Leo would never set up any kind of mental cage for Jean Grey. He wasn't a saint, and neither was she.
Everyone has negative emotions — and emotions need an outlet.
Bottling them up never ends well.
The unrest of the Phoenix Force wasn't because it was inherently evil or destructive.
It was because of Jean's trauma — her father's abandonment, her mother's death.
Those scars lingered deep inside her, and every emotional trigger gave the Phoenix Force a reason to flare.
That night, though, Jean slept soundly — truly peacefully — for the first time in a long while.
The next morning, after his usual training and combat drills, Leo quietly headed downstairs to make breakfast for the family.
There was no helping it.
Those two women — Wanda and No.18 — were completely hopeless.
Still sprawled across the bed, not even wanting to move a finger… and they'd managed to destroy another set of their favorite nightwear.
Leo sighed, shaking his head as he cooked.
A clatter of dishes and sizzling sounds filled the kitchen.
Soon, the table was set with fried eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, and oatmeal.
He even poured some milk, though he knew better — those two looked like they were allergic to it now, rolling their eyes whenever they saw a glass.
"Heh, I really am a master chef," Leo muttered proudly. "Balanced, nutritious, and perfectly cooked."
He paused, looking at the spread.
"It's just a pity… this is America. No xiaolongbao, no tofu pudding, no pan-fried buns, no hot and sour soup, no fried dough sticks."
He sighed dramatically. "If I want a proper breakfast, I've gotta head all the way to Chinatown. But at this hour? Forget it — they're all closed."
By the time he finished his grumbling, it was already past ten.
Anyone watching him mumble to himself might have thought he'd finally lost it.
Just then — ding-dong, ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
"Oh, come on," Leo muttered. "Perfect timing."
He gestured lazily. "Red Queen, open the door."
The door slid open — and there she was.
Standing in the doorway, her wavy burgundy hair gleaming under the light, was Natasha Romanoff.
Short, sharp, confident, and dangerously beautiful — with that classic smirk that made men forget how to think.
"Well, hello there, my dear Master," she purred, leaning casually against the doorframe. "It's been a few days, hasn't it?"
Her tone was pure mischief. That playful, sultry smile could probably melt steel.
But Leo didn't even blink. His expression stayed calm, almost amused.
"What's wrong?" he teased. "Your bones getting soft? Or have you been holding back too long and now you're about to overflow?"
He smirked. "Seriously, I'm a genius — and you're just too golden."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you dog. Can't you say anything decent for once? Maybe you could help me out instead of running your mouth."
Leo coughed theatrically. "I'd be afraid you'd get addicted. Everyone who tries my kung fu never walks straight again."
Natasha stared at him in disbelief — then smirked despite herself.
This man was absolutely insufferable… but damn if he didn't make her laugh.
Leo grinned. Flirting with a beautiful woman always put him in a good mood.
His earlier disappointment about missing out on Chinese breakfast disappeared entirely.
Natasha, meanwhile, gave him a slow once-over — her gaze lingering just long enough to make her meaning obvious.
The challenge in her eyes said it all: Well? Are you up to it or not?
Leo scoffed. "What are you staring at? That look of yours won't work. Even if you want it, you're not getting it. Provoking me is useless."
He turned, waving her inside. "Come on, get in. Let me guess — Fury sent you to keep tabs on me?"
Her teasing smile faded, replaced by something more serious.
"Yeah," she admitted. "That old cyclops said my cover's blown anyway, so I might as well stick close and 'observe' you directly."
She walked in like she owned the place, her heels clicking softly against the floor before she settled on the couch.
Leo chuckled. "Well, that works perfectly then. Exactly as planned."
Natasha smirked. "Yeah. A double agent again. Feels like old times."
Her voice carried a faint bitterness.
The Red Room, S.H.I.E.L.D., betrayal after betrayal — she'd spent her whole life switching sides, playing everyone's game but her own.
Now she'd done it again — leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. to side with Leo.
This woman was unpredictable. And maybe… just a little lost.
Leo noticed the flicker of loneliness behind her smile. Without a word, he gently took her hand.
"Relax," he said softly. "You won't have to deal with betrayal again. This place… it's your last stop."
He smirked faintly. "Besides, who else can offer more than me? No one — I'm one of a kind."
Natasha burst into laughter, shaking her head. "You're so full of yourself. Do you ever stop?"
"Oh yes, you're far too generous, Master," she said in a mock-dramatic tone, mimicking some old palace drama line. "This humble concubine can't resist!"
Leo grinned wide. "Haha! Perfect. Maid Chief Natasha, are you ready? Your shift starts now."
She chuckled, playing along. "Yes, esteemed Master."
It was ridiculous — but oddly fun.
Maybe that was her way of flirting with danger. Breaking rules. Poking at the edges of control.
For a brief moment, she wondered — Wait… do I actually have a maid kink?
The thought startled her enough to make her blink.
Right then, No.18 and Wanda came downstairs — each holding a carefully wrapped box.
And from the look on No.18's face, she had definitely overheard their little exchange.
Her grin was far too smug.
Inside those boxes?
A certain custom maid outfit, perfectly tailored to Natasha's measurements.
No.18's eyes sparkled with mischief.
It looked like someone was very eager to "remodel" Natasha.
...
Author's Note:
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