natasha romanoff one-shots (gxg)

⑱+ 𝐠𝐲𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

a/n: (requested) dom!nat, g!p reader, smut

haven't written anything — especially smut — in a while so forgive me if i'm a little rusty

oh and i also have zero experience with writing dom characters so don't expect too much from this

"Watch it", you say indignantly, smoothing out the fabric of your sweatpants as you scramble up from the training mat. Natasha reaches out her hand, wanting to help you up, but you swat it aside.

"No need to be cranky", she comments, crossing her arms. "I told you I wouldn't go easy on you."

"No, of course not." You fix your hair, which has become a mess thanks to the fact that you've been thrown onto the floor about five times now. Natasha shoots you a smirk, her gaze lazily traveling up and down your body. Then her eyes snap back up to meet yours, the expression on her face suddenly stoic and professional again.

"One more round?"

"What? Haven't gotten enough of kicking my butt yet?", you huff, but get in position anyway. You know you need the practice desperately, especially after being unable to train for two whole months after an injury.

Natasha knows that, too. And she'd usually make sure to spare you, to be nice, but she doesn't find it in herself to do it this time. Not because she's getting some kind of sick satisfaction out of torturing you, but rather because she's aware that — if you don't get back to your old self — you'll be an easy target during future missions.

"Yes. You know I like seeing you struggle."

Your cheeks suddenly start to feel warm, way warmer than before. And even though you've sweated, you're very sure this is caused by something else. Don't fuck the company, everyone says. Now you might know why, and you almost regret ignoring that advice. Multiple times, actually, but-

"Let's get this over with", you just murmur, getting into position again. She hums, her eyes locked onto yours, the look in them way too familiar. A tilt of her head tells you what to do — "attack me". You've learned to communicate without words, a skill you've picked up over the years spent living and working together.

One leg slightly in front of the other, elbows at your sides and fists in front of you, you get into position. Natasha watches your every move closely, never once shifting her attention away from you. You step forward, your only plan being to somehow knock her to the ground. Roundhouse kick, flying knee — your theoretical knowledge isn't of much use in a situation like this. You know she's stronger, more experienced, so you don't have much hope when you attack.

Natasha dodges you swiftly, then moves to grab you and swing her leg around your neck. You exhale in surprise — she's never used this particular move on you — and feel her throw you to the ground, your back hitting the padded floor with a thump. The redhead quickly switches positions, her body landing on top of yours as she straddles you to keep you from moving.

Her body on yours, one forearm over your throat, her red locks framing your face as she's leaning over. You feel your pulse quicken, your cheeks heating up. Blood rushes to the pit of your stomach, and you quietly pray your body will do what you're asking it to just this once.

But Natasha's essentially straddling you, her thighs on either side of your hips. It's a position that's already risky enough, but combined with the way her eyes don't shift away from yours, and her arm over your throat, and the soft puffs of air against your lips...your brain is in overdrive, and suddenly, Natasha can feel something press against her thigh. You can feel it too — how couldn't you? You've felt it countless times — and your cheeks slowly turn pink.