#butch!natasha romanoff

[nattysstargirl]

The Beast of my Dreams

Chapter 2.

Word count:2460

TW: not much this chapter, some harassment, Fluff towards the end

A/N: Next chapter it gets a little...spicy ☺️

~~~

Y/N texts Peter about her dream, since he's the only one she's told. Of course, she doesn't give him all the details of that last dream... 

Y/N: I think I was lucid dreaming or something. 

Pete🧝🏻: No shit? That's pretty cool. What'd you do? 

Y/N: Walked around. Stuck my hand in the hole, but nothing really happened. It smelled my hand like a dog, and I pet it. Head's huge lmao 

Pete🧝🏻: wow, that's crazy 

Y/N sighs. She knows she's being annoying. But she doesn't know who else to talk to about it. 

Pete🧝🏻: you know, I have a friend who does tarot reading

and dream interpretation, stuff like that. want their number? He sends the number without waiting for a response, and Y/N texts it immediately. 

Y/N: Hey! Name's Y/N. My friend Peter said you're the person to talk to about weird dreams? I'd love to grab a cup of coffee. 

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Sure, meet at May's in five. 

"Oh, shit," Y/N mutters. She hurries out of her duvet cocoon and yanks on a pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt. She throws a hoodie over it, because it's been getting chillier every night, then she leaves the door unlocked because Peggy still hasn't returned from her shower. There's a long mirror in the hall before the elevator, so Y/N checks herself while she waits for it to reach her floor. 

Dark, straight hair looking as flat as usual. She wipes sleep from her hooded eyes and blinks. There's definitely an amount of what Peter would call "thin privilege" that makes her look presentable. Sloppy, baggy clothes are socially acceptable if you're under a hundred and thirty-or-so pounds, which she is. Plus, she's got her mother's smooth, olive skin tone. And she's 5'7", so the way she dresses just looks artsy and relaxed instead of like she just rolled out of bed, which she nearly always has. 

Maybe Peggy's right. A little more effort could go a long way. The elevator dings, and she hurries inside, then across campus to May's. May's is the campus coffee shop, nestled between the library and student union building. The exterior is ugly gray siding, and it'd be easy to mistake it for a storage building if not for the constant drip of students rushing through the doors past other students pushing outside with their hands wrapped around warm to-go mugs of fresh coffee and pastries. 

Y/N holds the door open for a professor, then ducks into the warmth of the coffee shop. She breathes deep, enjoying the rich smell of roasting coffee beans. She hates the taste. The shop has a line at the register, seven or eight students deep, and the twelve tables lining the walls are all occupied. After a quick glance around, Y/N realizes she has no idea what this person looks like. She doesn't even know their name. That quickly becomes a nonissue as she locks eyes with a person sitting at a two-chair table in the corner on their own. They're watching her with a significant look on their face. And all the information Y/N has on this person—that they interpret dreams, read tarot, and are friends with Peter—reflects in their appearance. Long dark hair with streaks of blue hair mixed in, lines of piercings, a septum ring, a tattoo that looks like a bird reaching up their neck from the collar of a graphic band t-shirt.

 Y/N offers a small wave and walks over. "Hi," she says. "Are you...Pete's friend?" The person nods once. 

"And you're Y/N." 

"Yes!" She smiles emphatically, despite the awkward blanket over the exchange. She points a finger toward the empty chair as if to ask permission, then slips into it. 

"My name is MJ," they say. 

"Nice to meet you, MJ." 

MJ pushes a steaming mug toward Y/N, holding their own in the other hand. "Oh, I don't drink coffee," Y/N says before politely lying occurs to her. 

"I know," MJ says. "It's hot chocolate." She loves hot chocolate. 

"Oh, thank you! How'd you know?" MJ just watches her. 

Y/N shifts in her chair and sips her hot chocolate, hoping MJ will speak before she has to. MJ does not. "So!" she says brightly. "What's your major?" 

"Aren't you here for dream interpretation?" MJ doesn't smile. 

She coughs lightly on a gulp of hot chocolate. "I am, yes, but—okay, right to it!" Y/N summarizes the dreams, leaving out the details of the last one. "In my last dream, I became more lucid. I was able to stand up and move around." 

"You need to get laid," MJ says simply. 

Y/N pauses, then giggles because she doesn't know how else to respond. MJ isn't wrong, but being horny has never given her incredibly realistic recurring dreams about sexy creatures before. 

"Would you like me to get into the details of that interpretation?" MJ's voice remains monotone. "I'd be happy to do a reading, too." They pull a deck of tarot cards from their jacket pocket and leave it on the table. 

"That's okay," Y/N says. "I just... Are you sure?" 

"One hundred percent. From the yonic tree—" 

Y/N snorts. "Yonic?" 

"Yes. I assume you have that preference?" 

"Maybe," Y/N says. She's never sworn off of men or penises, but they just have never presented themselves in a way that Y/N found difficult to resist. 

"And forests hold an undeniably strong amount of feminine energy," MJ continues. "The monster inside—" 

"I didn't say it was a monster." 

"Oh, what do you call it?" 

"A creature?" she offers. "I don't know. I don't feel threatened by it, exactly. It's more exciting than scary, knowing that it might..." 

"Kill you," MJ finishes. 

Y/N shrugs a shoulder. 

MJ sits back in their chair and folds their hands on the table. "That's my read on it. Take it or leave it, but I've never been wrong." 

Y/N nods slowly. "I appreciate your insight, definitely. I'll think about that." 

"There's more..." MJ says. 

"Yes?" 

"I believe there is a danger in your dreams. If you don't see to it, and soon, it could mean destruction." 

"See to it? Are you saying if I don't get laid, I'll be, what? Cursed?" Y/N's chuckling, but MJ is not. MJ doesn't respond. 

Y/N's eyes narrow. "How'd you know I don't drink coffee?" She's not even sure Peter knows that. She keeps it to herself because people are usually really annoying about it. 

"I know enough," MJ says. Then they stand abruptly, sweeping their deck of cards from the table and a backpack from the chair. "Good luck, Y/N." 

Y/N stares after them as they go. "What the fuck was that?" she mutters. But she pulls her phone out and downloads every dating app she can find. 

— 

Y/N takes her time finishing her hot chocolate, enjoying the warmth of May's before she has to hike back across campus. She matches with the max amount of women the "good" apps allows, then she wrinkles her nose and switches to the annoying app to right swipe until her wrist hurts. She doesn't even glance at profiles. Her own profile is a single mirror selfie in her underwear with her face cropped out, and her bio reads: "polite, tested, looking for hookups." She also set her location to the smallest distance. The sooner she gets this curse and recurring dream taken care of, the sooner she can focus her energy on not flunking the semester. Her mom pays her tuition, under the condition that Y/N keeps a GPA over 3.0 and doesn't reach out too often. 

"Closing soon, honey," a barista calls to her from behind the counter. He's wiping down the espresso machine. Y/N realizes she's the only customer left. 

"Sorry," she says. "I'm leaving." 

"Be safe out there. Do you need me to walk you home? I'll be done here in fifteen," he says. 

"Thanks, but I'm good." She smiles, crossing to leave her empty mug with him. The sun set an hour ago, and she's cold to her bones as soon as she steps outside. She thinks of the buddy system rule, but a part of her is deeply confident she could outrun a wild animal if it came down to it. She shivers. The campus is virtually empty with the animal threat and chilly air, and she watches the stars instead of her feet. A loud, barking laugh from her left makes her jump. Four frat boys stumble out of a dorm building to get away from a stern-faced RA with his arms crossed over a broad chest. 

"Get home before I report you." The RA's growl is low but loud enough for Y/N to hear clearly across the quad. He slams the door, and the gaggle of boys scan their surroundings like they're looking for their next victim. 

Y/N pulls her hoodie strings tighter around her face and walks faster, but she's not out of sight before they see her. She becomes hyper-aware that she's wearing jeans a size too small, and her hoodie is short. 

"Hey, friend!" a boy calls. The three others' heads snap toward her, and they move forward in unison. Great. She keeps her head down and walks as fast as she can without actually sprinting away from them. 

Just pretend you can't hear them. 

"Hey, wait up!" 

"Where ya hurrying off to?" 

"We just want to talk!" 

Y/N's heart speeds up, too. She's sure they can hear her heavy breathing. Her eyes scan for somewhere she can duck into and hide, or someone to help. She pulls out her phone and calls Peggy, but there's no answer. 

"Hey, Peggy!" she says loudly to her voicemail inbox. "I'll be home in two minutes! Yep... Tell the boys that we can—" She loses the sentence as one of the frats catch up with her and grabs her elbow. Her phone skitters across the pavement. 

"I'll scream," she threatens. The boy laughs. He's white with blond hair and an insufferable smirk. 

"Why? We just wanted to talk. You look so cold." The other three have reached them and form a semi-circle in front of her. 

"She does look cold," one says, stepping behind her and pulling her into a backwards hug. Another joins the embrace, wrapping his arms around them both. 

"My friend is waiting for me." Y/N's voice is shaking as she tilts her chin up to breathe over their tightly gripped arms. 

This campus has a particularly significant reputation around their fraternities. And this isn't her first run-in. She went to a lot of parties freshman year that she was way too young and stupid to be at. She doesn't recognize their faces, but she knows the letters on the twin jackets two of them wear. Her hands are shaking from more than the cold now, but she can't push the boys off, so she tries to stay calm and wait them out. They'll get bored. One keeps his arms around her waist and rests a chin on her shoulder. His pelvis is pressed firmly against her back. She flutters her eyes closed and breathes deeply through her nose. 

"Where ya heading?" the blonde leader asks. He moves closer to her, wrapping a strand of her hair around his finger. 

"We're gonna go find somewhere to chill. You should come." 

"Aww," a voice says in the dark behind her. "You have to kidnap girls because no one wants to be around you of their own volition?" 

The boys turn to see who spoke, and the weird girl from stats class is walking toward them. She's not as tall as the shortest guy, but she walks like she's the biggest one there. She jerks her head to toss her hair from her face, tilting her chin up at them like a challenge. Her hands are tucked into her red leather bomber jacket, but her eyes carry a distinct and clear threat. The boy who was holding Y/N drops his arms to puff his chest at the girl like a cartoon bully. Y/N would laugh at him if she weren't scared silent. 

"You volunteering?" Blonde Boy sneers. She stops a few steps away from them, looking each boy up and down before she finally speaks. 

"Why don't y'all scurry back to your rat nest and sleep off all those Capri-Sun-Everclear cocktails?" One boy has kept the biggest distance from Y/N and seems the most in charge of his faculties puts a hand on Blonde Boys shoulder. 

"Come on, guys. Not worth it." 

The drunkest one stumbles toward her with an extended finger. "You've got a little attitude, huh?" 

She doesn't take her hands from her jacket pockets as he gets close enough for her to slam her knee into his crotch. He groans, but it's closer to a squeak, which makes her rat comment funnier. Y/N giggles at that, either from the situation or from her own nervousness. 

"That's assault!" Blonde Boy snaps. "We'll get you kicked out, bitch!" She crosses to him in two strides to stand nose-to-nose with him and says nothing. 

The sober one roughly grabs the other two by their shoulders. "Come on, guys. We gotta stay in the clear for a while. You heard dean Fury." Reluctantly, they follow him. The one the girl kicked spits on the ground and sniffs loudly as he leaves. The girl watches until they turn a corner and disappear out of sight. 

"Assholes," she mutters. Then she turns to Y/N. "You okay?" Her voice is quieter now. It's a very sweet tone despite the low gravel. Y/N thought she was putting on a voice to scare the boys, but apparently that's just how she speaks. 

"I'm fine," Y/N says quickly. She crosses her arms to hide her trembling hands. "They're just...being jerks. It's fine." The girl evaluates her. 

"I'm Natasha." 

"Y/N." 

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. Can I walk you home?"

Y/N nods. "If you're not busy, that would be nice."

Natasha clears her throat and puts a hesitant hand on Y/N's shoulder. "You sure you're okay?"

Y/N feels her chin quiver as the adrenaline works its way out of her body. She steps into Natasha and drops her face onto her shoulder. Natasha's arms are quick to wrap her in a hug. 

"It's okay," she mutters into her hair. "They're gone. Come on, where's your dorm?"

[sytoran]

home is where the heart is ★ n.r

— 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ;; 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐘𝐒 & 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)

pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader

chapter summary ★ natasha wakes you up with a pleasant surprise, your gremlin kids are the life and death of you, tony stark is annoying, marital sexting is pretty tough, and you're homesick for your wife's pussy.

warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, some pretty heavy kinks: blowjobs, marital sexting, breeding kink, daddy kink, probably more.

word count ★ 3.1k (feeding yall)

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

You slept like the dead.

Or at least you did, on most mornings, oblivious to the waking world in your sweet slumber. 

Today was different, though. There was a distinct feeling of pleasantness swimming in your subconscious, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It urged you awake, a certain type of wet heat that insistently tugged and pulled.

It wasn’t until a jolt of arousal shot through you like a nine-millimetre shotgun that you jerked awake with a start.

“Shit!” you gasped, yanking off the blanket from your lower half, to reveal your ethereal wife perpetrating what could only be described as a wet dream.

Natasha’s head was obediently lowered in the midst of sucking your erect shaft, her viridescent gaze trained unto you with a twinkle of mischief. Wandering hands were sheathed under the front of your sweatshirt, painted nails mapping out the expanse of your tensed abdomen. 

“Way to wake me up, baby,” you say breathlessly, a hand flying to the back of Natasha’s head in hopes of speeding up your ever-approaching high. You buck your hips once, effectively propelling your hips further forward, guiding your shaft into your wife’s mouth.

Natasha hums mindlessly, palming at your torso like it was second nature. Her mouth moves languidly, relaxed and slow, tongue trailing over the hefty length of your cock in a teasing manner.

Like the devil incarnate, Natasha’s hand glides a broad stroke from your abs to the base of your cock, and starts working her hand in firm strokes. “Fuck,” you groan, a hand twisting into soft locks of your wife’s hair.

The joint stimulation on the head and base of your cock have you barrelling towards a preordained high at a frighteningly fast pace, and the absolutely criminal way Natasha’s head bobs up and down is no help at all.

“Fuck, baby, m’so close,” you gasp, throwing your head back and letting your eyes slide shut. Your big hand guides Natasha’s head with a certain type of tacit power, unwritten but distinct. Natasha feels herself get wet, and in turn eagerly plunges her mouth down with a renewed vigour.

When Natasha lets out a filthy moan from the back of her throat, stifled by the sheer size of your cock in her mouth, pleasure overwhelms your every sense. 

You groan, hips snapping up for the entirety of your cock to be buried in Natasha’s warm and velvet throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Mama! Mommy!” 

The undeniable sound of little feet scampering across the wooden floorboard and down the stairs, unceremoniously hauls you out of your heaven-like ascension. 

Natasha pulls her lips off your cock with a satisfying ‘pop’ sound. “Time to get up, honey,” she says with the arch of her eyebrow, smoothly turning over in practised motion and leaving you hung and sprung.

“Baby,” you whine, pitifully throwing your head back. Your words fall on deaf ears and you grumble and pull up your sweatpants, just in time for the door to swing open and release the incoming wave of chaos.

“MAMA!!” Emilia shrieks, leaping onto the bed with fearsome aggression, her younger twin brother in tow. 

Your five-year olds didn’t let you catch any breaks, Emilio roaring into your ear while dragging his toy pterodactyl across your face. “Rawr! Rawr! Wake up, ma!”

You leap up in a haze of bedsheets and screaming kids, all your previous indiscretions quickly faded at the sight of your bundles of joy. 

Emilia squeals as you easily hoist her up with one arm, the little girl getting thrown into the air. Emilio receives much of the same treatment, getting dangled in the air by one leg.

“Mommy! Save us!” The boy cries out with a delighted grin and a hearty attempt at hitting your side. You swing them around with fake growls that incite laughter and squeals, steering clear of any sharp corners or wayward objects.

Natasha is more preoccupied with hugging your sleepy ten-year old, and cooing softly into her ear. 

Marina is the oldest of your three, quiet and reserved, with brilliance sparkling behind her soft eyes. “Hi, mama,” she greets you with a small smile, and your heart melts a little.

“Hi, darling angel,” you reply with a big grin of your own. “Where’s my morning kiss?”

At the prospect of the feared morning kiss, Emilio yells and wreaks absolute havoc, the toy truck forgotten in favour of escaping your clutches. 

“No mama! No kiss!” Emilia protests, the Russian determination behind her set eyes a splitting image of her mother’s. Emilio is long gone, visibly hidden under your bedside table. 

You hoist Marina up onto your hip, smiling at the sweet kiss she pecks on your cheek. “It’s mommy’s turn now,” you say easily, sliding up to Natasha with a mischievous grin.

“Ew!” Your little girl giggles, hiding behind her hands as you share a chaste kiss with your wife, one that is far too short for your liking. Either way, the morning kiss routine was a success.

The attention in the crowded room is drawn by a simple clap of Natasha’s hands. She stands arms akimbo, rocking her bed hair, sleep still half-written in her eyes — but the whole look is so endearing that you can’t help but fall in love all over again. 

“Okay, kids. Time to get ready for school! Who wants breakfast?”

The cheer that arises from your children is nothing short of pure jubilation. Emilio starts a chant of ‘Frosted Flakes! Frosted Flakes!’ that has them marching in line out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. 

Natasha laughs, following their trail, but you drag her back expectantly.

With one arm hanging off the top of the doorframe and the other wrapped around her waist, you pull Natasha into that long sought-after kiss. 

“Mhm,” you hum contentedly, inhaling her sweet scent. “I love you.”

Natasha slowly slides her hands up your arms, savouring the kiss. She presses her palms to your cheeks, adoration dancing in her eyes.

“I love you too.”

*****

The Frosted Flakes do not end up on the breakfast table, after all, because Natasha reasons that the kids had eaten it for three breakfasts in a row and their teeth would rot and fall off.

Toast and scrambled eggs, courtesy of your little handiwork in the kitchen, is the eventual outcome. Food is food to a bunch of hungry gremlins, either way, and the breakfast gets scarfed down in no time at all.

“You’re gonna go soon?” Natasha asks you in the kitchen, giggling at your teddy-bear patterned apron. You make a non-committal hum against your wife’s chest, wanting to stay in her arms for an eternity.

“Mama, we have to go to school,” Marina calls from the front porch, the door clicking open. “I need help with my shoe!” Emilio cries out, hopping into the kitchen with a singular shoe. “I got my shoes done on my own!” Emilia chimes in proudly, tugging on her backpack straps.

Natasha laughs, stroking your hair affectionately. “No rest for the wicked,” she says. “Be a responsible parent and send Marina to school, then go to work. The twins’ school bus will be here anytime.”

You exhale with a smile, pulling your wife in for a kiss that is a tad too long. Tugging off the pink apron, you’re glad you already changed into your work attire — a collared white shirt rolled up to your elbows, a grey-patterned tie, and matching slacks.

Natasha looks you up and down approvingly, then her eyes glimmer with an incited flame as she straightens your tie. You definitely don’t miss the way her hands glide smoothly across your chest to straighten out the wrinkles, and you resist the fluttering sensation that blooms under her touch.

“What a handsome young woman,” Natasha comments, tip-toeing to peck your cheek. You smile widely, preening under your wife’s attention. “Only for you,” you reply happily. “I’ll be off, then.”

“Mama, let’s go,” Marina probes, head poking into the kitchen. Her eyes soften at the sight of Natasha, proceeding to wave cutely. “Bye, mommy.”

Like little ducks, your three children follow you out of the house, with their miniature backpacks and shoes. Natasha watches adoringly from the porch, blowing kisses to Emilia when she yells one last “Bye, mommy!”.

Your Audi SQ7 peels out the driveway, engine revving. Marina is looking out the window, humming ‘American Pie’ with a little smile. As your home fades away in the rearview mirror, you think that this life was all you’d ever need.

***

“Fury, tell Tony that not sponsoring the coffee machines in my building is frankly, quite rude behaviour,” you comment, sitting next to the aloof man who’s snacking on a packet of dried fruit. Steve steals bits of the snack when Tony’s not looking, much to Fury’s chagrin.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Tony replies hotly, snatching back the piece of fruit in Steve’s hand. “You literally leaked the photo of me in a maid outfit, for the whole world to see. You know how many sleazy men have slid into my DMs since then? Pepper hasn’t let that go!”

“What, are you mad that the public now knows that Pepper’s the one that does the dicking down?” you retort. “And Steve was one of those ‘sleazy men’!” 

The accused blonde looks away quickly, suddenly very preoccupied with the tiling of the floor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve mumbles.

“That’s enough,” Fury admonishes with an unamused look. “The three of you need to get your shit together. Regardless of whether or not Stark is a bottom, I can’t have the CEOs of my powerhouse companies making a bad name. You know how that reflects on me? Stark Industries, SHIELD, L/N-Corp Worldwide Media: The Desolate Downfall of Nick Fury.”

“Is this because I modelled for the gay sex toy shop company? Because that’s just homophobic,” Steve reasons, folding his arms. “And Bucky liked the advert a lot!”

Tony scoffs, making paper aeroplanes with the papers on Fury’s desk. “We literally bring in millions upon millions for you each year. I’m sure that forgives the one time I was high during Y/N’s media conference. The Minister didn’t even notice! He’s like 82, anyways. Close to your age, Fury.”

“And I’m not sorry for calling the Netflix director a bitch on live TV,” you add in. “They’ve got no reason for cancelling all the sapphic shows left and right! My wife and I were invested in Gentleman Jack, okay?”

Fury sighs, the scene before him a spectacle he was no stranger to by now. 

You, Tony and Steve were the face of the up-and-coming generation of brilliant minds and creative thinking. He supposed your overwhelming success and proved greatness softened the blow of your discrepancies in maintaining an unblemished professional image.

“Moving on,” Fury continues. “I want to talk about Project Eagle. As you should know from last year’s report……”

Just then, your phone vibrates in your pocket, with a notification from Natasha’s contact.

You, indeed, were hard.

Upon reading Natasha’s last message, you shut your phone off so quickly that Steve turns and raises an eyebrow at you. You clear your throat and shift in your seat, evidently affected.

The heat that surges through your body pays no help in your focus on Fury’s briefing. You can feel the flush creeping on from the back of your neck, spreading down your body and rushing towards the area between your legs.

Natasha, why have you forsaken me? You think helplessly, the noises in the office fading to a low buzz. When your phone vibrates again, your finger clicks on the message before your brain can catch up to you.

The image that Natasha sends you has you choking on absolutely nothing, coughing up air like a woman possessed. 

Lacy red lingerie displaying thick thighs and a soft tummy should not be this breathtaking, but Natasha pulls it off anyway.

Filthy images flit into your mind uncontrollably, searing images like a broken record player. Your dick has a mind of its own, pressing hot and tight against the seam of your pants.

“L/N,” Fury announces, voice booming and hauling you out of your trance. “What seems to be the issue?” 

In the background, Steve and Tony giggle like schoolgirls, knowing all too well what had occurred. You clear your throat again, shoving your phone into your pocket, hopelessly trying to erase the blessed image of your wife from your memory, just for a moment longer.

“No issues here,” you say with a forced smile, fighting demons with your rock-hard erection you’re desperately trying to cover with a report file. “I’m all dandy, sir.”

“Right,” Fury says disbelievingly, his good eye flickering downwards for a fraction of a second. Embarrassment eats you up whole.

“Let’s hope your attention span is just as ‘dandy’.”

***

“Natty,” you pant, with your wife pinned under you, hot and tight inside of her.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you grunt, punctuating each word with a firm thrust of your hips. “Made me so fucking hard at work.”

Following your incident in Fury’s office, you had exhausted every fibre of your willpower not to lock yourself in a bathroom stall and jerk off like a nymphomaniac.

After a gruelling day of work and coming back to a house of sleeping children, you had wasted no time in claiming your stake.

“I’ve been blue balled for twelve hours,” you groan into Natasha’s neck, mouthing at the flushed skin with fervour. “Spare me some sympathy, darling.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” your wife teases, tracing a feather-light hand over your tensed back muscles and clutching at the back of your neck. “You’re so eager, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” you growl, scraping your sharp teeth over her collarbone, leaving violet imprints at a respectable-enough level. You roll your hips into Natasha’s, drawing relentless waves of pleasure and a rocking motion that has her throwing her head back.

Natasha’s erratic breathing and badly-disguised moans are music to your ears, a sweet symphony you’d been missing all day. You groan as her velvet walls clench tight around you, hot and wet and all-encompassing.

“You feel amazing,” you pant, the clefted tip of your shaft bumping against her cervix with how deep you nest inside of her.

A high-pitched whine sounds from the back of Natasha’s throat, as her legs spasm in the air. “Wanna fuck you senseless, please,” you groan.

“Do it,” she challenges breathily. You lean forward, manhandling her deliciously thick thighs, pressing your wife’s knees to her head.

The arousal that builds in your lower stomach is pure white heat, fueled by the breathless cries of your wife under you. 

“Fuck,” you cry out, reaching new spots you haven’t before. You surge forth, an unstoppable train, drilling your shaft into Natasha’s dripping cunt like it was your only reason for living. Because maybe it was, as you transcend earthly boundaries with her, only her.

Subconsciously, your hands fly to Natasha’s hefty tits, grabbing the shaking mounds. “Y’so pretty, babygirl,” you say, half-drunkenly, high of the white-hot pleasure that Natasha draws out of you. 

She’s untouchable heaven, silky moans and raspy cries, a soft tummy with rolls that you greedily grasp in your hands.

“Daddy,” Natasha cries, crescent nails scratching down your arms, her suspended legs shaking in the air. The airy lilt of your title makes you leak. “Ugh, fuck,” you grunt, pounding her into the bedframe, sweaty and slick.

“Let me come inside, please?” you practically beg, wide eyes transfixed at the area your shaft meets her cunt. Natasha whines breathlessly, a hand moving to clasp at the sheets. “Yeah, I-I’m on the pill.”

That’s all the confirmation you need before pinning Natasha down with spread hands. You shift on the bed as you mount her, skin-to-skin with your shaft fully-lodged inside of your wife. 

Natasha gives you this dizzy look, glazed-over eyes portraying complete submission.

Then you start moving again, and the world explodes in your hands.

“Oh, fuckkk,” you groan, shoving your fingers into Natasha’s mouth to stop her pleasured screams from waking up the whole house.

The speed at which you drive your hips into Natasha’s is downright sinful, smearing slick all over her rounded ass, dripping onto the bed.

You’re transfixed, as your wife’s big mounds bounce in time with your thrusts, making you drool with want. An animalistic growl leaves your throat as you push yourself in, even deeper than before, making Natasha arch above the bed with a muffled cry.

Just like that, with you buried inside Natasha, do you fall apart by the seams, an unwinding intricate tarp.

Your load gets buried deep inside Natasha’s womb, and you continue with shallow thrusts. “Mhmn,” Natasha moans, following soon after, spurts of slick coating your cock in waves of overarching pleasure.

“Babydoll,” you groan mindlessly, palming at her sides. You come so heavily that it flows out of Natasha, a dribble of thick white fluid, and your wife fingers it back in so desperately that you could get hard all over again. 

You collapse unceremoniously onto the bed next to Natasha. “I want more kids,” you state. You grope your wife’s tummy like it would conjure new life, an expectant look on your face.

“Three is enough,” Natasha says breathlessly, skin shining with a sheen of fresh sweat. She locks eyes with you, hair tousled and lips curled into an adoring smile.

“Okay, fine,” you mutter your acquiescence, both of you knowing that statement wouldn’t hold up for long. “...Give me a minute, then I’ll clean up. You need some water, baby?”

Natasha lets out a pleased hum, snuggling into your chest.

She kisses your left boob affectionately, as you groan with sensitivity, playfully swatting at her arm. “No need. Just want you.”

“You have me,” you respond softly, running a hand through the brown locks of your wife’s hair, flattening it out with gentle strokes. “You always will.”

so that's chapter one of 'home is where the heart is!' i personally choose to believe pepper straps tony down every night. what are your thought on the kids?? mommy!nat?? butch!reader?? the incorporation of the texts?? there's so much feedback i require tbh

reblog or no more milf!nat

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

[joliettes]

I’m in for the dykery, the butchery, the femmery, u just fucking name it and I’m diving in nose first without hesitation, like fr everybody be looking like a snack I’d like to consume rn !!

[abuckygirlarchive]

Natasha: You’re a fool. Running off on your own. You have friends... Sam: And partners. Steve: People who have your back. Bucky: I know... I know... and I’m sorry. I just had to do this alone.

Steve: Where’s Zemo? What happened?  Bucky: Long gone... and long story. How’d you find me? Steve: Zemo was trying to make your life hell... where else would be worse?

Captain America : No Escape 607, Ed Brubaker.

[plotwholls]

This is kind of random, but it actually really pissed me off that Natasha feeling like a monster was brushed over in Ultron?? And just because a male writer made her negative view of herself stem from not being able to have kids doesn’t mean we have to use that interpretation!?!? Because… I feel like people are forgetting the context in which this choice was removed from Nat.

We see “Graduation”. Nat doesn’t want the surgery.

That nightmare down the hallway looks like it was probably extremely traumatic!! and instead of getting annoyed that this is about a woman and babies again, think about what is happening: they are taking away Nat’s ability to selflessly sacrifice her body, her life, to give life and body to another, so that she can be better at taking life and body from another.

“Nat thinks she’s a monster because of a crusty white guy” is such a mid take when “Nat thinks because her ability to create life was removed, she can only take life” goes fucking hard.

[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

picturing butch!natasha

😳

maybe a … mechanic ?

idk but either way it’d be hot asf

[hellomystraightlacedfriend]

Natasha Romanoff by Butch Guice in Fear Itself #7.1

[mintymochacafe]

My name's Java

He/She Butch Lesbian

[WLW] x Reader Fanfics

I also take requests and my ask box is always open

Carmilla (CASTLEVANIA)

Loba (APEX LEGENDS)

Mad Maggie (APEX LEGENDS)

Melenia (ELDEN RING)

Larissa Weems (WEDNESDAY)

Ambessa (ARCANE)

Cassandra (ARCANE)

Grayson (ARCANE)

Sevika (ARCANE)

Reneta Glasc (LoL)

Lady Dimitrescu (Re8)

Mother Miranda (Re8)

Regina Mills (ONCE UPON A TIME)

Natasha Romanoff (MCU)

Wanda maximoff (MCU)

Lin Beifong (LOK)

Junker Queen (OVERWATCH)

Widowmaker (OVERWATCH)

Mercy (OVERWATCH)

Judy (Cyberpunk)

Panam (Cyberpunk)

Abby (THE LAST OF US)

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, October 11

JOYCE: Okay. What's wrong? BUFFY: It's nothing. JOYCE: Come on. You can tell me anything. I've read all the parenting books. You cannot surprise me.

~~BtVS 2x17 “Passion”~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Bright Future (Buffy, PG) by badly_knitted

Praise Kink (Angel/Spike, E) by Greensword101

First Kiss (Giles/Jenny Calendar, G) by Bobbie23

Just Another Lie (Connor, not rated) by naoa-ao3

Awkward (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by ClowniestLivEver

[Chaptered Fiction]

Supporting Natasha Romanoff (and Iron Man too), Chapter 85/85 Complete! (Willow/Natasha Romanoff, Marvel xover, T) by SomeMeaninglessName

Kinktober 2023, Chapter 11/31 (Buffy/Giles, E) by Skyson

Knock, knock!, Chapter 9/14 (Buffy/Spike, not rated) by Popsy

Narnia: Interlude, Chapter 2 (Buffy/Faith, Chronicles of Narnia xover, T) by BrennaLynn

Millennial: Kelvin, Chapter 6 (Buffy, Dawn, Star Trek xover, T) by BrennaLynn

House of Slayer: The Slayer, The Witch, & The Key, Chapter 14 (Buffy, Dawn, Hermione, HP xover, T) by BrennaLynn

Bring Me To Life : A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event, Chapter 67 (Buffy/Angel, not rated) by Jean_theGuardian

[French language] En l'an 2023, Chapter 5/8 (Buffy/Faith, T) by FridayQueen

Days of Future Past, Chapter 25/34 (Buffy/OC, Angel/OC, Buffy/Angel, M) by a2zmom

Spiderwebs, Chapter 39 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Willow25

Spidey Does Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Chapter 11 (multiship, Spiderman xover, E) by megamatt09

If We Could Freeze Time, Chapter 6/50 (Buffy/Spike, E) by cosplayermadness

Blind Date, Chapter 7 (Xander/Joyce, M) by Spooksdarkhero

Against All Odds, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by CheekyKitten

Across Ages (Buffy/Spike, R) by Isabeau

Destiny or Choices Made?, Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by charmed4lifekaren

Ethan Rayne, Watcher, Chapters 7-8 (Buffy/Spike, PG) by Desicat

When Anne met Spike, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, G) by To Be Hers

Mutually Beneficial Agreements, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, R) by FoolForSpuffy

In The Dark With You, Chapter 23 (Buffy/Spike, R) by Geliot99

I want to live, Chapter 1 (Xander, Charmed xover, FR21) by OniRinku

What It Means to Be a REAL Savior, Chapter 1 (Scoobies, TWD xover, FR15) by Buffyworldbuilder

What the Drabble?, Chapter 23 (Buffy/Spike, R) by VeroNyxK84

A Place in the Sun, Chapter 29 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by honeygirl51885

Autumnal Shorts, Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, R) by VeroNyxK84

These Endless Days, Chapter 12 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by violettathepiratequeen

Risque Roommates, Chapters 1-4 (Buffy/Faith/Spike, E) by shithappens

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Spike from Buffy the vampire slayer (worksafe) by softremains

Artwork: [Spike in his crypt - drawing] (worksafe) by ilformichiere

Artwork: Something hot (Buffy/Spike, NSFW) by lialivingart

Artwork: [Spike - drawing] (worksafe) by softest-butch

Artwork: Alive - Meeting after the end of the series (Buffy/Spike, worksafe) by lialivingart

Artwork: The scene lives in my head rent free lmao. Also, really wanted to draw them all together (Buffy, Willow, Xander, worksafe) by pocketsizedann

[Reviews & Recaps]

Once More With Feeling (Better than Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark) by fancoloredglasses

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 5X17 REACTION | First Time Watching by EvilQK

Buffy the Vampire Slayer S02E05 First Time Watching || "Reptile Boy" by JabberwockyReacts

Buffy the Vampire Slayer 1x10 "Nightmares" Reaction by Justalowly Channel

"Becoming, Part 1" & "Becoming, Part 2" (2x21-2x22) | BTVS REACTION by cass reacts

**ANGEL MAKING MOVES** Angel Season 2 Episode 8 "The Shroud of Rahmon" Reaction: FIRST TIME WATCHING by Nick Reacts

His teeth?!?! Buffy The Vampire Slayer | 2x18 'Killed by Death' | Blind Reaction by Vic

I Hate Ted! // Buffy the Vampire Slayer Episode 2x11 Reaction // I get mad! by Brooke Whipple

PODCAST: Episode 107: Tough Love by Myth Taken BTVS

[In Search Of]

Just Finished BtVS for the First Time and I'm All In for Spuffy! Need Recommendations! requested by ennaecha

[Looking for a BtVS season 8 fanfiction I read many years ago] requested by TheGingerTS

[Fandom Discussions]

I was thirteen when Buffy season 6 aired [tw: depression] by spuffybot

The Zeppo is a ridiculous episode by purest-love-deepest-pain

No idea if this is an unpopular opinion or not but I despise the Willow x Xander romance in season 3 by hibiscus02

Reclaiming ‘Buffy’: How Amber Benson’s ‘Slayers’ Reintroduces Spike, Tara and Anya continued by multiple posters

You can’t say Buffy didn’t at least try to be honest with her mom by AndrewHeard

Let’s talk about The Body by Syrtion

Just starting Season 6 again, on episode 3 and a few thoughts by davect01

The first three seasons are about the group dynamic. The latter seasons are about the group dynamic being very different, or even broken. by V48runner

So a lot of people throw gate at Xander for some of the things he said or did by celticanger

If you could change something... by duchessofmardi

Did Lilah love Wesley? by JellyfishDry9464

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

CONVENTION: James Marsters to Attend Infinity Con in Dusseldorf 11-12 May 2024 | Ent_Event via James Marsters News [LiveJournal]

PUBLICATION: Reclaiming ‘Buffy’: How Amber Benson’s ‘Slayers’ Reintroduces Spike, Tara and Anya — and Finally Gets ‘Justice for Cordelia’ (EXCLUSIVE) by Variety.com

PUBLICATION: This Buffy Season 8 Romance Still Gives Fans the Major Ick by Screen Rant

PUBLICATION: Slayers: Charisma Carpenter, Amber Benson Talk Reimagining Cordelia’s Fate and Finally Seeking Justice by TVLine.com

PUBLICATION: Buffy The Vampire Slayer: 8 Best Scooby Gang Members, Ranked by Game Rant

PUBLICATION: New Buffy Project Finds 'Justice for Cordelia' as Cast Takes Control of Beloved Characters (Exclusive) by TooFab

PUBLICATION: How Buffy The Vampire Sequel Plans To "Give Credit & Justice" To Tara & Cordelia by Screen Rant

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[nattysstargirl]

Natasha butch?!

Of course 🥰

[sytoran]

home is where the heart is ★ n.r

— 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ;; 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 & 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)

pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader

chapter summary ★ twitter's sole purpose is for you to thirst over your wife, the beach is a good place to spend time with your kids, and ogle at your wife in a bathing suit, but not a great a place to have sex. (lesson learnt).

warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, hard stuff: beach sex, doggy style, cunnilingus, daddy kink, SO MUCH thirsting

word count ★ 4.0k (get fed gremlins)

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

*****

In tandem with Tony Stark’s spontaneity, Steve Rogers’ unending enthusiasm, and the fact that you privately owned close to twenty beach resorts in New York alone, the lot of you and your other friends had a beach outing planned for that Sunday.

After the astronomically long time it took to get your kids dressed, beach toys packed, picnic dinner prepared, and everything loaded into the car, five happy L/N-Romanoffs finally kickstart their journey to the Westview Surfers’ Beach.

“SAND!” Emilia roars maniacally, once the five of you step foot onto the sandy shore. She’s gone like the ocean breeze, sprinting into the distance, grains of sand flying everywhere.

“Sea! Sea! Sea!” Emilio is equally as excited, already by the tide of the brilliantly blue ocean, following its ebb and flow with scampering feet and delighted cries. 

“Careful, Emilio!” Marina says, holding his hand, preventing her over excited brother from falling over. You can see the way she laughs along, kicking up water with her slippers.

Behind your eager children, you swing you and Natasha’s interlocked hands as you casually stroll along the beach, giving her a sweet smile. 

The sand that crunched beneath your feet was earthen and dry, such a gentle hue of gold, almost as grounding as the bright smile your wife returned.

“You look heavenly,” you murmur, bringing up the underside of your wife’s palm to press a gentle kiss to it. She flushes prettily, the sundress she’s adorning doing wonders to her skin tone and curves.

Natasha returns the softness, pressing into your side as you wrap a firm arm around her waist, hand cupping the curve of her motherly hips.

“Oy, lovebirds!”

At the sound of a distinctly familiar voice, you and Natasha spin around with bemused looks. From a distance, you can see Tony with a flamingo floatie around his hips, waving comically.

Next to him, the regular gang is sprawled across three separate picnic mats, conveniently hidden from the sun under several large beach umbrellas. 

Pepper is fixing up Tony’s floatie, to which Carol and Valkyrie snicker at from afar. Thor is asleep on the mats, taking up more than half the area. Laura is busy reading, with Clint probably gone to find seashells for the sandcastle Bucky and Steve are constructing. The kids make a long human chain from the shore to the sandcastle, scooping up buckets of water to make a trench.

“Aunty Y/N! Aunty Nat!” Nathaniel squeals, dropping his bucket, running over and leaping into your arms.

“What’s up, you little rascal?” you ask, laughing as the youngest Barton giggles. Natasha ruffles his head, waving at Lila. 

Morgan, being the same age as Emilia and Emilio, is already chatting excitedly with them and kicking up a loud racket. Marina joins Cooper in attaining bucketfuls of seawater.

“What’s up, my favourite lesbians?” Tony calls out to you and Natasha with outstretched arms, comically ignorant to the death-glare Valkyrie shoots him. 

Natasha rolls her eyes in faux annoyance, strolling past him and brightening up animatedly to chat with the ladies. You pat Tony’s back sympathetically. 

Your attention flits to an impressively large sandcastle with a sculpture of a mermaid on top, hand-crafted by Steve and Bucky. Leaning closer to Tony, you whisper, “Why does the mermaid kinda look like you?”

Leaving him to splutter at his intentionally uncanny resemblance to the mermaid, with a seashell bra and an elegant tail, you look up to see Clint coming back with his arms full of seashells. 

“Hi, Y/N!” He greets distractedly. In the midst of his frantic haste, Clint’s foot gets caught on a stray rock —

And the rest is a scene out of a comedy movie. 

The seashells go flying out of his arms, scattering onto the picnic mat and spraying sand everywhere, Clint loses his balance and flies forward, outstretched arms knock into the sandcastle, and everyone watches in horror as Steve and Bucky’s great unfinished symphony comes crumbling down, leaving only the head of Tony’s mermaid untouched.

A quiet hush falls. 

Bucky and Steve’s faces are morphed into disbelief and heartbreak, and Clint trembles in fear with sand in his mouth. Tony shudders at his beheaded mermaid, the ladies have their hands over their mouths, and Natasha fights battles in order not to burst out laughing. Thor sleeps unperturbed, and even the kids' racket has died down.

“Well,” you announce, breaking the stunned silence. “Who wants to go surfing?”

*****

As Natasha lazes in a beach chair, away from the gory scene of Steve and Bucky dunking Clint in the seawater, she watches you with a budding fire in her belly. 

Standing on the sand so casually, you have your hefty surfboard tucked under one arm, and Emilio in your other. You’re speaking to him with a roguish grin, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, tinted sunglasses pushed up to muss up your perfectly tousled hair. 

“You ready to ride the waves, bub?” 

“Yeah! I’m ready!”

Your wife swallows, thinking she was ready to ride something else.

Natasha crosses her legs unsubtly. It was honestly unfair, how indifferently attractive you were, like it was a state of being instead of a practised art. 

Perhaps it was her love for you and the longevity of your marriage that warped her perception of sexiness, but when you were casually strolling on the beach with that chiselled abdomen on display, who was she to be blamed?

“Y/N!” Natasha calls, sitting up slightly. There’s a devious little idea blooming in the back of her mind, and she feels like taking the bait, just for today.

You look up at your wife’s beckoning, and smile widely at her. Setting Emilio down gingerly and calling him a “little rascal”, you jog over to Natasha easily. 

When you flick your hair back, it glints in the sunlight, and so does the sheen of sweat under your sports bra, defining the cutting edges of your abdomen. Natasha has the criminal urge to rip off your swimming trunks there and then.

Despite your obliviousness, Natasha is more than well-aware of the stares you’re getting from young women and married women alike, momentarily disregarding their boyfriends and husbands to gawk at you.

“Damn, look at that fine specimen!”

“Ryan, why don’t you work out more?”

“There goes my heterosexuality.”

You get feasted upon hungry eyes like a slab of beef, likened to your beefiness, but it only makes Natasha’s possessiveness skyrocket.

“Hey, honey,” you say, settling on a low and inviting tone that has your wife blushing. You crouch down next to her beach chair, holding her hand in a sweet gesture. “What’s up?” 

You’re close to her, so close, and she can feel the heat radiating off you, and your distinct scent, and the overwhelming senses of want and need are washing over Natasha like those tidal waves in the ocean.

But well, Natasha knew more than a few ways to rile you up too.

“I think I want to go surfing too,” she lies through her teeth, having no inclination to partake in the sport. Natasha fakes a pout all too well, knowing it’s one of your many weaknesses. “But the sun’s really hot out there, so I need some help with the sunscreen.” 

It wasn’t like she’d have needed it, anyway. Just like that and you’re sold, ever the gentleman and the golden retriever, digging for the sunscreen in the duffel bag.

“Of course, honey,” you reply readily. “Is it the Banana Boat sunscreen, or is that the kids’ one? Oh wait, we have the SPF 50 one, I think that’s—”

Words trail off comically when you look back up at Natasha, gradually dying down completely.

Your wife has conveniently slid off her outer layer of a sheer white blouse, leaving her in just a matching two-piece set of an azure bathing suit. The top piece is held together with thin pieces of string, accentuating her chest in a tight cradle. The lack of coverage shows off the dip of her hips and her soft curves.

Coherent thoughts in your mindwires get severed as Natasha plays with the string on her bottom piece, nearly flashing you as the material slides down ever so slightly. Your throat dries up as her fingers trail a path over her tummy and cleavage. She plays with another bundle of string that keeps her chest barely covered, and the irresistible urge rises within you to undo it.

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Natasha murmurs, laying on her side and looking at you through lowered lashes.

“I know where they are,” you answer hoarsely, gaze still fixated on your wife’s enticing cleavage.

The sheer amount of bare skin that Natasha is showing off has your remaining fragments of sanity falling to pieces. There’s no point even trying to hide the tent in your pants, poking uncomfortably against the fabric.

“Gonna help me lather sunscreen?” Natasha asks with a silky lilt to her voice, turning over on the beach chair. 

You groan out loud when you see the curve of your wife’s ass on display, her rounded bottom barely covered by a few measly pieces of material, all held together by flimsy strings and nothing else.

“Mhm,” you respond brainlessly, uncapping the bottle and rubbing your hands with a bountiful amount of the moisture, clearly in excess.

You begin applying your wife’s sunscreen with overzealous eagerness and desire. Large hands spread unnecessarily widely as you gain coverage over the soft skin of her back, trailing up and down and smearing the white moisture over her soft skin.

“Oh, that feels nice,” Natasha says airily, a dainty little sound that causes your cock to twitch in your shorts. 

The line down the middle of Natasha’s back is emphasised as she tenses and relaxes it. Like clockwork, you begin massaging your wife’s back to release the tension in her muscles.

“Y/N…” The breathy moan she lets out is pure heaven, dragged out from the depths of her throat, then lifting to a higher tone that washes over you in a sea of goosebumps.

Of course, your faux masseuse skillset is just a simple ploy to grope and knead at Natasha. Fat spills through your fingers as you spread your hands across her torso, as Natasha whines softly.

It wouldn’t take a genius to realise that the heat building between the two of you was not just due to the heatwaves under the beating, unforgiving sun.

Your frighteningly quickly-growing arousal only heightens when Natasha feels that her back is done and flips over. Face-to-face with her hefty mounds, a round belly, and the blown pupils of viridescent eyes — you lose the plot completely. 

Deft hands fly to your wife’s ample assets, squeezing her hips in sinful amounts and staking your claim. “You’re so pretty, baby,” you mumble, face buried into the crook of her neck, subtly mouthing at her neck.

“Mhm,” Natasha whines in agreement, but it turns into a gasp as your fingers slip underneath the material of her bra, plucking at hardened nipples in merciless haste.

You press down onto her, flat tongue and sharp teeth, licking a broad stripe up your wife’s exposed collarbone to the tender column of her neck.

Before you can taint clear skin with raging-purple bruises, you’re pulled away with a firm grip on the back of your neck. You look back up to see Natasha gazing at you sternly. 

“Let’s try not to perpetuate public sex while you are the owner of this place, with all our friends present, and the kids building sandcastles no less than ten feet away.”

Much to your disgruntlement, these factors weigh in heavily and overpower your body’s built-in “pretty-wife-need-to-worship” mechanic. Now, your shorts fill up a lot more space than need be, your shaft pressing hot and tight against your left leg, clearly visible.

You grumble, hands still clammy with sunblock, the ghost of Natasha’s warmth still interlaced between each of your fingers. “You’re a meanie,” you sulk, lust-driven adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Natasha looks at you with a wicked smile. “And you’re too susceptible, darling. Now, where’s my flask? I plan on staying plenty hydrated before watching you rough it out against the waves.”

Clearly put-off by not being able to fuck your wife in your public beach resort, you flip off a little kid who openly ogles at Natasha’s ass, much to your wife’s horror.

*****

“I’M NOT BUILT FOR THIS!” Tony screams, arms flailing, as he rides a shallow wave. His firmly implanted foot adds too much weight on the front of his neon yellow surfboard, and the over-eager man overturns comically as the current rushes.

You laugh out loud, Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, surfing past Tony in a smooth motion. “Stick to the flamingo floatie, little guy!”

Valkyrie barely dodges the splash Tony creates, nearly falling off her own board. “Fuck off, you cunt!” she yells, full-chested and deadly focused on the tide. From a distance in the shallower part of the ocean, a reprimanding “Language!” can be heard.

Natasha’s wading in the shallower waters with Laura, while Thor had opted to sun tan on the beach while watching the kids.

As a large wave approaches, Natasha watches with intent. Upon your wife’s new found attention, you mentally prepare yourself, determined to impress her, and perhaps get revenge for her prior ploy.

You manoeuvre deftly, putting weight on your back foot to stabilise as you approach the wave head-on. Three… two… one. You add even more weight on your back foot as you go around the back turn while gaining speed, garnering energy like a coiled spring.

As the wave reaches its full height, broad and steep, your calves release with impact, propelling up the barrel of the wave like a spring. The surfboard moves in effortless motion, anchored by your back foot, navigated by your right.  

The second you reach the lip of the wave, you find the sweet spot to execute the backside tail slide. You rotate your wide-set shoulders, swiftly switching the pressure to your front foot. 

Your surfboard glides off the surface for a split-second, turning mid-air — there’s a camera-worthy frame of damp hair, stray droplets, and focused eyes.

You slide back down at an oblique angle with purpose and precision, like a scene out of a movie, locking eyes with Natasha as the wave crashes behind you.

“Damn, Y/N!” Carol hoots, looking amazed as you surf back to the rest of the gang.

“That was crazy,” Steve adds, resting belly-down onto the surfboard, strikingly adorable for a hulking man.

“Gotta admit, that was pretty cool,” Tony comments, his head bobbing above the surface of the water and his surfboard nowhere to be found.

You laugh along with them, attempting to explain the technical jargon of how you did it. But as much as you appreciated your friends’ enthusiasm, there was ultimately only one person you sought validation from. 

“Hi,” you say to Natasha with a stupid smile, sitting on your surfboard, having escaped the rest. 

“That was very sexy of you,” your wife wastes no time in stating, as if she wasn’t five millimetres away from flashing you and killing you with her sexiness. 

Natasha is stuck on the image of your damp hair flying into place like a scene out of a superhero movie, unbuttoned shirt flailing up to expose your defined back and abdomen, concentration flashing in your eyes.

“Mhm,” you hum lowly. Fire burns low in your belly as you ogle your wife in her bathing suit, pulling her closer by the underside of her thighs.

In a moment of indiscretion, your left hand slips upwards and undoes the knot on Natasha’s bathing suit, letting the material slip from your fingers.

“Y/N!” Though blocked from view of the others as it was underwater, Natasha lets out a breathy gasp and presses into you. Her cunt, already soaked before, gets even wetter at the intrusion of seawater.

“Can I claim my prize?” you ask heavily, hot pants against your wife’s ear, driving her wild with the way your fingers slip through her folds to encroach on her entrance.

In no time at all, two of your fingers are at Natasha’s cunt, feeling slick even underwater, and you push in—

“Group picture!” Steve yells from a distance, as you and your wife effectively leap apart in the water, the heated moment dissipated into thin air. 

But it lingers, the arousal, swimming in the back of your consciousness as you smile for a group selfie. Bucky’s arm is around you but you thank the heavens for hiding your erection under the water.

You can tell Natasha feels the same, eyes locking on you even after Steve successfully takes the group picture. (After many attempts.)

“I’m gonna go check on the kids,” Natasha finally says, gesturing back as if she was going to walk back to shore. She’s expectant, waiting.

“And I think I’m gonna go check with her!” you add, chuckling awkwardly, beckoning backwards with your thumbs.

“Okay,” Steve says disbelievingly, eyes glimmering with knowing and just a little amusement. Tony is much less subtle in his sniggering, and Clint looks horrified at the prospect of doing it at the beach.

Tony claps you on the back as you walk past. “Use protection,” he whispers, and you fumble out a haphazard response. 

*****

Turns out, you and Natasha don’t even make it to a completely secluded area before you’re half-undressed and panting. 

And maybe that’s half the thrill, hidden in a secluded beach cave, with regular people roaming around just outside. You’re pressed skin-to-skin with each other and tuning out everything else.

You groan as you snap the strings of Natasha’s bathing suit off, finally, finally. Teardrop tits bounce in place, shaking with the impact of how hard you jerk against your wife, unbearably uncomfortable in the constraints of your boxers.

Natasha takes mercy on you, helping you to tug down your Calvin Clein briefs, watching with heady arousal as your shaft slaps against your six-pack, red and raw and leaking.

“Hurry up,” Natasha whines, bending over and clutching at a stray rock, ass in the air as she exposes her leaking cunt to you. 

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, grabbing onto her ass and slapping it just because you can. You sink deep into your wife, warmth and relief enveloping you as you bury yourself inside her.

The first thrust is like heaven, feeling the pulse and push of Natasha’s walls as she accommodates to take your size, stretching to a familiar extent because you’d made a nest in there for yourself. 

The second thrust takes you there, an insurgent amount of slick coating your cock, flooding the path you proceed to pummel into. “Natty,” you whine, groping at her ass and pulling it closer to you, hilt-deep with no signs of stopping.

“Mhm, daddy,” Natasha moans, walls fluttering around you as you pull out, trying to stop your escape. But then you thrust forward, again, warm and full and deep, and your wife wails beneath you.

Natasha lets this velvet sound from her throat, silky and coated in honey as she breathes reinvigorated life into your arousal.

“Fuck,” you growl, rutting your hips with more rigour. Natasha whines, wrists suspended behind her back with one of your hands as you have your way with her.

“Baby I’m gonna come,” you gasp, virility cloaking the way your abdomen presses up against Natasha, left hand encircling her neck to bring your hot mouth up to hers.

You’re hardly embarrassed for how fast you’re barrelling towards climax, as Natasha is in much more of the same position. She’s panting your name, clutching at the rocks with hard sand digging into her feet. Your cock nudges and prods into her sweet spots effortlessly, the result of countless sex experiences.

“M-me too,” she responds breathily, breaking off into a whine as you press heated, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her back, tasting the salt and sweat on your tongue.

Pleasure blossoms in your lower torso, creeping up the base of your shaft and working its way upwards. Hot arousal overflows from its constraints, and your teeth sinks into your bottom lip as you come, quick and hot and messy.

“Oh!” Natasha moans, high-pitched and sensitive, as you pluck at her ruby-hard nipples. It only takes a few more thrusts for her to reach release, dripping down your cock and her thighs.

“Mhm, nhn—” As your wife raises in pitch and volume, you stuff three fingers into her open mouth, giving her something to suck on and remain quiet. You continue with gentle thrusts, feeling thick white liquid flow out the side of Natasha’s ruined cunt.

“Needa taste you,” you suddenly grunt, hips bumping into Natasha’s ass. She babbles her agreement, despite being half-conscious in a state of post-orgasmic pleasure. 

Easily, you lift Natasha and set her down onto the sandy shore of the beach cave, where the tide is low and washes over your feet gently.

It’s a change of pace, a gradual end to your savage ravaging, slow and sensual, where the water meets the sand. You lower yourself between Natasha’s spread thighs, lips slightly parted and dripping with need.

Natasha swallows audibly, right hand twisting into your tousled hair, looking at you through hooded eyes and lowered lashes. 

Words are left unspoken between the two of you, the tension speaking for itself, as you retain eye contact while lowering your mouth onto Natasha’s pulsing cunt.

You take your last breath of the fresh sea salt air and summer breeze before drowning in unbridled desire. As if making out passionately, you eat your wife out, switching between licking and sucking.

Poetry is written between the lines — the lilt of Natasha’s hitched breath, the crease of her thighs where your fingertips drag across, the shallow water that wades over your feet in a cool decrescendo.

Your head dips down once more, warm and wet, and the sun melts into the horizon, glazing golden and liquid orange. 

With your tongue lodged fully inside your wife’s pussy, marking your inability to breathe, and wide hands spread firmly over Natasha’s thighs, the two of you converge in saintly devotion, hushed worship falling from her lips.

“Please, just like that, please, daddy, please.”

Just like that, and the ocean swallows you whole, taking you under Natasha’s hold inescapably. Your name is said in a breathless cry, lilting and pronounced, and you shudder between her clenched thighs.

“Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“I think there’s ocean water up my asshole.”

“Yeah, I got some sand up my vagina too.”

*****

and that's chapter two of 'hiwthi'! how did yall feel about the introduction of the rest of the cast? i personally enjoyed writing the build-up scenes the most. (sunscreen and surfing!) and for those keen on expanding the family dynamic, i'll be building on that in the next chapter!

reblog or i will take 292857192 years to post the next part

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

[abuckygirlarchive]

Natasha: You need to stop and think before you act.  Bucky:  Bucky: Okay... so where do we start ?

managing bucky’s impulse control is a whole team effort, Captain America - No Escape 607.

a few moments later . . .

[themarvelproject]

Natasha Romanoff as the Black Widow from the splash page of Solo Avengers #7 (1988) featuring pencils by Butch Guice with inks by Bob Layton and colors by Paul Becton 

[wwprice1]

Stunning Butch Guice and Elizabeth Breitweiser art from Fear Itself 7.1.

[kiebs]

Mermay Days 1-10!

Funnily day 1 and 10 are not PPG, but I've been doing a mermaid au for PPG for most of the month so far! (Day 2 is siren Blossom from @carriedreamerx​‘s Siren Kiss!)

As for the mermaid au, the Girls are simple mermaids, the Boys are all sharks (Boomer is a mako, Brick a tiger, and Butch a great white), and the Professor is a simple merman! 

And then there’s Tohru and her babies <3 

You can see more art on my Instagram, kiebsmon!

[girls-are-very-pretty]

Nice delinquent girls are hot, pretty, and I automatically love them! You know them, the kind of badass athletic girls who are always down to punch a person in the face if the person is being rude, crude, or dismissive of their opinions etc, they would fight death if they felt like it and I love them for it. Now I don't mean girls who are just randomly violent and abusive, that's not what I'm saying because as much as I love girls the girls that I love need to not be abusive because that is a bad thing, but Natasha Romanoff and Carol Danvers are what I mean.