Summary: You love giving Natasha control of your body, but you had never given her control of your breathing before. After a self-defense lesson, you discover you may like it more than you think.
Word Count: 4.3k
Warnings: 18+, daddy kink, top Natasha, dom/sub undertones, age gap, breath play, throat grabbing kink, new kink discovery, grinding, fingering (r receiving), some plot, a lil degradation, thigh smacks (like twice), scissoring (both ofc) , a lil overstimulation, making out, a lil subspace, aftercare
A/N: finished this fic on a flight with a man looking over my shoulder trying to see what i'm doing. like sir, this isn't for you.
—
The discovery comes slowly. So slowly, that even with your back pressed against Natasha's front and her arm wrapped around your neck trying to teach you self-defense, the dots don't connect.
"Baby, I'm only going to squeeze for a second so you know what the technique is, but always know you can tap my arm at any time before then if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe." Natasha meets your eyes in the mirror. Her arm is only wrapped loosely, allowing you to tilt your head up to maintain contact. You give her a mischievous smile.
"Well, I didn't feel unsafe in the first place, but someone insisted on teaching me self-defense," you respond with a teasing lilt.
Natasha rolls her eyes in that playful way she does when she wants to be annoyed with you but can't quite manage it.
"Sue me for wanting you to be safe," she says with exasperation, but the underlying worry in her voice grows. "There's been a rise in crime in the area and I can't always pick you up from your university. What if something happens when you're walking back home?"
You let your head drop down with a sigh. As you do, her forearm presses lightly against your throat. You know she's right. It's why, despite all your whining about how much you don't want to learn, you still ended up in the home gym in this exact position.
In front of this mirror, sunlight glinting off it from the midday rays coming through the windows, Natasha annoyed behind you. You pick your head back up, tapping it lightly against her bicep with a little smirk.
"I'd probably be fine. Like I have been this entire time." Light sarcasm bleeds through every word.
You feel Natasha inhale deeply, her chest expanding against your back, before letting out a heavy sigh that brushes against the crown of your head. It's the quiet fear and worry in her eyes that finally makes you knock it off. That, and the fact that you've complained before every single technique she's tried to show you for the past thirty minutes.
"But since you insist…" you drawl out, softening your posture.
"I do insist," she responds, completely deadpan.
You give her a little grin through the mirror, matching her gaze. "Ready whenever you are."
"I've been ready for the past five minutes," she mutters under her breath.
Her expression shifts. The playful irritation vanishes, replaced by the cool, focused seriousness of an instructor. "Okay, I'm going to squeeze gradually since this is just to show you."
She pulls you closer, erasing the remaining space between your bodies until your spine is flush against her. She secures her arm more tightly around your neck, the crook of her elbow aligning under your chin, while her bicep and forearm lock against either side of your throat.
You drag your eyes up, your gaze immediately drawn to Natasha's face that's looking down at you with concentration. Even without her squeezing yet, the muscles of her arm are prominent, all of them viewable from the tank top she's wearing. Your gaze shifts.
Your breath catches in your throat, not from her pressing yet, but from how the two of you look in the mirror. You love giving Natasha control over you, over your body, but you had never given her control of your breathing before.
She's just trying to teach you something, you chastise yourself internally, clearing your head when you feel Natasha begin to squeeze.
Pressure builds on both sides of your throat, making breathing more difficult, but not impossible. Heat starts to build in your face as blood becomes trapped. Your hearing begins to become muffled as Natasha squeezes harder, her bicep and forearm pressed tightly against your neck.
"Okay, baby," Natasha says through the ringing in your ears, "I'm only going to do the full hold for a second, remember what I told you earlier."
And then the pressure reaches its height. Her arm presses painfully against the sides of your throat. That lightheaded, fuzzy feeling you get when you stand up too fast immediately washes over you, your vision beginning to narrow. Your heart beats rapidly, threatening to explode out of your chest.
But then, Natasha releases you, wrapping her arms around your waist and holding you against her. You slump forward, your breaths coming out ragged through your mouth, your body trying to regulate itself.
You knew you weren't in danger. It was Natasha after all. You expected to feel relief after she released you. But what you weren't expecting was the rush.
This is what you imagine being high feels like. The oxygen-rich blood rushing back to your head feels like it was injected with exhilaration. Your limbs tingle pleasantly, warmth rushing through the rest of your body.
The sounds of your own breathing finally register in your ears and the tingling begins to fade away. You tilt your chin up, meeting Natasha's observant gaze in the mirror. But most of all, you notice your own eyes, wide and bright. You hadn't even realized the corners of your lips were upturned.
"Are you okay, detka?" Natasha asks, staring at you seriously.
You school your features as the fuzziness completely fades away. What was that? you wonder, but you notice Natasha is beginning to look concerned.
You give her a wide smile. "I'm okay," you promise her, your voice a little scratchy. "Now, are you going to show me how to get out of it?" you ask, straightening your posture. You lean your back against her and tilt your chin up, looking up at her playfully.
She looks down at you with a teasing smile. "I will, but can you try not to stall by complaining this time?"
She releases her arms from around your waist when she feels you wiggle against her. You turn around to face her, leveling her with a playful glare. "I wasn't stalling."
"Yeah, yeah," Natasha says sarcastically, turning around and waving her hand like she doesn't believe you.
She walks across the gym to grab her water bottle. You trail behind her, wanting to bother her a little more.
It's two steps in before you feel the uncomfortable stickiness in your panties.
—
It's a week later when you remember the way you felt during your self-defense training with Natasha. You had passed off the heat that you felt, deciding that it was probably just because of your close proximity to her. Life went on with you going to classes, finishing assignments, and meeting friends. All while missing Natasha, who was on a business trip for five days.
Or at least, it was supposed to be for five days.
"I just couldn't stand not being with my princess for any longer," Natasha breathes out against your lips, her hand tilting your chin up as she presses your back against the front door.
The cool wood of the door seeps through your shirt, making you shiver against her.
"I… I missed you," you murmur honestly, still in shock by her sudden arrival a day early. You meet her gaze with wide, innocent eyes as she rubs your bottom lip with her thumb. She's looking at you with so much affection that it makes your heart ache.
You wrap your arms around her waist, clutching the fabric of her blazer in your fists. She takes a step closer to you, if that's even possible, your head tapping softly against the door.
Her grip on your chin tightens. "I missed you too, baby girl. If only I could work from home all the time and keep you locked up here with me," she muses, looking up for a moment like she's actually thinking of a plan to make it happen.
She looks back down at you with an innocent smile, leaning her head down closer to you until your foreheads tap gently against one another. "But for now… I just want to spend time with my princess."
Her lips are just barely touching yours, the slight movement of her lips against yours making you want more.
"Natty…" you mumble against her lips, your eyes full of want.
You barely have time to blink before her lips capture yours in a searing kiss. Your head presses further against the door. The feeling of her lips melding with yours, her tongue pushing through the small gap between your lips, makes you feel lightheaded.
Her thumb hooks over your chin, forcing your jaw down to deepen the angle. Her other fingers spread across the side of your neck. The contact is light, but the heat of her fingers is immediate.
Her tongue wrestles with yours. It's a familiar game of dominance that you always play with her, even though you know you'll always lose. You feel her fingers press a bit harder against your pulse point the moment you try to fight back, sending tingles throughout your body. It's the same feeling from when you were in the gym with her a week ago.
She presses her tongue down against yours, finally winning the game. You feel the slight curve of her smile against your lips before she explores your mouth like a victory lap. You bite down on her tongue lightly. It's a silent, stubborn reminder that you aren't taking the loss lying down.
You feel her tongue pause its exploration, her breath brushing against your face as she huffs in disbelief. Suddenly, she shifts her leg between yours. Her free hand pushes you down by the shoulder, forcing your core flat against her knee as she follows your lips.
You gasp when the solid muscle of her thigh presses against your clit.
She begins to bounce her leg, releasing and returning the pressure over and over again. Natasha's lips leave yours for a moment, and the muffled moans previously hidden behind the kiss finally ring clear in your own ears.
"Natty…" you moan breathlessly, inhaling sharply when she bounces her leg a bit harder, driving your body down harshly against her thigh. "Need more," you whine, gazing up at her pleadingly. The few seconds of contact aren't nearly enough.
She raises a brow at you, her thumb dropping from your chin to the other side of your neck. "Then don't mess with me, baby," she growls before forcing her tongue into your mouth again.
Her hand grips your throat lightly, holding you in place. The slight pressure makes every breath just a bit difficult. Excitement courses through your body at the restriction, heat beginning to pool deep in your stomach.
You don't quite understand why, but you want Natasha to take more. You want her to hold your breath in her hands.
You release one hand from its grip on her blazer, sliding it up the arm that's holding your neck. You place your palm over hers, feeling the prominent veins in the back of her hand. Her fingers twitch at the unexpected touch.
Between the heat of her tongue and the tightening in your airway, your thoughts grow fuzzy. You press down on her fingers before you can think twice. Finding her thumb, you force it down against the other side of your throat—cutting off the oxygen more and drawing a strangled gasp from your lungs when you try to breathe in.
You feel the bounce in Natasha's leg pause, your full weight resting against her thigh when your knees buckle. Her fingers twitch, trying to release their grip on your throat, but you don't let her.
Her face pulls away from yours. Her expression morphs into puzzlement as she takes in your face. You hold her gaze even when your vision begins to tunnel at the edges.
You know she could easily break your grip and move her hand away if she wanted to. She knows it, too.
The sounds of your choked gasps begin to fade. You squint your eyes against the static forming in your vision.
Natasha's puzzled expression shifts, the corners of her mouth curving into a smile of disbelief. Her eyes dance with that familiar, dark amusement—the same look you've seen before when your body is trying to swallow a thick strap she bought.
Your grip on her hand loosens as your consciousness begins to slip. The moment your fingers fall away, Natasha releases the pressure, and your lungs force you to inhale sharply, desperately pushing oxygen through your body.
Your chest heaves as you slump forward, your forehead tapping against Natasha's chest.
You feel the blood begin to flow rapidly back into your head and limbs. The tingling in your fingers feels like sharp pinpricks, but the dopamine flooding your body along with the oxygen stops any real pain. The pressure of Natasha's thigh against your clit feels ten times more sensitive. Your body squirms against her to chase the friction before you even realize what you're doing.
Natasha gaze drops to your hips before her dark eyes lock back onto yours with certainty. A slow, knowing look crosses her face. Her body shifts slightly, and suddenly you hear her breath right against your ear.
"And here I thought I was the only crazy one," she murmurs, her hot breath sending pleasant shivers down the side of your body. Your soaking panties press uncomfortably against you, making you whine. You reach for her hand shakily, bringing it to the waistband of your pants.
"Off," you whine, your voice raspy but airy like you're in a dream.
Natasha leans back, you catch the tail end of her rolling her eyes before she raises a brow at you. She breaks your grip on her hand easily, moving both her hands beneath your thighs. She smacks the back of one of them lightly. Even with the light contact, it sends a jolt through your leg, making tears form in your eyes from how sensitive your entire body feels.
"You're not the one in charge here. Do you understand?" she grits out lowly.
You look up at her slowly, giving her that teary, apologetic pout that she loves. "Yes, sir," you mumble defeatedly.
She smacks your thigh again but a little harder this time, making you gasp and your eyes widen, a tear finally streaming down your cheek.
"That's Daddy to you."
Your lips jut out in a harsher pout. "You said only in the bedroom."
She leans back a bit more, hoisting you up. Your legs wrap around her automatically and you press your cheek against her shoulder, peering up at her. She raises a brow at you while turning around and walking further into the house.
"Where do you think we're heading?" she asks, amusement and arousal dancing in her eyes.
—
The sounds of your muffled, whiny moans echo through the bedroom. The wet, sticky sounds whenever Natasha drives her fingers into you make more of your arousal gush out around her hand.
You're face down, your cheek pressed against the silk sheets, your bottom up in the air as Natasha drives three fingers deep inside you over and over again relentlessly. Your ripped panties are strewn haphazardly next to your face, the rest of both your clothes thrown around the room.
Natasha couldn't help herself anymore the moment she'd carried you in here. She'd held the pieces of your panties up in front of you mockingly when she saw how soaked they were, telling you they were ruined anyways.
Her fingers curl perfectly against the soft, spongy spot inside you that she knows so well, making your fingers tighten around the sheets.
"D-daddy," you stutter out, moaning in between every syllable. "Gonna cum."
Her pace doesn't slow, rather, she rams her fingers even deeper, curling them at just the right moment as they retract. You shift your eyes until you can just make her out through your blurry, tear filled vision.
She has a wicked grin on her face, her gaze dropped low, watching her fingers go in and out of you. Her breaths quickening whenever you cry out when her fingers tap against the deepest part of you.
Her eyes drift to yours, her pupils so dilated, you can barely see the vibrant green you love so much.
"Look at you dripping all over the sheets. You couldn't just ruin your panties, huh? Had to ruin my sheets as well." You look down past your breasts. A thick string of your slick drools down your folds connecting to Natasha's expensive sheets, collecting there and darkening the fabric.
You close your eyes immediately, heat rushing up your neck to your cheeks. Natasha laughs behind you, her pace slowing slightly but making sure the tips of her fingers drag at just the right spots. You turn your head, muffling the cry that's forced out of your mouth when she uses her other hand to press a fingertip against your clit and drag it around.
She begins to circle your clit faster, her fingers driving into you following suit. The heat in your body spreads, concentrating around where she's touching you. The feeling of her touch only grows more sensitive, your insides throbbing against Natasha's fingers and tightening whenever she hits deep, like your body doesn't want to let her go.
"Cum whenever, baby. But just know, Daddy's not done with you," she informs you with an amused lilt, her voice a little breathless. The promise of what's to come makes the tension in your lower tummy grow, the heat becoming molten. All you can feel is her fingers stretching you out, her fingertip playing with your sensitive nub.
It only takes a few more thrusts of her fingers until the coil inside of your tummy shatters into pieces. Your bottom trembles against Natasha's bare torso as she releases your clit, placing her hand on your hip and pulling you back against her then away, her fingers moving in and out of you at the movement.
"Daddy s-stop," you force out, your voice shaking when Natasha continues, your body becoming overly sensitive. Her fingers dig into your hipbone.
"My baby girl wants to stop?" she asks sympathetically. It only lasts for a moment before the edge in her voice returns. "That's funny when you're the one who won't let me go." Your cheeks flush when you realize how tightly your walls are holding her fingers in place. You whine into the sheets when Natasha lets out a bright laugh.
"Fine fine," she says with a sigh, acting as though she's conceding. She wiggles her fingers out from your tight hole with effort, bringing her sticky fingers to your other hip.
"But it's Daddy's turn now," she announces suddenly, not giving you a moment before she flips you onto your back.
Your eyes blink open in surprise, drifting up Natasha's naked body to her face. She doesn't meet your eyes. Her gaze is lower, settling just below your chin.
"I guess everyone will know you're mine," she murmurs, her eyes darkening. "How could they not, when the imprint of my hand is right here on your neck?"
The corners of her lips curve into a satisfied smirk.
Your hand finds its way to your neck, your fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin where she held you earlier. The feeling makes a bolt of thrill shoot down your throat to your lower tummy, igniting the flames all over again.
Your breaths quicken as Natasha easily lifts one of your legs, placing it over her shoulder and exposing your core completely. She leans forward, driving your leg back closer to your torso. Her hand finds its way between your breasts, right over your sternum, resting her palm heavy against your skin.
"Ah!" you cry out at the unexpected sensation of Natasha pressing her clit against yours. It feels more sensitive then when she had been circling it earlier, the coil in your tummy tightening again. You try to squirm away, but she only shifts closer, pressing her hand harder against your chest, effectively holding you in place.
Your breathing becomes labored as she begins circling her hips, the most sensitive part of you rubbing against hers in an agonizingly slow rhythm. You look up at Natasha, your eyes pricking with tears from the overstimulation.
Her face is flushed, her eyes wide, still glued onto your neck as if she's looking at a wonderful view rather than the splotchy marks on your neck. Maybe they're the same thing for her.
She thrusts her hips harder into yours, the pressure between your cores growing. You hadn't noticed outside of the sounds of your increasingly ragged breaths, the slick sounds coming from where she's pressed against you. Your eyes drift down, finally noticing her arousal sticking to the sides of her inner thighs. Her slick melds with yours, creating a sticky mess between you that makes her clit slide against yours easily.
"Fuck," Natasha groans, her eyes close for a moment as she rolls her hips against you. Her hands presses down harder against your chest, making it more difficult for your lungs to expand. She opens her eyes, the green in them mere slits as her other hand slides up to your neck, her thumb tracing the line of your throat with deliberate pressure.
"You think I didn't notice the look on your face in the gym a week ago?" she taunts, her fingers tightening slightly against your skin. "Those bright eyes, that excited smile on your face. And then at the door when you forced my fingers to press against your throat." Her voice begins to strain as the motion of her hips begins to stutter.
You let out a garbled cry when her clit slides against yours aggressively, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks at the overwhelming ache in your lower tummy, the coil threatening to snap at any moment. Natasha's looking down at you almost drunkenly, her hand around your throat, her palm pressing into your chest making it harder and harder to breathe. The pressure mounting in your head, your thoughts turning fuzzy along with your vision.
"Daddy… p-please," you choke out, your voice raw and strained against the pressure on your throat. You don't even know what you're asking for. For her to squeeze harder, for her to roll her hips more, or for her to let you cum.
You let Daddy decide.
And in true fashion, she does all three.
She leans her head in close to yours, her jaw clenched tight as her movements become erratic against you. Your airy moans, the sound of you struggling to take a breath, and you whispering "Daddy" despite it all, driving her crazy.
"Fuck, baby," she grits out. "You crazy girl. You're making Daddy go insane."
She looks down at your hazy eyes, her breaths just as ragged as yours despite her airway being clear. The sticky concoction of your arousal is spreading all over you—your folds, your clit, and your inner thighs. Your vision starts to fade slightly, the edges becoming fuzzy.
Suddenly, Natasha's head drops down beside yours. Her long, low moan is barely audible to you as she releases your throat and moves her hand off your chest, placing her palms on either side of your body instead. Her hips stutter against you, her clit sliding against yours then missing entirely at random intervals, making it hard for your body to keep up.
The rush you felt in the gym and at the doorway doesn't even compare. It's like a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away, your consciousness flickering despite the harsh breaths you take in and release. Your entire body trembles uncontrollably at the dizzying electricity flowing through you. It feels like you could float away from the sheer lightheadedness, your head completely empty as oxygen perfuses through your body like a drug.
Your limbs tingle, your breaths taking ages to slow. Natasha recovers faster than you. Her hand, still sticky with your slick from earlier, cups your cheek. Her finger taps against your skin at a steady rhythm, and your breathing slowly begins to match the beats.
The sound of both your breaths finally registers in your ears. You hadn't even noticed Natasha moving your leg back down. It rests flat against the mattress now, Natasha laying on her side and looking at you with a soft, satisfied expression. She doesn't stop her rhythm.
You blink slowly. The lingering shocks in your body begin to fade, though the surface of your skin remains hyper-sensitive. Natasha gently rolls you onto your side, scooching you closer until your ear is pressed flat against her chest. Her tapping stops, letting the steady thump of her heartbeat do the work of grounding you instead.
Your thoughts feel distant, like they're on a deserted island while you're floating on the sea.
You just want to be with Natasha.
You squish your cheek closer against her skin, wanting to feel her more. Her hand rubs your back soothingly.
"We can lie for a bit," Natasha murmurs quietly, using that soft tone she saves for when she thinks you're on the verge of sleeping. "But I'm going to have to bring you water soon."
You let out a raspy groan against her chest. You don't need water. You just need her.
You hear the rumble of Natasha's low chuckle against your ear. "I know you don't like it, crazy baby. But it's necessary." Her feet tangle with yours under the sheets. Her voice lights up with a teasing lilt. "And here I thought I was the kinky one."
You roll your eyes lightly, not having the energy to do anything more. She's definitely still the kinkier one.
"Hey, I felt that, you know," she teases. Then, her tone turns more serious. "I could tell you wanted me to, but I didn't squeeze that hard. We need to talk about it more."
"Mmm…" you moan in agreement.
She huffs out a laugh, her chest vibrating under your cheek. "I bet you weren't even paying attention during the self-defense lesson."
You close your eyes tiredly. You were definitely paying attention.
—
A/N: before you go around doing this to your partner or yourself, just know that anything related to your neck/throat is dangerous 👍
summary: after an intense mission, natasha hides the two of you away in a safe house while the world settles around you. your nerves threaten to eat you alive, but your girlfriend notices everything—and she’d never let them.
authors note: after writing for wandanat, then wanda, i figured it was natasha’s time to shine ⭐️ i lovvve intense, subtly obsessed natasha >> as usual, this is not proofread.
content warning(s): top!natasha, bottom!reader, lots of natasha trying to assure restless reader, smut, kitchen sex, some manhandling, cunnilingus, fingering, thigh grabbing, orgasm, little bit of aftercare
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
your feet hit the floor at the side of the bed. the clock on the nightstand next to you reads 1:34 am. you sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. you glance over in hopes of seeing a tangle of red hair lying next to you, but her side of the bed is empty.
you stand, bare feet padding against the obnoxiously hollow floors as you walk down the stairs towards the kitchen. your eyes are drawn to the source of low light bathing the downstairs in a soft glow. your feet continue pulling you forward as you hear the gentle clink of metal against glass.
when you peer around the edge of the kitchen archway, you’re met with the reason you began your journey downstairs in the first place.
natasha stands with her back to you near the island. she slides onto a bar stool, pulling a porcelain mug close to her chest with both hands. another mug sits beside her, steam still rising from its surface.
waiting.
“can’t sleep.” her voice is low in the quiet space. of course she knows you’re there. she always does. you shuffle into the room, rounding her chair just as she turns in your direction.
“are you asking or telling me?” you ask, lingering on your feet instead of taking the bar stool next to her. she lifts the mug to her lips, taking a small sip.
“you were tossing and turning.” her emerald green eyes flit to your face. her expression is smooth as she looks over you. you hug your arms around yourself, her oversized shirt you were wearing riding up your thighs just a bit.
“you should be sleeping.” you tell her. you’d been so stressed that you had barely gotten any sleep the last week you two have been in hiding. you didn’t want to ruin natasha’s rest any more than yours.
“i hadn’t fallen asleep yet.” she reaches around you and pulls the bar stool out a couple inches. it squeaks against the floor. “sit.” she tells you. it’s not a request.
you comply, assuming the chair next to her. she pushes the second porcelain mug closer to you. lemon tea—your favorite. you glance around for the jar of honey you normally keep out on the counter.
“it’s already in there—two tablespoons.” natasha says, knowing exactly what your eyes were searching for. normally, your heart would swell at the quiet knowledge of her remembering how you like your tea, but the stress that was currently coursing through your body made it hard to acknowledge.
“thank you.” you offer simply, cradling the mug in your two hands. you don’t drink from it. your stomach still feels sour and unsettled. in your peripheral vision, you can see natasha watching you. the way she observes you has you squirming in your seat, but you still don’t turn to face her.
she doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, as if she’s waiting for you to break the silence first. you know that she knows you’re stressed. you also know that any worries you express regarding her safety will fall deaf on her ears. she’s always so sure of herself—never worrying about what could happen to her. it fills you with anxiety.
“i can practically feel your anxiety, (y/n). talk to me.” her voice is low with an edge of raspiness to it.
you sigh and shake your head, feeling reluctant to share your worries. you’d tried before to communicate how much you fret and stress over her when she was away on missions, but she never seemed to worry so much about herself.
“it’s nothing you haven’t heard before.” you mumble, bringing the mug to your lips to take a small sip. the hot liquid is soothing as it slips down your throat.
“tell me anyways.” she swivels her barstool so she’s now angled more towards you. she doesn’t reach out to touch you—not yet.
you sigh, turning to face her at last. you’re momentarily taken aback by her stoicism. she looks so calm—sure of herself. like she hadn’t almost died two weeks ago, like you weren’t on the run from one of the most dangerous organizations the world has ever seen.
“natasha…” you look back down towards the tea still steaming in your mug. your palms run along the smooth porcelain in attempt to soothe the urge to fidget.
“i can’t stop thinking about what happened. every time i close my eyes, i think about you back there, bleeding, alone and on the verge of taking your last breath. knowing that you aren’t afraid makes it worse for me. what if they know exactly where we are but they’re waiting for a sign of weakness? what if they find you one day when you’re out and about and you never come home to me? what if… what if they find me and take me in attempt to blackmail you into giving them what they want? what if the next time you run into them…” you trail off, unwilling to finish the sentence. natasha knows what you mean anyways.
she’s quiet for several beats. you don’t look at her as the silence stretches on.
your body is slowly turned towards her as she swivels your chair around to face her. she looks like she’s trying to be calm, but there’s a hard edge in her eyes that makes it hard to sit still.
“(y/n). i have you. i have us. i promise you that we’re safe and i would never let anything happen to you. i know you worry about me, but you don’t need to. i need you to trust me.” one of her hands is still gripping onto the chair, the other braced against your thigh. her closeness begins to cloud your thought process, like every imagined catastrophe slips quietly out of reach.
“but what if—“ she silences you with a single finger pressed against your lips.
“no more what ifs.” when she’s sure you won’t speak again, she moves her finger away from your lips and curls some hair behind your ear.
“but—“ you start again. this time it’s simply an arch of her brow that silences you.
“what did i just say?” she says firmly. your shoulders slump in defeat, a small frown etching in between your eyebrows.
“moya trevozhka (my little worrier)… looks like i need to reroute that anxious brain of yours.”
you glance at her face, gauging her expression. she holds your gaze with an intensity that seems to shift the feeling in the air. her eyes rake over your form, dressed only in her old, worn t-shirt and panties.
“reroute?” you ask quietly, your voice sounding small, even with so little space between the two of you. she offers a simple hum of acknowledgment, her eyes lingering on your bare legs dangling from the chair.
“stand up.” she commands gently. you hesitate. she lets you, patiently waiting for you to comply.
you slide from your chair, scooting it back and standing before her. she stands with you. you can feel the warmth of her body.
“you’re cute when you’re worried.” her hands find your hips, squeezing gently as she runs them up your sides.
“quit that.” you groan, just a little peeved at her making light of your worries. she grins, her grip tightening as she lifts you effortlessly onto the counter behind you. you make a small noise of surprise, your hands steadying yourself by her shoulders.
“it’s true.” her touch travels along your thighs until her fingertips dip under the bottom of the shirt barely concealing anything.
“i like seeing you in my clothes.” her eyes rake over you again, her gaze hungrier than before.
“natasha, this isn’t going to change how i feel.” you cross your arms stubbornly across your chest. she’s unfazed by your declaration. her palms press against your knees, spreading your legs so she can step closer to you. you try to appear like your heart isn’t beginning to race in your chest.
she exhales slowly through her nose. her hands tease your skin, gripping onto the fleshy part of where your hips meet your thighs.
“what’re you worried about again?” she asks, as if she could have forgotten the last five minutes.
you swallow, your thought process already becoming hazy with her proximity and close attention. “you getting hurt. something happening to you or to both of us.” you try to sound firm, but your tone is a little wobbly.
a small smile turns up the corner of her mouth, but she hides it as she leans closer, pressing her lips against your neck. your breath hitches as you hear her inhale deeply, humming to herself as she takes in your scent.
“would i ever let anything happen to you?” her voice so close to your ear causes goosebumps to prick at the back of your neck. it’s becoming increasingly difficult to recall your worries.
“well.. something could happen to you.” you offer, your voice sounding weaker than before, even to your ears.
her nose traces along your jaw, and then she kisses lower, at the base of your neck.
“don’t you know i’m good at what i do?” you don’t miss the twinge of arrogance in that statement. it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.
“you are good, but.. mistakes can happen.” you don’t even realize your arms have uncrossed and unconsciously wrapped around her neck, your body melting into her knowing hands.
she hums again, this time the sound unapproving. she peppers kisses along your jawline, then your chin and then your nose, moving in a manner that was completely unrushed.
“you’re underestimating how difficult i am to kill.” she states matter-o-factly, her touch gliding up to your ribs, caressing the soft skin.
you exhale in defeat, your eyes closing as you half reluctantly surrender to the sensation of being held.
“maybe.” you whisper, your whole argument and line of worries squashed with one word.
“maybe.” she echoes. you can feel her smiling into your neck before she nips there gently.
she pulls back, hands retracting from under your shirt and caging you in as she places her palms flat against the counter at either side of your legs.
“arms up.” you willingly obey her this time, reaching your hands towards the ceiling. you wiggle your hips to assist her as she lifts her borrowed shirt over your head and discards it carelessly onto the floor. your nipples harden in the cool air. you watch her eyes darken as she takes in your newly exposed skin with an intensity that has your cheeks glowing pink. you know by now not to cover up, despite the urge to.
she takes in the valley of your breasts, the soft perkiness to them; your nipples that go from a soft pink to a more dusty rose as they harden; the expanse of your stomach, paler than the rest of your body since it gets the least sunlight; the way it pudges and rolls slightly whenever you sit down. she loves that.
she watches you become more squirmy the longer she stares. it makes her belly curl with desire.
your pink panties are suddenly offensive as they cover the place she wants to give attention. she gives you one last look before spreading your legs with her strong hands, leaning down so her face is level with your increasingly aching core.
she notices the small wet patch, causing the spot to become translucent. she moves closer, her nose pressing against your panties as she inhales deeply. you whimper, hips rolling against her face. she holds your hips still with firm hands. her eyes flit up to yours, her tongue peaking out to taste your arousal coated panties. you exhale breathlessly, trying to keep your hips still.
she teases slow circles through the fabric. her tongue is warm, her breath hot as you can feel the heat even through the cotton barrier.
you’re about to plead for more when she pulls back just an inch, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties to take them off.
you spread your legs wide for her, heels planted firmly on the edge of the countertop. you look at her through your lashes, lip caught between your teeth. it’s an innocent expression, one she goes feral for since she knows you look that way unknowingly.
with your core now exposed to the open air, she leans down again. slow hands come between your thighs. she uses her thumbs to spread your labia, her mouth pooling with saliva as she watches arousal drip down your slit. she applies light pressure, smoothing her thumbs upwards until she spreads your lips wide enough to expose your clit. your hole clenches around nothing, an impatient whine bubbling up your throat.
she doesn’t acknowledge the sound, nor does she pick up the pace. you need this. you need to remember the careful hands that know exactly what you need. instead, she glides her thumb gently down your slit, the pressure so light that it’s barely even there.
you shift impatiently, your restlessness evident in your squirming body and desperate expression.
wordlessly, she leans closer. she flattens her tongue, exhaling so you can feel her breath against your pussy. she moves her tongue, acting like she’s going to taste you, but she never actually makes contact. she’s teasing you.
your whine of protest is louder this time. it makes her lips curl in amusement.
“are you still worried?” she asks, not moving from her place, which is so close to where you need her.
you huff, shifting your hips just an inch closer to the edge of the countertop.
“no.” you cry out, voice cracking with your breathless response.
“that’s what i thought.” she murmurs. her response sobers you up for half a second and you mean to retort back, but forget when you feel her tongue dip into your hole.
she hums at the flavor of you, gliding in and out of you with precise motions. you moan, hands coming to the back of her head like you’re worried she’ll stop unless you keep her there.
she slips her tongue back up towards your clit, swirling it around in tight circles. your head falls back, sounds freely flowing past your parted lips. you didn’t realize how much you needed this—needed to let go.
“fuck—nat. that feels so good!” your hands twitch against her head as her now flattened tongue moves perfectly in time with your rolling hips. she moans into your pussy, hands grabbing fistfuls of your thighs as she devours you.
she slips her tongue back inside of you, stretching it as far as it will go. her nose bumps against your clit. your hands tighten in her hair as you feel the pressure building in your stomach.
the noises she makes against you make you whine. there was no doubt in your mind she loved the taste of you.
she sucks your clit into her mouth, two fingers easily sliding into your dripping cunt as she pistons them in and out of you.
“fuck! i’m close!” you whine, hips moving on their own accord now. natasha doesn’t acknowledge your words beyond humming against you. the sounds you’re both making spur each other on. it’s almost enough to cover up the sticky noises from natasha fucking you with her fingers.
your back arches, the pressure in your stomach tightening until it feels like a rubber band that’s been pulled taut. it snaps, waves of pleasure wracking through your body with each flick of her tongue and curl of her fingers. she rides your high with you, slowing her pace as your walls flutter gently around her. her lips don’t release your clit until your hands push her away subconsciously.
she retracts her fingers carefully, kissing your thighs with arousal coated lips as you try to catch your breath. you run your fingers lazily through her hair, watching with hooded eyes as she helps to soothe your trembling form.
she straightens her posture, gathering your face in her hands before she leans in to kiss you. you moan at the flavor of yourself on her lips.
“i will never get over the taste of you.” she mumbles against your lips. you laugh breathlessly, your cheeks glowing under her praise.
“i hope not. you’re really good at that.” you tell her. she pulls back, an amused smile on her face.
“i’m really good at a lot of things.” she chuckles once. you roll your eyes affectionately.
there’s a lull of silence. not awkward, just quiet as you take each other in. your eyes glance from her right eye to her left.
“nat,” you start, your arms coming up to wrap loosely around her neck.
“hmm?” she hums when you don’t continue.
“i do trust you. just… please be careful.” your eyes are soft and sincere, conveying the weight of your genuity.
“i always am.” she brushes a thumb across your cheek. “i have every reason to come home.”
→ summary! After a rough night out full of tension, Victoria is desperate to feel you.
→ contents! smut, nsfw (sesbian lex!!), obscene language, dirty talk, established relationship, overstimulation, fingering, eating out, scissoring, aftercare, some fluff, showering together, no plot just filthy. (maybe a little out of character but I apologize, I really tried) mdni 𖤐 18+ !!
→ word count! 2k
You both arrived home tired from all the irritation of the day. The weight of everything still clings to your skin, thick with the scent of politics and deception. Victoria’s apartment is dim, bathed in the amber glow of city lights filtering through half-drawn curtains. You were thinking about when you'll rest, weighing up which thing you'll complain to Victoria about first. But the second the door clicks shut behind you, she’s on you—lips crashing against yours, hands fisting the front of your shirt, dragging you into her heat.
She tastes like whiskey and power, her mouth sharp with control, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, demanding. You groan into it, grabbing at her waist, pulling her flush against you. Her body slots against yours like a promise, the heat between you searing through fabric, through restraint.
“I need this,” she murmurs against your lips, voice husky, dark. Her nails drag down your arms, possessive, hungry. “I need you.”
Your back hits the wall before you can breathe, her hands already working your jacket off, fingers moving with practiced urgency. There’s no hesitation, no pretense. Not that you were complaining, not at all. This is what you both need, what you’ve both been waiting for all damn day.
Victoria’s lips move to your jaw, then your throat, sucking, biting—leaving marks because she loves knowing you’ll carry them tomorrow. Her thigh presses between yours, rubbing, teasing, and you let out a sharp gasp, gripping her shoulders.
“Fuck,” you hiss, hips shifting against her instinctively.
She chuckles, low and satisfied, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re already so desperate for me.”
You should have some sharp retort, but your brain short-circuits when she cups your breast through your shirt, rolling a nipple between her fingers. The sensation sparks straight to your core, and you barely register when she pulls back just enough to yank your shirt over your head, her own and your bras following a second later. Her skin glows in the dim light, curves and shadows painting a masterpiece you want to sink your teeth into.
She doesn’t give you the chance. Her hands move down, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down your legs in a practiced motion. She takes her time, though, fingertips teasing up your thighs as she kneels in front of you, her eyes locked on yours with that wicked smirk.
“You look so good like this,” she murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your hip, then lower, her breath hot against the damp fabric of your panties. She drags her tongue over the soaked material, making you jolt, fingers trying to dig into the wall behind you.
“Victoria,” you breathe, your voice wrecked with need.
She hooks her fingers into your underwear and pulls them down slowly, deliberately, like she wants you to beg. But you don’t get a chance before her mouth is on you, tongue flicking, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking just enough to make your knees buckle.
You gasp, hands flying to her hair, tangling in thick curls as she devours you, moaning against you like she’s the one getting off. Her tongue is relentless, teasing and stroking, her fingers pressing into your thighs to hold you exactly where she wants you.
You can’t think, can’t breathe. She’s too good at this, too fucking good at knowing exactly how to break you apart, to make you forget anything outside of this moment. The pressure builds, tightens, coiling deep in your stomach, ready to snap.
She pulls back just before you tip over the edge, making you sob in frustration, in desperation. Her lips glisten, eyes hooded, her smirk downright sinful.
“Come for me,” she commands, sliding two fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right. Her mouth latches onto your clit again, sucking, stroking, fucking you deep and slow and so perfect.
Pleasure crashes through you, your body arching, shaking as you come hard against her mouth, her fingers never stopping, dragging it out until you're gasping, trembling, on the verge of collapse.
Victoria finally pulls back, licking her lips as she stands, hands bracing against the wall on either side of your head. She watches you with dark, satisfied eyes, her own arousal evident in the way she presses her thigh between yours again, grinding against you.
“You’re not done yet,” she murmurs, voice dripping with promise, guiding your hand between her legs. She’s soaked even through her clothes, and the way she groans when your fingers press against her has you ready for more.
Victoria barely gives you time to catch your breath before she’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the bedroom. The hallway is dark, but you barely register it—too caught up in the feel of her body against yours, the way her skin is still fever-hot, burning with need.
She shoves you backward the moment you reach the bed, and you land with a gasp, sheets cool beneath your overheated skin. Victoria follows, crawling over you, her thighs bracketing yours, her nails dragging up your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
“How you're so beautiful.,” she murmurs, eyes dragging over your flushed skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every ragged breath.
Then, with maddening slowness, she peels her jeans open. Button. Zip. Tug. You watch, spellbound, as she pushes them down her hips, the denim clinging to her thighs before sliding free, pooling at her ankles. Her panties are black, soaked through, clinging to her like a second skin—and you can’t stop staring.
She sees it. Smirks. And then—without a word—hooks her thumbs under the waistband and drags them down, revealing inch after inch of skin until she’s completely bare before you, bathed in shadows and the soft city glow.
You barely get to say anything before she’s kissing you, biting at your lips, pressing her bare body flush against yours. The feeling is intoxicating—softness against softness, heat against heat. Your hands roam over her, tracing the curve of her waist, up to her breasts, rolling a nipple between your fingers just to hear her sharp inhale.
“Fuck,” she breathes, grinding against you, dragging her wetness over your thigh, slick and hot. “I want to feel you.”
The words send a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you, and then she’s shifting, one hand between your bodies, fingers sliding between your folds, parting them as she presses against you, letting your wetness mix.
The sensation makes you both moan, foreheads pressed together as you start to move—hips rolling in tandem, slick folds dragging against each other, every nerve ending lighting up.
“God, you feel so good,” you gasp, wrapping your arms around her, holding her close as you rock together, heat building between you like a wildfire.
Victoria’s breath stutters, her nails digging into your hips as she moves harder, faster, chasing the friction, chasing the high. “You’re so wet,” she groans, voice breaking on a moan, her lips trailing down your throat, biting at your collarbone. “So perfect for me.”
You’re lost in it—lost in the way your bodies press together, in the slick slide of her against you, in the gasps and moans and choked curses that fill the air. Your nerves are burning, everything tightening, coiling deep inside you.
Victoria grabs your thigh, lifts it, presses closer, and suddenly the angle is deeper, more intense, making you both cry out.
“Yes,” she pants, rolling her hips just right, her body trembling against yours. “Come with me. I want to feel it.”
Her words send you over the edge. Pleasure crashes through you, blinding and overwhelming, pulling a strangled moan from your lips as you tense, thighs shaking. Victoria follows a heartbeat later, gasping against your mouth, grinding through it, dragging every last drop of pleasure from you both.
For a long moment, all that exists is the sound of your heavy breathing, the slick press of your bodies still tangled together. Then Victoria collapses against you, lips pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, her fingers trailing up and down your side, soothing.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, voice wrecked. “I needed that.”
You laugh breathlessly, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah. No shit.”
She grins against your skin, then presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. The only sound left is your heavy breathing, the quiet hum of the city outside, the erratic pounding of your hearts against each other.
You should say something—anything—but all you can do is press a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to her hair, feeling her smile against your skin.
Victoria doesn’t let you rest for long. Even though your limbs feel like lead, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, she’s already moving, slipping out of bed. You groan at the loss of her warmth, reaching blindly to pull her back, but she just chuckles, voice still thick with exhaustion.
“Come on,” she murmurs, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “Let’s shower.”
You whine in protest, nuzzling deeper into the pillow, but Victoria isn’t having it. She tugs at your wrist, coaxing you up with gentle insistence. “I’m not letting us sleep like this,” she says, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We’re a mess.”
She’s not wrong—your bodies are still slick with sweat, thighs sticky with the evidence of your desperation. But leaving the warm cocoon of the bed feels impossible.
Still, when she stands, offering her hand, you sigh dramatically and take it, letting her pull you up.
The bathroom is dimly lit, steam curling in the air as Victoria turns on the water, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease. The moment you step under the warm spray, a satisfied sigh escapes you, the heat washing away the remnants of the night, loosening the ache in your muscles.
Victoria stands behind you, arms circling your waist, pressing herself against your back as she reaches for the soap. Her fingers are slow, methodical as she runs them over your skin, massaging the tension from your shoulders, trailing down your spine, over your hips. Every touch is softer now, reverent, as if she’s memorizing you all over again.
“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there.
A warmth blooms in your chest, different from before—gentler, deeper. You let your head fall back against her shoulder, closing your eyes as she works the soap over your arms, your stomach, every inch of you.
She washes your hair next, her fingers massaging your scalp, and you swear you could fall asleep right here, standing under the water, wrapped in her care.
When she’s done, you turn, taking the soap from her hands. “My turn,” you murmur, dragging your hands over her slick skin, mirroring every touch, every caress.
By the time you both step out, skin clean and warm, exhaustion has fully settled in. Victoria wraps you in a towel, drying you off with gentle, unhurried movements before pulling a soft nightgown over your head. She dresses herself next, then glances at the bed, eyes narrowing slightly.
“I should change the sheets,” she says, mostly to herself.
You groan, grabbing her wrist before she can move. “Victoria. No.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow,” you insist, already pulling her toward the bed. “I promise I won’t let us stay in them another night, but right now, I need you to lie down with me.”
She hesitates, looking between the bed and you, clearly torn, but then you give her the softest, sleepiest pout you can manage, and she caves with a sigh.
“Fine,” she murmurs, slipping under the covers with you.
The moment she’s settled, you wrap yourself around her, pressing as close as possible. She huffs a quiet laugh, but her arms tighten around you, fingers threading into your hair.
Silence settles between you, the kind filled with warmth, with the steady rhythm of breathing in sync. You feel her press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, her fingers running lazy circles over your back.
You hum sleepily, sighing against her skin. “Love you.”
You feel Victoria’s grip tighten, and in the quiet, just like that, wrapped in her arms, you drift into the deepest, most content sleep of your life.
𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!
⛥ main masterlist.
lina's notes: my first time writing a reader with a female character and my first time writing smut with two women too so... sorry for anything.
special tags: @blossomingorchids @losers-clvb @ayimkys @lunaleah @dylans-wifey @pieandflannel (I don't have a taglist for her yet so I tagged who asked and who looked interested <3 so let me know if you want to be part of the taglist)
warnings: 18+, for a fem!reader, includes dubcon (reader is under the influence of alcohol). dom!victoria + degradation and praise mix !! (many variations of slut and cunt are used, the term ‘toy’ is used) reader receives slaps (thighs, pussy, and ass). reader gets bitten (neck and thighs), mentions of v’s nose getting in some fun too !!, overstimulation (reader cries because of said overstimulation) aftercare is included.
extra notes ( 🗒️ ): interactions are greatly appreciated as well as any feedback you may have concerning my writing :) i want to improve as i know this isn’t the greatest lol. just shoot me a dm, comment, or a anon ask if you feel like something needs to be improved !! — divider credits to @/cursed-carmine via this post !!
𓊆 🩸 𓊇 — it’s been a busy week, and you desperately need a drink. victoria, as the worker she is, stays a bit later at the office. you two meet back home. with the way the week has gone, you two have barely had anytime for one another. she has an idea to remove the thoughts from your head and to make the stressors of the work week disappear. you just have lean back and trust her.
you groaned in annoyance as you tried to stick your house key into the keyhole again, but failed. you pushed the key into to no avail. in your inebriated state, you wanted to start sobbing while calling victoria to leave the office to let you in. you examined the key as close as you could under the light on the porch, only to realize your mistake. you were putting in the key wrong. a ghost of a laugh left your chest, as you fixed your mistake and finally headed inside your home.
the buzz of the the drinks you consumed was increasing in intensity as you slowly walked through the house and carefully up the stairs to your shared room. you admittedly got a little sidetracked once you sat down on your bed half-naked. scrolling on your phone in nothing but your underwear, tired from the work week in need of a distraction. the drinks were almost enough. enough to keep you sane with your thoughts away from work until the dreaded time of a sunday night came around.
the next hour seemed like nothing, as you aimlessly scrolled through your social media feeds. it seemed to be a seemless back and forth between your instagram reels and twitter feed. the thing that snapped you out of your trance was the door of the bedroom opening. you sat up, slightly startled. you lifted your gaze from your screen to see your wife, victoria entering the room. “oh, um… hi.” she greeted with a small bite of her bottom lip upon seeing your basically naked. “is this a little surprise for me, sweetheart?” victoria’s soothing voice questioned as she placed her phone over onto her nightstand.
in victoria’s eyes you looked so pretty. so pretty that it hurt a little. so pretty that she wanted to fuck you stupid. she wanted to fuck you so hard until you cried genuine tears of pleasure. the answer you gave vicky didn’t register after the moment of silence after her question, allowing your spouse to let her thoughts drift.
“i was getting changed, got a little distracted. just been so stressed.” you replied. there was no response from vicky, just silence as she looked you over, her eyes slow. they were taking their time, drinking you in, wanting every part of you right then and there.
a small huff left the other woman’s lips, a small pout forming for you. “i’m sorry to hear that honey.” victoria took off her coat, tossing it to the side before slipping next to you in your shared bed. “what do you need from me?” she asked softly, full of care and concern. “mm… i don’t know.” you slurred out slightly, your mind going to what some would consider an interesting way to relieve stress.
you had that look in your eye, and victoria noticed. almost a little too quick. “i know what you need.” she replied with a cunning smile. “you need your brain turned off.” the woman implied suggestively. vicky’s hands started at your cheeks, bringing her face closer to yours to capture your lips in a quick peck to the lips. teasing. nothing close to enough of what you wanted. of what you needed. victoria knew that, but her lips moved to your neck anyway.
she left you breathless with ease, the small pecks leaving desire and desperation for more contact in their wake. victoria was enjoying your reactions, your small whines with every small peck down your chest, only leaving lingering sucks on your nipples. the woman chuckled at the sound, sighing. “don’t worry baby, just trust me. let me take care of you.” god, being teased mercilessly didn’t sound so bad when she said it like that.
you nodded eagerly, relaxing a little more under her touch. victoria continued to kiss her way down your body her hands pausing at your underwear. "you look so fucking pretty like this. so perfect. and you're all mine. only mine." your wife whispered, kissing at your inner thighs. she bit the sensitive skin, just to hear you whimper again. a small growl left the older woman’s lips at your noise of pleasure, leaving another bite on each of your inner thighs. she soon returned to biting, which let to whimper and try to arch off the bed. “vicky, please.” you started. “please, please, please.” you continued, desperate for her tounge inside you.
“please, what?” victoria questioned, slapping lightly at the lips of your pussy. “please what, my desperate slut? hm?” with her question, the slaps got increasingly harder, causing your legs to try and close at the sting on your sensitive skin. the older woman spread your legs for you again, continuing to bite at you thighs. “gotta be more specific when you ask, baby.” she murmured. “i get mixed signals, so i’ll keep biting you and slapping at your nasty little cunt.” another slap, hard and aiming at your clit. you jumped and gasped, victoria leaving soft kisses in the wake of the bites she had left recently.
“try again, honey. please what?” your drunk mind swims so lightly on the feeling of slight pleasure, you almost forgot to answer your own wife. “please eat me out, i need your tongue n’ fingers in me.” you slurred out, some of the words in your important question being dampened by the alcohol in your system. victoria grins wickedly at your words, leaving one more bite to your thighs. the woman then lifted your legs, your asshole feeling more of the cool air of your bedroom.
it naturally clenched as victoria started to lick at your slit, a long lick from your clit to your asshole. the tip of her nose followed suite, allowing extra stimulation to commence after her tongue. vicky rubbed the tip of her nose back and forth along your opening. “fucking delicious. cunt is so slick and i haven’t even done anything. you’re such a slut for me.” your wife commented, completely pulling back from the wet mess that was your pussy. it earned a whimper from you, victoria using her palm to spank at your right thigh. “my desperate slut. sluts don’t complain when i tease. sluts take what i give them.” the woman teased. “yes ma’am.” you whimpered through the stinging aftermath of her harsh spank. “that’s right, ‘yes ma’am’ is exactly right, my good toy. such good manners.”
victoria could sense your eagerness to be touched, your hips lifting slightly upwards to where her mouth once was. as delicious it would be to keep teasing you, it would be even more satisfying for her to have you cum all over her tongue and fingers. her mouth didn’t hesitate this time, pressing hard against your opening. victoria’s tongue dove into your desperate pussy, earning a loud moan in return. the woman chuckled at the noise, sending vibrations to your core through her tongue, causing you to shiver.
the pleasure coursing through you was growing in intensity as the minutes passed, making it hard stay still. your hands found victoria’s hair. you tugged at her soft locks as she continued to lick and eat at your messy pussy. the woman pushed her tongue deeper inside you, a yelp leaving your lips as your hips flinched upward. “a…ah! vicky, please! it’s too much, fuck. fuck…!” “mm nm. take it.” victoria mumbled into your pussy, almost making your legs shake. “be a good toy and take it.” she mumbled again, pulling back slightly to suck at your opening.
without much asking, your wife entered her middle and ring fingers inside you at a slow place, even as she continued to suck at your clit. you gripped at her hair, rough at the pleasure she brought. “fuckkkk…” you groaned out, your head tilted back, fully relaxed onto the bed. vicky let go of your clit with a small ‘pop’ from her mouth, humming in slight amusement. “yeah, toy? that brain finally shutting off for me?” she questioned, spanking your left thigh. you didn’t respond to her question, her voice fading in and out due your intoxication.
“mm, good.” victoria responded at your non-existent answer, her fingers picking up the the pace. she felt your pussy flutter around her digits. she moved up your body, pressing wet, sloppy kisses amongst your skin. she revisited your neck, biting hard at the skin. you yelped, only egging victoria on to keep going while her fingers worked you to your peak. you were close, you were so fucking close. right on that edge, ready to completely let go. you fluttered around your wife’s fingers once more, clenching. trying to hold it in.
“‘m so close vicky, please.” you begged her, your legs starting to twitch, your body starting to tremble. “no, slut, not yet.” she responded with another harsh bite your neck and a slap to your thigh. you whined at the pain and the denial of your orgasm, almost crying. “you cum when i say. not before.” the woman warned, letting up on your neck but quickening her fingers to a punishingly fast pace. you squirmed and moaned and almost started screaming at the sensations and pace of it all. “fuck, fuck! please, vicky, please! i just wanna cum. so, so, bad. please, please, please!” you babbled out, your own voice sounding slightly louder than it actually was.
all you received in response was more thighs slaps, each one harder than the previous. victoria gave you five hard slaps on each thigh, your screams filling the shared bedroom. tears started to flow from your eyes, your skin feeling like it had been set ablaze. “beg me to let your cunt cum, toy.” victoria commanded with almost a growl, giving your ass a few slaps, five on both cheeks. “fucking beg me. show me how obedient you can be. how good and desperate you are to cum all over your miss.” through your tears, it was hard to form words. the overstimulation of pleasure and pain, along with the drinks still in your system.
“mm… please, please, please!” you started, your throat already feel hoarse from tears as you squirmed, victoria’s fingers barely letting up their pace inside you. “please, please, miss. i’ve been so good.” you continued, some of yours slurring together. “i haven’t cum without permission and held it so good.” you sniffed and moaned, since victoria had paused her spanking. “you sounded so good for miss, when you cry. i should let you cum, yeah?” your wife questioned, the question barely being able to fully leave her lips before you eagerly nodded at her. “yes, miss. fuck yes. please, please just let me cum.” you begged, earning yourself another spank on the ass.
you flinced and whimpered at the pain. a hum from vicky, you couldn’t quite tell if it was in approval or yet, nor did you really care. what you cared about was her permission. the permission she held that would allow you to release. “i… think my pretty girl has gone through enough.” your wife coos gently, her fingers slowing down in speed but building in pressure. “cum, sweet girl. cum for your miss.” victoria’s words of permission hit you like a brick wall before you finally let go and cum all over her fingers. you let out a desperate cry, almost shuddering your back off of the bed. your tears are still present but no longer flowing. your toes curl and your fingers are still gripping at victoria’s hair which is now messy, compared to what it was like this morning.
your high feels phenomenal, soon met with the floating, cloudy feeling you often had after an intense orgasm. aftershocks rippled through you in waves, victoria gently moved you, before gathering some water for you, ointment, and warm washcloth. your wife repositioned you so you two were lying down chest to chest, your backside to the open.
“shh, shh, shh…. i’ve got you.” victoria softly spoke, gently rubbing at the places she spanked, kissing at your temple. “i know that was intense, sweetheart. you’re on such a high right now, such a good girl. just drift for me.” she cooed gently, continuing to gently rub at your sore skin. “can i get some water, miss?” you questioned barely above a whisper, eyeing the bottle of cold water she had on the nightstand for you. “of course, baby. sit up a little.” you sat up as prompted, in which victoria let you sip away at your water, her other hand stroking at your hair.
even when you settled back down against her body, the stroking of your hair continued, gentle and caring. she then made sure to wipe the parts of you that would be sore tomorrow, mainly your thighs and your ass. “all of your marks are gorgeous, my sweet girl. from your neck…. to your thighs… to your ass…” she admired, a kiss to your temple after every place was mentioned. “you just rest, my love. you deserve it.” victoria whispered against your flushed skin, lying back into the pillows as she noticed you melting into her arms.
“you did so good for me, baby. just drift off. i’ve got you.” the woman continued, rubbing small circles into the skin of your back. “‘m so glad you trusted me. to take all your thoughts away and surrender to me. thank you.” another soft kiss to your temple. she let the comfortable silence rest in the air, letting you drift off in her arms. as you eventually closed your eyes and your body prepared to fully rest, you felt another soft kiss to your forehead, warm and comforting. “sleep well, baby. you’ve earned it.”
your hangover was going to hit hard, but in the moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care. because you were in victoria’s arms. and right now, that’s what you needed and where you truly belonged.
Pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x Rich!Reader. (no outbreak, late 1800s au)
Warnings: 18+, voyeurism, unprotected piv, oral sex (m!receiving), mentions of murder, prostitution, praise, pussy pronouns, slight face fucking, cheating, creampie, dirty talk, fingering
Summary: Joel is an outlaw who’s been on the run for as long as he can remember. He went into town looking for a warm body to hold, little did he know it’d be one of the richest women in town.
a/n: first post on here, kinda nervy lol. please let me know if there’s any warnings i missed!!
Word count:6,537
Joel Miller was a cruel, cruel man. No one could deny it, even himself. He's spent his years running from the law and living off the land, unable to stay in one place for too long without becoming antsy, feeling as if the law or the weight of his past would catch up with him. He was a killer. A robber. A downright sinner with a bounty of nearly 5,000 dollars on his head. His posters scattered across every town.
He would sometimes ride into the different towns, stopping for the night for a room, a bath, or just a warm body to hold at the saloon. The life on the run had its perks, but he couldn't help but feel as if he was missing something—or someone— within his life.
Joel never considered himself a man who was deserving of a beautiful woman to wed, to take care of, to start a family with. His hands were too bloody, his face was too worn and hardened from all of the things he had witnessed throughout the years. But he could never shake the feeling —the longing— for a woman to call his own and not some working girl he takes to the hotel when the whiskey is running through his veins.
Tonight was another night on the trail, his mare, Lady, carrying him into the closest town without a care in the world. Tonight was one of those nights where the man just needed a warm body to hold, or enough whiskey to down an elephant.
The closest town was a town filled with snobby rich city folk. Oh, how he hated those, the prim and proper women, the men who think they are too good to ever work with their hands. He despised the place, always wondered why someone would want to live in a place like this, so close to one another, no sight of nature between the buildings, but he could not deny that they were great for taking from the rich.
He pulled his mare up to the hitching post of the saloon, tying her up with extreme care. "Easy, girl. Stay right here." The gruff words leave him as he pats at her neck. The saloon is fancier than the ones he's used to, the whiskey nearly sending him into shock at the price. The town alone feels too rich for his blood.
As he drowns himself in the amber liquid the doors swing open, revealing a man who looked like he had more money than he could ever spend in his lifetime, the kind of man who paid for things he was perfectly capable of doing himself. At his side he sees a pretty little thing, you, dressed in the prettiest damn blue dress he has seen in a long time. He stares at the pair of you, your soft innocent eyes, your beautiful hair, your more reserved and timid aura next to a man who looks like he woudn't even spit on somebody who was on fire, with a smug face and polished suit, and dress shoes that probably cost more than an average man's yearly salary.
He couldn't help but think that you shouldn't be with a man like that, someone who looked so sweet and kind next to a man who looked like he wouldn't even spare a second glance at an injured animal.
Victor was the man's name, at least that's what the drunken old bastard at the poker table called out to him as he saw the sight of you two. Victor went over to the poker table, not even sparing a second glance at you, leaving you to your lonesome so he could gamble away his endless supply of income.
Joel can't help but keep looking at you, the slight flicker of hurt beneath your eyes as you get pushed to the side for some gambling. You make your way over to the bar counter, eyes locking with his for a moment before you look away, intimidated yet oddly intrigued by the man who looks out of place in a town like this. His worn and dirty boots, paired with his black cowboy hat with a bullet hole through the rim, calloused hands that were from working for everything he has, the revolver on his hip, they all draw you in.
Sitting down at the bar you order yourself a whiskey, neat. Not a typical order from a lady of your status. "Whiskey, huh? woman after my own heart." you hear the outlaw grumble out, his voice being even more attractive than you thought it would be. The sound of his words sends something stirring in your stomach.
A small, modest laugh leaves your lips as you take a small sip of the drink. "You ain't from around these parts, are ya?" The question leaving your lips before you can stop it, intrigued to learn more about the man who has you so drawn to him from a few words alone.
You slowly start to chat away with the mysterious man, learning the small details he's willing to give. He's from further out west, claims he's a ranch hand but you have a hard time believing such. He feels familiar, like you've seen his face somewhere before, it's a big town and you definitely would've remembered a man like him around here, but before you can ponder much longer Victor calls you over. You excuse yourself and practically flee like a puppy who just heard its name.
Victor is boasting about his winnings, pressing a small kiss onto your cheek before tugging you onto his lap, the sight causing Joel to have a sudden feeling of discontent. He doesn't know why he's so drawn to you. Maybe it's the way you carry yourself, your soft-looking hair that makes him want to reach out and touch it. Maybe it's the way he noticed you have so much to say in that pretty little head of yours but don't let the words leave your lips. Or maybe he's just being silly and the whiskey is making him feel things he hasn't felt in a while. Not lust, but something almost like curiosity.
He watches you and Victor for what feels like forever before a working girl comes up to him. "Hey, Sugar. Looking for some company?" Practically hanging off of him as the words leave her lips. Against his better judgment in his whiskey-induced haze, he agrees. letting the woman grab his hand and lead him up to the bedrooms.
After the torturous time of having to sit on Victor's lap like some trophy while he plays poker, paired with the loud noises and the drunken men with their obscene comments, you decide to book a room for you and Victor for the night. Decided to just spend the night here instead of heading back to your not-so-modest estate towards the edge of the town.
Making your way up the stairs you hear some noises, progressively growing louder the closer you get to the rooms. Making your way towards your bed for the night you see a room with the door slightly cracked open.
Against your better judgment, you peek inside, only to be met by the sight of the man, Joel, getting his cock sucked by the eager working girl. The sight stirs something inside of you, heat instantly growing deep in your lower belly.
His head is tilted back with his eyes shut, an occasional deep groan leaving his lips as he guides her by the hair to take more of his cock. "Fuck— just like that, darlin'." He all but groans out as his cock pulses inside the woman's mouth. As much as you know you shouldn't be watching and you should head to your room and forget what you saw, you can't tear your eyes away no matter how hard you try.
You try to get a closer look but bump into the door, a slight creak of hinges causing Joel's eyes to snap open, eyes landing on you, catching you watching the sight of him getting pleasured.
Joel gains a sick sense of pride at the sight, the pretty girl who he wishes could take the barmaid's place is now watching him. "Yeah, keep goin', sweetheart" He rasps out and starts to buck his hips up into the barmaid's eager mouth while keeping his eyes locked onto yours, clearly putting on a show for you now like the sick bastard he is.
The sight is increasingly making your cunt grow wetter by the second. You wonder what it would be like to take her place. To be the one to pleasure the mysterious man, the one to take his cock into your mouth and— "Dear?" A sudden voice pulls you out of your trance. Whipping your head around you see Victor, a confused expression on his face, clearly drunk and confused about why you are just staring into a room with a face so flushed it's amazing that you haven't burst into flames.
All that leaves your lips are stammers, unable to explain, but Victor seems too drunk to notice, or care. "Come now, Dear, I want to celebrate my winnings." He says with a smirk you know by now. The one that says you're about to get taken to the room for him to have his way with you.
Usually, you would try to refuse, use some excuse or another to get him to leave you alone for the night, even though you know he would just go off to some working girl when you deny him. But the sight of the mysterious man getting pleasured, the praise leaving his lips, the way he looked while guiding her head and rocking his hips into her mouth has got you needier than you would ever admit.
So without a second thought, you grab Victor's hand, all but dragging him off to your room for the night. As the door shuts behind you, you turn and crash your lips onto Victor's, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, not used to you being the one to initiate anything remotely sexual.
You didn't even get anywhere near finishing by the time Victor painted your stomach with ropes of his cum. You lie here in the bed, messy, left feeling ashamed now that the haze of desire has worn off. Victor is already fast asleep next to you, the alcohol and exertion of the sex leaving him exhausted. Not even a second glance spared your way, no reassurance, not even a goodnight. Although you never expected anything different from him.
You've grown accustomed to living in a loveless marriage with Victor. The fighting, the cheating, the way he only wants you around to show you off like some prize or to get his rocks off. You married Victor to please your father, and both of your families benefited from the marriage. It was a marriage founded on convenience, not love.
As a little girl, you dreamed of marrying a man who was kind, a man who would try to give you anything you had ever wanted, someone who never raised his voice, someone who would at least not cheat on you with some working girl on the side of the street.
You dreamed of getting away from the city, settling down in a cozy ranch with a man who loves you, with two children who he protects with his life, but that day never came. Instead, you were stuck with a man who only kept you around for his needs and reputation.
With a small sigh, you stand up from the bed, wiping yourself clean with a cloth. Your lips slightly tremble as you slip your clothes back on. This shameful feeling is clawing at you. You spare a glance at Victor's sleeping form before you slip out of the room.
As you step outside the stuffy saloon your eyes instantly lock on Joel. An almost pathetic flush forms on your skin, which he returns with a smirk. "Goin' somewhere, pretty lady?" The southern drawl in his voice does things to you, things that you shouldn't be feeling when you are a respectable married woman.
"Just needed some fresh air" You reply, your voice coming out more sheepish than you wanted it to be. A chuckle leaves his lips as he shamelessly eyes up your form in that blue dress he finds oh so pretty. The bastard was finding some sick enjoyment in running into you after you watched his cock get sucked by some working girl in the bedrooms above the saloon.
He mounts Lady with ease, the sight more attractive than it should've been. A mutter of good girl leaves his lips, your head lifting up instantly. "Excuse me?' you question, but as your eyes look over to him once more, embarrassment floods your body as you realize he's talking to the damn horse, patting her neck as he feeds her a sugar cube. Amusement fills his eyes as he notices the flustered state of you, getting a kick out of riling you up, on purpose or not.
"You okay to ride on my horse a little?" the question that leaves his lips surprises you, not expecting him to downright ask if you wanted to ride with him. You hesitate, eyes flickering towards the saloon, thinking of your husband who's asleep inside.
"I'll keep you safe." He adds, as if he really wants you to go on a ride with him. Against your better judgment of getting on a horse with a complete stranger, you agree.
"Fine, but you gotta promise not to take me somewhere secluded and rob me for all I got" The dry joke leaves your lips as you move to mount his horse, his hand reaching out to help you up. His big hands feel soft against your slender ones despite the callouses and scars that litter them. He gently tugs you up onto Lady, surprising care from a man of his nature and size.
"'course not, darlin'" he says, the amusement in his tone evident. A click of his tongue and Lady is off. Joel leading the two of you out of the city lines and into the lovely sight of nature. You've always loved the outdoors, though you never got to experience it much. finding beauty in the scenery and all of the different critters.
The ride is filled with comfortable silence, until Joel decides to break it. "So, ya usually watch strangers gettin' their cock sucked or am I just the lucky man?"
The question alone was enough to make you want to burst into flames on the spot. You couldn't see his face but you just knew that he was getting a kick out of getting a reaction out of you.
"What- no- ain't like that" you try to explain, not wanting him to think you're some sick creep who gets off on watching others but you can't deny that the way he was fucking the woman's throat and praising her for taking his length turned you on more than you'd like to admit.
"Ain't like that?" he questions with a small snort. "You at least like what you saw?" you could practically hear the smugness dripping from his tone. Joel didn't understand why he was having so much fun toying with you for what you did. Had it been anyone else, he probably would've shot them for watching so long, but the sight of your flushed face and wide innocent eyes as you watched caused his cock to pulse in a way it hadn't in a long time.
"Is this any way to talk to a lady?" you huff out, clearly flustered, your grip around his waist tightening as you pray for the ground to swallow you whole. Joel only lets out a small snort and leads Lady into the trees.
A couple of moments later Joel brings Lady to a halt. Now finding yourselves in a beautiful clearing with a lake. A doe drinking from the lake before she notices the two of you and quickly prances away. Joel dismounts Lady and turns to you, grabbing you by the waist and effortlessly lifting you off the mare and sitting you down onto the ground.
Your legs feel like jelly at the feeling of his rough hands handling you with such care. He doesn't say much as the two of you take in the scenery. A man of few words majority of the time, which you thought was a shame because his voice was one of the best things you have heard in a long time.
"Why did you bring me here, Mister?" the question leaves your lips as you look at your surroundings. Wondering why he took you all the way out here. Usually you would assume the worst, assume he was going to rob you and dump your body into the water, but there's something about Joel that makes you trust him.
"Dunno, figured a pretty thing like you would enjoy something like this" The words come out nonchalant but his stance and the unspoken words don't go unnoticed.
Your face flushes at the admission. This is wrong, so wrong. You have a husband that you have been extremely loyal to Victor the entire marriage, but all it took was one man for you to go and want to throw it all away. "I'm married, Mister. I would appreciate if you didn't speak in such a manner."
"Happily?" He quickly questions at the mention of Victor. The mere mention of the man sparked a possessive feeling inside of him. He had no right to feel this way about a woman he just met, but he can't help it. He stalks towards you, invading your space.
"Yes— I am very happy in my marriage." Even you don't believe the words as they come out of your mouth. You wish you could divorce victor but it's easier said than done, especially with a status of your nature. Against your better judgment, your eyes flicker down to his lips, reminded of the words that left them when he was with the working girl.
"I don't know if I believe that, Darlin'" The words come out gruff as he steps close to you, backing you up against a tree. The bark feels rough against your back, the thin fabric of the dress doing little to help against the feeling. His hand reaches up and cups your cheek so delicately it's a shocking feeling from a man of his nature. A man who has taken plenty of lives, has done more unforgivable things than he can count is now cupping your cheek like you're the most precious thing he has ever handled.
"Wanna know what I think?" he questions, a smug look on his face at the pretty pink flush that covers your skin. When you don't respond he continues speaking. "I think ya don't really wanna be with that man. Don't treat you right, do he? Bet he ain't know the first thing about fucking a woman proper like— makin' her feel real good." His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, gently tugging at the plump flesh.
You don't even know how to respond to his words, never having someone speak such vulgar things to you. As much as you wish to deny them, you both know you would be lying straight through your teeth. Because Joel is right, Victor doesn't know the first thing about pleasuring you, never gives you any praise or touch that won't benefit him. Hell, you've never even had an orgasm.
Your lack of words confirms everything Joel is saying, a knowing smirk on his face as he leans in closer, close enough that his steady breaths mingle with your own shaky ones. "Wanna know what it feels like? I could show you. Show that pretty pussy of yours a fun time, bet she needs some attention." His other hand drifts down to your hip, gently tugging your hips closer so you can feel his aching cock pressing against you.
This is so wrong, you should push him away, scream for help, and have the man arrested, but you don't. As much as you don't want to admit it, his words and touch make your cunt throb with interest.
"I'm married" you weakly protest once more, knowing you want this—need this—but you aren't used to a man who makes you feel this way. The scent of him alone makes you want to tear both of your clothes off and let him fuck you against the tree you're currently pressed against.
"You don't want this?" The murmur leaves his lips as he tilts your face up to lock eyes with his own. His pupils blown as he leans in closer, lips lightly brushing against yours. As cruel as a man Joel Miller was, he was never a man who took more than a lady was willing to give. He was a killer, and a crook, not a monster for Christ's sake.
You don't answer with words, instead you close the remaining distance between your lips with a small, tentative kiss. Not caring that it's wrong because it feels oh so right. The growl that leaves Joel doesn't sound human as he quickly takes dominance of the kiss, pressing you harder against the tree as his hand possessively slides down to your waist.
"Ya taste damn heavenly" he murmurs against your lips before gently nipping at your bottom lip, a soft needy gasp leaving your lips at the feeling. You're embarrassingly turned on from just a simple kiss. Joel can tell just how much his kiss is affecting you.
A dark chuckle leaves his lips before he slips his tongue into your eager mouth. You softly moan at the feeling, tongue instantly tangling with his as your hands hesitantly come up to grip his shirt, needing something to hold onto, legs feeling like jelly.
The kiss grows heavier the longer it goes on, both sets of your hands gripping and tugging at each other. Joel's hand slips under your dress, only to discover you are not wearing any undergarments. "Dirty girl, ain't ya?" He teasingly drawls out as his hand traces up your inner thigh, dangerously close to your eager cunt.
"Tell me to stop and I will." As much as you know you should tell him to stop and take you back to the saloon so you can go back to bed with your husband, you can't. You don't want to say no, you want Joel to keep touching you, his filthy words stirring a desire inside of you that you can't control.
"Please" The whimper leaves your lips before you can stop it. Your hips slightly squirm in a silent request for him to relieve the ache that has been growing between your thighs since you first laid your eyes on him.
Joel lets out a strained chuckle, though there is no humor to the situation that's happening between the two of you. "Please, what? Use your words, Darlin'." he says with that smug look of his. He knows he has you right where he wants you, and you have zero complaints.
You hesitate as he tells you to use your words, never one to ask for what you want, let alone when it comes to having a man who isn't your husband pleasuring your cunt— though Victor was never good at that in the first place. "Please— touch me." The worlds finally leave your lips and Joel is more than happy to oblige.
A strained curse leaves his lips as his fingers finally come into contact with your wet folds. "Christ, Darlin'. Eager little thing, ain't she?" The sound that leaves your lips is downright pathetic as he traces his finger though your slit. His simple touch has your knees almost buckling, hands coming up to hold onto his muscular arms. Joel referring to your pussy as if it were another being making you discover something new about yourself.
The pads of Joel's fingers teasingly rub at your clit, causing you to mewl and buck your hips into the touch. "Joel—" you all but whimper out, embarrassingly close from jus a few teasing circles around your clit. Joel only chuckles, rubbing at your clit a few more times before circling his middle finger around your entrance.
"Shh, Sweetheart. Just relax." Joel murmurs into your ear before teasingly nipping at the lobe of your ear, causing a small gasp to leave your lips. After what feels like a torturous amount of time, Joel finally slips his finger inside of your aching cunt. Your head drops against his shoulder as he starts to stretch out your tight cunt with just a single thick finger.
"Ah-, look at me" Joel all but growls as he reaches with his free hand, gently yanking your hair back to lock eyes with him as his finger continues to work inside of you. You keep your eyes locked onto his even though every instinct of yours is screaming at you to hide yourself from his intense gaze, not used to someone wanting you to keep your eyes on them as they pleasure you.
A mutter of good girl leaves his lips as he notices how hard you're trying just to behave and keep your eyes locked onto his. He rewards you by sliding in another finger, gently scissoring at your hole as he searches for that ribbed spot inside of you that will have you seeing stars. "Right there—" You barely manage to get out through a moan as his fingers brush against your sweet spot, your knees buckling as fireworks explode in your lower belly.
"Here? Yeah, you like that, dontcha?" Joel continues to tease the spot once you confirmed what he was hoping, his eyes stay locked onto yours the entire time, the intense eye contact doubled with his touch is making you see stars, your orgasm approaching quicker than you would ever like to admit.
Joel can feel your cunt clenching around his fingers the longer he keeps up his ministrations. "Oh, she's begging for it. Gonna give 'er exactly what she needs." Joel keeps his touch is exactly how it is, not rushing the second he feels how close you are. His thumb toys with your swollen clit. That final touch being all it takes to send you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you, your cunt practically gushing all over his hand.
You've never felt something so intense, so good, yet so overwhelming. You know you'd be down on the grass right now if it wasn't for Joel holding you up with an arm around your waist, his other hand working you through your very first orgasm. "Yeah, sweetheart. Let it happen" his response comes out rough but you can sense the hint of gentleness underneath his gruff exterior.
Your body starts to calm down after the final waves of your intense pleasure subside, leaving you in a blissful state after your very first glimpse into a world of pleasure. Your vision is no longer blurry as you look at him. Joel looks just as fucked out as you, his cock straining painfully against the denim of his jeans.
"Christ— ya look real pretty when ya come, baby girl" he murmurs as his fingers slide out of your sensitive cunt, a soft hiss leaving your lips at the feeling. Your eyes travel down to the obvious tent in his jeans, hand reaching down to give it a gentle, curious squeeze. The sound that leaves his lips is a mix between a groan and almost a whine.
His hand quickly comes to cover your own over his aching erection. "Careful, 'm tryin' ta be a gentleman" he murmurs as he fights every instinct within himself to grind himself against your palm, desperate for friction.
The way he looks is almost impossibly entrancing, his blown pupils, the harsh breaths making his chest rise and fall his enticing body, standing there this desperate for you. You need him in a way that you've never needed before, your prior orgasm doing little to put out the fire burning inside of you. "Please, Joel. I need you"
"Ya need me? Need my cock deep in your tight little cunt, that it?" The pure filth that leaves his mouth would've made you disgusted if it was leaving anyone else's lips but his own. "Yeah, bet she need it real bad, don't she?"
His filthy words already make your clit throb with an entire new wave of desire. His hands roam your body, teasing near your cunt but not quite touching. You know he wants the words to leave your lips, wants you to be the one to tell him about how you want him to fuck you silly in the middle of nowhere right in front of the lake.
You hesitate, such vulgar words never leaving your lips before, but you swallow back your pride. "Need you to fuck me, need your cock." Your face flushes deeply at the words that leave your lips.
The words earn a growl from Joel's lips, practically tearing your dress as he bunches it up around your waist before making work of his own clothes. His union suit making him groan in frustration for a moment before he finally frees his aching cock for you to see in all its glory.
You take in the sight of his cock up close for the first time, the girth, the length, his salt and pepper pubes, his balls heavy as precum leaks from his tip. "Can I—" you begin to speak but he cuts you off before you can fully eat the words out.
"God, sweet girl. Please" he grabs your wrist and leads your hand down to his cock before releasing you, letting you handle his cock the way you want to. You wrap around him with a firm but gentle grip, thumb rubbing his precum around his tip before slowly starting to stroke him.
"Fuck, just like that. such a good girl for me." The groans that leave his mouth are downright sinful. The gentle but eager strokes causing him to start to slowly thrust himself into your hand. The praise that leaves his lips makes you cunt flutter around nothing, arousal coating your inner thighs.
His praise is making you feel on top of the world, you feel bold, as if you could do anything just from him telling you that you're a good girl for stroking his cock. At the sudden rush you rub him between your folds, both of you sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling.
Joel's hand slams against the tree by your head, hips bucking into the warm feeling of your cunt. "Christ—" he moans, fighting the urge inside of him to just take, to bury his cock inside of your cunt and fuck you until neither of you can move.
"That's just cruel, teasin' a man when he's tryin' to be a gentleman." you let out a flustered giggle at the words. You drag his cock between your folds once more, his tip catching at your entrance.
All the restraint that Joel was showing is suddenly thrown out the window at the feeling. he lifts you up and your legs instinctively wrap around him, locking at the ankles and holding him against you.
"Gonna fuck you real good. Gonna show this pretty cunt what that husband of yours can't. She'll love it, I swear." he grunts out, his jaw tensed, the vein in his neck bulging due to him holding back. He lines his cock up to your entrance, slowly pushing inside even though his entire body is screaming at him to just bury himself to the hilt in one go and fuck you with wild abandon.
"You're so vulgar, this is no way to talk to—" you weakly begin to say before he pushes inside. Just the tip but the stretch of t alone has your head tilting back against the tree as a broken whimper leaves your lips.
"She's real tight, squeezing the life outta me and I only got the tip in 'er" he pants out as your warm cunt welcomes his throbbing tip. He feels as if he could cum just from this.
He slowly pushes his length inside of you, the stretch feeling deliciously painful. Once you are fully impaled on his cock the pair of you let out soft pants. Joel may be a cruel man but he has enough decency to let a lady adjust to the size of his cock inside of them before starting to move.
You gratefully take the moment to adjust to the feeling of being stretched so deliciously. After you feel like you can take him you let out a soft whine in silent request for him to start moving. "Use yer words" he mutter against your ear before giving the lobe a soft nip, soothing it with a small lick after.
"Please, Mister. Please fuck me" you don't even feel embarrassed anymore, too turned on to care about how pathetic you may sound begging for a man to fuck you in the forest right while your husband is asleep in some fancy hotel with a warm bed.
Your words is all it takes for Joel to start moving his hips, each drag of his cock inside of you making you see stars. The bark of the tree scratches at your back but you can't bring yourself to care at the moment.
The sounds that leave the both of you are downright sinful. Each thrust causing lewd wet sounds to fill the trees around you. "Listen to 'er, she's lovin' it, ain't she?" he rasps out through groans, his cock hitting places you didn't even know were possible, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust.
You can feel your second orgasm of the night approaching embarrassingly fast. Your moans turning into soft whimpers. Joel's own release not far off from your own. The way your cunt is tightly squeezing him, sucking him in like it never wants to let go and making his release build in a way that makes him feel like a teenager losing his virginity again.
His thrusts grow more sloppy the longer they go on, his breaths turning more ragged. With a final drag inside your cunt you let out a loud whine, that little rubber band inside of you snapping, fireworks behind your eyes as your nails dig into his back.
"Oh fuckk, yeah, she's squeezing me dry" he barely manages to groan out before he's spilling his seed deep inside of you. His head drops to your shoulders as he weakly grinds his seed inside your cunt.
Your soft pants couple his harsh breaths, tangled against him as you both come down from your highs. He pulls his cock out of your leaking hole, a collective hiss leaving the both of you. Getting put back on the ground your legs feel like jello, hands tightly clutching his shoulders to keep yourself up in your wobbly legs.
"Trembling like a damn fawn" the tease that leaves his lips make you gently smack his shoulder with a scoff, though there's no real heat behind it. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs, your back stinging from the friction of the tree bark, but you couldn't care less. You feel euphoric, him and his cock giving you the greatest feeling you've ever experienced.
He grabs a cloth out of the saddlebag hanging off of Lady, gently cleaning up your puffy sensitive folds. He gently shushes you as you whine and squirm, feeling like a live wire with every touch, even something as innocent as him cleaning you up.
The ride back to town is silent, only the hum of cicadas and Lady's hooves hitting the ground filling the air before you decide to break the silence. "I don't usually do this" you try explaining, not wanting him to think you are some unfaithful wench who constantly cheats on her husband.
"I know ya ain't darlin', though I couldn't blame ya if ya were" he says with a small snort, it's clear as day to anybody that he's not particularly fond of your husband even though he has never even spoke to the man.
You feel a small sense of ease at the sound of his words, thankful you aren't being reduced to some unfaithful woman just because of one hookup. Hell you deserved to fuck somebody else with the amount of times that Victor has went to bed with another lady.
The saloon comes into view and you suddenly get hit with a feeling of dread. You wish you could stay with Joel forever, run off with the outlaw and never look back. But you can't, you won't, you're not going to throw your whole life away for a man you just met, a dangerous man with a bounty on his head, a man wanted dead or alive.
He stops Lady in front of the saloon, helping you climb down. "Well, this is where we go our separate ways, Darlin'. I'll try and find ya if i ever ride through again" He offers and all you can offer is a small nod of your head.
You hope to see him again, to see him and continue whatever the hell it is the two of you have going on. With a small wave and a final pat to Lady's neck you head back inside, making your way back up the stairs to be with your husband.
You slip into the room, trying to be quiet so victor will stay asleep and not question where the hell you have been. You slip out of your dress, wanting to lay down and rest after getting your pussy pounded by a man you just met.
"The hell happened to your back, Dear?" you stiffen as you hear the groggy voice of Victor. How are you supposed to explain something like that to him, like 'Oh I just went and fucked a wanted man because you can't get me off and I'm thinking of running off with him the next time i see him'. No, you can't. So you lie.
"Just scratched it a little too hard, my nails are sharp" you know it's a bullshit excuse, one that most people wouldn't believe, but Victor is still drunk and dazed so he just lets out a small grunt in reply before rolling back over.
You climb into the bed next to him with a small sigh, staring at the ceiling you think of Joel. The way he fucked you, the words that left his lips, your first orgasm. You can still feel the remains his sticky cum coating your inner thighs, but you don't care, you drift off into a well deserved blissful sleep while thinking about the life you could live with a man like him, dreaming of the next time you get to see the man known as the meanest man in Texas.
a/n: this work will also be posted on my ao3!! (vampzlvrrr)
why did we as a victoria neuman's writers died with her instead of acting like natasha romanoff fans who keep going LETS BE LIKE NATASHA ROMANOFF FANS I NEED MY WIFE BACK
→ summary! After a rough night out full of tension, Victoria is desperate to feel you.
→ contents! smut, nsfw (sesbian lex!!), obscene language, dirty talk, established relationship, overstimulation, fingering, eating out, scissoring, aftercare, some fluff, showering together, no plot just filthy. (maybe a little out of character but I apologize, I really tried) mdni 𖤐 18+ !!
→ word count! 2k
You both arrived home tired from all the irritation of the day. The weight of everything still clings to your skin, thick with the scent of politics and deception. Victoria’s apartment is dim, bathed in the amber glow of city lights filtering through half-drawn curtains. You were thinking about when you'll rest, weighing up which thing you'll complain to Victoria about first. But the second the door clicks shut behind you, she’s on you—lips crashing against yours, hands fisting the front of your shirt, dragging you into her heat.
She tastes like whiskey and power, her mouth sharp with control, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, demanding. You groan into it, grabbing at her waist, pulling her flush against you. Her body slots against yours like a promise, the heat between you searing through fabric, through restraint.
“I need this,” she murmurs against your lips, voice husky, dark. Her nails drag down your arms, possessive, hungry. “I need you.”
Your back hits the wall before you can breathe, her hands already working your jacket off, fingers moving with practiced urgency. There’s no hesitation, no pretense. Not that you were complaining, not at all. This is what you both need, what you’ve both been waiting for all damn day.
Victoria’s lips move to your jaw, then your throat, sucking, biting—leaving marks because she loves knowing you’ll carry them tomorrow. Her thigh presses between yours, rubbing, teasing, and you let out a sharp gasp, gripping her shoulders.
“Fuck,” you hiss, hips shifting against her instinctively.
She chuckles, low and satisfied, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re already so desperate for me.”
You should have some sharp retort, but your brain short-circuits when she cups your breast through your shirt, rolling a nipple between her fingers. The sensation sparks straight to your core, and you barely register when she pulls back just enough to yank your shirt over your head, her own and your bras following a second later. Her skin glows in the dim light, curves and shadows painting a masterpiece you want to sink your teeth into.
She doesn’t give you the chance. Her hands move down, unbuttoning your jeans, sliding them down your legs in a practiced motion. She takes her time, though, fingertips teasing up your thighs as she kneels in front of you, her eyes locked on yours with that wicked smirk.
“You look so good like this,” she murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your hip, then lower, her breath hot against the damp fabric of your panties. She drags her tongue over the soaked material, making you jolt, fingers trying to dig into the wall behind you.
“Victoria,” you breathe, your voice wrecked with need.
She hooks her fingers into your underwear and pulls them down slowly, deliberately, like she wants you to beg. But you don’t get a chance before her mouth is on you, tongue flicking, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking just enough to make your knees buckle.
You gasp, hands flying to her hair, tangling in thick curls as she devours you, moaning against you like she’s the one getting off. Her tongue is relentless, teasing and stroking, her fingers pressing into your thighs to hold you exactly where she wants you.
You can’t think, can’t breathe. She’s too good at this, too fucking good at knowing exactly how to break you apart, to make you forget anything outside of this moment. The pressure builds, tightens, coiling deep in your stomach, ready to snap.
She pulls back just before you tip over the edge, making you sob in frustration, in desperation. Her lips glisten, eyes hooded, her smirk downright sinful.
“Come for me,” she commands, sliding two fingers inside you without warning, curling them just right. Her mouth latches onto your clit again, sucking, stroking, fucking you deep and slow and so perfect.
Pleasure crashes through you, your body arching, shaking as you come hard against her mouth, her fingers never stopping, dragging it out until you're gasping, trembling, on the verge of collapse.
Victoria finally pulls back, licking her lips as she stands, hands bracing against the wall on either side of your head. She watches you with dark, satisfied eyes, her own arousal evident in the way she presses her thigh between yours again, grinding against you.
“You’re not done yet,” she murmurs, voice dripping with promise, guiding your hand between her legs. She’s soaked even through her clothes, and the way she groans when your fingers press against her has you ready for more.
Victoria barely gives you time to catch your breath before she’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the bedroom. The hallway is dark, but you barely register it—too caught up in the feel of her body against yours, the way her skin is still fever-hot, burning with need.
She shoves you backward the moment you reach the bed, and you land with a gasp, sheets cool beneath your overheated skin. Victoria follows, crawling over you, her thighs bracketing yours, her nails dragging up your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
“How you're so beautiful.,” she murmurs, eyes dragging over your flushed skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every ragged breath.
Then, with maddening slowness, she peels her jeans open. Button. Zip. Tug. You watch, spellbound, as she pushes them down her hips, the denim clinging to her thighs before sliding free, pooling at her ankles. Her panties are black, soaked through, clinging to her like a second skin—and you can’t stop staring.
She sees it. Smirks. And then—without a word—hooks her thumbs under the waistband and drags them down, revealing inch after inch of skin until she’s completely bare before you, bathed in shadows and the soft city glow.
You barely get to say anything before she’s kissing you, biting at your lips, pressing her bare body flush against yours. The feeling is intoxicating—softness against softness, heat against heat. Your hands roam over her, tracing the curve of her waist, up to her breasts, rolling a nipple between your fingers just to hear her sharp inhale.
“Fuck,” she breathes, grinding against you, dragging her wetness over your thigh, slick and hot. “I want to feel you.”
The words send a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you, and then she’s shifting, one hand between your bodies, fingers sliding between your folds, parting them as she presses against you, letting your wetness mix.
The sensation makes you both moan, foreheads pressed together as you start to move—hips rolling in tandem, slick folds dragging against each other, every nerve ending lighting up.
“God, you feel so good,” you gasp, wrapping your arms around her, holding her close as you rock together, heat building between you like a wildfire.
Victoria’s breath stutters, her nails digging into your hips as she moves harder, faster, chasing the friction, chasing the high. “You’re so wet,” she groans, voice breaking on a moan, her lips trailing down your throat, biting at your collarbone. “So perfect for me.”
You’re lost in it—lost in the way your bodies press together, in the slick slide of her against you, in the gasps and moans and choked curses that fill the air. Your nerves are burning, everything tightening, coiling deep inside you.
Victoria grabs your thigh, lifts it, presses closer, and suddenly the angle is deeper, more intense, making you both cry out.
“Yes,” she pants, rolling her hips just right, her body trembling against yours. “Come with me. I want to feel it.”
Her words send you over the edge. Pleasure crashes through you, blinding and overwhelming, pulling a strangled moan from your lips as you tense, thighs shaking. Victoria follows a heartbeat later, gasping against your mouth, grinding through it, dragging every last drop of pleasure from you both.
For a long moment, all that exists is the sound of your heavy breathing, the slick press of your bodies still tangled together. Then Victoria collapses against you, lips pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, her fingers trailing up and down your side, soothing.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, voice wrecked. “I needed that.”
You laugh breathlessly, still trying to catch your breath. “Yeah. No shit.”
She grins against your skin, then presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. The only sound left is your heavy breathing, the quiet hum of the city outside, the erratic pounding of your hearts against each other.
You should say something—anything—but all you can do is press a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to her hair, feeling her smile against your skin.
Victoria doesn’t let you rest for long. Even though your limbs feel like lead, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, she’s already moving, slipping out of bed. You groan at the loss of her warmth, reaching blindly to pull her back, but she just chuckles, voice still thick with exhaustion.
“Come on,” she murmurs, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “Let’s shower.”
You whine in protest, nuzzling deeper into the pillow, but Victoria isn’t having it. She tugs at your wrist, coaxing you up with gentle insistence. “I’m not letting us sleep like this,” she says, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We’re a mess.”
She’s not wrong—your bodies are still slick with sweat, thighs sticky with the evidence of your desperation. But leaving the warm cocoon of the bed feels impossible.
Still, when she stands, offering her hand, you sigh dramatically and take it, letting her pull you up.
The bathroom is dimly lit, steam curling in the air as Victoria turns on the water, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease. The moment you step under the warm spray, a satisfied sigh escapes you, the heat washing away the remnants of the night, loosening the ache in your muscles.
Victoria stands behind you, arms circling your waist, pressing herself against your back as she reaches for the soap. Her fingers are slow, methodical as she runs them over your skin, massaging the tension from your shoulders, trailing down your spine, over your hips. Every touch is softer now, reverent, as if she’s memorizing you all over again.
“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there.
A warmth blooms in your chest, different from before—gentler, deeper. You let your head fall back against her shoulder, closing your eyes as she works the soap over your arms, your stomach, every inch of you.
She washes your hair next, her fingers massaging your scalp, and you swear you could fall asleep right here, standing under the water, wrapped in her care.
When she’s done, you turn, taking the soap from her hands. “My turn,” you murmur, dragging your hands over her slick skin, mirroring every touch, every caress.
By the time you both step out, skin clean and warm, exhaustion has fully settled in. Victoria wraps you in a towel, drying you off with gentle, unhurried movements before pulling a soft nightgown over your head. She dresses herself next, then glances at the bed, eyes narrowing slightly.
“I should change the sheets,” she says, mostly to herself.
You groan, grabbing her wrist before she can move. “Victoria. No.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow,” you insist, already pulling her toward the bed. “I promise I won’t let us stay in them another night, but right now, I need you to lie down with me.”
She hesitates, looking between the bed and you, clearly torn, but then you give her the softest, sleepiest pout you can manage, and she caves with a sigh.
“Fine,” she murmurs, slipping under the covers with you.
The moment she’s settled, you wrap yourself around her, pressing as close as possible. She huffs a quiet laugh, but her arms tighten around you, fingers threading into your hair.
Silence settles between you, the kind filled with warmth, with the steady rhythm of breathing in sync. You feel her press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, her fingers running lazy circles over your back.
You hum sleepily, sighing against her skin. “Love you.”
You feel Victoria’s grip tighten, and in the quiet, just like that, wrapped in her arms, you drift into the deepest, most content sleep of your life.
𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!
⛥ main masterlist.
lina's notes: my first time writing a reader with a female character and my first time writing smut with two women too so... sorry for anything.
special tags: @blossomingorchids @losers-clvb @ayimkys @lunaleah @dylans-wifey @pieandflannel (I don't have a taglist for her yet so I tagged who asked and who looked interested <3 so let me know if you want to be part of the taglist)
࿔.ᐟ summary You go to Vicky's house exhausted after a mission, only to walk in on a usually enthralling sight, but tonight you're far too tired to do anything... at least that's how you feel at first but you never really could resist when it comes to Victoria.
࿔.ᐟ tw 18+ mdni, slight masturbation, soft sex, oral(v receiving), switch reader, switch Vicky, slight teasing, boob sucking, tribbing, praise(r receiving), cum, may have more?, first time writing smut (please bear with me, i tried my best)
It was already night by the time the mission you and The Boys were on ended. You were incredibly tired but didn’t feel like going home; the only thing you needed was to be in Victoria’s arms.
You had Hughie drop you off at her place. As you walked to the door you reached your hand into your bag, rummaging through it for the spare key that you kept. The two of you spent the majority of your down time at her house, as it was easier for you to move around than for both her and Zoe to go out.
The house was quiet when you entered, and you found a great sense of relief in that. The mission had taken a toll on you both physically and left you drained. You shut the door, dropped your bag and dragged your feet to the stairs after seeing no sign of either of your girls.
Perhaps they had gone to bed already.
You made your way up the stairs, devastatingly slow, the ache in your body hitting you harder with each step. Once you got close to Vicky’s bedroom door, you heard something.
Soft pants came from the other side.
You pushed the door open and were greeted by quite the sight. Victoria had been lying on her bed, still wearing her suit pants and the white tank she usually wore underneath her suit top. One hand was down her pants while the other lay limp beside her.
She startled slightly when you walked in, taking only a split second to register that it was you. Her breathing slowed from its previously rapid pace, and her face soften at the sight of your tired figure. Her lust was gone almost instantly.
“Hey, Vicky,” you said as you made your way to the bed. Any other time, you would’ve jumped her bones immediately at the scene that you had just walked into, but tonight you couldn’t even react.
Still, you tried to make light of it. “What ya’ doing, baby?” you asked.
Victoria caught on to what you were doing. “Got home and couldn’t stop thinking of you,” she responded honestly before sitting up and holding her arms out to you.
“You look absolutely defeated. C’mere, my love.” She beckons you over and you collapse into her arms. “I’m guessing the mission was rough?” She wraps one arm around your back and the other around your head.
“When are they not?” your response is muffled by the fact that your head is resting just below Victoria’s boobs.
She’d be lying if she said that having you on top of her like this wasn’t making her hornier than what she was just before you had entered, but you clearly needed something else right now so she pushed those thoughts away.
“Where’s Zoe?” you asked.
“She’s having a sleepover at a friend’s house. The one she was all excited about all of last week!”
“Ah, that’s tonight!? I remember now,” your words began to slur the more that Victoria ran her nails through your hair.
You found yourself moving lower down, your head now reaching her stomach where her tank top has risen up causing your face to be directly against her skin. Her skin which was always so soft and so warm.
You inhaled wanting to take in her scent because it usually brought you comfort, but instead of smelling her normal scent, you smelt the arousal coming from her womanhood… that your face was mere inches from.
That sent a rush to your core and your own womanhood almost instantly became wet.
That was the effect that Victoria Neuman had on you. Even as tired as you felt and as battered as your body was, it still couldn’t resist responding to her.
Your mind went back to the soft pants and the image of her with a hand down her pants from just minutes ago. You were definitely having it a response to it now.
Fuck, you needed her.
Victoria’s hand stopped, hovering just above your head when she felt you shift on top of her. At first she thought you were just getting into a more comfortable position but your head moved further down before you were just above the waistband of her suit pants.
You placed a soft kiss right there and then you slowly lifted your arms so that your hands could tug down her pants, the buttons already undone from earlier, making the process incredibly easy.
“I thought you were tired?” Victoria asked, slightly confused but still lifting her hips so that you could slide her pants down her legs.
Once her pants were gone you had a clear a view of her white, lacy panties, the ones she knew you loved, and a big wet spot right in the middle.
At the sight before you all the previous exhaustion was wiped from your body and something new took over you.
“Yeah, but I’m also hungry baby,” your eyes remained on her wet spot as you inched your face closer and closer, “so, so hungry.”
You felt Vicky shrill beneath you. You placed a kiss right over her panties.
“Fuck!” She whispered.
“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you smiled as you pushed her panties to the side and finally let your lips make contact with her bare pussy.
Victoria’s hand gripped your hair and you began sliding your tongue up and down her slit. She was already incredibly aroused from touching herself earlier which had brought her no relief, only making her needier for you. You lapped up and down her slick pussy, her juices making it easy for your tongue to slide along her folds. Picking up the pace of your actions causing Victoria’s hips to jerk upward, into you.
“Can you feel how my body is reacting to you?” She asked breathlessly, pushing the back of your head further down into her pussy.
You moaned into her and then opened your mouth wide taking as much of her as you can and then sucking. You repeated this action a few times, sucking slightly harder each time.
“Fuck, y/n!” Victoria moaned. “You’re doing so well, my love.”
At Vicky’s praise your own pussy became soaked. You moaned into her more and brought your hand up so you could rub at her clit.
The stimulation of both your mouth and hand on her sent Vicky into a frenzy and her hips started bucking uncontrollably. She felt herself reaching her peak.
You pulled your mouth away for a second. “I know you’re almost there, you going to cum for me baby?” You looked right into her eyes which had to pull themselves from the back of her head to meet yours.
Victoria moaned again in response and shoved your head back down into her wet pussy.
Between your licking, sucking and massaging of her most sensitive spots, Victoria was a moaning mess. It wasn’t long before you felt her back arch and her body writhe beneath you. She let out a loud scream of pleasure and white creamy liquid followed out of her in suit.
You moved your hand from her clit but your mouth remained, still lapping at her sensitive pussy. Both of your hands moved up to grip at her hips firmly pushing her body back down into the bed.
You take one last swirl at her cum covered pussy, tasting her juices on your lips, before fully pulling away. Gosh, how you could die a happy death down there.
As you came up, Vicky’s eyes opened up from her orgasm and she looked at you with full blown pupils.
Your lips locked on hers and you kissed her roughly, giving her a taste of herself from your within your mouth.
Vicky’s hand moved to reach down your pants and what she already knew was confirmed. You were drenched.
“Your-” she tried to get out between your hungry assault on her mouth, “your turn.” She finally got out and in a moment you were flipped over. Sometimes Victoria didn’t completely hate being a Supe.
She pulled off her tank top leaving her in only her underwear before moving to remove your pants. Eager for her, you worked on pulling off your own top and your bra followed soon after. Your panties were drenched all the way through.
“I need you Vicky.” You blurted.
Oh and how Victoria needed you right back. She began moving her head down to return the favour that you had previously done unto her but you tugged at her hair to stop her. “No, baby. I need to feel you.”
Victoria came up fully now, her eyes scanning over your figure beneath her. The mere sight of you like this filled her with pure ecstasy and her pussy was wet all over again. She moved down to kiss the valley between your breasts. A kiss on the left one and then a kiss on the right. And then she took the right one into her mouth and sucked. While she focused on your breasts your hands shakily moved to the clasp of her bra. You removed it, chucking it to the side. At this you felt her tender breasts rubbing against the skin of your abdomen as she continued sucking on each of your breasts.
You told her you needed her and this is what she decides to focus on!? She was teasing you, the cruel woman that she was.
“Enough teasing Victoria,” you rasped. Trying to be stern by using her full name.
“I need to feel you on me. Now!”
At that Victoria pulled away and moved off of you to remove her panties. You watched her every move. Her white panties clung to her as she pulled them off. Once she was completely bare she got rid of your panties too.
Your breath stopped and hers picked up as she hovered her bare pussy above yours.
“You ready?” She asked, her eyes never leaving the sight of you, wet and beneath her.
You couldn’t even form words, the most you could get out was a whimpered “mhm.”
She looked so ravishing, her bare brown skin glistening as her body hovered above yours. Her pussy was in line with yours and you felt drops of her wetness dripping down onto you.
Slowly and agonisingly Victoria brought herself down onto you. The moment you felt her heat on you, you whined. Your hands shot out to grip at the sheets. One of your legs was bent up while the other lay as spread out as it could go. Victoria’s one hand rests on the knee of your bent leg coaxing it down to spread you further.
“You’re so wet for me, my love” she coos. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” Victoria starts moving her hips.
The slick from both of you making it easy for her to glide against you. Vicky starts slows and then picks up the pace.
Both of you are moaning in pure bliss.
“That good love?” She’s humping your pussy with hers. Up and down. Up and down.
You’re bucking into Vicky from below, trying to feel every bit of her.
Somewhere between it all, you ask, “Is this what you were imagining when you were touching yourself before I got home?”
This sends Victoria over the edge.
She grabs the part of your leg where your knee bends with one hand and the other snakes around your back. She tugs you up at both spots, Supe strength being put to use, so that your bodies are the closest they could possibly be. She grinds her wet pussy into yours like a rabbit in heat.
Both your climaxes build. You grip the sheets on either side of you as you feel the knot that has been building up in your stomach finally come undone, moaning your woman’s name out as you do so.
“You’re so pretty when you moan my name” Vicky coos.
At the feeling of you pulsating beneath her, Victoria also reaches her peak. Your pussies are dripping with cum as the white liquid gets mixed between your heats.
You’re both panting when Vicky lets go of you. Cold air hits your bits the moment that she moves away. Unable to get very far, her legs feeling wobbly, she reaches for her discarded tank on the floor and uses it to clean the two of you up down there. The two of you always made sure to take care on one another after sex, depending on who was more gone afterwards.
There’s a comfortable silence that comes over the room that was previously filled with erotic moans, while you both come down from the highs you just had.
Once you’re both sufficiently cleaned up, Vicky tosses the tank to the floor again and flops down beside you. You move to cuddle her and she pulls the blanket over you both. Your head rests under her chin and drape your arm around her waist. The exhaustion from earlier returns as your body is no longer distracted by being horny.
Victoria leans down to press soft a soft kiss on your damp forehead. She holds you close. “I love you, sweet girl.”
You’re already in dreamland.
Likes/reblogs are always appreciated :)
I do not give permission for my work to be fed to ai or distributed without my consent.
I’D PUT A BULLET IN MY HEAD IF I EVER LOST YOU NOW ♡ NATASHA ROMANOFF x F!READER
you hadn’t seen her for months. you were left behind to assume that she was done with you… you were dead wrong.
⋆ ⋆ ─ tags: no use of y/n ⋆ mdni ⋆ reader nondescript ⋆ sapphic ⋆ angst ⋆ unhealthy relationship dynamic ⋆ obsessive!natasha ⋆ violence ⋆ gun ⋆ manipulation ⋆ suicidal ideation ⋆ toxic yuri ⋆ word count: 1.7k
▹ phantom power and ludicrous speed - pierce the veil
You knew you had locked the door behind you when you left this morning. You even double checked it before walking off. Now hours later, you stared at the unlocked wooden door, anxiety creeping up your spine and filling out your chest. Possibility after possibility ran through your mind. Had you been robbed? Was someone lying in wait for you? One possibility lingered in the forefront of your thoughts- that it was her.
You took in a deep breath pushing the door open slowly. There was a light on. A light you distinctly remembered never turning on. You crossed into the space carefully, seeking for anything out of place. Nothing you noticed, except for a pair of boots neatly tucked against the wall. Her boots.
When you finally rounded the corner of the front foyer, there she was.
Natasha was seated at the empty table.
You stared at each other for moment of uncomfortable silence, varying emotions rushed through you all at once. Anger, frustration, longing, sadness… relief.
“What are you doing here?” You finally asked, voice quiet.
You thought your anger towards her had long dissipated. You hadn’t seen her for months. You had spent nearly every waking hour worrying about her whereabouts. Weeks over analyzing your entire relationship, wondering why you weren’t good enough for her to stay or reach out. Missing her presence while wondering if she was even alive.
“No hello?” She asked with soft laugh. She almost sounded nervous.
“There was no goodbye.” You crossed your arms across your chest. The self soothing tactic did little to nothing to calm your nerves. As angry as you were, you missed her so much the feeling left a near permanent ache in your chest.
Natasha took in a deep breath.
“Why are you here?” You asked her once more.
“You know why I’m here.”
You let out a hum of indifference.
“No, I don’t.” You still kept your voice calm.
You had eventually made peace with her disappearance. She’d been a fugitive. Leaving you with no warning, not even goodbye text at least.
“I’m-”
“Don’t.” You didn’t let her finish. You didn’t want to hear any apologies. She waited a moment before she spoke again and way she said your name almost cut through your resolve.
“Stop.” You shook your head. “Natasha, you need to leave.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” She confirmed.
“I’m not leaving, until we figure this out.”
“There is no we!” You explained. “There hasn’t been a we in months.”
“Please-”
“No.” Your eyes squeezed. “Get out. Please.”
“Detka…”
You breathed in through your nose, eyes starting to sting with tears.
“I need you to leave.” You continued to plead.
“But you don’t want me to.”
“Don’t twist my words, you know what I mean.”
“I won’t leave.” She shook her head.
“Well, you had no problem doing it before.” You shrugged.
The sarcasm was harsh and you hoped it cut deep. You watched the hand that rested on the table clench tightly into a fist, her chest expanding in a controlled breath.
“I had to go. It wasn’t safe.”
You felt your anger spike.
“Gee, thanks for leaving me where it was so unsafe.”
You crossed to the kitchen, defeated in the attempt to get her to leave. If she wanted to talk you would be honest.
“No.” She groaned in frustration, the fist was now pinching at her forehead. “I was on the run. It was unsafe for you to be around me. I only left to protect you.”
This time you did laugh. You could tell by the look on her face that Natasha was not amused. In fact her expression darkened as you laughed at her.
“I don’t care about whatever excuse you want to give me. It doesn’t change what happened.”
She bit down on her lips, looking like she was trying to control her emotions. You were so used to her concrete poker face, this was new.
“Please.” She begged.
“I can’t live without you.” Tears were gathering in her eyes. You shook your head, your own lips sealed tightly. If you even let your expression crack, you know that you would break down.
“You have been.” Your arms tightened across your chest.
Natasha huffed out a sharp laugh this time. She had not been living. Instead she spent months in isolation looking over her shoulder. Moving from place to place. Navigating multiple fake identities. Most of the time she found her thoughts on you- knowing you were safe in the space you both had once shared as a home. Each day away from you pulled more air from her lungs and crushed her heart.
“I was running!” She snapped. “But I was not running from you.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Bullshit. You know me better than that.”
“Nat, you left!” You nearly shouted. “You left me. You abandoned me here all alone with no warning! Never returned my calls- or texts! You couldn’t even care enough to send a fucking post card from wherever the fuck you were!”
You breathed in a few heavy gulps of air.
“So don’t you come back here with that “I can’t live without you” bullshit, because we both know that’s a lie.”
Natasha was out of her seat, pulling a handgun from the back of her waistband.
“What are you-”
“You think I’m lying?”
You stepped back a hair, lower back making contact with the counter behind you. You didn’t think your words were that harsh. Certainly not harsh enough to warrant a weapon. Except she didn’t raise it to you like you outlandishly thought. She clicked off the safety, loading the chamber and to your absolute horror- Natasha placed the barrel of the gun to her right temple.
“Natasha…” you said carefully, voice shaky with panic breaths.
“If you really think that…”
“Natasha, put that down.” You begged.
“I’ll pull the trigger right now.”
Her voice didn’t waiver. This finally cracked the dam of emotions you had been holding back. Tears sprang up into your eyes, breath hitching nervously.
“Stop it!”
“You think I can live without you, right?” Her voice raised. “You think I won’t do it?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, maybe to try and see if you could wipe the situation out of existence. When you opened them again there was no change. She was still there holding the gun.
“No!” You shook out your head. “No! Stop it!”
Natasha lowered the weapon and you finally took a breath of relief. The restitution was short lived.
You watched in distress as she crossed into the kitchen. You stayed in place as she approached, still backed up against the counter. She’d reach you no matter what way you turned to.
Natasha was fast to reach you, soon standing toe to toe. Before you could react she was shoving the gun into your hands and wrapping hers around your own. You felt your body recoil as she was pushing your finger to the trigger. You tried to fight off her hold while pulling your arm back, but the counter only restricted your movement. Her hand was securely gripped around yours, preventing you from letting go. The other hand placed itself on top of the barrel, steadying the weapon in place from your shaking hand.
She placed the barrel of the gun directly over her heart. The weapon shook rapidly in your shared grip from your nerves, which only made you more nervous in turn. By now you were fully crying, ugly sobs bubbling up out of your throat.
“Do it.” She urged.
You didn’t utter a word, only your ragged breathing was audible. It fanned across Natasha’s face, mingling with her own disturbingly calm paced breaths. Her face showed no inkling of deceit, expression collected and serious. The only hint of emotion came from the glassiness of her eyes. She called your name again.
“Pull. The fucking. Trigger.”
“No.” You sniffled, biting down on your wobbling lip.
“Why not?” She asked.
You let out a strangled laugh of frustration.
“I can’t!” You shouted.
“Yes you can.” She urged. “You wanted me gone.”
“Fuck! Natasha this is fucking crazy!” You tried to pry your hand out from under hers, but she was stronger.
“You need to- please- you’re being crazy!”
“Am I?”
Her placid demeanor only made you more upset. How could she be? With a loaded gun pressed to her chest and your shaking finger fighting hers to lift off the trigger. She was so calm, while you were barely able to keep yourself standing on your shaking knees.
“Yes! Yes!” You cried, tears still rolling down your cheeks. She shrugged a little, expression painted with a disbelieving nonchalant look.
“And I thought you didn’t want me here?”
You shook your head.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t live without me?”
You nodded before your head lolled forward in defeat, shoulders still shaking with each sob that ripped from your chest.
“I know.” Her voice was full of sympathy. “It’s okay, I know.”
Her hard grip on your hand loosened, immediately you were pulling your hand back and off the gun. Natasha’s hand on top of the weapon held it stable, while her other hand secured it and placed it on the counter behind you. With the offending object now gone from your sight, your body finally gave up. Your unstable stance crumbled, knees buckling and arms still trembling. Natasha was fast to embrace you, arms looping around you tucking your head into her shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her tightly, fearing that if you let go she may disappear on you again.
You cried into her arms, emotions you had bottled up for months finally breaking through. You missed her more than you wanted yourself to admit. You missed her presence. You missed her touch. You missed her smell. You missed her.
Your fingers gripped tighter onto her jacket as your thoughts tried to sort themselves out. You knew you didn’t want to continue to live without her, even after everything she’d put you through. You couldn’t do it. It caused you more pain and confusion that it took a gun to her head to realize how much she still meant to you.
Natasha’s hand soothed over your back as you cried while hushing you softly.
“Hey, hey, everything’s alright.” she cooed, a pleased smile gracing her features. “It’s all over now. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going to leave you ever again.”
I wanted to post more this month but never finished any drafts to completion… yikes anyways.
It is not x reader if you describe the readers fucking key features.
“As he gazed into your blue eyes…” I have brown eyes.
“You’re pale porcelain skin.” I’m black
“Your hair was a mess but you were late so you put it in a messy bun and ran out the house.” I have short ass dread locs.
Genuinely I’m getting sick of this shit. It’s sad that POC creators have to make their own fanfics and specify it’s only for POC because anything else uses specific attributes that usually only a white person could have. It’s such a fucking turn off to read a good fucking story and then for some reason the author has to fuck it up by adding “your silky hair.” Like wtf is happening? If you have a person in mind then you can make it a character x oc that’s okay! But it is NOT x reader when you’re literally turning us into something that’s not even us. Like do some of yall not realize white peoples are not the only ones reading this shit? Ik many ppl have addressed this but some ppl rlly aren’t changing and it’s just so odd to me. If u want to specify how the “reader” looks. Do everyone a favor and just say it’s an OC there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not fair to people. And it’s not even just about POC. Just in general. Like imagine a brunette reading that shit and it says “your beautiful blonde hair” like???? It’s not fair, it’s just weird. It’s not x reader, it’s x oc and seriously that’s okay!
You and natasha are sent in as a couple to work a weapons broker at an upscale gala. the cover is airtight. you're both professionals. you've done this before. The problem is you haven't done it with her. and natasha romanoff touching you like you're hers and whispering mission updates against your ear is a lot harder to be professional about than anyone briefed you on.
Written May 16, 2026 —May 18, 2026
----------------------------
You take longer in the bathroom than you mean to.
It's not nerves. You don't get nervous, or you do, and you've spent enough years training the evidence out of your body that the difference stopped mattering a long time ago. It's something else. Something quieter and more inconvenient than nerves, which is the fact that on the other side of this door is Natasha Romanoff, and tonight you have to stand next to her in a room full of people and pretend you're in love with her.
The pretending isn't the problem.
The problem is that you're starting to forget what the pretending feels like.
You check yourself in the mirror one last time. The dress is black, sleek, fitted, cut just low enough to be intentional. Your hair is done. Your earrings catch the light. You look, objectively, like a woman who has her life completely together, which is an excellent lie and you're grateful for it.
You open the door.
Natasha is at the vanity mirror across the room, fingers raised to her ear, working in an earring and she stops. Not gradually. Not the slow trailing off of someone distracted. She just stops, earring half in, hand suspended, and she looks at you in the mirror.
You watch her look at you.
It lasts three seconds. Maybe four. Long enough that you feel it move over you like something physical, her gaze, unhurried, taking in the dress and then up, your face, and then something happens in her expression that she almost immediately collects and puts away. Something that had no business being there on the face of a woman who is supposed to be a professional.
She finishes putting in the earring.
Looks back at the mirror. Adjusts it once though it didn't need adjusting.
"You're ready," she says. Not a question. Her voice is even and unbothered and tells you absolutely nothing.
"I'm ready," you confirm.
You don't smile. You do what you always do, you take it, fold it small, add it to the collection of things you keep about her that you don't examine too closely. The two hours on the extraction flight where she slept against your shoulder and you didn't move. The way she always knows where your hand is in a crowded room. The fact that she put your name in the request form for this op and told Fury it was because you were qualified, and Fury had looked at her for a moment too long before he agreed.
You're very good at collecting things and not examining them.
You cross the room to get your clutch off the bed.
That's when you see her dress properly, deep green, and devastating in the specific quiet way that Natasha does everything, not loud about it, just irrefutably true. It's doing something deeply unfair to her shoulders and you know for a fact she chose it and you know for a fact she knew exactly what it would do and you look at your clutch.
"You look good," you say, because you are a professional and professionals make neutral observations.
She glances at you in the mirror again. One corner of her mouth moves.
"I know," she says.
There it is. You almost laugh. Eight months of working next to the most self-possessed woman you've ever met and she can still catch you off guard with the sheer unbothered certainty of her. I know. No thank you, no deflection. Just the flat acknowledgment of fact from a woman who has never needed your confirmation and doesn't intend to start.
It should be annoying.
It is annoying.
It's also, and this is the part you don't examine, sort of the most attractive thing you've ever heard.
She picks up her clutch from the vanity. Inside it, you happen to know: one lipstick, one knife, one comm unit. Very Natasha.
"Let's go over parameters," she says, turning for the door.
"I know the parameters."
"Humor me."
You don't argue. Arguing with Natasha about mission prep is like arguing with weather, technically possible, completely pointless, and you'll end up doing what the weather wants anyway. You follow her out.
The car is a black SUV with tinted windows and Hill's voice already waiting in the earpiece when you climb in.
Natasha takes off her coat.
She crosses her legs and looks out the window.
You look out yours.
You get a two-minute debrief you already have memorized: Aldric Voss, weapons broker, mid-level but climbing. Known associates, exit points, your cover ID, a couple, eighteen months together, met through work, vague enough to be waterproof.
The city slides past in amber and dark. She's close enough that you can smell whatever she's wearing tonight, something warm, something that cost more than your first apartment, and you look at the window on your side very deliberately and think about the mission.
"You nervous?" she asks.
"No."
"You're doing the thing with your hands."
You look down. Your fingers are doing a slow press against your knee, one-two-three, one-two-three. Stress habit. You've had it since you were twenty-two and you've never successfully hidden it from her.
"I'm focused," you say.
"Mm." She's still looking out the window. "You need to be relaxed tonight. Couples are relaxed."
"I'm relaxed."
"Y/n."
"Natasha."
She finally looks at you and the city light through the window catches her eyes at an angle that's really unfair, is what it is. "I'm good at this," she says simply. "Cover. Persona. I've been doing it longer than you've been an agent. Just follow my lead and it'll read."
"I know you're good at it," you say. "That's not what I'm nervous about."
A beat. You realize half a second too late that you've said too muc, left the door open, and you watch her clock it, watch the small shift in her expression that means she filed it.
She doesn't push. She looks back out the window.
"Follow my lead," she says again, quieter.
You look back at yours.
One-two-three. One-two-three.
The gala is exactly what the briefing photos promised: too much money in one room, everyone dressed like they're auditioning for something, a string quartet earning their pay in the corner. The kind of event where the champagne is real and so is the danger and the two things coexist with a smoothness that always makes you feel slightly ill.
Natasha takes your arm at the door.
Just, takes it. Slides her hand into the crook of your elbow like she's done it a thousand times, which she hasn't, which your nervous system clocks immediately and thoroughly. Her grip is light. Her posture shifts, shoulders drop a fraction, chin lifts, the set of her mouth changes. She becomes someone softer. Someone with nothing to hide.
It's the most unsettling thing you've ever watched.
"Smile," she says from the side of her mouth, still looking forward. "We're happy."
"We're happy," you repeat, and smile, and hate that it doesn't feel entirely like acting.
You walk in.
The first twenty minutes are choreography.
You work the room the way you were trained, slow circuit, no urgency, let the crowd bring the target to you rather than hunting him directly. Natasha is extraordinary at this. You've worked with her before, field ops, extractions, twice in situations where both of you probably should have died and didn't purely out of stubbornness, but you've never watched her do this. The social work. The performance.
She laughs at something a man in a grey suit says and the laugh is perfect, warm, just shy of flattered, the exact sound of a woman who is charmed but not available. Her hand stays on your arm the whole time. Anchored there. When the man in the grey suit looks at you she angles slightly, just slightly, and the body language is so clean you almost don't catch it.
Almost.
She's pulling you in. Closing the gap between you without making it a thing, just leaning into your space until you're close enough that anyone looking would see a couple, would see someone who doesn't want distance between herself and her woman
You redirect your thoughts aggressively.
"Voss is at the bar," you say quietly, mouth barely moving.
"I know." Her fingers press briefly against your arm. "Don't look."
"I wasn't going to look."
"You were calculating an angle."
"That's not the same as—"
"He's not going anywhere. Relax."
You exhale slowly through your nose. Fine. Relaxed. You're the picture of a person enjoying a gala with someone they're absolutely not in love with, everything is completely normal.
A waiter passes with a tray. Natasha plucks two glasses off it without breaking the conversation she's half having with a woman in pearls and hands one back to you without looking, just, reaches back, finds your hand, presses the stem into it with the kind of easy intimacy that comes from time and attention and knowing someone.
You stare at the glass.
She knew where your hand was. She always knows where you are in a room, tactical awareness, you've told yourself, she's built that way, but that wasn't tactical. That was something else. That was the muscle memory of a person who reaches for someone because reaching for them is just what you do.
You drink the champagne. It's very good. It does nothing helpful.
Forty minutes in, she dances with you.
You'd like to say it was for the mission. You'd like to say Voss was watching or the angle required it or there was some clean operational reason that Natasha Romanoff took your hand and led you toward the floor without asking. Without explaining. Just a slight pressure at the small of your back and an expectation that you'd follow.
You followed.
If there was a reason, she doesn't share it.
She turns to face you and puts one hand at your waist and you put yours at her shoulder and you start to move and the thing is, the thing is, she's warm. You knew that in the abstract. You've been close to her before, in the field, in debrief rooms, once on a six hour extraction flight where she fell asleep against your shoulder and you stayed completely still for two hours because you didn't want to wake her. You know she's warm.
But her hand at your waist, steady and certain and not going anywhere, is a different kind of knowing entirely.
"Voss's contact is late," she says.
Her mouth is at your ear. Not quite touching, just close enough that her voice arrives before her breath does, low and even, meant only for you. A tactical update delivered at a register that does things to your concentration that are deeply inconvenient on an active op.
"How late?" you manage.
"Fifteen minutes." A pause. You turn with the music. Her grip at your waist tightens, not dramatically, just enough to guide, just enough to feel. "He's nervous. That's useful."
"Copy," you say, which is a completely normal thing to say and not at all the voice of someone whose higher functions are running at approximately forty percent.
She pulls back just far enough to look at you. Checks your face the way she checks everything, quickly, thoroughly, filing. Whatever she finds there she keeps to herself.
"You're doing well," she says.
"We established I'm good at this."
"I'm acknowledging it."
"Natasha Romanoff acknowledging someone else did something well." You let the pause breathe. "Should I be worried? Are you dying?"
Something moves across her face. Not quite a smile, she doesn't smile easily, and you've spent eight months learning to catch the things that happen instead. The slight softening. The fractional shift in her eyes.
"Focus," she says.
"I am focused."
"On the op."
"Obviously."
She exhales through her nose. You count that as a win.
You turn again with the music and that's when you feel it, the quality of her attention shifting. Still moving, still perfectly composed, but something underneath changes. A new kind of stillness. You keep your eyes on her and say nothing.
She sees him before she means to.
He's at the edge of the room, drink in hand, shoulders loose, the easy posture of a man who has never once in his life had to make himself smaller, and he is looking at you.
Not a threat. She'd already know. She's had the full room mapped since the moment you walked in together, every exit and variable catalogued and filed, and he is nobody. Soft hands. No tells. He is absolutely nobody and he is standing there looking at you in that dress with the specific expression of a man who has decided he'd like to do something about that, and something in Natasha's chest goes very, very still.
She keeps dancing.
Her hand stays at your waist. Her face stays composed. She gives him exactly three seconds of her peripheral vision and then she makes a decision, not consciously, not with any particular deliberation, she simply decides, and lets her eyes move.
She looks at him.
The full weight of it lands across the room like a hand around a throat. Her jaw sets, the line of it going sharp and certain beneath her skin. Her chin tilts up, barely, just the fraction of an inch that means she has assessed something and found it lacking. Her eyes, green and flat and depthless, the particular green of water that goes down further than you'd expect, settle on him with the unhurried patience of a woman who has never once needed to hurry.
Her brow lifts. One increment. The period at the end of a sentence that requires no words.
She has done this in dark rooms in six different countries. She has done this to men with weapons and men with power and men who thought they were untouchable, and every single one of them has made the correct decision. This man, with his soft hands and his expensive watch, is not going to be the exception.
But here is the thing, here is the thing she is fully, lucidly, uncomfortably aware of as she holds his gaze across a crowded room, this is not the same. This is not a threat assessment. This is not operational. There is no version of tonight's debrief where she writes down redirected civilian attention via sustained eye contact and means what she actually means, which is something rawer and more inconvenient than anything she'd put in a report.
She's mine.
Not performed. Not tactical. Just, true, in the quiet way that things are true when you stop arguing with them. True in the way that has been accumulating for eight months in the space between her professionalism and something she hasn't named yet and has no intention of naming tonight.
He looks away.
Good.
She looks back at you. You're watching her, you're always watching her, those eyes that take everything in like they're cataloguing her the same way she catalogues everything else, patient and thorough and giving nothing back. She doesn't know exactly what you saw. She knows you saw something.
She doesn't adjust her expression. She doesn't reach for an explanation.
Instead she moves.
Her arm slides around you, slow, smooth, the way she does everything, with the efficiency of someone who has decided and is simply following through, and her hand presses flat against the small of your back. Drawing you in. Closing whatever distance was left between your body and hers until there is very little of it, until you're held against her, encompassed by the line of her arms, her warmth wrapping around you with a completeness that has nothing to do with cover and everything to do with the thing she is not calling what it is.
She is aware she is doing this. She is fully, consciously aware.
She does it anyway.
Her red hair falls forward as she dips her head, one curtain of it brushing your cheek, warm and deliberate, the scent of it close enough to be a thing you'd remember, and she brings her mouth to your ear. Not touching. Just the proximity. Just her lips a breath away from your skin, close enough that the warmth of them would reach you, close enough that if she spoke it would arrive like a secret.
She doesn't speak.
She just stays there. Her jaw near your temple. Her lips at the curve of your ear. One hand flat at the small of your back and the other at your waist and her whole body a quiet wall between you and the rest of the room, between you and him, between you and anyone who might be under the impression that you are something available to be looked at without consequence.
She knows he's still watching. She can feel it, the way she feels everything she isn't looking at directly. And she knows, she knows, that what he sees right now is not a cover. Is not a performance. Is not two agents running a gala op in a city that doesn't care about either of them.
What he sees is a woman who has made something abundantly, irrevocably clear.
And she lets him see it.
She stays exactly where she is, lips at your ear, red hair falling soft between you, and she breathes out once, slow, controlled, the only concession she makes to the fact that her heart is doing something she would not put in a report, and lets the silence say everything she won't.
Then she straightens.
The red hair settles. Her hand moves back to your waist, one hand, appropriate, professional. Her face reassembles itself into something even and unreadable and composed, the mask back on so smoothly it would be invisible to anyone who didn't know where to look for the seams.
She is, she reminds herself, very good at this.
She is also, and this she acknowledges only briefly, only in the space between one breath and the next before she closes the door on it, completely aware that she stopped running cover a long time ago.
When she pulls back she's composed again. Completely. The mask is on and the op is running and her hand is at your waist and her expression gives you nothing.
Except.
You were watching. You caught the tail end of whatever that was, the quality of her gaze before it came back to you, the extra second at your ear where she said nothing at all. You've run enough ops to know what performing looks like. You know every tell of a woman pretending something is fine.
You say nothing. You add it to the collection, fold it careful and small, tuck it somewhere you won't examine until later, much later, when you're alone and she can't see you figuring her out.
Her hand at your waist does not move.
The man at the bar does not look back.
The music plays on, and you let yourself be held, and neither of you say a single word about any of it.
It's after the dance, during the slow drift back into the room, when she does the thing with the dress.
You've stopped near a tall window, good sightline to the bar, natural place to stand, and she's beside you, close, her arm just brushing yours. She glances down. Frowns, very slightly. Reaches out and adjusts something at your shoulder, a strap that had shifted maybe two millimeters out of place, and her fingers are careful and light and she's looking at what she's doing instead of at you.
"Just selling it," she says.
"Right," you say.
She smooths the strap once. Doesn't move her hand immediately.
"You know," you say, because apparently you've lost your self-preservation instincts somewhere between the car and the champagne, "most people don't have to remind themselves they're acting when they're acting."
Her hand stills.
"I don't know what that means," she says.
"Yeah you do."
She looks up. And this, this is the thing about Natasha, the thing that you have spent eight months carefully not examining, when she drops it, when the performance falls away and it's just her, just the actual her underneath all that careful control, she looks at you like you're the only solid thing in the room.
She looks at you like that now. Just for a second.
Then she looks back at the bar.
"Voss is moving," she says.
He is. You both straighten. The op reasserts itself, clean and welcome, something to do with your hands, a reason to be standing this close that has nothing to do with anything.
"Ready?" she asks.
"Always," you say.
She takes your arm again. You walk toward the bar. Her grip is just slightly tighter than before and you don't say anything about it and she doesn't either.
The system, holding.
For now.
It happens naturally, the way professional things do, Voss's contact finally arrives and the op requires coverage on two sides of the room at once. Natasha clocks it first, the way she clocks everything first, and she leans in close enough that her mouth brushes your ear when she speaks.
"Split up. You take the east side, draw out the associate by the column. I'll stay on Voss."
"Copy," you say.
She pulls back. Looks at you for just a half second longer than the mission requires.
Then you separate
You are focused, present, professional, and entirely on task, and you do not look for Natasha once.
What you do, approximately four minutes in, is hear her.
Her voice arrives in your earpiece low and warm and completely unhurried, the cover voice, the one that's softer than her real one, the one she puts on like a second skin, and she's talking to Voss.
"I've heard about your work in Vienna. My associate mentioned it actually, she has excellent taste."
A pause. Voss says something you don't catch.
"Oh, she's very selective." A small laugh, warm and practiced. "That's what I've always loved about her."
You become very focused on your associate's left cufflink.
Because that, the ease of it, the way she says loved like it costs her nothing, like it's just cover, like it's just words, is doing something to your concentration that you are not going to examine while you are actively on an op. You ask your associate a perfectly calibrated question about his employer's shipping routes and you do not think about Natasha Romanoff's voice saying that word in your ear.
You think about it for the next twenty minutes.
Across the room, Natasha finds you.
The first time is almost involuntary. She's mid-sentence with Voss, something charming, something that makes him laugh, the warm practiced ease of a woman who has made men feel interesting in four different languages, and her eyes move. Just for a second. Just long enough to find you across the crowd, to confirm you're there, to take in the easy angle of your shoulders and the way you've got the associate exactly where you want him.
She looks back at Voss.
Files it. Moves on.
Tells herself it was a tactical check.
The second time she's at the bar, waiting on a refresh, and the room has shifted enough that you're visible through a gap in the crowd. You're laughing at something the associate said, not a real laugh, she can tell the difference, she's always been able to tell the difference with you, and the line of your profile is caught in the warm overhead light and she watches for two seconds longer than any tactical check has ever required.
The bartender puts a glass in front of her.
She picks it up without looking at it.
The third time she's not even trying to justify it.
She's wrapped up a conversation, Voss circling back to the contact, the op running clean and smooth in the background the way good ops do, and she lets her eyes find you across the room because she wants to and she has apparently stopped arguing with herself about that.
You're there. Of course you're there. Working the room with that particular ease that she has spent eight months quietly cataloguing, the way you move through a crowd like you belong in it, the way you make people feel like the most interesting thing in the room without ever quite letting them have you.
She raises her glass and takes a slow sip.
And you look up.
Right at her.
Like you felt it. Like you knew.
She doesn't move. Doesn't adjust. Keeps the glass raised and her eyes on yours and lets the moment sit there between you, twenty feet of crowded room and a string quartet and the whole careful architecture of the last eight months, and she does not look away.
Neither do you.
Three seconds. Four. Five. Long enough that it stops being accidental on either side, long enough that something passes between you that has no tactical classification, long enough that she is aware, fully, uncomfortably, with complete clarity, that she is not performing anything right now.
Then someone steps between you, a body crossing the sight line, and the moment closes.
She lowers her glass.
Goes back to work.
Does not examine what just happened. Does not examine the fact that her pulse has done something she would not put in a report. Does not examine the way you looked at her like you already knew, like you've always known, like you've been waiting for her to stop pretending long enough to just
Voss moves toward his contact. She follows.
The fourth time she finds you she's already on her way back across the room, op nearly wrapped, Voss handled and filed. She's not looking for you. She doesn't have to look for you.
She just knows.
Her eyes find you through the crowd without searching, the way they always do, the way they have been doing all night, all eight months, if she's being honest, which she isn't, not yet, and you're there, exactly where she knew you'd be, and she lets herself watch you for just one unguarded moment before she schools her face and moves through the crowd toward you.
Her arm finds yours when she arrives. Slides in easy and warm, like it never left. Like this is simply where she ends up.
Because it is. That's the part she's been not examining. This is just where she ends up.
"Voss is clean," she says quietly. "Associate?"
"Account manager. Name and location. Hill's going to want it."
The corner of her mouth moves. Not a smile, the thing she does instead. "Good."
"I know," you say.
She glances at you sidelong. Something in your voice. Something dry and certain that catches in her chest the way you've always caught in her chest and she looks back at the room and says nothing about it.
The silence holds.
Then Voss moves.
Her eyes cut across the room. Mission, clean and immediate, the mask back in place between one breath and the next.
"He's going for the east exit," she says. "That's not on the brief."
"No," you say. "It isn't."
Her hand finds your arm. And you move, together, no words, no briefing, the kind of sync that only comes from time and attention and knowing someone down to the way they breathe in a tense room. Her hand steering slightly, you adjusting without being asked, cutting through the crowd like one thing, not two.
She has spent eight months telling herself that this, this particular feeling, this specific ease, is professionalism. Training. Field familiarity.
She is no longer telling herself that.
You reach the corridor just as Voss slips through the east exit.
Her hand tightens on your arm.
"Ready?" she murmurs.
You look at her. The mission in her eyes, and underneath it, still there, not put away, not this time, the other thing. The real thing. Looking right back at her.
"Always," you say.
And you go in.
The corridor is narrow and dim and smells like old carpet and money, the kind of back hallway that exists in every building like this, the one the staff uses, the one that connects the public rooms to the private ones, the one that Voss just slipped into with the quiet purposefulness of a man who doesn't want to be followed.
You follow him anyway. Natasha three steps behind you, silent.
Voss stops at a door near the end of the corridor. Produces a key card. Your hand moves to the comm unit, ready to relay to Hill. And that's when you hear it.
Not from the corridor. From the earpiece. A voice, young, female, clipped with the particular tension of someone trying very hard to sound calm "
This is Reyes, I have eyes on the asset, I'm moving to make contact—"
You and Natasha go still at exactly the same moment.
"Reyes, stand down." Hill's voice, sharp. "Do not make contact, I repeat—"
"I have a clear window, I'm taking it—"
"Agent Reyes, that is a direct order—"
And then another voice, male, younger, with the breathless energy of someone who has already made a decision "Cole in position, I've got the east side covered, Reyes go—"
"Cole, stand DOWN—"
You look at Natasha.
Natasha is already looking at the end of the corridor, where it opens back into the main gala room, and her expression is the specific expression of a woman who has just watched two people set something on fire and is calculating exactly how fast it's going to spread.
It spreads fast.
Through the corridor entrance you can see it unfold in real time, Reyes, young and dark-haired and moving with the misplaced confidence of someone who thought they saw an opening, crossing the room toward the SHIELD asset with all the subtlety of a person who has trained for six months and believes that is enough.
And Cole, flanking from the east side, doing exactly what a panicking rookie does when they realize too late that the plan is already wrong, overcorrecting, moving too fast, drawing the eye of every person in a thirty foot radius.
Voss hears it before he sees it.
Some shift in the room's atmosphere, the specific change in energy that a man who has survived this long learns to read, and he turns. Slowly. His eyes move to Reyes, to Cole, to the asset between them, and you watch the calculation happen behind his eyes, clean and fast and professional.
Then his eyes move to the corridor.
"Abort." Natasha's voice in the earpiece is flat and final. "Hill, we're pulling out."
"Confirmed, Romanoff. Reyes, Cole — you are blown, extract immediately—"
"Wait—" Reyes, realizing. "Wait, I can still—"
"You are done," Natasha says, and there is something in her voice that closes the conversation like a door being shut. "Both of you. Out."
She doesn't wait for the response.
She steps forward, in front of you, between you and the corridor entrance, between you and Voss's eyeline, and her hand closes around your arm.
"We're leaving," she says. Not loud. Not urgent. The tone of a woman who has already made every calculation and doesn't need to hurry because she's already three steps ahead of whatever happens next.
She steers you back down the corridor, away from Voss, away from Reyes and Cole and the mess they've made of the east room. Her hand is on your arm and her body is angled slightly in front of yours and she moves with the unhurried certainty of someone running a controlled exit, not a retreat.
It works because it always works. Because she's Natasha Romanoff and this is what she does.
You reach the side exit without a single person looking twice.
The car is waiting exactly where it should be. She opens the door and her hand is at your back and you're inside before you've finished processing what just happened and she slides in beside you and the door closes and the city starts moving past the windows.
She doesn't look at you.
In your earpiece Hill's voice comes through tight and clipped "intel is secure, cover held, Reyes and Cole are being extracted, debrief tomorrow oh-seven-hundred" and then the channel goes quiet and it's just the two of you and the city and twelve minutes of silence that has a specific weight to it.
You watch her in your peripheral vision. The straight line of her shoulders. The set of her jaw. Her hand on the inside door handle, gripping it in a way that has nothing to do with the car moving.
She doesn't look at you once.
Not for twelve minutes.
You don't say anything either. You think about the corridor, her stepping forward, placing herself between you and Voss's eyeline before you'd even registered the threat. The way it happened before it was a decision. The way she hasn't looked at you since.
You file it.
For now.
The hotel room door closes behind you.
You set your clutch on the nightstand. She sets hers on the vanity. You reach back to unclasp your earring and she moves to the window and looks out at the city and the silence in the room has weight to it now, the kind that accumulates over twelve minutes of nothing and lands all at once.
You take out the second earring.
"Reyes and Cole," you say. Neutral. Conversational.
"Yes," she says. Still at the window.
"First field op?"
"Second." A beat. "Which somehow makes it worse."
"The intel's still clean. Cover held. Hill has everything she needs."
"I know."
"So." You set the earrings down. "We're fine."
She turns from the window.
"You were out of position," she says.
You look at her. "I was exactly where you put me."
"When the contact arrived you should have pulled back to the secondary—"
"If I'd pulled back Voss would have had a clear corridor and we'd have lost him entirely—"
"That wasn't your call to make—"
"It absolutely was, I was the one standing there with eyes on—"
"We had protocols, Y/n—"
"Natasha." You face her fully. "It worked. All of it. The only thing that didn't work tonight was Reyes and Cole and that has nothing to do with me—"
"It could have." Her voice drops. Gets quieter. That's the tell, you know that by now, the way her volume decreases as the thing she's actually saying increases.
"If they'd moved thirty seconds earlier you would have been in that corridor without cover and Voss would have had eyes on you and I was—"
She stops.
You go still.
I was. The sentence trailing off into the room like smoke.
"You were what?" you ask. Quiet.
"Nothing." She looks back at the window. "Get some sleep. Debrief is—"
"Natasha."
"—oh-seven-hundred—"
"Natasha."
"Drop it."
"You were what." Not a question this time. Something steadier than a question.
A long pause. The city outside is indifferent and glittering and she stares at it like it owes her something.
"You stepped in front of me," you say. "In the corridor. Voss didn't even have eyes on us yet and you stepped in front of me."
Nothing.
"That wasn't tactical," you say. "That was—"
"I said drop it—"
"You were scared," you say. "You were scared and you won't say it and now you're standing at a window picking a fight about protocol because it's easier than—"
She turns.
And crosses the room.
And her hand finds the back of your neck, certain and warm and without a single moment of hesitation, fingers pressing up into your hair, and she kisses you.
Not soft. Not careful. Not the measured thing of a woman who is uncertain. This is eight months arriving all at once, her hand firm at the back of your neck like she's been waiting to put it there, like she decided somewhere between the window and here and didn't once stop to argue with herself about it.
You melt into it.
That's the only word for it, the argument dissolving out of your chest like it was never there, your hands finding her without instruction, your body making a decision your brain is still catching up to. You kiss her back and it's nothing like you imagined. It's better.
It's eight months of careful distance collapsing all at once and the specific relief of it moves through you like a current, warm and total, and you make a sound against her mouth that you don't plan and don't take back.
Her hand tightens at the back of your neck.
The kiss deepens, not gradually, not carefully, but with the particular certainty of two people who have been waiting too long and have simply stopped being careful. Her mouth is warm and deliberate and she kisses you the way she does everything, like she's already decided, like she knows exactly what she wants and the only thing that was ever stopping her was the thing neither of you were naming.
You give it back.
Your hand finds her jaw and you tilt into her, angle shifting, matching everything she's giving and then some, and you feel the small catch in her breath, feel the way her whole body reacts to it, the subtle arch toward you, the grip at the back of your neck going from certain to something that borders on desperate, and that undoes you a little. More than a little. You press closer, eliminate the last fraction of space between your bodies, and she makes a sound low in her throat that you are going to be thinking about for a very long time.
Her other hand finds your waist.
Pulls.
Like she's been wanting to do it all night, like every careful professional touch, every tactical adjustment, every time her hand found you and had to have a reason, was building to this, to her hands on you with no reason required, no cover to maintain, nothing to perform for anyone. Just want. Just her wanting you and not doing anything about it except pulling you closer and kissing you like the argument was foreplay and eight months was foreplay and the entire evening was foreplay and she is done, she is so done, being patient about this.
You walk her back. Or she walks you back, honestly you're not sure, it's collaborative, two people moving in the same direction with the same urgency, until something meets your back and you don't care what it is.
Her body is against yours and her mouth is on yours and her hand has moved from your jaw into your hair and the grip of it sends something down your spine that makes your breath stutter.
She pulls back.
Just enough to look at you.
Her lipstick is still perfect. Her red hair has come loose on one side, falling forward, and she doesn't fix it. Her eyes are dark and close and the mask isn't just gone it's nowhere, there's no trace of it, there's nothing between you and the real her, the actual her, the one she keeps underneath everything, and she's looking at you like she's been hungry for a long time and has finally decided to do something about it.
Her chest rises and falls. Once.
Her thumb traces the line of your jaw, slow, unhurried, like she's been wanting to do it for months and is taking her time now that no one can stop her, and her eyes follow the movement and come back to yours and what's in them makes your stomach drop in the best possible way.
movement and come back to yours and stay there.
The silence holds for exactly one more second.
Then her eyes drop. Your mouth. Back up. And when she speaks her voice is low and unhurried and completely certain, the voice of a woman who has made a decision and is done negotiating with herself about it.
"I want to take this dress off you," she says. "I've wanted to since I saw you walk out of that bathroom."
"Then take it off," you say.
She kisses you.
Deep and deliberate, her hand sliding from your jaw into your hair, and when she pulls back you're both breathing differently and her eyes are darker than they were a second ago.
"I've been thinking about what's underneath it," she says, low, right against your mouth. "All night."
Something pulls tight in your stomach. "All night," you repeat. "And you said nothing."
"I'm saying it now."
Her fingers find the zipper at your back, slow, deliberate, not rushing, like she wants you to feel every second of it, and you reach for her too, hands finding the fabric at her waist, pulling the green dress taut.
"You're not the only one," you say. "Who was thinking."
She pauses. Looks at you. Something shifts in her expression, darker, more interested, the look of a woman who has just been handed something she intends to do something about.
"No?" she says.
"No."
Her mouth curves. Not a smile, something better than a smile, something with teeth in it.
"Tell me," she says, and her fingers resume their work, and yours do too, and the green dress and the black dress and the whole long evening are all running out of time simultaneously.
You feel the zipper give. Her fingers trail the newly exposed skin of your back and you breathe out.
"I was thinking," you say, "about your mouth."
Her fingers pause.
"All night," you continue, steady, holding her gaze. "Every time you put it near my ear. Every time you smiled at something Voss said and I had to stand there and watch and do nothing about it."
She looks at you for a moment. Something shifts in her expression, darker, more focused, the look of a woman recalibrating.
"What about my mouth," she says. Low. Not a question, a pull.
"What I wanted it to do," you say. "Where I wanted it."
The silence lasts exactly one second.
Then her hands are moving again, more purposeful now, less patient,and she steps closer and her mouth finds your jaw, your throat, and she says against your skin: "Show me."
Your breath catches.
"Natasha—"
"Show me," she says again, quieter, right at your pulse point, and you feel her smile there. "Where."
Your hand finds her hair. Guides her. And she goes, willingly, without hesitation, like she's been waiting to be told, and the sound she makes when she gets there is
Her zipper gives completely under your other hand. The green dress falls.
She pulls back just long enough to look at you. Flushed, hair loose, eyes so dark they've swallowed the green entirely, and she looks at you like you are something she intends to take her time with.
"Bed," she says. One word. The voice that closes rooms.
You go.
The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you go down without breaking eye contact.
The sheets are cool against your overheated skin, a sharp contrast to the way Natasha crawls over you, predatory and graceful. The green silk is a forgotten puddle on the floor, leaving her bare in the dim light, stunning and terrifyingly focused.
She settles between your legs, her hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in. Her hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out everything but her. She's so close you can feel her breath against your lips, see the way her pupils swallow the green of her eyes.
You lift a hand, tracing the sharp curve of her jaw before your palm settles against her cheek. Her skin is impossibly soft, burning hot beneath your touch. She leans into it instantly, eyes fluttering shut for a fleeting second as her expression softens from predator to something much tenderer.
"You're so beautiful," you whisper, watching the admission shatter her composure.
With careful, deliberate movements, Natasha finishes unhooking your dress, sliding the fabric down your body to reveal your bare skin. Her eyes drink in the sight of you, her pupils dilating as she takes in every curve and detail.
She runs her hands over your newly exposed flesh, worshipping your form with her touch.
Her touch skims over your collarbone, down between your breasts, tracing the curve of your waist before her palms spread flat across your stomach.
A shuddering breath escapes her as she leans down, pressing her forehead to yours.
"Absolutely breathtaking," she murmurs against your lips, her voice thick with something far deeper than lust. Her thumbs brush your lower lip, gentle and reverent.
You surge forward, crashing your lips against hers in a deep, hungry kiss that steals the air from your lungs.
Mid-kiss, she captures your hand, guiding it down the front of her torso until she slips it firmly between her thighs. The sensation makes you gasp sharply against her mouth, you can feel exactly how hard she is for you, throbbing and desperate beneath your fingertips.
"Feel that?" she breathes against your mouth, hips shifting to press more firmly into your touch. "That's what you do to me. One look, one touch, and I'm harder than I've ever been in my life."
"God, Natasha..." You whisper, your voice shaking with desire. You can feel her length pulsing against your palm, and you can't help but squeeze gently, making her suck in a sharp breath. "You have no idea what you do to me."
She lets out a ragged moan, her forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder as your fingers tighten around her. "I think I have some idea," she pants, her hips bucking instinctively into your grip. "You're destroying my control, sweetheart. Every single inch of me is screaming for you."
"Then don't hold back," you murmur, your thumb tracing slow circles over the leaking tip, feeling her shudder and drip in your palm.
"Fuck," she groans, her composure finally shattering as she grinds herself desperately against your hand. "I want to fuck you so bad it hurts. I want to be deep inside you, feel you clench around me, hear you scream my name until you're hoarse." Her words come out in a heated rush, raw and unrestrained.
"God, yes," you whimper, your legs spreading wider as you imagine her thick length filling you completely. Your own arousal drips down your inner thighs, and you can feel yourself growing increasingly wet and needy. "Natasha, please," you beg, squeezing her hard length again. "Fuck me."
"Not yet," she grits out, wrenching her hips back just enough to escape your grasp. Before you can protest, she's moving down your body, kissing and biting at your skin until her face is level with your dripping core. Her eyes rolling back at the sight of you.
"Natasha," you gasp, lifting your head to look down at her.
Her expression is one of pure hunger, her gaze locked onto your glistening folds like a starving woman presented with a feast. Without a word, she leans in and drags her tongue through your wetness, tasting you deeply.
Your back bows instantly off the mattress, a sharp moan tearing from your throat as her tongue flattens against your clit. She eats you with a terrifying intensity, alternating between broad, heavy strokes and pinpoint flicks that make your toes curl.
Your hands fly to her hair, tangling in the red strands to anchor yourself against the overwhelming pleasure.
"Natasha, oh god."
"Mmm," she hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your system.
She spreads your legs wider, burying her face deeper between your trembling thighs. Her hands grip your hips, lifting them slightly to change the angle and expose you even more to her merciless mouth.
You moan out, your thighs trembling as her tongue finds that perfect spot inside you and circles it relentlessly.
Pleasure builds like a storm behind your navel, your nails scraping against her scalp as you hold her tight against your soaking core.
"I'm close," you warn in a broken voice. "Natasha, I'm gonna—"
She doesn't slow down.
Your eyes roll back in your head as she sucks your clit into her mouth and flattens her tongue against it. You scream, your entire body convulsing as your orgasm hits you like a truck.
She swallows every drop of your arousal, lapping at your folds like a woman possessed.
Only when your trembling begins to subside does she pull back, her chin and lips glistening with your release. She crawls up your body, pressing her wet face into your neck with a satisfied groan.
"Still want me to fuck you?" she asks, her breath hot against your ear, her hard length dragging against your overstimulated folds.
"Yes," you whimper desperately.
Without hesitation, she slips between your thighs, her thick head pushing against your sensitive entrance. You spread wider, pulling your knees back to give her better access.
She grabs your legs, spreading them even wider and hooking them over her shoulders for leverage.
"Fuck," she groans, pushing in slowly despite her obvious desperation.
You're so wet and sensitive from your orgasm that she slips in easier than expected, but you're still tight enough to make her see stars.
Natasha's jaw tightens as she pulls out slowly, watching her wet, shiny length slide out of you. She pushes back in with equal slowness, her eyes fluttering at the incredible sensation of your tightness surrounding her. Out, then in, out...
"Natasha," you moan, your walls fluttering around her despite her agonizingly slow pace.
You grip the sheets, needing something more to anchor yourself as she rocks back and forth at this torturous rate.
"You're so tight," she grits out, her hips stuttering as she watches herself disappear inside you. "You feel so good," she admits, her voice strained with effort.
She pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, her eyes rolling back at how perfectly you squeeze her.
"Fuck," you whimper, your nails digging into her arms as she continues that slow, deep thrusting. Each withdrawal leaves you feeling empty, each push back in hits that perfect spot inside you.
"Natasha... please..." You're begging without even knowing what for....more speed? Deeper?
"Please what, sweetheart?" she whispers, her voice dangerously low as she leans down to nip at your bottom lip.
She pulls out slowly, her length sliding out until only the tip remains inside you. She holds still, teasing you with that shallow penetration.
"More," you pant, trying to lift your hips to take her back in. "Fuck, Natasha, give me more." You need her deeper, faster anything but this agonizing slow pace that's driving you mad.
"Deeper?" she asks softly, pushing back in slightly slower than before, watching as her length disappears into your tight heat. "Like this?" She pulls out again, leaving just the tip inside, making you whimper. "Or do you want it faster?"
"Yes, like that," you gasp, your head falling back against the pillow as she bottoms out inside you. "And faster, please Natasha, fuck me faster."
Your legs tighten around her waist, heels digging into her ass to encourage her.
With a low moan, Natasha starts moving faster, her hips snapping forward with more force. The slow torture is replaced by deep, quick thrusts that make the bed shake and your breasts bounce.
She hooks your legs higher over her shoulders, changing the angle to hit deeper inside you.
"Oh god, just like that!" you moan out, your back arching beautifully off the mattress as she hits that perfect spot inside you. The new angle is devastating, allowing her to plunge so deep you see stars with every thrust. "Don't stop, Natasha, please don't stop."
Natasha's composure finally shatters. Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat as a loud, broken moan tears from her lips. Her eyes roll back, lost in the overwhelming sensation of your heat gripping her tightly.
"Fuck—oh god, you feel so good," she pants breathlessly, her rhythm faltering slightly as pure pleasure washes over her.
She's reduced to incoherent moans and curses, her hips moving wildly as she loses herself in the feeling of being buried deep inside you. One hand grips your thigh tightly while the other reaches down to spread you wider, giving herself better access.
"Natasha..." You whimper her name like a prayer, your voice breaking on a high note as she hits that perfect spot inside you again.
Your hands fly to her bouncing breasts, squeezing the soft mounds desperately as pleasure overwhelms you both.
Natasha leans down, capturing your mouth in a messy, passionate kiss that steals your breath. You pant into each other's mouths, tongues tangling as she continues thrusting hard and deep.
The kiss is sloppy and needy, a perfect reflection of how desperately she's fucking you.
With a low groan, Natasha pulls out slowly, her wet length slipping free of your dripping core. You both watch, panting heavily, as she brings the tip to your mouth.
"Taste how wet you are," she pants, rubbing her slick head against your lips.
You open your mouth obediently, your tongue darting out to lick along the tip, tasting yourself mixed with her. Natasha moans, thrusting slightly deeper between your lips.
"Good girl... Suck," she commands breathlessly, gripping your hair. You wrap your lips around her and take her into your mouth, bobbing your head as she slowly thrusts down your throat.
Natasha's eyes roll back into her head as your mouth works her wet length, your tongue swirling around the tip while you suck eagerly.
A moan rips from her throat, her thighs trembling as pleasure rockets through her.
She grips your hair tighter, fucking your mouth with shallow, desperate strokes while her head falls back, completely lost to the sensation.
Her red hair falls wildly around her face and shoulders, green eyes squeezed shut as she rocks her hips forward, feeding you more of her length.
Your own hair is messy from her fingers, face flushed and dripping with saliva as you enthusiastically take her, cheeks hollowing out with each suck.
Natasha's large, round breasts bounce freely with each thrust into your mouth. Yours heave with every breath you take around her length.
Natasha's thick, veiny length glistens with a mix of spit and precum, stretching your lips wide as you suck her. Her green eyes are still rolled back, mouth open in a silent moan.
Your jaw works overtime, tongue flattened against her shaft while you bob your head eagerly, cheeks caving with each greedy suck as a string of saliva connects with each suck.
Natasha's green eyes flutter open, half-lidded and glassy with pleasure as she looks down at you. Her gaze is fixated on her length disappearing between your stretched lips, a low groan rumbling in her chest at the sight.
She watches, transfixed, as your mouth works her over eagerly, the wet sounds of your sucking filling the room.
With a pop, Natasha pulls her length out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip.
She drags the wet head down your between the valley of your breasts, coating each before moving lower.
She presses the tip against your clit, rubbing it in slow circles that make your whole body shudder.
"I need to come so bad..." Natasha moans, her voice trembling with desperation.
She rubs her wet tip against your clit, teasing you both mercilessly.
You respond by spreading your legs wider and arching your back, wordlessly begging for her to fill you again.
"Then fuck me," you whisper breathlessly, your hips lifting toward her.
Natasha groans, sinking her length deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
"Fuck—" she gasps, her forehead dropping to your shoulder as she starts moving, chasing her release with every deep stroke. Her pace quickens, chasing that edge.
Your eyes roll back, a desperate moan escaping your lips as you grip the sheets beneath you.
"I'm— I'm close," you gasp, your walls tightening around her in warning.
Natasha pushes deeper, her hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, two fingers pressing against it as she thrusts harder.
"Come on my dick," she demands it, her fingers rubbing tight circles against your sensitive bud as she drives into you relentlessly.
The pressure snaps instantly, your back bowing off the mattress as a scream tears from your throat. Your vision whites out, your entire body shaking violently as you clamp down around her, dragging her over the edge with you.
"That's it, baby," she grits out, pounding you through it. "Fuck!"
Natasha's entire body goes rigid above you, her length pulsing deeply inside you as she comes with a strangled cry. Her hips stutter, losing rhythm as she spills into you, painting your tight walls white with her thick release.
Her head drops to your shoulder, teeth grazing your collarbone as aftershocks wrack through her.
A broken moan vibrates against your skin, her fingers still pressed to your clit as she rides out every pulse inside you.
"You feel— fuck— can't stop—" She's trembling, entire body locked in the aftermath, completely undone beneath her usually composed exterior.
"Natasha..." you moan softly, your hands sliding up her trembling arms to hold onto her as your own orgasm fades.
Your body feels like jelly, completely spent and utterly satisfied. You nuzzle into the side of her neck, placing gentle kisses along her jaw as she catches her breath against you.
Natasha presses lingering, open mouthed kisses against your collarbone, her lips trembling against your skin.
It's a reverent, grounding touch, the final release of months upon months of tightly wound control finally snapping. She holds you impossibly close, burying her face in the crook of your neck as if anchoring herself to reality.
"I've needed this," she whispers hoarsely, her voice thick with emotion. "Needed you—so fucking badly."
Her arms tighten around you practically painfully, 8 months of suppressed desire pouring out in every tender kiss she presses against your neck.
"You have no idea...How much I've craved your touch... your voice... your smile," she murmurs roughly, trailing kisses down to your chest. "Being with you—it's heaven. Pure, perfect heaven after so long in hell."
"I'm right here," you whisper softly, running your fingers through her hair gently. "I'm not going anywhere." You tilt your head up to press a tender kiss on her lips, pouring all of your love and dedication into it. "I've been waiting for you, too."
Natasha's eyes flutter shut at your words, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she leans into your touch. She presses her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours as she just... exists in the moment with you.
For the first time in a long time, she feels at peace. At home.
you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
❤︎ pairing: SugarDaddy!Enjin x SugarBaby!Blk Reader
❤︎ cw: Modern AU, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex, established relationship, porn with no plot just filthy and nastyyy lol, dressing room sex, semi public sex, slutty reader, bratty reader, floor sex, ass eating, rough sex, Enjin has piercings and tattoos, pussy eating, ass slapping, breeding, sub reader, dom enjin, high sex, reader orgasms 2x, oral ( F receiving), bimbo reader, missionary (legs on shoulder). pet names, dirty talk, man handling, sex under the influence, choking, daddy kink, biggg dick enjin, both are down bad for each other, spit play, aftercare
❤︎ synopsis: your sexy sugar daddy enjin would do anything for his sugar baby. whether he would buy all different types of expensive heels or clothes even if that means fucking your pretty brains out whenever you got horny in public and you just couldn’t wait to get home any longer.
Your sexy sugar daddy enjin who is the richest man in the world and who would always have women fawning over him loved his sugar baby. Other women didn’t caught his eyes except for you when he had met you at a nightclub long ago when you were sitting all alone at a bar and from that very moment enjin was determined to win you over. “Ohhh she’s bad as fuck, I definitely need to get her number asap!”
He would always get turned on by watching you using his credit cards on everything that you wanted. Whether it be expensive dresses or shoes in the stores. He hated whenever you spent your own hard earned money since it would absolutely piss him off. Enjin would do anything for you literally. And who wouldn’t? You are the most prettiest and the most perfect girl who was made just for him.
You and enjin just done got shopping out of 10 stores taking turns sharing his blunt that had your lipgloss marks on it. when all of a sudden you were feening for enjin to immediately ravish you. Of course you were begging enjin constantly to give you what you wanted but Enjin would just ignore your constant complaining although he did find it somewhat cute.
“C’monnn pretty please Jinn. I’ma dieeee.” You complained as you both walked together on the sidewalk squeezing on enjin buff arm tightly while you had your arms wrapped around him, feeling unbearably horny as your throbbing pussy felt like it was crying out desperately needing for a release in your panties.
Enjin was smoking weed on his other hand taking in a huge puff and then exhaling the smoke out from his pink lips, creating mini smoke ring shapes . “Not nowww babygirl, wait till we get home.”
“Ughh Pleaseeee? I’m beggin’ youuu! You’re torturing me enjin”
“Unt Unt.” His response short and blunt.
“But—“ feeling bold, your hand reached down to his pants to squeeze his harden bulge which caused enjin to jolt in surprised, his golden eyes widen as he wasn’t expecting you to do that. You didn’t care if people would possibly see you squeezing enjin’s boner in public, you didn’t know if the weed was kicking strong making you feel more bolder than usual or you just feeling extra horny today. “I want you right now! I don’t want to wait anymore!” You whined more. Enjin knew that when you got like this, there was no stopping you whatsoever.
Enjin lets out a deep sigh as he saw the nearest store, he thought to himself, ‘havin a freaky ass sugar baby is such a damn curse’ he acted like he didn’t like it but deep down he knew he was feening for you too.
Enjin took your wrist and squeezed it tightly like a parent would do to a disobedient child. You both walked into nearest store, practically rushing you to get into the large dressing room, pulling the curtains closed once he stepped in and he tosses the shopping bags to the side. He cups your cheek with his free large hand, backing you against the wall as your glossy lips to puckered out, while he still smokes in his other hand.
“Didn’t I tell your bratty ass to wait until we get home? So damn persistent.” He growls, he was done playing nice. Your pretty brown eyes made contact with his golden eyes which was staring into your soul. You loved it when enjin acted mean. It made you even yearn more him. And enjin could tell when your legs were squeezed together, feeling your pussy getting more wet by the moment. Enjin could practically feel the lust seeping out of you. “Guess I gotta fuck your brains out until you can’t walk anymore.”
Enjin took one last puff of his blunt, exhaling the smoke and puts the blunt down on a nearby bench. He turned you around making you face the wall in front of you. He uses his large hands to hike up your pink dress which exposes your plump brown ass. Enjin slaps your ass which made your ass cheek recoiled. “You are sooo sexy princess oh my god.” He admired your sexy figure before getting on his knees to rip your thin lace panties off with using his teeth at ease.
The wetness of your brown pussy shined in the dressing room listening. Enjin give your pussy smack which made you whimper as your body jolted from the slap, Your slick ending up on his hand. “Is this what you needed huh?” Enjin smacks your sensitive puffy pussy again. “you love it when I slap your pussy like this?”
“Ah!”
“I wanna hear you say it angel, I want an answer.” Enjin waits for a response as he slaps your fat throbbing pussy again which was making you more horny by the minute. “Yess! I really needed this, I want you so bad!!”
“Oh yea? So fuckin’ nasty girl” Enjin smirks as he took both his hands to spread your ass cheeks exposing your puckered asshole, he spits into your asshole and the spit trickles down to your pussy. He kisses both areas as he shoves his face into your ass, swirling his pierced tongue around your puckered hole then he drags his tongue down to your pussy, licking you up and down which made you moan out his name. “Ohhh just like that daddyyy”.
Enjin switches between eating both your puckered hole messily and your pussy as he spanks your ass cheeks repeatedly while squeezing them. You moaned louder and enjin stops eating your holes to bite your ass cheek, “shhh princess you don’t want anybody to hear us now do you?”
You shake your head “Oooh fuck!—No”. Enjin resumes pussy swirling his piercing tongue in your fold, not missing any parts in your pussy, he took two of his fingers to and inserts them into your puckered hole, curling them inside you. This caused your legs to shake uncontrollably as the combined pleasure of enjins mouth and finger was too much to handle, you cover your mouth with your hands trying to muffle the sounds of your moans.
You could feel your orgasm about to come up to the surface when your legs were shaking violently and enjin could sense it too. “Ohh Is my princess gonna cum? I wanna taste your cream give it to meee.” Enjin takes out his fingers out your puckered hole and he aggressively turns your body around so that your back was against the wall and he props both of your legs on his shoulders as he was now sucking on your clit like it was the last lollipop on earth and he reached his arm out latches his tatted hands in your soft brown breasts, pinching your nipple.
“Ohhh goddd! shit! shit! I’m gonna cum Jin I’m gonna—” your body tenses up as you let out a huge pornographic moan as you began to orgasm and you cream all over enjin making mess of him. Enjin licks up every bit of your cream as he groans into your pussy enjoying the taste of you. When he was done, enjin picked you up and puts you on the cold floor on your back.
He zips down his pants and pulling them down so that his thick pretty dick go flung out which was twitching violently for your touch. “Finna pound the fuck outta this pretty pussy ma, ya ready?”
“Yes! Pleaseee, fuckin’ give it to me daddy!” You nodded your head frantically in desperation. Enjin props one of your legs on his broad shoulder and he slaps his thick dick on your puffy pussy before plugging himself inside you, your warm wet walls swallowing his meaty cock in whole. “Oh shiiit. So fuckin’ tight” he hissed feeling your walls suffocating around his girth. He starts to pound into you deep and slow as he wraps his hands around your throat squeezing it a bit which made your mouth fell down giving enjin the opportunity to spit into your mouth.
“Ohh fuck yea! Fuckin’ take this dick since you wanted it so badly” Enjin groans out as he begins picks up the pace with his thrusts which made your tits bounce up and down as your pretty brown eyes rolled to the back of your head while you were moaning uncontrollably. Enjin takes one of his hand off your throat and takes out a stack of cash from his pocket and he slaps your face with it as he drilling into your gummy walls like crazy, your pussy squelching around him which echoed through the dressing room along with skin slapping each other. “Didn’t I tell you to keep it down? You don’t want us to get caught do you babygirl?” He slaps your face with the stack of cash again.
“Oh fuck!— I’m sorry daddy! I can’t help it oh shiiit— you feel so gooddd.”
Enjin puts the stack of money back in his pocket and wraps his other hand around your throat choking you which shut up your moans completely and your mouth drops down again and a thin line of drool and a mixture of your lip gloss is seeping down your chin this makes enjin spits into your mouth again as he continues to slam into your pussy nonstop hitting your g-spot repeatedly. You almost about to orgasm soon the more enjin ruthlessly thrusts into you. Your mind was so foggy that you couldn’t even form coherent thoughts since pleasure is consuming your whole body entirely.
The sex with enjin was always amazing but this time felt wayy more different. Maybe it was thrill and adrenaline rush of you slutted out in public.
“Oh fuuuuck! I’m gonna shoot my load into ya soon. Cream on daddy’s dick mama.” Enjin huffs out as he’s red in the face. Enjin and you were almost at their limits in now. He pumps a few more pounding inside you before shooting his hot load inside you, filling up your womb to the brim. You then start to orgasm the second time and you cream all over enjins dick, making a mess on the dressing room floor.
You both were panting and breathing heavily. Enjin releases the grip that he had around your neck and he takes a tissues from his pockets he wipes the sweat from your forehead and the mess in between your mess as he unplugs himself from your stretched out hole. he then places a rough kiss on your lips and you melt into the kiss in return.
“Did you enjoy yourself angel?” He takes the blunt had a resides on the bench nearby and he puts it back in his mouth.
“Yes daddy” you said weakly still feeling partially dazed with a smile on your face. he gets up from off the floor and he swoops you off from the floor since your legs felt like jello and you couldn’t even walk. He gets all of your bags from off the floor making his way to leave out the dressing room . “Good. Now let’s go back home before anyone suspects u—” by then it already too late when all of the employees in the store had a look of horror on their faces seeing you two walked out the dressing room. They knew and heard everything what’s been happening in there.
You’ll be lying if you said that was the last time of you and your sugar daddy enjin fucking in other stores dressing room. despite almost getting caught for the 100th time.
Who knew that having a sugar baby with a high sex drive is almost such hard thing to handle.
