Summary: For two years, you’ve been working two jobs just to afford rent and tuition after leaving home at eighteen. Finally, after surviving community college, you’re a junior in university. But with a mandatory internship required to graduate, you stumble into the corporate world of Romanoff-Maximoff Global, where you’re determined to keep your head down and struggle on your own, just as you have become accustomed to. How will Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff teach you how to choose yourself?
Warnings/Tags: Financial struggles, past emotional/psychological abuse, slow burn, high-functioning anxiety, religious trauma, corporate/university setting, unsafe living environment, hurt/comfort, likely eventual smut, dom/sub
Chapters:
What is Success?
Fruit Snack
Polo
How Do You Explain That?
AO3 Longer chapters (7.5k+ words) will only be posted on AO3 after chapter 3.
A/N: thank you to the readers who gave feedback on the first chapter. it gave me the push to commit to this series 🥰
💋ྀིྀི Summary: Y/N picks up a day shift to help out the team and immediately becomes everyone's favorite temporary coworker. Everyone, that is, except Trinity Santos.
💋ྀིྀི Warnings: workplace romance, enemies to lovers, trinity not knowing how to handle feelings, bisexual reader, denial is a river in egypt, sunshine!readerxblackcloud!Trinity, mentions of self harm, slow burn
💋ྀིྀིNotes: If you see mistakes, shush. I am not fixing them. It's too much work
💋ྀིྀི Treat Her Right Masterlist
💋ྀིྀི Previous
💋ྀིྀི Next
heyitsyn posted
liked by shenposting, trinitysantos, j.ogilvie, and 342 others
heyitsyn: survived a day shift also peep some idiot
tagged: itsnotdennis, j.ogilvie
see all comments
itsnotdennis: which one is the idiot specifically
⤷heyitsyn: yes
⤷j.ogilve: It's not me
⤷itsnotdennis: sure buddy
j.ogilvie: Had fun working with you!
vjavadi: you both look ridiculous
melking: the sunglasses 😭
⤷itsnotdennis: drip
⤷joykwon: never say drip again
parkerellis: come back to nights babygirl
⤷heyitsyn: on my way
⤷mateo.diaz: it's like a soldier returning home from war
mateo.diaz: we miss you, come home
shenposting: traitor
⤷heyitsyn: it was ONE shift
trinitysantos: you did okay ig ❤︎ liked by heyitsyn
If anyone has some good Jack edits I can use for Jack Edits of the Day let me know please! All Jack edit photos I found on pintrest
mowalsh is such a delicious dynamic to me because it’s just emery soft domming samira into being loved and cared for despite samira’s internalized beliefs she’s not worthy of it. and they both are so stubborn. that’s such good food. i love yuri.
OH NO! LOVE IS THE MAIN THING #01 — SAMIRA MOHAN SERIES. . .
samira mohan x doctor!reader.
samira gif by @matthewrhys
summary — ᨳଓ . You and Samira were inseparable since you met, and the moment she drifts away from you, you wonder what you did wrong. The truth is, nothing; but no one could have prepared you for what you saw at the bar.
content warnings — ᨳଓ . angst as fuck, the reader is a loser lesbian and its mel's roomie hell yeahh, sorry no mohabbot here :( reader comes from a family of doctors but the last name isn’t specified so no physical descriptions! reader is you, frank and reader being chaotic... ROBBYLANGDON IN SIGHT!!! sorry I love them, they’re into something, and frank is obsessed with that old man, a bit of hate towards jack, I adore him it’s just for the plot, samira and reader lots of unresolved romantic tension!!! they’ll deal with it in upcoming chapters, reader is a britney spears fan (sorry if u arent) lots of silly jokes.
wc — ᨳଓ . 3.8k
paxton's silly note — ᨳଓ . We're in pride month and there are hardly any fics about my beautiful Samira, so I'm here to change that!!! I adore her, guys, please write more about the women of the pitt. Also, this is part of a series, so if you want to be added to the taglist for the second part, let me know. Plus, comments are appreciated, I'm super excited about this series. ۶ৎ
my ko-fi !
You hated it when people shut down problem-solving and just said 'it's hard being me,' and you did it your whole life, until it was your turn to really feel how hard it is to be you; that's when you understood that everyone has problems and it's 100% valid to cry or get angry just because. Just like you used to every time you heard the name Samira Mohan around you.
You constantly felt out of place in public spaces, or anywhere you had to interact with a number of people you weren’t used to, and if you were honest, you never would be.
You were never a great companion for birthdays, or for all those parties and celebrations that involve just enjoying yourself. And it's true, even if it sounds terribly pathetic.
And you discovered it back when you were riding your bike, racing against your older sister to see who could skip any family or outside event — only for both of you to end up being forced to go just for being family. You thought it was silly, but your mom always told you while tugging your arm with a firmness you’d doubt a chef could have, that 'bonds are the most important connection' so your only life plan at such a young age was to follow them.
Yeah, the truth is, both are that complicated.
As a kid, whenever you were invited to your cousins' or classmates' birthdays, you felt like they were doing it out of mere obligation, and you didn’t really feel like you were having fun enough to want to go to a party every time you were invited. And even though it’s likely that they actually weren’t inviting you out of courtesy, your brain and neurotransmitter activity made you think they were.
And that went on for a long time. Much of your college life was nothing more than long, stressful, tedious days, and even the annoying, constant thought of quitting the degree you were initially forced to choose because of your family, because you repeatedly felt like you couldn’t live with all the pressure that came with being part of such a big family legacy, especially not wanting to choose the same future as them.
It was tough. You had really earned by this point a master's degree in enduring all the blows that life claimed to give you since you could remember, and it was like that for a long time, getting used to the monotony that came with being depressed, or as Robby liked to call it whenever you got stressed, being 'isolated from your priorities' which you constantly neglected because of work and wanting a life outside of it, going on dates with any hookup you met at a bar, or just watching movies with Mel, or cooking for her and Samira when she came over to your run-down apartment to hang out.
And that was basically your routine: being tied to the job you had gotten used to, ignoring your family, being with Mel, visiting her sister whenever she wasn’t bored, and spending your quiet days with Samira.
It all came down to being with Samira. You liked doing all that, or well, you loved spending all your free time with her, trying all kinds of food at restaurants all over the city. On Saturdays, she would take care of going to the library near your apartment with you because your days were too ordinary not to spend with her, and always, every time you went to her big house in the suburbs, you would watch movies where she would fall asleep on your shoulder every time, and you couldn't help but put your arm around her neck to hold her close to you.
Every damn time.
And so it went on for a long time, where you couldn't wait for your shift to end because you were too excited to spend time with her without the work schedule tormenting your senses, and it was amazing. Until the outings and all the meetings started to drop off abruptly, which even surprised Langdon himself because he was already used to seeing them together at the exit while he stayed in the hood of his car smoking a cigarette shared with Robby every damn night.
You were surprised in the same way, and even though she didn’t deliberately ignore you to the point that you’d notice easily, everything reached a point where you only saw each other when you ran into each other in any situation that involved both of you, or when you said goodbye to her when she started staying a little later at the center and you felt terrible, because how is it possible that Samira had conditioned you like a pavlovian dog to the point that you felt incomplete without her. Neither the movies nor the sushi nights were the same without her, although the amazing roommate that Mel is made up for it with the nonsense she would say, and your laughter helped.
Although it could never be the same.
And it went on like that for about three months, you were starting to feel it worse than grief, but it is what it is and all the strange attitude Samira had towards you made you suspect that you had probably done something wrong that you still didn’t know about, or she had simply gotten tired of the monotony of your life. And that was the theory you put together in your mind and decided to believe so you wouldn’t fall into external delusions.
Until one saturday night, while you were having a drink with Frank listening to him talk about the only topic he cared about, which is Robby and how he felt they had a mystical connection beyond the usual. You were surprised, but you noticed Samira’s figure, and even though she was facing away, you recognized her at the bar taking a selfie next to the face you recognized as Dr. Abbot while he gave her a kiss on the cheek, waiting for her to finish capturing the moment. You managed to see from a few meters away the flash that lit up their faces until Langdon himself noticed and let out a small shout that could be heard over the music while waving at them and inviting them to come over to you two.
You wanted to die of embarrassment and horror, you pinched his side with all the strength you could muster and lowered your gaze to your beer, which had warmed from the way you were holding it, hoping the worst would happen, or at least that Samira would also feel the discomfort from meters away and decide to decline the offer from the idiot next to you, smiling like a damn golden retriever. You waited, waited, and got tired of waiting, but the seconds dragged on, and nothing happened except for Langdon's whine, until Dr. Abbot's voice reached your ears, apologizing for the interruption before sitting down across from Frank and Samira opposite you.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You didn't want to lift your gaze, but you had to put all your mental strength into the situation even though you recognized it was difficult. At one point, you drowned your friendly sorrows in alcohol while listening to someone else drown their feelings for a man who probably doesn't feel anything for him. You were embarrassing just like the damn Langdon who greets colleagues as if he's never seen them before.
Fucking idiot.
"We're sorry for the interruption" he says as he sits and pulls out a chair for Mira. You notice that, and your brain makes the instant connection: you could be good friends with Langdon, but that doesn't mean you're as stupid as he is, so you quickly understand what's going on but choose not to say anything, unless your unconscious jumps in and spills everything you've been holding back. "I didn't know you'd be here," he laughs, awkwardly, before putting his arm behind the chair and rubbing her shoulder. You see Frank, who has stayed dumbfounded for a long while at the gesture, and you decide to speak before he can come out with the same stupid things that got you into this in the first place.
"Believe me, Dr. Abbot, you're not interrupting anything," you say while wiping the sweat off your bottle on your blue jeans. "We didn't even know you guys were coming here…"
"Please, just call me Jack!" he says, laughing, to which Frank joins in. "We're off the clock, and I prefer to be completely informal with Mira's friends, if I'm honest." You can't help but notice how he laughs again while pointing at you and Frank.
Mira…
You were the only one who called her that out of all the people you knew.
You don’t want to brag, but that was the damn nickname you gave her immediately, and you were the only one who called her that everywhere; you didn’t know if only Jack came up with it too or if he heard you say it, and Samira wasn’t bothered that he called her that too.
Damn straight propaganda. You were fed up at this point.
"Well… just Jack, I guess it’s a surprise for everyone then, so what brings you guys here?" you decide to ask to lighten the mood and the constant pounding of your heart that’s about to have a heart attack. "I didn’t know you were free today…"
"I told you," Frank argues as he interrupts you, and Jack in the same way "Robby is covering with a double shift tonight, that’s why he didn’t come with us"
'Oh, really?' you turn to him. 'I didn’t know.'
'You should pay more attention, I told you before we got here, I had invited him and he said no, so I had to invite you,' he says, and you study his face for a second to realize he’s serious. 'It’s just that you never listen to me.'
How dare he!?
"Wow, I don’t even know how to respond to that"
You decide to ignore the topic, and when you turn around, you see Samira on her phone, completely disconnected from the situation, so you come up with a way to guide her toward an answer that will probably go straight for your jugular. But that's just how you are, and habits are hard to forget, so you're used to girls being platonic or not, hitting your heart a thousand times.
"And you guys… what brings you here?" you ask, squinting at both of them, even though you already knew what was going on.
"Well," Jack laughs and swallows before looking at her, "My girl wanted to go out for a bit because she was feeling a little down, and I would never say no to her."
"Oh shit! Your… your girl, you say wow…" you laugh as you watch Langdon start using his phone to avoid the awkwardness. "I… well, I really didn’t know you guys were a thing or that, well, you were going so, so fast. I mean…" you look at her, "I didn’t even know it was real. And how long has this been going on?" You make a circle with your hands. "Because all Mira has done all this time is be busy and have some mystery on her hands. I thought she was selling pills… just like Langdon." You laugh, and he elbows you in the side.
"Seriously, you didn't know?" Jack wondered, taking off his glasses for a second to clean them. "I thought by now you would know. Well, Robby always told me they were together all the time! Just like peas in a pod."
"Yeah, that's how it was supposed to be," you nod with deep discomfort, until Samira herself decides to speak up and interrupts you before you can say something that might get her in trouble.
"And you guys? What are you doing here alone? I didn’t know you and Langdon were… whatever this is," she said in a rough tone, looking you in the eyes, probably challenging you to respond.
What the hell, sure.
You wanted to laugh or, well, if you were honest with yourself, the universe had decided to give you a beating that not even Adonis Creed himself could withstand in the damn ring; so your only viable option, where you saw that you could end up looking like a champion, was to cry out of anguish, because what kind of question was that? Samira knew perfectly well that your relationship with Langdon had been purely platonic since you met and became friends in no time, besides, you had told her a while ago about your clear preference for women, so that comment felt more like a very unnecessary attack. You were bewildered, and you weren't the only one, but neither Jack nor Frank dared to say anything that could make things worse. You noticed that none of them had drinks anymore besides hers, but you didn’t want to call over any waiter to the table because you were sure your face showed the discomfort you felt.
"I think everyone here knows that I don't date married men," you state, finishing the ruin of what’s left of your night. "Or well, men in general, but that’s not something everyone needs to worry about."
"I’m not married anymore," Langdon says, before looking down again. "Just to clarify, divorced life isn’t as bad as you’d expect, obviously."
"Yeah, I’d heard something about that," Jack says, nodding before continuing as if nothing happened.
The seconds pass and a deadly silence falls, and so you call the waiter to get yourself another useless beer to avoid acting like a complete idiot and leaving while it's raining outside, although if you think about it, it's dramatic enough to make your point; but you prefer to leave it like that, just as everyone else is also ordering one. Frank starts talking with Jack about work stuff that neither you nor Samira are really interested in knowing, so your farm game on your phone starts to get more interesting than usual. You're feeding your little cows when you get a message from Samira, so you lift your gaze to her and see her pointing at your device. You pause your animals for a second and open the only chat you had archived.
The cute nickname she had months ago had been replaced just with her first and last name and a damn period at the end, nothing more, nothing less, just as rough as the other hospital coworkers you had added, except for Langdon, who had a personal nickname you had come up with after his treatment even though he still didn’t know it. You go into the small message box and read the first one, and even though you try not to show any emotion, you know that anything she does or says affects you in weird ways that sometimes even scare you to admit to yourself.
SAMIRA MOHAN: "damn… I'm sorry about just now" "I'm a fucking idiot" "I really am lol" "I don't know what went through my head saying such things"
YOU: "Loooolll it's good that you're aware" "I won't lie, you hurt my feelings :/" "And now you have a boyfriend, what a joke, are we in the era of Samira the liar?"
SAMIRA MOHAN: "GOD NO, DON'T THINK THAT SERIOUSLY I'M SO SORRY :(((" "I'M A FUCKING IDIOT IK" "btw I didn't want you to find out that way either :(" "I didn't know how to tell you and I think I totally panicked and I know that doesn't justify anything, my actions towards you mostly, but I didn't want anyone to know. I'm so embarrassed"
YOU: "Yeah, well…" "I thought it was more important than any idiot like Whitaker or Ogilvie" "I don't know what to tell you besides that you hurt all my feelings and our trust."
SAMIRA MOHAN: "I need you to know that that was never my intention"
YOU: "Aren't we still the best friends I thought we were?"
At that moment, she lifts her eyes from her phone and looks at you intently for a few seconds that seem longer than they really are, and for a moment you feel your teeth vibrate in your mouth from nerves. Everything happens in slow motion until Jack takes her hand, which isn’t holding anything, and places it on his knee, not without first giving it a loud kiss and smiling in her direction. Even though she keeps looking at you after reading your last message, you decide to let it be and just carry on as if that interaction of no more than 7 seconds is bothering you.
Even though you just can't tell your mind not to overthink it, because that was always the dynamic between Samira and you, platonic to the core in every way since you met and had that magical click that bonded you until what you considered a worse separation than with any of the girls you've been with and that's saying a lot because you were known to fall hard, really hard. So much so that you weren't allowed to think about Carmine, the girl from a year ago with whom you planned to move in after knowing each other for just three short months. It bothers you that you're so damn bold when it comes to being with someone, and even though you can be foolish for being so impulsive, those were extremely wild times, you admit.
There comes a moment at night where Langdon and Jack go to play pool over a simple bet of about 35 dollars, and the next round of drinks is on the loser, so you and her are left alone with the dim light, the yellow bulbs as company.
"I'm a damn idiot," she says, as she brings her hands to the table and looks you in the eyes, maybe looking for a reaction, but that's the last thing you want to give her. She deserves the damn silent treatment, though you're soft-hearted and at some point, you'd fall back into her arms and the charm that surrounds Samira's soul. "And I really am sorry for being so bad at not telling you anything, I didn't want to make you go through some kind of silent treatment, but… I panicked! And I didn't want you to know about Jack. Well, I mean I did want you to, but at least not like that!" she exclaims quickly.
You didn’t want to answer him, at least not right now; but you were in a public place, and if you didn’t, you’d be a total brat, plus you had like 5 messages in the last minute from Frank saying you should fix the awkward vibe. Does he think you can solve everything with a magic wand? Idiot.
And you weren’t going to deny it either, you missed her more than you missed Britney Spears when she took a hiatus. And that says a lot. So you took a metaphorical deep breath and decided to jump into the damn lion’s mouth; either way, you were going to do it sooner or later.
"Yeah, sure… I get it," you say, forcing a smile that you can even feel is fake and rough, but again, you can’t help it.
Samira shakes her head several times and gives you a disbelieving look that screams at you how much of a liar you are. "Don't do that… Not to me, don't lie to me."
It made no sense to deny it, to hell with keeping scruples, you were on the edge of your decline into madness. "Just like you lied to me? You see that's not good… It’s been months, Samira, and you didn’t even bother to tell me you’ve been dating that damn Abbot. Are you crazy? How could you think to hide something like that?" She froze for a few seconds while you stammered everything you had to say to her.
"I have no justification whatsoever, and I know it, I was a complete idiot for hiding it, but everything happened so fast and suddenly Jack wouldn’t stop…" She breathes in short bursts and continues, "And well… we had a few dates and it just happened, it wasn’t something I did on purpose."
"What about Jack? Does he also get turned on by playing hide and seek?" You’re a damn cynic, that’s what you are, but you want to attack her straight at the jugular and being direct about what you feel is your way of doing it.
"No, no, no, of course not," she exclaims and swallows, she’s nervous, you notice, but you think about not telling her that you know that, you don’t want to seem crazier than you already are because of the situation. "He wanted me to tell you, he realized we’d been distant for a while and figured out it was because of all this," she makes a gesture with her hands. "And he told me to tell you, although he didn’t want everyone on PTMC to know, only Robby knows… and well, now you guys."
You slam your fist on the table harder than you wanted to. "Robby?! Damn idiot, he never told me…"
She turns her face, understanding, "I begged him not to do it."
"You still don't have a justification." You narrow your eyes and turn to Langdon, who is on a call while Jack waits for his turn. "You were an idiot and a really, really bad friend, and that's what bothered me. I just don't know why you did it. I don't want you to hide things from me because you think I’ll get upset. I would never do that to you. Look, probably with Frank, yes, but with you, I would never even think about it."
She nods and looks at her feet for a second. "It wasn’t because of you! I believe you, and you’re completely right, and my last wish is for us to be upset or to disappoint you… I would never do that consciously, and I hope you know that. I think I was just scared it would become more real… that’s all."
"You broke the code, that’s it," you smile trying to break the ice, and she laughs, and you look at her, so you can’t help but laugh too.
"Shut up! I feel like a total garbage bag."
"You’re not, there are worse people," you say, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Does he treat you well?"
She smiles and nods, you can see it in her eyes, she’s in love. "He’s a damn knight in shining armor."
"He’d better watch out, or he’ll be dealing with the worst rat in the hospital… that is, me."
She smiles at you and puts her phone on the table. "It’s good to hear that from you… so, are we good?"
You grin from ear to ear like the damn Cheshire Cat, trying to cover your mouth with your phone before nodding and watching her come over to give you a hug. "Of course!"
"God, thank you! I couldn’t handle another week without you."
In one way or another, all roads led you back into Samira’s clutches.
꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ using her to blot your lipstick . . . natasha romanoff x fem!reader, fluff
You're sitting on the bathroom counter, carefully dragging lipstick across your lips. It's a rare night when the two of you can relax and doll up for a fancy dinner.
Well, you doll up.
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Nat strapping a gun to her thigh, just above the slit in her dress. It's simple and sleek, the complete opposite of your look. You prefer going all out, layering colors and textures until everything looks like you've stepped out of a Fancy Nancy book.
Glancing back at your reflection, you study your lips. The deep red is too bold. It throws the whole look off.
"Nat—"
"No. We're going to be late," she cuts you off, stepping into her heels.
You pout. "You don't even know what I was gonna say."
Natasha eyes you in the mirror. Then she straightens and stalks over, heels clicking against the floor.
"You were going to ask if the lipstick is too bold." She steps between your legs, fingers tilting your chin up. "It's not."
"It is."
"Baby."
You cup her face and she leans closer like she can't help it. The thought that you could make her lose her control sends a giddy feeling through you.
You turn her head and press a kiss to her jaw, leaving a bright red mark behind.
She exhales through her nose. "Really?"
You admire it with a satisfied grin as her hands settle on your hips. "Done."
She lets her forehead fall against yours.
"Can we go now?" she asks.
You shake your head.
"What now?"
"I need a kiss."
"Of course you do." She mutters, but gives in anyway.
masterlist
wrote this on my phone in 20 mins so if it’s bad that’s why 😭 also i finally wrote my first natasha fic!!!
pairing: College Student!Natasha Romanoff x College Student!Fem!Reader
chapters: 16 chapters (planned)
status: ongoing
summary: two people agree on rules to keep things casual, private, and safe—but some arrangements are only ever meant to feel official.
PROLOGUE
They never meant for it to feel official.It just did.
No witnesses.
No signatures that meant anything outside the room.
Just two people agreeing on how not to hurt each other—
and calling it safety.
THE ARRANGEMENT
This arrangement is entered into voluntarily by both parties, hereafter referred to as N and R, both consenting adults (21+), of sound mind and questionable judgment.
Purpose:To establish clear boundaries for a strictly physical relationship with no emotional expectations, obligations, or future implications.
1. This is casual.What happens between N and R is physical in nature only.
There will be no discussions about feelings, intentions, or “what this means.”
2. No one can know.This arrangement is private.
No friends, teammates, classmates, or acquaintances are to be informed—directly or indirectly.
3. Public distance is mandatory.Outside of agreed-upon tutoring sessions, N and R will maintain appropriate social boundaries.
Affection, familiarity, or acknowledgment beyond polite neutrality is discouraged.
4. No jealousy.Neither party has the right to comment on, question, or react to the other’s interactions with third parties.
5. No sleepovers.Once the agreed-upon interaction concludes, both parties will separate.
Staying the night is unnecessary and ill-advised.
6. This has an end date.This arrangement will terminate at the conclusion of the academic semester.
No extensions. No exceptions.
7. Either party may end this at any time.No explanations required.
No closure guaranteed.
Unwritten Addendum (Not Acknowledged):
No one mentions the way N goes quiet afterward.
No one mentions how R stays calm because panic is louder.
No one mentions that this only works if neither of them asks for more.
baran has been wanting a second kid, and you have been wanting your first. it’s time to come clean. baby fever hit hard for a sec ok sue me but im over it now tbh i wrote this a week ago
“I can’t believe he wanted me to read him to sleep again,” you say, coming into the kitchen. “He’s really starting to like me, isn’t he?”
Baran nods. It pleases her that you’ve grown closer to her son over time — you are part of the family now, loved by both of them, and you make a better parent to her son than her ex could ever hope to be.
“You’re good with him,” she says. She stands at the counter cutting fruit for the two of you, packing cubes of the watermelon you bought earlier into plastic containers. “You make a good parent.”
You walk over to steal a sip from her mug of tea on the counter, ignoring her when she protests and claims you’re chugging it.
She always drinks from the same mug now, one you took her son to pick out for her as one of her birthday presents this year. It’s light purple with her initial on the front in white, simple enough that it wouldn’t seem like the most exciting gift to receive, but Baran treasures it.
It’s from both of you, she told you once. How could I not treasure it?
After snapping the last of the containers shut, Baran comes over and wraps her arms around you from behind.
When she sighs it sounds too heavy, and when she sinks into you it feels like she’s leaning all of her weight forward for you to take.
“Hey,” you say softly. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t respond immediately. When she does, you hear the worry in her voice. “I want to ask you something and have you not read too much into it.”
You take another sip of her tea, and what worries you the most is that this time she doesn’t scold you for doing so. “You can ask me anything.”
She rests her forehead down against your shoulder for a second before finally voicing her question. “Do you ever wonder what our kid would be like if we had one?”
You pause. You would be lying if you said no, because you are around Baran and her son so much that you’ve often considered what it might have been like if you had been the one to start a family with her instead of her ex-husband.
“Give me an answer,” she says. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry,” you murmur. You turn around in her arms. “You took me by surprise a little.”
“You still haven’t answered me.”
You lean in and kiss her softly. You brush some of her curls over her shoulder and run a hand down her arm soothingly, and you can feel some of the tension leaving her.
“I think about it sometimes,” you say eventually. “I think about what our kid would look like. And I know that’s not the way it works, we could never have a kid that’s half you and half me, but I can see it all so clearly in my head.”
It’s bittersweet, that fantasy. But you hold onto it anyway, and you can see Baran picturing it just as vividly.
She smiles softly. Her eyes get glassy for a second and she blinks, shifting on her feet a little. “I can see it all, too. She would have your eyes.”
“She?”
Baran nods. “I already have a boy. I think I would have a girl with you.”
“You can’t choose,” you smile.
“In my head I can. And like I said, she would have your eyes. She would have hair like mine, dark and curly, and I would buy those little hair clips for her with the big pink bows on them and—” she cuts herself off, looking down. “It’s silly.”
“It’s not silly,” you say. “That sounds beautiful.”
You press a kiss to her temple, and then she closes her eyes and dips her head down into the crook of your neck.
“We could have a baby,” she whispers against your skin, so quietly that you can barely hear her. “It would be expensive, and a lengthy process… but we could do it.”
You let the words sink in. Your heart starts beating faster and you wonder if she can hear it from where her head is, the way it thrums so rapidly beneath your skin.
“Is that something you would want?” she asks. You can hear in her voice how much she wants it, and that it must be something she has been considering silently for a long time. “Is it something you’ve thought about?”
You feel like the words to answer her with are lodged in your throat, thick and raw and impossible. But you manage a small ‘yes’, and you feel the way she pulls you closer and smiles so genuinely against your neck.
“Are you serious?” Baran asks. She pulls back and moves a hand to your jaw, meeting your eyes as if trying to tell if you’re being genuine. “Because if you’re not, we can end this discussion right now and—”
You lean in and kiss her, another attempt to convince her that you’re being as serious as she is. You feel her lean into you and you weave a hand into her curls, trying to spend every second assuring her that you are here, you are with her.
“We should do it,” you say eventually, parting from the kiss. “We should have a baby.”
y'all remember when she said heavy is the head that wears the crown heavy are the hips that wear the strap? that was crazy that she said that canonically. that was wild. we all remember that right
Summary: you're a college student struggling to get through your senior year- and your ice cold thesis professor isn't helping.
Warnings: legal age gap, tension, angst, SMUT SMUT SMUT, this bih is loooong
Word count: 7,000
Part two, part three, part four part five epilogue
“Fuck” you mumble, slamming your laptop closed and shoving it in your backpack. It’s the second week of your senior year of college and you’re late for class- more specifically your thesis seminar. You’d declared a major in classical studies freshman year, against your better judgement. You found each class insightful, your studies useful even, however notoriously impractical. Your small school always held up as a cozy haven for you, regardless of how hard classes had always been. You’d chosen a small, all girls liberal arts school in New England. How predictable.
Hustling out of the library, you throw your hood over your head to protect yourself from the ongoing drizzle. It wasn’t even October yet, and the sky had already opened up. You check your watch- 3:17.
“Shit shit shit”, you mutter under your breath. You were supposed to be in your seat two minutes ago. Being egregiously on time to every class had never been something you cared too much for, but your thesis class was quite small due to your choice of studying a dying subject. And your professor, ever the tyrant, had quite the late policy. The syllabus had clearly stated:
“Two minutes late, you’re marked down.”
“Five minutes late, don’t bother coming.”
3:18.
You pick up the pace despite the afternoon dew sticking to your forehead and nose. You’d already been late once and had no intention in finding out what happens when you’re late twice.
3:19.
Your classroom is in sight as you jog up the old carpeted stairs of the humanities hall, pushing open the door as the clock strikes 3:20. She looks you dead in the eye as the door swings open and you realize you’re not breathing.
“Get out.”
“Yep.” You swivel on your heel before you can even get one foot in the door, head lulling to the side in defeat.
“Office hours are at five.”
“I know,” you say without turning around, waving a hand in dismissal.
The hour and forty minutes goes by at a snail’s pace. You park yourself on the couch outside of the Classical Studies wing, unable to do anything but bounce your knee and find new hangnails to pass the time. You hear her before you see her, heels padding softly down the hall. She walks right past you towards her office and you don’t look up from your hands.
“Come.”
You fumble with your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder and trailing behind your professor. You don’t need to pay attention to where she’s going to find her office- this wasn’t the first time you’d been here. Because the department was so small, you’d had a class with her nearly every single semester. You’d assumed she’d lighten up on the seniors, considering your status and proximity to real adulthood, but had been proven painfully wrong. At the ripe age of twenty two, it seemed only right to you to be treated as so, however you could never find a way to hold your ground in these types of situations. The sheer imbalance of power had always been too much to bear. And after all- she had seen you at a very vulnerable eighteen.
“Y/N.”
“Romanoff.”
She shoots you a brief warning look before looking down at her desktop.
“Why were you late today?” Professor Romanoff asks curtly without looking up from her computer.
“I was in the library- I lost track of time,” you start, but she quickly cuts you off.
“You’re what? Twenty one-“
“Twenty two.” Favor returned.
“Twenty two,” she looks up at you now, cocking an eyebrow. “You should know how to manage your time at this point, no?”
“I’m sorry.”
She makes a sound like “mmhm” but you don’t quite catch it.
“Do you want to know what happened in class today?,” she asks. It seems she’s feeling nicer than usual.
“Yes of course,” you respond. Folding your hands in your lap. Her chair creaks as she sits back to look at you properly, folding her arms over her chest. She’s wearing a black turtle neck tucked into a burgundy skirt, the length of the black sleeves resting just below the first knuckle of her thumbs. You catch sight of a gem on her ring finger as it catches the light. Well that’s new. You’d always had the understanding that she was a cold loveless being.
“We talked about time management,” she starts, and now you understand where this is going. “when you should have your project proposals done and when the first segment of your thesis should be complete.”
“Insightful,” you say before you can catch yourself.
“Yes y/n, very. I suggest you take another look at the syllabus and watch the recording from today’s class. It’s already posted. I’d also suggest you get a watch, but it appears you already have one,” she says, eyes drifting to the leather watch at your wrist. “Use it next time okay?”
You take a deep breath, fighting to look her in the eye.
“Yea. I will.”
“Thank you,” she says with a genuine smile- but you know better. “You can go now.”
You quickly pick up your stuff, mumbling a half hearted “thanks” before quickly shuffling towards the door.
“Oh, and y/n,”
You freeze on the spot, bracing yourself.
“I’m holding study hours tonight at eight in the hearth. Considering this is already your second absence I would advise you attend.” Your professor says, a smile plastered on her face.
“I’ll do my best.” You assure her, quickly stepping out of her office to avoid further pestering. “I’ll drag my stupid feet over to campus for you, my liege,” is what you really meant, but oh well.
It’s almost six by the time you get back to your apartment. Rain patters against the windows of your dinky flat as you light a candle and cook up some dinner. You have little to no desire for attending study hours, but at the same time you feel oddly compelled. Each conversation you’d had with Professor Romanoff, although frequently humiliating, always left some spark of interest. Perhaps masochism, perhaps boredom, but either way you always decided to let it happen. After eating some pasta and drinking your fourth cup of coffee of the day, you hop into the shower and throw on some comfy clothes. This was an academic affair, however it was raining and fucking cold, so sweats would have to do. You wonder if Professor Romanoff will have anything to say about it.
You walk into the hearth at 7:59.
“How timely.”
“What?,” you say, lifting your headphones off of one ear.
“I said, how timely,” Professor Romanoff retorts, shooting daggers at you from her place at the head of the table. You purposefully sit down at the seat furthest away from her, unpacking your laptop and shoving your headphones into your bag. You open your MacBook and try to act like you’re checking emails, while periodically glancing at the door. What was the point in being here if no one else fucking showed up?
“You don’t have to sit so far away, I don’t bite.”
Fuck you forgot she was here. You clear your throat and get up, moving closer, but still maintaining a one chair distance. You look at the closed door for too long, willing it to open. You hear your professor sigh next to you and a rustle as she scoots closer, settling in the chair beside you. No no no no please god no.
“The proposal isn’t due until next week-,” Professor Romanoff starts. You’d never been in this close proximity before and were too scared to look at her. “-but it’s probably smart to have it at least halfway done by next class. What do you have so far?” Nothing, you had nothing but a loose, very loose, idea of an idea.
“Well. I uh- I think… maybe like, well so I think I want to combine classics and literature.” You stumble on your words, your throat constricting.
“Fascinating.” Shut the fuck up.
“To be honest I don’t have much of a plan.,” you surrender.
“I figured.”
You press your lips into a thin line and finally lift your head to look at her, but she isn’t looking at you, her focus instead on her computer.
“By literature do you mean poetry or research of ancient texts?”
“Research of ancient texts.”
“I suggest you spend some time in the state archives- you could try the university archives, but your options will be more limited. Generate at least a rough research question by next class. I’m sure your peers will provide some inspiration for your proposal.,” Your professor continues to type as she speaks and you notice her nails are painted blood red as you stare at the ring on her left hand.
“Are you listening to me?,” she says abruptly, turning her head to look at you.
“Oh- yes, yes I uh- will head to the archives this weekend.,” you feel a flush creeping up your neck. She’s looking you in the eye for the first time this evening and you notice her irises are green with flecks of yellow and blue. Her nose is upturned, her eyebrows strong. Her lips are painted a dark red, round and full. If she wasn’t looking at you like she was plotting a very detailed and intricate homicide, you might actually say she looked beautiful. She sighs.
“I want you to succeed, y/n, but I don’t know how to get through to you.”
You feel an electric zap in your chest. Did your professor actually have a soul?
“I-,” you don’t know how to respond. “I’ll get the proposal done on time, really I promise. I’m dedicated and actually really looking forward to this research.”
“No it’s not that,” Professor Romanoff says, and you start to become aware of the fact that she’s still holding eye contact. “I don’t doubt your work ethic or intelligence in the slightest. I’m supposed to be your advisor. I’m supposed to create an academic mentorship with you, but you don’t seem to understand that.”
Your face feels like it’s on fire. This is possibly worse than being academically chastised.
“I understand I’m not the warmest, most inviting professor at this institution,” yea no shit, “but I’m here to help you. Really.” She looks surprisingly sincere.
“I understand that,” you respond.
“My phone number is on the syllabus. I’m not usually that kind of professor, but for my seniors I’m willing to bend a few rules. Text me any questions you have with your research this weekend.”
You just nod your head.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Considering nobody else decided to show up this evening, I think I’ll call it a night. Go get some sleep y/n.”
You go straight to the bar. It’s the one closest to campus and it’s named “The Rusty Dog”. It’s shitty, but it gets the job done. You plop down on the stool and order a rum and Coke before shoving your face into your hands. It was always easy to hate Professor Romanoff, but liking her was proving to be much more complicated. You down your drink and order another. The alcohol makes your body feel warm and tingly, and you let your mind wander. You wonder how old she is. Definitely not over forty right? You give it a solid thirty six, her skin is too smooth. Her hair- it’s a shade of red that you’d always assumed was natural, but maybe she dyes it. Does she have a boyfriend? No- fuck, a fiance apparently, she has a fiance.You order another drink before you can allow yourself to think the decision through. Someone sits down next to you and orders a martini, extra dirty. Fucking gross. You look over to see the perpetrator and nearly fly out of your skin when she looks at you. Romanoff.
“Y/n,” she says with a nod, like she expected to find you here half drunk.
“Hi.”
You end up sitting with her in a booth, unsure of how you got there. The two of you make small talk and it feels almost normal, but you can’t help but feel like you’re doing something scandalous.
“Do you want another drink?,” Professor Romanoff asks, nodding towards your now empty glass.
“Oh um, no I think I’m okay,” you say cautiously. She twists her martini glass between her thumb and pointer finger.
“You don’t have to be scared of me y/n,” your professor says with a small laugh, her eyes crinkling.
“Oh but I do,” you say without hesitation. You’d always been reserved and careful around her, but the alcohol was loosening your filter.
“And why is that?,” she asks, taking a sip of her drink and looking up at you.
“My entire academic career rests on your shoulders this semester, and you’re notoriously difficult,” you say as a smile creeps up onto your face. You can’t tell if you’re in fight or flight or just having fun.
“You make me sound so simple Y/N.”
“You’re far from simple, Professor Romanoff.” You nearly wince as the words come out of your mouth. The formality seems so juvenile considering you’re sitting together in a bar.
“You can just call me Natasha,” she says with a testing grin.
“Oh my god no I cannot.” And with that she gives you a toothy smile, her teeth white against her lipstick.
“You know it’s quite common for professors to have their students refer to them on a first name basis.”
“You’re different.” You don’t even know what you’re saying at this point.
“I think you’re the one that’s different,” she says, leaning forward on her elbows and folding her hands in front of her on the table. “You’ve always been tough to crack, tougher than my other students. You’re always quiet in class, cautious.”
“No you’re right I crumble in the face of authority,” you choke out and with that she laughs. “Imagine what it’s like when I get pulled over for speeding, I lose feeling in my legs and start crying.”
“Well if you couldn’t tell I’m not a cop.”
“Then why am I so nervous?,” you say it before you can stop yourself. You watch as she leans back in her seat across from you, her hands planted firmly on the table as she takes in what you’re saying.
“Professor Roma-,”
“Natasha.”
“Natasha- I think it’s time for me to go home.” Her first name coming out of your mouth feels foreign.
“Yea I also think it’s time for you to go home.,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. You dig around in your pocket and lay a twenty on the table.
“This should cover my portion-,”
“I got it y/n, keep your money.”
You squint your eyes at her for a second before taking your money back and shoving it back into your pocket.
“This was great, really. I’ll see you on Monday?”
“Yep. Get home safe.”
You get up as quickly as you can, but you’re drunker than you thought. You slap your hand on the table as you get up, nearly falling out of your seat.
“Y/n did you drive here?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re driving home?”
“Not anymore.”
“Alright come on.” Your professor throws a couple bills on the table before getting up and standing in front of you. You look up at her like she’s your shining savior. She offers you a hand but you bat it away.
“No I’m fine.,” you mumble, but your legs feel like jello.
“I don’t think you can stand.”
“Well you’re wrong.” And you shoot yourself up and almost fall into her. She wraps an arm around your waist to keep you from falling and plants her other hand firmly on your stomach to keep you upright. Your skin feels like it’s going to melt off in the places she’s touching you.
“Did you forget to eat dinner or something- what’s wrong with you?,” she sounds almost accusatory and your faces are mere inches apart.
“No no I just- my medication, and I haven’t drank in awhile my tolerance is low.” You weren’t about to clarify the fact that you were on a max dose of antidepressants. “I usually just walk home if I have more than two drinks it’s okay.” She stares at you for a few seconds, still gripping you in place.
“I’m taking you home.,” she responds without room for negotiation, her arm around you pulling you towards the door.
“You’re so nice.”
“I thought I was notoriously difficult?”
You snort.
She gets you into the passenger seat of her car and buckles you in. You’re fully capable of doing it yourself, but you let it happen anyways. She slams her door shut and turns the car on.
“Where do you live?,” she asks, but your head is rolling to the side. “Oh good god-,” she grabs your jaw to look at her. “Y/n tell me your address.” You just giggle. “Could you maybe direct me there? Do you live in an apartment?”
You slur out her name but that’s as far as you can get.
“Fuck me what did I do to you,” she says letting go of your face and stepping on the gas.
You let your eyes close as the car starts to move and before you know it, the vehicle has stopped moving and the passenger side door is open. You feel your seatbelt release and a familiar arm come around your waist and lift you up.
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
“Who?”
“Your thesis professor.”
“Natasha.”
“Correct.”
You stir awake, groaning as the sunlight peaking through the window hits your sensitive eyes. You roll over, pressing your face flat into the pillow. You begin to drift back to sleep until you realize that this is most definitely not your bed. The sheets smell like unfamiliar detergent and vanilla, and they’re way too expensively soft. You hear footsteps and it all falls back into place. Fighting the urge to let the covers swallow you whole, you slowly turn and open one eye.
“Morning.” It’s Natasha.
“Where am I,” you ask, voice heavy with sleep.
“My bed. I took the couch. It felt wrong dumping you there, it’s not very comfortable.” You can’t quite see her face but she doesn’t sound angry.
“Don’t you have a husband or something.” You’re not sure why you’re asking her this but it feels relevant.
“No.” And you hear her turn around and leave.
You force yourself out of bed with a groan and slowly stand up. You’re still in your clothes from last night, but there’s a pair of sleep shorts and a large t-shirt folded neatly on the bedside table. You groggily change into the fresh clothes and can’t help but notice that they smell like the sheets. Rubbing your eyes, you look around the room. There’s a large bookshelf in the corner with a potted ivy hanging from the top and a wooden desk covered in papers with a few paintings on the wall. The bed is positioned next to a window facing the street with sheer lace curtains that allow the sunlight to come in. Wrapping your arms around your chest to conceal the fact that you’re not wearing a bra, you shuffle into the living room. The whole room is big and open, with Natasha standing in the kitchen, her back to you. Her hair is up and she’s wearing tight yoga pants and a blue tank top. You want to slap yourself in the face.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Awful.”
“Figures.,” Natasha says as she turns towards you and scoots a hot cup of coffee on the counter your way. You drink it slowly, closing your eyes. When you look back up, you see your professor staring at you with her palms planted firmly on the counter. She’s wearing tortoise shell trim glasses and you’re taken aback by her bare face. Of course you didn’t expect her to wake up with a full beat, but it still feels oddly intimate.
“What time is it?”
“9:30,” she says, looking down at her watch.
“Can I have a sweater?”
“Mmhm,” Natasha responds, scooting past you to get to her room. You continue to sip your coffee as she rustles around in a drawer. You hear her footsteps approaching behind you and she reaches around you to place a cable knit sweater on the counter to your right. You feel a hand come up to rest on your shoulder and you can feel the warmth of her body on your back.
“Let’s not make this a habit.”
“What? Me borrowing your sweater or me sleeping in your bed?” You didn’t mean it like that but the connotation stays the same.
“Both.”
She drives you back to campus to get your car. The ride is silent for the most part until she pulls into the parking lot and turns to look at you. She’s still in her pajamas with her hair messily tied up.
“I would do this for any of my students,” she says like she’s trying to assure herself.
“Okay.”
“And next time try to drink a little less.”
“I’ll try.”
“No, there won’t be a next time.”
“Sure there won’t.”, you respond, unbuckling your seatbelt.
“I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Monday,” and you smile at her kindly before closing the door and walking to your car. You get in and wait for her to drive away before examining yourself in the mirror. Your mascara is smudged around your eyes and your hair is tangled. You wonder why she didn’t cook you breakfast.
Later that morning after you’ve showered and eaten some cereal, you lay on your unmade bed. You’re still wrapped in a towel with your wet hair dripping onto the duvet. You almost wish you had been drunker so you wouldn’t be able to remember it at all. None of it feels normal, but also none of it feels wrong.
You get dressed quickly and jog down to the laundry room in the basement with Natasha’s clothes. The least you can do is wash them for her. You can’t help but hold the sweater up to your face and smell it before tossing it in the washing machine. You sit on top of the washing machine with your legs crossed, staring at the cracked eggshell paint on the wall until the cycle is finished. Throwing the clothes in the dryer, you feel like you should text her. About what? To thank her? Offer to drop off the clothes she lent you? Maybe you could just drop her class and never think about it ever again.
You’re staring at the syllabus on your phone as the dryer finishes. Her phone number is scrawled in the top right hand corner. You fish out Natasha’s clothes and head upstairs to your flat, the number on the syllabus still mocking you. You punch it into your contacts and stare at it a little longer before turning off your phone and taking a long nap.
You wake up around six pm to the sun setting. The rain is back of course, slapping against the window pane, but you hurl yourself out of bed and into your kitchen to get some dinner and do some homework. You flip open your laptop to check your email and there she is. Professor Natasha Romanoff. Bcc: Classical Studies Thesis.
Hello students, I hope this email finds you well. Just a gentle reminder that study hours are on Fridays at 8 pm and I expect all of you to blah blah blah blah- you slap your laptop closed and pick up your phone.
I have your clothes
Who is this
I washed them
You can give them to
me in class on Monday.
That was not the response you wanted to hear. You groan, getting up from your kitchen table and grabbing your keys. You don’t know where you’re going but it’s definitely not here. You look around for a sweater to brave the rain and throw on Natasha’s as it’s the closest to the door. You figure you can just wash it again tomorrow. You drive for a bit, not quite sure where you’re going until you find yourself approaching “The Rusty Dog”. You order a rum and Coke and sit at the same booth you sat at last night with Natasha. It’s symbolic. Your phone pings.
Actually drop them off
tomorrow please.
Okay
Thank you.
Or you could come get now
Sure. If that works better for you.
What’s your address?
I’m not at home
Then drop them off tomorrow.
Goodnight y/n.
I’m at the bar
You turn off your phone and smack your forehead into your hands. You feel fucking pathetic. You didn’t even know why you decided to tell her you were at the bar, there was no point.
You sip your drink absentmindedly, scanning your eyes around the bar. It’s a Saturday night, but it’s too early for anyone interesting to show up. You can hear the rain pounding in the roof, drowning out the soft music playing from the speakers. You stare down at the bubbles rising to the surface of your drink, swirling your straw around the brown liquid as the glass clinks against the sides. You hear the bell of the door jingle and heeled footsteps quickly approaching your booth. You look up from your drink and can’t help but smile.
“We can’t keep meeting like this.”
“You’re wearing my sweater.”
“Sorry.”
Natasha slides into the booth, seated across from you. She rests her elbows on the table, folding her hands flat out in front of her. You finally catch her eye and realize she doesn’t look happy. You wait for her to talk first, but the silence is deafening.
“So-,”
“Y/n I don’t know what you think you’re doing but don’t do it.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Can I have my clothes back?” Natasha asks sternly.
“Why did you come here?”
“For my clothes.”
“Sure.”
She leans forward, her eyes flashing something like anger.
“Y/n.” It’s a warning.
“Your clothes are at my apartment,” you sigh.
“You’re wasting my time,” Natasha huffs and you remember she’s your professor. You notice she’s in a tight blazer and her hair is curled, delicately framing her face.
“Why are you so dressed up?”
“I had a conference,” Natasha says. “For my job. You remember my job don’t you?”
“Yes I remember your job.”
“I’m your professor, y/n. And you’re my student,” she’s looking at you expectantly.
“Yes I know,"
“And I think it’ll be in your best interest if you try and remember that.” She leans back, her arms folding in defense. The look in her eyes is cold, piercing. You don’t know what to say. “I think you should leave, y/n.”
“Natasha-.”
“Go home.” She’s still glaring at you from across the table.
You push yourself up off the table and stomp angrily towards the door, Natasha’s eyes following you as you leave but her position at the booth stays unchanging. You push out the door into the cold night, the rush of rain hitting your face as you dig around in your pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. You press your back into the brick wall, holding one hand up to shield your cigarette from the rain as you light it. You take a deep inhale and close your eyes as the door swings open.
“That’s bad for you.”
“Go away.”
You don’t open your eyes as you hear footsteps approach. A hand wraps firmly around your left hip, pushing your torso into the wall. Your eyes shoot open and Natasha’s face is an inch from yours, her eyes shooting daggers.
“Hi,” you mumble, the cigarette dangling out of the corner of your mouth. With her other hand, Natasha reaches up and delicately lifts the cigarette from your mouth with her pointer and middle fingers. You watch wordlessly as she takes it to her lips and takes a drag, all the while holding eye contact. She throws it on the ground, blowing the smoke into your face and grinding the cigarette into the ground with her heel.
“Rude,” you quirk as she averts her gaze from the ground back to your eyes. Her thumb is pressing into your hip bone, holding you in place and it feels like it’s burning a hole straight through you. “I only got to take one, maybe two drags. That’s about ten cents of nicotine and I could’ve had fifty.”
“You’re pissing me off,” Natasha says quietly.
“I gathered that.”
Natasha presses her hips forward into you, watching attentively to catch your reaction. Your breath quickens and you look down to avoid her gaze but she tilts her head down, following.
“Look at me,” she whispers, and you do. She catches your chin with her hand and hungrily presses her lips to yours. She moans quietly into your mouth, a sound of satisfaction. You reach out to touch her, maybe pull her closer but she grabs your wrist before you can get close and pushes it into the wall above your head. A strangled noise leaves your throat, but she swallows it with her tongue, slipping it into your mouth. She pulls away abruptly and you whine, chasing the kiss.
“We’re too close to campus, someone could see us,” Natasha murmurs, rubbing her thumb over the pulse at your wrist. She wraps her fingers around it and tugs you away from the wall and into her car.
She opens the passenger door for you and you sit down, but when she sits in the driver’s seat you climb over the center console and into her lap. You straddle her thighs, placing your hands on her neck and kissing her hard. She roughly grips your waist, pulling you into her, but breaking the kiss with a laugh.
“We’re not fucking in my car.”
“Why not?,” you protest, peppering kisses down her jaw and neck. You can taste her vanilla perfume.
“Because it’s fucking uncomfortable y/n.”
You drive in anticipatory silence to Natasha’s apartment, her right hand gripping your thigh the entire time.
When you walk into her apartment, she peels off her blazer and kicks off her heels before pushing you up against the door, not bothering to turn on a light. You find yourself in a similar position to when you were outside the bar- Natasha pressing her hips into you and pinning your wrists at your sides as you fight to touch her. Her leg slips between yours and your arms finally go limp, Natasha taking the opportunity to switch her hands from your wrists to your waist. She kisses you hard, making subtle noises of pleasure ever so often as you twist your hips back and forth against her thigh. You want her hard and fast, but your pleasure is clearly on her time. Natasha makes a quiet “uh-uh” noise every time you try to lift your hands up and off the door. You want her tongue in your mouth, but she pulls away slightly every time you try to deepen the kiss and you can feel the smile on her lips.
You feel her tug you forward by your hips and you follow, never breaking the kiss as she walks you backwards towards her room. Eventually the backs of her knees hit the mattress and she sits down, placing a hand on your stomach so you stay standing. You look down at her as she lifts her shirt over her head and slips off her pencil skirt, looking at you through hooded eyes the entire time. She’s left in just a bra and underwear and the sight of her bare skin makes you want to cry. She leans back on her elbows and looks at you expectantly. You follow suit, sliding your jeans down and taking off your t-shirt. She bites her lip when she realizes you aren’t wearing a bra. You’re about to chase after her onto the bed when she speaks up.
“Do you remember when you called me difficult?” Natasha asks, still looking up at you.
“Yea I do.”
“Do you still think that?”
“I guess we’ll have to find out,” you say with a smile, crawling towards her as she scoots back onto the pillows. You settle on top of her quickly and press her down into the mattress by her ribcage before she has time to claim dominance. You press your lips to hers and she tries to push you off by your shoulders, but quickly gives in as you snake a hand up to her chest. You squeeze her breast briefly before lightly running your thumb over her hardened nipple beneath her bra. She lets out a small moan but never loses composure, continuing to kiss you as her hands trail into your hair. You think you have the upper hand until she tangles her fingers into your hair and rips your head back away from her.
“Get on your back,” she says sternly, and you have no choice but to oblige. She straddles your lap and flips her hair to one side before dipping her mouth to your nipple. She swirls her tongue around before sucking your nipple into her mouth and letting it go with a pop. She licks and sucks at your chest to the point where you’re breathing heavily and squirming beneath her. You reach a hand around her back and unclasp her bra, watching as it slips down the front of her biceps. You’re surprised as she pays no mind and continues to lave at a nipple until you throw your head back and groan. She drags her tongue up between your breast and into your mouth and you kiss her breathlessly. She pulls away once again, sitting up as her thighs squeeze your hips.
“Natasha,” you breath out, but she just tuts, throwing her bra to the side. You stare at her hardened nipples and the perk of her chest, your mouth nearly watering. She slides your underwear off before settling back in top of you, her knees still digging down into the mattress as she lowers her mouth to yours. She kisses you slower this time and allows you to skim your hands over the back of her thighs and the curve of her ass where it rests in the air above you. She kneads your breasts as you firmly grip the soft skin of her waist, her body moving up and down with the kiss. You feel like you’re turning into dust as she kisses down your neck and chest, creating a trail down your stomach and hips to your center. She looks up at you as she settles between your thighs.
“Just want to taste you,” she says between planting kisses on the delicate skin of your inner thighs. You attempt an affirmative nod, but she darts out her tongue and licks a stripe up your center before you can say anything. Your head flies back into the pillows with a groan. She avoids your clit at first, both of her hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you in place. You try to arch into her mouth, but she pushes you firmly back down each time.
“Be good,” she growls from in between your legs as she presses her tongue firmly against your clit. She sucks your clit into her mouth and you try not to scream, biting down on the back of your hand as you grip Natasha’s pillow with the other. You muster up the ability to look back down at her and see that her eyes are trained on your every reaction. She lets out a small moan and the vibration against your clit ties a knot in your stomach. You realize that one of her hands is in between her legs, her underwear hanging onto her left ankle as she touches herself.
“Natasha-,” you heave out, still holding her intense stare. “Natasha I want you up here.”
She releases your clit with a pop before sliding up your body so your faces are level. You watch as she brings the two fingers that were in between her legs to your mouth. She pushes them between your lips and you suck her wetness off of them, her mouth slightly parted as she nods in approval.
“That’s it,” she whispers, pulling them out of your mouth and down to your cunt. She drags her middle finger down your clit before pushing it into you and curling and your eyes roll into the back of your head.
“Good, baby good,” she praises, slipping another finger into you and curling it firmly up and out. Her free hand is planted next to your head and your hand flies up to grab her wrist as she continues to rut her fingers into you. She kisses you once messily, but your jaw hangs slack as you start to lose control. Your moans are coming out rhythmically at this point, and Natasha can tell you’re close. She watches you so intensely that it’s almost too much to bear.
“Not yet,” she says, slowing the speed of her fingers ever so slightly as you whine from the loss of pressure. “Put your fingers inside me,” she breathes out and you do just that. Her blatant want sends shivers up and down your spine. You want nothing more than to be the reason she comes undone. You scrape your nails against her stomach and down to her pussy, satisfied with how wet you find her. You slip two fingers into her at once and she lets out a small whimper. She begins to rock her hips back and forth, riding your fingers as she picks up the pace inside you. You watch as her jaw goes slack as her body moves against you. Her thumb finds your clit as she curls her fingers into you and the noise that leaves your mouth is closer to a sob than anything else.
“Fuck,” Natasha groans, her hand slapping up onto the bed frame above your head. You can feel her clenching and fluttering around your fingers as the pressure in your lower stomach threatens to explode. You hook your legs around her torso as you feel yourself begin to come undone. Natasha’s eyes are still boring into yours, but she’s breathing heavily into your mouth and you can tell she’s losing her composure.
“Natasha-,” you whimper, not sure what you’re begging for if everything you want is staring you in the face. Your eyes clamp shut and you huff out a strangled breath as the knot unravels.
“Look at me,” Natasha says between heavy breathing. Your eyes fly back open as her breaths become breathy high pitched moans, her knuckles turning white as she grips her wooden bedframe. Your thighs squeeze her torso as your head flies back involuntarily. You scream out her name as your legs shudder. Natasha slows down the pace inside of you ever so slightly, but the sensation is still bordering on too much. She sinks down onto your fingers one more time before her body goes rigid.
Still riding your high, you watch as her face contorts and she mewls above you. She lets out a few more soft moans as she rocks her hips into your fingers again before her head falls forward and her body slackens.
“Fuck,” Natasha says quietly, her voice rasping. Her fingers have stilled inside of you completely, but she’s still gripping the bedframe as she catches her breath with her head hanging low. Her hair falls into your face as your chest rises and falls, your legs releasing and falling flat on the bed.
“Oh my god,” Natasha says as her hand falls limp next to your head and you think she’s laughing. You can’t see her behind the veil of hair. You realize your fingers are still inside of her so you try to take them out cautiously, but she still jumps a little as you do. She does the same, slumping to the other side of the bed in a heap of hair and limbs. You groggily turn your head to look at her beside you, her feet resting on your legs.
“Are you always like this after sex?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Natasha responds without moving or looking at you, her face pressed flat into her pillow.
“What now?”
“Now you sleep,” she mumbles.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to sleep in your bed again.”
“Well I suggest you take advantage of this opportunity then.”
You lift your hand up and see it’s still glistening with her arousal. Your eyes dart over to her to make sure she isn’t looking before quickly sticking your fingers into your mouth.
“Stop you pervert,” Natasha grumbles, limply lifting her arm to bat at you. You grab her hand as it swats at your face and pull her over to you. She mumbles something indecipherable but doesn’t scoot away, snaking an arm over your shoulder instead. She tangles your legs together and presses her face into your neck.
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: oral sex cassie!receiving, pervy!cassie, crying during sex, overstimulation, p in v, unprotected sex, cassie cums inside.., hand job cassie!receiving
𝓣hinking of g!p loser!cassie.
⋆ loser!cassie who cums way too fast, the second your eyes fix on her cock she's reduced to nothing but a whiny mess, so naturally the second your mouth wraps around her length she just cannot control herself, cumming almost immediately down your throat.. and then apologising profusely
⋆ loser!cassie who keeps a pair of your underwear in her dresser to jerk off into whilst you're away.
⋆ loser!cassie who nearly cries the first time you ride her, whimpering pathetically as her hands grasp your hips simply holding as you drag your soaked cunt up and down her dick until she cums in her rubber, and then actually does cry afterwards from overstimulation as you continue to move up and down her rigid length.
⋆ loser!cassie who is always insanely hard when she sees you. she gets embarrassed about it and tries to hide it but you both know whats happened
⋆ loser!cassie who begs you to touch her after a long day of being permanently turned on by you and will always 'help' by guiding your hand down to the hardened tent in her sweatpants.
⋆ loser!cassie who is always adamant she can handle a quickie in a bathroom stall / dressing room whilst youre out but she always ends up such a mess you have to take her home and ravage her there as well, giving her the ever attention she deserves.
⋆ loser!cassie who accidentally cums in you, having begged for weeks to have a go with no protection, swearing she'd pull out, but the feel of you around her, your warm plush walls stranging her cock hard enough to cut off circulation in her veiny length, make it impossible for her to follow through with the pull out, her hips snapping violently into you before stuttering once, twice, and flooding your cunt with ropes of her hot white seed
she is my scar @taliiiaasteria - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
