Red Doesn't Scare Me

to say this edit makes me feral is a gross understatement

That was soooo good

Run, baby, run

Summary: Natasha is very competitive, and that includes your daughter.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Based on some real life events lol

Natasha was a lot of different things for many people. Depending on who you ask -friends, foes, family- she could be stubborn, deadly, relentless. To you she was kind, loving and supportive, in a way that no one else knew.

You would all agree on one thing, though.

Natasha was too competitive.

Being married for three years, you’d grown used to it. As a matter of fact, it could be entertaining especially if she was playing pool or darts against the boys.

But this morning, when she shows you the flyer, you actually have to look twice, sure that Natasha lost her mind.

“Baby crawl race?”

“Yeah, only for babies under one year. You know, they set a track and time them…”

“I mean, I figured. I just… why would we want Anya to do that?”

Your daughter perks up when she hears her name being called and you both smile.

Anya is ten months old, but she’s way advanced for her age. It must be Natasha’s genes, because you’re sure that before she turns one, she will be walking or even running after her other mother.

“It sounds fun”

“And winning has nothing to do with it?” you press, reading about the prizes. “Everything listed here are things we already have. A stroller, a crib… ooh, a formula machine, fancy”

“We can still register if we leave now” Natasha picks up Anya from her playpen, and the sight of their matching red hair melts your heart as usual.

“Fine. We better get going”

—

To your surprise, there are over a dozen babies registered to compete. Natasha takes care of everything as you walk around the store where they’re hosting the event.

She comes back with a smile and a little paper with the number 17 on it.

“Your lucky number” she smiles at you, taking Anya in her arms.

You both watch as other kinds play and stumble around the mat. Most of them seem younger than your daughter, and only a few look close to being one year.

“That one’s gonna be easy to beat” Natasha muses, looking at a small kid that can barely sit.

“Natalia” you slap her arm. “He’s a baby”

“No. They are all competition. And we have no mercy, right, detka?” Natasha insists, bouncing your daughter in her arms.

“Alright, I’m changing her diaper before everything gets crazier” you decide, noticing how there’s a crowd forming around the place where the kids will crawl.

You make small talk with some of the clerks, who seem excited at the prospect of a silly race that will entertain them in the middle of their shift.

By the time you return, Natasha’s quiet, looking at the parents and their children.

“Everything ok?”

“Perfect” she nods, taking Anya in her arms. “Now, kiddo, listen to me, we are Romanoffs. We are fighters and more importantly, winners. So go and make us proud”

Anya responds by giggling and pulling a strand of her mother’s hair. Natasha smiles, saying something in Russian and kissing Anya’s cheek.

The mat is split in half so only two kids can compete at the same time, a screen with a timer behind them.

As expected, some of the kids get distracted by their race mate or crawl around instead of going in a straight line.

“What did I tell you? We’re gonna crush the opponents” Natasha whispers and you slap her arm.

She’s taking this way too seriously.

As you stand next to some parents, Natasha sniffs around, speaking into Anya’s back.

“Baby, did you go potty?”

“I don’t think so” you know Anya frowns and makes a little grunt when she does number two and she’s been pretty quiet this whole time.

“Oh, never mind” she turns to the parents standing next to you. “Not ours, detka”

The parents hurry to the bathroom. There’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind when you notice how quiet Natasha is. It increases when the parents miss the race because they were stuck chaning a diaper.

Your wife tries to hide her smile, but there’s no way she planned this. Just a coincidence.

Right?

“Babies 10 and 11” the organizer calls. You noticed the girl is older than the other kids, standing out because she can close the distance faster.

“Best time has been 55 seconds. This should be interesting” Natasha comments.

Sure enough, the kid is about to finish when a bright blue ball crosses her path, getting her distracted and making her return to the start line.

The parents try to guide her back but it doesn’t work at all.

“Oh, well”

“Try not to look so happy about it” you whisper, but Natasha just chuckles and places a kiss in your temple.

After a few more minutes, it’s Anya’s turn. You carry her to the start line and Natasha kneels at the end of the mat, keeping her eyes focused on your daughter.

“Three, two, one. Go!”

All Natasha has to do is place her open palm on the mat. Anya’s seen her do it so many times and knows it means one thing: as soon as she touches her mama’s hand, she’ll throw her in the air the way she loves to.

It takes Anya 15 seconds to get to Natasha. Your wife rewards her with her favorite thing, and if it were anyone less graceful and quick, you’d be unnerved by the sight of your daughter kicking her feet while being lifted off the ground.

“Nicely done, pumpkin” you join them, smiling as Anya jumps to your arms.

“A worthy adversary, at last” a man comments as he takes his son to the race. “Let’s see if we can do it better than you”

“Doubt it” Natasha glares but you elbow her, smiling at the man.

“She meant to say, good luck. You’ll do great, sweetheart” you smile at his son, who waves back at you with wide eyes. He’s incredibly cute.

“Fraternizing with the enemy” Natasha tsks.

“He’s a baby, Nat”

“I didn’t like the way the father was looking at you either” Natasha grumbles, leaning forward to kiss you.

Definitely not complaining about her competitive streak now.

As your declared enemy gets ready to race, the father frantically looks around for something lost on their backpack.

“Did you bring it?” his wife insists.

“Yes! The purple elephant! We were playing with it a second ago!”

Apparently, that was their only resource, because the timer starts and their kid is focusing on everything but them.

They manage to finish after two minutes.

“Better luck next time” Natasha comments as they leave, her hand going around your waist.

She’s being so ridiculous but somehow you love it.

The winners are announced, and you cheer when the first place goes to none other than Anya Romanoff.

“Yes, baby. We are the champions” Natasha sings, bouncing her around. Anya has no idea what’s happening, but she’s enjoying the moment.

“Very nice” you comment when the organizers hand you the prize. “Good work, Anya. Keep it up and maybe we won’t have to pay for college”

“Of course she’ll get a scholarship. Or become a professional athlete. Or become president” Natasha says, walking back to the car.

“Oh, those are a lot of things. Maybe she’ll want to focus on just one”

“Nah, she’s got it. She’ll do it all” Natasha kisses Anya’s head and you can’t help but melt.

“Best thing you ever won?” you ask Natasha as you drive back home.

“No, that would be you” she says. “Of course, I mean the bet I made with Tony that I’d get you to date me over him”

“Ugh, you’re so ridiculous” you roll your eyes.

—

The excitement of the race exhausts your daughter, and she’s fast asleep by the time you get home.

You know this won’t last long, so you prepare her clothes to run a bath once she’s up.

As you’re going through her bag, you pull out a toy that’s definitely not Anya’s.

A purple elephant.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova!” you shout, looking for her.

“Oh-oh” Natasha mutters and clears her throat. “Yes, dear?”

“You took that baby’s toy!”

“I did not! Ok, I did. But look, I timed him when they were practising and Anya’s time was still better. I just really didn’t like the way he was staring at your boobs”

“Mhm, right. Winning was just a plus”

“See? You get me”

“That ball that distracted the other kid was not a mistake either, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean, darling”

“And the parents that missed the race for changing the diaper?”

“Now, that was just a happy coincidence. The rest, yeah. Totally me”

“Evil! Stealing a toy from a toddler” you wave the purple elephant in her face. Natasha takes it and throws it over her shoulder, wrapping your legs around her waist in a swift motion. “What are you doing?”

“I got you that fancy formula machine, didn’t I? Where’s my prize?”

You laugh against her lips, but it soon turns into a moan, as you feel Natasha’s hands slide down your back to cup your ass.

“Anya's gonna wake up in thirty minutes or less. Can you handle that?”

“I do enjoy a good challenge” Natasha says against your lips, showing you how much she loves to win.

And honestly? After a mind blowing orgasm, you love it too.

-Thanksgiving Fun-

Pairing: Stepcousin! Masc! Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Summary: you were never able to resist her, not even on Thanksgiving.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: top! (beefy and tattooed 🤤) Natasha x bottom! R, stepcest, enemies with benefits, allusions to weed consumption, SMUT, oral on strap on (R giving), throat fucking (R receiving), strap on sex (R receiving), extremely brief oral (R receiving), squirting (R)

A/N: this story contains smut so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. I literally wrote this in 2 days out of a frenzy so Idk how good it is…M, P, G pt 2 will come, I promise!!!! Once again, thanks to @rt--link for being so sweet! As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

It was already November, which meant it was Thanksgiving time! You were so excited to finally get back home for a little bit after the couple of months you had spent away at uni. Contrary to most of your friends, you actually really liked Thanksgiving. Yes, it meant having to undergo the neverending interrogation from your classically nosy aunts, but you gladly did it every year to be able to spend some time with all of your relatives, even the ones who lived a bit more far away. Of course she was also one of them, though.

Natasha was one of your aunt’s daughters. Her mother had married your uncle 3 years before, making her, the redhead and her sister officially part of the family. Everyone liked Nat as soon as she became part of the group and her sister Yelena, with her sharp wit, was, if possible, even more beloved by everybody. As soon as the two girls regularly entered your lives, you had followed everyone’s advice and started to hang out together. You’d always felt very lucky for having cousins of your same age range, making them some of your closest friends ever, and having the chance of adding someone else to the group immediately sounded like the best idea ever, or at least that’s what you had thought at first.

That was because you didn’t like Natasha, you just didn’t. If at first, while witnessing her interactions with other people, she seemed to be the sweetest girl in the world, once you finally got to know her personally you started loathing her. She wasn’t necessarily a bad person, she was just so irritating all the time. And the worst part was that, apparently, she only acted that way with you, not with her friends, not with your other cousins, not even with her own sister, just with you. If you thought that, thanks to uni’s social life, you had met the cockiest motherfuckers in the world, you were utterly wrong. Natasha was the most terrible one of them all. It was constant teasing, constant comments, constant jokes, constant snickering and each time you heard her voice or looked at her, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk off her pretty face.

You didn’t know how it all started. Well, of course you knew that one time, at your grandma’s house to celebrate her birthday, Natasha had been particularly annoying since the moment you’d gotten there, which resulted in you being bitchy and her pulling you into the bathroom and kissing you once she had you trapped against the locked door. You hated it, every second of it and the fact that you ended up begging her to keep going while she was with her fingers knuckle deep inside of you wasn’t of any importance. You weren’t proud of what happened that day, but you were too nice to deny her when a couple of days later she was at your door ripping your clothes off of you. You were both attending the same uni and, despite literally never seeing each other in academic nor social settings, you started finding the closeness to be a much bigger impediment to your initial want to put a stop to your newly found situation. You were growing weaker and weaker to her charm, only while in the bedroom of course, and your intent to end it all kept getting pushed to the back of your mind each time you came with her name on your lips, until it was completely gone.

And that’s how you ended up at yet another family gathering partly ruined by her, this time to celebrate Thanksgiving, having to try to push away the tingle between your legs at the sight of her in her usual casual clothes hiding the defined muscles underneath as she talked with her dad and your grandpa about something involving a bike she was fixing up for herself. You were keeping your distance for your own sanity, but you could clearly hear their words and her low, raspy voice regularly adding to the conversation. You didn’t know what the hell they were talking about and either way, you had stopped actively listening long before, once you got lost in the view of her hand as she held her glass. The second she noticed your eyes fixed on her, you were thankfully saved from her most definitely coming over to tease you, by your cousin Clint, bored out of his mind and equally in need of leaving as soon as possible, even if for very different reasons than you. Ok, maybe him being the person talking to you didn’t exactly make him your savior, he was the person Natasha had gotten the closest to after all, which meant that, as soon as she once again turned to get a peek of your outfit she particularly appreciated, he immediately called her over, most definitely hoping to lure her away from the party. She couldn’t have been more obvious with the way her eyes kept ranking your body head to toe as she listened to his frustrated rambling, but thankfully Clint’s desperation blinded him from noticing the less than innocent way in which her gaze was on you.

“I’m begging you Nat, I’ll get on my knees! Just one!”

You both couldn’t help but chuckle at the grown man’s antics, when you suddenly realized that you had no idea of what the hell they were talking about. You barely had the time to open your mouth to ask them directly, when, of course, she interrupted you without a care to keep talking to her friend.

“Fine, but I’m taking half of it”

As soon as the first word barely left her mouth he was throwing his fist in the air and putting his coat on to go to the guest house she was staying in with you. Because of course you had been placed in the same room, in the small guest house in the backyard that only consisted of one room with one bed. You didn't know why, but everyone apparently thought of you two as some sort of best friends just because you both went to the same uni, despite, again, the known fact that you did not have one single class together, lived in different places and had completely different friends, meaning that you only saw each other when she called you over or randomly popped up at your place to fuck, but of course they didn't know any of that.

“A quarter..”

He was already leaving once he spoke his final words, leaving her alone with you to shake her head at her friend’s antics.

“Fine”

You hated how easily she seemingly had you under a trance as she murmured the word while smiling to herself. She was able to put you out of it equally fast, though, as she turned to you to regard you before leaving the celebration to follow after Clint.

“Are you coming?”

Her almost soft tone had to have given you some sort of whiplash as you stood there, looking at her without being able to utter a single word for a second, before regaining control over your own mind, and sanity, once you noticed her lips starting to curl into her usual mischievous smirk.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna stay here a bit longer”

She was once again putting at risk your ability to talk as she ran a hand through her short hair to get it out of her face and moved closer and closer to you, sneaking her gaze towards the other side of the room where most people had moved to, before reaching behind you to get a snack from the table you were leaning against, pressing her front against yours and letting your feel a certain something poking your lower belly.

“I’ll wait for you then”

She looked way too pleased by your slightly widened eyes as you tried to contain your emotions in order not to draw any attention to the two of you.

“You’re packing?”

Her brows furrowed as you whisper yelled at her, before speaking matter of factly.

“Of course I’m packing, I’m always packing when I’m with you”

She didn't give you the time to respond to her, immediately licking the chocolate off her fingers while shamelessly looking at your cleavage before turning to go to the guest house. She was infuriating, her and her constant horniness. You decided to casually join some conversations here and there for the brief rest of the night, until almost everyone had gotten to bed, including a much more relaxed Clint, and it was just you and your aunt gossiping in the living room. The moment your phone buzzed in your lap you almost had a feeling of who might had been trying to get in contact with you, so you cautiously lifted the screen, in case a certain someone decided to share something a little too private, and noticed she had sent you a picture.

The moment you clicked on it, the initial, brief awe you found yourself lost in at the sight of her posing with her tongue peaking out and the hood of her sweatshirt over her cap, was unfortunately wiped away once you finally read the caption under it. You couldn’t help but mentally facepalm at her dumb words, even if you had to reluctantly admit that the text was successful in making your heart leap at its crude nature.

“Not enough pressure on my 🍆”

Her finger was pointing to the word “pressure” printed on her hoodie, why did she have to be that way? You knew what she wanted from you, it was all she seemed to be thinking about, like some pussydrunk teen, and the way she didn’t even ask you if you were down for it, expecting you to just indulge her wish, didn’t sit right with you. Who did she think you were? Her whore always waiting for her like a pet?

You locked your phone with a frustrated sigh and got up from the couch, quickly finding an excuse with the immediate questioning you got from your aunt as to why you'd go back to your room so early.

By the time you walked across the whole backyard and got to the entrance of the guest house you were finally able to make out her figure, sitting on the wicker armchair under the small porch with all the lights off, in complete darkness, to hide the very end of a hand rolled cigarette between her fingers and the suspiciously smelly smoke coming from her.

“Your tits look good in that shirt”

You knew it was coming, as soon as you had chosen your outfit, you knew some sort of comment was to be made by her, although it had taken her a bit longer than you had expected. You were wearing a quite simple blouse with a boob window, in reality nothing as scandalous as it sounded, but the complete opposite in Natasha’s eyes. The way your jeans perfectly hugged your ass and the sway of your hips anytime you had walked past her, were just the cherry on top to the main course right below your pretty face.

You barely looked at her as you kept walking by her past the door without acknowledging her words, hearing her chuckle at your usual uptight self. You hated to admit it, but the way she was manspreading, making a bulge under her sweatpants slightly visible, while she casually smoked, had made you even more willing to help her out with her “pressure issue”, not that she needed to know about your enthusiasm anyway. By the time you were just starting to get undressed she entered the room, locking the door behind her and standing against it to shamelessly look at your ass as you leaned down to take your shoes off. As soon as your pants were off too and you were about to slip off your shirt she spoke up.

“No no no, keep that on”

Despite the way too pleased look on her face, you were silently thankful for the piece of clothing still on you in the slightly chilly room. You didn’t even bother to take your warm, ankle high socks off and left yourself fall on your back on the bed, feeling satisfied after noticing her swallowing and wetting her own lips as her eyes stayed fixed on your boobs’ slight jiggling as you had dropped on the mattress. Once you got comfortable on top of the soft duvet, you made sure to look right at her as you slowly spread your legs and immediately started lightly rubbing yourself through the fabric of your own underwear, moaning softly at the light stimulation as a way to tease the motherfucker in front of you. Without uttering a word, she left her spot by the door and walked over to you, stopping at the foot of the bed to grab her cock through her pants and slowly pump it. Pushing down her sweatpants just enough for the dildo strapped to her hips to spring out, she gave you a peak of the beautiful, defined v lines you had kissed over so many times and the bottom of the tattoos on her torso and abdomen you had to admit you loved. There was some ink peeking out from the cuff on her wrist as well, making the sight of her strong hand holding the base of her cock even more pleasing.

“Come here, get it wet”

You wanted to come up at least with a remark at her blunt order, but found nothing but anticipation in you and your body, as if moving by its own accord, immediately left your spot to kneel on the bed right in front of her crotch. You didn't waste any time, you couldn't have even if you wanted to, and, as soon as your lips touched the head of her cock, you tried your best to relax your throat in order to take as much of her length as you could, earning a pleased hum from her at the sound of your gags every time she reached the back of your throat.

“Now that's a cocksucker”

Her words pulled your eyes to her face and found her looking intently at you. The groan that came from her once you stopped bobbing your head to stay still with her cock still in your mouth sent a strong twing of arousal through you as she easily understood what you wanted.

She gently grabbed your head with both hands to keep you in place and immediately started to move her hips to fuck your face. Relishing the sight of a string of spit dropping on the part of your chest exposed by the cut in your shirt, she started pushing even deeper to see just how far you were willing to go for her. The resistance was clear as she pushed a bit more of her cock with every other thrust, until you finally couldn't wait anymore and grabbed her ass to give her a push and hopefully make her understand what she needed to do. With one final thrust she managed to push herself past your tight throat until your nose was touching her crotch. She couldn't help herself and rushed to get her phone from her pocket to snap a picture of you looking up at her with watery eyes as you grasped her ass cheeks through her pants to keep her from moving away. It was only once the need to breathe got the best of you that you pushed yourself off of her, sucking in a deep breath while Natasha stared with hooded eyes at your swollen lips and the spit connecting them to her cock.

“You say you hate me but you need my cock that much?”

You hated so much how true her words were and tried to distract yourself from the thought by lying back down and grabbing her cock now covered in your spit.

“Well, you're obsessed with my pussy so it's even”

She just smirked at your remark, deep down knowing that you were so fucking right. She couldn't get enough of it, all the girls she had fucked and she had to loose it for her stepcousin? Well, she honestly didn't give a shit, as long as you were careful she was going to keep fucking you like the slut she knew you were for her deep down.

“For the first time I've gotta say you're right”

You didn't even have the time to process her words and the shock that they had caused when she suddenly moved your underwear to the side and grabbed your ass tightly to lift your hips and get a taste of you, moaning exaggeratedly at her now favorite snack. Despite the leg shaking orgasm you knew she would've easily gotten out of you with her mouth, you pushed the delicious thought to the side and firmly grabbed her hair to lift her from your center.

“Right now I need your cock balls deep in my pussy, not your mouth”

Her lips looked way too delicious as they glistened with your juices and as they curled up she suddenly left go of your ass, making you yelp as you fell back to your lying position, before grabbing your thighs and pushing them to each of your sides, waiting for you to keep them there yourself with your arms to fully open yourself up for her. From the position you had a clear view of her strap as she rubbed it over your wet folds before finally pushing its head inside of you. She could never get enough of seeing your reaction at her entering you for the first time and once again, she couldn't help but keep her eyes on your face from the first moment. She fucked you just with the tip for a bit in order for you to get used to her and, gradually pushed more and more inside as you rubbed your own clit. You knew you were very far away from everybody else, but you still tried your best to keep your volume as low as you could, making her smirk at the clear signs of your struggle to do so.

“More, go faster”

She loved it every time when your uptight, moralist voice turned in a second into the pathetic begs of her own cockdrunk whore and who was she to give up the chance of fucking her personal pussy when she asked for it? After lifting up her hoodie a little to get a better view of your center begging to be filled up more and more, she firmly grabbed your waist, gradually thrusting faster and harder until she had set a pace that knocked your breath away every time she pushed her hips forward and her tip stroked your g spot so deliciously a deep sensation quickly started to build up inside of you. Her flexed abs and veins popping up on her hands made the pleasure she was making you feel, become even stronger, getting your orgasm closer by the second. It honestly amazed you how fast she was always able to make you cum and, despite not wanting to show her any weakness, you admittedly always felt a little self conscious because of it. You could barely keep it anymore, though, it was going to happen in a matter of seconds and your mouth opening in shock told her everything she needed to know.

“Wait, I think I'm gonna-”

You didn't have the chance of finishing your sentence before an earth shattering orgasm hit you so strongly that small, clear droplets spilled out of you every time she pulled back.

“Holy shit”

She panted the words to herself before swiftly pulling out completely and quickly rubbing her fingers over your clit, making you moan loudly as you squirted even more for her while you rode out your orgasm. By the time you were done, your legs were a little shaky and you were almost sobbing from how intense and quick it all was. Once you looked back at her, though, you knew you would've gladly done it as many times as she wanted. Her abs were a little wet from your orgasm, with a couple of drops still lingering on her tattooed skin, and, once your eyes locked with hers, she looked like the most dangerous predator eyeing its prey, ready to eat it in one bite, and, god, wasn't she going to do exactly that.

After all, maybe Thanksgiving was actually going to be even better with her.

.

.

.

Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox @dmenby3100

CONSTELLATIONS - Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

contains: soft smut?, drinking

a/n - first fic, idk what to make of it i kinda liked it, i hope you enjoyed :)

wc - 839

✩*⢄⢁✧ ⡈⡠*✩

I sit in my empty bed, revisioning that night with her. I will never forget the feeling of her breath against my skin, her hands against my hips, her kiss against my thighs.

-

It was a dark room, slightly lit by warm-toned, dimmed lights, but not much was visible. It was a crowded room with classic party music playing. Filled by sweaty, drunk, horny men and women. But you knew neither of you aligned with that stereotype.

She had found you stood in the corner, wearing a tight black dress, not leaving much to the imagination. It wasn't intentional, you weren't trying to act like a whore, or show of your body to anyone. It was just the first outfit you lazily pulled from your overcrowded closet. But she was glad you wore it.

She handed you a drink, told you to loosen up a little and have some fun, she most definitely could sense your tenseness. After you had drank the liquor, she tugged your hand until you were in the centre of the room, and she asked you to dance with her.

You'd never danced with anyone before, especially someone you didn't even know the name of. As much as you'd like to deny it and say you had no desire to, you knew it was because you were never asked. She could sense your hesitation, so her soft hands ran down your body and held onto your hips with a firm, but comforting grip as she moved your body in sync with hers. Your back softly pressed against her front, enough contact to send electricity soaring through your heart.

You danced like that for a good hour, tension growing between you each time she pulled your body closer into hers. She leant down towards your ear and whispered, "how about we get out of here?" while tucking a hair behind your ear. You could smell the whiskey on her breath, but you didn't mind. You lightly nodded and once again found yourself being led by the mysterious woman.

As she pulled you through the exit to the overcrowded bar, moonlight lit her features, and you finally could see who had been treating you so kindly.

Her auburn hair glistened as the stars blinked over you. Her emerald eyes shone brighter than any galaxy, instantly sending a warmth through to your heart. Small freckles were littered across her rosy cheeks, like constellations. You glance back up to her eyes, she was staring at you, so much passion coming from just her view. All this time, her hands still resting on your hips, as if she had some claim over you.

-

As you arrived back into your quaint apartment, you were pushed through the door, facing backwards, as you both rushed to tug at each other's clothes. Your dress was abandoned by the front door and your underwear quickly joined it. She only ever took her shirt off, but instantly your lips met the soft flesh of her breast, sucking softly until you left a red mark.

You both crashed into your bed as desperation and arousal fuelled your desires. Sweat mixing with spit in both of your mouths, not once separating for a gasp of air. She continues to caress your body, her hand travelling from your breasts down to the most desperate part of you.

Her fingers played with you in just the right way, making you bite your lip so you didn't make a sound. Your teeth crashed again, liquor overpowering the taste of love. As she went deeper, so did your fingernails in her back, mouth opening wide into an 'o' shape while your eyes clamped shut.

The only thought in your mind was "this feeling is amazing".

The taste of her skin slowly brought you back to life, slowly sobered you up, while she was still making you feel better than you'd ever felt before. Her tongue lapped up everything you gave her, you picked up her head and saw yourself dripping down her chin.

"You taste so sweet" she muttered before diving right back and and finishing what she had started.

-

After countless ends of you screaming with pleasure, you both laid face to face as you drifted off to sleep. She fell asleep before you, so you sat there and lightly placed your finger over her rosy cheek, tracing her constellations.

How could you feel such comfort in the arms of a stranger? A woman you had met not even 12 hours ago? A woman you still did not know the name of?

You didn't care, you drifted off to sleep with a full heart knowing she was beside you.

-

I'm sad now she left without a trace, I wanted something with her. No one has ever made me feel the way she did, in so many different ways.

I rolled over to grab my phone, and spotted a note beside a glass of water and 2 paracetamol.

"Thank you for last night, drink up honey.

Natasha."

✩*⢄⢁✧ ⡈⡠*✩

do i make a part 2??

Bby

hes just sooooo

IVE GOT PLANS FOR YOU

summary — natasha has plans for you, and they involve a window, fake blood, and a earth-shattering orgasm before a valentine’s day party

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, fingering, hair pulling, mentioning of spanking, strap-on use, strap-on receiving (r), clit stimulation, window sex, one instance of name calling, praise kink, brief/semi orgasm control, begging, dirty talk, mention of possessiveness, hickies, biting, natasha in a suit, costume party so obviously she’s ghostface, 18+ minors dni

The lights were low as you paced the lavish ballroom, sleek kitten heels that contributed to your rather scandalous outfit thumping against the tile flooring that was sticky from spilled mixers and cheap beer despite the party not even beginning yet. The guests that you and Natasha had invited weeks ago were set to be arriving within the next hour – a few of Natasha’s friends and their respective plus ones; all people whom you’d met on prior occasions and more-or-less liked – however a twinge of uncertainty gripped you viciously as the evening drew later and the haunting uncertainty of drunken mingling hung above your head tauntingly. Things were still new with Natasha; fragile. Even if you’d been friends for nearly a decade, even if you’d been welcomed into her group of chosen family years ago when she’d found out you spend the winter holidays alone and had insisted that you join her and Maria on an undisclosed farm in Iowa, this was the first time she’d be introducing you as her girlfriend, and the thought of her friends, namely Laura and Maria, not agreeing with her decision to lean into the love she held for you, rattled your typically reserved exterior fiercely. It had been a long drawn out love affair, but the end of your passionate avoidance had been sweet and more than earned if you were allowed to offer your biased opinion. You’d break into a million pieces if the friends that she cherished didn’t agree with your romantic endeavors. Natasha wouldn’t care if they spoke out of turn and criticized her decision to finally give genuine romantic love a chance, but you would. You’d promised yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t come between her and the happiness she more than deserved, but if her friends didn’t think that you met her standards, or if they simply didn’t approve of her dating somebody that undoubtedly would drown before they learned to match the pace of the current that life as a superhero created, you’d walk away without any hesitation. Natasha Romanoff has endured enough pain and injustice in her life, you wouldn’t further contribute to the harrowing pain that kept her up in the middle of the night, even if that meant sacrificing the one thing you’d ever been fully sure that you wanted.

“If you think any harder, you’re going to pop a vessel in that pretty little brain I love so much.” In the years that you’d known each other, Natasha had learned not to sneak up on you, but even as she assured that the heavy soles of her leather loafers made soft thudding noises as they padded against the tile flooring in the ballroom that was attentively decorated in sleek purple and orange decorations, you’d been entirely unaware of how she’d slipped in through the main entrance and set her eyes on you fondly. You’d nearly jumped out of your skin when her velvety voice interrupted the spiraling thoughts that had consumed you for the better half of an hour now, but as you settled with the realization that it was only your girlfriend coming up behind you, the comfort of her gravelly voice washed away some of the uncertainty that brought a clammy sheen to your palms. “Stop worrying so much about what they’re going to say, they already love you and you know that.” Natasha didn’t have to ask what had you so far gone in your head that you hadn’t even heard her come inside, she’d known from the first glimpse of your rigid frame across the room. Even if your romantic relationship was new, your platonic relationship had withstood fallen government agencies, aliens on Earth, and near death encounters that had both of you grasping for straws trying to keep any sliver of normalcy intact however you could. It had been Thanos that finally brought the two of you together, even if twinges of romantic possibility had existed for years before she impulsively swan-dove off a cliff on an alien planet with only the hope that Clint would find a way to get her back to you. She knows everything about you, but more than that, you know everything about her. You know that when she smiles with her teeth, it’s because she’s uncomfortable, as odd as that had initially been to wrap your head around. You know that when she seeks you out in the middle of the night in an oversized hoodie, she’d been woken up by paralyzing fear. You know that she likes cinnamon in her hot chocolate, and that when she looks at you the way she is now, with her chin tilted downward and her eyes set firmly on yours, she’s trying her hardest not to stare down at your chest where your nipples pebble beneath thin material.

“They love me as your friend, they could hate me as your girlfriend. I mean, I know nothing about how to survive in your world, Natasha. I’m a liability. What if another alien – like Loki! – comes to Earth and you have to get out, but you’re held back because I don’t know what’s important to bring to a safe-house. I mean, really, just caring about me at all could be the reason you don’t make it if something-” The second you’d started vocalizing the worries that plagued you, it had been practically impossible to cut yourself off, your eyes become glassy with that far away gleam Natasha hated. That had always been where you differed. Where Natasha was calculated, you were spontaneous. Where she had a plan for everything, even the miniscule things like grocery shopping in a crowded stripmall, you flew by the seat of your pants. You’d never needed to have a plan before you allowed her world to become intertwined with yours, but Natasha’s entire life had revolved around having multiple at a time. She’d come to know how to silence your anxieties in the years that had led up to this current moment, and without a moment of hesitation, her lips crashed into yours, and she allowed her blood splattered palms to frame your face as her teeth sank into your lower lip, nibbling on the pink-hued skin in a way that had your eyes fluttering closed and your fingers digging into the lapels of her blazer yearning for more. She’d wanted to be Ghostface for the Valentines Day costume party Pepper scammed her into hosting, but Natasha was nothing if not elaborate, and somehow, she’d constructed the costume from an old suit that had been abandoned in the back of her closet for years, the plastic mask that laid around somewhere displaced for the time being the only authentic element of her attire. You didn’t care for how she most definitely clashed with the existing image of the movie’s villain, thinking the fitted suit and the cuffed sleeves fit her exterior perfectly.

When she pulled away, only because you’d stopped breathing to instead attempt to match the weight conveyed in her kiss, her eyebrows furrowed in contemplation as she cradled your face sweetly. You frowned curiously, head tilting to the side as you tried to figure out where her thoughts had drifted to in such a short span of time. “What’s my name?” The words fell off her lips just as heavily as your anxious rambling had slipped into the air between the both of you, only Natasha’s eyes hadn’t glazed over like she was trapped in a memory and couldn’t decipher where she was. The enchanting green color that you’d spent so many nights gazing into were dark now, twisted with something wicked that was yet to be discovered by you. It never failed to amaze you how even after years of truly knowing each other, you could still be thrown off by her simplest of expressions.

You pulled away from her lips regretfully, your palm on her cheek framing the expression clouding her sparkling features. Shades of red and pink were thrown around the room, but nothing looked as sweet as her red hair falling over her shoulder in waves, catching rays of light that refracted off of skyscrapers in the distance. “Natasha.” You breathed dreamily, dazed by her gentle love that gripped you tight.

“No, what’s my name when it’s just us?” Natasha backed you up against the window forcefully, the air slipping from your lungs as your shoulder blades thumped against frigid glass before your spine met the same fate, her hands on your hips now keeping you still. A low moan slipped off of your lips, eyes that were once ablaze with anxiety now sparkling with lust as you understood what she was getting at.

When you didn’t answer, too drunk on the passion behind her glimmering jewel eyes, a hand left your hip to cradle your face, but in seconds that grip became steeled on your jaw and your eyes watered as you trembled beneath her touch. “Daddy.” The plea fell off of your tongue pathetically, your head lulling to the side when she loosened her grip.

“You gonna be a good girl for me? Let Daddy play with you before her friends get here?” She traced the side of your face, drawing her nail down your warm skin until goosebumps collected on your arms. You preened beneath her attention, trying to follow the path of her fingers but in a second that delicate brush against your cheek turned into a tight grip on your hair, spinning you around like a ragdoll until your chest was flush against the windows, your shaky breath fogging the glass as you gazed down beneath you. A gasp fell off of your lips when cold hands that were splattered in fake blood because Natasha Romanoff could never do anything casually despite trying to portray indifference at all times snuck up your thighs, creeping beneath the hem of your dress until they found damp fabric to taunt. “Gonna let me clear that pretty head? Make it all fuzzy and sweet the way I like? Oh, I’ve got plans for you, baby girl.” You could’ve rolled your eyes at the cocky reiteration of ghostface’s line, but you were otherwise focused on something else.

“Nat–” You breathed, a sweet groan falling off of your lips when she pulled at your hair again, the rest of her name falling off your tongue as you tried to dig your nails into slick glass.

“That’s not my name, Princess.” She teased, grinding her hips into yours. Your surprised gasp fogged the window up more, your view of the street below obstructed now. But you weren’t. Your body wasn’t. Natasha wasn’t. If anyone looked up, glanced toward the windows for even a second, they’d see your intoxicating frame flush against the glass. They’d see your knuckles bent, practically white, desperate for a grip on something. They’d notice the fog on the windows, but also the way your chin was lifted away from the surface, held taught by pale hands. They’d see the way your dress rises every time Natasha grounds her hips into your core. They’d see her pulling this reaction from your willing body. “Do you feel that, baby? Can you feel Daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm.” You hummed desperately, your eyes pinched shut tightly as your body became putty beneath her touch. Your knees threatened to buckle beneath the pleasure of Natasha’s touch when she pulled your sodden panties to the side, hiking your dress up beyond your hips until nothing kept your core from her touch or the eyes of strangers below you. A strangled cry slipped off of your lips when her fingers, two of them, plunged into your sopping core. Your walls strained to accept the squeeze, fluttering around her second knuckle as she worked them deeper into you. “P-Please. Just fuck me, Nat.”

“When are you going to learn, sweetheart? It’s Daddy to you.” A hand slapped against the globe of your ass before her fingers slipped out from your tempting heat. She smeared the stringy evidence of your arousal against the insides of your thighs, her nails leaving trails of red as she marks her claim on your body. If her friends look closely tonight, then they’ll all see the evidence of her on your body. It’s what she wants though. You’ve known it since the moment she tangled her fingers into your hair.

You don’t know when she unzipped her pants, but between the second clap to your ass and her teeth sinking into the side of your neck, the strap that was once hidden beneath the confines of her slacks pressed firmly to your weeping entrance. A tilt of her hips had you weak against the window, a loud whine tearing through your chest as she set a brutal pace without warning. “Daddy!” You called out to her, a pleasure-filled twinge to your breathy plea as one hand reached back to slap against her ribs, reaching for a hand to hold as every nerve in your body sparked to life.

Her hips slapped against yours every time she thrusted into you, the grooves along the strap creating friction against that sweet spot inside of you. You gasped when her fingers joined the mix between your legs, playing with your clit like she knew your every tell and she did. The relationship might be new, but the sex wasn’t, and she knew your every tell and twitch without even thinking about them anymore. “Oh, you’re getting close for me pretty girl? Squeezing me so tight.”

“Please! Please, Daddy!” You begged mindlessly, not a single thought in your head besides how good it felt to have her slamming into you without restraint. When she hit a particular spot, you saw stars, and your head lulled back onto her shoulder. Her hand came up to frame your throat, pulling you flush against her chest as she demanded you hold it. “I can’t! Daddy, I can’t.”

“You’re going to.” She seethed, snapping her hips up into you harder. Her pace was punishing, and the hand between your legs didn’t quit despite her warning. Right as you considered giving into the pleasure and breaking her rules, her thumb hooked onto your jaw, pulling your lips to meet hers in a needy embrace. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock. Such a fucking slut. Getting fucked in front of a window, right before all of our friends come over. God, I love you.”

You moaned into her mouth as you came undone around her strap, bucking into her chest before you collapsed entirely, but Natasha wasn’t done with you yet. Her pace only quickened, her arms the only thing holding you upright as she chased her own high. It felt euphoric, every snap of her hips, every point of sharp pressure along your hips as her nails dug into you. To be used by her was to be loved so fully you didn’t even know how to process the sensation.

“Good girl. Good girl.” She choked out between raged moans, her grip on you softening as she finally wavered. She leaned up against your body, trapping you against the window as she laughed breathlessly, kissing you sweetly as she calmed down. “I love you.”

“I kinda figured as much when you asked me to be your valentine.” You teased, cheeks flush and eyes glassy as you gazed up at her dreamily. “I love you.”

My SHAYLAAAA 💕😭😭😭

"she killed people!" so? that's my baby girl

i love lesbians

+ close ups!!

BABY KIRAMMANNNN

day 93 cleansing the #caitvi tl

cathy cat stealing her moms favorite sleeping poses kasdjkdjs

WAAAAAAAA I looooooooovvveeee 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

summary : raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.

genre : country!au, wlw, countryside life.

warnings : beefy!nat, top!nat, sub!reader, age-gap (r is 24 and nat is 32).

words count : 2.6k

𖦹 part one 𖦹

HORSES & ROMANCE :

— Baked Goods & Conversations

📍Langford's Estate,

Clare Valley, Southern Australia

The sun rose slow over the rolling hills of Langford Ranch, lighting up the sea of golden grass and rows of early-spring grapevines like it had every morning for as long as you could remember.

It painted the landscape in brush strokes of amber and coral, and even though you'd seen it a thousand times before, it never lost its magic.

You leaned against the fence post, one boot perched on the lower rail, the familiar weight of your cowgirl hat tipped just enough to shield your eyes. The morning breeze brought with it the scent of hay, dew, and something sweet—probably the peach trees blooming behind the barn.

Your mare, Alba, huffed behind you, nudging at your shoulder with the soft impatience only a horse could get away with.

"Alright, alright," You chuckled, patting Alba's muzzle. "You'd think I forgot breakfast was a sacred ritual around here."

The sound of boots on gravel made you turn. Your father, Georges Langford, was walking up from the lower fields with his usual purposeful gait— sun-baked, worn-in, and always moving like the land wouldn't let him sit still for too long.

The man was the backbone of Langford Ranch and he looked it —broad-shouldered, silver at the temples, with lines carved deep from years of working under sun and storm alike.

"Mornin', sunshine," He greeted, pulling off his hat to wipe his brow.

"Mornin', Dad. Thought you were checking fence lines today?"

"I was. Had Carter do the west end. That post by the creek needs more than nails—it needs a prayer."

You grinned. "Doesn't everything out here?"

You both stood in comfortable silence for a beat, eyes drifting across the property. The vineyards curved along the hills like ribbons, and the stables were starting to come alive with movement—hooves on wood, snorts in the air, Carter hollering something at the barn cat.

Georges cleared his throat, one hand resting on his belt.

"By the way," he began, in that tone he used when he was about to drop something mildly important but wanted it to sound casual, "We've got someone movin' into one of the guest houses tomorrow."

At the news, you arched a brow. "Oh, yeah? One of the hands?"

"No. She's not a ranch hand. She's a colleague, technically. Been working in livestock management and field logistics the past few years—real sharp, real quiet. Does good work, and I could use the extra brain with the contracts we've got coming up. She'll be helping out part-time on the cattle rotation too."

"She?"

Georges gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "Her name's Natasha Romanoff. Comes with strong references—worked some rough terrain in Texas and Idaho. Kept to herself but got a rep for being dependable. Heard about her through Greg Havens. You remember him, used to run those horse clinics down in Abilene?"

"Sure. He's the one who taught Brandy how to sit for carrots."

You replied casually, looking over at Alba as you fed her a carrot. She gruffed quietly, then you ran you other free hand over her muzzle to soothe whatever was threatening to upset her.

Georges nodded, chuckling. "Same guy. He vouched for her, and that's good enough for me."

You bit the inside of your cheek thoughtfully.

New faces weren't exactly common out here—Langford Ranch didn't have a revolving door. People came, worked, and stayed for seasons, sometimes years. Others never left. So someone moving into one of the guesthouses —someone your father trusted enough to share work and land with— wasn't something you could ignore.

"She know what she's walking into?" You questioned, "This place isn't exactly a weekend retreat."

Georges smirked, the kind of smile that meant he was already ten steps ahead, patting Alba's head in a gentle manner. "She's got boots older than Carter. She'll manage."

A low whistle went past your lips. "Well, damn. Guess we'll see."

He started walking back toward the barn, calling over his shoulder, "And don't scare her off before she even unpacks."

"No promises!" You hollered back, grinning as you turned to your horse. "What do you think, Albs? Sounds like trouble to me."

Your chestnut mare whinnied, flicking her tail like she agreed.

The sun kept rising, golden over the fields, and you found yourself staring in the direction of the empty guest house—the one with the white porch swing and the wraparound view of the west hills.

You had no idea what this Natasha Romanoff looked like. But something in your chest shifted—a quiet hum of interest, like the first stirrings of wind before a storm.

Not that you minded a little storm now and then.

Especially if it came with sharp eyes, rolled-up sleeves, and a story worth unfolding.

🎀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🎀

The vineyard stretched endlessly, rows upon rows of grapevines curling around the earth like veins of the land itself.

The estate had been in the Langford's hands for generations, a legacy carried through the years by blood, sweat, and a relentless passion for the soil beneath their feet.

To those who visited, it was a picturesque sanctuary, a symbol of hard work and perseverance. But to the Langford's, it was everything—family, history, and identity.

Natasha had been in the business of wine for a while now, though her path to the Langford Estate was as unconventional as she was. A successful winemaker in her own right, Natasha was known for her larger-than-life presence, a woman whose strength was both literal and figurative.

With arms built from years of physical labor and a back as strong as any farmer's, she was an imposing figure, even among the burly, weathered men and women who worked in the vineyards.

She was no stranger to hard work, though her reputation often preceded her—a reputation built on an iron will, business acumen, and a certain raw magnetism that pulled people in, even when they weren't sure they wanted to be.

The guest house she had been owning for almost a day sat on ten acres of mostly flat earth. It had a porch that creaked under her boots and a wind chime made of spoons that clinked gently in the breeze. It was a fixer-upper. Natasha liked fixing things.

The redhead stretched her arms above her head, boots scuffing against the wood of her porch as she eyed the grass lining the front.

Her flannel clung lightly to her frame from the morning work, sleeves rolled up, exposing strong forearms. She had been there all of twenty minutes when she heard the distant sound of an engine, then a dog barking. She glanced toward the road and there you were, driving a red ford pick-up truck, the golden retriever settled in the passenger seat.

Natasha leaned one shoulder against the porch column as she watched you cut the engine, arms crossed, eyes scanning with interest. Not even trying to hide it. 

"You must be the new neighbor," You spoke up, stepping out of the vehicle before letting your dog out. "Heard from my father that someone finally brought the Cross property."

The elder woman's lip curled. "Is that what they call it?" 

"Sure is," You held up the basket of warm goodies you held in hand. "I brought you some cinnamon rolls. Freshly homemade from this morning."

She raised an eyebrow, stepping down to meet you. "Cinnamon rolls? Are you trying to seduce me already?" 

You smirked, "Damn, you catch on fast."

The redhead smirked, taking the basket from your hands. Her fingers brushed yours, rough calluses meeting warm skin. If Ethan Langford was a great co-worker to be around, she was sure she'd appreciate his daughter's company, maybe a little too much. "Name's Natasha."

You introduced yourself next, and she let the name roll around in her mind, pairing it with your smile. It suited you. There was a light to you -- an ease. Nat hadn't felt ease in a long time. 

You tilted your head, gaze sweeping over her like you were sizing her up. And who wouldn't? Biceps under sun-kissed skin, a scar just over her eyebrow, so faint that you would've missed it if you didn't look so closely, and the kind of posture that said she didn't run from anything. You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip and cleared your throat. 

"You're planning on staying around more often?" 

"Depends," Natasha replied, eyes steady on yours. "You planning on bringing me baked goods every day?"

You shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on if you're worth the flour."

She laughed as you turned to go with a smirk, your dog trailing behind. You called out while walking back to the pickup. 

"Nice meeting you, Natasha." 

"Believe me," The redhead called back, watching the sway of your hips. "The pleasure was all mine."

🎀 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 𖦹 ✈︎ 🎀

The scent of warm earth filled the air as midday settled across Langford Ranch.

The sun rode high above the valley, glinting off metal fence posts and the waxy leaves of grapevines stretching in neat rows as far as the eye could see.

Georges Langford’s voice cut through the quiet as he stood beside Natasha Romanoff, gesturing out over the vast spread of land like a king showing off his kingdom.

“This vineyard’s been in my family for four generations. My great-grandfather planted the first vines himself back in the early 1900s. Clare Valley wasn’t what it is now. Just dry heat and stubborn soil.”

Natasha listened, eyes scanning the curves of the land, the way each line of vines bent gently with the slope. “You’ve made something out of it.”

“We didn’t have much choice,” he replied with a chuckle. “We were Langfords before we were winemakers. And Langfords don’t quit easy.”

They paused at the vineyard’s edge, where symmetrical rows of early-season vines curled along the gentle hillsides like organized chaos. The sun cast their shadows long between the rows, and Georges ran a hand along a twisted vine like it was part of his body.

“These grapes—Shiraz, mostly—go into the reserve reds we bottle each March. We sell local, export some to the States. My wife—God rest her soul—used to say you could taste the earth in every drop.”

An old well house nearby that had been converted into a wine cellar, its stones weathered by time, came into view.

He pointed out the fermentation shed, the mechanical harvester they only used in a pinch, and the solar panels that lined the western slope.

“Hard to imagine this place any other way,” The Russian admitted.

“That’s how you know it’s in your blood,” Georges said, glancing sideways at her. “You start seeing it not just as land, but as story. As legacy.”

He paused to pick up a handful of dry earth, let it sift through his fingers.

“You got family, Natasha?”

She hesitated. “Not in the way most people mean it.”

He didn’t press further. Just nodded like he understood and changed the subject.

They continued past the cattle paddocks—wide, open pastures edged with eucalyptus trees—where Georges pointed out the rotational system they used for grazing. Natasha absorbed every detail, asking questions here and there, sharp and precise. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was clear she’d done her homework.

When they came up the path near the back stables, Georges paused, brow furrowing slightly.

“There she is,” he said, and the redhead followed his gaze.

You were across the field, just beyond the fence, seated effortlessly atop Alba. The mare’s coat shimmered like brushed copper under the midday sun, and your posture was easy, confident. One hand rested lightly on the reins, the other lifting to wave when you noticed them.

The wind lifted your hat slightly, sending loose strands of hair brushing across your face. Romanoff’s eyes lingered.

“Y/N grew up in that saddle,” Georges said with a hint of pride. “Taught her how to ride before she could tie her own boots. Girl’s got her mother’s balance and her own kind of grit.”

Natasha didn’t answer immediately. She watched as you guided Alba into a smooth canter, posture fluid, in perfect rhythm with the horse. You rode like you belonged there. Like the land bent to you out of love, not force.

Georges watched his daughter for a beat, pride softening the lines of his face.

“She grew up on that horse,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Alba was born the same spring Y/N turned three. They're a pair, those two. I swear that horse listens to her better than most people.”

“She’s got good instincts,” She finally murmured, her eyes locked on your figure.

“That she does,” Langford agreed. “She knows this land better than anyone alive. And don’t let her fool you—she acts like she’s all mischief and cinnamon rolls, but she’s got steel under all that charm.”

Nat smirked faintly. “I noticed.”

You trotted over, reigning Alba in just a few feet from the fence. You slid off

the horse in one smooth motion, boots landing in the dust with a satisfying thud. The redhead watched the way you walked—loose, unhurried, confident.

“Everything alright with the tour?” You asked, brushing dust off your jeans.

“Your dad runs a tight ship,” Natasha said. “Impressive place.”

You nodded, offering a small, proud smile. “It’s home. And a hell lot of work.”

There was something in the way you said it—not arrogance, but ownership. Natasha respected that. She respected people who didn’t just show up, but showed up for the land, for the animals, for the legacy.

You scratched behind Alba’s ear, then looked at Natasha again. Your voice quietening but also softening as you spoke.

“You settling in okay?”

She nodded, “Starting to.”

“Well,” You began, “if you ever need anything...wine, fence wire, conversation—I’m usually around.”

The way you said conversation was light, but it wasn’t nothing. The Russian caught it, held it for a second, then let it pass.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She said, voice low.

Your father cleared his throat, clearly sensing something unspoken pass between the two of you. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to flirt while I go pretend I’ve got paperwork to do.”

“Dad,” You said flatly, cheeks blooming a hint of color.

Natasha just chuckled, deeply amused. “Thanks for the tour, Georges.”

"And also, we always have dinner out on the porch around six-thirty. Nothing fancy, but real food and even better company. You’re more than welcome, Red.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” She tilted her head for a nod.

He tipped his hat. “Try not to let her talk your ear off.”

And with that, he walked off toward the barn, leaving the two of you standing under the shade of the gum trees, horses grazing nearby, breeze rustling through the dry grass.

Natasha followed the curve of your form as you walked—long legs, dust on your boots, and a playful tilt to your hips that didn’t feel like an accident.

You glanced back at Natasha, a lopsided smile playing on your lips. “So,” you said, brushing back a windblown strand of hair, “You going to take the dinner invite?”

“Maybe.”

You looked her up and down, not shy. “I’d recommend it. My grandma’s lasagna recipe still makes grown men cry.”

Natasha huffed a quiet laugh, her expression unreadable. “You always this charming?”

You leaned against the fence casually. “Only when I know it works.”

For a moment, the wind quieted. The dog—Cooper—came loping up the trail behind you, flopped down in the dirt, tongue out and panting.

Natasha looked down at him, then back up at you. “Guess I’ll see you tonight.”

With a nod, you concluded, “Looking forward to it.”

And somewhere deep inside Natasha, something settled—like boots finding firm ground.

She hadn’t come here looking for anything beyond work and quiet. But life, like land, had a way of growing things you didn’t expect.

➪ next part.