#reader & Nat

[whytheylosttheirminds]

snooze - r.c.

(season 4 bf!rafe x gf!reader blurb, 4.1k words)

summary Your man works harder than anyone you know, and you couldn’t love him more for it, but some mornings you just want to hold on to him a little longer…

content fluff/smut, mutual mast., p in v, 18+ minors do not interact

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Rafe’s alarm rings through the large bedroom like a blaring siren, jerking you violently from the sweet sleep you were just wrapped in. He doesn’t hear it at first, still sound asleep next to you, snores rumbling through his bare chest.

You blink your eyes open, the room is still dark, though the first golden rays of the sunrise creep in through the small crack in the curtains. You twist your body towards Rafe, snuggling your head into his neck, an attempt to both shield your eyes from the sunlight and get his attention, desperate for him to silence the loud alarm.

After a few seconds, he still hasn’t heard it, so you reach up and gently tap his cheek.

“Baby,” you groan, cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Too loud.” 

Rafe takes a deep breath in, eyes still closed as he reaches his bedside table, tapping his phone screen clumsily until the sound subsides.

He settles back in, placing a quick kiss onto the top of your head as he pulls you into his side. You sigh happily, running your nails softly up and down his chest and stomach, drawing little hearts and stars on his skin. He shivers when you graze over the soft skin of his lower stomach, following his happy trail down to his waistband. You fully plan on dipping your hand below it, where he’s already twitching and firming up for you under his sweatpants, but you get distracted by the delicious deep V lines on either side of his waist. You dip your pointer finger into the valley of muscle and trace the shape down, switching to the other side and drawing back up.

He stirs when you angle your finger to scratch lightly with your manicured nail, lingering just above the band of his Calvins that peeks out from his sweats.

“That’s so nice, baby,” he mumbles in his deep, crackling morning voice, “I love these hands.”

Rafe laces his fingers in yours with one hand, his other arm sliding under your neck and wrapping around your shoulders. He pulls you close so he can drop a sloppy kiss on your temple.

You sigh and lift your intertwined hands to place a kiss on each of his knuckles.

“Maybe you should stay home,” you suggest between kisses. “Then you can enjoy these hands all day long.”

He smiles knowingly, still not opening his eyes. You play this game every morning, trying to find ways to convince him to play hooky from work, though they never succeed. He’s always showered and out the door by sunrise, leaving you with a cup of coffee on your nightstand and a quick kiss as you drift back to sleep.

“Sounds perfect, but I have an 8 a.m. with a potential investor,” he explains.

In the quiet, Rafe starts to drift off again. You continue to stroke his chest and think of all the many enticing reasons for him to stay, but before you can list them for him, his alarm blares from his phone again. 

You lean over him, reaching to the phone on his nightstand. He takes the opportunity to snake his hand around your waist and slide it under his big t-shirt you're wearing. His hands feel so nice on your lower back, you pause, almost forgetting what you were reaching for in the first place, until the alarm rings out again, making you both wince with its volume. You tap the screen desperately until it’s silenced.

“Just hitting snooze so we can have five more minutes,” you say, settling down over him and resting your cheek on his chest.

“Liar,” he says with a sleepy smirk. “You turned it off.”

You fake an offended gasp, “I can’t believe you’re accusing me of such deception, Rafe Cameron.”

“So when five minutes go by and the alarm doesn’t go off again, what are you gonna say then?”

“I was hoping you’d fall back to sleep by then,” you confess with a giggle, laying a soft kiss on his chest, right over his heart.

“I knew it.”

He sits up in bed, causing you to fall back onto the pillows, immediately missing his warmth. You paw at his arm as he reaches over to check the time on his phone.

“Nooo,” you whine. “Don’t go yet.”

He smiles down at you, leaning over to place loving kisses on the edge of your jaw and up your face, touching his lips to your temple one final time before standing from the bed.

Your vision is still fuzzy from sleep and the darkness of the room, but you follow the general shape of him as he walks to the wall of windows on the other side of the room. He’s shirtless, the lower half of his body covered in soft gray sweats. You squirm a little under the comforter as you take him in. You didn’t know it was possible to be this attracted to someone, but it’s like every day you’re with him, your body craves him more, and it makes it that much more painful when he leaves.

Rafe interrupts your reverie by lifting his arms and throwing the curtains wide open. You flinch at the bright sunlight that pours through the windows like it’s burning you.

“Too bright, Rafe!” You protest. 

He just turns with a smug smile, his tall silhouette casting a shadow over the bed, blocking you from the blinding sun.

“I’ll make you some coffee before I go,” he promises as he leaves you alone in the bedroom, pulling a pillow over your face to shield yourself from the daylight.

It’s silly to complain when his hard work is the whole reason you can lay in this comfortable bed so late into the morning. When he’s not with you, he’s at the office, earning you all this comfort, but it still seems unfair when you want him this badly.

You used to be an early riser, but the way he lays you down every night when he gets home, fucking you hard and slow until you fall asleep clinging to him, it’s made you a whole new person. You’d pay him twice his salary if you had it just to get him to stick around a little longer, make you feel that good again.

A devious idea comes to your brain, and you pull the covers from yourself quickly, making fast moves before he gets back.

When Rafe comes back into the room a few minutes later, he nearly spills your hot coffee all over himself at the sight that greets him.

The comforter is bundled at the end of the bed, nothing covering your body as you stretch out on the mattress. You’ve switched out his t-shirt and your baggy sweats for a silky pair of boy-short panties and a lacy bra. You're facing away from him, laying on your side, the curve of your hips and peekaboo view of your ass casting a scandalous shadow on the wall. The fabric of your panties is so flimsy, it climbs up the curve of your ass, revealing you to him as if they’re barely there at all.

“Nice try,” he shakes his head, though the small crack in his voice betrays his defiance. You know you’ve got him hard and frazzled.

“Hmmm?” You don’t turn to look at him, instead bending your knee and sliding one leg up higher to give him an even better angle of your ass. 

“It’s not gonna work…” he insists, setting your coffee down, fully intending to turn and make his way to the walk-in closet to get dressed, yet somehow finding himself completely immobile.

“What’s not going to work?” You echo, feigning cluelessness in a way you know is gonna drive him mad.

“I really do have a meeting,” he continues his one-sided argument, trying desperately to convince himself. “I can’t be late, it’s important.”

“Okay! Have a good day, baby,” you yawn, shifting on the sheets as if you’re just getting comfortable, hoping he doesn’t see the smile you’re hiding in your pillow, obsessed with the strain in his voice that reveals his resolve is cracking.

The mattress sinks slowly under his weight, and you can feel the heat of him before he even touches your skin. His hand slides up your leg, from your ankle all the way up to your thigh, where he pauses to squeeze your flesh. 

“You’re gonna be late,” you let your mouth twist into a cheeky smile. 

He huffs a defeated laugh, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder in frustration, “you’re killing me.”

“I’m not doing anything!” You giggle, arching your back and giving him a better glimpse at the other side of you, your nipples already pebbling in anticipation, clearly visible through your see through bra.

Rafe responds by saying your name, so low and needy it’s almost inaudible. You twist your torso just enough to meet his eyes, blinking at him sweetly through your eyelashes.

“Yes?”

He doesn’t respond with words, just a piercing gaze. His blue eyes are blown wide with lust as he takes you in, dragging over your body helplessly, fighting an internal battle as he plots his next move. Filthy thoughts are etched on his face, you know him well enough by now to see the gears turn behind his eyes, imagining all the things he could do to you if he stayed.

“Can I at least have a kiss before you go?” You ask, hoping the taste of your lips will tip the scales in your favor.

He can’t deny you a kiss, he never does, so he leans in and meets your lips with a nod, his hand rising to softly cradle your jaw. You run your tongue so gently across his lower lip that he wonders if he imagined it. When you part your lips for him and release a small sigh, the game is over.

With another squeeze of your thigh, he pulls back from you just enough to reach his phone on the nightstand. You watch with a victorious grin as he types out a quick message, surely to his secretary, and tosses the phone somewhere on the bed. 

“Bought us an hour,” he tells you.

“Only an hour?” You pout.

“Don’t be greedy,” he teases you, shuffling behind you so he can spoon you, placing a dozen quick kisses up your arm, making you giggle in delight.

Rafe’s hand slides from your thigh to your waist, dipping to splay over your stomach so he can pull you flush against him. You sigh dreamily as he begins to suckle on your neck, leaving little pink marks everywhere his lips touch.

“Wasn’t that kind of an important meeting?” You ask, feeling a little guilty for potentially making him miss out on a good opportunity.

“Nothing’s more important than this,” he assures you.

You let out a little whimper at his sweet words, igniting a fire in him. His hand drifts up your stomach until his palm is settled over your breast, kneading gently. 

“Oh,” you gasp. “That feels good.” 

“Yeah?” He drawls with a crooked grin, pausing to drag the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Just needed a little attention today?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Needed you.”

His hand leaves you for a minute to fiddle with the clasp of your bra. You lift your arms up so he can slide it off and toss it somewhere on the floor of the massive master suite.

The rough skin of his palm comes back to rest over your hard nipple, the sensation is so sweet that your whole body hums with pleasure. 

“God you’re so soft,” he breathes over the wet spot he’s just left on your skin, “love these tits so much.”

With that confession, he pinches your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, the pain lasting only a second before he smoothes it over with the pad of his thumb.

“Rafe!” You squeak out at the sting.

He shushes you gently, lowering his mouth to pull your earlobe between his teeth, the pressure strong, but not strong enough to pull your mind from the way his hand is dropping lower on your torso towards your panties. A pool of silky arousal gathered between your legs, you rub your thighs together in search of friction as his hand continues to move maddeningly slow.

“Don’t worry baby,” he coos, “gonna take good care of you like I always do.”

Your fingernails dig into the sheets in preparation when he finally reaches the band of your panties, lifting them to slide his hand in.

“You always take such good care of me, Rafe,” you agree.

He places his other arm under your head for support, allowing you to look down at the outline of his big hand wriggling under the damp cloth of your panties. His fingers find your entrance easily, pausing outside to swirl in your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he praises. “Always so ready for me.”

After a few more swirls, he’s satisfied with the coating, dragging his fingers back up to your clit. He hits it right away, he could find it in a hurricane. He runs his fingers over you at the perfect angle, starting with delicate figure eights.

Your head falls forward in ecstasy, unable to form words. Rafe bends his arm at the elbow, laying his hand flat against your forehead to pull your head back into his chest, your neck arching with the stretch. The pink spots he’s left on your exposed throat have darkened nicely, giving him a chance to appreciate his handiwork. He reattaches his lips, desperate to claim you as many times as he can, hungry for you.

The sweetest, breathiest moans fall from your puffy lips, and he basks in them like the sunlight that’s bleeding through the curtains. He’s nibbling on your shoulder like it’s his breakfast as his fingers pick up speed on your clit. 

Between circles and flicks, he stops to tap quickly with the tip of his middle finger, the rhythmic pressure and release has the sensitive bud pulsing. You chase his fingers pathetically with the roll of your hips, needing more.  

As you writhe, his cloth covered cock slots between the valley of your ass, each wave of your hips grinding perfectly against his shaft. You shut your eyes tight, picturing his perfect length and the gorgeous noises he makes when he comes. You need to hear those sounds like you need air.

Your hand releases from the sheets, reaching behind you to rub the hard ridge of his dick over his sweatpants. Rafe clenches his jaw, a throaty groan vibrating through his chest and straight into your body. 

“This what you wanted, angel?” He asks, his tone dominant and desperate all at the same time. The perfect balance of ownership and a genuine urgency to please you.

“Just wanted you,” you confirm through labored pants, grinding yourself into his hand, “all I ever want is you.”

“Oh yeah? Show me.”

No further instruction needed, your hand finally dips below his waistband, immediately finding his pulsing cock. 

“Shi-ii-t,” he shudders as you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly and reveling in how hard you’ve made him.

You notice goosebumps rush up the arm that’s disappearing into your panties, you realize your hands must be cold. You know he’d never complain, but you don’t just want him to feel good, you want him to feel as amazing as he makes you feel.

You draw your hand back from his boxers, and he groans at your absence, nearly protesting until he sees what you’re doing. You dip your hand into your underwear, gently nudging his out of the way, and collect some of your wetness onto your own fingers. Your hand glistens in the morning sunlight when you pull it out, displaying it for him before returning your grip to his cock.

He’s speechless. Eyes rolling back at how fucking sexy that was, desperate to ground himself before he comes too quickly in your hand. He moves his palm down from your forehead to cup your throat, not too much pressure to hurt, but enough to remind you how strong he is. You whimper, swallowing hard under his broad palm.

“Jesus christ, baby,” he sputters, “you’re my fucking dream girl.” 

You fall in sync, Rafe rubbing tight, firm circles over your clit, while you slide your hand up and down his shaft, pausing at the tip with each stroke to swirl your thumb in the precum he’s leaking. His knuckles flex in response to each flick of your thumb, pads of his fingers holding and releasing your neck in steady pulses. 

You squeeze his cock as he squeezes your throat, so perfectly aligned in your drunken pleasure that you both chuckle at how unbelievable it feels. But if you’re laughing, then surely he’s not doing a good enough job.  

He draws your clit between his fingers, rolling over and over, not pinching too hard, but just hard enough to set every nerve ending in your body on fire. You draw your knees up, your hand slowing involuntarily on his cock as you feel the familiar coil tighten in your tummy, seconds from snapping.

“I can’t believe you’re real, you’re so perfect,” Rafe whispers into your shoulder, kissing you over and over.

“Gonna make me come talking like that, baby,” you warn him.

“You want that? You want me to make you come in my hand?”

“Not yet,” you choke out, so close that you’re already dreading coming down from your high. It’s too soon, it’s not enough. No amount of him will ever be enough, but you at least need him closer. “Want you inside, need you in me.”

“Anything. Anything you want,” he swears as he pulls his hand from your core to rip your panties down your legs. You pull them off over your feet and toss them away as he removes his pants and boxers behind you. 

The fabric finally out of the way, his dick spears into your back, somehow always so much bigger and more powerful than you remember. You pray he doesn’t make you wait any longer, wriggling back onto your side so your soaked pussy is perfectly exposed to him. 

In the soft morning light, he finally gets a good view of your slick folds, nearly busting all over your back at the sight. He’s filled this new condo with the most expensive art he could find, but nothing comes close to the masterpiece in front of him. To him, you’re fucking priceless.

He wastes no more time, tucking a hand under your knee to angle your leg up. You take his cue, understanding each other without words as always, and brace your foot flat against his calf, propping yourself open for him.

A combination of the angle and his picture perfect memory of your walls has his tip hitting your g-spot on the very first thrust. He stretches you so sweetly, the tight fit making your brain go foggy and your mouth fall open, gasping helplessly.

“Like this?” He asks, not taunting but not really asking either, already knowing the answer to “this how you want it?”

“Not quite,” you whisper. 

He freezes with confusion before you reach behind you to find the hand he has braced on your hip, pulling it up and placing it back around your neck.

“There,” you say, “now it’s perfect.”

“Holy shit,” Rafe stammers, hips jerking forward, slamming into you a little too hard, lost in his infatuation with you. 

At first he worries it’s too hard, but a dreamy moan rises from your throat and you encourage, “yes, yes, like that, please.”

Mouth agape in disbelief at his pure fucking luck in finding you, he obeys your plea, pulling back slow before thrusting in hard again. The hand that’s not on your throat pushes into the mattress beneath your head, lifting himself up for leverage. He continues to fuck into you hard, pausing after each stroke to hit as deep as he can possibly get. You’re a mess, crying out with each slap of his hips against your ass, blabbering incoherently as you clench around him.

“Ohhh my god you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth. “‘I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing me like that. You gonna let me come inside?”

Your eyes fly open as an invisible light bulb goes off above your head, you twist to meet his eyes, his lids low and irises completely blown out with lust.

“If I do, will you stay home?” you proposition him.

He scoffs, shaking his head in pure amusement and adoration, tongue digging into the side of his cheek in the cocky way you love. From this angle, the sharp features of his perfect face hover just inches from yours. The sheer attraction you feel makes your walls flutter around his cock, a tease of his reward if he promises to stay.

Rafe screws his eyes shut, his head falling back as you pulse around him repeatedly.

“Fuck! Yes, I promise, I promise,” he cries out as he continues thrusting into you sloppily, “I’ll do anything. I’ll sell my house, I’ll change my fucking name. Just ask me and I’ll do it.”

His theatrics delight you, bubbly giggles rising from your stomach as he loses himself in you. You can’t remember ever loving anyone as much as you love him at this moment.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, completely enamored with the man inside you.

Without a thought, he slips the hand on your throat to the back of your neck, kneading your skin as he pulls your mouth to his. It’s not gentle, like his typical good morning kisses, it’s messy and wet and hard and completely mind numbing. You bite on his bottom lip, almost accidentally, losing your mind at the taste of him.

“B-baby,” he stutters, his hips doing the same, “can’t - fuck -  can’t wait any longer. Tell me where you want it.”

“Mmmph, inside, please! Please fill me up, Rafe.”

It’s all he needs to hear, he buries himself deeper than he’s ever been. 

“Come with me?” he pleads.

You’re so close, you can’t even find words, nodding rapidly. He hits your g-spot one final time and you slip off the edge of the earth into uncut ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back and your toes dig into his leg, bruising his calf. His tip hits your cervix hard, hot cum pooling deep in your core, spilling out of him for longer than you thought possible. His breath is ragged and his chest heaving as his body jerks around you.

Both trembling, his arm gives out and he slumps down, curled around you. Sweaty and satisfied, you catch your breath together, Rafe still buried deep. 

He plants wet kisses on the nape of your neck, brushing your hair out of the way and blowing gently to cool you down. You see only bright white behind your closed eyes, floating in a perfect pleasure you didn’t know was possible until you met this man.

After a few moments, or possibly hours, he starts to pull out. Your hips chase his defiantly, refusing to lose his warmth again.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, reaching back to grab his hip and hold him in place. “You promised.”

“I also promised to change my name, you gonna make me do that, too?” He laughs.

“Maybe.”

“Oh really? What are you gonna call me?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “How about daddy?”

Your teasing has the intended effect, Rafe twitching inside you, already hardening again. He knows you’re just playing with him, but his mind spirals out of control at the pet name. He’s so in love he thinks it might kill him.

Settling back into you, he reaches around the bed until his hand finds his discarded cell phone.

Your lips twist into a smirk as you hear him dial, still buried in your heat.

The dial tone rings a few times and he says, “yeah, gonna need you to clear my whole day. Something came up.”

He thanks the voice on the other line, hanging up and tossing his phone somewhere in the mountain of blankets on the floor.

“A whole day?” You ask, nestling back into his chest. “Aren’t you gonna lose the money from those investors?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, laying more slow kisses on your shoulder. “Worth every fucking cent.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[lacyscabinet]

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐨

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: listened to juno in the car and had this idea 😋

summary: based on the song by sabrina carpenter (you babytrap nat); g!p nat, college!au, natasha's kind of a fuckboy

warnings: contains quite a bit of smut (hence the 18+ tag), babytrapping (= mildly toxic relationship?), buff athlete nat because that’s a warning in itself

word count: 11k (i fear it’s gotten impossible for me to write anything under 5k words lol)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Initiating public sex in front of your friends should never be a good idea.

When you're as bored as you are right now, though, that opinion quickly begins to waver.

Hand under your shirt, your head on her shoulder. The movie you're watching is one you haven't seen before. Teen pregnancy, Michael Cera, indie soundtracks, yawn. You sigh, first quietly, then a little louder.

Natasha's nose brushes against your temple. Her hand travels higher up, fingers grazing your bra.

"Not a fan?", she mumbles. You lean into her, feeling her bicep against your shoulder. "We can ditch them."

"No." It's been a while since you last had time to spend with your friends. It's also been a while since you didn't sneak off early to fuck each other brainless. "Let's stay", you say, turning your head. "At least so we can see whether they actually fall for each other."

"No offense, but who would fall for that guy? Even I would look better in those shorts."

"Don't disrespect Michael", you mumble, smiling. "Also, you'd need bigger ones to fit everything, babe."

In front of you, Clint rolls his eyes. He lets out the longest sigh known to man and turns his head, his expression lacking any amusement whatsoever. He should be used to this kind of behavior, but to be fair, he just wants one night where your shameless PDA doesn't ruin everything.

"Alright", he says. "One more comment like that and-"

"God, you're a prude." She throws her empty red solo cup at him and he jumps up. "Chill."

He directs one last warning glare at you both, then he plops back down onto the floor. As soon as he's distracted again — drinking beer, talking to his girlfriend — she pulls you closer. Your hand finds her lower stomach, gently pressing against it.

Her breath hits your ear when she exhales, hot and slow. Your hand moves a little lower. Not too far, just enough to flirt with the limit. Her fingers curl into the soft skin of your stomach.

She doesn't say anything, though. Your fingertips dance over the fabric of her sweatpants. They graze the bulge there, prominent even when she's not hard, before finally cupping it. A sharp breath escapes her.

Still, she doesn't stop you. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, where Juno is currently giving birth. The way she's staring makes it seem like she's actually invested in what's happening, but you know the truth. One wrong move, and she'll either embarrass herself — or ruin her pants.

Or both. Most likely both.

You already look irresistible enough, wearing that sinfully short skirt. With your legs tucked under your butt and your vanilla perfume clouding her senses, your hand on her cock can only lead to a disaster.

"Y/N", she whispers through gritted teeth. You palm her crotch and feel her harden.

"Mhm?" You lean in and press your lips to her jaw. Red lipstick stains her skin. It's a sight so satisfying that you keep trailing kisses across her cheek.

Natasha closes her eyes. A noise, muffled and quiet, gets stuck in her throat. You scoff and move your hand to wrap your fingers around her length, only the fabric of her clothes separating you.

"What is it?", you ask, giving a few testing strokes. She shakes her head and you finally hear that soft whimper you'd been waiting for. "Aw, poor baby. All worked up."

In front of you, Steve mumbles something. He gets up, but before he can turn around and catch Natasha and you in this compromising situation, you move and quickly sit on her lap.

Bad idea. This might be worse than the almost-handjob you were about to give her.

Steve doesn't notice anything, but you do. Her head falls forward to lean against your shoulder, her hands grip your waist. You shift and grind against her boner, feeling her tip rub against the wet patch on your panties. At least your skirt hides everything.

You rub against her with more insistence, eyes closing. Her cock, though still clothed, fits perfectly between your folds. If you try hard enough, you can pretend she's inside of you.

"Fuck", she moans. You reach behind you to squeeze her, squeeze any part of her you can reach. "Fuck, I'll come."

Clint pauses, then slowly turns his head. You go completely still, eyes fixed on the tv and your hands folded in your lap. He knows you better than to believe this little act you're putting on, though.

You're surprised he doesn't drag you out by your collars, but you get sent back to your dorms anyway.

"Idiot", you say, grabbing the front of her letter jacket. You pull her into a deep kiss, her hands roaming your body. Salt and butter, sugar and green apple. The snacks of the evening created an addictive taste, and you silently thank Clint for not getting garlic knots again.

"You started it", she pants, trailing her lips down your neck. Your back hits the wall of the dormitory, her hard-on pressing against your hip. Her hand disappears under your skirt and palms your crotch, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties. You're dripping down your thighs. "And I'll end it. Fuck."

You moan, the sound a little too obvious. It's quiet outside, apart from the occasional hum of car engines in the distance. Due to it being a Tuesday night, there are no parties. Most people are either in their dorms or pulling an all-nighter in the library. If anyone's got their window open, they'll hear you.

Natasha sinks her teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, a little louder, and she shushes you by nudging your panties aside with her fingers.

"Quiet", she mumbles, voice gentle like a praise. "Quiet for me, baby."

You writhe when she pushes two fingers into you. They slip in easily, your folds slick with wet heat, and immediately begin thrusting into you. You buck your hips to meet her movements, but she pulls out before you can even get started.

"Hey", you protest, ignoring the fact that she's already got her arm wrapped around you. Fingers in her mouth to lick off excess moisture, she pulls you toward the entrance. "Nat, I'm horny."

"Where's your roommate again?"

"Huh?" You frown, then lightly slap her chest. "Right! Good call."

She laughs quietly, the sound rough and strained, and walks up the stairs. Her hand moves to dip under your skirt. She gropes your ass, kneading the flesh. "I seriously don't know how you got into college, baby."

"Wow. Here I was, considering head tonight, and you made me change my mind."

"Oh, please." She pushes open the door and walks you to the bed. As soon as she's seated, you straddle her and wrap your arms around her neck. Her hands are under your shirt before you can even kiss her. Her tongue brushes against the seam of your lips and you open your mouth.

You grind against her boner, which only makes the ache between your legs worse. Natasha breaks the kiss to tug off your top. Her eyes dart a little lower, zeroing in on your chest. Full breasts, spilling out of a lacy bra with tiny hearts embroidered in it.

Her face sinks to bury itself between your boobs. You feel wet kisses on your skin.

"Taste so good."

"Nat."

"So soft."

"Nat."

She huffs, but doesn't look up. Her hands move your hips, making you rub against her cock. The crotch of her sweatpants is stained with a little wet patch. "What?"

"I want you to fuck me, not make out with my breasts all night long."

You feel the heat of her cheeks. Smirking faintly, you run your hand into her hair.

"Screw you."

"I'm trying." You twist a strand of her hair around your finger and tug. "Come on. I thought of a new position we could try."

That manages to make her look up, though she seems skeptic. It's almost like a game you've been playing — who can come up with the wildest position? Anything counts, as long as it leads to at least one of you having an orgasm.

"You better not disappoint this time", she says and kisses your jaw. Her hands splay out on your ass, fingertips brushing under the fabric of your panties. "That last one was a letdown."

You hum. You have to agree with her here — sidesaddle riding doesn't work no matter how you interpret it, apparently.

"This one's good", you say, getting off her lap. She groans.

"We could pause the game", she pleads, making puppy dog eyes at you. It's a fun game, sure, but sometimes, she wants to see your face while she fucks you. "Just tonight."

You tilt your head at her, eyebrows raised in silent approval for her to keep going.

"I'll let you top", Natasha adds. That's enough for you to be sold.

. . .

When you wake up, it's because of someone knocking on the door.

At first, you don't notice it. Too tight is sleep's grip on you, too warm is your bed. You're curled into Natasha, her arms wrapped around you and holding you close. But then they knock again, more insistently this time, and you sigh.

You squint to block out the sun and get up, stepping over the empty ramen cups you discarded on the floor after a late-night craving. Behind you, Natasha mutters something and rolls over. You slip into a loose shirt and open the door.

Randy, your resident advisor, pauses when he sees you. Messy hair, a thin shirt that barely reaches your thighs, your neck littered with marks. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Yes?", you drawl. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His freckled face flushes pink and he coughs. "Come on, I don't have all morning."

"There, uhm- there was a noise complaint", he says, fingers drumming against the clipboard he for some reason always carries around. "From one of the other students."

You give him a blank stare. "Okay?"

"No, not okay. Look, I don't care what you do in your free time, but maybe keep it down? The walls are quite thin, and the excessive noise, uh..." He sighs, eyes flitting down your body again. He shifts awkwardly, clipboard angled a bit, and you realize that he's trying to conceal a certain problem he's run into.

If the situation was different, you'd be irritated. But watching Randy, the 30-something guy who started working here two years ago, stumble over his own words and stutter like a nervous first grader, is too amusing to genuinely get pissed.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Deep breaths, honey. Don't faint on me."

He tries to glare at you, but fails miserably. "Y/N, I'm being serious. Others want to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave your hand dismissively. "I'll tell Nat."

Behind you, Natasha groans into your pillow. "Tell them to mind their own business", she mutters, voice rough with sleep. "Or move the fuck out."

He briefly peeks into the room, then directs his attention toward you again. You give him a challenging look.

"Nat", he repeats. The way he says her name does manage to irritate you now. You know what others think of her. You also know they're not entirely wrong. "Oh, yeah, fine. Good."

"Good", you repeat, stepping back with one hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and Randy? I know you've been getting, like, zero action lately, but I just woke up. Not even you can be that desperate. Maybe touch some grass?"

He lets out a choked sound. Before he can say anything, you wave two fingers at him and close the door.

"Buh-bye!", you call, just before the door snaps in. You twirl around and spot Natasha, still half asleep and sprawled out on your bed. Her red hair is loose for once, messy and soft, and you ignore the urge to get back into bed with her.

She hums, stretching like a cat, all lazy smiles and toned arms. An admittedly enticing sight. "Got rid of him?"

"Oh yeah." You run your hand along her arm. "I kinda feel bad for the guy."

"Don't. He's a creep." She puts her hand on the back of your thigh, tugging on it. If you didn't know better, you'd think she's scared you'll just slip away. "Feel bad for me. The abandoned girlfriend."

You huff, not budging. You'd love to go back to bed, but you have other things to do.

"Classes", you remind her, turning away. You take off your shirt and she groans. "Shower, too." Your panties follow. This time, she lets out a full blown moan.

You turn around and give her an unimpressed (albeit slightly amused) look. "And that is why we got a noise complaint."

"Come on", she whines. "Not even professors like their own classes. You can afford ten more minutes, baby. I won't even make you put on your clothes again."

"You say that like it's supposed to benefit me."

"It benefits both of us." Natasha grunts and finally sits up, slouching. Her arms are crossed over her lap as her eyes travel up and down your body. It takes you a second to realize why.

She tilts her head, cheeks pink. The expression on her face is both guilty and hopeful, like she's weighing her odds. A productive day or a few more minutes — maybe hours, if she plays her cards right — in bed with her?

Her chances aren't looking too bad.

"You can't be serious", you deadpan. Of course, she is.

"I'll be quick."

"You're never quick!"

"You can't blame me for that", she retorts. "God, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you for the next few hours?"

"Next few 'hours'? Babe, you have practice today. Plus, I wanted to go shopping."

Natasha flops onto her back dramatically. It gives you a full view of her body, head to toe, with her not-so-little problem included. You bite the inside of your cheek frustratedly as you realize she's chipping away at your resolve.

"Practice isn't that important", she mutters, her forearms covering her eyes.

"Babe, you're team captain", you say, turning around. Focus on something else, anything else. If you cave, you will definitely be late. Or, worst case scenario, you won't leave your dorm before lunchtime — again. "Just...take a cold shower. I'll see you tonight."

She mutters something about 'showers being a scam' under her breath, then finally gets up. You watch her gather her stuff and get dressed, but you keep her letter jacket clutched to your chest. She raises her eyebrows and reaches out her hand.

"No."

"That's mine."

"Nope."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but ultimately just kisses you before slipping into her shoes. She can't help it — she's weak for you.

"I'll get you back for this", she says, then the door falls shut behind her.

. . .

The basketball circles the hoop once, twice, leaving everyone on the edge of their seats.

One leg crossed over the other, you lean forward. Red lips part slightly, manicured nails dig into the thin skin of your knee. All eyes are on the ball, which wobbles — but then it slips off and bounces away. You groan and toss your head back.

"Come on, Romanoff!", someone next to you shouts.

"Damn it", you curse. You go to her games all the time, and usually, you enjoy it. Watching her miss a shot, however, is not the most pleasant part of the experience.

Natasha runs her hand over her hair, clearly frustrated. She's been off her shooting game today, and she doesn't know why. She's not doing anything different.

You watch her trail backwards, bouncing on her heels and her eyes locked on the hoop. When she hears her team's complaints, she turns around. She yells at a teammate, then at a player from the opposite team, before the coach calls for a timeout.

She jogs to the bench, snatches her water bottle, and tips her head back to take a swig. Baby hairs stick to her sweaty temples, the veins on her arms popping. You lean forward.

"Nat!"

She looks up, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched. Then she realizes it's you and, just like that, her scowl softens. She glances at her team to check if anyone's watching her before approaching you. You're in the first row, right next to the home team's bench, so all she has to do is lean on the barrier separating the seats from the court.

"Hey", she says.

"'Hey'? Are you kidding me? What the hell was up with that shot?"

Natasha frowns and huffs. "Alright, I don't need a lecture right now. So unless you want to kiss me for good luck-"

A girl from her team — one you don't know too well — nudges her. Natasha barely glances at her, but it's enough for you to lean forward and tug at her ear.

"What the fuck!"

"I'm serious! You missed by, like, half a mile."

The glare she gives you is deadly, but you deserve it. You are being a little unfair. For good reason, though: whenever you're there to berate her, she suddenly starts playing much better. It's like magic. She needs a healthy dose of bullying from you for her performance to be at its peak.

"Alright", she snaps. "Be my guest. Suit up and try, if you think you'll do better."

"Oh, no." You reach up and brush your fingers along her jaw before resting them under her chin. "You're the best, aren't you? So show me that's true, and I'll reward you. But losers don't get a reward."

"You drive a hard bargain", she mutters. You smile innocently and tap her bottom lip. "Fine. Fine, I'll...do better, I guess."

"That's my girl", you purr and, with a light push against her mouth, send her back to her team.

The game continues.

Before halftime, Natasha's team was trailing 34-37, but after some strong defense and a layup, the score is tied again. That is, until the opposing team hits a couple of shots.

You're agitated, but confident. At least you're pretty sure you are.

Most of her games are like this. Her team needs to be slightly behind for her to be able to give it her all. You convince yourself it won't be different this time, either.

Eyes zeroed in on Natasha, you watch her every move. How she dribbles the ball, weaves through the defenders, loses the ball again. The game is a close one. They're playing against one of the better teams this time, and it shows.

It's a back and forth between the teams. The opposing team gets a small lead, which is quickly lost thanks to another shot. During the last minute, they're tied again. Teams are trading baskets, but you don't know whether you should stay positive.

For a while, it looks bad. Time is running out. Then, in a split second, Natasha is open at the top of the arc. The pass is fast, almost too high, but she catches it. Your breathing stops for a moment and you barely manage to restrain yourself from jumping up from your seat.

Five seconds left. The team's are neck-and-neck. Natasha has the ball.

Three seconds left. She makes her move, stepping back for a three-pointer. She rises, muscles coiled, and lets the ball fly.

One second left. After cutting through the air and briefly hitting the hoop, the ball swishes through the net.

66-64. The buzzer sounds. Her team has won.

You're on your feet before you realize it, yelling along with the audience. Natasha's team crashes into her the second she's back on the ground, but she only lets them slap her back and punch her arms for a few seconds before she weaves through the small crowd.

You hop over the barricade and into her arms, not caring about the fact she's all sweaty. Her lips press against your neck, her hand rubs up and down your back. She spins you around.

"You did it!"

"Because of you."

"That shot was amazing. More of that, please."

Natasha laughs, low and rough and exhausted, and tips her head back to look up at you. You smile and kiss her. She tastes like salt and Gatorade.

"Still the best?", she teases after pulling away. The soles of your sneakers make a quiet thudding sound against the vinyl floor.

"Always", you promise, pecking her lips once more. Natasha smirks and tugs off her jersey to hand it to you. With the fabric gone, she's almost naked. Only a sports bra and shorts cover her body. You earn a few stares from the opposing team, who isn't used to your little ritual, but you don't notice. It's a nice view, so you'd be an idiot to look at anyone but her.

You put on the jersey and let her pull you into her side again. She kisses you, slow and unhurried, while leading you back toward her team.

It's a last minute decision from the team to go to a bar together. Natasha takes a quick shower before you leave, now wearing something more comfortable. Getting her to dress up is a losing battle, so you don't even try this time. Plus, there's something distinctly attractive about the grey sweatpants she's sporting (or rather, what she's sporting inside the grey sweatpants).

You stay glued to her side pretty much all night. You're in her lap, her arm firmly holding you in place. The bass makes the ground vibrate and the alcohol is clouding your senses, but it's still early enough for you to be somewhat aware of reality.

You lean your cheek against her temple, then turn your head to brush your lips against her skin. She hums and squeezes your thigh, but her attention wavers. Two girls approach her, both of them around your age and probably fellow students.

Natasha glances at them, eyebrows raised. You cup her nape and brush your thumb against her hairline.

The girls smile, a little too brightly, and start talking about the basketball game. They're shameless — even with you, wearing Natasha's jersey and sitting on her lap, they're still going on and on about the game and the shots she made.

With every word that leaves their glossy pink lips, Natasha's focus on you slips more and more. Her hand on your thigh loosens. Her gaze, first flickering between you and the others, starts to linger on them. Her lips curve into that confident little smile you know too well.

You roll your eyes and scoot off her lap. If she has to do this, you don't want to be present. You excuse yourself and go to the restroom, where you freshen up. More lipstick, more perfume. You lift the front of Natasha's jersey and take a whiff to see whether it smells. It's not horrible, but noticeable enough, so you decide to change into the top you brought.

When you return to the bar, Natasha has leaned over to the girls. Arms crossed on the bar's counter, a lazy smirk on her face. The post-game glow is on full display. She tilts her head and mumbles something. It takes you a moment to realize she's flirting.

The girls are delighted. Giggling, shrugging, leaning forward as well. Their expressions indicate they clearly believe at least one of them has a shot. You understand why — Natasha, even after getting into a relationship with you, never quite got rid of her fuckboy-image —, but that doesn't mean you're not furious.

You want to compose yourself, you really do. You're pretty sure this isn't what it looks like, anyway. Fingernails digging into your palms, you watch them for another moment. Then, Natasha subtly bites her lip in that way that first drew you to her, and you've had enough.

You're next to her within seconds, your hand wrapping around her wrist. She lets out a grunt as you drag her away, leaving the two girls speechless and mildly annoyed.

"Have you lost your mind?", she complains, finally finding her voice again. You're already halfway into a bathroom stall.

"Have you?", you snap, pushing her inside and slamming the door shut. Natasha pauses, her eyes traveling up and down your body. The top, almost translucent and leaving little to the imagination, has her more than a little distracted. "My face is up here, you bastard."

"What? Hey!" She frowns. "What happened? What'd I do?"

There's a significant height difference between her and you, but it's not like that ever bothered you. You shove her against the wall, your eyes blazing. Her first instinct is to step forward — she's taller, all shoulders and muscle —, but she can tell you're pissed. Once she realizes she's fucked up, she lifts her hands and almost shrinks under your glare.

"Are you playing dumb? Don't play dumb!"

"What are you even- I was talking to them! They asked about the game!"

"You were flirting!"

Natasha scoffs, her cheeks a nervous-rosy pink. It'd look cute if you weren't about to slam her head through the plastic wall of the stall.

"I wasn't 'flirting'", she argues. "I was talking to them."

"No", you retort. "You were flirting. I could tell. They had that glittery look in their eyes stupid bitches get when you're close to them."

She blinks, caught off-guard, and her head tilts. The word you used is one you usually stay away from. The second you start cussing out other girls? Okay, now she knows you're mad mad.

"Baby", she says slowly, "I swear we were just talking. Nothing else. I don't give a fuck about anyone but you, and you know it."

"Right." You let out a bitter laugh. The sound makes her stomach tighten. "That's good to hear. Maybe it'd be believable if you hadn't tried to-"

The door of the bathroom stall next to yours opening cuts you off. You pause and turn when you hear the quiet pattering sound. Toilet paper rips. The person flushes. Then, shuffling of feet. It takes unbelievably long, and you let out a long sigh.

"Can you hurry?", you finally bark, and the person drops their purse. Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry!", they say, their voice a squeak, and leave the stall. Water runs, more paper towels, then the door falls shut. You turn to Natasha again, whose ears are as pink as her cheeks.

You raise your eyebrows, as if daring her to say something. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she rubs the back of her neck.

"Okay", she says. "Maybe it was flirting, in a way. I didn't mean to, though."

Your fingers tighten on the front of her zip hoodie. Her eyes widen in silent panic.

"You can't flirt without meaning to flirt!"

"You totally can", she says, her back thudding against the wall once more. "Can you stop that?! Jesus, you're scary."

That last bit is mumbled, but you hear it anyway. It's enough to make you laugh — a sound that slips out unintentionally — but you quickly shake your head.

"I can be way scarier, you know. This is nothing."

"I totally believe that", she says, frowning petulantly. "You're turning into a tiny terror."

Despite your anger, your lips twitch again. Your grasp on her hoodie loosens, your scowl softens the tiniest bit. It's enough for Natasha, who first tried to gauge your mood for a few seconds, to take a leap of faith.

"The sexiest tiny terror", she adds, pulling you closer. You sigh. "My tiny terror. Why would I want anyone else when I have you?"

"This feels like manipulation, babe."

Her eyes light up — babe. She's getting somewhere.

"It's not", she promises, kissing your forehead. Her hands roam your sides, your hips, and slip under your top. "I'm being serious. Scout's honor."

"You're so full of shit."

Natasha grins and keeps kissing your face. Your cheeks, your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth. Unfortunately, each press of her lips against your skin softens you further. You'll probably just have to accept she's an expert at buttering you up.

"Come on now", she mumbles, her mouth against your ear. You giggle quietly when her tongue briefly flicks against your earlobe. "You know you love me."

"I must've done something terrible in my past life to deserve this."

She hums, her hands palming your sides. You exhale and lean into her, willing yourself to not give in — and failing. Her lips brush against your neck, sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin, and a shiver rolls up your spine.

Without really noticing, you press closer. Natasha's fingers find the clasp of your bra and swiftly unhook it.

"Hey", you protest, trying to bat her hand away. She buries her face against your neck, but doesn't budge. Her hand slides around to your front. "I can't believe I put up with you."

"Me neither", she mumbles, smirking faintly. "I'm a lucky idiot."

"Well, that's true."

Natasha kisses your neck, then your shoulder. Her hands push up your top and reveal your skin inch by inch. Your breath stutters when, suddenly, the roles are reversed and you feel your back against the wall.

Your hands come up to tangle in her hair. She grips your thighs and mouths at your neck.

"You're not forgiven, you know."

"Sure."

Her teeth sink into your neck. You barely manage to speak.

"I mean it."

Underwear around your ankles, you help her tug her sweatpants down. She struggles with the condom, but once the piece of plastic is wrapped around her cock snugly, she holds your hips in place and buries herself inside you. No time to adjust — she sets a fast pace.

The back of your head hits the wall and you let out a moan. Natasha keeps rutting into you, moaning breathily, your hands in her hair and her hands gripping your ass. She stuffs you up to the brim, cock pulsing and twitching, and pounds into you relentlessly.

Right as you're just about to tumble over the edge, the bathroom door opens again. You feel a moan rise up in your throat and quickly slap your own hand over your mouth, stifling the sound. Natasha laughs breathlessly, but then whines against your neck.

Whoever entered seems oblivious. They're on the phone, talking rapidly, while water flows in the background. You hear the clinking of stilettos on tiles and then smell a faint waft of some overly sweet perfume.

This whole situation usually wouldn't pose much of an issue. You're close enough, and you know from experience that you can keep quiet when needed. But Natasha, being who she is, slows down. Her grip on you loosens, her movements are drawn-out. Your thighs tremble and you groan against your own palm.

"I'll kill you."

"Ssh, baby", she mumbles, dragging her lips along your jaw. Her hips meet yours, again and again and again, but she's going too slow to really achieve anything. "Don't get us caught."

Every deliberate roll of her hips sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You whimper and bite down on your palm harder, meeting her movements with your hips. The pressure increases, and so does the need to push Natasha to go faster. Your thighs clench around her, but all she does is smile against your neck. You rock against her hips, desperate for more.

"Fuck you", you hiss, but the words die on your tongue when she picks up the pace. She ruts into you, urging you closer to the edge while you wrestle with the impulse to shout her name.

"I love you", she says, each word punctuated by a soft grunt. The bathroom door falls shut, and you finally get coaxed into that sweet high of mindless oblivion.

. . .

The sun is long gone, replaced by the milky light of the moon that's seeping into the library.

Natasha called it a 'study-session', hoping it'd turn into something else entirely. But exams are coming up, and as much as you'd like to hide in the encyclopedia aisle and hook up again, you'd rather she passes.

You're sitting on the table in front of her, with her head in your lap, as you test her knowledge on the subject. Sports Law — something you've only gotten familiar with since dating her.

"That's wrong", you say, running your fingers through her hair. "It's title IX of the education amendments of 1972. You should know that, babe."

She groans and turns her head, burying her face between your thighs. You smile faintly and drum your fingers against her scalp.

"Who cares? I'll pass, anyway. I always do."

"I want you to ace this one, though."

"Pipe dream."

"Nat."

Another groan. She pushes up the fabric of your shirt and shifts, her lips brushing against your lower abdomen. You bite back a soft sound of pleasure.

Not now. You have other things to focus on. But god, her hands start massaging your thighs, and her lips feel warm and plush, and the library seems empty enough. Heat pools in your lower belly and you quickly shove her off you.

"No", say, voice strained. "Study. Now."

"You're boring", Natasha mutters, grabbing the book and skimming the pages. "I know all of this. It's easy."

"You got four questions wrong", you counter, glancing at the screen of her phone when it buzzes. Her wallpaper flashes on the screen — a picture of you, only wrapped into silky bedsheets, with kiss marks on your shoulders and your hair a mess. But that's not what catches your attention. It's the message that just popped up.

A girl named Tara.

Natasha lifts her head and peeks at her phone. You snatch it before she can reach for it.

"Who's that?", you prompt.

"A girl from Sports Economics", she says, sitting up. She tries to grab the phone, but you hold it out of her reach. "Babe."

"Why's she texting you at midnight?"

"Not sure", she replies, irritated, and tries to grab it again. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the phone. "I could tell you if you'd let me read the damn text."

"She always texts you this late?", you ask, glancing up at the phone.

A simple message — hey, you awake? :) — but still unexpected enough to annoy you. You squint and try to look at her profile picture.

"Hold on, is that the girl who said hi to you in the cafeteria the other day? The one with the pink eyeshadow?"

"Yeah", she says, her arm dropping in defeat. "Tara. Like I said, I know her from Econ."

"It's midnight", you mutter, bringing the phone back down. Before Natasha can protest, you've used her face to unlock the phone and opened the chat. Natasha rolls her eyes and huffs, so you pinch her bottom lip. "You should tell her to find some new makeup. I thought she was fighting for her life against allergies."

"You're mean."

"Her makeup sucks."

"Doesn't make it any less mean", she argues, resting her head on your lap again. She sighs, eyes closing, and waits for you to finish whatever you're doing. "Still scrolling?"

"It's a long chat", you mutter, thumb swiping over the screen. Luckily, the messages seem innocent enough. At least Natasha's do. "She wants you."

"I'm pretty sure she's straight."

"Nat", you say, putting her phone aside. "Straight girls want you, too."

She looks up, smirking. You flick her forehead.

"Ow!"

You narrow your eyes at her, watching her rub the spot you flicked. "You're enjoying this."

"I am", she says bluntly. "You're going on and on about some girl I really don't care about."

"She cares about you", you argue. "In the past, that seemed to be enough."

Natasha scoffs and sits up, leaning back in her chair. She studies you for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, then sighs. Her legs stretch out under the table.

"Exactly", she finally says. "In the past. Not now, not last week, but when it didn't matter."

"I feel like some things don't stop mattering."

"Like my love for you", she flirts. You kick her side and she lets out a quiet 'oof'. "What'd I do to deserve that, huh?!"

"You can't flirt your way out of everything, you know!"

"I'm not flirting my way out", she protests, looping her arms around your waist and tugging you closer. You sigh, thighs snugly wrapped around her torso. "I love you. Nothing can change that."

"No?" You give her a skeptical look. She just shakes her head and leans in, pressing a few kisses to your chest.

"No", she mumbles. "I love you. Period. Now stop worrying."

You stare at her as she nuzzles and kisses your chest, slowly moving upwards. Her thoughts are somewhere else already, whereas you're still stuck. Tara, the girls at the bar, the stares Natasha gets all day long. Your worries, fears, and how easily she can dismiss them. How, when you're mad, she manages to worm her way out of just about everything.

Smooth words and soft touches are her specialty. She uses them like a tool, which can be hot, but also incredibly frustrating. You know why it's so easy for her — because she knows you'll stay. You won't leave. She claims that the same thing is true for her, but maybe she'll need to prove that.

The thought creeps in slowly, dangerously. It's nothing more than a small, fleeting idea at first, but the longer you watch her, the more drawn to it you become.

Natasha says she's yours. She says there's nothing to worry about. You'd love to know whether she actually means that.

She loves you, after all. Logically, she'd love a tiny version of you just as much.

"Hey", you mumble, eyes focused on her. She pauses, lips pressed to your jaw. "You seem distracted."

"Can't help it. I'll need a different study-buddy to be able to concentrate on anything but you."

"Oh yeah?" You glance at the clock hanging on the wall across from you. Almost 1am. "It's late, you know. We might as well leave."

She hums against your skin and looks up. "Your dorm's still empty?"

"Mhm", you say before you're able to reconsider this whole plan. "We got the whole room to ourselves."

"Well then", she says, getting up and pecking your lips, "what are we waiting for? Let's go."

The hallway is as empty as the library was. Natasha presses you against the wall, caging you in between a corner and her body, and kisses you. Hands bunch up your shirt, feel heated skin. You wrap your arms around her neck and hum into the kiss.

Her hand dips into the back pocket of your jeans. She fishes out the key to your dorm, then leads you down the hallway. One arm wrapped around your waist, she unlocks the door using her free hand.

Bodies tumble onto the mattress together. Breathy laughter, stripping of clothes, bare skin on bare skin. Natasha turns, opens the drawer of the nightstand next to you to look for condoms, but you tug her on top you again. She doesn't resist and kisses you, lips moving and messing up your makeup.

You feel her nestled inside of you, every vein and throb noticeable. She grabs and angles your thigh for deeper access, her moans mingling with yours. Lipstick marks smudged on her cheek, hickeys on your chest. The bed frame hits the wall with every thrust, muffled thuds filling the air.

Her hand finds your lower belly, pressing down on it. Natasha feels her own outline through the soft skin and groans quietly. Teeth nip at your neck, her hips meeting yours a few more times. Then, the anticipated release and the relief that comes with it.

Warmth pools deep inside of you. It drips down your thighs, staining the bedsheets, but all you manage to do is turn your head and bury your face in her neck. Your fingers brush against your stomach, and the full acceptance of what might happen starts to set in.

. . .

Weeks have passed. Late spring has turned into something resembling an early summer.

A little '+' confirms it.

You're alone when you take it. It's quite early, not even 6am, but you got woken up by someone yelling in the hallway. The test was right next to you, lying on your nightstand like a bad omen, then you finally grabbed it and got up.

Taking it wasn't hard, but checking the result is. You stare at the test in your hand, your brain too tired and sleepy to process everything. Leaning against the wall of your dorm's bathroom, you try to let reality sink in. It doesn't feel real. Not yet, at least.

Knowing it is real helps, though. You put the test aside and exhale, fingers drumming against the tiled wall behind you. Your thoughts are more of a mess than you thought they'd be.

It was a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive decision. It was also incredibly stupid. Yet you're here, eyes glued to the ceiling, and find yourself regretting nothing at all. At this point, not even the thought of her reaction scares you.

She said she loved you. All you're doing is putting that love to the test. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Bullshit. You know you've fucked up.

You meet her after class, as you agreed on earlier that morning. She seems calm, happy, completely oblivious to what secret you're (literally) carrying with you. Hands on your waist, she pecks your lips, then she grabs your backpack and slings it over her shoulder.

It's a warm afternoon, so you head to the mall. You grab a few things you need — new pajamas, some shampoo, a water bottle to replace the one you lost. Natasha tosses a pack of condoms into the shopping cart and you barely stop yourself from reacting too obviously.

On your way out, you pass a store that exclusively sells baby-related items. Strollers, onesies, highchairs. You avert your eyes and stay close to Natasha's side.

Late evening. You're back on Clint's couch, passing around pizza and trying to decide on a movie. Clint complains about Laura's last pick — Juno — which, apparently, most of you didn't like too much.

Natasha pulls your legs over her lap, lightly massaging your shin. She's only in a white tank top that leaves her shoulders and arms on full display. You'd be distracted if you weren't worrying about other things already.

"I wasn't a fan, either", she says, glancing at Clint. "But I did like what it led to."

"Right. I swear to everything that's holy, if you start something like that again-"

"Seriously, calm down." She raises her eyebrows. "Keep ranting like that and poor Laura will think you're going celibate."

He rolls his eyes and slumps into the couch, one hand swatting at her. She laughs and bats him away. When she glances at you, she notices how quiet you are, and nudges you.

"You're unusually non-hyper verbal, baby."

"I'm good", you say, stretching. "Just...bored."

You're not bored. You're far from bored. But you needed an excuse. However, Natasha takes it the wrong way, and a tiny smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah?", she says, running her hand higher. First it touches your knee, then it brushes under the hem of your dress. "Bathroom's empty. Maybe we'll even make it into the bedroom. I heard Mr. Prude over there got a new mattress."

"Romanoff, I will-"

"Shush." She raises her eyebrows at him before leaning closer to you. Her breath fans your cheek, her voice is a raspy murmur. "If you want us to ditch them, just tell me. I'll get us outta here."

"I'm fine", you assure her. "Just get me a beer."

Natasha nods and turns, grabbing a can from the ice bucket they prepared. She cracks it open right as you realize you probably shouldn't drink it.

"Actually", you stammer, "I'm good. None for me. Thank you."

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't comment on it. Shrugging, she takes a sip.

"Sure", she says. "I can get you a coke?"

"No, thanks." You shake your head and sink into the cushions, trying to keep the heat from your face. It's difficult, though, and it only gets worse when a character in whatever movie you're watching (truthfully, you aren't paying much attention) is revealed to be pregnant.

You rub your neck, throwing glances at Natasha every now and then. She's still oblivious. Then, she catches you staring, and her head tilts in silent question. You pause before getting up and dragging her along.

"What...?"

"Not in my bed!", Clint shouts.

"We're not having sex!", you yell back, slamming the door to his bedroom shut.

"We're not?"

You turn toward Natasha. "No", you say, awkwardly crossing your arms. "We're not."

"Shame", she says, smirking, and pushes her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She studies you for a moment and her smirk softens. "You alright?"

"I'm fine", you lie. "We need to talk, though."

Her smirk disappears entirely. She frowns, her gaze steady and attentive. Alright, you think. You're mine now. Have fun finding out about it.

"Talk?", she says, leaning against the closet. "About what, baby? Did you do something?"

"Uhm..."

"You did?" She grins faintly. "Wow. Didn't expect that to ever happen. How bad is it?"

"It's not funny", you say, plucking at the strap of your dress. "You won't be grinning like that once I tell you."

"Don't underestimate me", she teases, hands slipping out of her pockets to rest on your arms. "Anything can be funny, if you're looking at it the right way."

"Oh yeah?" You pause. "How funny is us being in this for the long haul?"

"Not very funny, honestly. I wouldn't mind, though."

"Mhm." You tilt your head. Your heart beats faster and faster, but at this point, you have to say it. "Good to know."

"It is?" Natasha hums and pulls you closer, her lips brushing against your nose. "Want to make it official, or why's that?"

"I mean, having a baby is pretty official."

The second those words leave your lips, Natasha freezes. First, she just stares at you. Her hands drop to her sides. She takes a step back, then another, her eyebrows furrowed and confusion etched into her face.

The gears in her head start turning. She tries recalling whether you've been using protection, but then her brain fails her, and she exhales sharply. Silence lingers, heavy and uncomfortable, before she finally blurts out.

"We're what?"

"I'm pregnant", you say. "Took a test. It's positive."

"You...I..." She rakes her hand through her hair, her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another step backwards, and her back collides with the wall. "We were careful."

"Oh, no." You watch her, growing more worried. "We weren't. Not that night after the library."

Natasha looks at you. Her brain eventually catches up.

"Oh, fuck", she curses. "Fuck. Y/N!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?!"

"Can you calm down?" You tilt your head. "You said you're in it for the long haul, no?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Uhh, guys?"

You whip around. The door is still shut, but Clint is standing behind it.

"What?", you call, irritated.

"Look, no idea what the hell is going on in there, but if you need help..."

"No help. We're fine."

"Are we?", Natasha hisses. You look at her.

"Oh, relax", you say, rolling your eyes. "You'll live."

She lets out a panicked wheeze and scrubs her hand down her face. You're being too calm, too nonchalant, whereas she feels like she's about to have a dozen panic attacks at once. She's not one to let herself get tied down. At least, that's what she always told herself. You may have changed that belief, but old habits die hard.

"I can't have a kid now! I- I have practice, I have games!" Then, as if the thought just hit her: "This is like a teen pregnancy."

"You're in college."

"Same thing!"

"Absolutely not the same thing", you argue, stepping closer. "Look, it won't be easy, but it could be worse. I mean, you love me — now imagine how much you'll love a tinier, cuter version of me."

She shoots you a glare, her breathing still uneven and rapid. "Don't think you can get much tinier."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Absolutely not", she mutters. "Pretty sure that's what got me into this mess."

"You're saying I should've gotten railed by someone else?"

Another glare. This one shuts you up. Natasha turns, looks out the mirror, glances at the striped bedsheets and the painting on the wall. Finally, she looks at you.

"I shouldn't even ask, since you seem perfectly fine", she mutters, crossing her arms. "But what about you? You okay? I mean..."

"I'm fine", you say, more quietly now. She nods and looks away again. You step closer and cup her face, standing on your tiptoes to litter small kisses across her cheeks and forehead. With every touch, her panic softens into mild anxiety. Then, at last, her arms wrap around your waist.

You look at her. Natasha exhales sharply, like she's trying to make peace with it all. She doesn't smile, but her fingertips graze your lower belly.

"If we're doing this", she mumbles stubbornly, "I get to teach them basketball."

"Fine."

"They get a jersey. A tiny one. With my number on it."

You sigh. "Sure."

"Also, no more junk food. The baby eats what you eat."

You scoff, squishing her face. She gives you another halfhearted glare.

"I will end you", you say, squeezing again. She shakes her head and tries to pull away from your grasp. "I mean it! What's life without fries?"

"Depressing", she says, hands sliding to your front and then back to your waist. "But healthier for whatever is growing inside you."

Your expression turns deadpan. "It's a baby."

"Show me an ultrasound first."

"You know what, maybe I did make this up."

..."Excuse me?!"

"I'm kidding!"

"No", she protests. "Now I want to see a doctor's note."

You let out a long exhale and pull her closer, your face against her neck. You press a kiss to her pulse point to keep yourself from slapping her. Sometimes, you wonder whether she's annoying intentionally.

But then, she softens. Her arms wrap around you, muscles enveloping you in safety and warmth, and her lips press kisses to your hair. Her heartbeat against your ear, her scent everywhere around you, you feel yourself melt a little.

"If this is real", she says, shushing you before you can interfere, "I'll do my best, alright? I'm not good at sticking around. I know that. But you have made me stick around, and I'm sure the baby will only make me stick around longer."

"'Longer'", you mumble, voice muffled, "better mean forever in this case."

"I said what I said."

"Romanoff."

She laughs, still shaking a little, and tightens her hold on you. Her nose is buried in your hair.

"We're also finding an apartment", she murmurs. "The dorm's too small. Can't fit a crib in there."

"Obviously."

"And we're not telling the others. Not yet."

You hum, hands sliding under her top and feeling the muscles on her back. Her skin is warm and smooth, making you press closer to her. She groans softly.

"No?", you ask, drawing shapes on her lower back.

"No. Not until I don't feel like passing out just thinking about it."

You laugh, fingertips pressing into her skin. You look up at her and smile. The smile you get in return is a bit strained, but her hands come up to cup your face. You lean in and kiss her.

First, it's soft and slow. Her thumbs brush over your cheeks. A quiet hum comes from her throat.

Then, you're walking backwards. You feel the mattress against your legs. You pull away and raise your eyebrows.

"Now?"

"Cut me some slack. I need to relieve stress."

You huff, but she's got you on your back before you can say anything else. Your hands fumble with her hair, releasing it from the loose bun, and watch the red strands come free. She hums and kisses your shoulder.

Her hand dips under your dress, traveling upwards until her fingers reach your stomach. She touches it, tentatively, before fumbling with your underwear. You let out a sound of approval, head dropping onto the mattress.

"This baby better not change anything", Natasha says, bunching up your dress around your waist.

"Change what?", you ask lazily.

"This. Us." She leans down and kisses your thigh. "You know what I mean."

"I truly don't."

She palms herself through her sweatpants, her eyes shooting you an unimpressed look. "You can't be that dense. Jesus Christ, my child is going to be a moron."

You scoff and flick her shoulder, but there's a faint smirk on your face. This is good. This is safe, familiar. "Can't believe I let you knock me up."

Natasha smiles. For a split second, her fingers twitch against your lower stomach before she focuses on pulling your underwear down. As if on instinct, she reaches for the condom in the pocket of her sweatpants, but then pauses. She glances at you. A look is exchanged, and you both start laughing.

It's slow, this time. Slow and lazy, unhurried. Your earlier 'fight' scared Clint off, so he doesn't even interrupt you. Neither of you is sure what's coming next, but in that moment, it doesn't matter.

. . .

By the way Natasha is staring at the screen, you'd think she's seeing an alien.

Truthfully, it might be one. You're not sure. All you know is that the white blob does not resemble a human in the slightest.

You glance at the ob-gyn, who seems unfazed. She keeps moving the transducer over your gel-slicked stomach, making the image on the screen waver. Finally, she stops and hits a button. The image freezes.

You squint at the screen. A blob. A vaguely human-shaped blob, maybe, but still a blob.

"There's the baby."

You look at Natasha. She raises her eyebrows, seeming helpless. Where?, she mouths.

The doctor is used to this. She doesn't even need to ask you anything to zoom in and point again, but it only helps minimally.

"Oh, yeah", Natasha finally lies. "I see it."

"Yeah", you add, trying to avoid the ob-gyn's eyes. "It's cute."

The woman sees right through you. She smiles faintly and prints the picture for you, then she wipes your stomach down with a few paper towels. "It's fine if you don't see it", she says, throwing the towels away. "Most parents don't. Babies do look a bit deformed in the beginning."

"But it's healthy?", Natasha asks.

"Completely healthy. Don't you worry." She smiles and tugs off her nitrile gloves. "I'll be back in a minute, alright? Feel free to look at the image and play 'Where's Waldo.'"

You hum noncommittally and glance at the ultrasound picture. Still a blob.

Natasha's fingers twitch against her knee and she shifts. All of this is becoming way too real way too soon.

"It's gonna come out looking like a real person, right?", she mumbles, frowning.

"You're kidding."

"Sorry, but it looks like something you'd see under a microscope."

You grab the first thing you find — your cardigan, bunched into a ball — and toss it at her. She catches it and spreads it out over your legs.

"Nice one", she says drily. "Come on, you can't tell me that looks like a baby."

You roll your eyes and glance at the picture again, fingers brushing over the glossy surface. She's right. It doesn't even resemble something supposedly alive, let alone a human being. But it is a human being, according to the doctor, and that's all you need to know.

"Maybe it's taking its time getting cute."

"That'll take a while."

"I hate you."

. . .

Nobody knows. Not yet. But hiding it is getting harder with every day.

Basketballs bounce, shoes squeak, the air smells of sweat and gym air. You watch the ball be thrown in your direction and you catch it, then toss it aside.

It was a flirty text that led you here. You were in bed, drunk on sunlight and half-asleep, when your phone buzzed. The picture you got was one you couldn't complain about — Natasha, in front of a mirror, only wearing boxers (just slightly tugged down to reveal an additional sliver of skin) and a bra. A picture taken in the locker room of the gym, right before practice. It was enough to get you semi-conscious and shoo you out of bed.

Practice is over now, so you walk onto the court. Natasha wraps her arms around you and kisses your cheek, her hand sneakily moving to your stomach — still pretty flat, but your shirt hides the tiniest of bumps.

"You did good", you say, smiling, and cup her face. The heat is making the ends of her hair curl, and strands of baby hair stick to her sweaty temples. You scrunch your nose, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. "Really good. But that last shot was...meh."

"Criticizing me?" She scoffs and presses her lips to yours. Around you, her teammates talk and grab their stuff before heading to the showers. "A little more support would be appreciated, you know."

"This is me supporting you", you point out, walking her out of the gym. "What else do you want me to do, huh? Cheer? Fetch some water?"

"I wouldn't say no to seeing you in a cheerleading uniform."

You scoff, your hands wrapping around her lower arm as you lead her across campus. Only a handful of students passes you — it's summer, and most people are either visiting their families or vacationing. Not you and Natasha, though. You're spending your free time looking for an apartment.

"You'll have to wait around 6 more months for that." You pause, quickly re-calculating. "I think. My brain isn't working the way it's supposed to."

"Nothing new", she mumbles, shooting you a smirk when you jab your elbow into her side. "Kidding, kidding."

She squeezes your waist and leads you to the campus parking lot. She's still in her jersey, all sweaty from practice, but you have an appointment for an apartment viewing soon. Actually, you've got a whole list of apartments you want to look at. Natasha is taking apartment-hunting very seriously.

Too seriously, you're starting to think. Suddenly, not only the size of the apartment and the neighborhood where it's located are important, but also a bunch of things that are, in your humble opinion, simply not relevant.

"This next one has a basketball court nearby", she says, adjusting your seatbelt for you. "Good for early practice, you know. For the kid."

You raise your eyebrows. "For our fetus?"

"Hey, never too early."

You keep your thoughts on that matter to yourself.

At the apartment, the landlord shows you around. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, two bedrooms. Everything seems to be going fine. Despite still being in a sweaty jersey, Natasha manages to make a good impression. Then, he dares ask about your current family situation. That's when the usually so composed woman starts stuttering.

"Well, engaged. I guess. I mean, not yet, but in a way. Uh...fuck. Y/N?"

You glance at her, frowning. "Engaged? Where's the ring, then?"

Natasha looks at you. The panic in her eyes almost makes you laugh.

"Are you engaged or are you not?", the landlord asks. "It's fine if you aren't. Not that important, really."

"We're not", you say. "One day, though. Or so I hope."

"Yeah, yeah", Natasha says, still stressing. "One day."

A few more apartments you look at are enough to wear you out. You collapse onto the bed in your dorm, face buried in your pillow and one leg hanging over the edge. Natasha sits next to you and squeezes your butt, smiling.

"Hey", you mutter, voice muffled.

"Hey yourself", she teases. Her hand travels lower, tickling the inner part of your thighs. You squirm and she laughs quietly. "Tired?"

"Exhausted."

"Can't blame you for that, baby." She leans in, pressing a kiss to the sliver of skin between your shirt and shorts. "Want me to order dinner?"

You glance at her, eyes lighting up with hope. "Pizza?"

"We said no junk food."

"You said no junk food."

"Think about the baby", she says, tugging at your shorts. "Mhm, you could take these off."

You snort and kick at her blindly. You manage to hit her in the ribs. She lets out a grunt and pinches your butt cheek. You roll over, one cheek reddened from the pillow, and give her a challenging look. "Ouch! Come on, I'm growing your kid. Least you can do is get me a pizza."

Her fingers trail up your spine. Before you know it, she's lying behind you with her front against your back. Pressed together from head to toe, not an inch of space separates you.

She kisses the back of your neck. Her hand rests on your stomach, rubbing gently. "You're right", she mumbles. "You've trapped me. Pizza it is."

The words trapped me make your cheeks go warm. You snuggle into her and ignore the guilt and satisfaction warring inside you. This is something she'll find out about one day. Maybe. But right now, you're too happy in your little bubble to make it pop.

"I want garlic bread, too."

"So demanding." She hums and dips her hand into the front of your shorts. Her bulge presses against your butt. "How hungry are you, exactly?"

You whine softly. With the pregnancy making your body overly sensitive, every little touch sends sparks of want through you. Heat pools in your lower belly and you shift, grinding against her. She hums, her fingers tugging at the waistband of your shorts. White lace is revealed, and she moans.

"Really hungry, actually", you mumble, squirming. "But I'm willing to wait."

"Thank god", she says, peppering your shoulder with kisses. "I was considering jerking off in the bathroom otherwise."

"Gross."

"Love you too."

Natasha somehow manages to place the order. It's difficult, though, especially when you roll over. One leg hooked over her waist, she whines and rocks her hips against yours pathetically. You laugh and then moan, feeling her hard-on nudge all the right spots.

You bury your face in her neck and place kisses until her entire neck is covered in lipstick. Finally, she tosses her phone aside. You both ignore the sound of your roommate's lamp crashing to the ground and instead focus on each other.

. . .

Natasha was never one to get easily distracted by an audience.

Now that there's a tiny viewer in the stands, though, that has changed.

Niko is barely old enough to stay awake for longer than two hours, but that doesn't mean he can't go to his mom's basketball games and watch. One hand wrapped around your finger and earmuffs that look way too big on him, he's undeniably the star of the stands.

You thought he'd be a tiny you. As it turned out, Natasha's genes are a little too stubborn for that. His eyes are still baby-blue, but the redness of his hair is unmistakable. Paired with the matching jersey he's sporting, you feel like you're carrying a much smaller version of her around.

You ignore the looks and the delighted whispers. As always, your focus is on Natasha. That's something that, even now that you have a baby, never changed. It's her game. She's the important one here.

You watch her dribble the ball as she scans the court. Focus unwavering, she dodges a defender and leaves them stunned. With one leap, she soars into the air and lets the ball swish through the net.

Not too long ago, you would've jumped up and cheered. But you don't want to jostle the baby too much, so you settle for clapping awkwardly while holding Niko in one arm.

Natasha turns, eyes glistening, and spots you in the crowd. You take Niko's hand and make him wave at her. Her smile only widens.

Minutes later, the buzzer sounds. Another victory.

Natasha comes rushing to the stands before anyone can even attempt to congratulate her. She helps you over the barricade, then takes off her jersey to hand it to you. The piece of fabric is swapped for the baby, who clings to her like a little koala.

"Did you see that?", she asks, breathless, and pats Niko's back when he starts fussing. "What a shot!"

You nod, laughing, and kiss her cheek. Sweaty as always. And, also as always, you don't find it in you to care.

"I did", you say, putting on her jersey. "Much better than in that first halftime, babe."

"Yeah?" She looks at the baby. He's still fussy, one hand grasping at her shoulder. "What about you, bud? You like it?"

"Didn't even cry once", you say, brushing your fingers over his tuft of hair. "Which is a miracle."

"It definitely is."

You linger by the barricade, talking and smiling, exchanging quick kisses. Natasha's teammates approach you to ask whether you want to go out and celebrate, but you decline. They leave, buzzing with joy, only for a few girls to introduce themselves to Natasha.

This time, all they get is a brief smile. She kisses Niko's cheek and leads you away from the court, away from the crowds, away from the noise.

"Not gonna stay and talk a bit more?", you tease. It's surprising, how much has changed. Her habit to flirt excessively seems to be gone. It's something you're thankful for — having to fight her about that was tiring.

Natasha shakes her head. You walk through a hallway, sneakers squeaking on the floor, and turn a corner. The locker room is empty when you enter it.

"Nah", she says, sitting down on a bench. She gently takes the earmuffs off Niko's head and watches him yawn. "I'd rather get home. He looks tired."

"He is, yeah."

"You're tired, too", she points out. You tilt your head and smile faintly.

"And here I thought I applied enough makeup."

"Don't worry, you're gorgeous. But you also look tired."

No point in denying that. Niko is merely four months old, and he's far from sleeping through the night. In addition, Natasha is unable to get up most nights, since practice and the games are demanding. She tries her best to juggle college, basketball, and an infant.

"Fine", you admit. "He kept me up all night. But I'm okay, I swear."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'd look more put together, but you try applying lipstick while holding a squirming baby."

Natasha laughs and reaches up to take your hand. You're on her lap before you know it, nestled against Niko. She kisses your shoulder.

"You look put together", she assures you. "Tired, but put together."

You smile and lean into her. Her arm is strong around your waist, biceps swollen and veins popping, and you turn your head to kiss her cheek.

"All for you", you mumble. Then, you tap Niko's nose. "This' all for you, too."

"Oh, I know." Natasha nuzzles her face against your shoulder. "Lucky me. Lucky you. We're all lucky."

Lucky you, indeed.

[natashashill]

been like this

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ mean, possessive, and possibly toxic nat in the beginning, mean sex (?), dacryphilia, panties as a gag?, spankings, verbal degradation, humiliation, pussy & ass spankings, fingering, strap sucking, strap fucking, hair pulling, choking, edging AND overstimulation, praise, slight breeding kink, & aftercare!! lmk if i forgot anything

a/n: this might have been a lil self indulgent but i also wrote this at 2am so bear w me pls <3

summary: you & natasha are exs, you just broke it off and she doesn’t like that, you both end up at the same bar

You found yourself at a local bar for the night, desperately needing to forget yourself and maybe her too.

You had finally called Natasha out on her bullshit after putting up with all the ghosting and flaking she had pulled on you. You cut things off with her and you’re hoping it stays permanent this time. You immediately make your way to the bar, and order a signature cocktail. You take a few sips while scanning around the bar, observing the few couples that came while the night was still early.

You were just about done scanning the room when you spotted her in the back, sitting in a booth by herself. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at her. Her flaming red hair was tied back while she wore a casual suit, and your gut tells you she came here straight after work. She sat staring at her drink, brows furrowed in tension with the slightest dark circles under her eyes, and your stomach dropped at the thought that you might have been the cause. You were pissed at her, but you never wanted to see her hurting.

Apparently, you had been staring at her for too long because when you snapped out of your thoughts, you caught her looking at you with a slight smirk on her face. She sent you a small wink before beckoning you over with a wag of her finger, and your feet started moving towards her on autopilot. You sat across from her, staring blankly waiting for Natasha to say something.

“Did you come here looking for a new girl tonight?”

Your jaw dropped at the bluntness of her question, “Jesus Nat. I- I don’t know. I wanted to have fun, if I found a girl who would treat me right, maybe I would go home with her. I didn’t plan anything.”

She scoffs at that.

“Well your dress certainly did. Your tits are practically spilling out of your chest. Do you even know how many people have been staring?”

You frown and attempt to cover your chest slightly, feeling self-conscious at the weight of her words.

“What? All of a sudden you’re shy, you had quite a lot to say to me the other night baby. What girl did you think was going to treat you right, because I know how you like to be treated. You say you want a sweet girl, but not really. You crave the way I make you feel when I’m rough don’t you, you love the way I treat you-”

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your mouth, despite your best efforts to stay unbothered by her. You couldn’t help but let her words affect you just the way she wanted them to. You fell right into her trap, and she has you right where she wants you.

“What baby? You want me to be soft on you, hmm? Spend all my time on you and forget about everything else I have to do? Are you that much of a needy slut baby? Knowing you, your panties are probably soaked by now, am I right?”

You weakly shook your head no, but you knew she was right, and so did she. She grabs your hand and yanks you up out of your seat.

“Come on baby, follow me. Let’s go see how much of a desperate slut you really are.”

“Nat, where are you going?”

“We are going to take a trip to the bathroom. If you didn’t just lie to me and you really aren’t wet, well then I’ll let you go. If I catch you lying, you’re in for a rough punishment before I take you home.”

You gulp and dumbly follow her, hoping she’ll go easy on you. But you know she never does.

The moment the door shuts behind you, she has you pressed up against. Her hands roughly push up your dress against your hips before pushing your lace panties to the side. She doesn’t even comment on the wetness before slapping your pussy twice, hard.

You let out a moan at that, and she guides you out of your soaked panties before stuffing it in your mouth. You let out another moan at the taste of you on your panties but it’s barely audible. Your cunt is clenching around nothing and the humiliation has some tears springing to your eyes and an attempt to close your thighs.

She quickly turns you around before spreading your legs apart and slotting her leg in the middle, giving you the perfect opportunity to grind against her with your hands on the door.

“I can’t even look at you right now. Go ahead slut, hump my thigh like the pathetic whore you are. If you even think about coming, I’m bending you over the sink and spanking your ass raw.”

You’re only getting wetter at her words, desperately humping her legs, hoping to get enough friction to ease your clit’s throbbing. Your legs start to shake, and she immediately takes a step back away from you. You’re left dripping while facing the door, attempting to catch your breath while fighting off tears.

You don’t get a break before she smacks your ass hard, and you let out a wanton moan at that. She smacks your other cheek harder at that, and you get the message to keep quiet. She starts spanking you in rapid succession, muttering about being her dirty little girl who doesn’t know any better. You can’t fight off the tears and by the end of her assault, your tears are quickly streaming down your face. Your legs are shaking with need and you can’t avoid the way your clit is throbbing.

You know she knows how sensitive you are by the way she presses a delicate kiss to your bruised cheek before gently turning you around and helping you redress.

“You took your punishment so well for me baby, let me take you home tonight.”

You nod, desperate for any attention she’ll give you right now. You let her guide you out of the bar and into the passenger seat of the car. She has her hand on your thigh the entire ride, and you just stare out the window, trying to process everything. You’re in her bedroom before you know it, naked and kneeling by the foot of her bed. You can see the wet patch on her suit pants that you left on her, and the sight has you clenching around nothing again.

She disappears into her closet, and your stomach drops at the realization of what’s in store for you. She comes back out, and you see a distinct bulge at her groin, and you lick your lips at the sight. All it takes is one look at her and you crawl your way towards her before stopping at her feet, hands eagerly making their way to unzip her pants and freeing her cock.

You waste no time before attempting to take her. Your lips wrap around her fake cock and you start bobbing your head, slowly taking more and more of her. She gave you two minutes to adjust before she gripped your hair and started using it to push you further down her cock. She started thrusting up until you and you let yourself be used by her. Her dick kept hitting the back of your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks with your makeup thoroughly ruined, and Natasha was obsessed. This is how she wanted you to be.

The sight of you mixed with how close she was made her thrust faster, ignoring how you gagged before she finally reached her peak. She stilled as she felt the aftershocks take over before gently pulling out.

She lightly cupped your face, letting you nuzzle against her hand while her thumb stroked your cheekbone, wiping some stray tears.

“What’s your color baby?”

“Green daddy”

“Alright then, get on the bed just how I like you. Daddy’s gonna fuck any thoughts you have about leaving out of your head. You’re mine, I don’t share.”

You quickly scurried on to the middle of the bed before positioning yourself onto all fours. She let you stay like that for a few seconds before climbing onto the bed and positioning herself behind you. She had a clear view of your dripping pussy, and she couldn’t resist running her fingers through your folds. She collected some of your wetness before bringing her finger to your mouth, slightly sucking on it before bringing it back to your cunt.

She quickly inserted her finger inside you before rapidly fucking you with it. She slipped it a second finger and enjoyed the way your shaky breaths filled up the entire bedroom. She let you get close to your peak, thighs shaking around her fingers before pulling away. She quickly hushed your whines, bringing her cock to drag along your folds and gently brushing against your throbbing clit.

She started with a harsh, unforgiving pace as she fucked you, and you knew just how mad she was. You couldn’t keep up with her thrusts, letting your arms give out and letting her use you as she pleased, your moans filling the room. She grabbed your hair and harshly yanked it back, allowing you to arch your back and allowing her to go deeper into you.

One arm snaked around to your throat before squeezing, while the other stayed in your hair. You could barely muster any thoughts in your head, only her name shining through the fog starting to form in your brain. Your mouth hung open and eyes shut while she pounded into you with no mercy.

“Look at you, how easy you’re taking me. You’re my precious little slut, aren’t you? You’re built for me baby, you fit so perfectly around my cock.”

You lightly nod, barely paying attention to what she says but hoping it pleases her.

“You’d say anything I tell you to right now, wouldn’t you?”

You let out a moan at that, and she lets your lack of an answer slide, her hand squeezing tighter around your throat.

“You’re getting close aren’t you. Well you’re gonna have to beg me to come sweetheart. You’re not off the hook just yet. Beg daddy to let you come, beg daddy to make you come. Oh, and promise me that you’re coming back to stay with me. You’re going to be my little slut, my precious girl that I come home to after work. Mine.”

“ ‘M yours daddy. I’m your girl to use, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me but please let me come. I’ll be your perfect toy to use.”

She lets out a moan at that before thrusting harder into you.

“Yeah? You’re gonna be my good girl. My precious slut who I get to fuck. It’s my pussy, isn't it, belongs to me. I get to decide whether you come, and it’s mine to touch and play with. Fuck, I’d want to breed this sweet cunt of yours. Watch all my cum drip out of your needy pussy before fucking it back into you. Letting you be my breeding dump while I constantly pump my cum into you.”

You scream out her name while clenching around her strap and she knows you're close. She squeezes your throat just a bit tighter while also going to rub circles against your clit. You let out a strangled scream at that and she doesn’t let up until you’re cumming around her. She doesn’t stop while you fall apart around her, she continues thrusting, building you back up towards your second orgasm.

“Give me one more baby, give me one more and you’re done. You’re such a good girl for me, my sweet girl. Fall apart for me baby.”

Her words give you what you need before you’re coming again. She gently stops thrusting while rubbing your back gently, giving you the space to adjust to the sudden change. She lets your breathing return to normal before removing her strap from inside you, and throwing it towards the bathroom. She crawls up towards the head of the bed, laying down against one of the pillows, before bringing you against her clothed chest. You let your tears run while you absent mindedly play with her shirt’s buttons. She presses gentle kisses to your head while murmuring just how good of a girl you are for her. She strokes your arm soothingly, waiting for you to recover.

“I’m sorry,” you wail out, unable to control yourself. “I just wanted you to notice me. You never spent time with me anymore and I missed you. I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.”

“Oh my love, I’m so sorry sweetheart. I never meant to hurt you. I got so wrapped up in work, I didn’t realize I was neglecting you. I’ll do better, I promise.” At that you let out a small smile and nuzzle against her as you let yourself drift off. She gently shakes you off of her before getting both of you out of bed.

“Come on baby, let’s get you cleaned up. Let’s get in the shower and I promise we’ll fall asleep right after, baby.”

You reluctantly get into the shower, while Natasha cleans the strap and pulls out fresh sheets for the bed. She strips out of her work clothes, before changing into some boxers and a robe while grabbing a fresh pair of underwear you left at her house a while back. When she sees you exiting the bathroom, she hands you the underwear along with one of Natasha’s old shirts.

She guides you back into bed before bringing you against her chest, tucked in cozily under the blankets. You sigh happily against her, quickly falling asleep after being worn out from the night. Natasha stays awake for a bit longer, watching how peaceful you looked with her and vowing to never let you leave her again.

notes: i hope this was enjoyable to read <3 it just came to me in the middle of the night and i just had to write & post it

[natsaffection]

Yours to Taste | N.R

When your period starts, Natasha is forced to battle against her instincts, but the scent, the taste, the sheer temptation is too much. The moment she finally indulges, she loses herself completely.

Vampire!older!Natasha x Human!younger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N= 100+ r= 23), Blood, period sex, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), multiple orgasm, possessive Natasha

Word count: 3,4k

A/N: The idea has been buzzing around in my head for a few days now..🩸

The quiet hum of your phone vibrating against the wooden coffee table pulled your attention away from the TV screen. You had been curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, clutching a heating pad against your stomach, when you felt it, the unmistakable ache and warmth spreading through your lower abdomen. Shit.

You blinked at your phone screen. Natasha’s name was already waiting in your chat, her last message sent hours ago when she left for work. You hesitated for a second before typing.

Hey love, just a heads-up…I just got my period. Don’t freak out when you get home, okay? 😕

You hit send and stared at the screen, watching the three little dots appear. A few moments later, her response popped up.

Understood, moya lyubov (my love). I’ll be home soon.

Her message was simple, but you could almost hear the undertone of tension beneath her words. You knew she’d keep herself in control..she always did. But still, your blood had an effect on her, more than she liked to admit. You sighed, stretching your legs over the couch and burrowing deeper into the warmth of your blanket. You trusted Natasha with everything in you, but you also knew what she was. And this? This was going to test her patience.

An Hour later, the sound of the front door unlocking made you glance up. Your stomach was still twisting in knots, and you were halfway through a cup of tea when you saw her stepping through the doorway, eyes dark with something unreadable. But then she saw you, and the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly.

“Hey, darling.” she murmured, voice smooth but careful, like she was forcing herself to stay in control. “Hey.” you smiled softly, setting your cup down. “Rough day?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She stepped forward, but then she froze. You saw it the moment the scent hit her. Her pupils dilated, her body stiffening for the briefest second before she took a slow, controlled breath. Your stomach flipped with guilt. “I’m sorry..” you mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself like it could somehow hide your scent from her. “I know this is..well, hard for you.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, and she exhaled through her nose. “Don’t apologize.” she said, but there was a tightness to her tone, like she was barely keeping herself in check. You watched her carefully, the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her throat bobbed when she swallowed. Her usual sharp composure was fraying at the edges, but she was holding herself together for you.

“I can sleep in the guest room tonight..” you offered, voice gentle. Natasha’s head snapped up, her green eyes narrowing. “No.” She took another slow step toward you, moving like a predator stalking forward, but her eyes..God, her eyes held something deeper.

“You are my love.” she murmured, her voice thick with something more than just hunger. “I have lived for centuries, and not once have I felt what I feel for you.” She reached forward, her fingers ghosting over your cheek. “You don’t have to hide from me.“

“But..” you hesitated, glancing away. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.” A small chuckle escaped her lips, low and dark. “Oh, Detka (baby), you have no idea how hard it already is.” She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her cold breath fanning over your skin. “Do you trust me?” she whispered. You nodded instantly. “Always.”

A smirk tugged at her lips before she pulled away slightly, her gaze flickering to your neck for the briefest moment before she looked back at you. “You should rest.” she said, her voice softer now, more controlled. “I’ll get you everything you need.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” Your lips parted in surprise, but Natasha was already turning away, slipping out of the room with graceful ease. A few minutes later, she returned with another heating pad, painkillers, and your favorite chocolate bar. She placed everything beside you before kneeling down in front of the couch, her hands resting on your knees.

“Better?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. You felt a smile tug at your lips. “Much better.” Wordlessly, she walked into the kitchen again, and a few moments later, she returned with a wine glass filled with a deep, rich red liquid- your blood. You had both prepared for days like this, ensuring Natasha had a collected supply from you when things got too difficult. It was something she had initially protested against, but eventually, she had accepted it as a compromise.

She sat down beside you, swirling the liquid in the glass before taking a slow, measured sip. A satisfied hum rumbled in her throat as the taste hit her tongue intoxicating, rich, unlike anything she had ever known. You watched her, resting your head against her shoulder. “Better?”

She turned her head slightly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Much.” But it was a lie. Natasha was a master of control, but even she had limits. But she wouldn’t break. She refused to. Instead, she focused on you, on the way your fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her arm, on the way you sighed as you settled deeper into the couch. “What are we watching?” she asked, shifting her attention to the screen.

“Some rom-com..” you replied, waving a hand dismissively. “I needed something light.” She chuckled, taking another slow sip from her glass. “You and your guilty pleasures.”

“You love them too!” you teased, nudging her side. A smirk played on her lips. “I tolerate them because you love them.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching the movie while Natasha slowly drained her glass.

But despite her best efforts, her mind kept betraying her. The blood she drank satisfied her, but it wasn’t enough. Not when the real thing was sitting right next to her, her scent wrapping around Natasha like a drug. The warmth of you, the sound of your pulse, steady and inviting made it so much worse.

Her fangs ached, her instincts screaming at her to sink them into your soft skin, to taste you directly, to indulge in the one thing she craved more than anything. She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the glass.

No. She would not lose control. Not with you.

You stirred beside her, breaking her from her thoughts. “I’ll be right back..” you murmured, standing up and stretching slightly. “Bathroom break.” Natasha nodded, watching you as you disappeared down the hallway. And then she exhaled, long and slow, her carefully built restraint momentarily slipping as she ran a hand through her hair.

God..

The moment you left the room, the scent of your blood intensified. Without you sitting beside her, your fragrance spread more freely, wrapping around her like an unshakable grip. She set the empty glass down on the coffee table, flexing her fingers as she let out another slow, measured breath. Her fangs ached more now, her throat burning with the effort it took to keep them from extending fully.

The worst part? She wanted more. Not out of hunger, but out of something else. Something deeper…She wanted to taste you from the source. To have you beneath her, warm and willing, trusting her completely as she sank her fangs into you not out of need, but out of devotion.

She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply. Control! She had mastered it for centuries. She could handle this. The bathroom door opened and the scent hit her all over again. Natasha stiffened, gripping the couch cushion as her fangs pressed against her lips.

And then you walked back into the room, completely oblivious to the battle raging inside her. “Everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. She swallowed thickly, forcing a smirk onto her lips. “Of course, baby.”

Another lie.

And she prayed you wouldn’t see through it. But you weren't oblivious. You knew Natasha better than anyone-better than she sometimes knew herself. So when you stepped back into the living room and saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers dug into the couch cushion, the way her jaw was clenched just a fraction too tightly-you knew. She was struggling.

But she wouldn’t ask. She would never push you, never make you feel like an obligation. No matter how much she needed you, no matter how much her body screamed for your blood, she would starve before taking something you didn’t freely offer. And that’s what made you decide. A beat of silence stretched between you, thick and charged, before you slowly stepped closer. Natasha's pupils dilated slightly, but she didn't move.

You swallowed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before speaking. "You can take from me, Nat.." you whispered, tilting your head slightly, exposing the soft skin of your neck. "I trust you." A sharp inhale. A slow exhale. Her grip on the couch tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her tethered. She wanted you-God, she wanted you-but not like this.

Not when she was barely keeping herself together. She exhaled through her nose, reaching forward, her cool fingers brushing against your wrist before she gently pulled you down beside her.

"You have no idea how much that means to me." she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "but it won't be enough." You blinked, confused. "What do you mean?" Natasha's jaw tensed. Her eyes flicked downward-toward your abdomen. Your face flushed instantly as realization hit you. “Oh.."

A flicker of something unreadable passed over her face before she met your gaze again. "Your blood is strongest at the source, moya lyubov (My love)." Her fingers brushed against your thigh, light as a feather. "That's what I need." Your heart stuttered in your chest. Heat crawled up your neck. "But..it's...” Your voice faltered, and you glanced away. "It's dirty.."

Natasha was silent for a moment, and then a quiet chuckle. Not mocking. Not teasing. Just fond "Oh, Y/n.." she murmured, cupping your cheek, coaxing you to look at her. “It's not dirty. Not to me." You bit your lip, still hesitant. "But it's..it's different..!"

"It's you." she countered, her voice dipping lower, more intimate. "The most sacred part of you." Your breath hitched. Natasha leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple before whispering, "Do you trust me?" You exhaled slowly. You did. Always. So you nodded. She leaned in, her lips ghosting over your jaw. “Let me take care of you.”

You exhaled shakily, your fingers tightening around her. You had never done this before. You had shared nights of pleasure, of intimacy, but never during your period. The thought of it made you hesitant, but the way Natasha was looking at you, like you were something sacred, something she worshiped…

Natasha’s eyes darkened with something primal, but she stayed in control, her movements slow, gentle. She kissed you deeply, her hands sliding down, undressing you inch by inch. She took her time. Even as her instincts screamed at her to just take, she resisted because this wasn’t just about her hunger.

It was about you. Making you feel comfortable. Making you enjoy it. By the time she reached her destination, her lips pressing reverent kisses down your stomach, her grip on her control was paper-thin. “Relax..” she whispered, her voice thick with desire. “Let me worship you.”

The moment your blood hit her tongue, the moment the warm, intoxicating essence slid down her throat, something inside her snapped. A deep, primal groan rumbled from her chest, vibrating against your skin as her hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you firmly in place.

She couldn’t stop- wouldn’t stop. Not now..Not when she finally had the one thing she had been denying herself for too long. The taste..it was richer than anything she had ever known. Sweet, dark, forbidden in the most delicious way. And the scent?

It was overpowering.

It clung to her senses, invading every part of her, making her wild with hunger, desperate to take more, to drink deeper, to claim you in a way that no one else ever could. And then..Your moans. The moment the first soft, broken sound slipped past your lips, Natasha shuddered.

Her grip on you tightened, her nails digging into your skin as she groaned against you, drinking deeper, her tongue flicking against you in slow, intentional strokes. “Fuck..” she murmured against your sensitive flesh, her voice thick, possessive. “You taste..so fucking..good.”

Your back arched off the couch, your fingers tangling in her red hair, your thighs trembling against her shoulders. “N-Natasha-“ She smirked against you. “That’s it..” she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me know how good I’m making you feel.”

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping you as she flicked her tongue in just the right way, sucking lightly before groaning again, completely lost in the taste of you. She could feel it. The way your body was responding to her. The way your thighs tensed, the way your breathing came shorter, the way your hips jerked slightly with every slow, torturous stroke of her tongue.

“So sensitive..” Natasha teased, her voice dark with amusement. “Is it because of me, or is it because you’re already so worked up from how much I’ve been craving you?” You let out a soft cry, your nails scraping against her scalp, pulling her closer.

She groaned again, the feeling of your desperation only fueling her own. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” Natasha murmured against you, her voice like velvet, like sin. “You like knowing how fucking insatiable you make me?” Your head tipped back against the couch, your entire body on fire, the pleasure building, coiling tighter, stronger with every slow, indulgent flick of her tongue.

And then Natasha felt it. The shift. The way your body suddenly went tense, the way your thighs quivered, the way your fingers gripped onto her like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world..and she could taste it.

The deepening of your arousal, the way your body was offering her the best of the best- “Oh..” Natasha moaned, her voice wrecked with pleasure, her own hips grinding down against the couch involuntarily. “You’re so fucking close, aren’t you, Darling?”

A desperate, needy whimper escaped you. Natasha grinned, her fangs dragging lightly against your sensitive skin, her hands gripping your thighs tighter, keeping you right where she wanted you. “Give it to me.” she whispered, her tone commanding, possessive. “Come for me, Detka (baby)c Let me taste every. Fucking. Drop.”

That was all it took. You broke, your entire body arching, a loud, desperate moan ripping from your throat as your release crashed over you, waves of heat and pleasure flooding through your veins. Natasha groaned deep, guttural, wrecked as she drank through it, devouring every last bit of you, her fingers digging into your thighs as she held you still, taking everything you had to offer.

She was fucking gone. Your taste, your pleasure it was too much. And she never wanted it to end. She didn’t stop until you were trembling, until you were whimpering, until your body had given her everything and even then, she lingered, pressing slow, possessive kisses against your inner thigh, purring against your skin as she finally, finally pulled away.

She hovered over you, her green eyes dark, her lips glistening, her breath ragged. “My beautiful Treat.” she murmured, brushing her fingers over your cheek, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “You are everything to me.”

Your body was boneless, sprawled beneath Natasha, your chest rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. The aftermath of your release still pulsed through your veins, leaving you sensitive, your skin electric under her touch.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Natasha shifted, moving with effortless predatory grace. Before you could even process it, she was lifting you, flipping you, maneuvering your spent, shaking body into her lap, so your back was pressed against her chest, your head resting against the cool, safe haven of her shoulder.

You gasped, your hands instinctively reaching for her arms, gripping her like a lifeline. “N-Nat-” A low, pleased hum vibrated against your ear as she settled behind you, her strong arms locking you in place. “Oh, how cute..” she purred, her lips ghosting over your jaw, her breath cool against your overheated skin. “You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?”

You let out a soft whimper, your body already too sensitive, too worked up- But Natasha’s hands were already moving. Right back to the mess she had created between your thighs. You whimpered sharply, your hips jerking, trying to squirm away, but she didn’t let you.

A dark chuckle left her lips as she wrapped one strong arm around your waist, holding you firmly against her. “Oh no, Darling.” she murmured, her voice dripping with hunger. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Your fingers tightened around her arm, a shaky moan slipping from your lips as her fingers teased over your still-sensitive core, sending shockwaves through you. “Natasha, please..” She tsk’d, nipping at your jaw. “Ah ah, no hiding from me.”

A sharp gasp left you as her fingers moved, slow, torturous, but still so deliberate, stroking exactly where you needed her, where she knew would make you fall apart again. Your body twitched, your thighs shaking, a broken moan spilling from your lips as she curled her fingers just right.

“Still so sensitive..” she murmured, her lips trailing down your neck, whispering sinful promises against your overheated skin. “You’re so perfect like this, you know that?” Her voice was thick, possessive, dripping with pure adoration.

“Whimpering in my arms, squirming, desperate for more, even when your body is already spent..” Her tongue flicked over your pulse, feeling it race beneath her lips. “I could stay here forever, my love. Tasting you. Feeling you. Owning you.”

A deep, broken moan slipped from your lips as your body arched, completely at her mercy. She could feel how close you were again. The way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched, the way your fingers clawed at her arm, as if begging for something more.

And then..She whispered it..The words that sent fire straight through you. “Can I bite you?” You whimpered sharply, your head tipping back against her shoulder, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. You were too far gone, too wrecked, but she was waiting. She needed your permission. She could hear the hesitation in your breathing, so she waited..

Her pace didn’t slow, if anything, her fingers moved faster, building you up, bringing you right to the edge again, making your body tremble, making your mind flood with nothing but her. You needed it. You needed her. “Y-Yes..!” you gasped, whimpering, clutching her arm desperately. “Please, Nat-“

That was all it took. She struck. Her fangs sank deep, piercing your soft, flushed skin, sending white-hot pleasure exploding through you. A sharp, broken cry left your lips as your entire body arched, your release slamming into you, more intense than anything you had ever felt before.

Natasha groaned loudly against your neck, drinking you in, her fingers still moving, pulling you through it, dragging out every last bit of pleasure until you were shaking, twitching, utterly spent in her arms.

And God..The taste..The way your blood flooded her mouth, mixed with the adrenaline, the ecstasy of your pleasure. It was divine. Natasha moaned deeply, drinking slowly, savoring the warmth, relishing in the way your body still twitched in aftershocks, your whimpers muffled against her arm as you came down from your high.

Finally, finally, she pulled away, her tongue lapping over the puncture marks, sealing them with gentle care. You were limp, your breathing slow, your skin still flushed, but you had never felt safer. Natasha nuzzled against you, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your jaw, to your shoulder, her arms tightening around you as if she never wanted to let go.

“My perfect girl..” she whispered, completely wrecked, her lips brushing over your ear. “I’ll never want anything but this.” You let out a soft, exhausted sigh, melting against her. And in that moment, wrapped in Natasha’s arms, claimed, cherished, utterly loved, you knew. She wasn’t just your vampire. She was yours. Forever.

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[wandaslovey]

ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ; ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴋʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.3k

authors note: part two is here!! let me just say, thank you all SO so much for all the love you gave me for part one 🫶🏻. there’s a little treat for y’all at the end 🤭 comment to be added to the tag list! this is not proofread.

authors note: for part three, i’m probably going to do a time skip where the contract has been signed and their relationship has begun. don’t worry though, it will still be in the beginning stages!

content warning(s): legal age gap, dom/sub dynamics, in-depth discussions about bdsm and bdsm contracts, kissing, brief mentions of masturbation

venturing is inevitable: masterlist

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you pop in your wireless earbuds, scrolling on your phone to one of your comfort playlists. it was saturday and you were currently in a taxi on your way to the maximoff-romanoff household. it felt so surreal being in this situation. the more you thought about it, the more nervous you felt, so you opted for listening to some music to calm your nerves.

they’d texted you their address the day before, and you were surprised to find out they lived outside the city in the suburbs. not just any suburbs though—the rich suburbs. scarsdale to be more specific. it was just over 20 miles out of manhattan, so the drive usually took between 30-40 minutes, depending on traffic.

you found yourself feeling grateful that mrs. romanoff texted you early in the morning, telling you she insisted they cover the cost of the taxi as when you glance up at the meter halfway through the drive, it was already almost $100.

you’d thought a lot about your coffee “date” with the two married lawyers. you’d taken it upon yourself to do some of your own research on google the afternoon after returning home, but you quickly regretted it as all the images of people tied in uncomfortable positions frightened you. it didn’t help that the majority of the websites listed first were amateurs who didn’t truly understand bdsm dynamics or relationships—but you didn’t know that yet.

there was something else that made you uncomfortable. well, rather something that made you feel shamefully hot in a way you weren’t familiar with. you think back to a few days ago at the coffee shop, noticing all the little ways both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff gently asserted dominance: they both waited outside, the door was held open for you, they ordered and paid for you, mrs. maximoff guided you gently through the shop, mrs. romanoff hailed you a cab and they both saw you off.. it was all in the little things. all those little things which were carefully calculated and amounted to you feeling safe—cared for. you never imagined you would notice, let alone care for someone to take charge in that way, but you did. you couldn’t begin to imagine all the others things that were typically encapsulated within a dominant. things you were sure both mrs.romanoff and her wife possessed. how far did their dominating desire go? was there anything they didn’t like to have control of?

the cab driver turns down their street, slowing down after passing the first 3 well-spaced out houses and you look out the window to see what you assume to be their home. their house had a clean, modern vibe with some bold design elements. the exterior was wrapped in crisp white paneling, which contrasted against the deep black roof and window frames. the windows were framed with sleek black trim, giving the house a more modern/contemporary feel. the front porch had a few steps leading up to the door, and above it, there’s a simple black square awning that extends out, adding a cool architectural touch. it gave the entrance a little extra character while still keeping things minimal. to the side, there’s a driveway that leads to the garage, and the front featured a circular driveway that made for an easy and elegant arrival or departure. the layout felt both functional and stylish, and modern yet still welcoming.

it’s mrs. maximoff that comes out of the house to greet you. she was dressed in a simple black long-sleeved button up with some white wide leg jeans. her hair was up, twisted in a messy knot that still managed to look elegant. she looked beautiful.

she quickly makes her way over to the taxi driver, handing him a wad of cash without batting an eye. you couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like more than the actual fee that was meant to be paid.

“hey, you,” her greeting paired with what seemed to be her signature smile made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. she seemed genuinely happy to see you again, and for that you felt delighted. you were equally as excited to see her again, even if the circumstances were a bit nerve wracking.

you return her greeting with a small hello, feeling a little flustered when she looks you over in a not-so secretive way.

“look at you…

you know, you really didn’t have to get all dressed up for us,” she grins blithely before leading the way back through the circular drive to the front door.

“this? oh i sort of just threw it on… should i have chosen something else?” you ask shyly as you keep pace with her, walking right by her side.

you’d chosen to wear a rose taupe ruched mini dress with white high tops, and you did not in fact ‘just throw it on.’ it was the 5th outfit you’d tried on before deciding that was what you’d wear.

“i’m messing with you, dragotsennaya veshch. you look very beautiful,” she appraises you and you feel yourself blush at the attention. you remember the nickname from the last time she called you that, but you still had no idea what it meant.

she steps in front, reaching to open the door for you before you both step inside. you marvel at the interior, which was just as beautiful as the outside, however it was less bright. there were more dark tones in here mimicking that of the office at their law firm.

“wow…you guys have a beautiful home,” you muse, admiring the high ceiling in the entry way and the minimal decor.

“well, thank you. follow me.” she speaks warmly, stepping ahead of you to lead you through the house. you find yourself looking around as she walks in front of you, noticing that there weren’t very many personal touches, but they were there if you looked hard enough. in a way, their house almost look like a museum—free of dust and exceptionally organized.

she leads you into a huge open room which appeared to be a cozy living space and just a little past that, the kitchen. there were black pendant lights dangling from the ceiling above the island, which had a black and white marble countertop. you see mrs. romanoff with her back to you, pouring herself a glass of filtered water.

“natasha, our guest is here,” she announces, placing a hand on your back and gently nudging you forward closer to the counter top. natasha turns, an easy smile gracing her features.

even with just a brief glimpse, you couldn’t help but observe how she seemed to be much more at ease in her home. her usual more stiff posture relaxed and the air around her felt a little lighter than normal.

“hi there, pretty girl,” she looks you over, just as her wife did, only she does it even more obviously. “wearing another cute outfit i see,” she murmurs, but it seems like the observation was mostly meant for herself as her eyes continue skimming your figure.

“i thought the same thing! i told her she didn’t have to dress up for us,” mrs. maximoff chuckles, her wife joining in. for that moment, it was as if they were talking about you like weren’t even there, which brought back a now familiar feeling of being small in their presence.

you shrug, ducking your head forward so your hair falls into your face, covering your blush. you hear mrs. romanoff set her glass on the countertop before she rounds the kitchen island, walking until she was standing right next to you. you watch her through your peripheral vision until she’s close enough that you half turn to face her. her hand comes up to gently lift your chin, her finger curling underneath it.

“hey, we’re just teasing you. don’t hide your face from me.” her voice was gentle yet you could sense that she was being serious about you trying to hide your bashfulness from her. you nod your head very slowly, now captivated with her closeness and the air of dominance she carried over with her.

“good. i’d hate to miss seeing these cheeks blush. it’s very cute,” she adds, making your cheeks flame even hotter. she smiles at that, immediately noticing the difference in shade.

“wanda, look at her,” she muses and your eyes dart from hers to mrs. maximoff who steps over to her wife’s side, appraising your pink cheeks with a smile of her own.

“da—dragotsennaya veshch. i told you the name suits her perfectly,” mrs. romanoff hums at her wife’s comment. they both gaze at you, desire and sinful admiration gleaming behind their impossibly green eyes. you fight the urge to suck on your bottom lip, figuring it would only give them more fuel to embarrass you.

you were about to ruin their little moment and ask what name it was that wanda kept referring to you as, but mrs. romanoff suddenly drops her hand, the both of them stepping back away from you.

“do you want some water, (y/n)? are you thirsty?” mrs. romanoff asks, already rounding the counter to the cupboard to retrieve a glass.

“yeah sure,” you nod politely, reaching to grab the glass from her once she’s filled it with water. you take a swig, regardless of not actually being thirsty.

“here, come sit,” mrs. maximoff puts a hand on your elbow, guiding you into the living room area which was just a step down from the kitchen. there was a large sofa towards the center, facing a whole glass wall which stretched across the large open room and overlooked their beautiful backyard. it was so green; many trees, bushes and grass to marvel at.

mrs. maximoff sits on the couch, patting the spot next to her. you sit down, your glass in hand, which she gently takes from you and sets in a cup holder to your right. as she reaches over you, even for the brief moment, you smell a trace of her perfume which smelled something like pears, fig leaves and sandalwood. it was heavenly and somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

“so, how was the rest of your week? how were your classes?” she asks, propping her elbow on the back couch cushion and resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. something about having her full attention on you in such close proximity made your heart stutter.

“it was good! i only go in person 3 days a week and the rest is online. the homework load was about a medium for this week, so i wasn’t too overwhelmed or anything.” as you speak, mrs. romanoff enters the living room, sitting next to her wife on the couch. she crosses her legs, leaning close to her wife so she can see you just as well.

“what does a ‘medium’ homework load look like to you?” mrs. romanoff asks with a smirk. she must’ve remembered what you’d said at the interview about loving homework.

you sigh amusedly, giving wanda a quick glance to see a touch of a knowing smile on her face. you two were fellow academic lovers it seemed like.

“2 short essays, 3 discussion boards and 1 little worksheet thing.. no big deal,” you giggle softly when mrs. romanoff rolls her eyes at your response.

“right - okay,” she mutters though there’s an affectionate smile curling at her lips.

there was a small bout of silence which was comfortable given the light-hearted tone of the conversation, but that didn’t last very long.

“so, have you thought any more about our conversation at the coffee shop?” mrs. romanoff asks. your tummy does a flip flop at the change in subject, but you knew this was ultimately what you were here for.

“a-a little yeah,” you say, not offering anything else just yet. you look down at your lap, your hands playing with the hem of your dress ending several inches above your knee.

“anything you’d like to share?” mrs. romanoff presses, her features etched with amused interest. she loved the way you instantly became more shy with the new topic of conversation.

“uhm.. well i found some stuff on the internet.. more pictures and some examples of the..um..contracts you mentioned,” you pause, your eyes flickering up from your lap to mrs. maximoff’s face and then her wife’s. mrs. maximoff nods encouragingly, wanting you to continue.

“the contracts largely consisted of rules? is that accurate—like something you guys want from me?” you ask slowly, fighting the urge to bury yourself in a hole and hide. you could feel your skin crawling from how out of your element you felt.

“yes, our contract would have rules. we only have a few set rules for each submissive, but the others we come up with will be personalized just for you once we begin our..relationship,” mrs. maximoff tucks some hair behind your ear, her hand resting just above your knee, trying to be reassuring.

you swallow, gathering up the courage to ask your new follow-up question. “what sort of rules?” your mind thinks back to the many drafted up contracts on the internet, wondering if any of the rules you saw there were ones they’d want for you.

“before we answer that—how do you feel about rules? just thinking about it right now, how would you feel if there were rules we asked you to follow?” mrs. romanoff asks, leaning forward as she rests her elbows on her blue-jean clad thighs. you ponder her question, playing out a scenario in your mind. you remember one “sample” rule you saw online: ‘always greet your dominant kneeling by the door upon their arrival.’ that one was more extreme. you thought of two others: no touching yourself without permission and always address your dominant by their honorific. those ones made your cheeks flush red again, a deep blush gracing your features that couldn’t be ignored.

“look at that blush.. now you have to tell us what you’re thinking,” mrs. maximoff gently nudges you with her shoulder, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

you clear your throat, your fingers drawing imaginary patters on the thigh mrs. maximoff wasn’t holding. “i was just remembering some of the rules..��� you reply vaguely. mrs. maximoff hums, sounding unsatisfied with your concise answer. she gently lifts your chin as her wife did earlier, her pointer finger curled under your jaw and her thumb holding your chin in place.

“hey, listen to me. if talking about this truly makes you uncomfortable, we can stop right now. we don’t have to do this if it’s not something you want,” you look into her green eyes, reading the gentleness and sincerity there. your eyes flicker over to mrs. romanoff who had a similar expression, and she nodded at her wife, drawing your attention back to mrs. maximoff.

you hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, finding great comfort in the tenderness held in her green orbs. “that’s not what i want,” you manage to speak, pausing for a second to gather your thoughts. “i’m just not used to talking so openly about this kind of stuff…or having this much attention,” you admit softly, wanting to look down but wanda’s fingers hold you firmly in place.

“you don’t have to be so embarrassed, honey, though it is really cute. still.. this is a safe space. you can ask or tell us anything,” mrs. romanoff reaches her hand across her wife and affectionately traces down your nose, smiling as she does so.

“you think it’s cute?” you blurt the question aloud without really thinking to stop yourself. mrs. romanoff grins wider, a gleam twinkling in her eye.

“it is. i don’t know if i’ve ever met somebody so innocent. it’s equally as cute as it is sexy.” you smile shyly at her words, looking back from her to her wife. mrs. maximoff smiles, her eyes flicking down to your lip which you coyly sucked into your mouth. she uses her thumb to pull your lip free from your teeth, tsking gently as she does so. your breath hitches at the action which both mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff notice but don’t comment on.

“how about this, why don’t we start somewhere else? how about you tell us why you didn’t say no right away when we posed the question the other day?” mrs. maximoff asks. you don’t have to think about her question long before you have an answer.

“i guess i was just intrigued.. i mean i guess the thought of being able to submit in some ways is..appealing to me?” you say it as a question, unsure you’re using the correct words to communicate your feelings.

“that’s a good start, detka. tell us more along those lines. what about it appeals to you?” mrs. romanoff encourages you.

you inhale slowly, looking off to the side as you think of how to expand upon your answer. “i think similar to other people, i would like a space or time where i don’t have to have control over all aspects of my life. kinda like…like i want to be able to shut my mind off sometimes - if that makes sense?” you half shrug your shoulder, looking between the two women to see if it looks like they understood your explanation.

“that makes perfect sense, sweetheart. that’s exactly what submission does. when you turn yourself over to your dominant, there’s a sense of freedom that comes with it. knowing that there’s someone you trust that is going to take control and steer you in a certain direction—and you don’t have to think or worry about anything.” mrs. maximoff’s explanation was very appealing to you. you think back on moments when life was really stressful and realize how much more doable those moments would have been had you been able to silence your mind for a little bit.

“that does sound really nice,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but both of the lawyers noticed. the two of them chuckle softly at your admission, thoroughly entertained by your cuteness.

mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff continue educating you on the many beauties of being a submissive. they’d told you it wasn’t just about the sex, in fact, the sex was never really as good if the dynamic wasn’t always held firmly in place in other aspects of life as well. you listen intently to their words, becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of signing a contract with them by the minute.

“(y/n)?” mrs. romanoff asks after a little bit of her and her wife talking at you.

“hmm?” you look at her curiously, her tone making you slightly nervous to hear her question.

“what was it earlier that had you so embarrassed? something about some rules you found online?” you swallow thickly, remembering the two rules that made you blush so deeply. up until this point, the three of you had all managed not to make this conversation so much about the sexual aspects of bdsm, but rather more the dynamics. your answering the question would change that.

“well…there was one about always addressing your dominant using their honorific and then, um.. well the other said..” you trail off, pressing your lips together as you bounce your leg a bit anxiously.

“it said what, dragotsennaya veshch? come on, i can see it on the tip of your tongue,” mrs. romanoff encourages, a devious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“nottotouchyourselfwithoutpermission,” you mumble quickly, the beginning of a blush coloring the apples of your cheeks.

“ah, what was that?” mrs. romanoff makes a show of cupping her ear and tilting her head to show you she was listening, that same wicked smile still plastered on her face. she’d heard exactly what you said.

“natalia, bud' s ney milym,” mrs. maximoff says in what sounds like a gentle scolding tone.

mrs. romanoff just laughs, reaching over and cupping your jaw with one hand. “i can’t help it, look at her!” you pout at what you now knew was her teasing.

“it really is hard not to tease you when you look like that..” mrs. maximoff murmurs in her wife’s defense, tapping your nose as she has her own more subtle version of a wicked smile.

“i can’t help it! when you guys talk to me like that, i have to blush!” you explain, a little exasperated.

“like what?? like you’re the most adorable thing ever? i could eat you up (y/n), i swear to the gods,” mrs. romanoff grins at her own words, seemingly high on the current air in the room which was very light and fuzzy. mrs. maximoff chuckles, purposely squeezing what she guessed would be a sensitive part of your thigh to get you to join in their light laughter. you shake off the ticklish sensation, stubbornly pressing your lips in a firm line as to not smile as they were openly teasing you without mercy.

“not funny..” you mutter, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting cutely.

“you’re right - we’re getting off topic. so, back to the rule about not touching yourself…” mrs. romanoff starts, her tone teasing.

“okay! we can go back to teasing me again,” you say a little too loudly, feeling less embarrassed about the topic now, but still a little nervous.

“sorry little girl, you’re not gonna wiggle your way out of this one for a third time,” mrs. maximoff pokes your side before reaching down and casually lifting your legs to drape across both her and her wife’s lap. the sudden change of sitting position and new physical contact made your tummy flutter, your attention suddenly fully locked in on the two of them.

“would you have a problem with that rule?” mrs. maximoff asks, the tone in the air quickly changing again.

“uhm..well i-“ you clear your throat, running your hand nervously through your hair. “is that one of your set rules?” you feel mrs. maximoff’s fingers begin to lightly trace a small line up and down your thigh. she and mrs. romanoff both looked so in their element and you were just here—a clueless little thing.

“yes, it is,” mrs. maximoff responds. you swallow thickly again, a dull ache beginning to settle in your lower tummy. just the thought alone was beginning to make your body heat up. what did they do if their submissive did touch themselves?

“oh…what would you do if your submissive broke that rule?” you ask curiously, unable to keep that question to yourself.

mrs. romanoff looks at her wife and you could see a brief silent conversation happening with their eyes. they both turn their attention back to you before mrs. romanoff speaks up.

“there are a few punishments we would most likely choose from: a spanking, edging or overstimulation. the punishment our submissive would receive would depend on who is delivering the punishment and also what the submissive is okay with and work within her limits.” she explains it so casually, but you find her words anything but casual. you were surprised that the thought of being spanked made you shamefully hot. it was starting to seem like they were awakening something in you you didn’t know existed.

“edging..? is that like an orgasm denial thing?” you ask the clarifying question, both of their ease and openness on the topic beginning to rub off on you a bit. it really did feel like a safe space.

“mhmm, that’s exactly right,” mrs. romanoff nods her head, giving you an encouraging smile.

“so…why that rule?” as you ask your question, the short lines mrs. maximoff was drawing on your leg turn to intricate circles. she seemed to be doing it absentmindedly.

mrs. romanoff purses her lips, her eyes gleaming with desire. “because, detka. if you agree to be our submissive, your pleasure will belong to us. every sound you make, every twitch, every thought we want to be apart of—to possess and control.” her facial expression turns a little harder as she speaks, an air of dominance surrounding the three of you like a little bubble. you feel your mouth go dry, your legs unconsciously pressing together at her words.

“are you alright, sweetheart?” mrs. maximoff asks, noticing your cheeks flush and your legs press together as they still lay across her and her wife’s lap. she knows exactly why you’re suddenly more restless, but she can’t help but tease you a bit with it.

“mhmm, i’m fine,” you squeak, your voice cracking which you try to cover up by clearing your throat. your mind scrambles to think of another question—anything to get the intense attention off of you, even for a moment.

“what do your submissives call you?” you ask, hoping their answer wouldn’t make your panties any wetter than they were already becoming.

mrs. maximoff raises a hand to the side of your face, curling some hair behind your ear as she simply replies, “mommy—they address me as mommy.” she then reaches blindly to the side, cupping under mrs. romanoff’s chin. “and they call natasha, daddy.”

you hear your own breathing hitch, their honorifics taking you back a bit. somehow, they encapsulated those names perfectly but hearing mrs. maximoff say them out loud was a different thing. you picture yourself addressing them as such, and you feel your panties becoming wetter. you mentally slap yourself. you needed to get a grip otherwise you were going to start dripping onto your thigh.

“you like that, don’t you, krasivaya devushka?” mrs. romanoff asks in a low voice, her eyes drinking in your thighs which were now noticeably pressed firmly together.

where your mouth once felt dry, it was now watering. your lips part as you exhale breathily. you look from mrs. romanoff to mrs. maximoff who was now leaning closer to you, glancing at your lips. you lick them subconsciously, leaning closer to her. you feel her hand come to cradle the back of your head, her other hand cupping under your jaw, gripping it more firmly than you’d expect. your breath is shaky as your heart begins to pound in your ears, the smell from mrs. maximoff filling your nose as she leans even closer to you until your faces are merely inches apart.

“do you want this, dragotsennaya veshch?” her voice is seductive and slow as she enunciates her words. her green eyes were hooded, her lips looking so very tempting.

you nod your head, not taking your eyes off of her lips. you see a hint of a smile there as she closes the small gap, her lips parting slightly before she presses them against yours. her lips tasted faintly of grapefruit and you instantly want more of it.

your arms reach up to wrap around her neck as she kisses you slowly but deeply. she hums into your mouth, one of her hands sliding down your arm to your hip and gripping there firmly. so caught up in the sensations of her lips on yours and her hands touching you so expertly, you let out a small whimper. mrs. maximoff gives your hip a squeeze after hearing that, her tongue tracing your bottom lip. just as you part your lips to give her access to your mouth, she pulls away, a pleased smirk on her face.

“a little eager, are we?” she chuckles and it’s only after her comment that you realize in the midst of your kiss, you’ve curled your legs up in her lap, your arms wrapping tightly around her as you cling to her body.

you loosen your hold, feeling a little shy at having so easily gotten carried away. “m’sorry,” you mumble, your legs stretching back out so they’re sprawled across mrs. romanoff’s legs again.

“oh sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize. it’s very cute,” she coos at the end of her sentence, her finger coming up to delicately trace your bottom lip. you look at her, your soft eyes full of wonder and adoration.

“i want to do this,” you announce, looking between mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff who had begun stroking your legs as they rest on her thighs.

they both chuckle softly at your pronouncement, finding your sudden enthusiasm amusing.

“patience, pretty girl. there’s still some things we need to discuss before we have you sign the contract,” mrs. romanoff says before continuing, “i think we’ve explored enough for today. why don’t we send you a copy of our contract, you can review it,,and then when we get together next—if you still want to—you can sign it.” she suggests and you readily agree, knowing how badly you already want to see them again and how anxiously eager you are to continue exploring this new world.

you decide to see each other again tomorrow, which was at mrs. maximoff’s suggestion, but they both seemed equally eager to spend more time with you.

they order you an uber, insisting on paying the fee. mrs. romanoff got all stern when you’d said you really didn’t expect them to pay and she told you that was nonsense and that she didn’t want to hear you say another word about them covering costs of things for you.

as they walk you to the door, you say your goodbye’s, excited at the prospect of seeing them tomorrow. you make your way over to the uber parked in the circular driveway, mrs. maximoff lingering the doorway as mrs. romanoff walks you to the car. just before you reach for the door handle, you turn to say something to her and gasp softly when you realize she’s standing very close to you. you could sense a switch had flipped in her—the one that causes her to exude so much more dominant energy.

your posture becomes less dignified, your bottom lip sucked into your mouth as you glance up at her. she leans down close to you, her finger tilting your chin up.

“don’t touch yourself tonight,” she says firmly, her eyes locking in on yours.

“wh-what?” you breath out, feeling a little disoriented with her closeness and the energy she was exuding.

“you heard me—i know you’ll want to. regardless of the contract not being signed, i don’t want you to pleasure yourself. do you understand?” her voice is sinfully sexy as she commands you in a way no one ever has before.

your cheeks blush as you glance from the front door where mrs. maximoff was still standing and then back to her wife. you slowly nod your head, swallowing harshly as your neck was still extended from your chin being lifted up.

“good girl,” she praises, closing the gap and placing a peck on your unsuspecting lips. she releases your face, stepping back and opening the door for you as if nothing had happened. you climb inside in a daze, your eyes fogged over as your mind feels a little fuzzy.

“see you tomorrow, (y/n),” she drags your name out in a slight teasing tone before shutting the door, the car driving off as you’re left sitting there stunned.

there was no way you weren’t going to sign that contract.

——————————

tag list: @poppyshuman @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123-blog @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha @rosekjsses @moon3thereal @reginassecretlover @flyleaffreak @vanessashands @tigerlillyruiz @noturlondonboy @remuslupinschocolat3 @ssasa-romanoff @eccaterina1 @wandanatskitten @chiar4anna @womenarehotsstuff @luvforbills @tatesarchivee @mackenziemonday13 @reginassweetheart @sxlfishbrokenheart @wandanatbabybear @hapuchika

[27spoons]

yapping yapping to you dudeeee. have you seen how nat treated mari's brat ass (and some of shauna's, too)? i was like: panties? where? *inserts that meme of an emoji with a dangling lingerie* like, the way her care and natural protective instincts kick in, even though others might give two fucks about her 😭😭 my baby, come here, i'll take care of youuuuu imagining a brat!reader making nat's days a living hell, but she can't possibly lash out, so she puts reader into a time-out (house arrest tf), or even brings them their portion of the food into their hut, ending up in nat "teaching reader" how to behave 😇 yuk, an innocent lesson

what if i said i wanted to be put in my place. what then. what if i said i need to piss nat off until she snaps at me, realises that i liked it, and then does it again?

nsfw blurb / smut / gn!afab!reader / porn w some plot / self-indulgent / not proofread we die like the cabin at the end of s2/ wc: 1260

natalie stands outside your shelter, the fresh scent of damp earth and cool spring air brushing past. the spring out here is deceptive—warmer than the cruel winter was but still bitter in the mornings and evenings. the soft hum of insects punctuate the silence that settles in the dim light of the evening.

inside, you restlessly lay on your makeshift bedroll, leg bouncing as you trace the light strips that filter through the gaps in your structure with your eyes. when she finally steps in—carrying a wooden bowl of stew—you glance up with a cocky grin that you already know nat will not like.

"well, well." you drawl, sitting up. "The Queen herself. To what do I owe the pleasure on this fine evening?"

nat doesn't bite. she places the bowl on the tree stump in front of you unceremoniously. "dinner," she says simply, straightening and crossing her arms.

"wow, room service?" you let out a low whistle, leaning back and lacing your fingers behind your head. "i gotta say, i'm kinda liking this whole 'house arrest' thing, you know? the perks are nice." a beat, "actually, is it too much to ask, or could i get some dessert?"

her jaw clenches, but she manages to keep her voice in check. "you seriously think this is funny?"

"i mean... yeah." you shrug. "let's be real, nat. you're supposed to be running this place or whatever, but here you are, babysitting me." you groan and sit back up, "doesn't really scream..." a beat as you feign thought, "fearsome leader, you know?"

nat's eyes narrow, and you swear you can feel the frustration radiating off of her. the distant sounds of the wilderness around you seems to grow at the sudden tension, filling the space between you two. "you really wanna test how far i'll go?"

your grin falters slightly, but you can't deny the subtle rush that builds inside of you at the way her voice lowers. "what are you gonna do? give me another stern talking-to?"

she steps closer, her worn combat boots crunching against the forest floor. she leans down just enough to meet your gaze, her voice shifting to that tone she knows gets you weak. “no. talking doesn’t seem to work with you.”

before you can fire back a retort, she's grabbing your jaw with her right hand and squeezing. "you aren't leaving this hut until i say so, and honestly?" her voice lowers further, "i don't think you deserve to leave after all this shit you've pulled, do you?"

you stare up at her, unsure if you're supposed to be feeling afraid, aroused, or both."uh…" you blink a few times, "wow, nat. you really got the whole… 'scary leader' thing down. i'm shaking in my boots."

a scoff leaves her lips, but she doesn't visibly react further to your sarcasm. "you can joke all you want, yeah? but we both know you'll listen to what i say. because if you don't…" her eyes flash down to your lips for a moment, "well, they don't last very long."

your stomach twists, but not because you're scared. well, maybe a little. but mostly? well, mostly you're just aroused.

and nat knows, if the way she smirks is any indication. "yeah. you know that, don't you?" her voice carries a teasing lilt that does unpleasant (but not unwelcome) things to your insides. "all you really want is to be put in your place." she grips your jaw a little tighter, "open your mouth more."

you do. your lips part on command, and you're rewarded with nat spitting into your mouth slowly. "close. don't swallow." you do as she asks, of course. there's no way she doesn't know you're ruining your underwear right about now. 

you swear you haven't taken a breath in a million years as she looks down at you, eyes sharp and calculating. "good. swallow." you comply, maintaining eye contact, then open your mouth to show her that you listen.

nat grins. "look at you. you can listen." 

she gives you a firm shove back onto your bedroll and follows you down. "but i think i still need to prove my point." 

one of her hands slides underneath the waistband to your pants without hesitation, and it takes everything in her to not make a sound of satisfaction at how wet you are already. "jesus. already?" she manages, the words almost coming out in a whine and breaking this facade of control. "you're fucking soaked."

"can't help it." you reply immediately, already feeling the fight in you leave the second she gets her hands on you, "it's you. you do this to me." you're already clenching around nothing, staring up at nat's form over your body with an expression of pure want. "please."

the girl almost scoffs at how quick you get to begging, considering it usually takes far longer to break you down. "damn. that was fast. you a little desperate?"

"fuck you—" you try and start, but your protests are quickly cut off with a sudden push of her forefinger into your cunt. "oh—"

"that's what i thought." she grins, starting to move her finger without giving you time to get used to the intrusion. "all talk and no game, yeah? not so big once someone actually starts taking charge."

your fingers dig into the soil around your bedroll, knowing better than to grab onto her right now. "that's not fair—"

another finger. "nothing is fucking fair." she bites, leaning down closer to your face, "we're trapped in the middle of goddamn nowhere, and you're talking to me about fair?" a harsh scoff leaves her lips as she begins pumping her fingers faster, "life isn't fucking fair."

you'd make a smart reply to that if you could, but it's sort of hard to do when her fingers are ruthlessly fucking in and out of you, your wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear. "already so worked up." she tsks, "bet i could give you a third finger right now and you'd—" 

she does.

three fingers deep, fingers curling in and out of your pussy with a passion that only nat can possess, you groan and throw your head back. 

nat slaps her free hand over your mouth with a hiss, "jesus! do you want them to hear what's going on in here?" her fingers never cease in their actions as her gaze flicks to the entrance for a moment, watching to make sure no one is about to walk in on you two. "shit, i would never hear the end of this…" she murmurs before returning her gaze to you, hardening it slightly. "should have known you wouldn't be able to keep quiet." 

she grinds her palm against your clit with every crook of her fingers, and you can barely keep your eyes open at the harsh movements she fucks you with—pain and pleasure blurring together somewhere along the way. 

her breath ghosts over your ear as she leans down, and you can feel her smirk. "you're gonna come for me, and when you do, it's gonna happen again." you whine, and she chuckles lowly in response. "and again. until i fucking decide that you've finally understood how to listen to fucking orders."you stare up at her with wide eyes when she pulls her face back slightly, and nat's grin only widens further. "and we both know you have a hard time following orders." her fingers find that one spot, and you swear you see stars—"so i think it's gonna be a long night."

[sunsturns]

summary: you can’t sleep without your stuffed animal and matt becomes your second option.

warnings: anxiety/start of an anxiety attack, fluff, “angst” (slight arguing if you squint), reader ATTACHED to this stuffed animal, pet names (baby, sweetheart), mr wrinkleton mention!!!

wc: 1k

𝓨ou walked into matt's room after a very long day, getting ready to fall asleep. he was already in there per usual, under his blankets. he looked at you as you walked in, a soft smile growing across his face. you just wanted to be cuddled up next to him underneath the comforter, with your childhood stuffed animal, lucky.

but when you took a closer look at matt’s bed, the place you last left the faded blue bunny, there was no stuffed animal to be found. that’s when you noticed matt’s bedding was switched out from what it was this morning.

starting to worry, you asked, “matt? where’s lucky?”

“the stuffed animal?” his eyebrows furrowed, not sure if he knew exactly what you were talking about. you’ve told him the name you gave your stuffed animal probably once, so he was hesitant in assuming that was what you were talking about.

“yeah.” your expression dropped, as the missing stuffed animal was starting to settle in your mind. you had no idea where it could be and it was starting to make you anxious. bad things always happened when you didn’t sleep with that stuffed animal, and the thought of that happening tonight, terrified you.

"i was just giving it a quick wash, it should be done tomorrow." he said, hopefully comforting your nerves with his confirmation. but it was somehow the exact opposite happened, your chest started inflating a little too fast, and matt was quick to notice. he shoved the blankets off of him, getting up to meet you where you stood. his hands immediately grabbing ahold of your arms, in attempt to comfort you, calm you down. "im sorry. was i not supposed to?" he asked, severely concerned. he couldn't stand the idea of messing something up that meant so much to you. he didn't think anything of it when he decided to toss it in the wash along with mr. wrinkleton, but he was now hating himself for not taking an extra second or two to think.

you had no answer to his questions, feeling completely overwhelmed with the sudden change you were going to have to deal with tonight. you never slept without that thing, even when with matt. you still found a way to slip it into your nighttime cuddles. suddenly, tears threatened to fall from your eyes as the anxiety started to take over your body. you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight, but you didn’t realize you weren’t going to have to deal with an anxiety attack on top of it.

"hey, sweetheart. it's okay." he pulled you into a comforting hug, soothing out your nerves before they could get to be too much. he brushed his hand over your hair over and over again. it was a constant, familiar feeling and it immediately helped ground you. your face still felt extremely heated, but it felt as though it was slowly fading away. just before matt said, "there's nothing to worry about, okay? he'll be done by the time you wake up tomorrow."

“you don’t understand, matt. i haven’t been able to sleep without him since i was a kid.” you mumbled into his chest.

"wait a minute, him? you've been seeing another guy this whole time?" he accused with a chuckle, obviously trying to make you laugh. it kind of hurt when it failed, though he had to admit it was a very horrible kind of joke now that he thought about it, and it probably only made everything worse.

“not funny.” you shook your head softly, expression flat, as another tear rolled down your cheek. “im serious, matt. i need him,” you told him. the words sort of hurt matt in the process of you speaking them, of course you didn’t mean to, but it made him feel like he wasn’t enough for you. made him feel less than the stuffed animal. he understood your problem and knew how much you depended on it, but he wished that he could help just as much as the small plush bunny.

he lead you over to sit on the edge of his bed, as he crouched down to be perfectly aligned with your face, his hands now rested on your thighs for support. now looking directly into your eyes, he started rubbing small comforting motions with his hands. his words were just as comforting when he said, "i'm really sorry, baby. i really didn't mean to put him in there."

“it’s okay…” you accidentally broke the eye contact, feeling kind of ashamed for what you were about to say. after all it was just a dumb plush bunny. you refused to look at him, forcing your eyes to the ground next to him instead, before you spoke, “i’m just like really scared to sleep now.”

he lifted your head, making eye contact once again, making sure you were listening to what he was saying. “why? you know i’m right here.”

you shrugged, feeling stupid for even feeling like this over a fucking stuffed animal. "i don't know... i just know whenever i don't have it, i have nightmares. vivid nightmares." your lips started to quiver as some examples started replaying in your head.

matt grabbed a hold of your face, wiping any excess tears from your cheeks, “hey, i’m going to be here the whole time, okay?” you nodded your head in response, trying to hold back the avalanche of tears that you felt.

matt swiftly headed over to where he was laying before, but this time making a little spot for you to snuggle in. “c’mere,” he said, holding out an arm to you. you immediately crawled to your little spot, letting him engulf you in his arms the second you got there. he pulled the blanket over the both of you.

“goodnight sweetheart, i love you.” he planted a kiss upon your forehead before you nuzzled into his chest, now knowing he would be the one to suppress the horrible dreams.

but when you woke up the next morning, you couldn't quite tell if that had been the case. because as you held onto matt, you felt something fluffy in between the two of you. grabbing it, you realized it was the faded beige bunny you had been so worried about the night before.

NOTES ! 🫐

a/n: yall ever know the feeling when someone you love messes something up on accident but you can be mad at them so you just feel the overwhelming urge to cry?? yeah that’s how this feels 😭

[valemrsn]

lottie matthews textpost

[washthatheartoutwithsoapy]

I love how Shauna and Mari turned Nat into angry annoyed mom, and Mari's just like, 'B-but she started it-!'

This is so fucking funny to me.

[dirtyvulture]

No Glory

Beefy!MMA Fighter!Natasha Romanoff* x Fem!Stripper!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 3570

Summary: Your club gets a visit from rising boxer Natasha “Black Widow” Romanoff.

*Nat has a 🍆 and is a virgin

AN: Been working on this one for a while... 😉

Sometimes Natasha wonders why she chose this path in life. The chain-link fence of the octagon cage rattles from the spectators’ excitement, reminding her that she’s only here for their entertainment. The eyeballs and cameras drink in the violence and bloodshed like an elixir, the crowd cheering for more. They didn’t pay all that money for a ten-second fight that ends with a single punch to the temple and a body lying still on the mat. They want to see the full three rounds, pushed to the last second, where the fighters can hardly stand straight and blood soaks through the mats.

She circles the pen warily, shifting her weight back to her left leg because her right thigh has swollen to a near-bursting point after taking a rapid succession of roundhouse kicks that probably could’ve fell a house support beam. Blood drips into her left eye and she hopes her eyebrow is at least still attached to her face. She lifts her hands to protect what’s left, her forearms and biceps aching, but she knows if she doesn’t end things soon, she’ll be the one laid out while the audience celebrates.

Her opponent, a pixie-cut blonde with a few inches over her, bounces on the mats with a seemingly endless supply of energy. The only visible damage Natasha’s left on her is a fattened bottom lip. Natasha is annoyed, wishing she had done a better job wearing her opponent out so the end wouldn’t be so difficult. 

She shuffles forward a few steps as much as her injured leg will allow, causing her opponent to bounce back in response. She fruitlessly throws a few punches, which her opponent blocks effortlessly. Her opponent might have the capacity to play around with her the rest of the evening, but Natasha doesn’t have the time. 

She moves backwards now, practically inviting her opponent in for a free hit. When Natasha sees the light of realization in her opponent’s eye, she knows it’s over. She momentarily shifts her weight to her right leg, a spike of adrenaline masking the pain long enough for her to spin on her heel, lifting her left leg as high as she can manage. Her left heel connects with her opponent’s jaw with a satisfying crack.

“KNOCKOUT!” the announcer roars. “Danvers is down!”

Natasha wobbles on both legs as the referee jumps in between her and Danvers, lying frozen stiff on the mats with one arm still raised. She is momentarily jealous of Danvers’s unconsciousness, wishing she could lay down too, but when she sees the look of shock in Danvers’s eyes as she comes to, she isn’t jealous anymore.

“Your winner…Natasha ‘Black Widow’ Romanoff!”

She turns to face the audience, raising a fist and hearing their screams and cheers grow louder. But the win feels empty to her. There was not much at stake at an amateur fight and her reward would be even less after her manager/coach/adoptive father took his cut. Training would be even worse with her new injuries and she already had another fight scheduled in less than a week. As she squints through the bright lights shining down on the octagon, she looks out at the audience, knowing she won’t find you there but wishing she would.

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

“Hey, turn that up,” you say, catching a glimpse of the TV in the mirror.

“Why?” Wanda asks, smearing red lipstick around her mouth. “You’re not into MMA.”

“No, but that one client of hers is,” Jane chimes in and you feel her cheeks heat up. 

“Which one?”

“You know, that buff redhead.”

“Ohhhh.”

You tune them out to focus on the fight. You didn’t really consider Natasha Romanoff a client of yours because she never seemed to want to get actually near you–you could always feel her eyes on you from afar, but every time you approached she suddenly turned icy cold, murmuring excuses and turning down your offer to take her to one of the back rooms for a private show. She was an enigma and a little rude too, but you found yourself hopelessly drawn to her. 

You watch as Natasha limps forward, before spinning around and kicking Danvers in the face. 

“KNOCKOUT! Danvers is down!”

You try to hide your smile. You knew she could do it. She might not have had the greatest track record, but she was still just starting. Maybe she’d come visit you tonight as a way to reward herself, and maybe you’d finally get a real chance to be with her. You turn back to your mirror, reaching for the mascara. You always wanted to make sure you looked the best when she came in.

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

Natasha watches unblinkingly as the nurse presses the enormous ice pack to her bruised thigh, holding it in place with a plastic wrap she’s sure she’s used in the kitchen before. Her ankle is elevated on a chair and she’s only in her underwear now so she caught a full glimpse of the damage Danvers caused before the ice pack hid away most of it. 

She winces when a second nurse pinches the skin above her left eyebrow and presses on a pair of butterfly stitches. 

“How did you win but Danvers walked away better than you?” the first nurse says to no one in particular. Natasha doesn’t answer. 

“I bet the gamblers were not happy with that upset tonight,” the second nurse responds. 

“My daughter knows how to give a show,” a deep Russian voice slurs from behind them. Natasha doesn’t move to acknowledge her father lumber into the locker room. “Very good today, Natasha. Very, very good.” A heavy hand slams painfully on her shoulder and she jolts. “You almost had me fooled, too.” He shakes her and Natasha holds onto the sides of the flimsy metal chair she’s propped in so as not to fall to the floor. “But I trained you well. I know I did.”

“Yes, Dad,” Natasha mumbles, trying to shake his hand off her shoulder. She just wants to be away from everyone now. She hardly cares that it’s her first win in weeks. These were the last people she wanted to be celebrating with.

“Alexei!” The manager walks in next. He’s shorter and smaller than Natasha’s father and Natasha only knows his name as Dreykov. He wears thick-rimmed glasses and has his thin gray hair perpetually slicked back. “I’ve got a good payday for you.”

“For once!” Alexei cheers, walking over to Dreykov. The men share an awkward but enthusiastic handshake, before Dreykov reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. Natasha swears she can see the dollar signs in her father’s eyes as Dreykov begins peeling and counting bills.

“We’ll be celebrating tonight,” Alexei says as he proudly accepts the money. Almost like it’s an afterthought, he turns towards Natasha and offers her a single, hundred-dollar bill. “Here you go, honey. Treat yourself tonight. Go to that club that you like, but don’t bring any of the girls home.” He and Dreykov laugh. Natasha snatches the bill out of his hand. She knows she’s owed more for her share, but she’s too tired to complain. She hates the situation she’s gotten herself into, but knows there’s no escaping it now.

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

Your eyes scan the club, your vision so well-adjusted to the dim lighting and red LEDs that you can still see faces perfectly well. Either she’s not here yet, or she’s playing her usual game and hiding in the corner with a beer.

Wanda bumps your hip with hers and you remember to keep moving down the catwalk, continuing your performance for the rowdy men cheering by the edge of the stage. But you’re not interested in a single one of them tonight. You’re waiting for the redhead to appear, because this time, you aren’t just going to ogle from afar. 

Natasha carefully lifts herself into a stool at the corner of the bar. The ache in her leg is softened a little by the painkillers her father forced her to take before she left the gym, so she orders a Coke instead of her usual beer. She takes a sip, letting the sugar dissolve in her mouth, and rubs her eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion hit her harder than Danvers had. Maybe she should’ve just gone back to her apartment and slept instead of coming here.

“Hi there.”

Natasha nearly jumps out of her seat. You’re suddenly standing next to her, and you look even more beautiful up close. 

“Um, uh…” Natasha splutters, trying not to spill the Coke on herself and setting it back on its coaster. “Hi.”

“I saw your fight earlier. The girls all pitched in for the pay-per-view,” you say.

“Oh.” Natasha feels her cheeks heat up as red as the mood lighting in the club. “That was nice of them.”

“I knew you’d come here to celebrate your win. Congratulations.”

“It was a lucky kick,” Natasha deflects, feeling infinitely embarrassed by your praise.

“No, you won fair and square,” you insist.

“Thanks,” she finally concedes.

“Not even a beer tonight?” you ask, gesturing to her glass of bubbling Coke.

Natasha shakes her head. “I didn’t want to mix alcohol with painkillers.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Natasha hears pity in your voice and her stomach twists. She wishes she could appear stronger and cooler. She’s worried that she’s not living up to your expectations as an MMA fighter, even though she had just won a fight (a first in weeks).

“Can I get you something to drink?” she squeaks, desperate to distract herself from the self-loathing.

You wave her offer away. “I was thinking maybe we could go back to one of the private rooms tonight. If you want to, that is.”

“Me? With you?” Natasha blushes as red as her hair. “I…um…” she splutters. “Sorry, I don’t think I have enough money for that right now.”

“My treat,” you say, putting your hand on her forearm, which tenses up considerably under the leather jacket she’s stretching out.

“Oh, that’s um…very nice of you for offering,” she stammers, pulling her arm away. “But you don’t have to. I don’t want to take your time away from paying customers,” she stalls. 

“I want you,” you emphasize, and it makes Natasha’s stomach do somersaults. She’s dreamed of this moment for months, but resigned herself to the fact that she would never have the confidence to ask you this herself. You probably deserved someone much better than her, not a loser who allowed herself to get beat up for a living. 

“Are you sure?” Natasha asks, giving you one final chance to walk away. She didn’t want you to do anything you might later regret.

“Yes,” you assure, and there’s no way someone as dense as Natasha can mistake the passion in your voice for anything less. Natasha finally takes your hand and she hopes you won’t mind the callouses roughening up her palm. She looks around, as if she’s embarrassed someone will catch her with you. But no one is paying attention with the dancers on the stage, where Natasha would normally watch you from afar.

You take her past the bathrooms, through a door she had never noticed before, to an empty hallway marked with more doors. Buzzed on excitement and nerves, Natasha hardly notices the ache in her leg anymore. 

“This one,” you point out the third one on the left and usher her in. 

Natasha isn’t quite sure what she expected, but it almost reminds her of a hotel room. However, she notices there’s no lock on the inside of the door. 

“Um…” Natasha stands there awkwardly behind you as you close the door. “I need you to know something,” she blurts out.

“Yes?”

“I’m a…um, I mean…” She doesn’t know why it’s so hard to admit, she would rather fight Danvers again with both hands tied behind her back. “I’ve never done…this before,” she says lamely, her face reddening in shame.

“Oh.” Natasha deflates when she hears your reaction. “Well, that’s okay,” you add quickly and she stares at you while holding her breath. “I’d love to be your…first.”

“Really?” She doesn’t want you to see her like a chore you have to get done so you can move along your day. “I’m sorry I never approached you first and just watched you from the bar like a creep. I just thought you were so beautiful that you’d never want to give someone like me a chance–”

You lean forward and press your fingers to her lips. Her eyes widen at your touch but she finally picks up the courage to gently lift her hands to your hips, beckoning you to close the distance between the two of you. 

“Are you sure?” Natasha whispers one last time, her breath warm on your cheeks. You nod as she quickly presses her lips to yours, still carrying an air of nervousness. “Should we…the bed?” she suggests, cringing at how crass it sounds.

You hide a chuckle and allow her to lead you to the queen-sized bed, where she sits on the edge first, parting her legs so you can stand between them. You lean down and kiss her again, this time with more passion, and she cups your cheek with her rough palm. She feels the sudden tightening in her pants and shifts her leg to adjust herself.

“It’s your leg okay?” you ask.

“Um, it’s not my leg…”

“Maybe I can help?” you propose, turning your focus first to her belt and then her zipper.  Natasha tries to help you but you push her hands away; instead, she lifts herself off the bed so that you can pull down her pants and boxers. She moans when your hand closes around her shaft and starts tugging at her gently. 

“Y/N,” she whispers, rocking her hips slightly to push more of herself through your hand. Your hand feels infinitely better than hers ever has and just the thought of what your pussy might feel like has her head reeling already. 

“Do you like that?” you ask, ghosting your lips over hers. Natasha tries to kiss you but pulls back and gasps when you squeeze her head, collecting the pre-cum that dribbles out on your finger. She watches with wide eyes as you bring your finger to your mouth and suck it off, and she throbs even harder in your hand.

“Please, Y/N,” she begs, and even her legs are shaking now too (but she suspects that might also be because her muscles are weak).  

“Sit down and take your clothes off,” you tell her, taking off your jacket and tossing it on the floor. Natasha eyes your curves with a spark of lust, but she doesn’t touch you without permission. She hastily tries to follow your instruction, wanting to watch you undress instead, but with a few fumblings rids herself of the leather jacket and the plain white T-shirt she had been wearing underneath. You’ve left yourself in a pair of lacey lingerie as you crawl onto the bed to join her, pushing her back until her spine bumps against the headboard.

“Still okay?” you ask, straddling her waist but mindful of the enormous dark bruise on her right thigh.

“Can I touch you?” Natasha asks, almost squirming underneath you in desperation.

“Of course,” you say, guiding her hands to your hips where she squeezes them roughly, sliding to the backside of your thighs and pulling you towards her. Her hard cock is pressed against her abs when you fall against her and she jogs her hips to create a slight friction between your bodies. You rock forward, smearing some of her pre-cum onto your stomach. Natasha gasps at the sight and feels herself harden even more, until she’s afraid it’s about to burst on the spot.

“I don’t…know how much longer…I’ll last,” she pants, trying to slow the movement of your hips. You’ve hardly touched her and she isn’t even inside you yet, but the shameful thought deflates her just a little bit.

“Just a little more,” you tease, wrapping your hand around her slick cock and pumping it back to full mast again. Natasha grunts and moans, her muscles flexing in an impressive display for you as she tries to enjoy the pleasure without ruining the moment. Her fingers slip under the band of your panties, but you slap her hand away and she looks up at you guiltily.

“Let me,” you insist, leaning back to slowly shimmy out of your panties. Natasha is worried she’ll start drooling when you finally expose yourself to her, where she can see the glimmering wetness of your anticipation. “Look what you’ve done to me,” you say as you lower yourself to press your wetness against her cock. “Feel it.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” Natasha mumbles, wondering if you can feel how hard her cock is throbbing for you too. She cants her hips up to slide herself through your heat, even though the movement reminds her of the pain in her leg. “I need you, baby.”

“I need you too,” you say, moving to match her rhythm. It fills Natasha with happiness to hear you say this; she’s never had it said to her before and quite literally spent most of her time as a punching bag for others. But even if you’re just caught in the heat of the moment and only viewing her as a favor, she wants to enjoy this and couldn’t be more excited you chose to spend time with her tonight.

“Did you bring protection?” you ask, startling Natasha out of the moment.

“Oh…um, yes. It’s in my wallet,” she says, reminded of the little foil packet one of her sparring buddies had given her as a joke. They wouldn’t be laughing anymore when they learned she had finally gotten the chance to use it.

There is an awkward pause as you lift off of Natasha enough for her to slide out and grab the wallet in her jeans, tearing open the packet as she gets on the bed again. Her hands are trembling as she tries rolling the plastic over herself, but you end up helping her finish. 

“Thanks,” she mutters, embarrassed by her own helplessness.

“It’s okay.” You kiss her forehead and hold onto her shoulder with one hand to steady yourself, the other hand gripping onto her shaft and guiding it towards your entrance. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she says, holding her breath and squeezing your hips tighter. 

She easily slides into you, trapping her in a velvet heat that seems to swallow her whole. The two of you moan in unison and Natasha holds herself very still, torn between wanting to bury her entire length in you and not wanting to hurt you. Her heart is racing with exhilaration but she patiently waits for you to start moving, the arousal in her stomach spiking to an almost painful point when she feels how easily she moves through you.    

Her back arches against the headboard when you purposely squeeze her and her nails claw at your thighs. 

“Come on, Nat,” you say, “Come and fuck me.”

Natasha doesn’t respond with words, but jack her hips up hard, meeting your thighs with hers with an audible slap. Her arousal is so strong now it completely drowns out the lightning bolts of pain from her leg as she pistons eagerly into you, trying to fit all of herself into you. She wants your tightness around every inch of her, massaging her in the best way she’s ever been touched before. She can feel herself leaking in the condom and knows it won’t be too much longer until she busts completely. 

But she wants you to feel good too, and doesn’t want to focus too much on her own pleasure. 

You bounce higher with every one of Natasha’s thrusts and she starts to lose her rhythm the closer she gets to release. Her hips and abs burn and she buries her face in your chest, mouthing at your breasts in a last-ditch effort to distract herself, but to no avail. 

Natasha finishes in a few hard spurts that seem to drain all the energy out of her. She lays back limply against the headboard, the muscles in her thighs still twitching. Your riding slows to a full halt as you wait for her body to stop shaking. Natasha reaches up to stroke your face tenderly.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and you beam down at her.

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

Natasha opens her eyes, feeling like she had been hit by a bus. She looks around and doesn’t recognize the space, before she suddenly remembers her successful fight against Danvers, and then the night she had with you. 

But you’re nowhere to be seen now, although Natasha’s clothes, which she had haphazardly tossed to the floor, are now collected in a neat stack on a chair. She gets up to put her clothes on and her phone falls out of her jeans pocket. The screen lights up with text messages from her father, wondering why she was late to practice that morning.

The harshness of reality slapping her in the face, she hurries to dress. She isn’t even sure if she’s supposed to be here, but she finds a back door and sneaks out, unsure if she’ll ever have the confidence to return.

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

AN: Sorry this ended kind of sad, I’ve been really sad lately so it only made sense lol.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[whytheylosttheirminds]

blue sweater - r.c.

(season 4 bf!rafe x gf!reader blurb, 2.4k words)

content smut, p in v, this gorgeous man and his afformentioned blue sweater, 18+ minors do not interact!!

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠂

You’d fallen asleep on the couch, waiting up for him again. You didn’t fault Rafe for working so hard, you just miss him so fucking much when he’s in back-to-back meetings all day. 

The couch dips below you, pulling you from your dreams. A large, warm presence settles next to you on the sofa. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know it’s him.

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily, eyes still closed.

He’s smirking down at you, you know him so well you can picture exactly how he looks without actually seeing him. 

“Hi,” he leans forward, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “I’m sorry, that last meeting ran so long.”

Finally opening your eyes to meet his, you’re almost startled by the sight. Somehow, in the dim evening light, they’re more deeply blue and beautiful than ever.

“Nice sweater,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers along the hard edge of his shoulder. Even though he looks so soft and pretty right now, he’s tense, and you wish you could ease the worry that furrows his brow.

He smiles knowingly, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling in the cute way that makes your heart ache for him.

“Thanks, my girlfriend got it for me.”

“She has good taste,” you joke as your run your hand gently up and down his bicep, the soft fabric such a contrast to the hard muscle below. 

“Yeah, she’s all kinds of good,” he winks.

“Then why’d you make her wait for you all night?” You pout, sticking out your bottom lip so he’d know you’re just teasing.

“I said I’m sorrrrry,” he whines as he leans over you more, adjusting to bring his legs onto the couch. You make room for him instinctually, his body fitting into yours like you were designed for each other. 

He lets his full weight down slowly, sinking you both deep into the cushions. Nuzzling his head into your neck, he drags his lips against the skin below your ear so gently, it sends goosebumps racing across your skin. He can feel your excitement and starts kissing you more firmly, leaving little wet spots up the column of your throat.

Your hands splay out over his big, firm back, rubbing circles into the tight muscles. You press deep, working out his stress, and he groans at your firm touch. Your hands work slowly down his back, pressing as you go. When you reach the hem of his sweater, you slip your hands underneath. Rafe flinches at your touch, a shudder running through him.

“Your hands are cold!” He exclaims, his voice muffled.

“Oh sorry, love!” you start to pull them away, but he reaches his arm behind him and pins your palms to his skin.

“No, it feels nice, don’t stop.”

You obey, the pads of your fingers digging little figure eights into his lower back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“What’s got you so stressed baby, hmm?” You ask.

“Just got too much going on,” he shakes his head so his buzzed hair tickles your earlobe. You giggle at the sensation, his head rising and falling with the shake of your chest.

“Poor baby,” you coo, making him smile against you. “Just need a little help to relax?”

Rafe nods against you, moving slightly to lay his head against your chest so you can run your nails along his head like you know he likes. You bring one hand up, the other still under his shirt, the motion making you open your legs wider so you can stretch. He slots between them perfectly, and when you drag your nails over the fuzzy hairs right at the nape of his neck, you can feel him twitch against your core, already half hard.

“Someone’s needy,” you hum, delighted that you can make him so hot just by touching him tenderly like this. “Want me to make you forget all about your bad day?”

“Please,” he groans into your collarbone, pressing his hips down harder so you can feel him fully against you now. Your wetness pools immediately, soaking through your panties as you arch your back and return the pressure. 

“Shit, baby, that’s so nice,” he praises.

“‘I’ve been waiting for this all day,” you confess.

“Then we better not make you wait any longer.”

Swiftly, he lifts his head from your chest and finds your lips with his. It’s hungry and sloppy, the wet skin of his lower lip sliding against yours as your mouths collide. You’re fully grinding up into him now, and there is nothing semi-soft about him, his hard cock threatening to rip the seams of his pants. You writhe, desperate to feel his length. You know it like the back of your hand, picturing his perfect cock clearly as you rock against it. You’ve got every vein, every throbbing, pink inch memorized. 

“Take your pants off,” you breathe into his open mouth.

With a cocky grin that makes you impossibly wetter he drawls, “now who’s needy, huh?”

You roll your eyes and reach for his waistband, if he’s gonna be an ass about it you’ll just do it yourself. He mirrors you, undressing you with the same shaky fervor. Your shirt goes first, he’s delighted to see you’ve opted for no bra. In the cold evening air, your nipples harden immediately, and he can see the goosebumps spreading across your torso. 

“Ohh baby, you really are freezing.”

“Mhm,” you nod, lip pulled between your teeth. “Warm me up, Rafe.”

A throaty groan rises from his chest as he takes over your work on his pants, ripping them off as best he can without standing, his boxers following. You slip your thumbs under your shorts, doubling up to slide your panties down with them until you’re bare for him. Only one piece of clothing remains between you, the soft blue sweater you bought for him. He starts to pull it off, but you stop him, your hand wrapping around his wrist.

“No, leave it on,” you instruct.

“Whatever you want, angel,” he smirks at your unusual request, but obliges without complaint.

He lays down on you again, his lips hovering over yours as he lets his cock press into your inner thigh. He’s so hard you gasp, inhaling sharply at the sweet pressure against your leg. He kisses you again, more tenderly this time, like he’s trying to imprint the taste of you onto his tongue. As he lets his weight settle on you, the soft threads of his sweater rub over your sensitive nipples, the sensation making your eyes squeeze shut and a strained moan echo from your chest.

“Y’okay?” He asks.

“It feels so g-good,” you croak out.

“What does, baby?”

You blush, feeling silly for it, but something about the soft material against your hardened skin is so delicious, you’re sure your pussy is dripping onto the couch by now. 

A little embarrassed, you admit, “the sweater on my tits feels really good.”

“It does?” He questions, amused.

“Just stay on me baby, don’t stop.”

You and Rafe have been known to argue about almost anything, but he never argues when you tell him how to make you feel good. He flattens his chest against you fully, rutting his dick against your leg, causing his chest to rub against yours as requested. Your head falls back into the throw pillows. You let him continue to move you both until you almost can’t stand the friction anymore.

“I love that,” you whimper, eyes still squeezed shut. “But I need you inside.”

“Can’t wait any longer, huh?” He chuckles. Once again, you don’t need to see him to know what he looks like, his eyebrows are surely arched high and his lips quirked to the side as he looks at you in amusement.

“Rafe I’ve been waiting for like twelve hours,” you complain.

“I know, baby, I know,” he quells you. “I got you, alright?”

Propped on one arm, his sweater leaves your chest for a moment so he can line himself up at your soaked entrance. You wait with closed eyes, bracing for impact as you know it will take a minute to adjust to his size, it always does. But he doesn’t enter you, just grumbles with annoyance as he shuffles above you.

Your quizzical eyes open to find him fumbling with the collar of his sweater, preparing to pull it off.

“What’s the problem?”

“I want to see you, but this fucking sweater’s in the way,” he explains. You lift your head and look down to where your bodies should be meeting to see the hem of his sweater hanging in the way, blocking the view. “I’m just gonna take it off.”

“Nuh-uh!” you object. 

“Baby,” he whines.

A solution comes to you, causing you to break into a wide grin.

“Open up,” you say, and he’s never looked more confused.

But then, you reach down and pull the hem of the sweater between your fingers, making his stomach flinch as you brush against it. You lift the hem up to his mouth, revealing the sight of his dick dangerously close to your entrance. He puzzles it together, and teasingly rolls his eyes before letting you place it between his teeth. He bites down on it obediently, considering a protest before looking down to see he now has a perfect angle to his favorite sight in the world.

It feels so good when he finally slides in, stretching you so deliciously and filling you like only he can, that you almost actually cry. He moves gently, considerate enough to know there’s probably an edge of pain to your pleasure.

“You don’t have to go slow,” you assure him. “Take your stress out on me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He tries to sound cocky, but it’s muffled from the fabric between his teeth.

The way his jaw clenches in frustration makes you giggle. Rafe usually does most of the talking, knowing the sound of his low voice in your ear makes you come so much faster.

“I’ll do the talking, just focus on my voice while you fuck me, m’kay?” You purr.

He nods in agreement, picking up the pace until he’s rocking into you, continuously hitting the perfect spot that makes you both shudder with pleasure. He’s going so hard you have to lift your arm above you and steady yourself against the arm of the couch. His eyes flit between the sight of you taking him in so perfectly and the way your tits bounce with each thrust.

You keep your promise to talk him through it, starting with, “just like that, Rafe- mmmph- feels so good. God, I can feel you so deep.”

His brows furrow in concentration, thrusting harder, desperate to drag more praises from your kiss-chapped lips. Your eyes train on the veins in his neck, throbbing with effort. You reach your other hand up and grab his chin, pulling his face so his eyes pierce yours.

“Shit, you look so good, fucking me like you needed to,” you cry.

As much as he loves the eye-contact, he’s still wearing this stupid sweater for a reason, and he needs to remind you. He matches you by placing his hand on your face, soft but firm, and directing your gaze down to see him pistoning into you.

“Oh my god, that’s so hot,” you smile, admiring the creamy mess you’re making on his shaft. “You’re fucking covered in me, baby. Made me so wet comin’ in here looking this good.”

He removes his hand from your head, looking for a non-verbal way to thank you for your compliments. He presses his thumb to your tongue, and you don’t need words to know what he’s doing. You get it nice and wet, swirling spit around his thumb with your tongue. Once it’s ready, he lowers it to your clit, rubbing back and forth a few times before forming steady circles.

“Ah- fuck- yes, Rafe that’s so-” Your commitment to keep talking falters as pleasure floods your mind, robbing you of your voice.

He knows what you need, he always knows what you need. He pulls your hand from his chin and places it on his chest, you bunch the fabric of his sweater so he can release it from his teeth.

“There ya go,” he coos. “Need me to talk you through it, huh?”

You nod desperately, confirming what he already knew.

“Couldn’t even concentrate in my meetings,” he begins, panting with the effort he’s putting in, not letting up his pace. “Thinkin’ about you here waiting for me, walking around the house in those little shorts. How am I supposed to close deals when I can’t stop thinking about bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking this perfect pussy, huh?”

His words have exactly the effect he was hoping for, you are beside yourself, moaning and squirming beneath him. Letting out the sweetest little “oh, oh, ohs” as his cock rocks your whole body. He's losing tempo, both of you nearing the edge. You bring your other fist up to bunch his sweater, too, grasping so tightly you're afraid you're gonna tear it. You clench around him as he keeps talking.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze me as hard as you can - fuck!” He's unraveling, needing to find the words to get you there so he didn’t finish first. “Fuck, that’s my good girl.”

Just as he expected, that’s what finally did it for you. You cry out his name as sparks exploded in your tummy, coming so hard you have to bury your face into his chest to keep from screaming. He follows behind you almost immediately, his hot cum spurting into you as his primal groans and grunts echo through the room.

A few minutes later, you’re cleaned up and cuddled in his bed, now wrapped up in his sweater, the stretched-out fabric engulfing you. He smirks as his hands run over the material, rubbing over your stomach and waist lovingly.

“Might have to wear this thing every day if that’s how you’re gonna react,” he teases you.

“Uh-huh,” you giggle. “Good luck getting it back.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠂⠄

a/n: omg i'm so sorry I just literally couldn't not, the chokehold this sweater has on me is unnatural like y'all don't even need to read this it was just a passion project for me. all hail Blue Sweater.

[nats-revival]

nsfw ! — thinking about ellie using a strap for the first time. shes just so star struck by it, yet so confused. “it looks so confusing. like, how to people even do this?” she’s looking at herself in the mirror while trying, or failing miserably, at putting the harness on. she was excited to use it on you to make you feel good but she also wanted to know how people figured these things out so fast.

when she’s finally put it on properly with your help, she lays you down. shes taking her time with kissing you all over, marking you up and prepping you with her fingers. her fingers felt heavenly inside of you, and you’re begging her to let you cum but she removed her fingers before you did.

naturally, you pout at her angrily. “relax. the best part has yet to come.” she pats your thigh before littering kisses all over your face. and gosh, does she go the extra mile with making sure you’re okay. “you just need to tell me if you really want this.. cause i dont wanna make you like, uncomfortable.” “im sure ellie, im super sure.” she’s asked you the same question about five times now, but in her defense, she didnt wanna hurt you. after more reassurance, she slides it in slowly as if she were testing the waters.

if her fingers felt heavenly, then the feeling of her cock inside of you was otherworldly. she lets you adjust to the size before moving slowly. you encourage her and she begins moving faster, finding her rhythm. “fuck— you look so pretty right now,” she mumbled, soaking up the sight of her strap going in and out of you. “you’re doing so good for me.” her praises added another layer to the experience that has you whining and moaning so pretty for her. once shes comfortable with the consistency of her thrusts, her pace was even faster. it wasn’t long before she had you cumming all over her strap.

she made a mental note that seeing you with her strap nestled inside you makes her feral. ellie knew she’d be doing this again.

astrids notes: gentle ellie 4 life!!!! im a wee rusty cause i dont write so much anymore so pls dont flame me. 😓😓😓 i kinda hate this but this has been in my brain for days i literally needed to get it out before i forgot.

[waayoutofline]

Avoiding every mistletoe (Until I know It’s true love)

Marvel Masterlist

PROMPTS: Shy Natasha Romanoff and Lab Assitant!Reader

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, awkward and clumsy Nat, Tony's lab asistant reader, christmas fun! ( posting this during actual christmas), meddeling avengers, a sprinkle of hurt/comfort.

Summary —> Ever since Natasha met you, Tony's new brilliant assistant, she has been down bad. But her sudden lack of confidence around you banishes every hope for her to make a move. Christmas is around the corner, and the team knows about your superstitious nature. There seems to be a clear answer: Mistletoes.

WC: 5473

Warnings: Descriptions of making out, but not explicit sexual content.

***

November was in full swing at the Avengers Tower, which meant sophisticated red, green, and gold decorations adorned every surface, Christmas songs played on an endless loop through the speakers, and the unmistakable aroma of gingerbread wafted (somehow) through the air.

As was classic Tony Stark fashion, a lineup of extravagant holiday parties had already been scheduled and meticulously planned for execution. Natasha Romanoff though was already dreading it.

Hoping to avoid any unnecessary interaction, she quietly sneaked into the communal kitchen, intent on grabbing a couple of waffles Wanda had made earlier. But as soon as she stepped in, she felt the weight of several pairs of eyes on her back.

“Ah, Miss Romanoff, there you are!” Tony’s voice rang out, cheerful and full of purpose. He was already decked out in one of his newest suits—sharp, festive, and annoyingly ostentatious.

Sighing, Natasha turned around, realizing it was too late to make a run for it. She was greeted by the sight of her team sprawled across the couches and armchairs in the lounge, each of them absorbed in their own activity, but now casually watching Tony’s sudden commotion with mild interest.

“Morning,” Natasha grunted, reluctantly moving to join them, plate in hand.

“Just the person I was looking for!” Tony said, flashing a shit-eating grin as he patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Instead of humoring him, Natasha settled herself on the fluffy rug in front of the coffee table, placing her plate down without a word.

“You are officially invited to the pre-Christmas party hosted by moi,” Tony declared dramatically.

“Tony, you literally held us hostage at one last week. I still have a hangover,” she deadpanned, recalling flashes of the chaos where even she had gone overboard with the alcohol, thanks to Sam Wilson’s stupid drinking games.

“Oh, come on! This one’s different. It’s intimate—just for us heroes and co,” Tony countered, undeterred. Then, leaning back smugly, he added, “I even got the space lady to come. How awesome is that?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Oh don’t be boring. Where’s the wild Natasha Romanoff we all love?” Tony teased, grinning as if to provoke her.

“Easy. She doesn’t exist,” Natasha replied flatly, cutting into her first waffle. She let out a satisfied hum at the sweet taste.

“These are amazing, Wanda,” she said, looking over at the young witch.

Wanda, sitting comfortably on a loveseat, smiled warmly at the compliment. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Is it a new recipe?” Natasha asked, curious.

“Yes, actually. I added a bit of cinnamon and—”

“Okay, okay!” Tony interrupted, baffled by the lack of attention he was receiving, looking bewildered between them two. “Let’s get back to the main thing here. Are you coming?”

At Natasha’s reluctant silence, Steve stepped in with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Natasha. I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior.”

“Ugh, boring—” Tony groaned, dragging the word out in sing-song. But under Steve’s hardened stare, he sighed in defeat. “Fine. It’ll be a cozy hangout. No traces of fun or whatever,” he relented, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Taking another bite of her waffles, she carfulkly took a sip of her coffe, trying to hide her smirk as she sees Tony waiting in anticipation fo her response. “Fine.”

Tony threw a punch onto the air, clapping in victory. “Carol is coming you said?”

He nodded proudly. “Yeah I managed to rope her and her little sidekick in. There is also the kid, Clint and his family…”

”Dont forget Strange.” Bruce, who just entered the living room reminded. Tony grumbled a bit at that. 

“Yeah, Houdini too. Scary lady and Patch eye…god were those hard to convince— Oh and my lab assistant too.” Nathasa choked at that.

”Assistant? She practically takes over your lab.” Bruce chuckled. 

Tony rolled his eyes, but there was no hint of malice. If anything, a spark of pride made his eyes a bit brighter. “Yeah well, I taught her well. Did you knowl that last week she-“

 Nathan’s brain disconnected at a scary speed after those words. Images of you hit her hard, and she could already start to feel her heart race a bit. 

Y/N Y/L/N was Tony Stark’s most recent lab and tech assistant, and to say he was impressed would be an understatement. After reviewing your résumé, Tony had practically declared you a godsend. You were one of the rare people who could keep up with his eccentricities, effortlessly managing the stream of tasks he threw your way. It didn’t take long for you to earn a permanent spot at the Avengers Tower.

Natasha remembered the first time she saw you as if it were yesterday. She had been on her way to ask Tony for a replacement for her gauntlets after a particularly rough mission. When she stepped into the lab, though, she was surprised to find someone else hunched over the workbench.

Frowning, Natasha set her hand on the fingerprint scanner, the door sliding open with a soft whoosh. At the sound, the stranger turned around, and Natasha froze in place.

For her, the world seemed to stop spinning, settling into an almost unnatural silence. You were… ethereal. 

In her life, Natasha had faced aliens, wizards, and even sentient robots. So how far-fetched was it to assume she was now standing face to face with an angel?

Even though you didn’t know her, a gentle smile settled on your lips, your gorgeous eyes peering at her with almost childlike curiosity. Natasha stood there, frozen in place, unable to move. It wasn’t until something shifted in the silence that she remembered to breathe again.

Startled, she realized she hadn’t moved from the doorway. The door had automatically closed where she stood, trapping her. Embarrassed, she quickly stepped forward, pushing herself to snap out of it.

And, of course, she had to stumble. The gauntlets she was holding slipped from her grip and fell to the floor with an unforgivable thud. Cringing, she immediately knelt down to retrieve them. What she didn't expect was for you to do the same, even if your movement were more calm. 

She flustered when she dared to look up, finding your own awaiting gaze. “Well, if they weren't broken before, they sure are now.” You joked with a smile, tone teasing but not judging. 

Blinking, Natasha started sputtering, not really knowing what to say. Or how. “Yes.” 

“Yes” is what her stupid brain decided to go for. Even thinking about it even now, her face scrunch with self embarrassment. What was even happening? Taking a breath, she redirected her eyes to the ground. Right, the gauntlets. They are broken. Need them fixed.

Finally standing up, she forced her body not to fidget. As if sensing this, you offered a hand to her. “Y/N Y/L/N, Mr.Starks new hire here in the lab.” 

Tentatively, she accepted the shake. Her mind hanging on how your hand seemed to fit into hers. “Natasha Romanoff. Um, avenger.” 

God what’s wrong with her? You giggle at that, and the sound is enough to get her out of her head. Of course that the sound is also beautiful. Was there anything about you that wasn’t? Why is she even think that?

 “I know. Pleasure to meet you, Ms.Romanoff. So…may I help you with those?” You ask, your hand still being held by hers. Noticing this, Natasha removed her grip as if you were burning. 

“Please.” She ended up saying, utterly embarrassed by her behaviour. Still, you gave no sense of judgment, only nodding and taking her over the workbench. 

She stayed with you all that evening. And most of the next ones after that. 

***

Her infatuation with you only seemed to grow since that first meeting, and the others quickly picked up on it. They saw it in the way Natasha—the most grounded person they knew—started sputtering and flustering whenever she talked to you. The unshakable confidence she was known for seemed to melt under the warmth of your sunshine smile and the twinkle of mischief in your eyes.

And as much as they insisted for her to make an actual move, Natasha refused. 

“Uh-oh, I know that look.” Wanda sang, like a high school girl teasing her friend in high school when they listened the name of their crush. Rolling her eyes, Natasha scoffed.

”There is no look.”

”Oh, but there is.” Clint, who was watching Sam and a struggling Bucky play Mortal Combat added, not even looking away from the screen. “Your pupils practically shape into hearts— likes a lovesick puppy. It’s almost painful to watch.

”Shut it Barton.” 

You were too good for her, Natasha decided on her own. You were like the sun, kind and warm, gentle in a way that it was entirely selfless. Natasha's life was one of dangers and precautions, she didn’t want to expose you to any of the threats that surrounded her lifestyle. 

Even if she ached to be close to you, call you her own. 

“Now it’s the time to make a move. Who knows? Maybe you will find each other under the mistletoe.” He adds with a wink.

Tony hummed. “Hm, that’s actually a good idea.” 

Her head whipped toward him. “Don’t even think about it, Stark. Besides, that’s a stupid tradition. How do you even know that Y/N would willingly kiss someone just because a stupid parasitic plant is above her?”

They all laughed at that.

“Our Y/N? Please. She practically had a mental breakdown when I broke a mirror in the lab the other day,” Tony quipped, grinning.

Wanda nodded in agreement, casually flipping through the pages of her book. “Yeah, once she made me search the entire tower for something made of wood to touch, just so I wouldn’t jinx the next mission after I mentioned a hypothetical worst-case scenario. Still don’t get that one.”

Natasha’s face went pale at that, remembering a conversation she’d once had with you. You had mentioned that, while you didn’t fully believe in superstitions yourself, your family did, and it had resulted in some strange and unshakable habits for you. “Better safe than sorry,” you had said with a shrug.

A cold sweat made her tremble slightly, worsening by all of a sudden interested and sneaky grins on her friends faces. 

Whatever, she still can not go.

***

She still had to go.

When you confirmed your attendance, you clapped excitedly, rambling about how fun it would be to spend your first Christmas together. You even brought it up when she bought you lunch—a frequent occurrence, since you often got so engrossed in your work that you forgot to eat. Natasha would be lying if she said your words didn’t tug relentlessly at her heart.

And so, there she was, surrounded by the thrumming chaos of an all-together gathering, overwhelming decorations, and overly festive arrangements at every turn. Anxiety prickled at her as she glanced toward the newly decorated attic. They couldn’t possibly have infested the entire place with mistletoe, right?

Wrong.

They were everywhere.

On every doorway, on the stairs, in the high columns and ceilings, even on top of the Christmas tree, scattered around—everywhere she looked, there it was. Mistletoe.

Trying to shake it off, Natasha focused her attention on the ground, her sharp gaze scanning for the culprit behind this festive ambush.

“Tony!” she half-yelled, her steps quick and deliberate as she marched toward the eccentric billionaire, who was in the middle of a conversation with Pepper.

His head whipped toward her, a flicker of fear flashing across his face before his usual smug smirk returned.

“Care to explain?” she demanded.

“Explain what, exactly? My fantastical abilities to host, or…?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

She glared furiously. “Aw, c’mon, don’t look so grumpy, Grinch! This is a time of tradition, joy—”

“And manipulation?” she interrupted through gritted teeth. “This is way too much.”

Despite her glare and the unmistakable edge in her voice, Tony remained unfazed. If anything, his amusement only grew. He glanced over her shoulder, his expression brightening as he perked up.

“Well, complaints are non-refundable. Sorry, it’s the new policy. If you’ll excuse me, Pepper needs me to sign some super high-confidence document, right, dear?”

Pepper frowned. “What are you talking ab—”

Before she could finish, Tony gently grabbed her hand and began steering her away, the two trailing off into the crowd.

Natasha was about to follow and press him further, but a voice behind her made her freeze.

“Nat, hey!”

She turned around, and suddenly, everything seemed to slow down for her. There you were, wearing a comfy red sweater, black jeans, and a pair of Mary Janes. Your hair, usually tied back for work, was flowing freely, framing your face. It was a simple, casual look, but Natasha felt her face heat up at the sight of you.

As you got closer, alarm bells blared in her mind. Her eyes darted upward, and her stomach dropped. One of those dreaded mistletoe clusters hung right above where you were heading.

Panicking, she practically sprinted toward you, desperate to avoid both of you standing under it. But she miscalculated her speed, and before she knew it, she was barrelling straight into you.

You let out a startled huff as her momentum almost knocked you over, but her quick reflexes kicked in, and she steadied you before you could stumble.

“Geez, Romanoff,” you joked, brushing yourself off as you smiled up at her. “We just saw each other this morning. Did you miss me that much?”

Your teasing tone and warm voice snapped her out of her panic, but the damage was done. Natasha’s heart was hammering in her chest, her senses overloaded as she became acutely aware of how close you were. The soft warmth of your body pressed lightly against hers, the delicate scent of cocoa beans, coconut, and something distinctly you filling the air around her.

Her cheeks burned as her mind scrambled for something—anything—to say as she looked down at you, mortified. Luckily for her, your attention diverged when someone from the staff (who even brings staff in closed up parties?) bough a chocolate fountain in a rolling chair. “No. Way.— I thought he was kidding!” 

And just like that you went off excitedly, a silhouette of dust being the only trace of you left. Sighing, Natasha brought her hand to her racing heart, trying to figure out a way to survive this evening. 

Her eyes opened again in determination, she was going to take off these damned things, starting with the one right on top of her. 

***

This task, however, grew increasingly difficult as the evening wore on. Between being roped into endless conversations, you constantly looking out for her (and her desperately trying to avoid you), and the absurd number of mistletoes everywhere, Natasha felt like she was fighting a losing battle. It was as if they were multiplying before her very eyes.

Her frustration peaked during a particularly embarrassing moment—one where, of course, you were the witness.

After listening to Peter and Kamala endlessly gossip about high school drama, Natasha had collapsed onto the sofa, her patience hanging by a thread. As her gaze wandered across the room, her eyes landed on the ceiling—and there it was. Another  mistletoe. This one was perched slightly higher than the others, hanging right above the beanbag chair where you often sat. Of course.

Those strategic bastards.

Taking advantage of everyone being distracted in the kitchen, she sprang into action. With no ladder in sight, she grabbed a nearby chair and carefully climbed onto it. Still too short to reach, she braced herself against the shelves, stretching precariously as she balanced. Every slight wobble of the chair made her heart lurch, but she pressed on, determined to remove the offending decoration before anyone noticed.

But of course, that was the moment you walked in, calling for her.

“Nat? Aren’t you hungry? I saved you some of those little pies you like so much—”

Your voice startled her, and she immediately looks down at you. Her grip slipped briefly, the chair wobbling dangerously beneath her.

“Y/N! Shit—” she hissed, her heart leaping into her throat. Scrambling to steady herself, she clung to the edge of the shelf and managed to avoid completely losing her balance. She froze, her cheeks heating as she realized you were staring at her, bewildered.

“What… are you doing?” you asked, the corners of your lips quirking up in confusion and slight amusement.

Blushing furiously, Natasha’s mind scrambled for a reasonable explanation. “Um… I was just… looking for Clint? You know how much he loves to hide up here.” she said with a nervous laugh, trying to sound nonchalant.

Before you could respond, someone brushed past you, momentarily breaking the tension.

It was Clint, holding a bottle of rosé wine, with the kids trailing behind him. “No alcohol until you’re 21,” he announced, his tone firm but playful.

“But I am 22!” Kate argued.

Clint snorted. “Sure you are.”

As they disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your attention back to Natasha. Arching an eyebrow, you crossed your arms, your curiosity clearly not satisfied.

“Oh, great! There he is!” Natasha blurted, clinging to her flimsy excuse. She waved awkwardly in Clint’s general direction, desperate to change the subject. “Let me just—”

But as she began stepping down, her foot slipped on the edge of the chair. She let out a startled gasp as she lost her footing entirely.

”Oh my- Natasha!”

***

She even tried to gain support in enemy territory.

“Steve!” she called out. The man looked over at her and clearly tried to sneak off, but it was too late. “Just how many are there?” she asked, her desperation evident. So far, she’d removed eight mistletoes and had endured three risky situations where she’d practically had to run away from you.

“Of what?” Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink, feigning ignorance.

Natasha huffed, crossing her arms. “Please, let’s skip the act. I know you also took part in this.”

Steve remained silent, his expression unreadable but gullible. Natasha sighed in exasperation. “Come on, Steve, you’re the most reasonable one out of all of them. Just tell me where the rest of the mistletoes are!”

She could see the guilt on his face—he was clearly uncomfortable. Steve Rogers wasn’t a man who lied easily. As he opened his mouth, clearly about to crack, Sam and Wanda swooped in.

“What are we talking about?” Sam asked with a goofy smile, casually draping his arm around Steve’s shoulders as if shielding him from her interrogation.

Natasha’s left eye twitched. “You know exactly what, Wilson.”

“Hmm, do I?” Sam teased, his grin widening.

Natasha ignored him, focusing on her second-best shot, since it was clear Steve wouldn’t be of much use now.

“Wanda,” she said, turning to the witch, “how many mistletoes are there?”

Wanda shrugged, playing innocent.

“If you tell me…,” Natasha added, her voice turning sly, “I’ll lend you those boots of mine you like so much.”

Wanda hesitated at that, her composure faltering slightly. “… The ones with the metal buckles?”

“The ones with the metal buckles.”

Wanda’s eyes glinted with temptation as she weighed her options. But after a brief internal debate, she furrowed her brow and firmly shook her head and crossed her arms. “No. We’re doing this for your own good, Natasha.”

Natasha laughed forcefully, her expression taut with frustration. “For my own good? I’m losing my sanity over here, Wands.” Her tone was sharp, but her forced smile remained plastered on her face.

Just then, a voice cut through the air, making Natasha freeze.

“Have you guys seen Natasha? I swear I just keep losing track of her today,” you said, your voice light-hearted as you spoke to Bruce and Tony.

The group perked up at your words, and Natasha’s head snapped toward the sound of your voice. There you were, standing across the room, looking as radiant as ever as you chatted with the two men.

As Tony and Bruce were about to point in her direction, Natasha didn’t waste another second—she quickly ducked behind the rolling chocolate fountain cart, slipping out of sight just in the nick of time.

***

It all came down to the climax of the party. Most of the children were asleep by now, and only the closest circle remained. Natasha was exhausted but relieved. She had finally managed to get rid of all the mistletoes, even if, in doing so, she had humiliated herself in ways she hadn’t thought possible.

Now, she could finally relax and hang out with you. Or at least, that’s what she thought. A wolf whistle and cheers erupted from her friends, who had formed a circle outside on the terrace. Curious, she approached, only to regret it immediately as she was squashed between Steve and Bucky.

Her face went pale as she saw the final mistletoe, hanging right above you and a smug Carol Danvers. In her frantic pursuit of avoiding standing under a mistletoe with you, someone else had managed to get there before her. This outcome was far worse, and dread filled her as she watched the scene unfold.

She couldn’t stand it. The way Carol got closer with bravado and you, with a smile (it was more polite and friendly than anything, but at that moment she didn’t see it like that), made her heart drop.

The world once again slowed down, but this time it was for her and you. And she just couldn’t stand it. Shattering the slow-motion moment, her mouth and body moved faster than her mind.

“Wait! You’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe, not near it! I mean—look at that angle, it’s tilted and all wrong. Besides, is it me or are the leaves…wait, let me just scoot over here—” she muttered, pushing her way through the onlookers to get to the mistletoe. Everyone went quiet in surprise as she reached it and caressed the leaves. You just stared at her, but she seemed to pay no mind. “Ah, as I thought! These leaves are all dried. How about we replace it? Here, I know where we can find a suitable one. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

Without thinking, she took your hand and practically dragged you away, turning back toward the group. “We’ll be right back.”

Everyone remained quiet as they watched the two of you disappear.

***

“Here, let me just…” Natasha started, trying to find her card in her pockets. “Where did I—ah, here.”

With quick motions, she attempted to swipe the card to unlock her room. You stood behind her, watching her increasingly desperate attempts to open the door.

“Nat…” you started softly.

Chuckling awkwardly, she waited for the green light, but it still wasn’t processing for some reason. “These are so annoying. I keep insisting to Tony that he should just put in a code, but he doesn’t listen—”

“Nat.”

“Typical of him, I know. Let’s try again.” Waiting for the red light to turn off, she swiped again, and this time the light turned green. “There, finally.”

You tried calling her again, but she interrupted. “Sorry for the wait. There are some left in my room, let’s just pick one and…” She said, turning the handle and opening the door, knowing that all the stolen mistletoes were in the corner.

“Natasha!” You finally yelled, making her turn around with wild eyes. Uh oh, you almost  called her Natasha.

Your face held no negative feelings, only the patience you were known for. “Nat.” Slowly, you grabbed her trembling hand and got a bit closer. Your worry made her squirm.

“What’s going on?” you started softly, as if trying not to scare her. The consideration and gentleness in your voice made her almost burst into tears. “You’ve been behaving… strange this entire party. Running around all over the place… avoiding me.” You whispered the last words, clearly pained, and her heart shattered.

The last thing she wanted was to make you feel bad. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your question was so raw, your expression vulnerable, and Natasha wanted nothing more than to wrap you in her arms, kiss you gently, and reassure you that you didn’t—couldn’t—do anything to upset her. But she couldn’t, and the knowledge of it broke a little bit more.

“No, no, of course not. It’s just—” She started, her words getting stuck in her throat, unsure of how to put them together. “The others decided to put the place swarming with mistletoes.”

You looked at her in confusion. “Okay…why?”

Refusing eye contact, Natasha took a deep breath, her heart pounding so loudly that she thought you could hear it. Without dropping your hand, she stepped a little closer, her legs slightly trembling. She figured the best thing to do was to just say it and get it over with. She had already been making a fool of herself the entire day. But saying it was harder than she thought it would be. The fear of rejection was suffocating her.

“Because…” Finally daring to look at you, her neck reddening all up to the point of her ears, being suddenly conscious of the warmth radiating. “Because they know how serious you are about superstitions. And that if we got caught under one, then I… then I would finally dare to kiss you.”

The admission came as a whisper, shame and embarrassment hitting her like never before. It was as if she was going to combust from the inside. A pause hung between the two of you, each second of it feeling like a stab straight to her chest.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine losing you. You had become so close this year, and to think that just a couple of silly words could ruin everything was killing her. Her eyes closed tightly, waiting for the worst—a rejection, disgust, or just pity. Any of these would shatter her.

But it never came. Instead, she felt warmth—a gentle caress on her cheek, you softly urging her to open her eyes and look at you. Your face was far from the rejecting one that Natasha’s brain had conjured. Instead, it was a reassuring one, with a bright smile like the one you first gave her the day you met, your eyes soft and bright under the lights.

She blinked, as if the soft touch had pulled her back from her darkest places. Her heart seemed to stop, no longer beating out of fear but for hope. Because as she studied you, she saw nothing but kindness and happiness.

“You… you’re not upset?” she asked, as if it were too good to be true.

Your smile widened, laughing softly under your breath at her surprise. “Nat, how could I ever be upset? I—” This time it was you who searched for the right words, your cheeks flushed with a lovely rosy color that Natasha couldn’t help but find fascinating. “How could I, when I’ve been waiting for you to do this for quite some time?”

Your admission hung in the air, like a symphony. Natasha could feel the weight of the world lift from her shoulders. “You have?”

“Of course I have.” You confessed, as if the question were ridiculous to even ask. “You’ve been everything my heart has been yearning for, Natasha.”

Natasha sure wasn’t a poet, but right now she was seeing the world as one. The way in which your words embraced her, your slightly dilated eyes looking at her as if she was the only one on your mind.

Was this what the others saw? The look she has been too oblivious to see?

She wanted to hit her head in frustration, all the time wasted because of her doubts. But she was free of them now, having you as her savior.

Getting closer, she dared to pull you closer by your waist, marveling at how it felt in tandem with her movements, as if you two had done this a thousand times before, in different lives, before this one.

“So… you’re telling me I made that champagne pyramid fall all over Fury for nothing?” she asked, as if it were a secret.

You laughed loudly at that, remembering the moment when Natasha stumbled all over the table later on in the evening. Everything seemed to make sense now.

“You know…” you started, the laughter dying down as you softly tucked a piece of Natasha’s hair behind her ear, your touch lingering on her jaw. “For someone so intelligent and charismatic, you sure are clumsy at times.”

Natasha huffed, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile. “Only because you…” she started, but caught herself, her eyes slightly widening.

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Only because of that? Do I make you nervous, Romanoff?” You grinned, adoring the way she seemed lost for words.

Sputtering, she tried to defend herself, but someone beat her to it.

“Very much so!” Tony yelled.

Your eyes snapped toward him, only to see the team huddled up behind the corner.

You snickered, Natasha flustered. “What are you…? Go away!” She hesitated.

Tony smirked. “Not so fast, Romanoff! You have to kiss.”

Confused, she followed his hand motion, only to see a mistletoe floating with surrounding red magic.

“Damn it, Wanda…” she muttered, but you just laughed at your friend’s antics, hiding your face in her shoulder.

Natasha’s attention shifted back to you, her smile filled with adoration. Finally, you peered up at her.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to…” she started shyly, not wanting to pressure you into doing anything. But you only got closer to her.

“I don’t know, I think you do owe me a kiss,” you replied with a grin. “You know, to balance the universe.”

“Yeah…” she muttered, eyes lowering. “To balance the universe.” She reaffirmed, leaning down. But before her lips touched yours, she gripped you and dragged you both into her room, slamming the door shut. She ignored the muffled complaints heard from the hallway as she pinned you against it, wanting to have you all to herself.

Connecting her eyes with yours, she searched for any trace of doubt, but found nothing but darkened irises. Hesitation left her once and for all as she leaned in, her lips meeting yours. She sighed, and everything else seemed to fade into the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle and tentative, giving you both time to discover each other. But the passion, held back for so long by insecurities and “what ifs,” broke free like a dam, intensifying everything tenfold. Her hand gripped your waist slightly harder, while one of your hands trailed up to her hair, tugging it just enough to make her shudder. Urgently, she pulled you even closer, as if afraid you might disappear.

Her breath quickened as she felt your body pressed against hers. The kiss deepened, turning frantic with all the pent-up desire. Suddenly, you tugged at her bottom lip, almost provocatively, as you looked up at her through your eyelashes. Natasha groaned, her heart racing. It was like seeing a whole new side of you, and she just couldn’t get enough.

Licking into your mouth, she hummed as your knees seemed to buckle, holding your hips to make sure you didn't fall.  No, you weren’t going anywhere. Not when she finally had you in her arms.

You could feel the tension in her body as you traced her shoulders and back, her muscles tensing with every movement. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of you, kissing you—consuming you with everything she had.

It left you breathless. If anything, air became the only obstacle, the only force capable of separating you. Both gasping for breath, you didn’t dare to say anything for a moment, just taking in the overwhelming sensation of being so close, so lost in each other. 

“You know, technically…” you started slowly, a playful smirk on your lips. “Technically, you interrupted my kiss with Carol before.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, her grip on you tightened, a small growl escaping her at the thought of anyone else getting the chance to do what you had just done. But you quickly calmed her, softly cupping the side of her face. “So, you owe me another kiss.”

She looked at you with darkened eyes, a mix of desire and challenge in her gaze. “I guess you’re right… We wouldn’t want to have bad luck.”

“Of course not,” you repeated, your lips brushing against hers as you gently guided her closer. “You know how superstitious I am.”

“Yes, I do,” she whispered, a teasing smile crossing her face as she closed the distance.

[dillydally6969]

SOVEREIGN .ᐟ 𝓛OTTIE MATTHEWS

♱ your girlfriend thinks looney lottie is a bad influence on you… maybe she’s right?

♱ cw; harsh language, cheating (you’re both dicks), slight!nsfw but no smut, toxic!nat

“really? for the fourth time this week?” nat scoffed. you had a feeling she wasn’t very pleased with the suggestion, but what could possibly give you that idea?

“yeah, i like talking to lottie. i mean, can she be a little batshit sometimes? yes. but i feel better after hanging out with her.”

the blonde rolled her eyes, hoisting the rifle over her head and around her back. she shook her head, grabbing a jacket from her sleeping bag. “lottie’s a schizo four months off her meds, baby, whatever comes out of her mouth is literally a chemical imbalance leaking from her brain.”

nat had her own opinions on mental illness--ultra-critical.

“she just asked me to join her for her foraging trip, it’s not like i’m on my knees worshipping whatever she’s preaching.” you argued, “why’re you getting mad at me for it?”

nat sighed, “i’m not getting mad at you. all i’m saying, is i don’t think it’s a good idea spending so much time with lottie.”

she caressed your shoulder, hand slipping down after a gentle squeeze. you followed her to the front door of the cabin, freed from the last sleeping yellowjacket upon tai waking everybody up, leaving you and nat alone as she got ready for hunting.

“then spend some time with me! i haven’t had a proper conversation with you since the first night, i miss you.”

she scoffed, looking at you like she’s saying, ‘seriously’?

“i have a whole soccer team and three testosterone filled assholes counting on me shooting bucks to stay alive. wasting around isn’t exactly an option.”

“spending time with your girlfriend isn’t wasting around. y’know, i really don’t like how travis’ nasty character rubbing off on you.” you pursed your lips, crossing your arms.

“keep it down!” she shushed you. “don’t talk about him like that, he lost his dad, for fuck’s sake.” she snapped, “god, you’re the one who’s been wasting off.”

jesus christ, since when did she turn so cruel?

she exhaled deeply through her nose. looking over her shoulder quickly, she grabbed your hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“please stay away from that fucking psycho.”

the plead forced a wretched twist in your stomach, but still, you weren’t one to deny the antler queen’s request.

“i’m sorry, nat, but she won’t take no for an answer.”

she immediately let go of your hand, her jaw tightening. you felt your chest tighten at her action, teeth gnawing at your lip. “fine, whatever. but call it what it is, because you’re kissing at her feet just as much as those mindless goons who thinks she’s some fucking god. don’t come to me when you realize she just gets off on the fucking thrill of attention.”

she slammed the door shut behind her, leaving you alone in the hollow cabin. you sighed, hearing nat call for travis before the two left camp for the day.

eventually, you revealed yourself, shooting jackie a tight-lipped smile as you passed her sitting on the porch.

“y/n!” lottie softly called, “there you are. i’ve been waiting.”

your sour expression of worry immediately lifted, and on came a smile you catch yourself wearing often around lottie. you’ve been feeling burdened by nat’s bitter attitude towards the entire situation. she’s been lashing out at you more often, she will go days sometimes brushing you off and finding chores to do just so she doesn’t have to deal with you.

she hated when you’d ask if the two of you could just ‘walk and talk’. she didn’t like talking about feelings… or in general.

lottie was so bright, always eager to spend time with you.

she was the one asking you about your day when nat spends her nights hanging around the martinez brothers instead.

and she was the one making you feel wanted. needed. like you were oxygen she needed to breathe in, or she’d die.

“i’ve fetched the basket, i was wondering if you were ready for our trip today.” she queried gently, her fingers dancing across your shoulder to run her nails down your arm. “or if you were still planning on hunting with nat and travis.”

you shook your head. “no, they’ve left already.”

the way the corners of her eyes softened upon that moment, you swore she was almost relieved they had gone.

“alright then. shauna has kindly introduced a path down towards the creak her and jackie have discovered recently. i want to see if there are berries and such growing around.” she nodded towards an opening into the woods just behind the meat shed. “shall we break away for the day then?”

you beamed, mirroring her excitement. “i’d love to.”

“and you sincerely believe your bond has been hindered by her duties as a hunter?”

you hummed at lottie’s question. the two of you strolled side by side, elbows brushing occasionally as you ranted on about how you felt with nat’s recent drifting.

“i don’t know. sometimes i just think she’s sick of me.”

“well, i find it hard to believe anybody would grow sick of you.” she nudged you, chuckling. the remark, though just casual banter, made heat flush straight to your cheeks. you turned away to hide the tint of colour from the taller girl.

she smirked, hoping the image of you getting flustered would be burnt into her memories forever.

“what else has she done that’s troubling you, y/n?”

“she just doesn’t… talk to me anymore. it’s always travis this, hunting that, i just--like this morning, she was making all these mean comments and i told her i didn’t like how travis was rubbing off on her, she defended him!” you scoffed lightly, “i mean, i understand he just lost his father, but she’s just been such a trying person to care about lately, i feel lonely.”

the taller suddenly fell silent, and your heart skipped a beat.

it was always like this with lottie, you never realize you’ve over-shared until it was too late.

you let your guard down around her, but you loved the ease.

“i see,” she murmured, her fingers drumming against the strap of the basket. she seemed to hesitate before she spoke again, “does she… say anything about me in particular?”

your breath hitched; how did she know?

upon your struggle to stammer out a response, lottie giggled. she flashed you a small smile. “it’s quite obvious nat dislikes me, she isn’t exactly subtle with her mannerisms,” she joked lightly, “but i do understand her overprotective nature when it comes to you, the two of you are quite… close.”

“it’s--well--!” you were panicking. she caught you off guard.

nat didn’t really feel comfortable announcing anything about your relationship. she was waiting for things to die down and simmer into a less tense atmosphere at the very least.

it wasn’t like you were against it, but it narrowed the window you had for moments you get alone.

still, you shouldn’t be baffled an observant person like lottie noticed those stolen glances and hushed affection.

“you know, i’m here for you, y/n. however you need me.”

you do know. it’s all you think about when nat goes off with travis alone for hours. it’s why you feel less guilty, why you allow yourself to drift away from your sinking, hidden situation with nat and into lottie’s open arms.

“thanks, lot,” you answered, averting your gaze.

does lottie know about you two? shit, nat’s gonna be pissed.

“ah, here we are.” lottie gasped, stumbling ahead through a some bushes she pushed through into a tiny clearing.

you heard the soothing flush of flowing water, accompanied by lottie’s deep inhale. you took a good look around, soaking in the serenity of this little haven; it was absolutely breath-taking.

whilst lottie bent to lower her hand to graze the rippling water, you remained standing where you had.

however beautiful this oasis was, all you could see was lottie.

she looked so carefree, so in tune with everything that engulfed you. the way she fell into place immediately, like she had been here a million times before, like she was meant to fit right where she was. she was truly breathtaking.

“would you like to join me for a little break?” she asked, sitting by the creak with her knees to her chest. she patted the lakeshore right by her, setting the basket behind her.

“what about the berries?” you chuckled nervously.

lottie shrugged, nibbling on her bottom lip. her eyes raked you up and down briefly, if you weren’t staring at her so intently, you would’ve missed it. her nose twitched just the slightest. “the berries can wait. i want to talk with you.”

god, her smile was so warm and inviting. who could say no?

as you sat, your knees would brush. you could have sworn she was moving closer with each time she laughed at something you’d say (that wasn’t even funny) and swayed as she nudged you playfully. and when you’d go off about something jackie had said or tai and van being suspiciously cute, you could feel her eyes stripping you down.

her gaze was hot against your skin, you felt your cheeks burning when you’d catch her unwavering eyes.

“what?” you gasped, “do i have something on my face?”

she tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. she suddenly leant in close, her breath kissing your hot cheeks. her big, doe eyes ran across your features. she pulled back, humming with the faintest hint of a smirk. “no. not that i can see.”

“wha--what was that?” you squealed, leaning back.

“what was what?” lottie cocked her head aside.

“the--you were so close to my face!” oh my god, you could hear the shake in your voice, you sounded so pathetic. all you could hear was your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

“yes?” she replied, “is that a problem…?”

you don’t know how to answer; was it a problem? you didn’t exactly mind being close to lottie, you enjoyed the warmth that radiated from her as a matter of fact. but you’d burn up whenever her fingertips lingered on your skin a little too long.

“i’m sorry,” lottie sighed, backing away. her lips pouted slightly, her doe eyes giving you a look you couldn’t quite ignore. “it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.

“no!” you yelled almost a little too fast, “you didn’t.”

the sound of the water rushing over smooth stones was soothing, and the cool breeze carried the fresh scent of pine and earth. the air is crisp, but the warmth of lottie’s body kept you comfortable.

“good, that is the last thing i would ever want," she said, breaking the quiet. her voice is soft, but teasing "i’m very glad you agreed to come with me today. i was worried i’ve been too forward lately with my invitations.”

you glanced up at her, frowning slightly in confusion. you gnawed at your lip, chewing back your nerves.

“lot, i enjoy the time we spend together, so don’t say that.”

she stepped closer, her boots made a soft sound against the dirt. "well, i must confess. it’s not just that," she continued, voice dipping into a lighter tone. "there’s something about you... so effortlessly calm and... cute."

she let the word hang in the air, studying your reaction.

you blinked, unsure how to respond. "cute?" you stammered.

lottie laughed softly, her breath warm against your ear. her hand palmed yours on the ground, fingers slipping through the crevices of yours. "yes, cute. you don’t notice it, do you?" She tilted her head slightly, the edges of her eyes softening. "there is this charm about you. makes it hard to look away.”

your heart skipped, and you looked away, feeling your cheeks flush hotter. "thank you," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

the way she was looking at you, it made your stomach knot.

Lottie’s grin widens. "everybody notices as well," she said gently, leaning in closer. "so shy… so eager to please.”

oh my god, what the fuck is happening right now?

you swallowed, your throat dry as your mind raced. you can't figure out what to say or do, the mixture of her proximity and her words leaving you utterly flustered.

before you can even gather your thoughts, she leant in fully, her lips brushing yours softly. the kiss is light, like she knew of the risks regarding her actions. it’s over in an instant, but the sensation lingered--a soft warmth, a tender sweetness that took your breath away. you felt guilt and shame shower you, because you didn’t want it to end.

you blinked at her, completely stunned. lottie pulled back slightly, her gaze shot down at your parted lips. the tip of her nose brushed yours, and there she remained.

“you are so much more than that,” she whispered, her other hand coming up to cup your cheek. “but i’m in no hurry to make you realize that.”

your heart was pounding in your chest, your face burning.

lottie watched you for a moment, the teasing glint in her eyes giving way to something deeper. something you can’t quite name. she straightened up, but her hand lingered near yours, almost as if waiting for you to reach out.

you just sat there, breathless, in between her arms.

the hike back to camp bled into a blur, and your heart still raced from what happened by the creek. lottie walked beside you, her presence almost magnetic, but you can't help but feel distracted, the kiss replaying in your mind over and over again.

you’re not sure what to make of it, and honestly, you don’t know how to act around lottie anymore.

the entire way, she continued bantering and being lottie.

how could she be so normal? how is she not freaking out?

plagued by these unanswered questions swirling in your head, the things she said went in one ear and out the other.

though, she grabbed your hand whenever the shell of your knuckles would brush against each other. and as you struggled to hold her eyes for too long without flushing, she couldn’t help but giggle at your physical reactions to her touch.

as she set the berries she collected (you were too gay panicked to help) down in the pantry, your feet instinctively followed.

“thank you for your help today,” she grinned, “i had a very good time.” she leant in, hands grabbing the sides of your arms, before pecking you on the cheek. “i hope you enjoyed yourself as much as i have. if you need to talk about anything you want, i’ll be around.”

damn, it felt like getting blue-balled. like her lips were still ghosting yours. she tasted so sweet, such a soft contrast to what nat usually rushed into.

when you finally strolled back out towards the campfire, the first thing you saw was nat sitting by the fire, her hair strapped beneath her headband, laughing at something travis just said. that laugh of hers was usually familiar, comforting... but tonight it felt different. there’s something about the way she was leaning toward him, the way her eyes shone when she looked at him that made something inside you tighten.

you tried shaking it off, but it left a bad taste in your mouth.

nat’s smile diminished as she notices you approach, her eyes wavering like she got caught doing something she shouldn’t.

as you got closer, you noticed how travis’s hand was slid away by nat from where it rested on her thigh before. her back angled away from him, and both their shoulders tensed.

"hey," nat called out, giving you a tight-lipped smile. "i was wondering when you’d be back."

you caught sight of lottie far behind nat and travis. she conversed with akilah about something, listening intently, but her eyes flickered up when she felt somebody’s gaze.

lottie’s smile was easy, but there's something unreadable in her eyes as she glanced at you before returning her attention to akilah. you almost forgot your girlfriend was watching you.

"we found a few things. nothing special."

you forced a smile, but it felt thin. you were too aware of the way nat and travis were sitting too close, too comfortable, like something had shifted in the air. you sat down on the other side of the blonde, trying to ignore the cold weight settling in your chest. despite being sat before a raging fire.

as the night dragged on, your suspicion grew. it wasn’t just the way nat was acting around the boy--more open, more relaxed. it was also the little things: the way she lingered a little too long in conversation with him, the secretive glances they exchanged when they thought no one was watching. your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and you knew something was different between them after this morning’s argument.

i’m just being paranoid, you tell yourself. they're friends.

later, as the fire burns low and the night wrapped around you in a blanket of cool air, you and nat slipped away from the group that had gathered around the fire for a hearty post-dinner hangout, heading toward the cabin.

you sat down on the edge of your sleeping mat, still watching nat as she unzipped her bag, preparing for bed. you opened your mouth, but the words stuck in your throat, the weight of your doubts holding them back.

finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "nat... since when are you and travis so... close?"

nat froze, her hands pausing mid-motion as she turned toward you. her brow furrowed in confusion. "what do you mean?"

you bit your lip, your heart pounding.

you immediately regretted asking anything. the blonde you usually looked so forward to seeing stared back at you with such a bitter expression, you felt stupid.

nat’s expression hardened, her knuckles growing white from her tightening grip on the suitcase. her hand rose to scratch her nape. "i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about," she started, her voice quiet but steady. she was lying. the flare at the end of that sentence told you all that you needed; you knew her very well, after all. "travis and i are just... close friends. he’s just going through a lot. you know that."

you nodded? but the gnawing suspicion ate at you. "but it just feels like something's happening that you’re not telling me."

nat gave you an amused scoff, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "nothing’s happening, y/n. why’re you being so paranoid?" her defensive tone mocked your worries, but in a turn of events, it made you think of lottie kissing you.

you swallowed hard, forcing a smile, but the knot in your stomach tightened even further. you wanted to believe her.

but you knew it was more than what she was telling you.

“his hands were all over you, nat, i might be quiet but i’m not fucking blind.” you argued, looking up at her.

she scoffed, “you’re being hysterical, for fuck’s sake.”

“what am i supposed to think? you leave first thing in the morning, you come back late at night and when i see you, you’re gushing all over this guy.”

“why do you even give a fuck? you spend all your time sucking lottie’s dick anyway!”

“so this is what it is? you’re doing this ‘cuz you’re jealous?”

she slammed her suitcase shut. “i’m not fucking jealous, i’m sick of you acting like she’s some saviour when she’s not.”

“why am i such a sheep in your head? it’s not like i’m praying to her, i went picking mushrooms with her.” you stood, stepping forward. “all i wanted was to spend time with you, but you’re always doing something and i feel like i’m chasing after something that isn’t there anymore.”

“maybe ‘cuz it isn’t,” nat hissed, pulling back.

you felt that in your chest. you watched, mouth agape, as she ran her hand over her face. she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“i’m sick of you coming for travis. you’ve been nothing but a bitch to him since doom coming and i’m over it, okay?”

you stormed out of the cabin, your heart stinging from what the blonde had just implied. the cool night air brushed against your skin, and the silence of the woods did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside you. you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for, but your feet carried you past the campfire, where you spotted lottie talking to van.

without thinking, you walked over, grabbed Lottie's arm, and pulled her away, the urgency in your steps clear.

you lead the both of you through the edge around the cabin, until the light of the fire became a dim glow in the distance.

before she could say anything, you leant in, kissing her with more intensity than you intended. there was surprise in her tawny eyes, but she quickly melted into your touch, her hands resting on your arms as she didn’t pull away. mindlessly, she nudged you into a tree, a hand on your stomach as yours crept up to tug at her loose, jet hair.

when the kiss broke, lottie looked at you with a dark and dangerous gaze. her lips wet and parted as she panted in attempts to catch her breath.

“what was that for?” she gasped, her smirk evident.

your finger met her lip. you ran a free hand up her jaw, shushing her before leaning in.

her own anchored your hips against the bark scraping against your thighs. your lips began trailing from her lips to her neck, fingers snaking their way up your shirt.

“y/n--” she warned, “i’d rather you talk to me.”

lottie knew she had been drawing a line between you and nat lately. she understood the blonde’s jealous tendencies and it was quite easy from there. she also knew nat and travis were hooking up during the day, and she didn’t have the heart to tell you that. after all, you (used to be) were very much in love with her. but she knew all you needed was a little push.

“i just,” you sighed, “you said you’d be here however i need you. well, this is how i really need you right now.”

“running from your problems won’t fix anything,” she said softly, voice steady. she ran her fingers through her hair, caressing your warm cheek as you leant into her touch. “as much as i want this as well, it’s not under the right grounds. if you’re trying to find clarity, you're not going to get it this way.”

you stood there, her words sinking in as she gave you a knowing look. she sighed, kissing you on the cheek.

“i find it, you’ve confronted nat about her recent behaviour?”

she didn’t ask it with anger or judgment, but with the kind of certainty that made you realize what you were doing. you weren’t thinking straight, blinded by the utter betrayal you had felt. you could smell travis’ musk on nat, you could see the hickeys peaking from the collar of the layers she had on. god, you’ve been such an idiot, you should’ve known.

your hands peeled from her, rubbing the burnout from your eyes. tears welled as your breath deepened.

“hey, hey,” lottie whispered, she wiped the tears pooling from the edge of your eyes. “come here.”

you let her pull you into her arms, circling them snugly around your waist as you sniffled into her shoulder.

“i’m sorry, lot, i’m a mess.” you said, but she soothed you.

“you have nothing to apologize for, y/n. it’s the last thing i want.” lottie said softly. “though, kissing isn’t one way my lips can provide a sense of coherence, i can assure you travis and nat have been… well, you know what it is they’ve done.”

you blinked at her, the words not fully sinking in at first. she knew nat was cheating? did she know about the two of you then? “what? how do you…?”

lottie’s eyes met yours, calm and knowing. “i already knew of the two of you. it has told me about you,” she said gently, her voice steady. “i could see the way you looked at her. and I knew what she was doing.” she paused, taking a breath. “nat isn’t in the right frame of mind to appreciate herself, much less others. you mustn’t blame her. she doesn’t understand the gravity of her actions, of how much pain she has caused you.”

you felt your heart tighten at her words, you felt beyond just the pain you were feeling.

“if it is adoration you crave, i can provide. i can give you what you desire, all you have to do is ask.”

lottie’s presence had always been soothing, but right now, it was something more--her voice, her energy, the way she just knew what to say. was your admiration merely the way a servant to her sovereign? or was it more?

you found yourself speaking before you could stop. “i—” you swallowed hard, the words feeling heavier than anything you’d said in a long time. “i need you to kiss me again. i haven’t stopped thinking about your lips since the creak, and i don’t think it’s just because of nat.” you grabbed the collar of her frilled dress, yanking her close. you heard her swallow thickly, her eyes fixed on your needy lips. “will you do this for me?”

lottie didn’t react immediately, her gaze steady on you as if weighing your words carefully.

then, she reached out, gently lifting your chin with her fingers, her eyes soft but intense. “you’re not just running away from nat, are you?” she asked, her voice low, knowing. “you’re looking for something in me.”

you nodded, not able to look away from her. "with you, i don’t feel like a fucking safety net. i feel appreciated.”

lottie’s gaze softened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. you weren’t used to her being anything but the cool, level-headed leader the girls needed her to be. she pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “you’re something worth appreciating.” she pressed another kiss, this one against your jaw. “worth discovering.” finally, her thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, her breath mingling with yours. “worth worshipping.”

her mouth moved against yours, tongue savouring you.

you’ve been around lottie so many times--you’ve known her for a long time. you’ve never made an effort to notice it, but there was no denying the chemistry you both shared. you usually tried not to think about it, but damn. she knew just what you needed to hear, just where you needed to be touched, and just what you needed to feel. you felt nerves flutter in your stomach as her hands rose to unbutton your shirt.

you were appalled. disgusted at how quick that turned you on. it made you wonder how long you had felt this attraction towards lottie, how in denial you have been with the blonde usually pawing at your chest in hopes of getting lucky.

this was so much more tender, so much more loving.

she gasped as she pried her lips from yours, immediately they latch onto your neck, just between your ear and your jaw. she’s rough with you, and you can tell she’s needed this for a while. she’s needed you. her hand that isn’t on your waist reaches around to the back of your head, forcing you to move where she guided you. like she always did, especially since she had been named the queen. the faint scent of her coconut perfume engrained in the fabric of her clothing is sickening. it invaded your senses and only made you want her more.

“you’ve got me, y/n. for however long you need, i’m yours.”

an; omg yall the reception my first fic got was insane!! so part two is coming to theatres near you. for now enjoy this silly little lottie fic i had cooking.

lmk if you guys like these cuz comments and stuff really help me know what kinda thing you guys like and encourage me!

happy reading! xx

[natsaffection]

Redline. pt 5 | N.R

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

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Crash, dealing with shock, 18+! MINORS DNI! Fingering, begging

Word count: 10,9k

A/N: Rewrote it several times and now have a little stomach ache about posting it…Good night! I’ll check the reactions tomorrow morning. 🫠

Part 4

Natasha shoved past the pit wall, not caring about the protests, not hearing her own breathless curse as she ran towards the wreckage. By the time she reached the scene, the fire marshals were already dousing any lingering flames. And then, you.

You were moving.

A sharp wave of relief punched through her chest as she saw you push the cockpit open yourself, struggling against the stiff restraints. The front of your car was utterly decimated, debris scattered across the track. But you..God, you were standing.

Still, something was wrong. You weren’t looking at her. You weren’t even registering the chaos around you. Your eyes were locked onto your ruined car, hands trembling as though your mind was still catching up with what had happened.

Natasha was on you in an instant. You expected anger to come first, What the fuck were you thinking? Why didn’t you back off? But the words never left her lips. Because as soon as she got close enough to see past your helmet’s visor, Natasha realized the truth.

You were in shock. Your breath was coming too fast, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. You weren’t even trying to take your helmet off, just standing there, locked in a daze. Natasha’s voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Hey..”

Nothing. She cursed under her breath and stepped closer. This time, her hands reached for your helmet, gently unlatching it. Your fingers twitched as if you wanted to protest, but you couldn’t quite make yourself do it. Carefully, she lifted the helmet off, revealing your wide eyes, dilated pupils, skin pale beneath the grime and sweat. You blinked at her, still disoriented, but then your focus shifted back to the car.

Natasha saw it before you even moved. The way your body swayed slightly, your balance failing you. “I-I have to sit do-” You didn’t make it that far. Your knees buckled and Natasha caught you before you could hit the ground, strong arms locking around your waist.

“I’ve got you.”

The words were so uncharacteristically soft that even in your dazed state, you noticed. Natasha, who never coddled, never let an ounce of emotion slip through during a race, was holding you as if you might disappear. She helped lower you down carefully, kneeling beside you on the asphalt. One hand pressed firmly against your back to keep you upright, the other finding your wrist to check your pulse. Too fast.

“You have to look at me.” Natasha murmured, voice calm but firm. “Breathe.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but your body was still trembling from the adrenaline. You hadn’t even realized how hard you were shaking until Natasha’s fingers brushed against your cheek, grounding you. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, searched yours for any sign of real injury. You felt exposed under that gaze, but for once, there was no anger, no disappointment. Just something deeper, something you didn’t dare name.

Your lips parted, voice hoarse. “I-I’m fine-”

“No.” Natasha cut you off, her grip tightening just slightly. “You’re not.”

The medics were arriving, voices blending into the background. But Natasha didn’t move. You blinked up at her, trying to focus. Trying to ignore the way your heart was racing for an entirely different reason now. “You scared the shit out of me.” she admitted, voice rough.

That caught you off guard. Your breath hitched, and for the first time since the crash, you truly looked at her. Natasha..your impossible, untouchable, ruthless boss..looked wrecked. And that, more than anything, made your chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to..” you mumbled, feeling small.

Natasha exhaled, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “I know.” She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to. Because her hands were still on you, steadying you, refusing to let go.

And for once, you let yourself lean into it. You weren’t sure when she had stopped being just your boss and when she became the one thing anchoring you to reality. The shock was wearing off, slowly being replaced by exhaustion and a dull ache settling deep into your muscles. Your adrenaline had carried you this far, but now that it was fading, you could feel every bit of tension clawing at you.

Natasha opened the car door, guiding you carefully towards the seat. But as soon as you settled inside, your eyes flickered to the road ahead, and your stomach twisted.

The medical tent.

“No.” you muttered, straightening despite the lingering dizziness. “I don’t need this. I’m fine-”

Natasha didn’t even hesitate. “You’re going.”

You turned to her, frustration bubbling up beneath the exhaustion. “I just need a s-second, I don’t need-”

Her hand came down on your thigh, grounding you. Not hard, not forceful, just enough to make you stop. Her grip was warm even through your race suit, her thumb pressing against the fabric in a silent warning.

“Y/n..” she said, her voice lower now, quieter. Steady. That was all. Just your name. But somehow, it cut through the panic better than anything else. Your chest rose and fell too fast, your body still caught somewhere between fight and flight. But Natasha wasn’t budging. She stayed close, unwavering, her expression unreadable.

After a moment, she sighed and softened her tone. “You’re going to the tent.” she repeated, slower this time, like she was making sure you heard every word. “You can argue all you want, but I’m not letting you walk away from this without getting checked.”

You clenched your jaw. “But I’m fine.”

Natasha leaned in slightly, her face inches from yours now. “Then prove it.”

You blinked, thrown off. “If you’re fine..” she continued, “then let them check you. Get cleared, and I won’t say another word about it.”

She had you there. You could either sit and argue, or you could go through the motions and be done with it. Either way, Natasha was not backing down. You exhaled sharply, dropping your head back against the seat. “Fine.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. almost a smirk, but she said nothing as she closed the door and rounded the vehicle to get in beside you. The medical tent smelled of antiseptic and fresh gauze, bright fluorescent lights making the space feel colder than it actually was. You sat on the examination table, arms crossed, trying not to wince as a nurse ran her fingers over your ribs. Natasha was standing a few feet away, arms folded, watching everything with the sharp intensity of a hawk.

You weren’t sure if she was monitoring you or the nurse, but either way, she wasn’t leaving. “Any dizziness?” the nurse asked.

You hesitated. You could lie. But Natasha would see right through it. “Some..” you admitted, reluctantly.

The nurse hummed, continuing her assessment. “Headache?”

“Not really.”

Natasha made a sound, a short exhale through her nose, almost like she didn’t believe you. You shot her a look, but she didn’t move, just kept that unreadable expression on her face. After a few more tests, the nurse stepped back and gave you a nod. “No signs of a concussion, but I’d still suggest resting for the next twenty-four hours. You took a hard hit. Any unusual pain, dizziness, or nausea, come back immediately.”

You nodded, already hopping off the table. “Thanks-” Natasha caught your arm before you could move any further. You stilled. Her grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm. She wasn’t stopping you, just… keeping you there for a moment longer.

The nurse glanced between you two before offering Natasha a polite smile. “She’s alright. Just needs rest.”

Natasha nodded once. “Good.”

The nurse left, and suddenly, the tent was too quiet. Your legs were steady now, though your body still ached from the impact. You’re turning toward the exit. But Natasha was faster. She blocked your path, arms crossed, gaze steady. “You’re coming with me.” she said simply.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m driving you home.”

That threw you off. Natasha never left mid-race. Ever. The woman would sooner cut off her own arm than abandon her team during a critical event.

“But the race-”

“Yelena is taking over.”

You frowned. “What?”

“She’ll handle the rest of the strategy meetings. She can manage for a few hours.” Natasha Romanoff, the most controlling, hyper-focused team principal in the paddock, was just…handing things over?

“You don’t have to do that..” you said carefully. Natasha’s expression didn’t waver. “Get in the car.” The tone left no room for argument. You hesitated, glancing past her toward the paddock. The race was still happening, mechanics scrambling, engineers glued to monitors. It felt unnatural to leave in the middle of it.

But Natasha wasn’t giving you a choice. She took a step closer, voice quieter now. “You just hit a wall at over 200 kph, dorogaya. You’re not going back to the garage like nothing happened.”

You swallowed hard at the way she said it. Low, steady, controlled. When she’s calling you darling in Russian, you knew it was serious. She didn’t wait for you to argue. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, not too tight, not too gentle, just enough to make sure you were following.

The drive was silent. The sound of the engine filled the space, smooth and controlled, a stark contrast to the chaos you’d left behind. You stared out the window, arms crossed, trying to shake the exhaustion creeping in. Natasha was focused on the road, her jaw tight, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel like she was gripping onto something unseen.

You couldn’t tell if she was mad, worried, or just thinking too much. The tension sat thick between you, heavy and unspoken. You shifted in your seat, needing something..anything, to distract yourself. You pulled out your phone and started scrolling. And, of course, it was everywhere. Every headline. Every tweet. Every article.

Another brutal crash for Y/N L/N—can she recover?

Disaster strikes again: Second crash in just a few months.

Is Y/N L/N too reckless for GT?

Your stomach twisted. Before you could keep scrolling, Natasha’s hand shot out. In one swift motion, she plucked the phone right out of your grasp.

“Hey-”

“You don’t need to see that.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but when you turned to face her, something about her expression stopped you cold. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t frustration. It was something else. Something softer, something raw. For the first time since the crash, you saw the weight in her eyes, the worry she had been hiding under sharp commands and unwavering control.

And maybe you were too tired to fight back. You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat. “It’s not like it’s anything new..” you muttered.

Natasha’s fingers curled around your phone, her knuckles briefly turning white. “It’s bullshit.” she said flatly.

You let out a dry laugh. “That’s racing. People talk.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “Let them talk. It doesn’t change anything.”

You scoffed, turning your head toward the window. “It changes everything.”

Silence. And then, “I don’t give a damn what they say.”

Your breath hitched. You turned back to her, but she kept her eyes on the road, her grip on the steering wheel just a little tighter than before. You swallowed hard. The woman who was always pushing you harder, expecting more, never accepting less than perfection, was sitting here, telling you she didn’t care what anyone else thought. You should’ve been annoyed. Maybe even a little angry. But instead, you just felt something deep in your chest ease, just a little.

The moment Natasha pulled into the driveway of her trackside home, you knew this wasn’t just about getting you away from the chaos. This was personal. She didn’t say a word as she parked, cut the engine, and got out. You sat there for a second, staring at the darkened windows of her track, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Natasha Romanoff had left an entire Grand Prix just to drag you here.

A soft click pulled you out of your thoughts. Your door opened, and Natasha stood there, one hand gripping the edge of the frame, “Come on.” she murmured. No sharpness, no impatience. Just quiet insistence.

You sighed, unbuckling yourself, the exhaustion weighing down your every movement. She didn’t say anything as you stepped out, just stayed close enough to steady you in case you wavered. Her eyes tracked every movement, like she was still waiting for you to collapse.

You sighed. “Natasha, I’m fi-”

“Fine?” she finished, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve said that enough times today.”

You pressed your lips together. You were so damn tired. And she knew it. Wordlessly, she led the way inside. The space was just as you left it before the race: tidy, quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos at the paddock. But even here, you still felt the weight of what had happened, lingering in the back of your mind like a dull ache.

Natasha didn’t let you dwell. She brought you straight to your room, pushing the door open before standing aside to let you in. You hesitated, glancing up at her. “You don’t have to do this.” you muttered.

She met your gaze, something flickering in her eyes. “I do.” That shut you up. With a heavy sigh, you stepped inside and sank onto the edge of your bed, your muscles finally giving in to exhaustion.

Natasha lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching you closely. Then, after a beat, she reached into her pocket and pulled out your phone. She held it out to you. You blinked in surprise before taking it, the cool weight grounding in your palm. “Text your parents.” she said quietly.

You swallowed. Oh. Oh, shit. The headlines. They would have seen it by now. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen, then slowly started typing. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You hit send, exhaling softly. Natasha watched the tension leave your shoulders, and something in her own posture eased, just a little.

Then, just as you thought she was about to step back, she spoke again. “I have something to take care of.”

You looked up, already sensing the shift in her tone. “Nat-”

“No.” she said, voice cold. Your stomach twisted. “You don’t have to do anything..” you said carefully. “It was just a racing incident-”

Her jaw tightened. “That wasn’t an incident.”

You swallowed hard. She took a step closer, her presence filling the space between you. “You could’ve been killed today.”

Your throat went dry. “I let you walk away, I let you tell everyone you were fine.” she continued, voice dangerously quiet. “But I am not letting him get away with that.”

You wanted to argue. To tell her it wasn’t worth it. But this wasn’t just about the crash. It was about you. And Natasha didn’t let anyone mess with what was hers. She reached for the door handle but hesitated, glancing back at you one last time.

“Rest.” she murmured, softer now. “I’ll be back soon.”

And then she was gone. You stared at the closed door, your phone still clutched in your hand. Outside, the faint sound of an engine revving echoed through the night. And for the first time since the crash, you weren’t sure who people should be more afraid of Walker…or her.

You sat there for a while, still gripping your phone, still replaying everything in your head, the crash, the impact, the way Natasha had looked at you like she’d seen a ghost. You should have been relieved. You had walked away. You were fine. So why the hell did it still feel like you couldn’t breathe?

You peeled yourself out of your race suit, wincing at the dull ache in your limbs as you stepped into the bathroom. The steam rose instantly as you turned on the water, letting it run until it was nearly scalding before stepping under the stream.

The heat hit your skin, washing away the sweat, the grime, the reminders of the race. But it didn’t wash away the feeling. No matter how much you scrubbed, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the warmth, the crash still played in your mind like a never-ending loop.

Walker’s car edging too close. The world tilting. The way your own voice had cracked. The impact. The absolute helplessness. Your fingers curled against the tiled wall, your breath coming too fast. It was fine. You were fine. So why the hell couldn’t you stop shaking?

Your knuckles turned white as you pressed your palm against the wall, grounding yourself. You weren’t scared. You had been through worse. You had crashed before, had felt the sting of losing control. But this time, it had been different. You had been different.

And Natasha had felt it too. The way she ran to you. The way her hands had trembled, just slightly as she took your helmet off. The way she had looked at you when she told you to rest..You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the water pour over you, trying to drown out the thoughts. It didn’t work. Nothing was working.

Your body still ached, your head still spun, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it, the weight of what had happened sat heavy in your chest. You hated this. You hated the helplessness. Hated the way your body refused to listen to logic. You weren’t weak. You weren’t fragile. But damn it, this shook you. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could shove it down and pretend otherwise.

The knock at your door was firm, but you didn’t answer. You had been lying on your bed for what felt like forever, staring at the ceiling, still damp from the shower, hair clinging to your skin. Your body ached, your chest felt hollow, and yet, you couldn’t seem to do anything but exist in this unbearable quiet.

But Natasha didn’t wait for permission. The door creaked open, and the familiar weight of her presence filled the room. You didn’t have to look to know it was her, the way she moved, controlled and quiet, the faint scent of leather and adrenaline lingering in the air.

You didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Natasha let out a soft exhale before she finally spoke. “Walker’s been disciplined.”

You blinked slowly at the ceiling. “FIA gave him a penalty. He’ll get more points on his license, and if he pulls shit like that again, he’ll be out.” Her voice was steady, cool, but you could hear the sharp edge beneath it. The restraint.

You swallowed. You should have felt relieved. But all you felt was tired. Again. It was happening again. The crash. The headlines. The scrutiny. It’s always the same. You didn’t move, your fingers curling into the sheets. Natasha must have sensed it because she took a step closer, voice lowering.

“You don’t have to think about it now-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” you muttered.

Silence. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to sit up. Your chest felt tight, your pulse erratic, but you didn’t want her looking at you like this, like she was waiting for you to break.

“I don’t need you standing there like I’m about to lose my mind.” you said, voice sharper than you intended. Natasha studied you carefully, her eyes piercing through every inch of the walls you were trying so desperately to hold up.

“I didn’t say that.” she said evenly. You scoffed, pushing your hair back. “You don’t have to.” A muscle in her jaw ticked.

You could feel it coming..the spiral, the weight, the suffocating loop of thoughts you had been shoving down since the moment you stepped out of that car. You didn’t want to do this. Not in front of her.

“I get it..” you continued, voice shaking slightly. “Walker got punished, people are talking, and now I just have to deal with it.” You forced a dry laugh. “I mean, it’s not like this hasn’t happened before, right? Another crash, another round of bullshit. That’s just how it goes.”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging into your skin.

“Y/n, you don’t have to-”

“It’s always the same..” Your voice cracked, frustration rising. “They talk, they judge, and then they wait, wait for the next crash, wait for the next moment I fuck up, wait to pick apart every single thing I do.”

Natasha’s eyes darkened. “And you know what the worst part is?” You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “I let it happen. I go back out there and pretend it doesn’t get to me. I pretend like it’s not crawling under my skin. Because if I stop, if I let myself feel it-” Your throat closed up. You could feel it now. The weight pressing down, clawing at your chest. Natasha took another step forward, her voice softer now. “Y/n-”

“I can’t-” Your voice caught, and suddenly, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears burned before you even realized they were there. No. No, no, no, not now.. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing them to stop, willing yourself to shove it all back down.

“I know.” Natasha murmured, barely above a whisper. And that did it. The dam broke. A sob ripped through you, shaking your entire body as you clutched the sheets beneath you. The pressure, the frustration, the helplessness, it all came crashing down at once.

You barely registered Natasha moving until she was there. Warm. Solid. Holding you. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you against her. One hand tangled in your hair, the other pressing against your back, steady and unyielding.

You gasped against her shoulder, fists clenching in her jacket, as the sobs overtook you. You weren’t even sure what you were crying for anymore, the crash, the exhaustion, the sheer repetition of it all. All you knew was that Natasha wasn’t letting go. Not this time. She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to hush you or tell you it would be okay. She just held you.

Her grip tightened every time your body shook. Her fingers ghosted over your skin like she was grounding you, reminding you that you weren’t alone. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Eventually, the storm faded. Your body slumped against hers, drained, exhausted. Your breath slowed, hiccupping slightly as you tried to come back to yourself.

But Natasha was still so close. And when you finally lifted your head, when your red-rimmed eyes met hers, you both stilled. The air shifted. Your breath mingled, the space between you almost nonexistent. Her hands were still on you. One resting against your back, the other hovering near your jaw, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made your pulse stutter.

Her gaze flickered, down to your lips, just for a second, before snapping back up. And God, you could feel it. The pull. The tension. The undeniable inevitability of it. You leaned in. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure who moved first, but the moment your noses brushed, the air thickened, heavy and intoxicating.

It would only take a second. Just one second, but then, Natasha sucked in a sharp breath. And pulled away. The cold hit you immediately as she stepped back, her hands dropping from your skin as if she had just realized what she was doing.

Her jaw clenched, her breath unsteady, and for the first time, she looked conflicted. “I-” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her voice quieter now. “You’re vulnerable right now.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a slap. Your stomach twisted” I-I’m sorry-”

“You should sleep. It was a long day.” She hesitated, just for a second. But then she shook her head, her walls slamming back into place. She stepped toward the door, her hand already reaching for the handle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And before you could say anything else, before you could even process what the hell had just happened..She was gone.

The office was dark except for the dim glow of a desk lamp. The moment Natasha stepped inside, she exhaled sharply and headed straight for the small bar in the corner. Her hands were steady, but her mind was anything but. The whiskey burned as she poured it into a glass, but she welcomed the sting. Anything to quiet the almost still lingering between her lips.

She leaned against her desk, swirling the amber liquid, her jaw tightening as her mind replayed the moment over and over again. Too close. Too fucking close. One more second, one more breath, and she would have kissed you. And God, she wanted to and that was the problem. She clenched her jaw and took a long sip, letting the burn trail down her throat.

She had been reckless before, on the field, in battle, in life. But this? You? You were something else entirely. The door creaked open.

“Finally.”

Yelena’s voice cut through the silence, followed by the sound of her boots clicking against the floor. Natasha didn’t look up. “Not now.”

“Too bad..” Yelena muttered, crossing her arms as she stepped into the office. “We need to talk about Walker.”

Natasha took another sip, her fingers tightening around the glass. “I handled it.”

“I know.” Yelena said. “I just wanted to say..” She trailed off. Natasha could feel her younger sister’s eyes scanning the room, and then- “Oh.” The realization hit fast. Natasha could sense the smirk forming on Yelena’s face before she even turned her head.

“You’re.. drinking.”

Natasha didn’t respond. “You never drink after a race unless..” Yelena’s eyes narrowed before her lips curled into a knowing grin. “Unless something happened.”

Natasha sighed, setting the glass down harder than necessary. “Yelena-”

“Oh my God.” Yelena’s grin widened.

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

But it was too late. Yelena’s whole face lit up. “This isn’t about Walker, is it?” Silence. A slow, wicked smile spread across Yelena’s lips. “This is about her.” Yelena laughed. Not just any laugh, a full-body, delighted, finally-I-fucking-knew-it laugh.

Natasha’s eyes snapped up, glare sharp enough to kill, but Yelena only laughed harder.

“Oh my God, I knew it!” she cackled, leaning against the desk. “I fucking knew it!”

Natasha clenched her jaw. “Yelena-”

“You almost kissed, didn’t you?” Yelena interrupted, grinning like she had just won the lottery. Natasha didn’t answer. That was answer enough. Yelena lost it. She doubled over, shaking her head as if this was the greatest thing she had ever heard.

“Are you kidding me?!” she wheezed. “This has been coming for months!”

Natasha glared. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do..” Yelena shot back, still grinning. “The tension? The fighting? The glaring across the paddock? I swear, every time you two argue, it’s like watching foreplay.”

Natasha groaned, rubbing her temples. Yelena smirked, eyes still alight with amusement. “Come on, Nat..” she teased, nudging her. “You like her.”

Natasha didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Yelena’s smirk softened, just slightly. “You always like her.” she said, quieter this time. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Natasha exhaled, staring at the amber liquid in her glass. She didn’t need to answer. Yelena already knew. And for the first time, Natasha hated how well her sister could see through her.

The next morning, the air in the briefing room was thick with the low hum of conversation and the scratching of pens against paper. Engineers, strategists, and key members of the team sat around the long table, all focused on the monitors displaying telemetry data, damage assessments, and projections for the next race.

Seven days. Seven days until the next Grand Prix. Seven days to fix everything that had been shattered: your car, your confidence, and whatever the hell had happened between you and Natasha last night.

You sat in your usual spot near the end of the table, arms crossed, back straight, trying to focus on the words being exchanged. The screen showed the state of your wrecked car from yesterday, the entire front end mangled from the impact. The mechanics were already deep into repairs, and a new chassis was being prepped.

“We’ll have it ready before transport to the next circuit.” one of the lead engineers assured the group. Yelena leaned back in her chair, flicking a pen between her fingers. “And where does she start on the grid?” she asked, nodding toward you.

“Depends.” your race strategist replied. “But given the new components, we should be looking at a competitive position. With the right adjustments, we can get her back at the front.”

You nodded, barely processing the words, still trying to steady yourself. Because she was here. Natasha sat at the head of the table, posture straight, fingers tapping idly against the desk as she listened to the report. But she wasn’t just listening. She was watching you. It was subtle, so subtle that if you hadn’t spent so much time around her, you might not have noticed. But you felt it. The weight of her gaze. The way her eyes flickered toward you every time someone mentioned your car. The tension in her shoulders whenever someone brought up Walker.

You should have looked away. But you didn’t. And neither did she. For a moment, the entire meeting room disappeared. The voices, the numbers, the data..it all faded into the background as you locked eyes across the table. Your fingers curled around the edge of the chair, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could still feel the ghost of last night. The way she had held you, the way she had almost-

Natasha cleared her throat and broke the stare first, looking back down at the notes in front of her. You exhaled softly, forcing yourself to focus. Yelena, sitting next to you, didn’t miss a thing. She smirked, leaning in slightly. “You two going to keep eye-fucking the entire meeting, or should we actually discuss the car?”

Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed to your face as you shot her a warning glare. “Shut up..” you muttered under your breath. Yelena grinned.

Natasha, meanwhile, remained perfectly composed..on the surface, at least. But you didn’t miss the way her fingers curled into a fist against the table, or the sharp inhale she took before adjusting her posture. The meeting went on, but the tension never left. It was still there, unspoken, heavy, and impossible to ignore. The meeting had been going on for nearly an hour, filled with data breakdowns, car repair updates, and strategy discussions.

But none of it mattered. Not really. Because the only thing that did matter was the weight of Natasha’s gaze, the way her fingers drummed against the table every time your name was mentioned, the way she was avoiding speaking to you directly. Until she wasn’t. “We need to talk about the next race.” Natasha’s voice cut through the discussion, sharp and precise.

The room went silent. You straightened slightly, fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. Natasha turned to you fully now, her expression unreadable, but her voice was steady. Too steady. “You’re getting back in the car.”

Everyone was watching you now. Waiting. You swallowed hard, pushing through the tension in your chest. “I know.”

“No.” Natasha’s voice dropped slightly. “I need to hear you say it.”

The words hung heavy in the air. You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her expectation, her concern, her need for you to be okay, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m racing.” you said firmly, meeting her eyes. Something flickered in them..something unreadable, something that sent a shiver down your spine. A long pause. Then, Natasha gave a single, sharp nod.

Good.” The tension in the room didn’t dissipate, but the discussion continued. Data was reviewed, strategies were finalized, and plans were set into motion. But even as the meeting went on, you couldn’t shake the way Natasha had looked at you. Like she was preparing for war. And you weren’t sure if the battle was against Walker.

The next seven days were nothing short of relentless. Every day was a battle: fixing the car, running simulations, analyzing data, and ensuring that you were mentally and physically ready to race again.

But none of that compared to the real battle. The one happening between you and Natasha. Since the night you nearly kissed, something had shifted. It wasn’t something you spoke about..God, no. If anything, both of you had gone out of your way to pretend like nothing had happened.

But it was there. In the way her eyes lingered on you just a second too long. In the way your hands brushed when she passed you a data sheet. In the way your breath hitched whenever she leaned over your shoulder, her voice low as she analyzed your sector times. In the way she snapped at other engineers who wasted your time, as if she was the only one allowed to push you that hard.

It was like walking on a knife’s edge, waiting for something, anything to happen. And yet, neither of you made a move. Not when you caught each other staring across the garage. Not when your fingers brushed over the same laptop screen. Not even when she gripped your wrist during a briefing, her touch lingering just a second too long before she realized what she was doing and let go.

Instead, the tension built. And built. And built.

The paddock was a storm of movement, media personnel swarming, cameras flashing, journalists desperate to capture the story of the day. And they all knew exactly what it was.

“After her brutal crash just last week, Y/N L/N returns to the grid for redemption. But is she ready?”

“All eyes on L/N—can she handle the pressure?”

“Walker may have gotten a penalty, but is that enough to prevent further risks on the track?”

The words echoed through the speakers as you walked toward the garage, the pre-race energy buzzing in the air. You forced yourself to ignore it. The moment you stepped inside, the outside world melted away.

Your car was ready. The mechanics had worked tirelessly, and now, it gleamed under the garage lights, waiting for you. The team was moving efficiently around you, checking final tire pressures, adjusting wing settings, ensuring everything was perfect.

And then there was her. Natasha stood at the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed, watching the live broadcast of the pre-race show. She was composed, unreadable, except for the slight clench of her jaw every time they mentioned your crash.

She turned the second she sensed you. She had that look again. The same one she had given you before the last test session. The one that told you she saw everything, every flicker of hesitation, every unspoken fear, every piece of you that was still remembering the last time you had done this.

She didn’t look away. “You’re ready.” she said, voice steady. It wasn’t a question. You swallowed, fingers twitching at your sides. “I..”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, stepping closer. “Look at me.” she murmured. And there was something in her eyes, something that made your breath catch. “You can do this.” Her voice was softer now, but no less firm. “You belong here, Y/n.”

You clenched your jaw, exhaling through your nose. “Everyone’s waiting for me to crash again.” Her grip tightened around the helmet. “Fuck them.” Natasha’s gaze hardened, her grip tightening around the helmet. “Let them talk. Let them doubt you.” She took another step, the heat of her presence suffocating, overwhelming. “You know who you are. I know who you are.”

Your throat tightened. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t believe in you.” she continued, voice quieter but sharp as a blade. “You’re going to get in that car. You’re going to fight. And you’re going to win, because you can.”

Something in you shifted. It wasn’t immediate, wasn’t magic. But her words, her presence, the sheer weight of her belief in you, it settled deep in your chest, pushing back against the doubt, against the fear clawing at the edges of your mind.

Natasha lifted the helmet, tilting it slightly. Your fingers twitched as you reached for it, but she didn’t let go right away. Instead, she turned it in her hands, like she was making sure everything was perfect before handing it over. And then, instead of letting you put it on yourself, she helped you. Carefully, deliberately, she guided the helmet over your head, adjusting the fit, her fingers lingering against your jaw as she checked the strap. Her touch was soft. Almost too soft.

It sent a shiver down your spine. When she finally pulled back, her fingers brushed against your chin for half a second longer than necessary. The moment stretched, thick, electric, dangerous. She exhaled sharply, her face unreadable as she reached for your fireproof gloves. She didn’t just hand them to you.

She slid them onto your hands herself, pulling each finger snugly into place, like she needed to be sure you were completely ready. Your chest felt too tight, your pulse too fast. Finally, she nodded. “Get in the car.”

You stepped toward the cockpit, movements precise, automatic. But just before you swung your leg over the side, Natasha’s voice stopped you.

“Y/n.”

You turned back. Her green eyes burned into yours, and then she smirked. Just slightly. “Make them regret doubting you.”

A slow exhale left your lips. You nodded once. “I will.” And with that, you slid into the car, hands wrapping around the wheel, heart pounding not from fear, but from something else entirely. Something fierce. Something alive. And over the radio, just as the lights on the track began their countdown, her voice came through one last time, “Let’s hunt.”

Welcome back to the paddock, where we are moments away from lights out at today’s Grand Prix!”

“And all eyes are on Y/N L/N today. After a terrifying crash in the last race, the young driver is back on the grid, starting from P9. What a statement to make!”

“Absolutely! She’s had a phenomenal qualifying session, proving she still has the speed. But the real question is, has she fully recovered? Will the fear of another crash hold her back?”

“And let’s not forget, her rival, Walker, is starting just 4 position before in P5. After what happened last week, this could get very interesting.”

The grid was lined up. The tension in the air was suffocating, the anticipation electric. The lights above flickered one by one:

Five.

The engine beneath you rumbled, the vibrations rattling through your bones.

Four.

Your fingers flexed around the wheel, grip tightening.

Three.

The crowd was deafening, but you barely heard them.

Two.

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, the pulse echoing in your ears.

One.

The world held its breath. And then, Lights out. You launched off the line, the car screaming as it shot forward, the immediate chaos of the pack swallowing you whole.

Turn 1 was a battlefield. Cars dove left and right, fighting for position. You barely had a second to think before reacting, shifting your weight, holding the inside line as the chaos unfolded around you.

Someone clipped your rear tire, just a tap, just enough to make you twitch. But you held it. Your stomach clenched, your hands locked in place. Not again. You clenched your jaw and kept pushing. The first real battle came sooner than you expected.

You had climbed two positions already, slipping past rivals with aggressive but clean moves. But the next overtake wouldn’t come easy. The driver ahead—P6—was defensive, weaving down the straight, forcing you to choose a side before braking late.

You faked left. They bought it. You dove right, slipping through just in time, cutting the corner with perfection.

“Nice move.” Natasha’s voice crackled through the radio. You barely registered it, your focus already locked on the next car ahead.

Each overtake was aggressive, sharp, brutal, unforgiving. You weren’t here to play it safe. You weren’t here to wait.

And Natasha knew it. “Good pace. Keep it clean.” she said over the radio, her voice as steady as ever. You barely responded, your entire focus on the car ahead.

Lap 10.

P5.

P4.

P3.

And then.. Walker. P2 now. He was right there. Your hands tightened around the wheel. The crash flashed in your mind before you could stop it.

Walker’s car too close. Your own scream. The impact. You gritted your teeth. Not this time. You pushed. Your foot slammed onto the throttle, the engine growling in response as you overdrove into the next corner. Your tires screamed, barely gripping the edge of control, but you didn’t care.

All you saw was him. You needed to pass him. “Y/n.” Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. You ignored it. Walker was fast, but you were faster. The gap closed. Half a second. Then a quarter. You could see the back of his car right there, close enough that you could almost reach through the cockpit and rip him out of it yourself.

He wouldn’t take you out again. Your foot slammed on the throttle as you lunged forward, closing the gap, the DRS kicking in, giving you just enough speed to attempt the move. He left the inside open. Your heartbeat spiked. You sent it and in a split second, it happened. Walker turned in too soon. You were already there-

Contact. Your front wing clipped his rear tire. It wasn’t enough to take either of you out, but it was enough to cost you.

“Fifteen-second penalty for causing a collision!” the radio crackled. Your stomach dropped…Fuck.

“Pit now.” Natasha’s voice came through, calm, but not neutral. You bit down the frustration as you brought the car into the pit lane, the speed limiter kicking in, the car crawling compared to the chaos of the race.

The moment you stopped, the seconds stretched painfully long. Fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds of nothing. Fifteen seconds of watching the field pass you by.

“What the hell are you doing?” She’s leaning down just enough to look at you directly through the car window.

Your grip on the wheel tightened. “I had the move.” you muttered. Natasha tilted her head, her green eyes sharp. “No, you didn’t.”

Silence. Your heart pounded. “You weren’t going for the position..” she said, voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “You were going for him.”

Your breath hitched. She saw it. She knew. “You think I don’t recognize it?” Natasha continued. “The rage? The recklessness?”

You stared straight ahead, your jaw clenching. “This isn’t about winning anymore.” she murmured, her voice softer now. “This is about proving something.”

A muscle in your jaw ticked. “I don’t have to prove anything.”

Natasha exhaled sharply. “Then act like it!” she said firmly. Her fingers gripped the edge of the cockpit, just barely, just enough to be grounding. “You want to beat him?” she murmured, voice dropping just for you. “Then do it the right way.”

Your chest tightened. For a moment, it felt like everything in the world had narrowed to just her, just those words, just those eyes, just that belief in you that burned through the anger in your chest.

The penalty was over. You should have gone. But for that brief second, you didn’t move. Not until she let go of the car, stepping back.

Not until she said, “Go take back what’s yours.”

Lap 15

You were last. Fifteenth place. Fifteen fucking seconds wasted. And you didn’t care. Because now, now, you were faster than ever. The rage was still there, but now it was controlled. You weren’t just fighting. You were hunting.

Lap 16: P14.

Lap 17: P12.

Lap 18: P10.

Each overtake was clean, brutal, efficient. The car was perfect. The balance was yours. “Good.” Natasha’s voice came through. “Keep going.”

Lap 19: P8.

Lap 20: P7.

The crowd was watching now.

“Jesus, she’s coming back through the field like a bullet!” the live commentary echoed.

Lap 21: P5.

Lap 22..P3.

And then.. You saw him again. The number on his rear wing burned into your vision like a target locked in place. The air between you crackled with tension, the slipstream pulling you in closer, closer, closer.

Your hands gripped the wheel so tightly your fingers ached, but you didn’t care. This was it. Your chest tightened as memories flickered, Walker’s car too close, your scream in the comms, the helpless spin, the wall rushing toward you—

No. You shoved the fear down, erased it. You weren’t that driver anymore. And this time, Walker wasn’t taking shit from you.

“Alright, you have five laps left.” Natasha’s voice crackled over the radio. “Take your time. Find the right moment.”

But you knew Walker. You knew his style, his defense, the way he always left the door open just enough to tempt an overtake before slamming it shut at the last second. You weren’t falling for it this time.

Lap 24: You faked a move down the inside into Turn 5. He bought it. Defended hard, taking a wider line, just like you knew he would. But you didn’t go for it. You let him run wide, closing the gap further instead.

“Smart.” Natasha murmured.

Lap 25: The DRS zone was coming. You had one shot. One perfect move. Or nothing. The back straight stretched ahead. You were too close now. The DRS opened, power surging, the engine screaming, the world blurring as your speed climbed.

This is it. Walker swerved, one move, legal, but barely. You anticipated it. Your eyes flickered to Turn 12 fast, dangerous, only one racing line. If you’re going to take it, you have to commit. Your breath hitched. You threw the car right, outside line. Walker reacted. Too late.

You braked later, later, the car on the edge, tires screaming, but you held it. The car stuck. You stuck. And in that split second, you were ahead.

“You got him.” Natasha’s voice burst through the radio, but the race wasn’t over yet. Walker was pushing, desperate, ruthless. You could feel him behind you, could see his car in the mirrors, but you didn’t care. You weren’t giving him an inch.

Turn 15.

Turn 16.

The car was flying, balance perfect, your mind so clear it felt like you were part of the machine itself. One more corner. One more breath. And then..The checkered flag.

The radio erupted, the team roaring, your own breath shaking as the realization crashed into you.

“Y/N L/N WINS THE GRAND PRIX!”

Your hands trembled on the wheel. You did it. You fucking did it. And through the chaos, through the sound of the world losing its mind, Natasha’s voice came through.

“That’s my driver.”

Your hands were shaking on the wheel, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your body vibrating with the sheer force of what had just happened. You had won. Not just the race. You had won yourself back.

“Fucking incredible drive, Y/N!” your race engineer shouted over the radio, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “What a comeback!”

The grandstands were thunderous, the entire circuit erupting as the reality of your victory sank in. But none of it compared to your team. Through the visor, you could already see them, gathered at the pit wall, fists pumping, mechanics jumping onto each other’s shoulders, pure euphoria radiating from them.

And somewhere in the chaos, Natasha. Standing behind the pit crew, arms crossed, but her smile..God, that smile, was visible even from the cockpit. Your chest tightened, your breath coming in short, exhilarated gasps.

“Bring it to P1, Y/n.” Natasha’s voice came through, lighter than you’d ever heard it. “Then get your ass out of that car and celebrate.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you guided the car through the cool-down lap, your heartbeat still pounding.

“On my way, boss.”

As you pulled into the designated stop, the team was already climbing over the barriers, their bodies packed together in a frenzy of victory. The second the car came to a halt, you didn’t think. You threw off the wheel, ripped your belts loose, and jumped out of the cockpit like you’d been set on fire.

The moment your feet hit the ground, you turned and ran. Straight into the arms of your crew. The mechanics caught you mid-air, your body disappearing into the sea of hands, laughter, and pure fucking joy.

They were screaming, shaking you, slapping your back, gripping your shoulders as if they couldn’t believe it was real. “HOLY SHIT, Y/N!”

“SHE DID IT! SHE FUCKING DID IT!”

“THAT WAS INSANE!”

You let out a giddy laugh, arms flailing as they pushed and pulled at you, each one desperate to congratulate you. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet and yanked it off, and the moment the fresh air hit your face, you let out a roar, pumping your fists into the air, the rush of it all making you dizzy with ecstasy.

You barely registered the cameras flashing, the broadcasters yelling into their microphones. None of it mattered. Because this, this overwhelming, uncontrollable flood of joy, was everything.

And then..You saw her. She wasn’t in the center of the chaos. She stood just behind the pit wall, arms still crossed, her expression composed, at least, to everyone else. But you saw it. The way her lips twitched, fighting a full smile. The way her chest rose and fell, like she was steadying herself. The way her eyes softened, just slightly, the moment they met yours.

Something inside you shifted. For a split second, everything else, the cameras, the shouting, the flashing lights, disappeared. It was just her. Just the two of you. And for the first time since the race began..since before that, since the almost, since the everything-

You let yourself feel it. The adrenaline. The victory. The weight of her gaze on you. Your chest heaved. Your body still buzzing with energy, you took a step forward-

But just then, someone grabbed you, another mechanic pulling you into another celebratory hug, breaking the moment. And when you looked back, Natasha was gone.

The second you stepped onto the podium, the energy of the crowd hit you like a tidal wave. The champagne bottles popped, the roar of the fans blending with the flashing lights, the cameras capturing every second of your victory.

It was chaos. Beautiful, reckless chaos. You could barely hear yourself think as the mechanics pulled you into another round of hugs, the engineers cheering, even Yelena wrapping an arm around your shoulders and shaking you violently with pure pride.

The adrenaline hadn’t worn off, not even after the press conference, the interviews, or the moment you saw your name officially at the top of the championship standings. For the first time in a long time..you won. But even through the celebrations, through the waves of congratulations, champagne, and endless cheering-

You felt it. The weight of something unfinished. Because this wasn’t the end. It was just the second race of the season. And there were still 22 races to go.

By the time the paddock had settled, the celebration had moved, to the team’s private lounge, deep in the heart of the circuit’s hospitality center. The place was alive, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the undeniable high of victory. The mechanics were already a few drinks in, celebrating like they’d just won the championship itself.

Yelena had made it her personal mission to keep the drinks flowing, practically forcing a bottle of champagne into your hands.

“Come on, golden girl.” she teased, nudging you. “You actually did it. Time to celebrate!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I am celebrating.”

“Not enough.” she countered, tilting the bottle toward your glass. “Drink.”

You rolled your eyes but took a sip anyway, the sharp fizz burning against your lips. And then, You felt her before you saw her. The pull was unmistakable. You turned- And there she was. Natasha stood near the edge of the room, her expression calm, drink in hand, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting shadows over her face.

She wasn’t celebrating like the others. She was watching. You. Your pulse stuttered. Because there it was again. That same tension. That same unspoken thing that had been lingering since before the race. Since the almost..You swallowed hard, setting your drink down.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up. You crossed the room, weaving through the crowd, until you were right there, in front of her, the noise of the party fading into the background.

She tilted her head slightly, lips curving in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not enjoying the celebration?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.

Natasha’s eyes flickered over you, lingering for a second too long. “I am.” she murmured. “Just..observing.”

Your heart twisted. Because you knew her well enough to know that wasn’t the whole truth. She was thinking. Calculating.

And feeling, more than she wanted to admit. You exhaled, shifting closer. “Natasha-”

She cut you off. “You drove like hell today.” she said, voice low. “You fought like hell.” Something in her tone made your breath catch. “But.” she continued, softer now, “it’s not over.”

And just like that, the weight of it all crashed back down on you. The victory. The adrenaline. The illusion of finality. But she was right. It wasn’t over. There were still 22 races to go. Your grip on your drink tightened, the celebration suddenly feeling distant. “Yeah..” you muttered, exhaling slowly. “I know.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, just a little. She lifted her drink slightly, her gaze locked onto yours. “Then enjoy this one.” she murmured, her voice dipping just enough to make your chest tighten. “While it lasts.” You swallowed hard, clinking your glass against hers, the taste of champagne still lingering on your lips. But even as the party went on, as the laughter and music filled the night. You both knew the truth. The fight was just beginning.

The next ten races were a rollercoaster of emotion, grit, and war. If the second race had been about proving yourself, the next ten were about survival. Every lap, every overtake, every mistake and triumph was a battle..not just against the other drivers, but against your own mind, against the past, against the unrelenting pressure that came with leading the charge in the championship fight.

And through it all, Natasha was there. Watching. Calculating. Pushing you to your absolute limits.

And Walker? Walker was waiting. He wasn’t finished with you yet. The third race was a fight. You started P3, behind Walker and another rival. The car felt perfect, the balance just right, and by Lap 20, you were leading.

It was yours to win. Until- “Puncture! Rear left!” The words hit your radio like a gunshot. No. Your heart plummeted as the car twitched, the tire barely holding on as you limped back to the pits.

By the time the crew slapped on fresh rubber, you had dropped to P7. Your jaw locked, your breath ragged.

“Head down, recover.” Natasha’s voice cut through the noise. You pushed. You fought your way back to P3, but Walker won. And in the post-race press conference, he made sure to remind you of it.

“Bad luck out there, Y/n.” he said, his smirk just mocking enough to make your blood boil. “But hey, at least you’re getting used to fighting your way back up the grid.” You clenched your fists. It wasn’t over. Not even close.

Race 13

You didn’t just win. You dominated. Walker had pole, but you took him into Turn 1, clean, precise, unstoppable. Natasha’s voice over the radio was pure steel.

“Now hold it.”

And you did. For 58 perfect laps, you controlled the race, crossing the finish line five seconds ahead of the entire field.

Walker barely made it to P4.

And this time, when the cameras flashed, you smirked at him first. Headlines read:

“L/N vs. Walker: A Battle for the Ages”

“Two Titans, One Championship”

The tension between you and Walker was all-consuming, turning every press conference, every overtaking battle, every glance into something that felt like war.

The championship lead was shifting constantly. One race, you had it. The next? Walker stole it back. And with every lap, every podium, every single fucking mistake, Natasha’s grip on you tightened. Because she knew, just as well as you did. If you let anything slip now, it was over.

The media loved talking about race days. The victories, the mistakes, the rivalries. But no one ever talked about the days in between. The seven days between races, where the real battle happened.

Because those were the days Natasha broke you down. Mornings? Training so hard your muscles screamed. Cardio, weightlifting, reaction drills—pushing your endurance to the limit. Afternoons? Simulator sessions, lap after lap, perfecting every single braking zone, every racing line, every overtaking strategy. Evenings? Race debriefs, where Natasha sat across from you, arms crossed, green eyes pinning you in place as she tore apart every mistake you made.

“You should’ve covered the inside on Lap 42.”

“You hesitated in sector two.”

“If you let Walker get in your head, you’ll lose everything.”

It was ruthless. It was relentless. And yet, somehow it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Because she never let you break. No matter how close you came to shattering, no matter how exhausted you were..She never let you give up.

And that? That scared you more than anything. Because it meant she cared. And neither of you were ready for that conversation. The Unspoken Shift - Natasha, Closer Than Ever.

Race 18

The ride back to the track was silent. Painfully, suffocatingly silent. Natasha’s grip on the wheel was tight, her knuckles white. Her jaw was clenched so hard you thought it might break. You wanted to speak. Wanted to say something..anything. To explain, to defend yourself, to apologize.

The second the race ended, you knew you were in trouble. Not because of the result, you had still finished. Not because you had lost, because technically, you hadn’t. But because of how you raced. Because you had ignored Natasha’s orders. Because you had pushed too hard, took too many risks, fought too recklessly..

And Natasha? Natasha had seen all of it. The team felt the tension the moment you rolled into the garage. The air was thick, charged, dangerous. You knew you had pushed her too far this time. You had ignored every single call over the radio. You had fought her instead of Walker.

And now? Now she was so furious, so cold, so quiet, it almost scared you more than if she had just started screaming. You swallowed, exhaling sharply. “Nata-

“Don’t.” Her voice was low, firm, cutting off whatever you were about to say. You clenched your jaw, sinking into your seat, the weight of it settling over your chest. You wanted to apologize. But she didn’t want to hear it. Not yet. And as the car rolled into the facility, as she pulled into her usual spot with precise, controlled movements, you knew..

The worst was still coming. The door in her office slammed shut behind you. And then? Natasha lost it. “What the fuck was that?!”

Her voice cut through the air like a gunshot. You barely had time to process it before she was on you, her fury crashing into you like a hurricane.

“Do you have a death wish?!”

Your chest heaved, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. “I-”

“No, Shut up!”

Your breath hitched. Her tone was dangerous now, low, firm, absolute. She took a step forward. Then another. Until she was so close, you could feel the heat rolling off her skin. “You think you’re unstoppable?” she demanded. “You think you can just ignore orders? Disobey me? Throw yourself into battles you can’t fucking win?!”

Your stomach twisted. “I was racing! I-”

“No, you were fucking reckless!”

The words hit hard. Too hard. Your hands clenched into fists, your body coiling with frustration. “I was fighting-

“You were out of control!”

Natasha’s voice rose, her green eyes flashing, her entire body taut with rage. “Do you even realize how close you were to wrecking the car? To wrecking yourself?”

Your pulse spiked. “I knew what I was doing!”

“No. You didn’t.” Her voice lowered, rough, almost dangerous. “You let him get inside your head.”

Your breath caught. Because that was the truth. And you hated it. Your fingers dug into your palms, your jaw tightening, burning with anger, with shame, with something else entirely.

And Natasha? She saw all of it. Her breathing was uneven now. Her shoulders tight. Her chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.

The air between you crackled..so thick, so charged, so suffocatingly tense, “You don’t get to fight me on this, Y/n.”

Your body froze. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because it wasn’t just a command. It was a warning. You swallowed, breath shaky, eyes locked onto hers. “Natasha-“

“You don’t get to argue with me.” Her voice was lower now, dangerous, daring you to push her further. Your pulse skipped. You should have backed down. You should have stepped away.

But you didn’t. “Please..”

A muscle in her jaw ticked. And then, She kissed you. Hard and Punishing. A lesson. A correction. A reminder of exactly who was in control. You gasped against her mouth, but she didn’t let you pull away. She owned you. Her hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you against her, your body melting into hers.

You moaned into her mouth, and she devoured the sound. Your back hit the desk, papers scattering everywhere, but neither of you cared. Her hands roamed your body, possessive, taking exactly what she wanted.

Her teeth scraped against your lip, and you whimpered, gripping her tighter, pulling her closer, needing more, more, more. She was everywhere. All fire and control and dominance, and you were drowning in it. She broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “You drive me crazy, do you even realize that?”

Your body burning from the inside out. And then she kissed you again. And this time? Neither of you were stopping. Your breath hitched as she dragged your racing suit down your body, the cool air hitting your flushed skin.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. Her hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide, her gaze hungry, demanding. “Look at you.” she murmured, her fingers teasing, barely touching, making you squirm.

“So fucking stubborn. So fucking desperate, even when you pretend not to be.” Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing friction, but she held you down, denying you.

“There you go..” she taunted, her pace slow but ruthless, her fingers curling inside you in a way that made your entire body tremble.

“Still think you don’t need to listen to me?”

Your hands gripped her shoulders, your nails digging into her skin, trying to ground yourself. “F-Fuck-”

She growled at the sensation, loving the way your body clung to hers, resisting but so goddamn weak for her at the same time. “Say it.” she demanded, her voice low, wrecked, dripping with authority. “Say you fucking obey me.”

You shook your head, your lips parted, gasping for breath, still fighting her. “I—N-Natasha, I—”

She thrust deeper, her other hand gripping your throat, tilting your head back so she could watch you completely fall apart beneath her.

“Say it, Y/n..”

Her pace increased, her fingers relentless, knowing exactly how to unravel you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tightening around her, fighting the pleasure overtaking you.

“I-I obey—fuck, I obey you, Natasha—”

Natasha let out a wrecked groan, her lips crashing onto yours, swallowing your surrender. “That’s my girl.” she murmured against your lips, moaning as she felt you shudder beneath her.

“Now take it.” She didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t let you breathe. Her body hovered over yours, pressing into you, her fingers curling inside you just right, her lips ghosting over your jaw.

“You’re mine..” she whispered, her voice possessive, dark, full of something uncontrollable. “Say it again.”

Your head tilted back, your moans breaking into wrecked sobs, your hands clutching her shoulders like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’m yours, Natasha—fuck, I’m yours—”

Her pace increased, dragging you higher, higher, until you couldn’t hold on anymore. “Come for me, Detka..” she commanded, her voice raw, her fingers working you over the edge. “Now.”

And fuck, you did. Your orgasm ripped through you violently, your body arching, convulsing, completely lost in her. Natasha let out a guttural moan, her forehead pressing against yours, holding you through it, keeping you safe even as she completely wrecked you.

“Good girl.” she whispered, pressing kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, your lips. “You did so good for me, detka.”

Your body was still trembling, your breath uneven, shattered. Natasha didn’t let go. She stayed pressed against you, her arms wrapping around your waist, her lips leaving soft, grounding kisses along your skin.

“Still think you don’t need to listen to me?” she teased, her voice low, adoring, but still smug. You let out a weak, breathless laugh, your fingers trailing up her arms, holding onto her.

“Guess I had to learn the hard way..” you murmured, voice still wrecked, but teasing. Natasha smirked, pressing another kiss to your lips, slow, deep, full of something more.

Part 6

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