talia

“This looks like a good spot!” you declare, dumping all the beach gear in your arms onto the sand. Your two children squeal and take off running when they spot Steve and Thor setting up a volleyball net, with Yelena bossing them around and Kate hovering by her anxiously.

“Do not go in the water until you get your floaties on!” Natasha yells after them. “Did you two hear me?”

“Sestra, they will be fine with us,” Yelena responds, waving away your wife’s concerns. Stella, your four-year-old, squeals as Thor wraps her up in his gigantic arms and throws her nearly six feet into the air. 

“Thor! Don’t throw her so high!” Natasha says at the same time Stella begs, “Higher, Uncle Thor!” 

“Me next, me next!” Baxter chants, batting at Thor’s knee in case he isn’t heard.

“Relax, honey, they’re having a fun time,” you say, brushing your hand against Natasha’s lower back. 

“Did you put sunscreen on them?” She turns on you, worry creasing her forehead. Natasha had always been the overprotective parent, and while you hated when she stressed herself sick with exaggerated scenarios, you loved to see how much she cared about your children. 

“I did,” you answer, your hand sliding around her waist to pull her against you comfortingly. “I haven’t put any on myself yet, though,” you add to distract her.

“Maybe I can help you with that,” she volunteers.

“Perfect.” You shrug off your shirt and dig into Natasha’s oversized handbag for the sunscreen, passing the bottle to your wife. She makes you sit down so she can reach you easier and she squirts a glob of lotion onto her hand, rubbing it across your massive shoulders and dutifully covering every inch of your broad back. 

You turn to face her and offer her your arms, and she swats away your attempts to help. 

“Let me,” she insists, rubbing sunscreen onto your bicep and around to your tricep. You subtly flex your arm muscles until the veins stand out, smiling when you see the grin stretch Natasha’s face. You are well aware how much your wife loves how strong you are and you never pass up an opportunity to show off. 

After your arms are sufficiently covered, she does your chest and stomach. Arousal flames in your groin when her hand runs down your abs, her fingers slipping past the band of your swim shorts and just barely brushing the base of your cock. 

“Oops, maybe you don’t need sunscreen there,” she apologizes, although not looking apologetic at all. Natasha was such a tease with you, in public and in private, but it made you so happy to know she still wanted you after all the years you two spent together. 

You take the sunscreen with her once she’s finished to return the favor. Natasha sheds her lacey cover-up and you pause to stare at her. Even after having two children, she is still so gorgeous she practically makes your mouth water. Her curves have gotten a bit fuller (and so have her breasts), but now that the kids are less dependent on her, she’s had more time to spend on herself and goes to the gym almost as frequently as you. Her determination and beauty will forever impress you.

“Ahem.” Natasha clears her throat.

“Yes.” You squirt sunscreen into your hand and start with the back of her neck, massaging the lotion into her shoulders and down her back. Natasha ruts her butt back until it brushes against the front of your shorts.

“Baby,” you groan, not wanting to get riled up within minutes of arriving at the beach. 

“What?” she asks dumbly, giving you an impish grin. 

Natasha lays out on a towel to tan, while you join your children on the sand. They’re a little too intimidated to join the adults in a very competitive game of volleyball–while Steve and Thor dominate in height and strength, they have half the will of Yelena and Kate, who somehow manage to ground the ball on the men’s side of the net with every rally.

You give Baxter a plastic trowel so he can fill a bucket with sand, showing him how to compact the dirt so when Stella flips it upside-down, the sand maintains its shape in the form of the bucket. They repeat the process a few times, building a little artillery of bucket-buildings, but they hardly have a few minutes to enjoy the fruits of their labor when the tide washes high and crumples their work. 

Natasha opens her eyes when she hears the high-pitched screaming of her children, fearing the worst only to see you hoisting Baxter upside-down by his ankle while he cheers and screams. Stella dances around you, tugging at your shorts for a turn. Her heartbeat relaxes as she watches you play with the children. While you had always expressed your desire to be a parent, she had been more reserved, unsure if she would be a good mother or role model. But after she had Stella, her doubts were replaced with the fierce passion to protect her daughter and teach her everything she knew. And then she had Baxter, who was a little more of a handful in his infancy, and Natasha swore she was done having kids. 

Stella and Baxter come bouncing over to her for some snacks and more sunscreen.

“Do you want to join us in the water, honey?” you ask Natasha, throwing a handful of Goldfish crackers into your mouth. 

“Maybe in a bit,” Natasha says, feeling particularly lazy today while you and her friends keep her children entertained. 

“Okay!” You remain cheerful, blowing up the floaties for Baxter and helping Stella put her life vest on. After a second application of sunscreen and waiting long enough for Natasha to deem you all ready to enter the water after eating, you pick up your kids and carry them to the water’s edge. 

While Stella and Baxter are strong swimmers, you’re always a little extra nervous being with them in open water. Luckily, Steve and Thor come to join you on a pair of surfboards, having given up volleyball after a tremendous loss to the girls. Steve shows Stella how to balance on his board and pushes her towards shore. Baxter is less interested in the board and asks to be cannonballed into the water by Thor. 

Knowing that your kids are safe under the watchful eyes of their uncles, you paddle back to shore to spend a moment with Natasha. 

Yelena sets the volleyball to Kate, now on the other side of the net after the boys ditched them. But Kate completely ignores the ball falling on her side of the court. 

“Kate Bishop!” Yelena calls out in frustration, backtracking to grab the spare volleyball outside the invisible court lines. She follows her friend’s gaze to where she’s looking out at the ocean. 

Both Kate and Natasha are staring at the same thing: you, emerging from the water like a Baywatch lifeguard. Beads of water run down your chest and washboard abs. Your upper body is shaped like an inverted triangle, and when you raise your arm to brush the wet hair out of your face, your bicep bunches up like a ball under your skin. 

Natasha’s eyes are glued to your perfect body like she’s never seen you before. She knows she isn’t the only one on the beach staring at you, but a feral pulse of arousal swirls in her belly because she knows she’s the only one here who gets to take you to bed. 

You wade towards the shore, almost in slow-motion, as the water level lowers past your waist and then to your knees. You adjust the band of your shorts, which have fallen concerningly low on your hips, emphasizing the vein on your abs that disappears beyond your waistband. Natasha crosses her legs, squeezing her thighs together tightly as her throb of arousal beats harder. She can already picture herself dragging you back to the hotel room, laying you on the bed and riding your dick until neither of you can walk. 

“Goddamn,” someone near Natasha whistles. “I wish I could have that one for dinner…”

Fighting the urge to swing on the woman, Natasha instead gets up to wait by the water for you, so every woman here can see who you belong to. 

“Hi babe,” she greets, immediately putting her hands on your hips the second you step within her reach. “The kids okay?”

“Yeah, they’re with Steve and Thor. I figured I’d get a break from them while I can.”

Natasha’s hands wipe the water from your chest and then she starts fussing with the tie on your shorts. 

“Everything okay, sweetie?” you ask, rubbing her arm as she leans into you, her hands circling to your butt and squeezing to bring you closer to her, until your fronts bump. 

“I want to spend time with you,” she whispers, squeezing your ass harder and you know exactly what she’s referring to. “It’s my turn.”

“What about–”

“The guys can watch the kids. And my sister,” she says, standing on her toes to kiss you before taking your hand and dragging you away from the water’s edge. “Hey, Lena!” she calls out, “Can you help watch the kids for a bit? We’ll be right back.”

“Uh, where are you…” Yelena stops talking when she notices the way her sister is looking at you. She turns back to the volleyball net, where Kate is also still looking at you with her mouth hanging open. Yelena spikes the ball into her face.

The two of you barely make it back to your hotel room, only stopping at an outdoor shower to rinse off the smell of ocean water and sand off your body (privately, you’re surprised Natasha doesn’t try and take you right in the shower stall). She practically humps you in the elevator and you have no problem returning her enthusiasm, lighting groping her under the privacy of her cover-up. Your love for your wife is indescribable: she makes you so happy and feel so loved, and she is the best mother to your children that you could ever ask for. 

You cup Natasha’s face and kiss her hard, trying to convey your passion and love for her. She presses her body against yours, her nipples straining through the fabric of her bikini top and poking your bare chest. 

“I got so horny watching you on the beach,” Natasha pants, clawing at the waistband of your shorts. “And then the things I heard people saying about you…” You raise your eyebrows, not following for a moment. “They wanted you,” she says simply. “And then it made me even hornier to think I’m the only one who gets to make you cum.” She pulls down your wet shorts and tosses them somewhere on the floor. 

Your hard cock slaps against your abs and you grab it by the base, squeezing lightly to remind yourself not to finish too early. Natasha removes her cover-up again and plumps up her chest to emphasize her cleavage. You wonder if she’ll let you fuck her tits, but she seems to have other ideas as she sinks to her knees and leans forward and plants a kiss to the skin above your straining cock. 

“Baby,” you moan, jerking your hips forward as she grabs onto your cock, stroking it until it throbs steadily in her hand. You watch, practically panting, as she wraps her lips around the tip and sucks until she’s rewarded with a dribble of your pre-cum. Natasha hums at your taste, anchoring her hands on the tree trunks of your thighs to steady herself. Wetness gathers between her own thighs as she bobs her head, taking your length down her throat with ease. She loves to make you feel good and even though you’re seemingly in the dominant position, she has total control over you.

You place one hand behind Natasha’s head, tangling your fingers in her hair as you thrust into her throat harder and harder. The tip of your cock rubs past the ridged roof of her mouth before pushing into the wet tightness of her throat and another moan rumbles in your chest.

“You gonna let me finish in that pretty mouth of yours?” you grunt, humping forward until Natasha’s lips practically make contact with your hips. She mumbles an answer you can’t hear, but she doesn’t release you either. It takes a monumental effort to slow the movement of your hips, but you won’t finish without her consent. Natasha looks up at you and winks, her tongue brushing over the pounding vein of your cock and you buck your hips and unleash your load instantly. 

Clutching onto her head for life, you feel the hot bursts of your seed go directly down her throat as your wife swallows obediently. Natasha milks you for every drop you have to offer before she finally lets you pull out, your legs still trembling as you step back to collapse on the bed. 

“Fuck, that felt so good,” you murmur as she climbs on top of you and kisses you. “Can I return the favor, babe?”

“Hmm,” Natasha says, as if she’ll seriously ever turn down the opportunity for you to eat her out. She rocks against your muscular body, trailing her fingers over the ridges of your obliques. “Yes, you may,” she finally says, removing her bikini and moving up to straddle your face backwards. You greedily reach for her naked body, digging your fingers into the plushness of her thighs as she lowers her dripping center over your mouth. The scent of her arousal smothers you and you eagerly lap at her slit, sliding your tongue through her wetness until you find her clit, swiping it over it until you hear her moan so loud you fear your neighbors will hear. 

“Right there, Y/N, right there,” she begs, falling forward with her hands on your chest. Your arms flex around her thighs to pull her closer, stretching your tongue into her as deep as you can. Her legs tremble around your head and you feel her hands run down your chest, scratching over your abs as she leans forward to trace the pelvic creases leading to your dick. 

Her back arches towards you and you wish you had a better angle to see how her body bows to your touch. You could spend hours under her like this, pleasuring her with every part of your body and still feel like you never gave her enough. Natasha grinds down harder on your face and her nails dig into your hips as she finds her balance. Your tongue pistons into her and you nibble lightly on her pulsing clit. 

“Fuck, Y/N!” she gasps, wetness flooding into your mouth. You’re so distracted trying to lap up every drop you don’t notice her hand close around your dick, pumping it to hardness again. 

“Oh God,” you mumble, pulling away from her slick center to catch your breath. But before you can dive back in for a second round, Natasha lifts herself off and swivels around so she can sit on your thighs. 

“I think I want you to put another baby in me,” she says, still stroking you and your cock leaks a dribble of pre-cum. 

“Are you sure? I thought you said you didn’t…” Your voice trails off when Natasha positions you at her entrance, pushing you in until only your tip is smothered by her heat. 

“Just one more,” she pants, feeling like she’s going to melt with the lust she has for you. Your perfectly muscular body under her, your cock hard and throbbing, ready to please and fill her. “And then you get can get snipped.”

You laugh and grab onto her hips, rocking more of yourself into her. To be fair, the two of you had already had the long discussions about adding another member to your family. Natasha had given you an adamant no, which you had respected, even going so far as to scheduling a vasectomy, but she stopped you before you could go, saying she was unsure after all. You were content with Stella and Baxter as it was, but if she was ready to have another, you were not going to deny her that. 

“I think we can make that happen,” you hum, looking down to where your cock just barely spreads her apart, waiting for her to properly sheath you in her heat. 

“Yes, I think we can,” she agrees, shifting her legs wider so she can accept your thick shaft. She is so wet for you that you slide in with almost no resistance, her velvet walls hugging and squeezing you. No matter how many times the two of you fucked, you would never tire of her body on yours, how she felt around you, how she brought you to the most mind-blowing orgasms of your life. 

You grunt and arch your back off the mattress, determined to fill her with every inch you have. Natasha lays on your chest, kissing your face and neck as she swivels her hips in tight circles. There are no more thoughts of future children in your head as you focus only on the pounding between your legs, snapping your hips up to meet her thighs. Your hands run down her back, your fingers curling into the dimples of her lower back before settling around her perfectly toned butt.

“Nat, Nat, Nat,” you chant mindlessly, your abs flexing and heaving as you try not to buck her off completely. 

“Hmm, I thought you would last a little longer,” your wife teases, squeezing herself around your cock particularly tight and you lock your knees to pause your thrusts, but she rocks her hips faster and you lose your breath. “I bet you can’t wait to fill me up with your hot cum and get me pregnant, huh?”

“If that’s what you want,” you reiterate in a strangled voice, now using every muscle you possess to flatten yourself on the bed. But Natasha knows your body better than you do, and if she wants to finish soon, she knows exactly what to do to get it. She leans back, pushing her heaving chest forward and inviting you to grab onto her breasts–which you do so a little roughly but very enthusiastically. Then she grinds down on you to ensure she’s filled with your entire length and takes one of your hands, guiding it down to her stomach so you can feel the bulge of your cock through her.

“Fuck me, baby,” she says with a wink, and your control snaps. You push your hips up hard, watching with laser focus as the faint bulge in her stomach moves with everyone one of your thrusts. The stimulation of her pussy gripping your cock and the added visual of you inside her is too much and you finish without warning this time, pumping hot ropes of cum deep into her womb. 

“Oh, fuck, Nat,” you moan, going light-headed as you empty yourself, finally collapsing onto the bed, panting and sweating. She lays on top of you, stroking your chest and occasionally rolling her hips, which causes you to jolt with the overstimulation. “I love you so much, honey.” You wrap your arms around her back and press her close. “And I can’t wait to see you carry our third child.”

“Me too,” she hums in agreement, craning her neck to whisper in your ear. “I hope you’re ready for another round soon. Because we’re not leaving this room until I’m sure you’ve gotten me pregnant.”

And that was how Steve, Thor, and Yelena were stuck watching the children until well after dinnertime, and it wasn’t until they sent Kate to look for you two, who ran back to the group utterly traumatized and a little turned on, and said the kids would need to sleepover with them for the night. 

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AN: It was actually kind of cute to write about R and Nat with their kids…and then making another lmao.

Also, I absolutely could not pass up on an opportunity to reference the OG Peeping Kate…she’s still at it. 😉

also, nat move! ME NEXT

The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows along the walls as Agatha sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming against the polished surface. Your fellow witches exchanged glances, some amused, others bracing for the inevitable storm.

“She’s taking too long,” Agatha muttered, narrowing her eyes at the door as if sheer will alone would bring you home.

Billy smirked but wisely kept his mouth shut. Lilia, however, leaned forward, arching a brow. “She just went to get food, Agatha. You do remember she’s an adult, yes?”

Agatha’s sharp glare snapped to her, but Lilia didn’t flinch. She was used to Agatha’s theatrics by now.

“I do remember,” Agatha said, tone clipped, “but she should be back by now. Anything could’ve happened.”

Jen chuckled under her breath. “Oh yes, because the biggest, scariest threat to her is probably tripping over a squirrel.”

Alice grinned. “Or getting distracted by a particularly interesting tree.”

Agatha’s scowl deepened, but her fingers stilled. It was true- you were soft, gentle, prone to stopping to feed birds or magically fixing a bumblebees wing. It was why she loved you. It was why she worried.

Lilia sighed, resting her chin on her palm. “If you panic every time she goes out alone, she’ll think you don’t trust her to be independent.”

Agatha’s jaw clenched. “I trust her. I just don’t trust other people.”

Billy snorted. “Sure Agatha.”

Before Agatha could snap at him, the front door creaked open. The tension in her shoulders snapped like a thread, and in an instant, she was on her feet, sweeping toward you.

There you were, glowing with warmth, eyes bright as you kicked off your shoes. But she saw it- the hesitation, the way you bit your lip. Her stomach dropped.

“You worried mommy,” she purred, brushing a hand along your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You took too long. What’s wrong, darling?”

You swallowed, shifting your weight, cradling something in your arms.

“Aggie… please don’t be mad.”

Agatha’s eyes darkened. “Why would I be mad?”

You hesitated, then slowly, gently, lifted a tiny, black-furred bundle into view. A kitten. Small, fragile, with wide, gleaming eyes. It mewed softly.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. “Oh, absolutely not.”

The room went silent. The coven, who had seen Agatha deal with all manner of supernatural threats, were now witnessing something far more dangerous: a battle of wills between the all-powerful Agatha Harkness and her painfully sweet, unfairly adorable wife.

Agatha crossed her arms, leveling you with a firm stare. “No.”

You blinked up at her, cradling the tiny kitten against your chest. “No?”

She lifted her chin. “No.”

Billy, sitting on the couch, leaned toward Jen and whispered, *“She’s already lost.”*

Agatha shot him a look, but her attention snapped back to you when you let out a soft, sad sigh. You rubbed a gentle finger over the kitten’s tiny ear, your lower lip jutting out just slightly. Not enough to be dramatic, just enough to devastate her.

“Aggie, please,” you murmured, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “I love him. He needs us.”

Agatha steeled herself. “Baby, come on, we have a rabbit already.”

You perked up. “But they can be best friends!”

“They will not be best friends-”

“We can raise him,” you continued, stepping closer, voice soft, persuasive, sweet as honey. “Please, Aggie. I love you. And I love him. Please?”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw twitched. Her fingers flexed like she was physically holding herself back.

Alice, watching from across the room, snorted. “Oh my god, just let her keep the damn cat.”

“She’s gonna say yes,” Jen stage-whispered.

Billy propped his chin on his hand. “She’s just stretching it out for dramatic effect now.”

“I am not,” Agatha snapped, then turned back to you, who was still looking at her like she hung the moon and stars in the sky. Damn you and your sweetness.

She let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down her face. Then, after a moment, she dropped her hand, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered, “fine.”

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you clutched the kitten closer. “Really?”

Agatha groaned. “Yes, really. But I swear to the gods, if he scratches up my books, or if he pisses on the rug, he’s your problem.”

You grinned, bouncing up and down in glee. “Okay! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise you’ll love him!”

Agatha grumbled something under her breath but didn’t resist when you threw your arms around her. Her hands settled on your waist, grip firm but familiar, and she sighed against your hair.

Billy snickered. “Well, that was pathetic.”

Agatha shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I will turn you into a toad.”

But even as she threatened Billy, her arms curled tighter around you, and she let you tuck the kitten between you both. He let out a tiny, content purr.

“I told you mommy would let you stay didn’t I S…” you cooed, stopping and blushing as you almost revealed your new sons name.

Agatha groaned. “Oh, for the love of- you’ve already named him, haven’t you?”

You smiled guiltily and nodded “his name is Salem”

Lilia cackled. “Oh, now that’s just poetic.”

~

Agatha woke with a slow, satisfied stretch, a lazy smirk curling on her lips as she reached across the bed, expecting to find you- warm, soft, pliant against her.

But the sheets were cold.

Her smirk faded. She frowned, eyes cracking open, hand still patting the empty space beside her. “Baby?”

Silence.

Her frown deepened.

She sat up, fingers raking through her hair, listening carefully. Then…

A giggle.

Agatha’s head snapped toward the bedroom door. You were giggling? Without her? Another soft peal of laughter, followed by a quiet meow. Agatha’s nostrils flared.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she grabbed her robe, slipping it on as she stalked toward the door. Her morning had already been ruined by the lack of you curled against her, but now she was hearing giggles- the kind that were usually reserved for her alone- and she wasn’t involved?

Completely unacceptable.

Barefoot and silent, she padded down the hall, pushing open the living room doors to find…

You. Laying on your stomach on the rug, elbow propped under your chin, face alight with pure, radiant joy as you dragged a ribbon back and forth. Salem, the tiny black-furred usurper, pounced and tumbled after it, little tail flicking in excitement.

Agatha scowled.

She was being ignored.

By you.

For a cat.

Her presence went unnoticed as she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, glaring down at the scene with unmasked displeasure.

“Oh, you’re such a clever boy,” you cooed, wiggling the ribbon. Salem pounced again, missing completely and landing in an adorable, flailing heap. You laughed, reaching out to scratch behind his ears. “Such a little hunter, aren’t you? Yes, you are! So fierce!”

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw another dimension.

Fierce? That tiny thing was not fierce. She was fierce.

And yet, here you were, lavishing all your attention- attention that should have been spent in bed, between her thighs or seated on her face- on this ridiculous furball.

Enough.

She cleared her throat. Loudly.

You gasped, looking up with wide, startled eyes. “Oh! Aggie, good morning!”

Agatha arched a brow, gaze flicking between you and the kitten still sprawled on the rug. “Is it?”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, blinking at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “You tell me, darling. I woke up alone. And when I came looking for you, I find you here, on the floor, giggling and fawning over-” she gestured vaguely at Salem, “that.”

Salem, utterly unbothered by her disdain, flopped onto his back and stretched out his tiny paws.

Your expression softened immediately. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry! He woke up early and was being all cute, so I thought I’d play with him for a little bit.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “You left our bed for a cat.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “Are you jealous?”

Her jaw clenched. “Of a kitten? No.”

You giggled again, pushing up onto your knees and crawling toward her. “Mmm, I think you are.”

Agatha huffed, tilting her chin up. “Absolutely not.”

But then you reached for her, standing up with hands slipping under her robe, fingers grazing over the bare skin of her waist as you pressed a soft kiss to her collarbone. “Poor mommy,” you murmured, lips trailing up her neck. “You just want my attention, don’t you?”

Agatha shivered, but held her ground. “I deserve your attention.”

You hummed, pressing a final kiss just under her jaw. “Well, then maybe you should play nice with Salem, so you don’t have to share it.”

Agatha’s glare snapped back to the kitten, who was currently grooming his tiny paw, wholly unbothered. Smug little thing.

She exhaled sharply. “Fine. But if he touches my spellbooks, he’s gone.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Deal.”

Salem meowed.

Agatha scowled.

This was war.

~

Agatha took a slow breath, rolling back her shoulders as she watched Billy attempt the spell she had just demonstrated.

“Focus,” she instructed, arms crossed. “Channel your energy through the rune, don’t just throw power at it.”

Billy muttered something under his breath but obeyed, adjusting his stance and trying again. The rune shimmered in the air before them, pulsing faintly with his magic. It was… adequate.

Agatha nodded once. “Better.”

She turned slightly, expecting to see you sitting up, watching like you always did when she mentored Billy. You were always so attentive- so soft and doting, looking at her like she had hung the stars just by showing a simple spell. But when she glanced toward the sofa her blood ran cold.

There you were, but not watching her. Not waiting to drape yourself over her the second she was done. No, you were napping, curled up on the couch, and draped across your chest, smug as anything, was Salem.

Agatha’s nostrils flared. Unbelievable.

She clenched her fists, fighting the petty urge to hex the little thing right off you. It was enough that you fawned over him every waking moment, but now? Now, even in sleep, Salem had claimed his place as the ruler of this household.

Billy, following her gaze, immediately perked up. “Oh my god, look at him.”

Agatha’s stomach dropped as Billy abandoned the lesson entirely and rushed to your side.

“Look at this little guy,” he cooed, crouching beside the couch, reaching out to scratch under Salem’s tiny chin.

You stirred at the movement, blinking sleepily, eyes soft and warm as you woke to Billy petting the cat.

“Oh,” you yawned, smiling as you stretched. “Morning, Billy.”

“Morning, Salem,” Billy smiled down at the kitten on your chest, still cooing over the kitten.

You giggled, rubbing your cheek against Salem’s tiny head. “He’s the sleepiest boy today, huh?”

“Right?” Billy agreed, reaching to stroke along Salem’s tiny back. “Look at him. He’s just a baby.”

Agatha, still standing stiffly across the room, gawking at the scene in front of her. You never looked at her with that same soft, sleepy adoration after a nap.

And now the two of you were sitting there, utterly obsessed with that ridiculous creature, treating him like he was the most precious thing in the world, while Agatha stood there, forgotten.

The realisation was horrifying. She had been dethroned. Salem, tiny and innocent-looking, had become the true ruler of this household. He had you. He had the coven. And now he had Billy.

She was losing.

Agatha narrowed her eyes. No. She refused to be bested by a kitten.

Billy glanced up at her and grinned. “Agatha, come look at him! Isn’t he just-”

“No.”

Billy blinked. “What?”

Agatha lifted her chin, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I don’t fawn over creatures that contribute nothing to the household.”

You pouted, looking up at her through sleepy eyes. “But, Aggie, look at his little toes—”

Agatha looked away. She wouldn’t be tricked.

Billy rolled his eyes. “You’re just mad because Salem has completely stolen your wife.”

Agatha scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Billy smirked. “Then come pet him.”

Agatha froze.

Billy’s smirk widened. “Go on.”

You looked up at her, hopeful, and patted the space next to you. “Come on, baby.”

Agatha hesitated.

Her instincts told her it was a trap.

But then you pouted, soft and irresistible, looking at her with those big, pleading eyes… And just like that, she was moving. Slowly. Cautiously.Like Salem was some ancient being waiting to strike.

She perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, glancing down at the tiny ball of fluff stretched across your chest. He blinked up at her, slow and lazy, like he was daring her to do something.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose. Then, after a long moment she reached out, one single finger extended…The second her fingertip brushed against Salem’s fur, the kitten let out a mighty stretch and promptly rolled deeper into your embrace, turning his back on her.

Agatha gasped.

Billy lost it.

“Oh my god, you’ve been rejected.” He wheezed.

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I have not.”

Billy cackled, clutching his stomach. “No, no, this is humiliating. He knows. He knows you don’t like him, and he’s snubbing you.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to Salem’s tiny head. “Oh, baby, don’t be mad. He just doesn’t trust you yet.”

Agatha bristled. “I don’t need a cat’s trust.”

Billy wheezed. “Oh, you so do.”

Agatha glared at Salem, and to her horror, the kitten simply let out a tiny yawn and promptly fell back asleep. Utterly unbothered. Agatha had never hated anything more in her life.

This was war.

And Agatha Harkness never lost.

~

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with warmth and want. Agatha had you exactly where she wanted- beneath her, lips kiss-swollen, breath coming in soft little pants as she trailed possessive hands down your body.

She smirked, brushing her lips against your ear. “Mine.”

You whimpered, arching into her touch. “Yours.”

A pleased hum rumbled in her throat. “Say it again, baby.”

You shivered, fingers tangling in hair as she kissed down your neck. “All yours, Mommy.”

Agatha’s grip tightened. Finally, after an entire day of being ignored in favor of that creature, she had you back- where you belonged- focused entirely on her.

She dragged her lips back up to yours, capturing them in a deep, claiming kiss.

And then—

A thump.

A chirping meow.

And before Agatha could even process what was happening… A tiny black ball of menace leapt onto the bed.

Your eyes flew open. “Oh my gods!”

Agatha froze.

You gasped, delighted, and immediately sat up, reaching for the little intruder. “My smart boy!”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

You pushed her away.

For the cat.

Salem, looking entirely too smug, hopped into your lap and headbutted your chin, purring loudly.

You melted. “Oh, you clever little thing,” you cooed, scratching behind his ears. “You figured out the door! Mommy shut you out, didn’t she? But you got in anyway, huh?”

Agatha, still reeling, barely managed to rasp out, “I shut the door.”

You beamed at her. “He’s a genius!”

Agatha scowled. “He’s a problem.”

You weren’t even listening. You were too busy giggling as Salem flopped dramatically onto his back, rolling in your lap, fully aware that he owned you.

Agatha clenched her jaw.

No.

No, she would not allow this to happen.

She reached for you again, slipping a hand under your chin, tilting your face back toward hers. “Come on, baby,” she murmured, voice low and sultry, lips barely brushing yours. “Focus on mommy”.

But just as your lids fluttered, just as you exhaled that soft little sigh that always made her crazy-

Salem chirped and nudged your hand.

And, horrifyingly, your attention snapped back to him, “Ohhh, I know, I know,” you cooed, cradling his tiny face. “You need some loving too, huh?”

Agatha flung herself onto her back, staring at the ceiling like she was being personally victimized by the universe.

“What about my loving?” she demanded, throwing a hand over her forehead like some tragic heroine.

You giggled. “Aggie-”

Salem, with perfect timing, rolled onto his side, stretching just enough to rest a tiny paw against your cheek.

Your heart melted. “Aw, Agatha, look-”

“No.” Agatha sat up, glaring at the kitten. “I refuse to be a secondary character in my own bed.”

You laughed, utterly charmed. “He just loves me, baby.”

Agatha crossed her arms. “I love you.”

You gave her an affectionate smile. “I know you do.”

“Then act like it.”

You giggled again, pressing a kiss to Salem’s little head.

Agatha bristled. “I swear,” she muttered, throwing herself back against the pillows again. “This is witchcraft. He’s bewitched you all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Agatha, he’s just a cat.”

Agatha sat up so fast you startled.

“No,” she said darkly, eyes narrowing at the tiny ball of fluff curled in your lap. “He’s a threat.”

~

The setting sun shone through your windows, casting golden light over the coven as they sat in a circle, discussing plans for the upcoming Summer Solstice ritual.

Agatha, seated in her usual high-backed chair, had you curled in her lap, arms wrapped possessively around your waist. For the first time in days, she finally had you all to herself, without a certain feline dictator demanding your attention.

Because this time, she had planned ahead. The door to the room was magically sealed with the strongest wards she could weave into it. No amount of scratching, meowing, or pathetic manipulation would let that tiny tyrant inside.

She smirked to herself, pleased. Finally.

“So,” Lilia said, gesturing at the books in front of them, “I was thinking we could incorporate more moonstone this year. It should help amplify the energy-”

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Agatha ignored it. You, however, perked up instantly, shifting in her lap. “Aw, Salem-”

Agatha’s grip tightened. “No.”

Lilia continued, unfazed. “- and I read somewhere that incorporating fresh lavender in the-”

A tiny, pitiful whimper sounded from the other side of the door. Alice gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh no, the baby!”

You pouted, starting to push yourself up. “Agatha, let me-”

“No,” Agatha repeated, wrapping her arms more securely around you. “Let him cry.”

Billy’s eyes widened in horror. “Agatha, what the hell?!”

You turned, brows furrowing. “Baby, he’s sad.”

“He needs to learn,” Agatha insisted. “We are not interrupting an official coven meeting just because he doesn’t like being excluded.”

Scratch. Scratch.

A heart-wrenching mewl followed.

Billy was already half-standing. “That’s it, I’m getting the little prince-”

Agatha glared, flicking her fingers in Billy’s direction. Billy was immediately shoved back into his seat with an annoyed huff.

“Sit down,” Agatha ordered. “He is not royalty.”

Billy crossed her arms. “He is to me.”

“Yeah,” Jen agreed, flipping a page in her book. “Kinda sounds like you’re being a bad mom.”

Agatha’s eye twitched. “I am not his mother.”

The scratching continued.

You squirmed again. “Aggie, please-”

Agatha huffed in exasperation. “No! You are wrapped around his tiny little paw, and if we keep giving in, he’ll just keep winning.”

Jen raised a brow. “Winning what? He’s a kitten.”

Agatha gestured at you dramatically. “He stole her from me!”

The room went silent.

Then Lilia sighed, rubbing her temples. “Oh my gods”.

Billy cackled. “You *are* losing to a kitten.”

Agatha shot him a look. “I am not losing-”

At that exact moment, Salem let out the most pitiful, heartbroken little cry any of them had ever heard.

Your eyes widened in distress. “Aggie-”

“Oh, for the love of- fine.” With a dramatic wave of her hand, Agatha finally released the spell.

The door flew open.

And in strutted Salem, tail high, eyes smug, like he knew he had just won.

Agatha gawked. “You manipulative little-”

Before she could even finish, you had already scooped Salem up into your arms, cradling him against your chest like a precious treasure.

“Ohhh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his tiny head. “Mommy was so mean to you, huh?”

Agatha’s mouth fell open.

Alice glared at her. “I can’t believe you locked him out.”

Jen snorted. “I can.”

Billy shook his head in disappointment. “Shameful behavior from our fearless leader.”

Agatha scowled as Salem gave her a very deliberate slow blink, curling up in your arms like he owned the place.

Which, apparently, he did.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “This is witchcraft.”

Jen snorted. “He’s just a cat, Agatha.”

Agatha shot her a dark look. “He’s a threat.”

“Shit!”

The curse word echoes in the chamber, making Natasha feel like for once she’s not alone. She jumps back, barely in time for the ground beneath her feet to crumble and fall away into the dark abyss. She doesn’t even hear them land, surmising she must be several hundred feet above sea level now. Her path lit by the heavy but powerful headlamp strapped to her forehead, she moves more cautiously now.

“Latvia? Really, Nat?”

“It’s a beautiful country,” she defends, pushing Clint’s legs off the desk where he had his boots resting on her world map. “Besides, Slorenia doesn’t exist anymore. But historians say Latvia is one of the countries that absorbed it after the war in 1624.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little too obvious to search Slorenia or Latvia or whatever the hell it’s called now?” Clint asks. “Surely someone else has already gone looking there.”

“But I haven’t,” Natasha says. While her ego did go to her head sometimes, there was no denying she was one of the greatest archeologists and explorers of the modern day. With her years of research and experience, and a kickass team to support her, few ancient mysteries had stumped her yet.

But this one–the Pandora’s Box, as it was known in the archeological community, had sent Natasha spiraling for years. While the name was inspired from the Greek myth, there was discourse between scholars on how much of the story was rooted in reality. Natasha was deeply fascinated by its rich and dark history, and despite the protests from her team that she was chasing a fairytale, she continued to search for clues and leads.

She was determined to prove its existence and uncover the story behind it. If anyone was qualified to do that, she was.

The cave is humid and wet, but the air is heavy and fresh, as if there were not many living creatures to inhale it. Natasha feels more at ease as she hikes through the cave, marching along at a steady pace and keeping away from the edge of the narrow path that borders a cliffside. 

She’s unsure how deep the cave goes, or if she’ll even find what she’s looking for, but she’s certain she isn’t here by accident. Her teammate Steve had found an obscure news article dating a few years back of three Lativian teenagers who went exploring an unmarked cave, but were spooked out by a woman’s voice begging them to “set her free.” A team of police ventured in, but the cave was simply too large to conduct a proper search in a reasonable amount of time. No woman was ever reported being found in the cave since.

Natasha halts when her beam of light reveals a stone bridge, with a near ten-foot gap in the center. There’s no other way forward besides going back, and she doesn’t want to waste time with that. She tightens the straps of her backpack and practices taking a few large steps, then jumping off her right foot, bunching the muscles in her calf and thigh. 

She has one chance. 

A regular person would just turn back, or maybe use a rope to cross the gap. But not Natasha. She kept herself in superior physical shape for these adventures and had full confidence in her abilities. She goes up to where the bridge ends, peering over the edge for fun, and her stomach flips at the height of the drop. 

She can’t see the bottom.

Adrenaline pumps into her muscles and she mentally steels herself for the jump. She counts back six steps from the edge, taking a deep, calming breath, then runs full-tilt towards the gap. On the sixth step, she launches herself over the abyss, aiming to grab the exposed rebar jutting out like gnarled teeth on the other side. Her gloves protect her hands from scraping, but she stops with more impact than she anticipated and the rebar slips right through her right hand.

Her bodyweight tries to drag her down into the abyss, but she refuses to let it win. Staying calm, she finds a new hold amongst the rubble, shoving at it aggressively before she trusts it to hold her. With both hands now properly anchored, she slowly eases herself up and crawls onto the remains of the bridge, her heart pounding so hard against her chest she can see the visible thumping.

She drinks a few sips of water from her pack before she feels oriented enough to continue, more motivated than ever. 

“It can’t actually exist,” Steve says, sipping from a glass of Coke while Natasha and Clint nurse beers. “I mean, we’re talking about witchcraft. Supernatural stuff. There has never been scientific evidence for it, anywhere in the history of the world.”

“This could be the first then,” Clint says. He was always more of a believer than Steve was, but that was why Natasha liked working with them both. 

Steve shakes his head. “What makes this mystery so different from the others?” He directs his question to Natasha. “You’ve spent years looking for Pandora’s Box. I’ve seen you pass over cases in just a few months because you don’t think it’s worth pursuing. What makes this one different?”

Natasha stares into her beer as the white foam melts away. She wants to give him an articulate answer, but the truth is, she doesn’t really know. She was a second-year student in college when she was first introduced to Pandora’s Box, and had been intrigued ever since. Did it hold the solution to world peace, or was it just another instrument of destruction?

Natasha’s legs are heavy from the effort of an additional hour-long hike since she jumped across the gap in the bridge. She stops only to refuel with some protein bars and more water. She doesn’t know how much longer she should go on for until it’s time to turn back. As much as she’d like to, she can’t explore this cave forever. 

She comes to a fork in the path and contemplates her decision. The right path is open, and leads around a bend she can’t see after a hundred feet. The left path is covered by a rock ceiling barely above her own height.

“Go left.”

Natasha obeys the voice in her head without further hesitation. 

“They called her the Enchantress,” Clint reads from the textbook. “That much scholars can agree on. Everything else is pretty much up for debate. Some say that she could fly, move objects with her mind, or even tell other people what to do.” 

“All nonsense,” Steve dismisses. “No human being can do any of those things.”

“They never said she was human,” Natasha points out.

“Then what else could she be?” Steve asks. “A god? A witch?”

“An enchantress,” Clint repeats, slapping his hand on the textbook for emphasis.

“No such thing,” Steve insists. “She was just some poor kid who got killed in the war, and then the locals made up stories about her to scare invaders. And future historians, because no one can seem to agree on what really happened or where she ended up.”

Natasha clicks her tongue; she hates it when Steve simplifies the facts, even if they are accurate. But that isn’t the whole truth and they both know it. Natasha wants to learn who the “Enchantress” really was and if there was any justification to the horrors that made up her life.   

The narrow path suddenly widens into a large, circular room. In the center, is a pedestal, conveniently highlighted by a ray of sunlight pouring in through a hole in the ceiling. Natasha feels her stomach clench when she eyes a box atop the pedestal, barely bigger than a laptop, wrapped in rusting chains and intricate carvings. She tries approaching with caution, but the pull of curiosity is too great and she rushes to the pedestal for a closer look. The box is made of wood, the chains metal, and the engravings are painted over with gold.  

Natasha has enough sense to survey the room for any hidden doors, windows, or even people, before she touches the box, but she seems to be alone. She picks up the box delicately, wondering if the transfer of its weight will set off a trap. 

Nothing happens.

Tucking it against her chest, Natasha notes it’s not as heavy as she thought it would be, but the significance of what it might hold weighs like a metric ton on her mind. She steps away from the pedestal, and feels a tile depress under her foot.

A volley of rusty arrows shoot out of the wall from either side of her. A sharp pain radiates from her left thigh and her leg buckles. She throws her arms out to brace her fall and watches with immediate regret as the box tumbles to the floor faster than she can catch it. 

The box lands on a corner and Natasha hears the wood crack. The chains might as well have been for show at the way they disintegrate and the lid flies open. A blinding light white fills the room and Natasha curls into a ball on the ground, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Enchantress.” Natasha hears a soft whisper, so faint she thinks she’s imagined it. She’s too scared to open her eyes and curls up tighter. 

“Pretty little thing,” the voice says, with a slight accent she can’t place. “Thank you.”

Natasha swears a hand, solid and hot, presses against her cheek for a moment, leaving her skin burning. Then the white light extinguishes as suddenly as it appeared. She hesitantly cracks one eye open, then the other.

She’s still alone in the dark, damp room. Blood soaks her pant leg where the arrow tore through her flesh. The box lays open, empty, next to her. She touches her cheek, which is flushed with heat but she’s unsure if it’s from her own blood flow pounding beneath her skin.

The silence feels never-ending as she sits there, staring at the box. She can’t believe she dropped it, but more so that it was completely empty. Or was it? Natasha knows something is wrong, an unexplainable shift in her gut that she can’t interpret in the moment.

She quickly bandages her leg, then reaches for the box, closing it up pointlessly and limping out of the cave.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Just wrote something short to test the waters, so let me know if you'd like me to continue :)

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, poking at the sad bowl of cereal before you.

“Why not?” Your wife frowns at you from across the kitchen.

“Because we’re doing fine! We don’t need any extra help,” you emphasize.

“You’re not the one stuck at home all day cleaning the house and cooking all the meals,” she snaps. Your eyes shift to the bowl of cereal you’d had to make yourself because she was too busy at her pilates class to cook you anything more substantial. 

“This house is huge compared to our old one,” your wife continues. “And if you’re not going to help me around here, I’m going to hire someone who will.” Annoyance burns in your chest because you run your own company full-time, and your wife inherited all her wealth from her parents and hadn’t worked a real job in her entire life. “Besides, Steve’s the one who recommended her and he said she’s been really helpful to his family.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time talking to Steve,” you note, although you feel guilty for calling out your neighbor across the street. You’d spoken to him a few times and he seemed like a decent guy, but you weren’t stupid enough to not notice how often your wife would find her way over to his lawn multiple times a week.

“You’re at work all day and don’t answer your phone half the time,” she says. “You don’t expect me to stay in this gigantic house all by myself doing chores, do you? I’m not a house servant, Y/N.”

“No, of course you’re not,” you apologize. You glance at the Omega watch that had been an engagement gift from your wife. “Hey, I have to get going to work now.” Dutifully, you bring your bowl over to the sink and stop to kiss your wife on the way there. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Remember, the pool guy is coming at noon so you need to be back before then,” she says. “I don’t want to be left by myself with him.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” You’re not sure why she’s so nervous around the pool technician; he was about 30 years older than the both of you and had been very sweet and professional when he came to give you a quote for the maintenance.  

“No, don’t try. Do it,” she insists.

You try to hold in your sigh. “Yes, dear.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha curses to herself as she drags her vacuum cleaner and basket of cleaning supplies up the sidewalk to your home. Your wife–Mrs. L/N, as she had asked Natasha to call her, while you had no problem being on a first name basis with her–had told Natashsa she didn’t want her parking in front of your house, requiring her to park around the corner. Which wouldn’t have been a significant issue except it meant Natasha had to lug everything to your house every time she stopped by.

“Do you need any help, Nat?” Steve Rogers, the friendly neighbor whom she also worked for, waved at her from across the street.

“No, no, I’m fine!” she squeaks, not wanting to bother him. But Steve, ever the gentleman, runs over anyway and she has no choice but to turn over her supplies to him. 

“You know, you can always just park in front of my house,” he offers, bundling the items in his muscular arms.

“That’s okay,” Natasha says. “Mrs. L/N made it very clear that as much as she needs my help, she doesn’t want people to know I’m here.”

Steve doesn’t argue with her and walks her to your front door. “Well, if you ever need anything–”

“Natasha! You’re late!” The front door swings open and Natasha finds herself face-to-face with your wife. “Oh, hello, Steven.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and bats her eyelashes at him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I was just helping Natasha with her things,” Steve explains.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She can handle herself. Right, Natasha?” She turns a judgmental eye on Natasha.

“I appreciate the help, Steve,” is all Natasha says.

“You’re welcome. See you both later!” He quickly jogs back to his home. 

Mrs. L/N ushers Natasha into the house. “I left a grocery list on the kitchen counter for you. If you can’t find something, please call me before you pick any substitutions,” she instructs briskly. “I have to go out to the HOA meeting, but Y/N should be home by noon before the pool man comes. Do not let him into the yard if Y/N or me are not home yet, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Natasha nods her head, fighting the urge not to roll her eyes at this lady.

“Good.” She leaves towards the garage and Natasha can hear the purr of her Mercedes starting up.

It was Natasha’s second week working for your family, and she hated nearly every second of it–mostly because of your spoiled, bratty wife. But the few times Natasha had met you, she thought you were as kind and charming as could be (and very nice to look at). She wondered how the two of you had gotten together in the first place and what you saw in your wife. She was one of the bossiest clients Natasha had ever had, and Natasha had seen her be not much nicer to you. Plus, she was definitely hitting on Steve, but Natasha knows he wouldn’t cheat on his wife with yours.

She dumps her supplies in the foyer, then goes into the kitchen to find the grocery list. It only takes a single glance to know that your wife is totally fucking with her–what the hell is a rambutan? Natasha sighs loudly, wishing there were someone around to hear her distress. As much as she wants to quit working for your family, she needs the money. And she was still so new to the business, she couldn’t afford to make any bad impressions. 

With another sigh, she balls the grocery list into her fist and heads back out.

***********************************************************************

Natasha returns from her grocery trip just in time to see you pull into the garage in your bright green luxury sports car she doesn’t even recognize the manufacturer’s logo of. You get out and wave to her and she smiles back, almost forgetting the awful phone call she had to make to your wife when she searched the entire store and still couldn’t locate the rambutans (she ended up having to make a separate trip to Whole Foods for them). 

“Hi, Natasha!” you say, running down the driveway to help her with the grocery bags.

“Oh, don’t worry about these,” Natasha says, trying to swat your hands away. “It’s my job to take them into the house–”

“No, let me help,” you insist, scooping up four bags in one hand in one go. “Oh! Rambutans. These are my favorite. Thank you for finding them.” 

Instantly, Natasha wants to take back all the curses she had put on the spiky red fruit. “It was nothing,” she lies, making a mental note to buy out the store’s entire stock for you the next time she goes.

With your help, it takes half the amount of time to get all the groceries in the house. You also insist on helping her put everything away, showing her the proper drawers in the fridge for the fruit and vegetables versus the meat, and where the cereals went in the pantry. Natasha is beyond grateful for you; she knows your wife would have happily stood there and watched her struggle, then loudly criticized her for not knowing better.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she says, her hand inadvertently brushing yours when you pass her the last bag of apples. She withdraws from you almost too quickly, her skin hot where you touched her, but you don’t seem to notice, distracted by the ringing of the doorbell. 

“That must be Stan.” You dash off to meet the pool man. 

Natasha fills the dishwasher as much as she can and starts in, then goes to finish washing the oddly-shaped pots and pans that didn’t fit in the sink. The kitchen window looks out to your yard that is probably bigger than the footprint of her entire apartment complex. The pool has two different levels, but both are filled with a suspicious green water. You’re standing poolside talking to Stan, an older gentleman whom Natasha personally knew to be very kind from her few interactions with him when he conducted work on the neighborhood pool’s. 

She’s so busy looking at you, fantasizing about a life where this big house could be hers, with a doting partner who would take care of her and raise a family with her, she doesn’t hear the front door opening until she hears the unholy screech from your wife.

“Natasha, what are you doing?” she yells, hurrying over and snatching the soapy sponge right out of Natasha’s gloved hand.

“Um–the dishes? They didn’t all fit in the dishwasher–”

“You turned on the dishwasher?” Her eyes grow wide and her mouth drops like Natasha’s just confessed to a murder. “Didn’t I tell you we don’t run the dishwasher before seven p.m.?” Natasha is certain she’s never heard this instruction before in her life and watches as she rushes over to turn off the dishwasher mid-cycle and throw it open. “Also, you didn’t pack this correctly, you definitely could’ve fit those pots in here.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll rearrange it now,” Natasha says, trying not to get flustered. Surely your wife wouldn’t fire her over such a minor transgression, would she?

“Is Stan here yet?” she asks, but before Natasha can answer, she is interrupted by a shout and a splash. Both of them crane their necks to look out the window, where they can see Stan floating facedown in the pool. You’re kicking your shoes off and throwing your phone onto the lawn before you run up to the pool’s edge and dive in with a form that would rival an Olympic swimmer’s. Your wife screams and darts towards the back door, Natasha following right behind her.

“Y/N! What are you doing?”

“He fell in!” you answer, coughing out water as you loop your arms under the elderly man and kick back towards the stairs. “He just zoned out when he was talking to me and suddenly tipped over into the pool. I think he’s having a seizure.”

“I’ll call 911!” Natasha offers, not wanting to be as useless as your wife. She struggles to get her phone out of her pocket and punches in the number with shaky fingers.

Your wife hovers by the pool stairs, making no move to assist you as you struggle to drag the old man out, clearly weighed down by the water drenching both of your clothes. Stan is holding himself in a position so stiff it reminds Natasha of a mannequin. 

“Ugh, don’t get me wet, Y/N!” your wife complains as the brackish water sprays everywhere.

“I’m trying not to!” you snap, gently laying Stan on the grass.  

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” a dispatcher picks up.

“Hello? Yes, I’m at 2800 Sherwood Drive. There’s a man here who fell into the pool and we just got him out, but he’s having some kind of medical episode,” Natasha says, putting her phone on speaker. The dispatcher asks if he’s breathing and you confirm. 

“Can roll him to his side and stabilize his head?”

Without hesitation, you peel off your shirt and roll it into a soggy ball, gently tucking it under the man’s head like a makeshift pillow. Natasha tries not to stare at your nicely sculpted torso, highlighted further by the water droplets on your skin, but her face burns in shame when she sees your wife glaring at her ogling.

“Okay, his head is stabilized!” you call out.

“Perfect, emergency services are two minutes away.”

“Thank you.”

It’s a big scene at the house by the time the ambulance pulls up. Your wife eventually covers you up with a towel, but you’re insistent on waiting outside for Stan to be carefully loaded into the ambulance before you finally allow your wife to usher you back into the house, still dripping water everywhere.

“Thank you for the help today, Natasha,” you say, reaching out to give her shoulder a gentle pat as you walk by her towards the house. Natasha doesn’t even know how to respond but nods furiously and mumbles that “she didn’t help much.”

“You can go now, Natasha,” your wife says curtly, and Natasha doesn’t question her and practically flees the premise.

***********************************************************************

It’s been a few weeks since the pool incident and Natasha is barely able to hold onto her sanity with the never-ending list of ridiculous tasks from your wife. When she holds a fundraiser meeting for a charity Natasha is sure she made up on her own, she calls on Natasha as her personal servant, forcing her to serve a collection of the snobbiest women in the neighborhood. Maybe I should take up meditation, Natasha thinks to herself as she prepares a third pitcher of iced tea because the first two “did not have the right balance of sugar to tea,” according to your wife, despite that Natasha had put in exactly one-third cup of sugar as requested.

Natasha doesn’t see you much around the house anymore, and she wonders if your wife purposely scheduled her around your work hours, or told you to stay away from her. She wants to ask you if there were any updates about Stan’s condition (there was no way she was going to get that information from your wife). She missed hearing your voice and seeing your smile…wait.

She shakes her head–she shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You’re her employer and you’re married (to a bitch). It would be entirely inappropriate and dangerous to pursue you, so she would just have to make do with ogling you from afar. Besides, a lot of her clients did not show her respect, likely due to the nature of her job, so just because you were courteous and respectful towards her, didn’t mean you felt a specific way about her.

“You know, Y/N used to be fat.” Natasha startles when your wife walks up behind her. She almost drops the picture frame she’d been dusting of the two of you on a beach, holding hands as you walked towards the sunset in the background.

“Excuse me?” Natasha asks. 

“Fat and poor,” Mrs. L/N adds, much to Natasha’s horror. 

“That’s an awful thing to say about your partner,” Natasha says.

She shrugs. “I don’t want anything to be sugarcoated for you. All of this–” She gestures around to the grandiose-ness of the house, and points to a more recent photo of you, where you’re carrying your wife in your arms, the bulge of your biceps and wideness of your shoulders stretching out your shirt. “–was not a thing when we first started dating. I was there when Y/N had nothing and was no one.”

“Okay.” Natasha wonders why she’s acting like she did you a favor, when you are clearly the catch in the relationship. But then it suddenly dawns on her the reason she’s saying this is because she knows Natasha might have a small crush on you.

“Y/N would never leave me, because I was there from the beginning,” Mrs. L/N says loftily.

“Of course,” Natasha says, fearing she has made a terrible mistake. “Y/N must be very lucky to have you.”

“You have no idea,” your wife smirks. “So let me be a reminder to keep things professional in my house. I’d hate for you to lose your job here. As far as I know, this is the only neighborhood that employs you, and your reputation is everything, isn’t it? One bad review could spoil the whole bunch, and you’d be off having to peddle your services elsewhere.” Icy fear pits at the bottom of Natasha’s stomach. “That is, if the police don’t pick you up first.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha whispers, even though she knows exactly what Mrs. L/N is talking about. She had been foolish to assume her past would never follow her, but how could your wife have found out? Clint had assured her that with a new name and a new location, she’d be untraceable. 

“Because they’d have to arrest you from stealing Y/N away from me,” Mrs. L/N laughs shrilly. Natasha chuckles nervously, although she was certain adultery was not a punishable offense in the state. “But I’m just joking. That would never happen, right?”

“Never,” Natasha promises, hoping her cover will stay hidden for now. 

“Good.”

***********************************************************************

“How was your day at work, honey?”

“Busy,” you grunt, moodily poking at the chicken pot pie Natasha had made before she went home. The food tastes good–it’s better than anything your wife has ever cooked, you think privately, but you don’t have much of an appetite. The end of the financial quarter was rapidly approaching and it had become extremely apparent to you that the profits of your company were not outweighing the expenses for the third quarter in a row. You were digging yourself a bigger and bigger grave, dipping into your personal investments to pay your way out of debt. It was the most stressful period of your life, with no relief in sight, and your wife wouldn’t understand the pressure.

“Sorry to hear that,” she says, although her words don’t come across as very genuine. “My day wasn’t so great either. I got into an argument earlier with Mrs. Harkness at the HOA meeting.” Your wife clicks her tongue. “Some of these women will go to war over their lawn decorations, I swear.”

A jab bubbles on the tip of your tongue; was she really trying to compare an HOA meeting to your very real, very stressful job running a business? But you stay quiet, shoveling another spoonful of pot pie into your mouth.

“Where’s Natasha?” you ask. Usually she stayed around for dinner (not that your wife would let her sit at the same table as you), but you hadn’t seen her in the house for a while.

“I ran out of time today, so I sent her out to grab some things for tomorrow,” she answers. When Natasha had first been hired, you had been under the impression that she was exclusively a housekeeper, helping with all the household chores your wife couldn’t complete. But you had heard about her running grocery trips and waiting on your wife and her friends during meetings, turning Natasha into more of a personal assistant than anything. You hoped she was okay with that; you knew how demanding your wife could be sometimes.

“Oh, okay.” You finish your helping of pot pie in silence, then go to place your plate in the dishwasher, before going into the bedroom to retire for the night. As you’re washing your face in the sink, you hear your wife pad up behind her.

“Sorry you’ve been really stressed lately,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you respond, drying your face on a towel, going back into the bedroom to find your pajamas so you can take a shower.

“Y/N.” Your wife stops you as you’re searching through the dresser for your pajamas. When you look at her, she’s eyeing you with her bottom lip between her teeth. She struts towards you, slowly sinking to her knees and looking up at you. “Maybe I can do something to make you feel better?” 

With you being so busy with work and her busy with the new move, the two of you hardly had time for each other. Plus, your wife tended to be on the particular side and never seemed to be in the mood if you initiated. It was a little frustrating sometimes, but you found ways to cope and besides, it did make the times she was ready for you all the more enjoyable.

She pulls down your pants, palming at your boxers and causing you to groan. You unbutton your shirt as you feel your body start to heat up and let it slide off your shoulders. 

“Fuck, don’t tease me,” you grunt when she leans forward and nibbles on the exposed flesh of your thigh. 

“You need to savor the moment,” she says, although you can tell she’s just as impatient when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your boxers and draws them down to the floor. Your heavy cock bobs out, slapping against your abs before your wife grabs onto it and brings it to her mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, tipping your head back when you feel her lips wrap around your cock. You wrap your hand in her hair, pumping your hips forward to sink your length into the heat of her throat. She grips onto your thighs to steady herself, the faintest of choking noise escaping her. You grunt in satisfaction, thrusting a little harder until the tip of your cock bumps the back of her throat. She whines louder, but doesn’t pull away, and your knees are practically shaking at the sight of her deepthroating all of you.  

“You’re doing so well,” you praise and her cheeks flush red. “Are you gonna let me finish in your mouth?” you ask, and she nods in response, the movement causing a burst of pre-cum to leak out of your cock. You stroke a stray hair out of her face so you can look into her eyes when you finish. “That’s my good girl.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha lets herself into your home, juggling three heavy bags that she’s pretty sure are cutting off the circulation to her fingers. She passes by the kitchen, confused to see it empty; when she had left the two of you were just settling down to eat. She puts the bags by the foot of the table, recalling the time Mrs. L/N had screamed at her for putting “dirty outside bags” on the place where you ate. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

Checking her phone, Natasha sees that your wife had sent her a text less than five minutes ago.

Natasha sighs. It had already been a long day, but she wasn’t given an ounce of leeway. She knows better than to walk away from an unfinished task (especially around your wife), so she trudges up the stairs and turns into the guest room. Hopefully her presence can go unnoticed, and your wife will magically find the folded clothes long after Natasha is gone. 

There are a total of three shirts and a pair of jeans left to fold. Natasha knows it would be too much to ask your wife to do on her own. She grits her teeth and folds the clothes, taking the better part of a minute, then looks around and realizes she doesn’t remember where she put the laundry basket. 

Maybe she had already brought it to the master bedroom, but she knew she couldn’t just leave it on the guest bed, or your wife would probably fire her. Natasha gathers up the clothes and walks down the hall to the master bedroom, but freezes in her tracks when she hears noises coming out of the bedroom.

Moaning noises, specifically.

Natasha can’t stop herself as she moves closer to the door, positioning herself to peer through the crack in between the door and the wall. She sees your wife on her knees, her head bobbing against your waist as you stand there, half-naked, moaning and thrusting your hips forward.

Natasha feels like she can’t breathe, totally shocked and embarrassed to have caught the two of you in a moment. She has a strange sense that your wife had set her up like this on purpose, but the thought quickly dissipates as she finds herself moving closer to the door.

“That’s my good girl.”

Natasha’s stomach flips when she hears you say this, even though it isn’t directed to her. But maybe one day it could be. 

She’s practically pressed up against the door, the fear of being caught burning away in her eagerness to keep watching you. The way the muscles in your stomach and thighs flex as your hips roll in a sinful rhythm. Natasha is almost ashamed at how fast she feels the arousal building in her own stomach.

You grunt louder and slow down as you seem to near release. Natasha can’t help but wonder what you must taste like and if she could even fit you down her throat. Your wife seems to be struggling with your size, but Natasha would do everything in her power to make you happy and not let any drop go to waste.

Without warning, your wife removes you from her mouth. Both you and Natasha gasp–you probably in frustration, and Natasha because she’s shocked at how big you are. Your cock is shiny with saliva and pre-cum and is so hard it looks like it’s about to burst.

“I didn’t finish,” you whine as your wife stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She puts her hand on your chest and pushes you back until you stumble onto the bed.

“I know. But I don’t want you to finish in my mouth, I want you to finish inside me.”

“Oh.” Your wife takes off her pants and climbs onto you.

Natasha knows how wrong it is for her to stand there and continue watching. She should’ve left a long time ago. But somehow, she knows your wife set her up to see this, and instead of running away in shame, Natasha is totally absorbed and her obsession with you only skyrockets. 

The headboard creaks against the wall as your wife rides you, both of you moaning in unison. Natasha’s eyes are stuck on you, trying to memorize your body’s reactions and wondering if she’d ever be the cause of them one day. You tilt your head back into the pillows, your back arching off the mattress, your hands wrapped around your wife’s waist as you thrust up into her. 

“I’m ready. I’m gonna cum,” you announce breathlessly.

Natasha hopes you’ll say those words to her one day. But she turns away as you finish, scolding herself for her unprofessional and frankly creepy behavior. She drops the folded clothes to the floor, knowing your wife will eventually find them and know of their origin. Maybe she’ll get fired for this; if anything, it’d be for the better. She doesn’t trust herself to be around you anymore–not that she’d ever be so bold as to make a move and disrespect your marriage, but she’d never be able to look at you the same way again.

She quickly pads down the stairs and leaves the house, the emptiness in her heart and core almost reaching a painful point.

***********************************************************************

You jerk your hips up a final time as you cum, dropping back onto the bed exhausted and spent. 

“Hmm, that was fun,” your wife pants against your neck, and you wrap your arm around her tightly, pulling her closer to your body. 

“We can shower together?” you suggest, digging your fingers teasingly into her naked hips. 

“Sure. Give me a minute.” She lays her head on your chest.

Despite your differences, you were truly happy to have this woman by your side through it all. She had been your longest supporter and that had meant everything to you when no one else believed in you.

You kiss her forehead softly. “I love you, Wanda.”

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AN: Actually screaming and crying. Nat please come save us 😭

To be continued?

@holiday-house-of-m I finally kept my promise to you after 84 years.

A long, exaggerated sigh fell from your lips, “l just don’t understand these chronobiology lessons.”

“I know,” she stated plainly. Crossing her legs her skirt rode up, revealing her smooth thighs, “I could see how zoned out you were. Fixating on my outfit instead of the lecture.”

She isn’t wrong. It’s a miracle you’ve been passing this class with flying colors so far, despite having your sexy girlfriend as your teacher.

“Who could blame me?” you spoke as innocently as possible, batting your lashes giving a fake pout. Rio’s eyebrow cocked giving you a disapproving look, face telling you she wasn’t buying it. Huffing you dropping your act, “You had to know what you were doing. How could I possibly pay any attention to how the moon affects biorhythms when that pencil skirt hugs you in the right places, and you look drop dead gorgeous?” You slyly slid into her lap, holding onto her shoulders for support.

“Even though you weren’t paying attention, I know you, baby,” her hands came up to cradle you close to her, pressing kisses to your forehead, “That brain of yours soaks up every piece of information that passes through your ears.”

Giggling you hid your face in her neck, voice becoming slightly muffled, “That’s a long way of saying I’m smart.”

She laughs out, “Yes, baby. You’re so smart.” She moves her hands to the back of your thighs, maneuvering you to straddle her. “And I for one want to test that brain of yours.”

Pushing her papers and laptop out the way she hoisted you into her desk. Her hands fell to your thighs, softly pressed kisses to your lips. You adore the way she treads slowly, gauging your reaction to be sure she doesn’t overstep. Rio pulled back, her eyes filled with wanton desire.

“Animals that are most active during dawn and/or dusk are called what?” she questioned, sliding her hand under your shirt ghosting her fingertips over your sides, awaiting your answer.

You love this game. Excitement rushes through you every time, wondering how Rio will reward or punish you depending on your answer: Rio eager to see how her special lessons affect your performance. What an exhilarating way to test each other.

“Crepuscular,” you breathed out, parting your legs. Rio’s hand slid down, snaking her fingers under the waistband of your skirt.

She bit back a chuckle, upon hearing your breath stutter, “Can you name three areas of chronobiology?

“Chronophysiology, Chronopathology,” you squeaked out. Rio’s digits had dropped down tantalizingly running up and down your slit, spreading your arousal. Powering through the pleasure, you continued, “and Chronopharmacology.”

“Good girl,” she praised, pushing two fingers into your wet, needy hole. Moaning at the intrusion you lent back on your elbows. Clenching around her when she starts thrusting, rubbing slow circles on your clit.

She watched your head fall back with half-lidded eyes, knowing you’re getting away from her too much. Easing up a little she inquired, “SAD?”

Sad? Why is she asking if you’re sad? How can you possibly be upset when she’s knuckles deep in your heat. Face scrunching in confusion, “Ah I.. don’t.”

“Nuh uh. Come on, princess. I know you know the answer,” she encouraged, curling her fingers against that spongy spot on your walls.

Arching your back, fuzzily it clicked to what she was referring to, “Oh. S-seasonal Affective Disorder. Depression caused by the changing weather thr-throughout the year.”

“Anything else?” swirling her thumb over your clit again. Holding back a moan you took a shaky, deep breath before you spoke up again, eyes focused on anything but Rio.

“Eyes on me. Don’t get shy on me now, pretty girl,” she cupped your jaw focusing you back on her. You knew Rio wouldn’t let you hide away that easily. She halts her movements letting you take your time.

Finally, you found a steady voice, “The winter-pattern occurs more often than the summer-pattern.” Rio listened to your answer intently as you continued, “The lack of sunlight in the winter causes a decrease in serotonin and an increase in melatonin, while in the summer the sunlight from the longer days can cause insomnia from decreased levels of melatonin.”

“My smart girl,” she smothered you with kisses. Beginning to move her fingers, your hips jerked meeting her thrusts. “But also my dumb, little puppy,” stilling her hand she watched mesmerized as you rocked yourself on her fingers taking your pleasure, juices dripping down her hand.

“Baby! Please may I come? please,” you begged. You could’ve said ‘can’ to irk her, but you didn’t want to delay your orgasm any longer.

“You may, my love.” At the greenlight you rocked your hips faster. As Rio curled her fingers, you couldn’t control your moans anymore. Rio shoved her thumb in your mouth when you got too loud for her liking, a grin on her face as you moaned around her.

You shoved her hand closer to your core, using her palm to increase your pleasure. Your chest heaved as you came undone in a fit of shivers. Once you calmed Rio withdrew her fingers from your heat, helping you sit up. You pressed gentle kisses to Rio’s soft lips, “I can reward you when we get home? As a thank you.”

"Ugh, fuck," Natasha grunts, jerking her hips off the chair as she thrusts into her own lube-slicked hand. Her cock is throbbing and straining, pre-cum dribbling out of the tip and mixing in with the lube coating her entire length.

The muscles in her thighs flex as she nears release.

"Fuck, Y/N," she says, surprising herself when your name comes out of her mouth. The two of you were just co-workers, but ever since she met you, Natasha knew she had to have you. You were on her mind constantly and she wondered if you would ever give her a chance.

"I wish this was you," she pants, stroking herself faster and harder. She thinks of your hands, then your mouth, and what they would feel like on her. "Please Y/N," she whines, squirming in the chair now, just seconds away from release. "Please let me cum on you."

She closes her eyes and pictures you, and she can't hold back any longer. Hot spurts of cum shoot out of her cock, painting her hand white and her body trembles in the aftermath. She looks down at the mess she's made and sighs at the reminder of how lonely she is.

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