This will be a primarily Natasha Romanoff oneshot book, but I'll sprinkle in some Scarlett Johansson ones as well. SJ stories will be labeled with her initials.
It will be female reader.
Started 10.14.2021
Ended TBA
It will be updated as frequently...
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"Pull over!" Natasha looked at you incredulously, it was pouring down rain and you were on a highway, driving away from her failed attempt at a picnic date.
Just before she denied you she let her gaze linger on your face, you looked so enthralled by the storm; wordlessly she pulled off onto the side of the road, her red emergency lights flashing in the dead of night.
If you were anyone else she'd have kept on driving, but you weren't. You were Y/N, the beautiful woman who turned her world upside down just by existing. Gravity was lost on her planet though, so the vibe was wavy. All Natasha wanted was to make you happy so she stood beneath the dim light of the moon observing you. Not caring if it was cold and wet, because you were smiling.
After she helped you climb over a white fence and into a field you released her hand and began to twirl around the wet, open grassy area in a fit of infectious giggles.
You were perfect. This entire moment was, honestly.
Natasha wanted to dance with you, but she was lost in her depraved thoughts, of your lips pressing into hers.
It was too soon, right? Two months and four dates, alongside many a lazy night in at the compound, and she had yet to make the daring move. Was she scared?
No, she told herself she was just being cautious. If you move too fast then things are more likely to crumble to the ground and that was the last thing she wanted. In this moment though, where you are genuinely joyful she questions what even constitutes the perfect timing.
Natasha dreamed it could've been today, you'd have just finished eating: a pb and j for herself and a bit of snacking for yourself, a strawberry here, some cheese and cracker there, a brownie made by Wanda, always.
The thought made Natasha smile, she could only imagine the mess you'd leave behind on your face in your rush to gobble the treat down. Her heart would skip and she'd scoot closer to you with the excuse of needing to wipe your face clean. She'd tease the idea of trying a brownie herself, then she'd lean even closer.
You'd look at her lips, a jolt of electrified energy would surround you as your eyes met again. The desperation muddled into your sweet y/e/c eyes would compliment her desire. Natasha would gulp down her fear, masking it with a channeled confidence and kiss you firmly.
Soft and slow as her tongue swiped your lips, in a perfect world she would have you in her lap. It would be a gradual shift, and just as your thighs touched hers she'd squeeze your hips and slide her tongue into you.
Tasting the brownie, catching hints of a dark caramel, not caring for the way that it covers your natural taste. Yet she would be compelled to stay where she was, unable to separate herself from your affection until she felt your body tremble from the oxygen deprivation. As she'd pull away she'd hotly whisper, delicious—the brownies review; commentary laced with innuendo.
