amenazaaaa - Tumblr blog

amenazaaaa · 3 days ago

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a nice request because we all deserve it, sadie and reader being besties/soulmates/sisters and even if people try to separate them, they somehow always come back together

When Sadie joined the gang, you were thrilled to have another woman you could truly call a sister. But when Arthur told you what she’d been through, you felt a shock settle over you and an urge to make her feel as comfortable in the gang as possible.

You didn’t do much work around camp yourself, likely second only to Molly in doing almost nothing, but Arthur’s hard work covered both of your shares. Even so, you could feel lazy at times. So when Sadie arrived and Ms. Grimshaw started scolding her for being a burden, you stepped in, doing more of the work so that Sadie could rest and cope with her trauma.

Your care and company helped her eventually open up to you, and you came to see what a remarkably strong woman she truly was. You couldn’t be prouder.

"Hey, (Y/N)." You turned to see Sadie striding over, her new gear and black jacket catching the late sun, an excited gleam in her eyes. Setting aside the dish you’d been scrubbing, you smiled. "Well, don’t you look dashing."

She winked, leaning against the basin with a smirk. "Wasn’t I always?" She tossed you a playful look, then tilted her head. "So…you know how to shoot a gun, right?"

You felt a little heat in your cheeks as you chuckled nervously. "Uh, gun? Not exactly."

Sadie blinked in disbelief, her jaw dropping. "What?! You’ve been living with outlaws all your life, and neither of ‘em thought to teach you?"

"Well…” you shrugged, glancing away. “I was young when Dad was around, and after he passed, I just never felt the need, I guess. And once we were with the gang--” You trailed off, only for Sadie to scoff and seize your arm, tugging you toward the woods without a second thought.

“HEY! Hey! Where are we going?!��

“Where do you think? I’m gonna teach you, girly!"

“Teach what?” Arthur’s shadow fell across both of you as he stepped into your path.

Sadie glanced up at him, not an ounce of her spark fading. “I’m gonna teach her to shoot, Arthur.”

“And why’s that, Ms. Adler?”

Sadie met his gaze, unflinching. “Because she’s my friend, and don’t you think the sister of the ‘best gunslinger in the West’ oughta know how to handle a weapon? She oughta learn, right, (Y/N)?” She looked at you with a fierce grin, her confidence contagious. You gave a firm nod. “Yeah…I do want to learn.” Arthur’s gaze shifted to you, a small scoff escaping him.

"Fine," he muttered, crossing his arms. "But don’t be gettin’ reckless. Be back soon. Don't got too far."

Sadie smirked, unfazed. “Can you stop orderin’ us around for one damn second, Morgan?” She nudged his shoulder as she marched you past, puffing up with satisfaction.

“Damn…” You chuckled as you walked beside her. “That was fun to watch, do that every day, please.”

She laughed with you, her stride bold as you both reached a clearing deep in the woods. There, with patient resolve, she taught you how to handle the gun, steady your aim, and shoot straight, her guiding presence turning each attempt into a small triumph.

Shooting wasn’t the only thrill that had become a staple in your friendship with Sadie. At least once a week, you both made it a point to slip into town, getting up to whatever mischief caught your fancy. It didn’t matter if it was something as innocent as shopping, where Sadie often barked down the shopkeepers during bargaining, or something as wild as crashing a wedding. You couldn’t help but smirk, you could officially check that one off your list.

When you both returned to camp, it wasn’t long before Susan caught sight of you, her face pinched in that familiar disapproving way. “Where did you two run off to today, hmm? Having fun while others do the work?”

Sadie shot back without missing a beat, her tone dripping with defiance. “Of course, we had fun. By the look of you, I’d say it’s been a while since you’ve had any.”

You nudged Sadie, stifling a laugh, though the humor didn’t last long. Susan’s voice cut through with a sharper edge. “Well, some of us do actual work around here instead of frolicking around all day in town.”

You took a deep breath, deciding to keep it civil. “I went after finishing what I could for the day, Ms. Grimshaw.”

“Oh? And by that, you mean what? Washing two pieces of clothing?” Her scoff stung, and your smile faded. That was it.

“Now, first of all, I don’t have to do any of it,” you replied, voice steady but firm, “seeing as this whole camp practically thrives off what my brother does. But I still help out, from the goodness of my heart. C’mon, Sadie.”

You grabbed Sadie’s arm, and she looked at you, a flicker of surprise in her eyes before breaking into a grin. “Well, look at that. My company’s finally having an effect on you, in a good way, I’d say.”

“I’m just sick of all the chore talk. Can’t a girl relax once in a while?”

Once you’d left Susan fuming in your wake, you and Sadie joined Abigail and the others, handing out the little gifts you’d picked up in town. The warm smiles from Abigail, Jack, and the rest made it worth it, a small reminder of what life outside the gang could feel like.

Soon enough, sneaking out became something of a habit. You and Sadie would slip out at night when Arthur was away on a job, sometimes taking the other women along. No Ms Grimshaw scolding or nagging to keep you tied down, just the freedom to be a little reckless, to feel like you had some control. And Charles? When he patrolled, he was easily convinced to keep it all a secret.

But Ms Grimshaw did have her ways of finding things...

"Well, if it isn’t our very own troublemakers," she snapped, her gaze fixed on you and Sadie, who were both just returning from a night out with the others. You’d barely managed to set down your packs when she stormed over, hands on her hips. “Thought you could sneak out and cause a ruckus without anyone noticing, did you? It’s dangerous enough out there as it is, but dragging others into your little escapades is a step too far.”

Sadie rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, and you braced yourself, knowing the real storm hadn’t even hit yet. Grimshaw shot both of you a withering look, muttering something about going straight to Dutch.

Not even fifteen minutes later, Dutch himself found you both by the campfire, his face a blend of frustration and disappointment. He folded his arms, giving you both a hard look. “Now, I heard some interesting things from Ms. Grimshaw this morning. You two think it’s wise to be sneaking around, taking half the camp along for a joyride? With Pinkertons and O’Driscolls sniffing around every corner?!”

Sadie stayed silent, her jaw set as Dutch’s gaze landed on her. "Sadie, I understand you’re your own woman, but this here’s a family. And we look out for each other’s safety. Taking the others out at night like that, it puts everyone at risk.”

You felt the weight of Dutch’s words, but Sadie huffed, arms crossed defiantly. “You call us family, Dutch, but don’t expect us to live like caged animals. We’re careful, we weren’t out in the open.”

Dutch’s frown deepened as he turned to you. “And you, (Y/N), you should know better than this. You might not be one of my gunslingers, but you still have a role to play. What if something had happened to you? Or one of the others? Arthur won't be happy if he found out...do you want that?”

Swallowing, you looked down, the reality of his worry sinking in, but not enough to make you feel you’d done something wrong. “NO! I mean--don't tell him please Dutch, and I’m sorry. But… it was just some time away from the camp, just a way to feel normal for a bit. No one got hurt. We’re still careful.”

He shook his head, looking both of you over before sighing. “Careful or not, you keep this up, and it’ll bring nothing but trouble. Next time, you both think long and hard about what’s at stake here!”

Once Dutch walked away, you looked at Sadie, both of you sharing a silent understanding. The scolding might have left a sting, but it wouldn’t change what you’d built together. She nudged your shoulder with a smirk.

“Well, at least he didn’t send us packing.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Ain’t nothing gonna change, is it? Not Dutch, not Grimshaw, and certainly not us.”

Sadie grinned. “Nope. Not one bit.”

⋆⋆⋆

Word had gotten around the camp that Dutch’s scolding hadn’t done much to break up your mischief with Sadie. The next time you found yourself alone by the fire, Charles approached, looking a little uneasy as he settled next to you.

“You know, (Y/N),” he began carefully, “I’m not trying to get in your way, but a lot of folks are worried about you and Sadie going off so often. It’s... reckless, especially with all the dangers around.”

You shot him a look, half-amused and half-defensive. “Charles, you know Sadie and I aren’t careless. And you know better than anyone that the camp needs a little... escape.”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, as if he wanted to say something more but hesitated. “Look, maybe for a bit, you should keep a low profile. Sadie’s got her hands full around here already. You know Grimshaw’s not about to let this go.”

The gentle nudge was clear, Charles was subtly trying to steer you away from Sadie, hoping it might keep the peace. You gave him a smile that you hoped would reassure him.

“I’ll think about it, Charles,” you replied, even though you had no real intention of distancing yourself from Sadie.

But the subtle hints didn’t end there. The next morning, Grimshaw handed you a mountain of chores, insisting you stay busy while Sadie got sent on an errand with Arthur, as if the camp were conspiring to keep you apart. The day felt like it dragged on forever, and by the time you were done, Sadie still hadn’t returned. You wandered back to your tent feeling restless, the quiet gnawing at you.

Finally, near dusk, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Sadie had returned, looking as annoyed as you felt, her gaze scanning the camp until it landed on you.

She sauntered over, her usual confidence edged with a slight smirk. “Heard they kept you real busy today.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You, too. They sent you out with Arthur?”

“Sure did,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Probably thought he’d keep me ‘in line.’ But if they think a few chores and errands are gonna split us up, they’re wasting their time.”

You both shared a grin, the unspoken understanding strengthening whatever they’d tried to weaken.

“Well, looks like we’ll just have to be a little smarter about sneakin’ off,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Sadie chuckled, crossing her arms. “Reckon we will. Besides, it’ll be fun to keep ‘em guessing.”

⋆⋆⋆

Life at the ranch was a new kind of quiet you hadn’t known before. After everything, this normalcy, the steady rhythm of days spent under a roof, sharing meals with Abigail, John, Arthur and little Jack, felt almost surreal. You’d never imagined feeling the weight of peace settle like this. Thank God, that blindfold of loyalty is finally off your brother. Yet, even with a good life beginning to take root, you couldn’t shake the ache from how it had all ended...or how, despite everything, you and Sadie had been separated, each of you pulled in different directions as the dust settled.

Charles had told you she was safe somewhere out there, making a name for herself in whatever way only Sadie Adler could. But there was a hint of betrayal you couldn’t shake, an edge to the thought of her that made you wonder if she’d left you behind as part of that rough world you’d survived together.

On this particular morning, you were sitting on the porch with Jack, who was excitedly yapping away about a new book he’d found. It had become your morning ritual, letting him share every detail of the story while you sip your coffee, the soft morning light casting a gentle calm over the two of you.

But the peace was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of hooves in the distance. When you looked up, your heart skipped a beat. A lone rider, the silhouette familiar even from a distance. She rode into view, her hat tipped low, and you knew before she’d even slowed her horse.

“Sadie!” you shouted, the disbelief almost louder than your voice. You jumped up and ran to her, barely giving her time to dismount before you threw yourself into her arms. She wrapped you up tight, the both of you laughing, giddy with that same energy you’d shared back in camp.

But then, as the reality of her long absence hit, you started punching her, soft jabs that held more meaning than harm. "You absolute snake! BITCH!” you muttered, hitting her shoulder, her arm, anywhere you could reach. “You just left! No word, no letter...nothing! Do you know how long I waited?”

Sadie took it, grinning like she was actually enjoying the punishment, her laughter spilling out as she grabbed your hands to stop you from flailing. “Alright, alright! I deserve that, probably more. But I didn’t forget you, y’know.” She held your shoulders firmly, her face softening as she looked you in the eyes. “I never could dumbass.”

“Then why’d you stay gone so damn long?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Her expression turned serious, the reality of it all weighing on her. “Some things I had to settle on my own. And I knew you’d be safe here, with Arthur, John and Abigail. With family.” She squeezed your shoulder. "So now, you're talkin' to a real gold-ass bounty hunter," she said, throwing her arms out like a magician who’d just pulled off the trick of a lifetime. "But I’m here now, and I’m not plannin’ on disappearing again anytime soon.”

You let out a long breath, feeling the hurt ease a bit. “You better not,” you replied, hugging her tight again.

Soon enough, the others came out, drawn by the commotion and Jack's excited voice as he kept chatting with Sadie. The day rolled on with laughter and good company, and later, you and Sadie found yourselves sitting on the porch, enjoying the quiet night as she smoked.

“(Y/N), you’re mostly free, right?” Sadie asked, an excited gleam in her eyes.

“Um… no, I do work around here… and all,” you replied, caught a bit off guard.

“What if you didn’t for a few days?” Her eyes sparked with mischief, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself.

“You mean…”

“Yep! It’s time you learned a bit of bounty hunting,” she said, voice full of excitement. “Imagine it: two women, both traumatized by men, turning into man-hunting machines. Don’t you want that?”

“But Arthur… he won’t, and we left all this life behind-”

“Shh!” Sadie swatted at your face with dramatic flair. “Excuses are the root of failure. Enjoy a little , c'mon, just like the old times.”

“But we have a ranch-”

“FUCK THE RANCH!” She laughed, shaking her head. “Look (Y/N)...I wanna a home of my own and for that...I gotta remain in this field for a while so I can get somethin' to call my own, y'know.”

"This ranch is big enough for us all, Sadie. Of course we all will welcome you with open arms if you wanna stay here."

"I know, I know, and thanks, but no. I just want something of my own, even if it’s small. I mean, I can do it alone, y'know, but I want you by my side. And seeing that everyone else has left this lifestyle behind, I know they're definitely not gonna be joining me, not even Arthur. Now that we're free from all the gang shit, I thought we could roam and enjoy the rest of this life as much as we can." Her voice softened with each word as she stared down at her lap.

You looked down, thinking about it. She did deserve that after losing everything she had. And who wouldn't want to explore with their friend endlessly? You put your arm around her shoulders and gave a firm shake. “Say less.”

⋆⋆⋆

“No. Absolutely the hell not. Are you insane?!” Arthur snapped, finally turning around from his spot.

“Arthur, please! Be a good brother right now and just say, ‘Of course, (Y/N), you can go and have a good time with your pal.’ Come on, say it.”

He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “If you think I’m just gonna say yes to you running around out there, then you are DUMB!”

Abigail, standing nearby, came to the rescue. “Arthur, they’re just going for a trip. It’s nothing big, and Sadie can more than handle it. So can (Y/N). They’ll be back before you know it.”

“No, Arthur’s right,” John chimed in.

“Shut up, John. Please,” you replied, giving him a gentle nudge as you turned back to Arthur, your voice softening. “Pleaseee, Arthur! If you don’t let me go, I’ll… I’ll seriously do something drastic--t-to to myself!” You gave him your best pleading look.

Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes at your childish blackmailing. “You’re laying it on real thick,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gave Sadie a look. “And you, I know this whole thing was your idea!”

Sadie shrugged leaning against the chair. "It's just something we both need."

“Like hell you do! My decision is final. And you-” Arthur turned to you, his eyes darkening. “Think twice before even stepping foot off this ranch.” With that, he stormed off, leaving you both in tense silence.

But you were having none of it. He still thought of you as a child, someone who couldn’t defend herself, who couldn’t even swat a fly, let alone fend off danger. You glanced over at Sadie, who was staring off into the distance, a flicker of guilt settling into her expression, as though she regretted bringing it up and getting you tangled in her plans. And you didn’t like that one bit.

This was the woman who had taught you to be confident, to speak up, to stand your ground when the world tried to tell you otherwise. She was more like a sister than a friend, the person you’d count on to get through even the worst of times. You were each other’s rocks, through every fight and every high. Sadie would bring you gifts to cheer you up when things felt bleak. And now she was just trying to carve a space for herself, a house of her own, where she could finally feel free.

A spark of determination lit inside you. If she wanted a place to call her own, then by God, you were going to make sure she got it.

That night, as everyone else drifted off to sleep, you packed a small bag with essentials, just enough to keep you going for a couple of days. You knew Arthur would be furious, but you also knew he’d forgive you eventually. He had to understand that some choices were yours to make.

Carefully, you slipped out of the house and made your way across the moonlit yard, avoiding the creaky spots on the floorboards that might wake someone. Outside, the night air was cool and still, and the only sounds were the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle creaking of the barn as it settled. You made your way toward the stables, saddling your horse as quickly and quietly as you could. You took a steadying breath before mounting up, heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and fear. This was your choice, and you were ready to see it through.

With a gentle nudge, you rode into the night, following the faint trail that would lead you to Sadie. You knew exactly where she was camping, she’d mentioned it enough times, and you’d memorized her directions. You just hoped she hadn’t moved.

After a few hours of riding, you spotted her fire in the distance, flickering like a beacon. You dismounted and walked up, and as you drew closer, you saw her sitting by the fire, eyes widening in surprise as she looked up.

“What in hell’s name, (Y/N)! What’re you doing here?” Sadie gasped, scrambling to her feet. Her surprise turned into a grin as she realized what you’d done.

“Arthur or no Arthur, I’m not letting you go on this adventure alone,” you replied, determination in your voice. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. Always.” Sadie’s face broke into a mischievous smile and pulled you into a quick, tight hug.

“I knew there was a reason I kept ya around.”

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amenazaaaa · 11 days ago

Text

Absolutely fantastic. I highly recommend reading it. Amazing writing, beautiful character development. Truly a good read.

Redline. pt 6 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), 18+! MINORS DNI! sexual tension, trauma, violence, crashs

Word count: 12,1k

A/N: Okay…a really great time has now come to an end. I want to thank everyone who interacted with the fic, it literally blew up so much, I never expected it. I gained so many new people here and some lovely anons because of it, and I’m truly grateful. Thank you!

I hope I made the ending worthy of the story (even though Tumblr shortened it due to the word limit). I really hope it doesn’t feel too rushed. 🫶🏼🍾

Part 5

1 Month later

You were lying in Natasha’s bed scrolling through your phone, half-awake when the articles started popping up.

Romanoff’s Favorite �� The Relationship Between Natasha and Her Rising Star.

Not Just Business? Photos Capture Natasha Romanoff’s Rare Smile at Y/N’s Victory.

More Than Just Racing? The Paddock Buzzes Over Y/N and Natasha’s Dynamic.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t new that people speculated about you and Natasha. The media was always looking for a story. Always waiting for something to tear apart.

But this? This was the first time they had proof. There were pictures.. Natasha, standing with the team, a champagne glass in hand, watching you on the podium. Natasha, smiling. Actually smiling. Natasha, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Your breath caught. Oh, fuck…

“You’re up early.”

You nearly jumped at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, still in the loose sweats she wore when she wasn’t dressed to terrify the entire paddock.

“Did you see this?” you blurted out, shoving your phone in her direction.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to take the device from your hand. She scanned the articles, lips pressing into a thin line. “Of course they’d make a story out of this.” she muttered.

“This is bad..” you groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “The press conference today is going to be a fucking disaster.”

Natasha hummed. Then, to your absolute horror, she smirked. “What?” you demanded.

She tilted her head slightly, tossing your phone onto the bed before leaning in closer, so close that you could feel her breath against your cheek. “You’re nervous.” she murmured, clearly amused.

“Of course I am, Natasha, this is a mess-”She cut you off with a chuckle, straightening up. “Let them talk.”

Your stomach flipped. She wasn’t worried. She wasn’t freaking out. She was enjoying this.

“You’re not serious..”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s inevitable. They were always going to figure it out.”

You blinked. “Figure what out?”

Her smirk widened, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned towards the door, pausing just long enough to glance at you over her shoulder.

“Get dressed. We have a press conference.”

The room was buzzing with anticipation by the time you stepped in. Cameras flashed, reporters murmured among themselves, and the air carried the weight of a dozen unanswered questions. The energy was different today, sharper, more expectant. You knew exactly why.

Natasha walked beside you, her presence as commanding as ever, a steady force in the chaos. Dressed in her usual sleek suit, she radiated an untouchable authority, but there was something else today. Something in the way she moved, the way her gaze flickered across the room before settling on you.

She was prepared. Always. But this wasn’t just about the race anymore. You took your seat, adjusting the mic in front of you, your fingers brushing over the cold surface as the press officer nodded for the first question.

A journalist from Racing Line leaned forward, eyes sharp with intrigue. “Y/n, first of all, congratulations on your win yesterday. A phenomenal drive. But beyond that, there’s been a lot of talk about your dynamic with your team principal.”

He paused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Care to comment on the pictures circulating? Romanoff looking unusually pleased with your performance?”

You clenched your jaw, pulse spiking. Of course. The photos had been everywhere this morning. Natasha, standing at the pit wall, watching you with a look that was unmistakably soft. For her, at least. And then on the podium, the way she’d lingered, the rare glimpse of a smile.

Natasha’s presence beside you remained steady. No reaction. Just sharp focus, like she was calculating every possible outcome of this moment. You exhaled slowly, forcing a small smirk as you leaned forward. “I think any team principal would be happy when their driver wins.” you said, voice level, playful even. “It’s kind of their job.”

A few chuckles echoed through the room, but the journalist wasn’t backing down. “True, but this seemed more personal. Some might say.. more invested than usual.”

You barely had time to process it before Natasha spoke. “If you’re implying that I don’t take every win personally, then you clearly don’t know me.” she said coolly, her gaze locking onto the journalist with a pointed sharpness. “I push my drivers to win. That’s my job. Y/n delivers. That’s hers.”

The response was effortless, perfectly calculated to dismiss any rumors while still standing firm. But you knew her too well now. The way her fingers tapped lightly against her leg under the table, the slight tick in her jaw, it was irritation masked under absolute control.

Another journalist jumped in. “Y/n, this season has been a defining one for you, but given your history with crashes and the challenges you’ve faced, do you ever feel like you still have something to prove?”

Your stomach twisted at the question, but you didn’t let it show. You straightened, fingers flexing against the table. “Every driver on this grid has something to prove. That’s why we’re here. But if you’re asking if I doubt myself? No. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I did.”

The room went still for a second, the weight of your words settling before another voice cut in. “Natasha, you’ve worked with some of the best drivers in the sport. Where does Y/n rank among them?”

Your breath caught. Oh. That was a trap. Natasha didn’t play favorites. Ever. Her entire brand of leadership was built on ruthlessness, on absolute control, on never showing anything that could be perceived as bias. But then, she turned her head slightly, eyes locking with yours, just for a fraction of a second.

“She fights harder than most..” Natasha said finally, voice even, measured. But there was something in her tone, something more. “And no. She hasn’t finished proving herself yet.”

The tension in the room shifted. You weren’t sure if anyone else caught the unspoken weight behind her words. But you did. The questions continued, each one sharp, some pressing about the championship fight, others about your rivalry with Walker, about strategy, about what came next. You answered, playing the game, maintaining your composure, even when the topic of your previous crash came up again.

By the time you made it back to the team’s facility, you barely managed to get your stuff done before heading straight for Natasha’s office, needing to breathe, to think, and the moment you stepped inside, she was already there.

Natasha stood near her desk, arms crossed, watching you. The way her eyes scanned you, calm, assessing made your stomach twist. She had felt it. She had seen it.

“What’s wrong?”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just..They talked like they know anything!”

“They don’t.”

You huffed, pacing the room. “But they think they do! They’re making this entire thing into some huge scandal, ‘Natasha Romanoff smiles? Must be because of Y/N L/N-

Natasha smirked slightly. “It’s not entirely false.”

You froze mid-step, whipping around to face her. “Natasha.”

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What?”

Your frustration only grew. “How are you so calm about this? You know what people are saying-”

“I don’t care what people are saying.” Her voice was steady, unwavering. You stared at her, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. “Well, I do.”

Silence stretched between you till Natasha moved. One second, she was standing by her desk, and the next, she was right in front of you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from her.

“You do?” she murmured, voice dropping. You swallowed hard. She tilted her head slightly, studying you, her gaze flickering to your lips for just a second before locking back onto your eyes. “What exactly is it that’s bothering you?”

Your breath hitched. “The attention?” she continued, her voice softer now. “The rumors? Or the fact that they might be right?”

Your stomach twisted, your body betraying you with the way your pulse spiked. She saw it. Of course, she saw it. Her fingers brushed against your wrist, light, teasing, but enough to make you shiver.

“I..” You didn’t know what you were going to say. Didn’t get the chance to find out. Because Natasha took another step forward, crowding into your space, her presence consuming, her scent, leather and something unmistakably her wrapping around you like a trap you didn’t want to escape.

“Tell me.” she murmured, her breath brushing against your cheek. You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. Instead, you whispered, “I don’t know what this is..”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smirk, but her eyes softened just enough that your chest ached. “You will.” And then she kissed you. Slow. Purposeful. Like she had decided. Like she had always known. And for once, you stopped thinking.

Race 22

The moment you crossed the finish line, your grip on the steering wheel tightened. P2. Not the win, but damn close. And after the chaos of the rain, the battle with Walker, and the near spin that nearly sent you into the barriers, you’d take it.

“P2, Y/n! Well done!” Your race engineer’s voice crackled through the radio, but there was something else beneath it. A small pause.

Then Natasha. “Good job, Y/n.” her voice was controlled, professional, but you swore there was something more. A flicker of pride just under the surface. “You handled the conditions well.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, a slow grin tugging at your lips as you leaned back against the seat, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. P2. The points were crucial, but more than that? Your parents were here today.

You knew exactly where they were standing in the paddock, right at the edge, watching from behind the barriers. Your dad had always been more subtle with his pride, but you could imagine the small nod of approval he was giving right now. Your mother, on the other hand, had probably been clutching his arm the entire race, barely breathing each time you overtook.

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you pulled into the pit lane, the sound of the crowd still roaring around you. The podium celebration was nothing short of euphoric. The champagne bottle was cold against your palm, the pressure inside ready to burst. You popped it, aiming the spray at the crowd, the golden bubbles soaking into your race suit as you laughed, high off the victory, the energy, the moment.

Walker was there, of course. You could feel his presence, could practically sense his frustration at not clinching the championship today. It fueled you. And then, the press again. It happened fast. The podium celebrations ended, and before you could even get a second to breathe, the paparazzi descended.

“Y/N! P2 today, how do you feel after that battle with Walker?”

You expected the questions. You were prepared for them. You kept walking, still riding the high, your team’s mechanics clapping you on the back as you moved toward the garage.

“Were you worried about the rain conditions?”

“Your spin almost cost you the podium- what was going through your mind?”

You answered, giving them just enough without revealing too much, your voice still buzzing with the rush of the race.

“The next race is at Silverstone. Your Silverstone. Are you ready for that?”

You froze. The air in your lungs thinned, and suddenly, the roaring of the crowd, the flashing cameras, the overwhelming everything..felt too loud. The wreckage. The fire. It slammed into you all at once. You blinked hard, forced the memories down, and made yourself breathe. Your voice, when it came, was calm. Controlled. “It’s just another race.”

A lie. But one the world didn’t need to know. You started moving again, Natasha keeping pace beside you, her presence unwavering. She didn’t say anything, but you felt her watching. And when the press had finally been left behind, when the cameras were no longer in your face, when it was just you and her walking toward the garage, she finally spoke.

“You okay?”

You nodded, too quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.” Her silence was sharp. Calculating. You knew she didn’t believe you.

The road stretched ahead in quiet darkness, the soft hum of the engine filling the air. The city lights flickered past the windows, casting brief flashes of neon against your skin. The rain had stopped, but the roads were still damp, the reflections of streetlights shimmering on the slick asphalt. You barely noticed. Your mind was elsewhere.

Silverstone.

Every corner. Every turn. Every shadow of the past that lurked beneath the floodlights of that track. You could see it. Feel it.

The way the car had snapped away from you in that fraction of a second, how the wall had rushed toward you. The helplessness, the terror. The excruciating pain that had followed. The fire. The pressure of the seatbelts locking you in place as you fought to stay conscious. The memories clawed at the edges of your mind, threatening to pull you under.

Would it feel the same next weekend? Would you hesitate when you reached that same turn? Would you flinch- You didn’t get to spiral too far before a hand suddenly waved something in front of your face.

A phone.

You blinked, snapping back into the present. The scent of Natasha’s car, the low music playing through the speakers, the woman herself sitting beside you with an expectant look.

“Order food.” Natasha instructed, smirking slightly. You furrowed your brows, still trying to shake off the ghosts of your past thoughts. “What?”

Natasha waved the phone again. “Food. You know, the thing we eat to survive?”

“Right..” you muttered, grabbing the device and pulling up the app. You scrolled through options, selecting your usual choices, though your mind was still distant. It wasn’t until you reached the address confirmation screen that you hesitated.

“Nat…” you said slowly, glancing toward her. “This isn’t the track. Where are we going?”

Natasha’s smirk widened as she turned onto a quieter road, one that led away from the team facilities and the usual places you stayed.

“My place.” she answered simply.

You stilled. Natasha’s home. You had spent countless nights together, hotels, at Natasha’s track, but never at Natasha’s place. It was private. Personal. Hers.

You swallowed. “Your place?”

“That’s what I said.”

You could feel your heart beating a little faster. Natasha flicked you a knowing glance, clearly sensing the shift in your demeanor. Then, with a devilish smirk, she added, “Relax, printsessa. If you’re thinking about it, I wouldn’t have bothered ordering food.”

Your face heated instantly. “I-I was not thinking about..!”

Natasha let out a low, amused chuckle, her fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Sure you weren’t.” You groaned, slumping back into your seat. God, this woman.

When you arrived, Natasha pulled into the private driveway of a sleek, modern home tucked behind high walls and tall trees. The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with a sense of quiet intimacy.

The place was hers. Clean, organized, yet undeniably lived-in. The walls were lined with dark wooden shelves, books and old records stacked neatly. But what caught your attention the most were the photos.

One by the entrance, Natasha in her racing suit, helmet under her arm, a victorious smirk on her face. Another by the bookshelf, her with her family, a rare moment of unguarded happiness shining in her eyes. A framed picture of her and another driver, a teammate from years ago, grinning with champagne in hand. You took it all in, feeling something warm settle in your chest. This was Natasha’s life. The parts she didn’t show to just anyone.

“You gonna stand there all night?”

You turned to find Natasha leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that same infuriatingly attractive smirk.

“Just looking…” you murmured.

Natasha’s expression softened. “I don’t let just anyone in here, you know.”

Yeah, you knew. Your eyes met, and the air between you shifted. The teasing edge faded, replaced by something warmer. Deeper.

Natasha pushed off the counter and stepped toward you, slow and deliberate. You tilted your head up, your breath hitching slightly as Natasha’s fingers brushed against your jaw.

The kiss started soft, gentle, unrushed. But as soon as your hands found Natasha’s waist, pulling her closer, the heat between you ignited. Natasha’s hands were firm, sliding against your waist, gripping just enough to make your stomach tighten with anticipation. The kiss deepened, needier, hungrier. Your fingers tangled into Natasha’s jacket, pulling her in-

The doorbell rang, and you both froze. Natasha exhaled through her nose, dropping her forehead against your shoulder. “Are you kidding me?”

You laughed breathlessly, still gripping her jacket. “Food’s here.”

Natasha groaned but finally pulled away, muttering something about terrible timing as she went to get the food.

You sat on the couch, food spread between you, the glow of warm light casting soft shadows on the walls. The tension between you had shifted, not gone, but different now. It simmered beneath the surface, intertwined with something softer, more vulnerable.

Natasha watched you pick at your food, your fingers tracing absent patterns against the edge of the takeout container. You weren’t fully present, still lost in thought.

“Talk to me.” Natasha said quietly, resting her arm against the back of the couch.

You hesitated, then exhaled, setting your food aside. “It’s just…”

Natasha said nothing, just watching and waiting. “It’s not just another race..” you continued. “I know I should be past it by now, but… I don’t know…”

“You don’t just ‘get past’ something like that.” Natasha interrupted gently.

You huffed a soft laugh. “You’d think nearly dying would be enough for me to quit racing.”

Natasha tilted her head. “But you didn’t.”

“Yeah…” Natasha reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, her touch soft. “Because it’s who you are. You’re not afraid of fighting for what you want.”

You met her eyes, something settling in your chest. Then Natasha smirked. “And for the record? You’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time.”

You let out a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

The tension had lightened, but it still buzzed beneath the surface, the kind of pull that never really went away between you. Then, in one smooth, calculated move, you climbed onto Natasha’s lap. Enough with depression.

Natasha raised a brow, but didn’t move, didn’t protest, just watched. You settled yourself, your legs bracketing Natasha’s hips, your hands pressing lightly against the older woman’s shoulders.

“Thought you were nervous.” Natasha murmured, tilting her head up slightly, amusement flickering in her green eyes.

You smirked. “Maybe you’re just really good at distracting me.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her fingers instinctively settling against your waist. “Mm. And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Natasha asked, voice low, teasing, her hands barely moving, just resting there, warm and steady. You leaned in slightly, your lips just close enough to brush against Natasha’s ear. “Distracting myself.”

Your voice was soft, sultry..a promise and a challenge all at once. Natasha exhaled, her grip tightening just the slightest bit. But she didn’t move to take control. No..she was going to let you play your game.

And you took your time. You let your fingertips graze down Natasha’s arms, featherlight, teasing, slow. You leaned in again, pressing an almost nonexistent kiss just below Natasha’s jawline, barely there, just enough to make Natasha’s breath hitch, before pulling back again with an innocent expression.

Natasha smirked, tilting her head. “You’re dangerous, printsessa.”

You smiled, shifting just enough that you could feel the reaction you were pulling from Natasha. A slow, deliberate roll of your hips, just a fraction of movement, but it was enough to make Natasha’s jaw tighten. She was watching. Letting you put on a show. Not stopping you. Not rushing you.

You ran a hand up Natasha’s chest, fingers lingering at the collar of her shirt. You played with the fabric for a second before leaning down, just close enough that your lips barely brushed.

Natasha wasn’t chasing. Not yet. You smirked. “Something wrong, boss?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her control almost infuriating. ��Not at all.”

A challenge. You leaned down again, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to the corner of Natasha’s mouth, not quite giving in.

Natasha’s grip on you tightened just slightly. You were playing with fire now. You kissed along Natasha’s jaw, soft, teasing, dragging it out. You could feel Natasha’s patience thinning, the way her breath was a little heavier, the way her fingers dug just slightly into your hips.

You smirked against her skin. You were winning. Or at least you thought you were, until Natasha’s hands suddenly shifted, flipping your positions in one swift move. Now, you were on your back against the couch, Natasha leaning over you, hands braced on either side of your head.

You swallowed. Your heart stuttered and Natasha smirked. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing?”

You licked your lips, looking up at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

Natasha leaned in, not kissing you, just hovering, watching. Watching your breath hitch, watching you squirm just slightly under her gaze.

“I let you have your fun..” Natasha murmured. “Now, it’s my turn.”

You barely had time to react before Natasha’s lips finally crashed into yours. This time, there was no hesitation. Natasha kissed you like she was claiming you, like she was making up for every second you had made her wait. It was deep, hungry.

Her hands moved, no longer still, no longer restrained. One gripping your waist, the other sliding up your back, pulling you in as close as possible.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers digging into Natasha’s shoulders, trying to keep up. You had started the game. But Natasha was the one finishing it. You barely noticed the way Natasha’s lips moved lower, kissing along your jaw, trailing down just enough to make your toes curl.

Until..The phone rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a blade. You both froze, Natasha’s lips still pressed against your skin. You groaned. “Nooo!!”

Natasha let out a low chuckle against your collarbone before pressing a quick kiss there and pulling back. She reached for the phone, but you grabbed her wrist, shaking your head. “No. It can wait.”

Natasha smirked. “Impatient?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t start something you’re not going to finish!”

The phone rang again. Natasha sighed, glancing at the screen. She smirked, then, a knowing, smug little smile.

“Oh, this one can’t wait.” she murmured, amusement flickering in her gaze.

You frowned, still breathless. “Why?”

Natasha picked up the call, holding you in place. “Because, it’s for you.” she murmured against your lips before answering.

Here voice was low, calm, businesslike..echoed from the hallway as she wrapped up whatever conversation had interrupted you. You barely registered the words, still feeling the ghost of Natasha’s hands on your skin, the heat that had been building, building, building before that damn phone had stolen her attention away. The soft sound of the phone being set down made you glance toward the doorway.

Natasha was back.

She stood at the edge of the dimly lit living room, watching. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without a word, Natasha moved. She crossed the room with the same quiet, predatory grace that made her dangerous both on and off the track. Unrushed and in control.

You barely had time to process it before Natasha was climbing over you, bracing her weight on the couch, her hands framing your face, her knee pressing just enough between your legs. The breath hitched in your throat.

Natasha smirked. “Now.” she murmured, her voice like velvet and steel, ��where were we?” And this time, nothing stopped her from finishing what she started.

—

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the sheets. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the bed beneath you, the soreness that came with exactly how last night had gone. A lazy, satisfied smile curled on your lips as you stretched, fingers reaching for the familiar presence beside you-

Only to find empty sheets. You cracked one eye open, frowning slightly. Natasha’s side of the bed was cool. She had been up for a while. You groaned, rolling onto your stomach, letting yourself melt into the mattress for a moment longer before you finally forced yourself upright. Your muscles ached in the best way, your body still humming from the night before.

That’s when you saw her. Natasha stood near the dresser, already fully dressed, the perfect picture of composure. She fastened the last button of her team-issued shirt, the usual red and black livery fitted perfectly to her frame, like the night before hadn’t just happened.

You huffed, your voice still rough with sleep. “You really have a habit of getting up and leaving.”

Natasha glanced over, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “I didn’t leave.” she countered smoothly.

You raised a brow. “You weren’t in bed when I woke up. Feels the same.”

Natasha chuckled, stepping closer. She leaned down, one hand braced against the mattress, the other tilting your chin up so your eyes met.

“I finished what I started, didn’t I?” she murmured, her tone edged with amusement.

Heat flashed through you at the memory. Natasha took full advantage of your silence, pressing a brief but thorough kiss to your lips before pulling back, still smirking.

“Come on..” she said, straightening. “We have to leave.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the pillow. “Too earlyyy..”

Natasha nudged the blanket off of you, ignoring the way you tried to pull it back up. “It’s not early, you just don’t want to get up.”

You peeked up at her, eyes playful, teasing. “And whose fault is that?”

Natasha only tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “Mine, obviously.”

You rolled onto your back with a sigh. “Where are we even going?”

Natasha simply grabbed her phone, checked something quickly, then looked at you. “You’ll see.”

You sat in the passenger seat, your fingers curled into your lap, your gaze fixed out the window as the world passed by in a blur of muted colors. The closer you got, the more the tension coiled in your chest, wrapping tight around your ribs.

You had already seen it. From a distance. The track. The place where it happened. Even from far away, it stood like a specter in the distance, a shadow of something you had never fully escaped. The floodlights, the sharp turns you once knew like the back of your hand, the long straights that had once filled your veins with nothing but adrenaline.

But now..now, it was different. You hadn’t set foot here since the crash. Since you had nearly lost everything. Your chest tightened. The closer you got, the harder it became to breathe, the air suddenly too thick, too heavy. Your fingers curled against your thigh, your body going rigid as the memories threatened to surface.

Natasha sensed it. Of course she did. Without a word, she slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the empty road leading toward the track’s private entrance. The engine idled in the quiet, but she didn’t move to keep driving.

Instead, she turned her head. “Hey.”

You exhaled shakily, keeping your eyes forward. Natasha didn’t push. She just watched, her voice low, steady. Grounding.

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, your pulse still hammering. But you turned. And there it was. The thing that always managed to steady you no matter how loud the world got. Her eyes. Green. Certain. Unshaken. Like there was not a single doubt in her mind.

“You’re safe.” Natasha said softly, reaching over, her fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Natasha challenged gently, her fingers tightening just slightly. “Because you’re acting like you’re back in that car two years ago.”

You pressed your lips together, inhaling sharply through your nose. The older woman’s thumb traced slow circles against your skin, her voice unwavering. “You already won this battle, Detka. You made it out.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling. “I thought I was past this. I hate it.”

“You will be.” Natasha assured. “But not by running from it.”

Silence settled between you, thick, heavy. But Natasha waited. She always did. And eventually, you nodded. Natasha studied you for another beat, then, without another word, she put the car back in gear and drove.

The entrance to the track loomed closer. Your fingers curled against your knee again, but you kept your breathing steady. Inhaling, exhaling. The gates opened as Natasha pulled through, leading into the pit lane, the vast emptiness of the track stretching out before you.

She stopped the car near the garage. For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Natasha unbuckled her seatbelt, stepping out. You watched as she rounded the car, her movements unhurried, purposeful. When Natasha reached your door, she opened it, the cool air from outside slipping in. And then, she stepped back.

She didn’t say anything. Just tilted her head slightly, gesturing to the driver’s seat. Your heart stuttered. You looked at Natasha, eyes wide, uncertain. But Natasha’s gaze didn’t waver.

You took a slow breath as you slid into the driver’s seat, fingers wrapping around the wheel. It felt familiar. The weight of it, the smooth material beneath your hands..it should have been comforting.

But it wasn’t. Not here. Not on this track.

Natasha shut the door behind you. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. She simply slid into the passenger seat, settling in like this was any other drive. Like this wasn’t the place where everything fell apart.

You swallowed, shifting the car into gear. You started slow. The track was eerily quiet, so unlike the last time you had been here. No roaring engines, no deafening crowd, no radio crackling in your ear. Just the low hum of the car beneath you, the whisper of tires on asphalt.

But you already felt it. The weight. The pull of the past creeping in. Every turn was one you had memorized. Your body still knew the angles, the braking points, the racing line that had once been second nature to you. But then, The trees. They appeared in the distance. And you knew. You knew what was coming.

The curve.

Your breath caught, your grip on the wheel tightening. Far before you even reached it, you saw it. You saw everything. The way the road bent, the familiar angle of the wall. You saw the moment your car had lost control, the sickening snap of the tires, the helpless spin.

You saw fire. And suddenly, it wasn’t just memories. The beep of machines. The sterile scent of antiseptic. Pain. A deep, agonizing pain that wrapped around your body like it would never leave. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the voices. Your parents. You couldn’t open your eyes fully, but you heard them.

“Will she walk again?” Your mother’s voice, raw, desperate.

A pause. Too long. Then, the doctor’s voice, flat, measured, carefully spoken like he was trying not to shatter them completely.

“We don’t know yet.”

Not a real answer. Not the one they wanted. Silence. Your father, his voice quieter, heavier. “You mean she might n-not?”

Another pause. “We can’t say never. But the spinal damage, the nerve trauma, her body went through extreme conditions. It will be a long recovery. She may regain movement, but returning to full functionality? To racing?” He shook his head. “It’s unlikely.”

You wanted to scream. You weren’t a body. You weren’t something to assess. You were here. You could hear them. You could feel the pain, the weight of your own broken body on the hospital bed. But you couldn’t move.

Your mother’s breath hitched. “S-She just turned twenty-one..” she whispered. “She..she’s supposed to have her whole life ahead of her!! Her career. Her dreams. You’re saying that’s just- gone-“

“You’ll race again!” It wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t your father. It was Natasha. Her voice was sharp, unwavering. Unshaken. You gasped, staggering back into reality. You blinked rapidly, hands trembling at your sides. The track was still there. The sky was still open, the wind still cool against your skin. You weren’t in that hospital bed. You weren’t trapped. You were here. Alive. Walking. Racing. And..Natasha was here, too.

You blinked rapidly, gasping as reality slammed back into you, but it wasn’t enough. The car felt too small, too tight. The air too thick. You needed to get out. Now.

Before Natasha could say anything else, you ripped off your seatbelt and shoved open the door. The rush of cool air hit you as you stumbled out, barely keeping your balance as you walked away, fast.

Your boots scraped against the asphalt as you stopped a few feet from the car, your back turned to the curve. You placed your hands on your knees, trying to breathe, trying to focus on the present, but the past kept clawing at you.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t, not yet. But you heard Natasha’s breath as she stepped closer, heard the patience in her voice as she spoke.

“You’re not there anymore, Y/n.”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “I..know.”

Natasha didn’t correct you, didn’t push you to turn around just yet. Instead, she took another step, coming close enough that your arms nearly brushed.

“You think this track is what almost killed you.” Natasha murmured. “But it’s not.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky. “You made it out.” Natasha continued. “You fought. You survived. And now…”

You felt the warmth of Natasha’s fingers grazing against yours. “You came back.”

Your chest tightened. You exhaled. Slowly, cautiously, you turned around. And this time, You didn’t look away. The fear was still there, pressing against your ribs. The memories still whispered in the back of your mind. But they weren’t pulling you under anymore. They weren’t controlling you.

“Go finish your round.”

You glanced back at the curve. Then at Natasha. She just raised a brow, her smile soft, knowing. Like she already knew your answer. You inhaled deeply. And then, you nodded.

Without a word, Natasha gestured back toward the car. And this time, you got back in. You settled into the driver’s seat, your hands firm on the wheel. Your pulse still pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

It was from something else. Determination. Natasha shut the door beside you and leaned in slightly through the open window. “You good?”

You exhaled slowly, your grip tightening. “Yeah.” Natasha studied you for a beat, green eyes sharp, assessing. Then, without another word, she stepped back. You pressed your foot to the accelerator.

The car moved. The track stretched ahead, the tires gliding smoothly over the asphalt as you built up speed. The engine hummed beneath you, steady and strong, your hands guiding the car as if it was an extension of yourself.

And then, the curve. It came into view, and for a split second, you felt the flicker of hesitation, the whisper of memories trying to crawl back in. But you didn’t let them. Not this time. Your body knew what to do. You adjusted the wheel, keeping your line smooth. You hit the apex.

And you took it cleanly. No fear. No ghosts. Just racing. As you exited the turn, your heartbeat steadied. Your breathing evened. And for the first time since the crash, it felt like yours again. The track. The moment. The control. You slowed as you reached the pit lane, pulling up where Natasha stood waiting. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers flexing against the wheel.

“Again.”

You blinked, catching your breath. “What?”

“Do another lap.” Natasha said, tilting her head. “This time, without stopping.”

You gripped the wheel and pressed your foot to the accelerator, feeling the car respond instantly. The low growl of the engine vibrated through your chest as you sped down the straight, the track stretching endlessly in front of you.

This time, it felt different. This time, there was no fear clawing at your throat. No weight pressing on your chest. No ghosts chasing you. Only you. And the car. Natasha’s words echoed in the back of your mind.

“Again. This time, without stopping.”

So you did. The corners came faster now, the rhythm of the track flowing beneath your fingertips. You moved through each turn with precision, your body and mind in sync, your breathing controlled. Like you had never left. And then, the curve.

It came up ahead, just like before. But this time, you didn’t brace for impact. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t freeze. You just took it. Clean. Smooth. Fast. You barely registered the moment you exited the turn. Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a monster in the dark. It was just a turn.. Just a part of the track. And you had taken it like you were born for it.

You exhaled, gripping the wheel tighter as you pushed forward. One more sector. One more straight. The finish line appeared before you, this time, not a symbol of survival, but of victory. You crossed it at full speed. And for the first time in years, you felt free. The car rolled to a stop. The sudden silence was almost deafening, the echoes of the lap still buzzing in your ears.

Your hands were still on the wheel. Your heart was still pounding. But you weren’t shaking anymore. You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat for just a second before finally pulling yourself together. You pushed the door open, stepping out, the cool air hitting your flushed skin. You turned, and before you could even speak, Natasha was there.

Close and proud. There was no teasing remark. No smug comment. Just a look. A look that said everything. You swallowed, your throat thick. “I did it.”

Natasha’s smirk softened. “You did.”

You blinked up at her, your chest still rising and falling with the weight of everything that had just happened. Natasha studied you for a moment, and, without warning, she reached forward.

Her hands cupped your face, pulling you in. And she kissed you. Slow. Deep. Unrushed. Not like the night before, not with heat, not with hunger. But with something else. Something heavier.

Something that tasted like pride. Like relief. Like I knew you could do it. When you finally pulled apart, Natasha rested her forehead against yours, exhaling softly. “That’s my brave girl.” she murmured. You smiled, breathless. And for the first time in two years, you really believed it.

Race 23

The paddock was alive with the chaotic energy of race day. Engines roaring in the distance, mechanics scrambling over last-minute checks, media teams swarming in every direction. The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. But you? You had drowned it all out. Headphones in. Music blasting.

Your fingers tapped against your thigh in rhythm with the beat as you leaned against the side of the garage, eyes closed, trying to steady yourself.

Silverstone.

The track where everything almost ended. You had studied the turns, visualized every sector, forced yourself to relive the crash over and over until it didn’t hold power over you anymore.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. Natasha stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes trained on you, her gaze calculating, unreadable. She was watching. And she wasn’t letting anyone interfere. Every few minutes, someone tried. Engineers, strategists, team personnel, all waiting to talk to you.

To brief you. To check in. To discuss last-minute adjustments. And every single time, Natasha stopped them. One sharp glance. One curt shake of her head. Not now. She wasn’t letting anyone break your focus. She’d made sure everything was in place. That all your data was locked in. That your team was prepped.

That you were untouchable. Until he appeared. “Still seeing the wall in your sleep?”

Your entire body went still. The music still played, but you weren’t listening anymore. Your breath hitched, hands clenching into fists. And that was when Natasha turned.

She saw the way your body stiffened. She saw your reaction. And in less than a second, she was on him. She grabbed him by the front of his race suit, shoved him backwards against the garage wall, the force of it making his head jolt.

Hard. His smirk vanished. Natasha leaned in, her voice a razor-sharp whisper. “I should have done this the moment you put her in the wall last time.”

Walker tried to mask the fear flickering in his eyes, but Natasha saw it. And she fed off it. She tightened her grip, voice deadly calm.

“You think you’re clever?” she murmured. “You think you can get in her head?”

Walker swallowed. “Romanoff-”

“I am not one of these fucking PR reps who’s going to slap you on the wrist and tell you to play nice.” Her nails dug into his race suit, jaw clenching.

Walker scoffed. “You’re losing it..”

Natasha’s lips curled into something dark. “I haven’t even started.”

Cameras were on them. Photographers had gathered outside the garage. Whispers spread like wildfire. But Natasha didn’t care. She was seething. Yelena was the first to try to pull her back. “Nat.” Her voice was sharp. “Let it go.”

But Natasha wasn’t letting go. Not yet. Not until he understood. Not until he felt what she had felt. Not until he knew, without a doubt- That if he touched you again, if he even so much as breathed the wrong way in your direction— She would end him.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

The second you and Natasha stepped into the privacy of the team garage, the noise of the paddock muffled behind the heavy doors, the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on both of you.

Her jaw was tight, eyes burning with residual fury, her breath coming in short, sharp exhales. She was holding back. Holding everything in. Because she had lost control. And Natasha Romanoff never lost control. The second the doors shut behind you, she yanked her arm free, running a hand through her hair.

You had never seen her like this. Not like this. She had always been calm, sharp, precise. Every move calculated, every emotion locked down.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Yelena threw her hands up, her Russian accent thick with frustration. “Are you trying to get suspended before the championship? Or, I don’t know, arrested?”

Natasha didn’t react. She just stood there, silent. Yelena scoffed, shaking her head. “Jesus, Natasha.”

Then she turned to you, eyes scanning you up and down. “And you.” she muttered, gesturing vaguely. “Why the hell are you letting her act like your attack dog?”

You blinked. “I- what?”

“You know she would burn the entire paddock down for you, right?” Yelena said bluntly. “Like, full villain origin story.”

Natasha sighed. “Yelena.”

Yelena ignored her. “You have her wrapped around your little driver finger.”

Your face heated. Natasha shot her sister a warning glare. “I will kill you.”

Yelena smirked. “See? She’s in denial.”

You bit back a laugh, rubbing your face. “Can we focus on the fact that the media just saw that?”

Yelena shrugged. “Oh, yeah, you’re screwed.”

You groaned. Natasha ran a hand over her face. “How bad is it?”

Yelena pulled out her phone and tilted the screen toward you.

BREAKING NEWS: ROMANOFF EXPLODES ON WALKER IN PRE-RACE CONFRONTATION!

“Natasha Romanoff LOSES CONTROL—DRAMA before the final races!”

“TENSION RISES: WALKER VS. L/N, BUT IS ROMANOFF THE REAL FIGHT?”

Before you could say something, Your parents stepped in and Natasha’s blood ran cold. She recognized them instantly. She had met your parents once before, but this? This was different. Your father’s eyes flickered to the scene again behind him, the cameras, the tension, the way Walker was still adjusting his suit, trying to shake off the encounter.

And then? He turned back to you. He searched your face for a moment. And then, he sighed, shaking his head with a small, tired smile. “You never did back down from a fight, did you?”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t realize you had been holding it until then. And for the first time that day, You let out a laugh. Your father stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. And suddenly? You weren’t a racing driver. You weren’t the girl who had just been shoved into the spotlight again.

You weren’t the girl who had almost died here last time. You were just his daughter. And God, you had missed this. When he pulled back, he placed both hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. And he believed you. Your mother was next. She didn’t hug you. She didn’t smile. But she stepped forward. And that, alone, was enough.

“I still hate this.” The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t judgmental. They were just honest. You exhaled, nodding. “I know.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “But.”

Your heart stuttered. “But I also know how much you love it.”

She looked at you then, really looked at you. And for the first time since your accident, she saw the joy in your eyes instead of the scars. And when she spoke again, it was softer. “Just promise me you’ll be careful this time.”

Your throat tightened. But you nodded. “I promise.”

Natasha had been standing just a few feet away. She had given you space. But now? She stepped closer, until she was by your side. Your father looked at her. Then at you. And then? A slow smirk. “Romanoff causing trouble for you?”

You let out a soft laugh. And Natasha? For the first time since she nearly killed Walker, her lips twitched into something close to a smile.

“She does that.” And for the first time, your mother didn’t argue. She just sighed. “Then I guess you two are a good match.”

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you sat in your cockpit, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity. Even through your helmet, you could hear the thunderous energy of the fans, the commentators hyping up the moment.

“After years of fighting her way back, Y/N L/N is back at Silverstone, the very track that nearly ended her career. And now, she has a chance to take another victory here.”

“The nerves must be unreal. This is the track of her nightmare.”

You exhaled sharply, steadying yourself. This wasn’t just any race. This was Silverstone. The last stepping stone before the championship. And even more than that, it was the race. The one that left scars on your body, that nearly stole everything from you.

Your fingers twitched against the steering wheel, tension coiling in your chest. A voice crackled through the radio.

“Radio check.”

It was Natasha. Firm, steady. The only anchor keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. You pressed the button on the wheel, your voice tight. “Copy.”

A pause. “You good?”

Your throat was dry. “I don’t know.”

Another pause. Then, softer. “Breathe, Detka. I’m right here with you.”

The Russian curled around you, grounding you. It wasn’t something she used often, only in moments like these, when she knew you needed something solid to hold onto. You inhaled deeply. Held it. Exhaled slowly.

“Just another race.” Natasha murmured, voice smooth. “Just another grid. Just another set of lights. You know what to do.”

You clenched your jaw, nodding slightly. “I know.” But before you could settle into that thought-Walker. He was right in-front of you, P1 on the grid, his presence a venomous reminder that he was still in the fight. You caught a glimpse of him over the halo of your car, his smug expression barely visible under his helmet. Even from here, you knew he was going to make this difficult.

A tap on your helmet made you turn your head, Yelena. She crouched beside your car, her green eyes searching yours. “You ready?”

You scoffed. “Yes.”

She grinned. “Good. Now go kick his ass.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “That’s the plan.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the comms again. “Grid up.”

You pulled your visor down, locked in, fingers twitching on the wheel. This was it. “Let’s hunt.”

Five red lights flickered overhead.

Five… Four… Three…

Your breath caught in your throat.

Two… One…

The world held still.

Lights out.

The explosion of sound and movement was immediate. Engines howled, tires screeched, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air as the pack lunged forward. Your reflexes kicked in, instincts sharper than thought.

“Nice start.” Natasha’s voice was smooth over the radio. “Hold it, don’t rush.”

Turn 1 was pure carnage. Cars dove aggressively, desperate to gain positions before the field settled. You barely had time to process before reacting, threading through the chaos.

Lap 3 emerging worked perfectly.

Lap 7 Box stop. Your team executed flawlessly, barely 2.4 seconds before they released you back into the fray.

“Perfect stop.” Natasha praised, her voice low in your ear.

Lap 10 Walker was directly in front of you, his car a flashing red target in your sights.

“Don’t rush it.” Natasha warned, already anticipating your aggression. “You’ll get him.”

Lap 18. Your breath stilled. The curve. The very turn that had nearly taken your life was right in front of you.

Your fingers clenched around the wheel. Flashes of the past crept in, the moment you lost control. The helpless spin. The wall rushing toward you. The sound of metal crushing.

Your vision blurred for half a second. Terror curled its fingers around your throat. “Breathe.” Natasha’s voice was softer now, private. Just for you. “You’re in control.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast. “Let it go, Y/n.” Natasha coaxed. “This track doesn’t own you anymore. You own it.”

Your breath hitched. The car rocketed toward the turn. This was it. You committed. Full throttle. The car hugged the track, smooth, controlled, perfect. No oversteer. No panic. No fear. A single tear slipped down your cheek. You did it. The pit wall erupted. Mechanics cheered, Yelena whooped in celebration.

Lap 20 You held firm, but he was defending every inch.

Lap 25 Final lap.

He lunged, reckless, aggressive. But you knew him. You baited him into Turn 6, letting him think he had the overtake. At the last second, you switched lines, cutting back perfectly. The move was flawless. You heard the frustration in Walker’s engine as he locked up behind you.

And then, the checkered flag.

“Y/N L/N WINS AT SILVERSTONE!”

Your vision blurred, heart slamming against your ribs. The radio exploded. Shouts. Cheers. Yelena screaming. “You did it.”

You exhaled sharply, swallowing the lump in your throat. You did it.. The car rolled into the pit lane. The moment you stopped, you ripped off the wheel, launching yourself out of the cockpit. A sea of bodies swallowed you, mechanics, engineers, your team, screaming, shaking you, holding you.

Natasha stood at the pit wall, arms crossed, her lips twitching at the corners. And for the first time, in front of the entire world, She smiled. And in that moment, you knew. You weren’t just fighting for yourself anymore. You were fighting for her.

And fuck..You were going to win this championship.

——

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but when you walked into the team’s headquarters the morning after Silverstone, still buzzing from the victory, you were met with something entirely unfamiliar. Silence. No scheduled briefings. No physical drills. No mechanical debriefs. Just a single message on your phone.

“Meet me at the hangar. Be ready.”

You arrived at the hangar, dressed in your usual training gear, expecting something, anything, resembling a preparation session. But instead, Natasha was standing next to a private jet, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, watching you approach.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

She smirked. “Your final week of training.”

You stared at her. “What does that mean?”

She pushed off the frame, stepping closer, voice softer now. “You’ve pushed yourself hard enough, detka. Now, you rest. You reset.”

You blinked. “And you’re deciding that for me?”

She arched a brow, tilting her head. “Do you trust me?”

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in her voice. You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Yes. I do.”

Her smirk returned, this time softer. “Then get in the plane.”

You followed, still confused but knowing better than to question her now. The flight was peaceful. No talk of racing, no debriefs, just the soft hum of the jet’s engines. You sat beside her, fingers drumming idly against your thigh. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Natasha didn’t look up from her tablet, scrolling through something unreadable. “Nope.”

You huffed, shifting in your seat. “You know, normal people discuss things like this.”

She smirked but still didn’t look up. “And since when have we been normal?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the plush seat. “Fair point.”

The destination remained a mystery until you landed. When you stepped out of the jet and into the warm, sea-salted air, your breath hitched. A private villa. Hidden away, far from the chaos of the racing world.

“You brought me to an island?” you asked incredulously.

Natasha just grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “You needed a reset.”

You blinked. “And your idea of resetting is a literal paradise?”

She glanced at you over her shoulder, smirking. “Would you rather be back at the track?”

You scoffed. “No. Absolutely not.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Then shut up and enjoy it.”

For the first time in months, you woke up without an alarm. Without the weight of race strategy meetings, without the looming stress of upcoming battles. Instead, you woke up to the soft rustling of waves, the distant call of seagulls, and the scent of coffee drifting through the open villa.

And her. Natasha was sitting on the patio, her laptop open on the table, a cup of coffee in hand, her eyes flicking between the screen and the ocean. You leaned against the doorframe, watching her, arms crossing over your chest. “Do you ever stop working?”

She hummed, tilting her head in your direction but not looking away from the screen. “Do you ever stop overthinking?”

You scoffed, stepping closer. “Touché.”

She finally looked up, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Coffee?”

You nodded, sitting down across from her. The moment you took the first sip, you exhaled, the warmth spreading through you. “Okay. Maybe this was a good idea.”

Natasha chuckled. “Told you.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the waves providing a soothing backdrop. After a moment, Natasha leaned back, closing her laptop. “How are you feeling about Abu Dhabi?”

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t push. Just watched. Waited. You sighed, setting the coffee down. “I feel ready, but also… it feels different now. Everything does.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Because of the championship?”

You swallowed. “Because of you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. A beat of silence. Natasha’s expression didn’t change immediately, but there was something in her eyes, something soft, something unreadable. You looked away, suddenly nervous. “I mean—”

“I know.”

You met her gaze again. She exhaled slowly, like she was choosing her words carefully. “I feel it too.”

The confession was quiet. Almost vulnerable. Your breath caught. “Natasha-”

She shook her head, a small smile ghosting her lips. “Not yet. Not before the final race.”

Your chest tightened, but you understood. This..whatever this was, was too big to unpack before the championship was decided. But that didn’t stop you from reaching across the table, from sliding your fingers over hers. And Natasha didn’t stop you either.

The week passed in a haze of quiet moments. Soft touches. Unspoken words. Natasha never pushed you to talk about the race, never brought up Walker, never made you think about anything except being here.

But the night before you left for Abu Dhabi, everything shifted. You stood on the balcony, staring at the ocean, lost in thought. You felt her presence before she spoke. “You’re thinking again.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t help it.”

She moved beside you, resting her arms against the railing. “Tell me.”

You swallowed. “What if I lose?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You won’t.”

You turned your head toward her, searching her face. “How can you be so sure?”

Natasha met your gaze, eyes burning with something fierce. “Because I know you.”

A pause. “And you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched. She turned toward you fully now, stepping closer. The tension between you snapped taut, electricity crackling in the space between. She lifted a hand, fingers brushing against your jaw. “And I don’t lose, dorogaya.”

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. And this time, this time, there were no interruptions. Her lips were on yours before you could even process it, warm, insistent, desperate. You melted into her, hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything.

The final race was tomorrow. The world was watching. The championship was on the line. But right now? Right now, the only thing that mattered was her. The atmosphere was electric.

Final Race

The Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi was alive with tension, the air buzzing with anticipation. Fans crowded the grandstands, waving banners, their cheers blending into the deafening roar of engines warming up in the pit lane. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the track, the last race of the season set to unfold under the lights.

This was it. The championship decider.

You stood in the garage, your fireproof suit already zipped up, helmet in hand, heart pounding in your chest. You had never felt this level of pressure before—every decision, every overtake, every second would determine whether you would leave this track as a world champion.

“Welcome to the final race of the season, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix! And what a season it has been! It all comes down to this, two contenders, one final battle, and the championship on the line!”

“That’s right! Y/N L/N and Walker have been at war all season, and now, after 23 grueling races, it all leads to this moment. Whoever finishes ahead tonight will be crowned the world champion!”

The camera feed cut to Walker, standing a few garages down, already locked in conversation with his engineers. You caught his gaze for a split second, and he smirked, giving you a mocking two-finger salute.

Your jaw clenched. Natasha, who had been standing beside you, caught the interaction immediately. “Ignore him.” Her voice was firm but steady, grounding you. “He wants to get in your head. Don’t let him.” You exhaled sharply, nodding.

The pre-race ceremony was grand. Fireworks lit up the sky, and the national anthem echoed across the circuit as drivers lined up for introductions. Cameras panned across each contender, zooming in on your face as the commentators continued hyping the moment.

“This is the most anticipated title fight in years. The young challenger versus the reigning champion. Y/N L/N has defied all odds this season, recovering from injury, fighting back from setbacks, and proving she belongs at the top.”

“And let’s not forget the woman behind her success, Natasha Romanoff, the enigmatic and ruthless team principal who rebuilt this team from the ground up. This isn’t just a battle between drivers, it’s a war between philosophies, between two teams that have fought tooth and nail to get here.”

As your name was called, the crowd erupted in cheers. Your stomach twisted with nerves, but you forced a steady breath. Then, Natasha’s hand found your lower back, just for a second, a silent reminder.

“You’re ready for this.” she murmured, barely audible over the noise. You swallowed hard, nodding.

The camera moved to Walker, his confident grin plastered across the screens. He thrived under the spotlight, waving dramatically at the crowd. The moment passed quickly, and soon, you were making your way to the car, slipping into the cockpit for the final time this season.

The formation lap was tense. The weight of the championship sat heavy on your shoulders as you weaved through the turns, warming up the tires, getting a feel for the grip under the lights. Natasha’s voice came through the radio. “Alright, Y/n. This is it. We’ve prepared for this moment all season. You know what to do.”

You exhaled. “I do.”

A pause. Then, softer “I’m proud of you.” Your chest tightened, your grip firming around the wheel. “Let’s win this.”

This was it. The moment everything had been building toward. The last race of the season. The championship on the line. The crowd was deafening, their cheers vibrating through the grandstands, but inside the cockpit, it was just you, the machine, and the voice in your ear.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled, adjusting your grip on the wheel. “Loud and clear.”

A pause. Then, her voice softened, just slightly. “You’ve fought too hard to let this slip away. Start strong. Control the pace. And bring it home.”

Your heart pounded. Natasha had never been this soft over the radio before a race. It settled something in your chest.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Lights out.

The engine screamed as you launched off the line, your tires gripping perfectly, carrying you smoothly into the first corner. You held your position, P1. Exactly where you needed to be.

Walker was right behind you.

Lap 5

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “He’s pushing early. Don’t let him dictate your race. You control this.”

You kept your breathing steady. “Copy.” Walker was testing you, feinting a move on the inside, but you covered the line perfectly.

Lap 10

“Box, box.”

You dove into the pits, your crew flawless. 2.3 seconds. You rejoined the track in P3, behind two drivers who hadn’t pitted yet. Walker followed, just seconds behind.

“Cold tires. Build them up. He’s going to attack.”

Lap 15

Chaos. Two cars behind you collided violently. A massive impact. Debris scattered across the track. One car spun into the barriers at high speed.

“Safety car.”

Your grip on the wheel tightened. Your eyes flicked to the mirrors. “Are they okay?” Your voice was sharp, urgent.

A long pause. Then, “Both drivers are out of the car. Medics are on them.”

You let out a shaky breath. The race was neutralized. But the tension didn’t fade. Natasha cut in, voice steady. Grounding.

“Don’t think about it. This isn’t your past. This is your present. This is your win.”

You nodded to yourself. You were not the same driver who crashed before.You were stronger. Smarter. Better.

Lap 20

The safety car pulled in. The race was back on. You timed the restart perfectly. Walker was right there, trying to lunge up the inside, but you blocked him cleanly. He was getting desperate.

And then, Lap 27.

He made his move. Too aggressive. Too reckless. Your rear tire was clipped. The car twitched violently. Your breath stopped. For a second, you felt it happening again. The Silverstone crash. The helpless spin. Your lungs locked. Natasha’s voice was calm, urgent.

“You’ve got it. You’re in control.”

You held it. You corrected, stabilized the car. Walker was still pushing. Still desperate. “Don’t let him rattle you. You have him.” Natasha’s voice was sharp.

Lap 35

Final one. Walker lunged forward. He was too aggressive. He clipped the curb badly. His car twitched. Your eyes widened. He lost it. His car slid sideways, full speed into the barriers. A brutal impact. Carbon fiber shattered. Metal twisted.

The crowd gasped. Your lungs locked. Your voice broke through the radio. “Is he okay?!”

Silence. Then, Yelena’s voice. “He’s moving. Medical is there.”

Natasha followed, controlled but tight. “Stay focused.”

Your eyes flicked up. The finish line was ahead. One more corner. You had done it.. The realization hit you all at once. You erupted in a scream. “YEEEESSSS!” Your hands trembled on the wheel as you crossed the line, the weight of everything crashing over you.

You had won.

Not just the race. Not just the championship. You had won yourself back. The sound of your own screams of victory echoed in your ears, blending with the deafening cheers from the crowd, the roaring engines, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline that flooded every inch of your body.

Through the radio, your team was exploding with excitement, voices overlapping, Yelena’s unhinged screaming, engineers shouting your name—everyone losing their minds.

And then, Natasha. But this time, her voice wasn’t just professional. It wasn’t just the sharp, controlled guidance of your team principal. This time, she laughed. A real, genuine laugh, the sound crackling through your earpiece, warm and unfiltered.

“Jesus, Y/n, you’re insane.”

You let out a breathless laugh in return, blinking back the sting of emotion. “I fucking did it...”

Her voice softened, low, proud. “Yes, you did.” The realization hit you like a freight train. You were the world champion.

The second you parked the car, you ripped off the wheel, unstrapping yourself as fast as possible. Before your brain could even catch up, you were climbing out of the cockpit, the weight of everything crashing into you.

They were everywhere. Your mechanics swarmed you, hands grabbing your suit, shaking you, hugging you, their cheers ringing out in celebration. Tears burned at the edges of your vision. This was real. You were on top of the world.

You hugged every mechanic who got to you, arms wrapping around engineers, feeling every ounce of their pride, their joy, their belief in you. But then, your eyes flickered up. And there she was.

Standing just beyond the chaos, arms relaxed, her lips curled into a rare, small smile, her green eyes locked onto you. And that’s when you felt it. The sting of emotions rising too fast, too sharp, the sheer weight of this moment overwhelming.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your legs were moving. You ran. Straight to her. Natasha barely had time to react before you crashed into her arms. She caught you effortlessly, her hands gripping tight, holding you like she had no intention of letting go.

Your breath was ragged, your heart hammering against your ribs. You buried your face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her, leather, champagne, and something unmistakably her. You felt her laugh, the softest thing, as her hand slid to the back of your head, holding you close. And then, before your brain could even fully process what was happening, Natasha leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up, her eyes flickering between yours, searching.

And then, she kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. The crowd erupted. The cameras flashed. The team roared. And none of it mattered. Because Natasha Romanoff was kissing you. Not rushed. Not hidden. Real. Raw. Completely, unapologetically hers. You melted into it, your hands gripping her suit, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of this moment.

When she pulled back, her forehead pressed against yours, her breath warm against your lips. And then, she finally whispered it.

“I love you.”

You blinked, your chest tightening painfully. She had never said it before. Not once. Not when she held you after long, exhausting nights. Not when she whispered Russian against your skin. Not when her hands traced over your scars like they were sacred.

But here..in front of the world..she did. And fuck, you had never loved her more. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her race suit, your voice shaking as you whispered back.

“I love you, too.”

She smiled, a real, genuine, unguarded smile. And just as the cameras continued flashing, just as the team lost their minds, she pulled you in for another kiss. Because now, you were champions. Together.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as you made your way through the pit lane, your body still buzzing with pure, unfiltered adrenaline. Every muscle ached, every heartbeat pounded against your ribs, but none of it mattered.

You had won the fucking championship.

As you walked toward the podium, your crew and engineers lined up, cheering, clapping, some even grabbing your shoulders, shaking you with pure joy. The mechanics who had spent countless hours perfecting your car, the engineers who had studied your every move, your team, your family.

You grinned at them all, shaking hands, hugging anyone who reached for you. But then, your eyes flickered forward. Natasha Standing just beyond the team with your parents, arms crossed, her stance effortlessly composed as always. But this time, her green eyes weren’t filled with sharp calculation. They weren’t focused on data, strategy, or performance.

They were on you. And for the first time, in front of thousands of cameras, in front of the world, Natasha let herself smile. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t obvious. But to you, it was everything.

She lifted a glass of champagne, a silent toast from where she stood, her expression laced with something you’d never seen from her before, not in front of the cameras. Pride. Pure, unguarded, unmistakable pride.

Your chest tightened painfully. She was proud of you. And that? That made your throat burn more than anything. Before you could even begin to process it, an official gently tapped your arm, ushering you toward the podium. The crowd erupted as you took the steps, standing in the middle, on the highest platform. The place only one person got to stand. The champion’s place. Your team principal’s place. Natasha’s place.

Your breathing hitched as you stood there, the weight of it finally crashing over you. You had done it. Walker was a few steps below you, his expression tight, controlled. He wasn’t looking at you. Good. He didn’t matter anymore. Because this moment? This was yours.

The anthem played, the flags waved, and you felt the world shift beneath you. The bottles were handed over, the anticipation buzzing through the air. You grabbed yours, shaking it violently before popping the cork, the liquid bursting forward like a dam breaking.

And then, chaos. You turned the bottle, drenching the second-place finisher, who cursed but laughed, retaliating immediately. The third-place driver joined in, and suddenly, it was an all-out war of champagne and celebration. The golden liquid soaked your race suit, your hair, your skin. But you didn’t care. You laughed, heart soaring, the feeling unlike anything else in the world.

For a moment, you let yourself breathe. Let yourself feel it. You had climbed back from hell, from the crash that nearly ended your career, from the doubts, the nightmares, the whispers behind your back. And now? Now you were at the top.

Your eyes instinctively flickered past the cameras, past the roaring crowd. Straight to her. Natasha was still standing there, watching, her glass still in hand, her lips curled just slightly.

And this time, she lifted it higher. The acknowledgment. The silent toast. The unspoken message. Your vision blurred for half a second, but you blinked it away. And then? You did something you hadn’t planned. Something natural. You lifted your own bottle in return, mirroring her.

A toast. To the one person who had been there through it all. To Natasha fucking Romanoff.

The second you stepped down from the podium, the cameras swarmed. Questions flew at you from every direction, reporters desperate for the first statement from the new world champion.

You barely had time to process them.

“Y/n, how does it feel-”

“What a comeback! What do you have to say to your doubters-”

“What does this mean for your future-”

The questions were a blur. Your mind was still racing, your body still buzzing from the victory. “Alright, that’s enough.”

The reporters stilled. You turned, heart skipping a beat. Natasha was right there, her body angled just slightly in front of yours, the presence of a shield, a protector. And just like that, the questions stopped. Because when Natasha Romanoff spoke, people listened. She glanced over at you, her green eyes softer now, just for you.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

You nodded, exhaling softly, letting her take your hand, your fucking hand, right there, in front of everyone. The world had no idea what had just changed. But you did. And that? That was all that mattered.

The End.

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