Currently working on a wicked long Yelena fic. Basically they were childhood best friends and then the family takes off in a hurry, leaving reader behind.
They never quite get over each other and then reconnect later in life.
I havenât decided if itâs gonna be an AU or not.
Currently working on a wicked long Yelena fic. Basically they were childhood best friends and then the family takes off in a hurry, leaving reader behind.
They never quite get over each other and then reconnect later in life.
I havenât decided if itâs gonna be an AU or not.
Honestly i would love a pt2 of your Angela ficđ€ Need to know how those mfs handle the paper work and the awkward talk they have about what they are etc and they end up making out in the locker room or parking garage or somethingđ€đ đœ Go gays!đłïžâđđłïžâđ
Itâs posted! Thank you for the request and sorry it took so long for me to write it! Itâs a bit on the short side :/
âDid you hear about Aaron and Celina? Rumor is theyâre together,â Angela says from the drivers seat.
âYeah, I heard something about that. I donât believe it.â
âWell, apparently Sergeant Grey is making Bradford and Nolan talk to them about it.â
âOhâŠIs thatâIs it against the rules? To date another officer?â You ask nervously, trying to be subtle.
âNot exactly. No bylaws against it, but Grey doesnât like it. And itâs a shit ton of paperwork.â
You remain silent as you think about the countless nights and soft kisses shared between you and Detective Lopez. The way she looked at you when no one was watching. The way you made her coffee and kissed her cheek before you left for work.
Did you need to file paperwork?
âSoâŠWho needs to file the paperwork? Like, um, whatâŠcircumstances require it?â
Angela looks at you with a smirk and you know that she knows what youâre getting at. âWell, if two cops are dating then they need to file the paperwork. But nobody bothers with it unless the relationship is serious. Itâs a waste of time if itâs only a fling.â
She is torturing you, you think.
âSo, like, do you think we should do it?â
âI donât know, Y/L/N. Should we?â
She is absolutely, 100% fucking with you. And it is working.
âUh,â you laugh nervously. You swallow the lump in your throat and prepare for the inevitable word vomit. âLook, Ăngel, I donât know about you but I am in this. I really care about you and I donât want this to be just a fling. I will file all the awkward and invasive paperwork if it means I get to hold your hand and ride to work with you. What do you think?â
âI think that I got the paperwork from HR two weeks ago and all it needs is your signature.â She smiles wide and squeezes your thigh.
âOh,â you breathe. âÂĄOh, eres un pendejo! Donât fuck with me like that!â
âAw, but itâs so fun.â
âPuta.â
After and awkward conversation with Sergeant Grey (though he claims to have suspected it for months), your relationship is out in the open and all the proper paperwork has been filed.
You walk to the locker room together to get changed for your date. Thereâs nobody else inside the room, so you snake your arms around her waist and kiss her forehead.
âSo now that weâre officially dating, I can do this, right?â
You bring your lips to hers and kiss her soft and slow, but she grips your hair tight you find yourself walking her backward into the lockers.
âAnyone could walk in right now,â she pants.
âMm, but you like that, donât you? Youâd love for everyone here to know that youâre my pretty little ĂĄngel, no? Big bad Detective Lopez, falling apart on my fingers in the locker room. Do you want that, mi amor?â
âWe have a reservation,â she sighs as your lips move down her neck. You groan in frustration with your head buried in the crook of her neck.
The heated kiss quickly turns into a soft embrace.
you visit the strip club downtown with your co-workers to let off some steam, but it seems like you've caught the eye of none other than the 'black widow'.
đ€ pairing: sub!stripper!natasha x fem!cop!reader
đ€ word count: 3145
đ€ note: SMUT (18+), this one been marinating in my drafts like im preserving wine
main m.list | AO3
You donât know why you let your co-workers drag you to a strip club on a Friday night, but youâre sure as hell not complaining.
There are plenty of women, everywhere. Women in bikinis, women in stockings, women in thigh garters. You're in wonderland, honestly.
Hey, cops needed to let off some steam too, okay?
The cheers and hoots surround your table as Carol gets a lap dance by a brunette stripper. The blonde woman is blushing â you didnât know she could do that â but sheâs having the time of her life.
As Carol slides a bill between the stripper's tits with no lack of embarrassment, you laugh and get up to go get another drink.
It wasn't an overly rare occasion for you to be letting loose, but it was infrequent enough that your co-workers quite physically hauled you to this adult entertainment facility after a particularly taxing case.
ULTRAVIOLET was the most popular strip club in Queens, New York City. They served both men and women, with sparkling reviews about customer service and atmospheric aesthetics.
Carol, Valkyrie, and Maria would simply not shut up about the 'Black Widow', who was supposedly the sexiest, most stunning stripper any of them had ever laid their eyes on.
"She fuckin' looked at me in the eye," Valkyrie had moaned on a Monday morning, speaking of this stripper they so revered. "I can't look at anyone the same no more."Â
You were about to make a quick-witted retort about Valkyrieâs dramatization of mere eye contact, but Maria had only nodded solemnly in agreement and you had to admit you didnât take Mariaâs judgment lightly.
Aside from the talk about the Black Widow, you were hit with the novelty of the strip club once you stepped foot within.
As the Commanding Officer of the New York City Police Department, 104th Precinct, the boundless freeness of this place was quite a sight to behold. What with the heavy music, and the beer-tinged scent of the air, and nude women â the sensory overload did wonders to take your mind off work.
"You here alone?"
You spin on the barstool at the sound of a sultry voice. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping to the floor at the sight of a breathtakingly gorgeous woman.
Scantily clad in matching sequined undergarments and fishnet stockings, stands a redheaded woman leaning against the bar counter, looking at you with magnificent green eyes.
"I'm not alone- I mean, not in that way, because I'm just here with friends. Well, co-workers, but they're my friends as well-"
Splendid job, Deputy Inspector Y/N L/N, you say internally. You can look in the eye of murderers and terrorists, but one look at a pretty woman and you're fuckin' gone.
"You're cute," the lady interrupts with a small tilt of her head, saving you from digging your own grave further.
You swallow harshly, feeling her manicured nails trace the curvature of your bicep.Â
"Just cute?" you ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. Her fingers move down to the collar of your white shirt, fiddling with the fabric. Call it stupidity, but you feel the urge to reciprocate the contact. You move your hands to her hips.
The lady smirks. "Hm, maybe not just cute. But I think you need to show me."Â
The redhead hasn't broken eye-contact all the while. Your eyes feel like they're burning. You slide your left hand down to the hem of her panties, and tug slightly. When her panties snap against her skin, she jolts with the impact.
You smirk with victory, pulling her in by her waist so your mouth is pressed against her skin. "I'll show you," you murmur, kissing the warm with a fervour you didn't know you possessed.Â
The woman's breath hitches and she pulls your head closer. You accept the invitation, beginning to leave a hickey on the sensitive spot of her neck.
After a few moments of your concentrated work on her neck, the woman finally lets out a sigh-turned-moan of pleasure, and you nearly pass out from how sexy it is.
She tugs your head away and pulls you in by the collar for a kiss. Your eyelids flutter close.
Your quavering breaths meet in a frantic harmony, and you want to explore her mouth, but she ends it as quickly as it begins.
"What's your name?" the redhead asks, warm breath on your lips. "Y/N," you say hoarsely, trying and failing not to sound like you were left high and dry.Â
You slide your hands to the bare skin of her torso, silently delighting in the way it raises goosebumps. You need to get more of her, feel more of her. "Do I get to know your name?" you ask.
The lights in the strip club suddenly dim, and the music takes on a far more sensual tone.Â
The woman slides out of your grasp like sand falling through your fingertips, and you're left with the ghost of her burning embrace. Your question remains unanswered.
"Let's give it up for our next dancer," the bar owner says into his mic, and the noise dramatically fades away. "The Black Widow!"
Blue and violet lights dance in your vision as the woman who had kissed you just moments before, approaches the stage, hips swaying in time to the music.Â
Your eyes narrow, and you down the bourbon in one shot. You'd need it.
When the beat drops, The Black Widow throws her head back and she begins to move.
God, it's criminally sensual, the way she danced, unlike anything you'd ever seen before. You couldn't put into words the allure she possessed.
The redheaded woman runs a hand over her own skin, dipping into every curve, as the music crescendos, and you know you're not the only patron with their heart thrumming in their chest.
When she begins twirling on the pole, you see men clearing out a month's paycheck for this divine woman, and honestly? You don't blame them.
Money gets flung onto the stage and catcalls get yelled as perhaps the most erotic scene unfolds before your very eyes.
When The Black Widow lifts up a thigh to show off her tight stockings, you're unable to hold back any longer, drawn to the stage like a moth to a flame.
Sitting back down into your original seat, leaving the empty glass of bourbon behind, all else fades away. Your world stumbles on its axis as the woman makes her way over to you, running a hand through her luscious locks of hair.
Your mouth dries up as The Black Widow turns around in front of you and fully bends over, exposing the delicious curve of her ass. You sink back into your seat, bringing two fingers to your lips in silent contemplation. Internally, you're fighting the goddamned World War II with your libido.
She's still swaying in beat to the music, and spins around as the sound of a saxophone starts playing. The last thing you see is a playful wink from the gorgeous woman before an ample asset of tits covers your vision.
Fuck, you're not going to survive.
Your nose quite literally gets buried between her tits as the woman climbs onto you. You would pay to see your co-workers' faces right now. How would you ever face them at work again?
âGet it, Y/N!â you hear Maria call in the distance, and a shrill whistle follows.Â
You smirk against the pair of tits in your face, inhaling the scent of her perfume, and her sweat, and simlply her. You let the stripper work her magic.
After a few more minutes of your paradise, she pulls away, skin flushed.Â
You regard her with a darkened gaze, pulling out your wallet. You stuff a bill in the side of her thong, making sure to snap the fabric in the same spot as you had previously.
The woman's face flickers in recognition. She shakes her head, then dips her head down to whisper in your ear.
"11pm. Room 8. Private session. Don't be late."
Like it was planned, the music comes to an end. The redhead doesn't wait for your response before she gets off your lap, raising her arm in acknowledgement of the roaring cheers. Her hips sway as she walks away from you, and you donât even pretend that your eyes are glued to her curves.
Money gets thrown onto the stage once again, all in hopes of earning a fraction of what you had just experienced.Â
"Holy shit, Y/N, what was that?" Carol yells at you over the noise, slapping your back. You shrug plainly with a stupid smug smirk as Valkyrie whines in jealousy.Â
Oh, you were so fucking ready for 11pm.
.
"A private, fuckin' session for Deputy Inspector Y/N fucking L/N. Who would'a thought," Carol slurs, banging a shot glass onto the round table.
You roll your eyes at Carol's dramatization. It wasn't as if your status as Commanding Officer steered women away from you â in fact, some of them were quite into it.
But for your prevalently horny friends who had women over just about every week, you were considered starved of sweet pussy and were in dire need of quenching that thirst.
So when you broke the news that the most sought-after stripper in the most famous strip club in Queens, had just offered you a private session, lo and behold the chaos that ensued.
"Shit, girl, I would get down on my knees for that lady. You are one lucky bastard," Valkyrie adds in, ruffling your hair as you grumble.Â
"You'd get down on your knees for any woman, actually," Maria says, the usually composed woman more laid back in the environment of the strip club. Or maybe it was the alcohol.
Valkyrie lets out an aggrieved noise, sitting up to whack Maria's arm, but in her drunken state she misses and slaps Carol's drink out of her hands.Â
"Oi!" The blonde cries out indignantly, looking at the drink that had splattered onto her clothing.Â
Carol grabs Maria's martini out of her hands and throws it at Valkyrie in retaliation.
Before you know it, your three idiot friends have gotten temporarily suspended from the strip club for 'causing a ruckus'.
Just like that, and the clock ticks down to eleven oâclock.
.
Itâs 11pm, and you're overly aware of your police badge at your belt and your gun in your holster.
Or at least, you were, until Natasha swung one leg across your lap and sat herself down with an unspoken grace, effectively sitting on your lap. In the privacy of the enclosed room, you unashamedly stare down at her cleavage, eyes several hues darker than they were before.
âSee something you like?â Natasha asks breathily, running her hands over her full breasts, pushing them up to elicit a reaction from you.
The moving lights in the dark room cast shadows, and when you back look up with a sinful smirk and half-lidded eyes, Natasha swears she feels herself get wet.
All the air in your lungs dissipates when Natasha begins grinding on your thigh in beat to the music, hips moving skilfully in the sexiest fashion imaginable.Â
Fuck, this woman was going to be your demise.
Your hands feel like theyâre on fire as you watch her put on a show, simply aching to move and touch. Natasha trails her fingertips down your tensed arms, running over the curve of your biceps. She smirks at the goosebumps it raises, her hands dwelling to the edge of your pants.
Your breath catches as her fingers find the outline of your police badge tucked underneath your shirt. The Black Widow looks up at you, expression a no-tell. âYou on duty?â
âNope.â
âIs that why youâve got a gun in your belt?â
âNah, that oneâs just for pretty girls like you,â you respond slowly, hands tentatively going to rest on her thighs. When the smirk reappears on the stripper's face, you relax and let your shoulders untense.
âIf you say so, officer,â she comments huskily, leaning forward to nip at your earlobe. The shiver runs through your bones.Â
Youâre about to counter with a quick retort of your own before Natasha begins grinding on that bulge in your pants, treating your gun like it was a strap.
âShit,â you say breathlessly, hands burning at being unable to touch. Behind your back, your nails were digging into your palms so hard you swore you had already drawn blood.
Fuck, it was torture.Â
Her pretty moans and breathy whines ring in your ears as she moves her hips roughly, a torment to your demise.
After a while, you come to the realisation that you can feel how wet Natasha is through her undergarments, soaked from having just dry-humped your thigh.
âFuck me,â she says, and your throat dries up. âWhat?â you ask, dazedly, still staring at her bouncing tits in front of your face.
âI said, fuck me,â Natasha repeats, head tilting to the side, halting all her movements so you would look at her.
You splutter. âBut the sign saidââ
âWhat can I say, officer, you wanna make me break the rules.â
Thatâs all the confirmation you need before your hands can finally touch her, finally, meeting and warm skin and sweat droplets and everything youâd ever wanted.Â
You let out a huff of amusement as Natasha wraps her pretty lips around your fingers and sucks, making lewd noises with her tongue. Your ears burn, now, having been tainted with the beautiful symphony of this womanâs pleasure.
âYouâre very naughty,â you comment, your other hand slipping under her top to reach her full breasts. Palming at the mounds in your hand, you face moves to the bare skin of her collarbone and begin kissing it.
âDonât make marks,â Natasha says breathlessly, when you let your teeth nick the soft skin there, and thereâs a pit of desire in your stomach that growls in frustration, but you know you have to respect her wishes and instead move your mouth down to her chest.
Natasha doesnât remember when you slipped off her bra, but she isnât complaining about your haste and instead throws her head back when your mouth latches onto her breasts.
âMhm, that feels good,â she moans, weaving her fingers through your hair and scratching at your scalp. You hum in acknowledgement against her flushed skin, your tongue paying special attention to her hardened buds.
When both your hands move to the underside of her thighs and lift her up, Natasha lets out an embarrassing squeak at the sudden change of position. But as you lay her down on the sofa with your body weight pressing into hers, those whimpers turn into filthy moans.
You stall for a moment, hovering above her with your silver necklace dangling right above her face. She looks so pretty like this, her hair all splayed out, the sheen of sweat on her skin making her look tantalizing.
Natasha catches your swinging necklace between her teeth, winking seductively at you, and youâre snapped out of your moment, a laugh taking over.
âHave I told you that youâre incredibly bad?â you say, in between kisses scattered between her breasts, down her sternum and to her stomach.Â
âYou- you have,â Natasha replies with some difficulty, as your kisses get lower and lower. âMaybe you should punish me for it, officer;âÂ
She shuts up when you slowly spread open her thighs, revealing the dripping heat that is Natashaâs cunt. You maintain eye contact with her as you lower your mouth to her pussy, her lust-filled stare making your head spin.
When your tongue meets her cunt, it was game over.
âFuck,â Natasha moans, already unable to continue looking at you in the eye, hands moving to grip the cushion of the sofa. Her thighs clamp around your head, and youâre suffocating, but in a way that feels so good you could die in bliss.
You lap at her dripping cunt like you were starving, like you would die without it. Natashaâs moans get louder. You move your mouth in rocking motions, pushing your tongue further in with each thrust.Â
âMore,â she gasps out, and you quicken your pace, fingertips digging bruises into her plush thighs. In retrospect, you donât remember how long you stay there, ravenously eating her out like your life depended on it.Â
When you feel her breathing get faster and more shallow, breathy little whines that get louder and louder, and you know sheâs about to cum.
Instead of gently bringing her to a high, you internally say fuck it and decide that if this was the one chance you had, with the most sought-after stripper in Queens, you were going to make it an unforgettable one.
You move your mouth up to wrap your lips around her swollen, throbbing clit, and you suck on it, hard. In tandem with that, you easily slide two fingers in, curling them inside her to hit that sweet spot. Natasha positively screams, and you swear itâs the most beautiful sound youâve ever heard.
Her orgasm floods the lower half of your face and your fingers, and the little mewls of your name Natasha lets out as she comes down from her high is one youâd always remember.
Finally, you emerge from between Natashaâs thighs. Slowly, you kiss up her stomach and her breasts, up the way you came down from, and you meet Natashaâs blissed out face.
You take a moment to take in her tousled hair, her swollen kissable-pink lips, her smudged makeup, her shallow gasps for air, and the pure lust in her eyes.
Just like that, and another jolt of arousal hits you. Before you can act on it, Natasha pulls you into a messy kiss, hot and sweaty.
âYou look so fucking good-â Natasha says in between the frantic meeting of your mouths. âWith my cum all over your jaw.âÂ
You bite back a growl at her words, wanting to let her know just how exactly good you can make her cum. Natasha catches your hand that slides down to her wet cunt, before bringing it up and placing a kiss on your fingertips. âOur time is up,â she whispers, nodding to the clock behind you that now reads 11.31pm. âOne private session lasts 30 minutes.â
This woman was going to be the death of you.
You turn back to The Black Widow with dilated pupils, slowly reaching into your pocket for that leather Saint Laurent wallet, and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.
In the wee hours of twilight the next day, you leave the strip club with your wallet emptied, a searing cramp in your hand, and the memory of an unforgettable woman whose real name you hadnât even known.
Boy, you had one hell of a story to tell your friends.Â
i think i'm not gonna taglists anymore, sorry yall. there's just so many usernames and i have to constantly update it :(
Summary: Percy Jacksonâs lotus flowers meet sex pollen (Natasha Romanoff x female reader)
Warnings: shameless smut (18+)
Her eyes are a starry sky.
Her smile is the death of me.
Her laughter is a lullaby.
But her kiss is unmatched ecstasy.
It was supposed to be a simple mission. In and out. Home before bedtime.
But then the waiters passed out little flower shaped cookies, and you begged your best friend to try one with you. She finally caved, and they were so good that you just had to have another. And maybe a few more after that.
By the time you realized the cookies might have had something in them, your mind was too hazy to care. Because Natashaâs body was but a few inches from yours, swaying to the thundering music with a glint in her eyes that made your stomach tighten.
Since the first cookie, a simmering heat had been building in your abdomen, amplified tenfold by the woman in front of you. Judging by the pink of her cheeks and the tilt of her lips, you thought that just maybe she was feeling it too.
By the time she pulled you closer mid-song and you both moaned at the simple touch, you knew where the night was going. A fog clouded your mind, blocking out every inhibition and logical thought that told you to not sleep with the woman you had fallen for so long ago.
Natasha giggled like a schoolgirl as she ran her hands through your hair, and you soon followed suit, both of you laughing in the middle of the dance floor like nobody else was around.
You were both far too gone to care.
âYouâre so beautiful, Natasha,â you whispered.
âCan I kiss you?â She asked.
You nodded and then her lips were on yours, her arms around your neck and your hands on her waist.
Your senses were dulled, but her essence sparked them back to life. There was nothing but the smell of her sweet vanilla perfume, the taste of her red lipstick, the feel of her hands, and the sound of her sighs.
She slipped her tongue into your mouth, and a sharp wave of arousal ignited in your stomach. It was excruciatingly painful, how much you wanted her. You wouldâve taken her right there in the middle of the casino, had it not been for her hand dragging you away.
Your heartbeat fluttered against your chest and your clothes felt uncomfortable against your skin, but the way Natashaâs hips swayed in front of you as she walked had you quickly forgetting everything else.
The world around you blurred, tunnel vision focused on her and only her. She led you through the club, running into people and bumping the door on the way out.
Outside, the only thing to be heard was heavy breathing and wild heartbeats. Eventually you found the car. Natasha unlocked it and shoved you in the backseat, quickly scrambling after you and straddling your lap.
âIt hurts,â you whined.
âI know,â she said, and you knew then that she was feeling the same hot pain of overwhelming arousal.
âSomethingâs not right,â you added.
âI know,â she said again. âBut I donât care. I want you. Do you want this?â
You nodded dumbly. âYes. Please, Nat. I need you.â
Her lips were on yours, hot and heavy. With a fleeting thought, you broke the kiss and leaned forward to finally close the car door and seal yourselves in your own little world.
The windows quickly fogged up as she kissed you roughly, grinding mercilessly down into your lap. You assisted her movements with your hands on her hips.
Your heartbeat felt way too fast as you trailed sloppy kisses down her sweaty neck, but you couldnât find it in you to care. If you were to die right then and there, well, you thought that would be just fine.
âFuck, detka, Iâm gonnaââ
It didnât take long for Natasha to reach her first orgasm, the climax built by nothing but the movements on your lap.
To your own surprise, your orgasm fluttered and exploded inside you right after hers, the sound of her pretty moans too much to bear.
The relief didnât last long, however. Another painful wave of arousal crashed into you almost immediately. âOh fuck,â she whined.
âWhat was in those cookies?â
âI donât know but right now I donât care,â she muttered, her hips resuming their movements.
Your hands gripped the bottom of her dress, looking to her for permission. When she gave it, you hiked up the short black number to reveal a lace thong underneath. âFingers,â she breathed.
You looked up at her with awe, studying the sweat on her brow and the pants leaving her mouth. Your fingers ran along her ruined underwear, causing her breath to stutter. âDonât be a fucking tease.â
âYes maâam.â You pushed her underwear aside and slipped a finger inside. âGod, youâre so wet, Nat.â
âMore,â she panted.
You ran your thumb over her clit, slipping a second finger inside. Her hips jerked. She began rocking in time with your movements, forming a rhythm of lewd noises and breathy moans.
You did your best to ignore the fiery ache between your legs, focusing desperately on your fingers curling inside Natasha.
She came once more with a silent scream. She kissed you sloppily before sinking down to her knees as best as she could in the cramped backseat.
She hastily unbuttoned your pants, tugging them and your underwear down your legs at once. The cool air hit your center and you realized just how wet you were.
âFuck,â she said once before leaning in. She licked a strip up your pussy and you let out a choppy groan.
âShit, Nat,â you breathed as she flicked her tongue over your clit. âJust like that, please.â
You fell apart within moments, screaming Natashaâs name like a prayer, over and over.
She kissed up your still-clothed torso, finally landing on your lips and letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
âWe need to get out of here. I need room to fuck you properly,â she said against your lips.
âNat, we canât drive like this.â
âWould you rather get arrested for having sex in this car?â
She handed you the keys and let you drive. You did your best to focus on the road, but the way she was shifting in her seat and clenching her thighs was far too distracting.
âFuck, Nat, youâre killing me.â
You readjusted in your seat, fighting desperately to ignore the painful arousal.
âGive me your hand.â
âWhat?â
âFuck, I need you. Now.â
She took your right hand and guided it between her legs. Your left tightened on the steering wheel.
âHoly shit. Iâm gonna fucking come from this alone,â you mumbled desperately. The arousal grew rapidly and you shifted once more as your fingers worked tirelessly between Natâs legs.
You felt her clench around you as she threw her head back in ecstasy. When you pulled your fingers out, she grabbed your wrist and sucked your fingers into her mouth, holding eye contact relentlessly.
You swallowed a moan, fighting to turn your eyes back to the road.
The ten minute drive to your apartment felt like ten hours. You parked like shit and all but ran into the building.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Natasha pushed you into the wall, kissing you with fervor. Her lips trailed over your jaw and down your neck, pulling moans from your throat as she left bruises in her wake.
âAll mine,â she murmured against the column of your throat.
âAll yours,â you panted.
The metal doors slid open with a ding and you stumbled out towards your apartment. You tried to find the right key, but Natasha was kissing your neck and your hands were shaking violently.
The key finally turned in the lock and the two of you practically fell into the apartment.
âBedroom.â
You picked her up and brought her to it, laying her down on the bed. You crawled over her, laying your hands on her stomach. âCan I take this off?â
She nodded yes and helped you remove the dress from her body.
You ducked your head and began leaving marks on her chest. She squirmed impatiently underneath you. âWhat did I say about teasing,â she warned.
âAnother time, then,â you obliged. Neither of you were coherent enough to acknowledge your mention of doing this again.
You took a stiff nipple into your mouth, swirling your mouth around it to draw out a soft sigh. You pinched and rolled the other between your fingers. You switched to give them equal attention.
As content as you would have been to stay there all night, she eventually pushed your head lower. You trailed kisses down her stomach and over her thighs before pausing where she wanted you most.
Your breath ghosted over those ruined lace panties as you looked up at her. You held the eye contact as you placed a kiss over her clothed clit. She groaned and tangled a hand in your hair.
âDetka, fuck me. Now. Please.â
You smirked before tearing her thong off and diving into her wetness. She twitched and clenched around your tongue as your hands held her steady against you.
A river of Russian came spewing from her mouth, doing nothing to stop the arousal soaking through your pants.
When she came this time, it was anything but silent. Your name fell from her mouth like it was the last thing she would ever get to say, and the moans that bounced off the walls ensured a noise complaint the next day.
You crawled up her body and when she opened her eyes, you knew you were far from done. With stupid, drug-induced grins on both of your faces, she asked if you had a strap. You nodded in a trance.
And then she was riding you. Gripping your headboard with white knuckles and leaving nasty red scratches on your back. The way the strap hit your clit with every thrust had you panting and moaning alongside her.
âCum with me, dorogoy.â
And you did. You did your best to keep your rhythm as you both rode out your orgasms.
Your foreheads fell against one another. Heavy breathing filled the hot room.
âDoes it still hurt?â She asked.
âNot as much,â you answered.
ââS still foggy,â she slurred. You nodded in agreement.
Your eyes caught sight of the alarm clock beside your bed. You squinted to try and read it.
05:42
âHoly shit. Nat, how long were we in the casino?â
âUm, an hour maybe?â
âNat, itâs almost six in the morning. I know we havenât been fucking that long.â
âOh my god. What the fuck were those cookies? Oh god. Fury probably thinks weâre dead.â
You moved to stand up, but the moan that tumbled from Natashaâs lips reminded you of the strap still inside her.
When your eyes met hers and you saw those lust blown pupils, every logical thought went out the window once more.
âFury can wait,â you muttered as you slowly began rocking your hips again.
âFury can wait,â Natasha repeated before her hand wrapped around your throat and brought your lips to hers.
When Fury and a team of agents broke down the door three hours later and found Natasha kneeling before you in the shower, you realized your mistake.
At least until Natasha looked him square in the eye and said âLotus flowers produce sex pollen. Get out.â
It took all day for the effects to wear off, and Fury left the two of you alone to sort it out.
Natasha kissed you at the end of the day and said âWe should do this again sometime.â
You kissed her back and said âWe should do this again all the time. But maybe without the drugs.â
You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.
Series Masterlist
Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader
Warnings: Imaginary violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and doesn't like recon jobs. Expensive alcohol. Minors DNI.
Word Count: 4.3k
Author's Note: I'm back from vacation and I caught covid. I wrote this whole chapter while I was stuck in quarantine so I apologize if anything doesn't make sense. Thank you again for the endless love you have shown this series. It's really fun to write and I'm glad you guys enjoy reading it.
Chapter Four: Between Fact And Fiction, Which One Of Us Changed?
Mount Vernon, Ohio â 1992
The bark was rough against your hands as your foot found purchase against a sturdy gnarl. You reached for the thick branch above and dug your fingers into the familiar wood. It took hardly a minute to pull yourself up onto the branch. Your movement was fluid. Practiced. You have climbed this tree more times than you can count. You settled onto the thick branch, and it held your weight with ease. The branch you sat on was nearly as high as the roof of your house. It afforded you the best view of your small neighborhood.Â
You looked down and found Nat confidently scaling up the tree. The moment she was close enough, you leaned down and offered your hand. Her hand wrapped around yours and you helped pull her up onto the branch with you. Your legs swung lazily as she sat down next to you. The sun had already begun its descent towards the treeline, and you felt nothing but raw excitement for the approaching weekend. Your father was wrapped up in communications with his past self and had made it clear that he was not to be bothered. Which left a whole weekend free to do whatever you wanted. No hunting trips. No extracurricular activities. Just two whole days of sweet freedom.Â
Nat swung her backpack around, pulled out something, and then leaned her bag against the trunk of the tree. She held out something in a long, thin shiny packaging towards you. Your eyes widened, and your smile grew at what was unmistakably a delicious fruit roll-up. You took it and immediately tore open the wrapper. You ripped off a bite with your teeth and chewed on the sweet snack happily.Â
âYour parents are way cooler than my father,â you said before you ripped off another bite with your teeth.Â
Nat smiled and shook her head as she opened up the wrapper. âMy mom says this stuff will rot your teeth. Ashley had a bunch of these with her at school today. I traded a yoo-hoo for these.â
You didnât know who Ashley was. Her face in your mind was a blend of every other face you passed in the hallways.Â
âYou said your Dad had company?â Nat asked as she ripped off a piece of her fruit roll-up.Â
You followed her gaze to your driveway that was largely empty except for your fatherâs station wagon. âHe does. Itâs one of his past selves. He doesnât know when. They keep changing their story.â As you took another bite, the front door of your house opened and your brother and sister walked out. Your brother was dressed in one of his nicer black suits while your sister wore a black slip dress over a brown and black striped T-shirt. As they made their way down the driveway, another car turned onto the street and pulled up in front of your house. You didnât recognize any of the other teens in the car, but they all looked to be either around your brotherâs age or older.Â
You chewed on your snack as you watched your siblings climb into the car and drive off. You had no idea if your brother ever worked up the courage to ask Sadie to the dance. Ever since you met Nat, most of your free time has been spent hanging out with your friend. Not that your siblings seemed to mind. In fact, they both seemed to like Nat when they crossed paths with you two the other day.Â
âMy Dad wants to pull out our grill one last time for the season,â Nat said as she ripped off another piece of her fruit roll-up. âYou should come by tomorrow. My parents want to meet you.âÂ
You looked over at Nat. You knew exactly what your father would say if you asked him if you could go. He wouldnât just say no. Heâd find a way to make sure that such an opportunity would never come your way again. He tolerated your newfound friendship with Nat because it made you look normal. It kept up appearances. But going any deeper than that could turn a stroke of luck into a potential problem.Â
You knew all of this, yet you didnât feel fear as you settled on your answer. Your father would find out. It was pointless to hide anything from him. But whatever punishment he would dish out felt shallow. Your thoughts were anchored on Nat, and how nice it felt to be around her. She offered no judgment whenever you mentioned your family. She could have left you once the other kids told her how weird you were. But she stayed by your side.Â
So you said, âOkay.â And all you could think about was spending your free weekend with your friend.
Stockholm â 2010
As the car pulls to a stop, your father hands you a folded piece of pale, yellow scrap paper.Â
âCall your brother,â he says as you unfold the piece of paper. Scratched in quick strokes of black ink is a phone number. âHe wants to talk to you.âÂ
You fold the piece of scrap paper in half and look over at your father. He is dressed in a black tuxedo suit with matching polished black shoes. His black hair is combed back from his face and in the dim light of the car, it is nearly impossible to see the faint white streaks peppered throughout. The smell of his cologne hangs heavy between you two.Â
âWhy?â you ask.Â
âHe did not wish to discuss his reasoning with me,â your father replies. âHe insisted on talking with you.â
You shrug and sit back in the cushioned leather seat. âThen Iâll call him later.â
âNo,â your fatherâs reply is calculated and sharp. You imagine him standing above you and barking orders in that same tone of voice. Go. Fight. Run. Kill. âYou will call him now. This is a very important night. We cannot afford another mistake like Amsterdam.â
You roll your eyes. âWhen will you stop with that? I did the job.âÂ
âI will stop when you stop distracting yourself with that spy,â your father snaps.Â
You shift around in your seat so you can face your father fully. âFirst, you have no proof that she was ever a Russian spy.â
âI have mountains of evidence, Y/N,â your father is quick to argue. âYou just wonât listen.â
âSecond,â you continue as if your father didnât say anything, âshe is not a distraction. Every job you have given me since Amsterdam I have completed. Even the ones that draw her out.â
Your father shifts around in his seat to face you fully as well. He points his finger at you. âThat is it. Right there. You have just admitted it. You are drawing her out.âÂ
âI am not.â
âShe is a distraction,â your father presses. âWhat do you think will happen once she has you right where she wants you?â
You laugh and roll your eyes again. âItâs not like that. We are just talking.âÂ
âShe is your enemy, Y/N.âÂ
You shift back into your seat and stare ahead at the tinted window partition that separates the front of the car from the back. You fold your arms in front of your chest as you bite back the same old retort. It has been a little over a month since Amsterdam, and just about three weeks since London. Youâve done three more jobs since, and she hasnât shown up at a single one. The disappointment youâve been carrying around is crushing. You thought she was starting to get close. You thought she had finally picked up your trail. But you were wrong, and you hated the growing silence between the two of you.Â
You hear your father shift back into his seat next to you. You donât know how else to explain to your father that your conversations with her are not distractions. You have argued your point so many times, but he doesnât listen. But if the past three jobs were anything to go by, he wonât have to worry about her for much longer. If she lost your trail, then only luck would put her back in front of you. You can feel your frustration beginning to resurface. There was still so much left unsaid. You were hoping for at least one more conversation.Â
âCall your brother so we can carry on with our night,â your father says.Â
You unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door. You step out onto a quiet sidewalk lit by the white glow of the streetlamp. The black Lexus you and your father have been riding in idles as you shut the door behind you. You make your way over to the payphone and dial the number written on the piece of scrap paper. As you wait for an answer, your hand dips into the pocket of your navy blue suit jacket. Your father had instructed you to dress up for tonight, so you had selected one of your favorite suits. Your suit jacket remains unbuttoned and reveals the white satin blouse beneath that scoops down towards your breasts. Your matching navy blue trousers run down the lengths of your legs and end at your black oxford shoes.Â
âHello?â your brotherâs voice speaks through the receiver.Â
You turn your back to the idling Lexus. âHi.â You can hear your brotherâs sigh.
âY/N,â he says. âItâs good to hear from you. How have you been?âÂ
You shrug despite the fact that your brother cannot see it. You look down and kick a small pebble further down the sidewalk. âFine. Work keeps me busy. You?âÂ
âSame,â your brother replies. âLong hours. Little sleep. Living off the vending machines whenever Iâm not home.âÂ
âThat sounds terrible,â you say.Â
âItâs better than working for Dad,â your brother says.
You look over your shoulder towards the black Lexus for a moment. âYeahâŠwellâŠyou do what youâre good at, and I do what Iâm good at.âÂ
âY/Nââ
âWhy did you want to talk?â you cut in.Â
Your brother lets out another sigh. âI had a visitor last night.â
You look back down towards the sidewalk and spot another tiny pebble. You kick that one further down the sidewalk.Â
âYour friend from Ohio.â
Your gaze snaps up and lands on the phone. Your grip on the receiver tightens as your heart starts to beat faster.Â
âIâm pretty sure you know who Iâm talking about since she mentioned running into you earlier,â your brother says.Â
âShe found you?â Itâs the only question you can think of. Your mind is racing so fast.Â
âIâm not that hard to find,â your brother replies. âItâs you sheâs trying to find.â
Your free hand comes up and you press the palm of your hand against your forehead. You canât fight back the smile that curls your lips. Sheâs trying to find you. And sheâs closer now. It wonât be just luck that drops her back into your life. Just a matter of time. You can hardly wait.Â
âShe knows about your work,â your brother says.Â
Your smile grows as you close your eyes. âWhat did she say?â
âThat youâre really good,â he answers.Â
You wonder how much she knows. Does she only know about your jobs in Amsterdam and London? âHigh praise from the dearly departed.âÂ
âYeah, IâŠIâm sorry,â he replies. âI was just as confused about what happened. I just saw Dad twisting it into another one of his crazy theories and IâŠâÂ
Suddenly youâre back in Ohio standing in your front yard. The house across the street that once radiated an irresistible warmth stands cold and empty. Trapped in your small body, you feel numb. You donât understand.Â
â...I didnât want him to hurt you more,â your brotherâs words lead you back to the payphone. You open your eyes. âSo I told you what I thought would give you the most closure.â
You run your fingers down the length of the phone cord. Thereâs something you want to say to your brother that has nothing to do with friends coming back from an assumed death. But you donât know how to say it. So you stand there in silence. Â
âWe need to meet. All three of us.â
You blink and your brow furrows. âWhy?â
âBecause whatever Dad has you doing is more than just contract work,â he replies. âYour friend seems to think that your past jobs are all connected to something bigger. And knowing Dad, she wouldnât be wrong.âÂ
You glance back at the black Lexus. âWhat else did she say?âÂ
âThat sheâs going to find you.âÂ
You wonder what she was wearing when she spoke with your brother.Â
âY/N, this is serious.â
You shake your head. âFine. Iâll call you when Iâm back at my place.â You say your goodbyes and hang up the phone. You tuck your brotherâs phone number into your pocket and return to the car. The moment you settle back into your seat and shut the door, the car starts moving.Â
The drive to your destination is not long. In less than an hour the car rolls up the driveway of a large luxurious mansion. The night air is cool when you step out of the car. The mansionâs large glass windows shine from the lights within. The quiet of the surrounding trees and gardens scattered throughout the estate reminds you of the peaceful quiet of your little cabin tucked far away.Â
Your fatherâs orders are simple and straightforward. You are attending a party hosted by your fatherâs very important clients. Dine. Drink. Have fun. Donât do anything else unless he tells you. You donât argue. While you donât care about these clients, you donât mind entertaining yourself on their dime.Â
The mansion is warm and bright when you enter. The sound of jazz music mixes with the lively hum of voices as you take in the sight of so many people all dressed in their finest suits and gowns. You donât recognize any of them. Perhaps you should. These are all important people. People with some sliver of power. Certainly these people are probably CEOs or politicians or other important leaders. You wonder, as you casually walk further into the mansion, whether or not youâve killed for these people before.Â
The thought amuses you so much that you decide to make up stories for each stranger you pass. You had long left your father to mingle with his clients as you passed by two happy couples laughing at some joke. Your own lips lift into a smile despite not knowing what exactly they were laughing about. You just imagine shoving their old lovers, flames of passion long since burned out, off the roof of a mansion. Both couples looked like they owned mansions like this one. You imagine standing on the roofâs edge and looking down. You struggle to decide how strangely their bodies would break upon landing. Itâs a hole in your imagination, but you are certain about the ring of blood that would surround the bodies.Â
You swipe a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. You take a sip as you enter a much larger room. Off in the corner, a live jazz band is playing while more rich strangers mingle amongst each other. You spot a group of six gentlemen standing underneath a large abstract painting. As they talk, you imagine crushing the head of their rival beneath the sole of your boot. The rivalâs scream would be terribly short lived and replaced with the crunch of breaking bone. You finish off your champagne and exchange your empty glass for another when another waiter passes. You also snatch up a fancy looking appetizer that tastes of a lovely blend of cheeses.Â
You sip on your second glass of champagne as you wander around the crowded room. Your fantasies about these strangers fuels you. Barely an hour passes and you have imagined killing so many people. You canât decide which fantasy is your favorite. You are torn between running over a sheriff with a tank or smothering an ex-lover in their bed. Both fantasies have an alluring thrill to them. You are starting to lean more towards the tank when one of the waiters stops next to you with a silver tray full of more drinks.  Â
âWould you like a new drink?âÂ
You abandon your fantasies the moment her voice reaches your ear. You look to your right. Standing next to you is Nat. She is dressed like all the other waiters roaming the busy rooms. Her white collared, button up shirt is nicely pressed and barren of a single blemish. The black vest she wears over her shirt is also without a single wrinkle. Black trousers cover the legs you remember straddling you back in Amsterdam. Her red hair is pulled back into another intricate braid that you are starting to adore.Â
You look down at the empty champagne glass in your hand. The light chattering of all the other guests does not falter. The band continues to play. You feel the same rush from London warming every inch of you. Your earlier worries suddenly seem so humorous. You thought you had run too far ahead. You thought you knew what to do after hanging up the phone with your brother. Slow down. Give her time to catch up.Â
But she has already caught up to you.Â
And you can hardly contain your happiness.Â
Your smile returns when your gaze lifts to meet her stare. âIâd love one.â You set your empty champagne glass onto the silver tray she is holding, and grab a fresh one.Â
âAre you enjoying yourself?â she asks.Â
You take a sip of your third glass of champagne. âI am now that I have better company.â You gesture to the full glasses on the tray. âYou should have some. Itâs not very good, but it tastes expensive.âÂ
She turns slightly. âIâm working.âÂ
Thatâs hardly a surprise. If itâs not you working then itâs her. If sheâs not working then you never see her. âWhen do you get off?âÂ
She doesnât answer you, and you think you see a hint of a smile on her face, but another guest snatches away her attention before you can know for sure. You watch as she leaves and approaches the guest who called her over. The guest grabs two glasses of champagne before she walks off. You donât follow. You stand there, sipping on your champagne, and watch. Every thought in your head is screaming for you to go after her. You still have so many questions. You still crave that blissful high you feel when it is just the two of you. You watch as she makes her way through the mingling guests. You finish your champagne the moment you see her disappear into another room. She shuts the door behind her and you can feel your palms start to sweat again. You know what this is. The invitation is blatantly clear.Â
Your gaze sweeps around the gathered guests. You donât see your father anywhere. Probably off talking to even more important clients. Perfect. You dump your glass onto the tray of another passing waiter as you cut through the crowd. Nobody else goes near the door as you get close. You turn and take one more look around at the busy party. Still no sign of your father. Just more strangers. You turn the doorknob, push open the door, and step into the room.Â
This room is much smaller and not as brightly lit as the others. It looks to be some kind of entertaining room that only old wealth would have. In the middle of the room is a large wooden round table with eight dark brown leather armchairs surrounding it. Sitting on top of the table was the silver tray still full of drinks. Off on the right hand side of the room is an empty fireplace. To the left is a small bar where you find Nat.Â
The door clicks shut behind you and muffles the noise of the party. You make your way to the table and settle into the armchair closest to the silver tray. âAre there any more of those fancy pigs in a blanket back there?â You grab a new glass off the tray and look over towards Nat.Â
She turns around to face you. In her hands is a bottle of whiskey and two tumbler glasses. âNo, but I think I found something better.âÂ
You smile as Nat sets the bottle and glasses down on the table. As she sits down in the armchair next to you, you reach forward and grab the bottle of whiskey. You examine the fancy label. âThese people are always the same. They feed everyone the bad stuff and keep the good stuff for themselves.â You lift your champagne glass to your lips, tilt your head back, and finish the champagne in one greedy drink. You set the empty glass aside and reach for the two tumbler glasses. âI thought you were working.âÂ
âI am,â she replies. âIâm on break.âÂ
You open the bottle of whiskey. âFun job?âÂ
She shrugs. âRecon.âÂ
You pour the whiskey into the two tumbler glasses. âI was never much of a fan of those jobs. Made the days feel long. I prefer keeping busy.â You set the whiskey bottle down before pushing one of the glasses towards Nat. She is watching you, and you love it. âBut at least you have entertainment and good company. I spent my last recon job in a bunker.â Your smile drops a little at the memory.Â
Her head tilts a little to the side. âThe Idaho job?âÂ
You are about to pick up your glass, but stop. Your gaze had dropped to the fancy amber liquid. You try to remember when you had taken that job. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it couldnât have been that long after your eighteenth birthday. Thatâs when you found your âgrooveâ. When you had finally beat out the last bit of you that flinched every time you pulled the trigger. Your smile returns when you meet her olive green eyes again. How far back did she dig? Your fingers curl around the glass. âTwo weeks spent in a place that smelled like piss and sweat. Itâs hard to maintain your cover when you want to gag every time one of them goes near you.âÂ
âBut you did,â she says as you lift the glass to your lips and take a drink of the whiskey. The smooth nutty taste washes over your tongue. âI doubt Hickman would have kept his back to you if he didnât trust you.âÂ
The whiskey burns pleasantly as it goes down your throat. âSomeone has done their research.â The memories of the Idaho job are still fuzzy, but you remember the weight of the shotgun in your hands. You remember the satisfaction you felt seeing Hickmanâs body jerk forward from the deafening blast. The smell of gunpowder. The pieces of his head sticking to his desk. You lean forward and rest your arms on the table as you take another sip of your whiskey. âWhat do you think?âÂ
She doesnât answer right away. Your heart is beating against your chest as you wait. You donât exactly know what you want to hear from her. You just hope that it isnât disgust. You have tasted bitter disappointment so often these past few weeks. You canât take much more of it.Â
âI think youâre really good,â she says.Â
As your heart soars, you see a kind of sadness in her eyes that you donât understand.Â
âYou have a very specific skill set.âÂ
Your smile grows as you lean back into the armchair. You hold your glass of whiskey in your hand. Her gaze never wanders from yours, and you donât see any telltale signs of fear. Itâs so common among all the people you meet when they realize what you are. But sheâs not afraid. She doesnât even look angry. It fills you with so much hope. Itâs almost perfect. You just donât understand why she looks sad.Â
âThanks for the compliment, Nat,â you say before you finish your whiskey. âIâm so glad youâre not dead. I missed having someone normal to talk to.â You see a flash of a smile cross her face. âWe still need to catch up when weâre not doing all ofâŠâ you raised your arm and gestured with your hand towards the door. â...this. When are you free next?âÂ
âIf you come with me, weâll have plenty of time to catch up tonight,â she replies.Â
âTempting,â you say. âBut I have a prior commitment I canât miss. A family thing.â You stand up and set your empty glass down on the table. âBut Iâll reach out after.â You turn and start towards the door. When you reach the door, you reach for the doorknob but stop. You turn and find Nat still sitting at the table. âNext time letâs do coffee.â
Her smile returns. Itâs small, but it fills you with so much warmth. âThat would be nice.â
Your hand falls upon the doorknob and when the door cracks open, the noise of the party spills into the room. You step out and back into the mingling crowd of guests. You allow your feet to carry you across the room as your mind begins laying the foundation of your next meeting with Nat. You end up so lost in your thoughts that you donât notice your father until he is walking up to you with the proudest smile youâve ever seen on his face.Â
His hand settles heavily on your shoulder. âWeâre almost there, Y/N.â
