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darkmarkmarauder · 11 days ago

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I’ll be a Good Girl in Hell - M.R. & T.N

part 1 here

good things come in threes—especially you

The shower was supposed to help.

Steam curled around you, hot water cascading down your spine, but it did nothing to erase the evidence Mattheo had left behind—dark bruises painting your throat, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. You cursed under your breath, fingers pressing into the sore marks in a feeble attempt to rub them away. Needed to cover this shit up before Theo saw. You hadn’t meant to drop that truth on Mattheo like that.

The smugness in his face when he thought he was your first, the cocky little smirk like he’d won something, only for you to completely shatter his ego. His face had shifted in real-time, it had been fucking priceless. You wished you had a Pensieve to relive it over and over.

You pulled your towel tighter around yourself and leaned closer to the mirror, dabbing concealer over the worst of it. It wasn’t enough. Fuck. You were already late to breakfast as it was, Enzo was probably just now rolling out of bed, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being hunted for sport first thing in the morning.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Mattheo was in the middle of a different kind of hell.

Mattheo sat stiffly, forcing himself to focus on his food while across from him, Theo and Draco were locked in some intense Quidditch strategy debate. Blaise was muttering something about fucking Chasers, and Enzo was running late—probably just waking up now, the lazy bastard.

But Mattheo barely heard any of it. His mind was elsewhere.

More specifically?

He was thinking about you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your nails digging into his skin. The sounds you made, the way you came apart for him—

And that fucking bombshell you dropped after.

"Did you really think I’d lose my virginity to you?"

His jaw ticked. Because the answer was yes. He had thought that. You sold it perfectly—the hesitation, the wide eyes, the fucking tightness—but you hadn’t. You’d already lost it to Theo.

And Mattheo had to sit across from him right now and act normal.

Fuck.

"Oi, you get laid last night?"

Mattheo’s fork froze mid-air.

Theo’s voice was casual, teasing, like it was just another morning, just another question. His sharp gaze flicked down to Mattheo’s collar—where, fuck, maybe a little bruise was peeking out—and then he smirked down at his plate, laughing as he loaded on more food.

Mattheo forced himself to relax, to breathe, to fucking play it cool.

He rolled his shoulders back, feigning nonchalance. "Some Slytherin legacy," he lied smoothly. "Sixth year. I forgot her name."

Theo snorted, "Merlin, must’ve been some girl if she’s got your neck looking like that."

Mattheo needed to redirect. He needed to know.

"So," he started, voice casual. "She’s really a virgin?"

Theo arched a brow, chewing thoughtfully. Then, after swallowing, he shook his head, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Nah," he said, tone smug. "Her and I were each other’s firsts."

And just like that, Mattheo felt his stomach drop.

Fuck. He had known the answer. You had told him. But hearing it from Theo’s mouth? That was something else.

And Theo knew it.

Satisfaction gleamed in his sharp eyes as he leaned back, clearly relishing the moment, clearly enjoying the way Mattheo’s jaw ticked.

"She was so wet," Theo continued, voice dipping into something almost reminiscent, smug and taunting. "When I ate her out, she does this thing—" he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "She’ll try to push you away as soon as she’s about to cum. So fucking hot."

Mattheo gripped his fork tighter.

Blaise let out a low chuckle. "mate, you’re gonna make Riddle choke on his food."

Draco snorted and Theo just smirked.

"Nah, he’s good," he said, eyes still on Mattheo, reading everything in his expression.

But Mattheo forced his face into neutrality, kept his lips curled into a mocking smirk, as if he wasn’t internally seething.

"She can cum more than once, too," Theo continued, taking a bite. "First time we fucked—"

Mattheo froze.

First time?

So it wasn’t just a one-time thing?

Oh, fuck that.

Theo was still talking, oblivious to the way Mattheo’s eye twitched. "Didn’t last long—first time and all—but mate, the time after that? And after that?" Theo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "She can last all night."

Mattheo clenched his jaw, forcing himself to smirk, forcing himself to nod, to act like he wasn’t visualizing slamming Theo’s face into the fucking table.

That comment. That fucking comment.

Because last night, you had looked him dead in the eye and laughed, mean and pretty, and said—Next time, try lasting longer. And now? Now he knew.

It had been Theo.

And not just once.

Fucking multiple times.

Mattheo forced himself to exhale, to calm the fuck down. He was not going to let Theo see that this was getting to him. He was not going to let his ego take that hit.

But fuck.

Fuck.

He couldn’t stop picturing it now—the visual of you under Theo, back arching, thighs trembling, mouth parted around desperate moans—

His nails dug into his palm.

Theo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "What about you, mate?"

Mattheo blinked, snapping himself out of it. "What?"

Theo gestured at his collar. "Your sixth-year legacy. She good?"

Mattheo smirked laughing,"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Theo laughed. "Not really. I doubt she can take it like our girl can."

Our girl.

Mattheo’s grip tightened.

And then, as if the universe really fucking hated him—you walked in.

Late, as always, hair still damp from your shower, your lips slightly swollen from where you’d been chewing on them, collar high but not high enough.

Theo’s gaze flickered up, locking onto you immediately.

Mattheo could feel the moment his friend’s eyes landed on the faint bruises still peeking out from your throat.

His smirk froze as his eyes narrowed.

And then—like the smug bastard he was—he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into something wicked.

“Well, well,” Theo mused, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “Looks like somebody had a long night.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move as casually as possible toward your usual seat next to Theo. If you acted normal, maybe—just maybe—you could brush past this.

"Sorry, overslept," you lied smoothly, grabbing a piece of toast.

"Mm," Theo hummed, swirling his spoon in his coffee. "Overslept? Or overworked?"

Your stomach dropped.

Blaise, catching onto the tension, looked between you and Theo, then at Mattheo, who was still suspiciously quiet. Draco, as always, seemed unfazed, focused on some Quidditch play he was detailing, but even he seemed to sense that something was brewing.

You forced a laugh, shoving a bite of toast into your mouth as if that would somehow defuse the situation. "What are you on about?"

Theo leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough for only you and Mattheo to hear. "Y’know, you’re usually good at covering them," he mused, reaching out to flick the collar of your robe. "Usually.”

Shit.

Mattheo's entire body went rigid beside you. You didn’t dare look at him.

Theo, oblivious to the storm he was about to unleash, grinned before taking a sip of his coffee. “So, who was it?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Who left those pretty little marks on you?” Theo asked, tilting his head, voice edged with something dangerously close to amusement. “Because it wasn’t me.”

Silence.

Mattheo finally spoke, his voice low, smooth—but laced with something sharp beneath it.

“You sure about that, mate?”

Theo’s grin faltered.

You sucked in a breath, stomach twisting.

Oh, fuck.

For the first time, Theo actually looked at Mattheo—really looked at him. He took in the barely-hidden tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the table with practiced patience, his brown eyes darker than usual.

Then, realization hit.

Theo’s smirk dropped completely.

His head snapped back to you, eyes narrowing, searching, flickering between your bruised throat and Mattheo’s lazy posture. His gaze dragged down to Mattheo’s shirt collar—barely unbuttoned but just enough to catch the faintest hint of red scratches near his neck.

He laughed.

A dry, disbelieving laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t.”

You stayed silent.

Mattheo, on the other hand, simply leaned back in his seat, smirking now—full of smug arrogance. "Guess we have more in common than I thought."

Theo’s jaw clenched.

"You're joking," Theo muttered, shaking his head, the disbelief quickly being replaced by something else—something closer to irritation.

Mattheo tilted his head, fake innocence dripping from his voice. “Why would I joke about that?”

Blaise muttered something under his breath, looking like he definitely did not want to be here right now. Draco, finally cluing into the situation, raised a single brow but wisely stayed silent.

You could feel the tension crackling between the two boys.

Theo scoffed. "Since when do you fuck leftovers, Riddle?"

Blaise choked on his pumpkin juice.

Mattheo barely reacted, only tapping his fingers against the table once before exhaling a soft chuckle. "Leftovers?" he repeated. "That’s funny. She didn’t seem too full last night."

Theo’s eyes flashed.

Your heart dropped.

"Oh, really?" Theo drawled, his smirk back, but this one was meaner—sharper. “Let me guess, she did that thing where she pretends she can’t take any more but really wants you to keep going?” He clicked his tongue. "Cute, isn't it?"

Mattheo's smirk faltered as Theo grinned.

Checkmate.

You, meanwhile, were trying very, very hard to pretend like the ground might just swallow you whole.

Blaise sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Can the two of you not have a dick-measuring contest at breakfast?”

“Not my fault,” Theo said, leaning back, arms crossed. “I just think it’s hilarious that he thought she was a virgin.”

Mattheo’s smirk disappeared entirely.

“Oh, he did?” Blaise mused, suddenly interested.

Theo nodded, clearly enjoying himself now. “Oh, yeah. He thought he was the first to break her in.” He turned back to Mattheo, feigning concern. “Was she good for you, mate? Or did she already know exactly how to take it?”

A muscle in Mattheo’s jaw twitched.

Theo grinned wider, leaning in closer, voice taunting. "Guess I did teach her well."

Mattheo moved so fast, you barely registered it.

One second, he was seated. The next, he had grabbed Theo’s collar, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart.

"Say that again," Mattheo spat, voice eerily calm.

Theo didn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughed, low and cocky, eyes flickering toward you before settling back on Mattheo.

“What’s the matter?” Theo was smug. “Can’t handle the fact that she was already mine before you even touched her?”

Mattheo’s grip tightened.

Your stomach twisted.

Draco sighed. “For fuck’s sake.”

"Alright, alright, break it up,” Blaise muttered, reaching out to push Mattheo back slightly. “You two are gonna start swinging, and I swear, I am not in the mood to watch you get detention over this.”

Mattheo finally let go, shoving Theo back roughly before exhaling through his nose, nostrils flaring.

Theo smoothed his collar, clearly pleased with himself.

You, however, were done.

Slamming your fork down, you stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. "Both of you," you snapped, voice low but sharp. "Get your fucking egos in check." leaving the great hall more pissed than ever.

You slammed the door to your dorm behind you, heart still hammering in your chest.

Fucking idiots.

You couldn’t believe them—Theo, with his smug little taunts, practically poking Mattheo just to piss him off, and Mattheo, falling for it like an arrogant, possessive prick.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, tugging it off with more force than necessary. You weren’t even fully undressed before the door swung open behind you.

“Seriously?”Mattheo’s voice was dark, low—dangerous.

You didn’t turn around, just rolled your eyes, tossing your robe onto your bed. “If you came here to throw a tantrum, Mattheo, I’m not in the mood.”

He scoffed. “Oh, you’re not in the mood?”

You arched a brow. “What was that?”

Mattheo took a step forward, and you instinctively took one back. “Theo just sits there, talking about you like you’re some trophy he won, and you don’t even flinch?”

“You do the same shit,” you shot back. “Don’t pretend like your ego wasn’t bruised the second you found out you weren’t the first to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. “Does he know you came for me last night? Does he know how wet you were for me?”

Before you could open your mouth, another voice cut through the tension.

“D’you two always argue like this after fucking?”

Your head snapped toward the door.

Theo leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. Unlike Mattheo, he still looked completely composed—like he had walked in expecting this exact moment.

Mattheo didn’t move, just exhaled through his nose. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Theo shrugged. “Call it curiosity. I wanted to see what had you so riled up after breakfast.” His gaze flickered to you, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over your half-undone uniform. “Looks like I found my answer.”

He walked towards the both of you with an eased slowness that made your pulse spike.

"You’re gonna fix it."

Your breath hitched.

"Fix it?" you echoed, voice dangerously light.

Theo leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.

"You’re gonna let us both fuck you."

The room shrank. Your heart slammed against your ribs, a wild staccato of disbelief and arousal. Theo’s presence behind you was suffocating, his fingertips ghosting over the nape of your neck. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension simmering between the three of you so thick it left you lightheaded.

“You wanna fix it, don’t you?” Theo’s voice was honeyed sin, coaxing. “You wanna make it up to us.”

Theo pressed closer from behind, his body solid against yours, a quiet hum of approval slipping from his throat. “Come on, princess. Be a good girl and say it.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs. You should say no. You should push them away, leave them standing there with their smug smirks and dangerous eyes.

But you wouldn’t. Because you wanted this.

You swallowed. “You two can’t go five minutes without trying to kill each other,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Theo hummed. ��That’s part of the fun.”

Then, Mattheo finally spoke. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitched. “Thinking about what?”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall, his voice dropping to a whisper. “How it would feel.”

You could lie. You could push them away. But the way they were looking at you—Mattheo’s gaze dark and commanding, Theo’s filled with knowing amusement—you knew they wouldn’t believe you.

Your lips parted. No sound came out.

Theo chuckled. "That’s what I thought."

Mattheo's grip slid from your chin down to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. "Use your words, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and rough.

Your thighs clenched.

Fuck.

"Both," you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Theo’s fingers gripped your waist, yanking you flush against him. His hard cock pressed into the curve of your ass through his trousers, and he knew you could feel it. “You have no fucking idea what you just agreed to, princess,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and dripping with promise.

Mattheo’s fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to look at him. His mouth crashed against yours, devouring you, his hands already working on the buttons of your blouse. Theo’s hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back so he could watch. “So fucking needy,” he muttered.

Your blouse hit the floor.

Theo turned you in his grip, claiming your lips this time, his tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, desperate kiss. Mattheo’s hands were rough as they gripped your waist, sliding down to your skirt, yanking the fabric up over your hips.

“Fuck,” Mattheo growled. “She’s soaked.”

Your breath hitched as he dragged his fingers over the damp lace of your panties, pressing down just enough to make you whimper.

Mattheo groaned, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties, ripping them down your legs.

You gasped. “Mattheo—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, shoving you back against Theo. “Get on the bed.”

Theo grabbed your waist, manhandling you onto the mattress, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you up onto your knees.

Theo’s belt hit the floor with a heavy thud, his sharp gaze locked on you as he shoved his trousers down just enough to free himself. His cock stood thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as he stroked himself lazily.

“Open your mouth, princess.”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, your lips parting as he guided himself forward. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you steady as he slid between your lips, hissing at the warmth of your mouth around him.

“That’s it,” Theo murmured, his voice low, rough. “Just like that.”

Behind you, Mattheo’s hands gripped your hips, his body flush against yours as he guided his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you with shallow, taunting thrusts.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re still so tight, baby. Thought Theo would’ve stretched you out by now.”

You whimpered around Theo’s cock, the sound making him curse, his fingers tightening in your hair.

Theo groaned. “She’s always tight.”

Mattheo exhaled a laugh, then thrust into you all at once.

A whimper tore from your throat, muffled around Theo’s cock as Mattheo filled you to the hilt, stretching you open with one deep stroke. Your nails dug into Theo’s thighs, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

“Fuck,” Theo gritted, his head tipping back. “You feel that, Riddle? Feel how she’s squeezing you?”

Mattheo groaned, fingers bruising your hips as he pulled back and slammed into you again. “Tight as fuck.”

They set a rhythm that had you unraveling too fast, Theo’s slow thrusts in your mouth syncing with Mattheo’s brutal pace behind you. Your body rocked between them, pleasure blinding, each snap of Mattheo’s hips sending you forward onto Theo’s cock.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as Theo wiped a thumb across your cheekbone, his smirk sharp as he forced you to take him deeper.

“Look at you,” Theo murmured. “So desperate for it.”

Mattheo’s hand cracked against your ass, making you yelp around Theo, your walls clenching hard around Mattheo’s cock.

“Oh, she likes that,” Mattheo taunted, slamming into you harder, deeper. Theo laughed, guiding your head up and down his length, groaning as your throat tightened around him. “Gonna cum for us, princess?”

You moaned in response, your body tightening, teetering dangerously close to the edge. Mattheo could feel it, too, his grip becoming bruising as he fucked you harder, his rhythm growing erratic.

“That’s it,” Mattheo groaned. “Cum for us.”

The orgasm slammed into you, a choked cry leaving your lips as your body shook, pleasure crashing over you in thick, hot waves.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Theo growled, his own restraint snapping as he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, his grip on your hair tightening as he held you still, spilling down your throat.

Mattheo was seconds behind, slamming into you one last time before he groaned your name, his fingers digging into your hips as he emptied himself inside you, warmth spilling deep.

Theo was the first to move, slipping from your mouth with a satisfied hum, swiping his thumb across your lips to gather the last remnants of himself before pushing it back into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he praised.

Mattheo pulled out with a groan, his hands shaky as he slid his fingers over your hips, pulling you back against him for a slow kiss on your neck. Theo’s chest heaved, his gaze fixed on you as he caught his breath, still trying to get control of his own erratic pulse.

Mattheo and Theo had collapsed beside you, catching their breath, fucked-out and satisfied. You looked up at them both, your body tingling from the aftershocks, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed.

You licked your lips, letting the silence settle for a moment before humming softly, tilting your head.

“That’s all you got?”

Theo barked out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Are you serious?”

Mattheo lifted his head, eyes dark, jaw clenching. “You’re pushing it, princess.”

Your lips curled. “yeah well it was cute.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “Cute?” he repeated, voice laced with something dangerous.

You stretched out, making a show of it, skin still burning from where they had touched you. “Yeah. Real cute. You boys put in a good effort.”

Theo snorted, shaking his head. Mattheo, though? He leaned in, gripping your chin between his fingers, “Princess,” he murmured, voice all gravel and threat. “You’re gonna wanna shut the fuck up.”

Your grin was wicked.

“Oh?” you purred. “Or what? You’ll fuck me properly next time?”

Theo let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, you’re insane.”

Well this had been fun, but now you were done. Sitting up, massaging your neck slowly, voice flat, uninterested.

"Alright. Time’s up. Get the fuck out."

Mattheo’s grin twitched. Theo barely reacted, just tilting his head like he was waiting for you to crack a smile.

"You’re serious?" Theo muttered, sitting up.

You gave him the most unimpressed look known to man.

"You thought I was gonna fall asleep in your arms or some shit?"

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, running a hand through his messy curls. "You’re actually throwing us out."

You barely spared him a glance.

"Clothes are over there. Door’s right there. Don’t make me say it again."

Theo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as he stood, stretching like this was all some big joke. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, grabbing his shirt off the floor.

Mattheo, though? He wasn’t laughing. He stayed put, gaze burning into you like he was trying to decipher some hidden meaning in your words.

You met his stare, arching a brow. “What?” feigning innocence as trailed your finger down his sweat slicked chest.

Mattheo scoffed, shoving your hand away before grabbing his shirt off the floor. “You’re a fucking nightmare.”

Theo, already at the door, sighed. “Alright, lover boy, let’s go before she bruises your ego any more.”

Mattheo lingered for a second longer, eyes raking over you, searching for something—anything—that suggested you might be playing at indifference. But you just stared back, cool, unreadable.

With a low curse, he turned on his heel, yanking the door open. “You know where to find us,” he tossed over his shoulder.

You didn’t reply. Didn’t watch them leave. Satisfied with yourself, already reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand.

Boys. So fucking easy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: i regret nothing

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

#mattheo riddle #theodore nott #mattheo smut #slytherin boys #theodore smut #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #theo nott #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin #mattheodore #mattheo x y/n #theo nott x reader #nott #divider creds: cafekitsune

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starconchs · 8 months ago

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𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 (?) 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄— gojo satoru

pairing: racer!gojo x race engineer!reader genre: formula 1 au, fluff summary: he's insufferable (and wants to ask you out) and you're just trying to help him win the championship notes: formula 1 has ruined my life. probably lots of inconsistencies but i sped wrote this. this turned out a lot longer than i initially planned. gn reader but mention of wearing a dress. word count: ~3.2k

It's hot.

Your nose scrunches up in mild disgust as you feel a bead of sweat trickle down your neck, quickly making it's way towards the collar of your shirt before it's wiped away with a soft towel.

"Thanks," you mutter, looking up to meet a pair of bright blue eyes accompanied by a swoon-worthy smile. You huff lightly at the wink Gojo sends your way, turning away slightly to let your eyes roam over the rest of the paddock. Your lips turn up into a smile when you catch sight of Geto Suguru walking past your garage, and you return his greeting with a wave of your own before you hear Gojo grumble from his place beside you.

"Fraternizing with the enemy," he says, annoyance coating his words. He crosses his arms, unintentionally flexing and drawing your gaze towards his torso. His black fireproofs fit him snugly, and you find your mouth going dry as you try your best not to ogle him. You wonder if the temperature's gotten hotter. "That's not very nice of you."

"He's not the enemy," you protest, turning away to grab Gojo's helmet before thrusting it into his chest. "He's your best friend."

"Off track he is," Gojo agrees, holding onto the helmet. He pulls you in slightly, raising a brow when you don't immediately let it go. "But on track, he's my biggest competition. So you should be focused on me, not him. He's only a handful of points behind me."

"I'd hardly call one hundred points a handful," you mutter, turning to the side to grab a clipboard. "I think you're guaranteed to win the championship this year. Plus, Megumi's been doing great as well. Kid is in third place and it's only his second year! I think we've got the constructor's in the bag as well."

"All I need is a couple of bad races and next thing you know, Geto Suguru is the 2024 World Champion."

"Bad races," you snort, guiding Gojo towards his car and shoving his balaclava into his free hand. "Gojo Satoru does not have bad races. I don't know how you do it. I feel like you never drop below second place."

"It's all thanks to those genius strategies of yours," Gojo quips, watching in amusement as you shake your head in mild disbelief. There's a soft glint in his eye that you never seem to notice, and he finds himself wondering if maybe he should be a little more obvious about his feelings. (Everyone else on the grid and even the majority of the fans know he has the hots for you, so really, you're just the densest person to exist).

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you say, waving him off as you start to make your way towards the rest of your team. "Pull your suit up and go get settled in."

Gojo watches you for a couple of minutes, leaning against a cement column with his arms crossed. He doesn't know how, but watching you organize the team and go over your notes has become his pre-race ritual. He's so lost in thought that he fails to notice the cameras pointed at him, broadcasting the lovestruck look on his face for everyone watching the race live to see.

"Ready to go?"

Gojo snaps out of his daze when his team principal, Yaga Masamichi, comes up to him. There's a faint smirk on his lips as he motions towards you, his sunglasses hiding the teasing glint that Gojo just knows is present. "Or is there something you need to urgently discuss with your beloved race engineer?"

Gojo rolls his eyes but chooses to remain silent before pulling his balaclava over his head. He's abnormally quiet as he settles into his seat, and when he catches sight of you giving him a thumbs up from afar, he decides to ask you out right after he beats Geto and wins first place.

"Radio check."

"I can hear you loud and clear," you respond, your voice carrying the same lilt that Gojo's does. He laughs quietly, settling into the second position after the formation lap. A glance to his left leaves him scowling when he sees Geto flip him off, and he sighs deeply before realizing that his radio is still on. "Something wrong?"

"Just Suguru being an asshole," he responds, his irritation fading away when you attempt to choke down your laughter.

"Radio is still on," you manage to spit out. "Mind your language."

"You can reprimand me later," Gojo says immediately, well aware that his radio has probably drawn the broadcaster's attention. "Over dinner, maybe? Just you and me in the candlelight at that little Italian place you like."

"Win the race and then maybe I'll consider it," you hum, amusement tinging your words as you shake your head. Gojo can't help but pout when he realizes that you're dismissing his words as a joke, and he merely huffs before turning his radio off and telling himself that he has to beat Geto to the first turn if he wants any chance of winning this race.

It isn't long until lights out, and Gojo finds himself reacting just quick enough to push past Geto's car and take the lead. He catches a glimpse of Megumi gaining on Yuuji, eventually passing him and allowing him to start catching up to Geto. Seeing that his biggest competition is now being distracted by his teammate, Gojo turns his focus back to the track, trying to put as much distance between him and Geto as possible. A few laps pass before he hears his radio crackle to life, and he hears you speak softly so as to not startle him with the suddenness of your words.

"You're seven seconds ahead of Geto," you say, earning a hum of acknowledgement in return. "You also currently have the fastest lap so please focus on managing your tyres."

"The tyres are fine," Gojo's voice trills through your headphones. You glance over at Yaga, grimacing when you see him shaking his head.

"There's been reports of graining," you respond nonchalantly. "Please take better care of your tyres unless you want us to pit you earlier than planned and switch to plan B."

"Alright, whatever," Gojo grumbles, going quiet for a few seconds before speaking once more. "Now let me focus on driving. The sooner I win, the sooner I can see your pretty face."

You roll your eyes at his words, raising an eyebrow in confusion when Yaga fails to muffle his amused chuckle.

"Something funny?" you ask, leaning back slightly to look at the older man. He holds his hands up in surrender, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the monitor in front of him. You roll your eyes briefly before turning back to the pit wall as well, ignoring the words Yaga mutters under his breath about someone being oblivious.

The race progresses smoothly, and you find yourself feeling thankful that both you and Tsumiki (Megumi's race engineer) have had an uneventful race so far. It isn't until the race is about a third of the way through that you finally turn the radio on again, holding out a hand to stop Tsumiki from doing the same. "Gojo? We are boxing next lap, do you copy?"

"Copy," he responds immediately, his tone uncharacteristically serious for once. "Are we sticking with plan A?"

"Yes, you listened for once," you confirm, nodding your head even though he can't see you. "You have enough of a gap that we can comfortably put you on hards and have you back in the top spot in no time. The track is warm enough for those tyres."

"I always listen to you," Gojo replies without missing a beat. "Anything you say goes."

A deep sigh is all he gets in return, and he can't help the small chuckles that leaves his lips as he finishes his lap and prepares to pull into the pit lane. The stop is performed without a hitch, and you sigh in relief when Gojo emerges in third place, only a couple of seconds behind Megumi. You exchanged nods with Tsumiki, and you turn your attention back to the monitor in front of you as she radios Megumi to come in for his pit stop next.

"Okay, Gojo," you speak when you see Megumi head into the pit lane. "We're getting Megumi in and out as fast as possible. Geto is about ten seconds ahead of you, it's time to push."

"Perfect, but not as perfect as you" Gojo sings, swearing as he takes a turn a little too wide.

"Make that eleven seconds," you correct, biting your lips to hold back a laugh when Gojo swears again. "Go do your thing. I'll keep you updated."

There's no response as the radio clicks off, and you find yourself wincing when you realize that Megumi's slow pit stop has dropped him down to fifth place behind Yuuji's twin brother, Sukuna. You can hear hushed words coming from Tsumiki, and you can't help but feel bad for her predicament considering that Sukuna is the reason that Megumi hadn't been able to finish his race a couple of weeks ago after being pushed off track and into the barrier.

You watch with bated breath as the gap between Gojo and Geto begins to close, and you cross your fingers and hope that Shoko, his race engineer, will choose that moment to call him in for a tyre change. Your hopes go unanswered, and you're on the edge of your seat when Gojo managed to catch up to Geto after ten laps.

The air feels tense as you and Yaga watch Gojo get incredibly close to Geto, separating from him right as he turns a corner to avoid being hit. He's close to him— too close, you think— and you find yourself taking a deep breath to prevent yourself from turning on the radio to tell him to stop being so aggressive. A glance to your right tells you that Yaga isn't concerned with Gojo's driving, so you decide to let him be and see how the situation works out.

Your fingers grip onto your clipboard, knuckles going white as Gojo manages to swerve himself into the spot right next to Geto. You're slightly awestruck as you watch Geto and Gojo race wheel to wheel, their synchronicity impressive as they take tight corners and long straights in unison. There's a brief moment during which you wonder what it would be like if they were teammates, and you shake your head to clear the thoughts from your head. You fear that being teammates could damage their friendship beyond repair.

"There's been contact!" Yaga shouts, snapping you back to reality. You scramble for the radio button, a gasp leaving your lips as you watch Gojo swerve close to the edge of the track. You see Geto move in the opposite direction, and you quickly scan all the monitors before speaking to your racer.

"Gojo, there was contact but the car seems to be perfectly fine," you say calmly, watching as he straightens himself out and passes Geto. "That's P1."

"Great!" Gojo replies breathlessly, his voice sounding slightly strained. "How is Geto? Is he fine?"

You take a second to glance to the side, receiving a nod from Yaga before he motions to the pit lane. A soft call of your name has you turning your attention back to the radio, and you nod to yourself before updating Gojo. "He's fine, slight front wing damage so Shoko brought him in to get that changed along with his tyres. You're in the lead and we're waiting to see what the stewards will say about the incident. We think you might get a warning."

"Alright, better than a penalty," Gojo says, nodding to himself as he takes another turn. "Just a couple more laps and then I can take you out for that dinner."

"I said I'd think about it," you reply dryly, ignoring the giggle that leaves Tsumiki's lips. "Just bring it home. Geto had a bad pit stop so him, Yuuji, and Megumi are like fifteen seconds behind you."

"Whoa! Megumi made it past Sukuna? The kid's got balls."

"Language, Gojo," you remind him, sighing softly. "I'm turning the radio off now. Don't fuck this up."

"Language!" Gojo mocks, his laugh cutting out as you turn the radio off. You spend the last quarter of the race watching Megumi alongside Tsumiki, slightly impressed as Gojo manages to retain his now sixteen second lead. It isn't until Geto manages to break away from Yuuji and Megumi that you start to get nervous, and you watch as he begins to push the last few laps of the race.

"Gojo?" you ask, the radio crackling to life as you watch the monitors. "Just letting you know that Geto has managed to pull ahead of Yuuji and Megumi. I don't think he can catch up but there's still a couple of laps and he always manages to surprise us."

The silence you receive unsettles you, and you mutely turn the radio off and sit back to watch the end of the race. There's not much you can do but rely on Gojo to pull through, and you can vaguely hear Tsumiki talking to Megumi over the radio as he battles with Yuuji. You're on the edge of your seat when Geto manages to set the fastest lap in the race, and you begin to worry that he might be able to catch up to Gojo, only for your fears to be quelled when you realize that it is the final lap of the race.

"Last lap, Gojo!" you call out, turning the radio on in excitement. "Bring it home!"

"Last lap?" he asks, laughing breathlessly when he receives a hum from you. "How far behind me is the next car?"

"Fourteen seconds," you respond, bouncing your knee up and down in anticipation as he turns the last corner. The upcoming straight is the only thing between him and the finish line, and you feel your heart drop when Gojo's car suddenly starts to lose speed. "Gojo? Are you losing power?"

"Nope!" he chirps cheerily, humming softly to himself. "Are you feeling Italian? We can always choose a different restaurant for dinner?"

You do your best to ignore the anxiety creeping up your spine, watching as Gojo trails towards the finish line at what can only be described as a snail's pace compared to the speed of Formula 1 cars. Your eyes widen when you see the gap between him and Geto close, and you do your best to not let your nervousness creep into your tone. "Gojo, is really not the time to be talking about dinner."

"But you're going out to dinner with me right?" comes his immediate response.

"Gojo, please hurry up and cross the finish line."

"Not until you agree to go out with me!" he trills. Yaga shoots you a pleading glance.

"Gojo! Please! Just win the race!" you beg, swallowing harshly as your fingers begin to tap against your clipboard. You catch a glimpse of the amused look on Tsumiki's face, but you're unable to give her the scathing glare you usually would due to the fear you're beginning to feel.

"I can stay here all day," he replies smugly, giggling to himself as he speeds the car up just to slow down once more. "Well I can't, but I can stay here until I cross the finish line in P20."

"Oh my fucking god," you nearly shriek, watching as Geto takes the final turn and begins to head down the straight. "Yes! Yes, I'll go out with you, Gojo! Now please just cross the damn finish line, you dumbass!"

"My pleasure!" he teases, slamming his foot down on the accelerator just in time to cross the finish line a second before Geto. A loud whoop leaves Yaga's mouth as everyone in the pit wall relaxes, too relieved by Gojo's win to instantly realize that Megumi has managed to cross the finish line before Yuuji. The cheers surrounding you sound muted as you put your head in your hands, trying to calm your racing heart and fight off a smile as you realize that you now have a date for the night.

You barely process anything as Tsumiki drags you towards the now parked racecars, and you try your best to ignore Shoko's smug smirk as she whispers into Geto's ear. You think it's safe to assume that she's filling him in on what happened with Gojo during the last lap.

His loud laugh accompanies by a friendly wink thrown your way confirms your assumption.

You stand near the back of the crowd as Gojo stands on top of his car, holding his pointer finger up and posing for pictures before leaping back onto the ground and proceeding to congratulate Geto and Megumi for their performances. You manage to catch his eye after a few minutes, and you feel your face grow warm when a genuine smile spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling as he makes his way through the crowd towards you.

"Congrats on P1," you say quietly, trying your best to ignore the way he's looking at you.

"All thanks to your genius strategies," he quips, repeating his words from earlier. The smile on his face tells you that he wants to make a suggestive comment, and you do your best to redirect the conversation before he can.

"You should probably head into the cooldown room," you comment casually, tilting your head in the direction that Geto and Megumi had disappeared to. "Podium celebration is about to start. Don't forget to get weighed."

"Don't forget to wear that pretty, red dress I like," he responds confidently. A surprised laugh leaves your lips at his comment, and you can't help but shake your head fondly as you finally look up at him.

"You know, you didn't have to give me a heart attack during the race. You could've asked me out after the race like a normal person. I would've said yes," you confess, becoming hyperaware of all the attention the two of you seem to be drawing.

"What can I say?" Gojo responds, shrugging half-heartedly as he takes a few steps closer to you. He's close enough that you can see the varying shades of blue in his eyes, and you resist the urge to jokingly push him away when he loops an arm around your waist. "I tend to have a flair for the dramatic."

"Oh boy, don't I know it," you whisper, not giving him the chance to respond before you loop your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss. Both of you faintly register the whoops and cheers surrounding you, and you can't help but break apart from each other as laughter starts to bubble up in your throats.

It isn't until you fully pull away from him and usher him towards the cooldown room that you notice the sheer amount of cameras that have been pointed your way, focusing on the moment that has just been shared between the both of you. An embarrassed noise escapes your lips as you duck into your team's garage, giggling when you hear Yaga congratulating you loudly on your win. A smile spreads across your face as you settle into a seat to watch the podium ceremony, and you find yourself wondering if you and Gojo will manage to evade the press when you finally leave the track.

It's safe to say that the internet has a field day when the news of Gojo's end-of-race stunt and your spontaneous kiss breaks.

ty for reading!! rbs are appreciated <3

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo imagine #gojou imagine #satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojou fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo imagines

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natsaffection · 11 days ago

Text

Redline. (Bonus) | N.R

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

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Fluff, Fluff, Fluff, 18+! MINORS DNI! (Fingering, begging, strap on use (r receiving), rough, overstimulation)

Word count: 7,4k

A/N: First side chapter! I hope the connections work well because this one includes five requests in one…so fingers crossed 🫶🏼

Thick sheets of water poured from the sky, turning the track into a hazardous mess. The FIA had delayed the start once, then twice, and now, the red flag was officially out before the race had even begun.

Cars sat motionless in the pit lane, engines off, tires cold, drivers waiting. The mechanics lingered by the garage doors, their radios crackling with updates from race control, but everyone already knew the truth.

The race wasn’t happening. Not now. The downpour was relentless. And that left you waiting. Your mind had been running through every possible scenario, memorizing every corner of the track, picturing every overtaking opportunity. And now? Now you were sitting in the garage, watching nothing happen.

The delay meant everything was on hold. No formation lap. No lights out. No adrenaline. Just the sound of rain hammering against the roof and the distant, muffled voices of team members discussing if the race would even start today.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Your body was tense, your mind restless. You needed to shut it off. With a quiet huff, you grabbed your headphones, untangling the cord with slightly trembling fingers. You needed music, something to settle your nerves. Something to drown out the endless waiting.

That’s when you noticed it. A black jacket was draped over a chair nearby, thick and warm-looking. Without a second thought, you grabbed it. The moment you wrapped it around yourself, a familiar scent surrounded you. Leather. The faintest trace of expensive perfume.

And Natasha.

You sank further into your seat, pulling the collar up, breathing it in, letting the weight of it calm you. It was warm. Safe. Comforting. And before you knew it, you were out. The exhaustion won. Headphones still playing softly in your ears, Natasha’s jacket wrapped around you, you slipped into sleep.

Natasha had just finished arguing with race control, demanding to know when an actual decision would be made. The waiting was killing her. Everything had been meticulously planned for today. She had planned for weather strategy, tire strategy, race pace, everything, but not this. Not sitting in the garage for hours, staring at a rain-soaked track, waiting for the FIA to make a call.

Her body was cold, the wind seeping into the open garage, and her frustration grew. She needed her damn jacket. She walked toward the chair where she had left it earlier. Except..it wasn’t there. Instead, another jacket was draped over the back. She sighed and grabbed it. Only the moment her fingers curled around the fabric, she froze.

The scent hit her instantly. It wasn’t hers. It was yours. She clenched the jacket tighter, bringing it closer as if to confirm it. Yeah. It was yours.

And now, for some reason, it smelled like you and only you. Natasha’s lips parted slightly, her pulse kicking up just a little. It was a ridiculous, pathetic reaction, and she knew it. But God..she liked it. The idea that something of yours smelled like you. That you had worn it, had made it yours, had left a piece of yourself in the fabric.

She exhaled sharply, trying to shake herself free of the ridiculous warmth spreading through her chest. What the hell was wrong with her? She cleared her throat and looked around, until she found you. Curled up in the corner of the garage, head tilted slightly, lips parted, headphones still playing faintly.

And wrapped around you, her jacket. She had seen you in hundreds of moments. On the track, at press conferences, in the paddock, in her home, in her arms, but never like this.

Never this soft. Never this unguarded. And wearing her jacket like it belonged to you. Something deep in her chest tightened. It was undeniably, disgustingly adorable.

“Oh my God.” Yelena’s voice shattered the moment. Natasha sighed. Here we go. Yelena stepped beside her, arms crossed, grinning like she had just found the best gossip of the year.

“Are you seeing this?” she whispered dramatically. “Is this what love looks like?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Yelena.”

“No, no, no..I’m serious! Look at her!” Yelena gestured wildly toward you. “That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s literally cuddling your jacket. Like a lost puppy.”

Natasha huffed, shaking her head. She refused to entertain this conversation. “She was tired. Let her rest.” She turned back toward you. You were still sleeping, still curled into the warmth, still completely oblivious to the two Romanoff sisters staring at you.

And before she could stop herself, Natasha stepped forward. She crouched down next to you, carefully, silently, watching you breathe. The jacket had slipped slightly from your shoulders.

She adjusted it without thinking, tucking it back around you so you wouldn’t get cold. Yelena let out an exaggerated sigh behind her. “If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

Natasha shot her a glare that could kill. Yelena grinned. Natasha shook her head. And then, she let you rest. Because, for once, you looked peaceful. And she wasn’t going to take that from you.

A few hours later, you woke up slowly. For a moment, the world felt muffled, the low hum of voices in the background, the occasional sound of footsteps against wet pavement, the ever-present drumming of rain against the garage roof.

With a quiet sigh, you pulled off your headphones and rubbed your eyes, blinking against the dim lighting of the garage. Most of the crew was still huddled around monitors, waiting for updates from race control, but no one seemed particularly hopeful.

You needed to move. Still wrapped in Natasha’s jacket, you pulled yourself out of the chair, rolling your stiff shoulders. Your legs ached from sitting too long, your body craving motion.

So you started walking. The paddock was quieter than usual. Drivers, engineers, and team members were scattered across the grid, waiting for an update that refused to come.

As you strolled past one of the hospitality lounges, you spotted a group of drivers gathered, laughing and joking like schoolkids on a rainy day. They saw you approaching and immediately smirked.

“Ah, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I was literally asleep for like an hour. What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, nothing.” A driver grinned. “Just that you were knocked out in Romanoff’s garage, wrapped in her jacket like a baby bear in hibernation.”

Laughter erupted around you. You felt your cheeks warm slightly but kept your expression neutral. “You’re all obsessed with me. It’s embarrassing, really.”

Another driver raised an eyebrow. “No, we’re obsessed with the fact that you’re basically the only person who’s ever tamed Natasha Romanoff.”

You scoffed. “Tamed? Please.”

“Admit it.” A driver smirked. “She lets you get away with things no one else could.”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Really?” Another driver tilted his head. “Because last time I saw, she didn’t even let her engineers breathe wrong during race briefings, but when you interrupt her? She just sighs like you’re a mild inconvenience.”

The group chuckled. “Yeah, like a cat knocking things over and the owner just accepts their fate.”

You pretended to think about it. “Hmm. Maybe I’m just her favorite..”

A few of them groaned playfully. “Unfair.”

“Okay, but seriously,” one of them leaned in. “How is it? Dating your boss?”

You paused for a second, feeling the weight of the question. How was it? It was Natasha grilling you in strategy meetings, pushing you harder than anyone else, expecting nothing less than perfection. It was also Natasha leaving extra food in the fridge for you after late-night training, bringing you coffee exactly how you liked it, running her fingers through your hair when no one was watching.

You exhaled, shrugging. “She’s…Natasha.”

The group groaned. “Oh, come on, give us something!”

You smirked. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but you do kiss?” One of them grinned.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You guys are worse than the media.”

“We just want to know if she’s as terrifying off-track as she is on.”

You thought about it for a moment before smirking. “I’ll let you wonder.”

Groans filled the air again as a few of them shoved you lightly.

“You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I’m plenty fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Romanoff’s favorite.”

Just as you were about to tease them back, a voice crackled through a nearby intercom.

“Y/l/n.”

You froze. You didn’t even need to see the name attached to the comm. That voice alone was unmistakable.

The drivers around you all stiffened slightly, exchanging glances. You grabbed a spare earpiece, clicking the receiver. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence. Then, Natasha’s low, firm, unmistakably authoritative voice came through. “Where are you?”

Your stomach flipped. You cleared your throat. “Just walking around.”

“Come back to the garage.” A few of the drivers grinned.

“Ooooh.”

“She’s summoning you.”

“Better go before she sends a search party.”

You shot them a glare. “You guys are ridiculous.”

A driver smirked. “We’re not the ones being personally requested by Natasha Romanoff.”

You sighed, shaking your head but unable to hide the small smile on your lips. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

As you walked off, you heard one last parting joke from behind you. “Tell your girlfriend we said hi!”

You didn’t turn around. But as you entered the garage and saw Natasha waiting, arms crossed, green eyes locked on you like she had been tracking you the entire time, you couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading through your chest.

You barely had time to process before Natasha uncrossed her arms and tilted her head ever so slightly, her lips curling into an amused smirk. “Comfortable?”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh?”

She gestured toward you with a lazy flick of her fingers. More specifically, toward her jacket. The one still wrapped snugly around your body. Your stomach dropped as you glanced down, realizing exactly what she meant. Shit.

You had completely forgotten you were still wearing it. Before you could even attempt to play it off, Natasha took a slow, measured step forward.

“That’s mine.” Her voice was low, almost teasing, but there was something else in her tone, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet. “Uh… it was cold?”

Natasha hummed, clearly enjoying this. “So, what? You just decided to steal my jacket?”

You crossed your arms, trying to regain some level of control in this conversation. “You weren’t using it.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer. “That doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

You met her gaze, refusing to back down. “Finders, keepers.”

The smirk on her lips widened. “Is that how we’re playing this?”

Your heart skipped when she reached for the collar of the jacket, tugging it just slightly, just enough to make you stumble a step closer.

Your breath hitched. “Maybe.”

Natasha studied you for a long moment, her fingers still curled around the edge of the fabric. Then, before you could process what was happening, she tugged again. This time, harder.

You yelped as she used the leverage to pull you flush against her, your chests nearly touching. Your hands instinctively shot up, gripping onto the jacket as she hovered way too close, her breath fanning against your cheek.

Her voice dipped into dangerously low territory. “You look good in my clothes, detka.”

Your stomach flipped. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Natasha’s smirk deepened, clearly satisfied with herself.

Then, as if nothing had just happened, she released you. You stumbled backward slightly, heart hammering, your brain still trying to catch up with what the hell that was. And then she delivered the second bombshell.

“The race is canceled.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Natasha leaned against the workbench, arms crossed again, completely unfazed. “The FIA just called it off.”

Your stomach twisted. “They did?”

Natasha nodded. “The storm is only getting worse. No point in waiting it out.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply. “So… we just go home?”

Natasha shrugged. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the garage.”

You shot her a look, but she was already grabbing her things, clearly ready to leave.

She paused by the exit, glancing over her shoulder at you.

“Are you coming?”

The car hummed steadily, the open road stretching out ahead as the last remnants of daylight cast golden streaks across the sky.

You sat in the passenger seat, one leg tucked under you, absentmindedly playing with the zipper of her jacket.

Natasha, on the other hand, was completely at ease, one hand resting on the wheel, the other lazily draped over the gear shift.

You sighed, stretching slightly. “The new car is nice.”

Natasha smirked slightly, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” You ran your fingers over the leather seat. “Sturdy. Strong. Feels…reliable.”

“That’s the point, dorogoy (sweetheart)”.”

You hummed, pretending to consider something. “I bet you could do all sorts of things with a car like this.”

Natasha’s fingers tapped idly against the wheel. “Like?”

You hesitated for half a second before shrugging, trying to sound casual.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, staring out the window. “Like… maybe someone could get bent over the hood or something, Ha! imagine..”

Silence. You immediately regretted it. You could feel Natasha’s eyes flick toward you, even if just for a second. You swallowed. “That was just a thought-”

“Huh.” she mused, way too relaxed, way too amused. “Interesting idea.”

Your face flushed instantly. “Forget I said anything.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Natasha-”

“No, no, I think you were onto something.”

You groaned loudly, covering your face. “I WAS JOKING!”

“Mhm.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, her smirk now fully intact, her eyes practically glinting with mischief.

“You think about that a lot, huh?” she teased.

“Oh my god!”

“Aerodynamics. Can’t have too much wind resistance.” she mused, completely ignoring you.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Do you?” she smirked. “Because I think you’re flustered, sweetheart.”

You whined, hiding your face in your hands. “I AM NEVER SPEAKING AGAIN.”

“Shame.” Natasha exhaled through her nose, smirking. “Because now I really want to see what happens when you win the next race.”

Your head snapped up. “What?!!”

“Win the next race..” she said, completely nonchalant, eyes on the road. “And maybe we’ll see just how sturdy this car really is.”

Your brain short-circuited. “I-”

Natasha just smirked wider, shifting gears effortlessly. “What’s wrong, baby?” she teased, glancing at you. “You were just joking, right?”

You whimpered, staring at her. And Natasha? She just kept driving. Like she hadn’t just ruined you completely.

——

The moment she stepped in her garage, days later, she halted. There, in the middle of the garage floor, was a group of mechanics, all hunched over, intensely focused on something.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. It took her a second to register what the hell was happening. They were racing toy cars.

Tiny remote-controlled cars zoomed across the floor, weaving through obstacles made from spare parts and stacked tires. The mechanics were completely absorbed, cheering each other on, and right in the middle of it..

You.

You were crouched low, gripping a tiny controller, your eyes locked on the miniature car speeding ahead of the others. Natasha stared. Before she could say anything, one of the mechanics spotted her.

“Shit, boss is here!” Instantly, the whole group scattered like guilty schoolchildren. Some grabbed tools, pretending to be busy. Others straightened up, wiping their hands on their uniforms. One guy even picked up a clipboard and nodded like he was taking notes.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, watching them all awkwardly shuffle away. Then, her gaze landed on you. You hadn’t moved. Instead, you were grinning.

Natasha exhaled, crossing her arms. “Really?”

You shrugged. “We had time.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t let the smirk form. “And this is what you do with it?”

You held up a spare controller, wiggling it between your fingers. “Wanna play?”

Natasha deadpanned. Silence. “No.”

You just kept grinning. “Scared you’ll lose?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. You smirked. Checkmate. With an exasperated sigh, she snatched the controller from your hand. You tried to hide your excitement but failed miserably.

The game was on and fifteen minutes later…Natasha Romanoff, feared Team Principal, was fully immersed in a miniature race. Her forehead creased in concentration, fingers pressing the buttons with sharp precision, eyes locked on the tiny red car speeding ahead.

“What?”

Your car cut her off perfectly, sliding into the lead. You let out a victorious laugh, flashing her a smirk. “Too slow..”

Natasha gritted her teeth, her competitive instincts fully kicking in. “Oh, you little-”

She pressed forward aggressively, maneuvering her car with flawless skill. The mechanics, who had initially tried to get back to work, were now casually watching from a distance, whispering bets on who would win.

Natasha was determined. She lined up the perfect overtake, waiting for the exact moment to strike. Then..Her car clipped yours. Spun out. Crashed and stopped. You burst out laughing. “DID YOU JUST TAKE YOURSELF OUT?!”

Natasha blinked. Then she stared at the tiny car, still flipped on its side. She exhaled slowly. She dropped the controller onto the table, turned on her heel, and walked away. Not a word. Just pure, silent, defeated dignity.

You called after her, still laughing. “C’mon, I’ll give you a rematch!”

Natasha didn’t look back. But as she reached the door, you caught it. The tiny, amused smirk pulling at her lips. Minutes later you were still grinning like an idiot when your phone buzzed.

Meet me outside the garage. Now.

Your smirk widened. Curious, you stretched, cracking your knuckles before making your way toward the exit. The pit lane was quieter now, most of the team either finishing up for the night or handling last-minute checks. The evening air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside..

Two cars. Both engines purring, sleek and ready. You knew instantly what this was. Natasha stood beside one of them, arms crossed, that signature smug, unreadable expression on her face. But her eyes, her eyes gave it away.

She wanted a rematch. Your mind flashed back.. Back to the moment everything had started. Back when you were lost, broken, hesitant to even step into a car again. Back when Natasha had stood in front of you, unapologetically blunt, pushing you, challenging you.

“Race me.”

And now? She was doing it again. You exhaled slowly, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Natasha raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching. “You just gonna stand there? Or are you actually gonna try to win this time?”

Your eyes flickered to the cars, fingers already itching to grab the wheel. A slow grin spread across your face. The cockpit felt smaller than usual. Or maybe it was just your nerves making the air feel heavier. Your hands gripped the wheel tightly as the lights overhead cast an artificial glow over the track. It was just a race. Just another challenge. But you weren’t going up against just anyone.

You were racing Natasha Romanoff. Your lover. Your mentor. Your damn boss. And worst of all? She was one of the best. A voice crackled through the radio. Her voice. “All set, sweetheart?”

Your stomach tightened. She only used that tone when she was either mocking you or about to ruin your day. You adjusted your gloves, clearing your throat. “You really don’t get tired of losing to me, huh?”

There was a short silence. A low chuckle through the radio. “Bold words from someone who used to be scared of getting back in a car.”

Your jaw clenched, but the teasing lilt in her voice told you she wasn’t trying to bring up the past to hurt you. No, she was pushing you.

Just like she always did. “Don’t hold back.” She continued, her voice dropping into something more serious. “I’ll know if you do.”

And she would. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. The track ahead was empty, quiet, waiting for the storm to begin.

“Three…Two…One…Go.”

Your tires screeched against the asphalt, the car lurching forward with an aggressive jolt. Your heart slammed against your ribs as the sheer force of acceleration pushed you deeper into your seat.

Natasha’s car was right there, pulling ahead as expected. Your fingers twitched. You knew she’d try to control the pace, make you react instead of setting the tempo. Typical Natasha..

But you had learned. You weren’t just following orders anymore. You shifted gears, pushing the throttle harder, and Natasha’s car loomed just ahead, her rear wing practically taunting you.

Her voice returned over the radio. “You’re awfully quiet back there. Getting nervous?”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego too soon.”

Natasha let out a soft huff. “Cute.”

The first corner approached, and Natasha braked late, forcing a tight defensive line. You reacted instantly, shifting inside, but she covered it.

Of course she did. Her driving was calculated, ruthless, frustratingly efficient. You gritted your teeth, the familiar challenge igniting something in you. She wants me to play safe. To respect her lead. No chance in hell. The next set of corners came fast, left, right, hairpin..each a perfect opportunity. You faked a move to the outside, making her defend hard.

It worked. The instant she adjusted, you cut inside, braking later than you should have. Natasha realized it too late. Her car twitched, caught off guard. And then you were ahead. The rush hit you all at once. You overtook her. You overtook Natasha Romanoff.

Her silence over the radio was deafening. “…Huh.” Just that. No anger. No irritation. Just surprise. And that fueled you.

The adrenaline surged through your veins as you floored the throttle, pushing the car faster than you had all night. The next corner approached, a high-speed sweeper that demanded absolute precision.

You didn’t hesitate. You sent it. The car gripped perfectly, the g-force pinning you to the seat. It was exhilarating. The radio crackled again. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Your breath was heavy, pulse erratic. “You told me not to.”

A short laugh. “I did.” Then her tone shifted. “Alright, Detka.”

A shiver ran down your spine. That was a challenge. And you knew, Natasha wasn’t holding back anymore. You barely had time to react before her car loomed in your mirrors, closing the gap with terrifying efficiency.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you checked your mirrors, Natasha was right there. She wasn’t holding back anymore.

Her car was gaining, inch by inch, the headlights glaring in your mirrors like a predator stalking its prey. You swallowed hard, tightening your grip on the wheel as the track blurred past you.

You had her, for now. But Natasha wasn’t just any driver. She was calculated. She was ruthless. And worst of all? She was faster than you.

The next corner approached, a long, sweeping left-hander. You knew what she was about to do before she even did it. She dived inside, taking the more aggressive line, forcing you wide.

Shit. You had two options, fight her for the space and risk a collision or play smart and get her back on the next sector.

Your pulse spiked. This wasn’t a championship race. This wasn’t about points. This was about beating Natasha.

You feigned giving in, easing off the throttle just enough to let her pull ahead, just for a second. And that’s when you struck.

You tucked in behind her, riding her slipstream, your car practically glued to her rear wing. The second she cleared the turn, you darted right, flinging the car into the racing line before she could defend.

Natasha saw it, too late. She had to lift off the throttle for just a fraction of a second. And that was all you needed.You shot past her, taking back the lead with authority.

The radio crackled. “Y/n, Y/n...”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

A sharp laugh from her end. But then, a shift. Her tone dropped, lower now. “Alright, baby. No more playing nice.”

A chill ran down your spine. And then she was gone. Or rather, she was everywhere. Natasha went from defensive to absolute attack mode. Her car was flawless, her aggression relentless.

Every corner you took, she was there. Every straight, she gained. She was forcing you into mistakes. And worse? It was working.

You felt your rear tires struggle for grip, just barely keeping traction as you fought to maintain control. Your breathing was ragged. Your fingers twitched.

She was pushing you to the edge. And yet, you loved it. The thrill, the chase, the sheer intensity of it all. This was what racing felt like. This was what you lived for.

Your body burned with adrenaline as the final sector approached. Three more corners. One chance.. You threw the car into the braking zone, the tires screeching under the force. Natasha was right behind you, just waiting for you to slip. The exit was critical. You braced yourself, prepared for one last push, but then, she was gone.

You blinked. Checked your mirrors. Nothing. Your radio crackled. “Checkmate, detka.”

Your stomach dropped. You snapped forward, eyes widening as you saw it, Natasha had switched her line. She had let you overcommit to the inside. And now..She had the perfect exit. Her car shot forward like a bullet, flying past you before you could even react.

The finish line loomed ahead. She was too far ahead. You gritted your teeth, pushing with everything you had, but it wasn’t enough. Natasha crossed the line first.

You slammed your hands against the wheel, frustration and admiration mixing into a wild, heated mess inside your chest. The radio crackled again. “You’re fast.”

You exhaled, jaw clenched.

“But I’m faster.”

Your breathing was erratic, your pulse hammering. You had lost. But God, you had never felt so alive. You pulled into the pit lane, your hands still shaking as you climbed out of the car. Before you could even process what had just happened, Natasha was already there.

Leaning against her car. Arms crossed. Smirking. Smug. Smug as hell. You pulled off your helmet, your hair a mess, sweat dripping down your forehead.

Natasha tilted her head. “Not bad, rookie.”

You glared. “Rookie!?”

She pushed off the car, stepping closer. Too close. Your breath hitched as she lifted a gloved hand, tracing her fingers lightly along your jaw.

“You’re getting better.”

Your pulse spiked. Her gaze was intense, heavy, scorching. Your lips parted, your voice barely a whisper. “You planned that the whole time.”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you.”

A dark chuckle. “No, you don’t.”

And then, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours, just barely, just enough to make your knees weaken. Your breath hitched. Natasha smirked against your mouth, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.

“Now let’s go insid. I’m not done winning tonight.”

The couch was warm beneath you, the soft hum of the TV in the background a comforting buzz. Natasha was next to you, arm draped lazily along the back of the couch. Close enough that the heat of her body soaked into yours, her fingers grazing your shoulder absentmindedly.

Because somewhere between laughter and quiet conversation, her hands had found your skin. And yours had found hers. You were straddling her lap now, your fingers tracing the sharp lines of her jaw, her strong shoulders, while her hands roamed lower, gripping your hips, fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt.

You sighed into the kiss, letting her pull you closer, heat building, slow and intoxicating. Then, Natasha shifted. Her fingers dipped beneath the fabric, slowly pushing your shirt upward. Your breath hitched. And before you even registered it, your body tensed.

Natasha noticed immediately. Her hands stilled. Her lips hovered over yours, her green eyes flickering with something unreadable as she pulled back just enough to study you.

Her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Your pulse hammered. The words sat heavy in your throat. You didn’t know how to say it. But Natasha could read you too damn well. And in that moment, her eyes darkened. Her hands slowly lowered from your shirt, like she thought she had done something wrong.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, softer this time. “Did I..Did I push too fast?”

The uncertainty in her tone made something twist painfully in your chest. She thought you were rejecting her. You immediately shook your head, reaching for her hand, gripping it tightly. “No, Nat. No, it’s not that.”

Her gaze searched yours. “Then what is it?”

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your own shirt, your breath uneven as you finally forced yourself to say it. “We’ve never..never done this in the light before.”

Natasha blinked. You could tell the words caught her off guard. Her grip on you softened. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, looking away for a second before murmuring, “I don’t… I don’t like showing my back, Nat..”

Natasha understood immediately. She was quiet for a moment, her gaze unwavering. Then, carefully, she lifted one hand, tracing the back of her knuckles along your arm in a slow, soothing motion.

“Why?” Your throat tightened. “Because I hate it.” Your voice was quiet, raw. “It..it reminds me of everything. The crash, the pain, the months.. It’s ugly, Natasha.” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper now.

Natasha exhaled slowly. Not in frustration, not in impatience, but in understanding. Her hands moved carefully now, not under your shirt, not near your back, but to your face. She cupped your cheeks, her thumbs brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes.

“You think I would see you any differently?” she murmured. You didn’t answer. Because part of you did. Part of you thought she would look at you and see it first.

See the damage before she saw you. Natasha must have sensed it, because her grip tightened slightly, grounding. “Y/n,” she said, voice steady, certain. “There is nothing ugly about you.”

Your chest ached. You tried to look away, but she didn’t let you. Her thumbs brushed over your jaw, tipping your chin slightly, forcing you to meet her gaze.

She was so damn close now. Close enough that you could see the sincerity in her expression, the unwavering truth in her eyes.

“I love you.” she whispered. “All of you.”

She let her fingers trail down now, still slow, still careful. She traced your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, then skimmed her fingers over your waist, but she never pushed. Never forced.

You realized then. She was waiting. She was waiting for you to make the next move. Your heartbeat pounded. And then, finally..you moved. Your hands trembled slightly, but you reached down, gripping the hem of your shirt.

Slowly, you lifted it. The scar, raised and jagged, stretched along your lower back, a permanent reminder of the crash that nearly took everything. You couldn’t look at her. You stared at the wall, waiting for something, anything.

Then, she touched you. Not in fear. Not in hesitation. But with reverence. Her fingers ghosted over the scar, tracing it so softly it almost tickled. You shivered. And then, her lips. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss right above the scar.

Your breath shuddered. Natasha pulled back just enough for her voice to reach you. “This?” she murmured, her fingers still tracing lightly. “This is a part of you.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against your shoulder now, then up along your neck, whispering against your skin.

“And I love every single part of you.”

Something inside you broke. The walls, the self-loathing, the years of hating that part of yourself, it all cracked under the weight of her words. You exhaled shakily, leaning forward, pressing yourself into her. She didn’t hesitate. She held you. Not just in a way that meant comfort. But in a way that meant everything.

For a moment, you just stayed there, pressed against Natasha, her arms wrapped securely around you. You felt the shift before she even spoke, the way her body relaxed slightly, the tension from earlier bleeding away into something softer, something unspoken but understood.

And yet… you couldn’t ignore it. The atmosphere had changed. It wasn’t bad, not uncomfortable, but the weight of what just happened still lingered in the air. You pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. Natasha’s hands remained steady on your waist, holding you in place, anchoring you.

You bit your lip, hesitating before you spoke. “…I’m sorry.”

Her brows furrowed immediately. “What?”

You exhaled, feeling foolish. “I just..” You glanced away, rubbing at your arm. “It felt like I ruined the moment.”

Natasha was silent for a beat. Then, suddenly, she laughed. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t dismissive. It was soft. Amused. Fond. You blinked up at her, confused. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head slightly, still smiling. “You think I need sex all the time?”

Your face heated instantly. “No, that’s not what I-”

Her fingers curled under your chin, gently tilting your face back up.

“I don’t need anything from you, Y/n.” she murmured. “Not tonight. Not every night.” Her thumb brushed over your jaw, tender and deliberate. “You’re mine, with or without that.”

Her eyes were softer now, not demanding, not teasing, just full of something deeper. Something that settled inside you. You exhaled, finally allowing yourself to relax, your forehead dropping to rest against hers. “…I love you.” The words were quiet, but certain.

Natasha’s fingers tightened slightly on your waist, like she was holding on just a little harder. “I know.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “Say it back.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “I love you.”

There was a gentleness in the way she said it, a sincerity that made warmth bloom in your chest. Then, suddenly, she shifted, lifting you effortlessly as she stood up.

“W-What are you-”

“Movie night.” She declared it like it was final, carrying you toward her room as if you weighed nothing.

You huffed. “I can walk, you know.”

“I know.” she replied, grinning as she dropped you onto the bed. “But this is more fun.”

You shot her a look, but the amusement in her eyes was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile. Natasha grabbed a blanket, throwing it over both of you before settling in beside you. You instinctively leaned into her, her arms finding you again, pulling you close.

“Alright.” she murmured. “Pick a movie.”

You tilted your head. “You pick.”

Natasha hummed in thought before flicking through the options. “What about something mindless?”

You scoffed. “You mean an action movie?”

She smirked. “Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You just let yourself relax into her, feeling her warmth, feeling safe. The movie started, but neither of you were really watching. She ran her fingers through your hair absentmindedly, and you sighed, eyes fluttering shut. Maybe another night, you’d continue what had been interrupted. But for now, this was enough. Just her. Just you.

1 Week later, your team had cheered, cameras had flashed, hands had clapped against your back in congratulations. You had done it. You won the race. And somewhere between the press interviews and the champagne-drenched celebration, you’d completely forgotten the joke you had made in Natasha’s car just days before.

The drive after your victory had been smooth, quiet, almost too quiet. Natasha sat behind the wheel, calm, unreadable, in control. You were too exhausted to question it, your body still buzzing from the race, your muscles sore, adrenaline still wearing off.

So when the car slowed, pulling off to the side of a dimly lit stretch of road, you barely blinked. It wasn’t until she put it in park and exhaled slowly that you finally looked at her.

“Something wrong?”

Natasha hummed, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Feels like something’s off with the car.”

Your mechanic instincts kicked in instantly. “Want me to check?”

She smirked, already stepping out. You followed, stretching slightly as you stepped into the warm night air. She stood in front of the hood, lifting it slightly, pretending to inspect something. You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Nat, I used to be a mechanic, let me-”

Before you could finish, she turned to face you fully, smirking. “Actually, sit up here for a second.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

She patted the hood. “Come on.”

Something about the way she said it sent a shiver through you. But you didn’t argue. Didn’t question it. You pushed yourself up, perching on the warm metal, your legs instinctively parting slightly for balance.

Natasha stepped forward, standing between them. “You really forgot, didn’t you?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly.

Your stomach flipped. “Forgot what?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Natasha chuckled. Her fingers trailing up your thigh, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You won.” she murmured, voice smooth, controlled. “Which means…I get to keep my promise.” You blinked. And then it hit you. The joke. The stupid, stupid joke.

“Win the next race..and maybe we’ll see just how sturdy this car really is”

Your mouth went dry. “Oh..” you breathed, barely a whisper. Natasha hummed, her smirk deepening. “Oh.”

And then, her hand slipped between your legs. You gasped the second she pressed against you, her fingers teasing, exploring, but not giving. Your knees weakened, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “N-Natasha-”

“Shh, sweetheart.” she murmured, her breath warm against your jaw, your pulse. “Relax.”

Her fingers brushed over you again, slow, testing, cruel. “Fuck..!”

“You like this, huh?” she whispered, dragging her lips along your throat, her pace still unhurried. “I haven’t even started yet.”

Your hips shifted involuntarily, chasing friction, chasing anything. Natasha chuckled, her grip tightening, keeping you exactly where she wanted.

“So desperate already.” she murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Thought this was just a joke?”

“I-I don’t-f-fuck..” Her fingers pushed inside you, slow, deep, devastating. Your head tilted back, a gasp breaking past your lips.

“That’s it..” Natasha groaned, her pace still infuriatingly controlled. “Take it.”

You were trembling, your legs weak, your body burning up. She moved with purpose, her fingers curling, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans cracked, your hands gripping onto her. “g-god-”

“Come for me, baby..” she whispered, commanding, knowing. “Right here. Right now.”

And fuck. You shattered. Your body arched, a wrecked moan breaking past your lips as you came undone in her hands. Natasha groaned, watching you fall apart, watching you completely lose yourself. But she wasn’t done. Not yet.

You barely had time to recover before Natasha was pulling you in, kissing you deep, slow, consuming. Her hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, your thighs, keeping you close, keeping you grounded.

You whimpered against her mouth, your body still shaking, oversensitive. And then..You felt it. A bulge. Hard. Firm. Pressing against your inner thigh. Your breath hitched, your body tensing slightly. And Natasha? She felt you freeze.

And she smirked. “Finally noticed?”

Your eyes widened, your brain catching up to what your body had already felt. She’d been wearing it. The entire time. The entire fucking drive.

“You..”

She chuckled, low, dark, amused. “What’s wrong, baby?” she murmured, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You were so eager to be fucked on this car.”

Her hands trailed lower, gripping your hips. “So let’s see if you can handle it and turn around.”

Her voice was low, steady, dripping with command. You blinked, chest rising and falling too fast, your mind spinning.

“Nat, I-”

“I said, turn around.”

You shuddered. And you did. Because you always fucking listened. Your palms pressed against the warm metal of the hood, your breath coming out uneven, shaky.

Natasha stood behind you, silent for a moment, just watching, just taking you in. Then, her hands slid over your waist, down your thighs, exploring, feeling, claiming.

“Look at you.” She murmured, dragging her lips down your neck, your spine. “So good for me.”

Her fingers hooked into your waistband, tugging your pants down slow, teasing, deliberate. The air kissed your bare skin, your body burning in contrast. You whimpered, hands gripping the car for stability.

“That’s right.” she cooed, lips pressing against your shoulder. “You’ve been running that mouth for days.”

Her hand came down on your ass, sharp, making you jolt. “Time to back it up.”

You barely had a second to brace yourself before Natasha grabbed your hips and pushed in.

“Oh, F-Fuck-!” Your moan cracked, your body arching, stretching, struggling to take all of her at once. Natasha groaned, fingers digging into your skin, giving you a second to adjust.

“Take it all..” She whispered, voice thick, heavy, possessive. Your fingers curled against the car hood, your body already trembling, already overwhelmed. And then, she moved. Slow, deep, devastating.

Your head dropped forward, a wrecked moan escaping your lips as she set the pace, dragging you back onto her cock with every thrust.

“Natasha!”

“Thought you wanted this?” she murmured, voice mocking, teasing, but laced with something darker. Her hand trailed up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you down further, making you feel every inch of her.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You whimpered, barely able to breathe, your body already so close, already so gone.

“Natasha..fuck—I..can’t..please..”

“Yes, you can.” she growled, thrusting deeper, rougher. “You’re gonna take everything I give you, baby.”

Your legs shook, pleasure burning through every nerve, your stomach tightening. Natasha could feel it, sense it, hear it in the way your moans turned into wrecked, breathless cries.

“Gonna come for me?” she whispered, her hand slipping between your thighs, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

“Fuck! fuck, Natasha!”

“Do it.”

And fuck- You did. Your moan cracked, your entire body convulsing against the car, your pleasure hitting you like a tidal wave. Natasha groaned at the sight of you, at the way you completely fell apart for her. And yet..she didn’t stop. The Moment You Realized you were screwed.

Your fingers curling against nothing, searching for something to grab onto. But there was nothing. Just Natasha’s hands on your hips, her strap deep inside you, her pace brutal, unforgiving.

“Na-!” Her fingers dug into your waist, keeping you perfectly still as she moved, dragging you onto her cock with every thrust.

“This is what you begged for.” she cooed, her breath hot against your spine.

You whimpered, your legs already trembling, the pleasure too much, too sharp, too overwhelming. “T-too much- fuuck…”

Natasha chuckled, her hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you down even further.

“Too much?” she repeated, mocking, amused. “Oh, sweetheart.” Her pace quickened, her movements sharper, deeper, taking you apart completely.

Your body was failing you. Your legs were shaking too hard, your breath ragged, broken. You couldn’t hold yourself up. You couldn’t think. Your mind was completely blank, completely fucked out. Your hands had no grip on reality, no grip on anything at all. So you stopped trying. You let go.

“Fuck, look at you.” Natasha groaned, feeling you go completely limp beneath her. You whimpered, eyes unfocused, your voice wrecked, weak.

“Ohh..” she whispered, pressing kisses against your spine. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Her grip tightened on your hips, her pace deep and devastating. “Just let me take care of you.”

And fuck, that broke you. “Come for me again, sweetheart.”

Natasha’s voice was soft, knowing, completely in control. “I know you can.”

Your body shook violently, pleasure ripping through you, your moan breaking into something wrecked, something wordless. Your vision blurred, your entire world reduced to nothing but the feeling of Natasha inside you.

She groaned, watching you shatter, feeling your body completely give in to her. “That’s my good girl.” she murmured, pressing kisses to your shoulder, to your jaw, to the corner of your lips.

Your breath came out in short, shaky gasps, your entire body completely spent, completely hers. And Natasha? She just smirked, her fingers trailing down your spine, grounding you.

“Not so funny now, huh?”

And fuck. You were never joking again.

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tender-rosiey · 1 month ago

Note

Why do I see Sakuna with a Ponyo! Daughter who is not only crazy energetic and mischievous but ALSO inherited her dad’s powers and is walking disaster wherever she goes

even worse — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

the house shakes.

not in the way that signals an earthquake or a distant battle—but in a way that makes your stomach sink, because you already know exactly who the cause is.

you barely have time to react before a blur of red streaks past the open doors, laughter trailing behind it like an ominous warning.

a servant lets out a startled yelp, followed by the unmistakable crash of ceramic shattering against the floor.

another blur follows—this time larger, heavier, and far, far more dangerous.

“stop running, you damned brat!” sukuna’s voice booms through the halls, sharp and exasperated, just as a loud thud echoes from somewhere deeper in the estate.

a sigh pushes past your lips as you rise from your seat, smoothing down the sleeves of your kimono before stepping into the chaos.

the scene is exactly as you pictured: your daughter, a tiny storm wrapped in flesh, stands atop the wooden railing of the porch, balancing on the thin beam with an ease that defies logic.

her hair, as wild as her spirit, flutters with the residual energy still crackling around her, the faint pink glow of cursed energy pulsing through her fingertips.

and below her—looking thoroughly unimpressed—stands sukuna, arms crossed over his chest, four crimson eyes locked onto her with something between irritation and begrudging amusement.

“d/n,” you call, voice steady despite the urge to rub at your temples. “get down from there.”

d/n grins, sharp and untamed. “but I just got up here!”

“exactly.”

her bottom lip juts out in a mock pout before she turns her attention back to sukuna. “catch me, dad!”

and then she jumps.

you inhale sharply, but sukuna moves faster than your heart can lurch.

his large hands catch her mid-air, but the moment he does, she twists like a wild animal, attempting to wriggle out of his grip.

“you little—” he tightens his hold before she can slip free, her giggles ringing loud as she kicks her legs, tiny hands sparking with cursed energy as she playfully tugs at one of his arms.

you don’t miss the twitch in his jaw when her strength actually makes his arm shift.

sukuna lets out a low, exasperated sigh before throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“if you wanted to fight, brat, you could’ve just said so instead of destroying the whole damn house.”

d/n lets out a delighted shriek, pounding her tiny fists against his back. “I was training!” she insists, wiggling in his grasp. “you’re the one who got in the way!”

“in the way?” sukuna scoffs. “you nearly took out two servants and a wall.”

she grins against his shoulder. “only ‘nearly’?”

you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“she does get that from you, you know,” you mutter, stepping closer. “the reckless disregard for anything that stands in her way.”

sukuna turns his head to smirk at you, one brow lifting. “flattery will get you everywhere, wife.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

he huffs a barely noticeable laugh before finally setting d/n down, though his grip lingers long enough to give her hair a light tug—more affectionate than scolding.

she beams up at him, utterly shameless, and you swear you see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

then, faster than either of you can react, she bolts.

“oh, for—” sukuna lunges, but the little menace is already halfway across the porch, kicking up dust as she makes her escape.

you don’t move—there’s no point. you already know how this ends.

and sure enough, just as d/n’s about to round the corner—

smack.

she runs straight into him—freaking teleportation.

she bounces back with a dramatic oof before sukuna’s larger hands swoop in once more, lifting her effortlessly by the back of her collar.

d/n blinks. “that’s cheating.”

“that’s strategy,” sukuna corrects, hoisting her up so they’re face to face. “something you’d understand if you actually stopped acting like a damn stray cat and thought before you moved.”

she pouts, kicking her legs uselessly in the air. “I did think.”

“oh?” sukuna raises a brow, unimpressed.

she grins, bright and mischievous. “I just thought it’d be funny.”

your husband stares at her for a few moments before—once again—throwing her over his shoulder.

later, after d/n has been successfully bribed with food and contained (for now), you find yourself beside sukuna beneath the warm glow of lantern light.

“she really is just like you,” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder as you watch the moonlight spill across the porch.

sukuna hums, his arm draped lazily over your waist. “do not compare me to that circus monkey.”

there’s something fond in his voice—something that lingers even as his fingers trace idle patterns against your hip.

you tilt your head up at him, your voice quiet but amused. “that doesn’t scare you?”

sukuna scoffs, smirking.

“what, that our daughter is a force of nature with a complete disregard for rules and an unhealthy enthusiasm for destruction?”

you lift a brow. “yes.”

he smirks, leaning down until his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“terrifies me, wife.”

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cosmicschmidt · 1 year ago

Text

UNTIL I FOUND YOU

PART 2, PART 3

Coriolanus Snow x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When the 18 year old Coriolanus Snow recieves the news that he has to mentor a tribute in order to claim the Plinth Prize, he expected everything but not a shy girl from district 12 to claim his heart.

Word count: 2,4K

Warnings: Lucy Gray does not exsist in this (I´m sorry), some things might not fully add up to the movie plot ´cause I only saw it once and that was two days ago, use of Y/N, it´s implied that the reader is shorter than Coryo, small swearing, simple inhumane Hunger Games topics

Reblogs and requests are always welcomed <3 (just like pointing out grammatical mistakes :))

Coriolanus Snow did not mean for this to happen.

He did not intend to have this weird tingly feeling in his chest every time he caught a glimpse of her.

He did not mean to fall for his tribute from District 12.

As he patiently sat in his seat with his heart hammering in his chest due to not knowing if he´d receive the scholarship, adrenaline and excitement ran through his veins.

Yet, that was taken from him the moment Sejanus Plinth whispered to him that that certain day he looked forward to would not turn out as he hoped.

The Plinth Prize was won by the best mentor.

Each of them has to mentor a tribute and create the best version of them, create strategies and work on their behavior in the arena.

As all the tributes are presented, their names called alongside their mentors, Coriolanus´ hands start to sweat the longer he is not told who he has to work with.

The faces of his fellow students show different emotions, some cheer in happiness at their tributes state, others are laced with worry if their tribute even manages to walk straight.

"And last but not least, the girl from District 12, Coriolanus Snow."

His eyes shoot back to the small screen, his gaze falls to the name written underneath the short clip, Y/N L/N.

"I volunteer as tribute."

The screen shows a screaming girl, around the age of 11 as she trashes in the hold of someone else´s arms, desperately trying to escape their grasp to reach the other girl.

The other girl's face is slightly blurred due to the wide angle of the camera that is following her figure, but as the picture clears up, Coriolanus can´t help but suck in a breath.

A weird feeling boils in his chest that causes his heartbeat to pick up behind his ribcage, just as he thought it couldn´t get worse a few butterflies form in his stomach causing his white tunic to suddenly feel tighter. His hands go to the collar pulling a little on the fabric to calm his heartbeat.

The tribute from 12, stepped in for the younger girl and took her fate as her own. The girl, now known as Y/N doesn´t look back at the screaming girl, she takes small steps to the stage and steps on it the moment she reaches it.

Although her hands tremble beside her body, her eyes are stern and show no emotion, successfully keeping herself from spilling the dread that formed in her chest the moment her little sister's name was called.

"What a twist! Our first ever volunteer of 12, what an honor." the 12´s mayor speaks, yet no reaction falls from the crowd at his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I suppose that was your sister? Sweet little thing just turned 12, but luckily she has you as her big sister." Mayor Lipp tries to create small talk, but Y/N doesn´t seem to take interest in that, her eyes boring into the camera that is fixated on her face.

Everyone that surrounds Coriolanus watches intensely and waits for her next words.

Y/N´s jaw clenches a little as her gaze wanders over her district's citizens, some laugh at her situation, while others, alongside her family have tears in their eyes and hold a hand in front of their mouths to contain a sob from spilling past their lips.

Instead of words leaving her mouth, she does a mocking and overly dramatic bend forward with her arms stretched out on each side of her body.

Just as two Peacekeepers grab a hold of her arms and pull her off the stage she yells out,

"YOU CAN ALL SUCK I-" but her words muffle due to her being pulled away.

Meanwhile, everyone around Coriolanus starts to whisper.

Some voice behind him, "Who does she think she is?"

"Imagine having to work with that, guess who won´t win the Plinth Prize.." followed by laughing.

And more to his left, "The audacity, I´m telling you she´s the first to bleed out." followed by more remarks and chuckles.

Though Coriolanus can’t feel bothered by their remarks, as he watches her being dragged away from the stage with a stern look on her face.

The blonde watches with bewilderment yet with respect for her volunteering for someone else, a small smirk forming on his face as the side of his mouth pull up a little.

* ˚ ✦

Coriolanus´ gaze is fixated on the white rose in his palms, his eyes trail over each and every flaw he can spot.

Is it pretty enough?

Or is this gesture not normal in the relationship between a mentor and their tribute?

He wonders how you might react to this act of politeness, yet before he can keep up with his thoughts he´s pulled out of it when he hears the train near the train station.

There it is, it glides against the train racks before it comes to a harsh stop with a small screech, the blonde´s eyes trail over the different train carts, wondering where the certain girl from 12 is being kept.

At least a dozen armed Peacekeepers emerge from around the station, and the first cart´s handle is grabbed forcefully and shoved open, a small girl hesitantly jumps down to the ground, before she erupts into a few coughs as if she has to catch her breath from taking a run.

She´s followed by a tall boy who wears a expression he can´t read, although his brows are furrowed and a small line forms between them. The tall male´s eyes immediately find Coriolanus due to his bloody red outfit.

The male doesn´t seem to be the only one, almost everyone that already emerged from their part of the train has their eyes on him.

He fidgets with the rose again, a shiver running down his spine and all the way to his feet and then his toes.

As some tributes are escorted to the transporter outside, Coriolanus finally spots the male tribute from District 12, he remembers his name, Jessup. With a sigh of relief, he takes a few steps to him, and finally, his eyes spot the girl he so desperately tried to find the entire time.

Jessup´s hands are securely wrapped around her waist as he picks her up and helps her out of the train so she can steady herself. She smiles up at Jessup whispers a small ´thanks´ and pats him on his upper arm before she starts to take in all her surroundings.

Although their conversation is muffled, "Are you sure your neck is fine? The bite looks painful..."

Coriolanus´ breathing stops for a second, just now he notices that no camera ever will be able to take in all her beauty, his lips part a little and he can feel his mouth running dry.

Now that Y/N dusted her clothes off and had taken a look around the train station, her eyes move to her right and are met with piercing blue orbs. Although she acknowledged him, he couldn´t help but keep staring at her, the white rose in his left hand long forgotten as it rested next to his body. Confusion dawned on her face as she looked over to Jessup who offered the same expression.

The two of them share a look with a shrug before she turns her back to Coriolanus and starts to take a few steps away from him.

The blonde seems to snap out of it and with a small shake of his head and with two steps he keeps up with her smaller ones.

"Uhm- Welcome to the Capitol." he offers her a smile and holds the rose up for her to see.

Her mouth set in a hard line while her cheeks glowed a tad bit redder than before, "You don´t look like you should be here…?" she asked unsure, her eyes still trained up at his face before they fell on the flower in his hand - which slightly started to tremble -

"Uhm, I shouldn´t, my name is Coriolanus Snow, and I´m your mentor," he adds, the smile still coating his lips as he offers her the rose again.

"Mentor?" she laughs out in disbelief after she finally takes the flower out of his trembling hand and looks at it. Jessup is standing behind her, and his face still shows the same confusion it did earlier.

"Yeah, it´s my job to help you survive the arena," Coriolanus replies, the moment she took the rose out of his grasp his hand went limp and fell back to his side.

"And how exactly-" Y/N doesn´t get the opportunity to reply to his words before someone roughly pulls on her arm and drags her forcefully to the exit of the train station.

Peacekeepers decided to cut their conversation short, they pulled her with them like she weighed nothing, "I can walk by myself perfectly fine." she said loudly before she slapped the hand that was wrapped around her biceps off.

"Wait! I´m her Mentor!" Coriolanus speaks up, yet the distance between mentor and tribute is growing with each second, and the blonde picks up his steps in order to keep up with them.

A few shouts and orders are ringing through the air, the atmosphere filled with dread and an uncomfortable tension. Outside awaits a transporter for the tributes, and like pigs they are thrown and shoved into it, ready to be taken to the slaughterhouse.

The district 12 girl's eyes are trailing behind her trying to catch a glimpse of the red that coats her so-called ´mentor´, she can´t seem to see him but his shouts still reach her ringing ears.

A small hand wraps around her right hand startling the 17-year-old girl, but she quickly relaxes when she sees the small girl from District 8, Wovey. She seems scared by the loud noises, and Y/N offers her a small smile and squeeze of the hand in order to calm her down. Y/N spots a small seat at the back right corner and leads her over to it, there´s not enough space for the both of them, so she lets Wovey take it and stands beside her.

Coriolanus´ opportunity seems to flash in front of him for a split second as a tribute tries to make a run for it, the Peacekeepers running close behind, and with three steps the blonde leaps into the back of the transporter.

He runs all the way to the back of it, before he takes a few breaths trying to tame the adrenaline that shoots through his veins, his breathing calming down from the small thrill he felt.

He straightens down his clothes, and immediately spots Y/N, hand-in-hand with the little girl, her eyes holding awe, yet mostly confusion at why he just ran after her. "What are you doing here?" she whisper-yells, in order not to attract the Peacekeeper's attention.

He can´t help but draw his lower lip between his teeth, letting his actions sink in "Yeah who the hell are you?"

"Uhm-" he starts to speak up, as the other tributes´ eyes hold anger and confusion, most of them standing up and taking a few steps closer to him, cornering him a little. The red that radiates from his red clothes alerts the others.

"I suppose he´s my mentor." Y/N quickly speaks up, her voice cutting through the tension that started to build itself.

"What the hell is a mentor? And why did you get one but we didn´t?"

"Did she get one just because she was the first to volunteer?"

Y/N opens her mouth again to reply but Coriolanus beats her to it, "No, you all get a mentor, I promise the same chances are laid out for everyone." he says with a slightly raised voice so everyone hears his words.

A few unamused chuckles emerge from the ´crowd´ that formed around him, nevertheless a tall guy grabs him by the collar and slams Coriolanus back against the wall behind him pulling a gasp from his lips.

"Don´t shit talk us, what are you doing here?! Are you here to spy on us? What sick games did you plan?!" he yells in his face, although Coriolanus is taller than him, he raises his hands in surrender in order to calm the angry tribute.

Y/N sighs and softly drops Wolvey´s hand onto the girl's lap, she takes a step forward rests her hand on the tribute´s shoulder gently yet harshly, and pushes against him.

"You get your own mentor, now drop it," she says loudly, the tributes around them purse their lips and keep looking at Coriolanus like he´s some meal they can devour.

"A Capitol´s sweetheart could be helpful, why not kill him to send a fucking message." everyone around them agrees except for Y/N and a few in the back, them equally as terrified as Coriolanus.

Coriolanus laughs at their ´plan´ and breathes out a few pained breathes due to him being pressed against the wall, however, before anyone else gets the chance to speak up, the container they are kept in starts to shake a little and then does a jump that causes everyone to lose their balance. The tribute that held the blonde up against the wall let go of him, the everyone including Coriolanus hold onto the nearest thing they could find to steady themselves.

Y/N yelps at the sudden movement that throws her forward and grabs onto Coriolanus´ right arm, the boy in question sneaks his right arm around her waist to steady her and takes hold of a handle that sticks out of the metal wall.

With a rumble and another much harsher shake of the container, the doors suddenly swing open and the place they were kept in for the past 10 minutes moves upwards, changing the position from vertical to horizontal.

A few screams erupt from the group of tributes, and everyone starts to slide out like bags of flour. Y/N yelps again and tries to hold onto Coriolanus, he manages to hold both of their weights, but Y/N´s grip on him loosens when she wiggles in his grasp.

"Wait- Y/N hold on!" he hisses out, but Y/N moves in his grasp trying to get a hold of Wovey´s hand who´s close to sliding down as well.

"Grab my hand!" she yells, but Wovey slips away, and Y/N watches the little girl and Jessup move out of her view into the unknown.

Y/N removes herself from his grasp, just as Coriolanus can´t hold them up anymore due to the shaking wagon, and they all slide into whatever the Capitol planned for them.

I might consider writing a second part! I hope you enjoyed reading this <33

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #x reader #part 2?#fanfic #hunger games x reader #finnick odair x reader #peeta mellark x reader

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