a/n: went back through my short n sweet tag and found this 😋 yes it’s 2am and i just finished this so i decided to just post it. not proofread oops
summary: you suck nat off at a party. that’s literally it
warnings: smut (oral nat receiving), cum swallowing, alcohol, brief wanda x reader but no feelings involved i promise lmao; if i missed something i apologize
word count: 4.1k
By the time you wake up, the sun has set. There's no light in your room, no sounds aside from the hushed voices out in the hallway.
You're napping, dead to the world. Clad in nothing but soft cotton shorts and a top, you went to bed not expecting anyone — not before later that night, anyway. Not before Natasha gets off her game.
At 9pm, way too early for Natasha to have made it to your dorm, someone barges in.
You startle and start to scramble up. The hallway lights are flooding your room, highlighting an embarrassing amount of clutter. You sweep a couple unused condoms off the nightstand and peek at the door.
Auburn hair pulled together into a ponytail, a mini skirt and a black crop top. You groan.
"What the hell, Wanda?", you complain, flopping back into your pillow. Of course it's her. You only know two people who can't be bothered to knock. "You woke me up."
"No way", she says. "Are you 90? Why are you asleep?"
"Not asleep", you mutter. "Napping. I was tired."
Wanda scoffs. She's walked into your room to tidy up a little. She turns on the lamp on your desk and starts picking clothes off the floor.
A bra, a pair of heels, a pair of boxers. She lets the latter drop.
"Haven't been sleeping enough, I'm guessing?"
Whether you want to admit it or not, she got you there. You've been having someone over more often than not. You let out a noise and bury your face in the pillow, only to get a smack to your ass.
"You're still having sex with her?!"
"Ouch", you complain, lifting your head. "Why so violent?"
Wanda stares at you. She's carrying an armful of clothes and books and holding a rolled up magazine with her other hand.
"Stop sleeping with her", she just says. "She's not good for you. Or anyone else."
You roll your eyes. You know what they say about her. You know most of it is true. And though your friend's concern may be justified to some extent, Wanda's overreacting.
You roll around, tucking your body against the wall. "Sure, fine."
"Get up!" She drops the pile of clothes — she has no idea what to do with them either way — and climbs on the bed. "Come on, there's a party."
"Don't care", you mutter, voice muffled.
There's always some party. A frat party, a house party, tailgates. If you want to go to a party, you can.
"What?", she says. "Don't do that! I don't want to go alone."
"Ask Daisy!"
"I can't! She's got the flu."
You let out sigh. Her hand grabs your shoulder, slender fingers on soft skin, and she shakes it.
"It's a dorm party", she adds. "The basketball team won, they just texted us about this. It won't even take that long, I bet Randy will-"
The words 'basketball team' act like a trigger. Your head snaps up, your eyes finding Wanda's widened ones. You can read her thoughts — she screwed up.
"Actually, I can just-"
"They won?", you ask, propping your upper body up on one arm. "Could've started with the dorm party thing, Wands."
There's no need for you to say it out loud — she knows why you're all ears now. The basketball team will be there, which means Natasha will be there, which serves as the perfect opportunity for more stupid decisions.
"Don't do it", she sighs. "She can't be that good."
You raise your eyebrows. You could go into full detail, but she shakes her head and scoots off your bed again. It's not like she hasn't tried to knock some sense into you before. You might be immune to that.
"Don't knock it 'til you try it."
"Really?" She grimaces.
"Really." You reach for a makeup bag and start digging. She stands to the side, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.
"So, you're coming?", Wanda asks lamely. You hum and drop to the floor, cross legged, the full length mirror in front of you.
"Can you look for my heels?", you ask, dabbing some primer onto your face. "The white ones?"
It's all the confirmation Wanda needs. She sighs and turns around, fully aware that — within the next hour — she'll lose your attention to one sweaty basketball player.
. . .
The gym smells like sweat and deodorant. Popcorn has spilled everywhere — on the seats, under the bleachers, a few pieces crunching underneath the players' shoes when they make their way out.
Natasha's somewhere in the middle of the crowd. She's got a towel slung over her shoulders, her face still reddened and her jersey half soaked.
Even as team captain, she has no reason to complain. They won 72 - 63 against one of the better teams they've been up against so far. They were head to head for most of the match, but absolutely wiped the floor with them during the last ten minutes.
"Insane shot", Valkyrie comments, slapping her back. Natasha grins and knocks their shoulders together. "You'll be all over the front page."
"I don't need the publicity", she boasts. "People know who I am. Saw those girls cheering me on?"
"Saw them last week, too. Bet they'll be at the party."
They walk outside, into the darkness of the parking lot that's only illuminated by a couple street lights. Natasha only laughs at Valkyrie's comment — it wouldn't be the first time someone from the audience seeks her up after the game.
'Personal stalkers' you called them once. It's not that she minds. She likes being in the spotlight and having her pick of girls.
Somehow, they cram the full roster into three small cars. They end up on the other side of campus even sweatier than before.
The preparations inside are in full swing. There's people scattered in random dorm rooms. Girls sit on the carpet, makeup covering every square inch of the floor. One guy is hanging up fairy lights, another is trying to carry a box of booze up the stairs.
You're a few buildings down the road, still in your dorm, still getting ready. Wanda has given up by now.
"Lipgloss or lipstick?", you ask, turning and twisting in front of the mirror to inspect your backless dress. "I'm leaning lipstick."
"Do lipstick", she says. She's on her back, knees pulled up, staring at the ceiling.
"I'll do lipgloss", you decide, swiping it across your lips. "Ready to head out?"
In the dormitory's hallway, a guy is giving everyone instructions. Second and third floor, hide in one of the dorms until the coast is clear. Randy going to bed at 10pm is public knowledge, and until then, students have to pretend they don't exist.
You go up the stairs, fingers pinching the fabric of your dress so you don't trip over it. Wanda's aware of where you're trying to lead her, so she quickly steers you past that one door.
"I wasn't going to", you immediately say. "You think I'm that desperate?"
"Hush", she retorts. "We're going to Steve's."
You slip into his room. A few feet down the hallway, Natasha watches an all too familiar silhouette disappear in front of her eyes. She raises her eyebrows before being tugged into her own room.
Once it hits 10pm and you get the confirmation that a) Randy's sleeping and b) they stuffed a blanket in front of his door, the doors open back up. Natasha steps into the crowded hallway, her friends following close behind.
There's a list of rules pinned to the wall — no illegal substances, no partying outside the designated areas, and a bunch of other things Natasha can't bother reading. She skims the list and turns around, her eyes scanning the crowd.
Girls everywhere. Dresses in all colors of the rainbow. She locks eyes with a girl she's seen on campus and almost approaches her, but then you appear.
You see her, too. The purple of her jersey, the red hair, the slightly swollen biceps. Skin glistening faintly and green eyes zeroing in on you.
You hold her gaze for a moment, then you turn around. Natasha's eyes drift down your back as you pour yourself a cocktail.
Clint bumps her side. "Finally leaving the poor girl alone?"
"You wish, Barton."
"Can't help it. I feel bad for her."
She gives him a look. For some reason, he tries to keep her away from girls. If he could, he'd lock her up. "Are you on my side or not?"
He shrugs, slowly sipping on his beer. "Good question. I'm not sure."
"I'm not sure why we're friends."
He laughs. She turns her head, trying to find you again, but you've vanished in the crowd. The hallway is dimly lit to avoid drawing too much attention, with a few fairy lights strung across the ceiling and a lonely desk lamp standing in the corner.
Oh well. Someone else will do the job, she's sure, so she turns around and finds a different target.
The next time you see her, she's looking bored talking to some girl. Natasha sucks at hiding her feelings sometimes — if she's doing something she doesn't want to do, she'll make it her mission to let everyone know how strongly she feels about it, and she won't have to say a word to do so.
You roll your eyes and turn back around. There's an ice cold glass in your hand, filled to the brim with homemade margarita. You stir the drink, ice clinking against glass and lime slices poking out of the liquid, when something warm brushes your neck.
"Fancy seeing you here."
You don't flinch. You expected her to come over at some point. She probably saw you lingering, too.
"Couldn't miss out on this", you say, not looking up. Her head is right over your shoulder, her hands on your hips. "Congrats on the win."
"You weren't at the game", she says. "Missed my three-pointer."
"Did I?"
"Mhm. I scored twenty points."
You glance at her, seeing her eyes flit back up. She's not shy about ogling you whenever she can, but the opportunity to see your face is one she'll gladly take, anyway. Her mouth is close enough to let you smell her breath.
"And how many did you miss?", you tease. She rolls her eyes. "Aw, don't make that face."
"I'm in a good mood", she says, stealing the drink from you. "Don't ruin it for me."
You watch as she takes a swig, then hands the glass back to you. She stays close, her body glued against yours from behind, one hand clasped over your stomach.
Around you, the party keeps moving. People drink, drinks spill. Music plays at a volume that, in any other situation, people would consider way too low. Clint pretends not to notice you as he walks past, and you bite back your laughs whenever Natasha tries to make a joke.
"How's your French going?", she asks. "Survive that test?"
"Barely."
"Mhm, need another tutoring lesson?"
You scoff. Last time, you both ended up in the library together — to say you were both studious wouldn't be a lie, but it wasn't French you were so passionate about.
"Being subtle isn't your strongest suit, huh."
"No", she agrees, sliding her hand up your side until her fingers brush the underside of your breast. "Look where that got me, though."
Arguing against that would be pointless. She's anything but subtle, as relentless and stubborn as it gets. It took her weeks of chasing, but it paid off big time.
You freeze in her arms when somebody yells for everyone to be quiet. The lights go off, the music dies for a minute, and nobody moves. Somebody heard footsteps, apparently, but once some dude who snuck out returns, it gets announced as a false alarm.
"So unsafe out here", Natasha mumbles. "We should hide. Your dorm or mine?"
You bat her hand away. She lets out a shit-eating laugh and kisses your shoulder.
The party continues. Randy is asleep, nobody's become aware of you yet, and the clock hasn't even hit midnight yet. You part after a while, when Natasha gets dragged away by two girls, and you start roaming the dorms.
Every room is different. There's pizza in one, more alcohol in another. Someone brought a Nintendo switch, another guy is hosting a game of beer pong. You slam the door shut when you get a look of someone's naked ass and turn around.
People are sitting scattered around the room. Natasha's in there, too, watching as two names get drawn from a hat. Two guys get up, exchange a look and then hide in the closet.
Natasha's not alone. One of the girls is glued to her side, whispering in her ear and trying to achieve god knows what. You lean against the doorway and watch, but when the girl kisses Natasha, and Natasha lets it happen, you turn around again.
You wander the dorms again. You find Wanda, get another drink, and end up in the seven minutes in heaven-room again.
Natasha's still there. The girl is gone, inside the closet with none other than Tony.
Her arms uncross when you walk in. She's still in her basketball clothes, the purple jersey now dry but smelling distinctly of her. She shifts in her seat, big hands fidgeting with the fabric of her shorts.
"Want to play, too?", she finally asks, leaning in a little. "You brought backup. Hey, Wands."
Wanda lifts her hand. You turn your head and give Natasha a curious look.
"Missing your girl?"
"Eh", she drawls, stretching out and putting her hands behind her head. "Hot but boring."
You press your lips together to stifle a smirk. "There's three more waiting outside, y'know. No need to worry."
"Four", she says. "I'm good here."
"Wouldn't be too sure."
"We're doing spin the bottle while we wait", Carol says. She nods at you. "Want to try your luck?"
You exchange a look with Wanda. Two games, both not innocent in nature. If you were looking for the desperate dorm, you found it.
You shrug, already reaching for the bottle. It spins once, twice, giving you flashbacks of that first time you kissed. Natasha's eyes stay glued to the bottle, and when it stops on Wanda, her eyebrows shoot up.
Surely not, she thinks. But you look at Wanda, shrug again, then lean in. Your mouth meets hers, moving slowly, one hand cupping her face.
All Natasha sees are plush, glossy lips, and your eyes closing. Wanda inhales quietly — it's an odd situation, kissing a friend, but it's not unpleasant.
She's a good kisser. Her lips are soft and warm, and she lets you lead without much resistance. Your mouth opens a little wider to deepen the kiss, but when her tongue brushes yours, you pull away.
Natasha's frozen in her seat. If there's one wet dream she's bound to have in the next few days, it's this one. Her shorts are tight, her heart is racing, and the thought of dragging you into a more private room is tempting.
"Not bad", you hum, brushing some lipgloss off the corner of her mouth. "Cuba libre?"
"Two of 'em."
You laugh quietly, fixing her hair before settling in your seat again. Natasha exhales, one hand pressed to her thigh.
She was half hard before, but she's fully bricked up now. All the blood in her upper body has rushed in between legs, making her dick pulse uncomfortably. You get a glimpse of the situation in her shorts and bite your tongue.
Maybe you kissed Wanda on purpose, maybe you didn't. You certainly wouldn't have been as eager if it weren't for Natasha being right next to you.
The others keep playing. Carol kisses the guy who sells weed behind the cafeteria. Tony kisses Steve. You add your names to the hat, Carol shakes it before picking the next couple for seven minutes in heaven, and Natasha crosses her fingers.
Tough luck. Wanda and Steve leave. You look at Natasha again, at the unresolved issue inside her shorts, and press your thighs together.
Of course it affects you. You're human as well, after all, and after this much alcohol, your libido is in full swing. You give Natasha look. She licks her lips.
You get up and slip out of the room. Natasha waits for a moment, her hand tapping against her thigh in hopes of the tent in her shorts disappearing. It does, the pressure slowly dissolving, and she gets up to follow you.
You're on the other end of the hallway. There's another drink in your hand. Your eyes meet hers over the glass, and she takes a quick look around before walking up to you.
Some EDM song is playing. Everyone around you is sweaty, the air heavy with cologne and alcohol, hot like the dozens of bodies swarming around you.
"Where are the four girls?", you ask, straw resting against your bottom lip. "Ditched you?"
"Don't give a fuck", she says. "That was one hell of a kiss."
Your lips tug into a smirk — she immediately changed the subject. You tilt your head, studying the look on her face. The kiss hit her like a freight train. You're surprised she's still standing upright.
"It really was", you hum. "More of a warmup, though."
Her eyebrows furrow. She moves closer, her hand splaying out on your lower back, fingers resting under the thin fabric of your dress.
"For what?", she inquires. Her thumb rubs your skin. "Got four girls waiting for you too?"
"Just one."
"Mhm?"
You shift impatiently. She doesn't look like she's doing much better, either. Why she hasn't cracked yet is a mystery. You grab the front of her jersey and watch it click in her brain.
"Take the hint, you idiot", you say. "Kiss me."
Natasha lets out a noise, annoyed and relieved at the same time, and then her hand on your back pulls you in. You reach for her face, cupping it, the drink falling to the floor and shattering.
Piña colada spills between you. Her lips press against yours, the kiss frantic and hot. You push up against her and get on your tiptoes.
There's people all around you, but just like the music and the smells and everything else, they fade into the background. You develop selective hearing, Natasha's quickening breaths and quiet grunts the only sounds you pay attention to.
Mouths collide and hands fumble. Your lips part with wet sounds and knock back together split seconds later. You repeat that over and over again, memorizing her taste until your lips are swollen.
Your hand slides down her neck, feeling the familiar fabric of her jersey. Your fingers brush the bulge in her shorts, prominent even when she isn't hard. A soft sound leaves you and you cup it.
Again, you're in public. Nobody seems to care. Natasha groans, her dick starting to swell in her shorts, doubling in size against your palm until the tip pokes against the tight fabric.
You break apart, a string of saliva connecting your lips. "Living up to your expectations?"
"Fuck", she moans. "Y/N-"
You let out a breathy laugh. Your lips press against hers again, slick and swollen. She grunts, eyes shutting.
Suddenly, her hands are everywhere. She doesn't know what to do with the energy buzzing around her body, so she puts it all into her hands. They grope and squeeze your sides, paw at your ass, slide up under your dress. Her brain is fabricating scenarios at light speed — you naked, ass up in the air, cunt dripping. You in her lap, bouncing and moaning, nipples puffy and sore.
Through the mess in her head, her brain remembers the existence of her dorm room. You don't resist when she pulls you through the door, and she absently feels the relief of finding it empty and dark.
The door locks with a click. You tug at her jersey to keep her focus on you, even though it never strayed.
It's messy, sloppy. You bite her lip and pull on it only to hear her whimper against her will.
You're not sure how — you're in a haze, too — but you flip her over and shove her against the wall. She fumbles for something, one hand digging through her pocket.
It's a condom, and she does find it, but at that point, you've dropped to your knees. The condom ends up somewhere on the floor next to you.
Natasha stares. You're on your knees, hands resting on her upper thighs. This is a new one.
She was worked up before, but seeing you like this makes it worse. Somehow, more blood rushes south, and she gets harder. She's so hard it hurts, the fabric of her shorts giving you a close view of her twitching.
"Jesus", she moans, trying to hold it in. She almost came on the spot. "Are you..."
You shush her, tugging her shorts down. "Be quiet and enjoy the show, big guy."
Her shorts pool around the ankles. Natasha, despite the urge to close her eyes, watches you closely. You're on eye level with her cock, lips glossy as you press a tiny kiss to the tip.
Her knees almost buckle. Your nails rake up and down her thighs as you lick the precum off the tip. It's tangy, a little salty, a little sweet. Your tongue swirls around the head again, then you take more of her into your mouth.
Wet, warm heat envelops her. Natasha shudders. She's had girls give her head before. She can tell none of them will compare.
The thick tip hits the back of your throat. You gag softly, nails digging into her strong thighs, and Natasha makes a sound she didn't know she was capable of.
"Holy shit", she groans. You're greedy, lowering your mouth until she's deep in your tight throat. "Holy shit, baby, I..."
Her hips jerk, her hand flies to the back of your head. She's doing her best not to just start fucking your face — it'd be rude, considering you were nice enough to push your own needs aside in order to pleasure her. It doesn't work, though, not fully, and so her hips start moving on their own accord.
Your cheeks hollow around her, tongue pressing against the vein running along the underside of her dick. She's heavy inside your mouth, leaking like crazy, and you wrap your lips tighter around her.
Drool, lipgloss and precum drip down her cock. You move your head up and down at a quickened pace, feeling Natasha panic.
She's so, so close. You're dimly lit by the desk lamp, tears rolling down your cheeks and lips swollen around her. Everything inside her feels hot, her balls are full enough to burst, and her cock strains inside your mouth.
The orgasm hits without a warning. Her head drops against the wall and her fingers curl into your scalp. She offloads into your mouth, thick milky ropes of cum spilling into you.
Salty, sticky white fluid drips down your throat. She twitches against your tongue. When you look up, her face is flushed and sweaty. You release her with a pop.
"Bet you didn't see that coming", you tease. Natasha's panting.
"Fuck", she mumbles, struggling to come back to reality. "Where the hell did you learn that?"
You look up at her, fingernails tapping against her bare thighs. "I mean, you're kind of my first."
Her erratic breathing slows, and her eyebrows furrow. Your words managed to pull her out of that hazy afterglow, but they send a feeling of heat through her. "Really?"
A grin forms on your face. She scoffs when she realizes.
"God, you're so easy it's not even fun anymore."
"Real funny", she mutters. You laugh and get up, sinking into her arms. "Lame ass party. I liked this much better."
You hum and kiss her. "I'm inclined to agree."
She smirks, eyes still drowsy. She kisses you again, lips moving slowly, tongue in your mouth.
Her half hard length rests against your hip. You reach between you and start pumping her back to full mast. Each touch of the hypersensitive tip sends a shockwave through her.
The kiss breaks. "I think I'll die if I go another round."
You study her, hand moving eagerly. "Yeah?"
She nods. You pout but let go, adjusting her jersey before stepping back. Natasha watches you get on her bed — you let your dress fall to the floor before you do, and then you climb on.
What she didn't expect is to see you on your knees, arms folded and head on the pillow, ass up in the air.
Natalie who tries to hide the fact that she's smoking so you'll still want her. Trying to cover the scent.
Natalie who wraps you in her leather jacket when you're cold. It smells like smoke and her sweat but it's perfect.
Natalie who actually asks for permission before kissing you. She doesnt want to mess this up.
Natalie who holds back the first time you two kiss even though she wants nothing more than to bite that cute little lip of yours.
Natalie who has a motorcycle and rarely wears a helmet when riding it. But she always has one with her for you. She would never put you in danger by letting you ride with her without it.
Natalie who loves the way you hold onto her when you ride together. How your arms wrap around her middle and how tightly you're holding on.
Natalie who fixes your messy hair whenever you take the helmet off. She's so soft with you because that's what you deserve.
Natalie who only learns through you that she deserves someone to be soft with her as well. She learns through the way your thumb brushes the back of her hand when you hold hands. Or how your lips feel against her cheek. Or how you look at her as if shes worth something. It makes her want to be someone deserving of that gaze.
Natalie who starts getting a bit braver when you don't leave her after a few weeks. She kisses you harder and let's her hands roam your body. She almost loses it first time you moan into her mouth.
summery : With the house completely to themselves while the reader's parents are out of town, Natalie takes full control in the bedroom. After leaving the reader entirely breathless and unable to speak from her fingers alone, Nat ups the ante by putting on a strap-on. The intense fullness and the reader's tight grip drive them both wild, culminating in a powerful, simultaneous climax before they collapse together into a quiet, warm cuddle.
The muffled bass from the radio in Natalie’s truck had long faded, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic ticking of the wall clock in your bedroom. The house was completely empty—your parents had left for the coast early that morning, leaving you with a quiet, vacant home and a key under the mat for Nat to find the second her shift at the garage wrapped up.
She hadn't even bothered to wash the faint scent of motor oil and cedar off her skin before coming over. Right now, none of that mattered.
Nat was stretched out over you, her broad, heavy frame pinning you into the plush mattress of your bed. Her dark hair fell forward, shadowing her face as she looked down at you with a quiet, intense focus. Your breathing was already shallow, your fingers knotted tightly into the fabric of her soft cotton t-shirt as she set a slow, agonizingly deliberate pace.
"You're too loud, sweetheart," Nat rumbled, a low, gravelly vibration against your jawline. She leaned down, pressing a hot, lingering kiss just below your ear, her lips tracing the frantic pulse point in your neck. "Your parents' neighbors are close enough to hear you through the windows."
"They're... they're not home," you gasped out, your back arching off the sheets as her long, calloused fingers shifted inside you.
The contrast of her slightly rough skin against your slick, hypersensitive walls made your thighs tremble instantly. Nat let out a low, satisfied sound in the back of her throat, using her free hand to pin both of your wrists above your head, holding them down with an easy, effortless grip that left you completely at her mercy.
"Doesn't matter," Nat murmured, her dark eyes locking onto yours, heavy with a dark, commanding heat. "I want you quiet for me anyway. Let's see how long you can hold it in."
She didn't wait for an answer. Nat curled her fingers inside you, finding the exact, swollen ridge that made your eyelids flutter closed. She began a relentless, curling rhythm, her thumb pressing firmly against your clit to anchor the sensation.
A sharp, breathless sob caught in the back of your throat. You tried to form a word—her name, a plea to slow down, anything—but all that came out was a broken, high-pitched whimper.
"Yeah? Can't even talk?" Nat taunted softly, her jaw clenching as she accelerated the pace. Her fingers drove deeper, moving with a practiced, fluid ease that was entirely overwhelming. She watched your face intently, tracking the way your cheeks flushed, the way your lips parted as you fought for oxygen, and the desperate, involuntary tilts of your pelvis trying to meet her hand.
You shook your head violently against the pillow, your vision blurring at the edges as the coil in your lower stomach tightened to a painful, electric point. The sheer volume of the pleasure was too loud, too heavy; it completely paralyzed your vocal cords. Every time you tried to draw a breath to speak, Nat changed the angle, her calloused thumb sliding in tight, merciless circles until your mind went entirely blank.
"Good girl," Nat whispered, her face inches from yours, her breath hot against your lips. "Just take it. Don't say a word."
She pushed two fingers deep inside you, hooking them upward with a sudden, powerful stroke that shattered whatever restraint you had left.
Your eyes rolled back, your body going completely rigid beneath her. A muted, strangled cry trapped itself in your chest as your inner muscles clamped down hard around her hand, pulsing in violent, rhythmic waves. You were trembling from head to toe, completely undone, your lips moving silently as you rode out the massive, breathless crash of the orgasm, unable to make a single coherent sound while Nat held you tight against the mattress, letting you burn out completely.
The aftershocks of your orgasm were still rippling through your thighs, leaving your legs heavy and trembling against the tangled sheets. You lay there panting, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, still completely unable to form a coherent sentence.
The ticking of the wall clock seemed to grow louder in the heavy, quiet air of the room, punctuated only by your own ragged, uneven breathing as you tried to catch your breath. Nat sat back on her heels at the edge of the bed, her dark eyes never leaving your face as she watched you slowly come down from the high of your orgasm.
A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she reached down beside the bed, pulling a sleek, black leather harness from her bag.
"You think you're done?" she murmured, her voice a low, gravelly tease that sent a sudden shiver straight down your spine. "We're just getting started, sweetheart."
You watched, your heart hammering against your ribs all over again, as she stood up by the side of the bed. With practiced, unhurried movements, Nat stepped into the straps, adjusting the thick leather bands low over her hips. She fastened a heavy, realistic silicone shaft into the secure O-ring at the front, the buckle clicking shut with a sharp, echoing snap in the quiet bedroom. She grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand, coating the length of it with a slow, agonizingly thorough stroke of her hand before looking back down at you.
"Come here," she commanded softly.
You scrambled forward on your hands and knees toward the edge of the bed, your thighs still trembling from earlier. Nat didn't waste any time. She stepped closer, her strong hands wrapping firmly around your hips to anchor you in place, tilting your pelvis up to meet her.
"Hold onto the headboard," Nat whispered, her breath hot against the back of your neck as she leaned over you. "And remember what I said about staying quiet."
She pressed the slick, heavy tip of the strap against your entrance, pausing for just a second to let you feel the sheer size of it before she pushed forward. The thick, unyielding silicone slid inside you with a slow, relentless pressure, stretching you open and filling you completely.
A muffled, high-pitched gasp escaped your lips, your fingers locking tightly around the wooden rungs of the headboard as your back arched.
"Look at you," Nat rumbled, a low, satisfied sound vibrating in her chest as she felt how tightly your walls gripped the shaft. She didn't give you time to adjust, immediately pulling back almost all the way before driving back in with a heavy, deliberate thrust that rocked your entire body. "Holding it in so well. Good girl."
She established a punishing, steady rhythm, her hips snapping forward with a raw, effortless power that only a strap-on could deliver. Every deep, solid thrust hit the exact, hypersensitive spot deep inside you, sending electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core. The leather harness slapped rhythmically against your skin with every motion, a heavy, desperate sound that filled the empty house.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, your eyes squeezed shut as tears of pure overwhelm pricked at the corners. You wanted to scream, to beg her to go faster or slower, but the sheer fullness of her inside you left you entirely breathless, your throat tight and dry as Nat pulled you flush against her hips and kept driving you right back to the edge.
Nat’s hands clamped down even harder on your hips, her knuckles turning white as she anchored you completely against her. Feeling the frantic, involuntary clench of your walls gripping the thick silicone shaft with every single thrust, a low, guttural growl ripped from the back of her throat.
"Fuck, you're so tight," she rasped, her voice thick and completely undone by the feel of you.
The praise hit you like a wave of pure heat, but before you could even try to gasp out a response, Nat shifted her angle. She pulled back until the tip was barely catching, holding you in that agonizing tease for a fraction of a second before driving all the way back in with a heavy, bruising depth that bottomed out completely against your core.
A choked, breathless whimper caught in your throat, your fingers slipping against the headboard as your lower stomach coiled into tight, electric knots.
"Look at how you're squeezing me," Nat muttered, leaning her heavy frame forward until her chest pressed flat against your back, her mouth right against the shell of your ear. Her breath was hot, fast, and completely uneven. "You love being full like this, don't you? It feels like you're never gonna let me go."
She didn't give you a chance to breathe, picking up the pace until her hips were slamming against yours in a relentless, punishing rhythm. The friction was dizzying, every deep, solid stroke hitting the exact, swollen spot inside you over and over again. You shook your head against the mattress, tears blurring your vision as the sheer intensity of the sensation left you completely paralyzed, unable to form a single word while Nat used you to drive both of you straight over the edge.
The relentless, snapping rhythm of Nat’s hips didn't slow down for a second. With your walls clamped impossibly tight around the shaft, the sheer friction and intense, heavy pressure built up to an unbearable peak. Every deep, driving thrust was hitting your spot perfectly, sending waves of heat straight through both of you.
Nat let out a harsh, ragged breath against the skin of your neck, her grip on your hips tightening until it was almost bruising. "Hold on, sweetheart," she choked out, her voice dropping into a desperate, guttural whisper. "Right now. Don't move."
With one final, deep, and heavy push that bottomed out completely inside you, your body gave out. A massive, silent shudder ripped through your entire frame as your inner muscles clamped down in a violent, crushing climax. Right at the same second, the overwhelming friction and the sight of you completely undone pushed Nat right over the edge. She let out a loud, breathless groan, slamming her hips flush against yours and holding herself deep inside you as her own body shook with the release, her chest heaving violently against your back.
For a long minute, the only sound in the bedroom was the ragged, desperate sound of both of your breathing slowing down.
Slowly, carefully, Nat eased herself out of you, the heavy leather harness clicking quietly as she unbuckled it and tossed it to the foot of the bed. She collapsed onto the mattress right beside you, pulling your trembling, spent body flush against her side. Her long arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling the blanket up over both of your shoulders to shield you from the cool air of the room.
"Told you you'd be quiet," Nat murmured, her voice warm and laced with a sleepy, satisfied smirk as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you tight in the quiet, empty house.
Ok so frat lottie and reader basically being forced into marriage by their parents. No say in their own wedding or being able to enjoy things on their own timeline so as soon as they go on vacation they spend the whole time doing the most to embarass their family, hence face painting
— FAKE MARRIAGE HEADCANONS || FRATBOY!LOTTIE MATTHEWS X FEM READER
SUMMARY: aren’t you just a ray of sunshine, Matthews? You hated her since forever, but your parents decided that you’re getting married! As if it wasn’t already fucked up, you’re getting a gift; spending honeymoon with your annoying wife and both yours and her parents sounds great. Hurt/comfort. Fratboy!Lottie. Rich as fuck asshole parents. Alcohol.
WARNINGS: slight NSFW — MDNI
Lottie Matthews had always been a pain in your ass, one that, just a few days ago, had become your wife.
Your parents had always lived in their own little bubble, one where the two of you got married, had two children, and lived happily ever after. Lottie was supposed to take over her father's company, while you would become the perfect wife; raising the kids, cooking her dinners, and spreading your legs whenever she wanted.
The issue was, no one irritated you more than your wife. The wedding felt like it weighed a ton on your finger. It didn't belong there. You remembered the exact moment Lottie forced herself to kneel before you to the delight of both your families. Never in your life had you swallowed so much humiliation as you did that evening, smiling for the cameras and posing as though any of it was real.
There was one thing you and Lottie agreed on: the wedding was an absolute circus, and your parents would soon be staring at divorce papers.
"It just didn't work out," you'd say with your head hanging low, hoping they'd somehow accept it and, ideally, not strike your name from the will while they were at it.
You survived the ceremony. The cameras, the lavish decorations, the chapel packed to the brim with grandmothers, cousins, grandparents, and people you'd maybe seen twice in your life. Lottie had already been waiting at the altar, looking like a beaten dog. She had enough decency to force a smile whenever a camera pointed at her, but not a single tear fell.
You said your vows, said I do, and spent half the night watching everyone else celebrate in their precious display of high society elegance.
By dawn, your wedding dress had ended up tossed in a corner while you scrubbed layers of makeup off your face. Mr. Matthews, fucking generous Mr. Matthews, had booked the finest hotel suite he could find for the two of you.
You stepped out of the bathroom and looked at Lottie. She was rubbing her temples while sipping cheap wine she'd rushed out to buy a few minutes earlier. A small envelope rested on her lap, and she stared at it with visible disgust.
"What is that?" you asked, breaking the not so comfortable silence.
Lottie looked up and handed it to you.
"A present.”
You frowned, looking down at it.
A honeymoon in Greece.
"That doesn't sound so bad...?"
Lottie rolled her eyes as though you were too stupid to grasp the severity of the situation.
"Our parents are coming too."
After another stretch of silence settled between you, you grabbed the bottle and downed nearly half of it in a few gulps.
For the first time, Lottie kept her comments to herself.
***
As it turned out, there was at least one thing you and Lottie could agree on.
Since you were already being forced to spend entire two weeks with your parents, you decided you wouldn't be the only ones suffering. Years of showing everyone how much you disliked each other had accomplished nothing so you opted for the exact opposite strategy.
Why not embarrass everyone around you and ruin a few reputations while you were at it?
It started on the plane. Out of nowhere, you began acting like the perfect newlyweds, oh, so hopelessly infatuated with each other that everyone around you probably felt their teeth rotting from all the sweetness.
You had to admit it took effort. Changing your entire attitude overnight wasn't easy. Lottie certainly didn't make it any easier by simply being... well, herself. Smiling at her like a lovestruck idiot felt painfully unnatural.
Still, the satisfaction made the embarrassment worth it.
Your first strike came before the plane had even taken off.
Mr. Matthews had chartered a private jet for the whole family. There was more than enough room, as there usually is on luxury aircraft, but you made quite a performance of whining that you wanted to sit on Lottie's lap even during takeoff.
When you finally got your way, you stayed there for the entire flight, no matter how much Lottie's perfume made your throat itch. Your parents and the Matthewses kept shooting the two of you strange looks but neither side said a word.
"Wow," Lottie muttered without an ounce of admiration after you got off the plane and your family drifted ahead of you. "You almost managed to imitate my toxic ex."
You raised an eyebrow over the rim of your sunglasses. One of the hotel staff was wrestling your suitcase into the car.
"You really know how to compliment your wife," you replied sarcastically.
Lottie's face twisted into a grimace like the word wife caused her physical pain.
***
You'd been given one bed.
You didn't even know why you'd convinced yourself it might be otherwise.
Your luggage was already waiting inside. The room was spotless and spacious because, once again, Lottie's parents' generosity knew no bounds; not when it came to their beloved newlyweds. You looked out the window while Lottie collapsed onto the bed at full length. Exhausted to death, naturally.
Spoiled moron.
"We should drag them to the pool," you murmured, looking down at the sprawling resort below. "Cuddle a little or something."
Lottie muttered something incoherent in response, so you walked over to the bed and stood over her. "Did you hear me?"
"Perfectly." She sighed and waved a hand at you as though you were an annoying insect she wanted to shoo away. "I'm thinking."
"That's new."
Her jaw tightened.
"Believe me, I'd rather be sleeping next to Greek women and fucking them every night than putting up with you," she growled.
Before you could react, she'd already disappeared into the bathroom.
Something about her words made your stomach knot painfully.
***
"Hold me a little more affectionately," you murmured.
Lottie wasn't exactly holding you gently. In fact, her hands gripped your waist almost uncomfortably, as though she were clutching something slimy and gross. Her whole body was tense. You could feel the strain in her shoulders beneath your hands as you draped your arms around her neck.
"I'm trying," she muttered.
The pool was packed. Your parents lounged on sunbeds nearby. Your mother reclined lazily with a cocktail while your father chatted with a circle of wealthy businessmen.
You spotted an opportunity.
"Grab my ass."
"Excuse me?"
You seized her hand and unceremoniously planted it on your ass before pressing yourself against her even closer if that was still possible. The sun beat down on your back despite the sunscreen Lottie had pointedly rubbed onto you half an hour earlier.
"Oh," she breathed in surprise.
She blinked, then quickly collected herself and adjusted her grip. She didn't protest, because you knew she’s not saying a no to good ass.
You squirmed against her while keeping your eyes fixed on your parents. Your mother shook her head in disapproval before turning away with a heavy sigh. A tiny smile tugged at your lips.
Slowly but surely.
You frowned as you felt something warm and firm pressing between your legs, and you glanced up at Lottie. She had gone completely rigid, and her cheeks had turned the color of Greek wine.
”I can't control it," she said, shaking her head.
***
The next few days were filled with less than pleasant dinners with your parents, where you fed Lottie, collecting your parents' mortified stares with every bite. After two glasses of wine, Lottie happily plucked shrimp off your fork.
"Want more?" you snorted under your breath at the sight of her, briefly forgetting about the childish act and the whole performance.
She shook her head, her mouth still full of food. You leaned over, wiped the corner of her lips with your thumb, then licked it clean.
Lottie froze. She had to swallow another mouthful of wine.
The atmosphere around the table seemed to grow heavier. Music drifted through the restaurant while the sea murmured behind your back. Your parents looked utterly disappointed, so plan was working.
Maybe even a little too well.
Whether it was the alcohol or something inside Lottie finally shifting, that night she didn't argue with you over who got the shower first or who kept the blanket.
***
The real spectacle happened when Lottie returned from her morning run.
You were sipping coffee and picking at the hotel's breakfast buffet when she burst into the restaurant and practically threw herself at you. Your sleepy parents stared in disbelief, making sure they weren't dreaming or hallucinating. Even you froze, completely bewildered by what was happening. She kissed you quickly but intensely, and you could taste the sweat on her lips. She smelled like sea air and deodorant.
Several heads turned to watch.
Lottie peppered your nose, cheeks, and forehead with kisses.
"Morning, sweetheart," she panted, stealing your mug of coffee and draining it in one go. "I'm going to change, then I'll be right back."
Ignoring your parents entirely, she hurried off toward your room.
Later, when you asked about it, she only shrugged and said she'd simply felt like it. You could still feel her lips lingering on yours.
***
"So... what now?" you asked.
For the past thirty minutes you'd watched Lottie trying to start the Vespa. The scooter had stubbornly died in the middle of absolutely nowhere, miles from the nearest rental shop. Lottie had sworn she knew what she was doing. And, for the first hour, you'd actually been having a decent time considering who you were spending it with.
Your parents had finally grown so irritated by the constant touching and cuddling that they'd snapped and practically forced the two of you onto a Vespa tour around the island. Apparently they'd had enough of watching Lottie kiss your neck at the hotel bar.
Lottie scratched the back of her neck and muttered a curse under her breath. You rolled your eyes.
Her frustration simmered like a storm waiting to break. She paced around the scooter, trying everything she could think of. Oil stained the crease of her trousers, and she smelled of gasoline.
"I don't know," she growled. "Call my father..."
She angrily brushed the hair from her forehead before glancing at you. The heat was getting to both of you. Finally, she let out a long breath and sat down beside you in the grass.A breeze drifted in from the sea. Then Lottie did the last thing you expected.
Up until now, you'd convinced yourself that everything was for your parents' benefit.
Everything was about annoying them, ruining their nerves, dancing on their last shred of patience before divorcing as soon as you got back home.
That's what Lottie had kept insisting too.
But now there was no one around.
Despite the blazing sun, she leaned into your shoulder, breathing heavily. One wrong move, and she'd probably jump away, insisting it had been an accident. So instead of saying anything useless you kissed the top of her head.
She held your hand in her father's car when he had no choice but to come rescue the two of you.
***
Lottie seemed to enjoy putting sunscreen on you most when you were on the resort's private beach. She didn't hurry toward you with any obvious enthusiasm, but she talked less than usual. You came to the unpleasant realization that the only thing about you Lottie didn't seem to dislike was your body.
That was both everything and nothing.
Still, you couldn't deny you enjoyed her capable hands working sunscreen into your back.
At the end, she pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades, probably by accident or some strange reflex.
"Lottie," her mother clicked her tongue. "Not in public."
She stiffened and immediately pulled away. You hadn't expected her to protest, but she snapped back that she had every right to kiss her wife.Her mother arched an eyebrow.
"Save that for the bedroom."
So Lottie brought it to the bedroom.
Her parents were sleeping just beyond the wall.
Lottie stumbled into the room carrying a glass of liquor.
The two of you had spent the long dinner completely apart that evening. Your wife's frustration had finally boiled over, and you'd ended up arguing in the middle of the hotel lobby. She'd stayed behind at the bar while you returned to the room. You could only hope she wasn't busy fuckin other women.
You pretended to be asleep.
Lottie set her drink down on the coffee table. Your wedding dress was already hanging in the wardrobe while she struggled out of her tie. You heard fabric scraping against fabric, quiet curses and heavy breathing.
You rolled onto your other side, pressing your lips together.
The sounds stopped. Footsteps followed.You sensed her presence.
Lottie stood beside the wall and knocked on it.
"What are you doing?" you rasped at last, glancing at her silhouette in the darkness.
"The walls are thin," she replied.
Silence settled between you. Still tangled in her suit, she sank onto the bed.
Before you could speak again, she took your hand and brushed her thumb over your wedding ring.
"Will you forgive me?” she broke the silence, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
You wondered just how drunk she was. The solemn tone had come out of nowhere. You didn't answer.
You felt her hesitate, but only for a moment.
Her kisses traveled higher; through your wrist, the inside of it, your forearm. The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she crawled fully into bed, her body collapsing gently against yours.
"Will you forgive me?" she whispered again, scattering kisses along your jaw.
You weren't entirely sure what you were supposed to do. She was warm and even in the dim light, she looked impossibly good in that suit.
The two of you argued constantly, and Lottie never apologized, things usually just blew over. Now her alcohol laced breath warmed the exposed skin above your collarbone.
The walls are thin, you remembered.
You slipped your hand beneath the blanket and touched the bulge beneath her pants. She hissed sharply at the sensation.
"The magic word?"
She breathed unevenly for a moment before finally giving in.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she murmured.
The zipper of her trousers parted beneath your fingers.
"I want my parents to hear just how sorry I am.” She rocked her hips against your hand.
"Of course," you whispered directly into her ear. "They will."
a/n: the header took me forever and im still not sure i like it so please be nice. also first time writing primal play and though i tried to do enough research idk if this is terribly inaccurate so i apologize in advance lmao
summary: you and nat try primal play on accident
warnings: smut (penetration/p in v), primal play, unprotected sex, kinda exhibitionism ig are you tired of this tag yet, nat being an ass, blood, alcohol
word count: 4.2k
It's the third time her hand has slipped under your bikini. It was resting on your lower thigh at first, fingers brushing just underneath the snug fabric. Her palm, warm and a little rough against your skin. Lake water clinging to everything.
Nobody notices. They don't really care. It's a hot, humid summer night. They're preoccupied with getting rid of all the beer before it gets warm. Still, a few eyes turn your way when you start mumbling at each other.
"Third time's the charm", she whispers. You look at her, eyebrows kinked. "Don't give me that look."
"Why not?", you whisper back. "That's all it takes, huh?"
She licks her lips. It's been a long day. You got here in the afternoon — you walked around for an hour to find a nice, somewhat secluded spot. You rolled logs so they'd be closer to the shore. You all went into the water to watch the sun dip below the horizon.
You're not watching anymore. You've slowly moved closer to her, wading deeper into the lake, pressing up against her with your hands linked behind her neck.
Her fingers tap against your ass. She doesn't know what she's hoping for, really — that you'll have sex with her, right then and there, while surrounded by your friends? Surely not. She'll have to wait until you're inside your tent.
"Let's get out of the water", she says, her nose pressed against your forehead. "It's getting late."
"It's, like, 8pm."
A weekend by the lake. It was a collective effort, an idea pitched by Wanda during a movie night. You were watching a comedy movie from your childhood, one you all remember fondly. With none of you being financially equipped to buy a lake house (except for Tony, who stood his ground when saying no), you decided to do the next best thing: dig out your old tents and drive to the nearest lake.
"That is late", she argues. Her voice dips a little more. "I'm going to lick you dry, just so you know."
You scoff and splash a handful of water at her. She laughs and pulls you in again, tasting sweet and a little earthy when she kisses you.
You do eventually make it out of the water. You're shivering, and Natasha grabs her vintage Knicks hoodie to put it on you. The campfire is still lit, crackling and lighting up the surrounding patch of sand.
"To warm up", Clint says, passing around a flask. "Who's helping me with my tent?"
You sip on the liquor, leaning into Natasha's side. "Not us", she says. "We got our own to put up."
"We?", he repeats. "You're staying in the same tent?"
You smirk against the mouth of the flask. The last time you did something like this — spend the night cramped into Steve's tiny dorm — you woke everyone up. Surprise, you got kicked out, too.
"Oh, come on", Natasha grins. "When we talked about coming here, you sounded very excited about the 'sounds of nature.' Don't complain now."
"Romanoff..."
Wanda, who's sprawled out on the ground with her head resting against a damp log, lightly nudges his ankle. He glances at her with his eyebrows knitted together. She doesn't really mind your antics — she brought her headphones for that reason — and she doesn't see why anyone should start bickering over that, either.
"Why are you surprised?", Natasha asks. "It's not like Laura and you will be practicing chastity all night."
"She's right", Laura remarks.
"See?"
At this point, he's had enough. He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and steals back his flask again, downing the last bit of whiskey that was in there. It'll be a long night.
You get up half an hour later. Steve is still poking at the campfire, and Wanda is trying to convince Daisy to ditch her own tent and sleep in hers. You watch Natasha dig through the stack of tents until she finds the one you brought.
"Need help with that?", you ask, tilting your head and twirling a strand of hair around your finger.
"I got it", she says, heaving it over her shoulder. "Where do we put it?"
"Somewhere private!", Clint shouts. You shoot a smirk his way before turning towards her again.
"Right there", you say, guiding her closer to the grass. "Bet you can't set up our tent before everyone else."
Natasha's ears perk up. She likes a challenge, unfortunately. At the same time, she knows you're planning something. Maybe get a rise out of her one way or another. She'll fall for it, anyway.
She adjusts the tent over her shoulder deliberately to flex her arms a little. "You're doubting me?"
"Me?", you drawl, watching her set it down in the spot you picked. "Never. Not unless you give me a reason to doubt you."
She gives you a look. Her hair is all natural from the lake, the worn hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. You're definitely planning something. She has no idea what that'd be, though.
"Funny. Hand me a pole."
Whatever you're doing — it's working. You can tell by the way she's starting to rub her eyebrows. "Is it?", you ask, blindly handing her a pole.
You can't help yourself. Nothing can top the kind of sex you have when she's just a little ticked off. One time, she drove her car against the wall while backing up into a parking lot. That was right after she picked it up from the mechanic, too. You remember that night vividly.
"I think that's the wrong pole", she says, looking at the instructions and swatting at a bug.
"I think I had the wrong pole inside me last night."
Nothing except gritted teeth and the sound of cicadas. The sun has gone down, and all that's left to light up the area surrounding the lake is the campfire and a few LED lamps you brought along. She puts the instructions aside, with a bit more force this time, and keeps working on the tent.
The tension in her shoulders seems to dissipate the moment the tent is set up in front of her. She tosses your sleeping bags inside and motions for you to lay down.
"After you", she says, kneeling to watch you crawl in. You plop down on your stomach. "Comfy?"
"Can't complain."
"Wait 'til I get out the air mattress", she promises, crawling above you. Her hand palms your ass, and she leans in to kiss your shoulder. "So, did I do it? The tent thing?"
"Huh? Oh, no. I saw Steve get done with his, like, two minutes before you."
She groans with her mouth against your skin. Oh well — at least you've made it into the tent. You can still hear the fire crackle outside, the cicadas. You smell the lake water clinging to everything. You're so so close to her too, in one of her hoodies and tiny soft shorts. Before she can do anything about the arousal that's starting to flood her, you disappear from underneath her.
She blinks, but you're outside the tent already. "Y/N, don't play with me."
"Think I'm that easy?", you retort. She emerges from the tent. "Put some effort in, babe."
"What? I told you I'd get out the air mattress", she complains. "Come back inside."
Her hand reaches for you, but you make a smooth move backwards. Her eyebrows furrow.
"Come on", she says.
"Can't catch me?", you tease. Clenching her jaw, she takes a step forward. "I thought you were so big and strong and fast."
Natasha loves you. That's why she joined this camping trip. She loves you, and she wants to have sex before falling into what's supposed to be the best sleep of her life. Yet here you are, making her walk in circles around the tent like an idiot.
Another step. She grazes your wrist, you jump back, and a harsh breath escapes her. You're smiling, which is only adding to her frustration. It's fun for you.
She tries not to let her patience wear thin, but it isn't easy. You hop backwards, making her miss your arm by a fraction of an inch. At this point, everyone has disappeared into their tents. It's just you and her and the forest stretching out behind you.
"Y/N", she hisses. She speeds up, and so do you. "Stop being a brat!"
"Sounds like I'm in trouble", you say, eyes twinkling.
"You think?"
"Got a hunch."
You're still circling the tent like maniacs. There's a thought in the back of your mind, brief and barely registered, about how someone will probably get out to tell you to knock it off — but nothing happens, and Natasha darts forward again.
Her fingers catch your top, but they slip before they can get ahold of you. You let out a sound of surprise, and that's when it changes.
It's like a light switch being flipped. Something dark flashes in her eyes, unexpected enough to startle you. You take a few quick steps backwards, she follows again, and suddenly, you leave the path you were following around the tent.
Neither of you even consider stopping. Leaves and sticks crunch underfoot as you start paving your way into the forest. There's no bonfire here, no LED lamps — only the moonlight dapples the ground with patches of milky light.
You're both running now. You let out a breathless laugh when she curses behind you, but the sound turns more panicked when you almost trip over a root.
There's no need for fear, right? Nothing about this is unsafe. It's Natasha. You know her better than anyone else. You'd trust her with your life. But out here, surrounded by tall trees and darkness, even the knowledge she's following you makes your throat feel tighter.
She's hunting you. In this moment, you're prey. Blades of grass brush your ankles, a mosquito lands on your arm. Your heart is pounding against your ribs like a rabbit's. You were laughing at first, but you're too out of breath to do so now.
She clenches her jaw, the heavy fabric of her hoodie too in the way. She reaches for the bottom of it and tugs it off in one fluid motion. You're blurry in the darkness of the forest, your body being swallowed by the absence of light.
"You can't run forever!", she calls. You can tell she's close, maybe a couple feet away. You're not sure how she hasn't caught up yet — you're far from being able to outrun her.
"Shut up!", you reply, dodging a low hanging branch.
Natasha's gaining on you. You can't see her, can't even check on her, but you can hear her. She's getting closer and closer, and that's when she stumbles over an old tree trunk.
The laugh that comes out of you is exhilarated, foreign almost. Natasha curses.
"That's what you get!"
You do expect her to say something. She doesn't, and maybe that's worse. She knows she can catch up to you with ease, and you hear her footsteps become more frequent.
Slaloming through the trees, which grow denser as you go deeper into the forest. Fireflies lead the path. You slip once, twice, your heartbeat in your throat.
You don't notice how sweaty you are until her hands grab your waist.
Momentum catches you both. You hit the ground, Natasha tackling you, and your uneven breathing turns into a startled gasp. You stare up at her, dirt speckling your cheeks, trying to squirm away. It's a fruitless attempt. She's too heavy.
"Got you", she mumbles, her grip getting tighter.
You let out a breathless noise, still fighting back. Your hands press against her chest, but she's stronger, bigger. The feeling of her fingernails scraping at your sides gives you goosebumps.
"Fuck you!", you hiss, grasping at her tank top and pushing her away. Trying to push her away — it's like attempting to move a mountain.
Do you even want her gone? Not judging by the dampness between your legs, the warmth balling deep in your belly. You try to ignore it. It's desperate and hopeless.
"Stop that!" She grunts, one hand wrapping around your wrist. The other is on your hip, keeping you pressed against the uneven ground.
You can see the sweat on her thick biceps. Your racing thoughts stumble for a split second — she was in a hoodie just moments ago, wasn't she? — but you don't dwell on it. You slash your fingernails across her face and she lets out a pained groan.
"Are you insane?", she barks. Her fingers curl into your hip, nails sinking deep into soft skin, and that's when you moan. She stares down at you, still half breathless.
"Do you ever shut up?", you snap back, bucking your hips in another attempt to get her off you.
She rolls over instead, tugging you right along, and you knock your knee deep into her side. Little twigs crack, there's a noise somewhere in the distance, one you can't identify, and Natasha lets go of your wrists.
It's disappointing, oddly enough. You stare down at her, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. That's when she grabs the front of your hoodie, eyes locked with yours, and that's when you both realize.
It was a chase at first. It's a game now, and you're both silently trying to figure out whether the other understands. You're not even sure you know what you're getting yourself into — role playing isn't uncharted territory for you, but this is new.
You couldn't back out if you wanted to, anyway. Natasha's hard, an aching throb in her sweatpants. She's trying to catch her breath, which should've happened minutes ago. You're soaked, not just from the lake water now, and you're grinding against her. You're both too far into this to stop.
Her hand reaches up to the back of your head, fisting hair and pulling you down. Lips and teeth clash, your nails scrape down her chest, and she flips you over.
"Want to run again?", she pants, mouth on your jaw. Her teeth drag lower, all the way to your neck. "Come on, go and run. Watch me catch you again."
You shake your head. Her breath is hot against your skin, her body heavy on yours. "I'll run. Good luck."
She laughs, her fingers fumbling with the waistband of her sweatpants. "Aw, look at you. I think you want to be caught."
You lean in, teeth sinking into her firm shoulder. Her voice drifts into a low moan, one hand wrapped around the bulge inside her boxers.
You take off your hoodie. Your bra, too. Natasha leans in open mouthed, her tongue pressing against your nipple before sucking it into her mouth. You taste like lake water, and though she didn't fulfill her promise of licking it off you earlier, she does her best to make up for it now.
Your back arches, shoving more of your breast into her mouth. Her teeth graze your nipple. She pants quietly and slides her hand down her erection, squeezing when she reaches the base. She's close to jerking herself off — too close — and you grab her face.
Clearly, you aren't thinking. She was biting down on your nipple ever so slightly, and when you move her face, her teeth clamp down on it a little too hard.
"Fuck", you moan loudly.
She scoffs, leaning down to press a kiss to it. "Shit. Need attention that badly?"
The look you give her doesn't faze her. Natasha laughs, her hand still inside her boxers, fingers sticky. She kisses the curve of your breast, and when your hand joins hers, her breath catches.
You stare at her, your hand sliding down and back up her shaft. "Were you planning on doing this without me?"
Natasha lets out a noise, her eyes locked with yours. "Does it look like it?"
"It better not. I can still leave."
She frowns at you, quickly searching your face. She doesn't believe you. No way in hell would you leave now, especially not when the way back to your friends leads through a dark, tangled forest.
She pushes your hand out of her boxers. Her fingers find the front of your shorts, starting to rub tight circles into it, and you let out a whiny breath.
"You don't mean that", she mutters, holding your wrist down with one hand. You rock from side to side, again trying to shake her off. "Y/N!"
"I told you I'm not that easy", you retort. Your free hand pushes against her chest, but she's heavy, solid, unmoving. "You're giving up?"
Natasha is pent up and out of breath. She's so hard it hurts, a dull pulse in her boxers. Your knee knocks against her ribs and she groans.
"Are you done?", she barks, wrestling your knee down with her own. Her hand finds your other wrist, pinning it down above your head as well.
Her hands are big enough, she realizes. She grasps both your wrists in one hand, her fingers wrapping around them tightly.
You let out a moan. She's taking off her pants with one hand, struggling to get the waistband over her erection. Then, her thick length springs free, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.
"Look at you", you mock, betrayed by your breathy voice. "Almost nutted in your pants? Haven't even really touched you yet."
Natasha bites her tongue. She glances up at you, her face reddened and a little sweaty, with red baby hairs sticking to her temples. She fumbles with your shorts, but your hips are in the way and the smooth fabric won't budge.
"You struggling?"
She doesn't say anything. Her hand grabs the waistband, tugging again. You watch her tip leak with frustration. It's your favorite little quirk.
"Need some help with that?", you purr.
Something snaps at your words. The fabric rips apart, courtesy of Natasha's impatience, and it takes your underwear with it. You let out a surprised noise, your thighs clenching and your skin heating up.
She’s too impatient to even try and wait. A calloused hand push your thigh aside, and she lines herself up with you before thrusting in deep. One thrust, deep and leaving no time to get adjusted, is enough to wipe every thought from your brain.
Your back arches. She curses and her head drops forward against your shoulder. Her hips roll against yours, fucking into you. You want to clutch her shoulders, run your nails down her back until she’s a bleeding mess, but her grip on your wrists hasn’t loosened, and desperate as you are, you sink your teeth into her neck.
It takes her off guard. Her hips stutter, and her hold on your wrists slackens for a split second. You pull free and run your nails down her back, a hum of satisfaction escaping you.
“Dammit”, she mutters, pounding into you. Your nails sink into taut muscle. “I swear to god, Y/N.”
You scoff, scratching along her back. She curses but never breaks pace, her chest slick with sweat. You can tell it’s starting to become painful, and it only spurs you on.
Manicured nails sink into taut even deeper. Natasha’s eyes shut. Continuing is a struggle and a necessity, and she finds the underside of your knee to shove your leg up and open you up more for her.
Your body jerks with each thrust. You claw at her back, drawing blood, and watch her eyebrows furrow. You wanted her ticked off — you might’ve pushed her a little too hard, though.
Her hand feels its way up your body, groping and squeezing flesh and curves. When her fingers find your nipple, she gives it a rough twist.
Your heart rate kicks up, every nerve ending humming. There’s nothing but silence surrounding you now. Every sound is amplified, every thrust is driving you closer to that edge. Natasha throbs hotly inside you, feeling heavy and swollen, and you grasp at her skin.
A rush of heat floods outwards. Natasha feels like she’s about to burst, like a shaken soda bottle, like she’s seconds from spilling all of herself inside you. Her head goes fuzzy, and the image of you beneath her when she opens her eyes doesn’t help.
Your mouths knock together. She palms at your breast, feeling the achingly stiff bud against her skin. You move one hand to her front to find her necklace and get a tight hold of it, and she moans against your tongue.
She comes in heavy, messy bursts. You squeeze her hips with your thighs, your own orgasm making your mind go blank. Everything feels hot — the leaf covered ground, her slick stomach pressed against yours, the cum dripping out of you.
It takes a moment for you to reel your mind back in. Sound, movement and color return, your thoughts become clear, and reality sinks back in. You look at Natasha and let out a quiet noise.
Drops of blood have dried on her face. You only realize now, with the adrenaline slowly ebbing down. You got her harder than you meant to. You give her a sweet little smile in hopes she won't notice you wiping it off with your thumb.
Natasha lets out a shaky breath, her neck drenched in sweat. She's covered in dirt — her biceps, her chest, skin speckled with mud. She's still inside you, too, not being bothered to pull out.
“See”, she mumbles, “I caught you.”
You huff and give her chest a shove. “Please. That was all luck.”
“Was not”, she retorts, pulling out of you. “Could’ve caught you jumping on one leg.”
You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on your forearms. You flick some dirt off your body. “How long did we stay out here?”
Natasha shrugs, scanning your surroundings. There’s no way to know what time it is. You both left your phones inside the tent, she realizes.
“Too long”, she says. “We should head back.”
You both get off the floor. You pick up the shorts she ripped apart, the underwear that’s now nothing but a few tiny, flimsy pieces of fabric. Natasha rubs her neck before taking off her sweatpants to give them to you.
“My back hurts”, she complains, checking herself. She rubs a hand down her spine and glances at it. “I’m bleeding, too. What the fuck, Y/N.”
You hum, putting your hands on your waist and making her turn around. The scratches are deep, long lines scattered across her sculpted back. You give her butt a pat.
“I have disinfectant in my purse”, you assure her. “Come on, let’s head back before we get lost.”
She shoots you a look but doesn’t say anything. You start to find your way back to the campsite, trying to spot things that seem familiar. A root that Natasha tripped over, a shrub of juneberries, a heart etched into a tree.
Finally, Natasha’s hoodie. She picks it up and makes you put it over your shoulders.
A few moments later, you see a tiny light at the other side of the forest. More lights join it, and the closer you get, the better you hear the voices accompanying them.
“There they are!”, Clint yells. “Are you guys insane?”
“Do you know how worried we were?”, Wanda adds. “You can’t just vanish into the wilderness! In the middle of the night, too!”
Natasha grimaces, her hand resting on your waist. You exchange a look before closing the last few feet separating you from the others.
“Sorry”, she says. “We didn’t think you’d, you know…notice.”
“You were quiet”, Clint grumbles. “Too quiet. Why are you bleeding?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”, you ask, voice sweet as sugar. He drags his hand down his face. “I’m taking that as a no.”
He doesn’t bother arguing. You’re not wrong, either — as concerned as he might be, he’s not curious enough to make you tell the tale of how you and Natasha disappeared in the forest for over an hour. Instead, he turns around, silently gesturing for you to follow him.
Half an hour later, you’re back inside the tent. Clint and Wanda are gone, probably on the verge of falling asleep, and you’re applying bandaids all over Natasha’s back. She hisses when you use a towel, soaked in disinfectant, to wipe a particularly nasty scratch.
“Got you good”, you tease, pecking her shoulder. “We’re done here. You look like a work of art.”
“I’m sure”, she mutters, reaching for her hoodie. “My entire back is burning.”
You shrug and sink down into the mattress. Natasha glances at you and sighs, her fingers touching your knee, before joining you. Her body presses against yours, warmth cocooning the two of you.
Her hand slips under your body. Her nose nuzzles your neck, now smelling of lake water and something earthy.
“Another thing I can check off my list.”
“You’re disgusting.”
She laughs, a rough and tired sound that shoots straight into your chest. Maybe she didn’t get to lick you dry, but whatever this was — it’s way better.
What if reader ends up having nats baby an Tom (ur latest fic) thinks it's his-
But nat knows, reader knows it's not-
(I LIKE DRAMA)
summery : Unhappily married and carrying her neighbor Natalie’s baby, a pregnant housewife reaches her breaking point under the weight of living a lie. When her dismissive husband, Tom, comes home early from a ruined night out, she finally snaps, confessing the months-long affair and revealing the baby isn't his.
pairings : mechanic!natalie x pregnant!housewife!reader
an: i kinda like this story... sorry if this was rushed lol
For the past week, Tom had been unbearable in a completely new way.
He hadn't stopped grinning since the moment you showed him the two pink lines on the digital test. For seven straight days, the man who usually treated you like a background decoration in his pristine house was suddenly holding doors, buying overpriced prenatal vitamins, and proudly telling anyone who would listen at his firm that he was finally going to be a father. He would sit at the dinner table—eating the hot meals you still cooked for him every night—rubbing his hands together and talking about nursery colors, legacy, and carrying on the family name.
He was practically glowing with pride. He thought he’d finally done it. He thought his legacy was secured.
He had no idea that the child growing inside you didn't carry a single drop of his blood.
You knew. Of course you knew. The timeline wasn't even close; you hadn't let Tom touch you in months, making up every excuse in the book while secretly spending your afternoons buried under the heavy, warm weight of your neighbor.
And Natalie knew, too.
Every time Tom stood on the front porch in his tailored suit, beaming like a lottery winner while he loaded golf clubs into his trunk, Nat would be sitting on her porch steps across the driveway, dark eyes hidden behind her sunglasses, a slow, quiet smirk tugging at her lips. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. Every glance she threw your way across the fence was heavy with a dangerous, shared secret: That's my baby in there.
It was a terrifying, thrill-filled lie that grew heavier with every passing day, binding you and Natalie together in a way Tom couldn't even begin to comprehend.
It was barely 6:30 PM, and you were at the stove, stirring a pot of pasta sauce, when Tom walked into the kitchen wearing a fresh polo shirt, smelling faintly of expensive cologne.
He didn't even look at the dinner you were making. "The guys from the firm want to hit the sports bar downtown to celebrate the promotion," he announced casually, grabbing his wallet and car keys off the counter. "I’ll probably end up knocking back a few too many drinks with them. If I get totally smashed, I’m just going to grab a room at the motel down the road instead of driving back. Don't wait up."
Without a kiss goodbye or even a second glance, he slammed the front door shut, the engine of his sedan revving up before pulling out of the driveway.
The moment his car vanished down the street, a wave of pure relief washed over you. It was the perfect opening.
Ever since the positive test, things between you and Natalie had shifted in the sweetest way possible. You barely had sex anymore—maybe once every few weeks when you were both too desperate to resist—because Nat was so intensely focused on keeping you safe and rested.
Instead, she spent her evenings just taking care of you.
The second she saw Tom's car pull out, Nat would wash the grease off her hands, lock up her shop, and slip through the back fence. She’d quietly knock on the back kitchen door, carrying a pint of your favorite ice cream or a warm, homemade tea she’d read was good for morning sickness.
She loved the quiet domesticity of it. She’d make you sit on the couch and put your feet up, taking off your shoes so she could rub your swollen ankles with her large, warm hands. She’d spend hours sitting beside you, her thick fingers gently resting over your still-flat stomach, tracing soft, protective circles while listening to the low rumble of the TV. She’d ask you a hundred questions about how you were feeling, if you were eating enough, if the baby was kicking yet, and if you needed anything at all.
Nat didn't care about getting into your bed tonight. She just wanted to be near her baby, and near the woman carrying it, while the idiot who thought it was his was out drinking himself blind at a motel.
The quiet knock at the back door sounded just a few minutes after Tom's car pulled out of the driveway.
You didn't answer right away. You just kept staring blankly into the pot of bubbling pasta sauce, the wooden spoon in your hand heavy and useless. The temporary relief of Tom leaving had quickly soured into the same dark, suffocating mood that had been hanging over you since sunrise.
Knock. Knock.
With a quiet, heavy sigh, you walked over to the back door and unlocked it.
Natalie stepped inside, immediately bringing the familiar, comforting scent of cedar and clean soap with her. She had already showered, her dark hair still slightly damp, wearing an oversized black t-shirt and faded jeans. Her dark eyes immediately locked onto your face, her sharp instincts picking up on your downcast gaze and slouched posture before she even crossed the threshold.
"Hey," Nat murmured softly, setting a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. "Saw the prince leaving for his boys' night. Brought you those ginger candies you liked—"
"I'm still cooking," you interrupted quietly, not looking her in the eye as you turned right back around to the stove, stirring the sauce with aggressive, tight motions.
Nat paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she watched you. Usually, the second Tom drove off, you’d throw your arms around her neck or collapse into her chest with a deep sigh. Today, you were rigid, distant, and wrapped in a thick cloud of misery.
She walked up behind you, stopping just inches away without touching you. "Sweetheart," Nat said softly, her low, gravelly voice dropping into that careful, protective tone. "What's going on? You've been in a mood all day. I noticed you sitting out on the porch this morning looking like you were a million miles away."
"I shouldn't have done this," you choked out, your voice cracking as tears suddenly welled up in your eyes. The wooden spoon came to a complete stop. "I shouldn't have let this happen, Nat."
Nat went completely still behind you. "Let what happen?"
"The baby," you whispered, hot tears finally spilling over your lashes and dripping down your cheeks. "This whole thing. It's crazy. Tom is out there boasting to everyone, buying stupid baby clothes, planning a nursery... and it's a lie. I'm living a complete lie in this house, carrying your baby, and every time I look in the mirror I just feel sick with guilt."
You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your hands on the edge of the warm stove, your shoulders trembling as you let out a shaky, miserable breath.
"I feel like a horrible person, Nat. I don't want to do this today. I don't want to cook, I don't want to clean, I just... I hate everything about this."
You stared down at the bubbling red sauce, the steam burning your eyes as fresh tears poured down your face.
"I might just get rid of it," you choked out, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "I can just... tell Tom I miscarried. He’ll be mad for a little while, sure, but he won't stay furious forever. Give it a couple of bar visits with his friends and he'll forget all about it anyway."
Behind you, Natalie went dead silent. The air in the kitchen instantly grew heavy, thick with a sudden, painful tension.
Nat didn't yell. She didn't grab you or try to force you into anything. But you heard her let out a long, shaky breath, her strong frame rigid as she digested the words. She reached out, her large, warm hand settling gently over yours on the handle of the wooden spoon, turning off the gas burner with a soft click to kill the flame.
"Listen to me," Nat said, her gravelly voice dropping so low it was almost a whisper, raw with an emotion she barely managed to keep in check. She stepped closer, her chest pressing warm against your back as she wrapped her other arm carefully around your waist, resting her hand over your flat stomach.
"If that's truly what you want... if you really don't want this baby, I will take you to the clinic myself and hold your hand the entire time," Nat murmured, her lips pressing gently into the side of your neck. "I will never force you to carry something you don't want. Ever."
She paused, resting her chin on your shoulder, her dark eyes looking out toward the quiet backyard.
"But don't do it just because of him," Nat added, her voice dropping into a firm, intense murmur. "Don't kill a part of us just to make your life in this fake-ass house easier. You don't have to stay here. You can leave him. You can get a divorce."
You let out a bitter, wet chuckle, but Nat squeezed your waist, stopping you before you could pull away.
"I know, I know—I'm sorry," Nat sighed softly against your skin. "I know you're married to him. I know how complicated it is. But we both know you don't love him, sweetheart. And he doesn't love you—he only likes you when he wants something from you. When it's convenient for him to brag to his buddies or have a hot meal waiting."
She turned you around slowly in her arms, her thumb reaching up to gently wipe the tears from your wet cheek, her dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart ache.
"You don't owe him a damn thing," Nat whispered softly. "And you don't have to carry this alone."
A sudden, sharp cramp twisted deep in your lower abdomen, making your breath hitch violently. You gasped, wincing as a strange, fluttering pressure bloomed right beneath your navel—a tiny, firm kick from the inside that took your breath away completely.
"Ah—fuck," you whimpered, your hands flying down to cover your stomach, your knees immediately buckling beneath you.
"Woah, woah—I got you," Nat instantly grunted, her heavy, strong arms swooping under your thighs and shoulders before you could touch the ground.
She lifted you up effortlessly, stepping away from the counter and kicking the stool out of the way. With three quick strides, she carried you into the living room, carefully lowering you onto the soft cushions of the couch. She turned back to the kitchen for two seconds flat—reaching over to double-check that the stove knob was completely off and dragging the heavy pasta pot onto a cool back burner—before rushing back to your side.
"Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe for me," Nat murmured, dropping down onto her knees on the floor beside the couch.
The physical shock of feeling that tiny, impossible flutter, paired with the crushing weight of everything you'd been keeping locked inside, completely broke the dam. A loud, shattered sob ripped from your throat, and you curled onto your side, burying your wet face right into Nat's shoulder.
Nat didn't care about the tears soaking through her clean black shirt. She pulled her upper body over you on the couch, wrapping her broad, warm arms around your trembling shoulders and pulling you flush against her chest. She slid one heavy hand under your sundress, resting her palm flat over your stomach right where the tiny kick had just hit, her warm skin pressing gently through the thin fabric.
"Shh... I'm right here. I've got you," Nat whispered, her low, gravelly voice a steady anchor in the dark room. She buried her face in your messy hair, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your temple while her thumb stroked soothing, slow circles over your belly. "Cry it out. Let it all out."
You gripped the back of her shirt with white knuckles, sobbing hysterically against her collarbone while she held you like you were the most fragile thing in the world, letting the quiet warmth of her presence wash over you until your shaky breaths finally began to slow.
The sudden, harsh glare of headlights swept across the living room wall, followed by the familiar, heavy rumble of Tom's sedan pulling into the driveway.
Your heart violently slammed into your throat.
Gravel crunching under tires. A car door slamming.
"Fuck," Nat hissed, her body instantly going rigid against yours.
The quiet comfort vanished in a fraction of a second. Panic surged through your veins, wiping away the tears as you scrambled off the couch, your hands trembling so violently you could barely get your footing. Nat was already on her feet, her dark eyes darting around the dim living room with razor-sharp focus.
"The back hallway," you whispered frantically, your voice barely a breath as you grabbed her arm, shoving her toward the shadowed alcove past the laundry room that led to the heavy, rarely used side door. "Go, go! Lock it behind you!"
Nat didn't argue. She gave your hand one hard, reassuring squeeze, her eyes burning with fierce protection, before vanishing silently into the dark corridor just as the sound of heavy, unsteadily dragging footsteps echoed on the front porch.
You threw yourself back onto the couch, hastily wiping the wetness from your cheeks with the back of your hand, smoothing down your sundress, and pulling a throw blanket over your lap just as the key rattled in the front lock.
The door burst open, slamming hard against the entryway wall.
Tom stumbled inside, smelling like cheap draft beer and stale sweat. His necktie was loosened, his hair a messy, disheveled heap, and his face twisted into a sour, furious scowl. He didn't even notice your red, swollen eyes as he kicked the front door shut with his heel.
"Fucking unbelievable," Tom snarled, tearing his suit jacket off and tossing it carelessly onto the dining room chair. "Whole damn trip a waste of time."
He stumbled into the living room, slumping heavily into his leather armchair with a loud groan, rubbing his temples in sheer annoyance.
"Bar was closed," he complained aggressively, not bothering to look at you. "Pipeline burst in the basement or some stupid shit, health inspector shut the whole block down right as we pulled up. The guys didn't want to drive all the way downtown to the other spot, so everyone just called it a night."
He let out a bitter, heavy sigh, glaring up at the ceiling.
"God, my head is pounding. I pay all those ridiculous taxes in this town and they can't even keep a decent venue open on a Monday," Tom muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, completely oblivious to the fact that the woman who had just been holding you was slipping quietly out his back door into the night. "Where's dinner? Is that pasta sauce I smell?"
You swallowed down the lump in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard you could hear it in your ears. You pulled the throw blanket off your lap, slowly standing up from the couch.
"I didn't finish dinner," you said, your voice quiet, deadpan, and completely flat.
Tom froze, his head snapping toward you, his brows pulling into an irritated scowl. "What do you mean you didn't finish dinner? You've been home all day! I come back from a ruined night and there isn't even food on the table?"
"I turned the stove off," you continued, taking a step back toward the center of the living room, your chest rising and falling as a strange, cold calm washed over you. The terror was gone. Looking at him—disheveled, whining about a closed bar, completely oblivious—you knew you couldn't keep doing this for another second.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Tom barked, shoving himself out of his leather chair, his jaw clenched. "Are your pregnancy hormones making you crazy or something?"
"I'm not crazy, Tom," you said, your voice steadying, looking him dead in the eye. "And I haven't been home alone all day."
Tom paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before settling right back into anger. "What are you talking about?"
"I've been cheating on you," you said, the words slipping out of your mouth crisp, clear, and unyielding.
The room went dead silent. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was the only sound between you two.
Tom blinked once. Twice. A bitter, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of his throat. "Is this a joke? Is this some pathetic attempt at a joke because you forgot to cook?"
"I've been sleeping with Natalie," you said, laying every card on the table, refusing to look away. "For months. Long before I took that test."
Tom’s fake laugh died instantly in his throat. His face drained of color, then rapidly flushed into a dark, mottled red, his fists clenching so tight his knuckles turned bone white. "You're... with the dyke mechanic across the street? Are you fucking insane?!"
"I'm not insane. I'm telling you the truth," you said, taking another step back as his breathing turned heavy and ragged. "And the baby... Tom, the baby isn't yours."
That was the bomb.
"What?!" Tom shrieked, his voice cracking into a furious, high-pitched rage. He took two aggressive strides forward, towering over you, his eyes wide and bulging with sheer, terrifying fury. "What the fuck did you just say to me?!"
"It's Nat's baby," you choked out, your voice trembling slightly under the force of his anger, but holding your ground. "It was never yours. I haven't let you touch me in months. You know that."
"You fucking whore!" Tom roared, his face contorting into an ugly mask of rage. He slammed his hand down onto the wooden coffee table, sending a glass coaster crashing to the floor and shattering into pieces. "You disgusting, ungrateful bitch! I gave you everything! This house, my money, a fucking life! And you're getting knocked up by a fucking grease-monkey bitch in my neighborhood?!"
He was trembling with rage, his chest heaving as he paced back and forth like a caged animal, shoving his hands through his hair, cursing at the top of his lungs.
"Get out," Tom snarled, whipping around to point a shaking, white-hot finger toward the front door, his voice booming through the empty house. "Get the fuck out of my house! Right now! Don't touch a single thing, don't pack a bag, just get the fuck out before I lose my mind!"
The word whore was still echoing off the high ceilings when something inside you finally snapped. Months of silent misery, of being ignored, of living like a ghost in your own home, boiled over into a sudden, blinding rush of adrenaline.
Before he could take another breath to scream at you, you stepped forward and swung your palm across his face with everything you had left.
CRACK.
The sound cracked through the living room like a gunshot.
Tom's head whipped to the side, his jaw snapping shut. He staggered back a step, dropping his hand to his cheek as a vivid, bright red handprint bloomed across his skin. His eyes were wide with utter shock, his mouth hanging open in absolute disbelief.
"Don't you ever call me that," you spat, your voice shaking with a cold, fierce authority he had never heard from you before. "Get out of my face, Tom."
For a long, tense moment, he just stared at you, stunned into complete silence. The fiery rage in his eyes flickered, replaced by a mixture of humiliation and raw disbelief. He looked at you—standing straight, chest heaving, refusing to shrink back—and realized he had completely lost control.
Without saying another word, Tom snatched his suit jacket off the chair, shoved open the front door, and slammed it behind him so hard the windowpanes rattled in their frames. Seconds later, his tires screeched violently against the asphalt as he sped off into the night.
The house fell deathly quiet.
Your hand was burning, your whole body trembling violently as the adrenaline began to dump from your system.
The back hallway door clicked open. Rapid, heavy footsteps echoed across the hardwood, and suddenly Natalie was there. She didn't pause; she closed the distance in two quick strides and threw her broad, strong arms around you, pulling you violently against her chest.
You collapsed into her completely. Your knees gave out, but Nat caught your full weight effortlessly, sliding down to the floor with you and gathering you into her lap. You buried your face into the crook of her neck, letting out a shattered, breathless sob into her warm skin.
"I've got you," Nat whispered, her gravelly voice thick with raw emotion as she held you tight against her frame. She wrapped one large hand around the back of your head, pressing soft, desperate kisses into your hair, while her other hand rested flat and warm over your belly, covering her baby. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
Tears spilled down your cheeks, soaking into her shirt—tears for the terrifying uncertainty of what came next, for the ruined house, for the mess you were leaving behind. But as Nat's warm arms squeezed you tighter, holding you safe in the middle of the wreckage, a quiet, bittersweet peace settled over your heart.
You collapsed into her completely. Your knees gave out, but Nat caught your full weight effortlessly, sliding down to the floor with you and gathering you into her lap. You buried your face into the crook of her neck, letting out a shattered, breathless sob into her warm skin.
"I've got you," Nat whispered, her gravelly voice thick with raw emotion as she held you tight against her frame. She wrapped one large hand around the back of your head, pressing soft, desperate kisses into your hair, while her other hand rested flat and warm over your belly, covering her baby. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
Tears spilled down your cheeks, soaking into her shirt—tears for the terrifying uncertainty of what came next, for the ruined house, for the mess you were leaving behind.
Nat held you until the violent shaking in your shoulders quieted down to soft, uneven breaths. Slowly, she leaned back just enough to look at you, her broad thumb gently wiping the damp mascara from under your eyes.
"We'll come back tomorrow while he's at work and grab your stuff," Nat murmured, her dark eyes steady, grounding you instantly. "Tonight, you're staying across the driveway with me. We'll figure out the lawyers, the divorce, all of it... one day at a time."
You looked into her eyes, feeling the gentle, protective warmth of her hand cupping your stomach. The fight wasn't over—there were going to be angry phone calls, messy paperwork, and a long road ahead to build a life on your own terms. But looking at Nat, you knew you weren't going to have to walk a single step of it alone.
"Okay," you whispered, taking a deep, real breath for the first time all night. "Let's go home."
you do the same thing mel did: give her a pretty sheath with her initial, 'S', carved into it. "thanks, i actually needed one of these," shauna says, her eyes doeing up a bit despite how much they've caved in from her weariness. and then you say some, "of course, shauna," and "i hope you like it" type thing. she looks up at you from the log where she's sitting, her eyes beaming with this light you haven't seen since when she first got accepted into the yellowjackets. oh my.
shauna slips her knife into the sheath, grinning when it fits perfectly. the thought of you stealing her blade whilst she slept or looked away just to measure it and give her a custom gift swells her ego — like, damn, she really found a way to make a girl obsessed in the middle of the wilderness. the thought of you further dulling your own knife just to make it hers, not caring about the fact nat's gonna be pissed if she finds out you've been using it to feed shauna's power-trip instead of hunting the food you all need.
"hey, why do you even like me?" she asks, her eyes narrowing as she attaches the sheath to herself. you don't really have an answer, not immediately. you just walk over to her and stare for a bit. just before you can answer, shauna tugs on your jacket's sleeve. your eyebrows furrow as you get the memo, slipping it off.
she takes out her knife again, lifting it up and letting the sunlight catch on it. what a pretty sight, she thinks, a pretty girl ready to drip crimson red. just as quick as her thoughts intrude her brain, shauna holds you down and begins digging the blade into your forearm. an 'S' — scratchy, not yet penetrating skin — shows up and begins to swell. shauna stares at it for a second before stuffing the sleeves of your own jacket into your mouth and fully piercing your skin.
there's blood dripping all over both your skins and shauna uses her own flannel to clean you up, the metallic scent boosting her adrenaline. she holds the cloth in place for a bit, keeping the blood flow in check, and then her eyes beam again at the sight of the raised skin and open wound with her initial.
"do you still like me?" she breathes out and you can't help but nod.
warnings: mentions of jackie, reader's mentally ill, established relationship, typical shauna behavior.
the death of your (now ex) girlfriend had changed both you and shauna. you'd never expect jackie's passing to bring you and her best friend closer. thank god she's not around to see it, because jackie got jealous.
you'd been having problems with slight hallucinations. they'd slowed since winter, meshing less of jackie to more born from paranoia of the woods around you. you're sure you'd have died drifting through the wilderness at dusk if it weren't for shauna.
"hey," you jumped at the feeling of warm, big hands on your shoulders, snapping out of your thoughts and back to your surroundings. you turn to meet shauna, looking down at you with concern only reserved for you nowadays. "let's go back."
your shared hut was a place of solitude in the camp that had spiraled out of control, as shauna was never calm out there, and you often were overwhelmed by the others stares and murmurs.
"tell me what you saw this time." the brunette's hands threaded in your tangled hair, braiding it for you before you settled for bed. "was it her again?" shauna had gained more complicated resentment towards the dead girl, one for her getting to date you during her time alive, and two for the way she haunted you everyday.
"a little. but she went away." you answered honestly and quietly, picking at your thumb until it bled. "i just got distracted."
"you need to stop doing that." she finishes your hair and sits in front of you, looking into your eyes with the intensity that they hold now. "it worries me when i wake up and you're gone."
"i know." you nod, not pushing further on your reasons that don't exist.
"what do you think her problem is now?" you overheard misty whisper to mari, watching you listlessly hang a nightgown on the clothesline. "is it shauna or jackie?"
the murmurs continued between the two until it got to be too much for you. you folded the last piece of clothing with a sigh, abandoning it on the rock that was your makeshift table and walking from the two.
you knew shauna was near the lake, she'd been put on water duty today (much to her annoyance), and you needed rescue from the others.
shauna came into view when you reached the lake, her muscles shifting under her shirt as she lifted a metal bucket. she seemed to have heard your footsteps, because her head snapped around, ready to yell. she loosened up once she realized who it was.
her eyebrows pinched in a way that might look threatening to others, but to you, you could tell she was trying to read your emotions before you could speak.
"what's wrong?" the words came quick, and the bucket dropped fast from her hands onto the ground. she made it to you in long strides, hands settling on your waist as soon as she was in reach.
"nothing, i just needed a break." the lie fell flat on shauna's ears, and she could tell you were lying when the hand that wasn't on her arm went up to fiddle with the gold heart pendant on your chest. it was a nervous habit of yours, ever since jackie gave it to you to "keep you safe" on the first night after the crash.
"did someone say something?" your silence was response enough. she didn't push more, you would talk when you wanted. pressing you got nowhere, she'd learned that the hard way when a week after jackie died, you refused to talk to her for four days when she asked how you were feeling.
"it's fine. i just needed to see you." you said vulnerably, and her face softened as much as shauna shipman's face could after all she's been through.
"i'm here," she pulled you for a hug, one hand cradling the back of your head and one on your lower back. "they won't bother you anymore."
hi literally nobody asked for this but i have no requests for yellowjackets PLEASEEEE send some for shauna, jackie, lottie, natalie, and mari please
-𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 [summertime with fratboy! lottie hcs+texts]
—warnings: all fluff but not entirely proofread
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
since school is out for the next few weeks for summer vacation, and any fraternity plans are put on hold for the next semester, that leaves lottie alone to her own devices. usually, she wouldn’t mind to much as, despite many speculations, she was an introvert at heart. but now that she had a girlfriend, she refused to lie around as much as she usually did during summer breaks.
she would want to please her girlfriend to the best of her ability. if that involved clubbing or taking a vacation with one another, then she would do it. but if her girlfriend preferred staying in, she would do that too.
summer evenings with lottie would always feel intimate. despite living in the city, where no one ever seemed to sleep, her apartment always perfectly shut the pair away from the outside world. in all honesty, her ideal perfect date night at home would consist of ordering takeout if she’s lazy (cuz she definitely has no idea how to cook for herself) and cuddling up together on the couch.
sometimes she would put on a movie or show for the both of you to watch while eating, and she would definitely light a few candles for the ambience. but what she looked foward to the most during the evenings was the cuddling.
on the nights where you would go out, lottie would always be by your side, especially during her outings with the other frats. she was a different person when she was with her clique, more energetic, more confident. but even in this energized mood of hers, she would still keep an eye on you. that concern was mostly why she didn’t get shit-faced drunk at parties anymore.
she is naturally a protective person, sticking up for those who didn’t have a voice or stepping up for those who were wronged. that compassion was what set her apart of her douchebag friends, even if she desperately tried to keep it undercover.
of course, being rich, lottie would definitely have a lake house her family abandoned. and with that, she would *definitely* take her girlfriend there too.
the way she would ask would be subtle, or well, she would *think* she was being subtle.
but when she finally gets the chance to take you to her aforementioned lake house, she would absolutely set a bunch of activities that you could do around town, although it’s mostly sight-seeing and shopping.
at the beach, lottie would shamelessly ogle at you, although she would try to keep it to herself most of the time—since she’s not too keen on public affection. but when no one’s around, she definitely whispering earnest compliments into the crook of your neck.
summery : bored and miserable in an unhappy marriage, a frustrated housewife attempts to end her secret affair with the attractive neighborhood mechanic, only for a unexpected home repair visit to explode into a fiery, passionate encounter right in the master bedroom.
pairings : mechanic!natalie x housewife!reader
warnings : affair/infidelity, married reader, housewife/mechanic dynamic, toxic husband (mentioned), heavy oral/eating out, clit play, vaginal fingering, g!p cock, rough/hard sex, bed sex, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, lingering aftercare/spooning
The heavy silence of the house was a sound you had learned to dread. Every single morning played out in the exact same soul-crushing routine: Tom’s heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway, the harsh clatter of his coffee mug hitting the counter, and the sharp, dismissive way he spoke down to you before slamming the front door at precisely 7:00 AM.
"Did you even bother to iron this shirt properly?"
"Make sure dinner is actually hot on the table when I walk through the door at six. I don't pay for this house so I can eat lukewarm slop."
God, you hated him. In fact, you were pretty sure you hated men in general. They were loud, arrogant, and treated every room they walked into like they owned it. So, for eleven hours a day, while Tom was off at the firm pretending to be important, you filled the endless, suffocating quiet with work.
You cooked. You swept the hardwood until it practically reflected the ceiling. You dusted the baseboards. You made more food, cleaned more dishes, and folded laundry until your hands felt dry and numb. It was a monotonous, lonely cycle designed to keep you from thinking too hard about how trapped you actually were.
Until Natalie moved in next door three months ago.
She was the new neighborhood mechanic—a concept that made Tom sneer into his evening newspaper the moment he heard about it. But to you, Natalie was a thunderstorm in a neighborhood full of fake, manicured lawns.
She didn't walk around trying to fit into anyone's box. She wore greasy denim coveralls, drove a matte-black pickup truck that rumbled so loud it shook your kitchen windows, and spent her mornings out in her open garage, dark hair tied up, muscle shirts clinging to her frame as she worked on engines.
And, somehow, against every logical thought you’ve ever had, you ended up in an affair with her.
It started with a broken lawnmower you couldn't figure out how to start. Then it was a cup of iced tea on her porch. Then, one hot Tuesday afternoon while Tom was at work, it was Natalie pressing you up against her workbench, her grease-stained, calloused hands sliding up your floral sundress, driving you completely out of your mind with a fiery, desperate passion Tom had never even come close to sparking in you.
You weren't a lesbian. You couldn't be. You were a housewife. You were married to a man. You had spent your entire life believing you were straight, just caught in a miserable, loveless marriage.
At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself every time you sneaked out your back door at 1:00 PM to go spend two hours melting beneath your female neighbor.
It was 1:15 PM. Normally, you’d be across the fence right now, sitting on the edge of Natalie’s workbench, laughing at some dry joke she made while her thumb traced lazy, hot circles over the inside of your thigh.
Instead, you were sitting at your polished dining room table, staring blankly at a spotless kitchen island.
The guilt had finally caught up to you two days ago. It wasn't even guilt for Tom—he didn't deserve an ounce of your sympathy—it was the terrifying realization of what you were actually doing. You were a married woman letting another woman ruin you in the middle of the afternoon. It made your chest tight. So, you had swallowed your heart, walked over to her garage, and told her it had to stop. That you couldn't keep coming over. That it was a mistake.
Natalie hadn't yelled. She’d just wiped her grease-stained hands on a rag, looked at you with those heavy, dark eyes, and nodded once. "If that's what you want," she’d said, her voice quiet and even.
Now, the house was agonizingly silent. You had already vacuumed the entire downstairs twice. The pot roast for Tom’s 6:00 PM dinner was already simmering in the slow cooker, filling the kitchen with a rich scent that suddenly made you feel nauseous. You leaned your chin in your hand, tracing a pattern in the wood grain of the table, bored out of your mind and miserable.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sharp, sudden sound echoed through the foyer, breaking the silence like a dropped glass. You jumped slightly, your heart leaping straight into your throat.
Tom never came home early. Delivery drivers usually just left packages on the porch.
You slowly stood up, smoothing down the front of your pristine, pastel apron, and walked toward the front door. Through the frosted glass panel, you could see a tall, broad silhouette waiting on the porch.
When you pulled the heavy door open, your breath hitched completely.
Natalie was standing there.
She wasn't in her work coveralls today. She wore a fitted gray tank top that hugged the strong cut of her shoulders, her dark hair slightly messy, a faint smudge of black grease high up on her cheekbone. She had one hand shoved into the pocket of her worn jeans, while the other held a heavy, red steel toolbox.
She didn't wait for an invitation. Her dark eyes swept over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the quiet house behind you, before locking right onto yours with an intensity that made your knees turn to water.
"Your sink line," Natalie said, her voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated right in your chest. "Saw your husband at the gas station this morning. He mentioned the kitchen faucet was leaking and complained about how much a plumber would cost." She took a single, slow step across your threshold, forcing you to back up a pace. "Told him I’d swing by and take a look for free."
She reached out with her bare foot, kicking the front door shut behind her. The lock engaged with a heavy, final click.
"So," Nat murmured, setting the heavy toolbox down on your polished entryway floor with a dull thud. "Show me where the leak is."
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird as you nodded and led her back toward the kitchen. Every single step felt agonizingly loud. You couldn't stop your eyes from darting down to her arm, watching the way her thick, flexed biceps shifted beneath her soft tan skin as she carried the heavy steel toolbox effortlessly at her side.
Just yesterday, those same arms were pinned over your head, those same broad hands gripping your hips so tightly they left dark, delicious bruises that were currently hidden under your sundress.
"Under the sink, right?" Nat asked, her low voice snapping you out of your haze.
"Yeah," you squeaked out, quickly stepping back toward the kitchen island. "It’s... it’s the hot water pipe. It’s been dripping into a bucket."
Nat didn't say a word. She set her toolbox down with a heavy metallic clatter, crouched down, and opened the cabinet doors beneath the sink. She pulled a heavy pipe wrench from her kit and slid flat onto her back, her upper body disappearing under the dark sink while her legs sprawled out across your pristine kitchen floor.
You leaned your lower back against the opposite counter, crossing your arms to try and keep your hands from shaking, but you were completely helpless to stop where your eyes were wandering.
Her worn, dark denim jeans were stretched impossibly tight across her thighs and the firm, heavy curve of her ass as she shifted beneath the pipes. A sudden, hot flash shot straight down to your core. Your mind immediately flashed to two days ago—how it felt to have that heavy, weight pressed flush against your back, the raw power behind every thrust as she worked you over her workbench until you were sobbing her name.
Under the sink, the strain of her effort made her fitted tank top ride up just an inch, exposing the smooth, toned muscle of her core and the thick flex of her shoulder blades every time she turned the wrench. The sight of her—so unbothered, so strong, and so effortlessly attractive in the middle of your miserable, pristine kitchen—made your throat go bone dry. Your cunt gave a sudden, hard throb, slick already starting to pool in your lace underwear despite the crushing guilt you were supposed to be feeling.
"Found the problem," Nat’s muffled voice came from under the sink, the metallic clink of her wrench echoing in the small space. "Loose fitting. Easy fix if you actually know what the fuck you're doing."
She slowly slid back out from under the cabinet, her chest heaving slightly as she sat up on her knees. She wiped a stray strand of dark hair from her forehead with the back of her forearm, leaving a faint streak of grease across her brow.
She caught you staring red-handed. Her dark, heavy eyes locked right onto yours, a slow, dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she took in your flushed face and heavy breathing.
"Liked the view, sweetheart?" Nat purred, her voice dropping into that dark, gravelly tone that always made your knees go weak.
"No!" you choked out, your cheeks burning with a sudden, wild flush of panic. "No, I wasn't—I wasn't looking at you."
Nat raised an eyebrow, staying crouched on her knees, her dark eyes glittering with amused disbelief.
"If you don't pick up your tools and leave right now, I swear I'll tell Tom," you stammered, your voice trembling as you tried to muster a stern, threatening tone. "I'll tell him you made a disgusting, inappropriate comment to me in my own home."
Natalie froze, her smirk completely vanishing. Her dark eyes widened slightly in genuine surprise, a flash of hurt and cold disbelief flickering across her features. She looked at you as if you had just struck her across the face. She had spent weeks holding you, loving you, and hearing you whisper how much you hated your husband—and now you were threatening to use him against her?
"You'd tell him?" Nat asked quietly, her low voice dropping an octave, completely stunned.
The weight of her stare was too much. Panic seized your chest, a suffocating wave of anxiety and guilt washing over you. You couldn't be near her. You couldn't look at her.
Without waiting for her to respond, you spun on your heel and bolted out of the kitchen. Your heart hammered violently in your throat as your feet pounded up the carpeted stairs, running straight into the master bedroom you shared with Tom.
You slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind you, twisting the lock with a frantic, trembling click. You leaned your back flat against the door, your chest heaving as you slid down to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees in the quiet, sterile bedroom.
You sat there on the floor for what felt like an eternity, the heavy silence of the second floor pressing in on you. Slowly, you forced yourself up, your knees shaking as you crossed the room and sat on the edge of the large mattress you shared with Tom. You buried your face in your hands, taking ragged, uneven breaths as the quiet house suddenly felt ten times bigger and colder.
Click.
The lock on the bedroom door disengaged with a faint, effortless turn. You raised your head, your heart dropping straight into your stomach as the door slowly swung open.
Natalie was standing in the doorway. She held a thin metal pick in her hand—the kind she used for lock rings in her shop—before sliding it casually into her back pocket. She stood there, tall and broad, her dark eyes filled with a heavy, raw mixture of regret and quiet intensity.
She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.
"I'm sorry," Nat said softly, her gravelly voice completely stripped of its usual cocky edge. She walked across the hardwood, stopping right in front of where you sat on the edge of the bed. She looked down at you, her expression vulnerable. "I shouldn't have teased you like that. I shouldn't have pushed. I just... I missed you so fucking much today."
Looking up at her—at the faint streak of grease on her forehead, her chest rising and falling, those broad hands that had held you through your darkest afternoons—the last of your defenses completely shattered. You hated this house. You hated your marriage. But sitting right here in front of you was the only person who made you feel alive.
Without saying a word, you reached up, grabbing the front of her gray tank top, and pulled her down to you.
You locked your lips onto hers in a deep, desperate kiss.
Nat let out a soft, surprised gasp against your mouth before her hands immediately slammed onto your waist, pulling your body off the edge of the mattress and flushing your front straight against hers. The kiss was hot, messy, and frantic, all the built-up tension and guilt from the last forty-eight hours dissolving the second her tongue slid past your lips.
You broke the kiss for a split second, gasping for air, your hands sliding up her strong shoulders to cup her jaw.
"Screw the sink," you whispered breathlessly, your eyes wide and dark as you looked up into hers. "Fuck me, Nat. Right here. On his bed."
Natalie’s dark eyes turned pitch black at your words. A low, dangerous growl rumbled in her chest as her hands tightened on your waist, lifting you up slightly before shoving you backward onto the high mattress.
You landed hard against the pristine white comforter you spent every morning carefully smoothing out. Before you could even catch your breath, Nat crawled onto the bed after you, her heavy, powerful frame hovering over yours. She grabbed the hem of your pastel sundress and dragged it up over your stomach, bunched it past your chest, and tossed your lace underwear across the room where it hit Tom’s bedside table with a soft thud.
"You're driving me fucking crazy," Nat growled, her breath hot against your inner thigh as she forced your legs wide open.
She didn't waste another second. Nat dropped her head between your knees, her large, warm hands wrapping around the back of your thighs to hold you completely still.
The moment her hot tongue dragged up your drenched slit, your head snapped back into the pillows, a loud, shattered scream ripping from your throat. She started right at the bottom, licking a thick, slow line of slick all the way up to your hyper-sensitive clit, where her lips clamped down with a firm, sucking pressure that made your hips instantly vault off the mattress.
"Nat—god, Nat!" you sobbed out, your fingers tangling frantically into her dark, messy hair.
Nat didn't ease up for a single breath. She buried her face in your drenched heat, her tongue working you with a heavy, flat-paddled rhythm that drove you straight over the edge. She drank you in, making loud, filthy, wet swallowing sounds as she ate you out right in the middle of your husband's bed.
She thrust two thick, calloused fingers deep inside you, stretching you open and establishing a fast, relentless curling motion that hit your internal sweet spot with every single flick. At the same time, her lips locked tight around your swollen clit, her tongue swirling around the throbbing nub in fast, precise, agonizing circles.
Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.
The wet, frantic sounds filled the quiet master bedroom. Every flick of her tongue sent a blinding electric jolt straight up your spine. You rolled your head side to side on the pillow, crying out as your thighs shook violently against her cheeks, but Nat held you pinned down with an iron grip, forcing you to take every second of it.
"Look at how wet you are for me," Nat purred against your wet folds, her voice thick and muffled, her fingers pumping into you even faster, driving deeper into your tight heat. "You're soaking my face with his ring on your finger. Tell me who this cunt belongs to."
"Yours! It's yours, Nat, please!" you screamed, your hips bucking helplessly into her face as the pressure in your lower stomach built into an unbearable, explosive peak. "I'm gonna cum—I'm coming!"
"Cum for me, sweetheart," Nat commanded growling right into your center, her tongue flicking frantically over your clit as her fingers shoved in to the hilt one last time. "Drench my mouth."
The command shattered you completely. Your internal walls violently clamped down around her fingers, spasming in intense, uncontrollable waves as a deafening shriek tore from your lungs. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, hot fluids pouring out of you directly into her mouth.
Nat swallowed every single drop, keeping her lips locked tight around your clit, sucking heavily through the peak of your orgasm and licking every last inch of your wetness clean while your entire body shook helplessly on the bed.
Nat lifted her head from between your thighs, her lips glistening wet with your slick and a dark, primal hunger burning in her eyes. Without giving you a single second to recover from the intense climax still pulsing through your lower body, she shoved herself up onto her knees between your sprawling legs.
She unbuckled her leather belt with a sharp, metallic snap, shoving her jeans down past her hips. Her cock sprang free, thick, heavy, and throbbing, already slick with pre-cum at the wide tip. The contrast of her female form with that impressive, heavy length was intoxicating, sending another sharp throb straight down to your core.
"You like being fucked in his bed?" Nat growled, her voice a low, gravelly rumble as she grabbed her length in one hand, alignment the wet head right against your swollen, hyper-sensitive entrance.
Before you could even form a response, Nat shoved her hips forward, burying her thick cock all the way inside you in one heavy, uninterrupted drive.
"Ah—god!" you screamed into the quiet bedroom, your toes curling as her thick shaft stretched your drenched walls to their absolute limit.
Nat didn't wait for you to adjust. She locked her large hands around your thighs, lifting your hips slightly off the mattress, and began pounding into you with a brutal, relentless pace.
SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.
The loud, wet sound of her hips slamming hard against your rear echoed through the room. The headboard beat rhythmically against the wall with every punishing thrust, shaking the picture frames on Tom's nightstand. She drove her heavy cock into you deep and hard, bottoming out against your sweet spot over and over until your vision went completely blurry with pleasure.
"Nat—oh fuck, Nat, it's too deep!" you whimpered, your fingers digging into the pristine white sheets as every heavy stroke sent shockwaves right up your spine.
"Not deep enough," Nat growled back, her dark hair falling into her face, sweat glistening on her broad shoulders as she picked up the pace, her cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt with loud, filthy squelching sounds. "You're taking every fucking inch of me right where he sleeps."
The force of her final, punishing thrusts drove you right over the edge again, a second shattered scream escaping your lips as your internal walls clamped down like a vise around her thick length. Nat let out a low, guttural growl, burying her cock to the hilt and holding herself deep inside you as her own climax hit, her entire frame trembling against yours until you both collapsed onto the mattress.
Slowly, Nat slid her slick length out of your drenched center and pulled you back against her chest, wrapping her strong, warm arms around your waist as she pulled the heavy comforter over your shivering bodies. Her front was flushed flush against your back, her breath warm and steady against the nape of your neck as she spooned you in the quiet bedroom.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the steady, heavy rise and fall of your breathing.
Nat shifted slightly, her nose burying into your hair before her low, gravelly voice broke the silence. "Hey," she murmured softly, her fingers gently tracing soft, lingering circles over your bare hip. "Answer me truthfully... do you really actually like Tom?"
You closed your eyes, letting out a long, quiet breath as you leaned back into her heat.
"No," you whispered into the soft stillness of the room, feeling lighter than you had in years. "I don't."
Nat pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, tightening her grip around you as you both drifted into the quiet warmth of the afternoon..
Obsessed with the idea of fratboy shauna stealing some guys gf. one of the guys gf is so fucking cute. She loves watching gf walk around in tiny pink sorority shorts. Best of all she makes the best food for game day! Shauna is not above coping a feel in a crowded hallway, " bumping" into her in the bathroom but stealing his girl? Too easy.
Shauna's gaze settled on the shorts hugging your ass so tightly they left little to the imagination. She took a drag from the cigarette she'd swiped from Nat and found herself wondering what your idiotic boyfriend had done to deserve being able to grope your full, shapely ass whenever he pleased. He wasn't particularly handsome, nor was he especially smart. As far as Shauna was concerned, the only explanation for such a ridiculous relationship was that maybe he was good in bed.
It hardly mattered. In fact, it seemed like the best case scenario, because Shauna already knew she was better than him anyway. She was certain he probably didn't even know how to grip your hips properly or leave lingering, burning marks on your soft curves. She could already imagine her dick disappearing between your legs and almost felt your sweaty skin underneath her fingers.
Shauna tore her gaze away from your ass and adjusted her pants, which had suddenly become just a little too tight.
“Dude!” Shauna practically jumped on the couch. She shot Lottie a murderous glare and rolled her eyes as the blonde slid into the seat beside her. “Try it.”
Shauna blinked as Lottie shoved a plate of carrot cake under her nose.
“Get that away from me” Shauna grumbled.
Lottie refused to budge, and Shauna felt her irritation begin to boil over. She was just about to snap and tell her to fuck off when Lottie pointed at you.
“Her boyfriend keeps bragging that she made it, and….”
That was all Shauna needed to hear. She flicked the cigarette butt into the ashtray, shifted on the couch and snatched the plate from Lottie’s hands. She dug in immediately. She could feel Lottie Matthews watching her with amusement, but she hardly cared. Not when you turned around and your eyes landed on her.
Shauna froze for a split second before quickly recovering, flashing you a lazy, almost casual grin. You raised an eyebrow, and for a brief moment her heart hammered against her ribs, convinced you were just going to turn away.
Instead, you returned the smile.
Shauna swore to herself that she'd force herself to eat the entire cake if you smiled at her like that one more time.
You shook your head, but your face held neither disgust nor boredom nor, unfortunately, the blush that would've made Shauna want to throw you over her shoulder and carry you straight to her room.
Her plans were ruined when Derek, Dean, or whatever the fuck your boyfriend's name was walked into the room and wrapped his arms around your waist.
Shauna ceased to exist the moment he latched onto you like a leech, mumbling something into your ear. She grimaced involuntarily and shoved the plate back into Lottie's hands with more force than she'd intended.
“You should just talk to her. You're acting like a little bitch,” Lottie snorted.
With every passing minute, the frat house grew more crowded.Shauna knew she should head upstairs soon and pack her gear. The game was only four hours away, and she always got to the field earlier than necessary. The pre game party was about to kick off here at the frat house.
As much as Shauna loved a good party, the game always came first. The team and winning came before booze and good sex.Maybe her moral code wasn't exactly extensive, but it worked. She always stuck to those simple rules.
Until now.
Suddenly it felt like her feet had been rooted to the floor, because of you.
“I don't even know if she's into girls,” Shauna muttered.
Someone turned on the music. Her eyes drifted to the clock on her phone. Time was ticking.
“Since when has that ever stopped you? Besides, you've got…” Lottie gestured toward Shauna's crotch.
Shauna clicked her tongue in mock offense.
“No class.” She sighed before her expression turned serious.“That asshole's always glued to her.”
***
Shauna adopted a different strategy. One Lottie had mostly come up with. If she couldn't have you to herself, she'd make you want to be alone with her. She told herself it didn't sound like a cheap excuse to brush against you once or twice.
At first, she played politely.Or at least as politely as Shauna Shipman was capable of.
It started innocently enough. She'd sit just a little too close to you on the couch so your legs would touch.
“Sorry,” she'd murmur. “Not much room here. And I happen to take up quite a bit of space.”
You'd smile and tell her it was fine. That only encouraged her.
Every now and then she'd casually drape an arm over the back of the chair or couch where you were sitting. Your boyfriend clearly wasn't thrilled about it, though apparently he didn't see Shauna as much of a threat.
His mistake.
You leaned back, your head brushing against Shauna's forearm. The rest of your friends became absorbed in conversation. Derek? (Shauna still couldn't remember his name, though at that moment she'd have sworn it was Derek.) had gone outside for a cigarette, so she was free to move even closer.
She took a sip from her beer bottle and leaned in. Her breath smelled faintly of beer, but you didn't pull away.
“I can move my arm.”She was so close that her lips nearly brushed your ear. To Shauna, it was obvious; if you truly loved your boyfriend, you would've shoved her away by now. The blow never came, so she kept pushing the line again and again, testing the edge of what was acceptable.
“No need,” you said, shaking your head.
She laughed softly and stayed close for the rest of the evening, enduring your boyfriend's hateful stares.
***
Not once over the following weeks did you protest, so Shauna became bolder and bolder. Usually her methods weren't quite so crude, but she'd never had to work this hard to steal someone else's girl. You never objected, never pulled away. Every time she asked whether she should stop, you told her she wasn't bothering you.
Things would've been going perfectly if it weren’t for the fact, that ou never initiated anything yourself.
Every chance she got, Shauna brushed against you. A shoulder bump here, a hand grazing your hip there. If you noticed, you never let it show. Her hands wandered into increasingly dangerous territory, though only when your boyfriend wasn't around. Whenever she passed by, she'd wrap an arm around your waist in what looked like a friendly gesture. She especially loved doing it when she ran into you in the frat house first thing in the morning.
Sporting a heavy morning erection, she made sure you'd feel exactly what she wanted you to feel.
“Don't mind me,” she'd say, her voice rough with sleep.
She reached into the cabinet for a mug, and that was when you felt the bulge pressing against you through her shorts. Her other hand settled on your waist. It only lasted a moment though Shauna made sure to stretch that moment for as long as possible. She tightened her grip on the mug and smiled with satisfaction when she noticed the blush spreading across your face.
“You okay?” she asked, feigning concern.
“Yeah. Perfectly fine,” you cleared your throat without even looking at her.
Soon enough, Shauna couldn't keep either her hands to herself and her dick in her pants. She felt like a complete pervert. But she'd asked plenty of times whether she should stop. So maybe your boyfriend was just terrible in bed.
The first smack on your ass completely caught you off guard. You'd expected a lot, but just not that. By the fifth one you decided they weren't so bad after all.
They were subtle. Most of the time she'd simply give your ass a squeeze. It wasn’t her fault! It looked way too good in short skirts and those cute little shorts!
You leaned against the kitchen island in the dorm. Someone was throwing a shitty party before tomorrow's game, and your boyfriend had insisted you come. You were chatting with a few girls from your major when Shauna appeared behind you, her scent wrapping around you like a soft scarf. She discreetly slipped a hand beneath your dress and brushed her fingers over your lace panties.
“These for me?” she whispered, making sure the other girls were fully absorbed in their own conversation. She squeezed your ass. You had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. “Or for him?”
“He has no idea I even own underwear like this,” you whispered back.
“What a shame,” she sighed, though the smile in her voice gave her away.
Shauna was convinced she would've gotten you into bed that night if the kitchen hadn't suddenly filled with people, and if she hadn't spotted that idiot's face in the crowd.
***
In the end, Shauna got what she wanted. The apogeum came in the locker room after the game. A few days earlier, she'd managed to get your number. Since then, she'd been shamelessly sending you dirty texts and nude photos. Some part of her knew you touched yourself beneath your blankets while looking at them.
The locker room was empty. Shauna sat on a bench, head bowed, a damp towel draped across the back of her neck. She typed out a message. She knew you were nearby. You'd been at the game wearing her jersey. A few minutes later, the door opened.
”SHIPMAN” stretched across the back of the jersey you were wearing, and Shauna felt her hands itch.
For a long moment, the two of you simply stared at each other.
Finally, Shauna patted her thigh in invitation.
You crossed the room without hesitation and settled onto her lap. Your fingers threaded through her sweat-damp hair while her own hands immediately slipped beneath your jersey, exploring the bare skin beneath.
“I need a shower,” she murmured. “I was hoping you'd help me with that.”
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No crash au, Jackie in her 20s
Word count: 1.6k
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Jackie is very affectionate with you. She loves to hang off of your shoulder, kiss your cheek, massage your shoulders when you're sitting and facing away from her-- whatever excuse she can make to touch you.
She outwardly shows a lot of physical affection because she trusts you, but does subtle things, too.
She likes to braid your hair whenever she's bored and feels like pampering you and doing your makeup or dressing you up like her own personal doll.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Jackie just came up to you and asked. It was your first day of school and you were so nervous, but outwardly, Jackie had never been nervous a day in her life. So she bounded right up to you, taking your hand and asking to be best friends forever. Of course, you couldn't resist the invitation.
As a best friend, Jackie would be similar to how she acts as a girlfriend. She'd still be clingy and considerate, but maybe a bit more pushy.
At school, she's used to people following after her and setting an example as a popular girl, so she's expect you to do the same at first because, well, why wouldn't you?
But then, as she began to get to know you more, she realized you were the most interesting thing about school just the way you were. So she stopped trying to change you. You were the highlight of her day because you weren't under the spell of her put-on facade.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How do they cuddle?)
Whether you're watching a movie, talking, doing homework-- whatever, she wants to be in your arms or touching you in some way.
It helps her focus, or at least that's her excuse. She also runs cold, so she's always using that as an excuse to be wrapped in your arms.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
Jackie wants to settle down because it's how she was raised, tbh.
She tries really hard to cook, but it never comes out exactly how she pictured. There's always something missing, a forgotten ingredient, that discourages her from trying again for a few days until she gets the itch again.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
Jackie would push it off for as long as she possibly could. But then, when it's unavoidable, she'd have to rip the band-aid off.
She usually lets things simmer until they get to a boiling point, even if everyone else was telling her to end it.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How fast would they want to get married?)
Jackie is quick to commit because she falls fast and knows when things are right.
She's also romantic, so she's surely dreaming about the future and marriage if she's locked into a relationship. She knows that sensibly, you're supposed to take things slow, but that doesn't stop her from dreaming about a fantasy version of her wedding day.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they physically and emotionally?)
She goes back and forth, honestly.
She can definitely be snippy and rude sometimes, but she's also not very good at being mean to you. She can never get herself to say things that she really knows would hurt.
Other than that, she's gentle. She likes to play with your hair and give you light massages when she's running her hands along your back. She's very caring in nature.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? What are they like?)
Jackie loves hugs
She just loves to be touching you, really.
She likes to cling to you in bed and wrap her arms fully around you. She's always wanting to be the big spoon, even though it makes more sense for her to be the little spoon.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
Jackie has trouble saying this word sometimes because she overthinks it.
Whether it's a friend thing or a romantic thing, she knows that it means something serious and it means something important to her.
She loves to hear it because it makes her feel valued and, well, loved, but she has a lot more trouble saying it at times if it's a new thing.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do?)
Jackie gets very jealous in every kind of relationship.
She wants to be your number one, so if she feels like she's being outdone or if you're spending more time with someone who isn't her-- she's jealous.
She likes some fake jealousy just to tease you and joke around, but she does actually get angry and upset if you or anyone close to her makes her feel like she's replaceable.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Favorite spots?)
Jackie kisses very differently depending on the situation.
Sometimes, she just likes to pepper kisses around if she's feeling affectionate. She lovesss neck kisses
Other times, she kisses like she's starving. She's very good at it, too, and she's a very quick learner.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
She's really good around children, but they do tend to drain her. She always pictured having four or five kids, but things change. Kids do like her, though!!
She doesn't have a lot of experience around kids, either, since she's an only child.
M = Morning (How are mornings with her?)
She's not really a morning person unless she has goals or something to do.
Sometimes she gets on an exercise kick and likes to get up early to make a smoothie, or something (her mother's influence), but otherwise she loves to sleep in if she can.
N = Night (How are nights with her?)
She tries to stay up with you, but she does always tend to fall asleep.
She plans stuff for the two of you to do at night, but she doesn't have it in her to stay up late into the night unless it's a very special occasion.
O = Open (When do they reveal personal things?)
Jackie accidentally reveals things early if she feels too comfortable or she's had a couple drinks, but other than that, she's surprisingly closed off.
She actually doesn't let her peers know much about her that would tarnish her perfect reputation, so you were surprised when the two of you got close and you learned the real her.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
She's pretty quick to anger and rile up, but it's harder to make her mad enough to leave.
She'll give you the silent treatment or turn away from you in bed, but you have to really mess up for her to leave and go back home.
Q = Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?)
Admittedly, she forgets things here and there...
A lot of times, she's in her own world and focusing on too many things at once, so she might now be 100% paying attention when you're talking. It doesn't mean she cares an less, but she just has a hard time remembering all the details!
If it's something super important, she usually writes it down so she's sure to remember. She keeps a little book on her desk that she writes in sometimes.
R = Remember (What’s her favorite moment?)
Her favorite moment would be something grand that you remembered to do for her. A surprise party, concert tickets that she'd been dreaming of, or something that she wanted and saw in a store front window when the two of you were out.
It's not that she's materialistic, but she likes to be known and thought of in those ways.
S = Security (How protective are they?)
She's so protective, which could look kind of funny. She's tiny, so when she starts trying to fight people verbally in your honor, you can't help but laugh a little to yourself.
You know that Jackie has your back, but it's always a nice reminder since she is pretty, popular, and well-liked.
T = Try (How much effort do they put in?)
Jackie puts a lot of effort in, but in the ways that she knows how. She isn't great at it, but she tries her best.
She tries to do things for you, but sometimes they end up being secretly more for herself. She doesn't even mean to be selfish, though it might seem that way from an outside perspective.
U = Ugly (Bad habits?)
She's very possessive and jealous to the point where she imagines things sometimes. You could be doing something innocent, but it could set her off if she views it the wrong way.
She also isn't great at communicating and tends to go with the flow in a way that avoids conflict.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
Jackie's very concerned with her looks.
Over the years, it's gotten less intense. You've seen her without makeup on, obviously, and she wears her pajamas around you. But when you go out, she's always dressed to the nines. Makeup done, hair wavy and curled, skirt tight..
She keeps up on all the trends, driving you crazy, circling everything in the catalog and asking you if you think it's cute or not.
W = Whole (Would she feel incomplete without you?)
She would be absolutely lost without you. You're her main source of happiness, really.
She can't imagine not being able to come over when she has a problem or rant to you about everything under the sun.
She literally has her fashion magazine subscriptions mailed to your apartment so she could come over and read them...
Jackie is very sentimental, and you're everything to her. Without you, she doesn't know who she is.
X = Xtra (Random headcanon)
Sometimes when she's a little mad at you, she'll turn away from you in bed or sit on the opposite side of the couch. This only lasts for a few minutes, because if you're not immediately asking what's wrong and giving in? She's up against you anyway, wrapping her arms around you.
Y = Yuck (What do they hate?)
Jackie hates whenever you lie or hide things from her. Honestly, even if she gets mad at you, she'll get over it much quicker if you just tell her right away. It's a huge pet peeve of hers when you tip toe around the truth or refuse to tell her what she wants to hear.
Z = Zzz (Sleep habits?)
She loves to sleep and always goes to bed early. She has a surprisingly normal sleep schedule, wanting to be snuggled up before eleven and then up decently early in the morning. Not too early (and she'll sleep later to stay warmer in the winter), but never past ten.
She talks in her sleep sometimes, mumbling phrases or humming, which always amuses you.
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