.

“Oh, I’d break her.” Wanda snorted, highly amused that Natasha thought you’d be able to handle whatever punishment she would have dished out for your disobedience. “That little girl doesn’t want to know what I’d do to her.”

Your insides burned at Wanda’s implication, and you couldn’t decipher if it was your burning hatred for her and her constant need to appear smug and all powerful, or if it was your desperate curiosity to take her up on that challenge that sparked such feeling in your belly. Whatever it was, it only added to the growing need between your thighs.

“Daddy.” You whined, shuffling on your feet as you contemplated going completely against her and approaching her lap with a pleading gaze, or retreating back to the corner until she deemed you sorry enough to leave it. “Please.”

“You’ve got a brat to tame, Romanoff.” Wanda mused, pressing one last kiss to Natasha’s cheek before she took up space on the two-person couch pressed up against the wall and just beneath the tightly closed and locked window.

“We both know that’s your forte.” Natasha scoffed, huffing out a laugh as she returned her attention to whatever problem Pepper was emailing her about. After seven months, you’d become well versed in the names and job descriptions of most of their employees, and you knew that if Pepper was emailing Natasha for anything at all, that it was important. A pit formed in your belly thinking about how you couldn’t even wait five minutes before taking her attention into your own hands. Clearly you’d interrupted something important.

“Daddy!” You pleaded, tears brimming your eyes as your guilt and desperate need consumed you. You weren’t sure which feeling was the cause for your tears, probably both, but you were at your breaking point and her silent game was only working to undo you faster than you could tolerate it. “Please.” You cried out weakly, nervously chewing on the string of the hoodie, not caring if Wanda would be repulsed by the action, nor if you ruined her hoodie because of it.

“Out of your mouth.” The Sokovian redhead demanded, not harshly, but not kindly either. You hadn’t even realized her eyes had been watching your movements, but your cheeks burned at the reprimand and the string of the hoodie, now damp from your tongue and teeth, dropped back to where it had previously been hanging. You hated giving her the satisfaction of your obedience, but your brain was too overwhelmed to be anything but compliant.

Your nails took the place of the hoodie’s string, already bitten down to the bone as a result of your crippling anxiety and desire to fidget with anything and everything. Natasha had been attempting to break that nasty habit, but she wasn’t around nearly enough for her efforts to be consistent. You saw her a handful of times a week, some days for the sole purpose of engaging in kink, sometimes just because she liked to know you as a person just as much as she liked to know you as her submissive, but there were weeks where she was needed on business and the best you’d get was a measly phone call and text messages. If you weren’t contractually binded, and had met by chance, you would have no hesitation about considering her a friend, though you liked much more to call her your daddy.

“Come here, baby.” Natasha demanded, pushing away from her desk and swiveling on the chair until her eyes met yours. You’d half expected Wanda to reprimand her for being too soft with you, but it seemed even the Sokovian could tell that you’d passed the point of being bratty and were now drowning in your own thoughts. There was a fine line between punishment and neglect, and even if the lawyer thought you were in need of serious correction, she’d be cruel to even consider leaving you in this state.

You approached Natasha hurriedly, sinking into her lap without hesitation. Your arms looped around her neck tightly, almost challenging her to even attempt to break your grip and send you back to the corner. “Don’t like bein’ ignored.” You sniffled, digging your face into her shoulder, hiding away from Wanda’s heavy gaze and the shame of your previous actions.

“Neither does Daddy.” Natasha stated matter of factly, only adding to the shame that was bubbling over in your belly. Her head rested heavily on the back of your head, allowing you to stay hidden as you attempted to keep yourself together. “Don’t think I’ve gotten about your snarky comment toward Wanda either, or how you deliberately disobeyed me when you took it upon yourself to leave the corner.”

You already knew where she was going with this line of conversation, and you whined pleadingly into her neck, desperate to just avoid another round of punishment in favor of being satisfied. Your hips rocked against hers, your fingers curling into her hair the way you know she likes, tugging gently when you weren’t immediately rewarded with a soft moan. Your bout of regret having clearly been forgotten about as you resumed the bratty tactics that had gotten you into the predicament in the first place.

A sharp sting spread up your thigh in seconds, the sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing around the otherwise quiet office. You gasped in shock, pulling your face away from her neck to look deep into her eyes and search for forgiveness, but all you found was annoyance. You huffed, knowing that you were too far in to back down now, and so tauntingly, you resumed the act of rocking your hips into hers, not lost on the fact that she had a strap confined beneath her business slacks.

“Is it the red one I like, Daddy?” You asked coyly, letting your hand drop from where it was wrapped around her shoulders and teasingly venture down between the valley of her breasts until you came to the bulge in her pants. You squeezed experimentally, rewarded with her breathy moan when the hilt of the harness pressed against her clit, confirmation that she was at least half as worked up as you.

“Have I taught you nothing, Natalia?” Wanda growled, watching the scene unfold before her. You’d almost forgotten she was even in the room, and daringly your eyes snapped to hers. Wanda didn’t fold beneath your heavy glare, merely matching your stare with disinterest in her eyes. Natasha would’ve met your glare. She would’ve narrowed her eyes and silently dared you to keep up with that attitude, but Wanda acted like you weren’t shooting daggers through her. “If you do not want me to come over there and handle you myself, you will fix your attitude, brat.” The slight rasp in Wanda’s tone was undeniably a turn on, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she had gotten to you. Instead, you stuck your tongue out at her, unsure of how else you were meant to defy her wishes.

Before Wanda could get off the couch, a tick in her jaw at your blatant defiance, Natasha’s fingers were twisting into your hair and tugging your attention back to her. Your glare softened immediately, and sweetly, you placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Do I need to remind you of our rules?” She warned, and you huffed in defeat, wringing your hands together in your lap as you shook your head. “Then you will drop your attitude and apologize to Wanda.”

“I didn’t even do anything, Daddy!” You groaned, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

Clearly that wasn’t the response Natasha was looking for, because in only a matter of seconds you were being hauled off her lap but a handful of your hair and forced to bend over the edge of the desk she’d been occupying for the last hour. “What is rule number six?” She growled in your ear, her hot and heavy breath only adding to the goosebumps that adorned your skin. You’d almost forgotten about them at this point, entirely warmed by her body being so close to yours and the hoodie over your shoulders, but now the memory of them was back and your teeth chattered in response.

A heavy hand met your denim covered ass cheek and your whined, back arching upward in an attempt to dodge her next hit. “What is rule number six?” She asked through gritted teeth, forcing you back into position the way she liked.

“I will show respect to Daddy and her friends.” You huffed, “But Wanda’s not your friend! She’s your wife! That’s not in the rules!”

“She is my wife, that’s right. That means you should not only show her respect, but worship the ground she walks on, not be a disobedient brat.” Natasha seethed, landing another harsh spank to the softest spot of your thigh, not caring that you’re particularly sensitive there, nor that you let out a sharp cry of pain that was in no way mixed with pleasure in response. You’d always hated when she spanked the back of your thighs. It was one of your only limitations when you’d been filling out the contract. It wasn’t a hard no, she never would’ve struck you there if it was, but it was something you’d requested be done sparingly, and clearly you’d worked her up enough to earn yourself one.

“M’kay.” You sniffled, burying your face in your folded arms, not wanting to even spare Wanda a glance. You were absolutely certain there was a smug smile on her lips as she watched you finally be dealt with, but something told you this was the bottom of the barrel when it came to punishments she was capable of.

“How many spanks do you get when you break a rule?” Natasha asked lowly, her left hand still tangled into your hair, and she pulled sharply, forcing your back to arch in her direction, not allowing you the dignity to hide away.

“Ten.” You cried out weakly, trying to alleviate the sting in your scalp as you followed your hand. You’d always been flexible, years of sports and training had assured that, but not even that could completely help you in this situation as she pulled back farther and farther until you stopped struggling in her grip and just admitted defeat. You could safeword if you needed to. Punishments were not an exception to your comfort, but you trusted her to not push your limits, and shamefully, you knew that you needed this. You’d feel too guilty to cope if she completely forwent punishment.

“And how many rules have you broken?” She asked, the softest tinge of her accent bleeding into her words as she let herself completely surrender to her dominant headspace. You always loved when you worked her up to this point, but you hated that this time it was a result of your bratty actions that had done it.

“Um, I don’t know.” You sniffled, but clearly that wasn’t the right answer as she tugged at your hair again, ignoring your sharp cry and the twitch of your fingers as you held onto the edge of the desk.

“What are the rules?” Natasha asked, only slackening her grip the slightest bit. It helped with the sting in your scalp, but it wasn’t completely gone yet.

“I will tell Daddy what I need and what makes me uncomfortable. I will drink at least one bottle of water a day. I will show respect to Daddy and her friends. I will not touch myself without permission. I will not cum without permission. I will use my safeword if I need to. I deserve aftercare.” You rattled off the list with a practiced ease, having practically had the rules engraved in your mind since the very first week of the arrangement.

“Did you tell me that you were feeling anxious being left in that corner?” Natasha’s voice was soft, her grip in your hair gentle and comforting. She let you rest against her chest, your punishment temporarily forgotten as she walked you through the reason behind the awaiting spanking.

Even Wanda had softened in the corner of the room, looking at you with a gleam of something indistinguishable in her eyes. You hated the sight of it, but you couldn’t look away with Natasha’s hand in your hair, so instead you opted to close your eyes, and Natasha allowed you to. Talking about your anxiety was not your favorite pastime, and it was typically avoided whenever Wanda or anyone else was around, but it seems today you wouldn’t get that courtesy. You knew you could safeword, you knew you could ask for Wanda to step out during this conversation at the very least, but as much as you don’t like her, you thought she deserved some kind of explanation for your earlier actions when you’d found comfort in destroying her hoodie. She had to have some idea by now. Natasha offered you too much reassurance for it to have gone completely unnoticed. You’d rather her have the answers then speculate.

“No, Daddy.” You whispered shamefully. “I-I was okay until Wanda said you were answering Pepper. I didn’t like you ignoring me, but I wasn’t anxious.”

“What made you anxious?” Natasha asked calmly, fully loosening her grip on your hair, instead settling for scratching softly at your scalp and letting you melt fully into her, her unoccupied arm wrapping around your torso and keeping you close. You’d never had a dominant prior to Natasha. You’d tested the waters with previous partners sure, but you’d never actively pursued it in the way that you were now. Natasha’s dominance over you didn’t stop once you left the bedroom, and unlike your previous flings, she always tried to understand your triggers so she could avoid them in the future, both sexually and domestically.

“Pepper only emails you when it’s important. I couldn’t be good for five minutes and I interrupted you when you were busy. After I barged in unannounced. I felt– I feel bad.” You whispered softly, dropping your chin to your chest, desperately craving her touch and correction. Nothing would calm the raging storm of guilt in your belly until she punished you. You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself until you knew that she did, and words weren’t enough.

“Pepper does email me for important things most times, but she was only asking about the colors of the banquet, milyy. If it was important, I would have told you that.” Natasha gently informs, and your shoulders deflate in relief. You hadn’t even realized you’d been so tense, but with the promise that you hadn’t entirely disrupted her, you could relax. “Why didn’t you safeword? You know that if you start to feel anxious, no matter what, I expect you to safeword.”

“I thought I deserved to feel bad for interrupting you and being bad.” You muttered shyly, acutely aware of how Wanda’s breath caught in her throat at your explanation. You hadn’t ever shown this side of yourself to her. It was always Natasha alone who had the misfortune of catching you in an episode of panic.

“You are not bad. You are never bad. I do not want to hear you say that again, do you understand, detka?” Natasha asked sternly, and you merely shrugged.

“I was mean to Wanda, and I interrupted you, and I didn’t listen. That’s three rules. Please Daddy.” Natasha knew you needed her to spank you. You needed to clear your head, and you needed her to help you, but she wouldn’t relent until she heard you repeat her words.

“In a second, milyy.” She assured you gently, her hand leaving your hair entirely in favor of spinning you around in her arms and tilting your chin upward until you had no choice but to look her in the eye. “I want you to tell me that you are not bad.”

“I’m not bad.” You didn’t believe it. She knew you didn’t believe it, but for right now, she let it go. A soft kiss was placed on the tip of your nose, a sweet action that you had made clear you adored. Unlike the giggles it usually provoked, you merely smiled weakly and leaned into her touch.

“You’re getting thirty spanks. We’ll see if you deserve my strap after that.” Natasha nodded, content for the moment. She spun you back around, making quick word of the button and zipper on your denim shorts. Your cheeks flushed red, remembering the specific choice of underwear you’d chosen that morning. Baby pink flowers adorned your ass, and the somewhat frilly elastic edges were a gentle shade of green that would make Natasha’s eyes pop if she held it up to her face.

You felt entirely exposed knowing that Wanda was witnessing this and seeing your less than sexy underwear, but it wasn’t the first time she’s seen you be bent over a surface in her house. You remembered vividly the last time she had watched Natasha spank you. It had been after a long day in the office, and Wanda had come home to find you bent over the arm of the couch. She made a joke that Natasha intended to christen every piece of furniture in the house, and while it hadn’t been funny to you, Natasha had laughed loudly and freely in response.

“You will count after each one. If you mess up, we’re starting over. Do you understand?” She asked, pressing down on your back and assuring that you understood where you were meant to remain for the duration of your spanking. You were on your tippy toes, the top of your thighs pressing into the edge of her desk, but you didn’t have the right to complain about the uncomfortable position, so you merely nodded your head and braced for the first hit.

It came seconds later, powerful and unforgiving on your left asscheek. You felt the flesh bounce in response, and the string that was left behind was so sinfully pleasant that you ground your teeth together and choked out a harsh, “One, Daddy.”

The second hit was delivered all the same, left in the same exact spot with a practiced precision. Leave it to Natasha to have good enough hand-eye contact to be able to leave a handprint on your ass so vividly you’d see it leftover for days. The third hit came to your right asscheek, and a gush of arousal further dampened your already saturated panties. The flowers beneath your sopping entrance were undoubtedly a dark shade of pink by now, and you could only imagine what the sight looked like to her.

The fourth and fifth spank came directly after one another, and you counted them off rather breathlessly as her hand gently massaged your stinging flesh until it was nothing more than a pleasant ache. Your eyes were pinched shut, your breathing was shallow, but you craved the next hit, and when it didn’t come, you whined in protest and pushed your ass out toward her hips.

“Begging for me to spank you. How pathetic.” Natasha taunted, though she didn’t disappoint, and the next spank came quickly after, directed toward the center of your ass.

By sixteen, there were tears in your eyes and a desperate pulse in your clit, but you hadn’t miscounted nor forgotten about numbers entirely, and Natasha was beaming with pride. “Good girl.” She cooed, her fingers trailing over your panties until she came upon the wet patch between the apex of your thighs. “So fucking wet. Does it turn you on when Daddy spanks your ass?”

Natasha knows that it does. You’ve asked for enough spankings in the last seven months to prove that fact to her, but she still finds a way to humiliate you every time you find yourself bent over as punishment. There is a very thin line between a maintenance spanking and a punishment, but you know that by time you reach the thirtieth spank you’ll have crossed the threshold of pleasurable pain. “Y-Yes. Daddy please. Please.”

“What do you want, detka? Use your words. You had no problem using them earlier when you wanted to mouth off with my wife.” All the while her hand was still buried between your thighs, avoided your clit with skilled ease, and it was slowly driving you insane. Her index finger pushed against your entrance overtop of your panties, not enough to provide any semblance of pleasure, but still enough to make your knees tremble beneath your awkwardly supported weight.

“Spank me. Please, Daddy, spank me!” You sobbed, attempting to reach for the edge of the desk in a weak attempt to ground yourself in the moment, but with your half-floating position, you found that it was just out of reach and you cried out in frustration as you settled for digging your blunt fingernails into her desk instead.

You hadn’t noticed Wanda approaching you, too lost in the pleasure of Natasha’s fingers on your cunt and the delicious sting in your ass, but you felt her nonetheless. Her hands, so soft and warm compared to the freezing temperature of the office, found a place on your lower back that was still covered by the thick material of her sweatshirt.

“Shh, dorogoy.” She soothed you gently, a stark contrast to her typical cold and sharp tone. You didn’t have any fight left in you to care about her close proximity to you, and desperately you scrounged about until your hand found hers and squeezed tightly. It was at that moment that Natasha resumed her prior actions, and a harsh and sharp spank landed on your left asscheck.

“Seventeen, Daddy!” You cried out, squeezing Wanda’s hand tightly. You were beginning to regret breaking so many rules. You were still thirteen spanks away from being forgiven, and that pleasurable pain that you found comfort in was turning bitter the harsher she was with you. You needed this, both of you knew that, but that never made it any easier to swallow in the moment. Tomorrow, you’d think twice before sitting down for meals or tasks, you’d fondly poke at your sore ass and giggle at the dull ache that brought a sense of comfort and security over you, but for right now, it was torture, especially when you were so desperate for release.

Her hits only seemed to get harsher and stronger as you got closer to thirty, but Wanda didn’t pull away even for a second and every so often Natasha would whisper praises in your ear that made your insides turn to mush. You were lost in your head, mindlessly counting out numbers with no real acknowledgement for what they meant, just desperate to please her. It was only when you reached number twenty five that Natasha switched up her tactics and paused for a moment, taking the time to undress you fully and surrender your body to the harsh cold of her office.

You whined when your pebbled nipples met the cold surface of her desk, already sensitive without the stimulating chilled surface. You squirmed for only a second before Natasha reprimanded you for trying to find a comfortable position, stilling immediately in fear of her adding more spanks or taking away your right to feel her cock in your pussy as a reward. This was a punishment, you would take it how she gave it unless you absolutely couldn’t.

“Five more.” She promised, leaving a soft kiss in the middle of your back. “I want you to tell me you’re not bad after each one, is that understood?”

When you didn’t answer, entirely lost in the blissful beginning of subspace, Wanda gently captured your attention, showing you a glimpse of her softer side. A side you would see more of if you didn’t try to get under her skin each and every time she was around. “Daddy asked you a question, milyy. She expects an answer.”

Breathing out shakily, you nodded your head. “Understood, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” Natasha hummed, but that was the last offer of praise you were given before her hand clapped against the skin of your thigh and you whined and keened in response, trying to wiggle away from her harsh hits.

“No, Daddy!” You sobbed, your hand desperately fighting against Wanda’s hold. She let you go instantly, and you didn’t hesitate to reach down and rub at the sore spot she left with a deep pout on your lips. “Ow!” You whined, tears slipping past your eyes and dampening your cheeks as your shoulders trembled.

“Shh.” Natasha and Wanda cooed in sync, and if you weren’t so spaced out you would’ve rolled your eyes at their alikeness. “I know it hurts, milyy. I know you don’t like it, but this is important to Daddy. It’s important to me that you know you’re not bad. Only four more. You’re being such a good girl. My best girl. Making Daddy so proud, taking your punishment so good. Let Wanda hold your hand, and it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll get me cock. Okay?” Natasha gently fussed over your state of upset, the pads of her thumbs wiping the tears off of your face. You leaned into her gentle touch, savoring it before you nodded weakly.

The next hit came just as harsh as the first, but you’d been expecting it at the very least, and hadn’t had such a violent reaction. Wanda praised you through the entire ordeal, not even considering reprimanding you when your voice grew hoarse and you barely remembered to echo the words Natasha had asked you to repeat. She got the hint that this was one of your softer limits, so she settled for talking you through it rather than demanding you show her partner some respect. She felt so full of warmth as she watched you take the last three spanks with minimal complaints, knowing the level of trust it took to allow a dominant to use a weakness against you, even if it wasn’t in any way ill intended.

“No more, Daddy! No more. Please.” You sobbed when the last hit came, your thighs a gentle shade of pink that Natasha would have fussed over had she not been entirely too committed to making sure you were okay. Your thighs were slick with arousal, your clit pulsed with need, and she had every intention of making it better once she got you to calm down.

“No more. You did so good for me, detka. My good girl. Daddy’s so proud of you.” She cooed gently, pulling you up off the desk and into her waiting arms. You melted against her chest, pliant and putty in her hands as she gently massaged your stinging ass, careful to leave your thighs alone for the time being.

“I’m sorry.” You sobbed, fisting her shirt in your trembling fists, suddenly very aware of how clothed she and Wanda were in comparison to you. Even your pink and green panties had been discarded on the floor in a pile, the scent of your arousal heavy and thick in the air.

“All’s forgiven, milyy. You’re okay.” She reassured, peppering tiny kisses into the crown of your head before she pulled away completely and eased you back onto her desk, this time allowing you to rest on your back in a comfortable position. Her skilled fingers dipped between your dripping folds, collecting your wetness that awaited and begged for her touch. “You’re so wet. Is this all for me?” She teased gently, bringing her fingers up toward her mouth. Her tongue darted out to sweep against the digits, and she moaned in delight at the taste of you. It had been entirely too long since she’d gotten to properly devour you, but that would have to wait until a later date. She didn’t have the heart to leave you hanging any longer then she already had, especially not when you’d been such a good girl for her.

“Please.” You begged, your hooded eyes tracing her movements as she sucked her fingers clean and let them leave her mouth with an audible pop as she abruptly broke the suction. “Please, I want your cock. I’ve been good! Please Daddy, I want you inside of me!”

“You’ve been so good, little one. The best girl.” Natasha affirmed, already working on the button of her business pants. You watched her intently, not paying Wanda the slightest bit of attention though you should’ve known better than that. When you were distracted with the sight of Wanda, the Sokovian woman to your right had taken it upon yourself to work you up even further, clearly not yet satisfied with the length of time you’d had to wait to get to this very moment.

Her fingers found your nipple in only a matter of seconds, and you gasped out in a mixture of shock and pain when she pinched and pulled at your sensitive buds cynically. You arched up into her touch, not sure if you wanted more of it or none of it, and your eyes fluttered closed. Wanda didn’t like that your attention was no longer on Natasha, and she made that clear when she twisted your left nipple harshly. “Eyes open. Your Daddy may have forgiven you, but I’ve yet to get an apology.”

Your eyes snapped open at her words, frantically searching for Natasha as you refocused on her half undressed body. Her black pants were on in a heap on the floor residing beside your own pile of clothes, but her shit was still buttoned over her chest, wrinkled from your tight grip and somewhat disheveled from how aggressively she’d pulled you flush against her at the beginning of your punishment.

Your lips parted in lust when you caught sight of the red strap-on between her thighs. She hadn’t confirmed your suspicions before, but now it was undeniable that throughout this entire ordeal, she’d been packing your favorite toy between her thick and strong thighs. A needy whine left your lips when Wanda harshly slapped at your tits, the soft mounds of flesh bouncing as a result of her hits.

“I don’t think you deserve to be fucked by your favorite toy after mouthing off to me, but you’re Daddy’s too kind to go get a different one. You should thank her.” She hadn’t said you didn’t deserve to be fucked at all, but something about the idea of Natasha switching to a smaller strap seemed like a worse punishment then being left high and dry all together, and feverishly you thanked her for her generosity, not wanting to risk the chance of Wanda’s words actually packing a punch.

Gently, Natasha guided the tip of the strap into your entrance, letting you get accustomed to the stretch before she completely bottomed out inside of you. She’d only gotten the red strap recently, three weeks ago after a business trip to LA, and while you adored it and took it like a champ every time she pulled it out, it was significantly girthier than any of the other ones that resided in her and Wanda’s collection. She didn’t want to hurt you, no matter how many times you told her to be rough.

“Move. Daddy, move please! Fuck me!” You begged, writhing beneath Wanda’s hot hands as she kept up with her ministations on your sensitive and aching nipples.

“You want me to move, pretty girl? You want me to fuck this needy cunt?” Natasha’s thumb found your clit easily, and she rubbed harsh circles along your sensitive bundle of nerves the way she knew you liked it, perfectly content with the knowledge that you wouldn’t last a full five minutes if she kept up the way she was. She was close herself. The strap had been rubbing against her clit since she’d put it on that morning, not knowing you’d show up, but anticipating it anyways. She really did know you like the back of her hand.

“Please! Please! Please Daddy, I want it! I need it!” You babbled needily, uncaring for how you came across to Wanda. You arched into the touch of the Sokovian, you desperately leaned into the strap, your body attempting to stretch in multiple directions as you chased after all of the sensations the two married women were providing your already overstimulated body.

Natasha didn’t need to hear you beg anymore. She set a brutal pace as she snapped her hips, rocking the dildo into your pussy and simultaneously chasing the pressure it put on her clit. She toyed with your clit in unwavering determination to see you fall apart, her eyes pinched shut as she chased after her own pleasure and provided you with yours. Your incoherent babbling was like music to her ears as she pulled your thighs further apart and thrust deeper into your pussy, hammering your sensitive and tight walls with a punishing pace.

“G-Gonna cum! Daddy! Please! Please! I want to c-cum! Please!” You pleaded and writhed, thankful that Wanda had eased off your nipples and you could now focus fully on the sensations that spread through your body from the way Natasha worked your cunt.

“Is that how you ask?” Wanda teased, her hot hand laying softly on your neck. She didn’t squeeze, she wouldn’t without your explicit permission, which she didn’t have, but just the thought of her choking you like Natasha did had your mind reeling and the desperation growing. “Ask nicely.”

“Please can I cum Daddy? Please!” You sobbed, feeling the coil ready to snap with or without Natasha’s explicit permission. You so desperately wanted to be good, wanted to prove yourself not only to her but to Wanda, who seemed to question if you even knew the definition of obedience, but you couldn’t stave off your orgasm for much longer. You’d been desperate for her touch all day, and now that you finally had it the way that you wanted it, it was almost impossible to deny yourself that release.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my cock. Daddy’s gonna cum with you.” Natasha grunted in a manner that was so hot you nearly lost your mind. With Wanda’s hand still loosely around your neck and Natasha’s quick thrust and skilled fingers working you over, you fell over the edge and into a blinding orgasm that had tears falling from your eyes. That blissful taste of subspace that you’d been experiencing since spank seventeen took over in full force, and with the resolution of your climax, you surrendered to the fuzzy feeling in your mind.

Natasha kissed you gently, her tongue still tasting like your arousal from when she’d licked her fingers clean, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the taste of you on her lips. Your eyes fluttered closed when she stilled her hips and subsequently the dildo, drinking in every physical reminder of her touch like you were scared she’d vanish completely if you didn’t appreciate it.

When she started to pull out, wanting to rid herself of the harness after wearing it for so many hours, you whined in response, desperately pulling her closer to you. The strap-on rubbed against your sensitive walls in a way that was unpleasant at best, and you mourned the loss of the full feeling inside of you before it was even really gone.

“Not today, detka.” Natasha knew what you wanted. She knew how you liked to keep her strap buried inside of you for as long as she allowed after a session like this, but she couldn’t ignore her own discomfort for any longer, even if it meant bringing tears to your eyes. “Shh, it’s okay. Daddy’s still here.” She reassured softly, peppering kisses all over your face as she softly pulled the dildo out of you. You winced when your pussy squelched, a reminder of the wetness that still clung to your lower lips and thighs, but both women soothed your embarrassment with praises and reassurance.

“Clean yourself up.” Wanda nodded toward her wife, already managing to detangle your limbs from Natasha’s and exchange them for her own. It wasn’t the first time she’d assisted during aftercare, but it was the first time you’d been so far gone during it. She knew Natasha though, and the weight of the scene would surely dawn on her in only a handful of minutes now that she wasn’t being fuelled by adrenaline, and when that happened, when the crash came, Wanda knew that the Russian would want to be cleaned up and warm. “I’ll bring her to our bed. You need to focus on you for a couple of minutes.”

“Go with Wanda, baby.” Natasha didn’t argue with her wife, pressing a short kiss to both of your heads before she helped Wanda get a hold of you and cradle you to her chest. You had barely even recognized the shift, too sleepy and blissed out to realize that you were being carried away from Natasha and toward the warm master bedroom down the hall.

Wanda was gentle with you, and despite your hesitance to accept her help when you were in a fully sound headspace, you leaned into her now, craving more of her touch. Your glassy eyes searched for hers as she laid you gently in the center of the bed, already missing the warmth that she provided. You whined in protest, but Wanda only shushed you gently and stalked off toward the en-suite bathroom. You knew this routine well, but you were not at all fond of it.

A soft cry left your lips when you realized that you were all alone in their bed, and while their perfume lingered on the pillows and blankets, mixing together to create the most perfect and calming scent, it wasn’t as fulfilling as actually having them with you. The faucet running in the bathroom caught your attention, and just as you attempted to scramble off of the bed and follow the sound, Wanda’s voice had you stopping in your tracks and sinking into the plethora of pillows that surrounded you.

“Stay there, little one. I’ll be there in just a second.” She called out quietly, though her voice was laced with dominance that you couldn’t ignore. You whined pleadingly, looking between the open en-suite door and the hallway, desperate for either her or Natasha to come back and hold you. “Natty will be back soon. She’s probably getting you some water and a snack. You were such a good girl for her, malysh.”

“Good.” The word felt heavy on your tongue, but by some miracle you had managed to get it passed your lips. Your head was so fuzzy and void of any thoughts, but Wanda still praised your efforts.

When she came back into very, her hair was pinned up by a claw clip that you had seen Natasha wear a handful of times. You never really knew whose things were whose because the women shared everything so interchangeably, but despite your iffy relationship with Wanda, you thought it suited her well.

You were entirely too desperate for physical touch to care about who you sought it from (although secretly you were more than okay with it being Wanda who held you), and when her weight caused the mattress to dip as she joined you on the bed, you practically attacked her with your naked body. Her laughter was like music to your ears as she gently guided you into a lying position, shushing your complaints with a sweet and soft look in her green eyes.

“Such a good girl.” She cooed, dragging the damp washcloth up your inner thighs and over your sticky folds. You whined at the coldness of the rag and the rough material on your sensitive skin, but you made no attempt to wiggle away from it. “I know it’s cold, you’re being so good letting me clean you up. Do you hear that? That’s Natty.” Wanda smiled, effectively distracting you with the sounds of footsteps coming back up the stairs and toward the very room that you occupied.

“Daddy!” You whined, reaching for her the second you saw her in the doorway. As Wanda had promised, she had two bottles of water tucked beneath her arm and a sliced apple on a plate in her hands. She wore a gentle smile, her features no longer saturated in commanding dominance, much like Wanda’s weren’t either, though both women were highly aware of how you’d listen to their every command even without the practiced smolders they gave you.

“Just Natty, baby girl. It’s just Natty. We’re not playing right now, we’re all done.” She cooed gently, setting the plate of apples on the nightstand closest to the door before she reached out to take you into her arms. One bottle of water was passed to Wanda, who opened it thankfully and took a small sip, melting into the pillows against the headboard as she watched her wife fawn over you the way you deserve.

“Natty.” You whispered, preening as her hand found your hair and gently worked out any knots that had formed from when she grabbed you harshly. You melted into her touch, your forehead resting against her clothed stomach, though you took note of the fact that she was no longer wearing her business professional blouse, but rather an old t-shirt from her college years.

“Take a sip for me, baby love.” Natasha coaxed gently, unscrewing the lid on your own bottle of water and holding it up to your lips expectantly. You drank it up greedily, finishing half the bottle before she pulled it away and set it down on the nightstand. “Good girl. You’re such a good girl. Are you going to safeword when you need to next time?” She asked softly, needing to hear your answer for her own peace of mind. The fog in your head had cleared up slightly, and you nodded apologetically.

“It was a bad day.” You whispered softly, knowing that it was no excuse but wanting to give her some context. “I forgot I had an exam in logistics, so when I showed up to class I was completely blindsided. Came here straight after ‘cause I just wanted you and I thought I was okay, then when I thought that I had interrupted something important I just got overwhelmed and didn’t wanna… I don’t even know. Didn’t know how to ask for what I needed. M’sorry. Won't happen again.” You rambled out your apology, pleading with her to understand and forgive you, even though you knew that she already had.

“It makes me feel bad when you don’t safeword, but it’s forgiven. All is forgiven, malen’kiy.” Natasha promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose that was still pink from the flush of your orgasm. Unlike the last time she’d rewarded you with the action, you giggled in response and leaned in closer silently begging her to do it again.

“Are you gonna mouth off to Wanda again?” Natasha teased, her fingers digging into your ribcage as you sat perched on the edge of the bed and looked up at her with wide innocent eyes.

Despite your sore ass and thighs, you shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eyes that no amount of punishment could completely get rid of. “Probably.” You giggled, though there was something undeniably different about your feelings toward the lawyer now. You were too exhausted to figure out what had changed though, and so you left it to be a problem for another day.

Wanda, thoroughly amused with your shameless answer, gently chuckled a pillow in your direction and narrowed her eyes when you turned around to look at her. “Oi, little one. This is still my bed you’re getting all cozy in.”

You merely laughed, falling forward into Natasha’s arms, entirely content with spending the rest of your day wrapped up in her.

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yanaromanov · 2 months

Text

my sweet assistant

- professor!natasha x lawyer!wanda x reader

part summary: you take a position in assisting professor romanoff after classes to make up for a missed assignment. your flustered state only continues as you’re forced to spend one-on-one time with her, even more so when her wife is introduced into the equation…

part warning(s): teacher/student relationship, age gap (r is of age), power dynamics, married wandanat (no cheating), pet names, mentions of anxiety, mentions of bad family relations, minor death, funeral etc. minors dni

authors note: this took me a bit longer to write and release than i would have liked thanks to my broken arm and writers block so apologies for that. but even tho i kinda hate it, it’s here now, so i hope you enjoy! :)

part two of the inescapable love series

inescapable love series

･｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

11.5K words

People say life comes with its ups and downs, something you had come to learn was rather true, but why did it always seem the downs came at the worst of times? A call from your mother was never really a good sign to begin with, usually her nagging being the only thing waiting on the other end of the line, but this time when you picked up and heard what she had to say, not good turned to terribly bad. It wasn’t the extent of the problem as such that worried you, more so the timing. Your Russian class had an assignment coming up, due in less than a week, and thinking you had enough time to get round to it, you still hadn’t started. Something that would have been totally fine if not for your mom’s name popping up on your phone last night and sharing news that would throw your entire schedule off.

The way your mom had picked up the phone had immediately informed you something was wrong, but a death announcement was certainly the last thing you had been expecting to hear on a Sunday night. It was your grandmother, on your dad’s side. She’d passed away over the weekend, finally giving up on the hospice care she’d been dependent on for months. The news itself hadn’t been too much of a shock, the old woman’s health deteriorating for years, and it didn’t much upset you either. You’d never really been close to your grandmother, your brother being the one favoured from your family, keeping you distanced whenever you visited her house. Your teenage self had already mourned for the relationship you had never had and that felt more painful than the actual loss in front of you now.

The main thing concerning your mind now was how you were going to complete your assignment. On the phone, your mom had told you she’d already booked the flights for you coming home, prepared for the funeral just that week, a quick turn around due the arrangements been made in advance from the anticipation of her death. It would see you in England the entirety of the week, leaving tomorrow afternoon and not returning until late Friday evening. Even with the extra days you had at home, the funeral tea and family gatherings would no doubt leave you no time at all to complete your assignment.

You knew what you had to do now, had done it many times before for other classes, but something about this time felt more intimidating. As you sat in the lecture theatre, watching your professor teach at the front of the class, your heart pounded in your chest at the thought of asking for the extension. More time alone would have to be spent with your Russian professor, the last time still lingering unwanted in your mind. The thought of speaking to her one on one once more was enough to send your anxious mind into a frenzy.

Desperately, you tried to cling on to the reality of things as your lesson continued. It was the day of the week where your class would practice your Russian speaking, conversing with one another whilst Professor Romanoff would walk around, listening in and correcting any mispronunciations. In the end, it would build up to the speaking exam the end of semester held, a private conversation that each student would have with your professor which was then graded alongside your written tests.

The girl sat beside you had claimed the spot as your partner when the first speaking lesson had started up, thankfully not the same girl who’d passed you dirty looks after your perfectly scored paper. The two of you worked through the worksheet in front of you, sounding out the words and building them up into a conversation. Your partner seemed slower than you to grasp the concepts, but you found you didn’t quite mind, allowing your thoughts the moments in between to plan exactly how you’d make your request to Professor Romanoff.

When the class had finally drawn to a close, everyone began packing up their things, worksheets handed back down towards the front. Professor Romanoff stood against her desk, collecting papers as she shouted out across the clamouring hall. “Remember your assignment is due on Friday everyone. Do not use google translate. I can tell!”

It seemed your class wasn’t paying her announcement much notice, instead focused on making it out of the double doors and out into the corridor. Like you had done before, you packed away your things slowly, lingering in the row of seats until almost everyone had left the room. Only when the last few stragglers were close to the door, did you begin your descent towards the central desk. Professor Romanoff stood wiping clean the board once again, back facing you. This time, however, you cleared your throat to make your presence known. The woman’s face was slightly bewildered as she turned, melting away immediately as she spied you standing across the way, a smile appearing on her lips instead. “Miss Y/L/N,” she said, wiping the chalk dust away from her hands and turning back to close the distance between you. “Is everything alright?”

"Uhm, yes," you said nervously, watching as the woman came to stand in front of you. "Well...no, but-" You shook your head, attempting to dispel the anxious thoughts that clouded your brain. Fingers began to fidget as you looked back up at your professor with a nervous smile. "I was wondering if I could possibly get an extension for the assignment?" The redhead in front of you raised a single brow, looking inquisitive to your scenario and hence, drawing more of and explanation from your chest. "It's just my grandma passed away and I have to fly back to England for her funeral this week. I'm not going to be back till Friday night and with all the travelling and family stuff and jet lag, I probably won't have enough time to do it." Your hands gestured about, trying to find anything else to do rather than anxiously pick at your nail beds. "I don't need a long extension, maybe just till Monday? I can get it done over the weekend when I'm back."

The spill of words finally fell short in the silent room, your blurting echoing ever so slightly in the emptiness of the hall. Professor Romanoff stood in front of you, today wearing a matching black skirt and blazer, a white shirt neatly tucked in. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother." Your gaze raised up to the pair of green eyes as she spoke, a soft expression held between her features. "Are you doing alright?"

The question had came unexpectedly. You shook your head as you answered. "Oh yeah, I'm fine." You smiled sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders. "We were never close."

"Well," Professor Romanoff replied, gaze softening further. "I'm still sorry to hear about her." She passed you a gentle smile as she stepped towards her desk, leaning against the front of it like it seemed she had a habit of doing. When she looked back up at you, her expression had changed. "As for an extension..." Her emerald stare met yours, always seemingly able to make you shy away. "You're a good student Y/N, so I'd really like to say yes, but unfortunately I have a policy against extensions."

Your memory fleeted back to the first day of class, suddenly recalling the rules your professor had set out. Extensions would only be given to those with medical absence, provided they had a document signed by a health professional. Only remembering that now, you felt entirely stupid for asking for the extension in the first place. "That's right," you blurted. "I'm so sorry, I totally forgot. Listen, forget I even said anything." You adjusted the straps of your backpack as you made to turn your body towards the door. "I'll try get it done on the plane or something. Thank you anyway."

You made it about three steps away before you heard your name being called out from behind you. Slowly, you turned your shoulders, looking back at the woman who still sat against her desk. "Yes, Miss Romanoff?" you called in response. A single manicured nail raised up, the finger curling to beckon you back in the direction you'd came. Biting down on the skin of your cheek, you turned fully, slowly closing the gap that had formed between you and your professor. When you stood in front of her again, you began to rub one of your arms nervously.

Professor Romanoff inclined her head towards you, a faint smile on her painted lips. "I can't give you an extension but I can offer you an alternative. Some extra credit that will cover the assignment, worth the same percentage of your grade. And I'll even give you the full marks."

Your head angled in both curiosity and uncertainty. The prospect of the extra credit sounded like just what you needed, but you couldn't quite grasp the notion that your professor was suggesting. "Full marks?" you asked. "As in, a hundred percent on the assignment?"

A painted smirk pulled at the corner of your professor's mouth, her body leaning ever so slightly closer to yours. "Don't act like it's such a miracle, sweetie. We both know what you're capable of, hm?"

As her words hit you, you could immediately feel the warmth they brought to your cheeks. Face feeling flushed, you tried to distract your brain, unfocusing on the perfect pair of lips still smirking in your direction. "What would I have to do for the extra credit?"

Professor Romanoff sighed, adjusting herself on the desk. You diverted your eyes as her arms crossed her body, once again pushing her slightly-revealed cleavage up against her chest. "Well, my assistant for this year pulled out on me last minute, which has left me just drowned in work." Green eyes met yours as a wide smile spread across the redhead's lips. "So, just give me a helping hand after class for a few weeks and the credit is all yours."

This proposal seemed almost too good to be true. Simply helping out your professor in turn for a perfect grade? It almost didn't seem fair. As you thought over her offer, the idea couldn't help but make you feel a little flustered. After all it would entail spending time alone with the red haired woman, something that seemed to leave you an oddly ruffled mess. But the entire thing sounded far too good to pass up, an opportunity practically laid out on a silver platter. Sounding easy enough to follow through with, you nodded your head with a smile. "Yeah, I can do that."

The smile on Professor Romanoff's face widened at your agreement. "Perfect," she said, green eyes glinting. "Can I see you back here next Monday? Say...three pm?"

You nodded once more. "Yeah. That works for me."

"Alright then," the redhead replied. She stood up from her desk, smiling down on you from the height accentuated by her heeled boots. "Don't you worry your pretty head about the assignment and I'll just see you here next week."

The words seemed to wash over you with a flush, something igniting inside that you couldn't quite put a finger on. Nervously, you looked to the floor, picking at the ends of your jumper while Professor Romanoff moved to stand behind her desk, seemingly unaware of your heightened nervousness. Before you could properly formulate a response, the other woman was already speaking once more. "Go on then. Don't want to be late for your next class do you?"

Her words seemed to shake you back to the present, that nervous little smile appearing on your face again. "Right," you said, adjusting your backpack. "Thank you, professor."

She smiled back at you. "It's no problem, honey. Now run along."

You found yourself nodding as you turned to leave, urged on by her commands. A few steps away she called out to you. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

You looked back over your shoulder, flashing a small smile. "I will Miss Romanoff. Thank you." And with that, you were walking out the door, headed towards your next class with you mind focused on what exactly your assistant duties with Professor Romanoff may entail.

———

"When are you back again?"

"Friday night. About nine-ish?"

You passed the raven-haired girl a quick glance over your shoulder as you continued to fold the items of clothing in your hand. A loud sigh filled the space as you heard Kate roll over in her bed, rustling the top of her sheets. "That's four whole days of you leaving me completely alone."

As you placed the last of your clothes into the open suitcase, you swiveled around to look at Kate. Your brow furrowed as you noticed your best friend sprawled dramatically across the covers. "Kate, you do realised we have other friends?" you replied with a soft sigh.

But it seemed the girl took no notice, throwing her hand up to cover her eyes as another noise of discomfort slipped from her lips. "I'm gonna look like such a loser at breakfast." The truth was that the pair of you did have more friends at university, with whom Kate could definitely speak to while you were away, despite how the majority of the time it was always just the two of you. This could be down to the fact you were the only ones still sharing a dorm on campus, most of your friends having moved out to apartments around the city. You and Kate had looked into that option but your loan wasn't enough to cover the rent, so you'd both settled to remain in the on-campus accommodation, still sharing your meals in the wide dining hall.

You sighed again. "I'm sorry my grandma dying is such an inconvenience to you." At that, Kate shot up in bed, immediately looking less irritated and instead concerned. The way you smiled playfully back at her, however, made her brows drop ever so slightly, the fear of her actions hurting you slipping away. You'd already told her you weren't all that bothered by the passing, more so annoyed by the bother of it all, but it seemed despite how dramatic she could be, Kate was still worried about your feelings. "Relax Bishop," you said, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "You know I'm kidding. I hate the fact I'm going just as much as you do." With all the hustle of trying to get through your work that day, you hadn't had much time to think about the reality of going home. Now packing your things, the dread of it all was beginning to settle on your shoulders. Still, you forced a smile on your lips as you walked across to Kate's bed, sitting yourself down next to her. "I'm sorry I'm leaving but I'll make it up to you, yeah?"

Just then, a spark seemed to light up in Kate's eyes. She turned to you, a wide smirk plastered on her lips. "Will you come to a party with me?" The proposal was one Kate often brought up, and one that was just as often shut down. Whenever Kate was getting ready to go out for a night, you were always cooped up in your textbooks, ignoring her complaints of how you studied too much and focusing instead on memorising every piece of material on the paper. For three years, your best friend has had to drag you to every party you'd ever been to, sometimes even snatching the book from your hands and then pleading you with puppy dog eyes. Those same eyes looked at you now, silently begging.

"Fine," you said finally, causing Kate to throw her hands up in the air. You raised your hand before her excitement could get out of hand. "But only one and not until after midterms."

The girl looked slightly disheartened but her smile still remained wide. "Fine," she replied, looking to already be planning the event she'd drag to you in a few weeks time. As Kate settled herself back in her bed, you stood to cross the room, returning to your almost-packed suitcase. You placed the last item in one side - a long black coat Kate had let you borrow to wear to the funeral - then zipped up the first half. All the other half was missing was your toiletries bag, of which would have to wait until the morning to be packed. As you were closing things up, you threw a comment to Kate over your shoulder. "I spoke to my Russian professor today about that extension for the assignment, remember?"

You heard Kate's head turn towards you, becoming distracted from her party planning. "Oh yeah, what'd she say?"

As the final zip on your suitcase closed, you turned back around to your best friend. "She doesn't really do extensions so she said I can help out after class instead to make up my grade."

Kate's brow furrowed. "What, like an assistant?"

"Yeah, exactly. Hers apparently dropped out so I'm filling in for a few weeks." You bent down to push your suitcase under your bed, ready to go tomorrow morning, then stood again, shrugging your shoulders. "She said she'll give me the equivalent of full marks for the assignment."

"Wait, what?" Kate shot up in bed, her jaw hanging slack. "You just help her plan a couple lessons and get a free ride to a perfect score?"

You breathed out a laugh, not only at Kate's theatric tone but also at the improbable truth of the scenario. It hadn't really hit you until now how easy you had it, an exceptional gateway to an easy 'A'. "Yeah," you giggled out, taking a seat on your bed. "I mean, she said I'm a good student so she expected me to do well anyway." You tried to ignore the strange tingle in your head as you recounted your professor's words, instead focusing on Kate who flung herself up in her bed.

"Dude," she said, looking at you incredulously. Her eyes shifted, looking down to the floor. "Maybe I should have taken Russian this year."

Another laugh spilled from your lips as you stood, closing the gap between you and your best friend. "I think you should focus on the classes you're already taking." Your hand reached out for Kate's pulling her up from her bed before she could get a chance to reply. "Now, let's go get dinner. I'm starving."

———

The setting sun streamed in through the wide windows of Natasha's office. The entire room was painted in a soft orange glow, guiding the redhead as she finally began to pack up for the night. Today had been a long day for her, her daily schedule packed and evening full of essay marking that needed to be completed by tomorrow. Finally, Natasha had managed to get finished up, closing her laptop and packing away her notes for the night. She tucked them away into her bag to bring to work the next day before shutting off the lamp inside the room and retiring from her office for the night.

Her feet padded across the wooden floors as she made her way out of the home office. The sun's glow followed her, let in by the expansive windows her and Wanda's house contained. When she reached the living room, Natasha spied her wife curled up on the corner of their sofa, a blanket draped over her legs and an open book sat in her hands. Her footsteps were silent as she made her way over to the other redhead. Though she imagined her wife had still felt her approach, as she didn't flinch when Nat's hands came down for a hug from behind. Natasha's arms wrapped around her wife, a small hum escaping her lips as she pressed a gentle kiss to the pulse point of her neck. "Baby," Natasha whispered, her voice low. Wanda simply hummed in response, her eyes still focused on her novel, her attention only slightly skewed when Natasha leaned in closer, pressing more kisses down the skin of her neck.

"I need to speak to you about something." Natasha's voice remained low, her words fanning out on to her wife's collar bones. She'd been waiting for this moment now for a while, anticipating just the right time to bring up her scenario to her wife. The thoughts had been circling her head for a small while now, perhaps longer than she liked to admit, but she found she couldn't wait any longer to share.

"What is it, moya lyubov?" Wanda's eyes finally raised from her book, head turning over her shoulder to look up at her wife. Though, this position didn't last long, as Natasha lifted her legs and swung herself over the back of the couch, landing in a position beside her wife. This was a habit Wanda hated, forever telling Natasha to 'use her legs like an adult', but this time she didn't have time to pester the redhead as she'd already began to speak. "Do you remember that student we spoke about? The one that got the perfect score."

The slight look of annoyance from Nat's behavior was quickly replaced by an inquisitive expression as Wanda furrowed her brow. The redhead finally closed her book on her lap, sliding a bookmark into place. "Yeah, I do. What was her name again?"

"Y/N Y/L/N."

Wanda hummed, a small smiling appearing on her lips. "That's it. Cute name. What about her?"

Natasha inhaled, her mind passing over the already scripted conversation she'd created. "I spoke with her again today. Came in asking for an extension for an assignment." The redhead smiled, remembering the interaction from that morning. She took another deep breath before she uttered the next words from her mouth. "I think I've maybe taking a liking to her."

"Oh?" Wanda's eyebrows raised, her expression changing to one of surprise. It wasn't new that the couple were searching for someone else in their relationship, the openness of the topic having been in circulation almost since the two had first got together. But the surprise came from the fact Nat had perhaps found someone she believed could slot into their duo, her and Wanda's standards usually far too rigid to find anyone to spend more than a night with. If Natasha was bringing up a girl like this, she must have seriously considered the possibility of a longer association, and that thoroughly intrigued Wanda.

"Now," Natasha continued. "Of course I don't want to do anything we don't both agree on, but..." She paused for just a moment, smiling a little up at her wife. "I would be lying if I said I hadn't already been playing around with her. Just a little bit." Natasha held up her fingers, signaling the small amount of teasing she'd subjected her prized student to. "You know, I didn't want to come asking your permission for a girl who turned out to be a bore."

The more Natasha continued to talk, the more Wanda became interested and invested by the conversation at hand. She slowly slipped her book to the couch beside her, leaning in closer towards her wife. "And is she?"

A wide smirk appeared on Natasha's lips as she relished in her wife's question. "Not in the slightest." Her expression only deepened as she recalled the little moments of you she'd been observing in class. "She's so fucking cute," she said, stating the obvious right off the bat. "She's always early for class and always paying so much attention. She shows up in the sweetest little outfits, like she doesn't even know how good she looks." The redhead smiled as she remembered the sight of you in your small summer dresses or slightly oversized sweaters. "Oh," she said, reminded of her favourite bit of all. "And she has this adorable little English accent."

With the last of her wife's words, a similar looking smirk began to appear on Wanda's own face. "Well now I'm intrigued.”

Natasha smiled back at her words as she shrugged a shoulder. "As I said, I played around a little bit and Wands..." The redhead had to suppress a sigh as she reached for her wife's hand. "I just know how much fun she'd be," she continued, her voice almost a whine. "I mean, she gets flustered so easily. One little pet name and she's already hiding away her flushed face."

Wanda's smirk deepened as Natasha continued to talk, stirred further by the slight desperation she could hear in the redhead's voice. She had to wonder just how long she'd been wondering about this one student and just how much fun she was getting to have without her... "Go ahead, malysh," Wanda replied finally, squeezing her wife's hand gently. "I trust your instincts. You'll just have to introduce me sometime soon."

Natasha's brows shot up. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," Wanda chuckled back slightly, amused by the excitement underlying Nat's voice. When she spoke again, her lips had formed a devilish smirk. "It'll be fun. It's been a while since we had somebody to play with."

———

The funeral was awful. Of course, one never expects such an event to be the epitome of joy, but this particular funeral was like your own personally curated hell. Your entire family was gathered in one place, meaning not only were your parents’ critiques breathed down your neck the entire time, but they were also joined by those more distant. Grandparents and judgmental aunts seemed to team up on you, all obsessing over your university career and what your future plans were. Many pestered the question of your singularity, claiming that ‘a pretty young thing like you should have been swept up by a man a long time ago’. Unfortunately, the almost-compliment that could be found in their talk, was quickly diminished by the discussion of how it must be something wrong with your personality rather than your face, comments all whispered from where they thought you couldn’t hear.

There was no escape from the constant berating, your schedule full of family meals and teas, and far too lengthy conversations around the fireplace, of which you could not be excused due to your mother’s abhorrence of anyone ever thinking of her children as rude. To make matters worse, you were exhausted from jet lag and the flight, something certainly not helped by the endless hours of socializing and pressing on a smile for your family.

Still, you pushed through like the perfect daughter you always tried to be. You sat politely at the funeral, wearing an old black dress and Kate’s coat, the perfume of your best friend aiding a little to your torturous discomfort. Though your family cried, your eyes remained dry, silently staring at your feet and trying not to draw any attention to yourself. At the funeral tea, you shook hands and smiled softly at family members, answering any questions they asked with the grace your mother had forced upon your shoulders at a young age. Of course, she found her usual pride in parading you and your brother around like a pair of trophies she’d spent hours shining. The entirety of every event was exhausting.

Even at the will reading, there was no break to be given. Your late grandmother had graciously scattered her belongings to her loved ones, though seemingly biased to those who she deemed more palatable. Your brother received a chunk of her money alongside her old ring, something the family gushed over due to the prospect of his long-term girlfriend who he could now finally pop the big question to. Your rolled your eyes as they pandered over him, all blatantly dismissive of the old bible you’d been left, with your grandmother’s handwriting inside with a note of how she wished for it to be read out of at your wedding when you finally found yourself a suitable husband. You had simply rolled your eyes and shoved it to the bottom of your bag.

All that being said, it was a huge relief to you when you finally made your way back to the airport. Though you’d had to spend the journey constantly criticized by your mother about your uni work, as soon as you stepped on to the plane, relief was flooding over your shoulders. As the sky came to fill the widow, clouds passing by, you were more than grateful to be heading back to the true place you thought of as home.

Kate came to pick you up from the airport, hugging you immediately and beginning to rant about the idiots she’d encountered in the car park as she pulled your case towards the exit. The pair of you went straight to a mcdonald’s drive thru, your hunger unquenched from the bad aeroplane food you’d been offered. Fries and hamburgers were shared in the front seat of the car as you relayed back your awful week to Kate, telling her everything that you hadn’t even had the chance to text her due to your family’s never-ending nagging.

That weekend was very stressful. Due to the packed schedule you had followed back in England, you’d had next to no time to complete any of your work from that week. So, from morning until night, you cooped yourself up at your desk and ground it all out. At times, Kate had to drag you down to the hall for some food or persistently remind you to even go to bathroom. In the end however, you managed to get it all finished. By eleven o’clock Sunday night, you were finally all caught up from your missed classes and had completed all your deadlines. The light in the room were low, only your small desk lamp lighting up the space. Kate slept in her bed, hair fanning out across the pillows. You were quiet as you cleaned your space, eyeing the untouched plate of food Kate had brought up for you after you’d refused to go down for dinner. It was long cold now and you felt a little guilty throwing it out, but you were far too tired now to think about eating. Instead, you simply turned off the light and slid yourself into your bed, finally letting your mind rest and prepare itself to return to your regularly scheduled classes the next morning.

———

"Alright everyone, that's all for today's lesson. Are there any questions?"

Like always, the bustle began began your professor could even finish his sentence. Everyone was already packing away their things, drowning out the teacher's voice with their own hustle to leave. It happened almost every class, and almost every time you felt bad, one of the only people who remained still until they had officially dismissed you. But today, you found yourself following the crowd more than you usually would have. See, your professor had droned on a bit too long that afternoon, moving into the passing period you had between classes. Most times that wouldn't have been a big deal seeing as it was your last class of the day, but today was the day you were supposed to meet Professor Romanoff and thanks to your English professor's extensive elaborations, you were left with only a few minutes until you'd be late. So today you put your cares aside and as the class packed up, so did you, stuffing everything into your backpack and throwing it over your shoulder before joining the crowd exiting the lecture hall.

Your English building was on the exact opposite side of campus as your destination, so your feet held a quick pace as you flitted between the crowds of students on your way. Pathways were held up by casually conversing people, all relaxed now their days were over. They all annoyed you severely as they slowed down your journey, obviously uncaring that you still had places to be. By the time you had reached the building in which your Russian class was held, the clock was already a few minutes passed the scheduled time. You almost burst in through the doors of the hall, ever so slightly out of breath from your fast paced journey across campus. As soon as you entered the room, you spied the redheaded professor sat at her desk, head buried into her laptop. She looked up to you as you walked across the floor, nervously adjusting the backpack straps on your shoulders. "Hi," you breathed out, trying your best to seem casual despite your racing lungs. "I'm sorry I'm a little late. My last lecture ran over a little."

A pair of perfectly white teeth smiled back in your direction, Professor Romanoff looking you over. "Y/N," she said, her gentle voice falling upon your ears. Something about it in that moment made you realize you had almost missed it over your break, but the rational part of your brain soon took over and told you you were being ridiculous. "Don't worry about being late, you're barely two minutes over." She smiled again as you closed the final distance between you, moving to stand by the edge of her desk. She stood as you did, displaying today a pair of grey slacks and a soft black jumper, all adorned with delicate gold jewelry. Her smiling face looked down at you, that forgotten odd feeling of warmth spreading through your gut. "It's good to see you again. How are you? How was your trip?"

You ignored the sensation in your stomach as you smiled back at her. "I'm good. The trip was fine. A little boring but fine." There were many worse words to describe your trip than ‘boring' but you decide to settle for that, not wanting to bother your professor with the complicated details of your family and more so, simply wanting to leave the entire week in the past and not think of it again.

“That’s good,” Professor Romanoff replied with that same easy smile. “I’m glad to hear you’re alright.” Her hands lifted from the pockets they hid in, reaching out to open a drawer of her desk. You wondered for a moment what she might be looking for before she pulled out a small stack of papers, extending them out towards you. “These are some extra notes from last week’s lectures.”

You smiled, slightly surprised. “Oh, thank you.” Most of your university work could be found online for both absence and revision purposes, but it never was quite the same as attending the classes themselves. Usually you hated using just the online notes to catch up, never grasping the material as well as you’d like, but this weekend you’d had to make do. That was, of course, until Professor Romanoff handed you the extra notes. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Well,” your professor replied. “I wouldn’t want my best student falling behind, would I?”

Her words worked to form that warm sensation across your cheeks, the given title heating up your insides with flustering pride. You were grateful the woman had started to busy herself at her desk with something else as you tried to brush off her compliments as smoothly as possible, attempting to hide the flush of your skin.

“You can grab a chair from the side. Bring it over.”

You nodded, almost snapping back to reality once more with Professor Romanoff’s words. You placed your backpack down beside her desk, quickly slotting the extra notes into the large pocket before moving to grab a spare chair from the edge of the room. When you returned, your professor had seemingly found what she was searching for, a large stack of papers now sat in the centre of the desk.

“Sit,” Romanoff beckons with a smile, gesturing her hand towards the front of her desk. You pull up your chair, positioning yourself across from her own seated position. “These are tests I need marked. They’re all multiple choice and there’s a marking scheme.” The redhead lifted a single piece of paper, handing it over your way. “So you’ll just have to see if the letters match up on both papers. That sound okay?”

You nodded once more, her instructions seeming simple enough. “Yeah, sounds fine.”

“Great.” With a smile, Professor Romanoff slid the pile of unmarked papers across the desk towards you. She explained that if you needed any help, just to ask, and that she’d just be busying herself on her laptop. You nodded again, reaching into your backpack quickly for a pen before you began to work away.

It was an easy job really, simply matching the circled letters on the quiz papers to that of the marking scheme. In truth, it was almost relaxing to have something to do that didn’t require much brain power. Professor Romanoff sat across from you, typing away on her laptop. Occasionally, you’d look up to take a glance at her, catching moments of concentration or boredom on her face, but your eyes would never linger long, too scared of getting caught looking her way. She’d turned on the radio to fill a bit of the silence, music humming softly from a black stereo on the edge of the desk. All in all, the endeavour was a blessing in disguise - much simpler and easier than the effort the equivalent assignment would have took.

“You getting on alright, milaya?”

The voice brought you from the almost trance you’d put yourself in as you marked the set of papers. Your head rose from them, more than half the stack already complete as you smiled back at your professor. “Yeah, all good.”

She nodded, smiling at you with her perpetually perfect red lips. Under her gaze, you felt your eyes drop back to the papers, for some reason feeling entirely too see every time she looked your way. She went to turn back towards her laptop, your hand reaching out to continue marking, but a lingering question had been vibrating in your head. You had been too afraid to ask before, to be the one to break the soft silence of the room, but now was your opportunity. “Are these law papers?”

Professor Romanoff looked back at you, her expression soft. “Yes,” she said, simply. “I also teach a beginners law class alongside my usual Russian.”

You felt your eyebrows raise, unexpecting of her answer but also rather impressed. Now it made sense why the papers you were marking were not at all taking about Russian vocabulary but instead legal terminology.

“I studied a law major at college,” the red haired woman continued. “It was going to be my career until I decided to teach instead.”

“Huh,” you hummed, interested by the new information you were discovering about your teacher. “Why’d you decide to switch?”

Romanoff shrugged a shoulder. “Honestly, I love teaching.” A small smirk then appeared on her lips as she leaned in closer across the table. “Besides, my wife is a lawyer and just between me and you, I’m not sure I’d like her as my boss. She can be a little scary sometimes.”

There was a playfulness to her tone that you easily pick up on, the entire interaction meant as a jest, but somehow it left you with a strange feeling in your chest. You listened to your professor’s words, but your mind seemed to stick on one. Wife. In that moment, you suddenly realised you hadn’t pictured her being married - not that you had pictured her at all, your mind chided in defence. Now you quickly realised that she was indeed with another person, and not just that, but with a woman. Suddenly you had to push your mother’s berating thoughts from your head.

“So what about you?”

“Sorry?” you replied, mind crashing back to the present moment. Professor Romanoff looked back at you with an almost playful looking smirk. It only added to that strange feeling inside your chest.

“What’s your major?” the redhead elaborated.

“Oh.” You sat up straighter, trying to adjust your jumper in an effort to conceal the fact you’d gotten lost in your thoughts once more. “I’m an English major.” Romanoff raised a brow, the smirk on her face widening to almost a smile. You sighed softly, throwing your head to the side. “You can make the joke if you want, everyone does.”

An English girl studying English. You’d heard almost every variation of the joke, mostly from drunk boys at frat parties that thought they were the pinnacle of humour. Shouldn’t you already be an expert at that? Wait, they don’t teach you English in England?

You were expecting some similar turn of phrase to escape your professors lips, following in the footsteps of everyone you’d had this conversation with before. But to your surprise, she simply shook her head, frowning ever so slightly. “I think I’ll refrain,” she said, frown turning into the same wide smirk. “I hate being unoriginal.”

A laugh bubbled up in your throat, pushing out through a smile and into the air. Your professor followed, chuckling with you. After a moment, she stilled, looking back at you curiously. “So, tell me,” she said, leaning in closer to the desk. “What does bring you all the way to America to study?”

Because I can’t stand being at home with my parents. “Experience, I guess,” you said with a shrug, hiding away the truth behind a smile. “And I got a full scholarship when I applied so…” Your words died down, not quite sure how to finish your explanation.

Thankfully, your professor seemed to pick up the conversation easily. “A very smart girl, hm?” Her lips met as she hummed and it seemed you could feel the vibrations running down your spine. Your eyes fell back to your lap, trying to hide the awkward smile her praise had brought. You were unsure of what exactly you should do, contemplating if her question was rhetoric or not, and praying the former due to your inability to think of a response. Blessedly, Professor Romanoff cut through your mind’s distress with another question. “You’re in fourth year, right?”

Your eyes picked back up, meeting hers. “Yeah.”

She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared back at you intently. “And what exactly lead a fourth year English student to my beginner’s Russian class?”

You were getting a little bit of deja vu of the conversation you’d had with Kate multiple times. This time, you settled on the short answer. “I thought it sounded interesting,” you said simply, smiling as you shrugged your shoulders.

Professor Romanoff seemed amused by your answer. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

You felt yourself smiling back in response. So am I, your brain mused, but your consciousness refused to let anything move past your lips. Instead, Romanoff was picking up the conversation once again. “What’s your plans for after?”

Your eyebrows raised, suddenly surprised by her question. “Sorry?”

The redhead chuckled. “Once you graduate, sweetheart,” she said, voice sounding slightly amused. “What do you plan to do with the rest of your life?”

“Oh right,” you fumbled. You felt a little stupid for thinking she ever meant anything other than that. “My, uh…my mum wants me to go to law school actually…”

A red brow raised in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, reminiscent of your previous chatter with your professor. A funny little coincidence that you two may be following a similar path. Although in that moment, you couldn’t help but be a little jealous. She had eventually fallen away from law, moving to a career she was truly passionate for. You were unsure if you’d ever get that opportunity. It had taken months just to convince your mother to let you major in English, claiming it was good for getting into law school after college. And after three years, you still hadn’t been able to convince her away from that same dream of hers, now unsure if you ever would.

“And what to do you want to do?”

“What?” Your professor’s words took you by surprise. When you looked up, it felt as if her eyes had seen straight through you, like she’d been able to hear your every thought.

“Your mother wants you to go to law school,” Professor Romanoff reiterated. “What do you want to do after you graduate?”

Your voice was unsteady in your response. “Go to law school?”

Professor Romanoff raised a brow as she angled her head. “Are you asking me?” All you could muster was a shrug, feeling suddenly very small in the large hall. You didn’t much like talking about what you wanted to do in your life, haven forgone the gesture years ago due to your mother’s constant coercion. But then your professor leaned in slightly, a small smile crossing her lips. “You can tell me the truth, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

The endearment fell on your already blushed cheeks. Most times you wouldn’t have said anything at all, hidden behind the lies your mother had constructed about your person, but something about the redhead’s smile almost drew the words directly from your mouth. “I guess if I could do anything, I’d be a writer,” you said, playing at the sleeves of your sweater.

“A writer?” Romanoff repeated, raising a pair of curious brows.

You felt yourself nodding as a small smile crept on to your lips. “Yeah. I love books and writing, and I guess it’s what I’ve wanted to do ever since I was a little girl.”

“Why don’t you do it then?”

Her words came as a shock, your system unsure of how exactly to respond. You shrank back under the redhead’s gaze, reminded of the words you’d been told so many times they were engraved into your mind. “It’ll be good for me to go to law school. My mum says I’ll get a better job.”

“Maybe…” Professor Romanoff hummed. Then her expression changed to something you couldn’t quite understand as she leaned in closer, her emerald eyes trained on your face. “But do you know what my birth mother used to say about me? She used to tell me I was useless little piece of shit that wouldn’t get anywhere in life.” Your eyebrows raised slightly in shock as you heard her words, especially on the fact she’d cursed so easily and how oddly good it sounded coming from her lips. Then her expression shifted again, an almost smugness taking over that drew your attention away from your own thoughts. “Thirty years later I’m a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in America. I’m married to a very successful lawyer, and living quite frankly an amazing life with a pair of adoptive parents who love me very much.”

Professor Romanoff finished with a small smirk, seemingly unaware of how her words settled on your shoulders. The entire statement was so weighted, so much shared about her as a person in so few words. Something in you felt slightly honoured that she could be that vulnerable around you, or perhaps her story wasn’t one she kept bundled up in her chest like you did, like a weighted lock on your heart. Still, you felt a sense of solace in learning more about your professor, a sense of trust being built in up inside. Her smiling eyes met yours as she leaned in even further on the desk. “Don’t let people who don’t know the real you keep you from what you want. We only get one life, Y/N. Don’t waste it trying to be someone you’re not.”

Her words settled in your stomach with an odd sensation. Her reassurance felt like another brick added to that wall of trust, perhaps her intention to try and learn more of your story. But maybe that trust wasn’t quite strong enough yet.

You shied away, unwilling to share more of your story despite how open Romanoff had seemed, years of criticisms sitting heavy on your shoulders. “Maybe,” you said lowly, picking up your pen once again. But you knew you’d never truly be able to follow through with what she was proposing you should, knew your future fate was already sealed by the woman who’d brought you into this world. She’d have a perfect daughter with her perfect career and wouldn’t settle for less, no matter how it made you feel. For now, all Professor Romanoff’s words could provide was a little fuel to that already dying fire of a dream inside your heart.

The pair of you quickly fell back into the steady silence of your work after your conversation, you pen dotting over papers as your professor turned back to her laptop. The radio played quietly in the background as you tried to push whatever words lingered in your head, both from your mother and the redhead in front of you, too many feeling provoked from the subject to allow you to focus properly. Dispelling them from your mind, you trained your eyes on the marking schemes in front of you, though having some of the answers memorised by now, and continued to work away at the stack of tests on the desk.

Time passed quickly once more, your speed increasing as the papers became more familiar in your hands, easily noticing the same mistakes made over and over. Occasionally you heard Romanoff begin to hum along to a song on the radio, focusing momentarily on her soft voice before refocusing on your work. In your mind, you became determined to finish them as quickly as you could, absentmindedly hoping to impress the woman they were for.

You were almost finished your task, down to the very last paper when a shrill sound cut through the soft atmosphere of the room. Both you and your professor’s heads shot up from your work, eyes turning to your backpack from where the loud ringtone emanated. Shit, you thought, obviously accidentally turning on the ringer that you always kept silenced.

“I’m sorry,” you said, glancing over at your professor in slight fear of her reprimand. But in return, you were only met with a soft smile.

“Don’t worry, milaya,” Romanoff replied gently. “This isn’t class time. You can answer your phone.”

Relieved by her answer, you let out a soft sigh. Reaching over, you began to dig through your bag to find your mobile, the nonsensical tune still ringing out. With no suprise, when you found it, Kate’s name and profile picture covered your screen. Quietly, you apologised again before accepting the call, slightly turning away in your chair as you held your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” Kate’s voice replied back from the other end of the device. She sounded slightly off but you couldn’t quite tell why.

“Are you okay? What’s up?”

A small sigh sounded in your ear. “Okay, please don’t get mad at me again but-“

You were replying with a sigh of your own before Kate could even finish her sentence. “You forgot your key again, didn’t you?”

“I’m so sorry,” the girl on the end of the other phone pleaded.

You sighed again, shaking your head. “Kate, how many times-“

“I know! I know,” she cut off. “I’m the worst person ever. But I slept in this morning and just forgot to put it in my bag. I’m sorry.”

Your sigh turned less frustrated. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” At your core you weren’t a confrontational person. You could never stay mad at anyone for long, especially Kate.

“Well, I came back to the room and you’re not here,” your best friend continued through the phone. “I thought you were finished english at three?”

“I am,” you replied. “But I’m helping out Professor Romanoff, remember? I’m in her class right now.”

You could hear Kate’s realisation through the call. “Shit. I am so sorry.” There was a pause. You could picture Kate dancing on the heels of her feet, the same way she did every time she needed to ask you a favour. “Uhm, could I possibly swing by and pick up your key then? Please Y/N, I really need to finish my computing assignment. It’s due at five.”

If there was anyone who would leave their work until one hour before the deadline, it was Kate. Another soft sigh escaped your lips. “Fine.”

Kate’s smile could practically be heard through the phone. “Thank you! What room are you in?”

“Language building, room ML4.”

“Okay,” Kate replied. “I’ll be right there. You’re the best, I love you.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little as you responded. “Love you too.”

With that, Kate hung up the call. You pulled your phone away from your ear, switching it off and throwing it in your pocket as you turned back in your chair. “I’m so sorry,” you began, facing back to your professor. “It’s my roommate, Kate. She’s locked herself out again.”

Romanoff raised a curious glance. “Again?”

“Bad habit.” You smiled back sheepishly, shrugging your shoulder. “She’s just going to stop by and pick up my key, if that’s alright?”

The redhead smiled back at you. “Of course. That’s perfectly fine.” A small sigh of relief escaped your lips, glad that the encounter wouldn’t be a problem. “But I think we’re actually almost done here,” Romanoff continued. “How are you getting on with those papers.”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied, pulling yourself back towards the desk and the stack of papers sat atop of it. “I’m actually just on the last one.”

“Well if you just finish that up, you can run along with your friend when she gets here.”

“You’re sure?” you replied, looking up. You didn’t want Kate’s endeavour to disrupt any of the help your professor needed. But the redhead simply nodded in response.

“I’m sure, Y/N.”

“Okay then,” you responded, nodding your head softly. A small smile was passed between the two of you before you were grabbing your pen once more, reaching out to finish marking the final test in the stack. Your hand moved quickly as you corrected any of the mistakes, flicking through the sheets of paper at an impressive rate. It was just as you were marking the last question that the noise of the hall doors opening drew your attention.

Clamouring in, Kate appeared inside the hall, her backpack momentarily getting caught on the handle before she was able to free herself. She stood sheepishly inside the room, looking across the way and spying you and your professor sat at the desk. “Uhm, hello,” the girl announced. You could tell she was trying to play it cool but she had that same almost awkward look she got whenever a girl she liked try to talk to her. “I’m, uh, Kate Bishop. Y/N’s roommate.” Her finger pointed to you, as if trying to prove she hadn’t barged in for no apparent reason.

Professor Romanoff had stood from her desk as Kate had entered, her hands finding a place resting inside her pockets. Now, she smiled across at her. “Yeah, she mentioned.”

Kate gave that awkward little laugh of hers and you had to refrain from not giggling at her yourself. “Sorry to just barge in on you guys. Are you still…” Her hands gestured towards you and the desk, trying to gage where you were with the work.

But Romanoff simply shook her head in response with a short smile. “No worries, Miss Bishop. We were just finishing up.”

Kate’s eyebrows raised. “Great,” she replied, sticking one of her thumbs up.

You had to stifle your laughs at her awkwardness. Was this how she interacted with all of her professors, or just the ones she didn’t know? As you hid your smile, you tidied up the stack of papers on the desk, piling them up neatly before rising to your feet. “Okay, Miss Romanoff,” you said, slightly pushing them in her direction. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you?”

The woman turned back to you with her gentle smile, her voice soft. “That’ll be all for today, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you replied, adjusting your jumper as you reached down for your backpack, throwing it over one shoulder. “Well, thank you again for this.”

Romanoff smiled. “No, thank you. I’d be drowning in work without your helpful hands.” A smirk seemed to form on her lips as she sent an emerald wink your way.

The action left you suddenly stuttering for the right words, embarrassingly affected by such a simple action. “Right,” you finally managed, voice jumbled. “I’ll uh- see you on Wednesday?”

Thankfully Professor Romanoff didn’t seem too bothered by your flustering state, if anything you might have said she even looked amused. “I’ll see you in class, Y/N,” she said, smiling down at you.

You returned the gesture as you turned away, walking to close the distance between where you and Kate stood. As you met the raven-haired girl’s side, a voice called out to the both of you. “Have a nice night, ladies.”

You turned briefly to Romanoff, smiling as you and Kate hummed a thanks in unison. As you passed through the doors to the hall and exited into the corridor, you felt your shoulders loosen ever so slightly, that perfect emerald stare still lingering in your mind. You couldn’t quite understand why you left that class always feeling so worked up.

This time, however, there was little space for you to think about it, as merely a few steps down the hallway, Kate was grabbing hold of your upper arm. “Holy shit, that’s your Russian professor?”

You turned quickly to your best friend, both startled and shocked by her sudden comment. “What? Yeah?”

Kate breathed out a laugh. “Y/N, you never told me she was hot as shit.”

“What?” you stuttered, taken about by Kate’s choice of words. “She’s not- I mean -I-I never noticed.”

The girls hand shook your arm slightly as the pair of you continued to walk. “Never noticed? Y/N, you must be blind because that was one of the most attractive women I’ve ever seen.”

The words come as a bit of shock, not expecting Kate to think so highly of the woman you’d been spending the last weeks of lessons with. The raven-haired girl began to mumble on about how she should have taken Russian and how it was unfair how she always got the old, ugly professors. But in all honeslty you weren’t paying her much mind, instead focusing on the words that had spilled from Kate’s mouth previously. Sure, Professor Romanoff was a nice-looking woman, you’d noticed that the first time she’d walked into the room, but that didn’t mean you should be attracted to her. That was wrong, she was your teacher, she was married for god’s sake. You shouldn’t be thinking about her in that way. You weren’t thinking about her in that way. Sure, she made you blush every time she spoke to you, and her stare made a strange warmth pool in your stomach, but that didn’t mean you found her attractive. Right?

———

Term continued on with its usual snowballing effect. The next couple of weeks began to fill up with more and more work as you progressed further into the year. You and Kate spent many of your time outside of lessons bundled up in the library, spending hours revising for your upcoming midterms. The pair of you were also beginning to write your final dissertations, the main project that would lead to your graduation at the end of the year. You'd had your topic picked for months and had already started your research over the Summer, which left you room to help Kate find something she could write about, having struggled finding a topic she didn't find extremely boring.

Your usual meal time chatter turned away from mindless gossip and instead to lesson content, both of you complaining about how many assignments you had due. The carefree start of term was officially gone and the usual endless list of deadlines had crept back up on you just like it always did. Luckily for you, you'd managed to maintain the rigidness towards studying you'd possessed since doing your exams in secondary school. You could maintain focus for hours, staring at your laptop or notes until everything was photocopied into your mind. Sure, it sometimes meant you'd miss a meal or a few hours of sleep, but it was all worth it for the perfect grade you were determined to achieve in the end.

Your sessions with Professor Romanoff continued on over the next couple of weeks too, still just an hour after your final class on a Monday. You'd offered her more help if she'd needed it but the redhead had politely refused, claiming she didn't want you wasting your time when you had exams to study for. In fact, she told you that she'd only require your help for a few more weeks, just up until the midterm, then you were free to go with that easy 'A' tucked into your pocket. Surprisingly, when you heard the news, you found yourself feeling slightly saddened. Over the time you'd spent with Professor Romanoff, you'd rather enjoyed yourself. It wasn't that the work was particularly exhilarating or you two ever did much other than look at papers, but the small moments you'd been able to find in between had been rather pleasant. Whether it was the soft lull of the radio music that you both would hum along to, or the small conversations she'd have with you about your home or your studies, the time you spent with the redhead somehow always left you with a warmth in the pit of your stomach.

One particular rainy Monday afternoon, the pair of you were comfortably sat at her desk in your usual positions, your chair across the way from hers. As she often did, Romanoff typed away on her laptop, while you sat stapling together test papers for her advanced Russian class, having previously just photocopied the stack. The paper was still warm against your skin as you organised them into the correct order, the feeling almost soothing you into a trance-like state. You hadn't even noticed it at all until it was suddenly shattered by a soft sound echoing through the room.

Your head picked up, readjusting itself to the real world before turning to the right where the sound emanated from. The sight that befell upon you caused your brows to raise ever so slightly in surprise. As the door to the lecture hall swung closed, a tall, unfamiliar, but smartly-dressed woman entered through them. Her heels clicked confidently across the floor, eyes trained on your professor who sat at the desk. You watched as the redhead stood when the woman reached her, smiling softly. "Detka, hi." Romanoff placed a small kiss on the woman's cheek as they hugged briefly.

"I tried to call but it went straight to voicemail," the other woman replied. She stood a few inches taller than Professor Romanoff, her hair a lighter shade of red straightened almost perfectly down her back. She wore a deep copper suit with a crisp white shirt, a designer handbag thrown over one shoulder. In all honesty, you couldn't tell if she'd came straight from work or a catwalk. When her body turned to stand side by side with your professor, you noticed her eyes shimmered down at you with a soft olive green. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise you would still have company."

At that, you noticed Professor Romanoff turn towards you, as if she had just remembered you were there. She smiled as she gestured to the taller woman. "Y/N, this is my wife, Wanda."

Right, wife. The idea she'd slipped a few weeks ago had almost left your mind entirely. Now that said woman was standing directly in front of you, looking down with an expression you couldn't quite read. "So you're the star pupil my wife has been telling me about, hm?"

Her voice was playful when she spoke, but at the same time low and almost sultry. Everything about it, including her words, left you stuttering over what to say. Had Professor Romanoff really been speaking about you to her wife?

"This is she," the redhead replied, covering for your inability to form a full sentence. She looked back at you with that same easy-going smile that seemed to make you shift in your seat.

Wanda passed you a similar expression as she inclined her head towards you, smirking just slightly. "Well then, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Thankfully, in that moment, your ability to speak seemed to return. "It's nice to meet you too, miss."

A small chuckle escaped the older woman's lips as you spoke. She glanced at Natasha, the pair sharing a look you couldn't interpret, before her sparkling eyes were back on you. "Oh please, honey. You can just call me Wanda." Just then you realised it wasn't only your professor's use of nicknames that seemed to send a shiver down your spine, Wanda's words setting your nerves on edge as you felt the heat flush to your cheeks. You looked down to your lap in an attempt to hide it, not wanting either woman to see your embarrassed state. From the corner of your eye, however, you saw Wanda wasn't going to let you hide that easily. She sat herself on the edge of the desk, leaning in closer to you and the stack of papers close by. "Working hard, are we?"

You looked back up to meet her eye, the action seemingly stripping away your speech once more. Thankfully, your professor stood up to answer for you. "Just getting some papers organised for my lesson tomorrow," she said, sitting herself down at her chair once more. Her eyes met her wife's. "Sorry, I didn't realise we'd run so late." Just then, you assumed why Wanda had shown up so unnanounced. Professor Romanoff had mentioned in passing that her wife would sometimes meet her after work, meaning that your sessions couldn't run any later even if she did need the extra help you offered.

"No, need to apologise," Wanda replied with an easy smile. "I don't mind sticking around while you guys finish up. Especially when your little assistant is so cute." Her eyes turned to you, a smirk playing on her lips. The entire action seemed to freeze you in place, entirely unsure of what to say or do.

"Cat gets her tongue sometimes."

Your eyes flicked to your professor as she spoke, a very similar smirk appearing on her face to match her wife sitting next to her. The taller redhead hummed lowly at her comment, her gaze tracing over you. Sat in that chair, you felt entirely too seen. Your eyes darted around, unsure of where exactly to look while the pair of older women watched you. If there was something you were supposed to say, you mind could not conjure it. In that moment all you could do was sit awkwardly as two pairs of green eyes traced your every movement.

But then, a familiar tune rang out to your rescue. When before you'd cursed your forgetfulness to turn off your ringer, now you silently thanked yourself. Your eyes rushed to your backpack, then quickly back to your professor and her wife. "I'm sorry," you stuttered out. "Could I?"

"Go on, milaya."

You tried your best to ignore your professor's comment as you reached into your backpack for your phone, quickly holding it up to your ear. To no surprise, it was a familiar voice singing a familiar tune. Still, you found the situation grateful for its diversion from the stalemate conversation you'd been stuck in beforehand. As you hung up the call a minute later, you turned back to the desk with a sheepish smile. "It's Kate, she's locked herself out again."

Professor Romanoff raised a perfect brow. "That really is a bad habit of hers, hm?"

You fought back a small chuckle at her words, surprised she even remembered you'd said that. "Yeah," you smiled back, then dropped it into a small frown. "I am so sorry-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, the redhead was holding up her hand to stop you. "Don't worry about it, milaya. You can run along. I'll catch you in class on Wednesday."

Your eyebrows raised, not wanting to be an inconvenience to her yet again. "You're sure? I can easily-"

"I said it's fine, Y/N," Romanoff reiterated, her voice coming out more stern. It wasn't quite angry, just firm, but it was enough to shut your mouth right up. You looked back, eyes wide, afraid that you'd annoyed her by leaving early twice due to your roommates negligence. But at your response, the redhead simply smiled down softly at you angling her head towards the door. "Go on. I can handle the rest."

You found your head nodding almost on its own accord, directed by not only your professor's watchful eye but now that of her wife's too. Your words came out little and few, a mumbled thank you and another apology spilling from your lips as you packed up your bag and threw it over your shoulders. One last reassurance and smile sent you walking out the door, headed back to your dorm where Kate would be waiting for you. As you went, you were hyper aware of the two sets of eyes trained on your back, picturing the two redheaded woman still sitting at the desk watching you walk away. What you weren't exactly aware of was how their gaze dropped even lower, both staring at the short black skirt you'd decided to wear that day, watching how the material grazed lightly against the back of your tight-covered thighs. When you exited out the door, you couldn't see the way the taller redhead turned back to her wife, looking down at her from where she still sat on the desk, a wide smirk appearing on her face as she bit into a perfectly painted lip. You couldn't see the way the pair looked at each other, leaning closer in, nor hear the words Wanda uttered back to her wife before their lips met in a kiss.

"You're right, she is cute. Let's keep her."

#inescapable love au #professor natasha romanoff #lawyer wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #platonic kate bishop x reader

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