The party was in full swing. Drinks, music, and loud conversations blended with laughter.
Another year was about to come to an end, and according to Tony, that was reason enough to throw a party. The compound, it turned out, was just as suited for celebrations as it was for saving the world. Decorations everywhere, tables with food, plates, and empty glasses for guests. A live band played near the dance floor, filling the room with a lively rhythm that made it nearly impossible not to sway along.
The invitation had made one thing abundantly clear— formal attire required.
The boys all varied shirts, but their tailored pants were all alike. Sam, Scott, and Peter all chuckled every time they saw each other. They had somehow shown up wearing almost identical black dress pants despite insisting they hadn't coordinated.
Nearby, Wanda and Vision were discussing whether Tony had hired too many waiters for one party, while Clint was trying to convince Bucky to join him on the dance floor.
"There is absolutely no universe where that is happening," he deadpanned.
"You haven't even heard the next song!"
"I don't need to."
Steve watched the exchange over the rim of his glass, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile.
For once, there was no mission briefing waiting around the corner. No emergency alarms. No frantic calls from Fury demanding everyone's immediate attention. Just music, good food, friends. It almost felt… ordinary.
You found yourself smiling as you wandered around the room, exchanging greetings, and accepting a glass of champagne from one of the servers.
Everyone had made an effort, everyone looked good. Tony, naturally, looked like he'd stepped straight out of the pages of a luxury magazine, while Pepper looked effortlessly stunning beside him. Even Bruce had traded his usual cardigans for a perfectly fitted charcoal suit.
Conversation around you continued uninterrupted. The band seamlessly transitioned into another song, yet all of it seemed to fade away when you saw her.
Natasha stepped out as though she'd been carved from the evening itself. The black dress she wore was elegant without trying too hard, the fabric catching the warm lights with every measured step she took. It hugged her figure perfectly before falling effortlessly just below her ankles. Her red hair, usually tied back for practicality, fell in soft waves over one shoulder.
Your brain, usually capable of handling fights, missions, and Natasha's sarcasm, chose that exact moment to stop functioning altogether.
You forgot about the champagne in your hand, about the music. You even forgot you were supposed to blink. There was only one coherent thought left: my girlfriend.
The realization somehow made her even prettier, as if that single word changed everything. Not Natasha Romanoff, not Black Widow, not the world's most intimidating spy. Your girlfriend.
The woman who stole your sweaters, stole the blankets every night despite denying it, left half-finished books scattered around your shared room, and absentmindedly reached for your hand whenever you walked together. The woman who loved you.
She hadn't noticed you yet. You weren't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed, because it gave you a few more seconds to admire her. Your heart, unfortunately, had no interest in behaving. It thudded against your ribs with the same ridiculous enthusiasm it had months ago on your very first date.
Apparently, falling in love wasn't something that happened once. Apparently, it happened over and over again. Especially when Natasha Romanoff walked into a room looking like that.
You didn't notice yourself smiling. Natasha did.
The moment her eyes swept across the room, they found you with the same ease they always had. It didn't matter how crowded the compound became or how many people stood between you— she had always been able to find you.
The second your eyes met, her expression softened almost imperceptibly. Not enough for anyone else to catch, just enough for you.
The corner of her mouth curved upward. She excused herself from the group she'd barely joined and began making her way toward you.
Every step only made things worse. The dress wasn't flashy, it didn't need to be. Natasha had never been someone who demanded attention. She simply… earned it.
The soft fabric moved gracefully with each step, the warm light reflected off the delicate necklace resting against her collarbone.
Your pulse betrayed you. This is ridiculous, you had been dating for eight months. You have literally seen this woman wearing one of your oversized hoodies while reading. Get a grip.
"…You're staring."
The voice beside you made you jump. She was even prettier up close.
The faint scent of her perfume reached you— subtle, familiar, one you'd come up to associate with slow mornings and quiet evenings together.
Your mouth suddenly forgot how language worked. "Hi."
Brilliant. A whole two letters.
Natasha's lips twitched. "That's all I get?"
"…Hi."
She laughed quietly. "I liked the first one better." Then, she gently leaned in, "you've been avoiding me."
"I have not." You answered almost in autopilot.
"I have been here for forty-three seconds."
"You counted?"
"I always count," she slightly raised an eyebrow.
"Of course you do."
"You've been looking at me the entire time."
"…I can explain."
"I'd love to hear it," she countered.
You took a sip of champagne to buy yourself time. Unfortunately, the glass was empty. Perfect.
Natasha folded her arms. "I'm waiting."
"You…" you sighed, "look nice."
One eyebrow lifted, "nice?"
You internally winced. Nice? Really?
Your girlfriend looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine cover and the best adjective you could produce was nice.
Natasha bit the inside of her cheek. "I look…," she tilted her head innocently, "nice?"
"I hate that you're making me elaborate."
"I know."
"You enjoy this far too much," you accused.
"I do." She stepped closer. Close enough that the rest of the room blurred into little more than music and warm lights. "So…" her voice dropped just enough for only you to hear, "elaborate."
You looked everywhere except her face. The chandelier, the dance floor, anywhere.
Natasha gently hooked a finger beneath your chin. "Eyes on me."
That little phrase did things to you. Your gaze snapped back to hers. Mistake. A terrible, wonderful mistake.
"You…" you started again, quieter this time, "are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
The teasing smile faded completely.
You kept going before courage abandoned you. "I thought I was prepared, I knew you were dressing up. I even told myself not to overreact." A small, breathless laugh escaped you. "Then you walked in…" you shook your head, "and I genuinely forgot where I was."
For perhaps the first time that evening, Natasha Romanoff looked genuinely caught off guard. A delicate flush rose beneath the freckles dusting her cheeks. Tiny, barely noticeable, but unmistakably there.
"You…" she began. Then stopped.
You blinked. Had you… broken Natasha's ability to speak?
She recovered quickly— of course she did— but not quickly enough. "I think," she said, clearing her throat, "you're exaggerating."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm really not," you insisted. You reached up, smoothing an imaginary crease from the sleeve of her dress. "I've spent the last five minutes trying to remember how to breathe."
Natasha looked down for a second, shaking her head with a smile that was almost shy.
Almost.
When she looked back at you, her eyes had softened into something so unbearably affectionate that your chest ached. "I wore this dress because I thought you'd like it."
You smiled. "I do."
She waited. "That's it?"
"No." You took her hand, "I love it." Another beat, "I love you in it. And…" you continued, your thumb brushed over her knuckles, "I can't wait to help you out of it later."
Silence.
Complete, stunned silence.
Natasha's eyes widened by the smallest fraction, then she laughed. Not because the line was funny, but because… for the first time all evening, you had finally managed to make her blush.
"There she is," she murmured, squeezing your hand.
"Who?"
"The woman I've been trying to flirt with all night."
You grinned, feeling your confidence return. "Oh?"
"Mhm. And she finally flirted back."
You smiled, "I learned from the best."
Natasha leaned in, close enough that only you could hear the smile in her voice. "I may have created a monster."
"Too late." You smiled against her cheek as the band began a slower song. "I'm your monster now."
She laughed softly, the sound warm and utterly fond. "No," she whispered, intertwining your fingers before guiding you toward the dance floor. "My favorite person."
Somehow, hearing that in the middle of a room full of music and conversation made every other sound disappear.
Warnings / Notes • NSFW, office sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, DIRTY TALK . This is the first Lena story I've written so!!! Let me know if you want more and my requests are always open 💕💞
Words • 2,210
Tag List • @ahs-honey (I love you🥺)
"What do you keep looking at?" The dark brunette CEO tilts her head to the side as she watches you on the other side of your desk.
A dark and prominent blush fills your face and gods you wished you could hide it from those icy blue-green eyes. You hadn't even realized you were staring at her hands for that long. You both were talking about CatCo and how well it was going financially and then the perfectly manicured fingers slid across the white pristine desk to the keyboard and that was it. You were transfixed. "Huh?"
Lena chuckles then, and it's dark and sultry and it has such a flirtatious tilt that you were sure you were either going to die or completely ruin the chair you were in. "I said what are you looking at?"
"Oh! Oh I um," You nibble your bottom lip as you try to think of an answer, an excuse, anything at this point to get the woman to stop looking at you like that. "I was just checking out the pen you had, the new one." You nod then, and you were so sure of yourself.
Lena raises her left eyebrow and she smirks then, she didn't even have any pens on top of the desk. She didn't even have papers on it. She relied on her iPad and her computer for paperwork and documents of every kind. "My pen?"
"Yes Ms. Luthor, " You nod once more, "I really like it, red is my favorite color."
Lena licks her lips then and she slides her rolling office chair back so she could stand. "A red pen you say?" The CEO walks around the desk, she then looks down at her nails and her smirk deepens. Her nails were painted red. Interesting.
Your body temperature started to rise as soon as the woman stood up from her seat. Oh god, she looked so good today too, she always did. But today she was wearing a suit and they always made you weak at the knees. The black form-fitting three-piece suit just seemed to enhance Lena's power. And it was so hot.
"I have no pens darling," Lena stands in front of you then and she leans back onto her desk, "So what were you really looking at?"
You stammer for a second as you look up at her, she was so close you could smell the perfume she wore. "I... Well, I..." You lick your lips. "I was looking at..." Your eyes move down from her face and they stop at the woman's hands again. Her arms crossed so delicately.
"Oh, I see" Lena hums then, "my hands?" She holds one out and checks the back as if she was looking at her nail polish. "Are you interested in them?"
You gasp and your eyes snap up to meet the brunettes, you were ready to deny it but there was no use. Lena knew, and her face showed it. "I apologize, Ms. Luthor, I know I should've been focused on the meeting."
"Oh, I'm not worried about the meeting dear," Lena takes her heeled foot and she slides it up from your ankle to your calf. "We can always talk about the budget another day because I think someone was super preoccupied with other thoughts, don't you think?"
You look down a bit in shame and you nod, all the while your heart raced at the feeling of Lena's heel sliding up your leg. "Yes, Ms. Luthor," You look up from under your eyelashes and you bite the corner of your bottom lip as your mind works a mile a minute. "Well, maybe i can make it up to you?" A smile fills your face then and you look at her excitedly. "If you want that of course."
"That depends, what do you have in mind sweet girl?" Lena places her palms down behind her on the desk, looking down at you with slightly darkened eyes.
You deliberately let your gaze drop to her slacks and you clear your dry throat. "Can I touch you?" The question leaves your soft lips before you even thought it through.
"Yes." Lena's answer is breathy and you could see a tremble in her covered thighs, it was like a switch was flipped. It was if now that she knew for sure that you were interested in her, you could take control at the moment and it made your center throb.
"Thank you," You lick your lips and you stand, your eyes now locking directly with the CEO's. You lift Lena up onto the white porcelain and your fingers glide up to her hips. You could see how dilated her pupils became the more you touched her, and you could feel the womans stuttered breath against your face.
Lena couldn't even believe this was happening, she had a crush on you sure, but no one ever wanted a Luthor. She had decided weeks ago that she would just allow the feelings to pass, she would push the want she had for you deep into that little box inside herself so she would be able to stay professional. It didn't matter that she touched herself every night thinking about you, god she hoped this wasn't just a dream.
"Are you sure about this Lena?" Your gentle hands find the Gucci belt and your nimble fingers play with it as you wait for an answer.
Lena gasps and as she stares into your eyes she nods softly, careful not to break contact. You have never said her first name before, ever and she could feel her panties dampen from it. "Please."
A moan leaves your lungs and you unlatch the belt, leaving it in the loops of the pants you simply unbutton the black material and make quick work with the zipper. "I can't wait to explore you, Lena," Your voice is deeper, huskier, and you couldn't even stop it. "I've been dreaming about this for so so long."
Just as you allow your fingers to slide across lace panties Lena's eyes roll back and loud moan echoes off the office walls.
"Oh, baby..." You give her a small pout and you move a bit so your fingers were under the panties instead. Collecting the hot juices that were steadily flowing from the woman's center. "You're so wet, soaked even, is that for me? Hm?" Your middle finger circles the brunette's clit and the woman's hips jump.
"Yes!" She bites her bottom lip and she nods rapidly, looking into your eyes once more. Lena's eyes were pitch black now, the light blue-green you were used to was gone. "It's yours, all yours I promise." Whimpers and whines leave the brunette's lips as your fingers explore her entrance and she tries her hardest not to lose eye contact.
"Mmm good," You take your fingers out of her panties and a smirk fills your features when she whines at the loss of touch. "Patience." You kiss her cheek, and then her jaw before you pull her slacks and panties down to her knees. Allowing her to sit on her desk bare.
Lena watches you carefully and she clears her throat a bit. "What are you doing?"
You kiss her neck, sucking the spot right beside her birthmark "You said I can make it up to you, so that's what I'm going to do Ms. Luthor"
Lena moans when you say her last name but as soon as you kneel she thought she was going to come right then. You were going to eat her, oh my god you were going to eat her out. You were going to taste her. Fuck.
You kiss the inside of her right thigh and your heart skips a beat as you feel it quiver under your lips. How was it that you could make this woman vulnerable like this? It felt euphoric. The closer to her pussy you got, the faster Lena's breathing got. Her chest rising and falling in a quick and shaky manner. Gods she was so hot, you weren't sure you were going to survive this. "Lena." You whisper and your breath brushes against the brunettes center, her hips jump again.
"Mhm? Yes?"
"Keep looking in my eyes okay? I want you to see who's doing this to you." It sounded like a request, a mere question, but Lena knew you really wanted it. So the woman nodded and she licks her lips.
"I will I promise." She whispered and she raises her ass up off of the desk a little to try to bring your mouth closer.
You push her hips down with your hands and you cover her core with your mouth, moaning deeply as you sweep your tongue through the brunettes folds. You were right, she was sweet.
Lena reaches down with her right hand and she grips your hair in a fist. Keeping you there, "Yes, god you feel so good, please? Fuck, please, just... Please?" She blinks a few times to try to clear her mind so she could focus but then your tongue brushes against her clit and it would turn cloudy again.
You had never heard Lena curse before, it was like you removed every single filter the woman had, her body was slouched over and she was looking at you like you were everything. You moan once more but this time you were right on her sensitive clit and Lena's thighs squeeze together around your head.
"Fuck!" She leans back onto her shakey left elbow. Her leg sliding up your side until she could dig her red stiletto into your back.
You moan again, feeling the sharp end of her heel in your back and seeing the usually kept together woman become unraveled was something you would never forget. You wanted to draw this out, you wanted this to last forever but Lena was clenching and fluttering against your tongue and you knew she needed to come soon.
"Mmm." You pull back for a second but you flick your index finger over her clit as you spoke so the woman's orgasm would continue to rise. "Do you want to come? Do you want to soak my face, Lena?"
She nods rapidly and she bites her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Pulling your hair a little harder. "Make me come," She husks, her voice scratchy and oh so deep. "Make it yours, make me yours."
"Yes ma'am." You move your finger and cover her with your mouth once again. Using your tongue to rapidly cross over her clit until she was a trembling mess.
"I'm close, I'm going to come." The brunette warns before she grabs a new fistful of your hair, tugging harshly so she could stay grounded.
You nod and the look in your eyes tells her that it's okay, you collect the new arousal from the woman's entrance with a pleased hum before you suck the woman's sensitive nub hard.
Lena's lungs empty completely as she squeals and her left arm gives out as she is brought to her climax, her back arches and her head tilts back as she feels the overwhelming ecstasy wash over her body.
You moan softly as you help the woman down from her intense high, cleaning her up slowly and lazily. Your fingers slide up and down her thighs as you kiss around her core and her hips.
"Come here." Lena rasps out and she stares at her office ceiling, laying on the desk as she catches her breath.
You lick your lips and you nod, loving the way that you could still taste her. "Okay," you get up off of your knees and you pull up the woman's pants and panties in care. Buckling her belt before you lean over to smile at her. "Yes?"
Lena looks up at you in awe and she swallows thickly. You took care of her, you didn't just take what you wanted and go. You stayed behind. You dressed her. This wasn't just a one-time thing for you, she felt it in her heart "Do you want to have dinner tonight?"
"Yes of course I do! But... But first, I need something."
Of course. Of course, you did. Lena was fooled once again, she fights her eyes from watering and she swallows the pins and needles in her throat. She was a Luthor, and you knew it, she could get you anything in the world. "What is it?"
"A kiss." You whisper with a blush.
Oh. Lena blushed darkly and she looks over at the wall before chuckling. Of course, you were too sweet for your own good. "Yes my darling you can have a kiss." she turns to look at you again before she grabs your shirt and yanks you down into an earth-shattering kiss.
I apologize for the low quality of this thing, I’m doing my best at writing on my phone since Tumblr on my PC does not let me post anything, Idk why
I also have to put the codes like and you guys know I write long things so…it’s making me crazy, sorry for any grammar mistakes to JUST SORRY FOR EVERYTHING OKAY?
—————————————————————
A= Attractive.
what do they find attractive about the other
Your hands, off all things, this angel find your hands to be the most attractive part of your already unbelievable attractive body. Is not just because she’s a thirsty gay, is also because she finds your hand movements to be as graceful as art itself. You use your hands a lot to be express yourself, from a simple point of view to a delicate touch that reminds her how much you love her, she loves your hands.
—————————————————————-
B= Baby
Do they want a family? Why? / Why not?
Y E S. But not soon, she would love have kids with you, two or three as much, but she doesn’t want to rush things and she has the company and too much work, she likes her work, so she want to have a family with you when the right time comes, and she knows she’ll have time for you and the baby(ies). *whispers* and she wants a girl
gf!rogue who has mastered subtle dominance. you're in her way in the kitchen when she’s tryna make breakfast? she’ll lift you by the hips and place you out of her way on the countertop without so much as a word. can’t decide what to wear for date night? she’ll pick something cute (and skimpy) for you to wear and throw it on the bed, fully expecting to see you in it. she’s never forceful, but she isn’t subtle either.
gf!rogue who flirts with the most devastating southern charm you’ve ever seen. because her touch is toxic, she’s become a master at the art of sweet-talking. she’s great at getting you to fold instantly, more so from the smooth sound of her southern accent than her words themselves.
“well hot damn sugah, you tryna kill me?” she’ll drawl when she sees you walk out all prettied up for a night out. “you’re lucky my touch is poison, sweetheart, or we’d never make it out the door.”
gf!rogue who is 5’8 and pure muscle. even through all the layers she has to wear to keep others protected from her touch, you can see the outlines of her biceps and the curve of her thighs straining against the thick material of her suit. you can’t help but be grateful to whoever designed the x-men suits because they do wonders for her ass as well. you memorize every curve of her body, patiently awaiting the day you’re finally able to touch her soft skin.
gf!rogue you who catch staring at you in her free time. not creepily, but she’s always admiring your features, memorizing every line and dip in your face. she feels a tug in her chest as her eyes graze your lips, knowing there are next to no ways she’ll ever be able to kiss you as long as she wants without harming you. she’ll never admit it, but at night when she lays next to you, her eyes water as she watches your sleeping form. she knows intimacy is so much more than physical touch, but the ache that plagues her heart knowing she won’t ever be able to feel you is enough to bring her to tears.
gf!rogue who disappears randomly for days on end, only to come back bursting through the door of the x-mansion exclaiming she found a “cure” for her powers. cyclops frowns and starts to say something about her mutation not being something that needs to be cured, but she can’t hear him. her eyes are set on you and she sprints across the room to envelope you in a hug and finally rest her lips on your face. she kisses you on the cheek, hesitant, just barely grazing the skin. once she realizes you’re okay and aren’t about to crumble to the floor, she kisses you dizzy, lips moving in harmony with yours like you’ve been doing it for years.
gf!rogue who gets carried away the first time she’s able to touch you. her first thoughts when her powers are finally suppressed aren’t sexual, but she just wants to be able to feel you. she hugs you like it’s the last time she will, pressing her cheek firmly to yours, because to her, it could be the last time. kissing you like there’s no tomorrow and her hands are everywhere before they find a home on the sides of your face. later that night, after she’s fully tired you out for the next week or two, her hand will crawl up your side and trace small patterns on your waist. she’s obsessed with the warmth your body radiates and how she can finally feel it, refusing to ever let go. she’ll litter your skin with kisses, sucking hickies onto spots below your collar where only the two of you will ever see them. the morning after when you wake up, she’ll gently pull down the collar of your shirt to admire them, a physical mark to prove to herself that she really was able to touch you.
one very simple request to your X-MEN GIRLFRIEND [JEAN, ORORO, ROGUE, KITTY, EMMA, ILLYANA]… send biceps! and they accept!
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 CONTENT WARNINGS: horny texts, flirting, multi-character, MINORS DNI ノ confident! fem! reader, mentions of masturbation, mentions of vaginal fingering, not really that dirty, petnames!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: god i love my girlsssss. if anyone’s wondering; the contact photos are just my personal fancasts, they are not a permanent like faceclaim so you can imagine these girls however you want— it’s just difficult for me to focus for some reason when the pfp is a comic panel but im using real life photos— it’s weird but still! I dont have a magik fancast yet so anya it is for right now! maybe male x-men characters next?
TRANSLATION OF ILLYANA'S TEXT: Ох, ты шлюха (russian) translates to oh you whore
masterlist is here! click here for more!
ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!
S/O asking what exactly the handlebars on zhu yuan's back are for, like is she meant to meet ben dover with them
(ZZZ) Zhu Yuan being asked about her uniform
From everything I gathered, its one of 2 things:
1. It's supposed to be something an officer can use to drag any wounded to safety, as some other officers have it ingame.
2. It could be something similar to a rope or zipline handle.
It's a cool detail honestly that her uniform has that but uh...Y'know, anime girl designs makes it look rather VERY questionable lmao.
Mild NSF-T Implications, mostly humorous
Zhu Yuan tied her hair back as she adjusted her uniform. Nodding to herself in the mirror, she fit her gloves on and was about to head out.
Before she could, she heard S/O's footsteps, and for a moment, her expression softened. The door gently swung open to a yawning S/O, giving her a smile as they approached.
"Morning," Zhu Yuan's head tilted as her eyes followed S/O while doing a few last minute checkups. "Sleep well?"
"Mhm," came S/O's tired response. "You going already?"
She froze up for a moment when S/O hugged her from behind, but she quickly relaxed into their hold as her hands held theirs.
"I can't stay in bed with you all day, much as I would like to," Zhu Yuan laughed, smiling even wider when she felt their grip tighten around her.
...That was until they spoke up again.
"Can I ask something?" She tilted her head slightly at their tone. They sounded...confused?
The way their voice sounded, she didn't anticipate the question to be super serious but-
"Why does your butt have these bars?"
Zhu Yuan's eyes shot wide open as her face began to grow red hot. At the angle they were holding her, they clearly had a proper view of her uniform. But since they asked that question, she knew exactly where their gaze was-
She immediately spun around, breaking free of their hug and frowning as her voice threatened to crack.
"S/O! That is incredibly inappropriate!" Zhu Yuan chided. "First of all, it's not on my butt!" She tried to shift to the side the moment they focused on the mirror's reflection, causing her hands to cover her back. "Second of all, this is standard issue! Every officer is required to have these in case of emergencies, and to help with law enforcement!"
"Everyone gets these...?" They asked again, making Zhu Yuan sigh.
"Yes, everyone. With how tall I am it just happens to be on my lower back." They didn't seem to be teasing at the very least, making her answer come off a lot more naturally than it otherwise would have.
And then they smiled at her.
"You make it look really cool at least!"
Cool? Well, at least that was a compliment she was okay with-
"And a bit sexy too~-"
S/O saw Zhu Yuan cross her arms, face flushing red from anger and embarrassment.
"...I'm going to work now." Her eyes narrowed.
"Hah, alright. Stay safe, okay?" They leaned in for a kiss.
Zhu Yuan had half a mind to just walk out immediately but...she couldn't do that to them. She just sighed before leaning in for a smooch, giving one last half-smile before walking out.
...
"Captain, is everything okay? Your face is a bit red-" Seth asked before Zhu Yuan immediately interjected-
"Yes, it's just the heat outside, had to rush a little to get here too. Anyways, let's get to work-"
(ZZZ) Anby, Nicole, Zhu Yuan, and Caesar King reacting to their S/O hugging them while asleep
"...Ah." Anby softly grunts when she feels S/O's weight shift onto her. While unused to this sensation, it certainly wasn't unpleasant.
Their arms wrapped around her waist before yanking them slowly closer, feeling them nuzzle their head against the back of her neck.
"...This is just like one of the scenes..." Anby quietly commented to herself. They had both watched a romantic comedy recently, and this scene played out almost exactly like that. But, there had yet to be any comically loud snoring.
Instead, there was just a comfortable silence that made Anby's face heat up slightly. Anby decided this was preferable than having the scene play out 1 to 1. She shifted closer so she could be hugged tighter, and resumed her sleep.
There were no complaints, that's for sure.
"Tch, seriously...?" Nicole grumbles. Not because she hated the feeling, it was mostly cause she was woken up by it, feeling their hands snake across her stomach.
At first, Nicole thought they were just getting handsy, and being fair she knows that she was gorgeous and they had free reign to praise her so. But it was like, 2am in the morning!
...Until she realized they were still asleep and just holding her closer. Her heart raced a little at that, chuckling quietly and resting her head back into the pillows.
"Even when you're passed out, you still can't get enough of me, huh?~"
Nicole shifted around to hold them back, making sure they couldn't move anymore as her legs locked them in.
Perfect. Now, back to getting some sleep. Cute as this was the first time, if she was going to be waken up again, S/O was going to pay for it.
Zhu Yuan immediately is ready to spring into action the second she's woken up by a strange sensation!-
Only to realize it was S/O shifting in their sleep. She couldn't help but sigh, even in the privacy of their bed, she was still getting antsy. Zhu Yuan was jolted back into an alert state the moment she felt S/O slowly shift on top of her.
"H-Hey, S/O? You awake?" She received no response, only their arm lazily snaking their way around her back as their head snuggled into her chest. As much as this flustered Zhu Yuan, it also made her heart melt that much more.
A smile grew on her lips as she comfortably readjusted them so she could sleep too, making sure they were still holding onto her in some capacity. Getting into position proper, Zhu Yuan had their head rest on her shoulder as she laid flat, snuggling them closer to her chest as she grabbed their hand and let it rest near her waist.
She closed her eyes and mentally wished them good night.
'I'm lucky to have you, S/O...' She kissed the top of their head and drifted back to sleep within a few minutes.
PANIC
Caesar was mentally screaming the moment she realized what was going on. This was EXACTLY like her romance manga, and it was finally happening to her! This was so much better than she ever could have imagined! They were so cute, she wanted to explode!
That being said, Caesar also wanted to explode from how flustered she was. All her time reading and wishing for this exact scenario, and now that it was happening all her preset plans were thrown out the window.
Does she hug them back? Does she adjust to make space? What does she do here?!
While her face is completely bright red, she just...kind of stays rigid as her mind is racing through a million different options. It takes her a while to fall back asleep, but she could almost squeal from joy. And she almost did everytime she glanced back to their sleeping expression, noticing how comfortable they were with her around.
Caesar settled for hugging them closer to her, making a mental note of how to be more comfortable and prepared for next time.
A patient commits suicide right in front of you and your partner, leaving you in shock.
There are calls that stay with first responders for a long time, and then there are calls that change them.
This is one of those calls.
The dispatch sounds routine enough at first. A welfare check. A man in emotional distress. You and your partner arrive prepared to talk him through the crisis, giving him space, keeping your voices calm, trying every technique you’ve both been taught over the years.
You genuinely think you’re getting somewhere.
Then, in the space of a heartbeat, everything changes.
•
By the time additional units arrive, you’re frozen exactly where you were standing. You haven’t moved. You haven’t spoke. Your partner has to physically guide you away because your body simply… won’t listen to you anymore.
•
During the ride to PTMC, you don’t say a single word. Not when your partner ask if you’re hurt. Not when another medic checks your pupils. Not when someone gently asks if you can tell them your name.
You just stare ahead.
Your hands won’t stop shaking. They’re covered in someone else’s blood, and even after someone wipes them clean, you still feel like they’re stained.
•
The moment the ambulance doors open at PTMC, the emergency department goes unusually quiet. Everyone recognizes you. You’re the medic who’s usually smiling through impossible shifts. The one who’s always joking with the nurses during handoff.
Seeing you on the stretcher instead of pushing one… it doesn’t feel right.
•
Dana is halfway across the department before anyone even calls her name. One look at your face tells her everything she needs to know.
This isn’t a physical injury.
This is shock.
•
Someone starts asking you assessment questions.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Nothing.
"Can you tell me your birthday?"
Silence.
Your breathing grows quicker. Your eyes never focus on the person speaking.
Dana quietly steps between you and everyone else.
"Enough."
The room falls silent immediately. She kneels so she’s in your line of sight instead of towering over you. Her voice is softer than anyone in the department has ever heard it.
"Hey."
Nothing.
"It’s Dana."
She doesn’t ask you to explain. She doesn’t tell you to 'calm down'. She doesn’t bombard you with questions. She just stays there.
She notices the way your fingers are digging painfully into your palms. Without saying anything, she gently places one hand beneath yours. Not forcing you to let go. Just giving your hands somewhere else to rest.
Your breathing suddenly catches. Then comes the first shaky inhale. Then another. Then your whole body starts trembling.
Panic hits all at once.
Months’ worth of composure as a paramedic collides with the reality that sometimes, despite everything, you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.
You try to apologize.
The words won’t come.
Dana recognizes what’s happening immediately.
"Look at me."
It takes several tries. Eventually your eyes find hers. She keeps her voice slow and steady.
"You’re here." "You’re safe." "You’re not on that scene anymore."
She repeats those three sentences over and over until your breathing begins to match hers instead of racing ahead.
•
When your legs finally give out, she catches you before anyone else can. She doesn’t care that she’s the charge nurse. She doesn’t care who’s watching.
Right now, you’re her priority.
The rest of the department quietly adjusts around the moment. A resident closes the curtain. Someone turns down the monitor volume. A nurse redirects incoming staff away from the room.
Nobody needs to be told.
•
Your partner, still visibly shaken themselves, watches Dana work. Later they’ll admit they were terrified they had lost you to—not physically, but emotionally. Seeing you finally respond to Dana’s voice is the first time they’ve been able to breathe since the call.
•
Even after the panic attack subsides, Dana doesn’t leave. She sits beside your bed while paperwork piles up elsewhere. Every now and then she asks one simple question.
"Need some water?"
A small nod.
Ten minutes later.
"Want another blanket?"
Another tidy nod.
She counts each one as progress.
•
Long after your vitals have settled, you finally speak. Your voice is barely audible.
"I thought…"
The sentence breaks apart. Dana doesn’t ask you to finish it. She already knows. Instead, she gently squeezes your hand.
"I know."
Before you’re discharged, Dana makes one thing very clear.
"You don’t have to carry this by yourself."
No lectures. No pressure. Just a quiet promise that she’ll help you take the next step, whether that’s getting home safely, talking to someone when you’re ready, or simply sitting with you in the silence until the world feels steady again.
•
After that day, whenever your ambulance pulls into PTMC, Dana always takes a moment to meet your eyes during handoff. She never makes a fuss about it. Just one brief look. A silent check-in.
You here?
And when you nod, however tired you are, she nods back.
The city was louder tonight as the cars honked, people shouted and ambulances sirens sounded.
Life carried on as normal for everyone else while tears trickled down your face and dripped onto your blue scrub shirt, immediately sinking in.
The wind blew through your hair, making your flyaways move faster and blow into your face but you had no intention of stopping to adjust them.
You listened to the street life and the hospital as the day shift staff ended their shift, greeting the night shift staff that were coming in to start theirs.
You didn’t even move as the door to the roof opened and someone stepped out onto it before shutting the door after them.
The railing dug into your spine as you leant back against it, your feet uncomfortably close to the edge. You make sure not to make any sudden movements.
The person makes sure not to startle you either.
It isn’t until you hear the familiar click of a lighter that it then strikes you who it is.
Your charge nurse, Dana Evans. Had she come up here purely as a chance to smoke, or had she come up here for you?
The thought flows through your mind once before you decide it’s probably for the best that you don’t decide on an answer. You’d probably be wrong anyway.
It’s silent for 4 minutes and 48 seconds before she speaks.
“It’s nice up here. I should come here more often.” Her voice is closer now, and you can hear her sneakers on the rocks as she steps forward.
You don’t reply to her. You don’t think you could even if you tried.
“You’re awfully close to the edge there. You wanna come this side of the railing?” She says, trying to hide the growing fear in her voice.
Although you were new, Dana had noticed you from the start. Immediately feeling a maternal instinct towards you, like she needed to protect you from the world. Even if you didn’t know, you were always under her watch.
“It’s cold huh?” She carries on after getting nothing from you. It’s like you’re not even there as you stare ahead at the city skyline in the distance.
She steps forward until she’s gripping the railing in her hands. Close enough to grab you if you tried to move any further forward but keeping a distance so you don’t feel like she’s forcing you to come away.
Another tear slides slowly down your face as you sniffle. You can hear her speaking and you so desperately want to answer her but you can’t. Your body physically won’t let any words come out.
“You’re bleeding.” She says softly. There’s surprise evident in her voice as her tone grows concerned now too.
“I know.” Finally breaks free. Your chest immediately heaving a sigh as it breaks and words spill out. It feels like you’ve finally woken up after being in a coma.
You don’t look at her, you carry on staring at the skyline. It looks beautiful like this, all lit up. The people in those buildings are all living a different life. You wonder if anyone is in this exact position right now. Probably not. Any sane person would seek help instead of standing on the edge of a roof straight after their shift finishes.
“Do you think you can come down sweetheart? Just climb under the railing, we’ll take you inside, get you warm and I’ll have a look at your arm okay? Come on baby.” She sounds so motherly now. This is how you’d imagine a mother would talk to their child when they needed them.
Your body follows her words before your mind even registers them as you duck under the railing and stand next to her.
She smiles softly at you, her face saying ‘well done’ without her speaking. She doesn’t want to overwhelm you and scare you off.
Your eyes look empty as they finally move to her face. You’re there, but not mentally. She wants to wrap you up in her arms and take you home, but she knows how much you hate being touched. She’s heard you express that hundreds of times to the other nurses and doctors.
No words exchanged throughout the entire walk back down the stairs and into the main hospital. Dana keeps her usual smile on her face as she walks through, greeting the nurses at the desk. When you reach an empty room, she leads you to the bed and gestures to you towards it. She makes a point of saying
“You can sit, stand or lay. Or even handstand. Just stay.”
It does well to ease the ache in your heart, it even almost makes you crack a smile as she dips through the curtain after a second.
You follow her words and take a seat on the edge of the bed, already rolling up the right side sleeve of your long sleeve that was under your scrubs.
It’s not too deep. You’ve done worse damage before. But to Dana it’s probably something that will take her a second to evaluate before working on it.
It’s a few minutes later when she ducks back in. She’s got some gauze, antibacterial wipes and a needle and thread (just in case).
She uses her foot to hook around the legs of the spinny stool while she grabs a pair of gloves out of the box, smoothly sliding the chair in time to sit on it and scorch towards you. She uses the lever to make it taller, settling herself between your legs.
She tugs the gloves on and sterilises the table before laying your arm gently on it.
“What did you use?” She asks harshly. It almost makes you recoil before she pins your arm back down again. What changed her attitude?
“Scalpel.” You gulp. This is it. This is the part where you lose your job for stealing and being mentally unwell. God you’re so stupid. Why would you do that? Why couldn’t you wait until you were at home alone?
She doesn’t reply. She pulls an antiseptic wipe out and cleans over the few cuts on your wrist. She doesn’t even warn you before doing it, now she’s upset at you. But she’s not shouting, that’s good right?
“From here?” She asks as she throws the wipe into the trash can.
You nod wordlessly, looking at your lap embarrassed.
“I’m taking your privileges away. You’ll be on desk duty instead. You won’t get to touch any instruments or medical equipment until I think you’re fit enough to.” She scalds you like a child, it almost makes you want to cry with how she speaks so monotone and disappointed. You can hear in her voice that you’ve let her down.
“Yes ma’am.” You whisper, biting your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling.
After your wrist is cleaned, she assesses it properly, turning your wrist to look at it up close with her glasses.
“Well you don’t need stitches. But I’m guessing you knew that already didn’t you?”
You nod again, she doesn’t need an answer anyway.
She starts unwrapping a gauze, placing on the cuts gently before wrapping the bandage around until it runs out. She ties it and tapes it down so it won’t move. She works in silence while doing this, before throwing her gloves in the trash and shuffling her stool back to give you some space.
“How often do you do this?” She speaks sternly. She wants answers and by the way she’s conveniently placed herself in front of the curtain, you’re not leaving until she gets something from you.
You stare at her for a while. Your throat bobs as you try and swallow away the painful lump that sits there unmoving.
“I was 163 days sober today.” You start before your voice breaks drastically. You clear your throat and carry on, you know that if you stop now then you won’t speak again. “I tried Dana. I tried, I did better this time. Honest.” Your lip wobbles again, but this time you let it.
“I know, kid. 163 days is amazing.” She nods encouragingly, her stern facade dropping now seeing the state you’re really in. She finally sees how you feel.
You dig your nails into your palm as you talk but with a glare from Dana, you rest your hands flat on your thighs instead.
“I wasn’t going to do it.” You whisper.
“Do what?” She asks just as softly, her eyebrows furrowed.
“Jump.” You answer as if it was obvious. To you it was, but to anyone else, it looked like you were ready to end it all right there.
“Okay.” She whispers. There’s no questions or open-ended sentences. She wants you to talk unprompted.
“Sometimes I think about ending it all. But I don’t think I’d ever do it. I just can’t stop thinking about it. My therapist said it’s passive suicidal ideation.” You explain, stopping every sentence to look at Dana's expressions and how disgusted she is at you.
“It's gotten worse recently. I just feel like there’s this constant shadow of darkness looming over me. I can’t do anything without feeling like I don’t deserve to be doing this. Like I don’t deserve to even be standing here with a job and a future. I don’t feel like I deserve to have so many good people in my life while I’m here causing constant sadness to their lives. I’m a burden. I have no desire for life anymore. I don’t even feel like eating most days because I think ‘what even is the point in this all’. I quit playing sports because I felt like I was ruining the team. I just- I don’t think I can do this anymore. But I don’t want to kill myself. I just- I want the pain to stop. The stupid pain in my head that tells me I’m not good enough.”
When you look up at the end, Dana doesn’t even look disgusted. Weirdly it looks like she looks like she has tears in her own eyes that threaten to fall. Good job. You’ve made her cry, you idiot. Can’t do anything right can you? You’ve let her down now too. Another person you tried to let in.
“Kid. Stop getting in your head. I can see your internal argument.” Her voice breaks through every bad thought clouding your mind currently, like cold water over a burn. “I’m just- taking it all in” she thinks for a second before schooling her face and shifting so she’s sat up with her back straight.
“You go to therapy? That’s good, I’m glad you still do that.”
The fact she doesn’t bring up anything you just spilled is comforting. Getting it off of your chest was hard enough as it is. But having to talk it through with someone would make it even worse.
“Yeah. Once a week on Thursdays, my only day off from work. Sometimes twice a week if I’m really bad.” You don’t have to explain further about what ‘really bad’ means, literally anyone would understand that.
“Is your therapist nice?” She asks, changing the directory to distract you.
“Yeah. I’ve had her for a few years, she knows everything about me and knows exactly how to help me when I’m not doing good. I do get help, I promise. I don’t always do this. I can still work. I’m okay.” You nod as you talk, speaking faster and tripping yourself up. So desperate to prove to her that everything’s okay. You want Dana to believe you.
“Sweetheart, it's okay. Having a therapist doesn’t suddenly mean your life is perfect. Hell if it did, half the people would be sectioned here would they?” She reassures, getting closer to you again. Maybe she isn’t scared of you after all.
“I guess.” You agree glumly.
“What made tonight so different? Why didn’t you call your therapist?” She asks.
“She’s on holiday. The replacement isn’t the greatest, he just tells me to take a bath or make a hot drink. But the last time I did that I poured the kettle over my hand to feel something.”
“Is that what the scar is on your hand?” She points to where the circle is on the top of your left hand. It’s a clear colour difference to the rest of your skin. It’s not that noticeable unless you’re really looking. Which Dana is.
You nod, moving it to hide it underneath your other hand.
“It was a couple of years ago. I haven’t done it since.” You whisper, now even more ashamed of yourself.
“It’s okay. I’m not judging.” She smiles. “So you couldn’t call your therapist tonight. Is that why you hurt yourself?”
You nod. “No one here knows I struggle with my mental health. I couldn’t seek out Robby because I saw what he did to Baran. I can’t lose my job already.” You explain.
“That makes sense. Thank you for trusting me. It means a lot.” Her voice makes you want to cry with how she’s so sweet now. It’s confusing how she does from angry mother to sweet mother, but it’s welcoming. It’s what you need.
Sometimes when your mind is so full of bad thoughts and hurt, someone needs to break through and tell you honestly that what you’re doing isn’t okay.
“Go home kid. Get a nice shower, make yourself a glass of water, take some painkillers and get into bed. Put your comfy clothes on and rest. You need it. It’s been a hell of a day.” She reaches out, freezing for a second before deciding ‘fuck it’ and doing it. She places her hand on top of yours and squeezes.
“Call me tonight if you need someone. Stay away from roofs and sharp things. I’ll come over if you need anything.” She says before she’s standing and taking away all of her medical supplies.
You know she’s going to fill some paperwork in about reducing your privileges before she goes home. So you pack your things up and take a slow walk to your car.
The cold air bites at your skin, but it’s welcoming. The cold has always been a cure for a panic attack. Something about the way its relentless just distracts your body and makes you fight to keep warm instead of fighting the thoughts of ending it all.
The drive home takes 15 minutes due to there being no traffic at this time of night. Your playlist plays in the background but the volume is almost 0. It’s nice to have silence sometimes.
Your apartment is dark when you open the door, obviously it was light when you left this morning.
You kick your shoes off at the door, placing your keys in the bowl and hanging your bag up.
You bypass the kitchen, there’s no point in making food if you’d throw it up later from how sick you’ve been feeling lately.
Your medication sits untouched on your bedside cabinet as you sit on the edge of your bed to start undressing.
As you undress you look around. Your computer on your desk now collected a layer of dust. Your books are on the shelf with an even thicker layer of dust. You’d lost all interest in everything you loved the second you started feeling shit again. Only this time you were struggling to pull yourself out of the sinkhole.
You drag yourself to the shower and turn the water on. It’s far too hot to stand in, but you stand there anyway. It burns but in a good way.
You mean your head against the wall and before you can stop yourself, tears are cascading down your cheeks and your body shakes with sobs as you desperately bite your lip so stop any yells escaping. No one should hear you cry, they don’t care anyway.
The shower soaks the bandage on your wrist. You’d completely forgotten about that. With your teeth you claw at it until there’s tiny strings of fibres that rip effortlessly and the bandage plops onto the floor of the shower. The water immediately stings, a feeling that’s both comforting and disappointing. You were at the highest sober date of your life and you had to go and ruin it as per usual.
As you step out of the shower and dry off, you try and shake the feeling. You know there’s razors in that drawer. You’d bought a pack of 50 replacement blades for your traditional razor. You force yourself not to open the drawer. You tell yourself to just change into your pyjamas and go to sleep. It’ll be better by morning. Right?
Who are you kidding? It’s never better in the morning. It’s always worse. It always will be worse. You’re just destined to be this way forever until it slowly kills you.
You pace your bedroom for hours and hours until your feet burn and your heart is racing. You pick up your phone to call your therapist. But she’s on holiday.
Dana. You could call her. She did say to.
But it’s 3am. Would she even be awake? She worked an entire day shift with you. Surely she’s sleeping. She has a family and private life.
You pave for another 15 minutes with your phone in your hand before you finally click on her contact. It rings 1, 2, 3, 4 times and then it clicks.
“Hello?” She speaks into the microphone, her voice tired and deep.
“Dana?” You ask. Stupidly because of course it’s her, it’s her phone number.
“Kid? You okay?” Her voice changes immediately, she sounds more awake now and there’s a rustling sound in the background. It sounds like she’s getting out of bed.
“I’m sorry. I woke you. It’s okay, I’ll go. Sorry for waking you.” Your thumb hovers over the end button but her voice stops you.
“No. No. I’m glad you woke me, thank you.” She’s moving now, you can hear keys being picked up.
“Had anything happened?” She asks as she walks.
“Not yet. But I just can’t stop thinking. I’m sorry.” Your voice breaks again.
“It’s okay.” she laughs slightly, like she’s afraid you’ll snap if you think she’s even the slightest bit upset.
“I’m on my way. Do you think you can stay on the phone to me until I get there? You don’t have to speak but I just want to know you’re okay.” The car starts up halfway through, and she’s already pulling off before it’s even warmed up.
“Yeah.” Is all you can push yourself to say.
True to your word you stay on the phone to her the entire time. Neither of you speak, but she can hear your breathing and that’s enough for her to be able to drive safely and calmly.
When she reaches your apartment door, it jolts you out of your daze and startles you. She’s here already? It’s only been like- oh. 15 minutes.
You pad your way to the door and open it to let her in. It’s still pitch black, you still hadn’t bothered to turn a lamp on since getting back. But it’s something that Dana does as soon as she’s in.
“What happened?” She asks, coming to stand in front of you. She looks you up and down like she did on the roof to check for anything else.
“Nothing. But there’s a box of razors in my bathroom drawer and I can’t stop thinking about them.” You tell her honestly.
She nods, asking where your bathroom is before disappearing. When she comes back, she holds the box and any other blade she found in there. She piles them onto your kitchen counter and comes back to you.
“Done” I’ll take them home with me so they can’t tempt you.
“Come on. Let’s get you to bed, you look exhausted.”
“I’m sorry for waking you, you must be exhausted too.” You look at her like a kicked puppy as she leads you to your bedroom.
“I’m an old lady. I’m used to not getting sleep.” She jokes lightheartedly as you reach your bed. She untucks your covers before fluffing your pillows and pointing towards it hoping you get the hint.
You do and you lay down against the pillows, letting her cover you up.
“Can I touch you?” She whispers.
For some reason you trust her. You don’t even have to think for long before you nod.
She kneels on your bed as she leans over you. Her hands hold your shoulders as her head dips down and her lips brush your forehead. They linger for a few seconds before she pulls away.
“Get some sleep, kid, I’ll let Robby know we’ll be in later tomorrow. I won’t tell him what’s happening, that’s your business.” She smiles.
You nod, blinking away tears. It had been years since you let anyone touch you. Let alone twice in one day.
You’d always been worried that anyone that touched you would burst into flames or get sick. It happened with your father when you were 14 and you’d sworn from that day on that you’d never let a person touch you for as long as you lived.
As she goes to stand up to leave your hand shoots out. Your fingertips barely graze her wrist, but it doesn’t even burn when they do.
“Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone.” You whisper. It feels pathetic. You wait for her to laugh in your face and call you names, but it never comes.
Instead she sits back on the edge of your bed, placing her hand over the top of yours. Where your scar sits, and she strokes your hand.
“Of course. I won’t go anywhere.”
It’s not much longer until you let your eyes drift closed. It’s even shorter between that and when your body lets sleep overcome it.
You feel asleep with your hand being held by someone who cared. Your hand was being held and that person was still alive and even after hearing about everything in your life, she was still there at the end of the day. Maybe you were capable of being loved.
A/N: the kettle hand thing is my true story. It’s healing well. But blacking out and harming yourself is a reality of mental health. These things happen. You don’t have to be ashamed.
Older!NR x younger (and inexperienced in the dating department)!r
Word count: 2.6k
Summary: When Natasha finds out that you’ve yet to have your first kiss during a silly game of Never Have I Ever, she eagerly jumps at the presented opportunity… only to find herself getting rejected.
Author’s note: Here’s a lil soft!Nat oneshot (as usual) in an attempt to get my writer’s block to literally fuck off.
It’s no secret that Natasha likes you… or at least, it’s no secret to everyone but you.
Tony is constantly rolling his eyes, Steve is always hiding a knowing smile when you innocently dismiss Natasha’s flirting, Wanda is endeared but growing exhausted, Clint keeps poking fun at you in ways that you never seem to understand, and Bruce just chuckles as he watches quietly from the sidelines.
You’ve been called it all: young, unaware, inexperienced, oblivious. It’s a running joke with the team now regarding your obliviousness to all of the large, loud, and very obvious blaring red signs that unmistakably point to Natasha Romanoff having heart eyes for you.
It’s not your fault. Not really. You’ve never been in a true relationship before—you’ve only been on a handful of dates in total, none of which went well—and the team learns to the full extent your inexperience goes on a random team bonding night.
Tony makes multiple trips from the kitchen to the common room, preparing everyone for what’s to come. Cups, ice, mixers, and alcohol… necessities, in his opinion.
“Alright, guys, drinking game,” he announces, voice firm, no room for objections, “What are we feeling? Truth or Dare? Spin the Bottle? Never Have I Ever?”
There are a few murmured protests anyway, the team clearly tired of his arguably concerning desire to bring alcohol into everything.
“Do we have to?” Natasha asks flatly, boredly.
“It’s a teambuilding exercise,” he retorts, waving a hand vaguely, “For boosting morale or, I don’t know, whatever.”
Spin the Bottle quickly gets voted out, and although it’s a close call between the other two, Never Have I Ever wins in the end.
And Clint starts off strong, jumping right into it. “Never have I ever joined the mile high club.” His eyes deliberately flit to Tony as if daring the billionaire to try and avoid drinking.
Tony isn’t fazed as he hears the prompt, as he notices Clint’s look, and he takes a large first gulp of his beverage, unashamedly admitting to his history of airborne debauchery.
“God, Tony,” Clint says, laughing, “I hope it was at least on one of your private jets.”
Tony simply smirks over the rim of his glass, neither confirming nor denying, and Clint fakes a gag at the nonanswer.
Wanda speaks then, keeping the game moving along. “Never have I ever had sex in public.”
More than just Tony’s drink is sipped with that one.
“Never have I ever had a one-night stand,” Bruce chimes in next.
Almost everyone takes a drink, all except Bruce… and you.
“Never have I ever lied about an orgasm.”
Natasha definitely drinks for that one.
The game continues, laughter and teasing comments getting thrown all around, but at a certain point, everyone else’s cups are at least halfway empty—Tony’s is almost completely empty—and Natasha’s brows furrow as she takes in the sight of yours: perfectly full, condensation forming on the glass, clearly untouched.
She glances over at you.
You’re not looking back at her, too engrossed in the game, in the fun of the night, in the entertainment happening around you.
She clears her throat then, drawing everyone’s attention her way. “Never have I ever had sex,” she says plainly, eyes still staring your way.
“What? Natasha, that’s too eas-” Tony starts, but she shoots him a look that gets him to shut his mouth before returning to you. No one understands her prompt of choice, but they play along anyway, every single one of them confusedly taking a small sip of their drink.
Every single one of them… except you.
She moves to something marginally more innocent. “Never have I ever gotten to second base.”
You still don’t drink.
The team turns to watch you along with Natasha now, finally catching on to what she’s doing.
“Never have I ever been kissed,” she tries again.
Your drink remains situated on the table, and you’ve fully noticed her attention, her pointed prompts. You give her a smirk.
“Yeah, yeah, alright,” you mutter good-naturedly, shaking your head, chuckling lightly to yourself at her figuring it out, “You got me. I’ve never been kissed. So what?”
Natasha’s eyebrows raise, and the resounding reactions from everyone else are a mix of shock, disbelief, surprise, and perhaps even concerned alarm from Tony. They begin talking over each other.
“Wait, what?”
“You’re fucking with us.”
“Seriously?”
“There’s no way.”
Despite the comments—you’ve heard them all before—you remain casual about the whole reveal, not at all bothered by the reactions you’re receiving or the fact that you’ve never had your first kiss. You shrug dismissively. “It just hasn’t happened yet.”
There’s silence as the rest of the team stares dumbly at you. They knew that you were mostly a stranger to romantic things, knew that you’d never had a real relationship with someone before, but this? This is newfound knowledge. No wonder all of Natasha’s attempts at flirting with you have been overlooked. You’re not just inexperienced; you’re inexperienced.
Tony breaks the quiet, blunt as ever, offering what he thinks is a simple solution… and if it means you kiss a certain redhead that’s been pining for you at the same time? Well, win-win. “You know what? Why don’t you just let one of us do it? Get it over with. I’m sure someone here is willing to kiss you.” He isn’t subtle with the way his eyes sweep across the others before landing and staying firmly planted on Natasha.
Wanda, although doing her best, is also not subtle, her gaze flicking back and forth between you and the Natasha, trying her best to communicate that now is the chance.
Clint is laughing, Bruce is smirking, and Steve is shaking his head at the antics unfolding before him. Everyone is in on something you don’t know of, but like usual, you’re blissfully unaware of the nonverbal conversation that is happening between your teammates around you.
After some more silent and not so discreet prompting from the others, Natasha takes a deep breath, forcing nonchalance into her voice and demeanor. “I guess I could do it,” she volunteers. Her attempt at acting casual is transparent to everyone else but you. “I mean, I probably am the best kisser here.” She tries to sweeten the deal.
No one refutes her statement. They all know it’s true.
But still…
“No, it’s okay. I’m good,” you answer her, giving the redhead a small, grateful smile, touched by the offer but unwilling, nonetheless. Your ideas surrounding your first kiss are more than just whatever tonight is. Then, you address the entire team: “But on that fun note, it’s getting late, so I’m going to bed. Goodnight, everyone. Drink some water.” Your last words are aimed at Tony.
You stand, grabbing your still full cup, and head to the kitchen to pour its wasted contents down the drain, placing the now empty glass in the sink and exiting the room, a handful of bewildered goodnights tossed out behind you as you go.
The confusion from everyone is palpable once you’ve disappeared.
And Natasha is almost… offended. You rejected her so easily, so effortlessly. You didn’t even seem to consider kissing her.
All eyes snap to her when you’re gone, everyone blatantly staring at the expression on her face as she tries to recover from your rejection.
“What just happened?” Natasha asks out loud.
“You, Natasha Romanoff, just got rejected,” Tony laughs, snarky and teasing as ever, “For probably the first time, I’m guessing.”
Natasha pauses. “That… wasn’t a legitimate rejection, right?”
“No, no, that definitely was,” Tony replies, “She literally said ‘nope’ and then left.”
“Tony,” Wanda hisses, trying to get him to be quiet, wanting to soften the blow for the redhead who is still clearly trying to understand everything that just occurred.
Natasha’s attention moves to Wanda now, wanting a second opinion. “Wanda?”
Wanda grimaces but answers honestly. “I mean… it wasn’t not a rejection”
Natasha lets out a loud groan at that, having been, albeit uselessly, hoping for another answer. “Fuck.”
“You know, I always thought that she was just extremely oblivious, but maybe she just doesn’t like you but doesn’t know how to turn you down,” Tony can’t help but continue.
“Tony!” Wanda exclaims again as Natasha groans another time.
Steve interjects before Tony can rub more salt in the wound like he is most likely planning to, the billionaire still smiling gleefully as if finding the whole situation beyond amusing. “Or maybe she just didn’t like the circumstances. I say give it one more good shot. Make it known that you like her, that you want to actually kiss her, that it isn’t just some silly drunken shenanigan to you.”
“I like Steve’s idea,” Clint comments, and Wanda nods her head in agreement.
“That’s just because none of you want to hear that-” Tony begins.
“Tony, enough,” Wanda grits out, “Get out. Go to bed. Go anywhere else. Just… shoo.”
Tony rolls his eyes but acquiesces, getting up and bidding everyone a goodnight before heading to his quarters for the evening.
Everyone else stands to file out of the room as well, sending Natasha a mix of sympathetic, encouraging, and pitying glances as they leave, Wanda’s hand making its way to Natasha’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture before she also walks away.
Natasha remains seated on the common room couch for a while after everyone’s exit, wallowing, lamenting, wondering what the absolute fuck happened tonight. She’s slouched against the cushion, her head flopped back and her eyes closed as she replays the look on your face as you rejected her, as she hears your little nonchalant “I’m good” on repeat in her mind.
It’s silent, the rest of the team already asleep by now for the night. Whether or not that’s a good thing as she’s left alone with her thoughts, she’s not sure, but she appreciates the peace and quiet anyway.
After some time, she sighs and reluctantly pries herself up off the sofa to return to her own quarters, shoulders slumped in discouragement as she goes.
She passes by your door on the way to hers and pauses right outside. The light is on, visible from under the door, and there’s quiet movement coming from within.
You’re still up.
God, Natasha isn’t sure her heart can handle any additional rejection from you tonight, but she finds herself knocking anyway. She needs to know.
Your door opens quickly and you peek out, head tilting in a silent question. “You’re still up?” you ask her.
The redhead doesn’t answer for a few moments, just looking at you. She doesn’t want to lie, but she doesn’t feel like she can tell you exactly what’s on her mind and preventing her from sleeping right now either. “Yeah,” she eventually says, and then a fake smirk appears on her face, “Just still trying to wrap my head around your rejection. It’s going to keep me up all night.” It comes out as a joke.
You hum, smiling at her words, taking her sarcasm in stride.
And then it’s silent.
And Natasha feels like the air is buzzing from all the things unspoken on her part, from all the confusion and uncertainty and discomfort that she’s experiencing by just standing here in your doorway. She wonders if you can feel it too.
“So, am I just that unattractive to you?” She breaks the quiet. Another joke.
That gets her a small laugh this time. “You and the word ‘unattractive’ have never been in the same sentence,” you respond.
That should make her feel better, but… “That wasn’t an answer,” Natasha points out.
“Do you really need one?”
There’s silence again as she considers what to say.
When she speaks up, it’s soft, confused, vulnerable, all smirks and sarcasm and pretenses gone. “Why didn’t you let me kiss you?” she asks, looking away as she talks.
You frown slightly at the shift in her behavior, her playful remarks and teasing from before now nowhere to be found, replaced with something that seems fragile, imploring.
Your words come out a murmur, trying to explain yourself, to soothe. “It’s nothing personal, Natasha. I just want my first kiss to be special. That’s all.”
“What would make it special?”
“Just… with the right person.”
“What’s the right person like?” Natasha presses.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you muse, pausing for a moment to genuinely consider your answer to the question, “I guess someone sweet and considerate…”
Natasha remembers how just this morning she brewed an extra serving of coffee so that you’d wake up to a fresh pot.
“…someone who makes me laugh…”
Natasha remembers how just a few days ago you two were laughing until you both couldn’t breathe at some inside joke that would be too complicated to explain to anyone else.
“…someone who’s there for me.”
Natasha remembers how just last week she stayed up with you through the night when you needed someone to help chase the nightmares away.
Her. You’re describing her, and you don’t even know it.
How can she get you to see?
“Anything else? Hair color? Eye color?”
“Wow, you want specifics,” you joke, still not understanding.
Natasha could curse your obliviousness right now, and her tone turns more deliberate, still gentle but with a push. “What about martial arts abilities? Any history as an assassin? Or, you know, superhero status?”
You glance up at her, meeting her green eyes with your own.
And then you remember how the pot of coffee was already ready for you just this morning.
And then you remember the inside joke that Steve found the two of you laughing and clutching your sides at just a few days ago.
And then you remember the nightmares Natasha swore she’d stay up to keep you safe from just last week.
“Oh,” you breathe out slowly.
Natasha nods, hope returning as she sees realization start to wash over you.
“So, the right person…” she prompts.
“Yeah…” you murmur back, knowing what she means this time, what she’s meant all this time.
“Does that mean I can I kiss you now?” she asks softly.
“Is this still about the game? I don’t want a pity kiss.”
“It was never about the game. I don’t know how you haven’t noticed, but I have the biggest crush on you.”
“You do?”
Natasha says your name, fondly, tiredly. “I’m completely smitten with you.”
“I never even knew.”
“I know you never knew. You’re the most oblivious person on the team, the most oblivious person on the planet. I’ve been flirting with you for months.”
You shake your head in disbelief, trying to come to terms with the fact that Natasha’s romantic pursuit of you has apparently always gone right over your head.
“So, can I kiss you?” Natasha asks again.
You nod, and then she’s moving in, giving you just the slowest and gentlest press of her lips to yours, your eyes closing immediately in response to the touch.
She pulls back after only a brief moment, not wanting to overwhelm you since it's your first kiss, but it still leaves you feeling dazed, lightheaded, your mouth parted with little puffs of breath as your eyes flutter open to gaze at her. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, and your face is flushed from just that.
You wanted your first kiss to be special, and you succeeded.
“Was that… okay?” Natasha asks, taking in your slightly stunned expression.
You nod again, struggling to find your voice at first, and when you do, it’s barely there, breathy and shaky. “Can we- can we do that again?” It comes out like a plea, as if there’s a chance Natasha might need convincing.
☀️ so i saw supergirl like the day after it came out and yeah it was underwhelming but kara was rly hot and i needed to write something about her. also diana's here too because i'm never not thinking about her
༒ synopsis: what they're like topping+ some general nsfw hcs (depending on how this does, i perhaps will make a bottom version- which i was going to at first, but this ran way longer than i thought it would can you tell this is extremely self- indulgent)
cw: nsfw ahead!, 18+, fem!reader w female genitalia, possible ooc (maybe idfk keeping up with comics gmfu), mentions of bondage, overstim, just general smut Imao
༒ KARA ZOR-EL ༒
top!kara who must always have her hands or mouth on you. she's especially obsessed with your tits and stomach. whenever you wanna take a selfie together she always insists on grabbing your boobs for the photo. on a similar note, she loves to flaunt you by always making the pictures of you together slightly suggestive. she'll make you pose on her lap, lick your cheek instead of kiss it (think that one heated rivalry photo), post a pic of you dozing in her bed undressed but with your back to the camera.
top!kara who is not above begging you to let her touch you no matter what you're doing, how busy you are, etc. she gets a little bit whiny if you absolutely won't let her right that second. sometimes she gets handsy anyway, but that’s a different story.
top!kara who works off steam after a long day by coming home and fucking you stupid. sometimes she won't even bother with a greeting, just crashes your mouths together the moment she gets through the door and immediately starts fumbling to get your clothes off. she's particularly rough when she's irritated
top!kara who's a little bit into inflicting pain. esp involving heat. wax play is a favorite of hers, but she also likes to stretch your cunt out with a strap that's a little too big, put in a finger more than you can usually handle. but she'll always stop if you really need her to.
top!kara who casually manhandles you. she'll pick you up and toss you around like nothing for no reason and only makes fun of you when you protest because realistically what are you doing about it. this is something she often does when you're not giving her attention and she wants to fuck so shell just put you where she wants you.
top!kara who's kindaaa into public sex and doesn't care whether people can tell or not. she'll leave you with your hair all messed up and bruises all over your neck. may or may not give your panties back. she especially likes to do it when you have makeup on. she loves to fuck it up and get your lipstick everywhere and pretend that it wasn't on purpose
top!kara who isn't overtly possessive of you in public because she could obviously wipe the floor with anyone who tried anything with you. don't let her think you might be reciprocating though because she will be quick to take you to the bathroom
top!kara who's such a big fat tease it makes you crazy. shell edge you till you cry and then make you come till you cry again. she likes when you need her for your pleasure. expect a little bit of degrading too
top!kara who swallows every drop when you come in her mouth, praises how good you taste, and tells you how sexy you are when you finish down her throat. for this reason she makes you sit on her face at least once a week and it's also really hard to actually suffocate her sooo yes absolutely crush her
top!kara who likes casual sex/sexual activities- not necessarily no-feelings casual sex, but more like sex doesn't always have to be this big romantic event. if you're both just hanging out and she notices you're feeling tense, needy, etc, shell offer to let you ride her thigh or rub you through your clothes for a few just so you can get one off.
top!kara who is also into breath play because of course. her breath is freezing and she loves to watch your nipples get hard before she sucks them. also thinks it's cute when she blows over your clit before giving you head and you get all jumpy and whiny
top!kara who loves messy sex. you don't think you've ever had a closed-mouth kiss with her in your whole relationship, but especially not during foreplay. she rarely lets you up after just one or two orgasms because she wants to make you squirt and get it all over her or the bed (or whatever's the nearest available surface, because kara does not care where). she purposely leaves lots of spit on your thighs when she eats you out, and all over your tits when she's licking and sucking them. she wants you to look thoroughly debauched when she's finished with you
top!kara who wants you to get loud, and who likes loud sex in general. she never lets you cover your mouth or bury your face into a pillow. she loves to strap you and listen to her hips smack into you, how your voice gets pitchy and breathy when you come, or the sounds of your cunt squelching when you get close.
top!kara who, a lot of the time, just loves to lay back and watch you use her to get yourself off. whether you're on her lap riding her strap, her fingers, or rubbing your pussy against hers like a puppy in heat. she thinks it's sweet, watching how needy you get sometimes, and desperate for pleasure whether she's giving it to you herself or not.
༒ DIANA OF THEMYSCIRA ༒
top!diana who, even though she will bottom, prefers to top because she can and will get off just by pleasing you. she's a major service top
top!diana who does love to tease at times, but always winds up giving you what you want.
top!diana who uses her strength to her advantage. she's never overly rough, but she loves to pick you up, pin you down, watch you squirm and whine while she lavishes your body with all the attention she wants until you're a shaking mess.
top!diana who isn't rough, but once she gets started, doesn't always easily let you stop her. if you're too squirmy, she's quick to tighten her grip on you. too noisy and she'll either stop until you promise to quiet down, or give you something else to do with your mouth-gag you, put her fingers down your throat. not that she even minds the noise, really- she loves hearing that she's pleasing you, but she likes to exert a little bit of control.
top!diana who is obviously into bondage. she won't use her actual lasso, naturally, because she doesn't want to actually injure you, but will buy softer, bedroom-specific alternatives at shops to imitate it, because there's no way she hasn't thought about that at least once
top!diana who gets so caught up in pleasing you that she very frequently overstimulates you without realizing. fingers you or/ and eats you out for like two hours straight and doesn't realize until you're in tears and shaking like a leaf. always covers you in kisses and apologies after, but she secretly loves it.
top!diana who will use toys if you like them, but much prefers to use her hands or mouth so she can feel you in your entirety.
top!diana who, for your first time together, makes you tell her everything you usually like so she knows just how to make you feel good. in immense detail. she kind of likes watching you get flustered.
top!diana who makes you masturbate in front of her so she knows exactly what you mean, and she still makes you talk and explain the whole time. she gets incredibly aroused watching you play with yourself, wet and whiny and struggling to speak, before she gives in and takes over.
top!diana who has never been a fan of sex positions where she can't see your face. besides the fact that it feels weirdly dehumanizing to her, she also wants to see every flicker of pleasure on your face while she pleases you, and she likes to kiss a lot during sex.
top!diana who spends 99% of foreplay kissing. everywhere. your lips, mainly, because she loves the way you taste and to watch them get redder and more swollen. she loves when you're panting by the time she pulls away, and when she notices your lips connected to hers by a string of saliva.
top!diana who also unintentionally edges you because she wants to worship every single part of your body. there's basically nowhere she won't put her hands or mouth on. she'll spend ages just kissing every inch of skin she can reach and telling you how lovely every one is. sometimes it's on purpose, though.
summary: after an intense mission, natasha hides the two of you away in a safe house while the world settles around you. your nerves threaten to eat you alive, but your girlfriend notices everything—and she’d never let them.
authors note: after writing for wandanat, then wanda, i figured it was natasha’s time to shine ⭐️ i lovvve intense, subtly obsessed natasha >> as usual, this is not proofread.
content warning(s): top!natasha, bottom!reader, lots of natasha trying to assure restless reader, smut, kitchen sex, some manhandling, cunnilingus, fingering, thigh grabbing, orgasm, little bit of aftercare
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
your feet hit the floor at the side of the bed. the clock on the nightstand next to you reads 1:34 am. you sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. you glance over in hopes of seeing a tangle of red hair lying next to you, but her side of the bed is empty.
you stand, bare feet padding against the obnoxiously hollow floors as you walk down the stairs towards the kitchen. your eyes are drawn to the source of low light bathing the downstairs in a soft glow. your feet continue pulling you forward as you hear the gentle clink of metal against glass.
when you peer around the edge of the kitchen archway, you’re met with the reason you began your journey downstairs in the first place.
natasha stands with her back to you near the island. she slides onto a bar stool, pulling a porcelain mug close to her chest with both hands. another mug sits beside her, steam still rising from its surface.
waiting.
“can’t sleep.” her voice is low in the quiet space. of course she knows you’re there. she always does. you shuffle into the room, rounding her chair just as she turns in your direction.
“are you asking or telling me?” you ask, lingering on your feet instead of taking the bar stool next to her. she lifts the mug to her lips, taking a small sip.
“you were tossing and turning.” her emerald green eyes flit to your face. her expression is smooth as she looks over you. you hug your arms around yourself, her oversized shirt you were wearing riding up your thighs just a bit.
“you should be sleeping.” you tell her. you’d been so stressed that you had barely gotten any sleep the last week you two have been in hiding. you didn’t want to ruin natasha’s rest any more than yours.
“i hadn’t fallen asleep yet.” she reaches around you and pulls the bar stool out a couple inches. it squeaks against the floor. “sit.” she tells you. it’s not a request.
you comply, assuming the chair next to her. she pushes the second porcelain mug closer to you. lemon tea—your favorite. you glance around for the jar of honey you normally keep out on the counter.
“it’s already in there—two tablespoons.” natasha says, knowing exactly what your eyes were searching for. normally, your heart would swell at the quiet knowledge of her remembering how you like your tea, but the stress that was currently coursing through your body made it hard to acknowledge.
“thank you.” you offer simply, cradling the mug in your two hands. you don’t drink from it. your stomach still feels sour and unsettled. in your peripheral vision, you can see natasha watching you. the way she observes you has you squirming in your seat, but you still don’t turn to face her.
she doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, as if she’s waiting for you to break the silence first. you know that she knows you’re stressed. you also know that any worries you express regarding her safety will fall deaf on her ears. she’s always so sure of herself—never worrying about what could happen to her. it fills you with anxiety.
“i can practically feel your anxiety, (y/n). talk to me.” her voice is low with an edge of raspiness to it.
you sigh and shake your head, feeling reluctant to share your worries. you’d tried before to communicate how much you fret and stress over her when she was away on missions, but she never seemed to worry so much about herself.
“it’s nothing you haven’t heard before.” you mumble, bringing the mug to your lips to take a small sip. the hot liquid is soothing as it slips down your throat.
“tell me anyways.” she swivels her barstool so she’s now angled more towards you. she doesn’t reach out to touch you—not yet.
you sigh, turning to face her at last. you’re momentarily taken aback by her stoicism. she looks so calm—sure of herself. like she hadn’t almost died two weeks ago, like you weren’t on the run from one of the most dangerous organizations the world has ever seen.
“natasha…” you look back down towards the tea still steaming in your mug. your palms run along the smooth porcelain in attempt to soothe the urge to fidget.
“i can’t stop thinking about what happened. every time i close my eyes, i think about you back there, bleeding, alone and on the verge of taking your last breath. knowing that you aren’t afraid makes it worse for me. what if they know exactly where we are but they’re waiting for a sign of weakness? what if they find you one day when you’re out and about and you never come home to me? what if… what if they find me and take me in attempt to blackmail you into giving them what they want? what if the next time you run into them…” you trail off, unwilling to finish the sentence. natasha knows what you mean anyways.
she’s quiet for several beats. you don’t look at her as the silence stretches on.
your body is slowly turned towards her as she swivels your chair around to face her. she looks like she’s trying to be calm, but there’s a hard edge in her eyes that makes it hard to sit still.
“(y/n). i have you. i have us. i promise you that we’re safe and i would never let anything happen to you. i know you worry about me, but you don’t need to. i need you to trust me.” one of her hands is still gripping onto the chair, the other braced against your thigh. her closeness begins to cloud your thought process, like every imagined catastrophe slips quietly out of reach.
“but what if—“ she silences you with a single finger pressed against your lips.
“no more what ifs.” when she’s sure you won’t speak again, she moves her finger away from your lips and curls some hair behind your ear.
“but—“ you start again. this time it’s simply an arch of her brow that silences you.
“what did i just say?” she says firmly. your shoulders slump in defeat, a small frown etching in between your eyebrows.
“moya trevozhka (my little worrier)… looks like i need to reroute that anxious brain of yours.”
you glance at her face, gauging her expression. she holds your gaze with an intensity that seems to shift the feeling in the air. her eyes rake over your form, dressed only in her old, worn t-shirt and panties.
“reroute?” you ask quietly, your voice sounding small, even with so little space between the two of you. she offers a simple hum of acknowledgment, her eyes lingering on your bare legs dangling from the chair.
“stand up.” she commands gently. you hesitate. she lets you, patiently waiting for you to comply.
you slide from your chair, scooting it back and standing before her. she stands with you. you can feel the warmth of her body.
“you’re cute when you’re worried.” her hands find your hips, squeezing gently as she runs them up your sides.
“quit that.” you groan, just a little peeved at her making light of your worries. she grins, her grip tightening as she lifts you effortlessly onto the counter behind you. you make a small noise of surprise, your hands steadying yourself by her shoulders.
“it’s true.” her touch travels along your thighs until her fingertips dip under the bottom of the shirt barely concealing anything.
“i like seeing you in my clothes.” her eyes rake over you again, her gaze hungrier than before.
“natasha, this isn’t going to change how i feel.” you cross your arms stubbornly across your chest. she’s unfazed by your declaration. her palms press against your knees, spreading your legs so she can step closer to you. you try to appear like your heart isn’t beginning to race in your chest.
she exhales slowly through her nose. her hands tease your skin, gripping onto the fleshy part of where your hips meet your thighs.
“what’re you worried about again?” she asks, as if she could have forgotten the last five minutes.
you swallow, your thought process already becoming hazy with her proximity and close attention. “you getting hurt. something happening to you or to both of us.” you try to sound firm, but your tone is a little wobbly.
a small smile turns up the corner of her mouth, but she hides it as she leans closer, pressing her lips against your neck. your breath hitches as you hear her inhale deeply, humming to herself as she takes in your scent.
“would i ever let anything happen to you?” her voice so close to your ear causes goosebumps to prick at the back of your neck. it’s becoming increasingly difficult to recall your worries.
“well.. something could happen to you.” you offer, your voice sounding weaker than before, even to your ears.
her nose traces along your jaw, and then she kisses lower, at the base of your neck.
“don’t you know i’m good at what i do?” you don’t miss the twinge of arrogance in that statement. it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.
“you are good, but.. mistakes can happen.” you don’t even realize your arms have uncrossed and unconsciously wrapped around her neck, your body melting into her knowing hands.
she hums again, this time the sound unapproving. she peppers kisses along your jawline, then your chin and then your nose, moving in a manner that was completely unrushed.
“you’re underestimating how difficult i am to kill.” she states matter-o-factly, her touch gliding up to your ribs, caressing the soft skin.
you exhale in defeat, your eyes closing as you half reluctantly surrender to the sensation of being held.
“maybe.” you whisper, your whole argument and line of worries squashed with one word.
“maybe.” she echoes. you can feel her smiling into your neck before she nips there gently.
she pulls back, hands retracting from under your shirt and caging you in as she places her palms flat against the counter at either side of your legs.
“arms up.” you willingly obey her this time, reaching your hands towards the ceiling. you wiggle your hips to assist her as she lifts her borrowed shirt over your head and discards it carelessly onto the floor. your nipples harden in the cool air. you watch her eyes darken as she takes in your newly exposed skin with an intensity that has your cheeks glowing pink. you know by now not to cover up, despite the urge to.
she takes in the valley of your breasts, the soft perkiness to them; your nipples that go from a soft pink to a more dusty rose as they harden; the expanse of your stomach, paler than the rest of your body since it gets the least sunlight; the way it pudges and rolls slightly whenever you sit down. she loves that.
she watches you become more squirmy the longer she stares. it makes her belly curl with desire.
your pink panties are suddenly offensive as they cover the place she wants to give attention. she gives you one last look before spreading your legs with her strong hands, leaning down so her face is level with your increasingly aching core.
she notices the small wet patch, causing the spot to become translucent. she moves closer, her nose pressing against your panties as she inhales deeply. you whimper, hips rolling against her face. she holds your hips still with firm hands. her eyes flit up to yours, her tongue peaking out to taste your arousal coated panties. you exhale breathlessly, trying to keep your hips still.
she teases slow circles through the fabric. her tongue is warm, her breath hot as you can feel the heat even through the cotton barrier.
you’re about to plead for more when she pulls back just an inch, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties to take them off.
you spread your legs wide for her, heels planted firmly on the edge of the countertop. you look at her through your lashes, lip caught between your teeth. it’s an innocent expression, one she goes feral for since she knows you look that way unknowingly.
with your core now exposed to the open air, she leans down again. slow hands come between your thighs. she uses her thumbs to spread your labia, her mouth pooling with saliva as she watches arousal drip down your slit. she applies light pressure, smoothing her thumbs upwards until she spreads your lips wide enough to expose your clit. your hole clenches around nothing, an impatient whine bubbling up your throat.
she doesn’t acknowledge the sound, nor does she pick up the pace. you need this. you need to remember the careful hands that know exactly what you need. instead, she glides her thumb gently down your slit, the pressure so light that it’s barely even there.
you shift impatiently, your restlessness evident in your squirming body and desperate expression.
wordlessly, she leans closer. she flattens her tongue, exhaling so you can feel her breath against your pussy. she moves her tongue, acting like she’s going to taste you, but she never actually makes contact. she’s teasing you.
your whine of protest is louder this time. it makes her lips curl in amusement.
“are you still worried?” she asks, not moving from her place, which is so close to where you need her.
you huff, shifting your hips just an inch closer to the edge of the countertop.
“no.” you cry out, voice cracking with your breathless response.
“that’s what i thought.” she murmurs. her response sobers you up for half a second and you mean to retort back, but forget when you feel her tongue dip into your hole.
she hums at the flavor of you, gliding in and out of you with precise motions. you moan, hands coming to the back of her head like you’re worried she’ll stop unless you keep her there.
she slips her tongue back up towards your clit, swirling it around in tight circles. your head falls back, sounds freely flowing past your parted lips. you didn’t realize how much you needed this—needed to let go.
“fuck—nat. that feels so good!” your hands twitch against her head as her now flattened tongue moves perfectly in time with your rolling hips. she moans into your pussy, hands grabbing fistfuls of your thighs as she devours you.
she slips her tongue back inside of you, stretching it as far as it will go. her nose bumps against your clit. your hands tighten in her hair as you feel the pressure building in your stomach.
the noises she makes against you make you whine. there was no doubt in your mind she loved the taste of you.
she sucks your clit into her mouth, two fingers easily sliding into your dripping cunt as she pistons them in and out of you.
“fuck! i’m close!” you whine, hips moving on their own accord now. natasha doesn’t acknowledge your words beyond humming against you. the sounds you’re both making spur each other on. it’s almost enough to cover up the sticky noises from natasha fucking you with her fingers.
your back arches, the pressure in your stomach tightening until it feels like a rubber band that’s been pulled taut. it snaps, waves of pleasure wracking through your body with each flick of her tongue and curl of her fingers. she rides your high with you, slowing her pace as your walls flutter gently around her. her lips don’t release your clit until your hands push her away subconsciously.
she retracts her fingers carefully, kissing your thighs with arousal coated lips as you try to catch your breath. you run your fingers lazily through her hair, watching with hooded eyes as she helps to soothe your trembling form.
she straightens her posture, gathering your face in her hands before she leans in to kiss you. you moan at the flavor of yourself on her lips.
“i will never get over the taste of you.” she mumbles against your lips. you laugh breathlessly, your cheeks glowing under her praise.
“i hope not. you’re really good at that.” you tell her. she pulls back, an amused smile on her face.
“i’m really good at a lot of things.” she chuckles once. you roll your eyes affectionately.
there’s a lull of silence. not awkward, just quiet as you take each other in. your eyes glance from her right eye to her left.
“nat,” you start, your arms coming up to wrap loosely around her neck.
“hmm?” she hums when you don’t continue.
“i do trust you. just… please be careful.” your eyes are soft and sincere, conveying the weight of your genuity.
“i always am.” she brushes a thumb across your cheek. “i have every reason to come home.”
can I order uhhh clingy natasha with some fluff on the side? thank you
. . . 𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙽 — n. romanoff
Before you, Natasha Romanoff’s mornings were usually going on by routine. The Russian was already up before dawn, swallowing down a glass of water then going for a ten miles run. At her return, she'd shred a heavy bag in the compound gym, shower, and drink her black coffee in silence. She was a creature of early dawn and quiet efficiency.
Then, she fell in love with you.
And suddenly, the fearsome Black Widow discovered a brand-new, highly formidable weakness: the warmth of your arms.
. . . . . .
The digital clock on the nightstand glowed a soft seven forty-two am. The sun was already filtering through the gaps in the blinds — casting lazy, golden stripes across the duvet.
You shifted, gently trying to untangle your legs from the heavy warmth of the sheets, intending to slip out of bed and put the kettle on. But the moment your hips moved more than two inches away, the iron-clad grip around your waist tightened.
A protesting, sleep-heavy groan rumbled against the bare skin of your shoulder blade.
“Where are you going?” Natasha’s voice was a low, raspy purr thick with sleep and heavily laced with her slight Russian accent that only came out in moments like these—a side of her she only let guard down for you.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you whispered, turning your head to smile at her. “I was going to make coffee. And maybe get a head start on the day.”
Instead of letting you go, she buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. The redhead's nose was cold against your skin, making you shiver, but her body was like a furnace pressed against your back. She threw a shapely leg over yours, completely pinning you to the mattress.
“No,” she mumbled, her lips brushing your collarbone as she spoke. “Five more minutes.”
You let out a soft laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through her tangled red hair. “Nat, It’s almost eight.”
“Then I need ten more minutes.”
“That's not how bargaining works, Romanoff.”
“I am a master negotiator, I dictate the terms,” she murmured, tightening her arms around you until there was absolutely no space left between you. She was incredibly clingy in the mornings, a sweet, needy contrast to her sharp daytime persona.
She liked to be wrapped around you like ivy, anchoring herself to your warmth.
“What happened to the woman who used to be up and about by dawn?” you teased gently, tracing the line of her jaw. “The one who told me sleeping past six was a waste of valuable training hours?”
Natasha opened one eye, looking up at you through a fan of thick eyelashes. A lazy, incredibly fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“She realized that training doesn't hug back,” she replied softly.
“And your morning run?”
“I rescheduled,” she shrugged, kissing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, making you gasp softly. “I do night runs now. The pavement is cooler, the compound is empty, and...” She paused, trailing her fingers lightly down your arm, interlocking her fingers with yours. “..it means I don't have to miss a single second of this.”
Your heart melted a little.
It was still hard to grasp sometimes—how a woman who had spent her entire life running, fighting, and surviving now fought so hard just to stay still with you. The fact that she had completely restructured her rigid, lifelong routine just to hold you in the quiet hours of the morning was a testament to how deeply she loved you.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft, slow, lingering kiss to your lips. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath warm on your skin. “I am a hostage to this bed. You'll have to stay and keep me company.”
“Well, if it's a hostage situation, I suppose I have no choice,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her close.
The Russian let out a contented sigh, burying her face back into your chest, her hand gently tracing soothing circles on your lower back. Within seconds, her breathing evened out into a calm, steady rhythm.
The coffee could wait. The world could wait.
For now, you happily surrendered to five more minutes, just for her.
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