Pavlov's Dick (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)
Summary: Natasha loved living with you, but some of your habits drove her fucking crazy... until Wanda mentions a solution that just might work for you both.
Words: 7161
Warnings: g!p ADHD!Reader, implied butch!reader, lawyer!Natasha (it's mentioned like, twice maybe?), use of (Y/N) twice (I think), smut, handjob (reader receiving), fingering (Natasha receiving), oral (both receiving), p in v sex, teeeeechnically manipulation but you both benefit from it, mentions briefly of hetero sex... uh, I dunno, man. Just use your own discretion.
A/N: It's an AU, obviously. Uh, and before anyone sends a message like, "Ackshually" when it comes to ADHD--I have it. And a lot of reader's issues stem from experience so...
-X-
Tucked in the back corner of the bar, sprawled out across the booth, Wanda’s head was tossed back in laughter as her friends stared at her in surprise. Her cheeks were flushed from the tequila, eyes twinkling in the low light as she smirked.
“You two keep staring at me like I just confessed to grand larceny.” She giggled, shrugging with faux-innocence. “It started as a total accident. Victor fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom. Finally, after I’d been asking for, what, three months? I was so relieved I practically dragged him into the bedroom and blew him until he forgot his own name.”
Maria snorted into her glass, shaking her head. “Real romantic.”
“It was,” Wanda insisted, mock-indignant. “But then the next weekend he cleaned out the gutters without me saying a word. So I thanked him properly—let him eat me out on the kitchen counter until my legs stopped working.” She paused, savoring their reactions. “Two accidents in a row made me wonder. So the third time he took my car for an oil change and full wash? I rode him in the garage before he’d even put the keys down.”
Natasha’s brow arched, her fingers stilling around her glass. She didn’t laugh; she simply studied Wanda. “And he hasn’t caught on?”
“Not once.” Wanda’s voice dropped, the satisfaction clear as day on her face. “He just thinks he’s suddenly the world’s most attentive husband and the sex is better than it’s been since our honeymoon. Win-win.”
Natasha leaned in closer, cheeks a little warm from the vodka but eyes focused. “Walk me through the escalation. How do you decide what equals what reward?”
Tilting her head, Wanda set her margarita aside and leaned on her arms, giving Natasha her full attention. “You’re not just asking for gossip reasons, are you?” she teased, before it shifted into something almost conspiratorial. “You’re wanting to take notes.”
Natasha didn’t deny it, smirking as she waited.
Wanda exhaled a quiet laugh. “Fine. Here’s how I broke it down once I realized it worked.” She ticked off points on her fingers, deliberately. “Small stuff—trash out, dishes loaded and actually run, counters wiped—those stack. Three of them in a week? Handjob—it’s quick, simple, and most of the time, I get fingered while I do it, so we both walk away loose and happy.”
Maria whistled, mildly impressed by their friend’s cunning, but Wanda’s gaze never left Natasha.
“Medium jobs—vacuuming the whole house, doing laundry, changing the sheets, stuff like that? Things that genuinely shave real hours off my weekends? He does two of them without me having to ask or without me having to explain what needs done? Oral. Either I blow him until he can’t feel his toes or he goes down until I can’t feel mine.”
Natasha’s fingers drummed along her glass as she took it all in.
“Now, the big stuff? Stuff that’s been genuinely dragging me down and grinding my gears? If he accomplishes those tasks, we have full, no-holds-barred, fuck-until-we-forget-our-names sex because once that weight is gone—once I don’t have that stress or irritation weighing me down? I want to climb him like a tree. Because suddenly I have the energy to want him. That’s the part he didn’t realize sometimes. Those little things added up and I didn’t want him as much because I was spending all of my time considering the mess around us.”
Wanda sat back, taking a healthy gulp of her drink before looking at Natasha seriously.
“It’s not some rigid contract and I don’t just… force it. Like, I want to because I’m not ready to strangle him anymore. I don’t have to nag, I don’t have to do it myself, and we’re having the kind of sex we had in our twenties. It’s fantastic.”
Natasha knew all about that frustration.
She loved you—god only knows how much she loved you—but you were notorious for your half-finished projects around the loft. A sink full of mugs you swore you’d handle “in a minute”, the boxes from where you’d moved in six months ago still scattered around the hallway and closet, laundry that always would be started until you forgot about it and it’d sit in the washer for three days…
She loved you—but the clutter was starting to feel like a third presence in your bed.
It helped that Wanda’s system wasn’t cruel; that’s the part that hooked her. It wasn’t punishment or nagging or begging or that cold score-keeping Natasha hated in other couples. It was motivation, turning your genuine desire to help into something that stuck. Something that rewarded the effort you were already putting in with something she loved giving you: herself. Her time, her pleasure, her love…
The truth was—she fucking wanted you. Constantly. But your sex life had started falling off a bit because she was frustrated. If this brought that back and solved ninety percent of the issues ailing your otherwise incredible relationship?
“I know you’ve been struggling with the same hang-ups, Nat,” Wanda murmured sympathetically. “She tries, we all know she does, but the energy fizzles out when her brain goes a little… haywire. It’s not about turning her into some obedient robot or prostituting yourself for clean counters. It’s just… giving the effort a little extra gravity to help it stick. It’ll just make her feel like you can’t keep your hands off her when she makes your life easier, which… let’s be honest, you already struggle with on a good day.”
Winking, Wanda finished her drink before growing serious.
“If it doesn’t work or it makes you feel weird, you stop. No harm. But if it does work…” she trailed off for a moment, “then you get help you need around the apartment and she gets the version of you that isn’t quietly burning with frustration—and you both get your wild, ‘don’t call us this weekend, we’re not leaving the bed’ sex life back.”
“Oh yeah, that’s what we need. More opportunities for us to walk in on them getting it on in a bathroom…” Maria grinned cheekily.
“Or the car…” Wanda chimed in.
“Or the bushes at Tony’s. Remember New Years?”
“Or—“
“Okay! I get it,” Natasha laughed, lifting her drink in a quiet salute. “But… you’re right. Might just be worth it.”
-X-
The smell of eggs and fresh coffee dragged Natasha into consciousness the next morning, eyes blurry and head pounding from the aftermath of too many shots last night. She knew she shouldn’t have accepted Maria’s challenge—
And her hangover was quick to remind her she wasn’t twenty-five anymore.
Wandering down the hall into the kitchen, wearing one of your oversized tees and a pair of silk sleep shorts you always teased her about, she froze in the doorway at the sight. You, in a tank top and shorts, plating eggs and bacon. But what surprised her most?
The kitchen wasn’t a goddamn disaster zone.
Countertops? Wiped off and sparkling (okay, maybe not sparkling but let a woman dream). Sink? Empty, besides the pan you had just set in there after emptying the contents onto plates. The trash bag? Sitting beside the door, tied and ready to go out to the chute. Dishwasher? Already humming as it cleaned the dishes from last night and this morning.
You’d cooked and cleaned up after yourself without her having to ask—
She pinched her hip just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Crossing the space, she looped her arms around your waist from behind and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.
“Morning, chef,” she teased, voice husky and thick with sleep. Another soft kiss, this one grazing your earlobe as she stared at the breakfast on the counter. “You trying to spoil me before I’ve even had coffee?”
Her hands dropped to the waistband of your boxers, fingertips dipping just below to feel the soft skin beneath.
“I know you got in late last night, so I thought I’d make breakfast. I know how your ‘girls’ nights’ tend to go with those two,” you murmured, twisting in her arms until you could kiss her gently. “Morning, baby.”
She sighed happily into the kiss, letting it linger as her lips parted, tasting the too-sweet creamer from your coffee as she leaned against you. When you pulled back, she didn’t let you go far, palms sliding up over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through the thin material of your shirt.
“Yeah, we might’ve… tied one on last night,” she admitted with a sheepish grin. “Victor had to come outside to help carry Wanda into the house.” She cringed, remembering how… graphic Wanda had been when she draped herself across the blond man, “whispering” in his ear what she wanted him to do to her once they were inside.
“Whispering” of course equaling out to: Wanda having no idea how loud she was actually being and the Uber driver learning way too much about the Sokovian’s sex life.
Natasha made sure to give him five stars as an apology, and a decent sized tip.
“This is a nice surprise though.” Her hand slid up to rest over your heart, thumb drawing lazy circles. “I know it’s my turn to take out the trash but would you mind taking it to the chute for me? My head is still objecting to light and the hall is so bright…”
Her eyes were soft, almost pleading, but she couldn’t help herself. You’d unknowingly already done two things—two!—without her needing to ask (because not only had you made breakfast—something you often didn’t do because you forgot eating was a necessity—but you’d also cleaned up) and that… that alone made her thrilled.
You glanced over at the bag and nodded. “Oh, yeah, I can do that. Uh, hold on.”
Disappearing deeper into the apartment, you grabbed the small bags from the bathroom and office before tying them off and snagging the bag beside the door. It was a short walk, ten steps down to the chute, but for Natasha—
It was perfect.
You’d taken all of the trash—all of it—and somehow, that was hotter than lingerie. Because now things were cleaner, even if only slightly. But it was a goddamn start.
“Done and done,” you announced, nudging the door closed with your foot when you returned.
Natasha’s mouth curved in a warm smile as she closed the gap of space between you, hands trailing over your chest up to your hair.
“Good girl,” she whispered, dragging you into a deep kiss that made your toes curl against the tile. You could never really think when her tongue was in your mouth and her body was pressed tight against yours.
“Wow,” you exhaled as she finally pulled back, a dazed grin on your face. “That was…”
She didn’t wait for you to finish, wrapping her fingers around your wrist as she dragged you over to the couch and shoved you down. Your eyes went wide, a quiet huff escaping as you landed, but the feeling of her moving to straddle your hips cut off any moment of protest.
Her hands skimmed over the hem of your shirt, drifting under the thin fabric as they ghosted over your stomach, your ribs—
Before one diverted downward, snaking into your shorts.
Her mouth claimed yours in a hungry, languid kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip as her fingers wrapped around your stiffening length. “You take such good care of me,” she whispered, releasing your lip with a quiet ‘pop’, “now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
A guttural, broken sound escaped your throat as her thumb swept over the crown of your cock and your hips jumped upward slightly.
“T-Tasha…”
“That’s it,” she cooed, leaning forward until you could feel her nipples, tight and pebbled, pressing against your own through the thin layers of your shirts. She kept her rhythm unhurried at first, long strokes from base to crown, watching every flicker across your face like she was cataloguing every twitch.
Every time her hand glided up your shaft, the world narrowed down to the feeling of her. Her touch, her warmth, her scent…
God, you were addicted.
One hand slid up her thigh, dipping under the leg of her shorts as your fingers found her slit, thumb brushing the swollen bundle of nerves you found there. “Nat…”
Her breath caught, a soft whine escaping her throat as your fingers parted her folds. She didn’t slow her hand; if anything, her pace grew steadily faster, her hips rolling instinctively into your touch.
“Fuck, just like that,” she murmured, grinding her clit against your thumb when she decided you were a little too distracted by her hand. “Just like that...”
You swallowed her moan as two fingers pressed into her entrance, the sounds of her cunt obscene as she rode your hand with abandon. Her tongue dipped past your teeth, hand stroking base to tip over and over until every fucking nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire.
“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” you groaned between kisses, feeling the way her arousal soaked your hand with every thrust. Every curl of your fingers coaxing more from her.
“Because of you,” she gasped against your lips, voice cracking on the words. “Because you took care of me this morning.” Her cunt clenched hard around your fingers, fresh heat dripping down to your knuckles as she rode your hand shamelessly. “Keep going. Fuck, keep going…”
You bucked up into her grip, lips falling open as her hand stroked faster, her thumbnail teasing the head. Her shorts were so wet they clung to your hand as you fingered her, your cock throbbing almost painfully as the both of you neared your peak.
Minutes passed… or, you assumed it was minutes. It could’ve been seconds. All you knew was that your girlfriend was moaning desperately and your cock was aching so much you could feel it in your fucking teeth.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” she breathed, walls fluttered around your fingers.
Her hips jerked as you crooked your fingers, dragging the tips over that perfect spot inside her. Her breath fractured against your mouth, her hand clenching just right and—
“Fuck,” you groaned, spilling across her hand, head growing fuzzy as the pleasure washed over you in waves.
The sudden rush of your release in her hand and the way you kept working your fingers despite your own climax sent her teetering over the edge. She clamped down hard, riding out the ecstasy in shuddering waves. Her free hand gripped the nape of your neck, like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to gravity, her nails pressing crescents in the skin beneath her fingers.
“…fuck,” she laughed breathlessly, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your parted lips. “Look at you… making me come before breakfast.”
You offered a goofy grin, melting boneless into the soft cushions, completely oblivious to the way Natasha’s mind was racing.
The way she was planning…
-X-
The last few days had been… better. Not perfect—not by any stretch of imagination—but you were better about remembering the little things which, honestly, was making her life a hundred times easier.
Progress was still progress.
Nudging open the loft door, Natasha’s heels dangled from one hand, briefcase in the other. The day had been a marathon of back-to-back depositions, a client who lied to her face twice, and traffic that turned a thirty minute commute into an hour. To say she was tired was a fucking understatement.
She paused for a second when she realized you weren’t in the living room but she could hear sounds of something odd in the bedroom. Wandering down the hall, she exhaled as she stepped into the room, expecting the usual sight of your boxes colonizing the floor with your half-folded clothes draped over them like flags she wanted to burn—
But what she found knocked the breath from her lungs.
You were kneeling in front of a box—the only box not broken down and stacked in the corner—and your clothes were hanging on the rack or sitting folded in the open dresser drawers she’d cleared out for you. The same drawers you hadn’t used before now.
She leaned against the doorframe, her earlier exhaustion bleeding into genuine surprise. “Well… someone’s been productive today,” she said, her voice soft but undeniably thrilled.
“The cafe was dead so Steve sent me home early,” you explained, shrugging as you glanced over your shoulder at her. “I got bored so I started working on putting stuff away. Figured I should maybe start acting like I actually live here.”
Grinning cheekily, you tugged out the last pair of underwear from the box and folded them before setting them in the dresser.
She knew you were joking, but the fact you’d finally taken the step without her having to ask meant more than you knew. She’d joked about it a few times—that you lived out of those boxes like you were expecting to get thrown out—and to know you finally bit the bullet (so to speak) and staked your claim.
She crossed the space in three slow strides, her palms settling on your waist from behind as her fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt.
“Acting like you live here?” she echoed playfully, kissing the nape of your neck. “I like the sound of that.”
Her digits wandered downward, lingering just above the top of your shorts, her chest plastered across your back. She was taking it all in—
And fuck, she liked what she saw.
“I’m proud of you, malyshka,” she whispered, “finish up, then come find me.”
Your brow arched, but the last thing you were going to do was argue when she was looking at you like that. By the time you had the box broken down and the remaining empty hangers hung up, you were practically panting. Hoping desperately that you’d walk out there and see—
Stepping around the frame, your mouth was nearly watering at the sight that greeted you. Natasha, bare and spread on the bed, her fingers lazily teasing her folds. She parted them slowly, just enough to show you how swollen and ready she was.
“Come here, detka,” she murmured softly, smiling faintly. “Come make me forget everything but that pretty mouth of yours.”
You dove—really, there was no other word for it—onto the mattress, scrambling up the comforter until your mouth was level with her cunt. Her digits tangled in your locks, guiding your tongue to her wet heat, back arching the instant your lips sealed over her clit.
“Fuck, just like that,” she whined, hips rolling as she ground against your face.
Every lap of your tongue sent sparks of pleasure up her spine and when you flattened it, licking from her entrance up to her clit, her breath hitched so hard that it sounded painful. Her free hand massaged her breast, tugging at her nipple sharply, while her grip on your hair tightened.
“Don’t st—” her words dissolved into a needy moan as your tongue plunged into her heat, flicking and curling teasingly before returning to the swollen bundle of nerves. Her body went taut, hardly breathing as a symphony of moans and whimpers escaped her throat. “R-right there, detka. Oh god…”
Your hand left her thigh, pressing low on her belly and pinning her to the bed as your tongue worked relentlessly. She bucked hard against the pressure, a raw cry ripping from her throat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” her hand yanked your head hard, dragging you as close as humanly possible.
When her thighs clamped around your head, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart and the obscene sounds of her cunt beneath your tongue. It was filthy and desperate and fuck, you loved eating her out…
She came with a keening whine, hips grinding helplessly against your face, chasing the spasms that bordered on overstimulation by the time they finally ebbed. She was simultaneously nudging your head away with one hand, while the other kept you buried.
It was confusing if you were being honest but you were content to lap up her juices, claiming every drop until she finally pushed you away.
“Jesus, you’re too good at that,” she panted, dragging you up until she could crush her mouth against yours.
“…I really like eating you out. It’s a top tier delicacy,” you mumbled against her lips, smiling faintly.
She snorted, cheeks flushing red as she shoved your head back. “God, you’re incorrigible.”
-X-
Natasha… was concerned.
You’d been doing so good for the last few weeks, but this was a test she wasn’t sure would go the way she’d hoped. A handjob here and there, occasional oral… and you were actually managing to keep up with tasks around the loft without needing a reminder.
Sure, you still had mind-blowing sex often, but the truth was: Wanda was right. When she wasn’t wanting to strangle you or burn the loft down because of all the clutter, she wanted to fuck you stupid. Constantly.
The kind of sex you’d had during the first year of your relationship when you were both awful at keeping your hands to yourselves.
She loved it; organization and orgasms.
But now her family was here and you were in charge of finishing dinner while she caught up with her mom and sister. Granted, Alexei was in the kitchen with you, but that almost might’ve been worse because the two of you together were trouble.
She was lingering in the doorway, watching you both with a critical eye (if she was waiting for a fire to erupt because of Alexei and a “vodka sauce I made in the motherlands”, she’d never admit it), before Yelena’s hand was wrapping around her wrist and dragging her into the living room.
“The kitchen is fine. Papa and your girlfriend are bonding over meat,” Yelena said, steering her over to the couch and shoving her down. She claimed the other side of Natasha while Melina lounged in your usual chair. “Alright, spill: what did you do?”
“Yes, what has changed? The apartment looks like adults live here, you look like you’ve slept more than four hours, and now (Y/N) is finishing dinner alone without being asked. Explain.” Melina arched a curious brow.
Natasha exhaled through her nose, buying a second by smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her jeans. “I started reinforcing positive behavior,” she said carefully. “When she finishes things that make my life easier, I make sure she knows how much I appreciate it. Very… personally.”
Melina’s head tilted, processing while Yelena’s eyes narrowed, then widened as horrified realization dawned on her.
“So… sex?” Yelena asked, bluntly, nose crinkling at the idea of Natasha having sex.
Natasha shot her a look. “Yelena,” she warned, but she was cut off Yelena’s laughter.
“Oh my god, you are bribing your girlfriend with orgasms.” Her amusement faltered as the words dawned on her, face scrunching in disgust. “Ew, please tell me your couch is still clean.”
“It was never clean,” Natasha muttered, smirking faintly when Yelena squealed in horror, practically throwing herself onto the other recliner, though her smile dimmed at the look in Melina’s eyes. “Mama… I’m not prostituting myself for clean countertops.”
Melina leaned forward, studying Natasha intently. “I only want to know that you are not forcing yourself to perform gratitude. You’ve been wound tight as a wire for months. If this… thanks is coming at the cost of your own comfort—”
“It isn’t,” Natasha cut in, meeting Melina’s gaze. She wasn’t defensive, just… hoping Melina would understand. “I… I want her constantly. I always have. The difference is that now when she finishes something that’s been bothering me, the want isn’t tangled up in resentment. There’s no mental block or voice in my head asking why she can… touch me but can’t put her damn socks in the hamper.”
Yelena’s playful squirming at the idea of Natasha having sex (gross!) faded into something more thoughtful as she studied her sister. It had been a while since Natasha had seemed so… relaxed. Calm.
“Good,” Melina finally replied, nodding once. “Then keep doing it.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I should try something similar with your father.”
Yelena recoiled so hard she nearly tipped out of the recliner. “Mama, no. Hard no! I do not need that visual.”
Natasha groaned, burying her face in her hands. “God, please. Never again. We are not discussing your sex life with Papa. Ever.”
From the kitchen, Alexei bellowed—needlessly, because the fucking loft wasn’t that big, “Food is ready!”
Natasha and Yelena both scrambled up, grateful for the interruption, and Natasha nudged her sister as they walked into the kitchen.
“This is your fault.”
Yelena glanced at her father, then her mother, and cringed. “I have many regrets.”
-X-
The front door clicked shut behind Alexei’s final booming goodbye, leaving the loft suddenly quiet except for the low hum of the dishwasher finishing its cycle. Natasha slipped the deadbolt, leaned her back against the door for a beat, and let the silence settle. The apartment gleamed, counters wiped, leftovers neatly stacked in glass containers in the fridge, and not a single stray fork in the sink. You’d done it all, jumping up between courses to clear plates, wrapping foil over bowls, even sweeping the floor while she hugged her mother one last time.
“I am so tired I can’t feel my toes,” you groaned, sprawled out on the couch.
Natasha smirked as she walked over to you, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table as she lifted your feet into her lap. Her palms slowly massaged from your ankles up to your calves. “My poor baby,” she cooed teasingly. “You were incredible tonight.”
Her hands slid up to your thighs, kneading the muscles with deliberate pressure.
“Every time I looked up, you were doing something else to make this night perfect,” she praised, the teasing softening into something genuinely appreciatively as she studied your face.
She set your feet down and stood, grabbing your hand as she tugged you up.
“Bed. Now.”
You blinked in surprise, but followed along like a diligent girlfriend. Usually when Natasha’s family left, she’d bathe for an hour to decompress, not… this.
(It genuinely didn’t click in your head that her lack of exhaustion came from you helping her take care of everything.)
Shoving you towards the bed, Natasha arched a brow. “Strip. I want you on your back.”
Laughing, you were quick to tug your shirt over your head and toss it aside, your jeans hurriedly joining it on the floor. “Yes, ma’am.”
Natasha’s eyes tracked every movement as you stripped, watching the way your stomach flexed, the soft weight of your breasts, the line of your hips as your boxers fell away. You could feel that green gaze sweeping over every inch as you flopped into the middle of the bed, cock already half-hard as you stared down the bed towards her.
When she was certain she had your attention—which wasn’t hard, honestly—she began to pluck the buttons of her blouse open, one by one, until it pooled around her bare feet. Black lace came loose with a single flick of her fingers and by the time she was standing naked at the end of the bed, a sight you’d never get tired of seeing, you were panting like you’d run a damn mile.
“Christ, Nat,” you breathed, cock flushed and twitching at the view.
She crawled up the mattress, palms gliding over your knees, spreading you wider as she settled between them. “You cleaned this morning without me asking. Helped prep dinner for five, finished it solo while I caught up with my mom and sister… and didn’t complain once.”
She leaned down, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teeth grazing just enough to make the muscles beneath her mouth jump. Her hand wrapped lazily around your length, stroking slow and firm as she coaxed you fully hard with practiced ease.
“That’s not a small thing, detka. That’s huge.”
Her tongue traced a wet line from the base to the tip of you, swirling around the head before she took you into her mouth, throat relaxing as she swallowed you down until her nose pressing against your skin. She held you there, humming softly, before pulling back with a deliberate suction that left you slick and aching.
She sat up, shifting high enough to straddle your hips. Her palms braced against your chest, thumbs teasing your nipples as she rocked forward, her slick folds dragging along your cock.
“Just lay back and enjoy,” she whispered, guiding the head of you to her entrance, sinking down just enough to take the tip before stilling. “I want to show you just how thankful I am…”
Her hips rolled torturously slow, taking you inch by inch until she was seated on your lap, walls clenching tight around you. A shudder ran through her, head tipping back and throat flushed bright in pleasure.
“Fuck, you’re so deep, detka…” she moaned. “Tell me how you want me to ride you… tell me what you want…”
“Use me… I like it when you use me,” you admitted, hands surging up to grip her hips possessively. “When you treat me like I’m just a toy for your pleasure…”
Natasha’s breath hitched audibly, the words washing over her like rain. It wasn’t often that you let her take control, the two of you often playfully fighting for control, so to hear that?
God, she was going to savor every second of this.
Her nails dug slightly into your chest as her thighs flexed. She lifted so agonizingly slow, until only the head remained inside, before dropping back down in one smooth, hard motion. The slap of skin on skin was barely audible over the low moan that tore from her throat, her hips lifting and falling over and over as she set a rhythm.
She didn’t look at you right away. Her head was tipped back, eyes half-closed and lips parted as she rode you like the feeling of your cock inside her was all that mattered; like the feeling of you was the only thing that mattered in her world.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” she rasped, leaning forward to nip at the expanse of your throat. “Stay still. Let me take what I want.”
The bed beneath you creaked as her pace quickened, her hands falling to your knees when she arched her back, breasts bouncing with every greedy rock of her hips. She was chasing her climax shamelessly, using you like a toy made just for her.
“God, baby… you look incredible like this,” you groaned, one hand leaving her hip to drop between her thighs, your thumb circling her clit roughly.
Her hips snapped down hard, grinding you as deep as she could go at the first touch.
“Detka—” the word fractured on a gasp, her nails scoring lines down your thighs as she leaned back farther. Every roll of her body felt like electricity in her veins until her thighs were trembling. She didn’t slow—couldn’t—riding you faster. It was brutal but you didn’t care; all that mattered was the woman above you looked ready to shatter and you were desperate to drive her over the edge.
When you pinched her swollen bundle of nerves gently, her entire body seized, the noise that escaped her throat making your cock twitch desperately inside her. Beads of sweat trickled between her breasts, occasionally glinting in the moonlight from the window, and she looked like a fucking painting. Like some art you’d find in an overpriced gallery.
“Tasha…”
She didn’t say a word, her cunt fluttering wildly as she slammed down on final time, the orgasm ripping through her. Her back arched to the point it honestly looked painful and you surged up, looping your arm around her waist as you helped her ride out every last wave of ecstasy. Your hips rocked to meet every trembling grind from Natasha, her arms lifting shakily to wrap around your neck as she buried her face against your throat.
“…holy shit,” she whispered against your skin, “I think I saw God… and she looked like my girlfriend.”
You laughed breathlessly, still buried deep in her cunt as her walls milked you with helpless clenches. “That so?”
She nodded wordlessly, mouth trailing over your neck as she slowly ground against you. “Uh huh… think you can hold out a little longer, detka? I’m not through with you yet.”
-X-
Two Months Later
Things had gotten so much better over the last two months. The loft was clean, the sex was better than it’d been in months, and Natasha was genuinely… happy.
On top of that, you’d actually remembered her birthday. Granted, both of you were horrible at remembering the important dates until the day of but you’d actually planned something. It was small—a day out for her with her friends—but it was still sweet that you’d managed to plan something.
So when Wanda and Maria mentioned meeting you for dinner at the little Italian place she liked in Brooklyn, she hadn’t thought anything about it.
As Maria parked the car, Wanda slipped out first, wandering inside to check on “wait times”, slipping through the side door of the building left cracked open. She’d sent you a message five minutes ago, informing you they were two blocks out, so everything was set up and waiting.
Wanda peeked into the private room, beaming when she saw you standing awkwardly in the archway of the door. Soft lights were strung up around the room and everyone Natasha adored was crammed into the private space—her family, a handful of friends, and one already tipsy Tony who looked… unusually irate but there wasn’t time to question that.
“Show time,” Wanda whispered with a thumbs up before slipping out to meet Natasha and Maria at the entrance.
A few moments later, long enough to leave your heart pounding in your ears and the box in your pocket feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, Natasha’s friends led her into the room and she froze.
Her eyes went wide as she took in the smattering of faces sprawled out around the room before her gaze met yours. You were wearing that suit she loved seeing you in, standing there with a bashful grin as you lifted your glass in a quiet toast and the others followed.
“Happy birthday, Natasha.”
A disbelieving laugh broke from her throat as she pressed a hand briefly over her chest. “You absolute sneak. No wonder you sent me out with Wanda and Maria all day.”
Grinning, you crossed the room to wrap an arm around her waist, tucking her into your side. “And here you thought your biggest surprise was gonna be me actually remembering to say ‘happy birthday’ this morning.”
“…who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?” she teased, lifting her hand to brush over the buttons near your heart, her expression softened with wonder.
Alexei cut in before you could respond, voice booming far too loud in the tiny space, “She is good girl! Planned everything like a general. She—”
Melina lifted her hand, slapping it over Alexei’s mouth casually, like she’d done it a million times before while Yelena just shook her head and muttered, “Volume, Papa.”
“So, gifts first, then food. Because your sister and Clint got into a breadstick eating competition while we were waiting for you and I’m afraid if we feed them anything else right this second, we might actually have to carry them out in wheelbarrows.”
Leading Natasha over to the seat that was designated for her with a large BIRTHDAY GIRL sash around the back, you took the seat beside her as everyone started passing over boxes and envelopes.
A sweet framed photo from a barbecue over the summer from Steve (no, she didn’t tear up, dammit. The garlic in the air was just strong)! A coffee mug from Clint that read: World’s Okayest Lawyer.
One by one, the people who loved her showered her in gifts and every new, thoughtful or silly present left her smile just a little wider.
Finally the pile dwindled to the envelope you’d placed in front of her. A spa weekend voucher for her, Wanda and Maria to the resort upstate she’d mentioned once in passing. Natasha’s brows lifted high in surprise, genuinely touched. “You bought us a whole weekend?”
“I—well, Victor paid for Wanda, I paid for you and we split Maria’s. It’s a joint gift, from us,” you explained with a sheepish grin. “But… I do have one more gift for you that should make up for me pestering our friend.”
You stood, kissing her temple lightly as you shifted to stand in front of her. Her forehead scrunched a little in confusion when you didn’t move to grab anything, but that uncertainty quickly bled away as you squared your shoulders and the room went silent.
(You might have told them ahead of time what you were planning.)
“Natalia Romanova, you are my heart. My soul. You are sunshine on a rainy day and a fireplace in winter. Every moment of life with you has been a blessing and every fucking—oops, shit, sorry, Wanda told me not to swear during this,” you muttered, clearing your throat even as your hands trembled, “Every day, I fall more and more in love with you… and I want to spend every second of every minute of every day with you for the rest of our lives.”
You dropped to one knee, fumbling the box out of your pocket.
“Tasha, will you mar—”
“Wait.” Tony’s chair scraped across the floor as he rose, swaying slightly, face flush with indignation and too much whiskey. “You shouldn’t do this until you know what she’s been doing.”
Pepper hissed his name and reached for his arm but he waved her off.
“Wanda started the whole thing,” he slurred, gesturing vaguely towards the brunette. “Bragging about how she has Victor trained like some goddamn lab rat. Sex as a reward when he does something good.” He laughed, though it was strained. “Taught Pepper and Natasha the trick too. But I caught on when she tried those mind games with me. They’ve been manipulating you two idiots for months.”
Natasha’s face paled, fingers slipping from yours where she’d been reaching for the ring box and falling dully in her lap. Her eyes flickered to you, wide and mortified as she waited for the anger, the hurt… for you to take away the box.
The silence in the room was so awkward but even Yelena couldn’t bring herself to break it.
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Victor leveled an unimpressed look at Tony. “Tony, I have known for months.” He shrugged. “It’s a good system. I pretend I don’t notice, Wanda is happy, our home is clean and the sex is… exceptional. Why would I blow up a good thing?”
You glanced up from where you were kneeling, smirking at Tony. “You… are a fucking idiot, Stark. Your wife was offering you sex for chores and instead you decided to try and ruin it for us?”
Tony’s glass froze halfway to his mouth as he gaped at you. “You… knew?”
“I’ve known for about a month,” you admitted, shrugging. “I vaguely mentioned it to Victor last month during game night, he explained the whole of it to me, and honestly, it’s a great way to get my dopamine kick.”
Natasha’s eyes snapped to you, but the fear on her face cracked away, replaced with stunned disbelief that hurriedly drifted into relief. You weren’t mad. You’d known for a while, but you were still doing the things that helped make her life easier…
Whatever guilt she’d felt about “tricking” you slowly bled out.
Tony sputtered. “You—you knew? Both of you? And you were just… fine with it?”
“Look, Tony, I like you… but your pride sometimes blinds you from the big picture. Nat’s happy and has a clean apartment, I get the dopamine and praise I crave, and we both get to come—uh, sorry.” You shot Natasha’s parents an apologetic smile before your attention returned to Tony. “Why would I willingly screw that up for myself? And instead of enjoying the benefits yourself, you’re sitting here calling us idiots for enjoying… some damn good rewards. Seems like we might be the geniuses here, Stark.”
Shrugging, your gaze shifted back to Natasha as you smiled softly.
“Now, before I was interrupted… Natasha, baby… will you marry me?”
Pepper gripped Tony’s arm and yanked him back into his chair, hissing something under her breath at him that made his ears go red with embarrassment, but no one was really paying him any mind, too busy watching you.
Natasha was nodding before the question even fully left your mouth, her hand reaching for the box. “Yes,” she whispered, voice shaky but so drenched in love it could’ve drowned you. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”
She tugged you forward, one hand landing on the box while the other cradled your cheek, pulling you into a deep kiss. Holding you close even as the table exploded into whistles and cheers.
“Give me that damn ring,” she mumbled against your lips, a stray tear or two streaking down her cheek.
“With pleasure.”
You pulled back just enough to flip the box open, hands shaking so hard you nearly dropped the damn thing in your haste, before carefully sliding the ring onto her finger.
“Your dad helped me pick it out,” you murmured, staring at the jewelry like it was the best thing you’d ever bought as you both stood up, admiring it in the light.
“…wait, you asked my dad to help you pick it out?” Her eyes filled with tears.
“She did!” Alexei practically shouted, throwing his arms around you both, “Asked your papa if she could have my blessing too! And I said of course! I tell her, “You make my Natalia happy? You take care of her?” and she says yes. I cry a little bit. Then we took celebration shots!”
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head.
“…I might’ve thrown up in your mom’s roses. That shit tasted like rubbing alcohol,” you whispered, kissing Natasha’s temple while Alexei dropped back into an unoccupied chair.
Her shoulders shook with silent laughter as she leaned into your side, pressing her face against your neck. She thought she’d known what perfect was before she met you, but this?
This was perfect.
