Wings - N.r

AU where R discovers that her lover Natasha isn't actually a secret agent, but a very prolific serial killer.

Aren't We All Sinners

Pairing: soft!dark Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: violence, deaths, use of good girl, infidelity, Nat is soft!dark and a serial killer—it would be as you expect. soft!dark warrants 18+ but there is no explicit sexual or extreme gore/violent content.

Note: Damn—not you sending a really good prompt in and making me write more than a drabble for this LMAO I really enjoyed this one!

Count: ~2.1K

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Natasha Romanoff lives a quiet life in the suburbs.

She's the nice neighbor who gets along with everyone in the community, the one who helps you if she sees you struggling to carry all your groceries in. She says hi to new residents and offers refreshments for her delivery workers.

Everyone loves Natasha Romanoff, who's kind, charming, and soft-spoken.

Even you.

Especially you.

How could you not love her?

She's your friend, your confidant, your safety, your lover—your affair.

Natasha Romanoff was your secret.

"I'm sorry."

You apologize to her every time you see her. You can't help it. You know you're a detriment to her, maybe the most painful thing she has ever loved, but you can't stop.

"S'kay," Natasha muttered against your lips as she pulled you close, feeling the curve of your back and plumpness of your lips. "I want you no matter what."

And Natasha never fails to make you feel wanted. She dotes on you, knows when to be tender and when to be rough, and looks at you like you're the only thing in her world.

You couldn't really understand why. You were so...you. You were neither unnoteworthy nor extraordinary. Just you.

Until you discovered an odd creak in the floors in Natasha's bedroom when you moved her rug to vacuum.

Inside, you found passports and fake IDs. Some were hers. Some weren't.

"I'm in witness protection," Natasha admits with her lips pursed and sorrow in her eyes. "I used to work for the CIA when I found out my boss's boss was helping a drug lord run his cartel."

The way Natasha's shoulders tense up makes your heart hurt for her. You hesitantly place your hand over hers, tracing over the small scar over her knuckle.

Natasha takes a deep breath, turning her hand over to lace your fingers together as she gives you a small smile. "I was a whistleblower. We took down the cartel but my life is always going to be at risk. My career is essentially over."

"I'm so sorry, Nat," your lips trembled, holding her hand more tightly. You felt sympathy for the woman who had lost everything to keep people safe and had to live her life quietly now.

"There you go again," Natasha said as she pulled you into her lap, feeling the familiar curve of your body and the softness of your lips she wanted to make swollen. "Always saying sorry when it's me who wants you with no regards to anything else. You make this life bearable, you make it worth it."

Natasha bites your bottom lip before she soothes over it with her tongue. Her hand drifts up your shirt, and you tremble in her arms.

"Am I worth all the pain you're causing?" Natasha asked as her lips pressed a line against your jaw and down your neck.

You think about your wife, who's at work and blissfully unaware of your infidelity. You think about how much she loves you, and she's doing nothing wrong at all, and how she'll be so devastated if she ever found out.

It's wrong.

Being with Natasha in this way was wrong.

But when Natasha talks about if the pain was worth it, the pain you're causing to your unknowing wife and yourself, the answer is—

"Yes," you whimpered as Natasha began to unbutton your shirt, hands drifting everywhere until you're pliant. "You make it worth it."

"Good girl."

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"Hi, baby," your wife kissed your lips softly before your nose.

"Hi, Janey," you gave her a quiet smile. "Did you have a good day at work?"

"Pretty good," Jane smiled at you. "Got pretty far ahead in my research project."

"That's really good," you genuinely praised her.

Jane bit her bottom lip as she leaned her head against your shoulder, pressing her face into your neck to hide away her pleased flush.

Jane Foster was tender too, and tender in all ways. Her nature was gentle and righteous, paired with a child-like wonder for all things in the world—and you were just one of the things in it.

But you loved her for that.

And all of that tenderness was being destroyed by you without her even knowing.

It was wrong.

All of it was wrong.

Being with Natasha.

Being with Jane.

Nothing was right anymore.

It wasn't a simple matter anymore of who you were going to choose because the truth was—you deserve neither.

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There hadn't been an indication that anything was wrong. There might've never been if you hadn't had to leave the city to visit your sick grandmother. It was just a state over, and you declined both Jane's and Natasha's offer to come with you.

It was just a coincidence. A freak coincidence that the FBI would be questioning the neighborhood your grandmother lived in.

"Sorry to disturb the two of you, ma'am," a tall, burly man said as he took off his sunglasses. "We're just looking into someone and our last tip has led us to believe that our suspect was in this area."

His partner held up a photo, and you felt like your blood was freezing up. You refrain from moving your hands from the door and behind your back, as you know they'll see it trembling.

It must be an old photo.

The moment captured Natasha with short and blonde hair. You'd probably never even recognize her in the photo if it wasn't for the small scar on her knuckle you could make out in the photo.

"Have you seen anyone that looks like this?" The burly man asked.

You peered at the photo longer, pretending to analyze it deeply for them.

"No," you exhaled like you were disappointed you couldn't be of more help. "I'm sorry. I don't actually live around here and my grandmother has been too frail to leave the house for a couple of years now. I haven't seen anyone like that since I've been here, though."

"That's alright, ma'am," the burly man's partner answered as he put the photo away and gave you his business card. "Just give us a call if you do happen to see her. Don't approach her, though."

"Oh, is she dangerous?" You pinched your brow together in worry.

"Yes," he answered. "We haven't broadcasted this to the public because it would only make it easier for her to hide, even if we got help from the public."

The burly man sighed as he rubbed his temples with one hand. "She's a very prolific serial killer. We don't even have that much information about her. All we know it's possible she's killed over 40 people. She doesn't have an MO, so it's best not to approach her if you do see her because there's no telling what her type is."

"Oh, god," your voice trembled, and it wasn't even fake.

"Just keep an eye out and be safe, ma'am." The men bid you goodbye before they left.

It wasn't even a question of whether you should go back. You arranged for another family member to look after your grandmother, and you took the next flight home.

The flight delay had you returning home in the dark. The first thing you did was go home, but Jane was nowhere to be found.

You called and called, but there was no answer.

You called Darcy next, who told you that Jane just checked in with her and was still at the lab. Some kind of breakthrough and would be late.

Relief floods your system.

The rational part of you knows you should contact the police. You should've told the FBI agents the truth.

But the irrational part of you—the part that still loves Natasha, despite being terrified, needed to know why.

Why hadn't she killed you?

Why hasn't she killed anyone in this neighborhood?

Why did she find you worth not killing?

You knocked on her door, but there was no answer. No sign she might even be home. You called next, but there was no answer.

Natasha never kept a spare key around the house, inciting that no matter how good you may hide, the chances of someone finding it was never zero.

Still—she had given you a spare key.

It was just another reason you needed answers.

You quietly opened the door, stepping in. The house was dark, the only light coming from the basement.

It wasn't finished, still requiring flooring and many renovations. Natasha took you down many times to get your opinion. It wasn't like any part of the house had been forbidden to you.

You opened the door, thinking about how Natasha regularly greased the bolts to have it refrain from squeaking. She always took good care of her home.

When you reached just enough down the stairs to peer in the area, the revulsion made you stumble, nearly falling down the stairs before you caught yourself.

It smelt...metallic and something overwhelmingly wrong.

Natasha whipped around, blood over her front and hands drenched even as she wore medical gloves.

"Oh, sweetheart," Natasha cooed disappointedly at you. "You weren't supposed to be home so soon and see this. What brought you back?"

She stalks towards you, and you fall back against the step as you crawl back up it.

"I—I—The FBI..." you couldn't even finish your sentence.

You couldn't finish it as your eyes wouldn't leave the mangled body in the middle of the room. You supposed it wasn't too mangled. You could still make out her face, even if the blood from her neck was getting everywhere.

You looked over and saw her phone nearby, unlocked with her messages open.

You couldn't read it, couldn't see it clearly at all, but you knew the last person texted was Darcy.

Who texted her? You'd never know.

You watched Jane's body be impossibly still.

"Oh? FBI? They're definitely a couple of steps behind. They should've been in Washington by now. They really must be trying to comb through every little tip." Natasha hummed as she stood before you. She leaned down, resting her hand against the steps by your head as she trapped you in.

"Tell me what I should do with you, sweetheart?" Natasha asked, your body between her legs as you trembled underneath her.

"Why did you do that?" You choked. "I would've left Jane."

"Would you?" Natasha cocked her brow. "If you hadn't known what I was, would you have? Or would you have left us both?"

You were silent, and Natasha clicked her tongue.

"I know you better than you know yourself. Do you know how long I've been watching you? I followed you here all the way here as you moved from your grandmother's house." Natasha lifted one hand to stroke your cheek with the back of her finger, getting blood on you.

"So unassuming, and yet so sweet," Natasha muttered. "So scared," she looked at your shaking hands, "and still here."

Natasha's eyes are piercing in a way you've never seen before. These are the eyes that probably looked at you when you weren't even aware of her existence. These were the eyes that followed you.

"But the question is—will you remain?" Natasha asked softly. "You make it all so worth it. I was so good for you. I'm not sure if I could be without you. If you were just a little less self-sacrificing, Janey would still be alive."

It's slightly mocking, and you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

Jane was gone because of you.

"I'm scared," you admitted, unsure what else you could say. "Nothing's going to be the same..."

You shouldn't say these things. You should lie and tell Natasha that things would be like they were before as long as she stopped. You should lie and say anything to make sure you lived—escaped.

"No, it won't be," Natasha agreed. "So, tell me, sweetheart. What should I do?"

"I—I don't know," you shook your head.

Natasha sighed. "I suppose it's not fair for me to ask you what I should do with you." She spends a long minute staring at you as if deliberating.

"I'm taking you with me either way," she finally decides. "But it's up to you what you'll do with me. Be my well-kept doll or be my accomplice."

You swallowed, trying to not answer too fast. Answering too fast would seem rash.

"What would I do? As your accomplice," you ask quietly.

"I wouldn't make you kill anyone, sweetheart," Natasha reassures. "Just stay with me tonight as I take care of the mess we made." She says we like you had personally stabbed Jane. Like you tricked your wife into staying late so Natasha could grab her. "We can talk about all of it later."

"Okay," you acquiesce because there's no way you could escape Natasha. It was too late to call for help, and you were to live with the consequences of your choice.

Natasha smiled before she swooped down and kissed you firmly, getting blood everywhere as her body momentarily pressed into you.

"Good girl."

Hello!! I've been researching this specific eye condition lately (convergence insufficiency), and I realised that it could be the condition that Natasha has in your I spy fic! The condition causes double or blurred vision when doing up close tasks, which may result in headaches and one or both eyes turning outward in long term untreated cases. The person with the condition can also have perfect 20/20 vision, so it often goes undiagnosed. This condition can be further worsened by long hours at a computer and stress- it can also be helped by wearing prism glasses!💕 I have only been researching it for a bit, but I realised well it fit with the fic! My tumblr has been iffy so Im doing this as a reblog, I tried an ask but I don't think it worked out 😅:)

I Spy

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

A/N: This is based entirely on the fact that it’s Lesbian Visibility Week and I like both puns and cute girls wearing glasses. As such, it’s all a little bit of nonsense. Also, entering it into @slutfornat’s fic contest before I chicken out.

There was always more with Natasha than what met the eye. Not every pattern you could spot or even explain, but you liked to try.

There were little behaviours, the smallest of quirks that hinted more at her personality than any of the careful phrases she’d given you about herself since you joined the team.

It started when you noticed the way that Natasha would read a mission report; always at arm’s length. It gave her this air of nonchalance that you found immediately attractive. Natasha would give the details a cursory glance, barely lifting the file from the desk before placing it back. From those few seconds, she could reiterate the mission outline to anyone. You’d checked. Soon enough, you had stopped bothering to study your own mission file at all during meetings.

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Happy Birthday! ❤️🥰

Aw thank you! :)💕

notes- am I making this a wandanat fic? Who knows! I'm just having fun with the story right now but I'm always open to suggestions and requests. I hope you enjoy, happy reading! Xxx

Overview- you are a high ranking Hydra agent but you want out. What will happen when a group of heroes you have tried to take down take you under their wing. They say, love is an unpredictable force and you might just find it here.

So wrong it's right

part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five-

Bruce and Tony were rigging you up to several machines for testing whilst Steve and wanda watched on anxiously.

The fluorescent lighting of the lab mixed with all the loud chattering gave you a splitting headache. Wanda had picked up on it immediately and began to rub soothing patterns into your skin. “Your eyes are glowing” she whispered gently while you leaned into her touch.

Her warm touch and soothing words grounded you. You sighed contently and kept your eyes trained on hers, causing the blue glow to fade away. “Good” she hummed as the light diminished.

“Wanda, how did you just do that?” tony marvelled from beside a machine you were hooked up to. “I didn't do anything” wanda replied mirroring his confusion. “Y/N had enough power around her to light up half of new york and as soon as you touched her it disappeared. Meaning you either absorbed it or bootleg Elsa here can create and destroy energy as she pleases.”

“Electricity... Power.... Energy. THATS IT TONY! The powers surfaced after being exposed to the arc reactor and since we can safely assume that she was tested on in some capacity while with hydra, We can deduce that y/n was exposed to a power similar to the arc reactor which gave her the powers. This leaves us with three big questions, what was this power source? Why is her power fabricated through ice and water? And why would hydra train her as an assassin if they knew she had the power of element bending.” Bruce interjected before typing frantically on a pop-up screen.

“Well, before I froze the entire tower I had a vision of myself being pushed into a snowstorm by a scientist but that's all I saw. No technology like the arc reactor” you replied from the examination chair.

“If we can trigger another one of these visions, then we can learn more about the power” Bruce replied with determination. The whole room turned to you expectantly. “I don't know how I did it, I was just talking to nat and then next minute I'm watching myself being experimented on” you sputtered while your mind was in a spin with all the new information.

“I could try to look ?” Wanda asked calmly. Bruce and tony agreed without hesitation but she waited patiently for your response.

You nodded hesitantly, despite steve’s interjections.

Her warm hands now buzzed with power as they touched your head. She was scarily concentrated as she rummaged around your mind. Silence filled the room for several minutes before she leaned away and her power faded.

“I could only find some doctors notes, they were fuzzy and hard to read but i could make out some important pieces.

‘Subject 246

The subject is responding to experimentation well; just as hypothesised she is beginning to control electricity as well as the previously discovered water elemental magic. It seems the more energy we expose her to, the more her power progresses.

I have approved phase three of testing

Be cautious when interacting with the subject, the testing has provided her with an unprecedented amount of intelligence.

The rest was too hard to read.” she informed the group curiously

Steve made his way to you and began to pull of the wires and pads littering your body. “Thats enough. Go and rest before training” he ordered and the room erupted into loud arguing. It wasn't clear whether the argument was actually because of your predicament or if something was underlying between tony and Steve.

“She's just a kid! You're making her relive her torture, in the pursuit of what? Your own knowledge?!”

“Stay out of it rogers, this is not your war”

The shouts echoed through the corridors as you wandered out of the lab. You began to slowly make your way towards the bathroom for a much needed thoughtful shower.

There was so much for you to ponder as you stood under the rainfall of hot water. Electricity? It seemed out of the realm of possibility but so did water bending until last week. Your trip to the lab had opened so many questions, where did this all come from? What else could've had energy similar to the arc reactor?

“Youve been in there for an hour, can you get out? I need to shower before training” Natasha called from outside your bathroom. Her cries were accompanied by several knocks that were far too forceful

With a huff you turned off the shower and made your way to the door with your towel wrapped safely around u. Steam billowed into your cold room as you opened the door to reveal an impatient nat.

“don’t you have your own shower” you asked angrily. She rolled her eyes in response as if you were supposed to know why she was trying to use yours. “Yes, I have my own shower but it is broken. Obviously.” she replied shortly.

You pushed past her into your own room and allowed her access to the bathroom. “Thanks, frosty” she mocked before shutting the door of your bathroom in your face. The nickname almost felt like a dare to you, daring you to turn her shower ice cold.

The slight irritability she had sparked in you began to conjure up a small ball of icy blue tendrils that pushed their way towards the shower. You could have stopped you magic but you didn't want to. You allowed your magic to enchant the showerhead and cause the water to drop to just above freezing.

To your dismay, no reaction came from Natasha. Not a word.

Defeatedly you pulled on a combat suit Tony had provided for you and waited for Nat to finish. She was in there for barely five minutes before she came bounding out in just her underwear.

“I would've asked you to help keep me warm in there but it seems you're the reason it was cold in the first place” she accused whilst several drops of water fell from her hair. You stayed silent as you watched her muscles tense and relax as she pulled on her suit.

“Hello?!?” she called, bringing you out of your trance.

“I didn't make your shower cold” you feigned offence at her comment and did your best to cover up your staring. She grabbed your hand and held it up to your face revealing a familiar layer of frost “yes you did” she replied coldly before dropping your hand forcefully.

“Training ladies, I have a surprise I think you're going to love” Steve poked his head into the room to give a playful wink before sprinting towards the gym. Nat followed close behind him and reluctantly you pulled yourself up to follow.

Okay, I've been noticing some tension between some of us so for the next twenty-four hours we are going to be stuck with the person we have the weakest connection with. Meaning that for better or for worse the couples will be as follows: Tony and me, Thor and the big guy, vision and clint and finally wanda, nat and y/n will be in a trio”

Natasha starred daggers into Steve as he revealed we would be stuck together but wanda didn't seem even slightly phased by the instruction. You gave Tony a pleading look, hoping that he would overrule the captains instruction but instead he just laughed hysterically and clapped steves back. The three of you stood in an awkward silence for several minutes as the severity of the situation settled in.

“So, what now ?” You asked awkwardly. Natasha whirled towards you in response and punched you square in the face. “Combat” she chuckled as you stumbled backwards into wanda.

It took you a few moments to compose yourself before your flipped towards her and kicked hard into her side. She yanked your leg up from her waist, with an ironclad grip. You used your other leg to propel yourself onto her shoulder. With your thighs wrapped around her neck you flipped and slammed the both of you into the padded floor below. You both hit the floor with a hard thud, leaving you winded and bruised.

Natasha didn't give up though she forced herself up through ragged breath and pounced on your injured body. You winced in pain as she pinned you into the floor, grabbing both of your arms as she went.

“That was for ruining my shower” she growled into the closing space between your faces.

Your free legs kicked forward bringing both of you up from the floor. Natasha’s thighs were still gripped around your waist as you landed but she immeadiatly flipped backwards creating a small distance between you.

Almost instantly, Natasha came barrelling towards you and kicked into your stomach with both feet. You flew into the wall behind you sending a horrifying symphony of cracking throughout the room. The pain of the impact caused you to slump lifelessly on the floor and clutch your wounds.

A slow clap began to ring from behind the both of you. Wanda leaned against the wall behind Natasha with a devilish smirk. “Impressive Natasha but you should ask before breaking what's mine”

You and Nat both shared the same look of worry as wandas hands began to glow with her Scarlett power.

Nats face flew away from yours as she was slammed into the roof of the training room. A shower of plaster fell down on you and you watched nat squirm under the force of wandas power. Tight ropes of the crimson magic were holding her precariously up above you.

Looking back at wanda, she was now enthralled in her own magic and you couldn’t help but stare in awe as her hands moved so addictively. She met your eyes with a seductive grin for a split second before flicking her magic away.

Natasha came falling down from the ceiling.

Instinctively you threw your hands up and a pressurised stream of water spilt out of your palm. It cushioned around Natasha instantly and held her in the air a few metres from your face.

Everyone watched in awe as the stream of water held her effortlessly. As you realised what you had done you began to drop the pressure and let Natasha reach the ground gently.

Both you and Natasha were drenched in your own water while wanda wiped a few droplets from her brow. The training room shared a similar fate as water pooled on the padded ground below.

You rushed to nat to make sure she was okay after the fall but she just brushed you off coldly and made her way towards wanda. You thought she was going to do something to wanda but instead she just pushed right past her causing Wanda to smirk triumphantly.

You summoned a strong gust of wind that swept all the water away with it, leaving the training room as if nothing had ever happened.

“I think thats enough training for today” Steve commented in utter shock as he looked between the two of you.

When you and wanda turned to see where Natasha had gone the entire group stared back at you in shock and awe.

Hours after the training room altercation, you were enjoying some much needed time in starks workshop. You were trying to do some calculations to hopefully find some sort of power source like the arc reactor but of course none of them could compare.

“Hey kid, you okay?” Tony asked kindly as he stepped into the workshop. You continued to tap away at the hologram in front of you “yea, trying to find a lead on the stuff banner was talking about” you replied absently. Stark began to roam over your many calculations with concern. Lines of information, diagrams and calculations decorated the entire workshop yet none seemed to have the answers you were looking for.

He pulled you away from the screen you were working on and began to close many of the other screens crowding his workshop. As the glow.from the screens left the room, the bright moonlight began to filter in. Without even realising you had worked right into the night.

“Bruce and I will figure this out I promise” he smiled kindly before pulling up a new screen for you which showed a model of you. “If you want to stay here then you can begin designing your suit but no more calculations!” he said cheerfully.

You complied, not wanting to leave the serenity of the workshop. The suit designing was far more enjoyable than the calculations and you found yourself genuinely enjoying it.

Your model was now in a tight navy blue suit and you began to start some calculations that would determine whether or not you needed the arc reactors power. Stark however closed your pop up screen with the calculations in an almost fatherly manner. “I’ll do the math, you just design” he scolded lightly.

“I thought I'd find you two in here. Cap wants you both back upstairs immediately” Nat ordered coldly as she leaned in the doorway.

“Romanoff! We're working, so unfortunately we cannot join your boyfriend's little rendezvous upstairs “ stark quipped back.

“Y/N is playing dress-up and you are masturbating over your own technology. Upstairs now!” she ordered again before sauntering out.

“Always a delight” stark mumbled jokingly and you both headed upstairs.

If I Could Start Again

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Sometimes closure is all you need.

Warnings: Some angst

Word count: 1120

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not to be a hedonist but. pleasure IS the whole point, my loves. we are made for pleasure. humans have not survived out of spite or sheer grit or simply to make more humans. we live for pleasure. the pleasure of licking the last delicious crumbs off your fingers and feeling sunlight on your skin and massaging a loved one's shoulders. we're made to fill our bellies with delicious food, to nap in soft grass, to touch each other in joy and comfort.

there is no shame or guilt in our bodies doing what they were made to do. and we are made for pleasure.

So I may have started a new project...

I don’t want your pity, I just want somebody near me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader 

Words: 1k 

Warnings: talks of depression/general sadness. Some swearing. Self-indulgence to the max.

A/N: This is my first fic ever so please go easy on me. Also I wrote this at 2am while listening to Mitski which is a warning all on its own.

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unironically want that mediocre gfs w u stuck and just the 'nat 😳😳😳what r u doing'

you know. you know what. i make myself laugh. thats what matters.

title: you dirty, dirty girl

summary:

Nat chuckles. Her hands, calloused and hot, squeeze your cheeks. Spread them. Her mouth hovers over your tailbone. “Seriously? You got yourself stuck in the laundry machine in this get-up?”

“It was not on purpose. Pull that back up, so help me-”

content: nat/f!reader, dom/sub, cum filled strap, anal, anal plug

(ao3)

Fate is cruel. So very cruel. You have never wanted to die this badly.

For over ten minutes—you can tell based on the number of songs that have played, you have been stuck in your laundry machine. In your fucking underwear like some lousy porn. What’s worse is that you decided that today of all days, you would invite Nat over. Nat, who only ever takes two-hour naps at most and went to sleep on your couch an hour and a half ago. Nat, who will laugh so hard she dies from oxygen deprivation when she sees you. And then you will die because you’re stuck in a laundry machine with no possible escape.

At least you’ll die next to each other. How romantic.

Picture this: blades at the inside of the laundry machine, cut up into strings. What bliss.

You stick your forearm into your mouth for the third time so far so you can muffle your scream of pure frustration. You will not be surprised at all if you lose your voice tomorrow.

It all started because of Nat’s stupid fucking sock. She’s always complaining that your laundry machine eats her socks, so you’d made sure to fish them all out. Except when you tried to grab the last one (patterned with cartoon spiders hanging off a faucet—a gag gift you got her for her birthday), you had leaned too far in and now you couldn’t squeeze your shoulders back out.

How does this happen in real life?

The rim of the laundry machine is starting to bite. You smack the inside of the machine with your fist, kicking your legs out. Another infuriated cry into your forearm.

Another song begins playing. You hate this song.

You close your eyes, feeling your head throb, and then suck in a deep, long breath. The air is humid, disgustingly so.

It’s time.

It’s time to suck it up.

You prepare a lungful of air, and— you screech.

Thud!

“Fuck!” comes Nat’s sleep-raspy voice.

That felt good. You scream again, making sure there’s a real guttural note to it.

“Baby?” Nat yells, confused, slightly panicked. Rapid footsteps. The door swings open. “Are you okay?”

“Get me out,” you grit lowly.

She doesn’t react immediately. You imagine she didn’t hear; she’s taking it all in. Maybe, she’s still rubbing her ass from falling off the couch. Then: “…what the hell.”

“Natasha.” Your knuckles blanche with how tight your fists are clenched. You speak louder, enunciating: “Get. Me. Out.”

A warm hand on your lower back, where your spaghetti top has ridden up. The music from your phone pauses, and Nat crouches next to you. “Is there a spider in there or something? I told you I’m not going to kill spiders for you. The joke is old.”

“I am not.” You inhale. Hold. Exhale. “I am not fucking joking right now, Natasha fucking Romanoff, if you do not get me out of here-”

“You’re really not funny. You’re not.” Nat pokes your ass cheek. “I could be sleeping right now.”

“Natasha!” you screech, thrashing your lower body. “I’m fucking stuck in the laundry machine! Get me out. Get me out!”

Another lengthy pause. Nat puts both hands on your back and leans down, presumably to peek into the laundry machine because she’s an asshole who doesn’t believe you. Which is just so—

“Annoying piece of shit! Fucking-” You slam your palms down, metallic clanging grating against your ears. You feel like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

“For real? For real, dude. You’re…” Nat presses closer and breathes down your neck. So not helping. “…wow.”

“I will break up with you.”

“But…”

“Don’t.”

“But step-sister-”

“Natasha,” you grind out between your teeth.

Her body warmth withdraws, and you sigh in relief. Then, she hooks her fingers into your panties and slides them down to your knees.

“I will kill you. I will kill you. I will kill you.”

Nat chuckles. Her hands, calloused and hot, squeeze your cheeks. Spread them. Her mouth hovers over your tailbone. “Seriously? You got yourself stuck in the laundry machine in this get-up?”

“It was not on purpose. Pull that back up, so help me-”

“I don’t believe you.” She removes a hand. Only to bring it back down in a spank.

You yelp, flushing deeply, abruptly. “I don’t care,” your voice hikes up a pitch on another spank, “Nat, please.”

“That’s more like it,” she husks, breath fanning across your back. “Begging.”

It must be a Pavlovian response to that specific tone of voice. No other explanation for why you’re moments from getting wet. You did not do this on purpose.

Nat noses along the curve of your ass. You feel her lips curve into a smile; you can just picture it: impish, cocky, shit-eating. She digs her nails into your stinging ass cheek, bites the other one, and gives it another harsh smack.

The ass bad airflow in the drum must be fucking with your head. You bite your lip to prevent a whimper from escaping. To your great shame, you feel arousal gush out. Perhaps Nat won’t notice immediately, so you have time to brace yourself for the incoming humiliation.

Nat leaves a wet mark on your ass, and it prickles on your skin as it dries in the air. She sighs very contently, and you know, at that moment, the game is over.

“Sweetheart, do you want to safeword?” You slot your teeth into the bitemark on your arm and groan into it. Her hand rubs your smarting cheek as if to console you. She’s unbearably smug when she says: “I didn’t think so.”

You move your arm to your forehead, leaning heavily onto it. This is happening. It would be fantastic if those blades appeared now.

To your horror, Nat pulls away entirely and takes a few steps back.

You make a noise of alarm, body taut like a bowstring. “Don’t leave me here. Nat, please, don’t. Please.”

Footsteps returning. Hand patting your spine. “Just for a minute, okay? I’ll be quick.”

“Promise?” you whisper, afraid for a second that she won’t hear.

But she pats you again and says, “Promise, sweet girl. Be good.”

And she’s gone for ages.

The embarrassment from this whole situation makes you heat up, makes you tense, makes you wet, and the latter makes the humiliation greater. It’s a vicious cycle. You’re definitely not thinking clearly anymore, pulled into that happy, fuzzy space where anything Nat does gets you off. Where time moves nonlinearly.

You sigh, biting your lip and waggling your foot as you wait for her. It feels like too long, but you can’t trust your sense of time, and you can’t trust Nat to not take forever just to fuck with you. But she did promise—she doesn’t usually break promises like this.

“Nat?” you ask, voice meek. Pathetic.

No response.

You brace your hands on the end of the drum and push. No go. Still.

Unfortunately, this is when Nat decides to come back. Pitter-patter of her feet incoming fast. You knew she wouldn’t lie. She wasn’t trying to drag it out—

“Well, well.” Nat stops at the door. “I was going to be nice, you know?”

You drop your arms with a sad moan. “You were gone.”

“Good girls are patient.” Her voice comes closer. “Good girls get their pussies filled.”

“Please.” You practically claw your way deeper into the machine in an attempt to appease her.

She tsks, and her hands grip you by the hips, pulling you back in place. “Hold still now. I’ll fuck you if you listen.”

“Okay,” you eventually mutter.

Nat hums. You hear clinking and rustling. She’s tampering with something. You wish you could twist around and see her, gauge her mood. Alas, the tight space does you no favours.

Anyway, you did agree to hold still, didn’t you?

For a long time, nothing happens. This time, you’re sure Nat’s fucking with you, but you don’t know what to do to get her moving. Your slick is trickling down your thighs now. The odds are stacked against you.

“Nat, please,” you whine.

A huff. “That was your second chance.” She’s still not touching you. You curl your toes, tensing up. “How many spanks for the impatience?”

“…um, five?” you attempt.

“We’ll do five times the number I was thinking. Better luck next time.” Her palm comes down out of nowhere and with a punishing force. You cry out, trying to twist into the drum. She just drags you back out. “Count for me. No mistakes, and I’ll halve the number.”

Were you not so horny, you would’ve asked her why she’s acting like a primary school math teacher. Instead, you choke out: “One.”

She hums and hits at your thigh this time. You wriggle, count, and she resituates you. Repeat. The spanks land along your ass and thighs, and, every so often, she pauses to massage your stinging flesh. By the time she hits twenty, you’re a snivelling mess.

She shushes you, squeezing a hand through to rub circles between your shoulder blades. “Five more, okay?”

You nod, though she might not see it. Still, she takes it as a go-ahead to give you five more swats, alternating spots with each one. You spit out the last five numbers in quick succession, voice small and wobbly.

Nat squats low to kiss at your tender skin, murmuring praise and encouragements to you until you sigh. “I’m okay now. Mostly.”

Her hand rests gently on a bruise. “Mostly?”

You nod again, head drooped into a pile of your arms. “Yeah. Green.”

A thoughtful hum. Then, she’s gone, and there’s the pop of a cap being opened. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

With a keen, you do your best to slacken. Even then, when cold fingers touch your still sensitive ass, you jolt and hiss.

“Sorry, baby,” Nat soothes. Gingerly, she tugs you open. “Come on. Deep breaths. You know how prep goes.”

You do. Your clit throbs.

You do as you’re told, trying to count out each breath. You begin to appreciate her cool touch, overheated as you are.

When she’s deemed you sufficiently calm, she presses her lubed thumb against the ring of your ass and makes tiny circles on it. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“You’re my good girl,” she coos, ghosting her other hand along your inner thigh. “My baby. Good little slut for me, hm?”

Tiny: “Mhm.”

Nat rewards you with the first knuckle of her index finger. You gasp, and she cuts it off with one of her own. “No matter how many times I fuck you, you’re still this tight,” she says, almost like she’s musing to herself. Another press of her lips to your ass, then she pushes her finger all the way in. “So good for me.”

Yes. Good. You nod, eyes clenched shut.

Before she slips her second finger in, she gives you a few thrusts that have you groaning and dropping heavily into the laundry machine. Nat’s patient with you, waiting for you to settle back down before pistoning both fingers into you. Once, twice, three times.

She scissors her fingers, curls them, twists them. Each time, you try not to writhe. Your earlier screeching has your throat too raw to make sounds louder than a breathy wail, so you’re left whimpering and heaving for breath.

Overlaying all of this is Nat’s filthy whispers. She calls you good, her precious baby. Yet, every time your cunt leaks more arousal, or it clenches on nothing, or your sphincter spasms around her fingers, she’s groaning out greedy whore, aching for cock. Your head spins from it all.

After an age, she drags her fingers out of you with a sound that verges on forlorn.

“I’m fucking you ‘till I’m bored,” she informs you.

“Please, please, please,” is all you can say.

She laughs, probing at your asshole with the head of her strap-on, and you’re instantly babbling out pitiful sounds, and she just laughs a bit more. Your arms are damaged from how hard you grip onto them, from the occasional snap of your jaw around them.

The cock splits you open slowly, rubs against your hypersensitive skin, and you hiccup midway through a cry. Nat stops when she bottoms out, cursing under her breath at the sight of your ass wrapped tight around the girth of her piece.

Then, the sound of a shutter.

Your sound of confusion sounds like a mewl.

“Don’t think,” she says lightly, jerking her hips into a grind, “just take it.”

Your lungs run ragged, trying to take in enough air for your brain.

She strokes over your waist, down your thigh, and exhales softly. Pulls out halfway and drives the cock back in. “Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs. “Yes. Just take it.”

“Yes,” you echo, eyebrows crinkling as she starts up a snappy pace, “yes, yes, yes-”

The fit is tight, excruciating in its pleasure. The friction of your muscles around her girth has you drooling on your arm, mouth slack and open.

After a particularly loud whimper, Nat plants a hand on your back and presses you into the rim of the machine. With the leverage, she can fuck into you harder, faster. Her other hand flits around your body and slithers down your navel to cup your mound.

You buck down into her hand.

“Stay,” she barks. With her assistance, you’re returned to your previous height, much to your chagrin.

“Please,” you moan brokenly, “Nat, please.”

She pinches your ass, ignoring your mournful yowl. Somehow, she fucks you harder, your bodies swaying forward with every shove. The ache, the sound, of her front meeting your backside has you needier. Somehow, needier.

So full. Alight with sensation. Just not where you need it.

Nat takes pity. She reaches around and, this time, sweeps the pad of her finger over your clit.

You wail.

The finger draws tight circles around your clit, pressure becoming more deliberate, harsher, as your cries escalate into—nothing.

Your mouth falls open silently, overworked throat failing at producing noise.

And you’re full—so full—more full. Nat releases into you with a grunt, a gasp, and then a long groan. Fingers splayed out on your back, the other hand slipping away from your dripping cunt.

Fake cum pools heavy inside you, fucked deep inside you by the strap that Nat keeps pushing into you.

Afterwards, she drapes her body over yours with a puff of breath.

“Thank you,” you mumble eventually.

She barks a laugh. It’s a cute sound, you hate to admit. “You’re welcome for using you as a fleshlight.”

You manage a smile. “Any time.”

Another exhale as she hikes herself up using the edge of the machine and inches her cock out of you. She hums in sympathy with your quickened breathing.

You make to wiggle out after, but she stills you with a hand.

“What’s the rush, baby?” There’s a hint of mirth in her voice that you don’t trust at all. A very familiar click of shutters. “Look at you, gaping for me. Leaking for me.” Her thumb whips out to catch the cum dribbling out, pushes it back in. “Better not waste, though.”

Your clit throbs with your pulse. “…Nat.”

“What?” But she doesn’t give you a chance to continue, bulldozing on: “You know, honey, the absence of your humongous mommy kink has been quite disappointing.”

“My god.”

“Laundry machine? Anal? Coming inside? Check, check, and check. Weird familial-”

“Please stop.” Your temple throbs with your pulse.

Nat’s laugh, cackle, really, is much less charming this time around. “Hold onto this for me, will you?” she basically croons. And then she sets the tip of what you assume is a plug at your asshole. “Anyway, don’t act like you don’t love this whore that you are.”

“Nat,” you whine, but then you stop because you can’t deny her. She makes a point of holding the plug in your ass at its widest point and then releasing it, enjoying the view of your ass swallowing it.

“Greedy little hole,” she notes. Then, she claps her hands together, makes a sound like she’s dusting them off, and gets up. “Well, that was fun- Oh, you didn’t start the dryer.”

“You- Nat, you’re not leaving me-”

“Sure am.” Beep. Beep-beep. The dryer starts loudly. Obnoxiously. Nat’s shadow passes over you, and then there’s the sound again, of camera shutters. “These are great. Can’t believe this is real life. Can you?”

“Nat! You are not leaving me here!”

“Thanks for letting me borrow your phone. Let me just send that over to myself…” The fact that she used your own goddamn phone to get a picture for this really drives the shame home. “Anyway, see you when the dryer’s done.”

Footsteps receding.

You shriek, shrill. Your ass closes tight around the plug, around the cum inside you, and you feel how utterly soaked your lower half is. And your upper half, from the laundry water.

“We’re fucking over!”

Nat’s laugh rings through the house.