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Prompt: Track Runner Reader x Beefy Coach Natasha Romanoff
Warnings: Smut Ahead. Oral (reader receiving). Just establishing the plot.
Word Count: 7.9K Words.
The stadium lights buzzed overhead like angry hornets as you pushed through yet another set of 400-meter repeats. Your lungs were burning and your thighs were screaming. The track was still damp from an earlier rain, and every footfall sent cold spray up your calves. You were the only one left on the track. Everyone else had been dismissed about thirty minutes ago.
"Again!" Natasha Romanoff snapped from the sidelines.
Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her red hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, the wind whipping loose strands across her sharp cheekbones. Even in a simple black windbreaker and leggings, she looked completely untouchable.
"Pick up your knees. You're running like you're afraid of the ground. Don't be pathetic." You gritted your teeth and drove harder on the next rep, arms pumping, curls swinging against your shoulders. You should have tied it into a bun earlier, but when Romanoff said she wanted to speak to you, you didn't expect to still be running laps like a crazy woman.
Sweat stung your eyes. Your skin was practically glistening under the floodlights. Mahogany against moonlight. You'd come to this university on a partial athletic scholarship, determined to make something of yourself. In high school, you were the best track runner there was. You had broken your school record a couple of times and that was just when you were sixteen. But now at twenty, in university, you were no longer on the receiving end of the spotlight because Coach Romanoff had other plans. She'd been riding you since day one. Extra drills. Snide comments about your form. Public corrections that made the rest of the team glance away uncomfortably. At first you thought it was just tough love. Now you weren't so sure.
You crossed the line and bent over, hands on your knees, gasping for air.
"You run like a girl." she mumbled disapprovingly after you'd reached the finish line,Β almost collapsing onto the ground
"I am a girl." It came out breathlessly.
"I thought you wanted to qualify for regionals. You're six seconds slower than last week." Natasha said, checking her stopwatch. Her voice was flat, cold.
"At this rate you'll be warming the bench for conference. Maybe you should stick to intramurals." You straightened up slowly, chest still heaving.
"I ran a personal best two days ago and you know it." Her green eyes flicked over you, taking in the rise and fall of your sports bra, the way your compression shorts clung to your thick thighs, the defiant tilt of your chin. For a second something unreadable flashed across her face. Then it was gone.
"Personal best means nothing if you fold under pressure. Now you either run again or I bench you for the entire season, your choice." You wanted to tell her to fuck off. You wanted to walk away. Instead you lined up and ran. Fuck her.
β-
The feeling of the hot water running down your back managed to calm the burning ache in your body. You stood underneath there for almost ten minutes just to calm your muscles. But for some odd reason, you felt an ache elsewhere that you didn't want to believe.
When Natasha had pulled you aside to correct your form, she'd pressed down onto your stomach, hard. The feeling of her warm hand on your skin seemed to make your skin prick while it sent an unwanted thrill down your body. When she removed her hand, you still felt the warmth even though it started raining.
You hit your fist against the shower wall, frustration mixed with unwanted arousal lingering inside of your body. Your mind now filled with thoughts of your Coach. Her voice, her fingers, her lips, her back, her legs. Everything. The one thing you were good at doing, was hating Natasha Romanoff but right now, even that seemed to fail.
You switched the water off before getting out of the shower and reaching for your towel. Afterwards you stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You could see the bags under your eyes from sleepless nights, your toned arms and stomach from hard work but still, the feeling of Natasha pressing her arm against your back, or when she placed both arms on your waist to better your form and stride, was the only thing you could focus on. You huffed in annoyance before walking out of your bathroom and into your bedroom.
β-
The track was still wet from overnight rain. Most of the team had already been sent home after the main session, but you were still out there. Natasha had kept you behind. Again.
"Again!" She snapped, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice was ice cold.
"That was pathetic. You looked like a fucking amateur on that last 300." You stood bent over, hands on your knees, chest heaving, sweat dripping from your curls onto the track. Your legs burned. This was your eighth repeat and she still wasn't satisfied.
"I hit my split-" You started.
"I don't care what your split was." Natasha cut you off sharply.
"Your form fell apart in the last 80. You're lifting your knees like you're running through mud. Lazy. Soft."
She walked closer, her knee making her gait slightly uneven. Even with the slight limp, she looked intimidating.
"You want to be great?" She continued, voice dripping with bitterness.
"Then stop running like you're scared of the pain. I've seen high school girls with better finishing drive than that." The words stung. You straightened up, jaw clenched, glaring at her.
"I ran a personal best last meet and you're still treating me like shit!" You shot back.
"What the hell do you want from me?" Natasha's green eyes flashed with something dark.
"I want you to stop wasting your talent." She said, stepping right into your space.
"You have the raw tools, the power in those legs, the speed, but you're mentally weak. You fold when it gets hard. Just like half the girls I've coached who thought they were special." She looked you up and down slowly, almost disgusted.
"And the way you prance around this track in those tight shorts like you own the place... it pisses me off. You think you're hot shit? You're not. Not yet." Your hands curled into fists at your sides. Part of you wanted to scream at her. Another part , a darker, more confusing part, felt heat low in your stomach at the intensity of her attention.
"I fucking hate you." You whispered before you could stop yourself. Natasha's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes.
"Good." She said coldly.
"Use it. Channel that hate into the next rep. I want to see you run like you're trying to prove me wrong." She stepped back and gestured to the starting line.
"Again. Full effort. Or you can pack your shit and quit." You lined up, anger and something else burning in your chest. When the beep sounded, you exploded forward harder than you had all morning, legs pumping with pure fury.
Natasha watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, her face unreadable. But her eyes never, not even for one second, left your body.
β-
After the session, you were cooling down when she approached again.
"Better." She said flatly.
"Still not good enough, but better." She paused, then added in a lower voice.
"You're improving. Slowly. But if you ever talk back to me like that in front of the team, I'll make your life hell. Understood?" You met her stare, breathing still heavy.
"Yes, Coach." Natasha held your gaze a second too long. The air between you crackled with resentment, frustration... and something dangerously close to hunger. She turned and walked away without another word, her limp more noticeable after standing on the track for so long. You watched her go, fists still clenched. You hated her.
β-
The rain had started again, light but steady. You were drenched, exhausted, and furious.
This was your eighth 300m repeat. Your legs felt like concrete. Natasha had been tearing into you nonstop for the last forty minutes, and you'd finally reached your breaking point.
"You're still hesitating!" Natasha shouted from the sidelines.
"Stop being so fucking soft! Drive through the damn curve!"
You crossed the line and immediately turned on her, chest heaving, rain mixing with sweat on your dark skin.
"I am driving!" You yelled back, voice cracking with exhaustion and rage.
"I just ran a 38.2 split and you're still not happy? What the hell is wrong with you?!" Natasha stalked toward you, eyes blazing.
"What's wrong with me? I'm trying to make you into something worth watching. You have all this talent and you waste it all with that weak mentality-"
"Maybe if you think you're such a perfect fucking coach, you should run it!" You snapped, the words flying out before you could stop them.
"Since you know everything so well, why don't you get out here and show me how it's done instead of standing on the sidelines like a bitter has-been?" The second the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Natasha froze mid step.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the rain seemed to quiet down. You watched the color drain from her face. Her jaw clenched so hard you thought it might actually break. Her hand instinctively twitched toward her scarred right knee before she caught herself. For a moment, something raw and painful flashed across her usually stoic expression, like you had just reached into her chest with a knife and twisted it. She took one slow step back.
"Get off my track." She said, voice dangerously quiet.
"Now."
"Coach, I didn't-"
"I said get off my fucking track." Her voice cracked on the last word. You stood there, rain pouring down your curls, horror settling heavy in your stomach. You hadn't meant it. You were just angry. But you knew exactly where you'd hit her.
Natasha turned away from you, limping slightly more than usual as she walked toward the equipment shed. Her shoulders were rigid, like she was barely holding herself together. You took a shaky step after her.
"Natasha.."
"Don't." She didn't even look back.
"Go home. We're done for today." She disappeared into the shed without another word.
You stood alone on the wet track for a long time, rain soaking through your clothes, guilt eating you alive. You had never seen her look that hurt before. You waited for nearly two hours in the rain before she finally emerged from the building. Natasha had changed into dry clothes, but her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked exhausted. When she saw you standing there, soaked and miserable, she stopped. You stepped forward carefully.
"I didn't mean it." You said, voice thick.
"I was angry and tired and I... I lashed out. I know what your knee means to you. I'm sorry."
Natasha stared at you for a long moment. The bitterness was back in full force, but underneath it was something deeper. Hurt. Vulnerability.
"You think I don't know I'm broken?" she said quietly, voice rough.
"You think I don't remember every single day what I lost? I live with it every time I stand on the sidelines watching you run." She took a shaky breath.
"I push you because I see what you could be. What I could have been. And you throw that in my face?"
"I'm sorry." You whispered again, stepping closer.
"I really am." Natasha looked away, jaw tight.
"Go home, y/n." She started walking toward the parking lot. Her limp was more noticeable tonight. But after a few steps, she paused.
Without turning around, she said softly...
"Tomorrow. 6 AM. Don't be late." Then she kept walking. You stood there in the rain, watching her go, heart aching with guilt... and something else. Something that felt dangerously close to longing.
β-
The track was still damp. The sky was gray and heavy. You showed up early, nerves twisting in your stomach. Natasha was already there. She stood near the starting line in her usual black windbreaker, arms crossed, face unreadable. Her red ponytail whipped in the cold morning wind. She didn't acknowledge you at first. Just stared at her stopwatch like it had personally offended her.
You approached slowly.
"Coach... about yesterday..."
"Warm up." She cut you off sharply.
"Four laps easy. Then we start." Her voice was colder than you'd ever heard it. Professional. Distant. Like she'd built an entire wall overnight. You swallowed the guilt and started your warm up. Every stride felt heavier than usual. When you finished and jogged back, Natasha was waiting with a set of cones already placed on the track.
"Today we're doing broken 400s." She said flatly. "150 hard, 100 recovery jog, 150 hard. Six sets. I want perfect form. No excuses." You nodded. The first set was brutal. She watched you like a hawk, correcting every tiny mistake with biting precision.
"Arms higher. Stop swinging them like that."
"Knees up. You're dragging your feet."
"Drive. Stop being lazy."
Each correction felt sharper than usual. There was no teasing, no lingering looks. Just cold, professional cruelty. By the fourth set, your legs were screaming. You crossed the line on the second 150 and bent over, gasping. Natasha walked up slowly. She stopped a few feet away.
"You're tightening up again." She said, voice flat.
"Same problem as yesterday. You fold when it hurts." You straightened up, breathing hard, and met her eyes.
"I said I was sorry," you said quietly.
I didn't mean what I said about your leg." Natasha's jaw flexed. For a moment, something painful flickered across her face before she locked it down again.
"I don't care if you're sorry." she replied coldly. "You said it. You meant it in the moment. That's what matters." She stepped closer, voice dropping.
"You want to know why I push you so hard?" Her green eyes were intense.
"Because I see myself in you. The talent. The fire. The potential. And every time you waste it, every time you complain or talk back... it reminds me that I'd give anything to still be able to run like you do." She looked down at your powerful legs, then back up to your face.
"So run. Or don't. But don't ever throw my injury in my face ever again." The silence between you was heavy. You nodded, throat tight.
"Yes, Coach." Natasha held your gaze for another second, long enough for you to see the storm behind her eyes,Β before she stepped back.
"Again."
The rest of the session was miserable.
She rode you harder than she ever had. Extra reps. Constant corrections. Public humiliation in front of the few early arrivals who showed up. By the end, you were soaked in sweat and fighting back tears of exhaustion and guilt. When she finally dismissed the group, she kept you behind once more. You stood in front of her, legs trembling. Natasha looked at you for a long moment. The cold mask cracked just slightly.
"Go ice your legs." she said, quieter now.
"And drink something. You pushed hard today."
You hesitated.
"I really am sorry." you whispered. She exhaled slowly through her nose.
"I know." She turned and started walking away, limp more pronounced after the long morning on her feet.
But before she got too far, she paused.
"Film room tomorrow night," she said without turning around.
"We still have strategy to work on." Then she left you standing there, sore, guilty, and more confused about your feelings for her than ever. You went back to your dorm and spent the night crying. You don't know why. It just happened.
The tension between you was now unbearable.
And it was only getting worse.
β-
The next day at practice, you showed up on time, earbuds in, head down. No attitude. No backtalk. No fire. You did exactly what Natasha asked and nothing more or nothing less. When she corrected your form, you adjusted without a word. When she told you to run another set, you lined up silently and ran it hard. But you wouldn't look at her. Not once. Your eyes stayed on the track, on your shoes, on the cones ...anywhere but her face.
Natasha noticed immediately. By the third rep, her voice had sharpened.
"Y/n. Eyes up when I'm talking to you." You briefly lifted your gaze to her chest, then looked away again. No defiance. Just quiet, heavy guilt. She hated it. But she still made you run nonetheless.
"Again!" Natasha barked after you finished a 400m time trial.
"You slowed on the final straight. Fix it." You nodded once, still not looking at her, and jogged back to the line without argument. No eye contact. No snappy comeback. Just obedient silence. Natasha's jaw clenched tighter with every lap. After the sixth rep, when you crossed the line and immediately started your recovery jog without waiting for feedback, she finally snapped.
"Stop." You slowed to a walk but kept your eyes on the ground. Natasha walked over, stopping right in front of you. She was breathing harder than usual, frustration rolling off her in waves.
"Look at me." She demanded. You didn't.
"Y/n." You finally lifted your eyes, but only to her collarbone. The guilt was written all over your face. Natasha stared at you for a long moment. The silence stretched uncomfortably.
"You think ignoring me makes it better?" She said, voice low.
"You think shutting down like this is going to fix what you said yesterday?" You swallowed hard but stayed quiet. She stepped closer, voice dropping even more.
"I'd rather you yell at me than this. At least when you're angry, you're present. Right now you're just... empty. And it's pissing me off." Still, you said nothing. You just stared at the ground again, shoulders slightly slumped. Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose. She ran a hand over her ponytail, clearly battling with herself.
After a long pause, she spoke again, quieter this time.
"Go cool down. Ice your legs when you get home." You nodded once and turned to leave.
Before you could take more than two steps, Natasha's voice stopped you.
"Y/n." You paused. She hesitated, like the words were physically painful to say.
"I know you didn't mean it." She said stiffly.
"But it still hurt. Don't... don't do this silent treatment shit. It's worse." You finally looked at her, really looked. For a brief second, the guilt in your eyes met the complicated storm in hers (anger, hurt, frustration... and something softer underneath).
Then you nodded again and walked away toward the locker room. Natasha stood there watching you go, fists clenched at her sides. She hated how much your silence bothered her. She hated how much she wanted you to look at her again.
Later that afternoon, you were stretching alone in the corner of the weight room when Natasha walked in. She stopped a few feet away.
"You're still avoiding me." she stated. You kept stretching, eyes on your quad.
"I'm doing what you asked." You said quietly. "Running. Fixing my form. No arguing." Natasha took another step closer.
"I don't want a robot on my track."Β She said.
"I want you. Even if you're pissed at me." You finally looked up at her. The guilt was still heavy in your expression.
"I hurt you." You said simply.
"I didn't know how else to... not make it worse. Natasha's jaw flexed. She looked like she wanted to say something more, but instead she just stared at you for a long moment , eyes tracing your face, your shoulders, your powerful legs.
Then she turned and walked out without another word. But the tension between you had only grown thicker. And Natasha was clearly not done with you yet.
β-
"The last curve was awful. You're lacking." Natasha commented while other girls came back from their own laps.
"You gonna give them some criticism or just me?" You bite back, sweat running down your forehead before you wipe it away. Natasha blows her whistle directly into your face.
"Again." You sigh in frustration before your feet move on their own accord. Natasha's been more harsher on the girls these days. You all know it was because the regionals were in two months but really you felt like she was overdoing it. You didn't complain or speak much because you still felt bad for throwing that comment a week ago. But her behavior was worse. Especially when it came to you, and the other girls saw it too.
They were used to it all. The bickering between you and Natasha, how she made you work ten times harder, her harsh criticism and all the other stuff. At first they thought it was tough love too, that maybe Natasha saw something in you but then it got worse and well, really it wasn't in their place to say anything. Rather it be you the them. Natasha blew the last whistle, signaling that practice was done for the day. But when she motioned for you to stay, you groaned in annoyance. What more does she want from me!?
Your steps were slow as you moved towards the benches. You were dreading whatever she had planned for you, and watching all the girls take off their running shoes to replace them for crocs or Birkenstocks wasn't really helping your case. You could feel a blister coming in on your foot soon.
"Cone duty. Then we meet to strategize." Natasha stated, picking up and placing her clipboard underneath her arm.
"Can't you ever say please?" Natasha ignores you, but something in her stance changes. You see the way her leg subtly twitches before she turns around, like she's hiding it. It's probably her bad knee. You look away before she catches you staring at her.
The thing is, Natasha was a good athlete. Actually good wasn't even the word to describe her. But she was the best in Russia, impeccable even. After making her way to the top and getting various scouts interested in her, she made a name for herself. Speed, agility and diligence, that's what she had.
She'd won medals, trophies and even got top sponsors to sponsor her university in hopes that she'd eventually part from the university and become one of their own sponsored athlete. It was all going well for Natasha until the unfortunate incident. It happened when she was nineteen years old, during the Russian Olympic Trials in Moscow.
She was running the 400m hurdles final, one of the top prospects in the country, expected to make the Olympic team and potentially contend for a medal. She was dominating the race, running with perfect rhythm and aggressive power that only she seemed to have.
On hurdle seven, she took off a fraction too early. Her trail leg (right leg) clipped the top of the hurdle. It wasn't a clean clip, it was bad. Her body twisted awkwardly in the air, and when she landed, her right knee buckled sideways under the full force of her momentum. The injury was catastrophic. Complete tear of the ACL, severe tear of the MCL, shredded meniscus and significant damage to the surrounding cartilage and ligaments.
Natasha heard the pop herself. It was loud enough to cut through the roar of the crowd. She collapsed on the track in agony, clutching her knee and screaming. The stadium went dead silent as medics rushed out. That single moment ended her elite running career.
She underwent three surgeries over the next two years. The Russian athletic federation basically abandoned her once it became clear she'd never return to world-class level. She went from being a golden girl, destined for the Olympics, to a bitter, washed up coach. At least that's the story you heard.
When the cones were finally in their bag, Natasha cocked her head over to the Film Room which was also known as the Tactic Room in the athletics department. You both walked in silence, only because you had no idea what to say to her and the thought of speaking right now didn't seem very possible.
When you reached the building, Natasha pulled out her key to unlock the door. The film room was a small, dimly lit room with a large projector screen, a long desk, a few chairs, and a whiteboard. The walls were covered with old race photos, national championship banners, and dry erase boards with strategy notes. The room was rarely used late at night, which made it the perfect private space for Natasha to do one on one sessions with you.
"Close the door." She mumbled and you did so before plopping yourself down on the seats. The small film room smelled like stale coffee and rubber flooring. The only light came from the projector that was now casting a blue glow across the walls lined with old race photos and dry-erase boards covered in race splits.
This was the third time this week that Natasha kept you over. "Strategizing" is what she called it. You were both leaning over the long desk, shoulders nearly touching, as she paused and replayed the same 15-second clip of you running the curve during last weekend's meet.
"Watch." Natasha said, her voice low and focused. She pointed at the screen with a pen.
"Right here. You're standing up too early out of the turn. You lose power every time you do that. Your drive phase shortens and you start floating instead of attacking." You tried to focus on the footage, but it was getting harder with every session. Natasha stood so close you could smell her. Sharp citrus, clean sweat, and something uniquely her. Her red hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, a few strands loose against her sharp cheekbones.
"I thought I was staying low." You muttered, glancing at her.
"You're not low enough." She reached over and adjusted the frame. Her arm brushed against your breast for half a second. Neither of you acknowledged it, but you felt the contact like electricity.
Natasha cleared her throat and continued.
"In the 400, the third 100 is where races are won or lost. You have the raw speed, but your rhythm breaks on the curve. You hesitate. You think too much." You turned your head to look at her.
She was already looking at you. For a moment, the race footage kept playing in the background, but both of you had stopped watching it. Her green eyes flicked down to your mouth for a split second before snapping back up. Your breathing had grown slightly ragged.
"I... I'll work on it." You said quietly.
Natasha's jaw flexed. She leaned in a little closer under the pretense of pointing something else out on the screen. Her hip brushed against yours.
"You have the talent to be elite, Y/n. But you're still soft. Still doubting yourself mid race." Her voice dropped.
"I hate watching you waste what I lost." The air felt thicker. You could feel heat radiating off her body. You swallowed hard, realizing with sudden clarity that the fluttering in your stomach wasn't just nerves about the upcoming meet. You were attracted to her. To your cold, bitter, extremely hot coach who pushed you harder than anyone ever had. And the way she was looking at you right now... you were almost sure she felt it too.
"Is that why you hate me?" You asked softly and Natasha's face morphed into a look of shock and something you didn't want to name.
"I don't hate you. I hate that you're lazy." She licked her lips before continuing.
"You've got talent that I haven't see in all my years of coaching, and instead of bettering it, you're playing with it. You could go so fucking far, that's why I push you." The tension in the room heightened, you were certain that if you leaned a fraction closer, her lips would touch yours.
Natasha straightened up slightly, but didn't step away. Her eyes trailed down your body for a moment, lingering on your sports bra, your toned stomach, the powerful lines of your thighs in your compression shorts, before she caught herself. She turned back to the screen, gripping the edge of the desk a little too tightly.
"Next week I want you running the curve ten times after practice. I'll film you myself. We're going to fix this before conference."
"Yes, Coach," you whispered. She glanced at you again. The tension was so thick it felt suffocating.
For a second, it looked like she might say something else. Something real. Instead, she stepped back, putting some much-needed distance between you.
"Go home and rest," she said, voice rougher than usual.
"And stop looking at me like that." You blinked.
"Like what?" Natasha's eyes darkened. She didn't answer. She just stared at you for another long, heavy second before turning off the projector.
"Dismissed." You grabbed your bag slowly, legs feeling unsteady.
As you reached the door, you looked back. Natasha was still standing at the desk, watching you leave with an unreadable expression. Hungry, frustrated, and conflicted all at once. You closed the door behind you, heart racing. Something had shifted tonight. And you both knew it.
β-
The tension didn't fade. If anything, it got worse.
The next night, Natasha kept you late again. This time the film room felt even smaller. The projector was off. The only light came from a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. You were sitting on the edge of the desk while Natasha stood between your slightly spread legs, reviewing handwritten notes on your race strategy. Close. Too close.
"We need to talk about your finishing kick." She said, voice lower than usual.
"You have the speed, but you're still afraid to hurt. You hold back when it matters most." Her eyes flicked up from the paper to your face. Then slowly down your body. Over your sports bra, the curve of your waist, and the powerful thighs on either side of her. You felt your breathing change again. Shallower. Heavier.
"I'm not afraid." You replied, barely above a whisper. Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"No?" She placed one hand on the desk beside your hip, leaning in. The scent of her filled your lungs.
Her other hand rested lightly on your quad, not quite a coach's touch anymore. Her thumb brushed slowly across the muscle.
"You hesitate on the straight because you're scared of the pain." She murmured.
"Just like you're hesitating right now." Your heart hammered against your ribs. The room felt ten degrees hotter.
"I'm not hesitating." You said, staring at her lips.
Natasha's jaw tightened. Her fingers flexed on your thigh, digging in just enough for you to feel it. Her eyes dropped to your mouth again, then back up.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me." She said, almost like a warning.
"Every practice. Every time these legs move on my track. Every time you look at me like that. You swallowed hard.
"Like what, Coach?" Natasha let out a shaky breath. Her hand slid higher up your thigh, stopping just under the hem of your shorts. So close.
"Like you want me to ruin you." She whispered. The silence stretched. Heavy. Dangerous.
You could feel the heat between your legs. The way your body was responding to her touch, her voice, her proximity. Natasha's breathing had grown ragged too. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown. For a moment, it felt like she might close the gap. Like she might finally kiss you.
Instead, she pulled her hand away like she'd been burned and stepped back.
"Fuck." She muttered under her breath, running a hand through her ponytail.
"Go home, Y/N." You didn't move right away. Your legs felt weak.
"Coach..."
"Tomorrow." She said, cutting you off. Her voice was strained.
"We'll finish this discussion tomorrow. After practice." You slid off the desk slowly. Your body was buzzing. When you reached the door, you looked back.
Natasha was gripping the edge of the desk with both hands, head slightly bowed, like she was physically holding herself back. You left before either of you did something you couldn't take back. But you both knew the truth. It was only a matter of time.
β-
The tension had only gotten worse. You barely slept the night before. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Natasha's darkened eyes and felt her hand sliding up your thigh. When you walked into the film room the next evening, the air felt charged, like the moment before a storm. Natasha was already there. She stood at the desk in a black long sleeve top and leggings, arms crossed, staring at the paused footage on the screen. The moment you closed the door behind you, she looked over.
"Sit." She said, voice rough. You sat on the edge of the desk like last time. Natasha positioned herself between your legs again,Β closer than necessary, too close to be just Coach and prodigy. The projector light flickered across her sharp features.
"We're going over your last two races." She said, but her tone made it clear the footage was secondary.
We're going over your last two races," she said, but her tone made it clear the footage was secondary. She hit play. The video showed you powering through the final straight. Natasha pointed things out, but her voice was lower than usual.
"Your hips drop here." She murmured, leaning in so her chest nearly brushed your shoulder.
"You lose power because you're not staying tall through the drive." Her hand rested on the desk beside your hip. Then slowly, deliberately, her other hand settled on your quad again. Higher than last time. Her thumb stroked the bare skin just under the hem of your shorts. Your breathing picked up immediately.
"You're doing it again." Natasha said quietly, eyes still on the screen even though neither of you was really watching anymore.
"Looking at me like you want something you shouldn't." You swallowed.
"I'm not the only one." You whispered. Natasha's jaw flexed. Her fingers tightened on your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you inhale sharply. She finally turned her head to look at you. The hunger in her eyes was unmistakable now.
"You have no idea how badly I want to bend you over this desk." She said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Every single night I think about it. About shutting that smart mouth up. About seeing how wet you get when I'm mean to you." Your thighs pressed together instinctively. Natasha noticed.
Her hand slid higher, fingertips slipping just under your shorts. She stopped right at the edge of your bare pussy then pulled her hand away. You let out a soft whine.Β She noticed.
"No panties?" She asked, you tilted your head to the side.
"Did you feel em?" Natashas mouth parted, her green eyes were locked on yours, dark and burning. She finally broke the silence, voice low and rough.
"How wet are you right now?" Your breath caught in your throat. The question sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. You held her gaze, heart pounding.
"I don't think you want to know the answer to that question Coach." Natasha's eyes darkened further. Her fingers flexed on your thigh.
"Tell me." The command hung in the air.
Without breaking eye contact, you slowly slid your right hand into your shorts. No barrier from your panties underneath. The moment your fingers touched your soaked folds, the wet, obscene sound echoed clearly in the quiet room.
Schlick... schlick... schlick...
You pushed two fingers inside yourself, slowly pumping them in and out. The sloppy, wet noises were unmistakable. Your breathing grew heavier, lips parting as your eyes fluttered half closed. You fucked yourself deliberately, letting her hear exactly how drenched you were, all for her.
Natasha watched with rapt attention, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling faster. Her hand tightened almost painfully on your thigh.
You kept going, fingers moving faster, the slick sounds growing louder and messier. A soft moan slipped from your lips as you curled your fingers inside yourself.
Right when you were getting close, you pulled your hand out. Your fingers were glistening, strands of your arousal stretching between them. You held them up between you and Natasha, breathing hard.
"That's how wet I am." You whispered, voice husky.
"Coach." Natasha stared at your dripping fingers like a woman starved.
For half a second, she looked like she was fighting herself. Then she lost. She grabbed your wrist and brought your soaked fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean with a deep, guttural moan. Her tongue swirled greedily around them, tasting every drop of you while her eyes stayed locked on yours.
"Fuck." she groaned, voice wrecked.
"You taste so fucking good, even better than I imagined." She pulled your fingers out with a wet pop, then suddenly grabbed your hips and yanked you forward on the desk. In one rough motion, she ripped your shorts down your legs and dropped to her knees.
The moment her mouth latched onto your pussy, you cried out. Natasha devoured you like she'd been dying for it for month, tongue dragging through your folds, sucking hard on your clit, two fingers pushing deep inside you instantly.
"So wet." She growled against your cunt, pumping her fingers fast.
"You've been walking around my track this soaked for me?" You moaned loudly, one hand flying to her red hair as your powerful thighs trembled around her head.
"Fucking slut, walking around my track with this bare pussy hanging out. Wanted me to see your pussy so bad huh." Natasha slapped your pussy then ate you out with raw hunger, fingers curling viciously inside you while her tongue worked your clit. She was done holding back.
She ate you like she was angry at you. Like she was punishing you for making her want this so badly. Her tongue was relentless, licking broad and messy through your folds before flicking rapidly against your swollen clit. She sucked your clit into her mouth hard, then released it with a wet pop, only to do it again. Two of her fingers pushed deep inside you without warning, curling instantly against your g-spot as she fucked you with them.
The sounds were borderline filthy. Wet, obscene slurping and sucking mixed with the slick plunge of her fingers. Natasha groaned loudly against your cunt, the vibration shooting straight through you.
"So fucking wet." She growled, voice muffled as she licked you sloppily.
"You've been hiding this pretty dripping pussy from me for months?" She sucked hard on your clit again, fingers pumping faster, deeper. Your powerful thighs started shaking on either side of her head. You gripped her red ponytail tightly, hips rolling against her face.
Natasha pulled back just enough to look up at you, her chin and lips shiny with your arousal, eyes dark with lust.
"Look at me while I eat you y/n." She ordered.
You forced your eyes down. The sight of Natasha Romanoff,Β your cold, intimidating coach, on her knees with her face buried between your dark thighs was almost too much. She held eye contact as she flattened her tongue and licked you in long, slow strokes from your entrance up to your clit, then sucked hard again. Her fingers never stopped moving at all, just curling, thrusting, stroking that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.
"You taste so good." she moaned against your pussy, licking messily.
"So sweet and sloppy for me. This is what you get when you tease your coach." She slapped your pussy again then added a third finger, stretching you open as she sucked relentlessly on your clit. Her free hand gripped your thick quad hard, fingers digging into the dense muscle to hold you in place while she feasted. Your moans grew louder, more desperate like a fucking bitch in heat. Your hips bucked against her face. Natasha didn't let up, she fucked you with her fingers and worshipped your clit with her tongue, alternating between fast flicks and long, dirty licks.
When you started clenching around her fingers, close to the edge, she pulled back slightly and looked up again.
"Don't you dare come yet." She warned, voice husky.
"I'm not finished with you." Then she dove back in even harder, tongue working your clit furiously while her fingers drove deep and fast. The redhead was completely lost in you.
She ate your pussy with filthy, desperate hunger, no restraint left. Her tongue moved in fast, messy circles around your clit before sucking it hard into her mouth again and again. Three fingers thrust deep inside you, curling relentlessly against your g-spot with every stroke.
The wet, sloppy sounds were loud in the small room. Every lick, every suck, every plunge of her fingers made your thighs shake harder around her head.
"Natasha, ah, f-f-uck." You moaned, gripping her red ponytail tighter. She groaned loudly against your cunt, the vibration making your back arch off the desk. She pulled her mouth back just enough to speak, lips and chin shiny with your arousal.
"You're soaking my face detka." She rasped, voice thick.
"You're just such a messy girl for your coach." Then she dove back in even more aggressively.
Her tongue flicked rapidly over your swollen clit while her fingers fucked you harder, faster. She curled them perfectly, stroking that sensitive spot inside you over and over. One of her hands gripped your thick quad, nails digging into the muscle as she held you open for her mouth.
You were trembling. Whimpering. So close it hurt. Natasha could feel it. She sucked your clit hard and moaned against you, refusing to let up.
Come," she growled, voice muffled.
"Come on my tongue right now." The orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your powerful thighs clamped around her head as you came hard, crying out her name. Your pussy clenched violently around her fingers, gushing against her tongue. Natasha didn't stop, she kept licking and fucking you through every wave, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive, tears pricking your eyes.
Only when your moans turned into broken whimpers did she finally slow down.
She gently pulled her fingers out and gave your pussy one last slow, soothing lick before pressing a soft kiss on your clit then stomach. Natasha stayed between your legs for a moment longer, forehead pressed to your stomach as you both caught your breath. Her hands gently stroked your thighs, soothing the trembling muscles, her lips and chin were glistening. She looked wrecked, her pupils blown and breathing ragged.
Without a word, she leaned over you, pressing her body against yours on the desk, and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on her tongue. When she pulled back, her voice was low and rough.
"I've wanted to do that for so fucking long."
She rested her forehead against yours, one hand still gently stroking your trembling thigh.
"You okay?" she asked, softer now. You nodded, still catching your breath, a small, dazed smile on your face. Natasha kissed you again, slower this time, almost tender.
Then she whispered against your lips.
"This doesn't change anything on the track. I'm still going to be mean to you." She smirked, eyes sparkling with heat.
"Even after this?" You teased and she laughed before kissing you again. The kiss started tender but quickly turned hungry again, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, her hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. When she pulled back, her eyes were still dark.
"You're going to ruin me." she whispered against your lips. She helped you sit up, then grabbed tissues from the desk drawer. She was surprisingly gentle as she cleaned you up between your legs, wiping away the mess she'd made. Her touch lingered a little longer than necessary, thumb brushing softly over your sensitive skin. Once you were both decent again, she pulled you in for one more kiss, slower, almost reluctant, like she didn't want to stop.
"Come on." She said quietly, voice rough.
"I'm taking you back to your dorm."
β-
The drive back to your dorm was thick with silence and heat. Natasha's hand never left your thigh. Her fingers dug into the thick muscle possessively, occasionally sliding higher, teasing the hem of your shorts. Every red light felt like torture. At one stoplight, she slid her hand fully between your legs and cupped your still sensitive pussy over your shorts, rubbing firmly. You gasped hard, hips twitching.
"Still wet." She murmured, eyes on the road."Even after I ate you out for twenty minutes. Greedy girl." You whimpered softly, spreading your legs a little wider in the passenger seat. Natasha's jaw clenched. She pressed harder, rubbing slow circles over your clit through the fabric until the light turned green.
By the time she pulled up in front of your dorm building, you were squirming in your seat and she was breathing hard. She put the car in park but didn't unlock the doors. Instead, she reached over, grabbed the front of your shirt, and yanked you into a rough kiss across the console. It was desperate, all tongue and teeth. Her hand slid back between your legs, pushing under your shorts this time to stroke your bare, soaked pussy.
"You're going to go upstairs and think about my tongue on you." she growled against your mouth, fingers teasing your entrance.
"Every time you move tomorrow, you're going to feel how sore I made this pretty pussy." You moaned into her mouth as two fingers dipped inside you again, just enough to make you clench.
Then she pulled back abruptly, breathing ragged, and removed her hand.
"Go." She said, voice strained.
"Before I say fuck it and take you home with me."
You stepped out of the car on shaky legs. Before you closed the door, you looked back at her.
Natasha was gripping the steering wheel tightly, lips swollen, eyes burning as she watched you.
You walked into your shared dormitory, and slipped into your own room. The suite was quiet except for the loud music that was probably coming from some frat party. Your friend was also probably out at that exact same party. You couldn't care less, instead you flopped down onto your bed and let out an actual scream. Your coach was in between your legs. Your coach ate your pussy. Nothing about this was platonic or "Prodigy x Coach". This was serious.
At 11:20 PM you got a text from an unknown number. Well just a number you didn't plan on saving to your contact list until now.
Unknown number
You make it inside okay?
You
Yeah. Still can't stop thinking about your mouth on me.
Natasha
Fuck, Y/N. Don't text me shit like that.
You
Why? You liked how I tasted, didn't you?
A long pause.
Natasha
I'm still wet just thinking about it. You were so fucking wet for me.
You
I'm still wet now.
Natasha
Stop. I'm trying to be responsible.
You
Come be irresponsible then.
Natasha
You're going to get me in so much trouble.
Natasha
Go to sleep, baby. Tomorrow I'm back to being mean to you on the track.
You
Yes Coach.
Natasha
Good girl.
Just casually dropping another series amidst my exam season. Enjoy.
The town car arrived exactly on time. During the entire ride across the city, you couldn't sit still. Your legs bounced. You kept smoothing down your simple black hoodie and leggings, wondering if you should have dressed up more. Inside, you felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, nervous, thrilled, and a little dazed. This powerful, gorgeous woman wanted you again. At 5 AM. The memory of her thick cock stretching you open, her green eyes locked on yours, and the way she'd growled "good girl" kept replaying in your head, making you press your thighs together. The driver, a tall old man, spent the past few minutes humming to some popular song that had been playing on the radio while occasionally checking his rear view mirror. Maybe this was ridiculous. Were you really just about to go to a woman's apartment at 5 AM just because she fucked you good? Well, yes.
The car pulled up to Natasha's building which was a sleek, ultra-modern skyscraper made of glass and dark steel that screamed old money and power. Before you could even process it, the door opened and the driver held his hand out, waiting for you to accept it.
"Thank you." You mumbled softly before he escorted you inside. It was quiet inside the building, but you knew soon enough the hustle and bustle of 6 AM would come soon.
The lobby was visible through the towering floor-to-ceiling windows. Marble floors that gleamed under crystal chandeliers, minimalist leather seating, and massive abstract art pieces on the walls. It looked less like an apartment building and more like a private museum for the obscenely wealthy. You stepped inside, the cool air hitting your skin. The reception desk was a long, polished black marble counter. Behind it stood a tall, impeccably dressed blonde woman in her late 20s, sharp cheekbones, designer blouse, and an expression of practiced superiority. Her name tag read "Elena."
She looked you up and down slowly, taking in your casual hoodie, leggings, and the faint scent of club smoke still clinging to your curls. Her lips curled into a condescending smirk.
"May I help you?" she asked, tone dripping with fake politeness.
"This is a private residence. Deliveries and guests need prior approval." You straightened your shoulders, weight shifting to your other leg.
"I'm here to see Natasha Romanoff. She's expecting me." Elena let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. She checked her tablet, then looked back at you with open disdain.
"Miss Romanoff didn't mention any guests tonight. Especially not..." Her eyes flicked over you again.
"...Someone like you. Are you sure you have the right building, sweetheart?" The condescension was thick. Jealousy mixed with classist venom. It was clear this woman had been trying to get Natasha's attention for a while, and the idea of some random (curvy, beautiful and clearly not from their world) girl showing up at 5 AM offended her deeply.
Before you could respond, the private elevator dinged. Natasha stepped out like she owned the entire damn city. She was wearing a black silk robe loosely tied over what looked like grey sweatpants and a tank top, silver-streaked auburn hair tousled from sleep, or maybe lack of it, and those sharp green eyes immediately locked onto you with raw hunger. The robe did little to hide the heavy bulge already forming between her legs.
Elena straightened instantly, her voice turning sugary.
"Miss Romanoff, I was just telling this young woman that you-"Natasha didn't even glance at her. She crossed the lobby in long, confident strides, slid a possessive arm around your waist, and pulled you flush against her body. Her hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise as she leaned down and kissed you . It was deep, claiming, and completely unconcerned about the audience. You melted instantly, a soft whimper escaping into her mouth.
When Natasha finally pulled back, she kept her arm locked around you and looked at Elena with cool indifference.
"She's with me." Natasha said, voice low and authoritative.
"Always. Don't question her again." Elena's face flushed with embarrassment and jealousy, but she nodded stiffly.
"Of course, Miss Romanoff." Natasha didn't wait for more. She guided you toward the elevator with a firm hand on your lower back, almost possessive. As the doors closed, she pressed you against the mirrored wall, lips brushing your ear.
"I've been hard for hours thinking about you," she growled.
"Couldn't sleep. Needed to feel this pretty warm pussy again." You shivered, grinning giddily against her neck as the elevator rose.
The mean receptionist was already forgotten.
All that mattered was the way Natasha Romanoff couldn't wait until morning to have you again.
The elevator ride up was thick with tension.
Natasha kept you pressed against the mirrored wall, one hand gripping your hip possessively while the other tilted your chin up for another deep, hungry kiss. Her silk robe had slipped open slightly, and you could feel the heavy, hard length of her cock pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric of her sweats.
"I've been thinking about this tight little pussy since you left." she murmured against your lips, accent thicker with want.
"Couldn't even sleep properly." You shivered, heart racing with that same giddy, nervous excitement from the car ride.
This powerful woman, this older woman,Β had summoned you at 5 AM because she needed you.
The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse. Your breath caught. You'd never seen anything like it. The space was massive and breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living area, offering a panoramic view of the glittering city skyline that made you feel like you were floating above the world. The lighting was low and warm,Β soft recessed lights and the glow of the city beyond.
Everything screamed quiet, expensive luxury.
Sleek modern furniture in deep charcoal and cream tones filled the open-plan space. A massive sectional that looked like it could seat twenty dominated the living area. In one corner stood a glossy black grand piano. A fully stocked bar with crystal glassware and expensive bottles glowed under subtle lighting. The floors were dark polished hardwood that felt cool under your sneakers.
It smelled like her , woody cologne, faint whiskey, and something undeniably powerful. Natasha watched your reaction with dark satisfaction, her hand never leaving your lower back as she guided you inside.
"First time seeing it properly." she said, voice low.
"What do you think?" You stepped further in, eyes wide, turning slowly to take it all in.
"It's... insane. Beautiful. Like something out of a movie." You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
"I feel like I shouldn't even be standing here in sneakers." Natasha's lips curved into a predatory smile. She closed the distance, sliding her arms around your waist from behind and pulling your back flush against her front. You could feel her hard cock pressing insistently against your ass.
"You belong here." she murmured, lips brushing your ear.
"I wanted you back the second you left. Couldn't stop thinking about how good you felt riding me. How pretty you looked with my cock buried inside you. The breathless sound you made just as you were about to cum, fuck. I want to hear it again." You whimpered softly, already wet. The contrast between the overwhelming luxury surrounding you and the raw hunger in her voice made your head spin.
Natasha didn't give you long to admire the view. She turned you around, picked you up like you weighed nothing, and carried you over to the huge sectional. She sat down and pulled you astride her lap, hands immediately sliding under your hoodie to grip your bare waist.
"Take this off." She ordered, already tugging the fabric upward. You obeyed quickly, pulling the hoodie over your head. Your full breasts spilled free, you hadn't worn a bra.
Natasha groaned at the sight, leaning in to suck one dark nipple into her mouth while her hands squeezed your ass.
"You're just so fucking perfect," she growled against your skin.
"This body has been driving me crazy for too many fucking days." You rocked against the thick bulge in her sweatpants, moaning softly. The city lights sparkled behind you through the massive windows as Natasha freed her heavy cock and pushed your leggings and panties to the side.
She didn't tease this time.She lined up and pulled you down onto her in one smooth, deep thrust, burying every thick inch inside you.You gasped sharply, head falling back as the stretch burned so good. Natasha's lips parted, eyes trained on those pink lips of yours. Her thumb pushed your bottom lip down, your tongue coming out to lick the digit. You maintained eye contact while you sucked her thumb and you could see the way Natasha swallowed thickly before she trailed that same thumb down your stomach, to your clit.
Natasha then gripped your hips tightly and started guiding you to ride her, deep and steady bounces that made your breasts jiggle and your ass ripple like water.
"Look at me." She commanded. You did. Those intense green eyes stayed locked on yours as she fucked up into you, the wet sounds of your pussy taking her cock filling the luxurious penthouse.
This was only your second time with her, but it already felt dangerously addictive.
And as Natasha pulled you down harder, growling "Good girl" while the city watched silently through the windows, you realized something thrilling:
You were already in deep.
β-
You woke up slowly, wrapped in the softest sheets you'd ever felt. The first thing you noticed was the warmth. A solid, strong body pressed against your back, one heavy arm draped possessively over your waist. The second was the view. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in soft morning light, painting the entire penthouse in golden hues. The city stretched out endlessly below, making you feel like you were floating in the sky.
You were in Natasha's bed. Memories from a few hours ago flooded back. Natasha fucking you on the sectional, then carrying you to bed and taking you again. So much slower, and so fucking deep, until you were shaking and moaning her name. Until you could feel her in your stomach, just hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars over and over again. She fucked you so good, you went silent, mouth opened in an "o" shape.
"Don't you dare look away. I want to see you." She whispered, telling you how she wanted to see you fall apart. You came so hard that moment, thigh lifting slightly while you let out a choked gasp. You'd fallen asleep with her still buried inside you.
Now, Natasha was awake. You could feel her watching you. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare stomach, occasionally brushing the underside of your breast. Her thick cock was already half-hard, resting against the curve of your ass.
"Morning, gorgeous." she murmured, voice husky with sleep and that faint accent. She pressed a slow kiss to the back of your neck.
"Sleep well?" You turned in her arms to face her, suddenly shy under the bright morning light. Natasha looked devastating, her silver-streaked auburn hair messy, sharp green eyes soft with satisfaction, pale skin marked with a few faint scratches you'd left on her shoulders last night and earlier that morning.
"I... yeah." You whispered, a giddy little smile tugging at your lips.
"This bed is ridiculous. Everything here is ridiculous." Natasha chuckled lowly and pulled you closer, hooking one of your thick thighs over her hip. Her hand slid down to squeeze your ass possessively.
"You look good in my bed." she said, eyes roaming over your dark skin against her white sheets.
"I could get used to waking up to this." Your heart did a little flip. This was only your second night together, but the way she looked at you...like she didn't want you to leave, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach again.
Natasha leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep. The kiss quickly grew heated. Her hand slipped between your thighs, finding you already wet for her again.
"You're just so greedy huh?" she teased against your lips, sliding two fingers inside you easily. "Even after I fucked you twice last night, your pussy, she just gets so wet." You moaned softly, rocking against her hand and pulling it closer to guide her movements.
"Can't help it... you feel too good." Natasha rolled you onto your back and settled between your spread thighs. She pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, groaning at the tight heat. This time it was lazy morning sex , deep and slow rolls of her hips, eyes locked on yours the entire time.
"Fuck, you take me so well." She breathed, forehead pressed to yours.
"This pretty wet pussy was made for my cock."
You wrapped your legs around her waist, nails digging into her back as she fucked you steadily. The morning light illuminated every detail. The way her silver hair caught the sun, the flex of muscle in her shoulders, the intense focus in her green eyes as she watched you fall apart. When you came, it was soft and shuddering, a quiet moan of her name leaving your lips. Natasha followed right after, burying herself deep and filling you with warm cum as she groaned against your neck.
She stayed inside you afterward, holding you close while the city woke up far below.
"I want you to stay longer today." she said quietly, brushing curls from your face.
"Cancel whatever you had planned. Let me feed you breakfast. Then maybe fuck you in the shower." You laughed breathlessly, still floating from the orgasm.
"You're not tired of me yet?" Natasha's expression turned serious. She cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.
"Not even close," she murmured.
"I told you, I don't do this, inviting someone back the very next night. But with you... I can't seem to stop." Your heart swelled with that giddy, dangerous feeling again. You were falling fast. Too fast.
But lying here in her bed, full of her cum, wrapped in her arms while the morning sun warmed your skin... you couldn't find it in yourself to care.
"I'll stay, just cause you promised me pancakes." You whispered, leaning up to kiss her.
Natasha smiled against your lips. Slow, satisfied, and just a little possessive. Her arms wrapped around you, rough calloused digits tracing your back.
"Good girl."
β-
You left Natasha's penthouse around 11 AM.
She'd tried to convince you to stay longer by offering breakfast in bed (which you gladly took) and another round in the shower (messy, long, steamy and no not from the hot water). Natasha even suggested you cancel your plans for the entire day. But you needed a moment to breathe. Your body was deliciously sore, your mind was spinning, and you still smelled like her cologne and sex.
The town car dropped you off at your modest apartment building. The contrast was almost comical, going from a sky-high glass palace with marble floors and city views to your small one bedroom with creaky floors and a kitchen that barely fit two people. You kicked off your converse, collapsed onto your couch, and stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, replaying everything. Then you grabbed your phone and opened your messages with Anna.
You two had a strict "no TMI" policy. Nothing was off-limits.
You
Girl. I need you to sit down. I just left someone's penthouse. Like... 5 minutes ago.
Anna's typing bubble popped up instantly.
Anna
BITCH WHAT. Who??? You better not be talking about some random club guy. Spill RIGHT NOW.
You bit your lip, grinning as you typed, still feeling that giddy, floaty feeling in your chest.
You
Her name is Natasha. She's kind of a Silver fox. Late 40s/early 50s. Rich as hell. Like... stupid rich.
You paused for a moment, grinning like some teenager.
You
She has a penthouse that looks like it belongs in a movie. Floor to ceiling windows, grand piano, the whole thing. I felt like I didn't even belong there in my sneakers. I kinda met her at that gig you gave me and well we talked but nothing happened.
Anna
Hello!!?? That was a while ago
You
I'm not done. So then, a few weeks later I saw her at the club and she was watching me. She paid like a lot of money for me to dance for her. But the two weeks after that, she came back and asked for a full night performance and I guess we kind of fucked.
Your cheeks began to heat up from the memories. You even kicked your legs like some lovesick teenager.
Anna
Kinda??? And then what?! Don't leave me hanging.
You
We fucked okay. Anna, the dick is LIFE CHANGING. Thick, curved, she knows exactly how to use it. I rode her on her couch the first night. She fucked me twice more before I left this morning. I can literally still feel her inside me rn.
You sent a string of flushed-face emojis.
Anna
HOLD TF UP. You went home with a rich white woman. A WHOLE DAY AGO and you're just now telling me???
You
I was busy.
Anna
Well know I know why. Details. Measurements if possible. Is she a top? Does she eat pussy? I need the full report!!!
You laughed out loud in your quiet apartment, cheeks burning as you typed back.
You
She's a top. Very much a top. She ate me out like she was starving. Made me come so hard my back arched off the bed for a long moment. And she's so possessive but in this hot, controlled way. Woke me up this morning by pulling me on top of her and fucking me slow while staring into my eyes. Told me she couldn't stop thinking about me and wanted me to stay longer.
Anna
Woah
You
Anna... I'm scared of how much I already like her. Like, stupid giddy. I was smiling the whole car ride home like some idiot
Anna
Babe. This sounds like danger. Rich older woman who fucks like a god and lives in a sky palace? Red flags but also... live your best life??? But be careful. Make sure she's not just playing games. Also send pics of the penthouse next time if you can π
You smiled, hugging a pillow to your chest.
For the first time, you had someone in your life who felt bigger than just a client or a one-night stand. And telling Anna about it made it feel real.
You
I'll be careful. But... I think I'm gonna see her again. Soon.
Anna
Of course you are. Just don't fall too fast, babe. Keep me updated on that silver fox dick tho.
You put your phone down, still grinning like a fool. Even back in your small apartment, surrounded by your normal life, you could still feel Natasha's hands on your body and hear her whispering "good girl" in your ear.
And you knew that this was only the beginning.
β-
Natasha Romanoff didn't do this. She didn't just invite women back to her penthouse the very next night. She didn't text at 4 AM because she couldn't stop thinking about someone or how they sounded when they laughed. And she certainly didn't spend the entire morning after watching her sleep with a stupid, soft smile on her face. Yet here she was. Still thinking about you.
After you left, Natasha stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, coffee in hand, staring out at the city. She was now wearing only her silk robe, your scent, coconut, vanilla, and sex was still clinging to her skin. She couldn't stop replaying it. The way you'd looked riding her on the couch that first night. The surprised, breathless sounds you made when she filled you. How your right thigh lifted when you came. The shy but glowing smile on your face when you woke up in her bed this morning. Natasha was in trouble.
Her phone buzzed. A group chat.
Carol
Brunch? I'm in town for 48 hours.
Wanda
I'm free. Natasha, you better not be working.
Natasha sighed and typed back.
Natasha
My place. 1 PM.
Two hours later, Carol Danvers and Wanda Maximoff were sprawled across her sectional like they owned it. Carol, blonde and athletic in jeans and a leather jacket, was nursing a mimosa. Wanda, with her soft red hair and knowing green eyes, was curled up with a cup of tea.
They both noticed something was off immediately.
"Well you're glowing." Wanda said, tilting her head with a small smirk.
"And you have that 'I got laid and it was good' look. Spill." Natasha leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed.
"It's nothing." Carol barked out a laugh.
"Bullshit. You never invite us over last minute unless something's up. Who is she?" Natasha was quiet for a moment, then sighed.
"Her name is... y/n" she said, the name feeling intimate on her tongue.
"Shes young and so beautiful. Curves that should be illegal. She was waitressing at the Harrington event a couple of weeks ago. Some assholes were being rude to her. I shut it down... and then.."Wanda's eyebrows rose.
"You took a waitress home didn't you?"
"No!" Natasha frowned.
"That night we were at the club."
"What club?"
"The time Rio lost the bet and we went to the strip club, I saw her again. She's a dancer."
Carol grinned.
"You fucked the stripper didn't you?" Natasha shot her a look.
"How did you-"
"Because you have that 'I can't stop thinking about her' face," Carol said, pointing.
"The same face you get when you're closing a deal you're obsessed with. Except this time it's a person." Wanda had placed her drink down, her attention was now solely focused on the redhead.
"You guys had sex?"
"Yes."
"With the stripper?"
"Wanda she's more than just a stripper." Natasha murmured after taking a sip from her wine glass.
"And you like her?" Wanda asked and Natasha paused before nodding.
"Fuck. I think I do." Wanda leaned forward, more gentle.
"You like her." She repeated, softer this time.
Natasha ran a hand through her silver-streaked hair.
"I do." SheΒ admitted quietly.
"More than I should after two nights. She's... different. She's got this fire. She's just..."
"Indescribable." Carol finished and Natasha nodded.
Wanda's expression softened with understanding.
"Sounds like you're falling, Nat." Natasha didn't deny it. She just stared out the window, a small, rare smile tugging at her lips.
"She makes me feel... greedy. Like I want all of her time. All of her attention. I want to spoil her. Protect her from the assholes at that club." She let out a breath.
"It's only been two nights and I'm already thinking about when I can see her again."
Carol clapped her on the shoulder.
"Then stop overthinking and go get your girl. You deserve something real for once." Wanda nodded.
"Just be careful. Don't scare her off with the full Romanoff intensity too fast." Natasha chuckled, but her mind was already drifting back to you, wondering what you were doing right now, if you were sore, if you were thinking about her too.
She was falling. And for the first time in years, she wasn't sure she wanted to stop. Age be damned.
β-
You were lying in bed, freshly showered, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. Your body was still tender. Your thighs sore, pussy faintly throbbing from how thoroughly Natasha had fucked you that morning. Every time you moved, you felt the ghost of her thick cock stretching you open. Your phone lit up.
Natasha
Tell me you're still thinking about me.
You bit your lip hard, a rush of heat flooding between your legs
You
How could I not? I can still feel you inside me.
Natasha
Good. I've been hard for the last hour just remembering how you looked riding me this morning. That pretty puffy pussy taking every inch. The way your thighs just kept lifting every time you came.
You squirmed on the bed, pressing your thighs together.
You
You're dangerous. I'm literally wet again just reading this.
Natasha
Send me a picture.
Your heart raced, heart slamming against your ribs . You hesitated for half a second, then angled your phone down. You pulled your shirt up, spread your thighs, and took a quick photo , showing your slick, puffy pussy still slightly swollen from earlier. Fuck it.
You sent it.
Natasha
Fuck. Look at that pretty pussy. Still leaking my cum? I should've kept you in my bed all day. Should've fucked you until you couldn't walk.
You
I'm sore but I want more. You ruined me for anyone else already.
Natasha
That's the plan.
You let out a shaky breath, fingers hovering over the keyboard as heat pooled low in your belly.
You
You're really trying to make me touch myself tonight, huh?
Natasha
Shouldn't have to try. You're already soaked just from texting me. Tell me the truth, are you touching that pretty pussy right now?
Your hand had already slipped between your thighs without you realizing. You bit your lip harder and typed with one hand.
You
...Yes.
You paused before continuing.
You
I'm so wet. Can't stop thinking about how deep you were this morning.
Natasha
Show me.
Another picture request. Your heart hammered as you spread your legs wider, angled the camera, and snapped a new photo,Β this one showing two of your fingers glistening with your slick, your swollen clit peeking out.Β You sent it.
Natasha
Fuck, look at you. You're such a needy little thing. Playing with that pussy while thinking about my cock. I want you to fuck yourself with those fingers and pretend it's me stretching you open.
You moaned softly in the quiet of your room and pushed two fingers inside yourself, eyes fluttering shut as you imagined her thick length instead.
You
Feels so good but not enough... I need you. Want you to bend me over and fuck me until I can't walk straight.
Natasha
Careful, beautiful. Keep talking like that and I'll come over there right now and ruin you all over again.
You
And what if I want that?
Natasha
Oh baby, I want those thighs shaking while I pound you. Want to hear you moan my name until your voice gives out.
You were breathing harder now, fingers moving faster as you read her messages.
You
Please... I'm so close. Tell me what you'd do to me.
Natasha
I'd pin you down on your back, spread those thick thighs wide, and slam every inch into you. I'd fuck you hard and deep until that pretty wet pussy is creaming all over my cock. And then I'd flip you over and fill you up while you're still shaking for me.
That pushed you over the edge. You came with a choked moan, thighs trembling, fingers buried deep as your pussy clenched and pulsed. You snapped one last blurry, post-orgasm picture, your fingers shiny and your pussy visibly wet and twitching , and you sent it.
Natasha
Jesus Christ.
She typed for a moment before the bubbles disappeared. Then they reappeared.
Natasha
Good girl. Such a perfect, messy little slut for me. I'm so fucking hard right now. Tomorrow night. After your shift. My car will be waiting.
Natasha
And you'd better not be wearing any panties.
You smiled breathlessly, still coming down from your high.
You
Yes, ma'am. I can't wait.
Natasha
Get some rest, beautiful. You're going to need it.
You locked your phone and stared at the ceiling, heart racing and a stupid grin on your face.
This woman was going to be the death of you.
And you were already counting down the hours until you saw her again.
β-
The club was packed, but the second you spotted her in the VIP booth, everything else faded.
Natasha sat like she owned the place β legs spread, black suit tailored perfectly to her powerful frame, silver-streaked auburn hair catching the lights. Her green eyes were locked on you with intense, burning focus. She wasn't smiling. She was watching every move you made like a predator.Β So you danced for her.
Every roll of your hips, every arch of your back, every slow, filthy grind against the pole, it was all for her. You caught her gaze during a deep dip, biting your lip as you rolled your body back up. Natasha's jaw clenched. Her hand tightened around her glass. You winked before moving again.
By the end of your set you were soaked and buzzing. You grabbed the last of the money before walking off to the empty dressing rooms. You barely had time to step into your dressing room before the door opened behind you.
Natasha stepped in, locked the door, and had you pinned against the vanity in seconds. Her mouth crashed into yours, hungry, possessive, and almost angry.
"You danced like a fucking tease." She growled against your lips, hands already yanking your emerald bikini top down.
"Shaking that perfect ass for them. Letting every worthless man in here stare at what's mine."
You moaned into the kiss, grinding against the very obvious bulge in her slacks. When she pulled back for air, you looked up at her, breathing hard, and took her wrist.
"Yours?" you challenged, voice breathy but defiant. You guided her hand down your body, pushing it under the waistband of your tiny bikini bottoms until her fingers pressed against your dripping, swollen pussy.
"Yours?" you repeated, guiding two of her fingers to rub slow, firm circles over your clit.
"You sure about that already old woman?Natasha's eyes flashed with dark heat. She pushed both fingers deep inside you without warning, curling them hard as she pressed you back against the vanity.
"Yes," she snarled, fucking you roughly with her fingers.
"This pussy is dripping for me. Not for them. Mine." You gasped, head falling back as she pumped her fingers fast and deep, thumb rubbing your clit. Your thigh started to lift and tremble against her hip as pleasure built fast.
Natasha hooked her arm under your thigh, holding it up higher so she could watch it shake while she finger-fucked you.
"That's it," she growled.
Look at this pretty thigh trembling for me. Your body already knows who it belongs to. Your pussy knows where home is too."
You came hard with a broken cry, pussy gushing around her fingers, thigh shaking violently in her grip. Natasha kept working you through it, then pulled her fingers out and spun you around.
She bent you over the vanity, freed her thick cock, and slammed into you in one brutal thrust.
You cried out, gripping the edge as she immediately started pounding you hard from behind.
The mirror showed everything. Your breasts bouncing, Natasha's face dark with lust as she watched her cock disappear inside you over and over.
"Say it." She demanded, one hand fisting your curls, the other slapping your ass hard.
"Tell me who this pussy belongs to."
"Yours." You moaned, voice breaking.
"It's yours, Nat-" She thrust deeper.
"Who's? I didn't get that." Another rough thrust.
"It's yours Nat." She fucked you harder, deeper, until you came again with a silent scream, thighs shaking uncontrollably. Natasha buried herself to the hilt and came with a low groan, flooding you with thick, hot cum.
She stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you panting. Then she leaned down, kissing the back of your neck almost tenderly while still buried deep.
"Mine."Β She whispered and you smiled breathlessly.
"Yours."
Hi there! It's been a while, colleges been kicking my ass but I'm coming back soon. I hope you lovelies enjoyed it. Don't scroll too fast, you just might miss out on some good things ;)
(this page wasnβt created to discriminate other races, i myself am a black reader and there isnβt, in my opinion an efficient way to find books for girls like me so i fixed that problem! my mission will be at the bottom of the page.)
ββI create fanfiction that centers Black readers and Black original characters, with an emphasis on meaningful relationships, emotional tension, and authentic representation. My goal is to write the stories I wanted to read, where Black people are fully seen and valued.ββ
ββHiiii, My name is Keionni βKeiβ for short, Im 23 and Iβm from Florida
I write fanfic because it's my way of bringing the ideas in my head to life-the scenes, emotions, and stories that won't leave me alone until I put them into words. Tyriq Withers was actually what led me to Tumblr in the first place, and seeing all the fanfics people were creating about him inspired me to try writing my own, even though I had never written fanfiction before. What really kept me here, though, was discovering so many talented POC creators. Seeing characters, stories, and perspectives that looked and felt like me made me feel seen in a way I didn't realize I was missing. Writing became more than just a creative outlet-it became a way to share that feeling, to create space, and to give other POC readers and writers the same sense of belonging and representation that inspired me to start in the first place.ββ
ββhiii! my name is aydella, iβm 19, a gemini and a proud black girl! iβm an amateur writer, and some of the main people i write about are clark kent, dennis whitaker and dr. michael robinavitch <333ββ
ββI'm lex, I'm 24, She/they, and I write mainly for celebrities, wrestlers, and kpop idols. My requests are ALWAYS open, so don't be shy to comment, inbox, or otherwise to get me to write something.ββ
ββhi everyone I go by jae ! and I create / write romance fics and stories with lots of drama. iβm mostly on wattpad @// jaeebreezy but I do post links on tumblr when things are updated. all my books/oneshots are catered to black readersββ
βββ κ° α§ΰ·α§ κ± βββ
my mission:
im starting up this account to create a type of hub where black girls like ourselves can find authors easily who write for girls like us! i myself try to find stories where the reader is black and i barely get to read because im spending time looking for said books. so this account is the solution to my problem that can help many others.
