#mob!carol

You blasted your music and put yourself into high gear, trying to get a blueprint finished before lunch so you could get back on track. But of course you didn’t, because for the first time in a very long time, your mind wouldn’t shut up. It just had to remind you of the reason behind your embarrassingly strict schedule.

And when lunch came around, you decided to work through it. It wasn’t like you were really in the mood to eat anyway, not with the graphic images running through your head. Besides, if you worked through lunch then you could be back on track for the afternoon. Seemed like a win-win, actually.

“Have time for a break?”

Of course. Of course there was the distraction. There was always a distraction. You put your carving knife down and turned your head enough to see Natasha walking toward you, a take-out bag in one hand and an envelope in the other. You suspected something, as you should. But that stupid smirk was enough to convince you to hear her out.

“No,” you said simply, turning back to your project before waiting for her answer. You were in the mood to be problematic. As you rightfully should be.

“Too late, your boss said you needed one,” she said before immediately setting the take-out bag on your project.

“Carol said you needed a distraction,” Natasha continued as if she hadn’t noticed you rush to lift the bag off your project in the hopes it hadn’t gotten any condensation or… unsightly liquids on the wood.

“Said you seemed a little stressed.” With that, she sat down in your chair and propped her feet up on the same project you had just cleaned.

“I’m not stressed,” you shook your head. “Just busy,” you emphasised by pushing her feet off the wood.

“Has anyone ever told you you work too much?” She asked. She leaned forward and rested her arms on your project - had she no shame? - before giving you another stupid smirk. Did she ever stop? Smirking that much just wasn’t natural.

“No.”

You didn’t look up. You refused to look up only to see that look that you knew she was giving you. It was the same look Carol gave you when you wouldn’t ease up on your schedule. The look Daniel gave you when you hesitated to take the kids on short notice. The look your mother gave you when she felt you were being ridiculous and needed to loosen up. All of those looks had one thing in common.

Pity.

And you hated pity.

“You need to eat,” Natasha said, far softer than you had thought her capable of. That too-confident attitude had disappeared and she looked… mundane. You didn’t think it was possible.

“I don’t need to eat,” you shot back regardless of how normal she looked. Just because she was a mob boss didn’t mean she could boss you around.

“Yes you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Y/N.”

“Natasha.”

You both locked eyes, and you could see the way hers sparkled; not with frustration, but pride. Logically eyes didn’t sparkle with anything really (unless it was the glitter from Dillon’s drawings) but you could tell. There was a slight squint at the corner of her eyes and you had known her long enough to know what that meant.

It meant she was proud.

Screw her pride.

“I’ll put it in the fridge for later,” she finally said, breaking eye contact as she did it. “Don’t forget it.”

It was a stern warning, but the fact that she hadn’t added an actual “or else” meant that nothing was going to happen. You knew it, she knew it, it was an empty threat. But you almost appreciated her attempt at taking care of you. As well as a mob boss could, you supposed.

The moment she was out of your work space, you focused back in on the project in front of you. With absolute surprise, you could finally focus. You were getting things done and, even though Nat was back within two minutes, you had actually made some progress. Maybe it was because Nat had come to see you.

Why the fuck would that matter?

“We got you a card,” Nat said as soon as she got back.

You looked up to see her holding the envelope she had walked in with. You brushed the splinters off your hands - even though you should have been wearing gloves - before taking the envelope from her slender fingers that you knew had pulled the trigger more times than you cared to accept.

They hadn’t closed it properly. Part of you wanted to scold them for it, but the other part was glad you wouldn’t have to rip it open and ruin your always-put-together demeanour. Obviously you could open it properly at home, but you weren’t at home, were you?

It was a simple card. A few flowers on the front, some pink some white. It was pretty cheesy if you were being honest with yourself. But then on the inside is where it got good. There were more of the same flowers, but they were underlining the two sentences in the middle of the card.

“We fucked up. So we’re really really sorry.”

When you looked closer, you noted that the original card had said “I fucked up,” but the “I”s had been scribbled out and replaced with the “we”s. Then below the flowers, in surprisingly childlike handwriting, was Nat’s and Carol’s names.

“Have you two… ever signed a card before?” You hesitated to ask, but only after seeing the uncertainty on Nat’s face.

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… you…” but the look on her face was enough to get you to sigh and smile softly to yourself. “It’s a really good card.”

That smirk of hers was back as she leaned in her chair and propped her feet up onto your project again. If she didn’t stop, there were going to be consequences. In theory, of course. You were never really one to break the rules at work.

Okay, you were one to never break the rules at work.

You were still mesmerised - whether in a good way or bad way, you couldn’t quite tell just yet - by the card when you finally noticed a pair of arms wrapping around your middle. You knew it wasn’t your boss. Even though he was overly sweet, he wasn’t a perv.

Deductive reasoning aside, you would know her touch at any time.

“I heard Carol made it up to you,” Nat whispered in your ear. Well, as close to your ear as she could get. She was just a little too short to reach.

“No, I made it up to her,”  you shot back quickly, wanting to make it clear that Carol had not gotten the best of you. No one got the best of you.

“Mmm how about I make it up to you, then?”

Admittedly, you loved the tone in Nat’s voice. As much as you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t really feel anything for the couple, you did. You felt so much for the both of them that it hurt your heart. Literally. But you also knew you couldn’t let anyone get the best of you. Not even Nat.

“My boss is—”

“—goin home for the day!” He called out, and you immediately started questioning just how much he had eavesdropped. “Don’t forget to lock up!”

And with that he was gone. Almost like he had planned the whole thing. Maybe he had. Or maybe the woman behind you had been cunning enough to… “convince him” to leave for the day. Yeah, that was probably the more accurate option. You could live with that.

But you couldn’t live with Nat thinking she had the upper hand.

he moment her hand started to move up your stomach, you grabbed one of her arms and used it to pull her between yourself and your project. One of the benefits of being bigger than her; you could manhandle her all you wanted. And there was also the perk of her being shocked by your size every single time.

Nat knew better than to argue. In the real world around other people, she was the boss. But in this one room, away from prying eyes? Everything was different, she had no control and she knew it, and she loved it. So much so that she put up no fight when you lifted her onto your project and stepped between her legs. Nothing could fix that weekend, but maybe it could distract you just enough.