💋

You were going heads up to the river, one-on-one to the last card; at least that's what you’ve gathered based on off-handed commentary made by one of her friends. Your eyes squinted, an indicator of the jargon escaping you, and the brimming volume of thoughts crowding your head. 

“Small blinds to your right, baby,” Natasha said patronisingly, her hand smoothing over your thigh and pulling your focus back to the table. You bit your lip in acknowledgement, racking your brain for what she could’ve meant. You could barely think about the game at hand, mind occupied elsewhere. 

“It means you act first,” Wanda giggled to your right, noticing the furrow between your brows. You’ve always been fond of Wanda, she was helpful and kind—you needed that comfort, especially when your girlfriend was in one of her teasing moods. Like today. Your left eye twitched a little when you recalled why she had cornered you in the bathroom before the company arrived. 

You had complained about being good hosts, and not leaving people to wait at the door; Natasha promptly shut you up with a kiss, and tugged your underwear aside to slide a little pink bullet in you. She led you out the room, not before leaving a small pat on your cheek and reminding you to “keep up that poker face” during the game. It had annoyed you, particularly because she had blueballed you the prior night, mentioning something about having to get a good night’s rest for her mind to stay sharp. To make matters worse, she had strung you along the whole morning and day, wearing rings that wrapped beautifully along her fingers that she knew you adored, groping your ass in passing and claiming it was accidental, and hugging you from behind with her strap purposefully prodding at your back. You just about had enough of her teasing. The fact that your girlfriend was an avid gym-goer, working out 7 days a week, evaded you and she jumped when you practically tackled her in your attempt to unzip her jeans. You didn’t get very far, to be frank. At least Natasha consolidated you with a kiss and a promise. “Later, baby,” she had told you, peppering your face with little pecks. You glared at her now, receiving a raised eyebrow in response. 

“I check,” you spluttered, squirming around the swelling pleasure, then turning to glance at Maria, who was the last to still hold cards. She sat between Agatha, whom you were unfamiliar with, and the fiery redhead who vexingly haunted your last hours without mercy. Maria held your gaze with an imperceptible smirk, held a pause, then broke it by pushing a few stacks of red discs into the center pot. The “chips,” as Natasha had referred to them as, tallied up to be around $10k. How they pulled crazy amounts of money out just to play around with eluded you. 

“Gonna check-raise me, sweetie?” Maria teased, poking fun at your weak faux strategy. Heat crept up your face, though not because of what she'd said. Natasha had pulled out her phone, a seemingly innocent front to the others. Not for you. You had known what she was planning the moment that smug look flashed on her face. Her thumb strummed the waves that appeared on the app she had pulled up on her phone, and your posture straightened. You tried to camouflage your haggard breathing as appraising interest in Maria’s raise—it was a terrible guise, and if your eyes didn’t shut from the inexorably increasing buzz, you would’ve realized how perversely all the women’s gazes settled on you. 

“F-fold,” you squeaked out, not willing to accidentally lose ten grand because your rationale was clouded by Natasha’s infuriatingly arousing distraction. Maria pumped her fist in the air, cheekily, and collected the compounded stack of chips. She splayed her cards out: a bluff. You huffed in exasperation, knowing that if you had called her raise, your hand would’ve won the pot. 

“Romanoff, you can’t invite me here just to let your girl lose all your money,” she teased, patting Natasha’s shoulder. The redhead shrugged her off, smirking at her jab. She pinched your cheek in playful irritation, shooting a sense of pleasure down to your core. Your senses were heightened and easily stimulated from the toy between your legs, and any minor touch from her sent tantalizing shivers down your spine. It was irritating how intensely Natasha observed your struggle; you hated how much you needed her. The entire game, all you’ve been imagining is her taking you, bending you over the table, scattering all the poker chips, ruining the cards with your mess; you especially hated that she knew you’d let her. The second the cards were dealt for the next game, you folded your hand; it’s not like you could’ve played any decent bluff with a seven-duce, because the need in your center clouded all judgement for the game—and the awareness you held for the volume of your sounds. 

“Careful, baby,” Natasha whispered, condescension brimming from her tone, “do you want daddy’s friends to ask what’s wrong with her sweet girl—why she’s trembling, whining, and can’t focus on the game?” You inconspicuously shook your head, not wanting to draw anymore attention towards yourself. Poor girl. If only you knew how perverse your daddy could be and the real reason she invited company over. 

After a few rounds, the big blind circled the table to you, encouraging you to play another hand. You hadn’t won anything at this point, practically feeding your buy-in to each pot. With the smallest stack at the table, you felt like a fish darting around the ocean, just waiting to feel the inevitable jaws of death close around you. A part of you blamed Natasha and her cruel distraction, although you knew you’d play terribly even without it. Agatha, Maria, and Wanda were so hard to read, individually, and even more so when it felt like they were collectively colluding against you; Natasha as well, but you had managed to avoid playing into her. Unfortunately, you couldn’t run from the “shark” for much longer. Somehow, Natasha had managed to clean you out, baiting call after call for her raises that forced you all-in, ending in your loss. You rolled your eyes when she laughed at your clear displeasure; even though you were an awful player, competitiveness wrapped around your heart.

“Sorry, princess,” she teased, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you into her lap, “Guess you’re just gonna have to play with me for the rest of the night.” Your cheeks glowed at her boldness, embarrassed at the obvious voyeurism Natasha was apparently unaware of. A few smirks could be seen around the table, but your vision was obscured by your hands, covering your humiliation. Natasha nudged you with the deck of cards, and you shuffled it sloppily, causing a few to slip onto the ground. You could hear a small ‘tsk’ from behind you, and she turned up the vibrations in punishment. A lewd moan escaped your lips, adding fuel to the burning heat rising in your face. 

“God, Romanoff, shut her up will you,” Agatha taunted, egging on Natasha’s exhibition of you. At Agatha’s comment, Natasha slid her chair, and subsequently you, out from the table. 

“Go fetch, baby,” she purred, forcing you onto your knees to grab the cards. Shrinking down, you reached for the loose rectangles, slipping them over to her. You picked up the retriever cards, making a move to stand up, but Natasha's hand stopped you. Your eyes widened at her insinuation, and further more at the unbuckling sound of her belt and the unzipping of her jeans. You shook your head, whispering your humiliated objection, “There’s other people here, Natty.” 

“Oh we don’t mind, bunny,” Wanda cooed, her voice coming from above the table, responding to your shameful worry. You shrunk even more, and Natasha chuckled at her assistance, patting the side of your cheek.

“Did you hear that, sweet girl?” She mocked, cupping the back of your head and driving it to her crotch. “Go on, baby.”

You pulled back hesitantly, looking up at her through the gap between the table and the ground. The strap she wore was big on purpose, the one you knew made you gag the most; it’s almost like Natasha wanted all her friends to hear you make a mess on her strap. 

“You look so cute, honey,” Maria encouraged, breaking the wavering silence, “give us a show?” 

You blushed at her compliment, and then even more at her innuendo. Slowly, you opened your mouth to press your tongue against the tip. The silicone felt heavy in your mouth, but you hollowed your cheeks and began bobbing your head, repressing your moans. The angle of Natasha’s strap pressed the base of her harness into her, pulling a groan from her throat. You could hear a small thud above you, as if someone had dropped something down. 

“My blind for the next round,” Natasha told the table, garnering a few antsy shuffles from your perspective. It wasn’t until they ended the round, the pot going to Agatha, that you realized the little thud was Natasha’s phone, and her bet was your pleasure; you could hear a snarky comment coming from Agatha, followed by an intensity that rivaled the high you received from winning a hand. The deceivingly small toy inside you buzzed to life and hummed almost louder than the wanton moans it elicited from you. Heat flooded your chest and face as a result of the utter mortification you felt. 

“Fuck, baby, your lips look so pretty wrapped around my cock,” Natasha mocked, loosing her fingers in your hair. She moaned at the pleasure caused by your attentive movement; her melodic sounds entranced you, embarrassment fading away. At this moment, you wanted nothing more than to please your daddy. Your needy whines, muffled by her strap, escape your throat and draw out groans from above, reminding you of your current position. The palpable feeling of hunger settled in the balmy silence, save for the clink of chips being moved or cards folded—you, or your sounds in this case, held the attention of every woman seated. 

“Look at me, baby,” Natasha muttered, stealing the focus of your thoughts. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you’re swallowing her cock. “Such a cute girl, aren’t you?”

If your lips weren’t so extensively occupied, you’d smile at her praise. The warmth of it melted the humiliating atmosphere, prodding at you, urging you on. With her right hand fixed on the top of your head, she pulled you to her hilt, until your nose was pressed against her. In your peripheral, you could just about make out Wanda watching your lewd intake of Natasha’s cock, her gaze frozen on the way it disappeared then reappeared. 

“Aren’t you pathetic?” Agatha jeered, her annoyance at losing a hefty sum evident in her remark. “Sucking your daddy off with no shame in front of all her friends?” You reflexively whimpered at her comment, the vulgarity of it sending licks of flame to your face—and to your core, causing your thighs to tighten in an attempt to quell the fire. Natasha notices your abashment, guiding your head down again, this time firmly holding you there. Instinctively, you fight it, throat spamming around the sudden sharp intrusion, but her grip is inert on your skull. 

“Keep at it, princess,” Natasha says, shushing your audible complaints, “Daddy will tell you when you can stop.” Though striking redness remained at your ears, the careful encouragement and steering of Natasha’s hand absorbed your consciousness. Your little gags and whimpers filled the room for minutes that felt like decades, clinging onto the ends of every shallow conversation. Natasha interrupted your worship of her by gently grasping the back of your head, pulling you off her strap with a ‘pop’ from your lips.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” she muttered, sliding her hands beneath your arms to haul you onto her lap. You straddled her with her cock between your legs, sloppy from your prior work. Natasha took in the view, the game fading into the background; you looked delicious, eyes glassy, face peppered with light color, and lips swollen from use. She leaned in for a moment, gaze swiping over your mouth in foreshadow, and then kissed you. You melted into her, steadying yourself with your hands on her shoulders. 

“Up,” Natasha ordered, tapping your thighs. A look of mortification overtook your expression. Sucking her off was one thing, at least you had the table to hide away your shame, but here? Above the cover of safety, where everyone has a full view of your indecency? Your fingers clenched around Natasha, pupils dilating in fear and embarrassment. You shook your head again for the second time tonight, a pleading look filling your face. Natasha tsked, grabbing you by your waist in spite of your refusal. With one hand, she slipped you out of your shorts, lining herself up with your soaking entrance. When you sank down onto her, you could feel every ridge and texture of her strap, consuming your senses. The fullness it forced into you pried a shuttering gasp from the deepest part of your need, and you slammed your eyes shut. You moaned when your ass met her clothed thighs, signifying the depth she had reached. The little toy she slid in you prior to the arrival of her company kissed your cervix, still vibrating on the cruel setting Agatha had left it. Your whines grew, and you had to lean your weight onto her front to find your footing. Natasha wrapped herself around you, arms caressing your backside. 

“Sit like this, all pretty and warming my cock, ‘kay?” Natasha cooed, patting your ass from behind. You nodded, because that was the only thing you could do, and thanked her silently for granting you the grace of your front facing her instead of the others, though your embarrassment was evident in your ears. 

The night continued like normal, save for the wanton moans you muffled in Natasha’s neck caused by her abrupt movements. You thought she was doing it on purpose, but with no real way to prove it, you were left to the mercy of her will. At one point, she passed around her phone again, letting her friends control the moment of your orgasm. Natasha could feel you clenching around her strap at every tantalizing increase or teasing decrease of the toy. You were trembling, and you would’ve crumpled onto the ground if she were not supporting your full weight. Natasha’s hips didn’t jump enough for you to get off, and you made your need very clear.

“Please, please, daddy,” you choked out pleas, clinging to Natasha’s shirt. 

“You’re asking the wrong person, baby,” Natasha smirked, kissing your cheek and nodding pointedly at Wanda, who was currently in possession of her phone. You hid your face in her neck which your arms wrapped around. 

“W-Wanda,” you squeaked out hesitantly, “please, I want more, please.” She smirked at your humiliation, but nonetheless, she enhanced the waves of pleasure.

“Greedy girl,” she teased, moving her thumb up and down, controlling the intensity of the vibrations in your core. You let out tiny gasps in response, hips bucking up, chasing relief.

“P-Please.” The strangled plea narrowly escaped your throat. Your begging had only incited more trouble, and the women watched you hang on the edge for the entire night, poker chips used as betting power towards who had control of your high. Humiliation had long since been forgotten, the haze of chasing your orgasm stealing your focus. You would’ve done anything for them to let you fall apart, as Natasha made it clear she would not be assisting in that department. 

“Aggie, can I please cum,” you whined, now directing your requests toward the current holder of your fate. 

“I don’t know, can you? You seem very able, pet,” she mocked, bringing the intensity as high as the app would let her. You choked on your next breath, and let little ‘ahh’s escape you. 

“May, I- fuck-, may I please cum,” you begged, your grip turning Natasha’s skin an iron white. Agatha chuckled at your desperation.

“Mmm, I think that’s a question for your daddy, don’t you?” You let out an agonizing wail, annoyance at the game the women were forcing you to play. 

“Daddy, daddy, please, daddy,” you spluttered out, the intensity of the toy affecting your ability to form any other word. Natasha grinned devilishly, heartlessly withholding her permission. Instead, she left little kisses on your sweat-lined forehead, pulling your hair out of your face.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” she murmured against your skin, finally granting you the ability to freefall. You felt as if the world had folded in on itself, outside becoming in, and then suddenly, nothing. Natasha could feel the spasms of your walls and thighs, your fluids coating her cock and ruining her jeans. She soothed over your skin as you came down, whispering sweet praises into you. 

You laid motionlessly, slumped against her, blinking in slow recovery. The others had resorted to cleaning up, putting away the chips, or bringing you a glass of water. Natasha thanked Maria for you, as you held yourself up to drink with all the strength that remained. As everyone funneled out for the night, Agatha winked at you as she slid out the door, leaving you with one last remark. 

“Thanks for the entertainment, pet.”

Natasha had put up with it all day. The eye rolls. The sarcastic comments delivered with that particular smirk. The way Y/N had "accidentally" knocked her coffee mug just close enough to the edge of the table to make her catch it, then giggled when Natasha's reflexes kicked in.

It was deliberate. Every single moment of it.

Y/N knew exactly what she was doing. She'd been pushing buttons since breakfast, escalating through lunch, and by dinner she was practically vibrating with the need for attention. The bad kind. The kind that ended with her exactly where she wanted to be.

"Something funny, malyshka?" Natasha asked, her voice dropping to that dangerous register that made Y/N's stomach flip.

"Nope." Y/N popped the 'p', grinning around her fork. "Just thinking about how patient you are. All day. With my little… accidents."

Natasha set her own fork down with deliberate care. The sound of metal against porcelain shouldn't have been threatening, but somehow it was. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Calling what?" Innocent eyes. Devil's smile.

"Get up."

Y/N's pulse jumped. She stayed seated. "I'm not done eating."

"Now."

The command hit like a physical thing. Y/N felt her thighs press together under the table, felt the heat that had been building all day spike dangerously. She made a show of sighing, of rolling her eyes again, of pushing her chair back slowly, so slowly, before standing.

Natasha was already moving, circling the table with that predatory grace that had nothing to do with her training and everything to do with knowing exactly what Y/N needed.

"You're being difficult on purpose," Natasha observed, stopping just inside Y/N's personal space. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her, not close enough to touch.

"Am I?" Y/N tilted her chin up, defiant. "Maybe you're just… sensitive today. Getting all worked up over nothing."

"Over nothing?" Natasha's hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Y/N's jaw not rough, but firm. Possessive. "You've been begging for this since you woke up. Since you decided to be a brat instead of using your words like a good girl."

Y/N's breath hitched. The grip on her face, the disappointment in Natasha's tone, it was exactly what she'd been fishing for all day. "Maybe I don't want to be good."

"Oh, I know." Natasha's thumb traced the curve of Y/N's cheekbone, almost tender despite the tension crackling between them. "You want to be punished. You want me to make you behave because you can't do it yourself."

"I don't-"

"Don't lie to me." The hand at her jaw tightened just enough to sting. "You've been dripping wet since breakfast, haven't you? Every time you talked back, every time you made me chase that mug or 'accidentally' brushed against me in the hallway, you've been hoping I'd finally snap."

Y/N's face burned. Denial died on her tongue because Natasha was right, because she could feel the evidence of it between her legs, because being called out so bluntly made her knees weak.

"Words, Y/N."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I've been… I've been thinking about it. All day."

Natasha's smile was sharp enough to cut. "There she is. Finally honest." She released Y/N's jaw only to grab her wrist, pulling her toward the bedroom with ungentle urgency. "You want to act like a brat who needs discipline? Fine. I'll treat you like one."

The bedroom door clicked shut and Natasha was on her, pressing her back against the wood with a thigh shoved between her legs. Y/N gasped at the pressure, at the sudden hardness of Natasha's body against her softness.

"Strip," Natasha ordered, stepping back. "Now. And if you take too long, I'll add to your punishment."

Y/N's fingers fumbled with her buttons, her earlier bravado evaporating under the heat of Natasha's gaze. She'd wanted this, good god, she'd wanted it but the reality of being stared at like prey made her hands shake.

"Slow," Natasha observed, disapproving. "Too slow."

She closed the distance again, batting Y/N's hands away to tear the remaining clothes off herself. Fabric ripped. Buttons scattered. Y/N gasped as cool air hit her skin, then gasped again as Natasha's palm connected with her ass, sharp and sudden.

"That's one," Natasha said, spinning her around and marching her toward the bed. "For the coffee."

"Nat-"

"Quiet." Another smack, harder, on the other cheek. "Two. For the attitude at lunch."

Y/N was bent over the edge of the mattress, her face pressed into the comforter, her ass exposed and already stinging. She heard Natasha moving behind her, heard the slide of a drawer, and whimpered in anticipation.

"Three," Natasha continued, and Y/N felt something smooth and cool trace down her spine, a riding crop, she realized, her arousal spiking. "For looking at me like that at the briefing. Like you wanted to be bent over the table right there in front of everyone."

"I did," Y/N admitted, her voice muffled.

"I know." The crop tapped against her thigh, gentle. Teasing. "And four…" It pulled back, whistled through the air, cracked against her skin with a sound that made Y/N cry out. "…for making me wait."

The pain bloomed hot and bright, transforming instantly into something else, something that made her push back for more even as she gasped. Natasha didn't make her wait. The next strike landed on the other side, then another, establishing a rhythm that had Y/N clawing at the sheets, her hips rolling helplessly.

"Stay still," Natasha commanded, and Y/N tried, she really did, but her body had other ideas. Every impact sent electricity shooting to her core, and she was soaked, embarrassingly so, her arousal dripping down her thighs.

"Please," she whined, not even sure what she was asking for. More? Less? Release?

"Please what?" Natasha paused, the crop resting against Y/N's heated skin. "Use your words, since you have so many of them."

"Please… please fuck me. I've been good-"

"You've been terrible," Natasha corrected, but there was laughter in her voice now, fondness mixing with the dominance. "But you've taken your punishment well." She tossed the crop aside and Y/N heard the slide of fabric, the click of a clasp. "So I'll give you what you really wanted."

Y/N tried to look back, to see, but Natasha's hand pressed between her shoulder blades, keeping her pinned. Then something hard and smooth was pushing against her entrance, sliding through her wetness with embarrassing ease.

"Look at you," Natasha murmured, working the strap-on in slowly, torturously. "So desperate you could take me dry, but you're dripping. All that attitude, all day, just to end up here. Spread open and taking my cock like a good little brat."

Y/N moaned, her fingers gripping the bedding as Natasha bottomed out. The stretch burned in the best way, the fullness exactly what she'd been craving. When Natasha started to move, so slow, deep thrusts that hit every sensitive spot, Y/N's legs nearly buckled.

"Is this what you wanted?" Natasha asked, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "Me inside you? Making you behave?"

"Yes, yes-"

"Couldn't just ask, could you?" Natasha's pace increased, each thrust driving Y/N harder against the mattress. "Had to be difficult. Had to make me work for it."

"I'm sorry-"

"You're not." A sharp smack to her thigh. "But you will be when I'm done with you."

Natasha fucked her like she was trying to prove a point, each stroke deliberate and punishing, angling to hit that spot that made Y/N see stars. The sounds were obscene, wet skin on skin, Natasha's occasional grunts, Y/N's broken moans. The room smelled like sex and sweat and the faint lingering scent of Natasha's perfume.

"Touch yourself," Natasha ordered. "I want you to come around me."

Y/N's hand slipped between her legs, finding her clit swollen and sensitive. Two strokes and she was trembling, three and she was gasping Natasha's name like a prayer. The combination of the stretch, the friction, the knowledge that she'd been thoroughly claimed it was too much.

"Natasha, I'm… I'm gonna…"

"Come," Natasha commanded, slamming into her hard. "Come now, brat. Show me how much you needed this."

Y/N shattered, her orgasm crashing through her with enough force to blur her vision. She clamped down around the toy, her whole body shaking, her cry muffled against the mattress. Natasha didn't stop, fucking her through it, drawing it out until Y/N was whimpering, overstimulated, tears pricking at her eyes.

"One more," Natasha said, not a request.

"I can't—"

"You can." She pulled out, ignoring Y/N's disappointed whine, and flipped her onto her back. "And you will."

Y/N stared up at her, at the sweat on Natasha's forehead, at the dark flush on her cheeks, at the intensity in her eyes. She looked wild. Beautiful. Y/N reached up, fingers tracing Natasha's jaw, and was rewarded with a softer expression, a brief moment of tenderness before the dominance returned.

Natasha pushed back inside in one smooth thrust, and Y/N's head fell back, her second orgasm already building despite the sensitivity. This angle was different, deeper, more intimate and Natasha leaned down to capture her mouth in a kiss that tasted like victory.

"Mine," Natasha growled against her lips, snapping her hips. "Even when you're being a brat. Especially then."

"Yours," Y/N agreed, arching up to meet her. "All yours."

They moved together, Natasha's rhythm faltering as she watched Y/N chase her release, and Y/N watched her face, memorized the way she looked in the moment before she came eyes blown wide, lips parted, beautiful and wrecked.

Y/N screamed out as she fell over the edge, her voice cracking, and breaking to a moan of pure ecstasy.

Natasha buried her face in Y/N's neck, for a moment they lay there, breathing hard, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sweat.

"Still feeling bratty?" Natasha asked eventually, her voice rough.

Y/N considered. Her ass was sore, her thighs were shaking, and she felt thoroughly, completely claimed. "Maybe a little," she said, smiling against Natasha's hair. "Might need another lesson later."

Natasha laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Oh, malyshka. You have no idea what you've just signed up for."

You know before you're fully awake, the weight of her behind you, the steadiness of her breathing against the back of your neck, the arm draped over your waist like she put it there on purpose even in sleep. She probably did. You've learned that about her. Even unconscious, she holds on.

You don't move. You're not ready to be awake yet and neither, it seems, is she.

Then her fingers shift.

Just barely. A slow drag across your stomach, palm flat, like she's checking that you're real. You feel her inhale, deep and deliberate, and she presses her nose into your hair. Stays there.

“Detka.”

It's barely a sound. More breath than word, warm against the back of your head, and you don't know if she meant to say it or if it just came out of her. Either way it settles in your chest like something lit.

You still don't move.

Her hand moves again. Slower this time, like she's being careful, like she's trying not to wake you and also like she very much wants to. Her palm slides up your ribcage, thumb tracing the space between your ribs, and she exhales again when she reaches the curve of your breast. Doesn't push. Just rests there, covers you, and you feel the tension in her arm, held back. Deliberate.

She's awake.

You know she knows you're awake too.

Neither of you say anything.

Her lips touch the back of your neck, barely, just the press of them, warm and dry and slow, and the arm around your waist tightens. Not urgently. Just more. She tucks you closer and you go, shifting back into her, and that's when you feel it.

The low sound she makes against your neck.

You feel her against you, the press of her hips, the unmistakable weight of her, already hard and warm through the thin fabric between you. She doesn't grind forward. She just is, lets you feel it, and her hand finally moves, cups your breast properly and squeezes gentle enough to make your breath catch.

"Morning," she murmurs.

That's all. Two syllables, rough with sleep, lips still against your skin when she says it.

You shift back against her, not accidentally, and her grip tightens.

"Y/n."

The way she says your name, it's not a warning, not quite. It's something closer to a question, like she's asking permission even as her thumb drags across your nipple, slow and deliberate.

You don't answer with words. You press back again, more intentional this time, and you feel her exhale against the back of your neck, a shaky thing, barely controlled.

Her hand slides from your breast, down over the curve of your waist, fingers tracing the waistband of your sleep shorts. She pauses there, fingertips just barely slipping beneath the fabric, waiting.

You lift your hip, just slightly, just enough, that tiny movement is all she needs.

Her hand slips lower, palm flat against your stomach, then lower still, and you're already wet, have been since you first felt her hard against you.

She hums against your shoulder, a sound of low, satisfied appreciation as her fingers slide through your slickness. It’s a slow, teasing exploration, gathering your arousal before she presses a finger against your clit, just barely there.

Your breath hitches, hips canting back instinctively, seeking more friction, more contact.

"Good morning, baby," she whispers, voice thick with sleep and desire as you push back against her hardness. Her finger circles your clit gently before slipping lower, teasing at your entrance without pushing inside.

Your breath hitches, a broken little sound escaping you as you keep pushing back, grinding shamelessly against that hard, heated length behind you. You need her, the ache building low and sharp in your belly.

"Morning," you manage, the word barely a whisper, breathless and wrecked before the day has even begun.

Her finger slips inside you, slow and deliberate, and you arch back against her with a stuttered gasp. 

She groans softly against your neck, her hips rolling forward once, finally, letting you feel exactly how hard she is, her length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass.

"Nat," you breathe, and it comes out desperate, your hand reaching back to grip her thigh, fingers digging into warm skin and taut muscle.

She adds a second finger, stretching you open, and her thumb finds your clit again, slow, maddening circles that make your thighs tremble.

"Baby," she whispers hoarsely in your ear, hips rolling forward slowly, giving you that thick length pressed exactly where you need it. "I'm so hard for you." Her fingers pump steadily, curling just right inside you.

"I need you," she whispers, the words hot against your ear as she thrusts her fingers deeper.

You whimper, pressing back harder against her, meeting each stroke of her fingers with your own needy grind.

"Please," you manage, voice wrecked and trembling. Your hand reaches back again, gripping the base of her where she's pressed tight against you, guiding her forward hungrily.

She hisses through her teeth at the touch of your hand, fingers curling tighter inside you in response. Her hips rock forward into your grip, urgent now, losing that maddening restraint she'd been holding onto.

You angle your hips, guiding her toward where you need her most, slick and ready and aching.

Her fingers slip out of you, leaving you empty and wanting for one aching second before she's hooking her thumbs into your waistband, tugging your underwear down your thighs with a slow, deliberate drag.

“Lift,” she murmurs, and you do, raising your hips so she can pull the fabric down, off, tossing them somewhere behind you both.

She positions herself, her hard, heated length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass. She's warm, so warm, her skin flushing against yours as she rocks forward slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance.

"Baby," she whispers hoarsely against your shoulder.

You arch back against her, reaching one hand back to grip her hip, urging her forward. Your other hand presses flat against the bed, knuckles white as you steady yourself on your side, presenting yourself to her. 

"Babe," you breathe, the word trembling with want and need.

She groans low in her throat, feeling your urgency and responding with her own. She's slow, so slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance before she presses in just a little, testing your readiness.

"I'm so big for you baby," she murmurs against your shoulder.

You bite your lip, nodding frantically against the pillow. She's huge, and you love it, you crave that feeling of being stretched wide open by her. 

"Please," you whimper, arching your back deeper, trying to take more of her in this side position.

She pushes forward, inch by devastating inch, her hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as she fills you. The angle is different like this, intimate, close, her chest pressed warm against your back as she sinks deeper.

You both moan when she's fully seated inside you, her hips flush against your ass, her breath ragged against your shoulder.

"Feel so good," she breathes, lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear. She doesn't move yet, just lets you feel the full, thick length of her, lets your body adjust around her.

Her hand slides from your hip to your stomach, palm flat and warm, holding you close as she draws back almost all the way, then snaps her hips forward.

The new angle hits you perfectly, her thick length dragging along your inner walls just right, and you moan out softly, gripping the sheets. 

"Right there," you gasp, pushing your ass back to meet her next thrust.

A pleased, satisfied noise escapes her at your response, and she picks up the pace, finding a steady, deep rhythm that makes the bed frame creak. Her hand on your stomach spreads out possessive, spread fingered, protective as she pulls back to thrust deep again.

The room fills with your moans and skin on skin. 

Natasha's deep, rhythmic thrusting pushing you forward each time, only to pull you back again with her grip on your stomach. The position keeps her pressed tightly against you, almost spooning from behind.

"So tight," she whispers hoarsely.

You can feel her leaking inside you already, thick, warm, slick precum coating your inner walls, making the glide of her easier, wetter. 

Her cock is impossibly hard, the thick length of her stretching you wide with every thrust, the ridged veins along her shaft dragging against your sensitive walls.

You bite your lip and whimper softly, pushing your ass back to meet each of her deep, possessive thrusts. 

"Only for you," you gasp out, your inner muscles clamping tightly around her length as she withdraws almost all the way before slamming back home.

Those words hit something in her, a spark behind those green eyes you can't see but can feel in the way her grip tightens, the way her hips snap forward harder, deeper.

She rolls her hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes you see stars and moan against your pillow.

"Mine," she groans against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "All mine."

The possessive words make your core clench around her, and you can feel her thickness jump inside you, more hot precum leaking out to mix with your own slick. 

She's so big, filling you up completely in this position, hitting places you didn't know could feel this good.

She sifts slightly, changing the angle, and hits that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. “Right there,” you whimper, reaching back to grip her hip, urging her on. “You’re so deep.”

Her cock slides out slowly, inch by thick inch, glistening with your combined arousal in the morning light. You feel every ridge, every vein draping along your tight walls, leaving you achingly empty for one breathless moment before sliding back in hard. “Oh fuck,” she moans, voice rough and wrecked against your shoulder. 

You moan out as she fills you again, that thick head hitting deep, so deep in this position. Your bodies are pressed close, her chest warm against your back, her hips flush against your ass with every thrust. The wet obscene sound of her sliding in and out fills the room, slick and hot and filthy. “Yes,” you moan, fingers twisting in the sheets. 

She picks up the speed, her thrusts losing rhythm now, just raw need, dragging that thick cock through your dripping walls, over and over. You can feel the way she leaks more inside you with every desperate plunge. “Shit—” she grunts, biting down on your shoulder. 

You arch your back, pushing your ass further taking her deeper. She hits that spot again, leaving you a moaning whimpering mess. 

You’re so we that you can feel her leaking out of you, dripping down your legs. 

“Harder,” you beg.

Without warning, she pushes flat onto your stomach, her weight pinning you to the mattress as she follows you down, covering your body completely. Her hands find yours, fingers lacing together above your head as she traps you beneath her. 

Her control snaps completely. Her thrusts turn wild uncontrolled, her thick cock hammering into you. She buries her face in your neck teeth and lips everything as she fucks you sensless from behind. 

You’re trapped beneath her, pinned, claimed, utterly at her mercy as she takes what she needs. Her eyes flutter close, then roll back a groan tearing from her throat she loses herself in the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around her aching cock. 

Your thighs are shaking, and you’re so close, way too close, especially with her weight pressing you into the mattress, her thick length thrusting into you from this angle. 

“I’m gonna—” you gasp, your voice coming out desperate and wrecked. “Oh fuck, Natasha I’m gonna come–”

She doesn’t slow down, groaning against your neck as she feels your walls starting to tighten and clench around her. 

“Come for me,” she demands, her voice ragged and needy. “Come on my cock, baby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches, nails dragging into her hands as you scream into the pillow. Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave so intense you vision whites out, your body jerking beneath her, your pussy clamping down hard on her thick cock as you flood around her. 

She groans, deep, desperate, as she feels you come undone.

Her eyes snap shut as your orgasm triggers her own. With a final deep thrust, she buries herself inside you and releases, hot thick cum flooding your already dripping pussy. She keeps thrusting through it, slow, shallow strokes as she empties herself completely inside you. 

Her forehead drops to your shoulder blade, breathing labored and unsteady as she finishes coming inside you. Her hands slide from gripping yours to brushing lazy strokes against your knuckles. The thick base of her cock remains firmly seated inside you, her still hard length leaks more cum with each pulse.

Eventually, she slowly pulls out, her thick length sliding out with a wet, obscene sound. As soon as the head pops free, her heavy load immediately follows, a thick, white trickle of her cum leaking steadily out of your pussy and dripping down on your inner thighs. 

She watches with a satisfied groan as more of her cum drips out, making a sticky mess on the sheets beneath you. She gently pushes your tights apart more, getting a better view of how thoroughly she filled you up.

She presses a thumb gently to your messy entrance pushing some of her cum back inside, completely obsessed with the sight. 

“My girl,” she whispers, kissing your spine. “Good morning.”

A lazy, satisfied smile curves your lips as you stretch beneath her, feeling deliciously sore and utterly claimed. You hum softly at her touch, at the feeling of her pushing her release back inside you.

"Mmm," you murmur, voice still shaky from your intense orgasm. You turn your head just enough to catch her eye, cheeks flushed. "Good morning to you too."

You reach back lazily, fingers finding her cheek, pulling her down into a soft and tender kiss, contrasting the roughness of moments ago.

"Love you," you whisper against her lips, feeling completely content and thoroughly claimed.

“I don’t want to think about it,” you murmur, cheeks redder than you wanted them to be. You don’t know how to even bring it up to her. That you like her mom.

Sevika watches how your thighs try to press together, like the wetness in your panties is becoming overwhelming especially when Sevika acts so clueless, like she doesn’t know she’s turning you on.

“You’re fidgeting a lot,” Sevika says calmly before moving her hand between your thighs—and she cups your clothed pussy, “what’s this, sweetie?”

“... It’s—umm—I’m… I’m wet for you.”

“For me?” She raises a brow, making a small humming sound like she’s amused, “I guess then I have to take care of it, yeah?”

“You don’t have to—!” You say quickly, getting shy and awkward.

Your words make Sevika laugh as she rubs your opening through your panties using two fingers, “oh, you’re funny, doll.”

Her fingers push your panties to the side and she shoves inside two fingers. You gasp and grab her shoulders tightly, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Then why’re y’riding my fingers, baby?”

“I’m not,” you lie, moving your hips in an angle that buries all of it deeper, stroking your g-spot, “f-fuck… you’re—you’ve got some long fingers.”

Sevika is having too much fun with this. She’s got years of experience under her belt while you’re just a college student who just so happens to develop a crush on your best friend’s mom. She knows you’re nervous. And your nerves only make your pussy feel more sensitive.

“Ohhhh—ngh…” you clutch her shoulders tighter.

“Careful, sweetie, you’re gonna leave marks,” Sevika coos tenderly, adding a third finger.

Your eyes widen, lips parting and all that leaves is a strangled gasp. Her three fingers together are thicker, and they make the most lewd squelching sound when they thrust upwards into your pussy, so deep you swear you can feel the tips of her fingers kissing your cervix.

“I’m cumming,” you‌r eyes roll back, pussy convulsing, “w-we have to… we have to keep this a secret.”

Sevika takes her time withdrawing her digits. She licks your cum right off her fingers, “yeah?”

“Yeah, Mira can’t find out.”

“Why’s that, doll?”

“I can’t lose her as a friend,” you say quietly.

You take a sip of water in the green room, having just finished checking that you’re camera ready when you suddenly feel arms around your waist. “So… Are you excited to be interviewing the greatest movie star of all time?”

You smile, not turning around yet, “Oh I didn’t realise Meryl Streep was here, I’ve been dying to meet her.”

Natasha laughs and squeezes your waist, “Idiot.”

“You’re not meant to be back here, someone might see-”

“No one here would rat us out. Besides, I had to get some proper time in with my favourite person before the cameras roll.”

You finally turn to face her, giving her a small smile as you roll your eyes, “You say that you like you didn’t wake up in my bed this morning. Like I won’t be all over you again the moment the cameras are off and we’re home.”

Natasha kisses you before grinning against your lips, “I want every second I can get.”

You laugh, tucking a strand of her bright red hair behind her ear. You’d known Natasha for a long time, back when she was an Avenger. In those days you’d been more of an investigative journalist, and your boss had been pushing for an Anti-Avengers story. You’d been granted clearance for a tour of the compound and then to interview some of the Avengers. Natasha had been your favourite – she’d clocked your angle immediately, and had been sullen and difficult throughout the conversation. That night you’d promptly quit your job and then asked Natasha out on a date.

Not long after you got a job for a magazine that specialised in published and video interviews of celebrities. You’d quickly climbed the ranks, being offered the most high profile jobs, interviewing the most famous celebrities. Around the same time Natasha had been looking for a career change – the Red Room had been taken down and the endless fights had taken a toll on Natasha’s mental health. So she’d decided to try acting, and had quickly realised she had a talent for it, landing amazing opportunities. It was hard to remember that Natasha had once been an Avenger, everyone these days knew her from her movies.

Throughout it all the two of you had continued to date whilst both of your careers had blown up in different directions. You were the one who’d wanted to keep your relationship a secret. “People will start gossiping about how I only got my job because of you,” You’d said, intertwining your fingers with hers. “Besides, it might not look great for your career if you’re dating a peasant like me.”

“Oh shut up,” Natasha had snapped though she couldn’t help laughing. “Nobody would think that. And nobody would think twice about the fact we’re together, I mean look at you, you’re gorgeous-”

“Not as gorgeous as you,” You’d countered quickly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“And besides, anyone who bothered to fact check would see that you got your job first. And you’re good at it. If anything, you might’ve given me my job-”

“I just want to keep it a secret for a while. If that’s okay.”

Natasha had sighed, pressing kisses to your neck and mumbling about how she hated keeping you a secret but had conceded. You understood her hesitance – Natasha had had so many secrets across the course of her life, of course she was fed up of the lies and the sneaking around. But she was still willing to respect your wishes.

The relationship had remained a secret for two years now. You’d both been on countless dates, moved in together, gone on romantic vacations together, even talked about getting married one day, and nobody but the two of you and a select few close friends had any idea. Tabloids had speculated about Natasha’s dating life before but had their suspicions had never landed on you, usually on co-stars or sometimes even people that Natasha had never met before. It made her laugh but admittedly, it made you a little jealous – the thought of someone else being with your girl.

It was easier in moments like this when Natasha’s arms were around you, her attention was on you and her lips were on yours. Natasha’s PA calls out the five minute warning but Natasha is in no hurry as she kisses you again. “I was thinking we could get sushi tonight. Stay in and watch a movie. I have an early flight in the morning but I might just push through, get some sleep on the plane. I want to spend every minute possible with you.”

Natasha was in the midst of promoting her movie and was flying to Europe in the morning. You didn’t want her to go, her promotions always felt like they went on for months, and then she’d often get shipped off to random locations to film her movies. Sometimes you could go with her but more often than not you couldn’t as your work was solely based in New York. The thought of her leaving again makes you feel a mixture of sad and irritable, but the promise of sushi and cuddles on the couch late into the night instantly make you feel better. “That sounds good to me.”

You reach out to touch her hair again, biting back the words you want to say. About how you’ll miss her, about how you wish she didn’t have to go but that you’re so proud of her for leaving her old life behind, for how successful she’s become. Instead you just kiss her again and she smiles when you pull back, “I know. I’ll miss you too.”

Your own PA calls out your name this time and you glance over your shoulder before looking back at Natasha, “Looks like it’s show time.”

“Why can’t we just tell everyone we’re dating? It’s been two years; it’s starting to get weird.”

You take her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers, “Soon. I promise.”

“Y/N!” Your PA’s voice has taken on a sharper tone.

You kiss Natasha’s knuckles and it makes her grin just as it always does, “Love you.”

“Love you too idiot. Let’s do this.”

Five minutes later you’re forced to pretend to introduce yourself to Natasha, something that you can tell irritates her a little bit but she doesn’t say anything. Along with Natasha are her two co-stars Skylar and Will. You’d met Skylar last year when she was promoting a different movie and the two of you hug like old friends. When you introduce yourself to Will he barely looks up from his phone to acknowledge you. Not too surprising from the stories you’d heard from Natasha about his attitude on set but irritating nonetheless. You’ve met celebrities like him before, who seem to think they’re above you and everyone else, just because they’d been lucky enough to shoot to fame.

Will eventually puts his phone away as the interview begins, and you immediately jump into professional mode, ignoring the fact that you and Natasha are dating. It’s irrelevant right now as you focus on the questions you’d researched the night before. You took pride in that aspect of your job, making sure you had relevant questions about whatever your interviewee was promoting but also personal touches to make it more interesting for your audience.

Natasha is every bit as professional as you are, leaning back in her chair and answering all your questions confidently without being overly familiar. It makes your chest swell with love, to see that even though she’s not keen on keeping this a secret; she’s willing to do it for you. Skylar is funny as usual, just as bubbly and energetic as you remember, always a treat to interview. Will is quiet at first, not offering much up – you hadn’t expected anything more from someone who clearly thought he was above all of this.

“Is there anything in this movie that we should watch out for, that fans should be particularly excited about?” You ask.

“This one,” Will suddenly says, his finger moving to run up and down Natasha’s arm in a way that makes you pause, your eyes narrowing as you take in the slow, suggestive movement. “I mean, when you have an ex-Avenger in an action movie, there’s always going to be something special about that.”

“Can you elaborate?” And also get your hands off my girlfriend, you want to add.

“Well Natasha is a legend in the industry already, especially when it comes to doing her own stunts. She makes a real point of it and it’s incredible to see the things that she can do.” Will gives Natasha a look, biting his bottom lip, “And she’s very flexible if you know what I mean.”

Your hand clenches into a fist and the questions written on the paper in front of you suddenly blur as you’re blinded by an irritable rage. Who does this cocky asshole think he is? He might be playing Natasha’s love interest but that’s only in the movie. Natasha says nothing, twitching her hair over her shoulder in the hopes it will get Will’s hand off her arm but it doesn’t seem to do the trick.

“And what do you think of the criticism from fans online that there isn’t much chemistry between you and Natasha to make the romance scenes believable?” You suddenly blurt.

Will raises his eye-brows whilst Natasha and Skylar share a glance. “I wasn’t aware of any criticism from fans,” Will eventually says evenly.

“There have definitely been some… Thoughts.” You reply in your most professional voice.

“Well I would say that they don’t need to worry. Natasha is an amazing woman and the sparks flew between us pretty much instantly. Our scenes will speak for themselves but we’re as close off screen as we are on screen.”

“Really? Because I heard a rumour that she had to try and calm you down at the wrap party when you threw a tantrum about the-”

“Y/N,” Your PA says sharply. “Maybe we should take a break?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Will snaps the moment the cameras stop rolling. “All of that is being cut. I’m speaking to my agent, this is-”

You never hear what it is because you climb out of your seat and head back to the green room, running a stressed hand over your face. Natasha follows after you, not caring who sees her, “Y/N-”

“Don’t. I already know I fucked up, but that asshole just got under my skin, okay?”

“Y/N, it’s all pretend. You know I don’t like Will anymore than you do but-”

“I know, but he still had no right to be all over you like that.”

Natasha puts her hand on your arm, “Why has this bothered you so much?”

“Why did it bother me? Because you’re mine, Nat!” You burst. “And I don’t mean to sound like a creepy, possessive, controlling piece of shit but you’re my girl and I love you and I can’t stand seeing that assholes hands on you, talking about you right in front of my face as if he knows you better than me. He doesn't, he has no fucking idea.”

You expect Natasha to be irritated but to your surprise when you finally work up the courage to meet her gaze she’s smiling. “What?”

“Baby, you’re the one who wanted to keep this a secret. Will has no idea I’m dating you, neither does Skylar. In fact, they have no idea that I’m dating anyone. Of course I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, and I’ve always wanted everyone to know that.” You fold your arms and Natasha wraps her arms around your waist, “I can’t shove him off me in the middle of an interview no matter how much I’d like to-”

“Of course you can-”

“No, I can’t, because the producers and the higher ups want us to look like we actually like each other. I can certainly give him Hell once the cameras are off but when they’re rolling I have to smile and play the part. You know that.”

You look down, still irritated, “Well, I still think he’s an asshole.”

“Of course he is. And I’m not going to let him get away with that little stunt but-” Natasha grins again, having to bite her lip to hold back her laugh. “That was kind of cute how protective you got back there.”

You groan, “It was embarrassing!”

“I want the video footage of this. I know they’ll never let you air it but I want it. For personal reasons.”

“That footage is never seeing the light of day.”

You let yourself relax in her embrace, wrapping your own arms around her as Natasha kisses your cheek. “I’m yours. Always have been, always will be. Okay?”

You nod, leaning your forehead against hers and mumbling, “Okay.”

You know before you're fully awake, the weight of her behind you, the steadiness of her breathing against the back of your neck, the arm draped over your waist like she put it there on purpose even in sleep. She probably did. You've learned that about her. Even unconscious, she holds on.

You don't move. You're not ready to be awake yet and neither, it seems, is she.

Then her fingers shift.

Just barely. A slow drag across your stomach, palm flat, like she's checking that you're real. You feel her inhale, deep and deliberate, and she presses her nose into your hair. Stays there.

“Detka.”

It's barely a sound. More breath than word, warm against the back of your head, and you don't know if she meant to say it or if it just came out of her. Either way it settles in your chest like something lit.

You still don't move.

Her hand moves again. Slower this time, like she's being careful, like she's trying not to wake you and also like she very much wants to. Her palm slides up your ribcage, thumb tracing the space between your ribs, and she exhales again when she reaches the curve of your breast. Doesn't push. Just rests there, covers you, and you feel the tension in her arm, held back. Deliberate.

She's awake.

You know she knows you're awake too.

Neither of you say anything.

Her lips touch the back of your neck, barely, just the press of them, warm and dry and slow, and the arm around your waist tightens. Not urgently. Just more. She tucks you closer and you go, shifting back into her, and that's when you feel it.

The low sound she makes against your neck.

You feel her against you, the press of her hips, the unmistakable weight of her, already hard and warm through the thin fabric between you. She doesn't grind forward. She just is, lets you feel it, and her hand finally moves, cups your breast properly and squeezes gentle enough to make your breath catch.

"Morning," she murmurs.

That's all. Two syllables, rough with sleep, lips still against your skin when she says it.

You shift back against her, not accidentally, and her grip tightens.

"Y/n."

The way she says your name, it's not a warning, not quite. It's something closer to a question, like she's asking permission even as her thumb drags across your nipple, slow and deliberate.

You don't answer with words. You press back again, more intentional this time, and you feel her exhale against the back of your neck, a shaky thing, barely controlled.

Her hand slides from your breast, down over the curve of your waist, fingers tracing the waistband of your sleep shorts. She pauses there, fingertips just barely slipping beneath the fabric, waiting.

You lift your hip, just slightly, just enough, that tiny movement is all she needs.

Her hand slips lower, palm flat against your stomach, then lower still, and you're already wet, have been since you first felt her hard against you.

She hums against your shoulder, a sound of low, satisfied appreciation as her fingers slide through your slickness. It’s a slow, teasing exploration, gathering your arousal before she presses a finger against your clit, just barely there.

Your breath hitches, hips canting back instinctively, seeking more friction, more contact.

"Good morning, baby," she whispers, voice thick with sleep and desire as you push back against her hardness. Her finger circles your clit gently before slipping lower, teasing at your entrance without pushing inside.

Your breath hitches, a broken little sound escaping you as you keep pushing back, grinding shamelessly against that hard, heated length behind you. You need her, the ache building low and sharp in your belly.

"Morning," you manage, the word barely a whisper, breathless and wrecked before the day has even begun.

Her finger slips inside you, slow and deliberate, and you arch back against her with a stuttered gasp. 

She groans softly against your neck, her hips rolling forward once, finally, letting you feel exactly how hard she is, her length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass.

"Nat," you breathe, and it comes out desperate, your hand reaching back to grip her thigh, fingers digging into warm skin and taut muscle.

She adds a second finger, stretching you open, and her thumb finds your clit again, slow, maddening circles that make your thighs tremble.

"Baby," she whispers hoarsely in your ear, hips rolling forward slowly, giving you that thick length pressed exactly where you need it. "I'm so hard for you." Her fingers pump steadily, curling just right inside you.

"I need you," she whispers, the words hot against your ear as she thrusts her fingers deeper.

You whimper, pressing back harder against her, meeting each stroke of her fingers with your own needy grind.

"Please," you manage, voice wrecked and trembling. Your hand reaches back again, gripping the base of her where she's pressed tight against you, guiding her forward hungrily.

She hisses through her teeth at the touch of your hand, fingers curling tighter inside you in response. Her hips rock forward into your grip, urgent now, losing that maddening restraint she'd been holding onto.

You angle your hips, guiding her toward where you need her most, slick and ready and aching.

Her fingers slip out of you, leaving you empty and wanting for one aching second before she's hooking her thumbs into your waistband, tugging your underwear down your thighs with a slow, deliberate drag.

“Lift,” she murmurs, and you do, raising your hips so she can pull the fabric down, off, tossing them somewhere behind you both.

She positions herself, her hard, heated length pressing insistently against the curve of your ass. She's warm, so warm, her skin flushing against yours as she rocks forward slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance.

"Baby," she whispers hoarsely against your shoulder.

You arch back against her, reaching one hand back to grip her hip, urging her forward. Your other hand presses flat against the bed, knuckles white as you steady yourself on your side, presenting yourself to her. 

"Babe," you breathe, the word trembling with want and need.

She groans low in her throat, feeling your urgency and responding with her own. She's slow, so slow, teasing the head of her cock against your entrance before she presses in just a little, testing your readiness.

"I'm so big for you baby," she murmurs against your shoulder.

You bite your lip, nodding frantically against the pillow. She's huge, and you love it, you crave that feeling of being stretched wide open by her. 

"Please," you whimper, arching your back deeper, trying to take more of her in this side position.

She pushes forward, inch by devastating inch, her hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as she fills you. The angle is different like this, intimate, close, her chest pressed warm against your back as she sinks deeper.

You both moan when she's fully seated inside you, her hips flush against your ass, her breath ragged against your shoulder.

"Feel so good," she breathes, lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear. She doesn't move yet, just lets you feel the full, thick length of her, lets your body adjust around her.

Her hand slides from your hip to your stomach, palm flat and warm, holding you close as she draws back almost all the way, then snaps her hips forward.

The new angle hits you perfectly, her thick length dragging along your inner walls just right, and you moan out softly, gripping the sheets. 

"Right there," you gasp, pushing your ass back to meet her next thrust.

A pleased, satisfied noise escapes her at your response, and she picks up the pace, finding a steady, deep rhythm that makes the bed frame creak. Her hand on your stomach spreads out possessive, spread fingered, protective as she pulls back to thrust deep again.

The room fills with your moans and skin on skin. 

Natasha's deep, rhythmic thrusting pushing you forward each time, only to pull you back again with her grip on your stomach. The position keeps her pressed tightly against you, almost spooning from behind.

"So tight," she whispers hoarsely.

You can feel her leaking inside you already, thick, warm, slick precum coating your inner walls, making the glide of her easier, wetter. 

Her cock is impossibly hard, the thick length of her stretching you wide with every thrust, the ridged veins along her shaft dragging against your sensitive walls.

You bite your lip and whimper softly, pushing your ass back to meet each of her deep, possessive thrusts. 

"Only for you," you gasp out, your inner muscles clamping tightly around her length as she withdraws almost all the way before slamming back home.

Those words hit something in her, a spark behind those green eyes you can't see but can feel in the way her grip tightens, the way her hips snap forward harder, deeper.

She rolls her hips, grinding against that spot inside you that makes you see stars and moan against your pillow.

"Mine," she groans against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "All mine."

The possessive words make your core clench around her, and you can feel her thickness jump inside you, more hot precum leaking out to mix with your own slick. 

She's so big, filling you up completely in this position, hitting places you didn't know could feel this good.

She sifts slightly, changing the angle, and hits that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. “Right there,” you whimper, reaching back to grip her hip, urging her on. “You’re so deep.”

Her cock slides out slowly, inch by thick inch, glistening with your combined arousal in the morning light. You feel every ridge, every vein draping along your tight walls, leaving you achingly empty for one breathless moment before sliding back in hard. “Oh fuck,” she moans, voice rough and wrecked against your shoulder. 

You moan out as she fills you again, that thick head hitting deep, so deep in this position. Your bodies are pressed close, her chest warm against your back, her hips flush against your ass with every thrust. The wet obscene sound of her sliding in and out fills the room, slick and hot and filthy. “Yes,” you moan, fingers twisting in the sheets. 

She picks up the speed, her thrusts losing rhythm now, just raw need, dragging that thick cock through your dripping walls, over and over. You can feel the way she leaks more inside you with every desperate plunge. “Shit—” she grunts, biting down on your shoulder. 

You arch your back, pushing your ass further taking her deeper. She hits that spot again, leaving you a moaning whimpering mess. 

You’re so we that you can feel her leaking out of you, dripping down your legs. 

“Harder,” you beg.

Without warning, she pushes flat onto your stomach, her weight pinning you to the mattress as she follows you down, covering your body completely. Her hands find yours, fingers lacing together above your head as she traps you beneath her. 

Her control snaps completely. Her thrusts turn wild uncontrolled, her thick cock hammering into you. She buries her face in your neck teeth and lips everything as she fucks you sensless from behind. 

You’re trapped beneath her, pinned, claimed, utterly at her mercy as she takes what she needs. Her eyes flutter close, then roll back a groan tearing from her throat she loses herself in the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around her aching cock. 

Your thighs are shaking, and you’re so close, way too close, especially with her weight pressing you into the mattress, her thick length thrusting into you from this angle. 

“I’m gonna—” you gasp, your voice coming out desperate and wrecked. “Oh fuck, Natasha I’m gonna come–”

She doesn’t slow down, groaning against your neck as she feels your walls starting to tighten and clench around her. 

“Come for me,” she demands, her voice ragged and needy. “Come on my cock, baby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches, nails dragging into her hands as you scream into the pillow. Your orgasm crashes over you in a wave so intense you vision whites out, your body jerking beneath her, your pussy clamping down hard on her thick cock as you flood around her. 

She groans, deep, desperate, as she feels you come undone.

Her eyes snap shut as your orgasm triggers her own. With a final deep thrust, she buries herself inside you and releases, hot thick cum flooding your already dripping pussy. She keeps thrusting through it, slow, shallow strokes as she empties herself completely inside you. 

Her forehead drops to your shoulder blade, breathing labored and unsteady as she finishes coming inside you. Her hands slide from gripping yours to brushing lazy strokes against your knuckles. The thick base of her cock remains firmly seated inside you, her still hard length leaks more cum with each pulse.

Eventually, she slowly pulls out, her thick length sliding out with a wet, obscene sound. As soon as the head pops free, her heavy load immediately follows, a thick, white trickle of her cum leaking steadily out of your pussy and dripping down on your inner thighs. 

She watches with a satisfied groan as more of her cum drips out, making a sticky mess on the sheets beneath you. She gently pushes your tights apart more, getting a better view of how thoroughly she filled you up.

She presses a thumb gently to your messy entrance pushing some of her cum back inside, completely obsessed with the sight. 

“My girl,” she whispers, kissing your spine. “Good morning.”

A lazy, satisfied smile curves your lips as you stretch beneath her, feeling deliciously sore and utterly claimed. You hum softly at her touch, at the feeling of her pushing her release back inside you.

"Mmm," you murmur, voice still shaky from your intense orgasm. You turn your head just enough to catch her eye, cheeks flushed. "Good morning to you too."

You reach back lazily, fingers finding her cheek, pulling her down into a soft and tender kiss, contrasting the roughness of moments ago.

"Love you," you whisper against her lips, feeling completely content and thoroughly claimed.

It’s 10PM, and she’s still not done studying. Natasha is never done studying until she can remember every theory and calculation like the back of her hand, until she can shut her eyes and read sums on the back of her eyelids. Natasha wouldn’t be done for hours.

  But you’re getting bored. You’re sprawled across her bed on your stomach and kicking your legs like a schoolgirl, watching her flip pages and write things in margins that were already full of her spidery scrawl. 

  Natasha’s the ideal roommate, really. She’s shy, so she never brings home any unwanted guests, and she’s quiet, which means no loud music or thumping from her bedroom either, but if you were to be a little nitpicky, which you were, you’d say that Natasha wasn’t massively fun. She consistently opted out of parties and invitations to clubs or dorms that weren’t hers. Her idea of fun was turning on National Geographic and watching a documentary on the slow extinction of the sperm whale, followed by a glass of warm milk and an early bedtime. And, fuck, it might’ve been lame, but it was also incredibly endearing.

  Still boring, though.

  “Nat, I’m pretty sure you’ve already read that part. Twice, even,” you huff, flopping onto your side to face her while she sat at her desk. She glances at you, the low lamplight reflecting in her little round glasses, and she pushes them back up her nose. 

  “I have to be sure I’m getting it right,” she says, with all the patience you lack, and turns back to her notebook to continue writing. You watch the movement of her pen for a moment before pressing your face to her sheets and letting out a long groan, to which she huffs a little laugh. “You said you wanted to stay in with me tonight. You’re not having fun?”

  “No,” you groan, and she laughs again. “I’m having no fun at all. You’ve been studying for hours now and you wouldn’t even get up to have dinner. I made dinner, Nat. My pasta was hot and the cheese on top was crispy but you wouldn’t even get up.” You see the twitching of her mouth as she tries not to laugh, tries not to encourage your behavior, but your own mouth is curving upwards now. A little impish feeling surfaces in your throat, and you sit up fully. “Seriously, what can be more interesting than dinner?” Your legs are already swinging off the bed. Your mind is somewhere completely different to your body, which moves like you’re on autopilot. If Natasha wasn’t allowing herself to be distracted, you’d just have to distract her. 

  You flank her like a predator, which makes you grin almost wolfishly, and you lean over her shoulder to peer at her work. Your chest is pressed against her back from this angle, and you immediately feel Natasha tense up.

  “What are you—”

  “I’m just curious,” you smile, pretending to skim over her notebook. It’s all numbers, anyway, might as well be Greek to you, but you hum in understanding, lips dangerously close to Natasha’s ear. She flinches like she’s been burned, but she makes no move to stand or pull away from you. Good, then. You could push this a little further. “Oh wow. This is hard stuff, huh? You’re so clever, Nat.”

  This time she’s not as good at hiding her reaction. Her throat bobs when she swallows down a keening whine that had escaped her lips for a moment, only a moment, but your ears picked up on it instantly. “It’s– It’s not rocket science, anyone can do it,” she mumbles. You look pointedly at her, to which she looks away immediately, eyes darting back to her work. “It’s just math.”

  Her shyness is so cute you almost feel a wave of aggression form, wanting to dig your nails against the soft slope of her shoulder where her grandpa sweater hangs loosely, sink your teeth into her ear to hear another whine, but you stop yourself. “Then take a break with me, Nat,” you murmur into her ear, pressing impossibly closer, not missing the way your breasts pushed up against her even harder. Natasha could’ve been a statue at this point. “There are way more interesting things in the world than math.”

  You see her lips twitch, trying to form a word, but nothing comes out. Natasha, slowly, uncertainly, looks at you with wide eyes, trying to figure out your intentions like one of her sums, except this wasn’t numbers. She wasn’t good at this. You can almost hear the cogs in her mind, then the furrowing of her brow, before you sigh. If she wasn’t going to say anything, you would.

  You spin her chair to face you, and Natasha’s head jerks back with the sudden force before you plant yourself down in her lap in one smooth motion.

  Natasha’s hips buck upwards reflexively, and her hands scramble to grasp the armrests. “What are you doing?” she chokes out, leaning as far back as the chair allows. You give a small smile, leaning forward so that your foreheads are almost touching.

  “What do you think I’m doing, Nat?” you murmur in response. You adjust your position a little, moving your thighs comfortably on either side of her, but when you wriggle your hips to get comfortable, Natasha looks away quickly. You can feel the heat radiating from her face, and God, if that wasn’t the cutest thing. She looks back at you briefly, mouth a little agape as she tries to fathom what on earth has gotten into you, but when you roll your hips against hers, her hands fly up and grab your waist to still you.

  “I-I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” Natasha manages to get out. Her hands are holding you tightly, and her glasses are slipping down her face. You bite your lower lip and push them back up her nose. You feel her fingers curl around you. 

  You lean closer, your forehead brushing against stray strands of her hair. It’s almost hard to breathe, this close to her, but you swallow and push on. “You should’ve thought about that before you made me sit on your bed alone,” you whisper. Natasha licks her lower lip nervously, and it shines in the dim lamp light. The sight causes something bold to surface in you. “You work too hard, Nat. Let me help, okay?”

  “Fuck,” is the only word she says, and then Natasha’s eyes dart to your lips. You don’t have to be a genius like her to figure out what that means. Heat rushes to your stomach as you lean in, fingers curling in her sweater, and press your mouth to hers. A needy sound fills your mouth, and it takes you a second to realize it’s Natasha, not you, and suddenly her mouth is widening, opening to press her tongue against your lips, so delicate and shy it makes you ache.

  Kissing Natasha is nothing like any kiss you’ve had before. Her mouth is hot against yours, her head angled so her glasses won’t bump against your face as she kisses you slowly, shyly, like she’s worried she’s doing it wrong. You smile against her lips, and then you press your tongue against hers, warm and wet and undeniable. Natasha pulls away with a start, eyes wide and cheeks flushed a delicious pink that spreads down her neck. Your smile turns into a grin. “Was that your first kiss?”

  Natasha swallows. She’s looking up at you like she’s afraid she’s done something wrong. “Was it bad?”

  You shake your head. “More like the opposite,” you purr, and beneath you, you feel a shiver run down her entire body. God, since when was your roommate this fucking cute? 

  Something like relief floods her features, and she straightens her glasses. Her hands are still on your waist, just above the waistband of your stretchy cotton sleep shorts, and she’s looking at you like she’s simultaneously pleading and afraid. You nod slowly, and Natasha leans in to kiss you again. She’s a little bolder this time, and as you sigh softly into her mouth, you feel her fingers press against your lower stomach, having slipped past your waistband, and now settling above where you really needed it. Your hips churn against hers at the sudden coolness on your skin.

  “Please,” Natasha forces out when she pulls away to breathe. “Can I…”

  “Can you what?” you mumble, though you know full well what she wants. You just want to hear the words from her inexperienced tongue. The heat in your stomach simmers like oil, and Natasha groans.

  “Can I touch you, please?” she asks, her voice strained. Her hips, pressed so close to yours, betray her excitement and buck upwards, and, fuck, what was that? Something hard and warm against your ass, but your lust-addled brain can’t put two and two together right now, not when Natasha is looking up at you like you hung the moon. You nod, and she mumbles something too low for you to catch.

  Her hand slips lower, past your briefs, and then suddenly you feel her cool fingers bump your swollen clit. “Shit,” you hiss, leaning forward and grabbing the headrest of her chair. From this angle, your chest, barely constrained in its little white tank top, is much closer to Natasha’s face, and she groans. Her fingers slowly spread you open like a prize, and you let out an embarrassing gasp at the contact. A fingertip works you open, gathering your arousal on her finger like lubricant, and she swallows thickly.

  “I’m gonna put it in, okay?” she asks, shy even now, and you nod above her, words failing you. You feel her take a steadying breath before she slowly pushes inside of you, working you open with her middle finger until she finally sinks inside. Your cunt greedily clenches around her, and you sigh against her ear when she reaches the knuckle. She’s biting her lower lip nervously. “Does that hurt?”

  You shake your head quickly. “No, no, it’s good,” you reply. Your hips itch with the need to move. “You’re so good, Nat.”

  That keening whine from earlier escapes Natasha’s throat, and her hips jerk up involuntarily. She licks her lips nervously again, and then her finger moves inside you, pumping slowly, and suddenly you don’t care about anything else. You’re tightening around her, heat pooling in your stomach, and your hips start to move against her hand, seeking more contact.

  “Fuck, fuck, Nat, another one,” you babble, and she acquiesces, easily slipping her ring finger inside, and you groan softly. Her fingers curl with every thrust, like she’s seeking a specific spot, and her brows are furrowed like they usually are when she’s studying. She watches your face for changes in your expression, for the furrow of your brow and the widening of your mouth. What makes you gasp like that? How much pressure on your clit do you like? Oh, that’s what you like. She’s always been a quick study, but the reward of a potential orgasm motivates her a lot more than a grade on a midterm.

  Heat coils in your stomach, tightening like the knot of a rope. Your hips bounce against her now, rocking up and down with abandon as you chase the pleasure of her touch, and now you can really feel something hot and straining against your ass, but you can’t care, not when her fingers finally brush against the spot that makes your toes clench.

  “Oh fuck, Nat, yes,” you say between heavy moans, eloquence leaving you, and she takes it as a sign to fuck you even harder, pushing against the spot that makes your thighs tighten. “So good, Nat, so good, fuck, I–”

  Her fingers don’t relent. She’s looking up at you, eyes wide like she’s looking at something magical, and her lips are still a little wet from your earlier kiss. “Are you gonna cum?” You nod shakily, desperately. “Come on, cum, cum for me,” she coaxes, words tumbling from her mouth, fingers unrelenting, fucking you like it was the only thing she knew how to do, and the heat in your belly bursts into flame.

  You gasp, panting greedily as your cunt pulses desperately, your orgasm washing over you in fast, relentless waves. Your clit burns, throbbing against the seam of your underwear, and Natasha’s touch slows when she feels your cunt tighten against her, rubbing slow, soothing circles against your front wall. When the waves die down, you feel her drag her fingers away reluctantly, finally reappearing from your sleep shorts. Your chest heaves with exhaustion, and you look down at her with an incredulous smile on your lips.

  “Nat,” is all you say, and then she’s kissing you again, less hungry than earlier, a little more patient. When you pull away, her lips are swollen and shining. You grin. “Fuck, Nat. I didn’t know you knew how to do that. Where did you learn to make a girl feel good?” Natasha coughs, face heating with the praise, and looks away.

  “It’s not rocket science,” she replies, though with a small smile.

  You laugh, moving back so you weren’t completely crushing her, and then you felt it bump against your ass again. The straining warmth you’d noticed earlier but were too preoccupied to think about. Natasha suddenly jumps in her seat, catching her lower lip between her teeth to stop a hiss from escaping.

  Your brain whirs. No. Surely not, right?

  “Oh my god,” you whisper. Your hips move again. Natasha almost cries out. “Natasha, do you have a–”

  “Yes,” she grunts, “I do. And it really hurts right now, so if you don’t mind…” She moves to lift you up and off of her lap, but you stiffen against her, making yourself dead weight. She groans. “I need to go to the bathroom so I can–”

  You grasp her wrists tightly. Natasha startles, looking at you owlishly, confusion evident on her face. Fuck, it’s so cute it’s a little disarming. You shake your head.

  “Nat,” you begin, something devilish swirling around in your head. “I’m not letting you get up so you can go to the bathroom and finish yourself off in there.”

  Her face flushes violently. “What?”

  A grin spreads across your face, and you slowly move backwards off her lap, pulling away until you’re settled on your knees on the floor, looking up at her. “I said I’m not letting you jerk off in the toilet, Nat.”

  “I-I heard what you said,” Natasha responds, but she still looks confused. Your hands move to the waistband of her sweatpants, and suddenly it dawns on her what you’re implying. “You– wait, you really don’t have to–”

  “I know I don’t,” you cut in smoothly, and pull her sweatpants down. She lifts her hips up so they pool around her ankles, and then there’s nowhere else to look. Her boxers are a sensible navy with little white polka dots, and you smile. “Cute,” you say, trailing a hand up her now bare thigh, and she stammers something. Your hand moves up, up past the leg of her boxers until you finally reach what you’d been feeling against you this entire time. Her cock is trapped against the tight cotton, and you coo teasingly. “I bet that really hurts, doesn’t it?”

  “Don’t be mean,” Natasha breathes out. Your hand palms at her erection, feeling the heat radiate through the thin cotton, and she gasps out suddenly like she’d been burned. “Shit!”

  Her reaction is almost enough to make your thighs shake. “Was that good?” you ask lowly, grasping at her again, and she nods frantically. “You like it when I touch your cock?”

  “Please,” Natasha chokes out. You hum, and then finally pull down her boxers. Her cock springs out, hitting her stomach with a wet slap, and you can’t help the surprised little gasp from your mouth. It’s leaking desperately, flushed a deep pink from tip to base, and your mouth almost waters. Natasha is squirming in her seat, too flustered to protest when your hand reaches up to tentatively wrap around her cock, feeling her pulse flutter against your fingers.

  You look up at Natasha. Her mouth is slightly agape, perhaps at your grasp, perhaps at this entire ridiculous situation. You can’t find it in you to care, so instead your grasp tightens a little and your hand moves with a slow steady pump of Natasha’s cock.

  The effect is apparent. Natasha’s thighs spread wider, her brow furrows, and her mouth opens a little more. You smile. Slowly, you press your thumb to the oozing slit at the tip of her cock, a bead of moisture rolling down her shaft, and she gasps when your thumb makes little circles. “Fuck, you’re– fuck,” she stutters, and you hum, pleased. Slowly, you start to move your hand up and down, the way you’d seen in dirty videos you’d been shown at sleepovers, and Natasha’s hips stir. “Yes, please, fuck.”

  Your hand keeps pumping, feeling her impossibly stiffen even more, her tip now an angry, sensitive red. It’s slick with her own precum, and you swallow thickly. You lean forward slowly, still stroking, before angling your head just right and taking her cock in your mouth.

  “Shit!” Natasha barks, but you can’t bring yourself to pay attention to anything but the tang of her sweat and arousal against your mouth. A moan slips out of your throat involuntarily, causing Natasha’s hips to jerk up. You feel her slide deeper into your throat, and she curses. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry,” she splutters, but she trails off when your hand splays across her stomach. 

  You inhale deeply, relaxing your throat just enough to not gag, and then sink lower until every inch of her disappears inside of your mouth, your nose pressing against her underbelly. 

  You feel her shudder go through you, and you look up at her through watery lashes. Natasha’s looking down at you through those silly round glasses, her lips parted with hot, heaving pants, but she’s nodding, and that’s all the signal you need.

  You start pulling away from her cock until she’s almost entirely exposed again, freshly glistening in the tepid air. Her tip is resting on your tongue, warm and leaking, and you dip your tongue against the leaking slit. Natasha groans, and her hand finds the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Her touch isn’t persistent, just grounding, and you hum sweetly while you swirl your tongue around her head. Another stutter of her hips, and then her fingers tighten in your hair, though not enough to hurt.

  “Fuck, it’s– you’re so warm,” she hisses through her teeth, and slowly you lower your head, cock pushing further into your mouth until Natasha’s fingers pull your hair with a cry. You sob out a moan. Your thighs still tremble from your earlier orgasm, but looking up at her, her face contorted in pleasure, your thighs shake for a completely different reason.

  You’re starting to find a rhythm now, bobbing your head along her cock, drool on your chin and slick all down her shaft. Natasha attempts to coax you through it, but it’s difficult between her moans and strangled cries when your hand comes up to cup her balls. It only takes a second before her hips stutter again, and suddenly her hand is pressing down on your head, pushing herself into your throat in one smooth motion.

  “F-Fuck, I‘m sorry, I–” Natasha stammers, and her hips roll up to meet your mouth. You can’t do anything but moan as she fucks your mouth desperately, cradling your hair with as much tenderness as she could manage in her state. Your thighs clench, tears prickling your eyes and beading on your eyelashes as her hips move. A hot, salty tang blooms on your tongue, and Natasha shivers. “I’m gonna, shit, wait, I’m…”

  She pulls out immediately, and you watch wide-eyed as her cock visibly throbs once, twice, and then spurts thin white ropes against her stomach and stupid grandpa sweater, and Natasha groans like the weight of something heavy has finally slid off her shoulders. You sit silently, watching her chest heave with slow breaths, before you reach for a tissue from her desk.

  “You liked that?” you smile, wiping any stickiness from her skin, and she watches you with something reverent.

  “Jesus,” she mumbles, pushing her glasses up to rub at her eyes. Her mouth is faltering into a twitching laugh now, and you grin with her. “Fuck. That was… that was really good. Sorry for the- the mess.”

  You shake your head. “Don’t be.” Your head rests against her knee, and the hand that was resting warmly against the base of your skull moves to your cheek, cupping softly. Your heart does something full and unhurried in your chest, and you almost scoff at how ridiculous this situation is, but you can’t find it in you to regret it. Your sweet, shy roommate almost cumming down your throat and then tenderly stroking your face? You’d have never guessed she'd be so rough during it. The thought blooms something heavy in your abdomen again, and you hold back a groan.

  “Now, Nat, I think you’ve got one more thing to do,” the words rumble out of your throat, and Natasha nods eagerly, desperate to know what else she could do for you. Your grin turns into a smirk.

  “Tell me, please,” she pleads.

  “Study,” you smile, and then you’re pulling her cock back into her boxers, shimmying up her sweatpants and pushing her chair back against her desk. Natasha stammers in confusion, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh, but you’re very serious.

  “R-Really? Now?”

  “You better get started.” Your lips are hot against her, your words ghosting the shell of her ear. “Because I’m gonna test you on everything you’ve remembered.”

  Your hand on her shoulder, snaking down to her collarbone.

You watch her from under the temporary shade Nat made you this morning because she knows you get hot and need to cool down.

She’s shredded her shirt from this morning and wears only a sports bra and shorts as she moves wood piles and digs in the garden.

“Do you need anything, babe?” You ask her, noticing the way the sweat drips off her muscles. Everywhere from her shoulders, her face, and even her abs are glistening.

“Maybe a drink break. And just for you to keep looking at me like that,” Natasha says. A smirk is on her face.

“Oops,” you mumble.

She walks over to your shade and you hand her a water. Nat takes it while leaving a kiss to your lips. You watch the way her body moves as she gulps down the water. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“I know you enjoy looking,” she says once she’s swallowed the liquid.

“Respectfully, yes,” you reply.

“Hm, sure. Give me another hour and we can shower?” Nat suggests.

“Yes please,” you say.

Natasha leaves you with another kiss. This one is long enough that it leaves you wanting more.

You watch as she takes an axe to a piece of wood and her muscles flex. She chuckles at you with every swing.

When she’s finally done working, she walks to you again and this time when you hand her a water she pours some of it on her head.

“Babe, what are you doing?” You ask her.

“I’m cooling down,” she says with a shrug. “You like it, don’t you? Me being all wet?”

Your eyes go wide as you don’t know how to respond. She takes your hand and leads you towards the house.

“Nat, what about cleaning up?”

“That can wait until tomorrow,” she says.

You two practically jog into the house and it doesn’t take long for her to start taking your clothes off.

She starts with your shirt and you’ll never get over how she memorizes your body with her eyes every time she sees you like this.

By the time you’re in the bathroom, you’re only left in your underwear and Natasha is completely naked.

She turns the shower on and you both get inside. Nat lets the cool water run over her body before she pulls you flush against her.

Her thigh slots itself between your legs and you gasp.

“You’re so hot,” you tell her as she moves her thigh. You let her move against you at her own pace.

“Mhm, I’ve been thinking about this all day. How good it would feel to have you on my thigh,” Natasha says. Her words always spur you on further.

“Fuck Natasha,” you gasp as she picks up the pace. Her hands on your hips move you against her.

She kisses you deeply as she brings you closer and closer to your peak.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” Nat asks.

“Yes, god, fuck Natasha,” you moan out as you come hard against her thigh.

“Good girl,” she coos as she helps your hips return to their normal pace.

“Your turn,” you say. You kneel in front of Nat and she backs up so the water is falling down her back.

You look up at the sight and it’s so beautiful the way her red hair is getting wet as you prepare to dive into her.

Natasha gets impatient and reaches for the back of your neck. She pulls you into her center and you lick through her folds. You find her soaking.

“You loved me watching you today, didn’t you?” You ask her, pulling away to tease her.

“Yeah, I did babe. Fuck me,” she says as you dive back in.

You take her clit into your mouth and she practically goes weak in the knees. She holds onto the side of the shower as you continue to eat her out.

“Fuck, detka, I’m going to come,” she says. She knows you like it when she’s this vocal.

You hum against her and that shoots her over the edge. She comes hard against your tongue and you clean her up.

When you stand again, you kiss her deeply and she holds you tight. Your breasts press together as you fall in love over again.

“I love you,” you tell her once you’ve broken for air.

“I love you too, detka,” Natasha says. “And I’m definitely going to work outside again tomorrow.”

You share a giggle and fall into a calm rhythm of conversation and actually taking care of showering duties.

You were going heads up to the river, one-on-one to the last card; at least that's what you’ve gathered based on off-handed commentary made by one of her friends. Your eyes squinted, an indicator of the jargon escaping you, and the brimming volume of thoughts crowding your head. 

“Small blinds to your right, baby,” Natasha said patronisingly, her hand smoothing over your thigh and pulling your focus back to the table. You bit your lip in acknowledgement, racking your brain for what she could’ve meant. You could barely think about the game at hand, mind occupied elsewhere. 

“It means you act first,” Wanda giggled to your right, noticing the furrow between your brows. You’ve always been fond of Wanda, she was helpful and kind—you needed that comfort, especially when your girlfriend was in one of her teasing moods. Like today. Your left eye twitched a little when you recalled why she had cornered you in the bathroom before the company arrived. 

You had complained about being good hosts, and not leaving people to wait at the door; Natasha promptly shut you up with a kiss, and tugged your underwear aside to slide a little pink bullet in you. She led you out the room, not before leaving a small pat on your cheek and reminding you to “keep up that poker face” during the game. It had annoyed you, particularly because she had blueballed you the prior night, mentioning something about having to get a good night’s rest for her mind to stay sharp. To make matters worse, she had strung you along the whole morning and day, wearing rings that wrapped beautifully along her fingers that she knew you adored, groping your ass in passing and claiming it was accidental, and hugging you from behind with her strap purposefully prodding at your back. You just about had enough of her teasing. The fact that your girlfriend was an avid gym-goer, working out 7 days a week, evaded you and she jumped when you practically tackled her in your attempt to unzip her jeans. You didn’t get very far, to be frank. At least Natasha consolidated you with a kiss and a promise. “Later, baby,” she had told you, peppering your face with little pecks. You glared at her now, receiving a raised eyebrow in response. 

“I check,” you spluttered, squirming around the swelling pleasure, then turning to glance at Maria, who was the last to still hold cards. She sat between Agatha, whom you were unfamiliar with, and the fiery redhead who vexingly haunted your last hours without mercy. Maria held your gaze with an imperceptible smirk, held a pause, then broke it by pushing a few stacks of red discs into the center pot. The “chips,” as Natasha had referred to them as, tallied up to be around $10k. How they pulled crazy amounts of money out just to play around with eluded you. 

“Gonna check-raise me, sweetie?” Maria teased, poking fun at your weak faux strategy. Heat crept up your face, though not because of what she'd said. Natasha had pulled out her phone, a seemingly innocent front to the others. Not for you. You had known what she was planning the moment that smug look flashed on her face. Her thumb strummed the waves that appeared on the app she had pulled up on her phone, and your posture straightened. You tried to camouflage your haggard breathing as appraising interest in Maria’s raise—it was a terrible guise, and if your eyes didn’t shut from the inexorably increasing buzz, you would’ve realized how perversely all the women’s gazes settled on you. 

“F-fold,” you squeaked out, not willing to accidentally lose ten grand because your rationale was clouded by Natasha’s infuriatingly arousing distraction. Maria pumped her fist in the air, cheekily, and collected the compounded stack of chips. She splayed her cards out: a bluff. You huffed in exasperation, knowing that if you had called her raise, your hand would’ve won the pot. 

“Romanoff, you can’t invite me here just to let your girl lose all your money,” she teased, patting Natasha’s shoulder. The redhead shrugged her off, smirking at her jab. She pinched your cheek in playful irritation, shooting a sense of pleasure down to your core. Your senses were heightened and easily stimulated from the toy between your legs, and any minor touch from her sent tantalizing shivers down your spine. It was irritating how intensely Natasha observed your struggle; you hated how much you needed her. The entire game, all you’ve been imagining is her taking you, bending you over the table, scattering all the poker chips, ruining the cards with your mess; you especially hated that she knew you’d let her. The second the cards were dealt for the next game, you folded your hand; it’s not like you could’ve played any decent bluff with a seven-duce, because the need in your center clouded all judgement for the game—and the awareness you held for the volume of your sounds. 

“Careful, baby,” Natasha whispered, condescension brimming from her tone, “do you want daddy’s friends to ask what’s wrong with her sweet girl—why she’s trembling, whining, and can’t focus on the game?” You inconspicuously shook your head, not wanting to draw anymore attention towards yourself. Poor girl. If only you knew how perverse your daddy could be and the real reason she invited company over. 

After a few rounds, the big blind circled the table to you, encouraging you to play another hand. You hadn’t won anything at this point, practically feeding your buy-in to each pot. With the smallest stack at the table, you felt like a fish darting around the ocean, just waiting to feel the inevitable jaws of death close around you. A part of you blamed Natasha and her cruel distraction, although you knew you’d play terribly even without it. Agatha, Maria, and Wanda were so hard to read, individually, and even more so when it felt like they were collectively colluding against you; Natasha as well, but you had managed to avoid playing into her. Unfortunately, you couldn’t run from the “shark” for much longer. Somehow, Natasha had managed to clean you out, baiting call after call for her raises that forced you all-in, ending in your loss. You rolled your eyes when she laughed at your clear displeasure; even though you were an awful player, competitiveness wrapped around your heart.

“Sorry, princess,” she teased, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you into her lap, “Guess you’re just gonna have to play with me for the rest of the night.” Your cheeks glowed at her boldness, embarrassed at the obvious voyeurism Natasha was apparently unaware of. A few smirks could be seen around the table, but your vision was obscured by your hands, covering your humiliation. Natasha nudged you with the deck of cards, and you shuffled it sloppily, causing a few to slip onto the ground. You could hear a small ‘tsk’ from behind you, and she turned up the vibrations in punishment. A lewd moan escaped your lips, adding fuel to the burning heat rising in your face. 

“God, Romanoff, shut her up will you,” Agatha taunted, egging on Natasha’s exhibition of you. At Agatha’s comment, Natasha slid her chair, and subsequently you, out from the table. 

“Go fetch, baby,” she purred, forcing you onto your knees to grab the cards. Shrinking down, you reached for the loose rectangles, slipping them over to her. You picked up the retriever cards, making a move to stand up, but Natasha's hand stopped you. Your eyes widened at her insinuation, and further more at the unbuckling sound of her belt and the unzipping of her jeans. You shook your head, whispering your humiliated objection, “There’s other people here, Natty.” 

“Oh we don’t mind, bunny,” Wanda cooed, her voice coming from above the table, responding to your shameful worry. You shrunk even more, and Natasha chuckled at her assistance, patting the side of your cheek.

“Did you hear that, sweet girl?” She mocked, cupping the back of your head and driving it to her crotch. “Go on, baby.”

You pulled back hesitantly, looking up at her through the gap between the table and the ground. The strap she wore was big on purpose, the one you knew made you gag the most; it’s almost like Natasha wanted all her friends to hear you make a mess on her strap. 

“You look so cute, honey,” Maria encouraged, breaking the wavering silence, “give us a show?” 

You blushed at her compliment, and then even more at her innuendo. Slowly, you opened your mouth to press your tongue against the tip. The silicone felt heavy in your mouth, but you hollowed your cheeks and began bobbing your head, repressing your moans. The angle of Natasha’s strap pressed the base of her harness into her, pulling a groan from her throat. You could hear a small thud above you, as if someone had dropped something down. 

“My blind for the next round,” Natasha told the table, garnering a few antsy shuffles from your perspective. It wasn’t until they ended the round, the pot going to Agatha, that you realized the little thud was Natasha’s phone, and her bet was your pleasure; you could hear a snarky comment coming from Agatha, followed by an intensity that rivaled the high you received from winning a hand. The deceivingly small toy inside you buzzed to life and hummed almost louder than the wanton moans it elicited from you. Heat flooded your chest and face as a result of the utter mortification you felt. 

“Fuck, baby, your lips look so pretty wrapped around my cock,” Natasha mocked, loosing her fingers in your hair. She moaned at the pleasure caused by your attentive movement; her melodic sounds entranced you, embarrassment fading away. At this moment, you wanted nothing more than to please your daddy. Your needy whines, muffled by her strap, escape your throat and draw out groans from above, reminding you of your current position. The palpable feeling of hunger settled in the balmy silence, save for the clink of chips being moved or cards folded—you, or your sounds in this case, held the attention of every woman seated. 

“Look at me, baby,” Natasha muttered, stealing the focus of your thoughts. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you’re swallowing her cock. “Such a cute girl, aren’t you?”

If your lips weren’t so extensively occupied, you’d smile at her praise. The warmth of it melted the humiliating atmosphere, prodding at you, urging you on. With her right hand fixed on the top of your head, she pulled you to her hilt, until your nose was pressed against her. In your peripheral, you could just about make out Wanda watching your lewd intake of Natasha’s cock, her gaze frozen on the way it disappeared then reappeared. 

“Aren’t you pathetic?” Agatha jeered, her annoyance at losing a hefty sum evident in her remark. “Sucking your daddy off with no shame in front of all her friends?” You reflexively whimpered at her comment, the vulgarity of it sending licks of flame to your face—and to your core, causing your thighs to tighten in an attempt to quell the fire. Natasha notices your abashment, guiding your head down again, this time firmly holding you there. Instinctively, you fight it, throat spamming around the sudden sharp intrusion, but her grip is inert on your skull. 

“Keep at it, princess,” Natasha says, shushing your audible complaints, “Daddy will tell you when you can stop.” Though striking redness remained at your ears, the careful encouragement and steering of Natasha’s hand absorbed your consciousness. Your little gags and whimpers filled the room for minutes that felt like decades, clinging onto the ends of every shallow conversation. Natasha interrupted your worship of her by gently grasping the back of your head, pulling you off her strap with a ‘pop’ from your lips.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” she muttered, sliding her hands beneath your arms to haul you onto her lap. You straddled her with her cock between your legs, sloppy from your prior work. Natasha took in the view, the game fading into the background; you looked delicious, eyes glassy, face peppered with light color, and lips swollen from use. She leaned in for a moment, gaze swiping over your mouth in foreshadow, and then kissed you. You melted into her, steadying yourself with your hands on her shoulders. 

“Up,” Natasha ordered, tapping your thighs. A look of mortification overtook your expression. Sucking her off was one thing, at least you had the table to hide away your shame, but here? Above the cover of safety, where everyone has a full view of your indecency? Your fingers clenched around Natasha, pupils dilating in fear and embarrassment. You shook your head again for the second time tonight, a pleading look filling your face. Natasha tsked, grabbing you by your waist in spite of your refusal. With one hand, she slipped you out of your shorts, lining herself up with your soaking entrance. When you sank down onto her, you could feel every ridge and texture of her strap, consuming your senses. The fullness it forced into you pried a shuttering gasp from the deepest part of your need, and you slammed your eyes shut. You moaned when your ass met her clothed thighs, signifying the depth she had reached. The little toy she slid in you prior to the arrival of her company kissed your cervix, still vibrating on the cruel setting Agatha had left it. Your whines grew, and you had to lean your weight onto her front to find your footing. Natasha wrapped herself around you, arms caressing your backside. 

“Sit like this, all pretty and warming my cock, ‘kay?” Natasha cooed, patting your ass from behind. You nodded, because that was the only thing you could do, and thanked her silently for granting you the grace of your front facing her instead of the others, though your embarrassment was evident in your ears. 

The night continued like normal, save for the wanton moans you muffled in Natasha’s neck caused by her abrupt movements. You thought she was doing it on purpose, but with no real way to prove it, you were left to the mercy of her will. At one point, she passed around her phone again, letting her friends control the moment of your orgasm. Natasha could feel you clenching around her strap at every tantalizing increase or teasing decrease of the toy. You were trembling, and you would’ve crumpled onto the ground if she were not supporting your full weight. Natasha’s hips didn’t jump enough for you to get off, and you made your need very clear.

“Please, please, daddy,” you choked out pleas, clinging to Natasha’s shirt. 

“You’re asking the wrong person, baby,” Natasha smirked, kissing your cheek and nodding pointedly at Wanda, who was currently in possession of her phone. You hid your face in her neck which your arms wrapped around. 

“W-Wanda,” you squeaked out hesitantly, “please, I want more, please.” She smirked at your humiliation, but nonetheless, she enhanced the waves of pleasure.

“Greedy girl,” she teased, moving her thumb up and down, controlling the intensity of the vibrations in your core. You let out tiny gasps in response, hips bucking up, chasing relief.

“P-Please.” The strangled plea narrowly escaped your throat. Your begging had only incited more trouble, and the women watched you hang on the edge for the entire night, poker chips used as betting power towards who had control of your high. Humiliation had long since been forgotten, the haze of chasing your orgasm stealing your focus. You would’ve done anything for them to let you fall apart, as Natasha made it clear she would not be assisting in that department. 

“Aggie, can I please cum,” you whined, now directing your requests toward the current holder of your fate. 

“I don’t know, can you? You seem very able, pet,” she mocked, bringing the intensity as high as the app would let her. You choked on your next breath, and let little ‘ahh’s escape you. 

“May, I- fuck-, may I please cum,” you begged, your grip turning Natasha’s skin an iron white. Agatha chuckled at your desperation.

“Mmm, I think that’s a question for your daddy, don’t you?” You let out an agonizing wail, annoyance at the game the women were forcing you to play. 

“Daddy, daddy, please, daddy,” you spluttered out, the intensity of the toy affecting your ability to form any other word. Natasha grinned devilishly, heartlessly withholding her permission. Instead, she left little kisses on your sweat-lined forehead, pulling your hair out of your face.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” she murmured against your skin, finally granting you the ability to freefall. You felt as if the world had folded in on itself, outside becoming in, and then suddenly, nothing. Natasha could feel the spasms of your walls and thighs, your fluids coating her cock and ruining her jeans. She soothed over your skin as you came down, whispering sweet praises into you. 

You laid motionlessly, slumped against her, blinking in slow recovery. The others had resorted to cleaning up, putting away the chips, or bringing you a glass of water. Natasha thanked Maria for you, as you held yourself up to drink with all the strength that remained. As everyone funneled out for the night, Agatha winked at you as she slid out the door, leaving you with one last remark. 

“Thanks for the entertainment, pet.”

“You’re mine. I fuckin’ hated it when you let those guys fuck you,” Sevika growled, tossing her head back as her fingers touched her sensitive clit.

“Mark me then, asshole. Don’t be leading me on,” you said, curling your fingers and moaning loudly.

“Yeah? You wanna be my bitch so badly?” Sevika asked, her tone cocky but also loving at the same time.

You rolled your eyes, “don’t get so high and mighty, you’re the jealous one.”

Sevika’s smirk widened slightly, “and you’re fingering yourself on Facetime.”

You glared at her. “Fuck you.”

“You’re doin’ that to yourself on my behalf.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Sev.”

You were going heads up to the river, one-on-one to the last card; at least that's what you’ve gathered based on off-handed commentary made by one of her friends. Your eyes squinted, an indicator of the jargon escaping you, and the brimming volume of thoughts crowding your head. 

“Small blinds to your right, baby,” Natasha said patronisingly, her hand smoothing over your thigh and pulling your focus back to the table. You bit your lip in acknowledgement, racking your brain for what she could’ve meant. You could barely think about the game at hand, mind occupied elsewhere. 

“It means you act first,” Wanda giggled to your right, noticing the furrow between your brows. You’ve always been fond of Wanda, she was helpful and kind—you needed that comfort, especially when your girlfriend was in one of her teasing moods. Like today. Your left eye twitched a little when you recalled why she had cornered you in the bathroom before the company arrived. 

You had complained about being good hosts, and not leaving people to wait at the door; Natasha promptly shut you up with a kiss, and tugged your underwear aside to slide a little pink bullet in you. She led you out the room, not before leaving a small pat on your cheek and reminding you to “keep up that poker face” during the game. It had annoyed you, particularly because she had blueballed you the prior night, mentioning something about having to get a good night’s rest for her mind to stay sharp. To make matters worse, she had strung you along the whole morning and day, wearing rings that wrapped beautifully along her fingers that she knew you adored, groping your ass in passing and claiming it was accidental, and hugging you from behind with her strap purposefully prodding at your back. You just about had enough of her teasing. The fact that your girlfriend was an avid gym-goer, working out 7 days a week, evaded you and she jumped when you practically tackled her in your attempt to unzip her jeans. You didn’t get very far, to be frank. At least Natasha consolidated you with a kiss and a promise. “Later, baby,” she had told you, peppering your face with little pecks. You glared at her now, receiving a raised eyebrow in response. 

“I check,” you spluttered, squirming around the swelling pleasure, then turning to glance at Maria, who was the last to still hold cards. She sat between Agatha, whom you were unfamiliar with, and the fiery redhead who vexingly haunted your last hours without mercy. Maria held your gaze with an imperceptible smirk, held a pause, then broke it by pushing a few stacks of red discs into the center pot. The “chips,” as Natasha had referred to them as, tallied up to be around $10k. How they pulled crazy amounts of money out just to play around with eluded you. 

“Gonna check-raise me, sweetie?” Maria teased, poking fun at your weak faux strategy. Heat crept up your face, though not because of what she'd said. Natasha had pulled out her phone, a seemingly innocent front to the others. Not for you. You had known what she was planning the moment that smug look flashed on her face. Her thumb strummed the waves that appeared on the app she had pulled up on her phone, and your posture straightened. You tried to camouflage your haggard breathing as appraising interest in Maria’s raise—it was a terrible guise, and if your eyes didn’t shut from the inexorably increasing buzz, you would’ve realized how perversely all the women’s gazes settled on you. 

“F-fold,” you squeaked out, not willing to accidentally lose ten grand because your rationale was clouded by Natasha’s infuriatingly arousing distraction. Maria pumped her fist in the air, cheekily, and collected the compounded stack of chips. She splayed her cards out: a bluff. You huffed in exasperation, knowing that if you had called her raise, your hand would’ve won the pot. 

“Romanoff, you can’t invite me here just to let your girl lose all your money,” she teased, patting Natasha’s shoulder. The redhead shrugged her off, smirking at her jab. She pinched your cheek in playful irritation, shooting a sense of pleasure down to your core. Your senses were heightened and easily stimulated from the toy between your legs, and any minor touch from her sent tantalizing shivers down your spine. It was irritating how intensely Natasha observed your struggle; you hated how much you needed her. The entire game, all you’ve been imagining is her taking you, bending you over the table, scattering all the poker chips, ruining the cards with your mess; you especially hated that she knew you’d let her. The second the cards were dealt for the next game, you folded your hand; it’s not like you could’ve played any decent bluff with a seven-duce, because the need in your center clouded all judgement for the game—and the awareness you held for the volume of your sounds. 

“Careful, baby,” Natasha whispered, condescension brimming from her tone, “do you want daddy’s friends to ask what’s wrong with her sweet girl—why she’s trembling, whining, and can’t focus on the game?” You inconspicuously shook your head, not wanting to draw anymore attention towards yourself. Poor girl. If only you knew how perverse your daddy could be and the real reason she invited company over. 

After a few rounds, the big blind circled the table to you, encouraging you to play another hand. You hadn’t won anything at this point, practically feeding your buy-in to each pot. With the smallest stack at the table, you felt like a fish darting around the ocean, just waiting to feel the inevitable jaws of death close around you. A part of you blamed Natasha and her cruel distraction, although you knew you’d play terribly even without it. Agatha, Maria, and Wanda were so hard to read, individually, and even more so when it felt like they were collectively colluding against you; Natasha as well, but you had managed to avoid playing into her. Unfortunately, you couldn’t run from the “shark” for much longer. Somehow, Natasha had managed to clean you out, baiting call after call for her raises that forced you all-in, ending in your loss. You rolled your eyes when she laughed at your clear displeasure; even though you were an awful player, competitiveness wrapped around your heart.

“Sorry, princess,” she teased, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you into her lap, “Guess you’re just gonna have to play with me for the rest of the night.” Your cheeks glowed at her boldness, embarrassed at the obvious voyeurism Natasha was apparently unaware of. A few smirks could be seen around the table, but your vision was obscured by your hands, covering your humiliation. Natasha nudged you with the deck of cards, and you shuffled it sloppily, causing a few to slip onto the ground. You could hear a small ‘tsk’ from behind you, and she turned up the vibrations in punishment. A lewd moan escaped your lips, adding fuel to the burning heat rising in your face. 

“God, Romanoff, shut her up will you,” Agatha taunted, egging on Natasha’s exhibition of you. At Agatha’s comment, Natasha slid her chair, and subsequently you, out from the table. 

“Go fetch, baby,” she purred, forcing you onto your knees to grab the cards. Shrinking down, you reached for the loose rectangles, slipping them over to her. You picked up the retriever cards, making a move to stand up, but Natasha's hand stopped you. Your eyes widened at her insinuation, and further more at the unbuckling sound of her belt and the unzipping of her jeans. You shook your head, whispering your humiliated objection, “There’s other people here, Natty.” 

“Oh we don’t mind, bunny,” Wanda cooed, her voice coming from above the table, responding to your shameful worry. You shrunk even more, and Natasha chuckled at her assistance, patting the side of your cheek.

“Did you hear that, sweet girl?” She mocked, cupping the back of your head and driving it to her crotch. “Go on, baby.”

You pulled back hesitantly, looking up at her through the gap between the table and the ground. The strap she wore was big on purpose, the one you knew made you gag the most; it’s almost like Natasha wanted all her friends to hear you make a mess on her strap. 

“You look so cute, honey,” Maria encouraged, breaking the wavering silence, “give us a show?” 

You blushed at her compliment, and then even more at her innuendo. Slowly, you opened your mouth to press your tongue against the tip. The silicone felt heavy in your mouth, but you hollowed your cheeks and began bobbing your head, repressing your moans. The angle of Natasha’s strap pressed the base of her harness into her, pulling a groan from her throat. You could hear a small thud above you, as if someone had dropped something down. 

“My blind for the next round,” Natasha told the table, garnering a few antsy shuffles from your perspective. It wasn’t until they ended the round, the pot going to Agatha, that you realized the little thud was Natasha’s phone, and her bet was your pleasure; you could hear a snarky comment coming from Agatha, followed by an intensity that rivaled the high you received from winning a hand. The deceivingly small toy inside you buzzed to life and hummed almost louder than the wanton moans it elicited from you. Heat flooded your chest and face as a result of the utter mortification you felt. 

“Fuck, baby, your lips look so pretty wrapped around my cock,” Natasha mocked, loosing her fingers in your hair. She moaned at the pleasure caused by your attentive movement; her melodic sounds entranced you, embarrassment fading away. At this moment, you wanted nothing more than to please your daddy. Your needy whines, muffled by her strap, escape your throat and draw out groans from above, reminding you of your current position. The palpable feeling of hunger settled in the balmy silence, save for the clink of chips being moved or cards folded—you, or your sounds in this case, held the attention of every woman seated. 

“Look at me, baby,” Natasha muttered, stealing the focus of your thoughts. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you’re swallowing her cock. “Such a cute girl, aren’t you?”

If your lips weren’t so extensively occupied, you’d smile at her praise. The warmth of it melted the humiliating atmosphere, prodding at you, urging you on. With her right hand fixed on the top of your head, she pulled you to her hilt, until your nose was pressed against her. In your peripheral, you could just about make out Wanda watching your lewd intake of Natasha’s cock, her gaze frozen on the way it disappeared then reappeared. 

“Aren’t you pathetic?” Agatha jeered, her annoyance at losing a hefty sum evident in her remark. “Sucking your daddy off with no shame in front of all her friends?” You reflexively whimpered at her comment, the vulgarity of it sending licks of flame to your face—and to your core, causing your thighs to tighten in an attempt to quell the fire. Natasha notices your abashment, guiding your head down again, this time firmly holding you there. Instinctively, you fight it, throat spamming around the sudden sharp intrusion, but her grip is inert on your skull. 

“Keep at it, princess,” Natasha says, shushing your audible complaints, “Daddy will tell you when you can stop.” Though striking redness remained at your ears, the careful encouragement and steering of Natasha’s hand absorbed your consciousness. Your little gags and whimpers filled the room for minutes that felt like decades, clinging onto the ends of every shallow conversation. Natasha interrupted your worship of her by gently grasping the back of your head, pulling you off her strap with a ‘pop’ from your lips.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” she muttered, sliding her hands beneath your arms to haul you onto her lap. You straddled her with her cock between your legs, sloppy from your prior work. Natasha took in the view, the game fading into the background; you looked delicious, eyes glassy, face peppered with light color, and lips swollen from use. She leaned in for a moment, gaze swiping over your mouth in foreshadow, and then kissed you. You melted into her, steadying yourself with your hands on her shoulders. 

“Up,” Natasha ordered, tapping your thighs. A look of mortification overtook your expression. Sucking her off was one thing, at least you had the table to hide away your shame, but here? Above the cover of safety, where everyone has a full view of your indecency? Your fingers clenched around Natasha, pupils dilating in fear and embarrassment. You shook your head again for the second time tonight, a pleading look filling your face. Natasha tsked, grabbing you by your waist in spite of your refusal. With one hand, she slipped you out of your shorts, lining herself up with your soaking entrance. When you sank down onto her, you could feel every ridge and texture of her strap, consuming your senses. The fullness it forced into you pried a shuttering gasp from the deepest part of your need, and you slammed your eyes shut. You moaned when your ass met her clothed thighs, signifying the depth she had reached. The little toy she slid in you prior to the arrival of her company kissed your cervix, still vibrating on the cruel setting Agatha had left it. Your whines grew, and you had to lean your weight onto her front to find your footing. Natasha wrapped herself around you, arms caressing your backside. 

“Sit like this, all pretty and warming my cock, ‘kay?” Natasha cooed, patting your ass from behind. You nodded, because that was the only thing you could do, and thanked her silently for granting you the grace of your front facing her instead of the others, though your embarrassment was evident in your ears. 

The night continued like normal, save for the wanton moans you muffled in Natasha’s neck caused by her abrupt movements. You thought she was doing it on purpose, but with no real way to prove it, you were left to the mercy of her will. At one point, she passed around her phone again, letting her friends control the moment of your orgasm. Natasha could feel you clenching around her strap at every tantalizing increase or teasing decrease of the toy. You were trembling, and you would’ve crumpled onto the ground if she were not supporting your full weight. Natasha’s hips didn’t jump enough for you to get off, and you made your need very clear.

“Please, please, daddy,” you choked out pleas, clinging to Natasha’s shirt. 

“You’re asking the wrong person, baby,” Natasha smirked, kissing your cheek and nodding pointedly at Wanda, who was currently in possession of her phone. You hid your face in her neck which your arms wrapped around. 

“W-Wanda,” you squeaked out hesitantly, “please, I want more, please.” She smirked at your humiliation, but nonetheless, she enhanced the waves of pleasure.

“Greedy girl,” she teased, moving her thumb up and down, controlling the intensity of the vibrations in your core. You let out tiny gasps in response, hips bucking up, chasing relief.

“P-Please.” The strangled plea narrowly escaped your throat. Your begging had only incited more trouble, and the women watched you hang on the edge for the entire night, poker chips used as betting power towards who had control of your high. Humiliation had long since been forgotten, the haze of chasing your orgasm stealing your focus. You would’ve done anything for them to let you fall apart, as Natasha made it clear she would not be assisting in that department. 

“Aggie, can I please cum,” you whined, now directing your requests toward the current holder of your fate. 

“I don’t know, can you? You seem very able, pet,” she mocked, bringing the intensity as high as the app would let her. You choked on your next breath, and let little ‘ahh’s escape you. 

“May, I- fuck-, may I please cum,” you begged, your grip turning Natasha’s skin an iron white. Agatha chuckled at your desperation.

“Mmm, I think that’s a question for your daddy, don’t you?” You let out an agonizing wail, annoyance at the game the women were forcing you to play. 

“Daddy, daddy, please, daddy,” you spluttered out, the intensity of the toy affecting your ability to form any other word. Natasha grinned devilishly, heartlessly withholding her permission. Instead, she left little kisses on your sweat-lined forehead, pulling your hair out of your face.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” she murmured against your skin, finally granting you the ability to freefall. You felt as if the world had folded in on itself, outside becoming in, and then suddenly, nothing. Natasha could feel the spasms of your walls and thighs, your fluids coating her cock and ruining her jeans. She soothed over your skin as you came down, whispering sweet praises into you. 

You laid motionlessly, slumped against her, blinking in slow recovery. The others had resorted to cleaning up, putting away the chips, or bringing you a glass of water. Natasha thanked Maria for you, as you held yourself up to drink with all the strength that remained. As everyone funneled out for the night, Agatha winked at you as she slid out the door, leaving you with one last remark. 

“Thanks for the entertainment, pet.”

He was an immature asshole who acted like he was going to be a teenager forever.

Although, when he was sitting across from you now, you supposed he really had turned into a man after all. 

“Do you remember me?” Shoko followed it up, stepping closer as her white lab coat shifted around her. Had she really managed to become a doctor? How much time, exactly, had you missed? 

“Of course I remember you,” you blinked up at her, a little offended that she’d think otherwise. She occupied most of the space in your admittedly half-empty head, colored the memories you had in soft colors of casual comfort, sleepovers and movie marathons, lazily days spent together in relaxing silence. Memories molded around the sound of her laugh, her cool demeanor you tried so many times to match, clinging to her side and completely inseparable. 

“Looks like she’s got retrograde amnesia,” she informed Gojo, all clinical, colder than you expected. “We’ll have to see how severe it is.” 

Hearing something was wrong with you felt even worse coming from Shoko’s mouth, your lips pressing together in a pout as your brain struggled to catch up with the scene you found yourself plopped in. Where your best friend since forever was treating you like a stranger and someone you wished was a stranger was apparently your husband. 

Your head fucking hurt. 

Like someone was slamming an icepick through your skull over and over again with each thought you pieced together, vision swimming as you blinked between them. 

“How long has it been?” You asked, almost scared to ask for a mirror to see if there would be a stranger looking back at you there too. “What year is it?” 

Neither one of them wanted to immediately answer you, like it couldn’t be more obvious that it was a lot longer than they wanted to admit. Unsure of how to break the bad news to someone with a fucking brain injury. 

Gojo spoke up first, sunglasses traded in for a black blindfold hanging low around his neck as his stare pierced through Shoko. “But her memories are gonna come back, right? She’ll remember me?” 

You braced yourself for her answer, although you still knew her well enough to know what she’d say before her lips parted, ashes drifting down from the end of her cigarette onto the not-so-sterile floor. 

“I don't know,” she muttered, not as apathetic as she intended, leaning against the wall as she avoided looking directly at you. “But I think you should take her home.” 

Your mouth opened, ready to protest and push back against the idea of going home with Gojo while she refused to look back at you.

But then Gojo was grabbing your wrist, pale fingers sinking softly into the skin like it was his to touch, and in a blink, you were somewhere familiar and foreign all at once. 

Your legs threatened to collapse underneath you, but then he was scooping you back up like you were nothing, carrying you down a dimly-lit hallway in a clearly spacious penthouse overlooking the city in the brief glimpse you got out of the large living room windows. Pictures lining the wall of the two of you together, group shots where his arm was slung over your shoulder or around your waist in almost all of them, beach photos you guessed you took of each other, fuck, even wedding photos proudly hung up on display. 

Morbidly, you almost felt like you were walking through a mausoleum, staring at a version of you that must have died on whatever fucking mission you’d been on, one that loved the idiot holding you enough to build this domestic little life with him. 

How were you supposed to be her? 

“Our bedroom’s through here,” he murmured, turning to walk through the threshold of a sprawling room, big bookcases lining one wall and a king-sized bed taking up center-stage across from it, doors that you guessed led to a closet and bathroom adjacent to you. “You should get some rest. Doctor’s orders.” 

Shoko had turned into a doctor. 

And you had turned into…what? 

A housewife? A sloppy enough sorcerer to get caught off-guard? 

“Please tell me we don’t have kids,” you mumbled, a silent prayer more to the universe than him. 

“No,” he chuckled a little bit, and you nearly said thank god, just to get cut off by his nostalgic hum, “You wanted some though.”

He was wrong. He had to be.  

“Let’s get you in bed,” Gojo hummed softly, speaking to you with care you thought he only reserved for himself, his cockiness absent in favor of more of that delicate concern. You never thought he was capable of handling anything fragile. But then again, you never thought you’d be fragile either.

Your tongue felt numb, unable to form the sentence you desperately wanted to say, but you let him gently place you on the bed, pulling back the blankets and covering you up before readjusting the pillow underneath your head. Your eyes did feel drowsy, the throbbing pain bouncing around your skull begging you to just shut out the world until you fell asleep. 

Gojo sat on the edge next to you, not quite touching, but enough you could feel the weight of his presence, the energy bristling and burning in the air next to you as you rolled over away from him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, and you hoped he was wrong. 

That tomorrow, you’d wake up, and you’d be back in your own bed where you could just laugh it off. Tell Shoko what an insane dream you had and giggle about how absurd it was to think you’d ever marry Satoru Gojo. 

But no, when the sun rose and your eyes slowly cracked open, your heart sank at the realization you were right where you fell asleep at. 

In Gojo’s bed. In Gojo’s penthouse. As Gojo’s wife.

He made you breakfast, brought it on a platter and helped you sit up, hand-feeding it to you while you squinted and studied his face, answering every question you pelted him with. 

“How did we even start dating?” You huffed at him after forcing yourself to bite into the syrup-ladden waffle he popped into your mouth. 

“I really had to wear you down,” he grinned, one corner of his mouth curling up like he remembered it fondly. “Basically get down on my knees and beg you after months of pestering you for attention.” 

“You? On your knees?” You scoffed, brows arching at how ridiculous it sounded. You could sorta see it, big round glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose, messy white hair sticking up every way as he dramatically clasped his hands together. But the hard part was imagining yourself on the receiving end. 

“I always had a crush on you, I just sucked at showing it,” he shrugged. “It took a lot of convincing just for you to accept a single date.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, not sure how to feel about hearing about yourself like this. From him. 

“Guess Shoko helped too. Told you to give me a chance after she got sick of hearing me talk about you,” Gojo added, and you paused just for him to slip the fork back between your teeth. 

Chewing your breakfast as you searched your brain for even a sliver of recognition only to come up empty. 

Shoko really wanted you to go out with him? 

Convinced you to do it? 

You supposed maybe you could see it. You had more faith in her than you had in anyone else. Trusted her to a fault. Listened to every word that left her lips with devotion that drifted dangerously close to reverence.

Having a crush on your best friend was dumb. 

Holding onto the hope she shared the same childish affection you did – and wouldn’t be put off by the fact you wanted to be more than friends. 

Had she found out in the past? Picked up on your feelings and pushed you to be with Gojo instead of flat-out rejecting you? 

Your stomach churned, food settling too heavy as you tried to lift a hand and signal you were done eating as he dropped the fork back on the plate, only earning a pout from your husband.  

“So, um, I guess we started dating in school then? When did we get married?” You asked, struggling to piece together the fractured puzzle of your own life. 

Gojo grinned sheepishly, reaching up to ruffle the soft undercut that replaced his previously scruffy hair. A black blindfold was pushed up and holding the rest off his forehead, his blindingly blue eyes glittering as they appraised you. “A month after graduation.” 

Your mouth fell open in shock. 

What, did you tell him you wanted to wait to have sex until after marriage or something? 

He didn’t need the six eyes to see the alarm on your face, reaching out to squeeze your bicep. “With clan politics and the higher ups, we, uh, didn’t want to waste time, y’know? Risk them ruining it.”

You stared at him, all the new information struggling to sink in as you slowly nodded like you understood when you definitely didn’t. 

“Were we happy together?” You asked next, swallowing hard as the sickly sweet syrup settled on your tongue. 

His face scrunched up for a split second, nose wrinkling as he contemplated your question, and you wondered if maybe you were being a little insensitive, hastily holding him at a distance as you came to terms with being his wife – while he was dealing with losing this other you. 

“You made me the happiest man on the planet,” Gojo murmured, a soft purr that made your body tense. 

“What about me?” You pressed, wondering what possessed you to pick him, what led to you laying in a hospital bed with a gaping hole in your memories and buried anxiety that seemed to burn in your skin. 

“You’ve been depressed lately,” he admitted, mouth flitting down in a fast frown. “I’ve had a lot of missions lately, and you were, uh, a little lonely here.” 

Seeing him so serious was strange, almost uncanny as you pried and poked at your past together. 

“I mean, couldn’t I just hang out with Shoko or go on missions too?” You tilted your head to the side, nearly flinching when he reached out to cup your cheek sympathetically. 

“You did, but I think you were disappointed in how busy she was too,” he answered, unable to help how fast your brows furrowed together at the bizarre notion that your best friend wouldn’t show up for you no matter how slammed her schedule was. “But, hey, why don’t I see if she can start coming by to check on you when I have to start going on missions again?” 

“Sure,” you mumbled, more agreeable than you really felt like just for the excuse of seeing Shoko more. 

She’d tell you the truth. 

Even if it stung. 

Gojo leaned in, his soft lips pressing against your forehead like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

And it took everything inside you not to recoil at his touch. 

You wanted to believe your memories would come back. 

That it would fill this awful chasm inside you and something would suddenly click to make the world stop feeling like you were wearing someone else’s skin. For you to stop looking in the brightly-lit mirror in the bathroom and not see a face that was and wasn’t yours at the same time, little lines and a few faint scars that weren’t there before, a crinkle by your eyes you didn’t recognize, a couple grays in your hairs you plucked out while you brushed your teeth. 

Gojo only stayed for a couple days, going over photo albums and answering questions, even ones you didn’t ask, painting a pretty picture of a happy marriage, filled with silly romantic gestures. But he had to return to late night missions, teaching the first years that were waiting for him back at the school you used to go to together, and the second the door swung shut behind him, you were rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, ripping through all your stuff for some sign you must’ve left behind. 

A diary? A journal? 

You couldn’t get into your own computer, getting locked out after guessing the wrong passcode too many times, glaring at the stupid security questions you couldn’t figure out, guessing the dates of everything from your birthday to your supposed wedding anniversary, about to break the damn thing when you resorted to inputting 123456. 

The only bright part of your day was the half hour Shoko would show up, usually after she left campus for the day, hair hanging loose and smoke clinging to her jacket as she peeled it off by the door, slipping her shoes off when she entered with the key you guessed she already had. 

It wasn’t the same. 

Nothing was anymore. 

But it was nice to sit next to her on the leather couch that cost more than anything you’d ever owned before this, asking her about her day – and the few thousand you missed. She filled you in, awkwardly at first, usually always sliding back into the subject of your health, asking if you were eating enough and getting enough sleep. Tepidly questioning if the status of your memory had changed. 

You hadn’t told her, but a few hazy pieces had started to slip in. Shattered stills and strange feelings that struck you when you’d come across specific photos or caught the scent of something.  

Memories that felt more like a movie, watching someone else’s life play out instead of your own. Holding hands on the sidewalk, snippets of cuddling on the couch, eating out at five-star restaurants and laughing at his awful jokes. But it was hard to feel what the old you felt. Couldn’t pretend that it truly felt like you were experiencing them for yourself. 

So you just sort of filed them away, put them into boxes as you sifted through the silence of the dull days dragging by in a home that felt suffocating when you were constantly reminded of how out-of-place you were inside of it. 

But one thing bugged you more than it should, itched at the back of your brain every time something new sprang up, and you started putting together a timeline of the years you couldn’t recall. 

“We didn’t, like, get in a fight or anything, did we?” You quizzed Shoko, swallowing hard as she unboxed the to-go food she’d brought. She froze for a second, glancing back at you with those big brown eyes, narrowing them for a second before she shook her head. 

Her perfume was stronger tonight, the slightly intoxicating scent making your head feel a little fuzzier than usual as you absentmindedly scooted closer to her, sitting cross-legged as you toyed around with the food in your own takeout box. 

“Of course not,” she answered, even and easy. You could hear your pulse thrumming in your ears, throat constricting as your chest strained to stop your heart from racing. 

“Gojo said we hadn’t been talking much because you were busy,” you muttered, watching her reaction as her pretty brows coyly arched up. You couldn’t get quite comfortable calling him by his first name yet, no matter how many photos and videos he showed you of the two of you together, no matter how hard you were trying to be open to him. 

“Did he?” She echoed, not giving anything away as you nodded, taking a small bite while she deflected your stare. “I don’t exactly get much time off these days.” 

She had still started to stay later though. Thirty minutes tripling as she found excuses not to get off your couch or raid the well-stocked wine cabinet. 

“Does that mean you’ll stop coming around too?” You asked, regretting the words once they were out of your mouth. Acutely aware of how much you hated the prospect of being stuck in this place without her to look forward to. 

It wasn’t like Gojo was totally absent. Wasn’t like you completely minded him not being here either. He still showed up most days, made his appearance and pampered you with affection when he was here. But, well, it didn’t make you feel that differently about him either. 

“No,” Shoko slowly answered, your heart stalling and skipping a beat as you felt your shoulders drop. “I’ll make time for you.” 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

Gojo couldn’t decide if this was for better or worse. 

But then again, hadn’t he vowed to be with you in sickness and health?

“Sleep tight, pretty girl,” Gojo murmured, watching the slow rise-and-fall of your chest as you snoozed, blankets tangled around your legs as the moonlight graced your skin. He brushed your hair away from your cheeks, studied your features in the low light. 

You probably wouldn’t even know he showed up. 

Wouldn’t remember the few hours he returned home for in the morning, although he’d be sure to leave breakfast on the table and the book you mentioned Shoko recommending on the table for you when you woke up. 

It felt like it used to. 

Back when everything was fine. 

Before the accident. Before you showed up at the school asking for a separation in front of his students when he stopped there instead of seeing you after getting back from an overseas mission. 

Acting like it should’ve been obvious, your brows knitted together all serious as you insisted that you'd pack up your stuff and get your own place, ignoring his panicked protests as you turned your back on him. 

On your vows, all the promises you made to each other when he slid that ring on your finger. 

Told him he would’ve seen it coming if he’d bother to actually be around. 

You wanted serious. Stable. 

To have kids that didn't have to worry about whether or not their dad would come home. To have a life that was more than just your jobs and responsibilities.  

Couldn't you see he was already giving you everything he had? Why the fuck couldn’t that be enough? 

He wasn't the most mature. He'd never been, and you already knew that when you started dating. So what if he took up more missions? Kept his distance until it dawned on you that making more mini-hims would be a disaster? 

He thought you’d understand. 

The weight of the world was already on his shoulders. Why add more burdens? Why risk bringing a life into the world if he had no clue if he could even protect it? 

If Gojo had known you’d try to leave him for it, he liked to think he would’ve done something differently. 

He tried. 

God, Gojo tried so fucking hard to convince you to take him back. Begged for you to see that despite his avoidance, under his plastered-on smiles and bad jokes, his affection was all yours. 

No matter how much yours had faded.

He never thought he’d end up sitting by your crumpled body, bearing the proof of his point and staring at the blood sticking to your scalp Shoko’s nimble fingers washed out, holding your limp hand and wishing you’d wake up. Praying for the first time to some higher power for the universe to fucking give you back. 

His wish had been granted. 

Only for you to look at him with disgust. 

Revolted by your relationship, all the memories you made together wiped – good and bad. Your first dates, the light laughter and secret kisses you shared, the latest ones where you started turning your head every time he tried to press his lips to yours. 

Half of him hated it. 

Hurt slicing through his heart when he thought of everything that had been basically erased for you, remorse that rubbed salt in his open wounds when it started to sink in that even when he had you, you still didn’t want him back. 

But the rest of him was doing his fucking best to be grateful that you weren’t gone. 

It was awkward at first. Not sure how to act around you when you were clearly put off by his presence. Inserting himself in every conversation, occupying as much space as you’d let him until your sharp tone began to soften.

He answered your questions. 

Just, uh, omitted a few details. 

You didn’t need to know about the divorce. 

There was no fucking way he was letting it happen this time. 

Gojo told you that your phone was broken during the mission, buying you a new one with a fresh email and making sure you only had the contacts you needed. Deleted any mention of separation and divorce attorneys and even your fucking searches of what to do in an unhappy marriage, wiping your internet history clean in case you managed to get back into your old email. Covering his tracks to make sure nothing could fuck it up this time, fuck, he even paid his own students on the off chance you somehow showed up on campus one day to visit him. 

He begged Shoko to spill everything you told him, tried to pry her for more information on how you were doing when you hardly spoke about what you felt to him. Jealousy pricking and pinning his pride down when he walked in to find you smiling at her the way you used to look at him two months into your recovery, lips curled up in a pretty laugh before you noticed him there, leaning against her arm while you watched a movie together. 

Murmuring that you didn’t know if you wanted to go back to taking missions on your own even after Shoko cleared you. 

But he couldn’t exactly tell her to get the fuck out when she was your doctor on top of his friend too. She convinced you to give him a chance before. Was it so absurd to hold out hope that she’d do it again for him? Even if he had to talk her into not bringing up the divorce out of fear that it’d make your condition worse?

It took time, but you started to accept him again. Your memories coming back in bits and pieces, your personality too. Warming up to him over late-night dinners and early morning conversations, asking about things you used to do together at first, starting to bring up his schedule, his students, his missions. 

It was kind of strange, to hear you say the same things you had before your injury, to watch your old mannerisms come back, to see you become his wife again little by little, day after day. 

Maybe the universe had decided to bless him. 

Give him another chance to save this marriage by wiping the slate clean. 

Surely you’d see now why he couldn’t just settle down in some suburbs and pop out a couple kids with you – not when he’d failed to keep you safe. 

Still, he found it hard to break his old habits. Slipping into his old routine of taking too many missions, shoving more on his plate to distract himself from what was happening inside his own home. So he didn’t have to come home and see how much fun you were having with Shoko instead of him, start playing the comparison game instead of being glad that you were being supported. 

So he didn’t have to hear you scold him for coming home so late, or missing meals together. 

This you didn’t seem to mind though. 

Just left notes on the counter for him or wrapped-up dinners stacked in the fridge, oblivious he’d just sit on the edge of the bed and watch you sleep half the night instead of resting himself. 

He knew that he was deluding himself. 

But you gained enough of your old self back that he could trick himself into thinking that everything was fine. That your relationship had just found a new normal.

Gojo still got you back. 

Wasn't that all that mattered? 

𖥔 ݁ ˖

Your brain had a funny way of playing tricks on you.

Memories were a fickle thing. Floating back in a haze, ones you had to hold onto, replay and study when one forced its way back up. 

You didn’t know what to make of all of them. 

Fuzzy recollections of museums and missions, of love and laughter, of hurt and heartache. Caught somewhere between the old you and this new one, torn between feelings that lingered in the past and new ones cropping up in the present, nearly six months passing from the awful day you woke up and realized you missed an entire fucking decade. 

You’d guess you got half of it back, experiences that weren’t fully formed, but close enough that you could feel yourself changing as you found new footing. 

Shoko said you shouldn’t hold your confusion against yourself when you finally admitted you were struggling with what to think about this new life of yours. 

You didn’t know how to tell her that your problem was her. 

That spending every evening with her instead of your husband had re-sparked your unrequited crush on your best friend. One you guessed the old you forced yourself to forget when you chose to be with Gojo instead. 

And now the new you was married. A ring on your finger, but an ache in your heart and butterflies in your stomach when Shoko so much as smiled at you. 

But it wasn’t like your husband was ever here to notice. 

No, you’d spent far more time with your friend than the man who you supposedly loved. 

“You feeling okay?” She hummed, her thigh brushing against yours on the couch as you scooted closer to snuggle underneath the thick blanket while she pulled up the stupid reality show you started watching together. And despite the bored expression she was wearing, you could hear the hint of softness in her voice as her warm eyes briefly flitted over to you.

“Just cold,” you excused, shrugging as you tried to drag your stare back to the tv. 

Her brows scrunched together with suspicion, throwing you one of those  ‘I-know-you’re-full-of-shit’ looks before her lips puckered, “Weren’t you complaining about being too hot earlier?” 

Guilty. 

But if she knew it was really just an excuse for you to take off your hoodie and reveal a much tighter tank top, she didn’t acknowledge it. Tonight, she had traded her doctor’s coat in for a loose sweater, the kind that hung loose on her frame, exposing the pretty shape of her collarbone, smooth and clean, drew your attention to the way the tendons in her throat flexed when she leaned in closer, resting the back of her hand against your forehead to check your temperature. 

“Don’t think you’re running a fever,” she muttered, her fingers lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary as you swallowed hard, wondering if she could see how flustered you felt. If the air was only feeling thick in here for you. “Maybe I should stay a little longer to make sure though.” 

“Yeah?” You had to bite back your smile. 

“Mhm,” she casually nodded, hitting play on the next episode while you both pretended that best friends definitely sat together with thighs touching and pinkies grazing against each other under the covers of a blanket. 

Definitely delicately traced over the other’s knuckles with the tips of your fingers, not quite daring to intertwine them. 

Tiptoeing across a thin line as boundaries started to blur, as your friendship drifted further and further away from platonic – and closer to crossing over to an affair. 

You knew you shouldn’t. 

That you didn’t even know if what you felt for her was genuine, or just gratefulness that she was here for you, that she consistently showed up when you felt so alone. But you couldn’t keep telling yourself they were leftover remnants of happier times when she started occupying your thoughts even when she wasn’t around, when your heart stuttered when she spoke and heat pooled in your stomach every time she touched your arm or skimmed her fingers over your own. 

God, you didn’t even know if she felt the same. 

You tried to ask if she was seeing anyone once, but she just vaguely said she wasn’t in a relationship. Changed the subject before you could press her on it. 

Should you care?

No. Not when you didn’t want to hurt your husband. 

Who you admittedly had started to care for, at least in some capacity. He changed. Gojo was sweet, stars in his eyes and no longer only focused on stuffing sweets in his mouth, constantly apologizing for his absences – even if he didn’t do anything to change them.

You’d wake up with him there sometimes, occasionally share meals where he’d earnestly ask about how you felt and what he could do to make you happier, eager to please. He’d pepper your face with kisses, slip his hand into yours like it was the most normal thing in the world or sling a possessive arm over your shoulder on the rare occasion he’d drag you out for a date. 

But even if you had the same last name, slept in the same bed, your soul didn’t feel like it was tied to his. 

And even when you tried to force it, to fight to feel what you knew you were supposed to, open yourself up to loving and wanting him the way he wanted you, there was just nothing there. Not so much as a tug, no undercurrent or gravity from the old you pulling you back to him. 

You didn’t love him. 

But you didn’t know how to leave him. 

“Sho,” you murmured softly, tapping twice on the back of her hand to get her attention.

“Hm?” She turned, tilting her head thoughtfully, attuned to your needs. And maybe it was your imagination, simply wishful thinking, but you could’ve sworn her eyes darted down to your lips for a moment before they drifted back up to your own eyes. 

“Can I ask you something?” You swallowed hard, not sure how exactly to bring it up. To fish for what you really wanted to know. 

“Always,” she answered, but you saw the way her stare diverted to the tv, discomfort swirling under your skin at the fear you’d do something to put distance between you. 

“Do you know what things were like between, um, me and Gojo before I got hurt?” You posed, a hard lump forming in your throat as her shoulders stiffened. “Did I ever talk to you about it?” 

And despite the fact you were sitting side-by-side, she still pulled out her phone and pretended it buzzed when you both knew it hadn’t.

“Fuck,” she feigned worry as her unsure voice broke the pained pause, scrambling for an excuse while you faked a sympathetic smile. Acted like it didn’t sting when she stood up and let the blanket fall back down on you. “I’ve gotta go, one of the students-”

“Sure,” you mumbled, waving it off as you brought your knees up to your chest, painfully aware of how large the couch felt when you were the only one on it. “Don’t let me hold you back.” 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Shoko soberly promised, and it felt like some invisible thread between you tensed, pulled taut as you watched the front door shut behind her, felt the thud heavy in your chest. 

Tuning out the drone of the tv, as you rested your chin on your knees, playing back the past hour while you ran your palm over the side of your thigh. Your skin still warm, your mind distracted as you dreamed about what would’ve happened if you just kept your mouth shut.

Lying to yourself like suggesting the warmth simmering under your skin was simply coincidence, that you could somehow be confusing it with anything other than lust. 

And when you ended up back in your king-sized bed, sprawled out on top of the comforter with your hand slipped down your shirts, scrunching your eyes shut and rubbing messy circles over the thin fabric of your panties. 

You tried to think of Gojo. 

To picture him on top of you, imagine his lips on your skin and his cock stretching you out. Tell yourself that you weren’t a cheater, that maybe you were just mixed up, missing a physical connection because you hadn’t fully allowed him to have you. That perhaps in clinging to Shoko, you could’ve closed yourself off. 

All you found was the same frustration you’d been stuck with from the start. 

Grinding your teeth when your hand drifted underneath the fabric, dipping two fingers into your slick folds, unable to tell who you were even wet for when it felt like they were playing a game of ping pong with your heart. 

Your head told you that it should be Gojo. 

That you made a promise to him, that you owed it to who you were before to try to love him too. Guilt pervading your judgement, sinking its icy talents into your bones when you thought of how it must feel for him – how he was probably mourning and missing a wife that didn’t fully exist anymore. 

But your heart wanted Shoko.

Had since you were teenagers and you realized how pretty she looked with a cigarette perched between her lips, when Geto started getting too close to her and you had to deal with how much it ached to see her leaning into a man.

Was it so wrong to want her if you kept it locked inside your head? 

Your fingers trembled. 

Shook as you shoved them deeper, a gasp escaping right as you felt a sudden surge of cursed energy – and you realized in abrupt horror your husband was here. 

His blindfold half-off, blue eyes wide with surprise as they slowly slid down your body, like his technique wasn’t giving him a fucking 4k viewing of you touching yourself. 

“Sweetheart,” he started, in an amused low drawl that had you considering finding a hole to curl up and die in as you hurried to pull your hand out of your panties. “Don’t let me stop you.” 

“I didn’t-” You started, face flushing as you struggled for something to say to justify what you were doing. 

He kicked off his shoes while you were still stammering, your breath getting stuck in your throat as you watched him climb on top of the bed, on top of you. 

You couldn’t breathe. Brain short-circuiting as he caged you in underneath his beefy arms, his palm reaching out to cup your face as you stared up at him completely frozen. 

And then he faltered, like he only just remembered that the furthest you’d gone with each other in the past six months was kissing, and one makeout session after you’d drank too much wine with Shoko and he played with your tits for like, ten minutes, before you claimed you were on your period. 

This was uncharted territory. 

Even if he had probably explored it a thousand times before.

“Is this okay?” He tentatively asked, like you couldn’t already feel his cock digging into your thigh. 

You nodded. 

It happened almost automatically. 

You wanted to believe this would fix you. Fix everything. Make it all make sense. 

And when his lips crashed into you, you kissed him back. He tasted too sweet, his cologne enveloping you in an overpowering cloud as his body pressed against yours. The whole thing felt almost clumsy, unable to even focus on anything when one of his hands was already snaking down your side to pull your shorts down lower on your hips. 

The metal of his wedding ring tauntingly rubbing against you with his swift movements. 

But you didn’t stop him. 

Didn’t say anything, actually. Just let him stick his tongue down your throat while you tried to run your hands along his chest too, feeling the thick muscles of his sturdy frame. 

And then he was getting up, stripping off his uniform and tossing it on the floor like he wanted to make it easier for you to touch him. Before you could even process the expanse of annoyingly perfect skin, unmarred and unmarked, he was helping you sit up, tossing off your tank top before positioning himself between your thighs to tug off your shorts. 

You felt exposed. 

A raw nerve in open air before your breasts were even out, face heating up as you sat there in your bra and panties as he just stared. 

“Matching set for me?” He smirked, completely clueless who you were wearing it for. Whose favorite color was a soft shade of green, whose stare didn’t burn when it dragged over your skin.

No. 

No.  

You swallowed the spit pooling in the back of your mouth, nodding as your lips automatically parted, “Hoped you’d come home early.” 

“Thank fucking god,” he grinned, the happiest you think you’d ever seen him as he peeled your panties off, blue eyes glittering at the sight of your pussy. “You’re soaked, sweetheart.” 

It took every ounce of willpower not to cringe at how dramatically he said it, your breath catching in your throat as he lifted your thighs up and hooked your knees over his shoulders. 

But then he was burying his face between them, huge hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs possessively as he dragged his tongue up your entrance. 

You shut your eyes, let yourself get swallowed by the dark, the sensation of his thick tongue as it worked its way inside you, clawing at the comforter instead of his hair. Fistfuls of soft cotton instead of the short, wispy strands or the soft buzz of his undercut. 

It would just make it harder to imagine someone else. 

To pretend that you were back on the couch, a blanket covering both of you while you toyed with Shoko’s long hair, gasping her name while she teasingly sucked on your clit. Would she take it slow? Murmur that orgasms were good for the body and brain? Educate you on just how many nerve endings were located on that pretty little bud as she licked it?

“Mm, S-” You had to stop yourself when you realized the vision behind your eyes was still of the pretty brunette whose scent was still clinging to your clothes rather than the man whose tongue was currently trying to make you cum.

“That’s it,” Gojo grunted, his voice deep and rough as it reverberated through to your core completely wrong. “Say Satoru f’me.” 

You couldn’t. 

“Missed this, baby,” he purred while you told yourself to fucking snap out of it. “Missed you.” 

You managed a moan back, thighs trembling as his fingers dug into the pliable muscle, mouth wrapped around your clit to suck on it like it was candy. A little too much teeth, his sharp canines grazing over it just to make you gasp and try to wiggle back from his grip. 

But Gojo didn’t let you go. 

No, he held on tight, practically rutting into the bed as he messily made out with your pussy. 

You tried to focus on the pleasure, on the warmth in your chest and the heat burning under your skin, but it was hard when he was moaning even louder than you were. 

“C-can I fuck you?” He groaned, peeking up at you to ask for permission. 

And against your better (any) judgement, you were just nodding again. 

Desperate to do something to change how things were currently going, to stop feeling so confused and conflicted all the time. 

“Yeah,” you softly agreed, and once again, it only took him a couple seconds to change positions, pulling your hip around him to lock your legs behind his back as he tugged down his boxers enough to yank out his cock. 

You guessed you could appreciate its appearance. Thick and veiny, the tip a pretty shade of pink, all swollen and leaking. But the idea of it being inside you was enough for regret to bloom in your chest, the dim realization that you were in too deep. 

That you both deserved better than whatever this was. 

But you laid there, letting it happen anyway.

You didn’t stop him, just bit down on the inside of your cheek as you felt it slip inside you, watching his face scrunch up in near ecstasy as your body sucked him in, operating on muscle memory as he pushed his way past the first ring of resistance until he was making himself fit. 

Stretching you out how he liked, moaning your name like a prayer as you counted the number of times the headboard banged into the wall.

“Fuck, fuck,” he hissed, blue eyes flashing open as his cursed energy swelled and soared, his infinity off as he buried himself deep, bottoming out again and again, just messily rutting into you now without any rhythm.

Thrusting faster, his sweaty palms sticking to your thighs as you shut your eyes again, trying not to think about what his fingers were aching to prove as they gripped you hard enough he might leave prints. 

“S-Satoru,” you halfheartedly moaned his name, despising your body for not reacting more to the way he was stretching you out, to his fast thrusts, only for his dick to abruptly stall anyway. 

He was cursing under his breath, pulling out at the last second to roughly stroke his cock, finishing on your stomach while your eyes fluttered open to stare at his cum on your skin. The lump in his throat bobbed hard, his jaw clenched tight as he immediately started stammering awkward apologies. 

How long had it been? 

Thirty seconds? 

Forty-five? 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just, I haven’t had sex since y’know, the accident, and it felt wrong to jerk off and-” He scrambled, getting off of you and grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor to start wiping you clean while you tried to sit up. 

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “You’re fine.” 

You were too. 

Right? 

He started to stroke his cock again, sloppy and fast, mumbling something about being the strongest as if it could magically make his dick stay hard when it was already trying to soften. 

“Give me a minute, I’ll still get you off,” he promised, tossing the now cum-stained clothes back to the ground with his other hand as he started to get back on the bed. But you just slipped your legs underneath the blanket, rolling onto your side with a small shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured him, swallowing hard as you stared at a blank spot of the pale blue wallpaper to avoid looking back to see what kind of face he was making at you. “You should go shower. We can get something to eat delivered.” 

“But-” 

“It’s not a big deal,” you awkwardly muttered. “It’s been a while for both of us.”

You could hear the air fizzing out of his popped pride, ego deflating in the thick pause. 

“So, uh, dinner?” You asked, trying to move on before he could insist on eating you out again. 

“I, uh, actually was only supposed to be stopping by for a few minutes,” he cleared his own throat, the bed dipping under his weight as he sat on the bed next to you. Brushing some of your hair back out of your face, fingers practically buzzing as they caressed your cheekbone. “But I’ll order your favorite.” 

“Another mission?” You asked, your voice strained as you struggled to capture the feeling bouncing around in your chest. A strange mix of disappointment and anticipation, knots you hadn’t realized were tied tight in your stomach coming undone as you glanced back over your shoulder at him. 

Your husband was attractive. Attentive. Affectionate. 

So why couldn’t you make yourself care more about his absence? 

Why didn’t it ache like it should when he was saying he was about to leave?

Everything was just awful and icky, ice-cold guilt creeping under your skin instead that while Gojo fucked you, kissed you, you were fantasizing about Shoko’s lips instead.

“I’ve gotta go take care of some clan stuff first, but yeah,” he remorsefully confirmed, nodding as his fingers drifted down to your mouth. 

You let him lean down and kiss you again. Shut your eyes and even returned with tender pressure of your own, even though some part of you had splintered. Started to accept that you really might not be able to save this marriage before you did something you’d regret. 

Maybe you’d regret this instead.

Wake up five years from now with all your memories and emotions fully intact, hating yourself for not staying longer, trying harder. But you didn’t want to risk waiting fifty years and wishing you’d just done it sooner.

Would he understand if you asked him for a divorce? 

To see what it was like to separate? 

Could you even do it? Find your own place, maybe switch to a different career, a normal one? Working a desk job or something boring that didn’t require you to put your life on the line? 

You didn’t want to do this to him. But you couldn’t see any other options where you’d both be happy. Didn’t he deserve someone that loved all of him too? 

“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” he hummed, delivering a gentle peck to the top of your forehead before striding over to the closet. Grabbing a change of clothes from the closet and hurrying to dress himself as you studied the wall, ignoring the blur of movement in the corner of your vision until he started back towards the door. 

He left without asking for another goodbye kiss. 

And you somehow felt less alone when you were totally by yourself. 

Sitting back up in bed, stiffening at the faintly sticky spots left on your thighs and stomach when you threw your legs off the side to stand. 

Debating on taking a shower yourself before a gleam of silver drew your attention back to the laptop sitting unused and collecting dust on your nightstand. And a thought popped up, so obvious you nearly scoffed as your feet moved forward on their own, flipping it open as your fingers tapped the keys. 

Hitting enter and holding your breath, unsure if it would actually work or-

Welcome. 

Of course. 

The passcode was Shoko’s birthday. 

You almost laughed. 

Smiling like an idiot at the screen at the realization you did, in fact, still share something with who you used to be as you started to sort through the files. 

You didn’t know what you expected. 

A diary? 

None of your internet history had been saved on it, and most of the documents seemed to be about missions or receipts from stores or random expenses you saved for one reason or another. No big secret waiting for you to find. 

But little clues that stacked up. 

Reservations for a vacation for one. Old photos that all seemed to be dated pretty far back. No new snapshots of you and Gojo. No receipts for any men’s items dated around his birthday. But there was a folder labelled Sho. 

Photos neatly organized by year, although it seemed like there were less and less as the time went by. But your smile seemed more genuine when it was her arm thrown over your shoulder, her hand placed on your waist than the one you wore the matching gold band with. 

You found one taken last year, standing outside a small but pretty brick house you guessed was on the outskirts of the city, squeezing her in a hug while you grinned at whoever was behind the camera, a gift bag dangling over your elbow. The file name was housewarming. 

It took a few more minutes of digging to find where she sent the address over email, something inside yourself caving as you found yourself slamming the laptop shut, looking wildly around the room before starting back towards the closet. 

Not stopping to think too hard in case you changed your own mind. 

Chickened out on following your heart for once.

You didn’t pause to think whether or not she’d even be home, or if she actually still lived there until you were ten minutes into a taxi ride, breathing too fast as you anxiously smoothed the fabric of the dress you’d chosen. 

It still felt surreal to leave the penthouse, staring out the window at the passing places, your wallet and phone sitting on your lap as you resisted the temptation to bite at your nails and pick at your cuticles. 

Itching to get there and terrified to arrive. 

But before you could tell the driver to turn back around, he was parking outside the house from the photo, two cars parked next to each other in the driveway you didn’t recognize, mumbling a thank you as you passed him a tip before you got out. Standing out there as the breeze sent a shiver down your spine, each step that took you closer to Shoko scaring you shitless.

You didn’t even know what exactly you were going to say to her. 

Ask if the old you had admitted feelings for her? Confess that the new you wanted her too? 

If you were going to get rejected, you still just wanted to get it over with. 

If this was going to be the start of a new life, well, then you wanted to be shoving the door open and stepping through the threshold. 

You still hesitated outside the door, standing on her mat while your finger froze inches away from the doorbell. 

And then you heard the voices from inside. 

Shoko’s, and a second one you couldn’t quite place. “I mean, it sounds kinda obvious to me.” 

You leaned against the wall, chewing on your lip as you listened in, unable to help yourself when your brain was trying to convince you that you already fucked up. Your stomach twisting into knots as you heard Shoko’s soft sigh through the door..

“Utahime,” she said, all serious and stiff, and you had to swallow the ugly lump bubbling up in your throat at the thought of her talking to your pretty black-haired senior. “I really don’t know what to do.” 

You hated hearing her like this. The rare, raw vulnerability in her voice that you knew you weren’t supposed to hear. But even more, you hated that she was showing it to her, going to someone else with her problems like you hadn’t right there earlier. Waiting for her to see that even if you changed, you were still her person first. 

Who she was supposed to go to when things went wrong.

You couldn’t hear what Utahime said back, but you could hear Shoko’s low groan, felt it in your core as your breath got stuck in your throat. “She doesn’t even know they were going to get a divorce.” 

Oh. 

You didn’t think hearing something so earth-shattering could leave you feeling so hollow. Everything scooped out and empty as your brain turned the word over and over again like it had some entirely new meaning now that you knew everything you’d been feeling so awful over for months was exactly what you would’ve chosen with all your memories. 

“You should’ve told her,” Utahime scolded her, not exactly strict, just reprimanding her like it was obvious. 

“You know Satoru,” she said, exasperated. Exhausted of all these games. “He made me swear not to say anything before I even showed up.” 

It wasn’t hatred simmering in your stomach for your husband. Disgust, once again, disappointment that was too thick to swallow, sitting heavy on your tongue when you thought of how much time you wasted because he never told you the truth. 

“What an asshole,” Utahime scoffed. 

“I don’t think she really loves him,” Shoko mumbled, and your body made the move before your brain did, finger pressing the doorbell to announce your arrival.

The silence was awful. 

Not as bad as the thoughts racing around in your head, spinning in the same circles you’d been stuck in for weeks, only strengthened by the discovery you were always destined to be waiting here outside Shoko’s door. Heart pounding against your chest, still beating despite how much it fucking hurt, pulse pounding in your ears as you prayed for her to answer it. 

And still, when it swung open, and the brown eyes that hadn’t left your head your whole life locked onto yours, all the words you’d been planning on pouring out didn’t come. Her mouth parted in a small ‘o’, a cigarette between her fingers that she quickly dropped to the wooden floor and crushed despite the fact it wasn’t even lit. 

“How did you-” 

“I’m, uh, just gonna go,” Utahime excused herself with a little squeal that told you exactly whose side she was on, squeezing past both of you and scurrying to her car, keyring jingling on her finger as she scrambled to leave. 

Neither of you said bye. Just stuck staring at each other, the silence saying things you were both scared to confess. 

“Um, hey,” Shoko broke it.

“Hi,” you breathed back, swallowing hard as you regained a sliver of your composure. “Your address was in my email.” 

“I guess you heard,” she started, talking like she’d already let you down. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her small shorts like you would miss the way her fingers were shaking, her mouth pressed together in a thin line. “Look, you and him-” 

“I came here to tell you I want to leave him,” you cut her off before she could feed you more of the same bullshit or any excuses. 

“You-” 

“I don’t love him,” you half-whispered, an invisible weight abruptly lifting off your shoulders as it hung in the air. Dragging your stare from the shape of her lips to that pretty mole underneath her eyes to your favorite shade of brown, barely a sliver of it ringed around her blown-wide pupils. “I don’t want him.” 

“Don’t-” She swallowed hard, stopping herself before she could push you away again. “Don’t say something that you don’t-” 

“I’ve wanted you since we were teenagers,” you confessed, not totally sure if it was coming out remotely normal, the words rolling off your tongue anyway after holding in the truth for so long. “I don’t know what happened to us. But I know what I don’t want.” 

An asshole who had sex with you after lying about the status of your relationship for months. Who kissed your forehead and fucked around with your feelings and forced your best friend to keep quiet just to keep seeing you. 

You still felt guilty. Hints of regret and remorse that clawed at you as you tried to justify the emotional affair you knew you were having right under his nose, even if you were only going to return to his penthouse to pack up your stuff and deliver divorce papers. 

“You liked me,” Shoko said as if it was simply inconceivable. As if she never noticed all the times tried to hold her hand or go with her on missions. When you found yourself staring in dressing rooms together when you knew you weren’t supposed to. 

“I was worried you didn’t-” 

“I liked you,” she suddenly spoke back up, taking a step closer that stole your breath away. Immediately cracking any composure you had in an instant as her fingers laced in between your own and squeezed. “I just wanted you to be happy. I thought Satoru would-” 

“How could he ever be better than you?” You asked, tilting your head to the side.

He might be the strongest, but he’d sorta turned out to be the shittiest husband. 

Even when he knew you wanted to leave him before, that your marriage was on the rocks, he still didn’t stick around to support you the second time around. Still picked missions over you. 

You hoped he wouldn’t blame you for choosing Shoko over him. 

For wanting someone who would stay. 

You knew you shouldn’t do it, but you still cupped her cheek before you crashed your lips into hers. The wine on her lips overriding the faint hint of smoke hanging on her clothes, her tongue slipping inside to trace along your teeth as she tangled her free hand in your hair. 

It felt right. 

The connection was comforting, relaxing, your body melting into hers as she drew you in closer, deepening the kiss and about to drag you inside before you both heard it. 

“What the fuck are you doing with my wife?” 

Shoko jolted back, her hand slipping down to your side before she caught herself and removed it entirely. 

“Satoru, it’s-” 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the divorce?” You turned around, blocking Shoko from his view, your brows furrowed as you scowled at your husband. The man you’d been sleeping next to. Who you just slept with. And okay, perhaps you once gave your heart to – before you decided to take it back. 

His blindfold was up, but you were pretty sure his blue eyes were bulging beneath them. His cursed energy practically thrummed thick in the air as he struggled to control it. 

“Of course she told you,” he spat, venom in his tone as he took a few fast steps forward. “She just wants to fuck you. Tell me, Shoko did you always want to scissor my wife, or was it-”

“Did you think I’d never find out?” You hissed at him, flinching back as he continued to stride forward, his hand clasping around your wrist only to find yourself back in the penthouse, back in your bedroom, his cum-stained uniform still on the floor.

“You were supposed to stay and everything was supposed to be just fine,” he exclaimed, fingers still digging into your skin as you shook your head at him. 

“I’m not fine,” you pointed out. Weren’t you the one with the traumatic head injury? Who lost so much of your life and six more months on top of it because he decided to choose a path he knew you wouldn’t have wanted? 

“That doesn’t give you the goddamn right to cheat on me,” he sharply retorted, exhaling hard through his nose as he pulled your body closer to his. About the same distance you were to Shoko before, in some cruel imitation of the moment you shared with her. “And with our friend.” 

You had to give it to him. 

He knew you well enough to know exactly what strings to tug to make you feel fucking awful. You didn’t want any of this to happen. Didn’t want to be in your own shoes. Didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings no matter how hurt you felt. 

“I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t!” You argued back, a hot lump forming in your throat as tears you couldn’t stand started to form at your lashline. 

“You couldn’t try for me? Lie for me?” He pressed, his voice raising as you choked back a strangled sound. 

Couldn’t he see that you did? 

That for months, you tried and tried and tried to love him, when he wasn’t even there most of the time? 

“You’re everything to me,” he continued, desperation bleeding through you struggled to find something that would make him understand. “You’ve been everything to me since the day I met you.” 

“How can I be everything to you when I’m not even important enough for you to make time for?” You heard yourself ask, although you had the funny feeling it was something you said to him before. 

“I take those missions to protect you, y’know, the people we care about, the world,” Gojo argued, as if that was what you wanted from him. “For what? For you to throw away our vows and fuck off with Shoko?” 

“It’s not fair,” your voice cracked as you spoke. “I didn’t take those vows Satoru. You know I’m not that person anymore, and honestly, I don’t think I will be again." 

Staying would only hurt both of you. 

Pour salt in a wound that had been bleeding long before you woke up in that hospital bed. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, ripping your wrist free of him as you stepped back. 

“Don’t say sorry,” he grimaced, but his blindfold was still on. This distance was still there, being kept at bay even when you were both supposed to be baring your soul. “Say you’re not going anywhere. Say you’ll never see her again. Say anything except-” 

He knew you couldn’t. 

“I can’t,” you softly murmured. 

You didn’t know what the future would hold. 

But you didn’t want one without Shoko in it.

“Losing you once was bad enough. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice,” Gojo pleaded. He tried to grab you again, to pull you in. Make up for his mistakes with his pretty mouth that he couldn’t match with his actions. 

You were both messes. He manipulated you. You were about to make out with your mutual friend. You were better off without each other. He might not see it now. But you still hoped one day he would, that he wouldn’t hate you forever for saying goodbye a second time. 

“You didn’t do anything to keep me.” 

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated :3

There were certain things everyone at university knew to be true. The library would always be packed during exam season. The coffee on campus tasted like burnt dirt. And if you ever spotted Natasha Romanoff walking across the quad, chances were you wouldn't find her alone. Somewhere within arm's reach was you, laughing at something she'd whispered, wearing her hoodie or athlete jacket despite owning plenty of your own, or absentmindedly reaching for her hand as though it had always belonged there.

The first thing people noticed about Natasha Romanoff was her confidence and her cocky nature (and she looked good but that was obvious). And the second thing was that she looked at you like you hung the moon and stars. It was the kind of love that didn't seem forced or performative. She would wait outside your lectures with your favorite drink, kiss your forehead before her track practice, and somehow convince you to skip studying just long enough to watch the sunset from the roof of your residence hall. And you did all of that, because you were deeply in love with her, that and Wanda said you were uptight and needed to loosen up.

You and Natasha were practically inseparable from the day you met, well that was a stretch but it was true in its own way. It all began when you were carrying a large suitcase with a box in one arm. You had been moving into your dorm suite and with your mom, still downstairs talking the RA's ear off, you basically had to do all of the heavy carrying alone. It was fine until you accidentally bumped into someone which resulted in you dropping the box that held most of your belongings.

"Shit. I'm sorry." You exhaled, bending over to pick the fallen goods up. What you weren't expecting was for the person to reach over and help pick your stuff up. You looked up to find a redhead holding the pink teddy bear your father had gifted you as a child before he passed away. Smooth. Heat flooded your cheeks as the redhead scanned the small teddy bear before giving you a smirk.

"Cute." She mumbled as you stood up before picking the box up from the floor. She straightened up and handed you the fluffy toy, hands grazing against your own in the process.

"You in this suite?" She asked and you gave a simple nod because at that moment you could not muster the courage to talk to the extremely good looking person that was standing in front of you. This would be the person you'd share a suite with? Woah.

"Natasha. Looks like we're roommates."

"Y/n." You replied with another curt nod. Natasha chuckled before pulling the heavy box out of your arms without asking. You raised an eyebrow as she opened the door. You took in the place. It was quite simple. There was the kitchen, a living room that had a small couch and the bathroom. On the other side were doors to what you assumed to be the bedrooms.

Natasha walked over to the empty bedroom. Your bedroom.

"You don't talk much huh?" You shrugged your shoulders while grabbing your suitcase and wheeling it in.

"Guess we'll get along great then."

"I...thank you." You stammered and the redhead gave you a look that sent flutters down your spine to your core.

"No problem." She set the box down onto the mattress and looked at you.

"I'll see you later then." Before you could reply, Natasha was out of your room, probably making her way to yours. You released a short breath before your mother stumbled into the suite, waving the RA (who'd been forced to carry the rest of your bags) into your room.

___

Later that day, you were already deep in organization mode. Classes didn't start for another two weeks, but your bedroom was immaculate. Bed made with crisp sheets, books stacked by subject on the desk, clothes folded and color coded in the closet, and your bookbag already packed with notebooks, pens, and a color coded syllabus you'd printed early. Perfection was control. Control was survival.

The redhead sauntered in like she owned the place, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, athletic shorts riding low on her hips, black tank top stretched across toned shoulders and arms. Her hair was messy in that deliberately effortless way, green eyes scanning the room with a lazy smirk.

"Damn, roomie. You moving in or building a museum?" She dropped her bag right in the middle of the floor, kicking off her sneakers without bothering to line them up. One landed near your perfectly arranged shoes.

You stared, jaw tight. Rude.

"Some of us like being prepared. You planning on living out of that bag all semester?" Natasha laughed, that low, cocky and flopped onto the unmade bed across from yours, arms behind her head.

"Relax, princess. It's college. Lighten up." She watched you reorganize the bag she'd slightly disturbed, clearly amused. You then proceeded to throw her own shoe back towards her which she caught with grace.

"Please refrain from coming into my room and leaving a mess." You explained.

"You always this wound up? Or is it just for me?" You hated her immediately. That smirk. That easy confidence. The way her masculine energy filled the room and made your carefully ordered world feel... disrupted.

And later that night, after you'd politely (but firmly) asked her to move her shit off the floor for the third time, she leaned against your desk while you were triple checking your planner.

"Is this cocky attitude the one that gets you girls?" You snapped, not even looking up.

"Because it's not working on me."

Natasha's grin widened, slow and dangerous.

"Who said I was trying to get you, sweetheart?" You gave Natasha a pointed look before you moved back to organizing your stuff. At least then you'd be able to put some order into your life unlike the redhead who just smirked and left your room.

__

Living with Natasha was a mission to say the least. If it weren't for the fact that she was awfully good looking, you'd really hate the redhead. You two had been living together for almost a month. At first, it was somewhat fine. You tolerated Natasha because she was civil and respected the rules and boundaries you came up with. But then, Natasha being Natasha had managed to get in your head after a while.

With that cocky attitude of hers, she thrived on driving you to the brink of insanity. Most days, Natasha would come back from her track practice, throw her bag on the kitchen counter before making her way into the bathroom to shower. You'd scold her occasionally about being messy, and she'd shrug it off by saying you needed to loosen up a little. You'd tell her to fuck off and then she'd smirk and call you "princess". You hated her. You hated her chaos. You hated her for being so attractive.

One late afternoon you'd come back to the apartment after having a long day of attending general biology, a statistics class and intro to psych. You walked in to find Natasha blending her usual protein shake. She was dressed in a black tank top and Grey sweatpants, hair wet probably from a shower. She glanced up at you, lips twisting into that smirk of hers once she set the lid onto the blender.

"Rough day princess?" You rolled your eyes while grabbing a glass from the cupboard above Natasha. For a moment you two were pressed up against one another before you stepped back to fill your glass with water.

"I told you to stop calling me that." You said after taking a sip from the glass and Natasha simply placed a spoon inside the sink. She turned to look at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe.

"What?"

"You look stressed."

"I am. Spent six hours with no break on campus." You finished the cup before rinsing it and placing it inside the sink.

"Make sure you clean up afterwards Romanoff."You mumbled before grabbing your backpack and heading to your room. Natasha watched you leave, eyes tracing the curve of your hips and your ass. She bit the inside of her cheek, hands gripping the counter top before accidentally dropping the spoon.

You looked back to find the redhead scratching the back of her neck while pretending like she had not been watching you walk away. Afterwards you slid into your room to take a light nap before you eventually had to study.

___

That same night you were on your bed, textbooks lined up in front of you as you made notes for your Intro to Psychology class. You'd opened the door to your bedroom because you needed the fresh air that your window  was failing to provide.

Eventually you set the highlighter down to stretch. Your back was turned so you hadn't noticed the redhead that was leaning against your bedroom door. Natasha was about to make a comment but when a sliver of smooth skin showed and a soft almost moan like sound escaped your lips, Natasha swallowed the comment but that cockiness of hers remained.

She knocked on your door to get your attention before walking in and plopping on the empty side of your bed.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." You said sarcastically as she flipped through the thick textbook on your bed.

"Don't you have other things to do? Or I don't know, other girls to bother?"

"Why bother other people when I could just bother you? Besides I enjoy toying with you."

"You're such a menace."

"And you're insatiable." She retorted. You scoffed before getting up to put your notes into their color coded files. Natasha watched you with interest, one arm propped underneath her head while the other set the textbook down.

"You ever do anything else aside from color coding and organizing everything?"

"An organized life brings success Natasha."

"Huh. Y/n, we've been living together for almost two months and I've never seen you do anything remotely college like." You scoffed, moving towards your bed, ready to pull the redhead off of your bed but when accidentally bumped into your desk, it sent your small pouch bag onto the floor before the contents fell out.

Natasha's eyes trailed down before you could react, eyes widening and lips twisting into a huge grin. You scrambled down, picking the two perfectly rolled joints, weed flower, lighter and grinder up.

"Holy shit. Didn't think you had it in you." Natasha had managed to take one joint from you, assessing it with pure fascination before you grabbed it out of her hands.

"Give me that."

"Princess perfect is actually a stoner? Wow, impressive." She raised  a brow, leaning onto your pillow as you shoved the pouch back into it's secret spot that you'd probably have to change later.

"Can you get out of my room?"

"Relax princess. I'm not judging you."

"I would not care if you did anyway." Natasha hummed then finally took the cue to leave.

"Alright then, I'll let you be." You exhaled once Natasha left your room but her scent was still clinging onto your pillow and her room. That night you struggled to sleep. You'd spent almost twenty minutes just tossing and turning before looking at the clock.

02:00

You sighed and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling for a good five minutes. But instead of fighting with sleep, you got out of bed, your bare feet padding against the cold bamboo flooring of your bedroom as you grabbed your slippers and put them on.

Natasha found you in the kitchen a few minutes later. She watched you boil water before pouring it into the cup and stirring it. Eventually she spoke up.

"Couldn't sleep?" You shook your head and she stepped closer.

"Me neither." You grabbed another cup, pouring hot water inside before placing one of the chamomile teabags inside.

"Is this one of your health focus tea brands?" You gave Natasha a look and she grabbed the mug before bringing it up to her lips. She took a sip and hummed.

"That's actually good."

"Anything is better than whatever concoctions you make for protein." Natasha laughed, actually laughed, not one of those half chuckles she gave after throwing one of her ridiculous and dry jokes.

You spent twenty minutes like that. Just talking about small things, like how the wind outside was crazier than usual, or how loud the neighbors were and even how school was going for you two. Nothing deep but also not surface level small talk. Somewhere along the line, the cups had gotten empty and both you and Natasha had migrated to the small couch in the living area.

She'd currently been talking about the upcoming track selections and how nervous she was.

"I think you'll do great."

"Yeah? And how do you know that?" She pushed and you shrugged.

"Dunno, guess I can kind of see it. You have a nice and lean frame."

"Is this you flirting with me princess?"

"Jesus, only you'd be capable of turning a compliment into something that would fill your ego." You smacked your lips and Natasha's grin only widened.

Eventually the topics shifted onto a much more personal level. But Natasha never spoke about her own life. Instead she asked you questions and you answered, keeping it vague but respectful. And eventually you both drifted to your own bedrooms, but not before Natasha stopped you.

"Thanks. That was really... good."

"You're welcome." You both stood in the hallway, looking up at one another before she eventually stepped back, almost bumping the wall in the process. You just shook your head with a small laugh and disappeared into your own bedroom.

___

A week after that early morning, Natasha had come back from another brutal track practice. She found you sitting on your bed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while you mindlessly bit the cap of your pen.

"Hey." She said, breaking you out of the frustrating trance you were in.

"Want to take a break?" She asked, eyebrows wiggling with what could only be mischief. You looked up and swallowed. Your eyes trailed down her sweaty frame, lean muscles and when you looked up you found the redhead waiting with that smirk of hers.

"I have a lot of work to do."

"Come on princess, don't be like that." You almost fought her but Natasha wasn't one to let things go. So you eventually sighed and slid your book from your lap and onto the bed.

"I'm not going anywhere with you until you take a shower." Natasha gave you one of her crooked smiles.

"What, you don't think I look good like this?"

"Shower or get out of my room." She eventually raised her hands up in surrender but left to go shower, mumbling how she'd be done in an hour.

That's how you found yourself walking with Natasha to some building behind the athletics complex. At first you fought her, mumbling how you had to be back soon because you were busy. But Natasha shut you down once she held up a fat joint, the words dying down fast.

"Huh, who would've thought that's all I needed to do to shut you up." She'd remarked while you shoved her shoulder.

"Shut up and let's go."

And that's how you found yourself sitting on a bench facing trees with off campus apartments. You two sat next to one another, watching the streets bustle with students going out for the night while others came back from the library. Natasha pulled out a simple black lighter before placing the joint in between her pink lips. You really never thought you'd envy a joint but here you were.

You watched her take a drag before exhaling the earthy smoke. You hated yourself for feeling this way about Natasha. She was cocky, egotistical, sometimes messy and annoying. But at the same time, she was also hot, funny and again, really fucking hot.

You were eventually pulled out of your thoughts when she leaned forward to hand you the joint. You accepted it before bringing it up to your own lips and inhaling the earthy smoke. Your body melted as the smoke curled around the both of you. You coughed once then took another inhale. Natasha didn't make fun of you, but she also did not wipe that smirk off of her face. You two sat there in silence for almost fifteen minutes before the weed finally settled deep within your bodies.

The high was smooth and calm. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulder as you leaned back against the wall. Within a few minutes you started talking. Really talking. About nothing and everything. Natasha watched your lips moved as you rambled on about something. She threw one of her dry jokes and you laughed. She liked the fact that you laughed. Your laugh sounded nice.

"You're fun like this." She said and you turned to look at her.

"That seems awfully backhanded."

"No, you're always locked in your bedroom so much that I never get to speak to you unless you're scolding me." All you could do was shrug your shoulders. I mean what else could you say?

"I know you think I'm uptight, but I'm not." You'd spoken up after a while of comfortable silence. Natasha turned around and looked at you properly this time. The way your curls framed your face, the way your skin shone under the campus lights and the way you seemed to always be in thought no matter the time. You looked really good. So good that Natasha wanted to lean in and kiss you. But all she did was clear her throat.

"We should go." She said, already standing up and offering her hand to help guide you up. You took it without saying anything this time. Her hand was warm, and it felt nice. You two walked back in comfortable silence, the high making the walk intense in the best way.

When the two of you reached your apartment, you gave Natasha a small shove with your shoulder again.

"Thanks. This actually really helped."

"No problem." You two stood there in the hallway before you nodded then walked into your bedroom and closed the door.

___

After that night, it sort of became a habit. You and Natasha would walk to the athletics complex, sit there while smoking and talking about stuff. Sometimes you'd just sit there in silence and watch nature take its course.

After a particularly long day of classes and practice, Natasha came back to the dorm with a fat, perfectly rolled blunt and that signature cocky smirk.

"Round two, princess. You in? Or are you too scared I'll corrupt your perfect little routine?" You rolled your eyes but agreed. The two of you ended up on the quiet grassy area behind the athletics building again, sitting on a blanket under the stars. The first hit already loosened the tension between you. By the time the blunt was half gone, you were both properly crossed, all giggly, warm, and hyper aware of each other.

You were lying on your back, looking up at the sky, when Natasha rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. Her red hair fell messily around her face, green eyes dark and intense as they traced over your body.

"You're really fucking hot when you're relaxed, you know that?" She murmured, her voice lower than usual. You turned your head, heart beating faster.

"You're only saying that because you're high."

"Nah." She leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.

"I've been thinking about this since the day your grinder fell out." The kiss started soft. It was tentative, tasting like weed and cherry lip balm. Then it deepened fast. Natasha's hand slid under your hoodie, palm hot against your warm skin as she cupped your breast. You moaned into her mouth, fingers threading through her red hair and tugging.

Things escalated quickly. She pulled you on top of her, hands gripping your ass as you straddled her hips. The high made everything feel slow and intense at the same time. You ground against her, hands still tugging red hair while her own hands played with your breasts. She pinched a nipple and you moaned louder into her mouth. But you eventually pulled back.

"We can't." Natasha looked up at you with dark eyes and swollen lips.

"Not outside. Someone could see us." You sat up whe fixing your hoodie.

You stood up on shaky legs almost tumbling back down onto her lap and Natasha laughed.

"Damn, already falling for me." She retorted and you kicked her shin. She groaned.

"Fair enough." She mumbled. With your help, Natasha stood up and picked the blanket she'd laid down along with her small bag that carried all of her miscellaneous stuff.

The walk back to your suite was charged with electricity and the leftover tension from before amplified by the high. When you reached the suite, she set the things down before turning to face you. You took a step back until you hit the kitchen counter.

"We should probably talk about the kiss." Natasha raised a singular brow.

"Talk?" You nodded.

"Y-yeah. Talk." Natasha stepped closer hands making their way around your waist.

"You seriously want to talk?" She pulled you closer to her and you gasped.

"N-Nat."

"I don't think you want to talk." She leaned forward, her lips inches away from yours.

"Nat..." You whispered, voice trembling.

"Yeah princess?" You closed your eyes and opened them again to find her green ones watching.

"Kiss me." She didn't need anymore convincing, her lips found yours.

This time the kiss was heated, all the built up frustration from your days and the tension that had been simmering between you two for the past few weeks now being poured out into this kiss. Natasha pressed you further into the wall before she wedged her thigh in between your legs. The moan you let out was muffled by her lips but it still managed to send heat down to Natasha's own core.

"I want to hear you make that sound again." She'd whispered against your lips, her hands roaming around your waist but still remaining respectful. The realization alone sent flutters down your own stomach. You ground yourself against her thighs, and Natasha took the opportunity to grip onto your ass, pulling you closer. With strong arms, Natasha picked you up and led you to the nearest room which was your bedroom.

She carried you into your bedroom, foot closing your door right after before "gently" placing you onto your neatly made bed.

"Hey, careful-"

"These sheets are gonna be messed up when I'm done with you anyways. Should be the least of your worries." She leaned forward to kiss you again, and you pulled her against you. Her hands slid under your hoodie, pushing it up. You let her pull it off, then your t-shirt underneath, heart pounding with desire.

That's when she saw them. The faint silvery scars on your upper arms and across the softer skin below your collarbones caught the low lamplight. You froze once you'd noticed the change in her expression. Shame hit like ice water through the haze. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide, curls falling forward as you curled in on yourself.

"I think you should maybe leave." Just then Natasha grabbed your wrists, pulling you even closer. She didn't say anything, she didn't have to say anything. She'd seen them in passing when you were changing and she accidentally caught a glimpse of your body from behind (you were late for class after accidentally spilling coffee on your shirt and you'd forgotten to close the door).

Natasha simply pressed a kiss onto the jagged marks on your upper arms and the smaller ones on your collarbone. Your once tense body relaxed as she kept pressing kisses from your collarbone and onto your neck. You eventually leaned back, letting Natasha continue kissing and biting the smooth skin. She eventually found the sweet spot that had you letting out the softest sounds that made her suck and bite even more.

More clothes came off before you were both on your bed naked. At one point you'd stopped to lecture Natasha for carelessly throwing her hoodie onto the floor but that stopped once she'd started trailing her lips downwards until she was in between your thighs. She slipped your panties off a little until the black lace was out of her way, still hanging around your ankle but far enough for her to work.

Natasha slid her left finger in between your now swollen and aching slit. And it felt good.

"Stop teasing."

"Whatever you say princess." Her tongue slid into your soaking cunt, slightly calloused hands pulling you closer so she could feast on your pussy. You threw your head back as Natasha threw one leg over her shoulder, the same one that held the lace panties before they eventually fell onto the floor next to her hoodie.

Natasha moaned at the taste of your arousal, tongue finding it's rhythm inside of you.

"W-wow." Was all you could breathlessly moan and Natasha moaned in between your legs.

"Yeah?" She whispered mouth still working you open before she introduced a finger. Natasha slid her index finger inside of you which made you buck further into her mouth.

"Tell me how it feels." She worked the finger inside of you, the obscene sound of your pussy getting fucked, filling the walls of your bedroom.

"Good."

"I think you can do better than that." Natasha curled the finger which made you moan out loud. Her tongue was hot and confident as she dragged it through your folds, exploring before focusing on your clit. She sucked the sensitive bud into her mouth, tongue flicking fast and firm. She then added a second finger, curling them in a "come hither" motion.

"You always get this wet y/n?" She teased as her finger slid in and out of you so effortlessly. You shook your head.

"Yeah? Just for me?" She continued stroking her fingers inside of you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars.

"Your tongue feels so fucking good. Fuck, Nat-" You gasped, hips bucking. She held you down with one strong arm across your waist, red hair tickling your thighs as she ate you out like she was starving. The wet, obscene sounds continued to fill the small bedroom, her tongue lapping and sucking, fingers thrusting deep and curling against that spot inside you. You gripped her hair tight, thighs trembling around her head. The high made everything feel overwhelming and perfect at the same time. Every lick, every curl of her fingers sent sparks up your spine.

She looked up at you while she worked, her green eyes locked on yours, lips and chin shiny with your wetness. The sight alone nearly made you come alone.

"You taste so fucking good y/n." She groaned against your pussy, then dove back in harder. She sucked your clit rhythmically while her fingers fucked you faster, curling just right. Your back arched hard off the bed.

"Nat, shit... I'm gonna...fuck!" She didn't stop. She moaned into you, the vibration pushing you over the edge.

You came hard on her tongue, thighs clamping around her head, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips as your pussy clenched around her fingers. Natasha kept licking you through it, slower and gentler, until your legs were shaking and you were pushing at her head from the overstimulation. She finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up your body with a satisfied smirk. She kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

"You good, princess?" She asked, voice husky. You could barely speak, still catching your breath. You just nodded and pulled her back down for another kiss.

You were still panting, thighs twitching from the aftershocks as Natasha crawled up your body with that satisfied, cocky smirk. Her lips and chin were shiny with your wetness, green eyes dark with hunger. Before she could say anything smug, you grabbed her by the shoulders and flipped her onto her back. The high made you bold.

"My turn." You murmured, voice husky.

Natasha's eyebrows rose, but her smirk widened as she spread her legs for you.

"Yeah? Show me what you got, princess." You kissed her hard, tasting yourself on her tongue, then started moving down her body. You sucked marks into her pale neck and collarbone, then lower, taking one of her nipples into your mouth while your hand slid between her thighs. She was soaked. You groaned against her skin when your fingers met all that slick heat.

"Fuck, you're wet." You breathed, almost surprised. Natasha let out a low chuckle that turned into a moan when you kissed down her toned stomach and settled between her legs. You didn't tease. You dove straight in. You licked a slow, broad stripe up her pussy, savoring the taste of her. Natasha's hips jerked, one hand flying to your curls. You licked again, firmer this time, tongue dragging through her folds before circling her clit.

"Shit, yeah just like that." She groaned, thighs tensing around your head.

You got more confident. You sucked her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue fast while sliding two fingers inside her. She was tight and dripping, clenching around your fingers as you curled them upward. The wet sounds were loud in the small bedroom of yours, obscene and yet so addictive.

Natasha's usual cocky control started slipping. Her red hair was messy against the pillow, hips rolling up into your mouth as she cursed under her breath.

"Fuck, y/n... your mouth feels so fucking good."

You moaned against her pussy, the vibration making her gasp. You fucked her harder with your fingers, sucking and licking her clit with messy enthusiasm, completely lost in the high and the taste of her. You looked up at her while you worked to make her cum. Her green eyes half lidded, lips parted, chest heaving. She looked wrecked. It was hot as hell.

You added a third finger, thrusting deep and steady while your tongue worked her clit relentlessly. Natasha's grip on your curls tightened, her thighs starting to tremble.

"Don't stop, please, fuck, I'm close-" You didn't. You sucked harder, curled your fingers just right, and moaned against her as she came.

Natasha came with a low, broken groan, hips bucking against your face as her pussy clenched hard around your fingers. You kept licking her through it, slower and gentler, until her thighs stopped shaking and she tugged weakly at your hair.

You finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up her body. Natasha immediately yanked you down into a messy kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

"Damn. " She muttered against your lips, still breathing hard.

"You're really good at that." You laughed breathlessly, collapsing beside her. She pulled you close, one arm slung around your waist, both of you sweaty and hazy from the weed and the orgasms.

Neither of you said much after that. Just tangled limbs, lazy kisses, and the quiet satisfaction after making each other cum.

___

Sunlight filtered through the blinds the next morning. You woke up naked in your own bed, but Natasha's arm was slung possessively over your waist and her red hair was tickling your shoulder.

For a second, the memories hit you. The shared blunt, her mouth between your thighs, the way you'd moaned her name, how good she'd felt. Your own leg in between her thighs. Your face heated instantly.

You carefully slipped out from under her arm, grabbed one of the oversized t-shirts from the floor which so happened to be hers, and tiptoed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Back to normal. You had a 10 a.m. lecture. You also had notes to review. What happened was just... a one time thing. Spontaneous. Roommates with benefits didn't mean mornings had to be weird. Right?

You then walked back to your bedroom, ready to organize everything for the day. You were already at your desk in her t-shirt and panties, frantically reorganizing your color-coded planners and pretending last night hadn't happened, when Natasha finally stirred. She stretched like a cat, the sheet slipping down her pale, toned body. When she saw you at your desk, already in full type A mode, her lips curved into that infuriating cocky smirk.

"Morning, princess." She said, voice still raspy from sleep and smoke.

"Running away already?"

"I have class." You replied, not looking at her. You straightened your pens with more force than necessary.

"And you should probably clean up your bedroom, I walked passed it and it looks like a tornado hit it."

Natasha chuckled lowly and sat up, not bothering to cover herself.

"Cute. You're back to scolding me like nothing happened. Like I didn't have my tongue buried in your pussy last night."  Your pen froze mid air. Heat rushed through you at the crude reminder. You turned slowly, trying to look unaffected.

"It was just sex, Natasha. We were high. It doesn't have to be a thing."

She stood up, completely naked, and walked over to you with that effortless athletic swagger. She stopped right behind your chair, leaning down so her breath brushed your ear.

"You can pretend all you want." She murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"But I still remember how you sounded when you came on my face. How you gripped my hair and begged for more." You shivered. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily. Damn her.

You stood up abruptly, putting distance between you.

"I'm not begging. And I have to get ready for class."  Natasha just smirked wider, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. She reached out and tugged lightly on the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing, her t-shirt.

"Keep it." She said.

"Looks better on you anyway." You grabbed your towel and practically fled to the bathroom, heart racing and skin still tingling from her proximity. You could hear her low laugh behind you.

The entire day, you tried to focus on lectures. Tried to pretend it was nothing. But Natasha's words kept echoing in your head. The memory of her mouth. Her fingers. How ridiculously good she was.

By the time you got back to the dorm that evening, you were tense and annoyed at how easily she'd gotten under your skin again.Natasha was sprawled on the living room couch in shorts and a sports bra, looking far too pleased with herself when you walked in.

"Still pretending, princess?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. You dropped your bag onto the kicthen counter and crossed your arms.

"You're impossible." She grinned and crooked a finger at you.

"Come here and I'll show you just how impossible I can be."

"I'm not easy Natasha."

"I never said you were. And quite frankly I enjoy it when you fight me, it's like our very own foreplay." You huffed in annoyance and turned around to grab a glass of water. Anything to help distract you from the girl sitting behind you. But that failed when you felt Natasha's presence and warmth behind you. You felt her hand tuck your hair aside before she pressed a kiss onto your neck.

"Tell me you didn't enjoy last night."

"Natasha I have work to do."

"Yeah? And there's something else I'd like to do now too. You."

"Smooth." But you weren't exactly pulling away when she wrapped her arms around your waist. And when she started kissing down your neck, you were already leaning against her, head thrown back, ass press firmly against her front.

It lasted approximately five minutes before you were led into her bedroom, gripping her red hair while riding her face with vigorous speed. The soft sounds of your moans bouncing off of her bedroom walls.

___

The next morning, you woke up first. The dorm was quiet except for Natasha's soft breathing. You were still in her bed, naked under the sheets, body pleasantly sore in places that made your face burn with memory. The joint you'd smokes in her room, her mouth on you, the way you'd moaned without shame... it all came rushing back.

You slipped out carefully, grabbed the first shirt you could find (hers, again), and went straight to your bedroom and sat by your desk. Back to normal. You started reorganizing your notes with sharp, precise movements, trying to shove the entire night into a neat little box labeled "Mistake."

Natasha woke up about twenty minutes later. She stretched, the sheet falling to her waist, and smirked the second she saw you already in full planner mode once she'd reached your door.

"Morning, princess." She drawled, voice still rough from sleep.

"You're up early again. Trying to pretend you weren't riding my face last night?"

You didn't look at her.

"I have a lecture later today. And your bedroom is a disaster again. Can you at least try to keep your shit contained now that we're... whatever this is?"

Natasha chuckled, completely unbothered by her own nudity. She walked over and leaned against your desk, arms crossed, watching you straighten pens with way too much focus.

"You're cute when you're in denial." She said.

"All tense and bratty like I didn't make you come three times."  Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk. Heat flared low in your belly despite yourself.

"It was all just fun okay, Natasha. Don't make it weird."

She leaned down closer, red hair falling forward, green eyes amused.

"Weird? You mean like how you're wearing my shirt right now? Or how wet you already are just from me standing here?" 

"You're in my bedroom naked."

"Yeah, and you like it." You finally looked up, glaring.

"You're so fucking cocky." That was all it took. Natasha grabbed you by the waist, spun you around, and bent you over your own desk in one smooth motion. Your carefully stacked planners and notes went flying again as she pressed up behind you.

"Yeah?" She murmured against your ear, yanking your her shirt up over your ass.

"Keep scolding me then. See what happens."

You tried to snap back, but the words died when she dropped to her knees and buried her tongue in your pussy from behind without any warning. She ate you out like she was proving a point. One that was messy, confident, and relentless. Her hands spread your cheeks as her tongue licked and sucked, two fingers pushing inside you deep. You gripped the far edge of the desk hard, biting your lip to stay quiet, but soft moans still escaped. She didn't stop until you came hard, thighs shaking, forehead pressed against the wood. Natasha stood up, wiped her mouth, and leaned over you.

"Still think it was just the weed?" She asked, voice smug. You were breathless, annoyed, and already wanting more.

"Just shut up and fuck me properly." You muttered.

___

The pattern became frequent. After the third night, you and Natasha stopped pretending like this was nothing, especially when the sex was just way to good to pretend. So you both agreed on being roommates with benefits. Whatever the hell you wanted to call it, that's what it was.

When you told your close friend Wanda about it, she'd given you a look that said she wasn't all for it.

"These never end well y/n." You sighed as you two neared your favorite café.

"I know but its not like we can avoid one another Wans. I mean we live together for Pete's sake."

"Pete's sake?" Wanda teased and you rolled your eyes.

"Point is, we can't avoid it. Besides the sex is good." You shrugged and Wanda chuckled while opening the door.

You and Natasha began the rhythm. Whenever you had a bad day from pre-med classes, all she needed to do was look you in the eye, before she was guiding you onto the nearest surface and burying her face between your legs. Or whenever she had a bad practice, all you needed to do was pull her by her hoodie before laying her on the bed and fucking her with your fingers.

It was good, spontaneous and convenient. Neither of you had bothered to label it let alone think about it. This was all just the harmless kind of fun people have in college. Yeah. Just fun.

___

It was a Thursday night in mid November. You'd had one of those days. The kind where everything felt heavy. A brutal organic chemistry midterm you weren't sure you'd passed, followed by a phone call with your mom that dragged up old memories of your dad. You came back to the suite quiet and closed off, and this time it was the kind of quiet that usually meant you'd bury yourself in planners and books until the feelings went away.

Natasha was already there, sprawled on the couch in a tank top and shorts after practice. She noticed immediately. Instead of her usual cocky greeting or grabbing you for a quick fuck, she sat up from the couch and watched you drop your bag onto the kitchen counter and start reorganizing the contents in your bag with sharp, tense movements.

"You're spiraling." She said simply.

"I'm fine Natasha." You mumbled but your voice wavered. You weren't fine. You kept moving things around, trying to regain control. Natasha got up, crossed the room, and gently took the stack of notes from your hands.

"Hey." She said softly.

"Stop." You tried to pull away, but she set the notes down and tugged you toward her bedroom instead. No heat. No smirk. Just her strong arms guiding you down until you were both lying there, facing each other.

You expected her to kiss you, to turn it into sex like always. That's what this was supposed to be, just benefits. Release. Nothing more. But she didn't. Natasha just pulled you closer until your head rested on her chest. One hand stroked slowly through your curls, the other rubbing gentle circles on your back. The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy at the same time.

"You don't have to be okay all the time." She murmured after a while. Her voice was quieter than you'd ever heard it.

"Not with me." Something in your chest cracked. You hadn't let anyone see this version of you in years. The scared girl who still felt the guilt and pressure from home, who built walls of order so the world couldn't take anything else away.

But here, in the dim dorm light with Natasha's heartbeat steady under your ear, the walls felt exhausting.

You didn't cry. You just breathed her in. The faint scent of her body wash and the gym. And you just let yourself be held. After a long stretch of silence, Natasha spoke again.

"Wanna get something to eat?" All you did was nod, but Natasha held you for longer. She didn't want to stop.

___

Natasha slammed the door harder than necessary when she got back. You looked up from the couch, highlighter paused mid sentence. She was limping noticeably, jaw clenched, a fresh bruise blooming on her left cheekbone. Her duffel bag hit the floor with a thud, followed by one sneaker, then the other, right in the middle of the room.

"Bad day?" You asked carefully.

"Understatement." She grunted, wincing as she tried to put weight on her right ankle.

"Some rookie on the team decided to play hero during drills. I took the fall. Coach reamed me out anyway. Then my phone started blowing up with family shit. Perfect fucking day."

She looked pissed off at the world. You knew that look. It was the same one she got right before she usually pushed you up against a wall to blow off steam. But tonight she just walked into her room and dropped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. You closed your notebook and stood up before making your way into her room.

"Don't." She muttered when she saw you moving.

"I'm not really in the mood for your organizing lecture right now."

"I wasn't going to lecture you." You grabbed the ice pack from the fridge a towel, and the first aid kit that you kept in your room. Then you knelt in front of her without asking.

Natasha watched you silently as you gently lifted her injured foot into your lap and wrapped the ice pack around her swollen ankle. Your touch was careful but firm. You didn't say anything about the mess she'd made or the shoes in the middle of the floor. You just worked quietly, dabbing the bruise on her cheek with a cool cloth next. She stayed tense for the first few minutes, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then something in her shoulders finally loosened.

"Thanks."  She said gruffly, almost like the word hurt to say. You finished securing the wrap and looked up at her.

"You don't always have to be the tough one, you know." Natasha let out a bitter little laugh.

"Yeah? Tell that to everyone who needs something from me." Instead of answering with words, you climbed onto the bed beside her and gently pulled her down. She resisted for half a second out of habit, then let you maneuver her so she was curled against your side, head resting on your chest.

This was new territory.

Natasha Romanoff, the girl who always had to be the strong, cocky one, let herself be held. She shifted until she was fully tucked into you, face buried in the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. You wrapped both arms around her, one hand slowly stroking up and down her back.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held her while she breathed through the shitty day.

Eventually, she mumbled against your skin.

"I hate this ankle. And my family. And today."

"I know." You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her red hair. You stayed like that for over an hour. No sex. No teasing. Just you holding her while she let herself be vulnerable for once.

Later, when you both shifted to get more comfortable, Natasha turned over so her back was pressed against your front. You instinctively curled around her, becoming the big spoon. Your arm wrapped around her waist, your chest to her back, legs carefully tangled so you wouldn't bump her injured ankle.

Natasha let out a long, shaky breath and relaxed completely into you, the little spoon for the first time.

"Never thought I'd let anyone hold me like this." She admitted quietly into the dark. You hugged her a little tighter.

"Get used to it."  She didn't reply, but her hand found yours and laced your fingers together over her stomach.

___

The shift happened gradually. You and Natasha still continued to have sex on occasions (more often than you'd like to admit) but underneath it all, something began brewing. Sometimes you caught yourself watching Natasha. Like the one Saturday morning where she offered to make you breakfast to deal with your hangover. Both of you had gone out the night before to some house party.

Natasha had to actually drag you out after you'd been locked in your bedroom for seven hours straight. You'd complained about it, so much that Natasha had to pick you up and out of the chair. You dropped your weight on purpose, forcing Natasha to practically drag you out of the chair.

"Stop deadweighting." Natasha grunted, readjusting her grip.

"I'm not." you lied, immediately slouching even harder. Natasha eventually gave up and threw you into your bed.

Natasha opened your closet, ruffling through the clothes inside. You sat up and frowned.

"What are you doing? Stop that. You're making a mess!" You scolded but Natasha didn't listen. She continued rummaging until she pulled out a black dress before handing it to you.

"Here, put this on."

"Why this?"

"Because I've never seen you in it and it looks easier to take off. Now get dressed." Without another word, Natasha left you to go get ready. And well, obviously you got dressed.

The party was loud enough to make conversation optional. Music thumped through the walls of the frat house, bass vibrating beneath your sneakers as bodies squeezed past one another with red cups and slurred laughter. Someone had already spilled something sticky across the kitchen floor.

"This was worth dragging you out for." Natasha teased, nudging your shoulder. You rolled your eyes.

"I'm still convinced I would've had a better night in bed."

"You say that every time."

"And every time I'm right." Natasha laughed, that soft laugh she only seemed to have around you, and she disappeared toward the kitchen, returning a minute later with two drinks.

"I remembered." She said, handing you the one without the cranberry flavored vodka. You frowned.

"You remembered?"

"You hate cranberry."

"Oh." You accepted the cup, suddenly aware that she'd never once asked you to remind her.

Hours blurred together. You danced with your friends. Natasha disappeared into conversations with her teammates. Every so often your eyes found each other across the room. Neither of you acknowledged it. Because there was nothing to acknowledge.

Then someone wrapped an arm around your waist. A guy from one of your statistics tutorials.

"You've been hiding all semester." He grinned.

"Dance with me?" You shrugged your shoulders.

"Sure." It wasn't anything serious. It was just dancing. No harm in that right?

You laughed at one of his terrible jokes, swaying absentmindedly with the music. Across the room, Natasha's smile faltered. Her teammate was halfway through telling a story before Natasha realized she hadn't heard a single word.

Who was that? Why was his hand there? And why...Why did it bother her?She scoffed quietly to herself. Ridiculous. You weren't together. Hell, you weren't even dating. You were roommates who occasionally slept together. That was all. So why did she suddenly want to march over there and pry his hand off your waist-

"You okay?" Natasha blinked.

"Hm?"

"You've been staring for like... five minutes."

"I wasn't staring." She said which wasn't exactly a lie.  Her teammate followed her gaze.

"Oh." Natasha immediately looked away.

"Oh?"

"You've got it bad."

"I literally don't."

"Romanoff."

"We're just roommates."

"...Who have sex."

"...With boundaries." Her teammate snorted into her drink.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

When the song changed, you excused yourself for some air. The backyard was cooler, quieter. You leaned against the railing, breathing. A few seconds later the back door opened.

"You disappear a lot princess." You didn't have to turn around.

"I like quiet." Natasha stepped beside you, her warmth grounding you in the moment.  Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. It was... comfortable, like it always was whenever you say with Natasha.

Your shoulders brushed. Neither of you moved away.

"You cold?" Natasha asked.

"A little." Without thinking, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

"You'll freeze."

"So will you."

"I run hot." You smiled and let out a small chuckle.

"You always have an answer."

"One of us has to." Another silence.

Your fingers found the sleeve of her jacket, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric between your thumb and forefinger.

"You know..." Natasha said quietly.

"Hm?"

"I think you're the only person I actually like coming to these things with." You looked at her. She looked back. For just a second.

Long enough for something unfamiliar to settle between you. Not desire. That part had always been easy. This was...Different. Neither of you had a name for it yet. So, naturally, you both looked away first.

By the time the two of you stumbled back to the apartment, it was well past two in the morning. Natasha fumbled with the keys, muttering something under her breath when she missed the lock for the third time.

"You've got the hand-eye coordination of a professional athlete," you deadpanned.

"I've been drinking."

"You've had two vodka cranberries."

"They were... strong vodka cranberries." The door finally clicked open. You kicked your shoes off the moment you stepped inside, groaning at the relief.

"I am never wearing heels again."

"You say that every time."

"And this time I mean it." Natasha only smiled. It was domestic in a way that neither of you cared to acknowledge.

You disappeared into your room long enough to swap your dress for an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts. By the time you emerged, Natasha was already in the kitchen, two glasses of water sitting on the counter.

"Hydrate." She said, sliding one toward you. You raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing." You said, with a small shake of your head.

"What?"

"It's just..." You took the glass, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

"You're weirdly caring." Natasha scoffed.

"I'm preventing your hangover. Selfish reasons."

"Mhm."

"I'm serious." She pushed.

"Sure you are." The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It rarely was anymore. You leaned against opposite sides of the counter, lazily sipping water while the refrigerator hummed in the background.

"You disappeared for a while tonight," Natasha said eventually.

"So did you."

"I was talking to my teammates."

"I noticed." She hesitated but then she spoke up again.

"...That guy."

"What guy?"

"The one you were dancing with." You blinked.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"He asked me to dance."

"I saw." You couldn't help the teasing smile that spread across your face.

"Were you jealous?" Natasha answered far too quickly.

"No."

"You hesitated."

"I didn't."

"You literally did."

"I was thinking."

"About?"

"How annoying you are." You laughed, shaking your head as you walked past her.

"You were jealous."

"I wasn't."

"You so were." Before you could make it another step, Natasha caught your wrist. Not tightly. Just enough to stop you. The apartment fell quiet.

You looked down at her hand, then back up at her. Neither of you spoke. It would've been so easy to let go. Instead, her thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin. A thoughtless gesture. One she'd probably deny remembering in the morning.

"You've got glitter on your face princess." She murmured.

"Oh." She reached up before you could react. Her fingers barely skimmed your cheek. One tiny fleck of silver caught on her fingertip.

"There." Neither of you moved. You were standing far too close now. Close enough to hear each other breathe.

Close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Natasha swallowed.

"We should probably go to bed."

"Probably." Neither of you did. For one suspended moment, the world seemed to wait with you. Then Natasha stepped back first.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Nat." Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you. Only then did Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.

"This is getting dangerous." She whispered to the empty apartment. And in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed, you whispered the exact same thing.

And now, Natasha stood at the small counter in just a tank top and sleep shorts, red hair tied up loosely with strands falling around her face. She moved carefully because of her ankle, but she was focused, cracking eggs into the pan, buttering toast, cutting up an apple she must have grabbed from somewhere. Two plates were already set out.

You stood, leaning against the wall and just watching Natasha move. There was something about the sight that made your chest ache with a deep, quiet yearning. Natasha Romanoff, the girl who left chaos everywhere she went, who swore she didn't do soft things was currently making you breakfast.

After last night. After she'd watched that guy flirt with you at the party with that tight jaw and sharp eyes. After she'd pulled you close on the dance floor like she couldn't stand anyone else near you. After the almost moment at the door where she'd looked at you like she wanted to say something she couldn't. You wanted to crawl back under the covers of your bed and hide from how much you felt.

Instead, you straightened up and padded over quietly. Natasha glanced at you when you leaned against the doorway. For a second her green eyes softened, almost vulnerable, before she looked back at the pan.

"Morning." She said, voice a little rough. "Figured you'd be hungover. Sit." You sat at the tiny table.

She brought over a plate, perfectly cooked eggs, buttered toast, sliced apple, and a glass of water with ibuprofen next to it. She set it down in front of you like it was nothing, then sat across from you with her own plate.

You stared at the food for a long moment. She made this for you.

The girl who usually left protein shakers on your desk and teased you about your planners had gotten up early (or stayed up) to do something nice. No teasing comment. No smirk. Just quiet care.

The yearning hit you harder than it ever had. You wanted this version of her every morning. The one who noticed when you were overwhelmed. The one who got jealous but didn't make it your problem. The one who held you on bad nights and let you hold her on hers. You wanted to reach across the table and touch her hand. You wanted to tell her how much it meant. But you stayed silent, because saying it out loud would make it too real.

Natasha kept stealing glances at you while she ate. Her eyes lingered on your messy curls, on the way you were still wearing last night's shirt. There was a tension in her shoulders, like she was holding something back. Like she was fighting the same pull you were. The silence between you felt heavy with everything unsaid.

You wanted to be closer to her. You wanted her to pull you into her lap and hold you like she had the other night. You wanted to bury your face in her neck and breathe her in until the fear of loving someone this much went away. Instead, you took a bite of the eggs.

"They're good." You said softly.

Natasha's lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile.

"Yeah?" You nodded, heart aching with how much you were already falling.

She didn't need to say anything. The breakfast, the quiet way she watched you, the way her foot gently brushed yours under the table, it was all there.

And you were terrified by how badly you wanted to keep it.

___

The party that Wanda was throwing was loud and crowded, but Natasha couldn’t take her eyes off you. She seemed worried because you weren't acting like yourself.  She noticed it first in the bathroom hallway. You’d stepped away for a minute, and when she followed a little later, she caught you in the mirror. Your face was twisted. A quick flash of disgust and shame as you looked at your reflection, arms subtly crossing over your chest like you wanted to disappear. You fixed your expression fast, but Natasha saw it. She felt it like a punch to the gut and said nothing. Not then.

Later, back in the main room, it got worse. You were sitting beside her on the couch, but you weren’t really there. Your arms stayed crossed tight over your chest. Your shoulders curved inward. You laughed when your friends joked but it was hollow. Natasha watched you slowly disappear into your head, picking at the sleeve of your shirt, trying to hide pieces of yourself she already knew were beautiful.

It killed her.

The walk home was quiet, the cold night air sharp between you. Natasha’s hand brushed yours a few times but she didn’t grab it. She just stayed close, jaw tight, heart doing something complicated and heavy in her chest.

The second the door to your suite closed, she couldn’t hold back anymore.

She stepped forward and pulled you into her arms right there in the middle of the living room.

No words. No teasing. No rush to turn it into sex. Just Natasha wrapping herself around you completely. One arm slid around your waist, the other hand cradling the back of your head as she tucked your face gently into the crook of her neck. She held you like she was trying to shield you from the whole world. It was strong, steady, and warm.

You froze for half a second, then melted. Your arms came up slowly, wrapping around her back, fingers clutching the fabric of her hoodie like she might vanish. Natasha’s chin rested on top of your head. She breathed you in, slow and deep, her heartbeat strong against your cheek.

The silence was thick with everything unsaid. She could feel the tension still lingering in your body, the way you were trying so hard to shrink yourself. It made her chest ache with a fierce, protective kind of yearning. She wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were. How she hated that you ever looked at yourself like that. How she’d been falling for you for weeks now. For the girl who scolded her about messes and still took care of her when her ankle was fucked up. For the girl who let her see the cracks even when it scared her.

But she didn’t speak. She just held you tighter, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other stayed buried in your curls. The butterflies in her stomach were violent. This wasn’t benefits anymore. This was her wanting to be the person who made you feel safe enough to stop hiding. You pressed closer, face buried deeper into her neck, breathing her in like she was the only steady thing in your chaotic world. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it.

You were terrified by how much you needed this. How much you needed her. The girl whose chaos kept breaking your control and somehow made you feel more alive than your perfect plans ever had. Neither of you let go. You stood there in the middle of the living room for what felt like forever, wrapped up in each other, hearts racing with quiet, terrifying yearning. The kind of closeness that felt bigger than sex. Bigger than just roommates with benefits. This was just two girls falling slowly, deeply, and helplessly into something neither of them could stop anymore.

Later that night, you laid in Natasha's bed. No heat except for the warmth her body provided. She held you tightly as you both watched tiktoks on your phone. It seemed very intimate, the lines were crossing. But as Natasha pressed a kiss onto the top of your head before laughing at some video on your phone, you knew that you wanted to feel this more. You wanted her. Deeply.

___

2026

You were sitting in the bedroom of your off campus room, pre-med textbooks gathered around you like weapons. The room smelt of Redbull, the incense sticks you'd lit up to relax you and help you study (which failed) alongside your iPad. Luna, your cat, was perched on the other side of the bed, her gaze focused on your stressful form. She tried to help by making the occasional biscuit but that ended with her taking a short nap inside of your sheets. Lucky.

You groaned, throwing your head back before closing your textbook. Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced at it and found her name on your screen. Your stomach shrank.

Natasha

Fans want more content. You up for it?

You clenched your jaw, heart slamming against your ribs. You wanted to type, tell her to fuck off but you didn't have enough fight in you anymore. It still hurt deeply. It was as if Natasha had pulled your entire heart out with her hands before smashing it into bits and pieces. The tears were already gathering in your eyes. How could she just waltz back into your life after every fucking thing? You should have blocked her, deleted her number even but instead, you just typed.

You

Why are you texting me?

Natasha

Just wanted to see if you're up for it. I miss you.

The notification preview told you everything you needed to know. You read it once, twice, then swiped it away without ever opening the conversation. You laughed bitterly before switching your phone off for the night. You grabbed your books and iPad to place them aside. You weren't in the right mind space to do any studying.

Luna moved closer, tucking herself underneath your arm once you were settled. You switched the lights off and stared at the ceiling. How dare she.

But when you woke up the next morning, the message was edited this time. Still there, just that last phrase "I miss you" was gone. Coward.

___

It was a rainy Friday morning. The storm kept everyone inside. You were curled up on the couch with a textbook, trying to focus. Natasha had been restless, pacing the living room until she finally gave up and dropped down beside you.

Without asking, she lifted your legs into her lap and started massaging your calves with strong, careful hands. You glanced at her, surprised.

"You’re always tense." She said quietly, not looking at you.

"Figured I’d help." You didn’t argue. The steady pressure of her thumbs felt too good. After a while, you put the book down and just watched her. The focused crease between her brows. The way her red hair fell into her face. The quiet gentleness she only seemed to show when it was just the two of you.

Natasha caught you staring and smirked, but it was softer than usual. She kept rubbing your legs long after they stopped aching, like she didn’t want to stop touching you.

There were other moments where natasha and you realized that this was beyond just benefits. Like the time where she helped you study. It was 2 a.m. You were at the kitchen table surrounded by flashcards, eyes burning. Natasha should’ve been asleep in her room, but she wandered out in an oversized hoodie and sat across from you.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stole one of your highlighters and started quizzing you in a low, patient voice. Every time you got an answer right, she’d give you a small, proud smile that made your stomach flip.

When you finally slumped forward in exhaustion, she stood up, came around the table, and pulled you into a hug from behind. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, chin resting on your head.

"You’re gonna kill this exam." She murmured.

"But you need sleep, princess." You leaned back into her, letting yourself be held. In that moment, with her warmth surrounding you and the quiet of the dorm at night, you realized how much you craved her presence. Not just the sex. Her steadiness. The way she made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter.

Or the other time when you woke up to the sound of the door closing. Natasha had gone out early despite the cold and came back with two coffees. Yours made exactly how you liked it, with the right amount of oat milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. She set it on your nightstand and tried to sneak back out, but you caught her wrist.

"You didn’t have to." You said, voice still sleepy. Natasha shrugged, looking almost shy for once.

"I wanted to." She lingered in your doorway, watching as you took the first sip. The quiet fondness in her eyes made your heart do something dangerous. You wanted to pull her into your bed and hold her. You wanted to tell her how much these small things meant. Instead, you just smiled at her over the cup, and she smiled back. A smile that was small, real, and full of unspoken yearning.

Late November, you stormed into the shared living room after a long day and the sight made your jaw clench. Natasha’s protein shaker was tipped over on the counter, leaking across the surface. Her duffel bag had exploded near the couch, knee pads and shoes scattered. One of her hoodies was draped over the back of the chair you always used.

"Natasha! "you said sharply, setting your bag down.

" This is shared space. I’ve asked you so many times. I need things a certain way out here. I can’t keep cleaning up after you every single day-" She stepped out of her room, still in her tank top and shorts from practice, green eyes darkening the moment she heard your tone.

Instead of snapping back, she walked straight toward you with purpose. You expected her to kiss you roughly like usual, to turn the scolding into angry sex. But this time she stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her.

"Keep going." She murmured, voice low. "Tell me how much I’m ruining your perfect little world." You opened your mouth to continue the lecture, but the look in her eyes made the words die. There was hunger there, yes, but also something deeper. Something almost reverent.

She took your hand and pulled you into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her. The second you were inside, she lifted you onto your desk in one smooth motion. Your perfectly stacked planners, color coded notes, and highlighters went tumbling to the floor in a chaotic rainbow mess as she shoved them aside. The sight of your carefully controlled space being disrupted by her sent a shiver through you.Natasha kissed you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt, but she was slower than usual. More deliberate. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.

"I want to fuck you with the strap tonight." She said quietly, voice rough."

"If you’ll let me." Your breath caught. You’d never let anyone do that before. It felt big. Vulnerable. Trusting someone that deeply with your body, especially Natasha, the girl whose chaos kept cracking your walls, was terrifying.

But you trusted her. You nodded, swallowing hard.

"Okay."  Natasha’s eyes softened for a moment, something like awe flickering across her face. She kissed you again, slower this time, like she understood what you were giving her. She took her time undressing you, kissing every new inch of skin she revealed. When you were naked on the desk, she grabbed the strap from where it had started living in your room and buckled it on carefully. Then she stepped between your spread thighs, slicking the thick toy.

"You sure?" She asked, voice gentler than you’d ever heard it during sex.

"Yes." You whispered, gripping the edge of the desk.

"I want it to be you." The trust in your voice made her exhale shakily. She pressed the head against your entrance and pushed in slowly, watching your face the entire time. You gasped at the stretch, fingers digging into her shoulders. Natasha stilled, letting you adjust, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other brushed a curl from your face.

"Fuck, you look so beautiful." She breathed, voice strained with how much she was holding back. Once you nodded, she started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that gradually built in intensity. Every snap of her hips knocked more of your organized notes and planners to the floor, the chaos of her presence completely overtaking your control.

But you didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, moaning softly against her neck. The sex was heated, yes, her hips snapping harder as she got lost in it. But it was layered with something much more intimate. The eye contact. The way she whispered “I’ve got you” every time you gasped at a particularly deep thrust. The way her hands held you like you were precious.

You came hard around the strap, trembling in her arms, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips. Natasha followed soon after, grinding deep and shuddering against you, burying her face in your neck.

Afterward, she stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard amid the scattered wreckage of your desk.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes dark and full of quiet wonder. The trust you’d just given her, letting her be the first to take you like that, hung heavy and beautiful between you. Neither of you said it out loud. But the feelings were there, growing stronger with every passing day, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

___

You and Natasha walked through the carnival, shoulders occasionally brushing. It was supposed to be a group hangout, but when Carol and Wanda coincidentally excused themselves because they had plans they'd forgotten about, it was just you and Natasha. You didn't mind it though, especially because you enjoyed being around her. As friends.

"Still can't believe you've never been to these things before." You shrugged.

"Never had the time."

"Well, now you do, so let's make sure you have fun princess." She wrapped an arm around your shoulders before guiding you further in. You melted into her embrace, especially when she pulled away and you still smelt like her perfume. The carnival was small but lively. Twinkling lights strung between booths, the distant screams from the Ferris wheel, and the smell of fried dough and popcorn in the cold night air.

Natasha kept stealing glances at you, her red hair peeking out from under a black beanie, green eyes bright under the colorful lights. First stop was the food stalls. Natasha insisted on buying you a massive stick of cotton candy. You laughed when she tore off a piece and tried to feed it to you, both of you giggling as the sugar melted on your tongues. She won a small stuffed keychain at the ring toss and immediately hooked it onto your bag.

"Souvenir." She said, smirking.

You retaliated by dragging her onto the Tilt-A-Whirl. She pretended to be unaffected the whole time, but when you got off she was a little green and dramatically leaned on you for support.

"You’re enjoying this way too much." She grumbled, but her arm stayed around your shoulders.

The real moment came at the basketball shootout booth. Natasha’s eyes lit up when she saw the giant prizes hanging above the counter  Especially the oversized, soft brown teddy bear with a red bow.

"Watch this." She said, cracking her knuckles with exaggerated confidence. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with an amused smile. She paid for three shots and stepped up, rolling her shoulders like she was back on the volleyball court.

First shot, swish. Second shot, nothing but net. Third shot, she paused, glanced at you, then sank it perfectly. The guy running the booth looked shocked. Natasha just smirked, pointing up at the big bear.

"That one." He handed it over with a defeated sigh. Natasha turned to you, holding the giant teddy bear like it weighed nothing, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold and the small victory.

"Here." She said, pushing it into your arms.

"For my favorite control freak." You smacked your lips but accepted it gratefully.  You hugged the soft bear to your chest, half laughing, half melting. It was huge, almost as tall as your torso and ridiculously cute. But it wasn’t really about the bear.

It was the way Natasha watched you, green eyes soft and warm under the carnival lights. The quiet pride on her face. The way she’d gone out of her way to win it just to see you smile. You clutched the teddy bear tighter, butterflies exploding in your stomach.

"Thank you." You said softly, stepping closer until you could rest your forehead against her shoulder for a second.

"I love it." Natasha’s hand came up to rub your back, lingering there. She didn’t tease you this time. She just held you for a moment, the chaotic carnival noise fading into the background.

Later, as you walked back toward campus with the giant bear tucked under your arm (and Natasha’s arm around your waist), you kept stealing glances at her.

When you got to the apartment, you set the teddy bear down before being pulled into her arms. She kissed you softly, like you were made of glass and you wrapped your arms around her neck. Somehow you landed up on the couch. You both smoked in the living room with the window cracked and the fan on, laughing at nothing until the giggles faded into comfortable silence. The high settled deep, warm and floaty, lowering every defense you both usually kept up.

Somehow you ended up in the tiny shared bathroom, clothes already half off from making out against the wall. Natasha turned on the shower, and you both stepped under the hot spray together, bodies pressing close in the small space.

Water cascaded over you, your warm skin against her pale, athletic frame. Steam filled the air. Natasha had you pinned gently against the tiles, kissing you slow and deep, her hands sliding over your waist, your hips, your thighs. The high made every touch feel electric and endless. The laughter had died down. What was left was something heavier.

Natasha pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. Water dripped from her red hair onto your shoulders. Her green eyes were dark, pupils blown, but the look in them wasn’t just lust anymore. It was soft. Adoring. Almost overwhelmed. She brushed a wet curl from your face with trembling fingers.

"I love you." She whispered, voice rough and raw under the sound of the water.

"Fuck, Y/N… I’m so in love with you it scares me." The words hung between you, real and terrifying. Your heart slammed against your ribs. You cupped her face with both hands, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks as you searched her eyes. The yearning you’d been feeling for weeks, the quiet pull every time she held you, every time she looked at you like you were more than just benefits, crashed over you all at once.

"I love you too." You breathed, voice shaking.

"I didn’t want to. I wasn’t supposed to fall this hard… but I’m so in love with you, Natasha." The kiss that followed was slow, deep, and full of everything you’d both been trying not to feel.

Hands roamed with new tenderness, not rushing toward sex, just touching, holding, memorizing. Natasha’s arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you impossibly closer under the spray. You clung to her like she might disappear.

You stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, trading soft kisses and quiet “I love you”s between shaky breaths, hearts racing with the terrifying, beautiful weight of what you’d just admitted.

When you finally stepped out, still wrapped in towels, skin damp and warm, you and Natasha stumbled into her bed, giggling and kissing like you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. The “I love you”s from the shower still echoed in the air, making everything feel electric and terrifyingly soft at the same time.

Natasha pulled you on top of her, hands sliding under your towel to caress your bare skin. The kiss deepened, slow and reverent, tongues brushing lazily. You could feel how much she was trembling, not from nerves, but from the weight of what you’d both just admitted.

"I love you." She whispered again against your lips, like she needed to taste the words.

"I love you too." You breathed, smiling into the kiss. She gently rolled you onto your back and settled between your legs, but instead of reaching for the strap or going down on you, she shifted higher. Her thigh pressed between yours as she hovered above you, red hair falling around both of you like a curtain.

"Can I…?" She asked softly, eyes searching yours.

"I want to feel all of you." You understood. You nodded, heart racing. Natasha lowered herself until your bodies aligned perfectly. It was wet, warm, and slick against each other. The first slide of her pussy against yours made you both gasp. She interlaced your fingers, pressing your hands into the mattress on either side of your head, holding you there as she started moving.

It was slow at first. Gentle rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against yours in a delicious, intimate rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, slick heat, perfect pressure, the way your bodies fit together so naturally. You looked up at her and couldn’t look away.

Natasha’s green eyes were locked on yours, full of so much love and awe it made your chest ache. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, red hair messy and damp. Every slow grind pulled soft, breathy moans from both of you.

"I love you." She whispered again, squeezing your hands tighter as she rolled her hips in a slow circle.

"So much."  You let out a shaky giggle, overwhelmed by how good it felt, how right it felt.

"I love you too… fuck, Nat-" She laughed softly too, the sound breaking into a moan when you tilted your hips up to meet her. The giggles turned into breathy, loving sounds as the pleasure built. Your fingers stayed tightly laced, thumbs stroking each other’s skin.

You couldn’t stop looking at each other.

Every roll of her hips, every slick slide of your clits together, every shared gasp, it was intimate in a way you’d never experienced before. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Full of love.

Natasha leaned down to kiss you, still moving, still grinding in that perfect rhythm. The kiss was messy and sweet, full of smiles and little giggles when your noses bumped or when the pleasure made you both tremble.

"You feel so good." She whispered against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours.

"I can’t believe you’re mine." You squeezed her hands harder, legs wrapping around her as the pressure built higher.

"I’m yours. All yours." The orgasm came slowly, beautifully, washing over both of you at nearly the same time. You came with a soft, broken moan, clenching and shuddering against her. Natasha followed right after, hips stuttering, a quiet “I love you” spilling from her lips as she trembled above you. You stayed like that for a long time afterward, foreheads pressed together, fingers still intertwined, breathing each other in. Soft giggles bubbled up between lazy kisses as the high and the afterglow mixed together.

Later, while music played softly from the speaker in your room, Natasha held you in her arms, fingers drawing lazy patterns onto your skin.

"I wasn't always like this you know." You mumbled before untucking your head from her neck. Natasha never stopped drawing patterns but her focus shifted to you.

"One morning I'd been late to school because I spent the night before prepping for this debate tournament, nationals actually." You paused then continued.

"I panicked but my dad said he didn't mind dropping them off for me. He left work, picked them up but..." Your voice cracked.

"He got into an accident and died on the spot." Natasha stopped drawing but she held you tighter.

"If I had just stuck to my usual routine, stuck to the order that I know instead of just...he still could've been alive."

"Y/n..." Natasha started but you shook your head.

"I know, it's not my fault but the thought never leaves my head. He saved people you know, traveled the world to help sick families. If only I'd been careful enough, I could've saved him too." You let out a dry chuckle.

"It's why I'm studying medicine too. I don't know, maybe if I save other people's lives, it will somewhat fill the hole of taking his life."

"I started hurting myself after that. But even that wasn't enough... That's why I love having things in order so much. Control is good, safe. Things don't get taken away if they're planned. B-but with you, you just bring this chaos. You make me feel like I don't have to suffocate with this persona." She wiped the tears that had fallen down your cheek away as you continued to talk.

"I never wanted to let anyone else in because I'm scared of having someone I love so deeply get taken away from me. But you and your cocky self managed to break in." Natasha let out her own laugh, soft and warm. She let out a soft sigh before looking up at the ceiling.

"My family isn't so great either. Dad was never present, moms an alcoholic who had two children and we were barely getting by." She paused and looked down at you, as if she couldn't believe that she was actually telling someone about this.

"I was always the stronger one you know. Had to raise my sister and practically keep my mother from spiraling too. She wasn't abusive or anything but it's hard caring for other people when you don't even have the capacity to care for yourself. I wasn't that smart in school either but I had these killer legs. " You laughed despite the tears sitting in your eyes.

"In middle school, I worked at some shops just to be able to afford secondhand spikes. They weren't quality but I turned them into something great. In high school I was luckier, I had this coach who believed in me. Bought me my real first pair of spikes. Even though they barely fit me, I still keep them with me to remember why I'm here."

"Are those the blue ones hanging on your walls?" You asked and she nodded.

"Yeah. Coach always said I'd go far. But he also said I'd have to let go and let someone in. Never believed him. That was until I met you." You didn't say anything but you tucked your head back underneath her chin. She held you closer, as if she were trying to become one with you. And you let her, because in this room, it was just the two of you existing in this messy thing you called life.

___

2026

The sound of footsteps nearing the door had your heart slamming against your ribs. Eventually the door open and you were met with the redhead standing in sweats and a black top. She looked unfairly good but you pushed that down.

"Hey." You gave her a short nod and she opened her door wider, letting you step inside.

"I'm glad you said yes."

"Cut the small talk Natasha. We're just here to film." Natasha flinched at the use of her full name laced with venom. It sounded so wrong coming from you but she nodded before scratching the back of her neck.

"I set up in my bedroom." You let Natasha lead you through her off campus apartment into her bedroom before setting your bag down.

You stripped out of your jeans and sweater, until you were just in pink underwear. Natasha had been fidgeting with the camera settings until she saw your body. The sight alone was able to send a wave of heat down her body but it also brought back ugly and unwanted memories. She swallowed the thoughts down before pressing record.

You both had eventually agreed to film one last video together. After the breakup, you hadn't exactly deleted the page you created together. The breakup was too messy to even approach this conversation so you left the site up.

Six months after the breakup you finally gathered the courage to log back in. It felt like a knife was being twisted inside of your heart as you replayed a video. It wasn't out of lust, no. This was from the intimacy of the videos. Watching the way Natasha held you, caressed you touched you, fucked you, made love to you, brought so much pain to you because she left. After building something so beautiful, she packed up her things and left as if all of what you'd built together was just a phase. You remember getting so wasted that night, that you almost sent her a drunken text about how she fucked you over. But that ended with your head inside of the toilet throwing up from the thought of speaking to her again. Not even the alcohol could destroy you the way she did.

Two month later, you went back and released a video alone. It made money yeah but the comments were the same.

Where's Natasha?

Did you guys break up?

Bring back red, you two were so amazing together.

You wanted to log off and delete the account then but you didn't. And now, almost a year and a half after the breakup, you were sitting on your heartbreakers bed.

You two eventually fucked. When her hands first touched you, it felt like coming back home after a long holiday. She made you feel good, you moaned for the camera, had your share of orgasms, gave Natasha hers, allowed her to fuck you with the strap but never in missionary and cow girl. Anything that avoided prolonged eye contact (even though that had been your favorite back then).

After the both of you had your last orgasm, you let her kiss you and praise you, but that was all for the camera (fans loved the aftercare that she provided. It was rare to see and that's what made you two such a hit). After that you got up and got dressed. Natasha watched you but you could tell there was a lot on her mind that she wanted to say.

"I'll post it tonight. Whatever comes in we split 50/50." You'd explained after slinging your bag onto your shoulder.

"You seriously won't talk to me?"

" You did all of the talking back then. I have nothing to say to you. Delete my number and forget about me." You left her apartment after that but you both knew that this was far from over.

___

The fans loved the video. Comments begged to have more. And when Natasha sent another text.

Natasha

Money was good. We could film another one.

She was right, the money was so good, you were able to get the new edition of Gray's Anatomy for Students for medical school.

___

It was sophomore year of college. Both you and Natasha were lucky enough to get another shared suite. And the first thing you both did was christen the entire suite.

"I missed you so fucking much during summer break." She whispered against your lips, hands already picking you up and placing you onto the kitchen counter.

"Loved those photos and videos that you sent." She murmured, lips sucking against her neck, you moaned but when Natasha tried to push you further onto the countertop, you paused.

"How clean is this surface?" You dodged her kiss turning around to assess the counter top Natasha placed you on.

Natasha only sighed in a mixture of sexual frustration and love.

"I'm sorry Nat but you're not about to fuck me on a dirty surface." Natasha whined as you climbed off and sauntered over to get cleaning products in your bedroom.

"The sooner you help me, the sooner I get to show you lingerie I got!" Natasha practically ran into the room to help you after that. Your new home was a mixture of both of you. Natasha seldom left her things around anymore but you still lectured her most days. She let you just because she knew it would end up with you gripping the nearest surface while her head was in between your thighs.

The relationship blossomed beautifully. You two even had polaroid pictures of one another behind your phone case after Wanda had sneakily taken one with her camera. You got the picture of the two of you kissing while Natasha got the one of the two of you looking so lovesick, it was disgusting.

"For your crazy kids someday." She remarked after handing you the two copies.

You walked around on campus during the day and at night, holding hands and talking about nothing and everything. You pulled her into study sessions at the library that started with either of you testing one another on your modules and ended with the two of you sneakily making out in the section tucked far away that no one visited while her hand slowly made it's way up your thigh. Most times you'd swat her hand away but it would end up inside you anyway, Natasha watching you with this smitten look.

Some nights, after coming back home late from a study session with friends, you'd slip into her bed and watch her sleep. The sight alone was able to ground you but recently she had this habit of faking sleep just to scare you.

"Boo!" You shrieked and threw your head back in frustration as Natasha poked your stomach.

"What the fuck Nat?! Stop that!" Natasha only chuckled in response to your reaction.

"Stop watching me sleep you weirdo." You'd shove her head back when she leaned in for a kiss but that only ended with your legs wrapped around her shoulders while her mouth was in between your thighs telling you that she'd rather watch you cum instead.

On a whim, you had posted a video on tiktok about you and Natasha. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the two of you lip syncing to some new trending song while her hands roamed around your waist. It was harmless really but it started getting people's attention.

You wouldn't say that you and Natasha are the typical "tiktok" couple but watching the two of you do some trend or lip sync or even just harmlessly post one another was really something people enjoyed watching one of the videos that had gotten a lot of attention was the one where couples were sitting in a car and trying some takeout.  Now neither of you had a car but that didn't stop you. Instead, you'd set up your phone in your room (because yours was the aesthetic and Natasha's room was a mess).

The video was simple. You recorded the two of you holding up different things taking bites and sharing the foods. But then it would fade to the two of you making out. The first kiss was soft. Natasha leaned in, cupping your jaw as she kissed you softly. It was slow, sweet, and intimate  your eyes fluttering closed, one hand resting on her thigh. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back. You both continued eating like nothing happened. The second one was much hotter.

Natasha had her hand fisted in your curls, kissing you hard. You bit down on her bottom lip, tugging it visibly between your teeth. Natasha groaned into your mouth, the sound low and rough. The kiss was aggressive, needy, her free hand gripping your thigh tightly. When you finally pulled back, her lip was red and slightly swollen.

You both turned back to the camera, a little breathless.

"These spicy dumplings are no joke." You said, voice slightly husky.

"Super flavorful. 9/10 from me." Natasha licked her bitten lip.

"Yeah… really fucking good. 9.5."

The third and final one faded in with you already straddling Natasha’s lap. You were kissing her deeply, her hands resting on your hips as she tilted her head to kiss you harder. It was slow, passionate, and full of heat. Soft sounds escaping as your bodies moved subtly together. You pulled back just enough to look at her, both of you smiling against each other’s lips.

You turned toward the camera, still in her lap.

"Overall verdict?" You said, a little flushed.

"This place is a strong 9.5 out of 10. We’re ordering from here again for sure."  Natasha looked straight into the lens, one hand still possessively on your thigh.

"Highly recommend." She added, voice low and satisfied.

"10/10 experience." The video ended with both of you smiling at the camera, the takeout boxes scattered around you.

The soft moments mixed with the heated ones and the way you two looked at each other like no one else existed, made the fans lose their minds in the comments. Comments varied, some calling you a cute couple or something alike. While some were bolder and friskier.

"Drop the twitter"

"Can we watch"

You remember the night you'd shown the comments to Natasha. You were laying on top of her, scrolling through the comments before showing her your phone. She just laughed.

"I mean we'd look good." The topic ended there.

But the love for filming intensified. There was something so satisfying about filming your sexual activities. She'd hold the phone while taking you from behind. There was something so tantalizing about her pale hand gripping onto your ass, hips pounding hard enough to send your ass rippling like water. You'd moan into the pillow hands gripping the pillow while throwing your ass back to meet her thrusts.

"You look so fucking good baby. Throw that ass back f'me, yeah just like that." You'd moan in response.

"Tell me how deep I'm in baby."

"So f...deep." Natasha slapped your ass, spurring you on.

"Yeah? Feel my cock deep in your pussy?"

"Feel you everywhere, in my stomach." She fastened her pace, the new strap hitting deeper inside of your pussy. You came fast, the sound of your melodic moans sending Natasha into her own orgasm.

Your filmed videos varied like that. Either you'd record her in between your legs, sucking and fingering you while talking filthy to the camera. Or her in between your legs shoulders propped onto her shoulders as you gripped the counter top. She'd kiss down your thighs, lick your leg kiss a toe then go back to sucking in between your clit. Other videos ranged between you fingering her, riding her cowgirl or even of the two of you touching yourselves in front of her. But your videos weren't the only thing growing.

The love and vulnerability between you two grew too. After she'd come back from a horrible athlete tournament, third place, though it was good, Natasha screwed up the last run and was almost disqualified.

You ran her a bath, let her soak before giving her a massage. You then spent a long time just massaging her legs, focusing on the calves and quads.

"You're good no matter what Nat. You're the best runner I know. " You'd praise. You worked slow circles into the knot in her calf before moving to her hamstring.

"Relax." You murmured, lifting her leg into a passive hamstring stretch.

That night Natasha let go and let you fuck her with the strap. The sight of he laying back, red hair spilled across the pillow as you thrust into her filled your heart with so much warmth.

"You're so beautiful Nat." She pulled you in for a kiss and came with you playing with her tits while kissing her deeply.

That night you laid together, listening to the shared Playlist you made together. Natasha's eyes were filled with love as she mindlessly played with your curls.

"Falling in love with you is like discovering a new favorite song. Every time I think I've heard the best part, I listen again... and somehow find another reason to love it." She whispered. You stared at her.

"...What?" Natasha smiled sheepishly.

"I said falling in love with you is like finding a new favorite song." Your heart felt impossibly full. You searched her face as if trying to figure out how someone could say something so effortlessly beautiful.

"That's... " You laughed softly, shaking your head.

"Probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Natasha's cheeks flushed.

"Yeah?" You slipped your arms around her waist.

"Yeah."

___

The first fight was over something stupid really. It was after you agreed to meet Natasha after your last class of the day (where you had to write an exam about statistics which you weren't really succeeding. So you really expected Natasha to be there because she knew what this meant to you.

You checked your phone for the twelfth time in fifteen minutes. Nothing. No text. No missed call. Just the lock screen staring back at you with an empty notification bar. Students poured out of the lecture hall in clusters, laughing as they made plans for the afternoon. One by one, the crowd around you began to thin.

You stayed where you were. Natasha had promised she'd be here.

"You waiting for someone?" You looked over at one of your classmates.

"Yeah."

"They're running late?"

"...I guess." Another five minutes passed.

Then twenty. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. Maybe she'd forgotten. The thought stung more than you cared to admit. Just as you turned to leave, a familiar voice called your name.

"There you are." You looked up.

Natasha jogged toward you, her track bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. A sheen of sweat clung to her forehead, and her hair had almost completely escaped its ponytail.

"Sorry." She said between breaths. "Practice ran over." You stared at her.

"You could've texted."

"I know."

"You said you'd be here."

"I did." Another pause. Natasha rubbed the back of her neck.

"Coach kept us longer than expected."

You waited. She didn't say anything else. No apology. No acknowledgment that you'd been standing there for almost forty minutes wondering where she was. Instead, she flashed that easy grin.

"C'mon." You didn't move. She frowned.

"What?"

"I waited for you."

"I know."

"And?" Natasha shrugged.

"It wasn't a big deal." Silence.

The smile slipped from her face the second she saw yours.

"It wasn't..." you repeated quietly.

"I mean-"

"It wasn't a big deal?"

"No, that's not what I-"

"You made me wait nearly forty minutes."

"I got held up."

"I know that."

"Then why are you mad?"

You let out a short laugh. Not because anything was funny. Because you couldn't believe she was missing the point.

"I'm not mad because you were late."

"Then-"

"I'm mad because you couldn't take ten seconds to tell me."

Natasha opened her mouth. Closed it.

"I was busy."

"You were too busy to send one text?"

"I just forgot." The words landed harder than either of you expected. Forgot. You looked away first.

"If it's not a big deal to you..." You adjusted your bag onto your shoulder.

"Then I don't really have anything else to say."

"Hey-" You walked past her. She reached for your wrist. You slipped out of reach before she could touch you.

For the first time since you'd met her you left Natasha Romanoff standing there alone.

___

The apartment had never been so quiet. Usually, one of you always had something to say.

A joke. A complaint about assignments. An argument over whose turn it was to do the dishes.

Now:

"Morning."

"Mhm."

"You heading to class?"

"Yep."

"...Okay." Natasha watched your bedroom door click shut. She hated it. She hated how you wouldn't even look at her.

By lunchtime she'd already sent three messages.

Nat 🕷️

Still mad?

Nat 🕷️

I'm sorry.

Nat 🕷️

Can we talk?

You'd read every single one from the notification preview. You never opened the chat. That somehow felt worse.

The next morning, another knock sounded against your bedroom door. You ignored it. A second knock. And then you heard her voice.

"I brought a peace offering." Silence.

"It's coffee." Nothing.

"And one of those stupid blueberry muffins you always complain are overpriced but still buy." Your hand froze halfway through zipping your backpack.

"Go away."

"I'd rather not." You opened the door. Natasha stood there holding a takeaway tray in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

"You look tired."

"I slept fine."

"Liar." You reached for the coffee. Natasha pulled it back.

"Not until you hear me out." You narrowed your eyes.

"You're annoying."

"I've been told." You folded your arms.

"Talk."The confidence she'd worn so effortlessly for the last two days disappeared. She looked... nervous.

"I was wrong." You stayed silent.

"I should've texted." Silence.

"I knew you were waiting for me." Another pause.

"And I made you feel like... like it didn't matter." Your expression softened but only slightly. Natasha took a careful step closer.

"I wasn't thinking."

"No." You said quietly.

"You weren't." She nodded.

"I know."

"I kept checking my phone."

"I know."

"I thought maybe you'd forgotten about the fact that I needed you." Her face fell.

"I didn't."

"I know that now." Another silence settled between you. This one wasn't angry. Just honest.

"You hurt my feelings, Nat." The words came out smaller than you'd intended. Natasha's shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry." No excuses. No jokes. No trying to make you laugh. Just two words.

"I'm really sorry." You looked at the coffee again. Then at her.

"You got my order right?" A tiny smile tugged at Natasha's lips.

"Extra caramel."

"And?"

"Oat milk."

"And?"

"No whipped cream." You took the cup from her hand.

"Good." Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.

"So..."

"So?"

"Am I forgiven?"

You took a long sip before answering.

"You're on probation." She laughed.

"I can work with probation." You tried to keep your face straight. You really did.

But the corner of your mouth betrayed you. Natasha caught it immediately.

"There it is."

"What?"

"That smile."

"I'm not smiling."

"You are."

"I'm literally not."

"You absolutely are." You rolled your eyes, finally looking at her properly for the first time in two days.

"Shut up." Natasha smiled back. god, she'd missed hearing you say that.

___

You woke up to Natasha’s warm body curled around yours, her arm slung over your waist and her face buried in your neck. For a moment you just stayed there, soaking in the quiet comfort of her breathing against your skin. Then reality hit. It was a Tuesday. Your birthday. And you had an 8 AM lecture.

You pressed a soft kiss to her lips, smiling when she sleepily kissed you back.

"Gotta go." You whispered.

"See you later."

Natasha mumbled something incoherent and pulled you closer for one more kiss before letting you slip out of bed. You got ready quickly, leaving her dozing under the covers, and headed out without making a big deal about the day. Birthdays had never been special. They were just another weekday.

The second the door closed, Natasha was wide awake. She’d been planning this for weeks. Under her bed was a plain cardboard box she’d been secretly filling. She pulled it out and spent the next few hours arranging everything with more care than she’d ever admit to. It was nothing expensive, just things she knew you’d love. She got you a stack of your favorite snacks (including the weird spicy chips you pretended not to like but always stole from her), a soft oversized black hoodie she’d "borrowed" from the athletics store because she knew you liked wearing her clothes, a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny star charm, a new sleek black grinder, and a small bag of good weed flower she’d saved up for.

But the part that took the longest, the part she was most nervous about, were the flowers.

Natasha sat cross legged on her bed for almost three hours, tongue poking out in concentration, twisting colorful pipe cleaners into little flowers. Her fingers ached. Some of them came out crooked. A few petals were lopsided. But she kept going, making a small, imperfect bouquet in your favorite colors. When she was done, she put them in an empty mug and set everything on your desk with a simple handwritten note:

“You deserve to feel special today. Happy Birthday, princess. From Nat”

She wasn’t cocky about it. No smirk. No teasing. She just wanted you to feel loved on a day you’d told her once meant nothing.

You came back from your afternoon classes exhausted and expecting nothing. You pushed open the door and stopped dead in your tracks. The living room was softly lit. On your desk sat a wrapped box and the most ridiculous, colorful bouquet of pipe cleaner flowers you’d ever seen. Natasha stood in the middle of the room, hands in her hoodie pockets, looking almost nervous. Her usual cocky energy was completely gone. She just looked at you with soft green eyes, waiting.

"Happy birthday. " She said quietly. You walked over slowly, picking up one of the pipe cleaner flowers. It was messy and imperfect and so obviously made by her hands that your throat tightened.

"You made these?" You asked, voice small.

"Took me three hours." She admitted with a shy little laugh.

"They’re kinda ugly, but… I wanted to make you something myself." You opened the box next. Every single item inside hit you right in the chest. The hoodie. The bracelet. The snacks. The new grinder and weed. All chosen because she knew you. Because she’d been paying attention. Tears welled up before you could stop them.

Natasha stepped forward and pulled you into her arms without hesitation. She held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

"I know birthdays aren’t a big thing for you." She murmured into your hair.

"But I wanted this one to be different. You deserve to be celebrated, Y/N. You deserve someone who notices the little things and wants to make you smile."

You hugged her back fiercely, burying your face in her neck as a few tears slipped free.

"No one’s ever done anything like this for me." You whispered, voice thick.

Natasha held you even tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"Well, get used to it." She said softly. "Because I’m gonna make sure every birthday from now on feels like you matter." You stayed wrapped up in her for a long time, the pipe cleaner flowers and thoughtful box on the desk behind you. For the first time in years, your birthday didn’t feel like just another day. It felt like love. Real, warm, and beautifully overwhelming.

___

2026

You don't know how you let yourself be roped back into her bed, but here you were, moaning and letting Natasha fuck you like old times. The camera caught everything. The way she pulled you closer just to bury her mouth in between her legs, how your fingers pulled her hair, pulling her impossibly closer, or how she kissed your thighs like she still had the control to do that. And you let her, because part of you really wanted to reminisce about the good times. About what used to be. About her...

When you were done, you got dressed like you usually did after this.

"You posted another video of yourself." She started, you paused. Then she spoke and you almost didn't hear her.

"It was beautiful." Another pause.

"I miss you." You clenched your jaw, fighting the emotions down.

"You don't get to do that."

"Y/n, at least talk to me. Please, just give me a chance to talk." The laugh you let out was so bitter it made Natasha flinch.

"Why won't you just give me a chance to talk y/n, please I'm begging you. Baby I'm begging you."

"Why?!" You finally turned to look at Natasha. She looked devastated.

___

2025

The rain thrummed violently against the window to your shared off campus apartment. The sound should have been grounding you at this moment but your kind was a storm. And your heart? It was raging from unshed tears and unsaid words.

Lately things with Natasha were extremely rocky. It was like you were treading on thin ice. At first you chalked it up to her grad school applications and her regional tournament. But you were starting to believe it was more than that.

Natasha was distant, quiet and guarded. You tried to talk to her but it either ended in a fight where she'd leave and come back smelling like alcohol or with the two of you fucking before going to sleep facing the walls. That's not what you wanted. You wanted your Natasha back. But she was so gone.

Even the sex, it was still good but she barely paid attention to you anymore. She wouldn't look at you with those adoring eyes anymore, now it was filled with anger. Not to you, never to you. But you still felt it. Either that or she'd stare into the distance. She'd fuck you like she was trying to punish you for something you didn't do, then slip into bed without giving you the aftercare you emotionally needed.

That's how you found yourself sitting on the countertop. The food you'd cooked had gone cold and the lingerie piece you'd bought sat untouched underneath your robe. Natasha was late. Again. You'd tolerated the countless of times she was late back then but on your fourth anniversary?? You'd drawn the line there.

Natasha stepped into the apartment, hair and clothes soaked before throwing her bag down onto the floor. She took her spikes off and set them aside before turning to find you waiting for her.

"Oh. I thought I told you you didn't have to wait up."

"Seriously?" You exclaimed. She sighed in annoyance.

"Y/n, please don't start this right now, I'm not in the mood."

"Bullshit Natasha, you're never in the mood anymore!" You hopped down, robe slipping off your shoulder and she noticed.

"Okay are we gonna fuck or what because I'd rather get to that now."

You shook your head, tears blinding your vision.

"What's today Nat huh? Tell me." She paused and frowned.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You laughed.

"It's our fucking anniversary Nat!" You watched the realization hit her before she spoke.

"I forgot."

"Yes, like you're forgetting everything else about me. Natasha I haven't seen or spoke to you properly for more than two weeks. You're just-"

"Don't do that bullshit now y/n! What... have you been secretly writing this in your little planners? Have you been waiting to throw this in my face? I'm busy y/n, I'm sorry I don't have time to entertain you like I could when we were fucking nineteen years old."

"I'm not asking for a lot. All I'm asking for is for my girlfriend to kiss me on the cheek and fuck me like I actually matter to her." You raised your voice and she shook her head.

The fight escelated.

"I can't keep carrying this relationship on my back Nat. It's like I'm the only one in this relationship. It's fucking one sided.. I love you Natasha I really do but I can't suffocate like this anymore. Do you even love me?"

"I never asked you to carry us y/n, you put that on yourself. I'm not some fucking thing you can organize and fix to be in your perfect life."

"I never said that I wanted you to be perfect, I just want you to be present! Are you even fucking listening to me or am I just some body you get to fuck and leave huh? Cause I'm so convenient for you the moment you want us to film a video and get money but then you're back to drinking and acting like I don't exist. " It sounded ugly, but you had been feeling like that for a while now.

"I have family shit okay y/n! My families fucking breaking apart and I've got no one or nothing to keep me from fucking spiraling." You froze, by now the tears were falling freely.

"Then talk to me baby, please. I want to help you but you need to let me in."

"I don’t need you to fix me, Y/N. Stop trying to organize my trauma like it’s a fucking syllabus." That stung.

"I’m not trying to fix you. I’m trying to love you. But you won’t let me. You fuck me, you laugh with me on camera, but the second it gets real, you shut down."

Natasha stood, voice cold with that old cocky edge sharpened by pain.

"Maybe we were always better as a show. Hot couple on campus OnlyFans. Perfect on TikTok. In real life? You need order. I bring chaos. We’re ruining each other."

You cried. She didn’t. Words flew, accusations about her emotional unavailability, your rigidity. She accused you of no understanding family. Like the time you two fought about Natasha just giving her mom the some money from cash she'd been saving up for after college. You retaliated buy saying she never let you in. How she only told you half truths. Like the time she pulled away early senior year.

Her mom had a bad relapse. Overdose scare that landed her in the hospital. Yelena called in a panic at 2 a.m., and Natasha drove six hours without telling you the full story. She came back three days later, hollow eyed and closed off. Practice became her escape. She’d return to the apartment late, smelling like sweat and exhaustion, and the sex turned into what it did. The angry, distant, missionary with her eyes fixed on the wall while she thrust into you like she was punishing the helplessness she felt.

And still you gave her all of you but now she couldn't even give one bit of herself to you.

"You want me to spill every ugly detail so you can organize it into neat little boxes? Fix me like one of your fucking syllabi?" Her voice rose.

"My mom almost died again last week, Yelena’s spiraling, and I’m supposed to what, come home and play perfect girlfriend while pretending I’m not drowning? You have no idea what that pressure feels like."

"I don’t?” Your voice cracked, tears burning behind your eyes.

"I’ve been carrying us for months, Natasha. Planning around your moods, making excuses for why you’re distant, waiting up after your ‘family calls’ like some pathetic side character in your chaos. I love you. I loved planning a future with you. But you look at me during sex like I’m not even there anymore. Do you know how that felt? To feel invisible to the person who used to make me feel seen?" The words hung heavy. Natasha’s jaw clenched, her athletic frame rigid.

"You need everything perfect and scheduled. I bring mess. I ruin things. Maybe I should just stop pretending I can be what you want."  That broke something in you.

"You’re a coward." You whispered, voice shaking with hurt and fury. Tears spilled over now, hot on your cheeks.

"You’re using your family as an excuse to run. I never asked you to be perfect. I just asked you to let me in. To stay. But you’d rather fuck me like an escape and leave me picking up the pieces than actually love me back the way I deserve."

Natasha flinched like you’d hit her. For a second, her eyes softened, regret flashing through the anger, but she doubled down, voice low and final.

"Then maybe stop waiting for me to be someone I’m not." She turned away, grabbing her duffel bag from the closet.

"I’m done ruining your perfect order." You froze.

"Baby please don't do this." But Natasha continued packing as if you weren't standing there. She packed her protein shakers, spikes a few clothes and other necessities. Every movement felt like another crack in your chest.  At the door, she paused, hand on the knob, red hair curtaining half her face.

"I did love you." She said quietly, without turning around.

"Still do. That’s why I have to leave."

The door clicked shut behind her.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t collapse right away. You just stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling the silence press in like a weight. The apartment, once shared chaos and love, felt too big, too empty, too perfectly organized without her mess disrupting it. Your chest ached with a hollow pain that made it hard to breathe. Tears came in waves as you sank onto the couch, pulling your knees up. She’d chosen her walls. Her family ghosts. Her escape.

And you? You were left with the brutal truth. Loving Natasha Romanoff had been the most beautiful, terrifying disruption of your life. Now it was over, and you had to rebuild your order around the giant hole she’d left behind.

You cried until your eyes were raw. Then you got up, wiped your face, and started reorganizing the apartment the next morning, erasing every trace of her while your heart stayed shattered.

You blocked Natasha after that then deleted your number, but you couldn't log into that account. Not yet at least.

The weeks after the breakup were hell on a shared campus. You threw yourself into your pre-med grind harder than ever, color coded schedules, extra lab hours, anything to avoid the places where Natasha might appear. But it was impossible. The university was big, but your worlds overlapped too much.

The first run in happened three days after she moved out. You were grabbing coffee at the student union when she walked in with two track teammates. Your eyes locked across the room. Natasha froze mid step, green eyes widening with raw guilt before she schooled it into that old neutral mask. You turned away first, heart hammering, and walked out without your drink. Your hands shook the entire way back to your apartment.

You spent the entire night sitting on the shower floor crying and watching blood run down the drain. The blade was left on the bathroom counter but the pain remained in your heart.

You could no longer function anymore. It was as if your body was on autopilot. You couldn't listen to music anymore, that just reminded you of Natasha. Getting high was no longer an option anymore because the high only brought back memories. So many of them that you ended up hurling your guts out before curling into a ball and crying. Your apartment became a mess. What was once neat and organized became untidy. Back then you would've cleaned it but now you just sat in the chaos because at least then you could be reminded of Natasha.

And having shared friends made it worse.  Your friend group had basically fused over the years. Mutual friends from parties, late night study sessions, and track tournaments. The first group hangout after the split was brutal.

It was a casual bonfire at someone’s off campus house. You almost didn’t go, but you refused to let her exile you from your people. Natasha was already there when you arrived, red hair loose, wearing the black hoodie you used to steal. She was laughing at something a teammate said, but the moment she saw you, the laugh died.

You sat on the opposite side of the fire, surrounded by friends who were visibly uncomfortable. The group chat had been suspiciously quiet about "the situation." Conversations felt forced. Someone tried to tell a story from sophomore year involving both of you, then trailed off awkwardly.

Natasha’s eyes kept finding yours across the flames, heavy, regretful, full of everything she wouldn’t say. You hated how much you still wanted to walk over and touch her. You hated even more that she looked like she wanted the same. When you got up to leave early, she followed you to the edge of the yard.

"Y/n-"

"Don’t." Your voice was ice.

"You made your choice. Live with it." She didn’t follow after that.

You saw her everywhere. At the athletics center when you cut through to get to the library. She’d be coming out of practice, sweaty and flushed, duffel bag over her shoulder. Sometimes she’d nod. Sometimes she’d just watch you walk by with that haunted look. In the dining hall. One time you were with friends and she was two tables away.

At mutual friends’ birthdays. One party got especially messy when someone who was too drunk asked loudly.

"So when are you two getting back together? The chemistry was insane." You left. Natasha stayed and got wasted. She ended up in someone else's bed but even then she felt distant and hollow.

"You should talk to whoever it is." The girl said the next morning.

"What are you talking about?"

"Whoever she was, she's clearly still haunting you." Natasha let the girl out of her apartment but five minutes later she had a bottle of alcohol in her hand, stating at the polaroid Wanda once too of the two of you as if she could teleport back to that day, just to feel you in her arms again. She spent the day crying and went back to the shared account just to see your face again.

You both kept up appearances. Natasha threw herself harder into track practice and grad school applications. You buried yourself in research and solo content that paid the bills but felt hollow. The OnlyFans account stayed dormant, neither of you posted anything couple related, and fans noticed the silence.

The pain was constant but quiet. You missed her in the small ways. No more protein shakes magically appearing, no cocky texts making you roll your eyes, no warm body disrupting your perfectly made bed. Some nights you’d stare at old TikToks (private now) and cry. Other nights you’d fuck yourself with the vibrator she’d left behind, hating how you whispered her name when you came.

Natasha looked like shit for a while too, thinner, quieter, the cocky energy dimmed. Mutual friends said she wasn’t dating anyone. She wasn’t even hooking up. Just… existing. You both became experts at polite distance. Civil nods in public. Short, surface level conversations when forced by group settings. Never alone. Never touching. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Even at her big track tournament. Natasha had do drag herself there. She wasn't even excited to run but she had to because her scholarship was riding on it, and with her grades slipping, she couldn't afford another mishap.

Natasha was anxious as she tied the laces to her spikes up. She scanned the crowd, half expecting to find you there. And to her surprise you were. You guys locked eyes, her heart stuttered but then you looked away. It hurt but you still showed up. And that pushed Natasha to run like her life depended on it.

She won first place but it felt hollow. Because even when cheerleaders, friends and teammates surrounded her to congratulate her, she wanted nothing more than your attention. For you to be running down and throwing yourself in her hands, exclaiming that you were proud of her while wearing her jacket and kissing her face.

But when she looked back at the bleachers, you were already gone.

___

2026

"Fuck you Natasha. You don't get to come into my life and expect everything to go back to the way it was." Natasha flinched but she stood stronger.

"I know. I'm sorry. But I need you y/n. I miss you. I thought it would be better to be our own people but fuck..." She paused and rubbed her neck.

"I'm not even a person without you."

___

It was hard it really was but you two missed one another. You agreed to meet up at a coffee shop. One coffee just to talk and no funny business. She looked ecstatic when you told her that.

That's how you ended up fixing things with one another again. It took some time, a lot of time but soon enough you two were falling in love again. You didn't just fall back into her arms again. You made Natasha earn you. If she wanted you that badly then she'd earn you, fight for you, love you the way you deserved.

And it worked. You two ended up dating five months later. You went on for two years. It was like falling in love all over again. It was beautiful, messy and fragile but with Natasha it all felt worth it. The next two years were genuinely good. You graduated pre-med and started med school. Natasha finished her degree and took a coaching job at a local club while figuring out her future. You moved into a nicer apartment together. There were trips, lazy mornings with coffee and Luna demanding breakfast, passionate nights where she still fucked you like she needed you more than air, and quiet ones where you just held each other.

You even filmed a few more videos together, not for the money anymore, but because the trust had returned and it felt fun again. But something was… off. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no massive fights like senior year. No distance.  And yet it never quite reached the effortless magic you both remembered from freshman, sophomore and junior year. You were both trying so hard, too hard, to make it what it used to be. The nostalgia became weight instead of warmth. You were in love with the memory of each other as much as the real person in front of you. Stuck. You two loved each other but you weren't in love anymore.

The final conversation happened after a quiet fight. It started over something small, you reorganizing the kitchen again because her post practice mess triggered old anxieties, and her snapping that she felt like she was always walking on eggshells in your “perfect” space. It escalated into the living room, voices raised but not screaming.

"I feel like I’m failing you again." Natasha said, running a hand through her red hair. She looked tired.

"Like no matter how much I try, I can’t give you that version of us you remember." You sat on the couch, Luna jumping into your lap like she sensed the shift. Your chest ached.

"I feel the same." You admitted, voice cracking.

"I love you. I really do. You’re still the only person who makes me feel this alive. But… it’s not working the way we want it to. We’re both holding on because the love is real, but we’re not the same people who fell in love in that freshman dorm. I keep waiting for it to feel like it did back then, and I think you are too." Natasha sat beside you, careful not to crowd Luna. She took your hand, the touch still familiar, still warm.

" I keep thinking if I just try harder, get better at the family stuff, stop bringing any chaos… it’ll click again." She said quietly.

"But that’s not fair to either of us. I love you enough to admit this isn’t what we both deserve anymore. We’re good together. But we’re not right anymore."

Tears slipped down your cheeks. Luna purred loudly, pressing against your stomach as if offering comfort.

"I hate this." You whispered.

"But I think you’re right. We’ve been trying to recreate something beautiful instead of building something new. And it’s exhausting us both." You talked for hours that night. Really talked. About the good times (freshman year stoner giggles in the shower, the way she used to make you laugh until your sides hurt, the electric chemistry that started it all). About the pain (senior year, the breakup, the campus ghosts). About how much you’d both grown.

By the end, you were curled against her, Luna between you like a fluffy mediator, both of you crying quietly.

"I don’t want to lose you completely,” Natasha said, voice thick.

"You’re still one of the most important people in my life. Maybe… we figure out how to be friends? Real friends. Without forcing the romance." You nodded against her shoulder.

"Friends. It hurts like hell right now, but I think that’s what we need."

The breakup was kind. No slammed doors. No bitterness. You helped each other move her things out over a weekend, sharing memories and even laughing through tears when Luna tried to “help” by sitting in every box.

You stayed close. Group hangouts were no longer awkward. Natasha still came over sometimes, just for dinner or to watch movies with you and Luna. The romantic tension faded into something softer, warmer. She was still your person, just in a different way. You dated other people eventually. So did she. But no one ever quite matched what you had.

Years later, when people asked about your college love story, you’d smile and say.

"We burned bright. Really bright. And when it was time, we let it settle into embers instead of forcing the fire. She’s still family."

You know how your favorite song builds and builds until it reaches that one perfect moment? The moment that makes you close your eyes every single time you hear it. But even after that, the music doesn't stay there forever. It softens. It quiets. Eventually, it comes to an end.

Maybe that's all you two ever were. Not a song that ended too soon. Not one that went on for too long. Just one that reached its peak... and knew when it was time to fade.

the question lands like a spark on dry grass. you blink at her, then roll your eyes hard, cheeks burning hot. "seriously? that's the question you're going with? you literally could go with any other question but you chose this.. this.." you trail off as sevika just watches you, one eyebrow raised, waiting. she doesn't laugh it off or change the subject. she just sits there, patient and cocky and definitely knows the answer based on your reaction.

you look away, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "fuck off, sev."

"cmon," she presses, voice smooth and teasing. "we've been best friends for years. you can tell me anything." her tone is light but there's heat underneath it "...or are you too much of a stubborn brat to admit it?"

you huff, refusing to meet her eyes. she asks again, softer this time, and again until the silence stretches and your resistance cracks. finally you mutter, barely above a whisper, "yeah. sometimes. happy now?"

sevika's smirk widens, and oh she grins, but inside her chest is doing somersaults. she's had a crush on you for months, hell, longer -- and hearing you say it out loud makes her pulse race. she leans in a little closer, voice dropping into that flirty drawl she saves for when she wants to get under your skin. "thought so. betcha get reaal wet doing it too huh? picturing these hands on you?" she puts her hands on your waist.

you squirm, trying to hide how turned on you already are. sevika's eyes are dark, locked on you, and she notices the way you keep glancing away. she reaches out, gentle but firm, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "eyes on me, sweetheart. none of that looking away shit."

your breath catches. she's older, bigger, stronger, but there’s nothing rough about the way she holds your gaze -- only that steady, soft dominance that makes you want to melt and fight it at the same time.

"sev…" you start, but she’s already moving, shifting so she’s kneeling between your legs and pressing kisses on your thighs. her hands slide up your thighs, pushing your shorts aside with easy confidence. "been wanting to do this for a while," she murmurs voice husky. she hooks her fingers in the waistband and tugs your shorts and panties down in one smooth motion, exposing you to the cool air and her hungry stare.

you're already slick. so freaking wet, and she notices. her grin turns wicked. "oh sweetheart. look at that, all this just from admitting you finger yourself to me?" she spreads your thighs wider, settling in like she belongs there. her tongue flicks out, teasing your clit with one slow deliberate lick that makes your hips jerk. "keep those pretty eyes on me while i eat this pussy."

sevika doesn't rush. she takes her time, licking broad stripes up your slit, circling your clit with the tip of her tongue before sucking it gently between her lips. everytime your gaze starts to drift she stops, nipping at your inner thigh. "eyes. here." her voice vibrates against you, and you force yourself to watch as she devours you. tongue working in firm, wet strokes, nose brushing your mound.

she slips two thick fingers into her mouth first, sucking them slow and obscene, getting them nice and wet with her saliva while she holds eye contact. then she slides them inside you, curling just right as her tongue keeps working your clit. the stretch feels perfect, her fingers thick and skilled, pumping in a steady rhythm that has you gasping.

"fuck sev!!" you whine, one hand fisting and punching the sheets while the other pulls her hair. she hums in approval despite the pain on her scalp, the sound sending vibrations through your core. her free hand grips your hip, holding you down when you try to grind against her face.

sevika pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny with your arousal. "gon' write my name right here," she says, tapping your clit with her tongue. "so ya remember who this pussy belongs to."

she dives back in, tongue tracing the letters of her name across your swollen folds. slow, deliberate strokes spelling out s-e-v-i-k-a♡ against your sensitive skin. each letter makes you shudder, the wet heat of her mouth driving you higher. she doesn’t stop until she’s finished with that stupid heart, then seals her lips around your clit and sucks hard, fingers curling deeper inside you.

your orgasm hits hard, thighs trembling around her head as you moan her name loudly. sevika works you through it, licking softly now, easing off only when your hips stop twitching. she presses a kiss to your inner thigh, then another to your mound, before crawling up to pull you against her breasts.

"there’s my girl," she murmurs, voice soft and full of praise. her big arms wrap around you, one hand stroking your back in slow circles. "did s'good for me. so fuckin' pretty when you come." she kisses your forehead, your temple, your lips, anywhere she can reach. "you okay? need water? blanket?"