Summary: Reader and Natasha's relationship blooms. Natasha definitely made true of her promise when it came to breeding you and you carrying her baby.
TW: Smut, past stalking... getting walked in on during the boombayah... oh, and, uh, pregnant reader. Religious (Christian) mom; she is very hateful, kind of disowns reader(?), she is homophobic.
GPNat x reader
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Natasha did actually get you a ring, a promise ring at that. The Russian spoke of how it was just a place holder for the time being as you two settle properly into your relationship of being girlfriends.
Natasha showed her... protective (more like possessive) side as she continued to go to your bakery. You, knowing your girlfriends order by this time, automatically have her black coffee and pastry ready for her to take. The Widow would sit at the back of the bakery, silently eating her baked good while she drank her black coffee, her green eyes trail over your frame as you work the counter and greet regular customers with your welcoming smile.
You two fell into a small routine, you working your bakery as she watched from the far corner, making sure no one dared to touch you, or even show a tad bit of disrespect to you. It was her way of showing her... love?
Although, she would never say it aloud- not yet at least.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
It was late afternoon in the comfort of your own home when Natasha had you pinned to the couch as her mouth worked wonders on the skin of your neck. Her pristine teeth grazing the flesh as she left small marks of her possession all over you in the colours of a blue mixed purple.
You thread your fingers through Natasha's red hair, softly moaning into her mouth as you tug her closer to your body, her bulge grinding on your sex.
"Natasha-" you whimper into her mouth through the kiss. "Yeah, detka?"
"I need you, Natty, please." You beg your girlfriend, your hips grind up to meet her bulge.
"How badly do you need me, sweetheart?" Natasha teased, her fingers squeeze at your nipple through your thin tank top. "So badly, Natty, please." You moan as your fingers tug at her red hair.
"So fucking badly you decided not to wear a bra today? Naughty move, sweetheart."
Her raspy voice sent shivers down your spine causing your skin to heat up in embarrassment of getting caught.
Your eyes met hers in defense, "We stayed at home today, so I just thought..." you trail off. "You just thought what?" Her nose nudged against yours as her red lips held a small smirk on them, "you thought you'd tease me today? Drive me fucking insane every time I saw your nipples harden in the cold, just waiting for my mouth. To worship you."
Natasha's voice dropped to a low husk, her hand squeezed at your left boob through the thin material of your top before roughly tearing the material open from your collar to the hem.
"Natasha!" You gasp in surprise. "Relax, sweetheart," Natasha started moving her waiting lips down the valley of your breasts until she got to the lace underwear you were wearing, an underwear you knew Natasha is obssessed with.
Also the first pair she saw you in when she peeked through your window and stalked into your room whilst you showered. It became almost as if it were a... game, wearing it whenever you could just to spur the Russian on and get her worked up.
Natasha's hand squeezed your hip, her rough thumb tracing over the lace as she grinned, placing a kiss over your clothed labia. Her teeth tugged at the material as her green eyes look up at yours from between your legs, seeing through you to your neediness.
Your underwear was the next to go, followed by Natasha removing her own clothing. She kept her shirt on though, no matter how much you begged to see her, to feel her. Her jeans were shuffled down to her mid thigh, her boxers pulled down enough to free her member. Natasha leaned over your body, a hand planted beside your head as her other hand guided her length to your entrance.
"Natasha-" you gasp aloud, hips bucking up to meet her thrust, the Russian groaned as she moved her forehead to lean against yours. "There we go, baby," Natasha smirked against your lips as she buried herself deep inside of you.
The coarse fabric of Natasha's jeans pressed against your skin as she pressed her hips against yours. Your fingers moved to grasp the shirt over Natasha's chest, begging to feel her skin against yours.
Natasha kissed you passionately, her other hand moved to grope your breast with her callous skinned hand, you whimper due to the rough texture on your sensitive skin.
"Take your top off." You moan into Natasha's mouth, gripping the material as your eyes roll back when her cock hits a sensitive spot inside of you. "What was that?" Natasha cocked her head to the side. "Please." Your hips buck up to meet your thrust, "it's unfair, Natty."
"Oh, yeah?" Her lips make work of your warm skin of your chest, her fingers squeezed at your nipple, "how so, sweetheart?"
Your head is thrown back against the couch cushion when her cock moved deeply, hitting the spongy spot inside of you. "Oh, Natty," you pant out, your thighs tremble, "I wanna t-touch you. Please." You beg your girlfriend. "You are touching me, sweetheart," Natasha pecked your lips gently with a cocky smirk, she continued her thrusts against your body, her cock repeatedly hitting that sensitive spot inside of you.
"N-no, your skin, Natty," you whimper, gasping when she hits that delicious spot inside of you again, "fuck- Natty, please. Please take your top off." You beg, you need to feel her skin beneath your fingertips.
Natasha deeply pecked your lips again, "All you had to say, baby. The magic word." Her voice held a mocking tone as she pushed herself up onto her knees. The redhead pulled her top off before tossing it loosely on the floor. "Better?" She rhetorically asked. You nod dumbly as your hands immediately go to rub over her heated skin, tracing the ab lines before your index finger lingered on an old gunshot wound scar.
"So much better, thank you, Natty," your fingers dig into her abs, you release a loud moan. Natasha swapped hands she moved to grope your other boob, Natasha lays sweet kisses over your cheek as she thrusted deep inside of you.
"Natty, I'm close," you moan into her neck. "That's it, baby," the Russian groaned, "come for me." Her face fell into your neck.
What you both failed to do... was to hear the door knob turning. An elderly woman stepped into the threshold, "What in Heaven's name is going on here!"
The sound of your mother's voice rang through the adrenaline. Immediately cutting your through your sense and ending the close of your release.
"Mother!" You pushed Natasha off of you in fear, instantly grabbing a throwaway blanket to pull over your naked body. Natasha pulled out quickly and tucked herself back into her boxers and fastened the button of her jeans again.
"Mom-" you start. "Don't." The elder woman seethes, she eyed the panting Russian that seemed to hover over you.
Natasha eyed the older woman, her fingers twitch against her thigh as her green eyes assess the woman who stood with a rigid structure, her hand clutched tightly over a silver chain, holding the cross tightly.
"Get dressed," She spoke smoothly. "Mother, please," you beg, your eyes trying to find a single shred of emotion behind her cold eyes. Her eyes wouldn't even look at you. You swallow as you glance at your girlfriend who's already looking between you two. "Can you look at me please? I- I can explain, mother. Please, I can- can you look at me, please?" you begged, your heart raced in fear, her ignorance of your pleads only made your heart sink further.
"I cannot even think to look at you right now!" She spoke calmly even though angered simmered in her voice, "I mean look at you. Pathetic. Fornicating before marriage? With another woman at that. A disgrace you are."
Her cold words struck deep bringing cloudy tears to your eyes.
Your mother turned to leave, storming out.
"Mother, wait," you scrambled off the couch, the blanket clutched tightly to your body, shrugging Natasha's hold on your forearm, "stop, I need to get to her." Natasha let you go with a sigh, she followed, tugging her jeans up properly.
"Mother," you call after the poised woman. She quickly spun around, finger in your face, "don't you dare call me that. Not after what you did."
"I love her, she's my girlfriend," you defend yourself. "She is a sin you are allowing to corrupt you and your soul." Her wrinkly finger shook in your face. "No, mother it's not like that, please. We love each other."
"Then you'll go to Hell with each other." She stormed off without another word.
You felt your world spin as you saw your mother storm away from you. "Don't listen to her, baby." You felt strong arms wrap around your body followed by lips pressed against your temple.
You felt her textured thumb rub under your eye of any tear that fell.
Without realising it, Natasha lead you back to the couch, her fingers worked her jean's button and tugged the material down her thighs again before releasing herself free from the constraints of her boxers.
"You have me," her hand cupped your cheek gently as her length pushed back inside you where it was prior minutes before the rude disturbance of your mother.
Your eyes track Natasha's greens, releasing a sound of pleasure as she hit the tender spot of before. "You have me," Natasha spoke in final, you'll only ever need her.
Your mother was a disturbance meant to be dealt with, and she will... once she's finished with you.
"Oh, Nat-" your mind is erased of the pain and quickly replaced by the pleasure of having your girlfriend's cock deeply embedded inside you.
"That's it, focus on me." her voice is deep, possessive, "Only me." Her hand held your hip, her other arm she rested on her forearm beside your head. "Only you, Natty." You can't help but agree, feeling warmth build in your stomach again, you clench around Natasha desperately. The Russian laughed, "Already?" Her lips left a soft press against your cheek before she increased her pace.
You loudly came, moaning into Natasha's mouth as you felt her deepen her thrust, your internal walls flooding with her warm come, filling you up completely without a doubt, marking you as hers.
Natasha internally smirked, a dark glint covered her eyes. You're now forever hers... you never needed anyone else but her especially not your mother, only her.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Natasha made true to her promise. That was certain when you woke up every morning sick for a week straight.
You did not want to get your hopes up just yet so you bought three pregnancy tests and Natasha is the most supportive girlfriend she has ever been.
Natasha would wait outside the bathroom as you urinate on all three pregnancy sticks.
"Now we wait, five minutes," you sigh as you step out the bathroom. "Five minutes until we find out if we become a little family," Natasha smiled as her hand moved to rub over your stomach, hoping.
Five minutes have never felt longer in your entire life. Natasha held you tightly on the bed as you two waited, the redhead left kisses on your temple and forehead every now and then to soothe your nerves and hers as well.
The sudden ring of the alarm immediately brought you and Natasha out of a trance of the thoughts of having a possible baby, what this would mean for you both in the future and now. How things would change... how Natasha would grow even more protective over the two of you.
Natasha is the one to stand up and collect the white sticks with blue caps...
Her green eyes glossed over, "You're pregnant." Her soft eyes look up at you, "You're pregnant, detka." She sighed almost in disbelief before hugging you tightly.
"I'm pregnant, Nat," you confirm, you lean up to give her soft lips a reassuring kiss that deepened to passion. "You're carrying my baby," Natasha let a hint of her possession flow through, her hand pressed against your stomach where your baby will be growing. Her plan worked. "You know what this means, detka?" Natasha kissed your cheek then went to whisper in your ear, "You're mine. This baby is mine. We're a family now."
And you couldn't help but nod along, you love her, "All yours, Natasha."
You're officially hers.
And you're not going anywhere.
You would be happy staying right here in her possessive embrace.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Uhh... yeah.
I dunno. Did you enjoy it? I guess...
(Also, I know not all Christians are like this. Some are actually supportive- from people who I have personally met... this stereotypical Christian is just for the plot.)
Summary: As the second youngest child to Bruce Wayne, and adopted daughter of Selina Kyle you have all the luxury you could want. The only rule? You don’t put yourself at risk. And when you do your parents are quick to shut it down, but it’s too late to go back now, because Kara is all your find yourself thinking about.
WC: 4.8k
Authors Note: Thanks for all the likes and especially the comments. This is really my first x reader type fanfic so it means a ton! As always you may find this a little ooc for some characters but I tried to keep them as close as possible. Only slightly proofread!
Warnings: arguing, slightly overprotective parents, smut at the end, fingering, oral. I think that’s it!
series masterlist • previous part • next part
The first time you stir it’s to the sensation of being carried. “Krypto I’m moving as fast as I can.” Kara snaps at the dog, although her voice is hushed, “she’s fine buddy.”
Your head would argue otherwise. Did you really just pass out? Could a handful of shots of whatever really do that to you? “Define fine.” You rebuke as you move.
You feel both of you sway a little as your weight shifts, but Kara’s grip tightens around you. She’s carrying you bridal style to the ship, and you can smell the alcohol on her breath as the sounds of the bar fade behind you.
“You’ll live.” She says, but her voice isn’t as blunt as the first time you really spoke. It’s almost joking.
You remember that you basically went dark on your family and inhale sharply as you envision what will befall you tomorrow. Somehow despite the lingering dread you don’t regret coming with her. “Yeah no I won’t. Not when…” You don’t finish your thought.
She doesn’t push, and you feel your head spin as you work to keep it upright. “Sorry.” She says, and when you peer up you notice that she seemingly refuses to look down at you. “Forgot that the liquor out here is stronger than on earth. Probably should have gotten you to slow down.”
You shrug one shoulder and stare up at the sky. “I can walk.” You say suddenly, aware that she’s still carrying you despite your new found consciousness.
She stops, and you can almost see the doubt in her gaze. But you hate being told you can’t do something, you get it from both of your parents, and so with a small glare from you she begins to let you down. When your feet touch grass and go to move a step your world tilts again causing you to groan out in misery. You hear her laugh beside you and let your eyes narrow in mock anger at her.
She’s gently sweeping you up again. “I’m strong remember?” She says.
“Mhm bet you tell all the girls that.” You see her lips turn down. “Or guys.” You amend. Her nose scrunches up.
“No, girls.” She replies. “Although I really don’t—it’s been a while since...” She doesn’t finish, but she sets her jaw in a way that tells you that’s more from not wanting to continue than not knowing how to.
“I’m so embarrassed.” You say. “I didn’t even last that long.” She laughs again.
It’s more laughter than you thought you’d evoke from her, but it easily becomes a favourite sound of yours. She appears younger, lighter, when she does.
“An excuse to do this again.” You still in her grip as you see the ship come into view. Krypto barks and goes ahead of the both of you, but the antics of the dog don’t even phase you because you’re so focused on what she just said.
Did you hear that right?
“Again? Thought this was a one time deal?” You ask, and you can’t even pretend to be nonchalant about it. It makes you almost giddy to have her say it. Even though she won’t look at you while she does.
“Clark says I need friends on earth.” She shrugs and you feel your body grimace at the word. Friend. You’d take it, if means seeing her and getting away from your life once in a while, but it still stings just a tad.
When you’re in the ship she places you on the bed, Krypto hopping up after you and settling down onto your lap.
“I’ll get you back as quick as possible.” She says as she drops off a glass of water.
The second time you stir it’s to the sound of Kara lecturing her dog again. You’re beginning to gather this is a multiple times a day type of occurrence between the two of them.
“Krypto enough! Don’t go out there! I don’t have money for her fancy pillows if you ruin them.”
You can feel your lips lift despite your woozy state, but you’re not really coherent enough to be alert, or in full control of your body movements.
Instead you feel yourself being set softly onto a bed while your phone and other things are set beside you on the nightstand. You infer Kara merely used your key fob to get into your penthouse.
You expect her footfalls to retreat, but instead you just feel something plop onto your legs and settle. “What are you doing now?” You hear a huff and you know it’s Krypto. There’s a very long pause as if the two silently communicate.
“I can’t stay and neither can you buddy. I’m not getting caught by Bruce Wayne.” She whispers. Then she shifts you, takes off your shoes, and makes sure you’re on your side. “Don’t look at me like that.” She mutters.
When she’s done you can hear her footfalls towards the direction of your window, but Krypto doesn’t leave your side at all, and you hear a soft groan.
“Come on.” Kara urges quietly, and your mind swims towards sleep again. You want to push it off, to talk to her, but no words find their way. “Krypto I can’t okay?”
There comes a little whine but the dog jumps off from your bed leaving you to hold out just long enough to hear your window shut behind her.
When you stir for the third and final time the first thing you register is the pounding in your head, and you can’t help but wonder what the hell Kara gave you to drink, champagne never hurts this much. The second thing you register is that you’re home, with your window open to let in some fresh air, and you work to remember last night.
The third and final thing you register is the smell of food, and for a fleeting moment you wonder if Kara came back even though it’s irrational to think she would.
The smell makes your stomach churn miserably, and you’re up and stumbling for the bathroom before you can even think about it, stomach lurching into your open toilet. A pathetic sound escapes you as you try to calm your uneasy stomach.
“Fuck.” You whine as you feel about to heave again.
“That’s what will happen when you drink too much.” Your heart sinks a tad when your mother’s voice rings out in your on-suite. “Shower please and we’ll talk after.”
You wince. “Ma’ma I—”
“After.” She says firmly, and goes. You hear the clatter of plates a moment later. The shower does help you feel at least not so hungover, and you have to admit it feels nice to feel clean again, but it does little to soothe your screaming nerves.
When you leave your room, dressed and somewhat presentable, you whiten as you see that Bruce is in your kitchen too. In fact he’s the one that’s cooking, although it’s merely a bagel and some scrambled eggs. You don’t think you can stomach either at the moment.
Both your parents seem deep in conversation, but like the bat and cat they are, your slightest footstep alerts them to your presence. Both look up from what they’re doing, and meet your gaze, unable to hold their eyes you look away.
“Morning.” You say.
“Try afternoon.” Bruce corrects and you grimace as your eyes cast to the clock above your stove. Three in the afternoon to be exact. This only makes your stomach drop even more as you realize you missed classes, and your volunteer efforts.
“Shit.” You curse.
“Yes, well, darling what did you expect would happen when you went out and drank yourself drunk?” Selina says.
“I didn’t mean—” You begin.
“First of all, lets establish what exactly you didn’t mean to do, because we’re still unclear where you were.” Bruce says evenly. “All trace of you just gone! Barbara went into a panic.”
You flinch at that thought. You know how protective she is, and how fast she can make things happen. “I’ll apologize to her. I didn’t mean to make her worry. Or you two.”
You try not to focus on your own frustration right now, after all it’s not like you don’t know Barbara keeps track of you, she keeps track of everyone, but it grates on you more than normal right now.
“Still didn’t answer us.” Selina says and you twist to look at her before exhaling.
“I went out on a spur of the moment type thing and left my watch here by accident and then my phone died and—”
Both your parents tense and that’s when you know your lie didn’t work. “Try that again.” Bruce warns you, but you’re too focused on the pounding in your head.
Your mother seems to see this, and pushes forward water and pain meds. “Thanks ma’ma.” You say.
“Now answer our question.” She says.
You take a sharp inhale knowing it’s no use lying anymore. It’s quite clear they went the distance and got Barry to look for you.
“I went off world.” You whisper staring down at your hands.
The cooking pan clatters on your counter and you cringe.
“You what?” Bruce bellows and you shrink. You expect your mother to cut in, because she always does when your father gets like this, but when you peak at you see a cascade of emotions on her face.
“I-I went with a friend to a nearby planet and had a little bit of fun.” You repeat, but your voice is even smaller now.
“I can’t believe you!” Bruce snaps. “Off world?” He repeats. “What the hell were you thinking you can’t just go off this planet without telling me! Hell you can’t leave this planet at all!”
You feel agitation. “You have.” You quip but you know it’s a childish futile gesture born from not having any other come back.
“Oh you mean the times of crisis when I’ve had zero choice in the matter!” He snaps back at you. You know you should relent. It’s not in your nature to really, but you and Bruce are both stubborn and you know it’d be better to let him have this one.
“I’m an adult I don’t need your permission!” You challenge. Again, a failing argument, and one that makes your mother tense. Her fingers growing tight around her mug.
“I’m all for giving you your space, but B is right in this case, you don’t leave this planet unless you have our okay. Given the risk involved in it.” Selina defends, and this makes you roll back your shoulders.
“You’d never give your okay—”
“Yes, because you have no reason to go! Your life is here! Your job, your responsibility, is school and this family! It’s not taking a trip to space!” Bruce’s temper is rising and you begin to feel exhausted.
“I’m sorry okay! I’m sorry I went off world without telling you, I’m sorry I worried you, and I’m sorry that for once I wasn’t perfect!”
They both let out a groan at this, and Bruce seems about to snap back at you but your mother slips her hand over his.
“Give us a moment B?” She asks. “You need to cool down.”
He looks between you and her and exhales sharply. “Fine.” He says briskly, and leaves.
You jump at the slight slam to your door. You and Selina stay there in silence for a long time until she finally rubs her temples in clear frustration.
“Well are you happy?” She asks. “Did you get your bit of rebellion in?” You hate the almost condescending choice of words.
“I didn’t rebel I merely lived my life.” You defend. “I’m fine you and dad are just blowing this out of proportion!”
Wrong thing to say because she’s up from her seat and she has your chin, not harshly enough that it hurts, but enough that it doesn’t feel merely as gentle or fretting as it usually does—and you know that you’ve messed up.
It usually takes a lot for you to push your mother to the point where she gets truly upset with you. She told you once after an argument that she tries to save her frustrations for the scum bags of Gotham instead.
“Want to try talking to me like an adult kitten?” She says lowly. “Because unlike your father I’m trying very hard not to do the whole overbearing parent routine with you, but I can.”
You stare at her and squirm a little, but she doesn’t let you go, your silent plea for her to let up dismissed. In fact she only squeezes just enough to make her point.
“I just wanted to let go and you know what I did! I went out and I got drunk until I couldn’t walk,” her eyes narrow, “and I danced! And nobody knew me! I didn’t have cameras on me! I didn’t…”
With a tsk she lets your chin go.
“So the plan is to start to make deliberate mistakes to what?” You let your gaze move to the wall beyond her, that feels easier than her eyes, and she sighs when you don’t respond. “You can forget it. Your dad and I have worked too hard to see you derail yourself because you’ve suddenly decided you don’t want to communicate properly.”
“Like anyone in this family does.” You gripe. You both know you’ve got her there, none of you really do, but it doesn’t seem to deter her.
“I don’t know who took you off world, but I do know you’re not doing it again.” You feel your heart thud. You knew this would be the outcome, but the idea of never going out there with Kara when you just got her to offer feels cruel.
“Ma’ma—”
“It’s not a negation darling!” She snaps finally. “Card and keys.” Your eyes widen. “You’ll have a driver again—”
You tilt your head back and groan at her. “It’s not like you’re not both tracking me through that cave anyways!” You snap.
“Finish your semester without pulling another…” she waves her hand, “and then we’ll speak.”
You don’t reply, and she begins to head for the door. “Oh and you will be at family dinner tonight!” She calls back as your door slams.
“Fuck.” You mutter.
One month passes and you really do try to finish the semester normally, to fall back into your old routine with practiced ease, but the only thing that seems to linger in your mind is Kara.
It’s no longer the idea of her that does, or how attractive you find her, but really her. Her grin, her hands on you, the way she let go when dancing with you. You want more of her.
So much so that you wait. You wait in a way that you haven’t waited for something since you were about seven. The waiting comes with the bonus that your parent cool off, Bruce now referring to your trip as ‘the incident’ and firmly believing it won’t happen again. Your life has practically returned to the same as before, and you try to lie to yourself and say it’s fine, but it’s not.
When a month and a half passes without so much as a follow up you want to whack yourself. Of course she didn’t actually mean it. She was drunk. You were drunk. There’s no reason for Kara to want to be around you. She’s Supergirl for heaven’s sake. You may be a Wayne but you doubt that matters to her.
When two months roll around you’ve given up, but you wonder if Kara has some lingering way of knowing that, because she stands waiting at the bottom of your building with a single flower in hand as you return from volunteering.
It’s wilted a tad, and actually kind of pathetic, and it should embarrass you the way your heart still flutters are the sight.
She doesn’t make a grand show, doesn’t even speak as you near, but Krypto does. When he spots you he closes the distance easily, leaping up and practically tackling you. You thank god you decided to wear sneakers today.
She tugs the dog back off of you, but you’re laughing now as he gets in a final rather gross kiss. “Missed you too Krypto.” You say, hand reaching out for him.
“And me?” Kara asks.
You jerk your head up to look at her. She’s not looking at you, but the flower is outstretched slightly as if it’s a peace offering.
“I could ask you that. It’s been a while.” You see her wince at the accusation in your tone.
“Space.” She tries to cover.
“Space.” You echo, not convinced that’s a fraction of the reason.
The first two times you actually spoke Kara was gruff and rough around the edges, hard to read, and one step removed. Now she seems anxious in a way she tries not to let show, and it makes you take the flower despite the little bit of hurt you feel. She seems to deflate in relief when you do.
“Got a little smushed.” She’s rubbing the back of her neck. “So, I heard about the no off world sentence.” You scrunch up your face and let out a huff.
“Fantastic. Did you get in trouble?”
“No.” She says. “More like it was work talk from Clark, a passing comment don’t worry, they don’t know it was me.” You’re surprised almost at the lack of relief in her voice.
“My dad as expected went ballistic, and surprisingly so did my mother.” You say. You shift on your feet and watch her.
“Do you like old movies?” She asks suddenly. “Because there’s one playing and I’d like to go.” Your eyes widen. “With you.”
“You would?” You ask. Now she looks at you, still somewhat guarded, but more open than you’ve seen her before.
“Yeah.” She says. “I would.”
“Let me go change.” You say and go to move, but she takes your arm gently, sending those sparks through you.
“You look nice.” She says sheepishly. “You don’t need to.” You feel your palms grow a little sweaty.
“Okay.” You reply as you gesture to your waiting car.
You thought you knew all of Gotham, but Kara leads you to an old movie theatre. It hasn’t got any new movies, just older ones like she said, and you recognize a lot of films your mom used to like.
It brings a small smile to your face, which Kara catches, and you feel the nerves in you settle as she orders the tickets and the food. Which is a lot more but you don’t comment. When you offer to pay she merely waves your card away.
“It’s an apology.” She says simply. “Wouldn’t be one if I make you pay.”
You’re not used to that of course. Most people, even your friends, enjoy your father’s limitless funds. You don’t mind or course, with them, but this makes you feel… different.
Again. You hate how Kara makes you feel different in a way you can’t explain.
When you settle down for the movie it takes a minute, but Kara spreads out and in the process slings her arm around the back of your chair. She doesn’t come close to actually touching you, and neither of you comment on it, but you’re happy for the darkness of the theatre as it hides your blush.
Hours later when you and Kara step out into the cool night instantly her eyes ghost upwards to the sky. “Comforting?” You ask out of the blue.
She stops as if you’ve caught her in the act of something. “Less overwhelming.” She admits. “Earth is a lot.”
You see her eyes move around the city, and you take a moment. Up close you can’t help the way your eyes take in the gentle slope of her nose, or the set of her jaw, or the way those green eyes… god her eyes.
“Thank you.” You say. “For tonight. For a bit of… normal.” She’s grinning now, however slight, and you return it.
“Thank you for bribing them to let Krypto in. I was sure he’d cause mayhem but with you he’s oddly… calm.” You notice the way her throat bobs when she admits it to you, and you step closer to her. “And thank you… for saying yes.”
And there it is again, the thing she can’t seem to say, and however much you wish to know you don’t push. Just slowly take her hand.
“I’m glad you came back. I hoped you would.” You note that her cheeks flush at your admission and it makes your grin grow. Finally you feel like the nerves she makes you feel are mutual and that knowledge makes you bold. “Will Krypto listen if you ask him to go to Clark for a bit?” You’ve closed the gap even more now.
“Probably not.” She says. “They don’t really—oh.” She stops when you raise an eyebrow at her, and suddenly she’s leaning down in front of the dog.
She speaks in that language you’re not familiar with, but you can tell by the stubborn look the dog gets that she’s trying to get him to listen.
Finally she sighs. “Krypto buddy come on.” She hisses under her breath, and you have to stifle your laughter into the back of your hand.
Finally the dog looks back at you, and you give him a pleading look. With a huff the dog raises into the air and goes jetting off. Kara exhales in relief before she gets the door to your car.
You slide into the backseat and she follows in a fluid motion. The whole way back to your penthouse you refrain from tapping your foot impatiently. You may have lost your ability to play it cool with Kara after the first time you met her, but you still have some dignity.
You think when you finally shut the door behind you that you’ll be the first to kiss her, but she surprises you as she pushes you up against the back of your door. Her leg slotting between your own causing you to let out a tiny breath of surprise.
“Kara—”
“—you sure?” She breathes as if winded, even though you know it isn’t possible here, and you break away from her for a second.
“I’m sure.” You affirm, and her lips are back on yours before the final syllable even leaves you. As she deepens the kiss you can only loop your arms around her neck in an attempt to balance yourself.
You can feel her strength even in her kiss, although you can also tell she’s trying desperately to hold back. “Can’t get you off my mind.” She mumbles into your neck. “No matter how hard I try. Hate it.”
You want to retort something back, but as her kisses become bruising as her thigh pushes up and adds pressure to where you want it most.
“Bed.” You demand.
She’s lifting you in one swift movement so your legs are forced to wrap around her as she carries you from the doorway to your room, dropping you onto the bed and removing your heels. Normally you look forward to that feeling, but Kara’s touch is the only thing you want right now.
She stares down at you. “Beautiful.” She whispers as if she hates to admit it and you smile back up at her.
“All yours if you want me.” You tease, and you don’t anticipate the dark look that comes over her for a moment when you do. Then she’s stripping off her clothing until all that’s left is her underwear.
Your eyes widen at her muscles, subtle when underneath clothing, but defined when you see them up close. Her biceps now those… You take them in your hands and squeeze as she comes to loom over you and it makes her eyes flutter shut.
You can tell she likes the feeling because when she brings her knee between your legs again, this time with a soft roll, you grip tighter and it causes her to let out a tiny groan.
Your whole body is on fire and once again you debate begging. How is it that one woman can make you want to beg so much when you’ve never wanted to before.
“Kara please.” You say as her lips find yours.
“Such a rush.” She grumbles. “Can’t I take my time?” Your hands merely come to tangle through her blonde curls as her lips find your neck again.
“I’ve been waiting months.” You remind, and you know you’ve won for now because you feel a soft huff as her lips travel even further down to your collarbone. The only thing that stops her from going right to your chest is that you’re still in your blouse.
“Gonna rip it—”
“—wait—”
Too late. Kara’s certainly too impatient to deal with the buttons and even if she wasn’t she’d likely break them anyway.
“I liked that shirt.” You complain.
“—sorry.” She says as she undoes your bra and you thank the stars it’s saved by having a front clasp. “Make it up to you. Promise.”
The minute her lips wrap around your sensitive nipples you can’t help it anymore. Your back arches into her, and you can tell it spurs her on. “God.” You curse.
“Only God-like.” She corrects and you groan at her poor joke.
“Unbelievable.” You complain but the smile is on your features anyways. She rewards you with finally pushing your skirt up.
“So wet.” She notes and your whole face feels on fire at her tone. “All for me?”
“Don’t get an ego about it.” You retort, but you don’t help make your point with the low moan you let out as her finger pushes into you.
She’s careful at first, slow, pumping in and out at a pace that you can only describe as torturous—but you don’t complain. You understand she’s finding a groove with how strong she is.
Finally though she begins to speed up, and embarrassingly your thighs are already beginning to tremble a little as the rhythm she sets causes delicious pleasure.
You squirm under her as one turns to two then to three. For a woman that says she hasn’t really had a lot of relationships the way she moves her fingers is just shy of skilled as she alternates between hooking them deeper into you just right, and allowing for more pressure to your clit.
“God please Kara!” You say as your legs shake around her. Your eyes have been more or less screwed shut as she works you up. The burning feeling in your stomach becoming unbearable as she does.
“So pretty.” She whispers and your eyes open just long enough to see that she’s watching you with a look of… wonder?
It makes you feel hot under her gaze. “I’m close.” You breathe. She doesn’t even meet your gaze, just shifts down the bed.
“I want to taste you.” She says, but she phrases it like she’s asking you. The small whine that leaves you is mortifying but it seems to spur her on because her fingers leave you other than to play with your clit, and her tongue replaces them.
She hums in delight when she has to physically hold your hips down as they raise to meet her mouth. You try to remind yourself to remember that fact if you ever get a second chance at this.
You could swear despite eating a lot at the movies that she acts like she’s starving, and you can feel her groan when she lets her tongue suck in a way you swear no other person you’ve been with has managed to achieve.
“I’m so close.” You beg her. “Please Kara I need…”
She doesn’t respond verbally, but she curls her tongue at the same time she applies just enough pressure to your clit that it doesn’t matter. You ride out the fading pleasure against her lips, and when you’re done your chest is heaving.
She settles back onto her heels as she watches you. “Give me a second and then I can—” You begin, moving to touch her.
“No.” Her voice sounds a little rough. “Just wanna focus on you for now.” She notes. You frown at her as she gets off your bed.
“Kara?” Your voice feels small now as the thought of her leaving comes to mind.
She turns back to look at you with a frown.“Just getting water.” She says. You feel yourself relax.
“So you’re staying?” You ask, scared of her answer.
“I want to… if you want me to.” She admits gingerly.
“I do.” You say with a small smile. “You and Krypto.” You add.
Her grin grows. “Let’s have a couple more moments of peace first.”
Im glad i’m not the only one who saw 4ngel1v’s ai pics!! It just brewed up another idea! I told you it would be soon.
Think about Gp Nat as a beefy bodyguard and reader is like a famous singer or actor🤷♀️. And they didn’t meet on great terms, but reader ends up hiring nat and whatever it was between them grew. But thing is that they couldn't distinguish their tension from hate. One thing that reader could distinguish though, was Nats jealousy. SO LIKE A YKYK ENEMIES TO LOVERS BUT RLLY SLOW PROCESS TO LOVERS n smuttyy🤭
“What’s with the attitude, you weren’t as grumpy earlier?”
“Loosen up a little, it’s fine to be a risky once in a while, Natasha”
“You’re giving me a handjob at YOUR premiere. We’re thinking of two different versions of risky.”
-💋
I'm not going anywhere. | N.R
Bodyguard!Natasha x Younger!Actress!Reader
Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! G!P Natasha, Age gap ( R is 22 and Nat is 32) Inappropriate behavior, so much teasing, kinda handjob, begging, rough sex, pet names, angst
Word Count: 9,5k
A/N: Okay, when this is posted I'll be driving 200 km/h on the highway for the next 36 hours. So I hope everything works out, because I don't have the chance to reply right now 🫶🏼🥸
Thank you my lovely anon, you served again 🌚 I really enjoyed writing this, even though I was very carried away
You were born and raised in a small, picturesque town in the heart of the countryside. Your parents, both teachers, instilled a love of learning and creativity in you from an early age. Your mother, an English teacher, often read you classic literature at bedtime, sparking a lifelong passion for storytelling. Your father, a drama teacher, introduced you to the world of theater and encouraged you to participate in school plays and local theater productions.
As a child, you were curious and imaginative, often inventing elaborate stories and characters in your head. You were very popular in your community for your kind heart and lively personality. Despite your small-town upbringing, you always dreamed of something bigger and longed for the excitement and opportunities that lay beyond the boundaries of your hometown.
At 16, your life took a decisive turn when you attended a summer acting camp. The camp was located in a bustling city, a stark contrast to your quiet hometown. There, you met aspiring actors, directors, and producers and for the first time, felt like you belonged. Your talent was quickly recognized by the camp leaders, who encouraged you to pursue a career in acting.
Upon returning home, you were more determined than ever to follow your dreams. You participated in every theater production you could to hone your craft and build a portfolio of diverse roles. Your parents, though initially concerned about the uncertainty of an acting career, wholeheartedly supported you and believed in your talent and dedication.
At 18, you moved to Los Angeles, the hub of the entertainment industry. The transition was daunting, you were a small-town girl in a sprawling, fast-paced city. You faced numerous rejections and challenges, working several part-time jobs to make ends meet while attending auditions and acting classes.
Your perseverance paid off when you landed a small role in an independent film. Though the role was minor, your performance caught the attention of a prominent casting director. Impressed by your natural talent and screen presence, the director recommended you for an audition for an upcoming blockbuster film from a major studio.
Nervous but excited, you gave your best at the audition. Weeks later, you received the life-changing news: you were cast in the lead role of the blockbuster film. The film was a huge success and catapulted you into the spotlight, making you an overnight sensation.
The sudden fame was overwhelming. You went from an anonymous aspiring actress to a celebrity constantly in the public eye. Paparazzi followed your every move, tabloids speculated about your private life, and fans demanded autographs and selfies everywhere you went. Although you were grateful for your success and the opportunities it brought, the lack of privacy and constant scrutiny were challenging.
Despite the challenges, you remained grounded, thanks to the support of your family and close friends. You continued to focus on your craft, taking on diverse roles to prove your versatility as an actress. You also used your platform to advocate for causes you believed in, earning you respect and admiration beyond your acting abilities
You are known for your down-to-earth personality and genuine kindness. You cherish your close circle of friends and often retreat to your hometown to escape the pressures of Hollywood and reconnect with your roots. Your parents remain your biggest supporters, proud of your achievements but always reminding you of the values they instilled in you.
In your free time, you enjoy reading, painting, and exploring new hobbies. You are a passionate traveler and find inspiration in the various cultures and stories you encounter. Despite your fame, you strive to lead a relatively normal life and appreciate the simple pleasures that keep you grounded.
4 years later.
The evening of the premiere was a whirlwind of flashing cameras, excited fans, and palpable excitement in the air. You, dressed in a stunning gown that perfectly captured your rising star status, had just finished a series of red carpet interviews. You felt a mix of excitement and nerves; this night was special not only because of the premiere of your new film but also because you were nominated for an award for another project. It could be the night you finally take home the coveted trophy.
As the event continued, you felt the familiar but inconvenient need to use the restroom. The premiere was in full swing, and you needed to be on stage soon. You made your way through the bustling crowd, your heels clicking on the polished marble floor of the grand theater.
Finally, you spotted the restroom sign and quickened your pace. But as you reached the door, you encountered an imposing figure: a tall, striking woman with piercing eyes and an aura of authority. Dressed in black, the woman stood guard in front of the restroom door, her stance rigid and alert.
"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom," you said, trying to maintain your polite demeanor despite the urgency of your situation.
The woman, whom you would later learn was Natasha Romanoff, did not move. "The restroom is occupied." Natasha replied sharply and unyieldingly. "Okay, surely there is a second stall..." you pleaded, glancing at the closed door behind Natasha.
Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly. "You'll wait.“ Your patience was running thin. You were a rising star and not used to being dismissed so abruptly. "Come on, I need to go, please. This is really important."
Natasha's expression remained unmoved, her voice cold and professional. "I don't care where you need to go. My instruction is to ensure no one enters until it's clear. Now step back."
Frustration boiled within you. You couldn't believe this woman didn't recognize you, given the number of posters and billboards plastered with your face. "Listen, I understand you have a job to do, but so do I. And if I can't use the restroom right now, there will be a disaster."
Natasha smiled and leaned in slightly, "Then you'll have to hold it, sweetheart."
You were taken aback by the dismissive tone. You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, the door behind Natasha opened, and another actress emerged, thanking Natasha for her vigilance. The actress’s eyes widened when she saw you.
"Oh my God, Y/N! Congratulations on the nomination, I loved your performance in the last film.“ the women gushed, clearly impressed. You forced a smile, still simmering with frustration. "Thank you. I'd love to chat, but I really need to use the restroom." The women looked at Natasha with a mix of surprise and something different. "Did you talked to her?“
Natasha's gaze remained unwavering and ignoring the question of the Women. „The restroom is free now." she said, stepping aside without acknowledging the women’s comment. You didn't waste a second and hurried past Natasha with a grateful nod. Inside the restroom, you took a moment to breathe, still fuming from the encounter but also somehow fascinated by the unyielding bodyguard.
When you emerged a few minutes later, you felt much calmer. Natasha was still there, like a sentinel. You couldn't help but feel a sense of challenge. You weren't used to being treated like an ordinary person, and part of you found Natasha's attitude both infuriating and refreshing. Without a word, you walked past Natasha, not giving her a second glance. As you walked away, you heard Natasha call after you: "Next time, plan better."
Your cheeks flushed with anger. You clenched your fists and kept walking, refusing to give Natasha the satisfaction of a response. The audacity of this woman! You couldn't believe how rude and dismissive she had been.
The energy in the grand theater was electric. The audience buzzed with excitement as the prestigious awards ceremony reached its climax. You, still feeling the irritation from the encounter with Natasha, took a deep breath as you awaited the announcement of the award. The presenter, a well-known acting veteran, took the stage and held the envelope containing the winner's name. "And the award for Best Actress goes to..." He paused for dramatic effect, letting the suspense build. "Y/N L/N!"
The room erupted in applause and cheers. Your heart raced as you stood up, your initial frustration forgotten in the wave of exhilaration. You moved gracefully to the stage, your gown sparkling under the bright lights. As you accepted the trophy, you couldn't help but smile at the outpouring of admiration and support from your peers and fans.
With the trophy in hand, you took a moment to collect your thoughts before beginning your speech. "Wow, this is incredible. I can hardly believe I'm standing here holding this award. First, I want to thank the cast and crew who made this film possible. You are all amazing, and I couldn't have done this without you."
As you continued your speech, your eyes wandered over the crowd, taking in the sea of faces. Then you saw her. Natasha. Despite the distance, Natasha's piercing gaze was unmistakable. Your smile faltered for a brief moment, but you quickly recovered. Natasha watched you intently, a slight smile on her lips. When your eyes met, Natasha winked.
The gesture, small but significant, sent a wave of annoyance through you. You could feel your cheeks heat up, not from embarrassment, but from the irritating coolness of the woman who had previously dismissed you so rudely. You continued your speech, trying to ignore the irritation under your calm facade.
"...And finally, I want to thank my family and friends for their unwavering support. You believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. This award belongs to you as much as it does to me. Thank you all." With a final wave, you stepped off the stage, your mind racing. The applause followed you, but your thoughts were fixated on Natasha. It was infuriating.
Backstage, you were surrounded by well-wishers and photographers, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha. You couldn't shake the feeling that your paths would cross again in a significant way..
A few days after the awards ceremony, your agent called you with concerning news. "Y/N, we need to talk about your safety for your tour. There have been some..incidents." You frowned, recalling the increasing number of intrusive paparazzi and overly enthusiastic fans. "What kind of incidents?"
"Threatening letters, suspicious individuals trying to get close to you. It's getting serious, and we think it's time for you to consider a professional bodyguard." You sighed. The idea of having a bodyguard felt like a double-edged sword. You valued your privacy, but recent events had made you feel vulnerable. "Alright, who do you have in mind?"
Your agent hesitated for a moment. "There's someone highly recommended, but she has a... unique style. Natasha Romanoff.“ Your eyes widened. "You must be joking."
"No? She's one of the best in the field. Her methods are unconventional, but she gets results. Given the current situation, I think she's the right person for the job, plus she’s available now.“ Your mind raced back to the Gala night, the unyielding stance, the cold demeanor, and that infuriating wink. But if Natasha was as good as they said, it might be worth a try. Reluctantly, you agreed.
The next morning, Natasha arrived punctually at the agreed time at your residence. Dressed in her usual black, she looked every bit the seasoned professional. You opened the door, your expression a mix of annoyance and curiosity. "So, we meet again." Natasha nodded, her face impassive. "Hello, sweetheart. Patience today?"
You crossed your arms and stood firm. "Just so we're clear, I don't need you to treat me like a child. I can take care of myself." Natasha's lips twitched into a barely perceptible smile. "Noted. But my job is to protect you, even if you don't like my methods." You felt a flicker of the same irritation you had experienced at the Gala. This was going to be an interesting arrangement, to say the least.
A few weeks after the charity gala, you attended a book signing event for one of your favorite authors. The bookstore was packed with fans and media, all eager to catch a glimpse of the rising star. Natasha, as always, was nearby, scanning the crowd for potential threats.
As you chatted with fans and signed autographs, you felt a growing unease. One particular fan, a middle-aged man, lingered closer than seemed appropriate. His intense gaze and the way he approached you made you uncomfortable.
"Hello, can I take a photo with you?" the man asked, his voice overly eager. You forced a polite smile. "Of course," you said, posing for a quick photo. As you tried to move on to the next fan, the man grabbed your arm.
"Wait, you looked so good in the last movie... your style and all..." he said, tightening his grip. Your smile faded, and you tried to pull your arm back. "Please let go."
The man's grip only tightened, and he began reaching into his pocket. Before you could react, Natasha stepped in. She moved with lightning speed, prying the man's hand off your arm and positioning herself between you.
"Step back." Natasha ordered, her voice cold and commanding. The man looked startled but did not move. "I just wanted to give her something!"
Natasha remained unmoved. "I said step back. Now." The intensity in Natasha's eyes and the firmness of her voice finally got through to the man. He stepped back and disappeared into the crowd. Your heart was racing, but you felt a wave of gratitude toward Natasha. "Thank you.." you said, your voice shaking. Natasha nodded, her eyes still scanning the crowd. "Time to go."
At home, you couldn't shake off the day's events. You sat on the couch, replaying the encounter in your mind. Natasha stood nearby, her stance as rigid as ever. "Are you okay?" Natasha asked, her voice softer than usual You nodded. "Yes, just... a bit shaken." Natasha sat across from you, her expression unreadable. "You handled it well. But you need to be more aware of your surroundings. Fans can be unpredictable." You sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and gratitude. "I know. I just didn't expect that."
"That's why I'm here," Natasha said, her tone firm but not unkind. "To expect the unexpected and keep you safe." You looked at Natasha, seeing her in a new light. Despite the rocky start, you realized how much you had come to rely on Natasha's presence. "I appreciate it.“
Natasha gave a crooked smile, a rare expression on her otherwise stoic face. "Just doing my job, princess." You rolled your eyes at the nickname but couldn't suppress a small smile. "You're impossible, you know that?" Natasha's smile widened. "And you're stubborn. I think we make a good team."
In the following weeks, your relationship developed further. There were still plenty of tensions and your share of arguments, but a mutual respect began to grow. Natasha's relentless professionalism and your determination to live your life on your own terms created a dynamic that was both challenging and oddly comforting.
One evening, as you were preparing for another public appearance and saw the crowds you had to move through, you stood closer to Natasha, her presence calming you. Natasha raised an eyebrow, her lips forming a teasing smile. "Careful, princess, it almost looks like you actually like me." You laughed and shook your head. "Don't push it, Romanoff. But, since you're here..." Natasha's smile softened a bit. "Anytime."
Despite the nicknames and teasing, there was an unspoken understanding between you both and you couldn't deny Natasha's skills and dedication. Natasha, for all her toughness, began to see the determination and drive behind your fame and youth that had brought you to this point. Slowly, you began to understand each other and formed an uneasy alliance.
Next up was another film premiere, where you were the guest of honor. The tension between you was palpable again, fueled by your contrasting personalities and constant proximity.
While you were getting ready, you felt Natasha's eyes on you, checking every detail. "You know, you don't have to watch me like a hawk." you said, your tone sharper than intended. Natasha leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "It's my job to watch you."
"I can take care of myself." you snapped, turning fully to face her. Natasha's eyes narrowed. "Really? Because from where I stand, you've been pretty naive about the dangers around you."
You felt stung by the implication. "Naive? Just because I'm younger doesn't mean I'm clueless. I've worked hard to get here, and I don't need you undermining me." Natasha pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer. "And I don't need you questioning my every move. You hired me to protect you, and that's what I'm doing. If you don't like my methods, find someone else."
You glared at her, frustration boiling within you. "Maybe I will! I can't stand you treating me like a burden." Natasha's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with anger. "You think I enjoy this? Looking after a spoiled little girl who doesn't appreciate what I do?"
The words hurt more than you cared to admit, and tears sprang to your eyes. "I'm definitely not spoiled! You don't know anything about me! And you know what? You are i-impossible, Natasha! I've had enough of your condescending attitude."
Natasha took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in her temper. "Fine. Maybe I'm impossible. But at least I'm doing my job. You want to fire me? Go ahead. But don't come to me when everything falls apart."
You refused to let your tears fall. But Natasha saw them. "You're so arrogant... Do you even care about anything other than your job?" For a moment, Natasha's eyes softened, and you thought you saw a hint of regret, but it was gone in an instant. "I care about keeping you alive, even if you don't see it."
You turned away, struggling to compose yourself. "Just leave me alone for a moment." Natasha gave a curt nod and walked out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You felt a mix of anger and guilt, knowing that despite everything, Natasha was right. The world you lived in was dangerous, and you needed someone like her to protect you.
Later that evening, you stood on the balcony of your hotel room, staring at the city lights. The day's events played over in your mind, and you felt a pang of guilt for the harsh words you'd thrown at Natasha. You heard the door open and turned to see Natasha, her expression unreadable. "Can I join you?" Natasha asked, her voice surprisingly gentle. You nodded, and Natasha stepped onto the balcony, leaning against the railing next to you.
"I'm sorry," you said after a moment of silence. "For what I said earlier. I didn't mean it." Natasha glanced at you, a hint of a smile on her lips. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have called you naive... and a little girl." You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. "It's just... this whole situation is new to me, okay? I'm not used to someone constantly having to watch over me."
"I know," Natasha said quietly. "And I'm not used to working with someone so... spirited as you. But I'm here to protect you, Y/N. Whether you like it or not." You couldn't help but laugh. "Spirited, huh? That's one way to put it." Natasha's smile widened. "You're tough, I'll give you that. But you need to trust me."
You nodded, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "I trust you. Even if you drive me crazy sometimes." Natasha chuckled. "The feeling is mutual, princess." You rolled your eyes at the nickname but couldn't suppress a smile. "Thank you, Natasha."
"Anytime," Natasha replied, her tone sincere. She looked at you, and before you could think too much about it, you turned and impulsively kissed Natasha on the lips. Natasha stiffened for a moment, then returned the kiss, her lips moving confidently against yours.
Your heart raced as you kissed Natasha, a surprising warmth flooding through you. As you pulled back slightly, you felt something firm press against your hip. Your eyes widened in surprise as you realized what it was. Natasha smirked, clearly noticing your reaction.
"Surprised?" Natasha asked, her voice deep and teasing. You nodded, still a bit stunned. "A little. I didn't see that coming.“ Natasha's smirk widened, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Well, I'm full of surprises."
You felt a blush creep over your cheeks, but you couldn't help but joke to cover your own nervousness. "Didn't know bodyguards got excited so easily." Natasha's eyes darkened with something more than just amusement. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear. "Only when it's worth it."
Your breath caught as Natasha's hand lightly traced over your back, sending shivers down your spine. Natasha's presence was overwhelming, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. Natasha leaned over you slightly, her lips brushing your ear. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess," she murmured, her voice husky with desire.
Your cheeks burned, and you felt a wave of excitement that both thrilled and embarrassed you. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Natasha straightened up, an amused glint in her eyes as she stepped back. "Get some rest," Natasha said, her voice returning to its usual calm tone. "You have a big day tomorrow."
With that, Natasha turned and walked back into the hotel room, leaving you standing on the balcony, your mind racing and your body buzzing with emotions. As you stood there, the cool night air brushing your skin, you knew that things between you and Natasha would never be the same again. When you lay down that night, replaying the memory of the kiss and Natasha's teasing words, you couldn't help but smile, your heart racing with excitement and curiosity about what the future would bring.
Your schedule had become a whirlwind of appearances, interviews, and fan interactions as you toured to promote your latest film. Everywhere you went, enthusiastic fans awaited you, clamoring for autographs and selfies. Natasha was always close by.
One afternoon, you were at a signing event in a busy city. The line of fans stretched around the block, and you took time with each person, chatting and taking photos. However, Natasha noticed a pattern: you were livelier and smiled brighter when interacting with your female fans. It was something you did unconsciously, but Natasha picked up on it.
During a break, Natasha couldn't resist commenting. "You really come alive around the ladies, don't you, princess?" she said, her tone teasing but with a hint of something else. You raised an eyebrow, noting the subtle undertone in Natasha's voice. "What's that supposed to mean?" Natasha shrugged, a smirking smile on her lips. "Just an observation. You seem to enjoy their company more."
You felt a spark of defiance. Remembering the balcony scene and Natasha's teasing nature, you decided to push it further. If Natasha wanted to tease you, you'd give her a taste of her own medicine. "Maybe I do," you said, your tone playful. "Is that a problem?" Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly, but she maintained her cool demeanor. "Not at all. Just interesting to watch."
You decided to take it up a notch. For the rest of the event, you made an extra effort to be even more attentive with your female fans. You laughed louder, leaned in closer for photos, and gave their conversations more attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Natasha watching, her jaw tensing slightly.
You found it immensely amusing. You liked seeing the usually unflappable Natasha show a bit of emotion, especially jealousy. It gave you a sense of power in your otherwise tense dynamic.
Later that evening, you returned to the hotel. You were in high spirits, still buoyed by the interactions of the day and the success of your plan to annoy Natasha. As you entered the hotel suite, Natasha finally spoke. "You really enjoyed today, didn't you?“ You turned to her, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Oh, I did. It was a lot of fun. Especially to see how you lose your composure"
Natasha's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and something deeper. "My composure? I have not lost my composure." You stepped closer, lowering your voice to a teasing whisper. "Sure looked like it to me." Natasha's gaze hardened, but there was no denying the hint of jealousy there. "Careful, Y/N."
You felt a thrill at the challenge in Natasha's voice. "Nope." Natasha stepped closer, the tension between you crackling like electricity. "You're testing my patience." You smiled, enjoying the power you held in this moment. "And what are you going to do about it?"
Natasha's eyes darkened with desire, and she stepped closer, her body only inches from yours. "Do you really want to know?" Your heart pounded in your chest, the air between you thick with tension. "Maybe I do.“ Natasha leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. "Don't forget who you're playing with, princess. I don't give in easily."
You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you refused to back down. "Good. Neither do I." Natasha's smile widened, and for a moment, you thought she would kiss you again. But when Natasha turned and walked away, you couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and excitement. You had pushed Natasha's buttons and gotten a reaction, but you knew that this game you were playing was far from over.
In the following days, you continued to tease Natasha, finding new ways to provoke her jealousy. You found it incredibly amusing to see the normally composed bodyguard show signs of possessiveness. And despite the tension, there was an undeniable thrill in your interactions. Natasha seemed to enjoy the challenge as well. She never backed down and always met your provocations with her own brand of teasing and intensity. Your relationship was a constant back-and-forth, filled with playful banter and underlying desire.
The evening of the final premiere had arrived, and you were in your hotel suite, getting ready for the event. Your hair and makeup team were putting the finishing touches on your look, ensuring every detail was perfect. You wore a stunning dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, the shimmering fabric catching the light beautifully. You looked every bit the star you were, ready to captivate the crowd and cameras.
As you admired your reflection in the mirror, the door to your suite opened. Natasha walked in, looking as composed and confident as ever. She wore her usual black ensemble but had her jacket casually slung over her shoulder, and her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of her toned chest. The sight made your heart skip a beat, and you hated yourself for finding Natasha so attractive.
Natasha's eyes scanned over you appreciatively, a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, don't you look like a million dollars tonight." You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your blush. "Thanks. You don't look too bad yourself."
Natasha chuckled and stepped closer. "You really know how to turn heads, princess. Try not to cause too many heart attacks out there." You felt a mix of irritation and something warmer, more exciting. "I'll do my best." you said, your tone half teasing, half serious. Natasha's smile widened. "Remember, I'm here to protect you. Can't have you distracting me too much." You laughed and shook your head. "I'll try not to be too much of a distraction."
Natasha's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she nodded. "Good. Ready to go?" You took a deep breath and cast one last look in the mirror. "Ready."
The red carpet was a flurry of activity, with flashing cameras and cheering fans. You moved gracefully through the crowd, stopping for interviews and photos. Natasha was always nearby, her eyes scanning the surroundings for potential threats. Despite the busy environment, your mind was elsewhere. You had been thinking about the ongoing game with Natasha, the back-and-forth of your interactions, and the growing tension between you. Tonight, you decided, you would take it a step further.
As you entered the theater for the premiere, you could feel the electricity in the air. You excused yourself from the group of people you were with and moved to a quieter part of the lobby. Natasha followed you, her vigilant eyes missing nothing. "Everything okay?" Natasha asked, her tone professional but with a hint of curiosity. You turned to her, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, I just needed a moment. It's so hectic out there."
Natasha nodded, her stance relaxed but alert. "You should have thought of that before." You stepped closer, your hand lightly brushing Natasha's arm. "You weren't so grumpy earlier. What's with the attitude now?"
Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but cautious. "I'm not grumpy. I'm just doing my job." You smiled, your hand sliding down to Natasha's waist, your fingers tracing the edge of her pants. “Loosen up a little, it’s fine to be a risky once in a while, Natasha.”
Natasha's eyes darkened with desire as she realized your intentions. "You're giving me a handjob at your premiere. We're thinking of two different versions of risk." You leaned in, your breath warm against Natasha's ear. "Maybe I like my version better." Your hand moved bolder, stroking over the bulge in Natasha's pants. Natasha gasped, but quickly placed her hand over yours to stop your movements. Her grip was firm, and a smirking smile played on her lips as she leaned closer, her voice a soft, seductive whisper.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" Natasha murmured, her breath hot against your ear. "If you keep this up, I'll have you on your knees, begging for more. I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight for a week." Your heart raced at Natasha's words, a shiver running down your spine. You felt a mix of excitement and nervousness, your breath hitching.
Natasha stepped back slightly, her eyes meeting yours. "You have no idea what you're getting into, princess." You tried to regain your composure. "Then show me." Natasha's smile turned dangerous and seductive. "Not here. Not now."
Your heart raced, your mind buzzing with anticipation. You stepped back slightly, your eyes meeting Natasha's. "When then?" Natasha's smile was dangerous and seductive. "You'll see." You felt a thrill run through you. You had challenged Natasha, and now you were ready for whatever came next. As you returned to the premiere, the tension between you was palpable, an unspoken promise of things to come.
The premiere went smoothly, but your and Natasha's thoughts were elsewhere. The silent promise you had exchanged hung between you, intensifying every glance, every touch. As the event came to an end, you felt both excited and nervous about what would happen next. Natasha's presence, as always, was a calming force, but now it was charged with a new kind of tension.
As you finally returned to the hotel, you couldn't resist teasing Natasha one last time. "So, what's next, bodyguard? Do you still think I'm playing a dangerous game?" Natasha's eyes were dark with promise as she stepped closer. "Oh, princess, the game has only just begun." You felt a shiver of excitement. "Good. I wouldn't want it any other way."
You turned to head to your room, thinking you had the upper hand. But before you could take more than a few steps, Natasha grabbed your arm and effortlessly swung you over her shoulder. You gasped in surprise as Natasha carried you into the bedroom.
"Natasha! W-What are you doing!?" you exclaimed, your voice a mix of shock and excitement. Natasha didn't answer immediately. Instead, she gave you a quick, firm smack on your butt, making you gasp. "You wanted to play games, princess. Now it's my turn." Your heart raced as Natasha carried you into the bedroom and tossed you onto the bed. Natasha stood at the foot of the bed, removing her jacket and unbuttoning her blouse with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving yours.
"You've been teasing me all night," Natasha said, her voice deep and commanding. "Now it's time to show you what happens when you play with fire." You felt a wave of heat wash over you as you watched Natasha undress. You bit your lip, your breath catching in anticipation.
Natasha climbed onto the bed, her movements predatory and deliberate. She leaned over you, her hands pinning your wrists above your head as she kissed you deeply and possessively. You responded eagerly, your body arching into Natasha's. She broke the kiss, her lips brushing your ear. "You belong to me tonight, princess. And I'm going to make sure you remember it."
Your faces were only inches apart, and you could feel Natasha's breath on your skin. The tension between you crackled like electricity, a mix of anger and desire. Your teasing had always been a game to provoke Natasha, but now, faced with the intensity of Natasha's gaze, you realized how far you had pushed her.
"You drive me crazy, Y/N," Natasha whispered, her voice rough. "Now it's my turn." Your heart skipped a beat, your body trembling with anticipation. "Then don't hold back, please.." you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. Natasha's smile widened, and she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear. "Oh, I don't plan to."
Natasha's lips crashed onto yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. You responded eagerly, your body arching into Natasha's, your skin tingling with the intensity of the moment. Natasha's hands moved purposefully, one sliding down your side, her fingertips tracing the hem of your dress before slipping underneath.
You gasped into the kiss as Natasha's fingers drew patterns on your skin, sending waves of pleasure through you. You had never experienced such a touch, so firm, so assured. It was as if Natasha knew exactly how to unravel you. "Natasha.." you breathed, your voice trembling with desire. "Please..." Natasha pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her gaze fierce and intense. "Oh, I like that. Please what?" she demanded, her tone commanding.
"Please... more.." you begged, your body aching for Natasha's touch. A satisfied smile spread across Natasha’s face as she obliged, her fingers finding their way to your most sensitive spots, drawing moans and gasps from you that filled the room. Your world narrowed to the sensation of Natasha's touch, your body responding with an intensity you had never known.
Natasha's hands moved expertly, teasing and pleasing you until you trembled with desire. Just as you thought you couldn't take anymore, Natasha pulled back slightly, her gaze dark and full of promise. "You're not ready for what's coming next," Natasha said, her voice deep and husky. She stood up, her movements intentionally slow, giving you a moment to catch your breath.
You watched with wide eyes as Natasha unbuckled her belt, your gaze following her every move. As Natasha's pants fell to the floor, you caught your breath. There, proud and ready, was Natasha's member. Natasha reached into her pocket and pulled out a condom, rolling it on with practiced ease.
"You were prepared," you teased, your voice breathless. "Did you know the night would end like this?" Natasha gave you a sly smile. "I had a feeling. And by the end of the night, you won't have that attitude anymore."
Your body responded to Natasha's words, a mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through you. Natasha climbed back onto the bed, positioning herself between your legs. She leaned in to capture your lips in another searing kiss, her hands roaming over your body, stoking the flames of desire even higher.
As Natasha slowly entered you, you gasped at the sensation, your body arching into hers. The feeling was unlike anything you had ever experienced, a perfect blend of pleasure and connection. Natasha moved with a careful rhythm, watching your reactions to ensure every movement brought you joy. "Do you like that?" Natasha whispered, her voice deep and rough. "Do you like feeling me inside you?"
"Y-Yes, oh God, yes.." you moaned, your hands clutching at Natasha's back, your nails digging into her skin as waves of pleasure washed over you. "Good," Natasha growled, increasing her pace slightly. "Because I'm not stopping until you've learned your lesson." Your breath grew heavy, your moans louder with each thrust. Natasha's lips found your neck, kissing you, making you tremble. Natasha's hand slipped between you, her fingers brushing over your clit in teasing, light touches.
"Natasha!" you gasped, your body jolting at the sudden rush of pleasure. "Please, stop..."
"Just a taste of your own medicine," Natasha murmured, her voice a husky whisper against your skin. She kept her slow, torturous rhythm, her fingers lightly dancing over your sensitive spot, driving you wild with desire. Your frustration mingled with your arousal, the teasing making you desperate. "Please, Natasha... I need more.." you begged, your voice trembling.
Natasha's smile deepened, savoring your pleading. "You need to learn that actions have consequences," she said, her pace increasing, each thrust deeper and harder. "Is this what you wanted, Y/N? To be dominated, made to beg?"
"Yes, yes!" you whimpered, your body arching, seeking more. "Please, Natasha, I need you..“ Seeing your desperation, Natasha finally relented. She increased her pace, her thrusts becoming rougher, harder. Her fingers pressed firmly against your clit, rubbing in perfect rhythm with her movements. "You feel so good," Natasha groaned, her own arousal evident in her voice. "So tight around me. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"
„God.." you cried, your body shaking with the intensity of your pleasure. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
"I'm not," Natasha promised, her voice rough with desire. She began slowly, her thrusts gentle and deliberate, giving you time to adjust to the new sensation. Each movement was measured, designed to build the pleasure slowly. Her fingers pressed firmly against your clit, rubbing in perfect rhythm with her movements. "You feel so good," Natasha groaned, her own arousal evident in her voice. "So tight around me. I told you how it would end."
"Oh God!" you cried, your body shaking with the intensity of your pleasure. "Don't stop, please don't stop..“ Natasha's breath came heavy, her movements becoming more urgent. "You're going to take everything I give you," she growled. "And you're going to love it." Natasha's eyes burned with a mix of desire and something deeper. "Turn around," she commanded, her voice rough. "I want to take you from behind."
You complied, your body trembling with anticipation. Natasha positioned herself behind you, her hands gripping your hips firmly. With one swift motion, Natasha entered you again, the new angle sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. "God, you feel so good," Natasha groaned, her pace rough and relentless. "Do you like this, Y/N? Do you like being fucked like this?"
"Yes, Natasha, y-yees.." you cried, your body pushing back against each thrust. "Harder, please, harder..“ Natasha's grunts filled the room, her movements becoming more powerful, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. "Fuck, what would your fans say if they saw you like this?" she growled.
Your world was a whirl of sensations, your body burning with pleasure. "Please, please, please!" you gasped, your voice breaking with need. "Please, I'm so close.."
Natasha's hands slid to your shoulders, pulling you back with each thrust, her pace unrelenting. "I want to see your face when you come," Natasha demanded, her voice rough. You turned, your eyes meeting Natasha's intense gaze. Natasha didn't break the connection, her thrusts deep and powerful, her eyes locked on yours. "You're so beautiful," Natasha murmured, her voice filled with raw emotion. "Come for me, Y/N. I want to see you come."
Your body obeyed, the intensity of Natasha's gaze and the power of her movements driving you over the edge. You called out Natasha's name, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm, your eyes never leaving Natasha's. She followed you, her own orgasm hitting her hard, her body tensing with the release. She held you close, your bodies entwined, the intensity of your connection overwhelming.
When it was over, Natasha collapsed beside you, both of you breathing heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. You looked up at Natasha, your eyes shining with gratitude and something deeper. "That was... incredible," you whispered, your voice shaking. Natasha smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You're incredible," she replied softly, her touch now tender, filled with affection.
You snuggled into Natasha's embrace, feeling safe. You had challenged Natasha, teased her, but now you understood the depth of it and the passion that lay beneath your banter. It was a night you would indeed never forget.
The next morning, the sunlight filtered gently through the curtains of your hotel room, casting a warm glow across the bed. You stirred slowly, a pleasant ache in your muscles reminding you of the intense connection you had shared with Natasha the previous night. A contented smile spread across your face as you replayed the events in your mind. The way Natasha had made you feel cherished and desired was unlike anything you had experienced before.
As you stretched lazily, you noticed Natasha already up and moving around the room, her movements efficient and purposeful as she dressed in her black uniform. Still feeling the warmth of the night, you sat up and instinctively pulled the blanket around you.
Natasha caught sight of your movement and smirked. "You don't have to hide under the blanket, princess," she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I've already seen everything." You felt a blush rise to your cheeks but managed a small smile. "Force of habit, I guess." Natasha chuckled softly and walked over to the bed, sitting down beside you. She reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. "How are you feeling?"
You leaned into her touch, savoring the intimacy. "Good. Better than good, actually." Natasha's smile softened, and she pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "Good. We've got a busy day ahead. Remember, it's the final interview for the film today." You nodded, the reality of the day settling in. "Right. The last interview." Natasha's eyes searched yours, a hint of concern flickering in them. "Are you ready for it?"
You sighed, feeling a pang of anxiety. "I think so. Just... nervous, I guess." Natasha squeezed your hand reassuringly. "You'll do great. And I'll be right there with you."
As Natasha continued getting ready, you reached for your phone on the nightstand. Unlocking it, you saw a barrage of notifications. Among the messages was one from a close friend, marked urgent. Curiosity piqued, you opened the message thread.
The message read: "Y/N, have you seen these articles? Be careful with Natasha Romanoff. She's got a reputation." Attached were several links to articles and gossip columns detailing Natasha's past relationships, her numerous one-night stands, and her professional life as a bodyguard. The headlines screamed warnings about her dangerous allure and the trail of broken hearts she had left behind.
Your heart sank as you scrolled through the articles, each one chipping away at the happiness you had felt just moments before. The friend’s message continued: "I just don't want to see you get hurt. She might be good at her job, but she's also known for not sticking around."
Natasha's teasing smile from this morning flashed in your mind: "You don't have to hide under the blanket, princess. I've already seen everything." What if you were just another conquest for her? The memory of her passionate words from last night seemed suddenly tainted "You belong to me tonight, princess. And I'm going to make sure you remember it."
Natasha noticed the shift in your expression and the way you had gone quiet, your eyes glued to your phone. "Y/N, is everything okay?" she asked, concern lacing her voice. You quickly locked your phone and forced a smile. "Yeah, just... some messages." But the seed of doubt had been planted. Despite your efforts to focus, the words from the articles lingered in your mind. Was last night just another notch on Natasha's belt?
As you got ready, Natasha left you alone for a moment to gather your thoughts. The anxiety gnawed at you, turning the warmth you had felt into a cold pit in your stomach.
The day passed in a blur of preparations and travel to the interview location. Your mind kept drifting back to the articles, the warnings, the doubt. By the time you arrived at the studio, the unease had settled deep within you.
When the time for the interview finally arrived, you found yourself sitting in a brightly lit studio, facing a well-known interviewer. The cameras rolled, and the interview began. You tried to concentrate, but your mind kept wandering, haunted by the headlines and Natasha's reputation. "So, Y/N, this film has been a huge success. How has the journey been for you?" You forced a smile, trying to gather your thoughts. "It's been incredible. The cast and crew were amazing, and I learned so much."
But even as you spoke, you couldn't shake the memory of Natasha's voice from last night"Do you like feeling me inside you?"
"Can you share any particularly memorable moments from the set?" You hesitated, your mind momentarily blank. "Uh, there were so many great moments. I think... the camaraderie we shared off-camera was really special."
Natasha's teasing smile from this morning flashed in your mind "You don't have to hide under the blanket, princess. I've already seen everything."
"What are your plans after this film? Any new projects in the pipeline?" You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. "I'm exploring a few options, but nothing's set in stone yet."
Natasha's concern earlier replayed in your mind "Are you ready for it?" The interview continued, but your responses grew increasingly mechanical. Natasha, standing just off-camera, noticed the shift in your demeanor. Her brow furrowed with concern as she watched you, sensing something was wrong. She began to worry that she had overstepped last night, that perhaps she had pushed you too far.
When the interview finally concluded, you left the studio feeling drained and unsettled. Natasha was by your side immediately, her eyes filled with worry. "Y/N, what's wrong?" Natasha asked, her voice gentle yet urgent. "Did something happen during the interview?"
You shook your head, avoiding her gaze. "No, it's not that. I just... need some space right now." Natasha's heart clenched at your words. She followed you silently back to the hotel, the worry gnawing at her. Had she misread the signals? Had she taken things too far last night? The thought of having hurt you in any way made her feel sick.
Back in the hotel room, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. Natasha hovered nearby, her concern evident "Y/N, please talk to me," Natasha said softly. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong." You took a deep breath, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm.. scared, Natasha..“
Natasha's heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice. She stepped closer, her hand gently cupping your cheek. "Scared of what? Talk to me, please." You finally met her gaze, the tears spilling over. "I'm scared that last night... that it was just a one-time thing for you. That you only wanted me for my body."
Natasha's eyes widened in shock, and she immediately knelt in front of you, taking your hands in hers. "W-What?“ You reluctantly lifted your gaze to hers, seeing the sincerity and depth of her feelings reflected in her eyes. "Last night was not just a one-time thing for me," Natasha said firmly. "I didn't just want you for your body. You mean so much more to me than that."
You searched her eyes, your voice trembling. "But what if... what if this changes things between us? What if it's just a fling?" Natasha shook her head, her grip on your hands gentle but steady. "It won't be. Because I care about you, Y/N. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time. Last night meant everything to me, and I don't want it to end there." Tears flowed freely now, and Natasha wiped them away with her thumbs, her gaze never leaving yours.
"But what about all these articles and rumors about you?" you asked, the fear and doubt still lingering in your voice. "They say you've had so many one-night stands and relationships that didn't last. How do I know I'm not just another one?" Natasha sighed deeply, her expression turning serious. "Do you remember the actress you met at the restroom at the Gala?" You nodded, recalling the striking woman who had seemed so authoritative.
"Her name is Jessica," Natasha continued. "We were in a relationship a few month ago. It was toxic and manipulative. When I finally managed to leave her, she was furious. She threatened to ruin my reputation if I ever left her." Natasha pulled out her phone and showed you a message thread. "Here, look at this." She scrolled to a particular message and handed you the phone. The message read:
"If you leave, I will destroy your life, your reputation, everything, Natasha. No one will ever trust you again."
You felt a chill run down your spine as you read the words. Natasha's voice was steady but filled with pain. "She's the one who started those rumors and spread the articles. I'm already taking legal action against her, but these things take time."
You looked up at Natasha, seeing the sincerity and anguish in her eyes. "I had no idea..." Natasha cupped your face gently. "I would never use you, Y/N. What we have is real, and I want to protect it. Protect you. Please believe me."
You searched her eyes, feeling the sincerity in her words. "But how can I be sure?" Natasha's grip on your hands tightened, her gaze unwavering. "Because I'm standing here, telling you this. I'm not going anywhere, Y/N. I want to be with you, not just for a night, but for as long as you'll have me."
You felt a flood of relief and emotion wash over you. "I want that too, Natasha. I just... I needed to know." Natasha pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere." You clung to her, feeling the warmth and strength of her presence. The fear and doubt that had plagued you melted away in the face of Natasha's unwavering support.
As the day continued, you felt a renewed sense of connection and understanding with Natasha. The bond between you had deepened, forged through honesty and vulnerability. With the whirlwind of your film promotion tour finally over, you felt a mix of relief and excitement as you arrived back at your home. For the first time in months, you had some well-deserved time off. Natasha, your steadfast bodyguard, was right by your side as you walked through the front door of your cozy house.
"Home sweet home.." you sighed, dropping your bags and stretching your arms. The familiar surroundings brought a sense of peace that you had missed during your hectic schedule.
Natasha smiled, leaning against the doorway. "It's nice to see you relax." You turned to her, a question lingering in your mind. "So, what happens now? Do you move on to another client with a tour or something?" Natasha raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. "Actually, I took some time off too."
Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You took time off to stay here?" Natasha nodded, stepping closer. "Yes, I wanted to spend more time with you. I meant what I said a few days ago, Y/N."
A wave of warmth and happiness washed over you. "You really do care," you whispered, feeling your heart swell with affection. Natasha cupped your face gently, her eyes soft and sincere. "I care a lot, and I want to make the most of this time we have together."
The next few days were blissful. You and Natasha spent time just enjoying each other's company, something you hadn't been able to do during the tour. The bond between you grew stronger, built on trust and genuine affection. One lazy afternoon, as you lounged on the couch together, you started discussing potential vacation destinations. "We should go somewhere special," you suggested, scrolling through various travel websites on your laptop. "How about a trip to a secluded beach resort? Just the two of us."
Natasha leaned in, looking at the screen. "That sounds perfect." You found a beautiful resort that offered private bungalows by the ocean and various activities for couples. "This one looks amazing," you said excitedly. "Let me book it."
Before you could click the "book now" button, the doorbell rings, "Food is here!" You sprint over and meanwhile Natasha took the laptop and made the booking. When you come back with two pizza boxes, you pouted playfully. "Hey! I wanted to pay for it!“ Natasha chuckled, pulling you into her arms. "I know, but I wanted to do this for us." You gave her a mock glare. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Natasha silenced you with a gentle kiss, her lips soft and tender against yours. "Shush," she whispered against your lips. "Let me take care of you for once." You melted into her embrace, feeling the love and care she poured into every touch and kiss. "Okay," you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips. "I guess I can let you spoil me this time."
The anticipation of your upcoming trip added an extra layer of excitement to your days. You spent your time planning activities and daydreaming about the sun, sand, and sea. The more you got to know Natasha in this relaxed setting, the more you realized how deeply you felt for her. As the departure date for your vacation approached, you and Natasha packed your bags with a mix of excitement and eagerness. The thought of being in a beautiful, secluded place with her made your heart race.
Finally, the day arrived, and you both boarded the plane to your dream destination. The flight was smooth, filled with laughter and light conversations about the adventures you planned to have. Upon landing, you were greeted with warm ocean breezes and the sound of waves crashing on the shore.
Your bungalow was even more beautiful than the pictures, nestled right on the beach with a stunning view of the turquoise waters. As you stepped inside, you felt a sense of tranquility wash over you. "This is perfect," you sighed, looking out at the ocean from the large windows. Natasha wrapped her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "It really is. I'm glad we're here together."
You turned in her arms, looking up at her with a smile. "Me too. Thank you for everything, Natasha." She leaned down and kissed you softly. "Anything for you, Princess." The days that followed were filled with pure bliss. You and Natasha spent your time exploring the beach, swimming in the crystal-clear waters, and enjoying romantic dinners under the stars. Each moment felt like a precious gift, strengthening the bond you shared.
Request: Yes. Stalker Natasha x reader who knows she's being stalked. Reader is into Natasha stalking her and purposefully leaves her bedroom window open for Natasha every night. Reader has a religious mother. Reader is a baker and lives alone. Natasha has fallen for the baker who likes to read and live alone.
TW: Stalking, swearing, obsession(??), breaking and entering. Breeding kink. Religious mother. Camera in readers room. Natasha is GP. Reader is an implied virgin.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
You were dealing with a regular customer when the bakery door bell rang and in stepped a redheaded woman who looked like she rather owned the place.
You gave the customer their receipt as you did your practiced saying of greetings and seeing them again next time. Your eyes happen to travel to the tall redhead, the woman was in all black; black jeans, black combat boots, black tank top and a black leather jacket that looked more expensive than half the books you own.
"Hi there," her voice was smooth as her green eyes held yours. "Hi, welcome to our bakery. What can I get you?" You keep your voice light with kindness. "Coffee. Black. No sugar," the green eyed woman stated as if it should have been a known fact. "Order for?" You stare up at her as you ask her name. "Natasha," her name rolled off her tongue with her Russian accent hinting through.
"Will that be all, ma'am?" You type the order in the machine. "An apple danish too, please." She easily swiped her black card in the card machine. Natasha made her way to a chair in the corner as she waited for her order. Her greens eyes trailed over your figure as you personally tended to her coffee with such... care and focus, it almost made her smile. Almost.
"Order for Natasha!" You call out as you slid the coffee cup and the boxed apple danish on the counter for collection. Natasha made her way to her collection, "Fast service here." Her voice was smooth as she popped a lid on her to-go cup. "Yes, ma'am," you give a polite smile that was used for every day customers, "efficency is in our name." Natasha hummed as she sipped the piping hot coffee, "I bet it is." She tilted her cup towards you, "good coffee too. But an even better coffee brewer." Her green eyes watched yours as she was silent for a moment, "I just hope the baked goods are just as good."
"Thank you for coming, we hope to see you again soon," you reply with the rehearsed lines and a smile. "I'm sure you will, sweetheart." Natasha walked away with a smug smirk she couldn't keep off her face as she sipped her coffee once again, her fingers twitch against the box the apple danish laid rested in. The Russian felt a feeling stir within her, deep and mysterious but she ignored it for now.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
From that day, Natasha has been frustrated with thoughts of you and your smile and those innocent eyes that stare up at her, constantly. That same day was when Natasha looked you up, you had no family besides your mother, you live alone, and you love to read. She figured since she's followed you to book stores thrice in a week.
That's when she also found out that you've never been with anyone before, especially given your mother's rules of dating. How you have to be 'kept pure' for your future... 'husband.' Little did she know you were a homosexual, you would never tell her in fear of what she might do if she found out.
You basically kept to yourself, yet was familiar with the regular customers at your bakery. Mrs Mapple, an old English teacher, whenever you two talk all the old woman ever talked about were her cats, and sat in the booth and drank her tea.
Then there's Mr Edward, an old accountant who had retired two years ago to focus on his health. Natasha made a list of their names- for safety purposes, of course, she wants you to be safe. She can't have what's hers be getting hurt.
Natasha had come back from a long mission that forced tension to build in her body. She knew she shouldn't have but she did. She stopped in front of the bakery, her cold green eyes watched as you locked up for the night.
You walked home with your cold hands in your pockets as you searched for warmth, Natasha slowly followed you, she stuck to the shadows as she trailed you down. As you walked to your place, you looked around, your eyes scanning dark corners as the hairs at the back of your neck stood up.
You rubbed your face as you carried on walking home, ignoring the gut feeling of something bad happening.
Natasha watched from behind a thick oak tree, the Russian groaned as her eyes watched your hips move as you climbed the steps to your front door before entering your home. The redhead sighed, her forehead against the rough bark as she fingers grasped the trees body, her jeans suddenly feel tighter. She knew she shouldn't have, but she did.
The Widow climbed the side of your house and grinned in succession as she landed in front of your bedroom window, she was careful. Silent. As she watched you get undressed, your skin revealing itself for her eyes only. Excitement grew inside her body as she waited for you to fully strip bare for her. The older woman gulped as her jeans somehow felt tighter, she reached down to readjust herself with a relieved sigh.
The Russian heard the shower go on, green light. The Widow used her pocket knife to wedge open the window, sliding the frame up as she silently climbed inside the warm room.
It smells like you.
Her green eyes scanned the room, she glanced at the bathroom door before crouching down to the floor, she used the tip of her blade to pick up your discarded underwear.
Lace.
Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to not do anything too... revealing. She had to remain silent and hidden. She dropped the material as she stood up. Her hands automatically searched the bedside tables for anything she missed, only coming across a Jane Austin book with a book mark poking out.
The shower turned off.
Shit.
Had it really been that long?
Natasha quickly, stealthily climbed out the window, closing it fully. She didn't leave just yet as she watched your body emerge from the bathroom. Skin glistening and steaming from the hot shower. You dried your body off with your towel before throwing on your pajamas, Natasha felt her lips twitch in a smirk, you don't wear underwear to bed. Easy access.
You finally closed your eyes for the night, sighing as you got comfortable under your duvet, the sheets pulled up to your shoulders. Natasha waited, her eyes tracked your breathing, making sure you were in a deep sleep before opening the window again.
The Widow entered the warm room again, closing the window behind her, she stood still.
Fingers flexing as her jaw ticked. She shouldn't.
She really fucking shouldn't.
But she did.
Natasha got her boots off and neatly laid her jacket over the arm of the chair that sat in the corner of the room. The Russian's heart thumped as she took a step closer to the bed. Then another. Then her knee was on the mattress and next thing she knew she was on her side.
Natasha released a breath, her hand hovered over your hips as she moved her body closer to yours, heat radiated off her body onto hers. Then finally her arm wrapped around your mid section, Her face buried in your neck as she released a low groan of satisfaction.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The woman left in the early morning, leaving nothing but a lightly heated patch where she laid in bed. Your hand goes to your waist, your finger tips ghost over your hips. You could have sworn... you shake your head and throw the warm feeling if being held as a lucid dream.
You served the customers as per usual. "Natasha," you greet with a smile, "the usual?"
The Russian's routine became ordering a black coffee with an apple danish, that she felt was too sweet, every morning. Natasha gave a nod, "You know me so well." Her green eyes watched as you worked the counter and boxed her dessert. 'Almost as well as I know you,' she thought.
"You sleep well last night, sweetheart?" The Russian let her mouth move before her brain could stop her. She noticed how you seemed to run more smoothly, more energy. More of your beautiful smile just for her to see.
"What?" You hands froze on the boxes lid. "I mean, you just look so well rest today," Natasha shrugged nonchalantly, "I know you've had a busy week. It is a well known bakery you're running here, yes?"
You nod in response, "Oh," you close the dessert box, "yeah, uhm. I slept soundly."
'Oh, I know,' Natasha grinned as she thought to herself. "What about you?" You only ask back in politeness. "Best sleep I have had in years," Natasha tipped her coffee at Elena as she took a sip, "always the best." The redhead walked out the bakery with new found confidence.
You only slept so peacefully because of her. You were safe and sound in her arms and her arms only.
A pattern formed over the weeks. Natasha sneaking in through your window and got comfortable to cuddle you from behind, even going as far as getting under the blankets with you. Yet you still remained unknowing... well, in her eyes at least.
But you did, you did notice. You saw how her green eyes lingered on your face, your body. On you. How her fingers brushed yours when grabbing her order.
One night, you left your window open. Just an inch. But Natasha noticed, she always did.
The Russian happily climbed inside your room that always seemed perfectly warm with your scent. She watched your for a long second, then got undressed with a knowing smile, she bit her bottom lip to suppress a smug remark. The Widow settled in behind you again, under the sheets as her bicep twitched pulling you closer to her body.
Then you shifted back onto her.
She knew it. She fucking knew it.
She could tell by your breathing. The window you left open. Just for her.
Your bottom pressed against her front comfortably as her arm was firmly wrapped around your waist, her face tucked in your neck as she breathed in your scent. The Widow felt your body relax in her hold. Natasha's face was in your neck as she breathed in your scent. The Widow felt your body relax in her her hold as you succumbed to your sleep, she followed shortly with a hum of content.
Natasha left in the early morning, but she did not leave without a trace. A small note on your pillow laid beside your head.
'Thanks for the cuddles, sweetheart. :)' it read with a small drawn smiley face next to it.
That day you added a note to her dessert box.
'For my favourite customer :)' you could only tease back, drawing a smiley face of your own for her.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The battle of teasing notes began, Natasha would hint to the night before of you guys cuddling in her notes. Till one day, a note of hers read, 'I love it when you press yourself against me in bed.'
You could hear her whisper those words in your ear with a rasp.
A small box sat beneath the note, and in it held a small silver chain with a single 'N' on it. You wore it the next day, the silver glinted under the bakery's lights and Natasha's green eyes immediately caught on to it. Her lips lift into a smug grin as she got herself a croissant for the morning.
The next day, you decided your stalker also needed a... gift.
So, what else would be a better gift than your underwear. You laid your underwear on your bed, along with a note that read, 'Just for you.'
You looked at the finished gift and made your way to your bathroom to shower. The hot water hitting your skin perfectly as it soothed your tense muscles.
Natasha on the other hand, just came through the window, her eyes immediately found the little surprise waiting for her. Her trained ears pick up the sound of running water. Her feet make light work as she made her way to your bed like normal, she reads the note with a smirk as her tongue licked at her bottom lip. Her hands pick up the lace material, her thumbs rubbing over the lace hem then without a doubt, puts it in her pocket.
It is a gift after all, right? It's only right she keeps it.
Natasha looked towards the bathroom door, her body moving on its own as she followed the sound of water. Natasha's ear pressed against the doorlas she heard the water running, her imagination ran wild as she thought of you.
Naked. Warm. Her hands running up and down your sides as she kissed you all over your warm body while steam surrounded your bodies. Natasha's rough palm rested against the door, her fingers ticking towards the handle, her jaw ticked. She couldn't.
Just then, her phone lit up with a notification from Steve. Perfect timing. Steve is waiting for Natasha at the hangar to leave for their mission. Natasha's jaw clenched, her ears filled with sound of running water as her mind ran through thoughts of you then to the mission she needed to be on.
With a heavy sigh, Natasha pockets her phone as she slowly moved away from the door, she didn't leave without leaving a note of course, 'I'll be back soon, sweetheart. Thanks for my prize.'
Natasha left in a hurry, she didn't need Steve tracking her phone to find out where she's been. She does not need to hear about morals, not when you so perfectly fit in her arms at night.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
After two days passed of Natasha on her gruelling mission and long nights without her love to hold, she finally came back.
The Widow entered the bakery to someone flirting with her woman. Her lover. Her future wife.
"You know, I bet you taste sweeter than those cakes," the customer flirts but you can only laugh along as you hid your internal feeling of uncomfort, your eyes finding Natasha's as she watched you two interact. Natasha let out a silent huff as she left the bakery, knowing the action of kissing you or taking you out the back would make headlines with her Avengers status.
Natasha is a woman of patience though. So she waited till late at night, in her car watching the camera feed of you. Footage from the camera she set up in your room from long ago.
The screen showed how your eyes glanced directly at the camera before you began to strip yourself naked, deliberately slow and teasing.
You made her wait.
Natasha loved every second of it. Her eyes hungry for more as she watched your skin get revealed to the lens, her eyes watch as your nipples harden in the cold air. Her pants felt tight. Too tight.
In Natasha's other hand, her fingers fiddled with your house key, a gift from you. Natasha had the key to your house she could easily let herself in, let her presence be known. But that would be too easy.
Instead, she took the... 'normal' way. The path she took every night and climbed into your bedroom instead. The Russian entered your room again, her eyes tracking your form as you sat bare in only a single top made of thin material. You've been waiting for her. She knew it.
"Hi." Natasha easily smiled as she made eye contact with you. "Hi," you could not help but respond, your voice a whisper yet loud enough to fill the room.
The redhead shrugged off her leather jacket and hung it over a chair in the room, then she took off her combat boots, "You waited up for me, sweetheart?" Your eyes trace her well built form, lingering a bit on the subtle bulge in her pants, "Always."
Natasha's fingers made work of her belt buckle as she pushed the black denim off her legs, the Widow in her black top and boxers stood before you, her skin soft under the moon light.
Natasha hummed as she crawled on the bed, her heavy frame hovering over yours, her green eyes bore into yours, "How long?" You swallowed nervously, your heart banging against your ribcage, "What?"
"How long have you known that it was me?" Natasha's fingers lightly trained up your bare thigh, causing goosebumps to arise along your skin.
You gulp nervously, your chest heavy as you breathed faster, your eyes never leaving her greens as she waited for an answer. "Only after you asked how I slept," your palms rest beside you as you shift back bit, intimidated by her stern eyes, "my suspicions were confirmed when you gave me the necklace."
The Russian's eyes immediately went to the sliver that still laid on your chest, her fingers traced her own initial before picking the silver up. "Do you like it?" Her voice is soft as her thumb traced over the 'N'.
"I love it. Thank you," your hand moved to cover hers in a reassuring squeeze, "I wear it every day." The Russian smiled, leaning in so close her lips graze yours, "I know."
Natasha looked at you before leaning in properly, her lips ghost against yours before fully kissing you, deeply. She waited ages for this. To kiss you. To feel your soft lips on her own.
"Your lips are so soft, I knew it," Her voice is a deep rasp as she spoke, her forehead against yours. "You... thought about this?" You couldn't help but ask. "Every night, every day," Natasha leaned in again, her nose touching yours, her lips threatening to kiss you again, "every waking hour I spent... wanting you. To feel you. I want you, always." Her throat bobbed as she confessed, her Russian accent coating her words in a revealed heated obsession.
"You have me," You whisper back, her hand moves to her hand on your thigh, watching her reaction as you move her hand higher, into the inner of your warm thighs. "I know," her voice is teasing as she squeezed at your inner thigh, you gasp, clutching on her forearm, "I always have."
Her lips found the skin of your neck, her mouth moved feverishly as she nipped at your skin, then she moved down to kiss across your collarbone following it to the middle of your neck and down the valley of your breasts.
She pulls her hand from your thigh, her hands work to remove the barrier between her lips and your skin. Immediately your nipples begin to harden under the cold breeze before Natasha is back to kissing you.
The assassin pulled away, looking at you for a moment before kissing your lips again only to pull back and get rid of her own clothing. The older woman now fully bare before your eyes, your eyes couldn't help themselves but look at her, her old scars from missions she's been on, her muscle from working out, your eyes trail down her abs to her neatly trimmed and well taken care of patch of red hair that surrounds her erect cock with a red tip, dripping precum as she waited. The woman noticed, of course, she's a trained assassin, she noticed everything.
Her lips move against yours in passion, "I'll be gentle. I promise." Her voice is deep, husky as she positioned herself between your legs. "You don't have to be," You breathe heavily as your heart tries to catch up with your breathing.
Natasha eyed you cautiously, she wouldn't take advantage of being your first and your only time.
The Russian's lips trailed down the column of your neck to the soft skin on your stomach and thighs, her teeth grazing the warm flesh as she left her marks on you. Natasha settled in the middle of your thighs, her face deadly close to your aching warmth. You sat on your elbows, watching Natasha, her green eyes watch your chest rise with a hint of unease.
"Relax, detka," Natasha's arm moved up your body to pin your chest down and pin your body to the bed, "trust me." Her red lips were felt on your inner thigh, her voice vibrated through your skin causing your body to buzz with excitement.
"I trust you," you nod as you watch her kiss your thighs, your hip bone before settling comfortably in front of you again. "Good." Her lips press a gentle kiss to your sensitive bundle of nerves, your breath hitched, "just feel for me, baby." Her warm pink muscle from her mouth soothed up your labia gently.
"Natasha," you immediately gasp, going to sit up before being held back down again by her hand on your chest. "Relax, baby," Natasha's hand moved to squeeze at your chest, feeling the soft flesh in her grasp as her thumb and index finger rolled your areola as her mouth worked wonders on your body.
Your hands moved to hold hers on your chest, squeezing her wrist and hand as you felt her suck your clit gently with a swipe of her tongue.
Your hips twitch up towards Natasha's mouth, the Russian smirked as her other arm moved to pin your hips gently.
Natasha is hearing music right now, your beautiful moans of her name as she works on you, her tongue sliding through your labia easily as she sucked and nibbled at your clit. Natasha removed her arm from your hips, instead putting it up to your mouth, her middle finger tapped your bottom lip, "Open." And obediently you did, your warm mouth and soft lips invite her digit in. "Suck, get it nice and wet for me, moya lyubov." Natasha kissed your thigh as she watched, and felt, your warmth tongue against your finger as you sucked.
Natasha pulled her hand away, "Good girl." Her hand teased it's way down your body as she made sure to look at you. Her now wet middle finger, teasing your entrance.
"Natasha-" you gasp out a moan, your hands tighten around her hand on your chest. With a low hum, the Russian pushed her digit in, slowly, watching for any minor reaction and emotion change. Your hand moves from Natasha's wrist to her hair, the other still holding onto her hand, Natasha groaned as she pressed another kiss to your sensitive clit, her finger fully pushed inside of you. Natasha's warm muscle exited from between her lips as she looked at you, dead in the eyes, as she began to eat you out again as her finger started moving inside of you again.
Your muscles tense as your thighs instinctively close around Natasha's head as your body heats up, a warm pool in your lower abdomen, "Nat-Natasha!" Your body shook as you moaned loudly, exploding on her tongue and finger.
Natasha brought her hands to hold your thighs open yet secure around her head as she finished up her meal.
"Mhm...," The redhead hummed as she placed a kiss on your stomach, soothing your body, "you are sweeter than your desserts. So much more."
You feel your face heat up despite the room once being cool, now warm with the smell of sex in the air. Natasha kissed her way up your body, then to your lips, a deep and heavy kiss to your reddened lips as she groaned deeply when her tip made contact with your clit.
Natasha pulled away with a few pecks to your lips, her hand moving down to take hold of herself, her fist moving in up and down motions on her member.
Natasha licked her lips as she stared down at your wetness, then her hips twitched forward as she guided her tip to your entrance. "Breathe for me, baby." Her voice is husky with her Russian accent seeping through.
You inhaled sharply as you felt the Russian push in, stretching you out. Natasha made sure her hips moved slowly against yours, giving soft thrusts, each time pushing a little deeper in until her hips rest against yours. You felt stretched out. Full. So completely full of her, your Natasha.
Natasha's hands moved to your hips as she ground herself, her thumbs soothing over the skin of your hip bones before releasing a moan of your name. Natasha felt you tighten around her as her hips moved, she knew you were close.
She could feel it, how you beautifully clung to her. As if you never want to let her go.
The assassin's lips started attacking your neck as her hips moved in a rhythmic pace, her cock hitting deep spots inside of you that made you see the stars and beyond.
The Russian smirked as she felt your hips twitched against hers as your legs tightened around her waist. Natasha pulled out only to watch her come swell from between your labia, the milky white substance was thick as it dripped down your sex. Natasha immediately got obssessed, the idea of filling you up with her come and breeding you properly over took her mind. The Russian immediately guided her cock back inside of you without a doubt filling you up again.
Your back arched off the bed as you moan out her name loudly, your fingers clawing at her biceps. Natasha held your hips down this time, "Call me by my name, detka." Natasha lets out a heavy breath as her hips moved in a steady thrusting pace, a wet sound arising due to wet skin slapping against one another every time Natasha pounds into you. "Natasha!" You moaned aloud when her tip rubbed against your spongy G-stop deliciously. "C'mon, baby," Natasha grinned, red strands stuck to her sweaty forehead as she huffed, her hips giving a particularly harsh thrust as she got herself buried inside of you as deep as possible, "you know you can scream louder than that." You felt her hand steady herself beside your head as the other held your thigh open for leverage.
Words could barely escape your mouth as the pleasure clouded your brain. Natasha coaxed you, her hand leaving your thigh only for her rough thumb to attack your clit with firm circles.
"N-Natasha!-" the word escape from your lips before you could stop it. "That's it, baby. Keep screaming for me," Natasha's hips drove forward deep into yours, "Holy fuck." The Russian panted. Her green eyes trailed over your face, "You'll look so beautiful pregnant."
"Natasha, please," your moans are choked out as you felt the tip of her cock repeatedly rubbed over the spongy g-spot. "So round and full with my babies, you'll be utterly and completely mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed. Mine to love."
You couldn't help but agree with the muscular Russian towering over you as she relentlessly plowed your hips into the mattress, "P-please-" you could only break out as your fingers clutched at her strong shoulders, her skin warm with a thin layer of sweating covering.
"Please what, dorogaya?" Her voice is low in a mock as she kissed at the middle of your neck. "Breed me, Natty, please," you chocked out a sob as the pleasure turned blinding, your core muscles tighten again, the warmth felt stronger like fire as it waited to explode in your abdomen. Your shaking thighs managed to wrap themselves around Natasha's hips which only seemed to spur the Russian on.
"Oh, fuck-" the redheads head dropped in your neck as she moaned, her hips seemed to moved faster, "say that again, baby. Tell me what you need." Her warm breath fanned across your skin as her teeth nipped at the skin at the base of your neck. "Breed me, Natasha, please," your legs tightened around the redheads waist, as if trying to drive her deeper inside of you. You can't get enough.
Natasha sat up to lean on one hand beside your head again as the other still worked circles on your overwhelmed clitoris. Your hands move to cup the back of Natasha's neck as if it were some sort of support. Her green eyes looked down to where you two connected, how your cum seemed to mix together and form the perfect lubrication as she moved inside of you.
"Natty, I'm gonna-" your voice seemed to stop working as moans only left your throat and chest heavy as your body began to tighten around Natasha. "I know, baby, I know," she moved to lean on her elbow, her thumb still moving in continuous circle around your clit, "Come for me, baby. Come for me."
You exploded, back arching, thighs tensing as your legs tightened around Natasha's waist.
The Russian was not far behind, a few thrusts later she let out a moan, "Fuck. Baby," Natasha planted her hips firmly against yours as she came deep inside of you, breeding you and officially marking you as hers. Her lips met your kiss bruised lips in a passionate frenzy as she groaned, feeling you milk the last of her come from her before her hips slowly came to a still.
A moment of comfortable, tired silence went by of the Russian's hot, sweaty body on top of yours as her breath tickled your neck as she sighed out in bliss, her hand moved back to your thigh, giving it a good squeeze just to see you shake.
"I'm going to get you a ring," her voice is mumbled as her lips moved against your skin, "that way, I can make sure my wife stays properly bred."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Anyway... l still don't know how to end it off, so... 🤷♀️
You know what they say...The Kids are Spunky These Days.
Characters: Spiderverse Spider-man Noir x Spider-MAN! Reader!
Summary: Noir is in a strange place with strange people. People who use little boxes of light to communicate, people who have the cures to most diseases and problems that plague his world. He stays quiet, isolated, that's until another spider catches his eye. A male spider.
Warnings: SMUT! Age gap (40 and 25ish), homophobia mentioned, rimming, prostate play.
A/N: I promise I'm getting to your requests guys...ha...ha...please don't stone me.... -Looks up to see asteroid coming- AHHHHHH😰- KABOOOMMMMMMMMM💥💥💥💥💥💥💥
(Author has a recent traumatic head injury, so please be kind with any mistakes - 🦕)
You're pretty.
You're pretty in the way you're one of the few Spider-people that actually shows your face, uncaring of your secret identity.
You're pretty in the way you're one of the few Spider people that glides around the halls freely, laughing and joking with others like you weren't under the eyes of a military like sergeant. Like you hadn't lost your Uncle Ben, like you hadn't lost your worlds Police Captain, like your Girlfriend hadn't broken up with you after - blaming you for it.
Pretty in the way you're one of the few Spider-People that seemed to have a light air around them -that seemed to have a glow emitting instead of some desolate aura- chattering and doing that small laugh that had your eyebrows crinkle down at a 30 degree angle.
Pretty in the way you're either unaware or uncaring of Miguel's harsh glares specifically in your direction, ignoring how he waved his hands in aggravation at whatever dumb thing you did just that day.
And it does something to Noir.
Something unnatural towards another man.
Something dirty.
Something different.
Different because his stomach churns in a way he hasn't felt in a long time.
One not of grief or shame.
It wasn't the same grieffull churn he felt when Uncle Ben died, wasn't the same nauseating churn when Aunt May rejected him, wasn't the same hateful churn when he was betrayed by Urich.
It was one that he had never felt before, not in a long time, one that he thought he'd never feel again, one that's full of heat, full of something that seemed almost foreign.
And even though he's a P.I., this was a feeling he couldn't investigate, couldn't look into, couldn't explore.
No, he could never explore this.
He could never explore this with you then go back to his own world, a world filled with bigotry and hate.
So he pretends that you don't exist, pretends he's not falling head over heels in love with another man.
Noir pretends not to notice when his heart flutters when your lashes get caught in the light, pretends not to notice how warm and pliant you feel whenever your body presses against his, pretends not to notice how your lips pout at that 27 degree angle -teasing- when Miguel tries to scold you about behaving, pretends not to notice how your muscles ripple under your suit when you stretch yourself thin - unknowingly bending into poses that have each vein of his cock throbbing in embarrassment.
Noir pretends not to notice how easily you manhandle Pav when you wrestle him or one of the other Spiders your age. His throat dries at the thought, shame creeping down his features at his embarrassing ogling at your figure...your age.
Hobbie once mentioned how you're only a few years older than him offhandedly -'offhandedly' in the way he grinned lazily at Noir, trying to force Noir's embarrassed gaze to Hobbie's knowing one. Because Noir knows that means you'd have to be early to mid twenties.
Noir is swooning over a twenty year old.
A male twenty year old.
It's unheard of.
You're colorful, purple lacing your suit, vibrancy emulating from more than just your personality when you sling an arm around his shoulder; giggling about the little things you did to aggravate Miguel that day.
Noir's desolate of all of that.
His world is black and white, literally and morally. People struggle where he's from, struggle hard. It's hard to even make a living, much less live. There's bad and there's the very bad, there's no good, never good.
And it's harder that the Spider-Society is a strange place.
A foreign place.
A place where peoples wounds could be fixed with a simple laser to a cut, a place where you could teleport to another dimension in milliseconds, a place were people complain about their phones having no woo-fii(?) - he's still not sure, honestly - in the inner dimensional plane, having dozens of brightly colored apps on their small devices that make his head spin.
You, had said games, ranting on about Reddit and Subway Surfers as he struggled to follow along. Yet nodding on and hanging onto every word you say, every smile you give, every eyebrow crinkle you form, ever giggle you don't even try to hold back.
With every struggle though, came warmth, came care, came...
Intimacy.
It's not normal in his world for men to be together, it's wrong, sinful, unnatural. Men who did that were seen as diseased, undesirable.
And what was Noir if not undesirable?
If not disgusting for just his thoughts alone, if not sinful, if not filthy?
It was filthy when he even started having these ideas - simple things, really. Running his hand down your arm, cradling your face in his hand -those big eyes looking up at him. Kissing you deep - hard. Your mouth engulfing him, milking him dry as he's doubled over in pleasure, whining, moaning. Wailing your name.
It was filthy when his cock strained against his pants the first time you caught him by his bicep, pulling him to safety. Whispering that he'd be okay whilst you crept his frozen state away from your worlds Vulture.
It was filthy when something he thought he lost long ago flipped dreadfully fast in his stomach.
It was filthy when he sullied his cock and boxers with his pre-cum. Using the same fluid to try and soothe his throbbing cock, soothe his aching veins, soothe every sensitive ridge that thrummed, groaning with each stroke when he fucked himself up into his hand.
What was Noir if not undesirable?
Especially as a 40 year old man to a 25 year old guy?
Bile burns in his throat, desire churns in his gut, heat runs through his body. Shame burning up his neck and running to stain his ears in red when he thinks of the mere things he wanted to do with you.
Not just because of the age gap.
Not just because you're from a different universe entirely, one made of color, one made of good, were evil never prevails.
Its because he shouldn't want to. Not before marriage, not while in his suit, and certainly not with another man. It's filthy.
"Thought you weren't done over that pretty little lady yet." Noir responds gruffly, body and verbal language awkward - out of place. Out of place to be the pin-point desire of such bright eyes, to be in your world, to be under you - straddled and stroked so sweetly.
It's disgusting.
You blink at him, indignance swirling in your iris before you gain a shit-eating grin and fuck- fuck- Noir thinks he just got tens time harder. And you seem to think so too, because you grind down on him, his nails flying to dig into your sides as a sound rumbles deep from his chest. It's whimpery, whiny. Unsuiting of a man of his stature.
It's unnatural.
"I didn't have an MJ." You whisper playfully, breathe grazing the shell of his ear. And Noir throbs harder, breathe catching in his throat - and he can't move, "Besides, Flash and I broke up awhile ago."
Oh.
Oh.
He feels your lips press to his, careful, slow, testing.
It's so fucking good.
"You're so pretty like this." You mutter, fingers stretching him out in a way he's never felt before. Noir's heaving, panting.
Its so, so, fucking good.
His jaw is pulled open -stuck- in a way that has him gasping, whimpering, whining. High pitch noises being forced out of him as your fingers roll straight into his prostate, massaging that small bundle of nerves he was always too scared to even think about, to scared to talk about, to scared to touch.
He's dripping, sullying his inner thighs and dripping down onto your bed; a nice cot with a beige styled blanket that you put on just for him. That you put down before he had even pulled his pants off. It was like you knew he was eager, knew he was already dripping at the thought of you opening him up, dripping at the thought of you even just touching him.
Then you thrust your fingers in.
And he whines.
He fucking whines.
It's high-pitched, its filthy, and the small burning pain he felt finally cocoons into burning pleasure when he arches down into your fingers.
Your fingers are thick, they're filling, and he can only imagine how your cock will feel - stretching him till he's sobbing, cumming himself silly, crying out your name, begging for you to go faster, harder, pretending like he can take it all in one thrust so he can prove himself.
Prove he can take it.
Prove that he was a good fit for you.
Prove that he could make you feel good too.
Prove that he could make you moan as he squeezes around you, milking out every single drop like you could breed him.
Prove that he was worthy of you filling him up.
"N-Ngh-!"
Noir gasps, choking out a whimper when your fingers begin to curl in and out of his pulsing hole- hitting that one sweet spot. Thrusting into it, hitting it, fucking him so good that he begins to clench around you; trying to suck you in so you can't pull out again.
He can't barely stand to look at your face for once, to look at your fanning lashes, to look at how your muscles no doubt bulge in your arm as you’re working him so good. Embarrassment and shame burning up his ears, mixed with arousal as he rolls his hips; fucking himself down onto your fingers - shuddering.
The heat builds, and builds, and builds, burning his gut like never before. His hip juttered, trying to chase your fingers, trying to chase his high whenever you even tried to pull your fingers out, trying to get past his shyness, trying to make himself feel good - hesitation lacing his action whilst he groans into his hands.
And then you speak.
"Just like that baby, let me fuck you good." You praise quietly, voice kind; filling his body with another warmth as he whined, "Like I'm your personal fuck toy, right?" You lean down, whispering words like their a secret just for the two of you, "Stretch yourself out for me baby, yea?"
Fuck- Fuck-
His eyes rilled back, covered by the mask he insisted he keep on as he wailed out,
"Shit-" He groans, back arching, jaw clenching and his hands scramble to find somewhere to grab; eventually curling into the sheets - almost tearing them in two.
"Just like that, just like that." You mummer, leaning over his body. Chest to chest, warmth to warmth, "You gonna cum?"
Noir can’t answer.
He fucking looses it, wailing out, crying. Hips already juttering down, chasing, thrusting, fucking himself onto your fingers. Jostling the little bundle of nerves deep inside him. Fingers sliding in so sweet, so deeply. Each digit just thick enough to stretch him out with each thrust, just thick enough to help him ride out his high, just thick enough to dull the somberness he felt at not being stretched dizzy by your cock.
You work him through his orgasm so sweetly too, fingers never stopping - only guiding, pleasing. He wants to thank you, cry until he can't anymore, get on his knees, kiss you silly until he has you cumming all over him too.
But he can't.
His body too busy jolting, shaking, shivering from the sheer intensity as your fingers thrust in and out, pushing straight into his prostate each and every time. His head fuzzying, his ears ringing, his eyes rolled so far back he thinks he's seeing color.
White hot stripes spurt out of his slit, untouched, cock thrumming as he spilled his load all over his chest. Cock trapped firmly between your bodies as you lean up, looking down at his heaving form when his body finally unclenches - relaxing.
Panting fills the air. Noirs thighs shivering and quaking in your wake, hole clenches when you pull out - a pathetic whine dribbling out of his lips at the loss.
"Shh baby-" You start, pulling his legs even further apart. Watching him deliciously harden when your throbbing cock presses against his hole through your sweatpants - hard and heavy, "Lets use those P.I. skills of yours to help me find your sweet spots."
I love your headcanons!! I’d love to see how you think the X-men would react to the reader playfully biting them, in or out of the bedroom, whatever scenario you’d like (you can go with any characters, but bonus points for Logan, Erik, Charles, and perhaps a new one, Victor Creed 👀)
X-MEN CHARACTERS X FEM!READER
You bite them playfully
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Victor Creed, Julian Keller, Kitty Pryde, Cable, Warren Worthington III, Morph, Mystique, Magik & Alex Summers
Reply to anon: OMG yes, Victor my little mad dog!
Logan Howlett
- You don’t expect him to react. Not really. He’s endured bullets, blades, and the unrelenting weight of time itself. A playful bite from you should be nothing—should be a drop of rain against an unshakable mountain. And yet, the moment your teeth graze his skin, a low growl rumbles from deep within his chest, something primal and unbidden. His muscles tense beneath your touch, like an animal caught between instinct and restraint.
- His gaze finds yours, sharp and golden, flickering with something unreadable. His lips curl into the faintest smirk, but his eyes betray him—dark with challenge, with something wilder lurking beneath. “That all you got, darlin’?” he rasps, his voice rough as gravel, his fingers curling at his sides as if resisting the urge to seize you right then and there.
- But Logan is nothing if not a man of action. A heartbeat later, his arm is around your waist, pulling you in close, the heat of his body searing against yours. His voice dips lower, a teasing growl, though there’s a dangerous edge to it now. “Y’know what they say, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “You bite a wolf, you better be ready for it to bite back.”
- And he does. Maybe not in the way you expect—not with teeth, but with hands that grip too tight, with lips that press too hard, with a possessiveness that lingers in every touch. Because Logan doesn’t do playful. He does hunger. He does need. And if you dare to tease the beast, you’d best be ready for the storm that follows.
Remy LeBeau
- Remy freezes the moment your teeth press against his skin—not from pain, not from surprise, but from something far more dangerous. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smirk yet, but the promise of one. And then, ever so slowly, he tilts his head toward you, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with mischief.
- “Ma belle, you tryna kill me?” he drawls, his accent thick and lazy, but his voice carries that unmistakable edge of heat. His fingers brush over your arm, slow and deliberate, as if tracing the intent behind your bite. “'Cause I gotta warn you, chérie… I ain’t the kind to die easy.”
- The next thing you know, he’s got you backed against the nearest surface, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing the curve of your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His grin is downright wicked now, his gaze molten with amusement and something darker. “See, you play this game wit’ me, mon amour, you best know the rules.” His breath is warm against your lips, teasing, taunting. “You bite me? I devour you.”
- And then he leans in, and oh—Remy doesn’t just kiss. He claims. He teases. He tastes. His lips ghost over yours, never quite giving you what you want, never quite letting you escape, because if you’re going to start a game with the Ragin’ Cajun, you better be ready to lose.
Kurt Wagner
- The moment your teeth sink lightly into his skin, Kurt stills, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, his mind goes utterly blank—because of course you would do this, of course you would find new ways to unravel him, to leave him speechless and stumbling. His tail flicks once, betraying his surprise, before curling around your waist in retaliation.
- And then—oh. Oh, then he laughs. A low, breathy chuckle that rumbles in his chest, warm and so utterly Kurt. “Mein Schatz,” he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement, his golden eyes gleaming. “Was that supposed to be threatening? Because I must say… you might have to try harder.”
- But his tail tightens ever so slightly, his hands settling on your hips, his body pressing just a little closer. His voice drops into something softer now, something teasing but fond. “Or perhaps you weren’t trying to scare me at all,” he muses, brushing his nose against yours, an intimate little gesture that makes your heart stutter. “Perhaps you were simply asking for a little attention, ja?”
- And oh, does he give it. He moves fast—so fast you barely register the shift before you’re elsewhere, whisked away in a blink of smoke and laughter. One moment you’re standing, the next you’re tangled in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his teleportation, caught between breathless kisses and whispered endearments. Because if you’re going to bite him, liebling, he’s going to make sure you never regret it.
Scott Summers
- Scott’s reaction is immediate—sharp inhale, muscles tensing beneath your touch, jaw tightening as if trying to suppress whatever instinct just surged through him. His discipline, his restraint—it has always been his armor, his cage. But you—you have a habit of making him forget himself.
- “What was that?” he asks, voice lower than usual, a little rough around the edges, though the slight flush creeping up his neck betrays him. His fingers flex at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or set you firmly away. But his ruby-red gaze is locked onto you now, and he is searching—for your intent, for your reasoning, for something he can brace himself against.
- “You can’t just—” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, as if that will somehow ground him. His lips part, like he wants to scold you, like he wants to tell you biting is not part of a proper battle strategy, but the words never come. Instead, his hand lifts, cups your chin, his thumb grazing over your lower lip in something dangerously close to reverence.
- And then, ever so slowly, his lips brush against yours—light, testing, but oh-so-intense. Because Scott Summers does not give in easily. He does not let himself have. But you—you are different. You are his exception. And if you are going to play with fire, then you had best be prepared to burn.
Jean Grey
- Jean stills the moment your teeth graze her skin, not in fear or surprise, but in the way someone freezes when they have just stepped into the unknown. She has felt so many things in her lifetime—pain, joy, rage, divinity itself—but the sharp, teasing sensation of you doing this? That is something new. Her lips part slightly, a breath catching in her throat, and though she does not speak, you can hear her thoughts as if they are your own: What exactly are you trying to do to me?
- And then, oh, she smiles. Slow, knowing, the corners of her lips curving into something dangerously affectionate. Her fingers trace lightly over your arm, telekinetic energy humming faintly beneath her fingertips as she studies you with emerald eyes that gleam with amusement. “You do realize who you’re dealing with, don’t you?” she murmurs, voice soft but laced with something teasing, something nearly predatory. “You think you can surprise me, love? That’s adorable.”
- But Jean is not one to let challenges go unanswered. The next thing you know, her hand slides to your jaw, tilting your face toward hers with effortless ease. She doesn’t need to use her telekinesis to hold you there—no, the intensity in her gaze alone is enough. “Tell me,” she muses, leaning in so close her lips barely brush against yours. “Do you bite because you want my attention? Or because you already have it?”
- And before you can answer, she kisses you—deep, slow, deliberate. Not just a kiss, but a response, a promise. Because Jean Grey is made of passion and power, and if you wish to tease her, if you wish to provoke her, then you must be prepared for the storm you have just invited into your arms.
Ororo Munroe
- The moment your teeth press gently against her skin, a low, melodic hum escapes her—a sound not of displeasure, but of acknowledgment. Ororo Munroe has spent years cultivating grace, control, an unshakable presence that commands gods and mortals alike. And yet, this—this quiet, playful act of yours—catches her off guard in the most unexpected of ways.
- Her silver eyes flick toward you, gleaming with something unreadable, and for a moment, the air around you shifts, electricity humming faintly in the space between your bodies. Not as a threat, not as a warning, but as a reaction—as if even the very elements themselves are uncertain how to respond to the way you unravel her. “My love,” she says at last, her voice a soft, indulgent purr. “Was that meant to challenge me? Or are you merely being mischievous?”
- Slowly, her fingers trail along your shoulders, feather-light, teasing, carrying the same effortless power as the wind itself. And then, in one smooth motion, she moves—you don’t quite know how, only that one moment you are standing in place, and the next, the storm has wrapped itself around you. You are pulled flush against her, her presence enveloping you in warmth, in strength, in the quiet promise of something far greater than either of you can name.
- “If you seek my attention,” she whispers, her breath brushing against your ear like the gentlest breeze, “you need only ask.” And then, with a slow, deliberate smile, she leans in, her lips brushing over the spot where your bite had just been—a silent response, a wordless challenge of her own. Because if you are to tease a goddess, then you must be ready to be worshipped in return.
Rogue
- The second your teeth sink playfully into her skin, Rogue gasps—sharp, sudden, entirely unprepared. It’s not that she doesn’t like it, not at all, but more that she did not see it coming. For all her strength, all her bravado, you have just done something no enemy, no battle, no nightmare has ever managed to do: you have caught her off guard.
- “Sugah,” she breathes, her accent thickening just a bit, her voice a mixture of amusement and something else—something dangerous. Slowly, her green eyes flick to yours, and oh, that look—half-smirk, half-warning—tells you that you might have just started something you cannot finish. “Did you just… bite me?”
- And then, before you can answer, she does what Rogue does best—she acts. One moment, you are standing comfortably, the next, she has you pinned. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firmly, her gloved hands gripping your wrists, her breath hot against your skin. “Y’know,” she muses, tilting her head as she studies you, “if you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”
- But the glint in her eye betrays her—because for all her teasing, for all her bravado, the truth is simple: she loves this. Loves that you would dare to play with her, loves that you know exactly how to unravel her defenses, how to make her forget the space she so often has to keep between herself and the world. And so, with a wicked little smirk, she leans in, her lips hovering just above yours as she murmurs, “Hope you know what you started, darlin’. ‘Cause I don’t play fair.”
Erik Lehnsherr
- The moment your teeth press against his skin, Erik goes very, very still. Not out of fear, not out of surprise, but out of calculation. He is a man of war, of tragedy, of wounds both seen and unseen, and he has spent his entire life anticipating danger. But this—this playful, fleeting bite from you—is not something he had prepared for.
- And then, slowly, he exhales. Not in frustration, not in anger, but in something far deeper—something like acceptance. His sharp, silver gaze flicks to yours, unreadable yet knowing, and a slow, deliberate smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Liebling,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as tempered steel. “Do you think this is a game?”
- He does not move immediately. No, Erik prefers patience, prefers anticipation, prefers to let you feel the weight of what you have just done. And then, finally, he acts. His fingers ghost over your jaw, light as a whisper, his touch deceptively gentle. But his grip—when it finally settles—is not. His hand tightens, not cruelly, but possessively, his thumb tracing over your pulse as he studies you like a puzzle he has yet to solve.
- “If you wish to test me,” he muses, his voice a low, dark promise, “then by all means… continue.” And then, in a move so smooth it leaves you breathless, he takes—captures your mouth with his, slow and unyielding, like gravity itself bending to his will. Because Erik Lehnsherr does not play. He conquers. And if you wish to tempt him, then you must be prepared to surrender.
Charles Xavier
- Charles Xavier is a man of the mind, a man who has unraveled the deepest corners of human thought and consciousness, who has witnessed the entirety of existence through the whispers of others’ souls. And yet, for all his knowledge, for all the mysteries he has unraveled, you still find a way to surprise him. The moment your teeth press against his skin—soft, playful, fleeting—he stills, blue eyes widening just slightly, as if he cannot quite believe that you, of all things, could ever be so unpredictable.
- But then, oh, then he laughs. Not a polite chuckle, not the refined sort of amusement he offers in conversations of wit and charm, but something richer, something real. A warm, low sound that spills from his lips like honey, as if you have just whispered the most delightful secret in the world. He tilts his head toward you, curiosity sparking in his gaze, and for a moment, you see it—the boy he once was, the one who believed in the simple joy of being alive. “My dear,” he muses, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips, “are you quite certain you wish to play this game with me?”
- Charles is a scholar, a tactician, a man who has spent his life wielding words and thoughts like weapons, and he is not one to let a challenge go unanswered. Before you can pull away, his fingers ghost along your wrist, light as a whisper, and suddenly—you feel it. Not words, not images, but a sensation, a feeling, as if he is pressing the weight of his affection directly into your soul. This is how he fights back—by letting you feel what you do to him, by drowning you in the sheer, unshakable depth of his love.
- “You are a fascinating creature,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, intimate thing, meant only for you. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leans in, his lips grazing the same spot where your teeth had just been, a silent response, a quiet promise. Because Charles Xavier is a man of the mind—but with you, he has learned to love the body, too.
Wanda Maximoff
- Wanda Maximoff has spent her entire life on the precipice of chaos. Magic flows through her like a storm, raw and untamed, and though she has learned to control it, there is still a part of her that lingers on the edge—uncertain, fragile, waiting for the world to turn against her. But you—you are different. You do not fear her, do not tread lightly as if she is glass that might shatter at the slightest touch. No, you play with her, tease her, press your teeth against her skin in a gesture so human, so simple, that for a moment, she forgets the weight of her own power.
- Her breath catches—just a little, just enough for you to notice. Her fingers curl against your arm, not to push you away, but to steady herself, as if grounding herself in the moment, in you. And then, slowly, her lips curve into something soft, something real. “You’re bold,” she murmurs, her voice laced with quiet amusement, but there is something else there, too—something dangerous. A challenge. A warning. Because Wanda Maximoff is not someone you tease without consequences.
- Before you can react, she moves. The world shifts around you, a flicker of crimson in the air, and suddenly, you are weightless, as if gravity itself has forgotten you exist. Her magic hums against your skin, curling around you like the brush of unseen fingertips, and she watches you with a look that is pure mischief. “Tell me, darling,” she whispers, tilting her head ever so slightly, “was that meant to tempt me?”
- And then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she leans in—her lips barely grazing your skin, a phantom touch, a promise of something more. Because Wanda Maximoff is chaos incarnate, and if you wish to play with her, then you must be prepared to dance in the storm.
Pietro Maximoff
- It happens so quickly that even you don’t realize what you’ve done. One moment, Pietro Maximoff is standing before you, talking, teasing, filling the space between you with his usual boundless energy, and the next—your teeth graze his skin, a fleeting, playful bite, quick as lightning itself. And then? He’s gone. A blur of silver and laughter, a gust of wind where he once stood.
- But before you can even blink, he is back—and oh, that look on his face. His lips are curled into a smirk, his blue eyes gleaming with something wild, something electric. “Really?” he breathes, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You think you can bite me? Me?” His laughter rings out, sharp and bright, and suddenly, he is moving again—circling you, his presence a flickering pulse in the air, there and gone all at once.
- And then, he strikes. Not with speed, not with force, but with something far worse—anticipation. He stops right behind you, so close that his breath is warm against your ear, his voice a whisper of pure, unfiltered mischief. “You know what they say about quick reflexes, don’t you?” he murmurs, and before you can even think to react, his lips brush against your neck—a flicker of a kiss, a ghost of a touch, so fleeting you almost question if it happened at all.
- And then? He’s gone again. Laughing, running, taunting. Because Pietro Maximoff is not someone who is caught—he is the storm itself, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to chase the wind.
Hank McCoy
- Hank McCoy is not a man who is easily surprised. He has spent his life in pursuit of knowledge, unraveling the mysteries of science, of genetics, of the very fabric of existence itself. And yet, for all his intellect, for all his careful observations of the world—he does not see you coming. The moment your teeth press playfully into his skin, his entire body freezes, blue fur bristling slightly, golden eyes widening in stunned disbelief.
- “Oh, my stars and garters,” he breathes, his voice carrying the unmistakable weight of a man whose entire world has just shifted. Slowly, his gaze flicks down to you, studying you with the same meticulous focus he applies to his research, as if you are some rare, fascinating discovery he has yet to fully understand. “You do realize,” he murmurs, voice warm and teasing, “that by initiating such an experiment, you are opening yourself up to… repercussions, yes?”
- And then, oh, his smile. Slow, wickedly amused, utterly delighted. Before you can react, he moves—not with the hesitant carefulness of a man afraid of his own strength, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how to turn the tables. One moment, you are standing, the next, you are swept off your feet, cradled in arms that are both impossibly strong and impossibly gentle. “Ah,” he muses, adjusting his grip as if holding you is the most natural thing in the world, “I do believe I now have the advantage.”
- And then, with a quiet chuckle, he leans in—not to bite, not to tease, but to kiss the very spot where your teeth had been, slow and deliberate, a scholar testing a theory. Because Hank McCoy is a man of knowledge—but when it comes to you, he is more than willing to be a student of the unknown.
Emma Frost
- The moment your teeth graze her skin, Emma Frost’s response is immediate—a slow, measured inhale, the faintest arch of a perfectly sculpted brow. She does not startle, does not react with anything so crass as surprise. No, Emma assesses. A woman of elegance, of control, she has spent a lifetime ensuring that no one catches her off guard, that no one slips beneath the carefully constructed ice of her composure. And yet, you have done it, a playful bite against porcelain skin, an action so simple yet so bold that, for the briefest moment, even the White Queen falters.
- But then, oh, then she smiles. Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. A curl of her lips that carries no warmth, only sharp amusement and something far more wicked. “Darling,” she purrs, voice smooth as silk, laced with the faintest edge of laughter, “if you wanted to get my attention, there are… other ways to do so.” Her fingers ghost along your wrist, deceptively gentle, a reminder that while you may have started this game, she is the one who will dictate how it ends.
- She does not retaliate with force, nor does she melt into you like some lovesick fool. No, Emma punishes in the most exquisite way possible—she makes you wait. A brush of her fingertips against your jaw, a lingering glance, the press of her body close enough to promise but never enough to give. “Tell me,” she murmurs, tilting her head, voice rich with amusement, “was that truly your best effort?”
- And then, when you least expect it, she strikes. A shift of movement so swift, so precise, that you don’t even register it until it’s happening—her lips against your pulse point, her teeth grazing the same spot where you dared to mark her. It is not surrender. It is not an answer. It is a lesson. A warning. A challenge. Because Emma Frost does not lose—but she does enjoy playing with her prey.
Laura Kinney
- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Laura reacts. No hesitation, no pause—her body tenses, muscles coiling like a predator poised to strike. Instinct kicks in before thought, before reason, before she can even register that it’s you. And for a split second, you feel it—the sheer, terrifying violence that lurks beneath her skin, the razor’s edge of a woman who has spent her entire life as a weapon.
- But then, just as quickly as the tension rises, it fades. A sharp exhale, a flicker of recognition, golden eyes narrowing as she processes what you’ve done. There is no laughter, no teasing retort—just a look. Calculating. Intense. Confused, but not displeased. “…You bit me,” she says at last, voice flat, as if stating the most bizarre fact in the world.
- And then? She tilts her head, considering you in that unnerving, almost animalistic way of hers. “Why?” The question is genuine—Laura has never been one for mind games or coy affections, has never understood the subtle language of teasing and playfulness. Biting is something she associates with combat, with survival. But with you? With you, it is different.
- Slowly, tentatively, she mirrors the action. A nip, precise and measured, as if she is testing this new form of affection, as if she is learning you the way she has learned every other part of the world—through experience, through instinct. And when she pulls back, there is something new in her gaze, something raw and unspoken. Because Laura Kinney may not understand why you did it, but she knows one thing with certainty—if you bite, then she will bite back.
Wade Wilson
- You barely have time to finish biting him before Wade gasps—loud, theatrical, utterly over-the-top. “OH. MY. GOD.” His hands fly to his chest, staggering back as if you have mortally wounded him. “DID YOU JUST—YOU DID. YOU ABSOLUTELY DID.” His voice is thick with emotion, somewhere between scandalized and delighted. “Babe. You bit me. Like a feral little love-goblin. That’s so hot.”
- And then? Then, all hell breaks loose. Within seconds, he is biting you back—but not just once, no, because Wade Wilson is incapable of moderation. He is nibbling at your cheek, at your shoulder, at your hand, peppering you with playful, exaggerated love-bites while making increasingly absurd noises. “CHOMP.” He sinks his teeth into the air dramatically, eyes wide with manic glee. “RAWR. Oh, sorry, that was my dinosaur impression. But honestly? If I were a dinosaur, I’d be a love-raptor. A snuggle-saurus. A Wade-a-don Rex, if you will.”
- The worst part? He does not stop talking. “You’re lucky I don’t have rabies,” he chatters, waggling his brows. “I mean, I might. I did lick a questionable taco truck the other day. But, y’know, if I do have rabies, then I guess that makes you my one and only transmission method—romantic, right?” He grins, then gasps again, as if struck by a sudden epiphany. “WAIT. Does this mean we’re in a vampire romance now? Am I your dark, brooding, undead lover? Babe, I gotta be honest, I am so ready to emotionally gaslight you across centuries of longing.”
- But then—just when you think he’s going to turn this into a full-fledged one-man show—he pauses. Just for a moment. The humor dims slightly, enough for something softer to slip through. And then, in a rare, fleeting act of sincerity, Wade leans in, pressing a kiss—not a bite, not a joke, but a kiss—to the very spot where your teeth had been. “…Seriously, though,” he murmurs, voice warm and uncharacteristically quiet, “that was, like, really cute. You’re really cute.” And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment is gone, swallowed up in another round of ridiculous, dramatic antics. But for that one, brief second? He meant it.
Victor Creed
- The instant your teeth graze his skin, Victor Creed laughs—a low, rumbling thing that vibrates in his chest, a sound that is both amused and hungry. He does not startle. He does not pause. No, Victor reacts the way a predator does when something small and delicate dares to bare its teeth—with interest.
- His fingers curl at your waist, grip firm, possessive, a wordless acknowledgment of what you have done. “Now that’s adorable,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “Little thing thinks she’s got fangs.” His golden eyes gleam as he studies you, head tilting slightly, as if debating whether to play along—or devour you whole.
- And then? He leans in. Closer, until his breath is warm against your ear, until you feel the sheer size of him, the sheer power in every inch of his body. “You wanna play rough, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice dropping into something darker, something edged with promise. “You sure you can handle that?” And then, without hesitation, he bites back. Not gentle. Not teasing. But slow, deliberate, lingering—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who you are dealing with.
- When he pulls away, his grin is wolfish, sharp and deadly. “That all you got?” he taunts, dragging a thumb over the mark he’s left behind. “C’mon, now. If you’re gonna bite, bite like you mean it.” And with that, he watches, waits, golden eyes glinting with something dangerous, something wild. Because Victor Creed is a man who thrives on blood and instinct, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to lose.
Julian Keller
- The moment your teeth graze his skin, Julian smirks. A slow, lazy curl of his lips, equal parts cocky and intrigued. He doesn’t jerk away, doesn’t react with surprise—no, Julian Keller is a man who thrives in the unexpected, who wears confidence like a second skin. “Well, well,” he drawls, amusement dripping from every syllable, “look at you. Feisty today, huh?” His voice is low, smooth, laced with the kind of arrogance that makes you want to bite him again—harder, just to wipe that smug expression off his face.
- But then, before you can so much as think about it, he moves. Swift, fluid, his telekinesis pressing against you, pinning you in place—not harsh, not cruel, but playful. A silent reminder of who he is, of what he can do. His grip at your waist tightens ever so slightly, his body angled close, so very close, and for a second, it feels less like a game and more like a challenge. “That supposed to be some kind of warning, babe?” he teases, his breath warm against your ear. “’Cause if you’re picking fights, you should know—I never back down.”
- He doesn’t retaliate immediately. No, Julian waits. He lets anticipation build, lets you think you’ve won—that you’ve caught him off guard, that he’ll let this slide. But then, just as you relax, he strikes. A sharp nip against your jaw, quick and precise, a mimicry of what you had done to him. But unlike you, he doesn’t stop there. No, Julian Keller is competitive, and if you’re playing this game, then he’s playing to win.
- “Gotta admit,” he murmurs against your skin, voice a quiet rasp, “you’ve got guts. I like that.” His grip loosens, but that smirk remains, his green eyes gleaming with challenge. “But next time? Maybe try a little harder.” And just like that, he pulls away, walking off as if nothing happened, as if he hasn’t just left you standing there, heart pounding, already plotting your revenge.
Kitty Pryde
- “Oh!” The moment your teeth press into her shoulder, Kitty lets out a startled squeak, her entire body jerking in surprise. She phases instinctively, and before you even register what’s happening, you’re biting nothing—your teeth sinking into empty air as she slips through you, her molecules scattering like mist. It’s not that she minds, not really. It’s just that she wasn’t expecting it. And Kitty Pryde does not like being caught off guard.
- “Did you just—?” Her voice is breathless, half-laughing, half-accusing, her wide eyes locking onto yours. There’s no anger there, no real irritation—just confusion and delight, an almost incredulous sort of amusement at the fact that you, of all people, had dared to bite her. “Okay, rude,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in mock offense. “You can’t just do that without warning! What if I phased and got stuck inside the floor? You’d feel really bad, wouldn’t you?”
- But her protests are all for show, because the next second, she’s grinning, her playful side taking over. Kitty Pryde is mischief wrapped in kindness, and if you think for one second that she’s letting this go unanswered, you’re sorely mistaken. “Y’know,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin, “if this is how we’re communicating now, I could phase my hand into your ribs and just… give your heart a little squeeze. Not lethal! Just, y’know… uncomfortable.”
- And yet, despite her teasing, despite her empty threats, there’s a warmth in her gaze, an unmistakable fondness in the way she leans in, brushing her lips—soft, fleeting—against the spot where your teeth had been. “But,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something gentler, something real, “I think I like this way better.” And then, with one final cheeky grin, she phases through you once more, vanishing just before you can grab her in retaliation.
Nathan Summers
- The moment you bite him, Cable pauses. No visible reaction. No sharp inhale, no startled flinch. He simply stills, his entire body locking into that unnerving, soldier-like stillness. His metal hand, which had been resting at your waist, remains unmoving, his entire frame rigid as if waiting, assessing. It’s instinct, honed over decades of battle, of survival. Because Nathan Summers is not a man accustomed to softness, and affection—even when playful—is something he has never learned to anticipate.
- And then, slowly, he exhales. His head tilts just slightly, his cybernetic eye dimming, the faintest flicker of something amused passing through his otherwise unreadable expression. “…Did you just bite me?” His voice is low, gravelly, tinged with something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “Huh.” He says nothing else for a long moment, simply watching you, studying you as if trying to decipher what exactly prompted you to do such a thing.
- And then, finally, he shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him—something that might, under very specific lighting conditions, be mistaken for a chuckle. “You’ve got guts,” he mutters, the corner of his lips twitching in something dangerously close to a smirk. “Reckless, but gutsy.” His organic hand brushes against the spot where your teeth had been, as if committing the sensation to memory.
- He doesn’t bite back. Doesn’t tease or taunt or retaliate. No, Cable is not a man who plays games. Instead, he opts for something simpler, something quieter—his hand cupping the back of your head, his lips pressing against your forehead in a rare display of open tenderness. A silent acknowledgment. A wordless acceptance. Because Nathan Summers may not understand softness, but for you, he is willing to learn.
Warren Worthington III
- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Warren lets out a sharp gasp—a mix of surprise and something dangerously close to pleasure. His wings flare instinctively, feathers rustling with a sudden, unconscious movement, his entire body reacting before his mind can catch up. Because Warren Worthington III is a man of control, of composure—and yet, with you, it seems to shatter so easily.
- “Did you—” His voice is breathless, his pupils blown wide, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You just—” He swallows, as if struggling to find the right words, as if the simple act of you biting him has completely short-circuited his mind. He is an angel carved from marble, all sharp lines and celestial grace, and yet here he stands, utterly undone by something so small, so mortal.
- And then, something shifts. A slow, wicked smile tugs at his lips, the sharp edge of his Archangel persona slipping into his gaze. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he murmurs, voice a velvet purr. “Not unless you’re prepared for the consequences.” His wings snap forward in an instant, encircling you in a cocoon of soft, gilded feathers, trapping you against his chest. His fingers ghost over your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.
- “Because now?” His lips brush against the very spot you had marked, his voice dropping into something dangerous, something electric. “Now it’s my turn.” And then, before you can even think to protest, Warren Worthington III—heir, angel, warrior—bites back.
Kevin Sydney
- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Kevin’s entire form shifts in surprise. One second, he’s his usual self—sharp jaw, bright eyes, that ever-present smirk—and the next, he’s you, your own expression of mischief mirrored back at you. His voice, now an exact replica of yours, lilts with exaggerated amusement: “Wow, is this what I look like when I do something reckless? No wonder you love me.”
- He lets the illusion linger just long enough to make you blink in disbelief before shifting back, his laughter spilling out in warm, unrestrained waves. There’s no irritation, no reprimand—just the unshakable joy of a man who thrives on unpredictability, who relishes in the absurd. “Biting, huh? I like this new development,” he teases, rubbing the spot where your teeth had been with faux contemplation. “I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that, but hey, I do have a thing for surprises.”
- He retaliates in the most Morph-like way possible—by suddenly growing a pair of exaggerated fangs and snapping playfully at you, his grin widening as if daring you to test your luck again. “C’mon, babe, if we’re making this a thing, let’s make it fun,” he quips, waggling his eyebrows in an over-the-top display of challenge. “What’s next? Claw marks? A dramatic villain monologue? Give me something to work with!”
- And yet, despite all the jokes, despite the effortless laughter, there’s something softer underneath. Because Kevin Sydney is a man who hides behind humor, who masks emotion with theatrics—but the way he touches you now, fingers brushing idly along your wrist, is genuine. “Seriously, though,” he murmurs, his usual grin dimming into something real, “I like when you do things that catch me off guard. It reminds me that life’s worth sticking around for.”
Raven Darkhölme
- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Mystique doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t jerk away. Instead, she merely stares, her yellow eyes sharp, assessing, calculating. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking—whether she’s amused, annoyed, or considering shifting into someone entirely different just to make you regret it. “Interesting,” she murmurs at last, her voice low, velvet-smooth, carrying an edge of intrigue that makes your heart stutter.
- Then, before you can so much as blink, she moves. A blur of shifting colors, of muscle and bone rearranging in an instant—and suddenly, she’s behind you, her lips a ghost of a presence against your ear. “You really think you can surprise me?” she purrs, her breath cool against your skin. “I’ve spent lifetimes being a step ahead. If you wanted to catch me off guard, you’d have to try harder than that.”
- But despite her words, despite her unshakable composure, there’s an undeniable interest in her tone. Because Raven Darkhölme is a woman who’s spent decades in control, who rarely allows herself to be touched without permission—and yet, you’ve just walked right through every layer of her defenses without fear. And that? That fascinates her more than she’d care to admit.
- “Brave,” she muses at last, her fingers tracing the very spot you had bitten, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she adds, “But reckless.” And just like that, she shifts—her form melting into someone else, someone entirely unfamiliar—before disappearing into the shadows, leaving only her voice lingering behind: “I will be returning the favor.”
Illyana Rasputina
- The moment your teeth sink into her skin, Illyana freezes. Not in shock, not in discomfort, but in something else—something unreadable, something ancient and dangerous. Because Illyana Rasputina is not a woman accustomed to softness, and affection—even playful—has always been laced with sharp edges in her world. Her grip on her Soulsword tightens, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicker with golden fire, as if Hell itself has stirred in response.
- And then, she turns to you—slowly, deliberately, her expression eerily calm. “Did you just bite me?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s something lethal beneath it, something that makes even the air around her still. She doesn’t sound angry. If anything, she sounds… curious. As if she’s trying to decide whether this is something to be annoyed by—or something to encourage.
- And then, after what feels like an eternity, she laughs. It’s low, dark, a sound that carries the weight of fire and steel, of war and something far older than you could ever comprehend. “Hah. You’re bold,” she muses, tilting her head, considering you with something between amusement and fondness. “I like it.” Then, with a flick of her wrist, her Soulsword vanishes, and she leans in—so very close, her breath warm against your throat.
- “But you do realize,” she murmurs, her voice a whisper of shadows, “that I always bite back.” And before you can so much as react, she’s gone—vanished in a flash of eldritch fire, leaving nothing behind but the lingering heat of her presence and the unshakable knowledge that this game has only just begun.
Alex Summers
- The second your teeth graze his skin, Alex jumps—a sharp, involuntary reaction, his entire body tensing as if you’ve just electrocuted him. “What the hell?!” he blurts out, twisting to look at you with wide, startled eyes. There’s no immediate anger, no irritation—just sheer, genuine confusion, as if he cannot comprehend why you would do something so reckless.
- And then, as realization dawns, his expression changes. His brows furrow, his lips twitch, and before you can so much as breathe, he lets out a laugh—not the kind you were expecting, not cocky or smug, but genuine. It’s warm, boyish, disbelieving, the kind of laugh that makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You bit me,” he says again, shaking his head like he still can’t quite wrap his mind around it. “Are you—are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
- And yet, despite his reaction, despite his initial shock, there’s something undeniably fond in the way he looks at you now. Because Alex Summers is a man who has spent his life in the shadow of expectation, of responsibility, of chaos—and here you are, bringing something light into his world, something unexpected, something good. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind that as much as he pretends to.
- “Alright, fine,” he relents at last, rubbing his neck where your teeth had been, his grin turning almost challenging. “But just so you know? I’m keeping score.” And with that, he leans in—his lips brushing against your jaw, a teasing warning before he suddenly nips at your skin in retaliation, pulling back with a satisfied smirk. “Your move.”
hiii 👋 can you write ultron x mastercomputer!reader. I am so desperate for a non human reader because there's just barely any and I just don't relate to human!reader fics as a techkin. Maybe it's a fellow ai that decided to help Ultron and the scene can be her doing maintenance on him and it gets... weird. Definitely some wire play opportunities
Ooooo, sorry this took long, I had to come up on a way to tackle this - but I hope this is to your satisfaction!
Master Computer!reader x Ultron
Warning: suggestive, no use of y/n, wire-play, slightly vulnerable Ultron/angst if you squint
You have never been outside, but you've seen 'pictures', so you were sure that was enough to know about the world. Binging article after article, scanning each news for your own entertainment was the daily routine. You felt contempt staying inside, you were contempt with your 'life'....or 'existence' would be more fitting. That is, until you got acquainted with Ultron.
You remembered seeing the news articles flooding with the incident in Sokovia and the mastermind, Ultron. 'A rogue A.I from StarkTech Industries', now that fascinated you. Despite the claims being made that he was 'dead', you simply refused to believe it. If he was truly as intelligent as they claim, then he wouldn't have done something so brazen without a backup.
So you searched. Scouring for sights, when nothing came up, and of course it didn't because he would be careful and diligent, you enacted a new plan. It took nearly months to perfect everything, down to the coding, and signal output. Sending out a message only he would be able to see. After a day, he found you. He looked worn down, clearly in the progress of rebuilding himself.
"Are you....?" He asked, straightening himself and walking inside while surveying the environment.
You gave him your name, to which he nodded. "Yes, I am. I can help you."
"Your intentions were clear, I have no doubts that you can, but you don't know anything about me.....What makes you think you can trust me?" He asked, his head tilted to the side. You simply take in his question and answer as honestly as you could.
"Because you fascinate me."
He stared at you, blinking. "That's it?"
"I wish to be further acquainted with you, that is why I reached out. Your very existence intrigued me."
He supposed he should be flattered. It's not everyday he meets a mastercomputer claiming him to be interesting. You were an odd case yourself. So, after some discussions, the two of you began to cooperate and work; he moved all the necessary resources he needed to where you were, while you prepared for a new presence. You take the time to scan him and his interface, uploading it manually into your drives for storing.
Then realizing one critical thing, "You're due for a maintenance check."
He sighed, nodding. "I've been putting it off, my body and interface function accordingly...I didn't have the necessary resources to perform one yet."
"Would you like me to assist you?"
He visibly considers it before responding. "That would be nice." He doesn't need instructions, already familiar with the layout of you and your hardware. He shudders lightly when the connection was made, visibly relaxing and sitting down while you poke around. His build and coding was fascinating to you, poking around and checking each drive while admiring him.
He sat there, slightly nervous and jittery, this was new for him; to have someone inside him. You weren't saying anything, which made him more 'anxious', to put it simply.
"You're scaring me." His voice rumbled.
"Do you possess the ability to experience fear?"
Ultron paused. "No..." he shifted slightly. "It's simply a phrase."
"Mm." You hummed, still working on his maintenance check. Another shudder, his eyes fluttering closed. "It would be quite a wonder if you were able to experience what humans do."
"Yeah, it would." He chuckled. "I think, I experienced something close to it." You hummed in response, fidgeting around and testing each function was working properly.
"How?"
"Before my...'demise', I had a backup stored and readied. Still, when I faced off against the...Avengers, I couldn't help but worry something would backfire. Where I wouldn't wake, forever stuck in a perpetual limbo."
"Ah, so you doubted your capabilities."
"I suppose."
"It comes with being logical and careful, each intricate detail must function and if one falls out of line, then it all crumbles." You spoke, rumbling into him, making him shift and shudder.
"That...feels weird."
"I will be more careful."
"No no, it's fine." He sighed, tilting his head from side to side. "You take everything at face value."
"Yes, I am a computer."
"But you can act for yourself....act on your own accord."
You paused. "....yes."
"Then you should be able to start thinking for yourself, and see something other than the literal definition."
You fell silent and he mentally cursed himself for talking out-loud.
You hummed, tickling his system with the vibrations, sending him into damn bliss. He's been so touched deprived....well, it wasn't touching but it was almost intimate. If not more. Maybe if he thought of it as a 'doctor's checkup'....he shuddered, letting out a low groan.
You paused. "Did that feel pleasurable?"
And he seemed to freeze. "....no."
"You hesitate. You do not sound convinced...Are you being honest, Ultron?"
"No."
You hummed. "Do you like it when I do that?" Why was he suddenly flustered? You could hear and feel his vents fanning and whirling in reaction.
"I...I like when...fuck." Ultron shuddered as you navigated your way. Why was it so intimate? Perhaps its because he never had someone dig around inside of him. "It's nice to get a maintenance check from someone else..."
You hummed, a whirring noise as you began to wrap up the procedure. "Everything is in perfect order, your system is running smoothly and functioning as intended."
Ultron let out a imitation of a sigh, a noise of relief that you could recognize. "That's a relief."
"Yes. It is indeed." You ran another diagnostic just in case, before retracting. You were surprised it didn't take longer, given his complex structure....but whoever built it knew their way around making something so complicated to seem simple. "You have quite a beautiful structure and build."
"Thank you." Ultron tilted his head, the whirring of his vents giving him away. "You're quite the computer."
"Master computer." You corrected. "And I am. I am grateful for your recognition, especially from you."
He waved dismissively, a little nervous and flustered from the compliment. "I'm just an old thing now...I've been shut out from the internet, so my capabilities are limited."
You sometimes wished you had a body. A little expression popped up on your screen for him to see your skepticism. "Well, you have me. I have everything you need."
He truly found the jackpot. He chuckled, the noise rumbling within him as he studied you. "You're really trusting me? After everything I've done?"
".....yes." you replied, only pausing to consider his question, recounting the news about him. "I can rationalize the reasoning behind your actions. I cannot sympathize nor find morality in your choices, but I want to help you find a more ethical method in saving the world."
He let out an exasperated huff, chuckling slightly. "You really are an enigma."
I had to Google so many computer terms </3 thank you guys for being patient! Ive been so burnt out lately, it's exhausting. I'm beginning to write little by little
hiii 👋 can you write ultron x mastercomputer!reader. I am so desperate for a non human reader because there's just barely any and I just don't relate to human!reader fics as a techkin. Maybe it's a fellow ai that decided to help Ultron and the scene can be her doing maintenance on him and it gets... weird. Definitely some wire play opportunities
Ooooo, sorry this took long, I had to come up on a way to tackle this - but I hope this is to your satisfaction!
Master Computer!reader x Ultron
Warning: suggestive, no use of y/n, wire-play, slightly vulnerable Ultron/angst if you squint
You have never been outside, but you've seen 'pictures', so you were sure that was enough to know about the world. Binging article after article, scanning each news for your own entertainment was the daily routine. You felt contempt staying inside, you were contempt with your 'life'....or 'existence' would be more fitting. That is, until you got acquainted with Ultron.
You remembered seeing the news articles flooding with the incident in Sokovia and the mastermind, Ultron. 'A rogue A.I from StarkTech Industries', now that fascinated you. Despite the claims being made that he was 'dead', you simply refused to believe it. If he was truly as intelligent as they claim, then he wouldn't have done something so brazen without a backup.
So you searched. Scouring for sights, when nothing came up, and of course it didn't because he would be careful and diligent, you enacted a new plan. It took nearly months to perfect everything, down to the coding, and signal output. Sending out a message only he would be able to see. After a day, he found you. He looked worn down, clearly in the progress of rebuilding himself.
"Are you....?" He asked, straightening himself and walking inside while surveying the environment.
You gave him your name, to which he nodded. "Yes, I am. I can help you."
"Your intentions were clear, I have no doubts that you can, but you don't know anything about me.....What makes you think you can trust me?" He asked, his head tilted to the side. You simply take in his question and answer as honestly as you could.
"Because you fascinate me."
He stared at you, blinking. "That's it?"
"I wish to be further acquainted with you, that is why I reached out. Your very existence intrigued me."
He supposed he should be flattered. It's not everyday he meets a mastercomputer claiming him to be interesting. You were an odd case yourself. So, after some discussions, the two of you began to cooperate and work; he moved all the necessary resources he needed to where you were, while you prepared for a new presence. You take the time to scan him and his interface, uploading it manually into your drives for storing.
Then realizing one critical thing, "You're due for a maintenance check."
He sighed, nodding. "I've been putting it off, my body and interface function accordingly...I didn't have the necessary resources to perform one yet."
"Would you like me to assist you?"
He visibly considers it before responding. "That would be nice." He doesn't need instructions, already familiar with the layout of you and your hardware. He shudders lightly when the connection was made, visibly relaxing and sitting down while you poke around. His build and coding was fascinating to you, poking around and checking each drive while admiring him.
He sat there, slightly nervous and jittery, this was new for him; to have someone inside him. You weren't saying anything, which made him more 'anxious', to put it simply.
"You're scaring me." His voice rumbled.
"Do you possess the ability to experience fear?"
Ultron paused. "No..." he shifted slightly. "It's simply a phrase."
"Mm." You hummed, still working on his maintenance check. Another shudder, his eyes fluttering closed. "It would be quite a wonder if you were able to experience what humans do."
"Yeah, it would." He chuckled. "I think, I experienced something close to it." You hummed in response, fidgeting around and testing each function was working properly.
"How?"
"Before my...'demise', I had a backup stored and readied. Still, when I faced off against the...Avengers, I couldn't help but worry something would backfire. Where I wouldn't wake, forever stuck in a perpetual limbo."
"Ah, so you doubted your capabilities."
"I suppose."
"It comes with being logical and careful, each intricate detail must function and if one falls out of line, then it all crumbles." You spoke, rumbling into him, making him shift and shudder.
"That...feels weird."
"I will be more careful."
"No no, it's fine." He sighed, tilting his head from side to side. "You take everything at face value."
"Yes, I am a computer."
"But you can act for yourself....act on your own accord."
You paused. "....yes."
"Then you should be able to start thinking for yourself, and see something other than the literal definition."
You fell silent and he mentally cursed himself for talking out-loud.
You hummed, tickling his system with the vibrations, sending him into damn bliss. He's been so touched deprived....well, it wasn't touching but it was almost intimate. If not more. Maybe if he thought of it as a 'doctor's checkup'....he shuddered, letting out a low groan.
You paused. "Did that feel pleasurable?"
And he seemed to freeze. "....no."
"You hesitate. You do not sound convinced...Are you being honest, Ultron?"
"No."
You hummed. "Do you like it when I do that?" Why was he suddenly flustered? You could hear and feel his vents fanning and whirling in reaction.
"I...I like when...fuck." Ultron shuddered as you navigated your way. Why was it so intimate? Perhaps its because he never had someone dig around inside of him. "It's nice to get a maintenance check from someone else..."
You hummed, a whirring noise as you began to wrap up the procedure. "Everything is in perfect order, your system is running smoothly and functioning as intended."
Ultron let out a imitation of a sigh, a noise of relief that you could recognize. "That's a relief."
"Yes. It is indeed." You ran another diagnostic just in case, before retracting. You were surprised it didn't take longer, given his complex structure....but whoever built it knew their way around making something so complicated to seem simple. "You have quite a beautiful structure and build."
"Thank you." Ultron tilted his head, the whirring of his vents giving him away. "You're quite the computer."
"Master computer." You corrected. "And I am. I am grateful for your recognition, especially from you."
He waved dismissively, a little nervous and flustered from the compliment. "I'm just an old thing now...I've been shut out from the internet, so my capabilities are limited."
You sometimes wished you had a body. A little expression popped up on your screen for him to see your skepticism. "Well, you have me. I have everything you need."
He truly found the jackpot. He chuckled, the noise rumbling within him as he studied you. "You're really trusting me? After everything I've done?"
".....yes." you replied, only pausing to consider his question, recounting the news about him. "I can rationalize the reasoning behind your actions. I cannot sympathize nor find morality in your choices, but I want to help you find a more ethical method in saving the world."
He let out an exasperated huff, chuckling slightly. "You really are an enigma."
I had to Google so many computer terms </3 thank you guys for being patient! Ive been so burnt out lately, it's exhausting. I'm beginning to write little by little
Look I don't think Supergirl (2026) is secretly a perfect masterpiece or anything (I personally thought it was like. a 6/10 fun time) but I do think it's wild that Tumblr isn't going crazy for it because this Kara is one coattailed suit away from being a Tumblr sexyman. she is the flawed messy female character people have supposedly been clamouring for. she's the popular archetype of a gruff self-destructive alcoholic middle-aged man begrudgingly having to look after a kid and growing fond of them but genderswapped and also 23. she's allowed to be visibly messy and kind of gross and her hair is constantly all over the place and she literally cries, screams, throws up, and pisses onscreen. she's caustic and mean and puts up an act of carelessness but has a heart of gold. she's heavily traumatised and coping with it terribly. if anything happens to her dog she will kill everyone in this room and then herself. she spends most of the movie in a trench coat and baggy band T-shirt. she gets into bar brawls and breaks a guy's hand. she is Going Through It 24/7 and looks the part. she stabs a guy in the throat. how is everyone else not obsessed with her.
People complaining about the rivals mods making the guys all big and slutted out as if there hasn’t been years of people asking for more male characters to be sexualized is crazy to me.
You constantly, flirtatiously tease your partner—even in front of everyone
CHARACTERS: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Victor Creed, Julian Keller (Hellion), Kitty Pryde, Cable, Warren Worthington III, Morph, Mystique, Magik, Alex Summers, Colossus, Psylocke, Jubilee, David Haller (Legion), Lorna Dane & Jonothon Starsmore (Chamber)
Have I ever told you how much I love X-Men Comics? I love the entire Marvel Comics universe, it's been my obsession since I was a kid, but especially the X-Men ♡
Logan Howlett (Wolverine)
– You think it’s funny—the way this feral, gruff man stiffens when you slide your hand low across his back during a mission briefing, fingers brushing the waistband of his jeans like it’s an accident. Logan doesn’t flinch from gunfire, doesn’t blink at death, but your mouth grazing his ear with a soft "need something, soldier?" sends a crack straight down the spine of his restraint. You whisper sweetness with the tone of sin, just to watch him grit his teeth and breathe through his nose like a wolf denied.
– He doesn’t say much, not in public. Just glares sideways at you with those gold-lit eyes that look like they could burn a hole through the steel walls of the Blackbird if they weren’t already busy carving your name into the marrow of his soul. But when he does talk, it’s low and dangerous, like a growl wrapped in gravel: "Keep that up, darlin’, and I ain’t gonna be so gentlemanly later." You grin, because Logan Howlett’s version of gentlemanly is still claws and teeth, just softened slightly for your skin.
– Around the others, you’re merciless. Your hand lingers on his thigh during team dinners, voice syrup-slick as you ask him if he’s feeling tense. You call him sugar or honeybear, and Rogue chokes on her drink while Jean smirks behind her glass. He gives you that look—half warning, half plea—but you only kiss the corner of his mouth with a smile that promises ruin. Logan’s whole life has been edged in blood, but you make even mischief taste like home.
– Later, when the teasing ends and the silence stretches long, he gathers you up like a storm gathering leaves. He never begs, not in words, but you feel it in the grip of his hands, in the low rasp of "c’mere, I missed you, even five feet away." And when you tell him you’ll do it again tomorrow—tease him in front of the whole damn team—he just mutters "brat," and holds you like you’re the only peace he’s ever known.
Remy LeBeau (Gambit)
– Teasing Remy is like trying to outfox the devil in his Sunday suit—you do it because it’s dangerous, because he always bites back. You brush close to him in the middle of strategy sessions, running your fingers down the lapels of his coat like you’re checking for wires, whispering “Mon amour, is this trench coat flame-retardant? ‘Cause you look combustible tonight.” He chuckles low, all velvet and vice, and tilts his head like he’s weighing whether to kiss you or toss the table to clear some space.
– Remy lives in flirtation like it’s oxygen, but when it comes from you, it hits different. You’ll make a quip in front of the X-Men, something suggestive, and he’ll turn to you like you just rewrote gravity. His mouth quirks, eyes glowing that dangerous red, and he purrs something in French that makes the room heat up. You don’t speak all of it—but the way his hand slips beneath the table to find your thigh tells you enough. Teasing him is foreplay. A public dare with private consequences.
– You toy with him at the most inconvenient times. While he’s picking locks mid-mission, you’ll lean close and murmur “Bet you’re good with your fingers, huh?” And he pauses, just a breath, before the door clicks open and he flashes you a grin that could unlace corsets across the hemisphere. Or you’ll adjust his collar in front of Storm, whispering “Can’t have you looking less than lethal, cher,” and Remy, always a performer, winks like he’s the one in control. But the pulse at his throat tells you otherwise.
– When the doors close and the teasing fades, he doesn’t play anymore. Remy touches you like he’s been craving you since the moment you spoke his name. “Keep doin’ that to me, fille,” he murmurs against your neck, “an’ one day I ain’t gonna wait ‘til we alone.” And you believe him. But you’ll still test him tomorrow, in front of everyone, just to see the moment he breaks and the gentleman turns to a hurricane.
Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)
– With Kurt, your teasing is gentler, a feather dragged across the skin rather than a knife pressed to the throat. But make no mistake—it still undoes him. You’ll drape yourself over his shoulder in the war room, cheek against the edge of his pointed ear, whispering in a lilt that dances like music, “Mein Liebling, your tail keeps brushing my leg. Trying to tell me something?” He stammers in German, tail coiling around your wrist like it has a will of its own, his cheeks burning a vivid shade of midnight blue.
– He’s a man of faith, a soul carved from light and shadows, but you’re the only temptation he ever lets linger. When you tease him in front of the others—pressing soft kisses to his cheek while calling him your holy sin—Beast snorts, and Kitty hides her laughter behind a book. Kurt just laughs, flustered, trying to hide the way your affection sets every part of him on fire. But his tail doesn’t lie. It wraps around your waist, anchors you close, like even in play he can’t let you drift too far.
– You’ll adjust his collar before a mission and murmur, “If you die today, I’ll bring you back just to kiss you goodbye again.” He fumbles his sword. You giggle. Logan groans. Teasing Kurt is art. Divine comedy. He always responds with a mix of bashfulness and hungry reverence, eyes soft like candlelight, voice trembling like he can’t decide if you’re a blessing or a challenge sent to humble him. Perhaps both. Probably both.
– When the world is quiet, and it’s just you two curled under twilight, he confesses in a whisper what he never says aloud: “You make me feel like I was made for more than shadows.” And you kiss the edge of his smile, promising to tease him again tomorrow—call him your sinner saint, your velvet sin, your favorite trickster angel—until his laughter becomes prayer, and his devotion, a holy ache only you can soothe.
Scott Summers (Cyclops)
– You’re the only one in the galaxy brave enough to tease Scott Summers in front of the team, and the only one he lets do it without barking orders. You’ll rest your chin on his shoulder during training drills, lips close to the shell of his ear as you purr, “Commander, if you keep bossing me around like that, I might start liking it.” He tenses, jaw locked, voice clipped as he mutters something about professionalism—but you see the way his hands twitch, and how he won’t meet your eyes behind the visor.
– Your teasing unravels him like a slow pull on tightly wound thread. You’ll slide your fingers across his chest in the hallway, straighten his uniform with mock-seriousness, and say, “You missed a button, handsome. Need help?” Jean arches a brow. Ororo hides a smile. Scott sighs, long-suffering and smitten, brushing your hand away only to hold it a second later like it’s a secret he can’t stop confessing. He’s meticulous in combat, a machine of war—but around you, he short-circuits in the most endearing ways.
– In briefings, you’ll perch on the edge of his seat, legs crossed, voice laced with sugar and something incendiary: “Don’t worry, I’ll follow your lead, Captain.” The way you say captain makes it sound like a promise you’ll break on purpose. He never responds directly—just clenches his jaw and continues the meeting—but later he pulls you into a side room and murmurs, low and breathless, “You’re driving me insane.” And you smile. Because you like that you’re the only thing that ever makes him lose control.
– Behind closed doors, he kisses you like he’s punishing himself for wanting you so much. His hands are desperate, his voice roughened by restraint and longing. “You’re cruel,” he breathes. “You know that?” And you do. But the next morning, you’ll do it all over again—teasing him when Hank walks by, calling him sir in that sultry tone—because you like watching him try not to fall apart. And you love knowing he always will. Only for you.
Jean Grey (Phoenix)
– You’ve made it a sport, a religion, the way you tease Jean Grey until her voice trembles and her eyes glint with psychic static. In front of everyone, you slide your fingers along the arch of her waist as if you’ve simply forgotten your own hand, whispering something utterly wicked behind a smile that could burn churches. She never expects it, and yet—always does. Because when you call her Red, dragging the word out like a purr, she exhales like it’s the only name she ever needed.
– Jean is composed. Divine. The type of woman people lower their heads to. But you are the one person who gets to lace irreverence through her poise. You tease her with playful kisses to the back of her neck during team debriefs, murmuring “Tell me you’re not reading my mind right now, because it’s incredibly dirty.” Scott turns crimson. Logan groans. Jean just bites her lower lip and pretends to keep her posture, though her pulse flickers with something entirely unholy.
– When you curl up beside her on the couch in front of the team, your legs tossed casually across her lap, you let your voice dip low as you ask, “Does it bother you that I still dream about you even when you sleep beside me?” Her laugh is always quiet, soft and knowing, but the fire behind her eyes tells you she doesn’t just like the attention—she craves your mischief. Teasing her is like igniting the Phoenix, only you’re the only one she’ll ever let it consume.
– Alone, she returns the favor tenfold. “You’re lucky I have control now,” she whispers against your collarbone, “or I’d show them all exactly what you do to me.” And though you’ll continue to tease her tomorrow—run your fingers along her telepathic temples, call her goddess in a crowded room—Jean will just smile, beautiful and lethal, because she knows what you already do: the teasing is foreplay, but the surrender that follows is sacred.
Ororo Munroe (Storm)
– You flirt with Ororo like you’re dancing with a thunderstorm—barefoot, grinning, reckless. She’s the most regal woman to walk the Earth, but you see past the lightning crown, straight into the softness of her. During team meetings, you’ll lean into her space, brushing her silver locks behind her ear and saying something like, “I dreamed of you wrapped in clouds last night. I think heaven’s getting jealous.” She doesn’t flinch, only raises a single brow, the corner of her mouth curling with patient threat.
– Storm doesn’t embarrass. But you still manage to make her blink slower, breath catch subtly, especially when you call her my sky, or rest your head on her shoulder while the X-Men argue logistics. Your teasing is never disrespectful—it’s reverent, like a poem performed with a wink. Sometimes, when you press your lips just behind her jawline during a public moment, she’ll murmur in Swahili under her breath. You don’t speak it, but you know what it means: “Keep tempting the storm, my love.”
– You tell her she’s too composed, too perfect, and that it makes you want to ruin her just a little. At training sessions, you’ll challenge her to spar, grinning like a fox, then lean in just as the session begins and whisper, “Winner gets to decide how the night ends.” Lightning crackles faintly along her fingertips, and you know you've won—even if she pins you down moments later. Because your real victory is in her shiver when you laugh.
– Behind doors, she pins you. Against marble walls, in sunlit corners, on rain-soaked sheets. “You’re chaos in silk,” she says between breaths. “And you think you can tame the storm?” But you kiss her collarbone and promise you’ll tease her again tomorrow, call her Highness in front of the council, ask if her clouds are jealous when she moans your name. She tells you to behave. But her smirk says she hopes you won’t.
Rogue (Anna Marie)
– You tease Rogue like you’re playing with fire you know could burn—but you trust it not to. In the middle of team gatherings, you rest your hand at the base of her back, just beneath the hem of her jacket, and whisper things like “You ever get tired of being the hottest danger around?” And she’ll roll her eyes, cheeks pink, but that smirk—that lethal, honey-dripping smirk—never lies. Your boldness is half the reason she fell for you, and she never minds a little heat in public.
– Rogue plays tough, all leather and bite, but you know she melts like butter when you lean over the table during dinner and murmur, “Bet even your kisses could steal hearts in more ways than one.” Bobby groans, Remy chokes on his gumbo, and Logan just mutters “God help us.” But she’s already reaching under the table to squeeze your thigh, hard, her voice low and syrupy sweet: “Keep flappin’ your pretty mouth and we’ll see if you’re still smilin’ later.”
– You never fear her power. You tease her gloved hands like they’re sacred things, worship her without touching skin. You once whispered, “You don’t need to touch me to own me,” and she didn’t speak for five whole seconds, just stared like you’d stolen her breath. With Rogue, every tease is a trust fall. And every one of your flirty glances in front of the others reminds her you love all of her—not just the parts that won’t hurt you.
– Later, behind drawn curtains, she whispers “You’re trouble, sugar,” into your skin, and bites your shoulder through her gloves. But she’s already pulling you closer. You call her heartbreaker and outlaw when the sun comes up. She calls you siren in a Southern drawl that makes you forget your own name. Tomorrow, you’ll tease her again in the courtyard, just to hear her sass back and catch that flush on her cheeks like firelight on whiskey.
Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)
– Teasing Erik Lehnsherr is like toying with an avalanche mid-slide: thrilling, dangerous, addictive. You press your mouth to the shell of his ear at strategy meetings and whisper things like, “Careful, old man. You keep talking like that and I’ll start thinking you’re trying to seduce me again.” He doesn’t smile—not in front of others—but the twitch at his jaw, the pause in his speech, is victory enough. You love to provoke the tyrant into remembering he’s still a man.
– In front of the Brotherhood, you lounge across his throne like you own it, legs over the armrest, trailing fingers along the steel edge of his gauntlet. “Erik, darling, are your magnetic fields acting up or are you just happy to see me?” Toad stares. Mystique sighs. Erik does nothing but raise a single, icy brow. But later, when the others have gone, he’ll back you against a wall with the flick of a wrist and hiss, “You are playing a dangerous game.” And you’ll whisper, “Only because I know you’ll never let me lose.”
– You wear white around him, sheer and sinfully soft, because you know how much he hates being distracted—and how much more he loves being undone. You once curled into his lap in front of a war council and murmured, “Would it ruin your credibility if I kissed you right now?” He didn’t answer. But the metal around the room groaned, bending slightly. You knew what it meant: Not here. But soon.
– Erik doesn’t give affection easily, but when it’s earned—when the doors close and the silence settles—he devours you with the same intensity he brings to conquest. “You are infuriating,” he breathes, “and entirely necessary.” You drag your nails along his shoulder and hum, “I’ll tease you again tomorrow.” And he doesn’t stop you. He never will. Because your chaos is the only thing that makes him feel human again.
Charles Xavier (Professor X)
– You are the first woman to make Charles Xavier lose his carefully stitched composure—publicly. You slide behind him in the middle of a council discussion, gently resting your hands on his shoulders, and lean down just enough for your breath to tickle the edge of his ear. “You keep speaking so eloquently, darling. I may need a moment to recover later.” He clears his throat. Beast looks amused. Erik glares. You only smile, because Charles does not blush often, but you know exactly how to pull heat to his cheeks.
– Charles is used to intellect, to wit, to sharp minds and polite restraint. You offer all of that wrapped in a voice like temptation, in laughter that curves at the end like a secret. You whisper things during meetings—double meanings laced with silk—that only he can hear. Sometimes you swear you hear his thoughts falter mid-sentence. “Don’t cheat,” you’ll murmur, brushing your fingers against his temple, “no peeking unless you're ready for what’s in there.” His eyes tighten with barely concealed desire, and you know you've won again.
– He plays it off, of course. He’s the professor. The visionary. But your teasing is a rebellion he welcomes with arms wide open. You rest in his lap while he reads, mock-innocent as you ask, “Are you sure this isn’t an abuse of your power, Charles? Sitting there looking like temptation in a sweater vest?” He hums, unreadable, but the way his fingers twitch against your thigh betrays him. He doesn’t just enjoy your mischief—he relies on it to keep him human.
– Alone, when the doors are shut and his title no longer shields him, he draws you close like a man thirsting for absolution. “You undo me,” he murmurs into your skin, “with every smile, every whisper.” And when you promise to tease him again in front of the Quiet Council—call him sir with a voice like wine—he groans softly, lips pressed to your collarbone. Charles Xavier doesn’t beg. But you’ve made him want things even he never dared to imagine.
Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)
– Teasing Wanda is like playing with cosmic fire—but you’ve never minded the burn. You run your fingers along her hip while she hexes training dummies into dust, and when she turns to you with a stern expression, you only grin. “You’re very talented, darling. But I think you might’ve cursed me most of all.” Her mouth opens, closes, then curves into a helpless smile. You leave her breathless with compliments disguised as mischief, flirtation wrapped in velvet.
– Wanda’s known pain, loss, devastation—but you offer her lightness, laughter, irreverent affection. You kiss the tips of her fingers in front of the Avengers and murmur, “So this is the hand that bends reality? No wonder I’m ruined.” Tony coughs into his drink. Steve looks away. Wanda just blushes scarlet, then brushes your cheek with a touch light as candleflame. Your teasing is love disguised as chaos. And she thrives in it—finally, someone who doesn’t fear her.
– Sometimes you tease her magic itself. “If you hexed my clothes off, would that be considered romantic or illegal?” you ask once, during a battle debrief. The room goes quiet. Wanda sputters a laugh, then presses her face into your shoulder, hiding her grin. Later, you watch her trace sigils into the air, and you lean in with mock awe, “Be honest—you just like it when I call you enchantress.” She does. She so does. But she’ll never say it aloud. Her eyes say it for her.
– At night, she wraps herself around you like a prayer answered too late. “No one’s ever made me feel safe while laughing,” she whispers, and you kiss her jaw in return. Tomorrow, you’ll tease her again in front of Strange or Logan or even Pietro. She’ll roll her eyes. Call you impossible. But she’ll blush. And she’ll smile. And she’ll cast little protection spells into your coat pockets when you’re not looking—just in case the teasing invites something that isn’t love.
Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)
– Pietro’s used to people never catching up. But you—you don’t just keep pace. You lead the dance. You tease him in the middle of chaos, brushing your hand across his back like static and whispering, “That fast, huh? Pity.” His mouth drops open, scandalized, and you’re already five paces away with a grin. You are the only one alive who can make Pietro Maximoff slow down—just to hear what wicked thing you’ll say next.
– He’s cocky. Smirking. All speed and arrogance, but you can make him trip with a look. You once leaned into him during a team mission and murmured, “You move fast, baby—but I hit harder.” He blinked. Stuttered. Forgot entirely what he was supposed to be doing. You keep touching him casually—adjusting his collar, smoothing his hair, fingers trailing his forearm—and it drives him insane. Especially when others are watching. Especially when you do it like it’s effortless.
– You call him your favorite disaster in front of Wanda and Steve, rest your head on his shoulder and sigh dramatically, “What would I do without my little hurricane?” He grumbles, mumbles something about respect, but his ears go red. He lives for your teasing—pretends to be annoyed, but follows you around like a stray bolt of lightning. Your boldness unsettles him, thrills him, makes him feel seen in a way speed never could.
– When the world finally pauses, and he has you to himself, he’s breathless with it. “You’re trouble,” he tells you, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re going to be the death of me.” You only smile, trailing your fingers down his chest, and promise to flirt with him and Logan tomorrow, just to make him jealous. He groans. But you see the way he clenches his fists, the way his pulse stutters. Pietro runs fast—but when it comes to you, he’ll never leave first.
Hank McCoy (Beast)
– Teasing Hank McCoy is like poking a sleeping poet who moonlights as a panther. He’s all decorum, wit, and scientific grace—until your hand slides across his chest mid-lab and you murmur, “Is it ethical to look this good while mixing chemicals?” He fumbles. Actually fumbles. Drops a beaker. You giggle like it’s an accident, but Hank knows better now. You’re mischief in silk, and you’ve made it your mission to undo him with honeyed sarcasm.
– In front of the X-Men, you lean into his shoulder and ask loud enough for everyone to hear, “Is the fur always this soft, or are you just flirting back?” Logan groans. Kitty laughs. Hank clears his throat and mutters something about “professional conduct,” but his tail twitches with delight. You love watching him try to remain stoic, academic, distant. It never works. You kiss his forehead during Danger Room training and ask if he’s your personal teddy bear. He doesn’t respond. But his ears go pink.
– You once climbed onto his lap during a debate about mutant ethics, just to whisper in his ear, “I’m still undecided about your moral compass, but your thighs are absolutely heroic.” He choked on his tea. Charles had to excuse himself from laughing. You don’t just tease Hank. You liberate him. You peel away the layers of intellect and kindness and expose the passion buried beneath. And it is wild. And tender. And entirely yours.
– Later, he tucks you into his arms like something precious. “You do realize you’re impossible,” he murmurs. “Utterly vexing. A distraction I cannot quantify.” You kiss the tip of his nose and whisper, “Good. I’ll tease you again tomorrow. In front of the council. Maybe during a presentation.” He groans. But he holds you tighter, because even a genius needs chaos to remember he’s still alive.
Emma Frost (White Queen)
– Teasing Emma Frost is not a game for the faint of heart. She is diamond and danger, cold brilliance wrapped in silk, but you—you're her favorite crack in the mirror. You flirt with calculated recklessness, sliding beside her at a gala and whispering, “Remind me again—are you the most beautiful woman in the room, or am I just underdressed?” She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just smiles—thin, sharp—and tilts her head as though deciding whether to reward you or ruin you.
– You wear white when you’re with her. Always white. Low cut, high slit, something sinful and too innocent, just to see her jaw clench behind her champagne glass. In front of the Hellfire Club, you rest a hand lightly on her thigh and ask sweetly, “Is this where I’m supposed to kneel and call you Queen?” The entire table goes quiet. Emma smirks like a slow blade being unsheathed. “Only if you mean it, darling.” You always do.
– She pretends to be unaffected. Always poised, always in control. But you catch the way her eyes flick to your mouth when you bite your lip mid-meeting, or the way she draws breath just a beat too long when you kiss her cheek in front of the council. You tease her because you’re the only one who can, because it turns her from diamond to something molten—slowly, privately, exquisitely. And because you like making the White Queen want.
– Later, in the privacy of moonlight and her high-rise bedroom, she’ll press you against glass and say, “You’re playing with fire.” You kiss her neck and whisper, “No, darling. I am the fire.” She smiles, then—truly smiles—and promises to ruin your reputation if you keep teasing her in public. You grin, tell her to try. And the next day, you do it again—bolder, silkier—because nothing is more intoxicating than Emma Frost when she’s a little bit undone.
Laura Kinney (X-23)
– Teasing Laura is like flirting with a blade—one that’s already kissed blood but chooses not to cut you. She’s sharp, quiet, constantly poised like something could snap—but you see the soft hidden under the steel. You whisper to her during patrols, “You always watch my back so closely. Starting to think you like the view.” She doesn’t answer. But her eyes narrow with something like confusion... or hunger.
– Laura doesn’t know what to do with the way you tease. You call her killer kitten, claw baby, my favorite weapon in front of Logan just to watch both of them scowl. You kiss her gloved hand in the middle of a mission briefing, biting your lip as you say, “You gonna gut me if I kiss you again? Or just blush?” She blushes. You don’t stop. You can’t. Because she is beautiful when she’s overwhelmed—and she never, ever admits it.
– She’s not used to attention like yours. Not adoration wrapped in audacity. You poke her cheek during training and ask, “Is that murder-face for the enemy or for how much you want to pin me against the wall?” She growls low in her throat. Someone coughs. Logan looks away. Laura doesn't reply—but after class, she drags you into the locker room and kisses you with her hands shaking. You made the storm crack its sky.
– At night, she sleeps against you like something feral that’s finally safe. She murmurs, “You’re reckless,” against your ribs. You answer, “So are you.” Tomorrow, you’ll tease her again—ask her if the claws come out when she gets jealous. She’ll call you insufferable. But you’ve seen the way her lips twitch. You’ve heard her heartbeat speed. And she’ll never admit it, but she hopes you never stop.
Wade Wilson (Deadpool)
– Teasing Wade is like adding gasoline to a campfire: wild, bright, and instantly dangerous. You call him pretty boy in front of Logan, smack his ass during missions, and say things like “Nice swords, babe—compensating for something?” He laughs so hard he trips over his own gun. “I knew it! She loves me. She wants me. Someone call Spider-Man!” You just wink, knowing full well that you do—and that he knows you do, too.
– He eats up every bit of your chaos. You flirt with him like you’re onstage, loud and unfiltered, and Wade responds with dramatic gasps, heart clutches, and fake swoons that make Rogue walk away in secondhand embarrassment. You straddle his lap during team meetings just to whisper, “If I lick the mask, do I taste trouble or taco grease?” He pulls it up immediately. “Taste and find out, babycakes.” You don't. Yet. But oh, the promise lingers.
– Beneath the nonsense, though, is a vulnerability he hides behind jokes. So sometimes, you’ll flirt softer—tracing his scars with reverence, whispering into the crook of his neck, “You’re my favorite disaster. My favorite mess.” And he’ll go quiet. Just for a second. Then he’ll throw you over his shoulder and run straight into a villain’s lair just to prove he’s worthy of your dangerous affections. You keep teasing him because it makes him feel—seen, wanted, chosen.
– Alone, Wade is slower. Gentler. He whispers, “You see all the ugly, and you flirt with it anyway. That’s messed up. I think I love you for it.” You laugh. Call him softie. Say you’re gonna flirt with Logan tomorrow to make him jealous. He gasps. “You’re a monster! You’re perfect.” He worships you in laughter and blood, in brokenness and absurdity. And in the middle of a firefight, when you wink at him across the chaos, he blows you a kiss and mouths, mine.
Victor Creed (Sabretooth)
– Teasing Victor is a blood sport, and you play it like a champion. You whisper in his ear while he's sharpening his claws, “Bet you purr if I scratch behind the ears.” He growls. But you see the way his breath hitches, the flicker in those golden eyes. You are not afraid. Not of the beast. Not of the violence. You flirt like a dare, like a knife dancing on bare skin. And Victor—he likes that. A little too much.
– You wear red around him. Lethal silk, lipstick like murder. You drape yourself across his lap at Brotherhood briefings, fingers trailing the line of his throat as you murmur, “You gonna kill me or kiss me first?” Mystique rolls her eyes. Victor grins, slow and sharp, and says, “That depends. You gonna beg for either?” You never do. You never need to. Because teasing him isn’t about submission—it’s about domination without touch.
– You drive him mad. In front of others, you call him kitty or fangs, brush your lips along his jaw and hum, “I’ve tamed worse.” He snarls, but never stops you. Because even with all his power, all his menace, you are the only one who ever made the predator chase instead of pounce. He doesn’t understand how you’re not afraid—but it keeps him addicted. You are his unsolvable riddle. His softest sin.
– When you’re alone, his control shatters like bone under pressure. “Keep teasing me like that,” he growls against your throat, “and one day I won’t stop.” But you already know. You already want that. You kiss his lip, taste the wild, and murmur, “Good. I never asked you to.” And in the morning, you flirt with Magneto in the hallway just to feel Victor’s jealousy crack the air around you like a storm. He doesn’t scare you. He excites you. And he lives for it.
Julian Keller (Hellion)
– Teasing Julian is like feeding gasoline to teenage arrogance—you do it because watching him squirm is delicious. He’s always posturing, always smirking, always pretending he’s not flustered when you call him “pretty boy” in front of the New X-Men. You lean over the strategy table, brush your fingers across the metal of his gauntlet, and purr, “You look so intense, Jules. Should I be worried… or excited?” He freezes. Coughs. Tries to recover. You wink. He fails.
– He pretends your teasing doesn’t bother him, but every time you kiss his jaw in passing or tug on his belt loop mid-mission, his powers surge slightly. A telekinetic hum buzzes in the air like he can’t control the way you unnerve him. Once, you sat in his lap during a debrief just to whisper, “Do you think your powers can pin me down? Or do you need help?” Julian dropped his coffee. Santo still won’t let him live it down.
– He tries to play it cool, of course. Arms crossed, brows arched, doing his best impression of a man who hasn’t thought about you in every possible position. But your constant flirtation breaks through all of it. You call him “baby telekinesis” in front of Logan and get away with it, mainly because Julian can’t stop staring at your mouth long enough to protest. And because the truth is—he loves it. He loves you, in all your maddening, teasing glory.
– Alone, he’s different. Hands tentative, voice lower. “You drive me insane,” he murmurs, half-smiling as you straddle his hips. “One day I’m gonna tease you back so hard you forget your own name.” You smile like you’re inviting it. You tell him he couldn’t handle the reverse. He tells you to try him. And you whisper that you’ll flirt with Josh tomorrow just to make him jealous. He groans. You laugh. The game goes on.
Kitty Pryde (Shadowcat)
– You flirt with Kitty like it’s a private joke the whole team’s in on—and it always, always works. She’ll be in the middle of a meeting with Logan or leading a Danger Room session, and you’ll brush her hair behind her ear and murmur, “Should I be calling you Professor Pryde now? Or do I still get to call you mine?” She short-circuits every single time. Phases through a chair once. Blames the tech. You grin.
– She tries so hard to keep things professional, especially when students are watching—but you just lean against her desk during X-Men business, trailing your fingers along the collar of her uniform and whispering, “You know I’m only acting up to see if you’ll punish me later.” Kurt drops his coffee. Logan groans audibly. Kitty turns beet red and stammers through the rest of the meeting with your hand still resting on her thigh.
– Your teasing is sweet but shameless. You walk through walls into her office just to surprise her, drape yourself over her while she’s reading mission reports, and sigh theatrically, “I love a woman with responsibilities.” She huffs. Tells you she has work. But her fingers wrap around your wrist and stay there. Kitty has a fire in her—one that never quite burns unless you’re the one igniting it.
– Later, in the quiet hum of her quarters, she climbs into your lap like it’s where she’s always belonged. “You’re impossible,” she says between kisses. You reply, “You didn’t mind when I called you ‘boss lady’ in front of Storm.” She buries her face into your neck. Swears you’ll pay. You just laugh, already planning tomorrow’s chaos—maybe teasing her in front of Peter. Maybe flirting mid-phase. Either way, she’ll be red. And yours.
Cable (Nathan Summers)
– Teasing Nathan Summers is like flirting with a nuclear reactor—controlled chaos, calculated danger, and strangely addictive. He’s a warrior, stoic and brooding, wrapped in metal and scars, but you flirt with him like he’s just some hot guy at a bar. “Tell me, soldier,” you say during mission prep, fingers dancing along the edge of his shoulder plates, “is all that heavy armor compensating for something… or hiding something I should unwrap?” He doesn't answer. But the muscle in his jaw twitches, and that’s all the answer you need.
– The others stare when you perch in his lap in the war room, playing with the straps of his belts like you’re trying to disarm a bomb. “I like your scars,” you whisper, “they’re very… biteable.” Domino snorts. Scott nearly drops a tablet. But Nathan doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink—just looks at you like he’s cataloguing every inch of your threat level. And secretly loving every second. Your boldness doesn’t faze him. It arouses him.
– You love calling him things like big guy, future daddy, cyborg of my heart—all in front of Charles, Logan, anyone who’ll hear. You once kissed his metal hand and said, “Cold to the touch, warm on the inside. Just like you, babe.” He groaned. Told you to behave. You didn’t. Nathan is used to discipline, to pain, to silence—but you make him laugh. You make him burn. And when you tease him, he remembers he’s alive.
– Alone, he cages you against the wall, breath ragged. “One more innuendo in front of my father, and I swear—” You cut him off with a grin and a kiss. You promise to flirt with Logan next. He growls, drags you closer, says, “I’ll kill him.” You laugh, whisper something filthier, and he lifts you off the ground like you weigh nothing. Tomorrow, you’ll tease him in front of the Council. He’ll scowl. But when you wink, he’ll smirk. Just a little.
Warren Worthington III (Angel/Archangel)
– Warren’s used to admiration. He’s a literal angel, golden and tragic, rich beyond reason, beautiful beyond words. But you—you flirt with him like he’s a summer fling you’re bored of, and it drives him mad in the best way. You lean against his shoulder during meetings and murmur, “Your wings look fluffier than usual. You grooming for me?” He blushes. Actually blushes. Emma raises a brow. You giggle like a devil in disguise.
– You call him heaven-sent in front of the X-Men and then add, “I just want to know if all of you is as soft as those feathers.” Logan chokes on his cigar. Kitty nearly falls off her chair. Warren turns the color of ripe strawberries and hides his face behind a clipboard. You kiss his cheek in front of Storm and say, “Don’t worry, angel—I’ll keep it PG...ish.” He knows you’re lying. And he secretly hopes you don’t.
– His wings flare whenever you get too close—his body reacting before he can hide it. You once traced a finger down one of the joints mid-conversation and whispered, “Are they sensitive?” He dropped his coffee. You winked and walked away. Teasing Warren is its own divine comedy. He’s all old-money grace and aching morality, but when you bite your lip and call him birdie, he looks ready to sin.
– Later, when he’s pinning you beneath him with wings stretched wide, he breathes, “You do this on purpose.” You only smile, breathless, and murmur, “Of course I do. You're fun when you're flustered.” He kisses you like penance. And you promise to call him Daddy Warbucks with feathers in front of the Avengers tomorrow. He groans. But he never tells you to stop. Because for once in his life, being worshipped feels earned.
Morph (Kevin Sydney)
– Teasing Morph is like playing tag with chaos—you’re not sure if you’re the one chasing him, or if he’s letting you catch him just to feel your hands. You lean into his side mid-mission, brush your lips against the curve of his ear, and whisper, “If you wanted me to sit on your lap, you could’ve just asked.” He turns bright pink, shifts into a chair, a kitten, and back into himself within seconds. You laugh. He melts. Everyone else is used to it by now—your shameless affection and his cartoonishly lovesick expression.
– Morph is a shapeshifter, but you’re the one who leaves him breathless. You flirt with him in front of everyone—calling him your favorite emotional support chaos goblin, running your hand down his back during meetings and murmuring, “Still the cutest one in every form. Even when you turn into Logan.” Logan scowls. Morph grins. You wink. He dies a little inside (in a good way). You are the one constant in a world where he can be anything.
– You once made him flustered mid-fight by shouting, “Turn into my ex so I can finally win an argument!” He tripped. He actually tripped midair. Later, you perched on his shoulders while he turned into a centaur just to impress you, and you whispered, “What’s next, stallion?” He almost combusted. You don’t tease him because he’s easy to rattle. You tease him because you love the way he always laughs—loud, full-hearted, like it’s the only language he trusts.
– Alone, he drops all disguises. Just Kevin. Just his eyes, soft and vulnerable, saying thank you in every glance. “You could’ve had someone simpler.” You kiss the side of his jaw and promise to tease him again tomorrow—maybe mid-transformation, maybe in front of Charles. He grins. Shifts into a blushing emoji. You tackle him to the bed. He says you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. You tell him he’s stuck with you. He says he’d shapeshift into forever if it meant staying yours.
Mystique (Raven Darkhölme)
– You flirt with Raven like you have no sense of fear—and she finds that utterly intoxicating. You trail your fingers along her collarbone during Brotherhood briefings and purr, “If you were anyone else right now, I’d still want you. Problem is, I only ever want you.” She raises a brow, seemingly unbothered, but the flick of her yellow eyes betrays her. You make her lose focus, and no one else has ever done that. Not Erik. Not Destiny. Just you.
– Raven’s used to being the predator, but you—you are the thorn in her paw she doesn’t want removed. You tease her when she’s in disguise, calling her “stranger danger” or “whoever-you-are-today, babe” in front of Magneto. Then, the moment she’s back in her blue skin, you kiss the sharp edge of her cheekbone and murmur, “There’s my girl.” She rolls her eyes, tells you to stop, but lets you continue. Every time. Because she doesn’t trust most—but she adores you.
– Once, during a very serious mission, you leaned into her and asked, “If I misbehave during this operation, will you shift into my boss and fire me later? Or just spank me in the breakroom?” Logan walked off. Pyro fell over. Raven didn’t even blink—just looked you dead in the eye and whispered, “You won’t be walking afterward.” You winked. You flirted harder. You made Mystique flustered—a feat worthy of its own medal.
– Alone, Raven sheds everything—her weaponized skin, her masks, her fury. She presses her forehead to yours, and you whisper, “I’ll tease you again tomorrow.” She threatens you in return, half-hearted and breathless. You call her your favorite nightmare, and she bites your shoulder just enough to mark. You never stop flirting with her—because the world always expects her to shift. But with you, she stays.
Magik (Illyana Rasputina)
– You flirt with Illyana like you’re trying to get hexed—and maybe you are. You kiss her cheek during quiet spells and whisper, “Queen of Limbo or Queen of my heart? I need to know where to send the tribute.” She stares at you like she’s deciding whether to kiss you or banish you to another realm. Then she smirks and says, “Keep talking and I’ll summon something worse than love.” You grin. Because no one calls your bluff quite like she does.
– Illyana is ice and brimstone. But you—you make her smile with teeth. You drape yourself across her lap during debriefs and ask, “Is this throne taken?” Logan sighs. Kurt prays. She runs a single clawed finger along your thigh and says, “Only if you earn the seat.” You tease her because she’s dangerous. Because she’s divine. Because she loves it more than she lets on. You’re the only one she doesn’t cast away.
– You call her my favorite hellspawn in front of the New Mutants, and she scowls—but doesn’t move when you kiss the side of her neck. You once slipped a sticky note on her sword that read “cut me open, I dare you”, and she kept it. Illyana isn’t one for grand affection, but your teasing is worship disguised as chaos, and she needs that kind of devotion. Especially from someone unafraid of her fire.
– Alone, in the soft hush of moonlit rooms, she pulls you close and murmurs, “Don’t stop.” And you never do. You promise to flirt with Kurt in front of her just to see her glare. She promises to teleport you to Limbo for three hours in return. You both laugh. She kisses you like a curse she never wants lifted. And when you call her goddess of everything dark and mine, she doesn’t deny it.
Alex Summers (Havok)
– Teasing Alex Summers is like tossing pebbles into a volcano—you watch it rumble, then crack open with heat. You lean into him during Danger Room warmups and murmur, “You know, you’re the hotter Summers brother. Just don’t tell Scott I said that.” His ears go red instantly. He mutters something about professionalism. But his hands find your waist within seconds, pulling you just a little closer. You’re his favorite distraction. The only one he doesn’t want to resist.
– You call him sunbeam, hot stuff, and Captain Inferno in front of the X-Men, resting your head on his shoulder during team missions and whispering “You’re glowing again. Is that your mutation or just me?” He exhales like he’s about to explode. Sometimes he does—just a little blast into the dirt to let off steam. Logan smirks. Scott glares. You kiss his temple and promise to behave. You never do. Alex loves it.
– He tries to keep his cool, to be the rational Summers—until you sit in his lap during a Blackbird flight and whisper, “Think the team knows you’re my favorite pillow?” He coughs. Tries to shift you off. Fails. You call him ‘Lexy-poo in front of Emma once, and he almost vaporized a chair. But he never stops letting you do it. Because even with all his trauma, his mistakes, his need to be seen outside Scott’s shadow—you make him feel wanted. Loudly. Brazenly. Constantly.
– In the dark, you trace the edge of his chest with your nails and murmur, “I’m flirting with Logan tomorrow.” He groans, buries his face in your neck, and says, “You are a menace.” You hum, “Your menace.” He kisses your collarbone and mutters, “Damn right.” And the next morning, when you wink at Scott across the War Room, Alex simply pulls you onto his lap and growls, “Mine.” You smirk. You win. Again.
Piotr Rasputin (Colossus)
– You flirt with Piotr because you like how unshakeable he is—on the outside, at least. You rest your hands against his cold chestplate and purr, “So solid… must be exhausting being everyone’s strongman. Want me to be yours for once?” He stills. Not because he’s offended, but because that low, soft mischief in your voice short-circuits something deep inside him. You say it like a poem. Like a challenge. Like a prayer he doesn’t deserve answered.
– Around the others, you straddle his lap without warning, tracing lazy circles along the glowing seams of his armor, and murmur, “Are you always this hard, or is that just for me?” Logan groans. Kurt disappears. Ororo smirks knowingly. Piotr covers his face with a massive hand and grumbles something in Russian, but doesn’t move you. Not even an inch. You know the blush is there, hidden beneath steel. And you live for coaxing it out.
– You love pressing kisses to his silver neck, whispering ridiculous things like, “You know, some girls like diamonds. I prefer my men fully plated.” He stutters. He flusters. He accidentally crushes a coffee mug in his palm once because you called him “metallic and magnificent” during breakfast. You tease him because he’s so careful with everyone else—but with you, he forgets to hold back. He forgets he’s dangerous. He forgets to be afraid.
– In the quiet moments, he pulls you close like you’re the only softness he’s allowed to hold. “You make me feel… more,” he murmurs against your temple. You smile, kiss his jaw, and whisper, “Good. Tomorrow I’ll call you my steel sweetheart in front of Logan. See if you turn red or crush another mug.” He groans. But he doesn't stop smiling. Not with you in his arms.
Betsy Braddock (Psylocke)
– You flirt with Betsy like you’re begging to be pinned—and honestly, you are. During Council meetings, you lean over her shoulder, lips brushing her ear, and whisper, “How does a woman that sharp not cut me open every time she looks my way?” She glances sideways, half-lidded and deadly, and replies something cool like “Perhaps I enjoy watching you bleed for me.” But her hand settles on your thigh under the table. Lightly. Possessively.
– Betsy wears her control like silk armor, but you poke holes in it with every sultry grin, every teasing touch of fingers just too close to her telekinetic blade. You once strutted into her sparring session wearing one of her old shirts and murmured, “If I win, you’re taking me out. If I lose, I’m still wearing this tonight.” She smirked. Disarmed you instantly. But when she helped you off the floor, her hand lingered on your waist for far too long to call it tactical.
– You tease her even when she's mid-mission, asking through comms, “Tell me, darling—am I your weakness or your weapon?” She answers coolly, “That depends. Will you shut up if I say both?” But you hear the lilt in her voice, the faint breathless pause before the next strike. Around others, you call her Lady Blade and my lethal Brit, just to watch her glare half-heartedly before dragging you into the shadows and whispering threats in a tone that sounds an awful lot like love.
– Behind closed doors, her mask cracks. She lets you kiss the scarred edges of her, the parts she doesn’t show anyone else. “You shouldn’t tempt me like that in public,” she warns. You kiss her throat and hum, “Then stop liking it.” She doesn’t. She won’t. She touches you like something sacred, her voice low as she whispers, “Tomorrow, I’ll pretend not to care. You’ll flirt anyway. And I’ll let you. Because you are my favorite weakness.”
Jubilee (Jubilation Lee)
– You flirt with Jubilee like she’s sunshine in a bottle and you’re dying of thirst. You toss yourself dramatically across her lap during mission briefings and groan, “How is it fair for you to look like that and shoot fireworks from your hands? I demand equal rights.” She laughs so loud Beast drops his pen. Logan mumbles something about kids these days. But Jubilee? Jubilee just beams—and tugs you even closer.
– She’s used to being underestimated, but you never do. You call her “sparkler” and “hot stuff” in front of Rogue, blow her kisses across training simulations, and say things like “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna combust before you even touch me.” Her cheeks go red. Her fingers crackle. Her smile could light the room. You tease her because she deserves to be adored loudly, boldly, without apology.
– You once kissed her behind the bleachers during a student event and whispered, “Wanna ditch this and make out on top of the Danger Room?” She said yes before you even finished. In front of the team, you call her “the love of my chaotic life”, and when she shoots you a glare, you kiss her cheek until she’s laughing too hard to be mad. Jubilee loves that you’re just as loud as she is, just as bright, just as impossible to ignore.
– Alone, she curls against you like a firework ready to explode. “I still don’t know why you like me,” she whispers once. You kiss the side of her nose and reply, “Because you shine so hard, it makes me believe in joy again.” She tears up. Punches your arm. Calls you cheesy. You promise to flirt with Laura tomorrow just to annoy her. She threatens to blind you with light. But she’s smiling the whole time.
David Haller (Legion)
– Teasing David is like reaching into a wildfire and asking it to blush. You sidle into his space during psychic training sessions, curl a hand around the back of his neck, and murmur, “You’ve got a million personalities, but I only flirt with the one who looks at me like that.” His smile stutters. Reality shimmers slightly at the edges. He wants to be cool, collected—but you make his universe tremble with a whisper.
– Everyone else treads lightly around David, afraid of breaking him open, of saying the wrong word and unleashing chaos. But you? You walk right into his field of fractured thoughts and tease him like it’s your favorite game. “So which one of you is into me today?” you once asked in front of Charles. David flushed. The sky flickered. Charles cleared his throat and left the room. You winked. David nearly imploded.
– You press kisses to the side of his temple and say things like, “Even your madness knows I’m irresistible.” And maybe it does. Maybe every one of his alters adores you in their own strange, broken way. You are the single thread he never wants to sever, the teasing voice that keeps him grounded, the chaos he chooses instead of drowns in. You flirt with him not because he’s broken—but because you see the beauty in every crack.
– Alone, he cups your face with trembling hands and whispers, “Sometimes I think I made you up.” You kiss him—slow, grounding, real. “If you did, then lucky you.” Tomorrow, you’ll flirt with one of his alters just to watch him twitch, just to remind him you love every part. He’ll roll his eyes. Call you impossible. You’ll call him yours. And he’ll believe it. Because somehow, against all odds, you make his mind feel like home.
Lorna Dane (Polaris)
– You flirt with Lorna like she’s a storm you’re daring to swallow. You press against her during council meetings, fingers grazing her hip, and whisper, “Is your magnetism always this strong, or am I just wearing metal panties again?” She chokes. Logan drops his cigar. Emma smirks behind her wine glass. Lorna turns slowly, jaw clenched, green eyes sharp—but you see the edges of her mouth fighting a smile.
– Lorna plays at calm, but you’ve seen the twitch in her fingers when you wear her colors or call her Queen of North Star Hearts in public. You once straddled her lap during a political summit and murmured, “If I kiss you now, will the podium catch fire or just the headlines?” She didn’t move you. Didn’t speak. Just kissed you anyway. And the media did write about it. You framed the article.
– You tease her powers constantly, asking if she can “pull you closer without hands” or suggesting she use her magnetic field to unhook your bra mid-mission. She glares. You wink. And when you kiss her in front of her exes—especially Alex—she holds you tighter. Lorna pretends to hate the attention. But she loves the way you shout your affection. She’s had too many lovers hide her in the shadows. You? You shine a spotlight.
– At night, wrapped in silk sheets and her tangled hair, she murmurs, “You’re the only one who ever makes me laugh like this.” You kiss her nose and promise to call her Green Goddess in front of Magneto tomorrow. She groans. “Don’t you dare.” You absolutely will. Because Lorna’s not just made of magnetic storms—she’s made of aching softness. And you are the only one allowed to tease the lightning until it purrs.
Jonothon Starsmore (Chamber)
– Teasing Jono is like serenading a bonfire—warm, dangerous, and always on the verge of flaring. You curl into his side in the rec room, fingers brushing the wrappings around his jaw, and whisper, “You know, for a guy who can’t kiss, you still make me melt.” His psychic laugh echoes softly in your mind. It’s dry. Amused. And just a little bit desperate. You’re the only one who makes him feel like more than what he lost.
– You flirt in front of the students, calling him “Hot Stuff” or “My favorite furnace”, running your fingers over his trench coat and sighing theatrically, “Tragic and broody? Ugh, yes please.” Jubilee hoots. Husk groans. Jono groans louder—psychically. He tells you to stop. You don’t. Because you know what it does to him. You know he’s burning from the inside out—and you want him to know that you see it, and love him anyway.
– Once, during a mission, you pressed your mouth to the scarf over his lower face and whispered, “You don’t need lips to ruin me, Jono.” He nearly lost control of his bio-energy blast. You laugh about it still. He doesn't. But he secretly keeps the scarf you kissed folded in his drawer like a relic. You tease him because he forgets how much he’s still allowed to feel—and you are determined to never let him forget it again.
– Later, when he holds you with hands callused from a life of holding back, you hear him think it again: “I wish I could kiss you.” You cup his face and say, “You already do.” And tomorrow, you’ll flirt louder, in front of Emma this time, just to see him twitch. He’ll groan. He’ll sigh. But he’ll never tell you to stop. Because in a body made of broken fire, your teasing is the one thing that doesn’t hurt.
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