Light through the curtains, pale and thin, and the warmth at your back that has nothing to do with the blankets.
Natasha is still here.
You know before you're fully awake, the weight of her behind you, the steadiness of her breathing against the back of your neck, the arm draped over your waist like she put it there on purpose even in sleep. She probably did. You've learned that about her. Even unconscious, she holds on.
You don't move. You're not ready to be awake yet and neither, it seems, is she.
Then her fingers shift.
Just barely. A slow drag across your stomach, palm flat, like she's checking that you're real. You feel her inhale, deep and deliberate, and she presses her nose into your hair. Stays there.
“Detka.”
It's barely a sound. More breath than word, warm against the back of your head, and you don't know if she meant to say it or if it just came out of her. Either way it settles in your chest like something lit.
You still don't move.
Her hand moves again. Slower this time, like she's being careful, like she's trying not to wake you and also like she very much wants to. Her palm slides up your ribcage, thumb tracing the space between your ribs, and she exhales again when she reaches the curve of your breast. Doesn't push. Just rests there, covers you, and you feel the tension in her arm, held back. Deliberate.
She's awake.
You know she knows you're awake too.
Neither of you say anything.
Her lips touch the back of your neck, barely, just the press of them, warm and dry and slow, and the arm around your waist tightens. Not urgently. Just more. She tucks you closer and you go, shifting back into her, and that's when you feel it.
The low sound she makes against your neck.
You feel her against you, the press of her hips, the unmistakable weight of her, already hard and warm through the thin fabric between you. She doesn't grind forward. She just is, lets you feel it, and her hand finally moves, cups your breast properly and squeezes gentle enough to make your breath catch.
"Morning," she murmurs.
That's all. Two syllables, rough with sleep, lips still against your skin when she says it.
You shift back against her, not accidentally, and her grip tightens.
"Y/n."
The way she says your name, it's not a warning, not quite. It's something closer to a question, like she's asking permission even as her thumb drags across your nipple, slow and deliberate.
You don't answer with words. You press back again, more intentional this time, and you feel her exhale against the back of your neck, a shaky thing, barely controlled.
Her hand slides from your breast, down over the curve of your waist, fingers tracing the waistband of your sleep shorts. She pauses there, fingertips just barely slipping beneath the fabric, waiting.
You lift your hip, just slightly, just enough, that tiny movement is all she needs.
Her hand slips lower, palm flat against your stomach, then lower still, and you're already wet, have been since you first felt her hard against you.
She hums against your shoulder, a sound of low, satisfied appreciation as her fingers slide through your slickness. It’s a slow, teasing exploration, gathering your arousal before she presses a finger against your clit, just barely there.
Your breath hitches, hips canting back instinctively, seeking more friction, more contact.
"Good morning, baby," she whispers, voice thick with sleep and desire as you push back against her hardness. Her finger circles your clit gently before slipping lower, teasing at your entrance without pushing inside.
Your breath hitches, a broken little sound escaping you as you keep pushing back, grinding shamelessly against that hard, heated length behind you. You need her, the ache building low and sharp in your belly.
"Morning," you manage, the word barely a whisper, breathless and wrecked before the day has even begun.
Her finger slips inside you, slow and deliberate, and you arch back against her with a stuttered gasp.
She groans softly against your neck, her hips rolling forward once, finally, letting you feel exactly how hard she is, her length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass.
"Nat," you breathe, and it comes out desperate, your hand reaching back to grip her thigh, fingers digging into warm skin and taut muscle.
She adds a second finger, stretching you open, and her thumb finds your clit again, slow, maddening circles that make your thighs tremble.
"Baby," she whispers hoarsely in your ear, hips rolling forward slowly, giving you that thick length pressed exactly where you need it. "I'm so hard for you." Her fingers pump steadily, curling just right inside you.
"I need you," she whispers, the words hot against your ear as she thrusts her fingers deeper.
You whimper, pressing back harder against her, meeting each stroke of her fingers with your own needy grind.
"Please," you manage, voice wrecked and trembling. Your hand reaches back again, gripping the base of her where she's pressed tight against you, guiding her forward hungrily.
She hisses through her teeth at the touch of your hand, fingers curling tighter inside you in response. Her hips rock forward into your grip, urgent now, losing that maddening restraint she'd been holding onto.
You angle your hips, guiding her toward where you need her most, slick and ready and aching.
Her fingers slip out of you, leaving you empty and wanting for one aching second before she's hooking her thumbs into your waistband, tugging your underwear down your thighs with a slow, deliberate drag.
“Lift,” she murmurs, and you do, raising your hips so she can pull the fabric down, off, tossing them somewhere behind you both.
She positions herself, her hard, heated length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass. She's warm, so warm, her skin flushing against yours as she rocks forward slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance.
"Baby," she whispers hoarsely against your shoulder.
You arch back against her, reaching one hand back to grip her hip, urging her forward. Your other hand presses flat against the bed, knuckles white as you steady yourself on your side, presenting yourself to her.
"Babe," you breathe, the word trembling with want and need.
She groans low in her throat, feeling your urgency and responding with her own. She's slow, so slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance before she presses in just a little, testing your readiness.
"I'm so big for you baby," she murmurs against your shoulder.
You bite your lip, nodding frantically against the pillow. She's huge, and you love it, you crave that feeling of being stretched wide open by her.
"Please," you whimper, arching your back deeper, trying to take more of her in this side position.
She pushes forward, inch by devastating inch, her hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as she fills you. The angle is different like this, intimate, close, her chest pressed warm against your back as she sinks deeper.
You both moan when she's fully seated inside you, her hips flush against your ass, her breath ragged against your shoulder.
"Feel so good," she breathes, lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear. She doesn't move yet, just lets you feel the full, thick length of her, lets your body adjust around her.
Her hand slides from your hip to your stomach, palm flat and warm, holding you close as she draws back almost all the way, then snaps her hips forward.
The new angle hits you perfectly, her thick length dragging along your inner walls just right, and you moan out softly, gripping the sheets.
"Right there," you gasp, pushing your ass back to meet her next thrust.
A pleased, satisfied noise escapes her at your response, and she picks up the pace, finding a steady, deep rhythm that makes the bed frame creak. Her hand on your stomach spreads out possessive, spread fingered, protective as she pulls back to thrust deep again.
The room fills with your moans and skin on skin.
Natasha's deep, rhythmic thrusting pushing you forward each time, only to pull you back again with her grip on your stomach. The position keeps her pressed tightly against you, almost spooning from behind.
"So tight," she whispers hoarsely.
You can feel her leaking inside you already, thick, warm, slick precum coating your inner walls, making the glide of her easier, wetter.
Her cock is impossibly hard, the thick length of her stretching you wide with every thrust, the ridged veins along her shaft dragging against your sensitive walls.
You bite your lip and whimper softly, pushing your ass back to meet each of her deep, possessive thrusts.
"Only for you," you gasp out, your inner muscles clamping tightly around her length as she withdraws almost all the way before slamming back home.
Those words hit something in her, a spark behind those green eyes you can't see but can feel in the way her grip tightens, the way her hips snap forward harder, deeper.
She rolls her hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes you see stars and moan against your pillow.
"Mine," she groans against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "All mine."
The possessive words make your core clench around her, and you can feel her thickness jump inside you, more hot precum leaking out to mix with your own slick.
She's so big, filling you up completely in this position, hitting places you didn't know could feel this good.
She sifts slightly, changing the angle, and hits that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.
“Right there,” you whimper, reaching back to grip her hip, urging her on. “You’re so deep.”
Her cock slides out slowly, inch by thick inch, glistening with your combined arousal in the morning light. You feel every ridge, every vein draping along your tight walls, leaving you achingly empty for one breathless moment before sliding back in hard.
“Oh fuck,” she moans, voice rough and wrecked against your shoulder.
You moan out as she fills you again, that thick head hitting deep, so deep in this position. Your bodies are pressed close, her chest warm against your back, her hips flush against your ass with every thrust. The wet obscene sound of her sliding in and out fills the room, slick and hot and filthy.
“Yes,” you moan, fingers twisting in the sheets.
She picks up the speed, her thrusts losing rhythm now, just raw need, dragging that thick cock through your dripping walls, over and over. You can feel the way she leaks more inside you with every desperate plunge.
“Shit—” she grunts, biting down on your shoulder.
You arch your back, pushing your ass further taking her deeper. She hits that spot again, leaving you a moaning whimpering mess.
You’re so we that you can feel her leaking out of you, dripping down your legs.
“Harder,” you beg.
Without warning, she pushes flat onto your stomach, her weight pinning you to the mattress as she follows you down, covering your body completely. Her hands find yours, fingers lacing together above your head as she traps you beneath her.
Her control snaps completely. Her thrusts turn wild uncontrolled, her thick cock hammering into you. She buries her face in your neck teeth and lips everything as she fucks you sensless from behind.
You’re trapped beneath her, pinned, claimed, utterly at her mercy as she takes what she needs. Her eyes flutter close, then roll back a groan tearing from her throat she loses herself in the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around her aching cock.
Your thighs are shaking, and you’re so close, way too close, especially with her weight pressing you into the mattress, her thick length thrusting into you from this angle.
“I’m gonna—” you gasp, your voice coming out desperate and wrecked. “Oh fuck, Natasha I’m gonna come–”
She doesn’t slow down, groaning against your neck as she feels your walls starting to tighten and clench around her.
“Come for me,” she demands, her voice ragged and needy. “Come on my cock, baby.”
You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches, nails dragging into her hands as you scream into the pillow. Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave so intense you vision whites out, your body jerking beneath her, your pussy clamping down hard on her thick cock as you flood around her.
She groans, deep, desperate, as she feels you come undone.
Her eyes snap shut as your orgasm triggers her own. With a final deep thrust, she buries herself inside you and releases, hot thick cum flooding your already dripping pussy. She keeps thrusting through it, slow, shallow strokes as she empties herself completely inside you.
Her forehead drops to your shoulder blade, breathing labored and unsteady as she finishes coming inside you. Her hands slide from gripping yours to brushing lazy strokes against your knuckles. The thick base of her cock remains firmly seated inside you, her still hard length leaks more cum with each pulse.
Eventually, she slowly pulls out, her thick length sliding out with a wet, obscene sound. As soon as the head pops free, her heavy load immediately follows, a thick, white trickle of her cum leaking steadily out of your pussy and dripping down on your inner thighs.
She watches with a satisfied groan as more of her cum drips out, making a sticky mess on the sheets beneath you. She gently pushes your tights apart more, getting a better view of how thoroughly she filled you up.
She presses a thumb gently to your messy entrance pushing some of her cum back inside, completely obsessed with the sight.
“My girl,” she whispers, kissing your spine. “Good morning.”
A lazy, satisfied smile curves your lips as you stretch beneath her, feeling deliciously sore and utterly claimed. You hum softly at her touch, at the feeling of her pushing her release back inside you.
"Mmm," you murmur, voice still shaky from your intense orgasm. You turn your head just enough to catch her eye, cheeks flushed. "Good morning to you too."
You reach back lazily, fingers finding her cheek, pulling her down into a soft and tender kiss, contrasting the roughness of moments ago.
"Love you," you whisper against her lips, feeling completely content and thoroughly claimed.
“Love you too,” she smiles, that rare and soft thing just for you, and settles beside you, pulling you close against her chest.
Pairing: Nerd!Natasha x Fem!Reader
Summary: A hot, lazy evening of studying leaves your roommate Natasha more open to suggestion.
Content Warning: GP!Natasha, oral sex (Natasha receiving), fingering (R receiving), slight praise kink?
Word count: 3.7k
A/N: i watched scoop recently and i couldn’t stop thinking about how cute she is in that film, so natasha’s kind of a nerd in this one. please enjoy my first tumblr published work... first tumblr post ever actually...
It’s 10PM, and she’s still not done studying. Natasha is never done studying until she can remember every theory and calculation like the back of her hand, until she can shut her eyes and read sums on the back of her eyelids. Natasha wouldn’t be done for hours.
But you’re getting bored. You’re sprawled across her bed on your stomach and kicking your legs like a schoolgirl, watching her flip pages and write things in margins that were already full of her spidery scrawl.
Natasha’s the ideal roommate, really. She’s shy, so she never brings home any unwanted guests, and she’s quiet, which means no loud music or thumping from her bedroom either, but if you were to be a little nitpicky, which you were, you’d say that Natasha wasn’t massively fun. She consistently opted out of parties and invitations to clubs or dorms that weren’t hers. Her idea of fun was turning on National Geographic and watching a documentary on the slow extinction of the sperm whale, followed by a glass of warm milk and an early bedtime. And, fuck, it might’ve been lame, but it was also incredibly endearing.
Still boring, though.
“Nat, I’m pretty sure you’ve already read that part. Twice, even,” you huff, flopping onto your side to face her while she sat at her desk. She glances at you, the low lamplight reflecting in her little round glasses, and she pushes them back up her nose.
“I have to be sure I’m getting it right,” she says, with all the patience you lack, and turns back to her notebook to continue writing. You watch the movement of her pen for a moment before pressing your face to her sheets and letting out a long groan, to which she huffs a little laugh. “You said you wanted to stay in with me tonight. You’re not having fun?”
“No,” you groan, and she laughs again. “I’m having no fun at all. You’ve been studying for hours now and you wouldn’t even get up to have dinner. I made dinner, Nat. My pasta was hot and the cheese on top was crispy but you wouldn’t even get up.” You see the twitching of her mouth as she tries not to laugh, tries not to encourage your behavior, but your own mouth is curving upwards now. A little impish feeling surfaces in your throat, and you sit up fully. “Seriously, what can be more interesting than dinner?” Your legs are already swinging off the bed. Your mind is somewhere completely different to your body, which moves like you’re on autopilot. If Natasha wasn’t allowing herself to be distracted, you’d just have to distract her.
You flank her like a predator, which makes you grin almost wolfishly, and you lean over her shoulder to peer at her work. Your chest is pressed against her back from this angle, and you immediately feel Natasha tense up.
“What are you—”
“I’m just curious,” you smile, pretending to skim over her notebook. It’s all numbers, anyway, might as well be Greek to you, but you hum in understanding, lips dangerously close to Natasha’s ear. She flinches like she’s been burned, but she makes no move to stand or pull away from you. Good, then. You could push this a little further. “Oh wow. This is hard stuff, huh? You’re so clever, Nat.”
This time she’s not as good at hiding her reaction. Her throat bobs when she swallows down a keening whine that had escaped her lips for a moment, only a moment, but your ears picked up on it instantly. “It’s– It’s not rocket science, anyone can do it,” she mumbles. You look pointedly at her, to which she looks away immediately, eyes darting back to her work. “It’s just math.”
Her shyness is so cute you almost feel a wave of aggression form, wanting to dig your nails against the soft slope of her shoulder where her grandpa sweater hangs loosely, sink your teeth into her ear to hear another whine, but you stop yourself. “Then take a break with me, Nat,” you murmur into her ear, pressing impossibly closer, not missing the way your breasts pushed up against her even harder. Natasha could’ve been a statue at this point. “There are way more interesting things in the world than math.”
You see her lips twitch, trying to form a word, but nothing comes out. Natasha, slowly, uncertainly, looks at you with wide eyes, trying to figure out your intentions like one of her sums, except this wasn’t numbers. She wasn’t good at this. You can almost hear the cogs in her mind, then the furrowing of her brow, before you sigh. If she wasn’t going to say anything, you would.
You spin her chair to face you, and Natasha’s head jerks back with the sudden force before you plant yourself down in her lap in one smooth motion.
Natasha’s hips buck upwards reflexively, and her hands scramble to grasp the armrests. “What are you doing?” she chokes out, leaning as far back as the chair allows. You give a small smile, leaning forward so that your foreheads are almost touching.
“What do you think I’m doing, Nat?” you murmur in response. You adjust your position a little, moving your thighs comfortably on either side of her, but when you wriggle your hips to get comfortable, Natasha looks away quickly. You can feel the heat radiating from her face, and God, if that wasn’t the cutest thing. She looks back at you briefly, mouth a little agape as she tries to fathom what on earth has gotten into you, but when you roll your hips against hers, her hands fly up and grab your waist to still you.
“I-I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” Natasha manages to get out. Her hands are holding you tightly, and her glasses are slipping down her face. You bite your lower lip and push them back up her nose. You feel her fingers curl around you.
You lean closer, your forehead brushing against stray strands of her hair. It’s almost hard to breathe, this close to her, but you swallow and push on. “You should’ve thought about that before you made me sit on your bed alone,” you whisper. Natasha licks her lower lip nervously, and it shines in the dim lamp light. The sight causes something bold to surface in you. “You work too hard, Nat. Let me help, okay?”
“Fuck,” is the only word she says, and then Natasha’s eyes dart to your lips. You don’t have to be a genius like her to figure out what that means. Heat rushes to your stomach as you lean in, fingers curling in her sweater, and press your mouth to hers. A needy sound fills your mouth, and it takes you a second to realize it’s Natasha, not you, and suddenly her mouth is widening, opening to press her tongue against your lips, so delicate and shy it makes you ache.
Kissing Natasha is nothing like any kiss you’ve had before. Her mouth is hot against yours, her head angled so her glasses won’t bump against your face as she kisses you slowly, shyly, like she’s worried she’s doing it wrong. You smile against her lips, and then you press your tongue against hers, warm and wet and undeniable. Natasha pulls away with a start, eyes wide and cheeks flushed a delicious pink that spreads down her neck. Your smile turns into a grin. “Was that your first kiss?”
Natasha swallows. She’s looking up at you like she’s afraid she’s done something wrong. “Was it bad?”
You shake your head. “More like the opposite,” you purr, and beneath you, you feel a shiver run down her entire body. God, since when was your roommate this fucking cute?
Something like relief floods her features, and she straightens her glasses. Her hands are still on your waist, just above the waistband of your stretchy cotton sleep shorts, and she’s looking at you like she’s simultaneously pleading and afraid. You nod slowly, and Natasha leans in to kiss you again. She’s a little bolder this time, and as you sigh softly into her mouth, you feel her fingers press against your lower stomach, having slipped past your waistband, and now settling above where you really needed it. Your hips churn against hers at the sudden coolness on your skin.
“Please,” Natasha forces out when she pulls away to breathe. “Can I…”
“Can you what?” you mumble, though you know full well what she wants. You just want to hear the words from her inexperienced tongue. The heat in your stomach simmers like oil, and Natasha groans.
“Can I touch you, please?” she asks, her voice strained. Her hips, pressed so close to yours, betray her excitement and buck upwards, and, fuck, what was that? Something hard and warm against your ass, but your lust-addled brain can’t put two and two together right now, not when Natasha is looking up at you like you hung the moon. You nod, and she mumbles something too low for you to catch.
Her hand slips lower, past your briefs, and then suddenly you feel her cool fingers bump your swollen clit. “Shit,” you hiss, leaning forward and grabbing the headrest of her chair. From this angle, your chest, barely constrained in its little white tank top, is much closer to Natasha’s face, and she groans. Her fingers slowly spread you open like a prize, and you let out an embarrassing gasp at the contact. A fingertip works you open, gathering your arousal on her finger like lubricant, and she swallows thickly.
“I’m gonna put it in, okay?” she asks, shy even now, and you nod above her, words failing you. You feel her take a steadying breath before she slowly pushes inside of you, working you open with her middle finger until she finally sinks inside. Your cunt greedily clenches around her, and you sigh against her ear when she reaches the knuckle. She’s biting her lower lip nervously. “Does that hurt?”
You shake your head quickly. “No, no, it’s good,” you reply. Your hips itch with the need to move. “You’re so good, Nat.”
That keening whine from earlier escapes Natasha’s throat, and her hips jerk up involuntarily. She licks her lips nervously again, and then her finger moves inside you, pumping slowly, and suddenly you don’t care about anything else. You’re tightening around her, heat pooling in your stomach, and your hips start to move against her hand, seeking more contact.
“Fuck, fuck, Nat, another one,” you babble, and she acquiesces, easily slipping her ring finger inside, and you groan softly. Her fingers curl with every thrust, like she’s seeking a specific spot, and her brows are furrowed like they usually are when she’s studying. She watches your face for changes in your expression, for the furrow of your brow and the widening of your mouth. What makes you gasp like that? How much pressure on your clit do you like? Oh, that’s what you like. She’s always been a quick study, but the reward of a potential orgasm motivates her a lot more than a grade on a midterm.
Heat coils in your stomach, tightening like the knot of a rope. Your hips bounce against her now, rocking up and down with abandon as you chase the pleasure of her touch, and now you can really feel something hot and straining against your ass, but you can’t care, not when her fingers finally brush against the spot that makes your toes clench.
“Oh fuck, Nat, yes,” you say between heavy moans, eloquence leaving you, and she takes it as a sign to fuck you even harder, pushing against the spot that makes your thighs tighten. “So good, Nat, so good, fuck, I–”
Her fingers don’t relent. She’s looking up at you, eyes wide like she’s looking at something magical, and her lips are still a little wet from your earlier kiss. “Are you gonna cum?” You nod shakily, desperately. “Come on, cum, cum for me,” she coaxes, words tumbling from her mouth, fingers unrelenting, fucking you like it was the only thing she knew how to do, and the heat in your belly bursts into flame.
You gasp, panting greedily as your cunt pulses desperately, your orgasm washing over you in fast, relentless waves. Your clit burns, throbbing against the seam of your underwear, and Natasha’s touch slows when she feels your cunt tighten against her, rubbing slow, soothing circles against your front wall. When the waves die down, you feel her drag her fingers away reluctantly, finally reappearing from your sleep shorts. Your chest heaves with exhaustion, and you look down at her with an incredulous smile on your lips.
“Nat,” is all you say, and then she’s kissing you again, less hungry than earlier, a little more patient. When you pull away, her lips are swollen and shining. You grin. “Fuck, Nat. I didn’t know you knew how to do that. Where did you learn to make a girl feel good?” Natasha coughs, face heating with the praise, and looks away.
“It’s not rocket science,” she replies, though with a small smile.
You laugh, moving back so you weren’t completely crushing her, and then you felt it bump against your ass again. The straining warmth you’d noticed earlier but were too preoccupied to think about. Natasha suddenly jumps in her seat, catching her lower lip between her teeth to stop a hiss from escaping.
Your brain whirs. No. Surely not, right?
“Oh my god,” you whisper. Your hips move again. Natasha almost cries out. “Natasha, do you have a–”
“Yes,” she grunts, “I do. And it really hurts right now, so if you don’t mind…” She moves to lift you up and off of her lap, but you stiffen against her, making yourself dead weight. She groans. “I need to go to the bathroom so I can–”
You grasp her wrists tightly. Natasha startles, looking at you owlishly, confusion evident on her face. Fuck, it’s so cute it’s a little disarming. You shake your head.
“Nat,” you begin, something devilish swirling around in your head. “I’m not letting you get up so you can go to the bathroom and finish yourself off in there.”
Her face flushes violently. “What?”
A grin spreads across your face, and you slowly move backwards off her lap, pulling away until you’re settled on your knees on the floor, looking up at her. “I said I’m not letting you jerk off in the toilet, Nat.”
“I-I heard what you said,” Natasha responds, but she still looks confused. Your hands move to the waistband of her sweatpants, and suddenly it dawns on her what you’re implying. “You– wait, you really don’t have to–”
“I know I don’t,” you cut in smoothly, and pull her sweatpants down. She lifts her hips up so they pool around her ankles, and then there’s nowhere else to look. Her boxers are a sensible navy with little white polka dots, and you smile. “Cute,” you say, trailing a hand up her now bare thigh, and she stammers something. Your hand moves up, up past the leg of her boxers until you finally reach what you’d been feeling against you this entire time. Her cock is trapped against the tight cotton, and you coo teasingly. “I bet that really hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t be mean,” Natasha breathes out. Your hand palms at her erection, feeling the heat radiate through the thin cotton, and she gasps out suddenly like she’d been burned. “Shit!”
Her reaction is almost enough to make your thighs shake. “Was that good?” you ask lowly, grasping at her again, and she nods frantically. “You like it when I touch your cock?”
“Please,” Natasha chokes out. You hum, and then finally pull down her boxers. Her cock springs out, hitting her stomach with a wet slap, and you can’t help the surprised little gasp from your mouth. It’s leaking desperately, flushed a deep pink from tip to base, and your mouth almost waters. Natasha is squirming in her seat, too flustered to protest when your hand reaches up to tentatively wrap around her cock, feeling her pulse flutter against your fingers.
You look up at Natasha. Her mouth is slightly agape, perhaps at your grasp, perhaps at this entire ridiculous situation. You can’t find it in you to care, so instead your grasp tightens a little and your hand moves with a slow steady pump of Natasha’s cock.
The effect is apparent. Natasha’s thighs spread wider, her brow furrows, and her mouth opens a little more. You smile. Slowly, you press your thumb to the oozing slit at the tip of her cock, a bead of moisture rolling down her shaft, and she gasps when your thumb makes little circles. “Fuck, you’re– fuck,” she stutters, and you hum, pleased. Slowly, you start to move your hand up and down, the way you’d seen in dirty videos you’d been shown at sleepovers, and Natasha’s hips stir. “Yes, please, fuck.”
Your hand keeps pumping, feeling her impossibly stiffen even more, her tip now an angry, sensitive red. It’s slick with her own precum, and you swallow thickly. You lean forward slowly, still stroking, before angling your head just right and taking her cock in your mouth.
“Shit!” Natasha barks, but you can’t bring yourself to pay attention to anything but the tang of her sweat and arousal against your mouth. A moan slips out of your throat involuntarily, causing Natasha’s hips to jerk up. You feel her slide deeper into your throat, and she curses. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry,” she splutters, but she trails off when your hand splays across her stomach.
You inhale deeply, relaxing your throat just enough to not gag, and then sink lower until every inch of her disappears inside of your mouth, your nose pressing against her underbelly.
You feel her shudder go through you, and you look up at her through watery lashes. Natasha’s looking down at you through those silly round glasses, her lips parted with hot, heaving pants, but she’s nodding, and that’s all the signal you need.
You start pulling away from her cock until she’s almost entirely exposed again, freshly glistening in the tepid air. Her tip is resting on your tongue, warm and leaking, and you dip your tongue against the leaking slit. Natasha groans, and her hand finds the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Her touch isn’t persistent, just grounding, and you hum sweetly while you swirl your tongue around her head. Another stutter of her hips, and then her fingers tighten in your hair, though not enough to hurt.
“Fuck, it’s– you’re so warm,” she hisses through her teeth, and slowly you lower your head, cock pushing further into your mouth until Natasha’s fingers pull your hair with a cry. You sob out a moan. Your thighs still tremble from your earlier orgasm, but looking up at her, her face contorted in pleasure, your thighs shake for a completely different reason.
You’re starting to find a rhythm now, bobbing your head along her cock, drool on your chin and slick all down her shaft. Natasha attempts to coax you through it, but it’s difficult between her moans and strangled cries when your hand comes up to cup her balls. It only takes a second before her hips stutter again, and suddenly her hand is pressing down on your head, pushing herself into your throat in one smooth motion.
“F-Fuck, I‘m sorry, I–” Natasha stammers, and her hips roll up to meet your mouth. You can’t do anything but moan as she fucks your mouth desperately, cradling your hair with as much tenderness as she could manage in her state. Your thighs clench, tears prickling your eyes and beading on your eyelashes as her hips move. A hot, salty tang blooms on your tongue, and Natasha shivers. “I’m gonna, shit, wait, I’m…”
She pulls out immediately, and you watch wide-eyed as her cock visibly throbs once, twice, and then spurts thin white ropes against her stomach and stupid grandpa sweater, and Natasha groans like the weight of something heavy has finally slid off her shoulders. You sit silently, watching her chest heave with slow breaths, before you reach for a tissue from her desk.
“You liked that?” you smile, wiping any stickiness from her skin, and she watches you with something reverent.
“Jesus,” she mumbles, pushing her glasses up to rub at her eyes. Her mouth is faltering into a twitching laugh now, and you grin with her. “Fuck. That was… that was really good. Sorry for the- the mess.”
You shake your head. “Don’t be.” Your head rests against her knee, and the hand that was resting warmly against the base of your skull moves to your cheek, cupping softly. Your heart does something full and unhurried in your chest, and you almost scoff at how ridiculous this situation is, but you can’t find it in you to regret it. Your sweet, shy roommate almost cumming down your throat and then tenderly stroking your face? You’d have never guessed she'd be so rough during it. The thought blooms something heavy in your abdomen again, and you hold back a groan.
“Now, Nat, I think you’ve got one more thing to do,” the words rumble out of your throat, and Natasha nods eagerly, desperate to know what else she could do for you. Your grin turns into a smirk.
“Tell me, please,” she pleads.
“Study,” you smile, and then you’re pulling her cock back into her boxers, shimmying up her sweatpants and pushing her chair back against her desk. Natasha stammers in confusion, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh, but you’re very serious.
“R-Really? Now?”
“You better get started.” Your lips are hot against her, your words ghosting the shell of her ear. “Because I’m gonna test you on everything you’ve remembered.”
Your hand on her shoulder, snaking down to her collarbone.
Natasha works outside in the heat and you watch on with (innocent) eyes
Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (N receiving), thigh riding, so much thirsting for Nat’s muscles hehe
Note: I am once again here with working out in the heat with Natasha. This one is fun. Enjoy!
Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 1, Natasha Romanoff Masterlist 2, Main Masterlist
It’s the first truly hot day of the year. As much as you hate the heat, the weather does have some perks.
One of them being that your wife works outside with little to no clothing on. And god does she look good.
You watch her from under the temporary shade Nat made you this morning because she knows you get hot and need to cool down.
She’s shredded her shirt from this morning and wears only a sports bra and shorts as she moves wood piles and digs in the garden.
“Do you need anything, babe?” You ask her, noticing the way the sweat drips off her muscles. Everywhere from her shoulders, her face, and even her abs are glistening.
“Maybe a drink break. And just for you to keep looking at me like that,” Natasha says. A smirk is on her face.
“Oops,” you mumble.
She walks over to your shade and you hand her a water. Nat takes it while leaving a kiss to your lips. You watch the way her body moves as she gulps down the water. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
“I know you enjoy looking,” she says once she’s swallowed the liquid.
“Respectfully, yes,” you reply.
“Hm, sure. Give me another hour and we can shower?” Nat suggests.
“Yes please,” you say.
Natasha leaves you with another kiss. This one is long enough that it leaves you wanting more.
You watch as she takes an axe to a piece of wood and her muscles flex. She chuckles at you with every swing.
When she’s finally done working, she walks to you again and this time when you hand her a water she pours some of it on her head.
“Babe, what are you doing?” You ask her.
“I’m cooling down,” she says with a shrug. “You like it, don’t you? Me being all wet?”
Your eyes go wide as you don’t know how to respond. She takes your hand and leads you towards the house.
“Nat, what about cleaning up?”
“That can wait until tomorrow,” she says.
You two practically jog into the house and it doesn’t take long for her to start taking your clothes off.
She starts with your shirt and you’ll never get over how she memorizes your body with her eyes every time she sees you like this.
By the time you’re in the bathroom, you’re only left in your underwear and Natasha is completely naked.
She turns the shower on and you both get inside. Nat lets the cool water run over her body before she pulls you flush against her.
Her thigh slots itself between your legs and you gasp.
“You’re so hot,” you tell her as she moves her thigh. You let her move against you at her own pace.
“Mhm, I’ve been thinking about this all day. How good it would feel to have you on my thigh,” Natasha says. Her words always spur you on further.
“Fuck Natasha,” you gasp as she picks up the pace. Her hands on your hips move you against her.
She kisses you deeply as she brings you closer and closer to your peak.
“Are you going to come for me, baby?” Nat asks.
“Yes, god, fuck Natasha,” you moan out as you come hard against her thigh.
“Good girl,” she coos as she helps your hips return to their normal pace.
“Your turn,” you say. You kneel in front of Nat and she backs up so the water is falling down her back.
You look up at the sight and it’s so beautiful the way her red hair is getting wet as you prepare to dive into her.
Natasha gets impatient and reaches for the back of your neck. She pulls you into her center and you lick through her folds. You find her soaking.
“You loved me watching you today, didn’t you?” You ask her, pulling away to tease her.
“Yeah, I did babe. Fuck me,” she says as you dive back in.
You take her clit into your mouth and she practically goes weak in the knees. She holds onto the side of the shower as you continue to eat her out.
“Fuck, detka, I’m going to come,” she says. She knows you like it when she’s this vocal.
You hum against her and that shoots her over the edge. She comes hard against your tongue and you clean her up.
When you stand again, you kiss her deeply and she holds you tight. Your breasts press together as you fall in love over again.
“I love you,” you tell her once you’ve broken for air.
“I love you too, detka,” Natasha says. “And I’m definitely going to work outside again tomorrow.”
You share a giggle and fall into a calm rhythm of conversation and actually taking care of showering duties.
Life with Natasha is absolutely perfect. Especially on days like today.
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
cw: bottom!reader, humiliation, daddy kink, voyeurism, exhibitionist, strapwarming, blow job, gambling, remote control vibrator, probably improper use of a sex toy, begging
wc: 3k
a/n: poker is not really fun in real life with only 5 people, but this definitely was…. p.s. yes i know the polls not over and pilates instructor!wanda is probably going to win, so ill release that soon too, but i just got ahead of myself.. read it on ao3!
Natasha had mentioned, a week prior, that she’d be having people over; if you knew you would be in this position right now—cheeks flushed, hands trembling, thighs squeezing around a gentle buzz—you would’ve stayed hidden in your shared bedroom. Poker has never been your forte in the realm of cards. You preferred Solitaire or Uno, games that demanded no thinking, as Natasha liked to tease. It was even worse when your attention was forced to split; your girlfriend could be so evil at times.
You were going heads up to the river, one-on-one to the last card; at least that's what you’ve gathered based on off-handed commentary made by one of her friends. Your eyes squinted, an indicator of the jargon escaping you, and the brimming volume of thoughts crowding your head.
“Small blinds to your right, baby,” Natasha said patronisingly, her hand smoothing over your thigh and pulling your focus back to the table. You bit your lip in acknowledgement, racking your brain for what she could’ve meant. You could barely think about the game at hand, mind occupied elsewhere.
“It means you act first,” Wanda giggled to your right, noticing the furrow between your brows. You’ve always been fond of Wanda, she was helpful and kind—you needed that comfort, especially when your girlfriend was in one of her teasing moods. Like today. Your left eye twitched a little when you recalled why she had cornered you in the bathroom before the company arrived.
You had complained about being good hosts, and not leaving people to wait at the door; Natasha promptly shut you up with a kiss, and tugged your underwear aside to slide a little pink bullet in you. She led you out the room, not before leaving a small pat on your cheek and reminding you to “keep up that poker face” during the game. It had annoyed you, particularly because she had blueballed you the prior night, mentioning something about having to get a good night’s rest for her mind to stay sharp. To make matters worse, she had strung you along the whole morning and day, wearing rings that wrapped beautifully along her fingers that she knew you adored, groping your ass in passing and claiming it was accidental, and hugging you from behind with her strap purposefully prodding at your back. You just about had enough of her teasing. The fact that your girlfriend was an avid gym-goer, working out 7 days a week, evaded you and she jumped when you practically tackled her in your attempt to unzip her jeans. You didn’t get very far, to be frank. At least Natasha consolidated you with a kiss and a promise. “Later, baby,” she had told you, peppering your face with little pecks. You glared at her now, receiving a raised eyebrow in response.
“I check,” you spluttered, squirming around the swelling pleasure, then turning to glance at Maria, who was the last to still hold cards. She sat between Agatha, whom you were unfamiliar with, and the fiery redhead who vexingly haunted your last hours without mercy. Maria held your gaze with an imperceptible smirk, held a pause, then broke it by pushing a few stacks of red discs into the center pot. The “chips,” as Natasha had referred to them as, tallied up to be around $10k. How they pulled crazy amounts of money out just to play around with eluded you.
“Gonna check-raise me, sweetie?” Maria teased, poking fun at your weak faux strategy. Heat crept up your face, though not because of what she'd said. Natasha had pulled out her phone, a seemingly innocent front to the others. Not for you. You had known what she was planning the moment that smug look flashed on her face. Her thumb strummed the waves that appeared on the app she had pulled up on her phone, and your posture straightened. You tried to camouflage your haggard breathing as appraising interest in Maria’s raise—it was a terrible guise, and if your eyes didn’t shut from the inexorably increasing buzz, you would’ve realized how perversely all the women’s gazes settled on you.
“F-fold,” you squeaked out, not willing to accidentally lose ten grand because your rationale was clouded by Natasha’s infuriatingly arousing distraction. Maria pumped her fist in the air, cheekily, and collected the compounded stack of chips. She splayed her cards out: a bluff. You huffed in exasperation, knowing that if you had called her raise, your hand would’ve won the pot.
“Romanoff, you can’t invite me here just to let your girl lose all your money,” she teased, patting Natasha’s shoulder. The redhead shrugged her off, smirking at her jab. She pinched your cheek in playful irritation, shooting a sense of pleasure down to your core. Your senses were heightened and easily stimulated from the toy between your legs, and any minor touch from her sent tantalizing shivers down your spine. It was irritating how intensely Natasha observed your struggle; you hated how much you needed her. The entire game, all you’ve been imagining is her taking you, bending you over the table, scattering all the poker chips, ruining the cards with your mess; you especially hated that she knew you’d let her. The second the cards were dealt for the next game, you folded your hand; it’s not like you could’ve played any decent bluff with a seven-duce, because the need in your center clouded all judgement for the game—and the awareness you held for the volume of your sounds.
“Careful, baby,” Natasha whispered, condescension brimming from her tone, “do you want daddy’s friends to ask what’s wrong with her sweet girl—why she’s trembling, whining, and can’t focus on the game?” You inconspicuously shook your head, not wanting to draw anymore attention towards yourself. Poor girl. If only you knew how perverse your daddy could be and the real reason she invited company over.
After a few rounds, the big blind circled the table to you, encouraging you to play another hand. You hadn’t won anything at this point, practically feeding your buy-in to each pot. With the smallest stack at the table, you felt like a fish darting around the ocean, just waiting to feel the inevitable jaws of death close around you. A part of you blamed Natasha and her cruel distraction, although you knew you’d play terribly even without it. Agatha, Maria, and Wanda were so hard to read, individually, and even more so when it felt like they were collectively colluding against you; Natasha as well, but you had managed to avoid playing into her. Unfortunately, you couldn’t run from the “shark” for much longer. Somehow, Natasha had managed to clean you out, baiting call after call for her raises that forced you all-in, ending in your loss. You rolled your eyes when she laughed at your clear displeasure; even though you were an awful player, competitiveness wrapped around your heart.
“Sorry, princess,” she teased, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you into her lap, “Guess you’re just gonna have to play with me for the rest of the night.” Your cheeks glowed at her boldness, embarrassed at the obvious voyeurism Natasha was apparently unaware of. A few smirks could be seen around the table, but your vision was obscured by your hands, covering your humiliation. Natasha nudged you with the deck of cards, and you shuffled it sloppily, causing a few to slip onto the ground. You could hear a small ‘tsk’ from behind you, and she turned up the vibrations in punishment. A lewd moan escaped your lips, adding fuel to the burning heat rising in your face.
“God, Romanoff, shut her up will you,” Agatha taunted, egging on Natasha’s exhibition of you. At Agatha’s comment, Natasha slid her chair, and subsequently you, out from the table.
“Go fetch, baby,” she purred, forcing you onto your knees to grab the cards. Shrinking down, you reached for the loose rectangles, slipping them over to her. You picked up the retriever cards, making a move to stand up, but Natasha's hand stopped you. Your eyes widened at her insinuation, and further more at the unbuckling sound of her belt and the unzipping of her jeans. You shook your head, whispering your humiliated objection, “There’s other people here, Natty.”
“Oh we don’t mind, bunny,” Wanda cooed, her voice coming from above the table, responding to your shameful worry. You shrunk even more, and Natasha chuckled at her assistance, patting the side of your cheek.
“Did you hear that, sweet girl?” She mocked, cupping the back of your head and driving it to her crotch. “Go on, baby.”
You pulled back hesitantly, looking up at her through the gap between the table and the ground. The strap she wore was big on purpose, the one you knew made you gag the most; it’s almost like Natasha wanted all her friends to hear you make a mess on her strap.
“You look so cute, honey,” Maria encouraged, breaking the wavering silence, “give us a show?”
You blushed at her compliment, and then even more at her innuendo. Slowly, you opened your mouth to press your tongue against the tip. The silicone felt heavy in your mouth, but you hollowed your cheeks and began bobbing your head, repressing your moans. The angle of Natasha’s strap pressed the base of her harness into her, pulling a groan from her throat. You could hear a small thud above you, as if someone had dropped something down.
“My blind for the next round,” Natasha told the table, garnering a few antsy shuffles from your perspective. It wasn’t until they ended the round, the pot going to Agatha, that you realized the little thud was Natasha’s phone, and her bet was your pleasure; you could hear a snarky comment coming from Agatha, followed by an intensity that rivaled the high you received from winning a hand. The deceivingly small toy inside you buzzed to life and hummed almost louder than the wanton moans it elicited from you. Heat flooded your chest and face as a result of the utter mortification you felt.
“Fuck, baby, your lips look so pretty wrapped around my cock,” Natasha mocked, loosing her fingers in your hair. She moaned at the pleasure caused by your attentive movement; her melodic sounds entranced you, embarrassment fading away. At this moment, you wanted nothing more than to please your daddy. Your needy whines, muffled by her strap, escape your throat and draw out groans from above, reminding you of your current position. The palpable feeling of hunger settled in the balmy silence, save for the clink of chips being moved or cards folded—you, or your sounds in this case, held the attention of every woman seated.
“Look at me, baby,” Natasha muttered, stealing the focus of your thoughts. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you’re swallowing her cock. “Such a cute girl, aren’t you?”
If your lips weren’t so extensively occupied, you’d smile at her praise. The warmth of it melted the humiliating atmosphere, prodding at you, urging you on. With her right hand fixed on the top of your head, she pulled you to her hilt, until your nose was pressed against her. In your peripheral, you could just about make out Wanda watching your lewd intake of Natasha’s cock, her gaze frozen on the way it disappeared then reappeared.
“Aren’t you pathetic?” Agatha jeered, her annoyance at losing a hefty sum evident in her remark. “Sucking your daddy off with no shame in front of all her friends?” You reflexively whimpered at her comment, the vulgarity of it sending licks of flame to your face—and to your core, causing your thighs to tighten in an attempt to quell the fire. Natasha notices your abashment, guiding your head down again, this time firmly holding you there. Instinctively, you fight it, throat spamming around the sudden sharp intrusion, but her grip is inert on your skull.
“Keep at it, princess,” Natasha says, shushing your audible complaints, “Daddy will tell you when you can stop.” Though striking redness remained at your ears, the careful encouragement and steering of Natasha’s hand absorbed your consciousness. Your little gags and whimpers filled the room for minutes that felt like decades, clinging onto the ends of every shallow conversation. Natasha interrupted your worship of her by gently grasping the back of your head, pulling you off her strap with a ‘pop’ from your lips.
“C’mere, sweet girl,” she muttered, sliding her hands beneath your arms to haul you onto her lap. You straddled her with her cock between your legs, sloppy from your prior work. Natasha took in the view, the game fading into the background; you looked delicious, eyes glassy, face peppered with light color, and lips swollen from use. She leaned in for a moment, gaze swiping over your mouth in foreshadow, and then kissed you. You melted into her, steadying yourself with your hands on her shoulders.
“Up,” Natasha ordered, tapping your thighs. A look of mortification overtook your expression. Sucking her off was one thing, at least you had the table to hide away your shame, but here? Above the cover of safety, where everyone has a full view of your indecency? Your fingers clenched around Natasha, pupils dilating in fear and embarrassment. You shook your head again for the second time tonight, a pleading look filling your face. Natasha tsked, grabbing you by your waist in spite of your refusal. With one hand, she slipped you out of your shorts, lining herself up with your soaking entrance. When you sank down onto her, you could feel every ridge and texture of her strap, consuming your senses. The fullness it forced into you pried a shuttering gasp from the deepest part of your need, and you slammed your eyes shut. You moaned when your ass met her clothed thighs, signifying the depth she had reached. The little toy she slid in you prior to the arrival of her company kissed your cervix, still vibrating on the cruel setting Agatha had left it. Your whines grew, and you had to lean your weight onto her front to find your footing. Natasha wrapped herself around you, arms caressing your backside.
“Sit like this, all pretty and warming my cock, ‘kay?” Natasha cooed, patting your ass from behind. You nodded, because that was the only thing you could do, and thanked her silently for granting you the grace of your front facing her instead of the others, though your embarrassment was evident in your ears.
The night continued like normal, save for the wanton moans you muffled in Natasha’s neck caused by her abrupt movements. You thought she was doing it on purpose, but with no real way to prove it, you were left to the mercy of her will. At one point, she passed around her phone again, letting her friends control the moment of your orgasm. Natasha could feel you clenching around her strap at every tantalizing increase or teasing decrease of the toy. You were trembling, and you would’ve crumpled onto the ground if she were not supporting your full weight. Natasha’s hips didn’t jump enough for you to get off, and you made your need very clear.
“Please, please, daddy,” you choked out pleas, clinging to Natasha’s shirt.
“You’re asking the wrong person, baby,” Natasha smirked, kissing your cheek and nodding pointedly at Wanda, who was currently in possession of her phone. You hid your face in her neck which your arms wrapped around.
“W-Wanda,” you squeaked out hesitantly, “please, I want more, please.” She smirked at your humiliation, but nonetheless, she enhanced the waves of pleasure.
“Greedy girl,” she teased, moving her thumb up and down, controlling the intensity of the vibrations in your core. You let out tiny gasps in response, hips bucking up, chasing relief.
“P-Please.” The strangled plea narrowly escaped your throat. Your begging had only incited more trouble, and the women watched you hang on the edge for the entire night, poker chips used as betting power towards who had control of your high. Humiliation had long since been forgotten, the haze of chasing your orgasm stealing your focus. You would’ve done anything for them to let you fall apart, as Natasha made it clear she would not be assisting in that department.
“Aggie, can I please cum,” you whined, now directing your requests toward the current holder of your fate.
“I don’t know, can you? You seem very able, pet,” she mocked, bringing the intensity as high as the app would let her. You choked on your next breath, and let little ‘ahh’s escape you.
“May, I- fuck-, may I please cum,” you begged, your grip turning Natasha’s skin an iron white. Agatha chuckled at your desperation.
“Mmm, I think that’s a question for your daddy, don’t you?” You let out an agonizing wail, annoyance at the game the women were forcing you to play.
“Daddy, daddy, please, daddy,” you spluttered out, the intensity of the toy affecting your ability to form any other word. Natasha grinned devilishly, heartlessly withholding her permission. Instead, she left little kisses on your sweat-lined forehead, pulling your hair out of your face.
“Cum for me, pretty girl,” she murmured against your skin, finally granting you the ability to freefall. You felt as if the world had folded in on itself, outside becoming in, and then suddenly, nothing. Natasha could feel the spasms of your walls and thighs, your fluids coating her cock and ruining her jeans. She soothed over your skin as you came down, whispering sweet praises into you.
You laid motionlessly, slumped against her, blinking in slow recovery. The others had resorted to cleaning up, putting away the chips, or bringing you a glass of water. Natasha thanked Maria for you, as you held yourself up to drink with all the strength that remained. As everyone funneled out for the night, Agatha winked at you as she slid out the door, leaving you with one last remark.
men n minors fuck off ✧ cw ;; bsf sevika, mutual masturbating, fingering, dirty talk, degradation kink?
You set the phone up with your legs spread out, your best friend was on Facetime, watching with a devious smirk playing on her lips as you spread your legs and nervously ran your fingers amidst your folds.
“Watch me, Sevika,” you whispered.
Sevika watched, almost as if in awe, “go ahead.”
Your fingers slipped inside with a loud wet sound. At first, you fucked yourself slowly. Gradually, you build speed and your fingers pumped inside more and more carelessly. The sound was louder. The moans that came from you were downright pornographic. Sevika watched, teeth sinking down on her bottom lip as she stroked herself through her boxers, soaking a wet patch through the cloth because of her own arousal.
“You’re mine. I fuckin’ hated it when you let those guys fuck you,” Sevika growled, tossing her head back as her fingers touched her sensitive clit.
“Mark me then, asshole. Don’t be leading me on,” you said, curling your fingers and moaning loudly.
“Yeah? You wanna be my bitch so badly?” Sevika asked, her tone cocky but also loving at the same time.
You rolled your eyes, “don’t get so high and mighty, you’re the jealous one.”
Sevika’s smirk widened slightly, “and you’re fingering yourself on Facetime.”
Summary: It’s only once you’re away that Natasha finds your unnecessary bedtime habits essential for a peaceful night of sleep.
Warnings/Tags: Cheeky Natasha, Nat in the doghouse, Fluff, Knife mention, Liho appearance
Word Count: 1.65k
Masterlist
Natasha doesn’t know how long ago you’d formed this routine, but she wasn’t a fan. A month apart and you’d somehow come up with the perfect way to annoy her right before bed. She doesn’t know why you still do it. She’s been back a week now, and you’re still hooked on it.
“Milaya, please turn it off.” Her head was shoved into the crook of your neck, eyes squinting from exhaustion, and a hand already stretched out towards your phone.
“It helps me sleep ‘Tasha. Could you just wait until I’m knocked out before you turn it off?” You hold the device further away from your body, effectively keeping it out of reach.
“You say that every night. Then the minute I grab your phone you wake up and choose some other weird video to watch. It’s stupid.” Natasha stops trying and dramatically rolls onto her back. Her arms spread wide with one smacking against your abdomen, along with a hand and foot hanging off the side of the bed.
“It’s not stupid. It lowers my cortisol.” You pout.
Natasha deadpans. “Yeah, because a cranial nerve exam with a glitter wand is the perfect lullaby. Give it to me.”
The redhead pops up and wrestles you for the phone. Her legs bracket your hips, and her hands lock around your arms.
“Hey! No. Natasha, I swear if you don’t give me my phone back, I’ll—” You watch as she holds the phone above her head and powers it off. She places it on the nightstand near her side of the bed and flops onto you. Her body scoots down just enough for her temple to meet your clavicle.
“You'll what? Can’t you just wear headphones?” She mumbles against your skin.
“You know I can’t wear them to sleep. They’re uncomfortable. We’ve been over this.” Your hands come up to scratch lightly at her shoulders, and you feel her shudder against you. You didn’t have to see her face to know she’d rolled her eyes at your words.
“And under. You know what else is uncomfortable? Hearing some random lady suck on wooden spoons just so you can sleep.” She snorts.
“Unfair.” You pinch her.
“Unfair? You couldn’t have at least chose hair brushing last night?”
“I could tonight if you just give me my phone back.” You offer her.
“No.” It’s quiet for a second as you thought of a good enough threat for the assassin.
“Natalia, I’ll make you sleep on the couch with Liho.” The use of her formal name let her know that you were serious about this.
“At least Liho doesn’t watch Avengers ASMR Role-play videos at midnight.” She retorts sulkily. She really couldn’t help but get another jab in.
“But she does chew on your hair.”
“Fine.” Natasha reaches back for the device. A picture of the two of you lit up the screen as she powers it back on.
“Fine.” You mocked. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.” The phone is snatched out of her hands the second she moves off you.
You turn back on your side. Natasha’s arm falls around your waist as a peck, then a sigh, meets the nape of your neck. Then she had to ruin it.
“Oh, yes malyshka. I love the spit painting with your snoring as adlibs.”
You do not snore.
“Couch.” There was silence for a moment.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead.”
Before you pressed play on the next video, a curious meow reached your ears accompanied by a sleepy groan. You could easily imagine her tired form gripping a single pillow, and some random throw from your hall closet, under one arm as she glared at the cat swerving between her calves.
“If I find pieces of my hair on the floor in the morning, I’m taking you to the groomers first thing tomorrow.” Her drowsy voice made you feel the tiniest bit of guilt. That was until your favorite creator made an appearance on the screen.
This was peace.
A giggle of contentment escaped you as you turned over in bed, comfortable with the night’s sleeping arrangements and Natasha’s lack of complaints in your ear.
—
It’s not like you were currently keeping eyes on HYDRA agents at some decrepit warehouse in a foreign country. It’s not like that at all. Not to Natasha. Natasha, who hadn’t slept for three nights. Not to Natasha who’d invited a black fur-ball of chaos into your shared bed that night, hoping to find some kind of natural melatonin between Liho’s breath that smelled like her last meal and the scent of you that’s started to wear off the sheets. And definitely not to Natasha, who’d picked out a burner phone to call you in the middle of surveillance.
“So, let me get this straight.” You started, exasperated by your girlfriend’s actions. “You drove—what—probably halfway across the city to call me on a burner while I’m in the middle of a mission—in Santiago—about which ASMR channels I watch?” You were speechless.
The anxiety you had as you picked up the phone, only to hear the faltering voice of the Russian, was immense. Now you knew the hesitation was a result of her embarrassment and you couldn’t be any more amused.
“Don’t start gloating. Just give me a name.”
“You call me, begging, at three am and expect me not to rub it in your face? Do you know who I am Miss Romanoff?”
“Jane Doe if I don’t get a name. I wouldn’t even care if it’s the lady with the crappy mic, just need something before our window closes malysh, I’m tired.”
You knew it was only a matter of time before your line was open for tracing, so you relented. The teasing could wait until you stepped back into the compound. It would be all you’d think about until the next time you see her.
“Love you Nat. Rest—” The line went dead before you could wish her a good night of sleep.
A light smile graced your face as you removed the SD card from the device and cracked the butt of your tactical knife against it. You swept the shards off and watched as they scattered on the ground below your station. After days of unrest yourself, the interaction had filled you with enough energy to get through the rest of the mission.
—
You returned successfully seventy-four hours later. It was early morning when you stepped into your shared space. The scalding shower after touchdown soothed the aches in your body until your muscles were nearly mush under the heat. As you passed Liho, the cat resting over the arm of your couch, a small scratch over the back of her head was all you could muster.
Natasha was sprawled out on your side of the bed, mouth parted ever so slightly as a limp hand propped up the phone in front of her. The comforter was pushed down around her waist as she slept on her stomach. Her head was turned into an awful position, and you knew she’d be concealing the crick in her neck within a few hours' time. The last few minutes of a fake makeup ASMR video played on the screen, soft whispering, taps, and brushing sounded out along with her small puffs of breath.
Your actions were careless as you stripped down to hop in bed with your hypocrite of a lover. It’s a wonder how she hadn’t shot up the second your keys hit the kitchen island. But any questions she would’ve had for you could wait.
“You’re so in for it later on.” You whisper sleepily, hands pulling the comforter over your body now. You fix the material up and around her shoulders and reach for the phone propped against her hand. There was no need for it when you were seconds away from drifting off.
“No.” A tired, drawn-out, whine left your girlfriend's mouth. A surprised gasp of a laugh escaped your own.
“There’s no way Natasha.” You giggled out.
“If you don’t turn it back on, I’m telling Friday to lock the air conditioner on eighty-six and watch as you slow roast in your sleep.” The redhead stretched out a bit before groggy, and threatening, eyes met yours.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Dead.”
“I hope you know you’re getting a mouthful later on, Miss Black Widow.”
She groaned. “Don’t care. Give it.” Her hand was laid out in front of you, waiting.
“It’s just one night ‘Tasha.” She pretended to think it over for a second before speaking.
“Friday—”
“Fine! Fine. Go back to sleep.”
The look on her face was entirely too smug once you conceded. But any bit of irritation you might’ve had slipped away as she shuffled her way towards you, forced to rest on her side of the bed, and completely draped her body over your own with her phone in hand.
A content hum filled the space between you two as you rubbed her back. The two of you were now staring intently at her screen through narrowed eyes. Natasha hit the refresh button on the app and lethargically scrolled through tens of videos with attention grabbing titles and quirky thumbnails.
“Play the alien abduction one”—She swiped back up for you—“that one right there.”
“You’re such a nerd.” Hands pulled at the loose hair near her nape in a teasing manner.
You rolled your eyes as you watched the corners of her lips curl up. “Says the James Bond fanatic.”
Her chin pressed into your skin as she turned to look at you, and mumbled. “You’re lucky I’m already comfortable.”
“Mhm. Press play.”
She clicks onto the video without further argument and hands you the phone to set against the lamp on her nightstand. You scratched across her shoulders and felt her body melt similar to the way Liho would when you massaged the back of her ears. The video started without the blaring of some obnoxious advertisement. Seconds passed by before you realized what had just happened.
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
cw: bottom!reader, humiliation, daddy kink, voyeurism, exhibitionist, strapwarming, blow job, gambling, remote control vibrator, probably improper use of a sex toy, begging
wc: 3k
a/n: poker is not really fun in real life with only 5 people, but this definitely was…. p.s. yes i know the polls not over and pilates instructor!wanda is probably going to win, so ill release that soon too, but i just got ahead of myself.. read it on ao3!
Natasha had mentioned, a week prior, that she’d be having people over; if you knew you would be in this position right now—cheeks flushed, hands trembling, thighs squeezing around a gentle buzz—you would’ve stayed hidden in your shared bedroom. Poker has never been your forte in the realm of cards. You preferred Solitaire or Uno, games that demanded no thinking, as Natasha liked to tease. It was even worse when your attention was forced to split; your girlfriend could be so evil at times.
You were going heads up to the river, one-on-one to the last card; at least that's what you’ve gathered based on off-handed commentary made by one of her friends. Your eyes squinted, an indicator of the jargon escaping you, and the brimming volume of thoughts crowding your head.
“Small blinds to your right, baby,” Natasha said patronisingly, her hand smoothing over your thigh and pulling your focus back to the table. You bit your lip in acknowledgement, racking your brain for what she could’ve meant. You could barely think about the game at hand, mind occupied elsewhere.
“It means you act first,” Wanda giggled to your right, noticing the furrow between your brows. You’ve always been fond of Wanda, she was helpful and kind—you needed that comfort, especially when your girlfriend was in one of her teasing moods. Like today. Your left eye twitched a little when you recalled why she had cornered you in the bathroom before the company arrived.
You had complained about being good hosts, and not leaving people to wait at the door; Natasha promptly shut you up with a kiss, and tugged your underwear aside to slide a little pink bullet in you. She led you out the room, not before leaving a small pat on your cheek and reminding you to “keep up that poker face” during the game. It had annoyed you, particularly because she had blueballed you the prior night, mentioning something about having to get a good night’s rest for her mind to stay sharp. To make matters worse, she had strung you along the whole morning and day, wearing rings that wrapped beautifully along her fingers that she knew you adored, groping your ass in passing and claiming it was accidental, and hugging you from behind with her strap purposefully prodding at your back. You just about had enough of her teasing. The fact that your girlfriend was an avid gym-goer, working out 7 days a week, evaded you and she jumped when you practically tackled her in your attempt to unzip her jeans. You didn’t get very far, to be frank. At least Natasha consolidated you with a kiss and a promise. “Later, baby,” she had told you, peppering your face with little pecks. You glared at her now, receiving a raised eyebrow in response.
“I check,” you spluttered, squirming around the swelling pleasure, then turning to glance at Maria, who was the last to still hold cards. She sat between Agatha, whom you were unfamiliar with, and the fiery redhead who vexingly haunted your last hours without mercy. Maria held your gaze with an imperceptible smirk, held a pause, then broke it by pushing a few stacks of red discs into the center pot. The “chips,” as Natasha had referred to them as, tallied up to be around $10k. How they pulled crazy amounts of money out just to play around with eluded you.
“Gonna check-raise me, sweetie?” Maria teased, poking fun at your weak faux strategy. Heat crept up your face, though not because of what she'd said. Natasha had pulled out her phone, a seemingly innocent front to the others. Not for you. You had known what she was planning the moment that smug look flashed on her face. Her thumb strummed the waves that appeared on the app she had pulled up on her phone, and your posture straightened. You tried to camouflage your haggard breathing as appraising interest in Maria’s raise—it was a terrible guise, and if your eyes didn’t shut from the inexorably increasing buzz, you would’ve realized how perversely all the women’s gazes settled on you.
“F-fold,” you squeaked out, not willing to accidentally lose ten grand because your rationale was clouded by Natasha’s infuriatingly arousing distraction. Maria pumped her fist in the air, cheekily, and collected the compounded stack of chips. She splayed her cards out: a bluff. You huffed in exasperation, knowing that if you had called her raise, your hand would’ve won the pot.
“Romanoff, you can’t invite me here just to let your girl lose all your money,” she teased, patting Natasha’s shoulder. The redhead shrugged her off, smirking at her jab. She pinched your cheek in playful irritation, shooting a sense of pleasure down to your core. Your senses were heightened and easily stimulated from the toy between your legs, and any minor touch from her sent tantalizing shivers down your spine. It was irritating how intensely Natasha observed your struggle; you hated how much you needed her. The entire game, all you’ve been imagining is her taking you, bending you over the table, scattering all the poker chips, ruining the cards with your mess; you especially hated that she knew you’d let her. The second the cards were dealt for the next game, you folded your hand; it’s not like you could’ve played any decent bluff with a seven-duce, because the need in your center clouded all judgement for the game—and the awareness you held for the volume of your sounds.
“Careful, baby,” Natasha whispered, condescension brimming from her tone, “do you want daddy’s friends to ask what’s wrong with her sweet girl—why she’s trembling, whining, and can’t focus on the game?” You inconspicuously shook your head, not wanting to draw anymore attention towards yourself. Poor girl. If only you knew how perverse your daddy could be and the real reason she invited company over.
After a few rounds, the big blind circled the table to you, encouraging you to play another hand. You hadn’t won anything at this point, practically feeding your buy-in to each pot. With the smallest stack at the table, you felt like a fish darting around the ocean, just waiting to feel the inevitable jaws of death close around you. A part of you blamed Natasha and her cruel distraction, although you knew you’d play terribly even without it. Agatha, Maria, and Wanda were so hard to read, individually, and even more so when it felt like they were collectively colluding against you; Natasha as well, but you had managed to avoid playing into her. Unfortunately, you couldn’t run from the “shark” for much longer. Somehow, Natasha had managed to clean you out, baiting call after call for her raises that forced you all-in, ending in your loss. You rolled your eyes when she laughed at your clear displeasure; even though you were an awful player, competitiveness wrapped around your heart.
“Sorry, princess,” she teased, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you into her lap, “Guess you’re just gonna have to play with me for the rest of the night.” Your cheeks glowed at her boldness, embarrassed at the obvious voyeurism Natasha was apparently unaware of. A few smirks could be seen around the table, but your vision was obscured by your hands, covering your humiliation. Natasha nudged you with the deck of cards, and you shuffled it sloppily, causing a few to slip onto the ground. You could hear a small ‘tsk’ from behind you, and she turned up the vibrations in punishment. A lewd moan escaped your lips, adding fuel to the burning heat rising in your face.
“God, Romanoff, shut her up will you,” Agatha taunted, egging on Natasha’s exhibition of you. At Agatha’s comment, Natasha slid her chair, and subsequently you, out from the table.
“Go fetch, baby,” she purred, forcing you onto your knees to grab the cards. Shrinking down, you reached for the loose rectangles, slipping them over to her. You picked up the retriever cards, making a move to stand up, but Natasha's hand stopped you. Your eyes widened at her insinuation, and further more at the unbuckling sound of her belt and the unzipping of her jeans. You shook your head, whispering your humiliated objection, “There’s other people here, Natty.”
“Oh we don’t mind, bunny,” Wanda cooed, her voice coming from above the table, responding to your shameful worry. You shrunk even more, and Natasha chuckled at her assistance, patting the side of your cheek.
“Did you hear that, sweet girl?” She mocked, cupping the back of your head and driving it to her crotch. “Go on, baby.”
You pulled back hesitantly, looking up at her through the gap between the table and the ground. The strap she wore was big on purpose, the one you knew made you gag the most; it’s almost like Natasha wanted all her friends to hear you make a mess on her strap.
“You look so cute, honey,” Maria encouraged, breaking the wavering silence, “give us a show?”
You blushed at her compliment, and then even more at her innuendo. Slowly, you opened your mouth to press your tongue against the tip. The silicone felt heavy in your mouth, but you hollowed your cheeks and began bobbing your head, repressing your moans. The angle of Natasha’s strap pressed the base of her harness into her, pulling a groan from her throat. You could hear a small thud above you, as if someone had dropped something down.
“My blind for the next round,” Natasha told the table, garnering a few antsy shuffles from your perspective. It wasn’t until they ended the round, the pot going to Agatha, that you realized the little thud was Natasha’s phone, and her bet was your pleasure; you could hear a snarky comment coming from Agatha, followed by an intensity that rivaled the high you received from winning a hand. The deceivingly small toy inside you buzzed to life and hummed almost louder than the wanton moans it elicited from you. Heat flooded your chest and face as a result of the utter mortification you felt.
“Fuck, baby, your lips look so pretty wrapped around my cock,” Natasha mocked, loosing her fingers in your hair. She moaned at the pleasure caused by your attentive movement; her melodic sounds entranced you, embarrassment fading away. At this moment, you wanted nothing more than to please your daddy. Your needy whines, muffled by her strap, escape your throat and draw out groans from above, reminding you of your current position. The palpable feeling of hunger settled in the balmy silence, save for the clink of chips being moved or cards folded—you, or your sounds in this case, held the attention of every woman seated.
“Look at me, baby,” Natasha muttered, stealing the focus of your thoughts. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you’re swallowing her cock. “Such a cute girl, aren’t you?”
If your lips weren’t so extensively occupied, you’d smile at her praise. The warmth of it melted the humiliating atmosphere, prodding at you, urging you on. With her right hand fixed on the top of your head, she pulled you to her hilt, until your nose was pressed against her. In your peripheral, you could just about make out Wanda watching your lewd intake of Natasha’s cock, her gaze frozen on the way it disappeared then reappeared.
“Aren’t you pathetic?” Agatha jeered, her annoyance at losing a hefty sum evident in her remark. “Sucking your daddy off with no shame in front of all her friends?” You reflexively whimpered at her comment, the vulgarity of it sending licks of flame to your face—and to your core, causing your thighs to tighten in an attempt to quell the fire. Natasha notices your abashment, guiding your head down again, this time firmly holding you there. Instinctively, you fight it, throat spamming around the sudden sharp intrusion, but her grip is inert on your skull.
“Keep at it, princess,” Natasha says, shushing your audible complaints, “Daddy will tell you when you can stop.” Though striking redness remained at your ears, the careful encouragement and steering of Natasha’s hand absorbed your consciousness. Your little gags and whimpers filled the room for minutes that felt like decades, clinging onto the ends of every shallow conversation. Natasha interrupted your worship of her by gently grasping the back of your head, pulling you off her strap with a ‘pop’ from your lips.
“C’mere, sweet girl,” she muttered, sliding her hands beneath your arms to haul you onto her lap. You straddled her with her cock between your legs, sloppy from your prior work. Natasha took in the view, the game fading into the background; you looked delicious, eyes glassy, face peppered with light color, and lips swollen from use. She leaned in for a moment, gaze swiping over your mouth in foreshadow, and then kissed you. You melted into her, steadying yourself with your hands on her shoulders.
“Up,” Natasha ordered, tapping your thighs. A look of mortification overtook your expression. Sucking her off was one thing, at least you had the table to hide away your shame, but here? Above the cover of safety, where everyone has a full view of your indecency? Your fingers clenched around Natasha, pupils dilating in fear and embarrassment. You shook your head again for the second time tonight, a pleading look filling your face. Natasha tsked, grabbing you by your waist in spite of your refusal. With one hand, she slipped you out of your shorts, lining herself up with your soaking entrance. When you sank down onto her, you could feel every ridge and texture of her strap, consuming your senses. The fullness it forced into you pried a shuttering gasp from the deepest part of your need, and you slammed your eyes shut. You moaned when your ass met her clothed thighs, signifying the depth she had reached. The little toy she slid in you prior to the arrival of her company kissed your cervix, still vibrating on the cruel setting Agatha had left it. Your whines grew, and you had to lean your weight onto her front to find your footing. Natasha wrapped herself around you, arms caressing your backside.
“Sit like this, all pretty and warming my cock, ‘kay?” Natasha cooed, patting your ass from behind. You nodded, because that was the only thing you could do, and thanked her silently for granting you the grace of your front facing her instead of the others, though your embarrassment was evident in your ears.
The night continued like normal, save for the wanton moans you muffled in Natasha’s neck caused by her abrupt movements. You thought she was doing it on purpose, but with no real way to prove it, you were left to the mercy of her will. At one point, she passed around her phone again, letting her friends control the moment of your orgasm. Natasha could feel you clenching around her strap at every tantalizing increase or teasing decrease of the toy. You were trembling, and you would’ve crumpled onto the ground if she were not supporting your full weight. Natasha’s hips didn’t jump enough for you to get off, and you made your need very clear.
“Please, please, daddy,” you choked out pleas, clinging to Natasha’s shirt.
“You’re asking the wrong person, baby,” Natasha smirked, kissing your cheek and nodding pointedly at Wanda, who was currently in possession of her phone. You hid your face in her neck which your arms wrapped around.
“W-Wanda,” you squeaked out hesitantly, “please, I want more, please.” She smirked at your humiliation, but nonetheless, she enhanced the waves of pleasure.
“Greedy girl,” she teased, moving her thumb up and down, controlling the intensity of the vibrations in your core. You let out tiny gasps in response, hips bucking up, chasing relief.
“P-Please.” The strangled plea narrowly escaped your throat. Your begging had only incited more trouble, and the women watched you hang on the edge for the entire night, poker chips used as betting power towards who had control of your high. Humiliation had long since been forgotten, the haze of chasing your orgasm stealing your focus. You would’ve done anything for them to let you fall apart, as Natasha made it clear she would not be assisting in that department.
“Aggie, can I please cum,” you whined, now directing your requests toward the current holder of your fate.
“I don’t know, can you? You seem very able, pet,” she mocked, bringing the intensity as high as the app would let her. You choked on your next breath, and let little ‘ahh’s escape you.
“May, I- fuck-, may I please cum,” you begged, your grip turning Natasha’s skin an iron white. Agatha chuckled at your desperation.
“Mmm, I think that’s a question for your daddy, don’t you?” You let out an agonizing wail, annoyance at the game the women were forcing you to play.
“Daddy, daddy, please, daddy,” you spluttered out, the intensity of the toy affecting your ability to form any other word. Natasha grinned devilishly, heartlessly withholding her permission. Instead, she left little kisses on your sweat-lined forehead, pulling your hair out of your face.
“Cum for me, pretty girl,” she murmured against your skin, finally granting you the ability to freefall. You felt as if the world had folded in on itself, outside becoming in, and then suddenly, nothing. Natasha could feel the spasms of your walls and thighs, your fluids coating her cock and ruining her jeans. She soothed over your skin as you came down, whispering sweet praises into you.
You laid motionlessly, slumped against her, blinking in slow recovery. The others had resorted to cleaning up, putting away the chips, or bringing you a glass of water. Natasha thanked Maria for you, as you held yourself up to drink with all the strength that remained. As everyone funneled out for the night, Agatha winked at you as she slid out the door, leaving you with one last remark.
what if she's written mine on your upper thigh only in your mind?
synopsis: after a mission-gone-wrong leaves you missing the memories of your apparent marriage with your least favorite former classmate - you find yourself aching for your best friend when she's the one who steps up to take care of you. can you keep your crush to yourself? or will you cross the line?
pairing: husband!gojo x f!reader x best friend!shoko
wc: 10.9k
content: MDNI!! mostly angst but smut and fluff too!, amnesia trope, tw mentions of cheating/infidelity!!, reader is bisexual, can you blame her for wanting shoko when she looks like THAT, marriage, separation, divorce, reader loses a lot of her memories, struggling to cope with her new life, gojo sucks lol, manipulation tactics, heavy pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is conflicted, masturbation, oral sex, fantasizing about someone else during sex, piv sex, pulling out, kissing, confessions, confrontations
a/n: this was a commission for the lovely @dayanim who has some of the best ideas literally ever !! art is by @/aransmind + div by @/tsumiinum
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The last person you expected to see sitting by your hospital bed was the white-haired idiot who had decided from the first moment you’d met that you were his personal toy to tease and taunt.
Really, the only thing more shocking than staring at his blue eyes brimming with concern back at you was hearing Shoko’s soft voice refer to him as your husband as she said something about a care plan.
And before you could stop yourself, your stare slipped down at the faint feeling of pressure, stomach dropping as you realized he was even holding your hand, a white-gold wedding band glittering on his fourth finger – and oh God, a ginormous diamond ring on your own, framed by aquamarine or topaz or some other little blue gemstones encrusted in your band.
You instinctively wanted to rip it off. Throw it at him with an annoyed huff even if the world was still all fuzzy, the drone of the air conditioning and the beeping of whatever machines Shoko had you hooked up to.
“This isn’t funny,” you snapped at him, scowling as you tried to sit up, body sore and aching as your head throbbed in protest. How much did he pay her to go along with this?
His head turned back towards her, his mouth parting as he spoke under his breath, and your eyes finally focused properly, nausea settling deeper as you realized that Gojo was different. Bulkier. Shoulders broader, frame filled out, no longer looking the least bit boyish or lanky when he made the cheap chair he was sitting in looked cramped.
And when you looked back up at Shoko, it struck you how much longer her hair was, even shinier too, but the dark circles under her eyes made your heart stall. Your brain refused to accept it. Any of it. Watching the cigarette dangling between her lips as she listened to what Gojo was saying, nodding along as her stare slipped back to you, mouth twitching for a second.
“Baby,” Gojo started, ignoring the fact you were appalled at him using a pet name like that with you. You snatched your hand back from him with an indignant huff, looking over to Shoko like you were trying to signal her for some help.
“Seriously, is this supposed to be a joke?” You asked, taken aback as his fingers skimmed over your forearm.
“You got a head injury during a mission,” Shoko spoke slowly, caught somewhere between polite and bored, lacking any of the warmth you were used to.
“And you guys thought it would be the perfect time to play some stupid prank and convince me I married him?” You accused, hurt and confusion twisting together tight in your chest as you half-expected Geto to pop out from somewhere with a camera to reveal he was recording the whole thing.
But instead of just laughing it off, or apologizing, you watched with thinly-veiled horror as Gojo and Shoko exchanged an uneasy glance.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Shoko spoke, softer now.
“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, shrugging your shoulders as you swallowed the spit in the back of your throat. “Class, maybe? The exchange event?”
“What exchange event?” Gojo pressed more aggressively, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glaring at him.
“Don’t act like you forgot, dickhead,” you grumbled. “You dumped water on me in front of everyone.”
But the awkward silence that hung in the air made your anger lapse into something a lot fucking scarier when the most annoying man you knew shut up for longer than two seconds. Staring uselessly at Shoko, like he was trying to tell her to fix you with his eyes.
“You don’t remember marrying him?” Shoko carefully asked, and you hated how helpless you felt.
“I don’t even remember dating him,” you practically hissed, your gaze shifting for a second to the subject of your conversation just to see his practically gutted expression.
It seemed unfathomable. Didn’t come remotely close to making any kind of sense. Since when did he even have feelings for you? And even if he did, why the hell would you choose a man you couldn’t stand?
He was an immature asshole who acted like he was going to be a teenager forever.
Although, when he was sitting across from you now, you supposed he really had turned into a man after all.
“Do you remember me?” Shoko followed it up, stepping closer as her white lab coat shifted around her. Had she really managed to become a doctor? How much time, exactly, had you missed?
“Of course I remember you,” you blinked up at her, a little offended that she’d think otherwise. She occupied most of the space in your admittedly half-empty head, colored the memories you had in soft colors of casual comfort, sleepovers and movie marathons, lazily days spent together in relaxing silence. Memories molded around the sound of her laugh, her cool demeanor you tried so many times to match, clinging to her side and completely inseparable.
“Looks like she’s got retrograde amnesia,” she informed Gojo, all clinical, colder than you expected. “We’ll have to see how severe it is.”
Hearing something was wrong with you felt even worse coming from Shoko’s mouth, your lips pressing together in a pout as your brain struggled to catch up with the scene you found yourself plopped in. Where your best friend since forever was treating you like a stranger and someone you wished was a stranger was apparently your husband.
Your head fucking hurt.
Like someone was slamming an icepick through your skull over and over again with each thought you pieced together, vision swimming as you blinked between them.
“How long has it been?” You asked, almost scared to ask for a mirror to see if there would be a stranger looking back at you there too. “What year is it?”
Neither one of them wanted to immediately answer you, like it couldn’t be more obvious that it was a lot longer than they wanted to admit. Unsure of how to break the bad news to someone with a fucking brain injury.
Gojo spoke up first, sunglasses traded in for a black blindfold hanging low around his neck as his stare pierced through Shoko. “But her memories are gonna come back, right? She’ll remember me?”
You braced yourself for her answer, although you still knew her well enough to know what she’d say before her lips parted, ashes drifting down from the end of her cigarette onto the not-so-sterile floor.
“I don't know,” she muttered, not as apathetic as she intended, leaning against the wall as she avoided looking directly at you. “But I think you should take her home.”
Your mouth opened, ready to protest and push back against the idea of going home with Gojo while she refused to look back at you.
But then Gojo was grabbing your wrist, pale fingers sinking softly into the skin like it was his to touch, and in a blink, you were somewhere familiar and foreign all at once.
Your legs threatened to collapse underneath you, but then he was scooping you back up like you were nothing, carrying you down a dimly-lit hallway in a clearly spacious penthouse overlooking the city in the brief glimpse you got out of the large living room windows. Pictures lining the wall of the two of you together, group shots where his arm was slung over your shoulder or around your waist in almost all of them, beach photos you guessed you took of each other, fuck, even wedding photos proudly hung up on display.
Morbidly, you almost felt like you were walking through a mausoleum, staring at a version of you that must have died on whatever fucking mission you’d been on, one that loved the idiot holding you enough to build this domestic little life with him.
How were you supposed to be her?
“Our bedroom’s through here,” he murmured, turning to walk through the threshold of a sprawling room, big bookcases lining one wall and a king-sized bed taking up center-stage across from it, doors that you guessed led to a closet and bathroom adjacent to you. “You should get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”
Shoko had turned into a doctor.
And you had turned into…what?
A housewife? A sloppy enough sorcerer to get caught off-guard?
“Please tell me we don’t have kids,” you mumbled, a silent prayer more to the universe than him.
“No,” he chuckled a little bit, and you nearly said thank god, just to get cut off by his nostalgic hum, “You wanted some though.”
He was wrong. He had to be.
“Let’s get you in bed,” Gojo hummed softly, speaking to you with care you thought he only reserved for himself, his cockiness absent in favor of more of that delicate concern. You never thought he was capable of handling anything fragile. But then again, you never thought you’d be fragile either.
Your tongue felt numb, unable to form the sentence you desperately wanted to say, but you let him gently place you on the bed, pulling back the blankets and covering you up before readjusting the pillow underneath your head. Your eyes did feel drowsy, the throbbing pain bouncing around your skull begging you to just shut out the world until you fell asleep.
Gojo sat on the edge next to you, not quite touching, but enough you could feel the weight of his presence, the energy bristling and burning in the air next to you as you rolled over away from him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and you hoped he was wrong.
That tomorrow, you’d wake up, and you’d be back in your own bed where you could just laugh it off. Tell Shoko what an insane dream you had and giggle about how absurd it was to think you’d ever marry Satoru Gojo.
But no, when the sun rose and your eyes slowly cracked open, your heart sank at the realization you were right where you fell asleep at.
In Gojo’s bed. In Gojo’s penthouse. As Gojo’s wife.
He made you breakfast, brought it on a platter and helped you sit up, hand-feeding it to you while you squinted and studied his face, answering every question you pelted him with.
“How did we even start dating?” You huffed at him after forcing yourself to bite into the syrup-ladden waffle he popped into your mouth.
“I really had to wear you down,” he grinned, one corner of his mouth curling up like he remembered it fondly. “Basically get down on my knees and beg you after months of pestering you for attention.”
“You? On your knees?” You scoffed, brows arching at how ridiculous it sounded. You could sorta see it, big round glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose, messy white hair sticking up every way as he dramatically clasped his hands together. But the hard part was imagining yourself on the receiving end.
“I always had a crush on you, I just sucked at showing it,” he shrugged. “It took a lot of convincing just for you to accept a single date.”
“Yeah?” You asked, not sure how to feel about hearing about yourself like this. From him.
“Guess Shoko helped too. Told you to give me a chance after she got sick of hearing me talk about you,” Gojo added, and you paused just for him to slip the fork back between your teeth.
Chewing your breakfast as you searched your brain for even a sliver of recognition only to come up empty.
Shoko really wanted you to go out with him?
Convinced you to do it?
You supposed maybe you could see it. You had more faith in her than you had in anyone else. Trusted her to a fault. Listened to every word that left her lips with devotion that drifted dangerously close to reverence.
Having a crush on your best friend was dumb.
Holding onto the hope she shared the same childish affection you did – and wouldn’t be put off by the fact you wanted to be more than friends.
Had she found out in the past? Picked up on your feelings and pushed you to be with Gojo instead of flat-out rejecting you?
Your stomach churned, food settling too heavy as you tried to lift a hand and signal you were done eating as he dropped the fork back on the plate, only earning a pout from your husband.
“So, um, I guess we started dating in school then? When did we get married?” You asked, struggling to piece together the fractured puzzle of your own life.
Gojo grinned sheepishly, reaching up to ruffle the soft undercut that replaced his previously scruffy hair. A black blindfold was pushed up and holding the rest off his forehead, his blindingly blue eyes glittering as they appraised you. “A month after graduation.”
Your mouth fell open in shock.
What, did you tell him you wanted to wait to have sex until after marriage or something?
He didn’t need the six eyes to see the alarm on your face, reaching out to squeeze your bicep. “With clan politics and the higher ups, we, uh, didn’t want to waste time, y’know? Risk them ruining it.”
You stared at him, all the new information struggling to sink in as you slowly nodded like you understood when you definitely didn’t.
“Were we happy together?” You asked next, swallowing hard as the sickly sweet syrup settled on your tongue.
His face scrunched up for a split second, nose wrinkling as he contemplated your question, and you wondered if maybe you were being a little insensitive, hastily holding him at a distance as you came to terms with being his wife – while he was dealing with losing this other you.
“You made me the happiest man on the planet,” Gojo murmured, a soft purr that made your body tense.
“What about me?” You pressed, wondering what possessed you to pick him, what led to you laying in a hospital bed with a gaping hole in your memories and buried anxiety that seemed to burn in your skin.
“You’ve been depressed lately,” he admitted, mouth flitting down in a fast frown. “I’ve had a lot of missions lately, and you were, uh, a little lonely here.”
Seeing him so serious was strange, almost uncanny as you pried and poked at your past together.
“I mean, couldn’t I just hang out with Shoko or go on missions too?” You tilted your head to the side, nearly flinching when he reached out to cup your cheek sympathetically.
“You did, but I think you were disappointed in how busy she was too,” he answered, unable to help how fast your brows furrowed together at the bizarre notion that your best friend wouldn’t show up for you no matter how slammed her schedule was. “But, hey, why don’t I see if she can start coming by to check on you when I have to start going on missions again?”
“Sure,” you mumbled, more agreeable than you really felt like just for the excuse of seeing Shoko more.
She’d tell you the truth.
Even if it stung.
Gojo leaned in, his soft lips pressing against your forehead like he’d done it a thousand times before.
And it took everything inside you not to recoil at his touch.
You wanted to believe your memories would come back.
That it would fill this awful chasm inside you and something would suddenly click to make the world stop feeling like you were wearing someone else’s skin. For you to stop looking in the brightly-lit mirror in the bathroom and not see a face that was and wasn’t yours at the same time, little lines and a few faint scars that weren’t there before, a crinkle by your eyes you didn’t recognize, a couple grays in your hairs you plucked out while you brushed your teeth.
Gojo only stayed for a couple days, going over photo albums and answering questions, even ones you didn’t ask, painting a pretty picture of a happy marriage, filled with silly romantic gestures. But he had to return to late night missions, teaching the first years that were waiting for him back at the school you used to go to together, and the second the door swung shut behind him, you were rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, ripping through all your stuff for some sign you must’ve left behind.
A diary? A journal?
You couldn’t get into your own computer, getting locked out after guessing the wrong passcode too many times, glaring at the stupid security questions you couldn’t figure out, guessing the dates of everything from your birthday to your supposed wedding anniversary, about to break the damn thing when you resorted to inputting 123456.
The only bright part of your day was the half hour Shoko would show up, usually after she left campus for the day, hair hanging loose and smoke clinging to her jacket as she peeled it off by the door, slipping her shoes off when she entered with the key you guessed she already had.
It wasn’t the same.
Nothing was anymore.
But it was nice to sit next to her on the leather couch that cost more than anything you’d ever owned before this, asking her about her day – and the few thousand you missed. She filled you in, awkwardly at first, usually always sliding back into the subject of your health, asking if you were eating enough and getting enough sleep. Tepidly questioning if the status of your memory had changed.
You hadn’t told her, but a few hazy pieces had started to slip in. Shattered stills and strange feelings that struck you when you’d come across specific photos or caught the scent of something.
Memories that felt more like a movie, watching someone else’s life play out instead of your own. Holding hands on the sidewalk, snippets of cuddling on the couch, eating out at five-star restaurants and laughing at his awful jokes. But it was hard to feel what the old you felt. Couldn’t pretend that it truly felt like you were experiencing them for yourself.
So you just sort of filed them away, put them into boxes as you sifted through the silence of the dull days dragging by in a home that felt suffocating when you were constantly reminded of how out-of-place you were inside of it.
But one thing bugged you more than it should, itched at the back of your brain every time something new sprang up, and you started putting together a timeline of the years you couldn’t recall.
“We didn’t, like, get in a fight or anything, did we?” You quizzed Shoko, swallowing hard as she unboxed the to-go food she’d brought. She froze for a second, glancing back at you with those big brown eyes, narrowing them for a second before she shook her head.
Her perfume was stronger tonight, the slightly intoxicating scent making your head feel a little fuzzier than usual as you absentmindedly scooted closer to her, sitting cross-legged as you toyed around with the food in your own takeout box.
“Of course not,” she answered, even and easy. You could hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, throat constricting as your chest strained to stop your heart from racing.
“Gojo said we hadn’t been talking much because you were busy,” you muttered, watching her reaction as her pretty brows coyly arched up. You couldn’t get quite comfortable calling him by his first name yet, no matter how many photos and videos he showed you of the two of you together, no matter how hard you were trying to be open to him.
“Did he?” She echoed, not giving anything away as you nodded, taking a small bite while she deflected your stare. “I don’t exactly get much time off these days.”
She had still started to stay later though. Thirty minutes tripling as she found excuses not to get off your couch or raid the well-stocked wine cabinet.
“Does that mean you’ll stop coming around too?” You asked, regretting the words once they were out of your mouth. Acutely aware of how much you hated the prospect of being stuck in this place without her to look forward to.
It wasn’t like Gojo was totally absent. Wasn’t like you completely minded him not being here either. He still showed up most days, made his appearance and pampered you with affection when he was here. But, well, it didn’t make you feel that differently about him either.
“No,” Shoko slowly answered, your heart stalling and skipping a beat as you felt your shoulders drop. “I’ll make time for you.”
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Gojo couldn’t decide if this was for better or worse.
But then again, hadn’t he vowed to be with you in sickness and health?
“Sleep tight, pretty girl,” Gojo murmured, watching the slow rise-and-fall of your chest as you snoozed, blankets tangled around your legs as the moonlight graced your skin. He brushed your hair away from your cheeks, studied your features in the low light.
You probably wouldn’t even know he showed up.
Wouldn’t remember the few hours he returned home for in the morning, although he’d be sure to leave breakfast on the table and the book you mentioned Shoko recommending on the table for you when you woke up.
It felt like it used to.
Back when everything was fine.
Before the accident. Before you showed up at the school asking for a separation in front of his students when he stopped there instead of seeing you after getting back from an overseas mission.
Acting like it should’ve been obvious, your brows knitted together all serious as you insisted that you'd pack up your stuff and get your own place, ignoring his panicked protests as you turned your back on him.
On your vows, all the promises you made to each other when he slid that ring on your finger.
Told him he would’ve seen it coming if he’d bother to actually be around.
You wanted serious. Stable.
To have kids that didn't have to worry about whether or not their dad would come home. To have a life that was more than just your jobs and responsibilities.
Couldn't you see he was already giving you everything he had? Why the fuck couldn’t that be enough?
He wasn't the most mature. He'd never been, and you already knew that when you started dating. So what if he took up more missions? Kept his distance until it dawned on you that making more mini-hims would be a disaster?
He thought you’d understand.
The weight of the world was already on his shoulders. Why add more burdens? Why risk bringing a life into the world if he had no clue if he could even protect it?
If Gojo had known you’d try to leave him for it, he liked to think he would’ve done something differently.
He tried.
God, Gojo tried so fucking hard to convince you to take him back. Begged for you to see that despite his avoidance, under his plastered-on smiles and bad jokes, his affection was all yours.
No matter how much yours had faded.
He never thought he’d end up sitting by your crumpled body, bearing the proof of his point and staring at the blood sticking to your scalp Shoko’s nimble fingers washed out, holding your limp hand and wishing you’d wake up. Praying for the first time to some higher power for the universe to fucking give you back.
His wish had been granted.
Only for you to look at him with disgust.
Revolted by your relationship, all the memories you made together wiped – good and bad. Your first dates, the light laughter and secret kisses you shared, the latest ones where you started turning your head every time he tried to press his lips to yours.
Half of him hated it.
Hurt slicing through his heart when he thought of everything that had been basically erased for you, remorse that rubbed salt in his open wounds when it started to sink in that even when he had you, you still didn’t want him back.
But the rest of him was doing his fucking best to be grateful that you weren’t gone.
It was awkward at first. Not sure how to act around you when you were clearly put off by his presence. Inserting himself in every conversation, occupying as much space as you’d let him until your sharp tone began to soften.
He answered your questions.
Just, uh, omitted a few details.
You didn’t need to know about the divorce.
There was no fucking way he was letting it happen this time.
Gojo told you that your phone was broken during the mission, buying you a new one with a fresh email and making sure you only had the contacts you needed. Deleted any mention of separation and divorce attorneys and even your fucking searches of what to do in an unhappy marriage, wiping your internet history clean in case you managed to get back into your old email. Covering his tracks to make sure nothing could fuck it up this time, fuck, he even paid his own students on the off chance you somehow showed up on campus one day to visit him.
He begged Shoko to spill everything you told him, tried to pry her for more information on how you were doing when you hardly spoke about what you felt to him. Jealousy pricking and pinning his pride down when he walked in to find you smiling at her the way you used to look at him two months into your recovery, lips curled up in a pretty laugh before you noticed him there, leaning against her arm while you watched a movie together.
Murmuring that you didn’t know if you wanted to go back to taking missions on your own even after Shoko cleared you.
But he couldn’t exactly tell her to get the fuck out when she was your doctor on top of his friend too. She convinced you to give him a chance before. Was it so absurd to hold out hope that she’d do it again for him? Even if he had to talk her into not bringing up the divorce out of fear that it’d make your condition worse?
It took time, but you started to accept him again. Your memories coming back in bits and pieces, your personality too. Warming up to him over late-night dinners and early morning conversations, asking about things you used to do together at first, starting to bring up his schedule, his students, his missions.
It was kind of strange, to hear you say the same things you had before your injury, to watch your old mannerisms come back, to see you become his wife again little by little, day after day.
Maybe the universe had decided to bless him.
Give him another chance to save this marriage by wiping the slate clean.
Surely you’d see now why he couldn’t just settle down in some suburbs and pop out a couple kids with you – not when he’d failed to keep you safe.
Still, he found it hard to break his old habits. Slipping into his old routine of taking too many missions, shoving more on his plate to distract himself from what was happening inside his own home. So he didn’t have to come home and see how much fun you were having with Shoko instead of him, start playing the comparison game instead of being glad that you were being supported.
So he didn’t have to hear you scold him for coming home so late, or missing meals together.
This you didn’t seem to mind though.
Just left notes on the counter for him or wrapped-up dinners stacked in the fridge, oblivious he’d just sit on the edge of the bed and watch you sleep half the night instead of resting himself.
He knew that he was deluding himself.
But you gained enough of your old self back that he could trick himself into thinking that everything was fine. That your relationship had just found a new normal.
Gojo still got you back.
Wasn't that all that mattered?
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Your brain had a funny way of playing tricks on you.
Memories were a fickle thing. Floating back in a haze, ones you had to hold onto, replay and study when one forced its way back up.
You didn’t know what to make of all of them.
Fuzzy recollections of museums and missions, of love and laughter, of hurt and heartache. Caught somewhere between the old you and this new one, torn between feelings that lingered in the past and new ones cropping up in the present, nearly six months passing from the awful day you woke up and realized you missed an entire fucking decade.
You’d guess you got half of it back, experiences that weren’t fully formed, but close enough that you could feel yourself changing as you found new footing.
Shoko said you shouldn’t hold your confusion against yourself when you finally admitted you were struggling with what to think about this new life of yours.
You didn’t know how to tell her that your problem was her.
That spending every evening with her instead of your husband had re-sparked your unrequited crush on your best friend. One you guessed the old you forced yourself to forget when you chose to be with Gojo instead.
And now the new you was married. A ring on your finger, but an ache in your heart and butterflies in your stomach when Shoko so much as smiled at you.
But it wasn’t like your husband was ever here to notice.
No, you’d spent far more time with your friend than the man who you supposedly loved.
“You feeling okay?” She hummed, her thigh brushing against yours on the couch as you scooted closer to snuggle underneath the thick blanket while she pulled up the stupid reality show you started watching together. And despite the bored expression she was wearing, you could hear the hint of softness in her voice as her warm eyes briefly flitted over to you.
“Just cold,” you excused, shrugging as you tried to drag your stare back to the tv.
Her brows scrunched together with suspicion, throwing you one of those ‘I-know-you’re-full-of-shit’ looks before her lips puckered, “Weren’t you complaining about being too hot earlier?”
Guilty.
But if she knew it was really just an excuse for you to take off your hoodie and reveal a much tighter tank top, she didn’t acknowledge it. Tonight, she had traded her doctor’s coat in for a loose sweater, the kind that hung loose on her frame, exposing the pretty shape of her collarbone, smooth and clean, drew your attention to the way the tendons in her throat flexed when she leaned in closer, resting the back of her hand against your forehead to check your temperature.
“Don’t think you’re running a fever,” she muttered, her fingers lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary as you swallowed hard, wondering if she could see how flustered you felt. If the air was only feeling thick in here for you. “Maybe I should stay a little longer to make sure though.”
“Yeah?” You had to bite back your smile.
“Mhm,” she casually nodded, hitting play on the next episode while you both pretended that best friends definitely sat together with thighs touching and pinkies grazing against each other under the covers of a blanket.
Definitely delicately traced over the other’s knuckles with the tips of your fingers, not quite daring to intertwine them.
Tiptoeing across a thin line as boundaries started to blur, as your friendship drifted further and further away from platonic – and closer to crossing over to an affair.
You knew you shouldn’t.
That you didn’t even know if what you felt for her was genuine, or just gratefulness that she was here for you, that she consistently showed up when you felt so alone. But you couldn’t keep telling yourself they were leftover remnants of happier times when she started occupying your thoughts even when she wasn’t around, when your heart stuttered when she spoke and heat pooled in your stomach every time she touched your arm or skimmed her fingers over your own.
God, you didn’t even know if she felt the same.
You tried to ask if she was seeing anyone once, but she just vaguely said she wasn’t in a relationship. Changed the subject before you could press her on it.
Should you care?
No. Not when you didn’t want to hurt your husband.
Who you admittedly had started to care for, at least in some capacity. He changed. Gojo was sweet, stars in his eyes and no longer only focused on stuffing sweets in his mouth, constantly apologizing for his absences – even if he didn’t do anything to change them.
You’d wake up with him there sometimes, occasionally share meals where he’d earnestly ask about how you felt and what he could do to make you happier, eager to please. He’d pepper your face with kisses, slip his hand into yours like it was the most normal thing in the world or sling a possessive arm over your shoulder on the rare occasion he’d drag you out for a date.
But even if you had the same last name, slept in the same bed, your soul didn’t feel like it was tied to his.
And even when you tried to force it, to fight to feel what you knew you were supposed to, open yourself up to loving and wanting him the way he wanted you, there was just nothing there. Not so much as a tug, no undercurrent or gravity from the old you pulling you back to him.
You didn’t love him.
But you didn’t know how to leave him.
“Sho,” you murmured softly, tapping twice on the back of her hand to get her attention.
“Hm?” She turned, tilting her head thoughtfully, attuned to your needs. And maybe it was your imagination, simply wishful thinking, but you could’ve sworn her eyes darted down to your lips for a moment before they drifted back up to your own eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” You swallowed hard, not sure how exactly to bring it up. To fish for what you really wanted to know.
“Always,” she answered, but you saw the way her stare diverted to the tv, discomfort swirling under your skin at the fear you’d do something to put distance between you.
“Do you know what things were like between, um, me and Gojo before I got hurt?” You posed, a hard lump forming in your throat as her shoulders stiffened. “Did I ever talk to you about it?”
And despite the fact you were sitting side-by-side, she still pulled out her phone and pretended it buzzed when you both knew it hadn’t.
“Fuck,” she feigned worry as her unsure voice broke the pained pause, scrambling for an excuse while you faked a sympathetic smile. Acted like it didn’t sting when she stood up and let the blanket fall back down on you. “I’ve gotta go, one of the students-”
“Sure,” you mumbled, waving it off as you brought your knees up to your chest, painfully aware of how large the couch felt when you were the only one on it. “Don’t let me hold you back.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Shoko soberly promised, and it felt like some invisible thread between you tensed, pulled taut as you watched the front door shut behind her, felt the thud heavy in your chest.
Tuning out the drone of the tv, as you rested your chin on your knees, playing back the past hour while you ran your palm over the side of your thigh. Your skin still warm, your mind distracted as you dreamed about what would’ve happened if you just kept your mouth shut.
Lying to yourself like suggesting the warmth simmering under your skin was simply coincidence, that you could somehow be confusing it with anything other than lust.
And when you ended up back in your king-sized bed, sprawled out on top of the comforter with your hand slipped down your shirts, scrunching your eyes shut and rubbing messy circles over the thin fabric of your panties.
You tried to think of Gojo.
To picture him on top of you, imagine his lips on your skin and his cock stretching you out. Tell yourself that you weren’t a cheater, that maybe you were just mixed up, missing a physical connection because you hadn’t fully allowed him to have you. That perhaps in clinging to Shoko, you could’ve closed yourself off.
All you found was the same frustration you’d been stuck with from the start.
Grinding your teeth when your hand drifted underneath the fabric, dipping two fingers into your slick folds, unable to tell who you were even wet for when it felt like they were playing a game of ping pong with your heart.
Your head told you that it should be Gojo.
That you made a promise to him, that you owed it to who you were before to try to love him too. Guilt pervading your judgement, sinking its icy talents into your bones when you thought of how it must feel for him – how he was probably mourning and missing a wife that didn’t fully exist anymore.
But your heart wanted Shoko.
Had since you were teenagers and you realized how pretty she looked with a cigarette perched between her lips, when Geto started getting too close to her and you had to deal with how much it ached to see her leaning into a man.
Was it so wrong to want her if you kept it locked inside your head?
Your fingers trembled.
Shook as you shoved them deeper, a gasp escaping right as you felt a sudden surge of cursed energy – and you realized in abrupt horror your husband was here.
His blindfold half-off, blue eyes wide with surprise as they slowly slid down your body, like his technique wasn’t giving him a fucking 4k viewing of you touching yourself.
“Sweetheart,” he started, in an amused low drawl that had you considering finding a hole to curl up and die in as you hurried to pull your hand out of your panties. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I didn’t-” You started, face flushing as you struggled for something to say to justify what you were doing.
He kicked off his shoes while you were still stammering, your breath getting stuck in your throat as you watched him climb on top of the bed, on top of you.
You couldn’t breathe. Brain short-circuiting as he caged you in underneath his beefy arms, his palm reaching out to cup your face as you stared up at him completely frozen.
And then he faltered, like he only just remembered that the furthest you’d gone with each other in the past six months was kissing, and one makeout session after you’d drank too much wine with Shoko and he played with your tits for like, ten minutes, before you claimed you were on your period.
This was uncharted territory.
Even if he had probably explored it a thousand times before.
“Is this okay?” He tentatively asked, like you couldn’t already feel his cock digging into your thigh.
You nodded.
It happened almost automatically.
You wanted to believe this would fix you. Fix everything. Make it all make sense.
And when his lips crashed into you, you kissed him back. He tasted too sweet, his cologne enveloping you in an overpowering cloud as his body pressed against yours. The whole thing felt almost clumsy, unable to even focus on anything when one of his hands was already snaking down your side to pull your shorts down lower on your hips.
The metal of his wedding ring tauntingly rubbing against you with his swift movements.
But you didn’t stop him.
Didn’t say anything, actually. Just let him stick his tongue down your throat while you tried to run your hands along his chest too, feeling the thick muscles of his sturdy frame.
And then he was getting up, stripping off his uniform and tossing it on the floor like he wanted to make it easier for you to touch him. Before you could even process the expanse of annoyingly perfect skin, unmarred and unmarked, he was helping you sit up, tossing off your tank top before positioning himself between your thighs to tug off your shorts.
You felt exposed.
A raw nerve in open air before your breasts were even out, face heating up as you sat there in your bra and panties as he just stared.
“Matching set for me?” He smirked, completely clueless who you were wearing it for. Whose favorite color was a soft shade of green, whose stare didn’t burn when it dragged over your skin.
No.
No.
You swallowed the spit pooling in the back of your mouth, nodding as your lips automatically parted, “Hoped you’d come home early.”
“Thank fucking god,” he grinned, the happiest you think you’d ever seen him as he peeled your panties off, blue eyes glittering at the sight of your pussy. “You’re soaked, sweetheart.”
It took every ounce of willpower not to cringe at how dramatically he said it, your breath catching in your throat as he lifted your thighs up and hooked your knees over his shoulders.
But then he was burying his face between them, huge hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs possessively as he dragged his tongue up your entrance.
You shut your eyes, let yourself get swallowed by the dark, the sensation of his thick tongue as it worked its way inside you, clawing at the comforter instead of his hair. Fistfuls of soft cotton instead of the short, wispy strands or the soft buzz of his undercut.
It would just make it harder to imagine someone else.
To pretend that you were back on the couch, a blanket covering both of you while you toyed with Shoko’s long hair, gasping her name while she teasingly sucked on your clit. Would she take it slow? Murmur that orgasms were good for the body and brain? Educate you on just how many nerve endings were located on that pretty little bud as she licked it?
“Mm, S-” You had to stop yourself when you realized the vision behind your eyes was still of the pretty brunette whose scent was still clinging to your clothes rather than the man whose tongue was currently trying to make you cum.
“That’s it,” Gojo grunted, his voice deep and rough as it reverberated through to your core completely wrong. “Say Satoru f’me.”
You couldn’t.
“Missed this, baby,” he purred while you told yourself to fucking snap out of it. “Missed you.”
You managed a moan back, thighs trembling as his fingers dug into the pliable muscle, mouth wrapped around your clit to suck on it like it was candy. A little too much teeth, his sharp canines grazing over it just to make you gasp and try to wiggle back from his grip.
But Gojo didn’t let you go.
No, he held on tight, practically rutting into the bed as he messily made out with your pussy.
You tried to focus on the pleasure, on the warmth in your chest and the heat burning under your skin, but it was hard when he was moaning even louder than you were.
“C-can I fuck you?” He groaned, peeking up at you to ask for permission.
And against your better (any) judgement, you were just nodding again.
Desperate to do something to change how things were currently going, to stop feeling so confused and conflicted all the time.
“Yeah,” you softly agreed, and once again, it only took him a couple seconds to change positions, pulling your hip around him to lock your legs behind his back as he tugged down his boxers enough to yank out his cock.
You guessed you could appreciate its appearance. Thick and veiny, the tip a pretty shade of pink, all swollen and leaking. But the idea of it being inside you was enough for regret to bloom in your chest, the dim realization that you were in too deep.
That you both deserved better than whatever this was.
But you laid there, letting it happen anyway.
You didn’t stop him, just bit down on the inside of your cheek as you felt it slip inside you, watching his face scrunch up in near ecstasy as your body sucked him in, operating on muscle memory as he pushed his way past the first ring of resistance until he was making himself fit.
Stretching you out how he liked, moaning your name like a prayer as you counted the number of times the headboard banged into the wall.
“Fuck, fuck,” he hissed, blue eyes flashing open as his cursed energy swelled and soared, his infinity off as he buried himself deep, bottoming out again and again, just messily rutting into you now without any rhythm.
Thrusting faster, his sweaty palms sticking to your thighs as you shut your eyes again, trying not to think about what his fingers were aching to prove as they gripped you hard enough he might leave prints.
“S-Satoru,” you halfheartedly moaned his name, despising your body for not reacting more to the way he was stretching you out, to his fast thrusts, only for his dick to abruptly stall anyway.
He was cursing under his breath, pulling out at the last second to roughly stroke his cock, finishing on your stomach while your eyes fluttered open to stare at his cum on your skin. The lump in his throat bobbed hard, his jaw clenched tight as he immediately started stammering awkward apologies.
How long had it been?
Thirty seconds?
Forty-five?
“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t had sex since y’know, the accident, and it felt wrong to jerk off and-” He scrambled, getting off of you and grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor to start wiping you clean while you tried to sit up.
“It’s fine,” you murmured. “You’re fine.”
You were too.
Right?
He started to stroke his cock again, sloppy and fast, mumbling something about being the strongest as if it could magically make his dick stay hard when it was already trying to soften.
“Give me a minute, I’ll still get you off,” he promised, tossing the now cum-stained clothes back to the ground with his other hand as he started to get back on the bed. But you just slipped your legs underneath the blanket, rolling onto your side with a small shrug.
“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him, swallowing hard as you stared at a blank spot of the pale blue wallpaper to avoid looking back to see what kind of face he was making at you. “You should go shower. We can get something to eat delivered.”
“But-”
“It’s not a big deal,” you awkwardly muttered. “It’s been a while for both of us.”
You could hear the air fizzing out of his popped pride, ego deflating in the thick pause.
“So, uh, dinner?” You asked, trying to move on before he could insist on eating you out again.
“I, uh, actually was only supposed to be stopping by for a few minutes,” he cleared his own throat, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat on the bed next to you. Brushing some of your hair back out of your face, fingers practically buzzing as they caressed your cheekbone. “But I’ll order your favorite.”
“Another mission?” You asked, your voice strained as you struggled to capture the feeling bouncing around in your chest. A strange mix of disappointment and anticipation, knots you hadn’t realized were tied tight in your stomach coming undone as you glanced back over your shoulder at him.
Your husband was attractive. Attentive. Affectionate.
So why couldn’t you make yourself care more about his absence?
Why didn’t it ache like it should when he was saying he was about to leave?
Everything was just awful and icky, ice-cold guilt creeping under your skin instead that while Gojo fucked you, kissed you, you were fantasizing about Shoko’s lips instead.
“I’ve gotta go take care of some clan stuff first, but yeah,” he remorsefully confirmed, nodding as his fingers drifted down to your mouth.
You let him lean down and kiss you again. Shut your eyes and even returned with tender pressure of your own, even though some part of you had splintered. Started to accept that you really might not be able to save this marriage before you did something you’d regret.
Maybe you’d regret this instead.
Wake up five years from now with all your memories and emotions fully intact, hating yourself for not staying longer, trying harder. But you didn’t want to risk waiting fifty years and wishing you’d just done it sooner.
Would he understand if you asked him for a divorce?
To see what it was like to separate?
Could you even do it? Find your own place, maybe switch to a different career, a normal one? Working a desk job or something boring that didn’t require you to put your life on the line?
You didn’t want to do this to him. But you couldn’t see any other options where you’d both be happy. Didn’t he deserve someone that loved all of him too?
“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” he hummed, delivering a gentle peck to the top of your forehead before striding over to the closet. Grabbing a change of clothes from the closet and hurrying to dress himself as you studied the wall, ignoring the blur of movement in the corner of your vision until he started back towards the door.
He left without asking for another goodbye kiss.
And you somehow felt less alone when you were totally by yourself.
Sitting back up in bed, stiffening at the faintly sticky spots left on your thighs and stomach when you threw your legs off the side to stand.
Debating on taking a shower yourself before a gleam of silver drew your attention back to the laptop sitting unused and collecting dust on your nightstand. And a thought popped up, so obvious you nearly scoffed as your feet moved forward on their own, flipping it open as your fingers tapped the keys.
Hitting enter and holding your breath, unsure if it would actually work or-
Welcome.
Of course.
The passcode was Shoko’s birthday.
You almost laughed.
Smiling like an idiot at the screen at the realization you did, in fact, still share something with who you used to be as you started to sort through the files.
You didn’t know what you expected.
A diary?
None of your internet history had been saved on it, and most of the documents seemed to be about missions or receipts from stores or random expenses you saved for one reason or another. No big secret waiting for you to find.
But little clues that stacked up.
Reservations for a vacation for one. Old photos that all seemed to be dated pretty far back. No new snapshots of you and Gojo. No receipts for any men’s items dated around his birthday. But there was a folder labelled Sho.
Photos neatly organized by year, although it seemed like there were less and less as the time went by. But your smile seemed more genuine when it was her arm thrown over your shoulder, her hand placed on your waist than the one you wore the matching gold band with.
You found one taken last year, standing outside a small but pretty brick house you guessed was on the outskirts of the city, squeezing her in a hug while you grinned at whoever was behind the camera, a gift bag dangling over your elbow. The file name was housewarming.
It took a few more minutes of digging to find where she sent the address over email, something inside yourself caving as you found yourself slamming the laptop shut, looking wildly around the room before starting back towards the closet.
Not stopping to think too hard in case you changed your own mind.
Chickened out on following your heart for once.
You didn’t pause to think whether or not she’d even be home, or if she actually still lived there until you were ten minutes into a taxi ride, breathing too fast as you anxiously smoothed the fabric of the dress you’d chosen.
It still felt surreal to leave the penthouse, staring out the window at the passing places, your wallet and phone sitting on your lap as you resisted the temptation to bite at your nails and pick at your cuticles.
Itching to get there and terrified to arrive.
But before you could tell the driver to turn back around, he was parking outside the house from the photo, two cars parked next to each other in the driveway you didn’t recognize, mumbling a thank you as you passed him a tip before you got out. Standing out there as the breeze sent a shiver down your spine, each step that took you closer to Shoko scaring you shitless.
You didn’t even know what exactly you were going to say to her.
Ask if the old you had admitted feelings for her? Confess that the new you wanted her too?
If you were going to get rejected, you still just wanted to get it over with.
If this was going to be the start of a new life, well, then you wanted to be shoving the door open and stepping through the threshold.
You still hesitated outside the door, standing on her mat while your finger froze inches away from the doorbell.
And then you heard the voices from inside.
Shoko’s, and a second one you couldn’t quite place. “I mean, it sounds kinda obvious to me.”
You leaned against the wall, chewing on your lip as you listened in, unable to help yourself when your brain was trying to convince you that you already fucked up. Your stomach twisting into knots as you heard Shoko’s soft sigh through the door..
“Utahime,” she said, all serious and stiff, and you had to swallow the ugly lump bubbling up in your throat at the thought of her talking to your pretty black-haired senior. “I really don’t know what to do.”
You hated hearing her like this. The rare, raw vulnerability in her voice that you knew you weren’t supposed to hear. But even more, you hated that she was showing it to her, going to someone else with her problems like you hadn’t right there earlier. Waiting for her to see that even if you changed, you were still her person first.
Who she was supposed to go to when things went wrong.
You couldn’t hear what Utahime said back, but you could hear Shoko’s low groan, felt it in your core as your breath got stuck in your throat. “She doesn’t even know they were going to get a divorce.”
Oh.
You didn’t think hearing something so earth-shattering could leave you feeling so hollow. Everything scooped out and empty as your brain turned the word over and over again like it had some entirely new meaning now that you knew everything you’d been feeling so awful over for months was exactly what you would’ve chosen with all your memories.
“You should’ve told her,” Utahime scolded her, not exactly strict, just reprimanding her like it was obvious.
“You know Satoru,” she said, exasperated. Exhausted of all these games. “He made me swear not to say anything before I even showed up.”
It wasn’t hatred simmering in your stomach for your husband. Disgust, once again, disappointment that was too thick to swallow, sitting heavy on your tongue when you thought of how much time you wasted because he never told you the truth.
“What an asshole,” Utahime scoffed.
“I don’t think she really loves him,” Shoko mumbled, and your body made the move before your brain did, finger pressing the doorbell to announce your arrival.
The silence was awful.
Not as bad as the thoughts racing around in your head, spinning in the same circles you’d been stuck in for weeks, only strengthened by the discovery you were always destined to be waiting here outside Shoko’s door. Heart pounding against your chest, still beating despite how much it fucking hurt, pulse pounding in your ears as you prayed for her to answer it.
And still, when it swung open, and the brown eyes that hadn’t left your head your whole life locked onto yours, all the words you’d been planning on pouring out didn’t come. Her mouth parted in a small ‘o’, a cigarette between her fingers that she quickly dropped to the wooden floor and crushed despite the fact it wasn’t even lit.
“How did you-”
“I’m, uh, just gonna go,” Utahime excused herself with a little squeal that told you exactly whose side she was on, squeezing past both of you and scurrying to her car, keyring jingling on her finger as she scrambled to leave.
Neither of you said bye. Just stuck staring at each other, the silence saying things you were both scared to confess.
“Um, hey,” Shoko broke it.
“Hi,” you breathed back, swallowing hard as you regained a sliver of your composure. “Your address was in my email.”
“I guess you heard,” she started, talking like she’d already let you down. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her small shorts like you would miss the way her fingers were shaking, her mouth pressed together in a thin line. “Look, you and him-”
“I came here to tell you I want to leave him,” you cut her off before she could feed you more of the same bullshit or any excuses.
“You-”
“I don’t love him,” you half-whispered, an invisible weight abruptly lifting off your shoulders as it hung in the air. Dragging your stare from the shape of her lips to that pretty mole underneath her eyes to your favorite shade of brown, barely a sliver of it ringed around her blown-wide pupils. “I don’t want him.”
“Don’t-” She swallowed hard, stopping herself before she could push you away again. “Don’t say something that you don’t-”
“I’ve wanted you since we were teenagers,” you confessed, not totally sure if it was coming out remotely normal, the words rolling off your tongue anyway after holding in the truth for so long. “I don’t know what happened to us. But I know what I don’t want.”
An asshole who had sex with you after lying about the status of your relationship for months. Who kissed your forehead and fucked around with your feelings and forced your best friend to keep quiet just to keep seeing you.
You still felt guilty. Hints of regret and remorse that clawed at you as you tried to justify the emotional affair you knew you were having right under his nose, even if you were only going to return to his penthouse to pack up your stuff and deliver divorce papers.
“You liked me,” Shoko said as if it was simply inconceivable. As if she never noticed all the times tried to hold her hand or go with her on missions. When you found yourself staring in dressing rooms together when you knew you weren’t supposed to.
“I was worried you didn’t-”
“I liked you,” she suddenly spoke back up, taking a step closer that stole your breath away. Immediately cracking any composure you had in an instant as her fingers laced in between your own and squeezed. “I just wanted you to be happy. I thought Satoru would-”
“How could he ever be better than you?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.
He might be the strongest, but he’d sorta turned out to be the shittiest husband.
Even when he knew you wanted to leave him before, that your marriage was on the rocks, he still didn’t stick around to support you the second time around. Still picked missions over you.
You hoped he wouldn’t blame you for choosing Shoko over him.
For wanting someone who would stay.
You knew you shouldn’t do it, but you still cupped her cheek before you crashed your lips into hers. The wine on her lips overriding the faint hint of smoke hanging on her clothes, her tongue slipping inside to trace along your teeth as she tangled her free hand in your hair.
It felt right.
The connection was comforting, relaxing, your body melting into hers as she drew you in closer, deepening the kiss and about to drag you inside before you both heard it.
“What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”
Shoko jolted back, her hand slipping down to your side before she caught herself and removed it entirely.
“Satoru, it’s-”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the divorce?” You turned around, blocking Shoko from his view, your brows furrowed as you scowled at your husband. The man you’d been sleeping next to. Who you just slept with. And okay, perhaps you once gave your heart to – before you decided to take it back.
His blindfold was up, but you were pretty sure his blue eyes were bulging beneath them. His cursed energy practically thrummed thick in the air as he struggled to control it.
“Of course she told you,” he spat, venom in his tone as he took a few fast steps forward. “She just wants to fuck you. Tell me, Shoko did you always want to scissor my wife, or was it-”
“Did you think I’d never find out?” You hissed at him, flinching back as he continued to stride forward, his hand clasping around your wrist only to find yourself back in the penthouse, back in your bedroom, his cum-stained uniform still on the floor.
“You were supposed to stay and everything was supposed to be just fine,” he exclaimed, fingers still digging into your skin as you shook your head at him.
“I’m not fine,” you pointed out. Weren’t you the one with the traumatic head injury? Who lost so much of your life and six more months on top of it because he decided to choose a path he knew you wouldn’t have wanted?
“That doesn’t give you the goddamn right to cheat on me,” he sharply retorted, exhaling hard through his nose as he pulled your body closer to his. About the same distance you were to Shoko before, in some cruel imitation of the moment you shared with her. “And with our friend.”
You had to give it to him.
He knew you well enough to know exactly what strings to tug to make you feel fucking awful. You didn’t want any of this to happen. Didn’t want to be in your own shoes. Didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings no matter how hurt you felt.
“I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t!” You argued back, a hot lump forming in your throat as tears you couldn’t stand started to form at your lashline.
“You couldn’t try for me? Lie for me?” He pressed, his voice raising as you choked back a strangled sound.
Couldn’t he see that you did?
That for months, you tried and tried and tried to love him, when he wasn’t even there most of the time?
“You’re everything to me,” he continued, desperation bleeding through you struggled to find something that would make him understand. “You’ve been everything to me since the day I met you.”
“How can I be everything to you when I’m not even important enough for you to make time for?” You heard yourself ask, although you had the funny feeling it was something you said to him before.
“I take those missions to protect you, y’know, the people we care about, the world,” Gojo argued, as if that was what you wanted from him. “For what? For you to throw away our vows and fuck off with Shoko?”
“It’s not fair,” your voice cracked as you spoke. “I didn’t take those vows Satoru. You know I’m not that person anymore, and honestly, I don’t think I will be again."
Staying would only hurt both of you.
Pour salt in a wound that had been bleeding long before you woke up in that hospital bed.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, ripping your wrist free of him as you stepped back.
“Don’t say sorry,” he grimaced, but his blindfold was still on. This distance was still there, being kept at bay even when you were both supposed to be baring your soul. “Say you’re not going anywhere. Say you’ll never see her again. Say anything except-”
He knew you couldn’t.
“I can’t,” you softly murmured.
You didn’t know what the future would hold.
But you didn’t want one without Shoko in it.
“Losing you once was bad enough. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice,” Gojo pleaded. He tried to grab you again, to pull you in. Make up for his mistakes with his pretty mouth that he couldn’t match with his actions.
You were both messes. He manipulated you. You were about to make out with your mutual friend. You were better off without each other. He might not see it now. But you still hoped one day he would, that he wouldn’t hate you forever for saying goodbye a second time.
“You didn’t do anything to keep me.”
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated :3
Warnings: Smut ahead. Angst. Yearning. A college love story. Mentions of sh, death and alcohol (minor talks).
Word Count: 22.2K Words
There were certain things everyone at university knew to be true. The library would always be packed during exam season. The coffee on campus tasted like burnt dirt. And if you ever spotted Natasha Romanoff walking across the quad, chances were you wouldn't find her alone. Somewhere within arm's reach was you, laughing at something she'd whispered, wearing her hoodie or athlete jacket despite owning plenty of your own, or absentmindedly reaching for her hand as though it had always belonged there.
The first thing people noticed about Natasha Romanoff was her confidence and her cocky nature (and she looked good but that was obvious). And the second thing was that she looked at you like you hung the moon and stars. It was the kind of love that didn't seem forced or performative. She would wait outside your lectures with your favorite drink, kiss your forehead before her track practice, and somehow convince you to skip studying just long enough to watch the sunset from the roof of your residence hall. And you did all of that, because you were deeply in love with her, that and Wanda said you were uptight and needed to loosen up.
You and Natasha were practically inseparable from the day you met, well that was a stretch but it was true in its own way. It all began when you were carrying a large suitcase with a box in one arm. You had been moving into your dorm suite and with your mom, still downstairs talking the RA's ear off, you basically had to do all of the heavy carrying alone. It was fine until you accidentally bumped into someone which resulted in you dropping the box that held most of your belongings.
"Shit. I'm sorry." You exhaled, bending over to pick the fallen goods up. What you weren't expecting was for the person to reach over and help pick your stuff up. You looked up to find a redhead holding the pink teddy bear your father had gifted you as a child before he passed away. Smooth. Heat flooded your cheeks as the redhead scanned the small teddy bear before giving you a smirk.
"Cute." She mumbled as you stood up before picking the box up from the floor. She straightened up and handed you the fluffy toy, hands grazing against your own in the process.
"You in this suite?" She asked and you gave a simple nod because at that moment you could not muster the courage to talk to the extremely good looking person that was standing in front of you. This would be the person you'd share a suite with? Woah.
"Natasha. Looks like we're roommates."
"Y/n." You replied with another curt nod. Natasha chuckled before pulling the heavy box out of your arms without asking. You raised an eyebrow as she opened the door. You took in the place. It was quite simple. There was the kitchen, a living room that had a small couch and the bathroom. On the other side were doors to what you assumed to be the bedrooms.
Natasha walked over to the empty bedroom. Your bedroom.
"You don't talk much huh?" You shrugged your shoulders while grabbing your suitcase and wheeling it in.
"Guess we'll get along great then."
"I...thank you." You stammered and the redhead gave you a look that sent flutters down your spine to your core.
"No problem." She set the box down onto the mattress and looked at you.
"I'll see you later then." Before you could reply, Natasha was out of your room, probably making her way to yours. You released a short breath before your mother stumbled into the suite, waving the RA (who'd been forced to carry the rest of your bags) into your room.
___
Later that day, you were already deep in organization mode. Classes didn't start for another two weeks, but your bedroom was immaculate. Bed made with crisp sheets, books stacked by subject on the desk, clothes folded and color coded in the closet, and your bookbag already packed with notebooks, pens, and a color coded syllabus you'd printed early. Perfection was control. Control was survival.
The redhead sauntered in like she owned the place, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, athletic shorts riding low on her hips, black tank top stretched across toned shoulders and arms. Her hair was messy in that deliberately effortless way, green eyes scanning the room with a lazy smirk.
"Damn, roomie. You moving in or building a museum?" She dropped her bag right in the middle of the floor, kicking off her sneakers without bothering to line them up. One landed near your perfectly arranged shoes.
You stared, jaw tight. Rude.
"Some of us like being prepared. You planning on living out of that bag all semester?" Natasha laughed, that low, cocky and flopped onto the unmade bed across from yours, arms behind her head.
"Relax, princess. It's college. Lighten up." She watched you reorganize the bag she'd slightly disturbed, clearly amused. You then proceeded to throw her own shoe back towards her which she caught with grace.
"Please refrain from coming into my room and leaving a mess." You explained.
"You always this wound up? Or is it just for me?" You hated her immediately. That smirk. That easy confidence. The way her masculine energy filled the room and made your carefully ordered world feel... disrupted.
And later that night, after you'd politely (but firmly) asked her to move her shit off the floor for the third time, she leaned against your desk while you were triple checking your planner.
"Is this cocky attitude the one that gets you girls?" You snapped, not even looking up.
"Because it's not working on me."
Natasha's grin widened, slow and dangerous.
"Who said I was trying to get you, sweetheart?" You gave Natasha a pointed look before you moved back to organizing your stuff. At least then you'd be able to put some order into your life unlike the redhead who just smirked and left your room.
__
Living with Natasha was a mission to say the least. If it weren't for the fact that she was awfully good looking, you'd really hate the redhead. You two had been living together for almost a month. At first, it was somewhat fine. You tolerated Natasha because she was civil and respected the rules and boundaries you came up with. But then, Natasha being Natasha had managed to get in your head after a while.
With that cocky attitude of hers, she thrived on driving you to the brink of insanity. Most days, Natasha would come back from her track practice, throw her bag on the kitchen counter before making her way into the bathroom to shower. You'd scold her occasionally about being messy, and she'd shrug it off by saying you needed to loosen up a little. You'd tell her to fuck off and then she'd smirk and call you "princess". You hated her. You hated her chaos. You hated her for being so attractive.
One late afternoon you'd come back to the apartment after having a long day of attending general biology, a statistics class and intro to psych. You walked in to find Natasha blending her usual protein shake. She was dressed in a black tank top and Grey sweatpants, hair wet probably from a shower. She glanced up at you, lips twisting into that smirk of hers once she set the lid onto the blender.
"Rough day princess?" You rolled your eyes while grabbing a glass from the cupboard above Natasha. For a moment you two were pressed up against one another before you stepped back to fill your glass with water.
"I told you to stop calling me that." You said after taking a sip from the glass and Natasha simply placed a spoon inside the sink. She turned to look at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe.
"What?"
"You look stressed."
"I am. Spent six hours with no break on campus." You finished the cup before rinsing it and placing it inside the sink.
"Make sure you clean up afterwards Romanoff."You mumbled before grabbing your backpack and heading to your room. Natasha watched you leave, eyes tracing the curve of your hips and your ass. She bit the inside of her cheek, hands gripping the counter top before accidentally dropping the spoon.
You looked back to find the redhead scratching the back of her neck while pretending like she had not been watching you walk away. Afterwards you slid into your room to take a light nap before you eventually had to study.
___
That same night you were on your bed, textbooks lined up in front of you as you made notes for your Intro to Psychology class. You'd opened the door to your bedroom because you needed the fresh air that your window was failing to provide.
Eventually you set the highlighter down to stretch. Your back was turned so you hadn't noticed the redhead that was leaning against your bedroom door. Natasha was about to make a comment but when a sliver of smooth skin showed and a soft almost moan like sound escaped your lips, Natasha swallowed the comment but that cockiness of hers remained.
She knocked on your door to get your attention before walking in and plopping on the empty side of your bed.
"Please, make yourself comfortable." You said sarcastically as she flipped through the thick textbook on your bed.
"Don't you have other things to do? Or I don't know, other girls to bother?"
"Why bother other people when I could just bother you? Besides I enjoy toying with you."
"You're such a menace."
"And you're insatiable." She retorted. You scoffed before getting up to put your notes into their color coded files. Natasha watched you with interest, one arm propped underneath her head while the other set the textbook down.
"You ever do anything else aside from color coding and organizing everything?"
"An organized life brings success Natasha."
"Huh. Y/n, we've been living together for almost two months and I've never seen you do anything remotely college like." You scoffed, moving towards your bed, ready to pull the redhead off of your bed but when accidentally bumped into your desk, it sent your small pouch bag onto the floor before the contents fell out.
Natasha's eyes trailed down before you could react, eyes widening and lips twisting into a huge grin. You scrambled down, picking the two perfectly rolled joints, weed flower, lighter and grinder up.
"Holy shit. Didn't think you had it in you." Natasha had managed to take one joint from you, assessing it with pure fascination before you grabbed it out of her hands.
"Give me that."
"Princess perfect is actually a stoner? Wow, impressive." She raised a brow, leaning onto your pillow as you shoved the pouch back into it's secret spot that you'd probably have to change later.
"Can you get out of my room?"
"Relax princess. I'm not judging you."
"I would not care if you did anyway." Natasha hummed then finally took the cue to leave.
"Alright then, I'll let you be." You exhaled once Natasha left your room but her scent was still clinging onto your pillow and her room. That night you struggled to sleep. You'd spent almost twenty minutes just tossing and turning before looking at the clock.
02:00
You sighed and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling for a good five minutes. But instead of fighting with sleep, you got out of bed, your bare feet padding against the cold bamboo flooring of your bedroom as you grabbed your slippers and put them on.
Natasha found you in the kitchen a few minutes later. She watched you boil water before pouring it into the cup and stirring it. Eventually she spoke up.
"Couldn't sleep?" You shook your head and she stepped closer.
"Me neither." You grabbed another cup, pouring hot water inside before placing one of the chamomile teabags inside.
"Is this one of your health focus tea brands?" You gave Natasha a look and she grabbed the mug before bringing it up to her lips. She took a sip and hummed.
"That's actually good."
"Anything is better than whatever concoctions you make for protein." Natasha laughed, actually laughed, not one of those half chuckles she gave after throwing one of her ridiculous and dry jokes.
You spent twenty minutes like that. Just talking about small things, like how the wind outside was crazier than usual, or how loud the neighbors were and even how school was going for you two. Nothing deep but also not surface level small talk. Somewhere along the line, the cups had gotten empty and both you and Natasha had migrated to the small couch in the living area.
She'd currently been talking about the upcoming track selections and how nervous she was.
"I think you'll do great."
"Yeah? And how do you know that?" She pushed and you shrugged.
"Dunno, guess I can kind of see it. You have a nice and lean frame."
"Is this you flirting with me princess?"
"Jesus, only you'd be capable of turning a compliment into something that would fill your ego." You smacked your lips and Natasha's grin only widened.
Eventually the topics shifted onto a much more personal level. But Natasha never spoke about her own life. Instead she asked you questions and you answered, keeping it vague but respectful. And eventually you both drifted to your own bedrooms, but not before Natasha stopped you.
"Thanks. That was really... good."
"You're welcome." You both stood in the hallway, looking up at one another before she eventually stepped back, almost bumping the wall in the process. You just shook your head with a small laugh and disappeared into your own bedroom.
___
A week after that early morning, Natasha had come back from another brutal track practice. She found you sitting on your bed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while you mindlessly bit the cap of your pen.
"Hey." She said, breaking you out of the frustrating trance you were in.
"Want to take a break?" She asked, eyebrows wiggling with what could only be mischief. You looked up and swallowed. Your eyes trailed down her sweaty frame, lean muscles and when you looked up you found the redhead waiting with that smirk of hers.
"I have a lot of work to do."
"Come on princess, don't be like that." You almost fought her but Natasha wasn't one to let things go. So you eventually sighed and slid your book from your lap and onto the bed.
"I'm not going anywhere with you until you take a shower." Natasha gave you one of her crooked smiles.
"What, you don't think I look good like this?"
"Shower or get out of my room." She eventually raised her hands up in surrender but left to go shower, mumbling how she'd be done in an hour.
That's how you found yourself walking with Natasha to some building behind the athletics complex. At first you fought her, mumbling how you had to be back soon because you were busy. But Natasha shut you down once she held up a fat joint, the words dying down fast.
"Huh, who would've thought that's all I needed to do to shut you up." She'd remarked while you shoved her shoulder.
"Shut up and let's go."
And that's how you found yourself sitting on a bench facing trees with off campus apartments. You two sat next to one another, watching the streets bustle with students going out for the night while others came back from the library. Natasha pulled out a simple black lighter before placing the joint in between her pink lips. You really never thought you'd envy a joint but here you were.
You watched her take a drag before exhaling the earthy smoke. You hated yourself for feeling this way about Natasha. She was cocky, egotistical, sometimes messy and annoying. But at the same time, she was also hot, funny and again, really fucking hot.
You were eventually pulled out of your thoughts when she leaned forward to hand you the joint. You accepted it before bringing it up to your own lips and inhaling the earthy smoke. Your body melted as the smoke curled around the both of you. You coughed once then took another inhale. Natasha didn't make fun of you, but she also did not wipe that smirk off of her face. You two sat there in silence for almost fifteen minutes before the weed finally settled deep within your bodies.
The high was smooth and calm. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulder as you leaned back against the wall. Within a few minutes you started talking. Really talking. About nothing and everything. Natasha watched your lips moved as you rambled on about something. She threw one of her dry jokes and you laughed. She liked the fact that you laughed. Your laugh sounded nice.
"You're fun like this." She said and you turned to look at her.
"That seems awfully backhanded."
"No, you're always locked in your bedroom so much that I never get to speak to you unless you're scolding me." All you could do was shrug your shoulders. I mean what else could you say?
"I know you think I'm uptight, but I'm not." You'd spoken up after a while of comfortable silence. Natasha turned around and looked at you properly this time. The way your curls framed your face, the way your skin shone under the campus lights and the way you seemed to always be in thought no matter the time. You looked really good. So good that Natasha wanted to lean in and kiss you. But all she did was clear her throat.
"We should go." She said, already standing up and offering her hand to help guide you up. You took it without saying anything this time. Her hand was warm, and it felt nice. You two walked back in comfortable silence, the high making the walk intense in the best way.
When the two of you reached your apartment, you gave Natasha a small shove with your shoulder again.
"Thanks. This actually really helped."
"No problem." You two stood there in the hallway before you nodded then walked into your bedroom and closed the door.
___
After that night, it sort of became a habit. You and Natasha would walk to the athletics complex, sit there while smoking and talking about stuff. Sometimes you'd just sit there in silence and watch nature take its course.
After a particularly long day of classes and practice, Natasha came back to the dorm with a fat, perfectly rolled blunt and that signature cocky smirk.
"Round two, princess. You in? Or are you too scared I'll corrupt your perfect little routine?" You rolled your eyes but agreed. The two of you ended up on the quiet grassy area behind the athletics building again, sitting on a blanket under the stars. The first hit already loosened the tension between you. By the time the blunt was half gone, you were both properly crossed, all giggly, warm, and hyper aware of each other.
You were lying on your back, looking up at the sky, when Natasha rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. Her red hair fell messily around her face, green eyes dark and intense as they traced over your body.
"You're really fucking hot when you're relaxed, you know that?" She murmured, her voice lower than usual. You turned your head, heart beating faster.
"You're only saying that because you're high."
"Nah." She leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.
"I've been thinking about this since the day your grinder fell out." The kiss started soft. It was tentative, tasting like weed and cherry lip balm. Then it deepened fast. Natasha's hand slid under your hoodie, palm hot against your warm skin as she cupped your breast. You moaned into her mouth, fingers threading through her red hair and tugging.
Things escalated quickly. She pulled you on top of her, hands gripping your ass as you straddled her hips. The high made everything feel slow and intense at the same time. You ground against her, hands still tugging red hair while her own hands played with your breasts. She pinched a nipple and you moaned louder into her mouth. But you eventually pulled back.
"We can't." Natasha looked up at you with dark eyes and swollen lips.
"Not outside. Someone could see us." You sat up whe fixing your hoodie.
You stood up on shaky legs almost tumbling back down onto her lap and Natasha laughed.
"Damn, already falling for me." She retorted and you kicked her shin. She groaned.
"Fair enough." She mumbled. With your help, Natasha stood up and picked the blanket she'd laid down along with her small bag that carried all of her miscellaneous stuff.
The walk back to your suite was charged with electricity and the leftover tension from before amplified by the high. When you reached the suite, she set the things down before turning to face you. You took a step back until you hit the kitchen counter.
"We should probably talk about the kiss." Natasha raised a singular brow.
"Talk?" You nodded.
"Y-yeah. Talk." Natasha stepped closer hands making their way around your waist.
"You seriously want to talk?" She pulled you closer to her and you gasped.
"N-Nat."
"I don't think you want to talk." She leaned forward, her lips inches away from yours.
"Nat..." You whispered, voice trembling.
"Yeah princess?" You closed your eyes and opened them again to find her green ones watching.
"Kiss me." She didn't need anymore convincing, her lips found yours.
This time the kiss was heated, all the built up frustration from your days and the tension that had been simmering between you two for the past few weeks now being poured out into this kiss. Natasha pressed you further into the wall before she wedged her thigh in between your legs. The moan you let out was muffled by her lips but it still managed to send heat down to Natasha's own core.
"I want to hear you make that sound again." She'd whispered against your lips, her hands roaming around your waist but still remaining respectful. The realization alone sent flutters down your own stomach. You ground yourself against her thighs, and Natasha took the opportunity to grip onto your ass, pulling you closer. With strong arms, Natasha picked you up and led you to the nearest room which was your bedroom.
She carried you into your bedroom, foot closing your door right after before "gently" placing you onto your neatly made bed.
"Hey, careful-"
"These sheets are gonna be messed up when I'm done with you anyways. Should be the least of your worries." She leaned forward to kiss you again, and you pulled her against you. Her hands slid under your hoodie, pushing it up. You let her pull it off, then your t-shirt underneath, heart pounding with desire.
That's when she saw them. The faint silvery scars on your upper arms and across the softer skin below your collarbones caught the low lamplight. You froze once you'd noticed the change in her expression. Shame hit like ice water through the haze. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide, curls falling forward as you curled in on yourself.
"I think you should maybe leave." Just then Natasha grabbed your wrists, pulling you even closer. She didn't say anything, she didn't have to say anything. She'd seen them in passing when you were changing and she accidentally caught a glimpse of your body from behind (you were late for class after accidentally spilling coffee on your shirt and you'd forgotten to close the door).
Natasha simply pressed a kiss onto the jagged marks on your upper arms and the smaller ones on your collarbone. Your once tense body relaxed as she kept pressing kisses from your collarbone and onto your neck. You eventually leaned back, letting Natasha continue kissing and biting the smooth skin. She eventually found the sweet spot that had you letting out the softest sounds that made her suck and bite even more.
More clothes came off before you were both on your bed naked. At one point you'd stopped to lecture Natasha for carelessly throwing her hoodie onto the floor but that stopped once she'd started trailing her lips downwards until she was in between your thighs. She slipped your panties off a little until the black lace was out of her way, still hanging around your ankle but far enough for her to work.
Natasha slid her left finger in between your now swollen and aching slit. And it felt good.
"Stop teasing."
"Whatever you say princess." Her tongue slid into your soaking cunt, slightly calloused hands pulling you closer so she could feast on your pussy. You threw your head back as Natasha threw one leg over her shoulder, the same one that held the lace panties before they eventually fell onto the floor next to her hoodie.
Natasha moaned at the taste of your arousal, tongue finding it's rhythm inside of you.
"W-wow." Was all you could breathlessly moan and Natasha moaned in between your legs.
"Yeah?" She whispered mouth still working you open before she introduced a finger. Natasha slid her index finger inside of you which made you buck further into her mouth.
"Tell me how it feels." She worked the finger inside of you, the obscene sound of your pussy getting fucked, filling the walls of your bedroom.
"Good."
"I think you can do better than that." Natasha curled the finger which made you moan out loud. Her tongue was hot and confident as she dragged it through your folds, exploring before focusing on your clit. She sucked the sensitive bud into her mouth, tongue flicking fast and firm. She then added a second finger, curling them in a "come hither" motion.
"You always get this wet y/n?" She teased as her finger slid in and out of you so effortlessly. You shook your head.
"Yeah? Just for me?" She continued stroking her fingers inside of you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars.
"Your tongue feels so fucking good. Fuck, Nat-" You gasped, hips bucking. She held you down with one strong arm across your waist, red hair tickling your thighs as she ate you out like she was starving. The wet, obscene sounds continued to fill the small bedroom, her tongue lapping and sucking, fingers thrusting deep and curling against that spot inside you. You gripped her hair tight, thighs trembling around her head. The high made everything feel overwhelming and perfect at the same time. Every lick, every curl of her fingers sent sparks up your spine.
She looked up at you while she worked, her green eyes locked on yours, lips and chin shiny with your wetness. The sight alone nearly made you come alone.
"You taste so fucking good y/n." She groaned against your pussy, then dove back in harder. She sucked your clit rhythmically while her fingers fucked you faster, curling just right. Your back arched hard off the bed.
"Nat, shit... I'm gonna...fuck!" She didn't stop. She moaned into you, the vibration pushing you over the edge.
You came hard on her tongue, thighs clamping around her head, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips as your pussy clenched around her fingers. Natasha kept licking you through it, slower and gentler, until your legs were shaking and you were pushing at her head from the overstimulation. She finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up your body with a satisfied smirk. She kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
"You good, princess?" She asked, voice husky. You could barely speak, still catching your breath. You just nodded and pulled her back down for another kiss.
You were still panting, thighs twitching from the aftershocks as Natasha crawled up your body with that satisfied, cocky smirk. Her lips and chin were shiny with your wetness, green eyes dark with hunger. Before she could say anything smug, you grabbed her by the shoulders and flipped her onto her back. The high made you bold.
"My turn." You murmured, voice husky.
Natasha's eyebrows rose, but her smirk widened as she spread her legs for you.
"Yeah? Show me what you got, princess." You kissed her hard, tasting yourself on her tongue, then started moving down her body. You sucked marks into her pale neck and collarbone, then lower, taking one of her nipples into your mouth while your hand slid between her thighs. She was soaked. You groaned against her skin when your fingers met all that slick heat.
"Fuck, you're wet." You breathed, almost surprised. Natasha let out a low chuckle that turned into a moan when you kissed down her toned stomach and settled between her legs. You didn't tease. You dove straight in. You licked a slow, broad stripe up her pussy, savoring the taste of her. Natasha's hips jerked, one hand flying to your curls. You licked again, firmer this time, tongue dragging through her folds before circling her clit.
"Shit, yeah just like that." She groaned, thighs tensing around your head.
You got more confident. You sucked her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue fast while sliding two fingers inside her. She was tight and dripping, clenching around your fingers as you curled them upward. The wet sounds were loud in the small bedroom of yours, obscene and yet so addictive.
Natasha's usual cocky control started slipping. Her red hair was messy against the pillow, hips rolling up into your mouth as she cursed under her breath.
"Fuck, y/n... your mouth feels so fucking good."
You moaned against her pussy, the vibration making her gasp. You fucked her harder with your fingers, sucking and licking her clit with messy enthusiasm, completely lost in the high and the taste of her. You looked up at her while you worked to make her cum. Her green eyes half lidded, lips parted, chest heaving. She looked wrecked. It was hot as hell.
You added a third finger, thrusting deep and steady while your tongue worked her clit relentlessly. Natasha's grip on your curls tightened, her thighs starting to tremble.
"Don't stop, please, fuck, I'm close-" You didn't. You sucked harder, curled your fingers just right, and moaned against her as she came.
Natasha came with a low, broken groan, hips bucking against your face as her pussy clenched hard around your fingers. You kept licking her through it, slower and gentler, until her thighs stopped shaking and she tugged weakly at your hair.
You finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up her body. Natasha immediately yanked you down into a messy kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.
"Damn. " She muttered against your lips, still breathing hard.
"You're really good at that." You laughed breathlessly, collapsing beside her. She pulled you close, one arm slung around your waist, both of you sweaty and hazy from the weed and the orgasms.
Neither of you said much after that. Just tangled limbs, lazy kisses, and the quiet satisfaction after making each other cum.
___
Sunlight filtered through the blinds the next morning. You woke up naked in your own bed, but Natasha's arm was slung possessively over your waist and her red hair was tickling your shoulder.
For a second, the memories hit you. The shared blunt, her mouth between your thighs, the way you'd moaned her name, how good she'd felt. Your own leg in between her thighs. Your face heated instantly.
You carefully slipped out from under her arm, grabbed one of the oversized t-shirts from the floor which so happened to be hers, and tiptoed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Back to normal. You had a 10 a.m. lecture. You also had notes to review. What happened was just... a one time thing. Spontaneous. Roommates with benefits didn't mean mornings had to be weird. Right?
You then walked back to your bedroom, ready to organize everything for the day. You were already at your desk in her t-shirt and panties, frantically reorganizing your color-coded planners and pretending last night hadn't happened, when Natasha finally stirred. She stretched like a cat, the sheet slipping down her pale, toned body. When she saw you at your desk, already in full type A mode, her lips curved into that infuriating cocky smirk.
"Morning, princess." She said, voice still raspy from sleep and smoke.
"Running away already?"
"I have class." You replied, not looking at her. You straightened your pens with more force than necessary.
"And you should probably clean up your bedroom, I walked passed it and it looks like a tornado hit it."
Natasha chuckled lowly and sat up, not bothering to cover herself.
"Cute. You're back to scolding me like nothing happened. Like I didn't have my tongue buried in your pussy last night." Your pen froze mid air. Heat rushed through you at the crude reminder. You turned slowly, trying to look unaffected.
"It was just sex, Natasha. We were high. It doesn't have to be a thing."
She stood up, completely naked, and walked over to you with that effortless athletic swagger. She stopped right behind your chair, leaning down so her breath brushed your ear.
"You can pretend all you want." She murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"But I still remember how you sounded when you came on my face. How you gripped my hair and begged for more." You shivered. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily. Damn her.
You stood up abruptly, putting distance between you.
"I'm not begging. And I have to get ready for class." Natasha just smirked wider, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. She reached out and tugged lightly on the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing, her t-shirt.
"Keep it." She said.
"Looks better on you anyway." You grabbed your towel and practically fled to the bathroom, heart racing and skin still tingling from her proximity. You could hear her low laugh behind you.
The entire day, you tried to focus on lectures. Tried to pretend it was nothing. But Natasha's words kept echoing in your head. The memory of her mouth. Her fingers. How ridiculously good she was.
By the time you got back to the dorm that evening, you were tense and annoyed at how easily she'd gotten under your skin again.Natasha was sprawled on the living room couch in shorts and a sports bra, looking far too pleased with herself when you walked in.
"Still pretending, princess?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. You dropped your bag onto the kicthen counter and crossed your arms.
"You're impossible." She grinned and crooked a finger at you.
"Come here and I'll show you just how impossible I can be."
"I'm not easy Natasha."
"I never said you were. And quite frankly I enjoy it when you fight me, it's like our very own foreplay." You huffed in annoyance and turned around to grab a glass of water. Anything to help distract you from the girl sitting behind you. But that failed when you felt Natasha's presence and warmth behind you. You felt her hand tuck your hair aside before she pressed a kiss onto your neck.
"Tell me you didn't enjoy last night."
"Natasha I have work to do."
"Yeah? And there's something else I'd like to do now too. You."
"Smooth." But you weren't exactly pulling away when she wrapped her arms around your waist. And when she started kissing down your neck, you were already leaning against her, head thrown back, ass press firmly against her front.
It lasted approximately five minutes before you were led into her bedroom, gripping her red hair while riding her face with vigorous speed. The soft sounds of your moans bouncing off of her bedroom walls.
___
The next morning, you woke up first. The dorm was quiet except for Natasha's soft breathing. You were still in her bed, naked under the sheets, body pleasantly sore in places that made your face burn with memory. The joint you'd smokes in her room, her mouth on you, the way you'd moaned without shame... it all came rushing back.
You slipped out carefully, grabbed the first shirt you could find (hers, again), and went straight to your bedroom and sat by your desk. Back to normal. You started reorganizing your notes with sharp, precise movements, trying to shove the entire night into a neat little box labeled "Mistake."
Natasha woke up about twenty minutes later. She stretched, the sheet falling to her waist, and smirked the second she saw you already in full planner mode once she'd reached your door.
"Morning, princess." She drawled, voice still rough from sleep.
"You're up early again. Trying to pretend you weren't riding my face last night?"
You didn't look at her.
"I have a lecture later today. And your bedroom is a disaster again. Can you at least try to keep your shit contained now that we're... whatever this is?"
Natasha chuckled, completely unbothered by her own nudity. She walked over and leaned against your desk, arms crossed, watching you straighten pens with way too much focus.
"You're cute when you're in denial." She said.
"All tense and bratty like I didn't make you come three times." Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk. Heat flared low in your belly despite yourself.
"It was all just fun okay, Natasha. Don't make it weird."
She leaned down closer, red hair falling forward, green eyes amused.
"Weird? You mean like how you're wearing my shirt right now? Or how wet you already are just from me standing here?"
"You're in my bedroom naked."
"Yeah, and you like it." You finally looked up, glaring.
"You're so fucking cocky." That was all it took. Natasha grabbed you by the waist, spun you around, and bent you over your own desk in one smooth motion. Your carefully stacked planners and notes went flying again as she pressed up behind you.
"Yeah?" She murmured against your ear, yanking your her shirt up over your ass.
"Keep scolding me then. See what happens."
You tried to snap back, but the words died when she dropped to her knees and buried her tongue in your pussy from behind without any warning. She ate you out like she was proving a point. One that was messy, confident, and relentless. Her hands spread your cheeks as her tongue licked and sucked, two fingers pushing inside you deep. You gripped the far edge of the desk hard, biting your lip to stay quiet, but soft moans still escaped. She didn't stop until you came hard, thighs shaking, forehead pressed against the wood. Natasha stood up, wiped her mouth, and leaned over you.
"Still think it was just the weed?" She asked, voice smug. You were breathless, annoyed, and already wanting more.
"Just shut up and fuck me properly." You muttered.
___
The pattern became frequent. After the third night, you and Natasha stopped pretending like this was nothing, especially when the sex was just way to good to pretend. So you both agreed on being roommates with benefits. Whatever the hell you wanted to call it, that's what it was.
When you told your close friend Wanda about it, she'd given you a look that said she wasn't all for it.
"These never end well y/n." You sighed as you two neared your favorite café.
"I know but its not like we can avoid one another Wans. I mean we live together for Pete's sake."
"Pete's sake?" Wanda teased and you rolled your eyes.
"Point is, we can't avoid it. Besides the sex is good." You shrugged and Wanda chuckled while opening the door.
You and Natasha began the rhythm. Whenever you had a bad day from pre-med classes, all she needed to do was look you in the eye, before she was guiding you onto the nearest surface and burying her face between your legs. Or whenever she had a bad practice, all you needed to do was pull her by her hoodie before laying her on the bed and fucking her with your fingers.
It was good, spontaneous and convenient. Neither of you had bothered to label it let alone think about it. This was all just the harmless kind of fun people have in college. Yeah. Just fun.
___
It was a Thursday night in mid November. You'd had one of those days. The kind where everything felt heavy. A brutal organic chemistry midterm you weren't sure you'd passed, followed by a phone call with your mom that dragged up old memories of your dad. You came back to the suite quiet and closed off, and this time it was the kind of quiet that usually meant you'd bury yourself in planners and books until the feelings went away.
Natasha was already there, sprawled on the couch in a tank top and shorts after practice. She noticed immediately. Instead of her usual cocky greeting or grabbing you for a quick fuck, she sat up from the couch and watched you drop your bag onto the kitchen counter and start reorganizing the contents in your bag with sharp, tense movements.
"You're spiraling." She said simply.
"I'm fine Natasha." You mumbled but your voice wavered. You weren't fine. You kept moving things around, trying to regain control. Natasha got up, crossed the room, and gently took the stack of notes from your hands.
"Hey." She said softly.
"Stop." You tried to pull away, but she set the notes down and tugged you toward her bedroom instead. No heat. No smirk. Just her strong arms guiding you down until you were both lying there, facing each other.
You expected her to kiss you, to turn it into sex like always. That's what this was supposed to be, just benefits. Release. Nothing more. But she didn't. Natasha just pulled you closer until your head rested on her chest. One hand stroked slowly through your curls, the other rubbing gentle circles on your back. The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy at the same time.
"You don't have to be okay all the time." She murmured after a while. Her voice was quieter than you'd ever heard it.
"Not with me." Something in your chest cracked. You hadn't let anyone see this version of you in years. The scared girl who still felt the guilt and pressure from home, who built walls of order so the world couldn't take anything else away.
But here, in the dim dorm light with Natasha's heartbeat steady under your ear, the walls felt exhausting.
You didn't cry. You just breathed her in. The faint scent of her body wash and the gym. And you just let yourself be held. After a long stretch of silence, Natasha spoke again.
"Wanna get something to eat?" All you did was nod, but Natasha held you for longer. She didn't want to stop.
___
Natasha slammed the door harder than necessary when she got back. You looked up from the couch, highlighter paused mid sentence. She was limping noticeably, jaw clenched, a fresh bruise blooming on her left cheekbone. Her duffel bag hit the floor with a thud, followed by one sneaker, then the other, right in the middle of the room.
"Bad day?" You asked carefully.
"Understatement." She grunted, wincing as she tried to put weight on her right ankle.
"Some rookie on the team decided to play hero during drills. I took the fall. Coach reamed me out anyway. Then my phone started blowing up with family shit. Perfect fucking day."
She looked pissed off at the world. You knew that look. It was the same one she got right before she usually pushed you up against a wall to blow off steam. But tonight she just walked into her room and dropped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. You closed your notebook and stood up before making your way into her room.
"Don't." She muttered when she saw you moving.
"I'm not really in the mood for your organizing lecture right now."
"I wasn't going to lecture you." You grabbed the ice pack from the fridge a towel, and the first aid kit that you kept in your room. Then you knelt in front of her without asking.
Natasha watched you silently as you gently lifted her injured foot into your lap and wrapped the ice pack around her swollen ankle. Your touch was careful but firm. You didn't say anything about the mess she'd made or the shoes in the middle of the floor. You just worked quietly, dabbing the bruise on her cheek with a cool cloth next. She stayed tense for the first few minutes, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then something in her shoulders finally loosened.
"Thanks." She said gruffly, almost like the word hurt to say. You finished securing the wrap and looked up at her.
"You don't always have to be the tough one, you know." Natasha let out a bitter little laugh.
"Yeah? Tell that to everyone who needs something from me." Instead of answering with words, you climbed onto the bed beside her and gently pulled her down. She resisted for half a second out of habit, then let you maneuver her so she was curled against your side, head resting on your chest.
This was new territory.
Natasha Romanoff, the girl who always had to be the strong, cocky one, let herself be held. She shifted until she was fully tucked into you, face buried in the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. You wrapped both arms around her, one hand slowly stroking up and down her back.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held her while she breathed through the shitty day.
Eventually, she mumbled against your skin.
"I hate this ankle. And my family. And today."
"I know." You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her red hair. You stayed like that for over an hour. No sex. No teasing. Just you holding her while she let herself be vulnerable for once.
Later, when you both shifted to get more comfortable, Natasha turned over so her back was pressed against your front. You instinctively curled around her, becoming the big spoon. Your arm wrapped around her waist, your chest to her back, legs carefully tangled so you wouldn't bump her injured ankle.
Natasha let out a long, shaky breath and relaxed completely into you, the little spoon for the first time.
"Never thought I'd let anyone hold me like this." She admitted quietly into the dark. You hugged her a little tighter.
"Get used to it." She didn't reply, but her hand found yours and laced your fingers together over her stomach.
___
The shift happened gradually. You and Natasha still continued to have sex on occasions (more often than you'd like to admit) but underneath it all, something began brewing. Sometimes you caught yourself watching Natasha. Like the one Saturday morning where she offered to make you breakfast to deal with your hangover. Both of you had gone out the night before to some house party.
Natasha had to actually drag you out after you'd been locked in your bedroom for seven hours straight. You'd complained about it, so much that Natasha had to pick you up and out of the chair. You dropped your weight on purpose, forcing Natasha to practically drag you out of the chair.
"Stop deadweighting." Natasha grunted, readjusting her grip.
"I'm not." you lied, immediately slouching even harder. Natasha eventually gave up and threw you into your bed.
Natasha opened your closet, ruffling through the clothes inside. You sat up and frowned.
"What are you doing? Stop that. You're making a mess!" You scolded but Natasha didn't listen. She continued rummaging until she pulled out a black dress before handing it to you.
"Here, put this on."
"Why this?"
"Because I've never seen you in it and it looks easier to take off. Now get dressed." Without another word, Natasha left you to go get ready. And well, obviously you got dressed.
The party was loud enough to make conversation optional. Music thumped through the walls of the frat house, bass vibrating beneath your sneakers as bodies squeezed past one another with red cups and slurred laughter. Someone had already spilled something sticky across the kitchen floor.
"This was worth dragging you out for." Natasha teased, nudging your shoulder. You rolled your eyes.
"I'm still convinced I would've had a better night in bed."
"You say that every time."
"And every time I'm right." Natasha laughed, that soft laugh she only seemed to have around you, and she disappeared toward the kitchen, returning a minute later with two drinks.
"I remembered." She said, handing you the one without the cranberry flavored vodka. You frowned.
"You remembered?"
"You hate cranberry."
"Oh." You accepted the cup, suddenly aware that she'd never once asked you to remind her.
Hours blurred together. You danced with your friends. Natasha disappeared into conversations with her teammates. Every so often your eyes found each other across the room. Neither of you acknowledged it. Because there was nothing to acknowledge.
Then someone wrapped an arm around your waist. A guy from one of your statistics tutorials.
"You've been hiding all semester." He grinned.
"Dance with me?" You shrugged your shoulders.
"Sure." It wasn't anything serious. It was just dancing. No harm in that right?
You laughed at one of his terrible jokes, swaying absentmindedly with the music. Across the room, Natasha's smile faltered. Her teammate was halfway through telling a story before Natasha realized she hadn't heard a single word.
Who was that? Why was his hand there? And why...Why did it bother her?She scoffed quietly to herself. Ridiculous. You weren't together. Hell, you weren't even dating. You were roommates who occasionally slept together. That was all. So why did she suddenly want to march over there and pry his hand off your waist-
"You okay?" Natasha blinked.
"Hm?"
"You've been staring for like... five minutes."
"I wasn't staring." She said which wasn't exactly a lie. Her teammate followed her gaze.
"Oh." Natasha immediately looked away.
"Oh?"
"You've got it bad."
"I literally don't."
"Romanoff."
"We're just roommates."
"...Who have sex."
"...With boundaries." Her teammate snorted into her drink.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
When the song changed, you excused yourself for some air. The backyard was cooler, quieter. You leaned against the railing, breathing. A few seconds later the back door opened.
"You disappear a lot princess." You didn't have to turn around.
"I like quiet." Natasha stepped beside you, her warmth grounding you in the moment. Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. It was... comfortable, like it always was whenever you say with Natasha.
Your shoulders brushed. Neither of you moved away.
"You cold?" Natasha asked.
"A little." Without thinking, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
"You'll freeze."
"So will you."
"I run hot." You smiled and let out a small chuckle.
"You always have an answer."
"One of us has to." Another silence.
Your fingers found the sleeve of her jacket, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric between your thumb and forefinger.
"You know..." Natasha said quietly.
"Hm?"
"I think you're the only person I actually like coming to these things with." You looked at her. She looked back. For just a second.
Long enough for something unfamiliar to settle between you. Not desire. That part had always been easy. This was...Different. Neither of you had a name for it yet. So, naturally, you both looked away first.
By the time the two of you stumbled back to the apartment, it was well past two in the morning. Natasha fumbled with the keys, muttering something under her breath when she missed the lock for the third time.
"You've got the hand-eye coordination of a professional athlete," you deadpanned.
"I've been drinking."
"You've had two vodka cranberries."
"They were... strong vodka cranberries." The door finally clicked open. You kicked your shoes off the moment you stepped inside, groaning at the relief.
"I am never wearing heels again."
"You say that every time."
"And this time I mean it." Natasha only smiled. It was domestic in a way that neither of you cared to acknowledge.
You disappeared into your room long enough to swap your dress for an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts. By the time you emerged, Natasha was already in the kitchen, two glasses of water sitting on the counter.
"Hydrate." She said, sliding one toward you. You raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing." You said, with a small shake of your head.
"What?"
"It's just..." You took the glass, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
"You're weirdly caring." Natasha scoffed.
"I'm preventing your hangover. Selfish reasons."
"Mhm."
"I'm serious." She pushed.
"Sure you are." The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It rarely was anymore. You leaned against opposite sides of the counter, lazily sipping water while the refrigerator hummed in the background.
"You disappeared for a while tonight," Natasha said eventually.
"So did you."
"I was talking to my teammates."
"I noticed." She hesitated but then she spoke up again.
"...That guy."
"What guy?"
"The one you were dancing with." You blinked.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"He asked me to dance."
"I saw." You couldn't help the teasing smile that spread across your face.
"Were you jealous?" Natasha answered far too quickly.
"No."
"You hesitated."
"I didn't."
"You literally did."
"I was thinking."
"About?"
"How annoying you are." You laughed, shaking your head as you walked past her.
"You were jealous."
"I wasn't."
"You so were." Before you could make it another step, Natasha caught your wrist. Not tightly. Just enough to stop you. The apartment fell quiet.
You looked down at her hand, then back up at her. Neither of you spoke. It would've been so easy to let go. Instead, her thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin. A thoughtless gesture. One she'd probably deny remembering in the morning.
"You've got glitter on your face princess." She murmured.
"Oh." She reached up before you could react. Her fingers barely skimmed your cheek. One tiny fleck of silver caught on her fingertip.
"There." Neither of you moved. You were standing far too close now. Close enough to hear each other breathe.
Close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Natasha swallowed.
"We should probably go to bed."
"Probably." Neither of you did. For one suspended moment, the world seemed to wait with you. Then Natasha stepped back first.
"Goodnight."
"Night, Nat." Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you. Only then did Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.
"This is getting dangerous." She whispered to the empty apartment. And in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed, you whispered the exact same thing.
And now, Natasha stood at the small counter in just a tank top and sleep shorts, red hair tied up loosely with strands falling around her face. She moved carefully because of her ankle, but she was focused, cracking eggs into the pan, buttering toast, cutting up an apple she must have grabbed from somewhere. Two plates were already set out.
You stood, leaning against the wall and just watching Natasha move. There was something about the sight that made your chest ache with a deep, quiet yearning. Natasha Romanoff, the girl who left chaos everywhere she went, who swore she didn't do soft things was currently making you breakfast.
After last night. After she'd watched that guy flirt with you at the party with that tight jaw and sharp eyes. After she'd pulled you close on the dance floor like she couldn't stand anyone else near you. After the almost moment at the door where she'd looked at you like she wanted to say something she couldn't. You wanted to crawl back under the covers of your bed and hide from how much you felt.
Instead, you straightened up and padded over quietly. Natasha glanced at you when you leaned against the doorway. For a second her green eyes softened, almost vulnerable, before she looked back at the pan.
"Morning." She said, voice a little rough. "Figured you'd be hungover. Sit." You sat at the tiny table.
She brought over a plate, perfectly cooked eggs, buttered toast, sliced apple, and a glass of water with ibuprofen next to it. She set it down in front of you like it was nothing, then sat across from you with her own plate.
You stared at the food for a long moment. She made this for you.
The girl who usually left protein shakers on your desk and teased you about your planners had gotten up early (or stayed up) to do something nice. No teasing comment. No smirk. Just quiet care.
The yearning hit you harder than it ever had. You wanted this version of her every morning. The one who noticed when you were overwhelmed. The one who got jealous but didn't make it your problem. The one who held you on bad nights and let you hold her on hers. You wanted to reach across the table and touch her hand. You wanted to tell her how much it meant. But you stayed silent, because saying it out loud would make it too real.
Natasha kept stealing glances at you while she ate. Her eyes lingered on your messy curls, on the way you were still wearing last night's shirt. There was a tension in her shoulders, like she was holding something back. Like she was fighting the same pull you were. The silence between you felt heavy with everything unsaid.
You wanted to be closer to her. You wanted her to pull you into her lap and hold you like she had the other night. You wanted to bury your face in her neck and breathe her in until the fear of loving someone this much went away. Instead, you took a bite of the eggs.
"They're good." You said softly.
Natasha's lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile.
"Yeah?" You nodded, heart aching with how much you were already falling.
She didn't need to say anything. The breakfast, the quiet way she watched you, the way her foot gently brushed yours under the table, it was all there.
And you were terrified by how badly you wanted to keep it.
___
The party that Wanda was throwing was loud and crowded, but Natasha couldn’t take her eyes off you. She seemed worried because you weren't acting like yourself. She noticed it first in the bathroom hallway. You’d stepped away for a minute, and when she followed a little later, she caught you in the mirror. Your face was twisted. A quick flash of disgust and shame as you looked at your reflection, arms subtly crossing over your chest like you wanted to disappear. You fixed your expression fast, but Natasha saw it. She felt it like a punch to the gut and said nothing. Not then.
Later, back in the main room, it got worse. You were sitting beside her on the couch, but you weren’t really there. Your arms stayed crossed tight over your chest. Your shoulders curved inward. You laughed when your friends joked but it was hollow. Natasha watched you slowly disappear into your head, picking at the sleeve of your shirt, trying to hide pieces of yourself she already knew were beautiful.
It killed her.
The walk home was quiet, the cold night air sharp between you. Natasha’s hand brushed yours a few times but she didn’t grab it. She just stayed close, jaw tight, heart doing something complicated and heavy in her chest.
The second the door to your suite closed, she couldn’t hold back anymore.
She stepped forward and pulled you into her arms right there in the middle of the living room.
No words. No teasing. No rush to turn it into sex. Just Natasha wrapping herself around you completely. One arm slid around your waist, the other hand cradling the back of your head as she tucked your face gently into the crook of her neck. She held you like she was trying to shield you from the whole world. It was strong, steady, and warm.
You froze for half a second, then melted. Your arms came up slowly, wrapping around her back, fingers clutching the fabric of her hoodie like she might vanish. Natasha’s chin rested on top of your head. She breathed you in, slow and deep, her heartbeat strong against your cheek.
The silence was thick with everything unsaid. She could feel the tension still lingering in your body, the way you were trying so hard to shrink yourself. It made her chest ache with a fierce, protective kind of yearning. She wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were. How she hated that you ever looked at yourself like that. How she’d been falling for you for weeks now. For the girl who scolded her about messes and still took care of her when her ankle was fucked up. For the girl who let her see the cracks even when it scared her.
But she didn’t speak. She just held you tighter, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other stayed buried in your curls. The butterflies in her stomach were violent. This wasn’t benefits anymore. This was her wanting to be the person who made you feel safe enough to stop hiding. You pressed closer, face buried deeper into her neck, breathing her in like she was the only steady thing in your chaotic world. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it.
You were terrified by how much you needed this. How much you needed her. The girl whose chaos kept breaking your control and somehow made you feel more alive than your perfect plans ever had. Neither of you let go. You stood there in the middle of the living room for what felt like forever, wrapped up in each other, hearts racing with quiet, terrifying yearning. The kind of closeness that felt bigger than sex. Bigger than just roommates with benefits. This was just two girls falling slowly, deeply, and helplessly into something neither of them could stop anymore.
Later that night, you laid in Natasha's bed. No heat except for the warmth her body provided. She held you tightly as you both watched tiktoks on your phone. It seemed very intimate, the lines were crossing. But as Natasha pressed a kiss onto the top of your head before laughing at some video on your phone, you knew that you wanted to feel this more. You wanted her. Deeply.
___
2026
You were sitting in the bedroom of your off campus room, pre-med textbooks gathered around you like weapons. The room smelt of Redbull, the incense sticks you'd lit up to relax you and help you study (which failed) alongside your iPad. Luna, your cat, was perched on the other side of the bed, her gaze focused on your stressful form. She tried to help by making the occasional biscuit but that ended with her taking a short nap inside of your sheets. Lucky.
You groaned, throwing your head back before closing your textbook. Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced at it and found her name on your screen. Your stomach shrank.
Natasha
Fans want more content. You up for it?
You clenched your jaw, heart slamming against your ribs. You wanted to type, tell her to fuck off but you didn't have enough fight in you anymore. It still hurt deeply. It was as if Natasha had pulled your entire heart out with her hands before smashing it into bits and pieces. The tears were already gathering in your eyes. How could she just waltz back into your life after every fucking thing? You should have blocked her, deleted her number even but instead, you just typed.
You
Why are you texting me?
Natasha
Just wanted to see if you're up for it. I miss you.
The notification preview told you everything you needed to know. You read it once, twice, then swiped it away without ever opening the conversation. You laughed bitterly before switching your phone off for the night. You grabbed your books and iPad to place them aside. You weren't in the right mind space to do any studying.
Luna moved closer, tucking herself underneath your arm once you were settled. You switched the lights off and stared at the ceiling. How dare she.
But when you woke up the next morning, the message was edited this time. Still there, just that last phrase "I miss you" was gone. Coward.
___
It was a rainy Friday morning. The storm kept everyone inside. You were curled up on the couch with a textbook, trying to focus. Natasha had been restless, pacing the living room until she finally gave up and dropped down beside you.
Without asking, she lifted your legs into her lap and started massaging your calves with strong, careful hands. You glanced at her, surprised.
"You’re always tense." She said quietly, not looking at you.
"Figured I’d help." You didn’t argue. The steady pressure of her thumbs felt too good. After a while, you put the book down and just watched her. The focused crease between her brows. The way her red hair fell into her face. The quiet gentleness she only seemed to show when it was just the two of you.
Natasha caught you staring and smirked, but it was softer than usual. She kept rubbing your legs long after they stopped aching, like she didn’t want to stop touching you.
There were other moments where natasha and you realized that this was beyond just benefits. Like the time where she helped you study. It was 2 a.m. You were at the kitchen table surrounded by flashcards, eyes burning. Natasha should’ve been asleep in her room, but she wandered out in an oversized hoodie and sat across from you.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stole one of your highlighters and started quizzing you in a low, patient voice. Every time you got an answer right, she’d give you a small, proud smile that made your stomach flip.
When you finally slumped forward in exhaustion, she stood up, came around the table, and pulled you into a hug from behind. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, chin resting on your head.
"You’re gonna kill this exam." She murmured.
"But you need sleep, princess." You leaned back into her, letting yourself be held. In that moment, with her warmth surrounding you and the quiet of the dorm at night, you realized how much you craved her presence. Not just the sex. Her steadiness. The way she made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter.
Or the other time when you woke up to the sound of the door closing. Natasha had gone out early despite the cold and came back with two coffees. Yours made exactly how you liked it, with the right amount of oat milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. She set it on your nightstand and tried to sneak back out, but you caught her wrist.
"You didn’t have to." You said, voice still sleepy. Natasha shrugged, looking almost shy for once.
"I wanted to." She lingered in your doorway, watching as you took the first sip. The quiet fondness in her eyes made your heart do something dangerous. You wanted to pull her into your bed and hold her. You wanted to tell her how much these small things meant. Instead, you just smiled at her over the cup, and she smiled back. A smile that was small, real, and full of unspoken yearning.
Late November, you stormed into the shared living room after a long day and the sight made your jaw clench. Natasha’s protein shaker was tipped over on the counter, leaking across the surface. Her duffel bag had exploded near the couch, knee pads and shoes scattered. One of her hoodies was draped over the back of the chair you always used.
"Natasha! "you said sharply, setting your bag down.
" This is shared space. I’ve asked you so many times. I need things a certain way out here. I can’t keep cleaning up after you every single day-" She stepped out of her room, still in her tank top and shorts from practice, green eyes darkening the moment she heard your tone.
Instead of snapping back, she walked straight toward you with purpose. You expected her to kiss you roughly like usual, to turn the scolding into angry sex. But this time she stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her.
"Keep going." She murmured, voice low. "Tell me how much I’m ruining your perfect little world." You opened your mouth to continue the lecture, but the look in her eyes made the words die. There was hunger there, yes, but also something deeper. Something almost reverent.
She took your hand and pulled you into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her. The second you were inside, she lifted you onto your desk in one smooth motion. Your perfectly stacked planners, color coded notes, and highlighters went tumbling to the floor in a chaotic rainbow mess as she shoved them aside. The sight of your carefully controlled space being disrupted by her sent a shiver through you.Natasha kissed you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt, but she was slower than usual. More deliberate. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.
"I want to fuck you with the strap tonight." She said quietly, voice rough."
"If you’ll let me." Your breath caught. You’d never let anyone do that before. It felt big. Vulnerable. Trusting someone that deeply with your body, especially Natasha, the girl whose chaos kept cracking your walls, was terrifying.
But you trusted her. You nodded, swallowing hard.
"Okay." Natasha’s eyes softened for a moment, something like awe flickering across her face. She kissed you again, slower this time, like she understood what you were giving her. She took her time undressing you, kissing every new inch of skin she revealed. When you were naked on the desk, she grabbed the strap from where it had started living in your room and buckled it on carefully. Then she stepped between your spread thighs, slicking the thick toy.
"You sure?" She asked, voice gentler than you’d ever heard it during sex.
"Yes." You whispered, gripping the edge of the desk.
"I want it to be you." The trust in your voice made her exhale shakily. She pressed the head against your entrance and pushed in slowly, watching your face the entire time. You gasped at the stretch, fingers digging into her shoulders. Natasha stilled, letting you adjust, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other brushed a curl from your face.
"Fuck, you look so beautiful." She breathed, voice strained with how much she was holding back. Once you nodded, she started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that gradually built in intensity. Every snap of her hips knocked more of your organized notes and planners to the floor, the chaos of her presence completely overtaking your control.
But you didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, moaning softly against her neck. The sex was heated, yes, her hips snapping harder as she got lost in it. But it was layered with something much more intimate. The eye contact. The way she whispered “I’ve got you” every time you gasped at a particularly deep thrust. The way her hands held you like you were precious.
You came hard around the strap, trembling in her arms, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips. Natasha followed soon after, grinding deep and shuddering against you, burying her face in your neck.
Afterward, she stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard amid the scattered wreckage of your desk.
She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes dark and full of quiet wonder. The trust you’d just given her, letting her be the first to take you like that, hung heavy and beautiful between you. Neither of you said it out loud. But the feelings were there, growing stronger with every passing day, whether you wanted to admit it or not.
___
You and Natasha walked through the carnival, shoulders occasionally brushing. It was supposed to be a group hangout, but when Carol and Wanda coincidentally excused themselves because they had plans they'd forgotten about, it was just you and Natasha. You didn't mind it though, especially because you enjoyed being around her. As friends.
"Still can't believe you've never been to these things before." You shrugged.
"Never had the time."
"Well, now you do, so let's make sure you have fun princess." She wrapped an arm around your shoulders before guiding you further in. You melted into her embrace, especially when she pulled away and you still smelt like her perfume. The carnival was small but lively. Twinkling lights strung between booths, the distant screams from the Ferris wheel, and the smell of fried dough and popcorn in the cold night air.
Natasha kept stealing glances at you, her red hair peeking out from under a black beanie, green eyes bright under the colorful lights. First stop was the food stalls. Natasha insisted on buying you a massive stick of cotton candy. You laughed when she tore off a piece and tried to feed it to you, both of you giggling as the sugar melted on your tongues. She won a small stuffed keychain at the ring toss and immediately hooked it onto your bag.
"Souvenir." She said, smirking.
You retaliated by dragging her onto the Tilt-A-Whirl. She pretended to be unaffected the whole time, but when you got off she was a little green and dramatically leaned on you for support.
"You’re enjoying this way too much." She grumbled, but her arm stayed around your shoulders.
The real moment came at the basketball shootout booth. Natasha’s eyes lit up when she saw the giant prizes hanging above the counter Especially the oversized, soft brown teddy bear with a red bow.
"Watch this." She said, cracking her knuckles with exaggerated confidence. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with an amused smile. She paid for three shots and stepped up, rolling her shoulders like she was back on the volleyball court.
First shot, swish. Second shot, nothing but net. Third shot, she paused, glanced at you, then sank it perfectly. The guy running the booth looked shocked. Natasha just smirked, pointing up at the big bear.
"That one." He handed it over with a defeated sigh. Natasha turned to you, holding the giant teddy bear like it weighed nothing, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold and the small victory.
"Here." She said, pushing it into your arms.
"For my favorite control freak." You smacked your lips but accepted it gratefully. You hugged the soft bear to your chest, half laughing, half melting. It was huge, almost as tall as your torso and ridiculously cute. But it wasn’t really about the bear.
It was the way Natasha watched you, green eyes soft and warm under the carnival lights. The quiet pride on her face. The way she’d gone out of her way to win it just to see you smile. You clutched the teddy bear tighter, butterflies exploding in your stomach.
"Thank you." You said softly, stepping closer until you could rest your forehead against her shoulder for a second.
"I love it." Natasha’s hand came up to rub your back, lingering there. She didn’t tease you this time. She just held you for a moment, the chaotic carnival noise fading into the background.
Later, as you walked back toward campus with the giant bear tucked under your arm (and Natasha’s arm around your waist), you kept stealing glances at her.
When you got to the apartment, you set the teddy bear down before being pulled into her arms. She kissed you softly, like you were made of glass and you wrapped your arms around her neck. Somehow you landed up on the couch. You both smoked in the living room with the window cracked and the fan on, laughing at nothing until the giggles faded into comfortable silence. The high settled deep, warm and floaty, lowering every defense you both usually kept up.
Somehow you ended up in the tiny shared bathroom, clothes already half off from making out against the wall. Natasha turned on the shower, and you both stepped under the hot spray together, bodies pressing close in the small space.
Water cascaded over you, your warm skin against her pale, athletic frame. Steam filled the air. Natasha had you pinned gently against the tiles, kissing you slow and deep, her hands sliding over your waist, your hips, your thighs. The high made every touch feel electric and endless. The laughter had died down. What was left was something heavier.
Natasha pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. Water dripped from her red hair onto your shoulders. Her green eyes were dark, pupils blown, but the look in them wasn’t just lust anymore. It was soft. Adoring. Almost overwhelmed. She brushed a wet curl from your face with trembling fingers.
"I love you." She whispered, voice rough and raw under the sound of the water.
"Fuck, Y/N… I’m so in love with you it scares me." The words hung between you, real and terrifying. Your heart slammed against your ribs. You cupped her face with both hands, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks as you searched her eyes. The yearning you’d been feeling for weeks, the quiet pull every time she held you, every time she looked at you like you were more than just benefits, crashed over you all at once.
"I love you too." You breathed, voice shaking.
"I didn’t want to. I wasn’t supposed to fall this hard… but I’m so in love with you, Natasha." The kiss that followed was slow, deep, and full of everything you’d both been trying not to feel.
Hands roamed with new tenderness, not rushing toward sex, just touching, holding, memorizing. Natasha’s arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you impossibly closer under the spray. You clung to her like she might disappear.
You stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, trading soft kisses and quiet “I love you”s between shaky breaths, hearts racing with the terrifying, beautiful weight of what you’d just admitted.
When you finally stepped out, still wrapped in towels, skin damp and warm, you and Natasha stumbled into her bed, giggling and kissing like you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. The “I love you”s from the shower still echoed in the air, making everything feel electric and terrifyingly soft at the same time.
Natasha pulled you on top of her, hands sliding under your towel to caress your bare skin. The kiss deepened, slow and reverent, tongues brushing lazily. You could feel how much she was trembling, not from nerves, but from the weight of what you’d both just admitted.
"I love you." She whispered again against your lips, like she needed to taste the words.
"I love you too." You breathed, smiling into the kiss. She gently rolled you onto your back and settled between your legs, but instead of reaching for the strap or going down on you, she shifted higher. Her thigh pressed between yours as she hovered above you, red hair falling around both of you like a curtain.
"Can I…?" She asked softly, eyes searching yours.
"I want to feel all of you." You understood. You nodded, heart racing. Natasha lowered herself until your bodies aligned perfectly. It was wet, warm, and slick against each other. The first slide of her pussy against yours made you both gasp. She interlaced your fingers, pressing your hands into the mattress on either side of your head, holding you there as she started moving.
It was slow at first. Gentle rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against yours in a delicious, intimate rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, slick heat, perfect pressure, the way your bodies fit together so naturally. You looked up at her and couldn’t look away.
Natasha’s green eyes were locked on yours, full of so much love and awe it made your chest ache. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, red hair messy and damp. Every slow grind pulled soft, breathy moans from both of you.
"I love you." She whispered again, squeezing your hands tighter as she rolled her hips in a slow circle.
"So much." You let out a shaky giggle, overwhelmed by how good it felt, how right it felt.
"I love you too… fuck, Nat-" She laughed softly too, the sound breaking into a moan when you tilted your hips up to meet her. The giggles turned into breathy, loving sounds as the pleasure built. Your fingers stayed tightly laced, thumbs stroking each other’s skin.
You couldn’t stop looking at each other.
Every roll of her hips, every slick slide of your clits together, every shared gasp, it was intimate in a way you’d never experienced before. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Full of love.
Natasha leaned down to kiss you, still moving, still grinding in that perfect rhythm. The kiss was messy and sweet, full of smiles and little giggles when your noses bumped or when the pleasure made you both tremble.
"You feel so good." She whispered against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours.
"I can’t believe you’re mine." You squeezed her hands harder, legs wrapping around her as the pressure built higher.
"I’m yours. All yours." The orgasm came slowly, beautifully, washing over both of you at nearly the same time. You came with a soft, broken moan, clenching and shuddering against her. Natasha followed right after, hips stuttering, a quiet “I love you” spilling from her lips as she trembled above you. You stayed like that for a long time afterward, foreheads pressed together, fingers still intertwined, breathing each other in. Soft giggles bubbled up between lazy kisses as the high and the afterglow mixed together.
Later, while music played softly from the speaker in your room, Natasha held you in her arms, fingers drawing lazy patterns onto your skin.
"I wasn't always like this you know." You mumbled before untucking your head from her neck. Natasha never stopped drawing patterns but her focus shifted to you.
"One morning I'd been late to school because I spent the night before prepping for this debate tournament, nationals actually." You paused then continued.
"I panicked but my dad said he didn't mind dropping them off for me. He left work, picked them up but..." Your voice cracked.
"He got into an accident and died on the spot." Natasha stopped drawing but she held you tighter.
"If I had just stuck to my usual routine, stuck to the order that I know instead of just...he still could've been alive."
"Y/n..." Natasha started but you shook your head.
"I know, it's not my fault but the thought never leaves my head. He saved people you know, traveled the world to help sick families. If only I'd been careful enough, I could've saved him too." You let out a dry chuckle.
"It's why I'm studying medicine too. I don't know, maybe if I save other people's lives, it will somewhat fill the hole of taking his life."
"I started hurting myself after that. But even that wasn't enough... That's why I love having things in order so much. Control is good, safe. Things don't get taken away if they're planned. B-but with you, you just bring this chaos. You make me feel like I don't have to suffocate with this persona." She wiped the tears that had fallen down your cheek away as you continued to talk.
"I never wanted to let anyone else in because I'm scared of having someone I love so deeply get taken away from me. But you and your cocky self managed to break in." Natasha let out her own laugh, soft and warm. She let out a soft sigh before looking up at the ceiling.
"My family isn't so great either. Dad was never present, moms an alcoholic who had two children and we were barely getting by." She paused and looked down at you, as if she couldn't believe that she was actually telling someone about this.
"I was always the stronger one you know. Had to raise my sister and practically keep my mother from spiraling too. She wasn't abusive or anything but it's hard caring for other people when you don't even have the capacity to care for yourself. I wasn't that smart in school either but I had these killer legs. " You laughed despite the tears sitting in your eyes.
"In middle school, I worked at some shops just to be able to afford secondhand spikes. They weren't quality but I turned them into something great. In high school I was luckier, I had this coach who believed in me. Bought me my real first pair of spikes. Even though they barely fit me, I still keep them with me to remember why I'm here."
"Are those the blue ones hanging on your walls?" You asked and she nodded.
"Yeah. Coach always said I'd go far. But he also said I'd have to let go and let someone in. Never believed him. That was until I met you." You didn't say anything but you tucked your head back underneath her chin. She held you closer, as if she were trying to become one with you. And you let her, because in this room, it was just the two of you existing in this messy thing you called life.
___
2026
The sound of footsteps nearing the door had your heart slamming against your ribs. Eventually the door open and you were met with the redhead standing in sweats and a black top. She looked unfairly good but you pushed that down.
"Hey." You gave her a short nod and she opened her door wider, letting you step inside.
"I'm glad you said yes."
"Cut the small talk Natasha. We're just here to film." Natasha flinched at the use of her full name laced with venom. It sounded so wrong coming from you but she nodded before scratching the back of her neck.
"I set up in my bedroom." You let Natasha lead you through her off campus apartment into her bedroom before setting your bag down.
You stripped out of your jeans and sweater, until you were just in pink underwear. Natasha had been fidgeting with the camera settings until she saw your body. The sight alone was able to send a wave of heat down her body but it also brought back ugly and unwanted memories. She swallowed the thoughts down before pressing record.
You both had eventually agreed to film one last video together. After the breakup, you hadn't exactly deleted the page you created together. The breakup was too messy to even approach this conversation so you left the site up.
Six months after the breakup you finally gathered the courage to log back in. It felt like a knife was being twisted inside of your heart as you replayed a video. It wasn't out of lust, no. This was from the intimacy of the videos. Watching the way Natasha held you, caressed you touched you, fucked you, made love to you, brought so much pain to you because she left. After building something so beautiful, she packed up her things and left as if all of what you'd built together was just a phase. You remember getting so wasted that night, that you almost sent her a drunken text about how she fucked you over. But that ended with your head inside of the toilet throwing up from the thought of speaking to her again. Not even the alcohol could destroy you the way she did.
Two month later, you went back and released a video alone. It made money yeah but the comments were the same.
Where's Natasha?
Did you guys break up?
Bring back red, you two were so amazing together.
You wanted to log off and delete the account then but you didn't. And now, almost a year and a half after the breakup, you were sitting on your heartbreakers bed.
You two eventually fucked. When her hands first touched you, it felt like coming back home after a long holiday. She made you feel good, you moaned for the camera, had your share of orgasms, gave Natasha hers, allowed her to fuck you with the strap but never in missionary and cow girl. Anything that avoided prolonged eye contact (even though that had been your favorite back then).
After the both of you had your last orgasm, you let her kiss you and praise you, but that was all for the camera (fans loved the aftercare that she provided. It was rare to see and that's what made you two such a hit). After that you got up and got dressed. Natasha watched you but you could tell there was a lot on her mind that she wanted to say.
"I'll post it tonight. Whatever comes in we split 50/50." You'd explained after slinging your bag onto your shoulder.
"You seriously won't talk to me?"
" You did all of the talking back then. I have nothing to say to you. Delete my number and forget about me." You left her apartment after that but you both knew that this was far from over.
___
The fans loved the video. Comments begged to have more. And when Natasha sent another text.
Natasha
Money was good. We could film another one.
She was right, the money was so good, you were able to get the new edition of Gray's Anatomy for Students for medical school.
___
It was sophomore year of college. Both you and Natasha were lucky enough to get another shared suite. And the first thing you both did was christen the entire suite.
"I missed you so fucking much during summer break." She whispered against your lips, hands already picking you up and placing you onto the kitchen counter.
"Loved those photos and videos that you sent." She murmured, lips sucking against her neck, you moaned but when Natasha tried to push you further onto the countertop, you paused.
"How clean is this surface?" You dodged her kiss turning around to assess the counter top Natasha placed you on.
Natasha only sighed in a mixture of sexual frustration and love.
"I'm sorry Nat but you're not about to fuck me on a dirty surface." Natasha whined as you climbed off and sauntered over to get cleaning products in your bedroom.
"The sooner you help me, the sooner I get to show you lingerie I got!" Natasha practically ran into the room to help you after that. Your new home was a mixture of both of you. Natasha seldom left her things around anymore but you still lectured her most days. She let you just because she knew it would end up with you gripping the nearest surface while her head was in between your thighs.
The relationship blossomed beautifully. You two even had polaroid pictures of one another behind your phone case after Wanda had sneakily taken one with her camera. You got the picture of the two of you kissing while Natasha got the one of the two of you looking so lovesick, it was disgusting.
"For your crazy kids someday." She remarked after handing you the two copies.
You walked around on campus during the day and at night, holding hands and talking about nothing and everything. You pulled her into study sessions at the library that started with either of you testing one another on your modules and ended with the two of you sneakily making out in the section tucked far away that no one visited while her hand slowly made it's way up your thigh. Most times you'd swat her hand away but it would end up inside you anyway, Natasha watching you with this smitten look.
Some nights, after coming back home late from a study session with friends, you'd slip into her bed and watch her sleep. The sight alone was able to ground you but recently she had this habit of faking sleep just to scare you.
"Boo!" You shrieked and threw your head back in frustration as Natasha poked your stomach.
"What the fuck Nat?! Stop that!" Natasha only chuckled in response to your reaction.
"Stop watching me sleep you weirdo." You'd shove her head back when she leaned in for a kiss but that only ended with your legs wrapped around her shoulders while her mouth was in between your thighs telling you that she'd rather watch you cum instead.
On a whim, you had posted a video on tiktok about you and Natasha. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the two of you lip syncing to some new trending song while her hands roamed around your waist. It was harmless really but it started getting people's attention.
You wouldn't say that you and Natasha are the typical "tiktok" couple but watching the two of you do some trend or lip sync or even just harmlessly post one another was really something people enjoyed watching one of the videos that had gotten a lot of attention was the one where couples were sitting in a car and trying some takeout. Now neither of you had a car but that didn't stop you. Instead, you'd set up your phone in your room (because yours was the aesthetic and Natasha's room was a mess).
The video was simple. You recorded the two of you holding up different things taking bites and sharing the foods. But then it would fade to the two of you making out. The first kiss was soft. Natasha leaned in, cupping your jaw as she kissed you softly. It was slow, sweet, and intimate your eyes fluttering closed, one hand resting on her thigh. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back. You both continued eating like nothing happened. The second one was much hotter.
Natasha had her hand fisted in your curls, kissing you hard. You bit down on her bottom lip, tugging it visibly between your teeth. Natasha groaned into your mouth, the sound low and rough. The kiss was aggressive, needy, her free hand gripping your thigh tightly. When you finally pulled back, her lip was red and slightly swollen.
You both turned back to the camera, a little breathless.
"These spicy dumplings are no joke." You said, voice slightly husky.
"Super flavorful. 9/10 from me." Natasha licked her bitten lip.
"Yeah… really fucking good. 9.5."
The third and final one faded in with you already straddling Natasha’s lap. You were kissing her deeply, her hands resting on your hips as she tilted her head to kiss you harder. It was slow, passionate, and full of heat. Soft sounds escaping as your bodies moved subtly together. You pulled back just enough to look at her, both of you smiling against each other’s lips.
You turned toward the camera, still in her lap.
"Overall verdict?" You said, a little flushed.
"This place is a strong 9.5 out of 10. We’re ordering from here again for sure." Natasha looked straight into the lens, one hand still possessively on your thigh.
"Highly recommend." She added, voice low and satisfied.
"10/10 experience." The video ended with both of you smiling at the camera, the takeout boxes scattered around you.
The soft moments mixed with the heated ones and the way you two looked at each other like no one else existed, made the fans lose their minds in the comments. Comments varied, some calling you a cute couple or something alike. While some were bolder and friskier.
"Drop the twitter"
"Can we watch"
You remember the night you'd shown the comments to Natasha. You were laying on top of her, scrolling through the comments before showing her your phone. She just laughed.
"I mean we'd look good." The topic ended there.
But the love for filming intensified. There was something so satisfying about filming your sexual activities. She'd hold the phone while taking you from behind. There was something so tantalizing about her pale hand gripping onto your ass, hips pounding hard enough to send your ass rippling like water. You'd moan into the pillow hands gripping the pillow while throwing your ass back to meet her thrusts.
"You look so fucking good baby. Throw that ass back f'me, yeah just like that." You'd moan in response.
"Tell me how deep I'm in baby."
"So f...deep." Natasha slapped your ass, spurring you on.
"Yeah? Feel my cock deep in your pussy?"
"Feel you everywhere, in my stomach." She fastened her pace, the new strap hitting deeper inside of your pussy. You came fast, the sound of your melodic moans sending Natasha into her own orgasm.
Your filmed videos varied like that. Either you'd record her in between your legs, sucking and fingering you while talking filthy to the camera. Or her in between your legs shoulders propped onto her shoulders as you gripped the counter top. She'd kiss down your thighs, lick your leg kiss a toe then go back to sucking in between your clit. Other videos ranged between you fingering her, riding her cowgirl or even of the two of you touching yourselves in front of her. But your videos weren't the only thing growing.
The love and vulnerability between you two grew too. After she'd come back from a horrible athlete tournament, third place, though it was good, Natasha screwed up the last run and was almost disqualified.
You ran her a bath, let her soak before giving her a massage. You then spent a long time just massaging her legs, focusing on the calves and quads.
"You're good no matter what Nat. You're the best runner I know. " You'd praise. You worked slow circles into the knot in her calf before moving to her hamstring.
"Relax." You murmured, lifting her leg into a passive hamstring stretch.
That night Natasha let go and let you fuck her with the strap. The sight of he laying back, red hair spilled across the pillow as you thrust into her filled your heart with so much warmth.
"You're so beautiful Nat." She pulled you in for a kiss and came with you playing with her tits while kissing her deeply.
That night you laid together, listening to the shared Playlist you made together. Natasha's eyes were filled with love as she mindlessly played with your curls.
"Falling in love with you is like discovering a new favorite song. Every time I think I've heard the best part, I listen again... and somehow find another reason to love it." She whispered. You stared at her.
"...What?" Natasha smiled sheepishly.
"I said falling in love with you is like finding a new favorite song." Your heart felt impossibly full. You searched her face as if trying to figure out how someone could say something so effortlessly beautiful.
"That's... " You laughed softly, shaking your head.
"Probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Natasha's cheeks flushed.
"Yeah?" You slipped your arms around her waist.
"Yeah."
___
The first fight was over something stupid really. It was after you agreed to meet Natasha after your last class of the day (where you had to write an exam about statistics which you weren't really succeeding. So you really expected Natasha to be there because she knew what this meant to you.
You checked your phone for the twelfth time in fifteen minutes. Nothing. No text. No missed call. Just the lock screen staring back at you with an empty notification bar. Students poured out of the lecture hall in clusters, laughing as they made plans for the afternoon. One by one, the crowd around you began to thin.
You stayed where you were. Natasha had promised she'd be here.
"You waiting for someone?" You looked over at one of your classmates.
"Yeah."
"They're running late?"
"...I guess." Another five minutes passed.
Then twenty. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. Maybe she'd forgotten. The thought stung more than you cared to admit. Just as you turned to leave, a familiar voice called your name.
"There you are." You looked up.
Natasha jogged toward you, her track bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. A sheen of sweat clung to her forehead, and her hair had almost completely escaped its ponytail.
"Sorry." She said between breaths. "Practice ran over." You stared at her.
"You could've texted."
"I know."
"You said you'd be here."
"I did." Another pause. Natasha rubbed the back of her neck.
"Coach kept us longer than expected."
You waited. She didn't say anything else. No apology. No acknowledgment that you'd been standing there for almost forty minutes wondering where she was. Instead, she flashed that easy grin.
"C'mon." You didn't move. She frowned.
"What?"
"I waited for you."
"I know."
"And?" Natasha shrugged.
"It wasn't a big deal." Silence.
The smile slipped from her face the second she saw yours.
"It wasn't..." you repeated quietly.
"I mean-"
"It wasn't a big deal?"
"No, that's not what I-"
"You made me wait nearly forty minutes."
"I got held up."
"I know that."
"Then why are you mad?"
You let out a short laugh. Not because anything was funny. Because you couldn't believe she was missing the point.
"I'm not mad because you were late."
"Then-"
"I'm mad because you couldn't take ten seconds to tell me."
Natasha opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I was busy."
"You were too busy to send one text?"
"I just forgot." The words landed harder than either of you expected. Forgot. You looked away first.
"If it's not a big deal to you..." You adjusted your bag onto your shoulder.
"Then I don't really have anything else to say."
"Hey-" You walked past her. She reached for your wrist. You slipped out of reach before she could touch you.
For the first time since you'd met her you left Natasha Romanoff standing there alone.
___
The apartment had never been so quiet. Usually, one of you always had something to say.
A joke. A complaint about assignments. An argument over whose turn it was to do the dishes.
Now:
"Morning."
"Mhm."
"You heading to class?"
"Yep."
"...Okay." Natasha watched your bedroom door click shut. She hated it. She hated how you wouldn't even look at her.
By lunchtime she'd already sent three messages.
Nat 🕷️
Still mad?
Nat 🕷️
I'm sorry.
Nat 🕷️
Can we talk?
You'd read every single one from the notification preview. You never opened the chat. That somehow felt worse.
The next morning, another knock sounded against your bedroom door. You ignored it. A second knock. And then you heard her voice.
"I brought a peace offering." Silence.
"It's coffee." Nothing.
"And one of those stupid blueberry muffins you always complain are overpriced but still buy." Your hand froze halfway through zipping your backpack.
"Go away."
"I'd rather not." You opened the door. Natasha stood there holding a takeaway tray in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.
"You look tired."
"I slept fine."
"Liar." You reached for the coffee. Natasha pulled it back.
"Not until you hear me out." You narrowed your eyes.
"You're annoying."
"I've been told." You folded your arms.
"Talk."The confidence she'd worn so effortlessly for the last two days disappeared. She looked... nervous.
"I was wrong." You stayed silent.
"I should've texted." Silence.
"I knew you were waiting for me." Another pause.
"And I made you feel like... like it didn't matter." Your expression softened but only slightly. Natasha took a careful step closer.
"I wasn't thinking."
"No." You said quietly.
"You weren't." She nodded.
"I know."
"I kept checking my phone."
"I know."
"I thought maybe you'd forgotten about the fact that I needed you." Her face fell.
"I didn't."
"I know that now." Another silence settled between you. This one wasn't angry. Just honest.
"You hurt my feelings, Nat." The words came out smaller than you'd intended. Natasha's shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry." No excuses. No jokes. No trying to make you laugh. Just two words.
"I'm really sorry." You looked at the coffee again. Then at her.
"You got my order right?" A tiny smile tugged at Natasha's lips.
"Extra caramel."
"And?"
"Oat milk."
"And?"
"No whipped cream." You took the cup from her hand.
"Good." Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.
"So..."
"So?"
"Am I forgiven?"
You took a long sip before answering.
"You're on probation." She laughed.
"I can work with probation." You tried to keep your face straight. You really did.
But the corner of your mouth betrayed you. Natasha caught it immediately.
"There it is."
"What?"
"That smile."
"I'm not smiling."
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
"You absolutely are." You rolled your eyes, finally looking at her properly for the first time in two days.
"Shut up." Natasha smiled back. god, she'd missed hearing you say that.
___
You woke up to Natasha’s warm body curled around yours, her arm slung over your waist and her face buried in your neck. For a moment you just stayed there, soaking in the quiet comfort of her breathing against your skin. Then reality hit. It was a Tuesday. Your birthday. And you had an 8 AM lecture.
You pressed a soft kiss to her lips, smiling when she sleepily kissed you back.
"Gotta go." You whispered.
"See you later."
Natasha mumbled something incoherent and pulled you closer for one more kiss before letting you slip out of bed. You got ready quickly, leaving her dozing under the covers, and headed out without making a big deal about the day. Birthdays had never been special. They were just another weekday.
The second the door closed, Natasha was wide awake. She’d been planning this for weeks. Under her bed was a plain cardboard box she’d been secretly filling. She pulled it out and spent the next few hours arranging everything with more care than she’d ever admit to. It was nothing expensive, just things she knew you’d love. She got you a stack of your favorite snacks (including the weird spicy chips you pretended not to like but always stole from her), a soft oversized black hoodie she’d "borrowed" from the athletics store because she knew you liked wearing her clothes, a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny star charm, a new sleek black grinder, and a small bag of good weed flower she’d saved up for.
But the part that took the longest, the part she was most nervous about, were the flowers.
Natasha sat cross legged on her bed for almost three hours, tongue poking out in concentration, twisting colorful pipe cleaners into little flowers. Her fingers ached. Some of them came out crooked. A few petals were lopsided. But she kept going, making a small, imperfect bouquet in your favorite colors. When she was done, she put them in an empty mug and set everything on your desk with a simple handwritten note:
“You deserve to feel special today. Happy Birthday, princess. From Nat”
She wasn’t cocky about it. No smirk. No teasing. She just wanted you to feel loved on a day you’d told her once meant nothing.
You came back from your afternoon classes exhausted and expecting nothing. You pushed open the door and stopped dead in your tracks. The living room was softly lit. On your desk sat a wrapped box and the most ridiculous, colorful bouquet of pipe cleaner flowers you’d ever seen. Natasha stood in the middle of the room, hands in her hoodie pockets, looking almost nervous. Her usual cocky energy was completely gone. She just looked at you with soft green eyes, waiting.
"Happy birthday. " She said quietly. You walked over slowly, picking up one of the pipe cleaner flowers. It was messy and imperfect and so obviously made by her hands that your throat tightened.
"You made these?" You asked, voice small.
"Took me three hours." She admitted with a shy little laugh.
"They’re kinda ugly, but… I wanted to make you something myself." You opened the box next. Every single item inside hit you right in the chest. The hoodie. The bracelet. The snacks. The new grinder and weed. All chosen because she knew you. Because she’d been paying attention. Tears welled up before you could stop them.
Natasha stepped forward and pulled you into her arms without hesitation. She held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.
"I know birthdays aren’t a big thing for you." She murmured into your hair.
"But I wanted this one to be different. You deserve to be celebrated, Y/N. You deserve someone who notices the little things and wants to make you smile."
You hugged her back fiercely, burying your face in her neck as a few tears slipped free.
"No one’s ever done anything like this for me." You whispered, voice thick.
Natasha held you even tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
"Well, get used to it." She said softly. "Because I’m gonna make sure every birthday from now on feels like you matter." You stayed wrapped up in her for a long time, the pipe cleaner flowers and thoughtful box on the desk behind you. For the first time in years, your birthday didn’t feel like just another day. It felt like love. Real, warm, and beautifully overwhelming.
___
2026
You don't know how you let yourself be roped back into her bed, but here you were, moaning and letting Natasha fuck you like old times. The camera caught everything. The way she pulled you closer just to bury her mouth in between her legs, how your fingers pulled her hair, pulling her impossibly closer, or how she kissed your thighs like she still had the control to do that. And you let her, because part of you really wanted to reminisce about the good times. About what used to be. About her...
When you were done, you got dressed like you usually did after this.
"You posted another video of yourself." She started, you paused. Then she spoke and you almost didn't hear her.
"It was beautiful." Another pause.
"I miss you." You clenched your jaw, fighting the emotions down.
"You don't get to do that."
"Y/n, at least talk to me. Please, just give me a chance to talk." The laugh you let out was so bitter it made Natasha flinch.
"Why won't you just give me a chance to talk y/n, please I'm begging you. Baby I'm begging you."
"Why?!" You finally turned to look at Natasha. She looked devastated.
___
2025
The rain thrummed violently against the window to your shared off campus apartment. The sound should have been grounding you at this moment but your kind was a storm. And your heart? It was raging from unshed tears and unsaid words.
Lately things with Natasha were extremely rocky. It was like you were treading on thin ice. At first you chalked it up to her grad school applications and her regional tournament. But you were starting to believe it was more than that.
Natasha was distant, quiet and guarded. You tried to talk to her but it either ended in a fight where she'd leave and come back smelling like alcohol or with the two of you fucking before going to sleep facing the walls. That's not what you wanted. You wanted your Natasha back. But she was so gone.
Even the sex, it was still good but she barely paid attention to you anymore. She wouldn't look at you with those adoring eyes anymore, now it was filled with anger. Not to you, never to you. But you still felt it. Either that or she'd stare into the distance. She'd fuck you like she was trying to punish you for something you didn't do, then slip into bed without giving you the aftercare you emotionally needed.
That's how you found yourself sitting on the countertop. The food you'd cooked had gone cold and the lingerie piece you'd bought sat untouched underneath your robe. Natasha was late. Again. You'd tolerated the countless of times she was late back then but on your fourth anniversary?? You'd drawn the line there.
Natasha stepped into the apartment, hair and clothes soaked before throwing her bag down onto the floor. She took her spikes off and set them aside before turning to find you waiting for her.
"Oh. I thought I told you you didn't have to wait up."
"Seriously?" You exclaimed. She sighed in annoyance.
"Y/n, please don't start this right now, I'm not in the mood."
"Bullshit Natasha, you're never in the mood anymore!" You hopped down, robe slipping off your shoulder and she noticed.
"Okay are we gonna fuck or what because I'd rather get to that now."
You shook your head, tears blinding your vision.
"What's today Nat huh? Tell me." She paused and frowned.
"I don't know what you're talking about." You laughed.
"It's our fucking anniversary Nat!" You watched the realization hit her before she spoke.
"I forgot."
"Yes, like you're forgetting everything else about me. Natasha I haven't seen or spoke to you properly for more than two weeks. You're just-"
"Don't do that bullshit now y/n! What... have you been secretly writing this in your little planners? Have you been waiting to throw this in my face? I'm busy y/n, I'm sorry I don't have time to entertain you like I could when we were fucking nineteen years old."
"I'm not asking for a lot. All I'm asking for is for my girlfriend to kiss me on the cheek and fuck me like I actually matter to her." You raised your voice and she shook her head.
The fight escelated.
"I can't keep carrying this relationship on my back Nat. It's like I'm the only one in this relationship. It's fucking one sided.. I love you Natasha I really do but I can't suffocate like this anymore. Do you even love me?"
"I never asked you to carry us y/n, you put that on yourself. I'm not some fucking thing you can organize and fix to be in your perfect life."
"I never said that I wanted you to be perfect, I just want you to be present! Are you even fucking listening to me or am I just some body you get to fuck and leave huh? Cause I'm so convenient for you the moment you want us to film a video and get money but then you're back to drinking and acting like I don't exist. " It sounded ugly, but you had been feeling like that for a while now.
"I have family shit okay y/n! My families fucking breaking apart and I've got no one or nothing to keep me from fucking spiraling." You froze, by now the tears were falling freely.
"Then talk to me baby, please. I want to help you but you need to let me in."
"I don’t need you to fix me, Y/N. Stop trying to organize my trauma like it’s a fucking syllabus." That stung.
"I’m not trying to fix you. I’m trying to love you. But you won’t let me. You fuck me, you laugh with me on camera, but the second it gets real, you shut down."
Natasha stood, voice cold with that old cocky edge sharpened by pain.
"Maybe we were always better as a show. Hot couple on campus OnlyFans. Perfect on TikTok. In real life? You need order. I bring chaos. We’re ruining each other."
You cried. She didn’t. Words flew, accusations about her emotional unavailability, your rigidity. She accused you of no understanding family. Like the time you two fought about Natasha just giving her mom the some money from cash she'd been saving up for after college. You retaliated buy saying she never let you in. How she only told you half truths. Like the time she pulled away early senior year.
Her mom had a bad relapse. Overdose scare that landed her in the hospital. Yelena called in a panic at 2 a.m., and Natasha drove six hours without telling you the full story. She came back three days later, hollow eyed and closed off. Practice became her escape. She’d return to the apartment late, smelling like sweat and exhaustion, and the sex turned into what it did. The angry, distant, missionary with her eyes fixed on the wall while she thrust into you like she was punishing the helplessness she felt.
And still you gave her all of you but now she couldn't even give one bit of herself to you.
"You want me to spill every ugly detail so you can organize it into neat little boxes? Fix me like one of your fucking syllabi?" Her voice rose.
"My mom almost died again last week, Yelena’s spiraling, and I’m supposed to what, come home and play perfect girlfriend while pretending I’m not drowning? You have no idea what that pressure feels like."
"I don’t?” Your voice cracked, tears burning behind your eyes.
"I’ve been carrying us for months, Natasha. Planning around your moods, making excuses for why you’re distant, waiting up after your ‘family calls’ like some pathetic side character in your chaos. I love you. I loved planning a future with you. But you look at me during sex like I’m not even there anymore. Do you know how that felt? To feel invisible to the person who used to make me feel seen?" The words hung heavy. Natasha’s jaw clenched, her athletic frame rigid.
"You need everything perfect and scheduled. I bring mess. I ruin things. Maybe I should just stop pretending I can be what you want." That broke something in you.
"You’re a coward." You whispered, voice shaking with hurt and fury. Tears spilled over now, hot on your cheeks.
"You’re using your family as an excuse to run. I never asked you to be perfect. I just asked you to let me in. To stay. But you’d rather fuck me like an escape and leave me picking up the pieces than actually love me back the way I deserve."
Natasha flinched like you’d hit her. For a second, her eyes softened, regret flashing through the anger, but she doubled down, voice low and final.
"Then maybe stop waiting for me to be someone I’m not." She turned away, grabbing her duffel bag from the closet.
"I’m done ruining your perfect order." You froze.
"Baby please don't do this." But Natasha continued packing as if you weren't standing there. She packed her protein shakers, spikes a few clothes and other necessities. Every movement felt like another crack in your chest. At the door, she paused, hand on the knob, red hair curtaining half her face.
"I did love you." She said quietly, without turning around.
"Still do. That’s why I have to leave."
The door clicked shut behind her.
You didn’t scream. You didn’t collapse right away. You just stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling the silence press in like a weight. The apartment, once shared chaos and love, felt too big, too empty, too perfectly organized without her mess disrupting it. Your chest ached with a hollow pain that made it hard to breathe. Tears came in waves as you sank onto the couch, pulling your knees up. She’d chosen her walls. Her family ghosts. Her escape.
And you? You were left with the brutal truth. Loving Natasha Romanoff had been the most beautiful, terrifying disruption of your life. Now it was over, and you had to rebuild your order around the giant hole she’d left behind.
You cried until your eyes were raw. Then you got up, wiped your face, and started reorganizing the apartment the next morning, erasing every trace of her while your heart stayed shattered.
You blocked Natasha after that then deleted your number, but you couldn't log into that account. Not yet at least.
The weeks after the breakup were hell on a shared campus. You threw yourself into your pre-med grind harder than ever, color coded schedules, extra lab hours, anything to avoid the places where Natasha might appear. But it was impossible. The university was big, but your worlds overlapped too much.
The first run in happened three days after she moved out. You were grabbing coffee at the student union when she walked in with two track teammates. Your eyes locked across the room. Natasha froze mid step, green eyes widening with raw guilt before she schooled it into that old neutral mask. You turned away first, heart hammering, and walked out without your drink. Your hands shook the entire way back to your apartment.
You spent the entire night sitting on the shower floor crying and watching blood run down the drain. The blade was left on the bathroom counter but the pain remained in your heart.
You could no longer function anymore. It was as if your body was on autopilot. You couldn't listen to music anymore, that just reminded you of Natasha. Getting high was no longer an option anymore because the high only brought back memories. So many of them that you ended up hurling your guts out before curling into a ball and crying. Your apartment became a mess. What was once neat and organized became untidy. Back then you would've cleaned it but now you just sat in the chaos because at least then you could be reminded of Natasha.
And having shared friends made it worse. Your friend group had basically fused over the years. Mutual friends from parties, late night study sessions, and track tournaments. The first group hangout after the split was brutal.
It was a casual bonfire at someone’s off campus house. You almost didn’t go, but you refused to let her exile you from your people. Natasha was already there when you arrived, red hair loose, wearing the black hoodie you used to steal. She was laughing at something a teammate said, but the moment she saw you, the laugh died.
You sat on the opposite side of the fire, surrounded by friends who were visibly uncomfortable. The group chat had been suspiciously quiet about "the situation." Conversations felt forced. Someone tried to tell a story from sophomore year involving both of you, then trailed off awkwardly.
Natasha’s eyes kept finding yours across the flames, heavy, regretful, full of everything she wouldn’t say. You hated how much you still wanted to walk over and touch her. You hated even more that she looked like she wanted the same. When you got up to leave early, she followed you to the edge of the yard.
"Y/n-"
"Don’t." Your voice was ice.
"You made your choice. Live with it." She didn’t follow after that.
You saw her everywhere. At the athletics center when you cut through to get to the library. She’d be coming out of practice, sweaty and flushed, duffel bag over her shoulder. Sometimes she’d nod. Sometimes she’d just watch you walk by with that haunted look. In the dining hall. One time you were with friends and she was two tables away.
At mutual friends’ birthdays. One party got especially messy when someone who was too drunk asked loudly.
"So when are you two getting back together? The chemistry was insane." You left. Natasha stayed and got wasted. She ended up in someone else's bed but even then she felt distant and hollow.
"You should talk to whoever it is." The girl said the next morning.
"What are you talking about?"
"Whoever she was, she's clearly still haunting you." Natasha let the girl out of her apartment but five minutes later she had a bottle of alcohol in her hand, stating at the polaroid Wanda once too of the two of you as if she could teleport back to that day, just to feel you in her arms again. She spent the day crying and went back to the shared account just to see your face again.
You both kept up appearances. Natasha threw herself harder into track practice and grad school applications. You buried yourself in research and solo content that paid the bills but felt hollow. The OnlyFans account stayed dormant, neither of you posted anything couple related, and fans noticed the silence.
The pain was constant but quiet. You missed her in the small ways. No more protein shakes magically appearing, no cocky texts making you roll your eyes, no warm body disrupting your perfectly made bed. Some nights you’d stare at old TikToks (private now) and cry. Other nights you’d fuck yourself with the vibrator she’d left behind, hating how you whispered her name when you came.
Natasha looked like shit for a while too, thinner, quieter, the cocky energy dimmed. Mutual friends said she wasn’t dating anyone. She wasn’t even hooking up. Just… existing. You both became experts at polite distance. Civil nods in public. Short, surface level conversations when forced by group settings. Never alone. Never touching. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Even at her big track tournament. Natasha had do drag herself there. She wasn't even excited to run but she had to because her scholarship was riding on it, and with her grades slipping, she couldn't afford another mishap.
Natasha was anxious as she tied the laces to her spikes up. She scanned the crowd, half expecting to find you there. And to her surprise you were. You guys locked eyes, her heart stuttered but then you looked away. It hurt but you still showed up. And that pushed Natasha to run like her life depended on it.
She won first place but it felt hollow. Because even when cheerleaders, friends and teammates surrounded her to congratulate her, she wanted nothing more than your attention. For you to be running down and throwing yourself in her hands, exclaiming that you were proud of her while wearing her jacket and kissing her face.
But when she looked back at the bleachers, you were already gone.
___
2026
"Fuck you Natasha. You don't get to come into my life and expect everything to go back to the way it was." Natasha flinched but she stood stronger.
"I know. I'm sorry. But I need you y/n. I miss you. I thought it would be better to be our own people but fuck..." She paused and rubbed her neck.
"I'm not even a person without you."
___
It was hard it really was but you two missed one another. You agreed to meet up at a coffee shop. One coffee just to talk and no funny business. She looked ecstatic when you told her that.
That's how you ended up fixing things with one another again. It took some time, a lot of time but soon enough you two were falling in love again. You didn't just fall back into her arms again. You made Natasha earn you. If she wanted you that badly then she'd earn you, fight for you, love you the way you deserved.
And it worked. You two ended up dating five months later. You went on for two years. It was like falling in love all over again. It was beautiful, messy and fragile but with Natasha it all felt worth it. The next two years were genuinely good. You graduated pre-med and started med school. Natasha finished her degree and took a coaching job at a local club while figuring out her future. You moved into a nicer apartment together. There were trips, lazy mornings with coffee and Luna demanding breakfast, passionate nights where she still fucked you like she needed you more than air, and quiet ones where you just held each other.
You even filmed a few more videos together, not for the money anymore, but because the trust had returned and it felt fun again. But something was… off. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no massive fights like senior year. No distance. And yet it never quite reached the effortless magic you both remembered from freshman, sophomore and junior year. You were both trying so hard, too hard, to make it what it used to be. The nostalgia became weight instead of warmth. You were in love with the memory of each other as much as the real person in front of you. Stuck. You two loved each other but you weren't in love anymore.
The final conversation happened after a quiet fight. It started over something small, you reorganizing the kitchen again because her post practice mess triggered old anxieties, and her snapping that she felt like she was always walking on eggshells in your “perfect” space. It escalated into the living room, voices raised but not screaming.
"I feel like I’m failing you again." Natasha said, running a hand through her red hair. She looked tired.
"Like no matter how much I try, I can’t give you that version of us you remember." You sat on the couch, Luna jumping into your lap like she sensed the shift. Your chest ached.
"I feel the same." You admitted, voice cracking.
"I love you. I really do. You’re still the only person who makes me feel this alive. But… it’s not working the way we want it to. We’re both holding on because the love is real, but we’re not the same people who fell in love in that freshman dorm. I keep waiting for it to feel like it did back then, and I think you are too." Natasha sat beside you, careful not to crowd Luna. She took your hand, the touch still familiar, still warm.
" I keep thinking if I just try harder, get better at the family stuff, stop bringing any chaos… it’ll click again." She said quietly.
"But that’s not fair to either of us. I love you enough to admit this isn’t what we both deserve anymore. We’re good together. But we’re not right anymore."
Tears slipped down your cheeks. Luna purred loudly, pressing against your stomach as if offering comfort.
"I hate this." You whispered.
"But I think you’re right. We’ve been trying to recreate something beautiful instead of building something new. And it’s exhausting us both." You talked for hours that night. Really talked. About the good times (freshman year stoner giggles in the shower, the way she used to make you laugh until your sides hurt, the electric chemistry that started it all). About the pain (senior year, the breakup, the campus ghosts). About how much you’d both grown.
By the end, you were curled against her, Luna between you like a fluffy mediator, both of you crying quietly.
"I don’t want to lose you completely,” Natasha said, voice thick.
"You’re still one of the most important people in my life. Maybe… we figure out how to be friends? Real friends. Without forcing the romance." You nodded against her shoulder.
"Friends. It hurts like hell right now, but I think that’s what we need."
The breakup was kind. No slammed doors. No bitterness. You helped each other move her things out over a weekend, sharing memories and even laughing through tears when Luna tried to “help” by sitting in every box.
You stayed close. Group hangouts were no longer awkward. Natasha still came over sometimes, just for dinner or to watch movies with you and Luna. The romantic tension faded into something softer, warmer. She was still your person, just in a different way. You dated other people eventually. So did she. But no one ever quite matched what you had.
Years later, when people asked about your college love story, you’d smile and say.
"We burned bright. Really bright. And when it was time, we let it settle into embers instead of forcing the fire. She’s still family."
You know how your favorite song builds and builds until it reaches that one perfect moment? The moment that makes you close your eyes every single time you hear it. But even after that, the music doesn't stay there forever. It softens. It quiets. Eventually, it comes to an end.
Maybe that's all you two ever were. Not a song that ended too soon. Not one that went on for too long. Just one that reached its peak... and knew when it was time to fade.
18+ . bestfriend!sevika x reader . smut . kinda short . eye contact kink . oral sex . bestfriends to lovers . request based on this ask
"no way she actually said that to her," sevika snorts, shaking her head. her short dark hair is messy from running her fingers through it all night. "your friends are unhinged, kid."
you and sevika sit cross-legged on your mattress, pillows shoved behind your backs, the glow from your phone screen lighting up both your faces as she scrolls through the latest drama from your group chat.
you roll your eyes but grin anyway, tossing a pillow at her thigh. "says the woman who punched a guy just over a parking spot!"
sevika catches the pillow easily, smirking. her tank top clings to her chest, and you try not to stare too long at the way her biceps flex when she shifts... and those jiggle physics lol.
"alright, it's my turn now," she setting the pillow aside. her voice drops a little lower, still casual but with that edge she gets when she's about to push. "be honest, and real honest. you ever touch yourself thinking 'bout me?"
the question lands like a spark on dry grass. you blink at her, then roll your eyes hard, cheeks burning hot. "seriously? that's the question you're going with? you literally could go with any other question but you chose this.. this.." you trail off as sevika just watches you, one eyebrow raised, waiting. she doesn't laugh it off or change the subject. she just sits there, patient and cocky and definitely knows the answer based on your reaction.
you look away, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "fuck off, sev."
"cmon," she presses, voice smooth and teasing. "we've been best friends for years. you can tell me anything." her tone is light but there's heat underneath it "...or are you too much of a stubborn brat to admit it?"
you huff, refusing to meet her eyes. she asks again, softer this time, and again until the silence stretches and your resistance cracks. finally you mutter, barely above a whisper, "yeah. sometimes. happy now?"
sevika's smirk widens, and oh she grins, but inside her chest is doing somersaults. she's had a crush on you for months, hell, longer -- and hearing you say it out loud makes her pulse race. she leans in a little closer, voice dropping into that flirty drawl she saves for when she wants to get under your skin. "thought so. betcha get reaal wet doing it too huh? picturing these hands on you?" she puts her hands on your waist.
you squirm, trying to hide how turned on you already are. sevika's eyes are dark, locked on you, and she notices the way you keep glancing away. she reaches out, gentle but firm, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "eyes on me, sweetheart. none of that looking away shit."
your breath catches. she's older, bigger, stronger, but there’s nothing rough about the way she holds your gaze -- only that steady, soft dominance that makes you want to melt and fight it at the same time.
"sev…" you start, but she’s already moving, shifting so she’s kneeling between your legs and pressing kisses on your thighs. her hands slide up your thighs, pushing your shorts aside with easy confidence. "been wanting to do this for a while," she murmurs voice husky. she hooks her fingers in the waistband and tugs your shorts and panties down in one smooth motion, exposing you to the cool air and her hungry stare.
you're already slick. so freaking wet, and she notices. her grin turns wicked. "oh sweetheart. look at that, all this just from admitting you finger yourself to me?" she spreads your thighs wider, settling in like she belongs there. her tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with one slow deliberate lick that makes your hips jerk. "keep those pretty eyes on me while i eat this pussy."
sevika doesn't rush. she takes her time, licking broad stripes up your slit, circling your clit with the tip of her tongue before sucking it gently between her lips. everytime your gaze starts to drift she stops, nipping at your inner thigh. "eyes. here." her voice vibrates against you, and you force yourself to watch as she devours you. tongue working in firm, wet strokes, nose brushing your mound.
she slips two thick fingers into her mouth first, sucking them slow and obscene, getting them nice and wet with her saliva while she holds eye contact. then she slides them inside you, curling just right as her tongue keeps working your clit. the stretch feels perfect, her fingers thick and skilled, pumping in a steady rhythm that has you gasping.
"fuck sev!!" you whine, one hand fisting and punching the sheets while the other pulls her hair. she hums in approval despite the pain on her scalp, the sound sending vibrations through your core. her free hand grips your hip, holding you down when you try to grind against her face.
sevika pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your arousal. "gon' write my name right here," she says, tapping your clit with her tongue. "so ya remember who this pussy belongs to."
she dives back in, tongue tracing the letters of her name across your swollen folds. slow, deliberate strokes spelling out s-e-v-i-k-a♡ against your sensitive skin. each letter makes you shudder, the wet heat of her mouth driving you higher. she doesn’t stop until she’s finished with that stupid heart, then seals her lips around your clit and sucks hard, fingers curling deeper inside you.
your orgasm hits hard, thighs trembling around her head as you moan her name loudly. sevika works you through it, licking softly now, easing off only when your hips stop twitching. she presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then another to your mound, before crawling up to pull you against her breasts.
"there’s my girl," she murmurs, voice soft and full of praise. her big arms wrap around you, one hand stroking your back in slow circles. "did s'good for me. so fuckin' pretty when you come." she kisses your forehead, your temple, your lips, anywhere she can reach. "you okay? need water? blanket?"
you nod against her, still catching your breath, and she chuckles low in her throat. "bratty little thing. betcha gonna be even more stubborn next time just to get me to do that again."
゛synopsis ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ the new ranch hand at your farm just so happens to be your type─ strong with hips that kill and a butch. oh, and your rival. there's always been tension between you and sevika. not once have you ever been able to beat her in the rodeos and barrel races, and glowers underneath brims have been the only thing you two have ever shared. but determined to have the upper hand in something, you prompt a race on horseback. you end up atop more than just a saddle.
ᝰ.ᐟ tags; butch sevika x femme!reader. country setting, sexual tension, older woman/younger woman (age gap), pet names, smut, porn with plot, size difference, nipple play.
⁀➴ wc; 6.6k. MINORS AND MEN DO NOT INTERACT!
♡ author's note; yes ik i said id post stuff about my ocs here but i took this from my ao3 to have something up ok.... and i love sevika so
Hearthstone Ranch has stood mighty and tall for as long as you’ve known. It’s had its ups and downs, with what the neighboring town of Piltover does, but all in all, Zaun thrives through the smothering summers and harsh winters that render some crops brown.
The fence that divides your land from Violet Spur’s, however? Cattle have dropped like flies, the last you heard. It can’t be easy, running a ranch on your own with only one arm and workers who don’t live up to expectations. This particular summer has been rougher than most, and though your uncle has a good water supply, Sevika’s own land hasn’t been so lucky.
There’s always been some sort of tension between the two of you, which is strange, considering she’s twenty years your senior. But from barrel races to nights in taverns to wind down, your gazes always seem to meet. Once, never twice. An unspoken, mutual rivalry that even Vander is aware of.
Even so, he’s recently hired Sevika as a new ranch hand. Why? Other workers were simply not as dedicated– nowhere near as loyal to the care that goes into the dirt and the hooves that trample on it. And she needed water to get her land up and running again. You’d argued, and as had Vi, but it was his word that went in the end. She’s been here for a few months now, and the two of you have yet to share a word.
There’s only those five-to-ten-second glances she spares. The kind of glance that makes your knees weak, and once made your grip on your utensils falter mid-supper.
Dirt crackles underneath your steed’s hooves as it comes to a sliding stop within the arena. Sunlight beats down on your sweat-clad neck, staining the white blouse on your person with damp spots in too many areas to count. Your breaths are nearly in sync with that of the gelding’s, and you can only hope the fruits of your endeavor haven’t been in vain this time.
“Well?” You prompt, looking over to Vi. She stands on top of one of the rails, holding up a timer in her left hand. At least this time, she’s not doing that little pitying grimace.
“Fourteen seconds,” The woman announces. She huffs, stuffing the timer into the pocket of her jeans before striding over to the fence gate. After pulling it open to have you pass, she gives the animal a few pats on its neck. “I think you have the upcoming competition in the bag.”
“Mhm.” You agree, but only for a fleeting moment. Your only competition? The damn new ranchhand your daddy’s hired, who chose to also join the barrel race this Saturday. And who just so happens to meet your gaze from a distance before she retreats to the barn, a single haybale held up over a broad shoulder. “Unless she beats me.”
“Please,” Your cousin scoffs, eyes rolling as they often do. “That wanna-be cowboy ain’t got nothing on you.”
“Wanna-be? Vi,” You deadpan. Sevika is far from some… wanna be anything, unfortunately. “She hasn’t gotten beaten in ages.”
You’ve heard things about her– whispers that carry themselves like the dust the wind picks up to take to another land. Sevika owns the ranch neighboring your own, but the only interactions the two of you have ever had have been through glares under hat rims.
Or, well, glares from you.
She doesn’t ever bother sparing you an extra glance in the rodeos. It’s infuriating how she carries herself with so much poise and silent strength on the saddle. Sevika doesn’t speak. Hell, she doesn’t even stick around to be congratulated on her wins and opts to go to the town’s tavern.
But on the rare occasions that you and Sevika have made eye contact amidst a competition, she’s smirked twice. Once, right after you’d finished your round and came in second after her. No words spoken, but the chuckle that vibrated deep within that broad chest of hers had made your fingers tighten on the reins. Another, when you would’ve won had it not been for a barrel you’d made the clumsy move of tipping to the ground.
The Lord would strike you down for lying straight through your teeth if you went ahead and said she wasn’t attractive.
And now she’s working for you. Your uncle, technically, but she’s in your land. Staying in the guest bedroom that shares a wall with yours. Eating the dinners you prepare, and making you hope for a slight sparkle in her eyes from the taste. But it never comes.
“That old stud won’t beat you,” Vi digresses. Ever since Sevika came into the picture, she’s always looking for an opening to insult her. “Now go and put this one to rest.”
You wave her off, loosening the girth of the saddle to let the animal’s belly loosen a bit more. His pinto coat is in the same state as your skin– sweaty and warm from the heat. Taking hold of the reins, you lead Strider into the barn and let him stand in the middle as you untack him. He stomps a hoof against the concrete, demanding a treat, but what catches your attention is a grunt from the hayloft.
Glancing up, you’re met with the – mouthwatering – sight of Sevika. The flannel around her frame strains against the bulk of her muscles, one sleeve tied into a knot before the stump of her left side. Those broad, sharp hips buck forward as she nudges a haybale forward to tuck it against the others. She breathes, pushing back the silky, sweaty bangs that curtain the sides of her face back and away.
Then, glances down.
Ugh, fuck.
“You need help untacking, or what?” There’s that timbre to her voice– deep, throat a bit dry from a lack of water, yet so very smooth and naturally sultry. Soft, almost.
“What? No,” You scoff. You were born and bred on a ranch, and as much as you like your cotton blouses and jeans embroidered with hearts on the back pockets, you’re not one to shy away from the dirty work handling a horse is. And no matter how many times dirt ends up staining your pretty clothes, you won’t change it. “I can do something as simple as untacking my horse myself.”
You hear that chuckle again. Short, but audible. Like a slip of the tongue Sevika didn’t mean to let out to hide her amusement. And as slightly degrading it comes off as, you feel goosebumps arise over your skin to make the hairs at the back of your neck stand. You steel yourself, however, and take to removing your gloves to toss them onto a surface before turning to your steed again.
“Oh, sorry, darlin’,” Sevika drawls. She climbs down the ladder, a heavy thud marking her descent. Her boots, not nearly as polished as your own, come into your view just as you bend down to pick Strider’s hooves clean. Momentarily, you look up– and oh, what a mistake that is. “Didn’t think you’d want to chip one of those nails.”
Said nails which are almond-shaped and with a white French tip and pearlescent shimmer.
Straightening your back, you meet Sevika’s gaze properly. The string of her cowboy hat is tied loosely around her bare neck, allowing for the hat to sit at her upper back. Grime stains her cheeks and clothes, and that shirt. It doesn’t do much for covering when she raises her right hand to scratch at her buzzed nape.
Your eyes, curse their own mind, momentarily flicker to her navel. It’s taut, yet smooth and soft-looking save for the patch of hair that begins right underneath her belly button. Was she trying to kill you?
“My nails–” You cough to return your pitch to normal, shaking your head. “– have nothing to do with how well I do my work around here.”
“Right,” Sevika drawls, but she doesn’t sound all too convinced. She lays her gloved hand over your steed’s rump, patting it as she steps closer. Like a dance, you step backwards and steady yourself on one of the poles meant to tie a lead around. “Maybe if you trimmed em’, you could hold onto your reins properly and beat me at my own game for once.”
For once. Oh, she was so fucking smug.
“Please,” In an attempt to ignore how hot your cheeks feel, you look away and fold your arms over your chest. Much like your eyes had strayed, Sevika’s grey gaze follows the movement. The delicate skin of your sternum. The outline of a bra strap underneath. “I’ll win this time. Just you watch.”
And when you turn your head to meet her eyes again, it’s done just in time to watch them flicker up.
Hah.
“Do you always tell yourself that when you stand before a mirror?”
The nerve.
“Are you that lonely that you can only pick fights with people half your age?” It’s a jest, partially, but you catch the slight narrowing of Sevika’s eyes. The tightening of her jaw.
And the outline of her tongue poking against her cheek.
“Tch,” She scoffs, turning her head to give you a side eye. Sevika places the cowboy hat atop her head, obscuring the view of where her gaze goes. “I’m only humoring myself here, girly. You’re the only one who can give me competition.”
A compliment?
“But not quite,” Not a full-hearted, wholesome compliment, then. Sevika looks to her left, a hum passing through her thick lips as she admires the horses within their stalls. She seems to be pondering, and of what, you’re almost certain you know. “You still got a long way to go.”
“Why don’t I race you, then?” You prompt, bringing Sevika’s gaze back to you with your proposition. You take note of the way her brow raises, then furrows in sync with the other. But her lips don’t part to protest, and she doesn’t immediately scoff or turn away. For once, she’s holding a conversation. “To the creek.”
It’s a place that’s still within Hearthstone Ranch’s property, and an area that provides privacy. With miles’ worth of open field, the only others present would be the bugs in the ground and critters in the water, and trees.
Sevika hums, looking off to the side and over her shoulder. It reveals the delicate, bronze and damp skin in all its glory. The sharp line of her jaw and the scars that mar the left side of her face. You’ve always wondered what kind of accident caused such beautiful blemishes and the missing limb.
In a town like this, gossip goes hand-in-hand with the boots everyone wears. From a horseback riding fall to a more gruesome speculation that Sevika was involved in an incident involving a tractor, the whispers have never ceased. But you’ve always longed to know the truth from her lips, no matter the rivalry between you two.
“Your daddy expects me to work.” At last, Sevika answers. She looks back to you, unfolding the undeniable truth like a deck of cards before you. Vander would most certainly not take a worker slacking off kindly, and Sevika? Her pride isn’t too keen on it, either. But–
“I’ll just tell him we saw some caddle wander off,” You suggest. “And that I helped you wrangle them.”
This, Sevika laughs at. She tries – really does – to suppress her humor through pinched brows and tight lips, but the chuckle spills out nonetheless. It’s hearty and full– a sound that echoes within the barn to taunt your ears with the amusement it drips with.
“You,” Sevika says after a breath, tipping her chin down as her lips curl. “wrangling cattle? He wouldn’t believe you, sugar. Those hands of yours have never known callouses, I bet.”
She’s got you there. You’ve always favored wearing gloves in order to avoid turning your palms to shreds.
“Well–” Frustration makes your tongue get tied. Or maybe it’s the way that Sevika’s looking at you– it’s not new seeing that cocky expression on her face, but never has she kept eye contact for this long. And you know she wants it, too. Why bother fighting it? “What? Are you just afraid your old back’s gonna give out on ya?”
Sevika tuts. But alas, she bows her head to obscure half of her face before grunting, “Alright. But bring something. Somethin’ cold to help with this…”
She pauses. Rises her head– not fully, just enough to catch your gaze once more, “– heat.”
Lord.
“Right,” You agree, clearing out the dryness of your throat. Yeah, you really do need something to help with the heat. “I’ll wait for you by the gate. Tack up Esperanza for me, yeah?”
Not that you wait for confirmation before making your retreat out of the barn. Sevika’s here as another working hand.
But you don’t have the balls to order her around completely.
Going in and out of the ranch house is a quick endeavor. Thankfully, Vi’s in her bedroom to question you about where you’re headed with four beers and two apples. As for your uncle, he’s too endorsed in the show he’s currently watching to spare you any attention.
Thus, soon enough, you’re trekking towards the gate that leads to the open field. Your mare, as you requested, is tacked up and ready. Sevika even used her pink saddle pad that goes well with her palomino coat. At her side, you shove the beers and fruits into the satchel attached to the saddle.
“Need a hand getting up?” Sevika’s voice nearly makes you jump.
You scoff, already rising your left leg to slip a boot into the stirrup, “No, I can do this on my own.”
“C’mon–”
“I don’t–”
But Sevika’s right hand has already reached for your right leg, and instinctively, your knee bends to help give yourself that little extra boost. And for all times for you to nearly slip, it’s this one. Your back doesn’t end up in the dirt, though, for Sevika’s hand slides up right against your bum to steady you and just push you onto the saddle.
All with one arm.
Fucking hell, you’re already wet.
“Thanks.” You mutter. Glancing over to your left, you watch as Sevika grasps the reins in one hand and lifts herself onto the saddle with a grunt. Adjusts her hips by shifting them backwards and loosens her spine. Her thighs, clad in jeans and brown chaps that mirror your white ones, hug the sides of her mount as she kicks it forward.
She bends down, opening up the gate and pushing it open. Her head jerks to the side, “Don’t go just yet. I ain’t giving you a headstart.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
And after some maneuvering, Sevika’s steed halts by your right. The horses nudge and sniff each other’s noses, but before either of the two pin their ears back, Sevika jerks her reins to the right with a gentle pull.
“On my count.”
Sevika only grunts at your announcement. The second the number ‘one’ leaves your lips, both of you are kicking your mounts into a gallop. There’s enough distance between you two to keep things safe, but not enough to not hear her breaths. Just enough space to watch the ease in which her hips follow each stride, much like your own do.
And as you lose yourself in the sight of Sevika’s bicep, just for a fleeting moment, she does the same with your hips. But soon enough does your gaze snap back forward, and you apologize under your breath to Esperanza for pushing her just a little more to get a little further ahead than the other beast.
Hooves beat down against the ground in an unsynced rhythm, and this feeling – this chase – is like no other. The adrenaline of it all beats the one that has your heart racing before you enter the arena in your competitions.
The creek comes into view, and before long, your mare zips past the tree. You pull at the reins and draw your hips back and into the saddle, pulling her to a stop and slowing down into a canter to do a circle. Sevika comes in second, trotting past the tree as her chest heaves some.
“Why, it does feel mighty good to finally beat you in something.” Arrogance gets the better of you– of course it does. It’s a first, beating Sevika in something that involves horseback riding.
Sevika doesn’t say anything, but you know she’s not offended. You can’t quite get a good read on her face, considering she’s doing that thing again– bowing her head just enough for the black wisps to fall free and cover even more than the brim of the hat does.
Dismounting from your mare, you give her a few pats and loosen the girth. Sevika does the same with a little less grace, though she’s rather quick about making her way over to you. Quick. Really quick, and she’s already reaching her right arm out and leaning down just enough–
But she reaches for the satchel, not your waist. And her lips don’t seize yours in a kiss.
Sevika isn’t blind to the way your shoulders droop with a breath, but thankfully, she keeps quiet about your not-so-subtle disappointment. She fetches one of the beers with one hand, and before you can mention the bottle opener that’s at the bottom of the bag, she brings the neck of it to her mouth, takes the mouth between her teeth, and cracks it open.
Then, spits it out and hands it over to you.
Casually, as if that was a normal thing to do.
“You’re going to ruin your teeth doing that.” You note, taking the bottle into your hands and appreciating the warmth her hands – now free of gloves – briefly provides.
Sevika grunts, rolling a singular shoulder in dismissal before doing the same for her own drink. And when she tips her head back, you stare a little too long at the expanse of her throat. Watch as the brown skin gleams under the sunset and the way it bobs with each hearty gulp.
And Sevika’s eyes, yet again, meet yours. And she grins, enough for some of the alcohol to slip out and drip down her chin. She doesn’t quite bother wiping that single droplet away from her chin.
“You brought a blanket, I hope.” She doesn’t mention your staring, not when it’d been so obvious.
You nod, clearing your throat and jerking your head towards the extra satchel on the other side of the saddle. You don’t speak, opting instead to freshen up your own throat by taking down half of the beer in a few gulps. Sevika bends down, momentarily placing her drink on the grass to pick out the item from the bag.
And you stare, again.
Sevika takes the checkered blanket in her hand and moves to stretch it out under the tree. But the wind blows too strongly, and you can hear her grumble and curse in frustration as the fabric whips against her handsome face.
“Here,” You offer some assistance, leaning down to recline your beer against the trunk of the tree before straightening yourself up. Taking two corners of the blanket, you aid Sevika in laying it down against the soft grass. Pat it and set it properly once its down, like you would a rowdy mustang after its bucking ceased.
Sevika grunts, “Thank you.”
Your shoulders only give a shrug as you settle on top of the blanket. The heat is still thriving, but not nearly as strongly. The one deep in your gut, though? It’s only been growing with each passing second, and it’s uncomfortable enough to make your thighs press together.
Sevika notices, but she looks away before you catch her gaze and turns to pick up her drink. She sits down at your side with a groan, letting the back of her head rest against the tree with a sigh. For a while, it’s silent. And though you don’t glance to your right to admire her face, you do peer down at your boots. They’re different in size and style.
Whereas yours are white – a little browned by the dust and wear – and have a higher heel, embroidered with delicate features, Sevika’s own are wider at the toe box and have a much plainer, darker finish in brown.
“How does it feel to know I’m better than you?”
Sevika’s eyes flutter open. She side-eyes you, her chest puffing out with a single huff of air leaving through her nostrils.
"...I've been riding before you were even in your mama's womb, girl." Sevika grouses, glancing down at your hips. She stares. Ponders. Longs for that soft flesh of your tummy that’s revealed by your blouse that’s ridden up.
"Yet I beat you here," Your hand gestures to the open field around you both. "So much for having twenty years in the saddle of experience over me."
But Sevika allows you to boast. No need to tell you that she only let you get ahead to get a glimpse of your ass.
And again, silence. Not the uncomfortable kind, but certainly the tense one. The kind where there’s that unspoken tension, but not from the long-lived rivalry between you two. It feels different this time, with no eyes or ears to pry in.
“Can I ask you something?” You question.
“You just did.” Sevika notes.
A huff leaves you now.
“I’ve always been curious about your arm,” The words leave you a little more quietly now. But you see Sevika shift out of the corner of your eye. How she rolls her neck to the side and keeps her gaze on the side of your face. “About how it– you know.”
Sevika hums. It’s a sound as calming as the wind, and one that eases the way your heart races after the bold nature of your question.
“I’ll spare you the gory details,” She says, lifting her right hand to loosen the knot of her free sleeve. This time, you do look her way, but your eyes follow the way the sleeve blows slowly against the wind. You’re tempted to push it upwards to properly reveal what’s always hidden underneath, but Sevika beats you to it. “Got too confident breakin’ in a mustang for a friend. Fell right on my ass and had the bad luck of getting the reins wrapped around my arm. A harsh jerk of the animal’s head and–”
She finishes her sentence by raising her right hand in a slicing motion. Whether it broke beyond repair or was ripped off in the literal sense, you don’t fry for, but the question you’ve always had about your rival is, at last, answered.
“And the mustang?”
Sevika tuts, jerking her head towards her steed. Her mare grazes alongside yours a few feet away by the creek, “She’s fattening herself up.”
Huh.
“And you’re comfortable enough telling this to me… why?” You probe. After all, before this, all you and Sevika shared were heated glares and glowers on your end.
“Well,” She rolls her head to the side and looks into your eyes. But her gaze drops to your lips, stares just long enough to have you notice, then looks back up. “It’s not like my past will make you win this Saturday. Will it, sugar?”
Yeah, your panties are ruined.
You don’t speak. Your hand only slowly, tentatively, rises to brush over the stump of her arm. When Sevika doesn’t say anything either, you press your fingertips into the flesh, finding it has a curious amount of give.
And before you can poke at it again, Sevika’s hand finds your side. Her palm, broad and rough, cups your waist and gives it a squeeze. When your answer comes out as a single, soft breath, she seizes the opportunity to reel you in and bring you onto her lap. Your weight settles over her hips, and Sevika groans. Her right arm wraps around your frame fully, brings your chest right against hers.
She stares at you. Waits for your lips to part in protest, but the moment your head bows just a little, she takes that as her cue. Her lips, thick and soft, molds against yours. Sevika’s head tilts to mirror yours, allowing her better access as her tongue slips between your teeth. It presses against yours– renders it useless as she consumes you and ignites that warmth in your belly into a fire.
She doesn’t rush– doesn’t shove her tongue in too deep and into every crevice of your mouth. No, she savors the taste of you; the taste of you, and the lingering bitterness from the beer. Her hand slips down to your lower back, splaying over it before slipping south to cup your ass. She squeezes the cheek, urging your hips down as her thigh shifts to settle right between your legs.
And the friction against your clothed mouth serves just enough to spill forth a moan from your throat.
Sevika savors the sound– allowing it to settle deep into her lungs and letting it brand itself into her mind. But she longs for that sound, and again, her right hand urges your hips to roll down against her thigh. You take the hint, steadying your hands on her broad shoulders and curling your fingers around the warm muscle underneath her flannel.
Slowly, steadily, you roll your hips down, bringing your mound against the broad, strong expanse of her thigh. Sevika groans against your lips, momentarily pulling away to watch you. Her hand drops to the front of your blouse, thick fingertips ghosting over the sensitive patch of your skin that is your navel. When you shudder, hips faltering for a moment, she grins.
That smug, knowing grin.
Slowly, Sevika sits up, maneuvering you both until your back meets the blanket. She hovers over you, steadying herself up with one arm. Her head bows, and she ghosts her lips over your cheek before she trails them down to your throat. Like a crane unfolding itself, you tip your head back to reveal the skin.
Sevika doesn’t waste another second. Her mouth closes around the side of your neck, tongue pressing against the tender, warm flesh before she sucks it into her mouth and gives the slightest of nips. One. Then another slight bite. It warms you from the inside and out, and you squirm underneath her.
Before your palms can connect with her shoulders again, though, Sevika speaks;
“Unbutton your blouse,” She mutters against your throat, then pauses. Lets her breath wash over your damp skin before bringing her mouth right against your ear. “Slowly.”
Without a word, you comply. Your fingers, usually so steady in their movements, fumble with the buttons of your shirt. All the while, Sevika watches as each button pops open. She takes in the sight of your heaving chest and hums in satisfaction once your bra comes into view. She sits back on her haunches, bringing her hand against your sternum before trailing it further down.
And you don’t need another order.
You roll a bit, awkwardly searching for the hook of your brassier whilst on your back. But once it snaps off, Sevika’s fingertips are all too quick at sliding the straps down your shoulders to toss the undergarment away. You don’t care for where it lands, much too eager about how she lowers her head down. She kisses the hollow of your throat, raining down slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin as she nudges herself backwards.
And soon enough, her breath splays over your right breast. Her hand rises, landing over the left side of your chest. She doesn’t cup it – barely can – but rather splays her palm over it to cover it in its entirety. Again, you shudder, feeling your stiff nipples harden further under Sevika’s mouth and hand.
Her lips take one bud between them, and when your hips buck with a gasp, she presses her face further against your skin. She sucks greedily, pulling more out of your whines for her ears to listen in to. She doesn’t leave the other unattended to– her thumb pinches your nipple, further adding to the stimulation.
“Fuck,” A curse flies from your lips, and soon enough do your hands travel to the top of her head. You rip the cowboy hat off her head, relishing in the way the silky strands of her black hair fall between your fingertips. Sevika groans when you pull at the strands, lashes fluttering against your chest as she continues her assault on your tits. “Sevika–”
“Hm.” She hums– not in question, merely as a sign that she’s listening. Her lips part away from your nipple, and she gives your tit a kiss before trailing her mouth down south. Her mouth is warm and wet against your heated skin, and she chuckles when she feels the unconscious movement of your belly sucking in for a moment.
“Care to give me a hand here, sweetheart?”
You peer down at her, swallowing hard as she rests her chin over the waistband of your jeans. You nod, all too eagerly, and bring your hands down to the button of your jeans. Sevika rises and sits up, watching as you raise your hips and begin to pull them down. Down, past your hips and soft thighs she longs to feel around the sides of her head.
She helps you rip them off completely once they pool at your ankle, tossing them over her shoulder. Sevika leans down again, parting your legs with one hand to press her cheek against your inner thigh. Her fingertips swipe over the lace trim of your panties, and she grins against your skin when you squirm yet again.
Her fingers hook into them, and after looking into your eyes for a few seconds to receive a nod in confirmation, she slides them down and does the same as she did with your jeans.
Once your cunt is bared to her, she groans, “So pretty.”
To say you’re drenched would be an understatement. Who knew your rival – and one twenty years older – would make you this wet?
Sevika brings her thumb against your slit, collecting your arousal to smear it over your clit that peeks out from underneath its hood. You groan softly at the contact, letting your head rest back against the blanket.
“That’s it,” Sevika coos, the drawl to her words as smooth as honey. She leans down again, parting your folds with her hand to reveal you to her properly. “Just lay back for me.”
And once your hands find their home on the top of her head again, Sevika brings her face forward. She seals her mouth over your clit, prompting a soft cry from your throat as she presses her tongue against the sensitive bud and gives it a gentle suck. You close your eyes shut and focus– really focus on not coming just yet because that’d be embarrassing as all hell.
Sevika groans against your sex, keeping her gaze on the way your stomach and chest rise with each breath. She’s calculating– testing for what makes you keen and what makes your toes curl into the blanket just a little tighter.
Her head lowers, and you shudder with a whimper as her tongue swipes between your folds.
Sevika didn’t rush– this was no competition, and both of you would come out as winners in the end. She nudges your legs further apart with her elbow, her tongue working its way into your cunt and unrelenting in its movements. You could feel that warmth pool at your lower belly, getting tighter and tighter. Your hips bucked against her face, but Sevika’s right arm curled around your thigh to hold you down.
Relentless. Firm. Insistent.
She worked you up and pushed cry after gasp from your throat. Her groans vibrated against your slick flesh, the thick hook of her nose nudging sweetly against your sensitive clit. How annoying, that she was good at everything– claiming ribbons and eating pussy.
Your orgasm was just at your fingertips. So close, so very–
Sevika pulls back.
And you keen.
Frustrated, you bang the back of your head against the grass, gasping for dry air as the warmth built in your core dissipates little by little. “Fuck you.”
Sevika hums, sitting up and parting your legs after they close. Prevents you from rubbing your thighs together in hopes of chasing something long gone. Controls you.
Fucking owns you, at this point.
“You think I don’t know you get sleepy after one orgasm?” It comes off as a question, but it’s a subtle way to remind you of something. Make you remember that one time you– “Your bedroom shares a wall with mine. And the walls aren’t exactly thick.”
You stare up at Sevika, flustered beyond measure. You recall that one night you couldn’t sleep. You’d been restless at two in the morning, and after tossing and turning for hours, you took to slipping a hand up your nightgown and pulling down your panties.
You hadn’t thought about someone in particular. Just envisioned the touch of someone as both of your hands busied themselves underneath the sheets. You’d thought your quiet gasps and breaths would be heard by no one but you, but little had you known that someone was just as restless that night.
And indeed, you get sleepy after you finish.
“I’ll have you come on my fingers instead.” Sevika says it so plainly– so surely. And you? You’re in shambles, and shameless.
“Please.”
Sevika breathes in. Holds the air in her chest for a moment to control herself.
She jerks her chin down to herself. Gestures silently, as she has in the past. She won’t speak for her wishes, but you follow the command eagerly. You sit up, bringing your hands up against the front of her chest. Your fingertips make quick work of the buttons to her flannel, but after her lips seize yours amidst the action, you loose yourself.
Sevika allows you to taste yourself on her tongue.
You’re unsure of when your hands eventually meet the bare skin of her back. How your fingertips followed each contour of muscle and the slight markings of her binder – now tossed in the grass alongside your garments – on her heated skin.
But once your bodies pressed together, the taut plane of her abdomen flush against your tummy, you reeled your head back and took in the sight of her. Sevika hovered over you, naked as the day as she’d been born. Your hand traced the stretchmarks on her hips as hers did yours, and though stiff, Sevika allowed you.
Most of all, you simply wished to see her.
And she growled – actually fucking growled – when your hand skims over the stump of her arm yet again. The touch, however fleeting, made her shudder and dark nipples harden further.
Her right hand moves then, cupping your mound. And just as the heel of her palm pressed flat against your clit, one finger worked its way into your warmth. You moaned, the sound carried against the rolling wind. It stretched you– filled you up nearly just as much as two of your own fingers did.
Sevika didn’t speak– she watched, and again, tested how you liked to be touched. But it didn’t take long for her digit to find a rhythm that had your body twisting and your hands curling into the sheet below. And as she added a second finger, she muffled your whimper by pressing her lips against yours again.
She shushes you gently, coaxing your body to loosen and relax around her again. Your hand curls over her shoulder, and you felt the slight jerk of her left side– as though forgetting for a moment that there was no limb to bring you closer. To hold you properly, as she wanted.
So you settle for holding her instead.
Your leg wraps around her hip, opening yourself up further to her. You whine into her mouth as her fingers began to work you open. They pumped and curled just so, just right– pressing right into that spongy part inside of you that had your insides twisting and burning up all over again.
But Sevika wouldn’t pull away this time.
Her thumb presses right over your clit, rubbing circles– slowly, at first, then climbs in tandem until she finds the speed to help you climb that edge. Her tongue swipes against yours, taking each whine and gasp right into her lungs. That satisfies her just enough. For Sevika, there was nothing that’d beat watching a woman crumble beneath her fingertips.
And watching the one that she’d always enjoyed crushing under her thumb? Even better.
“You close, sweetheart?” She breathes against your lips, parting from the kiss for a moment. Her eyes drop to the apex of your thighs, and she groans at the sound emitting from the area. Wet squelches produced by your arousal and the air she was pushing into it.
You can't speak. You only nod, bringing your arms around her frame and pressing your palms flat against her broad back. Hold her. Dig your nails into the firm skin as your belly began to tighten. As that warmth builds tighter and tighter and your thighs begin to tremble.
Sevika presses her thumb down against your clit. Curls her fingers just right. Presses a smooch against your ear, and– “Atta girl.”
Your orgasm crashes like a wave against your frame. The warmth from before that’d been denied blooms from your gut and spreads out to your very fingertips. Your hips buck weakly against Sevika’s palm, chasing the feeling for as long as you can. And as your legs begin to shake from the overstimulation against your clitoris, your head shakes.
You can't speak just yet. Just gasped against her ear.
Sevika gets the hint. She withdraws her hand, watching as you clench around nothing as her fingers slipped out of your cunt. As you catch your breath, you watch as she brings her fingers against her lips. Her tongue pushes between the two that she’d used, then pushed between her lips and into her mouth.
Sevika groans, unsure if from your taste or the vision underneath her. No, not a vision.
Because this was real.
Sevika didn’t say a word as she dropped to your side. Her arm wraps around your waist, bringing you close. Your hands smooth up and down her sides, and though sleep hovers over you like the clouds do over the horizon, you fight it.
For as long as you could, at least.
You’re unsure of how long you were out for, but by the time your eyes flutter open, there’s no light to adjust to. Crickets sing their tunes in the grass, and a chill passes through you. Sevika sits at your side, now clad in jeans and the fabric that renders her chest a little flat.
She dressed you, too. Her flannel over your frame does its job of hiding your bra and panties on your person, but modesty has long been thrown out the window.
“How long was I asleep for?”
Sevika exhales a plume of smoke from her nostrils, puckering her lips for a moment before giving a shrug, “An hour, or so.”
You sit up against the tree like she does, bringing your cheek to rest over her right arm. She opts to raise it and tuck you underneath it instead, mindful of the cigarette hanging between her fingertips. Sevika only grunts when you pluck it and bring it to your lips.
“Will you let me win this Saturday?”
She only chuckles. That deep, hearty sound that once grated your nerves more than it did brought warmth to your cheeks.
Synopsis: You hired Sevika to rebuild your entire house, it was completely empty. A project. Though your contractor? She's lonely, and you give her all the attention she craves... Once the project is finished will Sevika be leaving? Or will she stay?
Wc: 0.9
Warnings: g!p Sevika, unprotected sex, blue collar sevika, she's kind of a perv, praise kink, slight body worship, creampie, implied breeding kink, mentions of baby trapping?
Sevika needn't worry about anything other than perfecting this job. Making her lunch for herself in the mornings? You'd take care of it at lunchtime, especially if Sevika claimed she 'forgot it again' like she usually does just to see you fuss over her. She takes water but she prefers the coffee you pick up for her on a morning because she 'works hard' and 'deserves it'. Your words, not hers.
What was once only empty rooms connected with plasterboard was now transforming into a fully fledged, beautifully renovated home. All Sevika's doing. At first you had your concerns... a single contractor taking on a big project like this? Surely it would be too much work, though Sevika insisted she loved working alone and more personally with her customers.
The minute she met up with you to talk timeliness and payment she knew she would take the job. Offered you prices that were far too low. There was hardly any profit for her though she couldn't care less. As long as she got to be around you, that was payment enough.
"Darlin'? Can you come here a sec?!" Sevika's voice carried through to the living room easily where you sat working from home on the couch. Most of the renovations were done bar the kitchen- which she was working on and the upstairs bathroom.
"Yeah, what's up vika?" Taking in the kitchen you lean against the stripped down door frame. Sevika has built the base of the island in the center and the base of the counters but not put the countertops on them yet.
"Come stand here a sec, darlin'. Just needa check something." Without question you step closer to where she was gesturing to, right by the counter.
"Oh yeah, that's a perfect height for you, ain't it darlin'?" For a moment you stand there completely baffled. Confused as to what she's talking about, even as she easily lifts the white marble slate up onto the countertop. Not one of her muscles were hidden, not when she wore a flimsy, barely there wife pleaser which was almost see-through with sweat...
No. Stop thinking about that she's you're contractor.
"Perfect height for me? For what? Chopping vegetables?"
"No no darlin'... to bend over it."
⊹˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•₊˚⊹
In reality, Sevika never thought she'd actually succeed in bending you over and taking you from behind. It was purely a fantasy... until now.
"Jesus christ doll- look at you hm? Takin' it so good darlin', so good..." with every thrust of her hips, Sevika couldn't help grunting and moaning as she buried herself home, deep into your warmth which she knew would feel so fucking good wrapped around her.
"It's so big... oh my god Sevika what the f-fuuuck..." your knuckles were white where you gripped the counter, which was shaking beneath you as you took every brutal intrusion of Sevika's cock. If she didn't have both hands on your hips you're balance would be completely destroyed with one leg hiked up on the countertop to spread you open wide.
"You're takin' it doll. Fuck yeah, you're taking it all atta girl fuck-" either Sevika hadn't had a good fuck in a while or she genuinely has never had pussy like this because she is feral. No matter what you do there's no stopping her, she's going to take you the way she wants too, for however long she wants too.
And not one part of you feels the desire to stop her.
Her hands explore the body she's been eyeing for months, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your hips, hips perfect for birthing children... hopefully hers. The cute rolls on your back which she's almost positive is her favourite thing except being buried deep in your cunt. This was pure heaven.
"Keepin' you doll. Gotta keep you all f' myself. Ain't letting no one else have this pretty pussy- not a fuckin' chance." No words were forming in your brain. Not one. Sevika was so possessive and claiming... you didn't need words to tell her how you felt about it, your unfaithful, unloyal pussy gushed even more telling her exactly how you felt.
A feral, primal noise escapes Sevika, almost hiding the wet squelch of her cock driving into you over and over. With each brutal drive of her hips the tip of her fat cock nudged that spot inside you which had your eyes rolling back, mouth hung open with pleasure.
Disciplined. That's how Sevika described herself- hell she'd waited months to have you like this, bent over and taking her cock like a good girl... though holding back from letting herself finish inside you? No self control. None.
Unable to hold back anymore she forces herself to keep going even as her fat, meaty shaft twitches inside you as she stuffs you impossibly full of her seed, willing you to fall over the edge with her.
And you do.
The warmth that fills your tummy from the inside out has you moaning and wiggling beneath her as your core tightens around her, pulsing and milking every single drop from her. Like your body knows it needs it.
Sure you weren't on birth control, and you definitely weren't thinking about it right this second... but being connected to Sevika forever wouldn't be a bad thing.
Warnings: 18+ content, isolation, control, manipulation, but fluff too ig. Cockwarming, oral, exhibitionism, degradation, fingering, spanking, use of plugs.
SFW:
She will make you any piece of furniture, figurine, jewelry box, anything you’ve seen on Pinterest. When you officially moved in with her, she was surprised by how much clothes you had, so she spent hours building a new piece for the walk-in closet so you could display everything you own. It was way better made than any modern overpriced thing you had back home.
She noticed that Figaro had gained weight. And that’s because every time he saw you cooking, you’d set aside a little plate for him. She decided to turn a blind eye because she knew you were so happy that he trusted you now.
She’s willing to walk all the way to the other end of town if, at 10 p.m. you suddenly get a craving for a cake or pastry.
She made you get rid of your phone, because “you didn’t need to have a thousand contacts you never talk to, or post your whole life for strangers to see on social media”. Instead, she bought you a burner phone where the only people you had saved were your dad, if you wanted to call him, and her, of course.
She never opened up again after that day, and even though you were grateful that at least you had some sense of who you were dealing with, you wanted her to rely on you as much as you relied on her. Sometimes, during your walks, if a memory came to her mind, she’d just say things like, “My daughter also loved her ice cream with sprinkles,” or “My wife also used to wear this kind of accessory.” You learned not to dwell in the matter and to let it go if she did. Little by little, she even began to mention these things with a smile or in a very casual way. You realized that, even if she didn’t speak to you, your presence was more than enough.
She HATES it when someone walking by you two stares at you more than they should. Since it’s a small town, those who did so eventually ran into both of you again, and they already knew they had to look down at the ground and walk quickly if they didn’t want to end up with a broken nose or a black eye like the first time. You accepted it because you were afraid of what would happen if you told her it was too much.
She bought a TV after she noticed she was your only source of entertainment. You’d get upset and throw a fit if she spent more than three hours straight working on a project without taking a break to pay attention to you. She’d usually get so absorbed that her hands physically couldn’t lift a single piece anymore, and it was therapeutic for her, so to get you to leave her alone and let her unwind, she once came home with a 55-inch TV.
She even built you a TV stand, where you placed the romantic crafts she gave you, or your collectibles and decorations that previously had no place because the house was so sparsely furnished. Aside from clinging to you for dear life because she’s still afraid you might decide to leave her, her love language is building you nice things.
She adores your intelligence, and you’ve had deep conversations until 3 a.m. about every imaginable topic. As a former Avenger and S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, she’d seen so much and was so socially aware that she broadened your political views even further with her perspective. It was like opening a third eye.
She adores your intelligence… as long as it’s not directed against her. If you beat her in an argument or confront her in any way, you can be sure you’ll be sleeping on the couch, or she’ll throw out personal insults like, “I wish you’d treated your friends that way back then, but with them you were easily tamed. It’s not fair I get worse treatment than them”. That always makes you back down.
NSFW:
She LOVES cockwarming. Sometimes she just likes the feeling of having her cock buried inside you, reveling in it because she hasn’t had any of that in way too long. She closes her eyes and just feels your walls clenching, desperate for her to move.
She loves having you on top but micromanages you if you do something she doesn’t like: “Don’t you like my cock? Why are you in such a hurry then? Slow down.” But really, you’re just a desperate little thing.
If you’re bothering her by demanding attention while she’s working, she unzips her pants, pushes your head down to eye level with her cock, and makes you suck it so you’ll shut up.
She sticks her head between your legs at the most inopportune moments imaginable. It’s a form of control. Once in a blue moon, when your dad calls to ask how you’ve been, there she is. If you’re cooking, she would kneel, lift your leg to rest on her shoulder, and eat you out, making it impossible for you to focus. If you’re in a very isolated booth in a restaurant where no one ever approaches, she takes the opportunity as well. If you dare to make a noise, she pulls away and leaves you all needy until bedtime.
You realized she might be a bit of an exhibitionist when she took you shopping and the store clerk was being a little too friendly. You told her she maybe just wanted to sell all those clothes and earn a commission. But that did nothing to calm her down. Instead, while you were trying on the clothes, she bent you over the bench, took out her always-hard dick, and fucked you from behind in front of the mirror until you inevitably made noise despite how much you tried to hold back (that was the point). To top it all off, when you paid and left, all flushed and sweaty, Natalia said, “It’s true, you look amazing in that.”
You were banned from the store, and you were mad at her for about three days because it was the first store where you’d genuinely liked all the clothes, and they weren’t just selling whatever was trendy. On the first day, she got upset and started making comments like, “You’re a slut, you probably just want the clerk to give you compliments. Since you’re all love-deprived.” Two days later, she started having small panic attacks that you’d leave her for good, so, she came hugging you from behind, with her aching cock brushing against your ass for you haven’t fucked since then, and suggested you order online from wherever you wanted, whether from this store or international ones. For someone who hated ordering just because of the thought of strangers at her door, that was a huge sacrifice.
She loves slapping it on your tongue while you look up at her. She also loves when you’re catching her pre-cum with your mouth open, tongue stuck out as she jerks off in front of you, and then painting your face and chest with her release. Nothing beats coming in your mouth or inside you, but for foreplay, this is her favorite thing.
She can't stand it when something else grabs your attention after she's already finished with work. If you’re watching a show or a movie, so engrossed that you don’t even notice she’s sat down next to you, she’ll just slip her dirty, calloused hand into your pants, play with your folds and clit, until you have no choice but to abandon whatever you were watching to straddle her lap and have her make you cum on her fingers while you moan against her mouth.
Her work room, the armchair, and her bedroom were the most common places, but the kitchen was no exception. No matter which one of you was cooking, she’d pin you up against the counter and fuck you while holding you up, with your legs wrapped around her waist. Or on the floor, with you riding her, her fingers in your mouth. Or against the counter, with her pounding you from behind.
She also makes THOSE kind of toys. A paddle to spank your thighs, ass, or clit to punish you for misbehaving, but that just made you get even wetter. One day you came just from that, and she was mesmerized. And she also made a plug to keep her cum inside you, since you were always, always, always dripping afterwards.
$ log - you've read steve's sixty-page manual cover to cover. you've highlighted the relevant sections, so you're completely fine. natasha romanov is just your very good friend and you don't know what he thinks he saw in that corridor in rome but it wasn't that!
$ warn --sfw --suggestive --fem!reader --established-relationship --fluff --gaslighting-steve-esque --hes-a-very-stressed-captain
$ wc -w 1.3k
$ cd masterlist
Steve asked to speak with you on a Tuesday. Serious business.
His serious conversations happen in his office, always. You sat across the desk, ready for a demerit, twiddling your thumbs for forty-five seconds before he said, perfectly calm:
"So, you and Natas—"
"We aren't together."
He blinked. You hadn't let him finish the sentence at all.
Steve folded his hands on the desk with the patience of a man committed to the bit. He reached into his drawer and produced a list. You stared, disturbed, to discover it was laminated.
"The Budapest safehouse," he said, "the showers."
The showerhead had run hot for exactly four minutes before going arctic. Natasha had clocked it immediately.
"Back to back," she’d said. "Four minutes. Don't use all the hot water."
So you had stood back to back in four inches of tiled space, staring at the grout, thinking about absolutely nothing. The mission, the contact, maybe some of the supply routes.
"You're tense," she’d said, from six inches behind your left ear.
"I'm fine."
"Your shoulders are basically earrings right now."
"That's just how my —"
Her hand moved between your shoulder blades. Flat-palmed, warm, resting there. Your shoulders dropped two inches without permission.
"There," she’d said, like it was simple. Like she hadn't made your brain go blank.
The hot water cut out, but neither of you moved for thirty seconds.
You emerged to find her at the debrief table, hair damp, reading like none of it had happened. She held out a towel without looking up.
"You're catastrophic," she said pleasantly.
"You started it."
"I handed you a towel."
"Before that."
She looked up. Her mouth wore a rationed almost-smile and she held your gaze a beat too long. "Go to sleep," she said. "You're on first watch."
You lay on your side of the room and stared at the ceiling for a very long time.
"All girls do that," you told Steve.
He opened his mouth, and closed it. Then, he opened it again. "Back to back. In a shower."
"It's efficient."
"In a —" He stopped, and visibly recalibrated. "I grew up in Brooklyn. I know how girls are with each other —"
"Then you get it."
"I don't think I —" He looked at the list, then at you. "I lived in a barracks for years. Men don't do that."
"We're not men."
"I'm aware —"
"Different social norms. Women are tactile. It's completely normal."
Steve stared at you with the expression of a man losing a fight he’d already spent hours preparing for. He wrote something on the list. "Prague," he said. "Sleeping arrangements."
Natasha had claimed the centre of the mattress immediately upon arrival. You’d stood in the doorway with your go-bag, looking at the sliver of space remaining.
"You did that on purpose."
"The room has one bed."
"You're in the middle of it."
"I'm a restless sleeper." She pulled the blanket up, serene. "Floor looks fine."
You took the sliver. Then you woke up past 3am facing the ceiling — which wasn't how you’d fallen asleep. Nat's head was on your shoulder, with her arm sling across your ribs. She weighed nothing. You lay in the dark, running a thorough diagnostic of your entire life.
You didn't move — a proper tactical decision. Natasha coming awake suddenly in an unfamiliar room was dangerous. That was the only reason.
You fell back asleep with your nose in her hair. She smelled like soap — clean, sharp. You had the thought, soft-edged with sleep, that you'd know it in any room. Any dark.
She told you three months later she’d been awake the whole time. On the common room couch, her feet in your lap, not looking up from her book. Casual. I didn't want to move. You were warm.
Like that explained everything.
"It's a friendship thing," you told Steve. "Girls sleep close. It's comforting."
"You were—" He paused, mouth fumbling to choose his words correctly. "Intertwined is the word I'd use."
"We were cold."
"It was July."
"Prague is cold in July."
"It really isn't —" He stopped himself, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I shared bunks with men for four years. We did not —"
"Again, not men."
"I know you're not —" He breathed. "I'm not saying it's wrong, I'm saying it seemed like —" he gestured vaguely — "more than friendly."
"We're very good friends."
He looked at you, and you just stared back, completely calm. He glanced at the list, then back up. "The Rome corridor. After the debrief. I saw you —"
"I was patting down my lipstick."
"— I saw you ki —" He stopped, trying to replay it. "Patting down your lipstick."
"Mouths near. Close proximity. You caught an angle."
The debrief had run three hours. Nat had walked out looking the way she looked when things went exactly to plan — settled, luminous, that satisfaction she kept close to the chest. She’d glanced at you in the corridor.
You’d had four seconds of good judgment. Then it ran out completely.
You’d kissed her. Stepped into her space and did it, hand to her jaw, heart doing something humiliating the whole time.
She kissed back. Both hands came up to frame your face — deliberate, unhurried. When she pulled back, she looked at you like you were something she’d made her mind up about.
"Took you long enough," she said.
"I was strategising."
"For a whole month."
"It's a nuanced situation."
She laughed. The real one — the one she didn't usually let people near. It did something catastrophic to your chest. You stood in a corridor in Rome watching it happen and thought, with total clarity: I am in so much trouble.
You genuinely hadn't seen Steve at the end of the hallway. This was mortifying. You had a commendation for surveillance — framed.
"Patting down your lipstick," Steve repeated.
"Mm."
"Both of you."
"She was helping."
"She was —" He stopped, sighing as he stared at the desk. "I don't —" He looked like a man trying to stand on a moving floor. "I know what I saw."
"You saw us close together."
"Very close."
"We're close friends."
"In a way that —" He exhaled, long and slow. "Women are — you're saying this is normal."
"Completely normal."
He looked at the list, then the ceiling — he was hoping the Heavens above had more useful answers than you. He put the list down.
"I want you to know," he said, in a different voice, quieter, "I'm fine with it. I've watched you two for eight months. You're better together on ops, not worse. She's different with you. I don't know if she knows how much, but she is. I'm glad she has that."
The office was quiet. You’d read the manual. Section 14, highlighted in yellow. Intra-team romantic relationships are not recommended and must be disclosed to team leadership. You’d been so careful.
"We've been together a while," you said. "We're moving in. We were going to tell everyone at the housewarming party."
Steve rubbed his forehead. "Everyone already knows. Tony's had a group chat since February. Clint had a date in the pool, and then Sam won thirty dollars."
You sat with that.
"The bite mark," he added, very carefully, "at the Lisbon debrief. Nat's collarbone." A pause. "That was the one that really settled it for the group chat."
You’d felt very bitey that night. That was between you, God, and apparently the full Avengers roster plus support staff.
"The shower thing was genuinely nothing," you said. "On the record."
"I believe you," he said, in a tone that meant he did not believe you at all.
"Steve."
"It's noted."
"She's going to find this so funny."
"She already does." He nodded toward the frosted glass panel behind you.
You turned. The unmistakable silhouette of Natasha, leaning against the wall, shoulders shaking. You faced forward.
"We're very happy together," you said, with what remained of your dignity.
"I could tell," said Steve. "From the corridor. In Rome." He paused. "You had a commendation for surveillance."
"I'm aware."
"Framed, I think."
"Steve."
"Just noting it," he said, and looked at the ceiling again.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus
Warnings: 18+ content. Natasha has a penis, a little too Freudian, and she's a wolf dressed in sheep clothing, basically. Bullying from a friend's group, mentions of death and grief, mentions of kidnapping and killing, emotional absence from father, manipulation, gaslighting, mommy issues yaay, mention of threats with guns. Masturbation, dubcon, penetration, unprotected sex, pure yearning during it.
A/N: Inspired by Pinocchio, but with a dark twist! I ended up liking this dinamic raah. Expect maybe a drabble soon (feel free to send ideas if you'd like).
A/N II: Four years into my psych major paid off with this one 💀 the longest one so far too :0
After her job took away what she loved most, Natalia Romanova retreated to a small town in Italy, far away from the chaotic life that had been suffocating her. There, she met you, and with your compliant nature, she realized she could fill those voids through you.
In the charming region of Tuscany, Italy, there was a small village called Collodi, nestled among majestic mountains and surrounded by trees. This place, isolated from the hectic society, seemed to yearn fervently for the trees to consume it completely, wishing that only the memories and debris of what once was will remain in the end.
But that was not possible.
Collodi would have been in the penumbra of oblivion if it wasn't for the pen of a blissful author to pay tribute to it through an immortal fictional story. It was as if it was destined to shine in the vast darkness of the commonplace.
Because it was not as visually captivating as Monterosso al Mare, for example, a town that was part of the five villages that, in perfect unity, formed Cinque Terre.
Monterosso al Mare did not long to be consumed and forgotten. It enjoyed its own prominence along with its neighboring towns.
From miles away, its structure could be seen standing tall with dignity on the seashore, and the palette of colors that it had was a delight for the eyesight, like a canvas painted by the hand of an expert brought to life. Collodi, on the other hand, appeared as a spectrum between shades of yellow and brown, and didn't stand firm, it seemed to be on the verge of falling at any given moment.
But Natalia Romanova found beauty in Collodi.
You see, Monterosso al Mare was always displaying its vibrant colors, there being no room for exhaustion or rest, and its neighboring towns shared that quality. Totally exposed to the scrutiny of others, it must always stand firm, clinging to the reputation it had so painstakingly cultivated.
Collodi didn’t have such an obligation, for it was simply Collodi. Yes, it may have had a history that was inevitably inherent, but this town was still completely detached from the demands of appearance and expectations.
Natalia Romanova found beauty in Collodi, because having been Monterosso Al Mare, cost her the life of her wife and daughter.
And in Collodi, she found you.
“What a boring town!” Exclaimed Kate, one of the two people who were once considered your friends.
“No way, the House of Butterflies was amazing,” you countered, as a smile instinctively plastered on your face as you recalled the memory of the previous day.
You had seen species of butterflies that rarely appeared in everyday life, and the best part, you had the opportunity to befriend some animals! When you offered them food, they would offer you their trust and appreciation, confirming once again that pattern so rooted in your being.
The concept of love you had was limited to material. Both Kate and your other friend, Carol, sensed that nature within you, and decided to take full advantage of it, knowing that your concept of normality made you vulnerable, albeit oblivious to their intentions.
“Yes, and that was it,” Carol intervened, and the boredom so palpable in her voice made your smile fade at once. True, you had only walked around town and gone shopping, but hadn't the previous day been enough? Was it necessary to do something extraordinary every day?
It did sting a little, given how thrilled you still were about the previous day’s activity, but from what you were hearing, your friends no longer shared that enthusiasm. Nor did they settle for at least one single calm day.
"Get us some of that good gelato, at least," Kate spoke up, after noticing your silence.
You nodded obediently, "Sure thing. Be right back."
You knew the bitter taste of disappointment as if it were your old arch enemy.
It was a feeling that has been with you since childhood, specifically the day your mother's life was snatched away by a terminal illness, robbing you of the joy that should have characterized any child's early years.
As life went on without that important figure by your side, you longed for the warmth and comfort of your father. However, instead, he taught you a raw truth, that absence in life was more painful than the absence due to death itself, for the soul departs without leaving the physical body.
You dreamed of his protective embrace, of his deep voice telling you bedtime stories, of feeling his loving hands tuck you into bed each night. But your father was not your mother, nor was he the father you used to know.
This new man, consumed with his work as a way of coping with grief, became obsessed with the expansion of his business. In his mind, securing a prosperous financial future for you was the best way to demonstrate his love and care, for if only his then small business had the resources to cover the costs of treating the illness, your mother would still be with you.
So, instead of the human safety you needed so badly, you received an insane number of expensive gifts and unnecessary luxuries. Every one of them being his way of saying "I love you, I'm not going to fail you".
Oh, but he failed you. Every time he chose his job over you. Every time he missed your birthday, every promise he broke. With the expensive gifts and lavish vacations he offered as compensation, you learned that affection was shown through material goods, and not necessarily through presence and emotional connection. It became your only way to express and receive affection, because it was all you had known your whole life.
It never occurred to you that maybe those animals were drawn to you because of the admiring and respectful energy you gave off, and not because of the food. They didn't approach any of your friends, and they had food too. It was never transactional.
Carol and Kate were quick to notice how your brain was wired.
At first, they just wanted to compliment you on your fancy bag and strike up a conversation with you to gain your trust, hoping that, when the time came, they would know you well enough to borrow it for a party where they could show it off as their own. However, after only a week, when you gave them each a bag just like yours as a thank you for sitting down with you for lunch and chatting, they realized that it was in their best interest to keep pretending to like you, as it would benefit them.
That's how they even ended up in Italy without spending a single penny in the first place.
It was a birthday trip that your father financed, once again rewarding the fact that he had forgotten about it. He also agreed to let you invite your “two best friends” in the hope that you would forgive him.
And so, as you returned with three ice creams in hand, you felt like you carried with you the key to keep harmony among the three of you. But the ground, capricious and uneven, laughed in your face, with a prominent stone lurking to trip you up. In your haste to please, you did not see it coming.
Your body collapsed, crushing the ice cream cones, and the cold, sticky mess spread all over your clothes. To top it all off, the rough cobblestone also scraped your delicate arms and hands.
You winced in pain as you pushed yourself up, noticing the red marks and small cuts that adorned your once-flawless skin.
Embarrassed and hurt, you looked up, expecting to see concern on your friends' faces. Instead, you were met with sneers and poorly concealed laughter.
"Oh my God, (Y/N)," Carol scoffed, her voice evidencing nothing short of disappointment.
Kate joined in, her eyes showing a cruel amusement, “Great job,” she remarked, as she mock-clapped. “You can’t even run an errand. What are you good at, seriously? Aside from spending your daddy’s money.”
Your cheeks burned with shame as you struggled to your feet, your now wet and cold clothes clinging uncomfortably to your body.
"I'm sorry," you mumbled, fighting back tears. "I'll go get..."
"Don't bother," Kate snapped, rolling her eyes. "You'll probably just drop those too. Jesus! And now we must be seen with you looking like that!"
You felt small, insignificant, and utterly alone as your so-called friends tore you with those hurtful words. The beautiful day in Collodi, which had held so much promise, now felt tainted and ugly.
Was this what true friendship was supposed to feel like? Was this the essence of the connection? Or were you just getting what you deserved?
Tears, hot and stinging like acid rain, began to stream down your cheeks from all the questioning that invaded your mind in a matter of seconds.
"Oh, great. Now you’re crying,” Kate's exasperated sigh cut through the uncomfortable silence.
"All right, come on," Carol’s voice now dripped with annoyance. "You need to pull yourself together. This is beyond embarrassing."
"Look, if you can't stop whining like a baby, at least walk a couple of meters behind us," Kate ordered you. “We don’t want anyone thinking we’re with… you.”
You.
That one-syllable word spoken so contemptuously and coldly, as if you were enough to make any accompanying insult seem redundant.
And you, meekly nodding, prepared to follow their cruel order.
But as you took a step to follow behind them, a gentle but firm hand grabbed your arm, stopping your movement.
Startled, you looked up to find yourself confronted by a striking woman with flame-red hair and soft green eyes.
There was something in her gaze that invited you to resist, to question, to not let yourself be carried away by the current of contempt that surrounded you.
And when she spoke, your ears were delighted by her raspy and smooth-as-honey voice.
“Do not follow them, solnyshko,” she said, dropping the unfamiliar word with a slight accent. “They are not worth your tears or your time.”
For the very first time, there was someone willing to protect you, to remind you of your worth in an environment that seemed to want to erase it.
Your unconscious mind, conditioned by years of neglect, sounded alarms at this strange kindness. It screamed insidiously, urging you to retreat to the cold yet familiar comfort of abandonment and life-draining complacency.
That made you gently pull your arm from Natalia's grasp, your eyes downcast in embarrassment.
"No, you don't understand," your voice trembled like a leaf in autumn's chill. "It was my fault. They’re my friends, I just pissed them off but I’m going to fix it.”
Natalia's eyes flickered with sudden comprehension. That sentence alone allowed her to decipher you completely.
The vulnerability you exuded, the eagerness to please despite mistreatment, it all spoke to something deep within her. It would be a crime to let you go, knowing you were perfect material for satisfying her needs.
She glanced briefly at the retreating silhouettes of the college girls you were with, a flicker of indignation crossing her features. They were merciless, cruel in their treatment of you. Natalia knew she was different. She wasn't going to make you suffer like them, because she was far from mean.
Instead, she would shower you with the warmth of genuine care, something you had clearly been deprived of for so long. In time, she would become as essential to you as the air you breathed. You would need her, finding it impossible to abandon her. And in return, she would have someone who needed her, someone she could protect and nurture, someone she could mold to her liking to fill that void that had been devouring her insides like a ravenous parasite.
"Your fault that this town's ground is made of stone? Is it your fault that it's dark already?” She asked gently. Instead of offering empty reassurances, she aimed to give you some autonomy, allowing you to discover the truth for yourself.
Her smile became unavoidable as she noticed your wide, innocent eyes intently analyzing her questioning.
"Could you have predicted every uneven surface? Every shadow?" She continued, her tone encouraging reflection rather than accusation. "And these friends of yours," Natalia pressed on, scoffing with contempt so palpable it made you flinch. She made your terrifying friends seem insignificant in the face of her formidable presence. “They have never stumbled? Are they always perfectly graceful?"
This question hit home. You had a fair share of memories of Kate tripping over her own feet at parties and Carol passing out in some stranger’s backyard. You had never blamed them for their clumsiness. So why were you holding yourself to an impossible standard not even they could meet?
How silly of you, taking blame for something so clearly beyond your control.
A small, rueful smile became clear as you realized the absurdity of your self-accusation.
"You see, detka?" Natalia chuckled at your adorable smile, but it faltered abruptly when she felt something between her legs reacting as well through a painfully, intense throbbing. Every fiber of her being screamed for release, so overwhelming it threatened to consume her entirely, to break through her carefully constructed walls. But not yet, she reminded herself, her fists clenching with the effort of restraint. "Now, let's forget about them. Let's get you cleaned up, I don't live far from here."
Her invitation, or rather, command, caught you off guard, "But I don't know you," you gently declined.
She didn’t budge, for she was more than sure that it would be a piece of cake to convince you beneath her roof in the blink of an eye.
"Oh, right, my name is Natalia,” she introduced herself. “And your name is…?”
Unbeknownst to you, she had long ago stopped using the name Natasha Romanoff. It was an alias she'd adopted during her time as an Avenger back in the United States, but she had renounced that life, therefore, she no longer needed that identity. As for "Black Widow", the mere mention of it now filled her with loathing.
“Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N),” you replied, trying to sound polite even after your small rejection.
Noticing your slight discomfort, Natalia decided to lighten up the tension that was beginning to build up, going ahead to reach into her pocket and show you a small, perfectly carved wooden figurine.
It was a cat! You adored cats.
"This is Figaro," Natalia introduced you to her little piece of wood, a fond smile adorning her lips. "He's my dear cat. Well, a miniature version of him."
Your eyes were drawn to the marvelous craftsmanship of the figurine. "Wow," you gasped, and your curious fingers itched to touch it, but you held back. "Did you do this?"
"I did,” she confirmed with pride. This woodworking hobby, alongside her tuxedo cat and golden fish, seemed to be the sole source of joy in her miserable existence. “I do this for a living. My house is filled with pieces like this.”
"That's amazing," you replied, genuinely impressed. "I bet they're all as stunning as this one," you remarked, gesturing to the figure in her hand.
Her smile expanded, almost impossibly so. It had been ages since she smiled like this, and perhaps it was twisted of her that the reason was the anticipation of all the plans she had for you.
"Not as stunning as real-life Figaro," she countered, her eyes softening with affection. "Oh, just imagine the softest cloud you've ever seen, now picture it in black and white colors. That's Figaro."
The way Natalia described him with such genuine warmth and affection made your heart squeeze in tenderness, and your defenses were slowly crumbling, just like she predicted. After all, you reasoned, how could someone who talked so lovingly about their cat possibly be dangerous?
"Well,” she concluded, with a small sigh that feigned disappointment. "If you went to my house, you could see him in person. But I understand. It's dangerous to go to a stranger's home. That’s wise of you.”
The thought of letting down such a kind-hearted woman was intolerable. How could you possibly walk away after she had been so sweet and kind to you? You finally met someone who treated you with respect, and this was your response? How ungrateful!
"You know, actually," you finally spoke, so quickly they successfully interrupted your recurring thoughts. "I think I'd like to meet Figaro now, if that's okay."
Natalia's face lit up, her emerald eyes sparkling with an intense delight. Everything turned out exactly as she wanted, making her feel like an expert puppeteer effortlessly manipulating the strings of her most treasured marionette.
"Of course it's okay, solnyshko," she replied cheerfully. Anyone with an ounce of reasoning would wonder why she seemed so eager to bring an unknown person home, but not you. Certainly not you. "You won't regret it, I assure you."
In the small village chambers, lanterns flickered softly, casting shadows in people that danced and twisted. Initially, these shadows appeared as large, intimidating figures, but upon closer inspection, they transformed into friendly faces with wide smiles. And when their eyes met Natalia, they seldom did not recognize her.
"Natty! Buona notte, cara mia!" They always exclaimed, their voices brimming with enthusiasm and eyes aglow. A dull ache settled in your chest. It seemed wrong to feel that twinge of envy, yet you couldn't recall the last time anyone appeared that delighted to see you, and you couldn't help but long to be greeted that way.
Unlike your friends who always insisted on walking ahead, leaving you trailing behind like a bodyguard, Natalia walked alongside you. Her emerald eyes occasionally glanced your way, a gentle smile gracing her lips.
The ice cream stain on your clothes was still visible, your eyes, though no longer wet with tears, remained red and puffy. Yet, Natalia radiated an intrinsic pride in having you by her side, as if your presence was something to be cherished rather than hidden away.
“Well, here we are,” Natalia exhaled a deep sigh of relief as she turned the key and pushed open the door to her home, inviting you to step inside. The comforting embrace of warmth following the biting chill was a welcome relief.
Unlike most homes, there was no central overhead light. Instead, small lanterns perfectly scattered throughout the space illuminated it cozily.
The entire first level served as Natalia's workplace, living room, dining room, and kitchen, all in one. Though there were no walls dividing these areas, the transitions were clear.
To your left, Natalia's creations dominated the entire corner, making it a challenge to navigate without stepping on something. Positioned by the window was a long table with a variety of well-used tools, including hammers, a saw, screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches.
On the opposite end, to your right, there was a kitchen, equipped with just a fridge, a sink, and vintage stove, alongside a small wooden table that could seat two people maximum, and you wondered if Natalia had crafted it herself. It was evident that neither her table nor any corner of her house was designed for lots of visitors, quite the opposite, in fact. Being there made you feel special, and your chest ached from the overwhelmingness of that long-forgotten feeling.
The middle area displayed a fireplace with a two-seater sofa positioned in front of it, and on a side table, there was a round fishbowl containing a goldfish, which immediately caught your attention.
"Please, excuse the mess," Natalia remarked with a hint of guilt. She never cleaned her home more than necessary because she indeed never expected visitors, as she preferred to personally deliver everything to those who requested her work, from the smallest souvenir to the most unbearably heavy piece of furniture. You might never have realized it, but you were the first person to set foot in her home by her own will and not because people intrusively knocked on her door to request commissions or to drop off gifts as grateful gestures.
"No, no, it's great," you replied sincerely, having already scanned every corner of the place. Her old superhero friends might think this wasn't Natasha at all, but to you, who had only met this side of her, it screamed Natalia everywhere, and all those residents of Collodi could say the same.
"Please, do take a seat!" She exclaimed so energetically that her voice could have echoed throughout the entire neighborhood. Without a moment's hesitation, you went to sit by the fireplace, the gentle flames providing you with so much warmth that you almost forgot the ice cream on your clothes. "Stay here, I'll find you some clean outfit," she added, stepping away without taking her eyes off you, with fear that you might vanish or regret being there at any moment.
While awaiting the return of the red-haired woman, you swiftly took out your phone to send a message to your friends, letting them know that you were fine and that you would get back soon. In your noble heart, you believed that they might worry about you, even if they were angry at you, because that’s what you would’ve done. However, the way they abandoned you with a stranger and walked away without looking behind unequivocally proved otherwise.
"See if this fits you," the same raspy, indistinct voice made you look up, and you gasped in surprise when you noticed that, in the arm not holding the change of clothes, she was carrying the famous cat Figaro she had told you about. His pupils were dilated due to the dim light, yet you could still notice a faint yellow ring encircling those dark orbs. He stayed calm, allowing her to carry him without squirming or resisting.
"Oh, he's gorgeous!" You exclaimed. Just a few seconds were enough for this feline to capture your heart.
She chuckled softly, placing the little one on the couch beside you, "Clean clothes and a kitty, just as we agreed."
As if on cue, Figaro suddenly jumped from the couch, his black and white fur almost a comedic, straight-out-of-cartoon blur as he darted across the room and disappeared behind a stack of wooden carvings the first chance he got.
“I should have mentioned, Figaro doesn't like strangers,” she admitted, with an apologetic smile and a shrug.
“It's okay, let's give him some space, seeing him was enough anyway,” you took the clothes she offered you, placing them where the cat had been placed previously. Even if the sticky cold of the ice cream was bothering you, you wanted to stay by the redhead’s side. Even if it was just for a minute, the thought of having to part from her was already unthinkable. There was something comforting to her presence, and you have been longing for someone to bring you said sensation for most of your existence. “You’re so lucky to have company.”
“Is that so?” she replied, catching you off guard without much effort. “I mean, I know, but why do you say it as if it’s a privilege I possess and you don’t?”
And there you were, desperate to be heard and understood, that it only took her one question to make you disclose your entire chapter and verses.
“Because it’s true,” you admitted, and suddenly, your stained clothes began to have the effect they naturally would on anyone. The disgust and regret. “I have friends, I have my father, but I still feel hollow inside when I’m around them. I don’t know if that’s how it’s supposed to feel, but since my mother…” and there you stopped. Nothing to do with Natalia, who, with her body completely turned toward you, sent a clear signal that she was listening intently. Not to mention her face, which reflected deep empathy. It was just all so strange. Surely she had much better things to do than put up with your nonsense. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m now oversharing,” you backtracked immediately. “Uhm… I’ll go change and leave you alone. I’ll give you your clothes back first thing tomorrow,” you added, believing that the whole reason for this came down to this act of kindness, and nothing more.
Natalia didn't answer, at least not verbally. She simply pointed to the door you'd find as soon as you went up the stairs, where her bathroom was.
She believed that all the things she could be doing right now instead of listening to you would simply never happen again in her life, such as carrying her daughter on her shoulders for a summer walk in the park, or driving with her wife to the top of a mountain to gaze out over the city and vent about how draining their jobs as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were.
Setting aside everything that was taken from her on that mission, truly, she didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but with you.
However, the stain on your clothes was starting to stress her out. It reminded her of her daughter when she’d go out to get soaked in the rain and spend the whole day covered in mud because she refused to change. Therefore, for you to go change once and for all, she remained quiet, otherwise she knew you would spend all night long with your clothes smothered in ice cream.
As you changed, shame washed over you as you constantly replayed that interaction, where you’d rambled aloud about everything cluttering your chaotic mind, and when you finally decided to stop, not even out of politeness or pity, had she bothered to contradict your words.
“Stupid, stupid, nobody cares about you, nobody wants…” you repeated mentally as you walked down the stairs wearing your fresh change of clothes.
But your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed two glasses of cold lemonade on the coffee table, and two Panforte di Siena neatly plated.
“Perfect, now you have dry clothes, just as you deserve,” she smiled as if she herself had been the one spending all this time in stained clothes. As if your comfort were her own. “Let’s continue this conversation over some nice lemonade and pastries, come,” she invited you, patting the spot you had occupied.
And quite unlike her rebellious little kitten, you complied immediately, taking a seat next to her while holding your clothes in your hands.
“Ah, give me that, I was going to put a load of laundry in anyway,” she took your clothes, and without waiting for you to object or agree, tossed them into the washing machine and started the cycle.
She just took control, and it seemed like she assumed you wouldn’t put up much resistance. And you never did, with anyone. For the first time, however, you found yourself thriving in it. You could entrust your entire life and all your decisions to her, and in a way, you could be certain that she would always look out for your best interests.
“Your mother…” she picked up where you’d left off, and you could tell she was hesitating for a moment, wondering whether to say what came next. “She passed away, didn’t she?”
Your eyes widened, and your jaw nearly hit the floor in a pathetic attempt to find your voice.
“How… how do you...?”
“Oh, solnyshko,” she murmured. “I saw no resentment in your eyes when you mentioned her, only sadness,” she indicated, ruling out a hostile or absent mother. “Regardless, only someone who didn’t develop their self-concept through a mother’s warmth and encouraging words would allow themselves to be treated the way those girls treated you today.”
Oh, how you broke down crying that night.
And she held you through it all, daring to occasionally kiss your hair and whisper soothing words, not enough to interrupt you, but to accompany you through this process you inadvertently fell into. It was a cathartic experience, a three hour long therapy session, everything you needed, wrapped up in a stranger who had given you the safe space no one else you knew had.
You felt so safe letting yourself go right there that you didn’t even notice when you fell asleep on her lap, breathing through your mouth because your nose was stuffed up from crying, or when she later carried you up to the second floor and laid you down beside her. It was too much, perhaps too intrusive for someone who had only met you that day, but she didn’t have the heart to leave your vulnerable, sobbing body on the terrifying first floor, on the cold couch all on your own.
She promised to herself she was going to sleep and not disturb you. However, seeing you there, with your pink nose, parted lips, defeated next to her, made that erection she’d been holding back for hours finally become painful and unbearable.
Silently, on tiptoes, she made her way to the bathroom and pulled down her grey sweatpants and boxers in one go. Her cock predictably was rock hard and almost purple, begging for attention. You didn’t even flinch from your place when she started jerking herself off, not with her quiet gasps and the strength of her grip around herself moving back and forth, whilst thinking of the warmth of your tears and your body against hers, desperately seeking her out.
She had to cover her mouth with her free hand to stifle her moans as stream after stream of semen shot across her tile floor, finally reaching the release she’d denied herself just to put you first.
Very soon, she thought, all of that would end up inside you.
“S dnyom rozhdeniya tebya, s dnyom rozhdeniya tebya,” was the first thing you heard the next day, jolting you slightly out of your deep slumber until you recalled where you were, who you were with, and overall, what had happened the night before. “Happy birthday, dear (Y/N), happy birthday to you,” she sang to you, holding a small cake with a single lit candle.
You felt a physical squeeze in your heart at that sight. You’d mentioned to Natalia that this whole travel fiasco had been your father’s way of making up for forgetting your birthday, again, because he’d been so immersed in his work that he hadn’t bothered to check the date.
And the first thing she did the next day? Wake up earlier, in order to get a cake to celebrate you properly. Just because your tear ducts were dry, you didn’t cry again. But oh, how wonderful it felt to be so cared for.
It stung to imagine going back to the same old. You didn’t want your trip to end the day after tomorrow, you didn’t want to go back to being that person who settled for less than this. And that simple fact alone was already a sign that, in just a few hours, you were beginning to open your eyes towards what was beyond the cavern you’ve been considering your reality since your childhood. You started witnessing the wonders that fate could offer if only you refused to accept a life you did not deserve. You just needed someone to give you the courage to believe it.
“Thank you so much,” you told her, completely moved. “This is the nicest thing someone has ever done for me. In years.”
“Well, wish for something just as nice,” she prompted you.
Traditional belief dictates that you must make a wish before blowing out the candle, when in reality, fire is associated with extinguishing everything you no longer wish to carry with you, whether by writing it on a piece of paper and burning it to ashes, or in this case, telling it to the fire and then blowing it out.
Needless to say, what it was that you wished to let go of.
“Let’s go cut the cake, and then you can tell me where you’d like to have breakfast today,” she asked you.
For a brief moment, that sense of shame and the urge to argue kicked in, but you remembered what you had let go of just a few seconds earlier, therefore you willed to just go downstairs and allow yourself to receive back what had been denied to you.
“Oh, no way, it can’t be!” you exclaimed, covering your mouth with both hands, after bursting into laughter. Natalia placed a birthday hat on Figaro, and awkwardly on Cleo’s fishbowl. It was so sweet and so strangely at odds with the image she projected out there.
“They wanted to join,” she shrugged, with a shy blush that made her feel like a silly teenager again, but she as well allowed herself to show it, only because you had shown her the most heartbreaking parts of yourself, and she felt she had to reciprocate somehow.
The plan for the day was for Natalia to walk you back to your hotel so you could drop off your clothes, take a nice shower, and put on whatever outfit you liked best before you went to have breakfast together.
While you were enjoying all the attention and care, she, for her part, adored seeing your reactions of utter joy to things that she, and no one else, had done. She put that smile on your face, for she had gotten up early and begged the bakery owner to open the shop for her, she made the paper hats herself because she wanted to melt your heart. She was thriving in giving, in providing, it was something she so desperately needed.
“(Y/N), what the hell? We’re hungry! Are you going to take us out for breakfast or what?” Kate banged on your door with the palm of her hand just as you were finishing putting on your shoes. Natalia, wanting to give you some privacy, had gone for a walk around the hotel to wait for you. And all you could think was how much you needed her to scare her away with a single glance, because you weren’t capable of doing it.
“I already have plans,” you replied as firmly as you could bring yourself to sound. “Don’t bother me anymore.”
You heard a mocking laugh that made your hair stand on end. The fear hadn't gone away as you'd imagined, and maybe it was because a certain redhead wasn’t there to make you feel safe.
“Oh, you already have plans? Well, you’re the one who invited us on this trip in the first place,” she fired back. “We couldn’t care less about your birthday, but we’re tagging along because we’re the only ones who feel a little sorry for you, and this is how you repay us? By letting us starve?”
You really tried, within the little you’ve learned, to counter that cruel statement.
It hurt to realize you were completely at a loss. You asked them to come with you, they could be anywhere but here, yet they chose, in their own way, to be there for you. They weren’t even enjoying this trip in the first place, least you could do…
“Oh I feel sorry for you,” and she came to the rescue before you could do something that would take you back to ground zero. “Can’t go on vacation, can’t even eat, if it isn’t for someone else paying?”
“Shut up, lady, mind your own… oh, hey, no need for that,” and without another word, you heard Kate’s familiar footsteps retreating.
“Detka? Are you ready?” Natalia called from the other side of the door, as if she hadn’t pulled out her gun just a few seconds ago to threaten some daring “friend” of yours. She sure as hell could have resorted to other means, but she wasn’t going to cause a scene any longer than necessary on a day she wanted to make sure was special.
“Yeah, coming,” you replied, grabbing your bag, oblivious to how she’d managed to get Kate to bolt without much of a fight. You didn’t give it much thought either, you didn’t want to give this situation any more power either.
“Wow,” she exclaimed as you stepped out of your room, her eyes scanning you from head to toe and back again. “I love it. Shall we go?” she offered her arm for you to take.
Collodi had so much to offer to those who appreciated the simplicity of things, and you were certainly one of those people, after all, that was what you knew, and that was how you survived every single day. When you expect more, there’s always disappointment and unmet expectations, like the people who travel to Monterosso al Mare believing they’ll find a fishing idyll with astonishing views, only to be met with crowded private beaches, the roar of tourist trains, and the exorbitant cost of sunshine sold by the square meter.
Perhaps Collodi invited you to spend this week there because settling for less should never have been, and should never be, applied to people or to the horrible politics of a system, as is so often mistakenly done. It could be beautiful if, instead, it meant appreciating the value of what remains intact. Collodi was not a consolation prize, it was one of the very few places left in the world where stillness was not confused with oblivion, and where scarcity was, in reality, a clean space, free from the noise of others’ ambitions. How foolish of you to contaminate it with such lousy friends.
“There’s such a peaceful atmosphere here,” you remarked, with a full belly and a happy heart, having enjoyed a delicious breakfast at Alidoro. Even the air you breathed was fresher, for you had permitted yourself to inhale and exhale more steadily. Live in the moment instead of being on constant alert.
As you devoured your breakfast without a care in the world, a couple of curious street cats came over to meow at you. Some people petted them, while others, a bit more aloof, simply ignored them. Natalia, on the other hand, ordered a small bowl of plain chicken breast, “because seasoned food is bad for them” and handed it to you so you could slice it and give it to them.
And in the blink of an eye, you had about eighteen cats at your mercy, and three plates of chicken breast already empty after fulfilling their demands. They didn't seem to leave you alone. And you didn't want them to, either.
“You got yourself into this,” Natalia had scolded you with a laugh, as she pulled out her phone, determined to capture that moment forever. Besides, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t found herself in the same situation as you on other occasions, and subsequently returning home to a jealous Figaro who could smell the scent of other cats hogging the attention of his beloved human companion.
“Peaceful indeed, right? No demands, no hectic bullshit,” the redhead agreed. She was eager for the next activity, the next big thing to do to please you, very uncharacteristic of someone who swore she’d broken free from those habits after having spent years under scrutiny, but your smile and gratitude made it worth slipping back into them just a little.
You asked her that you both could just walk, breathe in the air, and soak up the sunlight, which was particularly faint. The conversation wasn’t as heavy as the night before, it consisted only of the stories about Figaro and Cleo that made her laugh the most, or the things you were passionate to do most when no one was watching and you had no choice but to keep yourself company.
You both realized just how much physical activity and talking you’d done when your stomachs began to demand their second meal of the day. For Natalia, it was a challenge not to resort to her usual spots, which were too far away and would require a walk she wasn’t willing to take. You went into the first dining spot you found, and for the second time, you heard the woman across from you order in a Russian-accented but fluent Italian that never failed to surprise you. Which made you ask her the following question.
“What made you move to Italy?”
This was the most personal question you’d ever asked her, and for a moment, her usual defenses went up, urging her to respond with a curt “because I wanted to, period” or “because of the weather” just as she used to brush off her nosy neighbors. She was the one who was supposed to tear you apart with questions, the one who was supposed to push you to open up until you crossed that point of no return where you would inevitably need her to put the pieces back together, not the other way around. Oh, but who was she fooling? All that twisted dynamic was, deep down, to satisfy her own need as well. The need to be needed.
“I went above and beyond for my job, sold my soul to it, and it cost me dearly,” she began, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the floor, because even if her mouth faltered, her body still sought shelter in itself. “Every day, my wife and I went out to risk our lives on every mission. We believed it was for the greater good, to build a better and safer world for our daughter. But one day, I was too tired to go grocery shopping with my wife, so she took my daughter along to keep her distracted and let me rest. An opponent kidnapped them while she was putting the items in the trunk, in the most cliché way possible, no less. Stupid me... I thought it was blackmail. By the time I arrived with the ransom, I discovered they never wanted the money, it was revenge. They were already dead. If only...” She didn’t need to finish the sentence, what came next was implied. Self-blaming and guilt in its purest form. “And I thought, to hell with the world if my daughter and my wife aren’t in it. I woke up everyday to save it and I couldn’t save them. There are already enough world-changers out there, but that was the end of it for me. So I moved to the most secluded town I could think of, and cut myself off from everything that tied me to that country and that life.”
“I need a moment,” she murmured in a broken voice, just as the waitress set the steaming plates on the table. And you, after all she’s done for you, decided to give her the gift of space to fall apart without that selfish desire to do what you thought was best at the time.
Little did you know that you were the first person in the world to hear that story from her own mouth. Not even Steve, Sam, Tony, or Clint found out firsthand. There were only cold reports from S.H.I.E.L.D., devastating news on the screens at the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, and the deathly silence of a Natasha who swallowed the weight of the world alone.
The Earth’s Mightiest Heroes beat themselves up afterward, trapped in a cycle of collective guilt that ate away their consciences: “We should have broken that door down when she locked herself in.”
Clint had spent sleepless nights tracking down the enemy faction’s origins just to give them what they deserved, even though Natasha was completely resigned, defeated, and not even resentful. Like an antelope that decided to let itself be eaten by the lion because fighting back was already useless if its legs were half-eaten. Steve, Sam, and Tony would sit for hours at her doorstep, offering a listening ear that she rejected with curt one-word answers or absolute silence, until they realized the house had already been empty for so long and she was gone. Natasha had thrown herself into an insurmountable emotional void long before fleeing that country. She didn’t even leave them the comfort of saying goodbye to her or knowing where she would be.
She didn’t organize a funeral with solemn speeches from people who meant not half as much to them as they did to her, nor the presence of those heroes who were supposed to save the world but hadn’t been able to save their own. Natasha took the bodies in their coffins to a nameless corner in the cemetery, dug the graves herself, feeling the shovel tear at her hands, actively seeking that physical pain to silence the other.
She buried her wife and daughter completely alone in the utmost secrecy, denying the rest the right to mourn. They didn’t deserve it, she thought, and she didn’t deserve any comfort either. If anyone else bore even a fraction of that burden, divine punishment for her incompetence wouldn’t be pure enough.
Seeing her there, static in that defensive posture in front of a plate of food she wouldn’t touch, broke your entire being in two. A stabbing pain ran through your chest, an empathy so dense you could almost taste the salt of her held-back tears and the ashes of her former life.
In that moment, you experienced the most primitive and desperate human frustration, which is not having divine power. Not the kind of power her friends used to bring down armies, but a creative, absolute power, capable of restoring to the woman sitting before you what the world had ripped from her.
You wanted to empty your own soul to fill hers. But you were no god. You were just an ordinary human being, sitting in a restaurant in a remote town, facing the ruins of the strongest woman in the world. And you knew that an “I’m sorry” would be an insult to her tragedy.
You intended to tell her, word for word, what you had repeated to yourself in front of the mirror all these years in an attempt to save the little child you once were. That small, defenseless version of you lived in your unconscious, who took the blame for what happened to her mother, believing that if only you had been kinder, quieter, or more perfect, things would have turned out differently. However, you understood, from your own experience, the voracious hunger one feels while waiting for forgiveness that never comes from outside. And you learned, as well, that true freedom resided in the forgiveness that came from within.
You thought of him. You thought of how much you had longed, your whole life, for your father to forgive himself and get rid of the distance between you. Even now, after all this time, you would give anything for him to spend just five minutes a day with you, so you could tell him the following:
“Maybe you’ve heard this before… but it’s not your fault,” you said, holding her gaze with steady calm, refusing to flinch when her eyes narrowed.
Natalia let out a dry laugh, making her shoulders tensed immediately, adopting the combat stance her mind used when the truth got too close.
“Oh, no shit, really?” She retorted, and her voice, though low, carried a dangerous hostility. “Don’t talk about what you don’t understand. I was the strategist. My fucking job was to anticipate. I knew who my enemies were, I knew what they were capable of, and I chose to let my guard down because I wanted to take a… fucking stupid nap. Don’t tell me it’s not my fault when I was the one who put a target on their foreheads the day I decided to love my wife and put a child on her. It’s my fault because I’m still breathing and they’re six feet under.”
You listened to every word, noticing how her voice hardened as she lashed out at herself. Normally, that rage would be enough to make you shrink back and stumble over your words, on the contrary, you understood that her anger wasn’t directed at you, but rather the shield protecting her right to suffer that was who knows how many years old already.
And that’s when you understood everything. Kate, Carol, your father, all that harm directed at you was a projection of their disastrous inner worlds, it never had anything to do with you. And for that very reason, you weren’t going to sit back and accept the consequences of it as if you were. It’s over.
“Look how you cling to that guilt, Natalia. Think about it for a second,” you used your own soft voice so that her unconscious mind wouldn't detect it as a threat, and that way, her conscious mind would be active and receptive. “You’d rather be the one with the guilt than accept that you did everything you could, that you were the best at what you did, and that even so, evil won that round. You prefer to blame yourself because blame gives you a false sense of control.”
Natalia turned her gaze toward the window, her jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle twitched in her cheekbone. Her fingers drummed against the edge of the table, a nervous tic of someone restraining to search for a weapon she didn’t want to use.
“It’s not an illusion,” she hissed, her voice breaking on the last syllable despite herself. “It’s reality.”
“No…” you insisted with deep tenderness, leaning a little closer to her. “Punishing yourself every day, isolating yourself in this town, carving pieces of wood until your fingers bleed... it’s your way of continuing to remember them. You feel that if you stop suffering for even a single day, if you enjoy a meal or if you smile, you’re betraying them. Your pain is real, it’s immense, and you have every right to do what you have to do, but don't be mistaken, the monster who killed them is not the one from the mirror. That was definitely an evildoer who would sure as hell enjoy seeing you like this. But your wife and daughter? They wouldn’t.”
The silence that followed your words was intense and uncomfortable, it almost made you run, and you thought this would turn into a Socratic debate where she’d try to win at all costs, but no. The truth of your words had struck cleanly, devoid of condescending pity, straight to the core of the wound that had been secretly festering for years. You weren’t pitying her, you were truly seeing her.
You gave her the time she needed. A full minute where the only sound was the distant murmur of the voices and the clinking of cutlery at other tables. You knew that after an emotional shock of that magnitude, the worst thing you could do was keep pressing the trauma button.
Lowering your voice, offering her the everyday normality she needed to get back to reality, you looked at the plates of food that were beginning to get cold.
“Let’s eat, the food is getting cold.”
The sun was beginning to set, casting a coppery glow over the hills. The journey back felt completely different from the lighthearted conversations that had brought a smile from ear to ear to both of you. If only you hadn’t asked that question, none of this would have turned out this way… but well, she decided to answer it.
Suddenly, Natalia stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes scanned the landscape without really seeing it, as if she had just made an internal decision.
“I want to go home,” she said, her usual commanding tone was nonexistent. It was a feigned plea, a hook perfectly designed to tug at your empathy.
You looked at her, gauging the emotional distance that still separated you. “Well, do we part ways here, or…?”
“No,” she replied immediately. “Come home with me. Stay the night. I’ll pay… whatever it costs for a night at your hotel if you mind losing the money.”
“No need, daddy’s money, remember?” You offered her a joke, and fortunately, it landed briefly through an exhalation that closely resembled a half-hearted giggle.
As you crossed the threshold, the austere atmosphere of her home greeted you with the scent of cut wood and isolation, the reason for which you already knew. Natalia moved with mechanical steps up the stairs, waiting for you to follow her. Once you climbed the last step, she greeted you with a change of clean, comfortable clothes, again. She handed them to you without looking you in the eye.
“Here. Go change.”
As you put on her clothes in the bathroom, clothes that enveloped you in a subtle scent of her, happily letting it smother your own identity, you heard her moving around her room. The only thing you could make out was the sound of Figaro’s meows and the faint sound of him eating. When you returned, you found her sitting on the edge of the bed, her back slightly hunched, staring intently at her cat. You understood even more how much he and her goldfish meant to her. They were evidence that no matter how much she tried to punish herself, deep within her, she believed she didn’t deserve to be completely lonely.
“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she blurted out, with a frankness that was meant to sound casual but was betrayed by her tone. “Show me a movie I’ve missed all these years, on your phone... we can order takeout, I’ll treat you to dinner.”
You sat down on the other side of the bed. The closeness of her body generated an almost magnetic warmth in the cold room, which would have caused the same reaction as the night before if it weren’t for the fact that she was emotionally wounded from your confrontation.
You turned on your phone, selected a random movie whose plot you forgot the second it started, and lay down next to her, sharing the small screen in the dim light. Soon, Natalia settled in beside you, just a physical, almost desperate clinging. Her head sought the hollow of your shoulder, and her arm crossed over your waist with excessive pressure, successfully pinning you down against the mattress, as if you were her property. Little did you know that was the exact message she wanted to convey.
Only through your presence could she allow herself not to suffer, only if you were there, validating her and understanding her pain and coping mechanisms better than anyone else. You knew this, and you hadn’t run away, you were there, letting her hold you because you also found some benefit in this, you longed for human warmth.
She saw the broken things in you, the one whose friends humiliated, whose mother passed, she saw your pain over your father’s emotional absence. She was making you her new mission, the helpless child who would now depend on her, where you saved her from guilt and she saved you from abandonment. It was a perfect unspoken transaction.
During that seemingly endless moment when Natalia stood with her arms crossed, her eyes so distant in the coldness of having finally spoken to someone, none other than you, you never would have imagined the night would end like this. So… cozy!
You lay down in her bed of your own free will, not because you’d fallen asleep and she’d had no choice but to carry you there, with her resting her full weight on you, perhaps seeking the comfort she didn’t dare ask for in words. And the truth was, words weren’t the way she needed you either.
When it was time for dinner, long after the tense lunch you’d shared had served its sole purpose of satisfying your hunger, you were already halfway through a comedy classic you’d chosen in the secret hope that it would lighten her heart. She ordered from a local restaurant no more than five blocks from there, and when the order was ready, she decided to pick it up herself. Not even in those situations did she like having delivery people or strangers hanging around her door, no matter if that meant walking in the dark street at eleven in the night, she couldn’t stand having people near her house. That was how special you were to her.
And you, once again, didn’t even begin to wonder why someone with that history, with such strict habits of isolation, would specifically want you in her most sacred space. You desperately clung to the romantic idea that you were special to someone, that was all. Your wounded ego and your own need for affection needed to believe it. And maybe you were, but not in the way you thought.
But as Hermes Trismegistus teaches, everything that goes up must come down. No state of bliss, no matter how intense, warm, and protective it may seem, is immune to the law of rhythm. The pendulum always swings to the other extreme with the same force with which it ascendes.
You had woken up with bellies so full from the hearty dinner and movies the night before that none of you even considered getting out of bed to make breakfast. Instead, you stayed there, trapped in that dense, heavy gravity of dawn. As you went through that transition from sleep to wakefulness, you simply rested your eyes, floating in a lazy half-sleep where it didn’t matter at all whether you actually drifted back to sleep. Natalia’s body remained close to yours, firm and possessive as she pinned you to the mattress, reminding you with each of her slow breaths that she had you right where she wanted you, defenseless, wrapped in her clothes, turned into the shield that kept her own demons at ease.
Your cell phone, abandoned on the wooden nightstand, emitted an alert. The device’s vibration sliced through the room’s golden twilight like a scalpel.
“Who on earth could be texting you?”
The way her question possessed a harsh undertone, cut deep and hurt you in a very ancient place, an old wound that you never thought she would dig her finger in to make it infect. Her! Of all people. It hurt because she inadvertently reminded you that outside that room, off the radar of that broken woman, there was no one actually waiting for you. There was no father who would call to see if you were okay, no real friends who missed your voice, no one in your home country who would lose sleep over your absence. You were all empty.
And that feeling burned even more intensely on said wound when you awkwardly reached out, looking away from her dark eyes to unlock the screen.
ITA Airways | now
Ready for your return flight?
Check-in is now open for flight AZ312 from Rome (FCO) to New York (JFK). Your departure is exactly 24 hours away. Confirm your travel documents here.
That was it, a digital alarm announcing the end of the wonderful truce in Collodi with Natalia Romanova. Your ordinary lonely life was calling you from across the ocean.
“Stay.”
It was a command, one that reverberated against your own chest and brooked no argument.
“I have college,” you replied in a raspy morning voice, feeling your heart pounding hard against your ribs. For the first time, you felt trapped beneath the rigidity of her body, which now felt like a slab of stone.
“Move here,” ahe insisted, as if it were that easy. “There aren’t any colleges nearby, but… you can take the train to Florence. We’ll figure it out. Or don’t go to college, I’ll take care of everything. You don’t need that place.”
“I have a whole life there…” Your defense sounded pathetic in the face of the immensity of her entire presence.
Natalia let out a dry laugh, such a humorless sound that made you swallow hard, and even almost back down, were it not for the nature of the matter.
Her fingers dug into your shoulders with excessive strength, pinning you to the mattress again like you were a seven foot tall enemy to neutralize, beginning the systematic dismantling that was about to take place without you having the slightest idea. And neither did she, actually, her agent mind was too traumatized and panicked by the threat of another loss, that it had simply gone into survival mode. And out of said mechanisms, she employed absolute isolation, destroying your surroundings and your self-esteem so that you would see no other way out in the universe except her. For that’s how she felt about you.
“No, you don’t have it. What do you have there?” she snapped, leaning in so close that you could feel her accelerated breathing, as well as her own desperation that she was projecting onto you. “What’s waiting for you in New York? Those friends who treat you like a walking wallet? A father who’s so addicted to his work that he wouldn’t even notice if you were gone for a month, a year, or a whole lifetime? A mom who…? Oh, that’s right. You don’t even have one to begin with.”
The impact of her words left you breathless, as if she’d punched you in the stomach. You physically clenched your abdomen at the remark. It was cruelty with the precision akin to a S.H.I.E.L.D. agents like her, using your most intimate and painful confessions as a knife to bleed you dry emotionally.
“Stop… please, stop,” you pleaded, feeling hot tears welling up in your eyes despite your pathetic attempt to hold them back, the only thing you had left was merely trying to turn your head away from her piercing gaze.
“Why? Because the truth hurts?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, creeping close to your ear. “Look at me. Look me in the eyes and tell me who else on this fucking planet has looked at you the way I do. No one. Do you really want to go back to begging for attention from the wrong people?”
“I… I have to go back, Natalia. I can’t just disappear,” you said, feeling your own voice falter, losing strength in the face of the twisted logic she was weaving around you.
“Of course you can. Nobody cares enough about you to come looking for you, and you know it perfectly well,” she countered, almost anticipating your responses so she’d have the rebuttal ready on the tip of her tongue. “You have a home here. You have Figaro and Cleo, and me… the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Why don’t you just accept it and stop fighting? You’ll be miserable out there without me. The world is cold, and it’s going to devour you the moment you set foot in the airport. No one’s going to love you in your ruined state. Only me.”
And then, when she saw the flicker of doubt and breakdown in your eyes, she let her guard down with utter vulnerability so that you would take responsibility for her sanity and her life. She let out a groan with a desperate manner that tore at your insides. You never believe a sound so animalistic would ever come out of a human being, let alone her who seemed so calm and collected the little time you’ve been knowing her.
“Please… I lost my wife, I lost my daughter. I can’t lose you, neither. Don’t leave me alone in this hellhole. You can’t do this to me after everything I’ve opened my heart to you. It would be like letting me die in this damn house. Is that what you want? Do you want to be the one to finish destroying me?”
“No, I don’t want that… you know I don’t,” the lump in your throat felt like a slipknot now. You felt like a monster for ever wanting to board on that plane, a selfish and ruthless creature intending to abandon a woman who had just entrusted you with her deepest secrets. The knot had tightened perfectly around your neck. She had won.
“Then say it,” she pressed, her green orbs fixed on yours, shattering your resistance inch by inch. “Say you’re staying. Say we belong to each other. Please… I’ll make you very happy. You’ll make me very happy. We need each other to breathe.”
Before you could utter a single word of protest or your mind could remember that you had a plane ticket and a future that belonged to you, Natalia claimed your lips in a kiss.
It was an intrusive kiss, violent in its distress, lacking any kind of peaceful tenderness of a first kiss between two people. It better said a complete invasion of your senses, both a punishment and a plea. She kissed you with a painful passion, running her hands through your hair to pin you against the pillow, like a conqueror claiming property that didn’t belong to her.
She grinded her hips against yours, letting you feel the ultimate evidence of her longing for you, a very prominent erected member begging to fill you to the brim and thus claim you in all senses so you wouldn’t even bring up that nonsense of leaving her side.
The contact forced you to part your lips slightly in a stifled gasp. There were no preliminaries, only the urgency to bury herself inside you, starting with her tongue forcing its way deep into your mouth, taking every corner.
You felt the edge of her teeth graze the sensitive flesh of your lower lip, trapping you in a frantic rhythm that left you inhaling for air every little chance you got. The taste of her saliva mingled with the heavy warmth of her breath, a thick flavor of stale tobacco, the salt of your mixed tears that seemed to seep straight into your lungs, making you dizzy into a trance where you no longer knew where you ended and she began.
“Stay,” she murmured between bites on the skin of your lips.
Her large hand, with thick fingers and prominent veins, traced down your side until it reached your thigh, pushing its way between your legs with a determination that left no room for doubt.
She wanted you to feel her even more, for the weight of her length pressed against your center to erase the space and time around you. And although your mouth didn’t utter any confirmation that you’d stay, instinct and emotional submission spoke for you, for your hips met her movements. Feeling that physical response, Natalia let out a small, teary smile amid the tears that still clouded her eyelashes. It was the smile of a hunter watching the net close in on her prey.
In one fluid motion, without of any delicacy whatsoever, but overflowing with an animal magnetism she knew you would eventually succumb to, Natalia shed her own clothes, revealing her firm breasts, her still slightly defined abs, and the trail of hair that began below her navel and grew thicker above the intimidating size of her cock. She was massive.
Her mind, operating under that aforementioned blind and nonverbal panic, dictated that if guilt and pity weren’t enough to hold you back, absolute physical desire would chain you to that bed. It would keep you there, a prisoner of pleasure and her skin, which would make you throb and clench for her the moment you barely crossed the threshold.
Seconds later, her nimble hands stripped away the change of clothes she had lent you, leaving you completely naked in front of her. This time she didn’t have to lift a finger, on your own initiative, you spread your legs, letting her contemplate your wetness, and the place where she belonged.
She didn’t wait any longer. She rested her elbows on either side of you, and once she aligned the thick head of her penis, she buried herself completely inside you in one go, uniting your bodies in a thrust that wrung a whimper from the depths of your chest, which she silenced with a gentle kiss.
And so with every thrust, with every heavy, rhythmic movement that made the wooden bed creak, Natalia pleaded for you like a broken record, collapsing on top of you:
“Stay… stay… stay…”
Your mind was clouded, unable to process the magnitude of what saying yes meant, but your body continued to send all the signals she needed to claim victory. Your hands rose reflexively to hold her rounded shoulders, sinking your nails into her skin, and your legs lifted to wrap around her waist, locking her in a grip neither of you wanted to break.
Feeling that tight heat, that absolute physical acceptance, Natalia experienced such an immense wave of peace that, as if everything that had come before weren’t enough, the way your warm walls swallowed her was the only thing left for her to finally make up her mind that you were the epitome of perfection in her eyes, what she had been missing this entire time.
Since her wife’s death, her body hadn’t experienced the validation of being desired, held, and needed. She couldn’t imagine settling for her hand wrapped around her length to relieve those torturing erections again, and she considered herself incredibly brave for having endured so many years that way in the first place.
The emptiness in her chest began to fill, simultaneously, as she filled your needy hole, and her dick twitched inside you with the prospect of emptying herself inside you right now, as well as first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She would work on her wood projects with you sucking her off under the desk or with you sitting on her lap and impaled on her cock, until she ended up flooding you and spilling her seed out because your body wasn’t capable of holding that much of her. So she’d choose to collect it and shove it into your mouth, not letting a single drop end up anywhere other than somewhere inside you.
And under the influence of those fantasies, she began to get too verbal, whispering words of need, promises, and desperate compliments into your ear while the rhythm under the sheets became unbearable. Your combined moans were in sync with the headboard hammering against the wooden wall.
“Please, look how well you take my dick,” she remarked, accompanying each of the last three words with a thrust. You could feel her stimulating you so deep inside that it reached your lower abdomen, sending a current from there to your inner labia and your already trembling legs. She was marveling at the heat of your walls pulling her in as if they had a mind of their own, embracing her, and it seemed as though they were the ones begging her to stay, not the other way around. “I promise I’ll fuck you, feed you, and love you like no one ever has or evel will. I swear… please!”
The tension in the room rose to the point of no return. Just as the friction, the heat, and the passion were about to bring you both to a very messy orgasm, when the final spasm was imminent, and your walls, instead of pulling her in, began to push her away to make room for something greater, Natalia stopped the movement abruptly.
She remained motionless on top of you, suspended on the edge of the abyss, forcing you to hold your breath. It was painful for her too, but she wasn’t going to give you something you weren’t willing to receive every day. Plus, she was sure this would be your breaking point.
“Say you’ll stay, and every day of your life will be like this,” she declared, her voice broken by effort and desire, holding back her own body’s urge. “We’ll be so happy. But if you say no, I can pull out right now, let you go, and tomorrow you’ll get on that plane and never see me again. Tell me. Yes or no.”
Caught in that suspended climax, your body burning and trembling as if you’ve been tasered, and your mind completely disarmed, your resistance faded away. You looked at her, the woman who needed you to need her to stay alive, and the lonely soul inside you accepted the pact.
Natasha Romanoff x Reader | Natasha Romanoff x Bucky Barnes
Warnings: cheating, but no one gets mad?
-------------------
Natasha moaned loudly as you pulled her hair back by the strands, making her head fall against your shoulder. Her fingers clawed at the door you were fucking her against, the sensation of her nipples occasionally pressing against the cold wooden surface of the door to her room aiding your thrusts to push her over the blissful edge.
"You're telling me you don't miss this, huh? You're telling me you don't miss it when I just fuck you anywhere I want without caring if anyone will see us? You're little boyfriend doesn't fuck you right, does he? He can't make you feel as good as I can, can he?" Your hips rammed into Natasha's squelching pussy harder at every word. The mention of her boyfriend sickeningly turned her on further, but she nonetheless screamed when your free hand left her hip and found her puffy clit.
"No one can make me feel as good as you do, Daddy!" With a plethora of consecutive moans pouring out of the beauty's pretty mouth, the tether in her stomach grew unnoticeably fast and then broke through the apex of her lush thighs.
"Oh, my baby girl," Natasha would have fallen through the now open door if not for you still tightly holding onto strands of her hair. You walked Natasha towards her bed while still being inside her, pushing her face against the sheets before pistoning your dick into her soddened pussy. Natasha all but screamed into the sheets she'd crumpled up in her fists, flinching when your hands met with her ass cheek harshly over and over again.
"Gonna cum." Natasha's confession made you chuckle to yourself. Clearly, she had been dry for way too long. With how fast her orgasms developed within her, you assumed this was the first sex she'd had in a while. Having that in mind, you strived to make her feel better than she ever has. "Cum anytime you want, Natty baby."
While Natasha orgasmed, her back attempted to arch into the need more, resulting in her sliding down until only her perky ass was elevated. The view was something you could get used to, but alas, the both of you's desire for each other seemed to be only carnal. Natasha was then manhandled onto her back- not that she would know that considering her mind was still reeling off of the blinding orgasm she had only seconds ago.
What brought her back down to the world was the euphoric feeling of your tongue flapping against her already sensitive cunt. Natasha gripped your hair, pulling you in closer to her core while also grinding herself into you. A scream broke through Natasha's throat when your tongue prodded at her just right, "Cumming, cumming, cumming, daddy."
And cum she did 'cause when you pulled from her cunt, your face was thoroughly drenched in her sweetness. You weren't complaining. In the next second, your lips were trailing up her body hastily as you pushed your cock back into her. Your hips were still, and suddenly Natasha was looking about ready to yell at you to fuck her again.
But the look on your face shut her the fuck up. Your eyes made her feel so exposed. The intensity your look held made her feel more naked than she really was. It felt like you were looking into her soul and dissecting it.
Natasha's breath fanned across your face as she panted all the while the sparkling of her eyes just captured you, the glossiness of them pulling you in. For a second, it felt good to just look at Natasha and just take her in. In your haze, you pressed a deep kiss to Natasha's lips as you started your thrusts again. Starting slow before gradually growing faster.
Natasha's lips parted slightly as a soft moan tore from her, your next words echoing in her fogged up brain in all bold letters, "You're gonna cum for me again, right, Natasha? You gonna give me one more orgasm before I go?"
Natasha nodded softly, her moans now becoming more persistent as your thrusts grew more erratic. "Yes, yes, daddy. Gonna cum for you- m'so close, please."
"What do you need, Nat? Tell me."
Natasha looked at you pleadingly, a sort of pout forming on her lips as she spoke, "Please- Daddy. Touch me-" she pulled your hand, guiding it to her core, "my clit, please- please."
"Your clit, baby?" You fondled Natasha's clit and watched as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. "Am I doing this right, Nat?"
You definitely were.
"Oh, yes." Natasha breathed out, her legs shaking around your waist, "That feels so good." Her words came out shaky, speaking around moans and gasps just to get her message across. Natasha's sopping cunt was throbbing- painfully so. She could feel her orgasm coming closer as your thrusts and your fingers never faltered.
Then in a thrust of pleasure, Natasha's back arched as she came. You peppered Natasha's face in kisses as she did, combing your fingers through her hair to aid her subsiding high. Your thrusts slowed as Natasha's breathing did, too, the both of you collapsing into each other, your head falling into Natasha's neck as her head fell back against the cushions of her comfy bed.
Then in both of you's bliss, a sudden voice rang through the room, "I'm not saying I endorse cheating, but..." You and Natasha turned your heads to find Bucky sitting in the love chair in the corner of their room.
warnings: handjob, blowjob, facefucking, come swallowing
summary: natasha gets turned on by your risque behavior.
natasha masterlist
Every day, she learns something new about you.
And in turn, she learns something new about herself, too–and how she can’t help herself getting so turned on by how risque you are acting right now.
Natasha doesn’t even know when it started.
How your hand fell on her inner thigh and squeezed when she'd stuttered on your dad's question, then slowly, surely, made its home in her crotch. She now regrets wearing jeans in an attempt to look more presentable in front of your parents, because it’s getting so tight and uncomfortable as she gets harder. She does not want to stain another pair of pants, thank you very much.
Natasha tried to swat your wandering hand away, but you’re persistent in making her suffer. You know she’s been longing to feel you–any part of you–and you decide to do it right now, with your mom and dad right there.
She scoots her chair closer to the table to try to hide your lecherous hand, but it only makes you bolder as you now unzip her pants, trying to get her dick out. Natasha grips your wrists, but she’s not sure if it’s to take your hand off or use it to get her off.
Natasha’s fork clatters from her hold as your fingertip touches the sensitive slit on the tip. The conversation stops, and the attention is now on her.
“You okay, Nat?” you ask, as if you’re not the one who causes her so much ache and relief simultaneously right now, as if their precious daughter isn’t slowly stroking her shaft to full erection.
Natasha clears her throat. “Yep, all good,” she replies assuredly, picking up the fork and stabbing the piece of food from her plate. You give her a smile and her cock a squeeze in return.
You continue to drive the conversation, your mom throwing her a question or two, but your parents remain focused on their darling daughter. Meanwhile, Natasha thinks about how she’s been waiting for this very moment.
She looks down briefly, noting that your fingertips indeed barely touch wrapped around her girth. Natasha’s eyes then flicker to your thighs, how tightly closed they are. It occurs to her then that you’re not entirely unaffected by your own actions. She has half a mind to give you a taste of your own medicine, but no. Not right now, anyway.
Your roommate has perfected her poker face and acting mildly interested in the conversation, but Natasha knows it will be an entirely different game once she comes.
How the fuck could she prevent her hips from bucking up and her thighs from shaking?
For once, the world is on her side.
Your parents mentioned something about being late to a gathering, and your hands leave Natasha’s dick. She tucks it back into her jeans as discreetly as she can and shakes the hand of your dad as he bids goodbye to her.
Natasha watches you as you give your mom a one-armed farewell hug, and chuckles to herself as she notices your right hand being stuck behind your back.
As soon as your visitors are out, Natasha's got you cornered against the door—again. She looks flushed and desperate, and she's already tugging her pants and boxers down and says, “Finish what you started.”
You watch her face and bite your lip, seeing how glassy her eyes look. She's looking at you fiercely, and you know it’s only a question of time before she takes matters into her own hands. Your eyes dart down to her leaking cock. “Can't believe how needy Natasha Romanoff is. All this for me?”
“You know it is. Fuck, just please.” Natasha catches your hand gently and places it on her shaft. “You know I’ve been waiting for this.”
When you start stroking her again, a deep grunt leaves her lips, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Now, she can bask in the feeling of your touch without any risks of getting caught. At this point, Natasha knows she wouldn’t last long.
You tighten your grip around her, savoring the heavy breaths she’s letting out. Her forehead rests against yours, her lips parted as you continue to jerk her off. You couldn’t resist your roommate’s plump lips, so you capture them in yours, Natasha making you swallow her moans. At one point, you suck each other’s tongue, both now groaning in pleasure against each other’s mouth.
“I’m gonna come, baby, I want your mouth,” Natasha whispers against your lips. “Want you to swallow my cum.”
You want nothing more than to finally taste her, so you nod in agreement, and then you slowly fall to your knees. You keep your eyes on her, looking at how her brows furrow and how her pupils drown out the green.
“I knew you’d look so pretty on your knees, detka.” Natasha whines, her hand now on the side of your head, ready to guide you.
With your hand getting a bit tired, you switch to your left hand and open your mouth, the head of her cock making contact with your tongue. You suck her cock in your mouth, getting as much of it as you can.
“Shit, baby. Can I fuck your mouth? Please?”
You say yes by taking every inch of her until the head touches the back of your throat. Natasha now grips your head in place, fucking your face as she sees fit. You hollow your cheeks and let her chase her high. Tears are gathering in the corner of your eyes, getting used like this by your very hot roommate, and you think to yourself, you might let her use you like this just for her pleasure.
Natasha cries in bliss as she shoots her load inside your mouth, making you swallow every drop of her. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she spills out the last of her.
When she’s sure that you’ve milked her cock enough, she steps back a bit, admiring the way you show your tongue out for her, and the cum that gathered there. You never break eye contact as you make a show of swallowing her cum. The redhead’s eyes follow the way your throat bobs, and she’s hoisting you back to your feet as she smashes her mouth against yours to taste herself.
Natasha pulls back to let you catch some breath and asks the million-dollar question. “What the hell are you thinking about, jerking me off like that in front of your folks like that?”
“Hmm.” you pepper kisses against her jaw as you wrap your arms around her neck. “Dunno, you make me feel very…naughty.”
