Redline
Natasha shoved past the pit wall, not caring about the protests, not hearing her own breathless curse as she ran towards the wreckage. By the time she reached the scene, the fire marshals were already dousing any lingering flames. And then, you.
You were moving.
A sharp wave of relief punched through her chest as she saw you push the cockpit open yourself, struggling against the stiff restraints. The front of your car was utterly decimated, debris scattered across the track. But you..God, you were standing.
Still, something was wrong. You weren’t looking at her. You weren’t even registering the chaos around you. Your eyes were locked onto your ruined car, hands trembling as though your mind was still catching up with what had happened.
Natasha was on you in an instant. You expected anger to come first, What the fuck were you thinking? Why didn’t you back off? But the words never left her lips. Because as soon as she got close enough to see past your helmet’s visor, Natasha realized the truth.
You were in shock. Your breath was coming too fast, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. You weren’t even trying to take your helmet off, just standing there, locked in a daze. Natasha’s voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Hey..”
Nothing. She cursed under her breath and stepped closer. This time, her hands reached for your helmet, gently unlatching it. Your fingers twitched as if you wanted to protest, but you couldn’t quite make yourself do it. Carefully, she lifted the helmet off, revealing your wide eyes, dilated pupils, skin pale beneath the grime and sweat. You blinked at her, still disoriented, but then your focus shifted back to the car.
Natasha saw it before you even moved. The way your body swayed slightly, your balance failing you. “I-I have to sit do-” You didn’t make it that far. Your knees buckled and Natasha caught you before you could hit the ground, strong arms locking around your waist.
“I’ve got you.”
The words were so uncharacteristically soft that even in your dazed state, you noticed. Natasha, who never coddled, never let an ounce of emotion slip through during a race, was holding you as if you might disappear. She helped lower you down carefully, kneeling beside you on the asphalt. One hand pressed firmly against your back to keep you upright, the other finding your wrist to check your pulse. Too fast.
“You have to look at me.” Natasha murmured, voice calm but firm. “Breathe.”
You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but your body was still trembling from the adrenaline. You hadn’t even realized how hard you were shaking until Natasha’s fingers brushed against your cheek, grounding you. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, searched yours for any sign of real injury. You felt exposed under that gaze, but for once, there was no anger, no disappointment. Just something deeper, something you didn’t dare name.
Your lips parted, voice hoarse. “I-I’m fine-”
“No.” Natasha cut you off, her grip tightening just slightly. “You’re not.”
The medics were arriving, voices blending into the background. But Natasha didn’t move. You blinked up at her, trying to focus. Trying to ignore the way your heart was racing for an entirely different reason now. “You scared the shit out of me.” she admitted, voice rough.
That caught you off guard. Your breath hitched, and for the first time since the crash, you truly looked at her. Natasha..your impossible, untouchable, ruthless boss..looked wrecked. And that, more than anything, made your chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to..” you mumbled, feeling small.
Natasha exhaled, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “I know.” She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to. Because her hands were still on you, steadying you, refusing to let go.
And for once, you let yourself lean into it. You weren’t sure when she had stopped being just your boss and when she became the one thing anchoring you to reality. The shock was wearing off, slowly being replaced by exhaustion and a dull ache settling deep into your muscles. Your adrenaline had carried you this far, but now that it was fading, you could feel every bit of tension clawing at you.
Natasha opened the car door, guiding you carefully towards the seat. But as soon as you settled inside, your eyes flickered to the road ahead, and your stomach twisted.
The medical tent.
“No.” you muttered, straightening despite the lingering dizziness. “I don’t need this. I’m fine-”
Natasha didn’t even hesitate. “You’re going.”
You turned to her, frustration bubbling up beneath the exhaustion. “I just need a s-second, I don’t need-”
Her hand came down on your thigh, grounding you. Not hard, not forceful, just enough to make you stop. Her grip was warm even through your race suit, her thumb pressing against the fabric in a silent warning.
“Y/n..” she said, her voice lower now, quieter. Steady. That was all. Just your name. But somehow, it cut through the panic better than anything else. Your chest rose and fell too fast, your body still caught somewhere between fight and flight. But Natasha wasn’t budging. She stayed close, unwavering, her expression unreadable.
After a moment, she sighed and softened her tone. “You’re going to the tent.” she repeated, slower this time, like she was making sure you heard every word. “You can argue all you want, but I’m not letting you walk away from this without getting checked.”
You clenched your jaw. “But I’m fine.”
Natasha leaned in slightly, her face inches from yours now. “Then prove it.”
You blinked, thrown off. “If you’re fine..” she continued, “then let them check you. Get cleared, and I won’t say another word about it.”
She had you there. You could either sit and argue, or you could go through the motions and be done with it. Either way, Natasha was not backing down. You exhaled sharply, dropping your head back against the seat. “Fine.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. almost a smirk, but she said nothing as she closed the door and rounded the vehicle to get in beside you. The medical tent smelled of antiseptic and fresh gauze, bright fluorescent lights making the space feel colder than it actually was. You sat on the examination table, arms crossed, trying not to wince as a nurse ran her fingers over your ribs. Natasha was standing a few feet away, arms folded, watching everything with the sharp intensity of a hawk.
You weren’t sure if she was monitoring you or the nurse, but either way, she wasn’t leaving. “Any dizziness?” the nurse asked.
You hesitated. You could lie. But Natasha would see right through it. “Some..” you admitted, reluctantly.
The nurse hummed, continuing her assessment. “Headache?”
“Not really.”
Natasha made a sound, a short exhale through her nose, almost like she didn’t believe you. You shot her a look, but she didn’t move, just kept that unreadable expression on her face. After a few more tests, the nurse stepped back and gave you a nod. “No signs of a concussion, but I’d still suggest resting for the next twenty-four hours. You took a hard hit. Any unusual pain, dizziness, or nausea, come back immediately.”
You nodded, already hopping off the table. “Thanks-” Natasha caught your arm before you could move any further. You stilled. Her grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm. She wasn’t stopping you, just… keeping you there for a moment longer.
The nurse glanced between you two before offering Natasha a polite smile. “She’s alright. Just needs rest.”
Natasha nodded once. “Good.”
The nurse left, and suddenly, the tent was too quiet. Your legs were steady now, though your body still ached from the impact. You’re turning toward the exit. But Natasha was faster. She blocked your path, arms crossed, gaze steady. “You’re coming with me.” she said simply.
You blinked. “What?”
“I’m driving you home.”
That threw you off. Natasha never left mid-race. Ever. The woman would sooner cut off her own arm than abandon her team during a critical event.
“But the race-”
“Yelena is taking over.”
You frowned. “What?”
“She’ll handle the rest of the strategy meetings. She can manage for a few hours.” Natasha Romanoff, the most controlling, hyper-focused team principal in the paddock, was just…handing things over?
“You don’t have to do that..” you said carefully. Natasha’s expression didn’t waver. “Get in the car.” The tone left no room for argument. You hesitated, glancing past her toward the paddock. The race was still happening, mechanics scrambling, engineers glued to monitors. It felt unnatural to leave in the middle of it.
But Natasha wasn’t giving you a choice. She took a step closer, voice quieter now. “You just hit a wall at over 200 kph, dorogaya. You’re not going back to the garage like nothing happened.”
You swallowed hard at the way she said it. Low, steady, controlled. When she’s calling you darling in Russian, you knew it was serious. She didn’t wait for you to argue. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, not too tight, not too gentle, just enough to make sure you were following.
The drive was silent. The sound of the engine filled the space, smooth and controlled, a stark contrast to the chaos you’d left behind. You stared out the window, arms crossed, trying to shake the exhaustion creeping in. Natasha was focused on the road, her jaw tight, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel like she was gripping onto something unseen.
You couldn’t tell if she was mad, worried, or just thinking too much. The tension sat thick between you, heavy and unspoken. You shifted in your seat, needing something..anything, to distract yourself. You pulled out your phone and started scrolling. And, of course, it was everywhere. Every headline. Every tweet. Every article.
Another brutal crash for Y/N L/N—can she recover?
Disaster strikes again: Second crash in just a few months.
Is Y/N L/N too reckless for GT?
Your stomach twisted. Before you could keep scrolling, Natasha’s hand shot out. In one swift motion, she plucked the phone right out of your grasp.
“Hey-”
“You don’t need to see that.”
Your mouth opened to protest, but when you turned to face her, something about her expression stopped you cold. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t frustration. It was something else. Something softer, something raw. For the first time since the crash, you saw the weight in her eyes, the worry she had been hiding under sharp commands and unwavering control.
And maybe you were too tired to fight back. You exhaled, letting your head fall back against the seat. “It’s not like it’s anything new..” you muttered.
Natasha’s fingers curled around your phone, her knuckles briefly turning white. “It’s bullshit.” she said flatly.
You let out a dry laugh. “That’s racing. People talk.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “Let them talk. It doesn’t change anything.”
You scoffed, turning your head toward the window. “It changes everything.”
Silence. And then, “I don’t give a damn what they say.”
Your breath hitched. You turned back to her, but she kept her eyes on the road, her grip on the steering wheel just a little tighter than before. You swallowed hard. The woman who was always pushing you harder, expecting more, never accepting less than perfection, was sitting here, telling you she didn’t care what anyone else thought. You should’ve been annoyed. Maybe even a little angry. But instead, you just felt something deep in your chest ease, just a little.
The moment Natasha pulled into the driveway of her trackside home, you knew this wasn’t just about getting you away from the chaos. This was personal. She didn’t say a word as she parked, cut the engine, and got out. You sat there for a second, staring at the darkened windows of her track, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Natasha Romanoff had left an entire Grand Prix just to drag you here.
A soft click pulled you out of your thoughts. Your door opened, and Natasha stood there, one hand gripping the edge of the frame, “Come on.” she murmured. No sharpness, no impatience. Just quiet insistence.
You sighed, unbuckling yourself, the exhaustion weighing down your every movement. She didn’t say anything as you stepped out, just stayed close enough to steady you in case you wavered. Her eyes tracked every movement, like she was still waiting for you to collapse.
You sighed. “Natasha, I’m fi-”
“Fine?” she finished, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve said that enough times today.”
You pressed your lips together. You were so damn tired. And she knew it. Wordlessly, she led the way inside. The space was just as you left it before the race: tidy, quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos at the paddock. But even here, you still felt the weight of what had happened, lingering in the back of your mind like a dull ache.
Natasha didn’t let you dwell. She brought you straight to your room, pushing the door open before standing aside to let you in. You hesitated, glancing up at her. “You don’t have to do this.” you muttered.
She met your gaze, something flickering in her eyes. “I do.” That shut you up. With a heavy sigh, you stepped inside and sank onto the edge of your bed, your muscles finally giving in to exhaustion.
Natasha lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching you closely. Then, after a beat, she reached into her pocket and pulled out your phone. She held it out to you. You blinked in surprise before taking it, the cool weight grounding in your palm. “Text your parents.” she said quietly.
You swallowed. Oh. Oh, shit. The headlines. They would have seen it by now. You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen, then slowly started typing. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You hit send, exhaling softly. Natasha watched the tension leave your shoulders, and something in her own posture eased, just a little.
Then, just as you thought she was about to step back, she spoke again. “I have something to take care of.”
You looked up, already sensing the shift in her tone. “Nat-”
“No.” she said, voice cold. Your stomach twisted. “You don’t have to do anything..” you said carefully. “It was just a racing incident-”
Her jaw tightened. “That wasn’t an incident.”
You swallowed hard. She took a step closer, her presence filling the space between you. “You could’ve been killed today.”
Your throat went dry. “I let you walk away, I let you tell everyone you were fine.” she continued, voice dangerously quiet. “But I am not letting him get away with that.”
You wanted to argue. To tell her it wasn’t worth it. But this wasn’t just about the crash. It was about you. And Natasha didn’t let anyone mess with what was hers. She reached for the door handle but hesitated, glancing back at you one last time.
“Rest.” she murmured, softer now. “I’ll be back soon.”
And then she was gone. You stared at the closed door, your phone still clutched in your hand. Outside, the faint sound of an engine revving echoed through the night. And for the first time since the crash, you weren’t sure who people should be more afraid of Walker…or her.
You sat there for a while, still gripping your phone, still replaying everything in your head, the crash, the impact, the way Natasha had looked at you like she’d seen a ghost. You should have been relieved. You had walked away. You were fine. So why the hell did it still feel like you couldn’t breathe?
You peeled yourself out of your race suit, wincing at the dull ache in your limbs as you stepped into the bathroom. The steam rose instantly as you turned on the water, letting it run until it was nearly scalding before stepping under the stream.
The heat hit your skin, washing away the sweat, the grime, the reminders of the race. But it didn’t wash away the feeling. No matter how much you scrubbed, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the warmth, the crash still played in your mind like a never-ending loop.
Walker’s car edging too close. The world tilting. The way your own voice had cracked. The impact. The absolute helplessness. Your fingers curled against the tiled wall, your breath coming too fast. It was fine. You were fine. So why the hell couldn’t you stop shaking?
Your knuckles turned white as you pressed your palm against the wall, grounding yourself. You weren’t scared. You had been through worse. You had crashed before, had felt the sting of losing control. But this time, it had been different. You had been different.
And Natasha had felt it too. The way she ran to you. The way her hands had trembled, just slightly as she took your helmet off. The way she had looked at you when she told you to rest..You squeezed your eyes shut, letting the water pour over you, trying to drown out the thoughts. It didn’t work. Nothing was working.
Your body still ached, your head still spun, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it, the weight of what had happened sat heavy in your chest. You hated this. You hated the helplessness. Hated the way your body refused to listen to logic. You weren’t weak. You weren’t fragile. But damn it, this shook you. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could shove it down and pretend otherwise.
The knock at your door was firm, but you didn’t answer. You had been lying on your bed for what felt like forever, staring at the ceiling, still damp from the shower, hair clinging to your skin. Your body ached, your chest felt hollow, and yet, you couldn’t seem to do anything but exist in this unbearable quiet.
But Natasha didn’t wait for permission. The door creaked open, and the familiar weight of her presence filled the room. You didn’t have to look to know it was her, the way she moved, controlled and quiet, the faint scent of leather and adrenaline lingering in the air.
You didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Natasha let out a soft exhale before she finally spoke. “Walker’s been disciplined.”
You blinked slowly at the ceiling. “FIA gave him a penalty. He’ll get more points on his license, and if he pulls shit like that again, he’ll be out.” Her voice was steady, cool, but you could hear the sharp edge beneath it. The restraint.
You swallowed. You should have felt relieved. But all you felt was tired. Again. It was happening again. The crash. The headlines. The scrutiny. It’s always the same. You didn’t move, your fingers curling into the sheets. Natasha must have sensed it because she took a step closer, voice lowering.
“You don’t have to think about it now-”
“I don’t want to hear it.” you muttered.
Silence. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to sit up. Your chest felt tight, your pulse erratic, but you didn’t want her looking at you like this, like she was waiting for you to break.
“I don’t need you standing there like I’m about to lose my mind.” you said, voice sharper than you intended. Natasha studied you carefully, her eyes piercing through every inch of the walls you were trying so desperately to hold up.
“I didn’t say that.” she said evenly. You scoffed, pushing your hair back. “You don’t have to.” A muscle in her jaw ticked.
You could feel it coming..the spiral, the weight, the suffocating loop of thoughts you had been shoving down since the moment you stepped out of that car. You didn’t want to do this. Not in front of her.
“I get it..” you continued, voice shaking slightly. “Walker got punished, people are talking, and now I just have to deal with it.” You forced a dry laugh. “I mean, it’s not like this hasn’t happened before, right? Another crash, another round of bullshit. That’s just how it goes.”
Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging into your skin.
“Y/n, you don’t have to-”
“It’s always the same..” Your voice cracked, frustration rising. “They talk, they judge, and then they wait, wait for the next crash, wait for the next moment I fuck up, wait to pick apart every single thing I do.”
Natasha’s eyes darkened. “And you know what the worst part is?” You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. “I let it happen. I go back out there and pretend it doesn’t get to me. I pretend like it’s not crawling under my skin. Because if I stop, if I let myself feel it-” Your throat closed up. You could feel it now. The weight pressing down, clawing at your chest. Natasha took another step forward, her voice softer now. “Y/n-”
“I can’t-” Your voice caught, and suddenly, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears burned before you even realized they were there. No. No, no, no, not now.. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing them to stop, willing yourself to shove it all back down.
“I know.” Natasha murmured, barely above a whisper. And that did it. The dam broke. A sob ripped through you, shaking your entire body as you clutched the sheets beneath you. The pressure, the frustration, the helplessness, it all came crashing down at once.
You barely registered Natasha moving until she was there. Warm. Solid. Holding you. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you against her. One hand tangled in your hair, the other pressing against your back, steady and unyielding.
You gasped against her shoulder, fists clenching in her jacket, as the sobs overtook you. You weren’t even sure what you were crying for anymore, the crash, the exhaustion, the sheer repetition of it all. All you knew was that Natasha wasn’t letting go. Not this time. She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to hush you or tell you it would be okay. She just held you.
Her grip tightened every time your body shook. Her fingers ghosted over your skin like she was grounding you, reminding you that you weren’t alone. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Eventually, the storm faded. Your body slumped against hers, drained, exhausted. Your breath slowed, hiccupping slightly as you tried to come back to yourself.
But Natasha was still so close. And when you finally lifted your head, when your red-rimmed eyes met hers, you both stilled. The air shifted. Your breath mingled, the space between you almost nonexistent. Her hands were still on you. One resting against your back, the other hovering near your jaw, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made your pulse stutter.
Her gaze flickered, down to your lips, just for a second, before snapping back up. And God, you could feel it. The pull. The tension. The undeniable inevitability of it. You leaned in. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure who moved first, but the moment your noses brushed, the air thickened, heavy and intoxicating.
It would only take a second. Just one second, but then, Natasha sucked in a sharp breath. And pulled away. The cold hit you immediately as she stepped back, her hands dropping from your skin as if she had just realized what she was doing.
Her jaw clenched, her breath unsteady, and for the first time, she looked conflicted. “I-” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her voice quieter now. “You’re vulnerable right now.”
You blinked, the words hitting you like a slap. Your stomach twisted” I-I’m sorry-”
“You should sleep. It was a long day.” She hesitated, just for a second. But then she shook her head, her walls slamming back into place. She stepped toward the door, her hand already reaching for the handle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
And before you could say anything else, before you could even process what the hell had just happened..She was gone.
The office was dark except for the dim glow of a desk lamp. The moment Natasha stepped inside, she exhaled sharply and headed straight for the small bar in the corner. Her hands were steady, but her mind was anything but. The whiskey burned as she poured it into a glass, but she welcomed the sting. Anything to quiet the almost still lingering between her lips.
She leaned against her desk, swirling the amber liquid, her jaw tightening as her mind replayed the moment over and over again. Too close. Too fucking close. One more second, one more breath, and she would have kissed you. And God, she wanted to and that was the problem. She clenched her jaw and took a long sip, letting the burn trail down her throat.
She had been reckless before, on the field, in battle, in life. But this? You? You were something else entirely. The door creaked open.
“Finally.”
Yelena’s voice cut through the silence, followed by the sound of her boots clicking against the floor. Natasha didn’t look up. “Not now.”
“Too bad..” Yelena muttered, crossing her arms as she stepped into the office. “We need to talk about Walker.”
Natasha took another sip, her fingers tightening around the glass. “I handled it.”
“I know.” Yelena said. “I just wanted to say..” She trailed off. Natasha could feel her younger sister’s eyes scanning the room, and then- “Oh.” The realization hit fast. Natasha could sense the smirk forming on Yelena’s face before she even turned her head.
“You’re.. drinking.”
Natasha didn’t respond. “You never drink after a race unless..” Yelena’s eyes narrowed before her lips curled into a knowing grin. “Unless something happened.”
Natasha sighed, setting the glass down harder than necessary. “Yelena-”
“Oh my God.” Yelena’s grin widened.
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”
But it was too late. Yelena’s whole face lit up. “This isn’t about Walker, is it?” Silence. A slow, wicked smile spread across Yelena’s lips. “This is about her.” Yelena laughed. Not just any laugh, a full-body, delighted, finally-I-fucking-knew-it laugh.
Natasha’s eyes snapped up, glare sharp enough to kill, but Yelena only laughed harder.
“Oh my God, I knew it!” she cackled, leaning against the desk. “I fucking knew it!”
Natasha clenched her jaw. “Yelena-”
“You almost kissed, didn’t you?” Yelena interrupted, grinning like she had just won the lottery. Natasha didn’t answer. That was answer enough. Yelena lost it. She doubled over, shaking her head as if this was the greatest thing she had ever heard.
“Are you kidding me?!” she wheezed. “This has been coming for months!”
Natasha glared. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I do..” Yelena shot back, still grinning. “The tension? The fighting? The glaring across the paddock? I swear, every time you two argue, it’s like watching foreplay.”
Natasha groaned, rubbing her temples. Yelena smirked, eyes still alight with amusement. “Come on, Nat..” she teased, nudging her. “You like her.”
Natasha didn’t move. Didn’t respond. Yelena’s smirk softened, just slightly. “You always like her.” she said, quieter this time. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Natasha exhaled, staring at the amber liquid in her glass. She didn’t need to answer. Yelena already knew. And for the first time, Natasha hated how well her sister could see through her.
The next morning, the air in the briefing room was thick with the low hum of conversation and the scratching of pens against paper. Engineers, strategists, and key members of the team sat around the long table, all focused on the monitors displaying telemetry data, damage assessments, and projections for the next race.
Seven days. Seven days until the next Grand Prix. Seven days to fix everything that had been shattered: your car, your confidence, and whatever the hell had happened between you and Natasha last night.
You sat in your usual spot near the end of the table, arms crossed, back straight, trying to focus on the words being exchanged. The screen showed the state of your wrecked car from yesterday, the entire front end mangled from the impact. The mechanics were already deep into repairs, and a new chassis was being prepped.
“We’ll have it ready before transport to the next circuit.” one of the lead engineers assured the group. Yelena leaned back in her chair, flicking a pen between her fingers. “And where does she start on the grid?” she asked, nodding toward you.
“Depends.” your race strategist replied. “But given the new components, we should be looking at a competitive position. With the right adjustments, we can get her back at the front.”
You nodded, barely processing the words, still trying to steady yourself. Because she was here. Natasha sat at the head of the table, posture straight, fingers tapping idly against the desk as she listened to the report. But she wasn’t just listening. She was watching you. It was subtle, so subtle that if you hadn’t spent so much time around her, you might not have noticed. But you felt it. The weight of her gaze. The way her eyes flickered toward you every time someone mentioned your car. The tension in her shoulders whenever someone brought up Walker.
You should have looked away. But you didn’t. And neither did she. For a moment, the entire meeting room disappeared. The voices, the numbers, the data..it all faded into the background as you locked eyes across the table. Your fingers curled around the edge of the chair, your heart hammering against your ribs. You could still feel the ghost of last night. The way she had held you, the way she had almost-
Natasha cleared her throat and broke the stare first, looking back down at the notes in front of her. You exhaled softly, forcing yourself to focus. Yelena, sitting next to you, didn’t miss a thing. She smirked, leaning in slightly. “You two going to keep eye-fucking the entire meeting, or should we actually discuss the car?”
Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed to your face as you shot her a warning glare. “Shut up..” you muttered under your breath. Yelena grinned.
Natasha, meanwhile, remained perfectly composed..on the surface, at least. But you didn’t miss the way her fingers curled into a fist against the table, or the sharp inhale she took before adjusting her posture. The meeting went on, but the tension never left. It was still there, unspoken, heavy, and impossible to ignore. The meeting had been going on for nearly an hour, filled with data breakdowns, car repair updates, and strategy discussions.
But none of it mattered. Not really. Because the only thing that did matter was the weight of Natasha’s gaze, the way her fingers drummed against the table every time your name was mentioned, the way she was avoiding speaking to you directly. Until she wasn’t. “We need to talk about the next race.” Natasha’s voice cut through the discussion, sharp and precise.
The room went silent. You straightened slightly, fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. Natasha turned to you fully now, her expression unreadable, but her voice was steady. Too steady. “You’re getting back in the car.”
Everyone was watching you now. Waiting. You swallowed hard, pushing through the tension in your chest. “I know.”
“No.” Natasha’s voice dropped slightly. “I need to hear you say it.”
The words hung heavy in the air. You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her expectation, her concern, her need for you to be okay, even if she wouldn’t admit it.
“I’m racing.” you said firmly, meeting her eyes. Something flickered in them..something unreadable, something that sent a shiver down your spine. A long pause. Then, Natasha gave a single, sharp nod.
Good.” The tension in the room didn’t dissipate, but the discussion continued. Data was reviewed, strategies were finalized, and plans were set into motion. But even as the meeting went on, you couldn’t shake the way Natasha had looked at you. Like she was preparing for war. And you weren’t sure if the battle was against Walker.
The next seven days were nothing short of relentless. Every day was a battle: fixing the car, running simulations, analyzing data, and ensuring that you were mentally and physically ready to race again.
But none of that compared to the real battle. The one happening between you and Natasha. Since the night you nearly kissed, something had shifted. It wasn’t something you spoke about..God, no. If anything, both of you had gone out of your way to pretend like nothing had happened.
But it was there. In the way her eyes lingered on you just a second too long. In the way your hands brushed when she passed you a data sheet. In the way your breath hitched whenever she leaned over your shoulder, her voice low as she analyzed your sector times. In the way she snapped at other engineers who wasted your time, as if she was the only one allowed to push you that hard.
It was like walking on a knife’s edge, waiting for something, anything to happen. And yet, neither of you made a move. Not when you caught each other staring across the garage. Not when your fingers brushed over the same laptop screen. Not even when she gripped your wrist during a briefing, her touch lingering just a second too long before she realized what she was doing and let go.
Instead, the tension built. And built. And built.
The paddock was a storm of movement, media personnel swarming, cameras flashing, journalists desperate to capture the story of the day. And they all knew exactly what it was.
“After her brutal crash just last week, Y/N L/N returns to the grid for redemption. But is she ready?”
“All eyes on L/N—can she handle the pressure?”
“Walker may have gotten a penalty, but is that enough to prevent further risks on the track?”
The words echoed through the speakers as you walked toward the garage, the pre-race energy buzzing in the air. You forced yourself to ignore it. The moment you stepped inside, the outside world melted away.
Your car was ready. The mechanics had worked tirelessly, and now, it gleamed under the garage lights, waiting for you. The team was moving efficiently around you, checking final tire pressures, adjusting wing settings, ensuring everything was perfect.
And then there was her. Natasha stood at the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed, watching the live broadcast of the pre-race show. She was composed, unreadable, except for the slight clench of her jaw every time they mentioned your crash.
She turned the second she sensed you. She had that look again. The same one she had given you before the last test session. The one that told you she saw everything, every flicker of hesitation, every unspoken fear, every piece of you that was still remembering the last time you had done this.
She didn’t look away. “You’re ready.” she said, voice steady. It wasn’t a question. You swallowed, fingers twitching at your sides. “I..”
Natasha exhaled through her nose, stepping closer. “Look at me.” she murmured. And there was something in her eyes, something that made your breath catch. “You can do this.” Her voice was softer now, but no less firm. “You belong here, Y/n.”
You clenched your jaw, exhaling through your nose. “Everyone’s waiting for me to crash again.” Her grip tightened around the helmet. “Fuck them.” Natasha’s gaze hardened, her grip tightening around the helmet. “Let them talk. Let them doubt you.” She took another step, the heat of her presence suffocating, overwhelming. “You know who you are. I know who you are.”
Your throat tightened. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t believe in you.” she continued, voice quieter but sharp as a blade. “You’re going to get in that car. You’re going to fight. And you’re going to win, because you can.”
Something in you shifted. It wasn’t immediate, wasn’t magic. But her words, her presence, the sheer weight of her belief in you, it settled deep in your chest, pushing back against the doubt, against the fear clawing at the edges of your mind.
Natasha lifted the helmet, tilting it slightly. Your fingers twitched as you reached for it, but she didn’t let go right away. Instead, she turned it in her hands, like she was making sure everything was perfect before handing it over. And then, instead of letting you put it on yourself, she helped you. Carefully, deliberately, she guided the helmet over your head, adjusting the fit, her fingers lingering against your jaw as she checked the strap. Her touch was soft. Almost too soft.
It sent a shiver down your spine. When she finally pulled back, her fingers brushed against your chin for half a second longer than necessary. The moment stretched, thick, electric, dangerous. She exhaled sharply, her face unreadable as she reached for your fireproof gloves. She didn’t just hand them to you.
She slid them onto your hands herself, pulling each finger snugly into place, like she needed to be sure you were completely ready. Your chest felt too tight, your pulse too fast. Finally, she nodded. “Get in the car.”
You stepped toward the cockpit, movements precise, automatic. But just before you swung your leg over the side, Natasha’s voice stopped you.
“Y/n.”
You turned back. Her green eyes burned into yours, and then she smirked. Just slightly. “Make them regret doubting you.”
A slow exhale left your lips. You nodded once. “I will.” And with that, you slid into the car, hands wrapping around the wheel, heart pounding not from fear, but from something else entirely. Something fierce. Something alive. And over the radio, just as the lights on the track began their countdown, her voice came through one last time, “Let’s hunt.”
Welcome back to the paddock, where we are moments away from lights out at today’s Grand Prix!”
“And all eyes are on Y/N L/N today. After a terrifying crash in the last race, the young driver is back on the grid, starting from P9. What a statement to make!”
“Absolutely! She’s had a phenomenal qualifying session, proving she still has the speed. But the real question is, has she fully recovered? Will the fear of another crash hold her back?”
“And let’s not forget, her rival, Walker, is starting just 4 position before in P5. After what happened last week, this could get very interesting.”
The grid was lined up. The tension in the air was suffocating, the anticipation electric. The lights above flickered one by one:
Five.
The engine beneath you rumbled, the vibrations rattling through your bones.
Four.
Your fingers flexed around the wheel, grip tightening.
Three.
The crowd was deafening, but you barely heard them.
Two.
Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, the pulse echoing in your ears.
One.
The world held its breath. And then, Lights out. You launched off the line, the car screaming as it shot forward, the immediate chaos of the pack swallowing you whole.
Turn 1 was a battlefield. Cars dove left and right, fighting for position. You barely had a second to think before reacting, shifting your weight, holding the inside line as the chaos unfolded around you.
Someone clipped your rear tire, just a tap, just enough to make you twitch. But you held it. Your stomach clenched, your hands locked in place. Not again. You clenched your jaw and kept pushing. The first real battle came sooner than you expected.
You had climbed two positions already, slipping past rivals with aggressive but clean moves. But the next overtake wouldn’t come easy. The driver ahead—P6—was defensive, weaving down the straight, forcing you to choose a side before braking late.
You faked left. They bought it. You dove right, slipping through just in time, cutting the corner with perfection.
“Nice move.” Natasha’s voice crackled through the radio. You barely registered it, your focus already locked on the next car ahead.
Each overtake was aggressive, sharp, brutal, unforgiving. You weren’t here to play it safe. You weren’t here to wait.
And Natasha knew it. “Good pace. Keep it clean.” she said over the radio, her voice as steady as ever. You barely responded, your entire focus on the car ahead.
Lap 10.
P5.
P4.
P3.
And then.. Walker. P2 now. He was right there. Your hands tightened around the wheel. The crash flashed in your mind before you could stop it.
Walker’s car too close. Your own scream. The impact. You gritted your teeth. Not this time. You pushed. Your foot slammed onto the throttle, the engine growling in response as you overdrove into the next corner. Your tires screamed, barely gripping the edge of control, but you didn’t care.
All you saw was him. You needed to pass him. “Y/n.” Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. You ignored it. Walker was fast, but you were faster. The gap closed. Half a second. Then a quarter. You could see the back of his car right there, close enough that you could almost reach through the cockpit and rip him out of it yourself.
He wouldn’t take you out again. Your foot slammed on the throttle as you lunged forward, closing the gap, the DRS kicking in, giving you just enough speed to attempt the move. He left the inside open. Your heartbeat spiked. You sent it and in a split second, it happened. Walker turned in too soon. You were already there-
Contact. Your front wing clipped his rear tire. It wasn’t enough to take either of you out, but it was enough to cost you.
“Fifteen-second penalty for causing a collision!” the radio crackled. Your stomach dropped…Fuck.
“Pit now.” Natasha’s voice came through, calm, but not neutral. You bit down the frustration as you brought the car into the pit lane, the speed limiter kicking in, the car crawling compared to the chaos of the race.
The moment you stopped, the seconds stretched painfully long. Fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds of nothing. Fifteen seconds of watching the field pass you by.
“What the hell are you doing?” She’s leaning down just enough to look at you directly through the car window.
Your grip on the wheel tightened. “I had the move.” you muttered. Natasha tilted her head, her green eyes sharp. “No, you didn’t.”
Silence. Your heart pounded. “You weren’t going for the position..” she said, voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “You were going for him.”
Your breath hitched. She saw it. She knew. “You think I don’t recognize it?” Natasha continued. “The rage? The recklessness?”
You stared straight ahead, your jaw clenching. “This isn’t about winning anymore.” she murmured, her voice softer now. “This is about proving something.”
A muscle in your jaw ticked. “I don’t have to prove anything.”
Natasha exhaled sharply. “Then act like it!” she said firmly. Her fingers gripped the edge of the cockpit, just barely, just enough to be grounding. “You want to beat him?” she murmured, voice dropping just for you. “Then do it the right way.”
Your chest tightened. For a moment, it felt like everything in the world had narrowed to just her, just those words, just those eyes, just that belief in you that burned through the anger in your chest.
The penalty was over. You should have gone. But for that brief second, you didn’t move. Not until she let go of the car, stepping back.
Not until she said, “Go take back what’s yours.”
Lap 15
You were last. Fifteenth place. Fifteen fucking seconds wasted. And you didn’t care. Because now, now, you were faster than ever. The rage was still there, but now it was controlled. You weren’t just fighting. You were hunting.
Lap 16: P14.
Lap 17: P12.
Lap 18: P10.
Each overtake was clean, brutal, efficient. The car was perfect. The balance was yours. “Good.” Natasha’s voice came through. “Keep going.”
Lap 19: P8.
Lap 20: P7.
The crowd was watching now.
“Jesus, she’s coming back through the field like a bullet!” the live commentary echoed.
Lap 21: P5.
Lap 22..P3.
And then.. You saw him again. The number on his rear wing burned into your vision like a target locked in place. The air between you crackled with tension, the slipstream pulling you in closer, closer, closer.
Your hands gripped the wheel so tightly your fingers ached, but you didn’t care. This was it. Your chest tightened as memories flickered, Walker’s car too close, your scream in the comms, the helpless spin, the wall rushing toward you—
No. You shoved the fear down, erased it. You weren’t that driver anymore. And this time, Walker wasn’t taking shit from you.
“Alright, you have five laps left.” Natasha’s voice crackled over the radio. “Take your time. Find the right moment.”
But you knew Walker. You knew his style, his defense, the way he always left the door open just enough to tempt an overtake before slamming it shut at the last second. You weren’t falling for it this time.
Lap 24: You faked a move down the inside into Turn 5. He bought it. Defended hard, taking a wider line, just like you knew he would. But you didn’t go for it. You let him run wide, closing the gap further instead.
“Smart.” Natasha murmured.
Lap 25: The DRS zone was coming. You had one shot. One perfect move. Or nothing. The back straight stretched ahead. You were too close now. The DRS opened, power surging, the engine screaming, the world blurring as your speed climbed.
This is it. Walker swerved, one move, legal, but barely. You anticipated it. Your eyes flickered to Turn 12 fast, dangerous, only one racing line. If you’re going to take it, you have to commit. Your breath hitched. You threw the car right, outside line. Walker reacted. Too late.
You braked later, later, the car on the edge, tires screaming, but you held it. The car stuck. You stuck. And in that split second, you were ahead.
“You got him.” Natasha’s voice burst through the radio, but the race wasn’t over yet. Walker was pushing, desperate, ruthless. You could feel him behind you, could see his car in the mirrors, but you didn’t care. You weren’t giving him an inch.
Turn 15.
Turn 16.
The car was flying, balance perfect, your mind so clear it felt like you were part of the machine itself. One more corner. One more breath. And then..The checkered flag.
The radio erupted, the team roaring, your own breath shaking as the realization crashed into you.
“Y/N L/N WINS THE GRAND PRIX!”
Your hands trembled on the wheel. You did it. You fucking did it. And through the chaos, through the sound of the world losing its mind, Natasha’s voice came through.
“That’s my driver.”
Your hands were shaking on the wheel, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your body vibrating with the sheer force of what had just happened. You had won. Not just the race. You had won yourself back.
“Fucking incredible drive, Y/N!” your race engineer shouted over the radio, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “What a comeback!”
The grandstands were thunderous, the entire circuit erupting as the reality of your victory sank in. But none of it compared to your team. Through the visor, you could already see them, gathered at the pit wall, fists pumping, mechanics jumping onto each other’s shoulders, pure euphoria radiating from them.
And somewhere in the chaos, Natasha. Standing behind the pit crew, arms crossed, but her smile..God, that smile, was visible even from the cockpit. Your chest tightened, your breath coming in short, exhilarated gasps.
“Bring it to P1, Y/n.” Natasha’s voice came through, lighter than you’d ever heard it. “Then get your ass out of that car and celebrate.”
You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you guided the car through the cool-down lap, your heartbeat still pounding.
“On my way, boss.”
As you pulled into the designated stop, the team was already climbing over the barriers, their bodies packed together in a frenzy of victory. The second the car came to a halt, you didn’t think. You threw off the wheel, ripped your belts loose, and jumped out of the cockpit like you’d been set on fire.
The moment your feet hit the ground, you turned and ran. Straight into the arms of your crew. The mechanics caught you mid-air, your body disappearing into the sea of hands, laughter, and pure fucking joy.
They were screaming, shaking you, slapping your back, gripping your shoulders as if they couldn’t believe it was real. “HOLY SHIT, Y/N!”
“SHE DID IT! SHE FUCKING DID IT!”
“THAT WAS INSANE!”
You let out a giddy laugh, arms flailing as they pushed and pulled at you, each one desperate to congratulate you. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet and yanked it off, and the moment the fresh air hit your face, you let out a roar, pumping your fists into the air, the rush of it all making you dizzy with ecstasy.
You barely registered the cameras flashing, the broadcasters yelling into their microphones. None of it mattered. Because this, this overwhelming, uncontrollable flood of joy, was everything.
And then..You saw her. She wasn’t in the center of the chaos. She stood just behind the pit wall, arms still crossed, her expression composed, at least, to everyone else. But you saw it. The way her lips twitched, fighting a full smile. The way her chest rose and fell, like she was steadying herself. The way her eyes softened, just slightly, the moment they met yours.
Something inside you shifted. For a split second, everything else, the cameras, the shouting, the flashing lights, disappeared. It was just her. Just the two of you. And for the first time since the race began..since before that, since the almost, since the everything-
You let yourself feel it. The adrenaline. The victory. The weight of her gaze on you. Your chest heaved. Your body still buzzing with energy, you took a step forward-
But just then, someone grabbed you, another mechanic pulling you into another celebratory hug, breaking the moment. And when you looked back, Natasha was gone.
The second you stepped onto the podium, the energy of the crowd hit you like a tidal wave. The champagne bottles popped, the roar of the fans blending with the flashing lights, the cameras capturing every second of your victory.
It was chaos. Beautiful, reckless chaos. You could barely hear yourself think as the mechanics pulled you into another round of hugs, the engineers cheering, even Yelena wrapping an arm around your shoulders and shaking you violently with pure pride.
The adrenaline hadn’t worn off, not even after the press conference, the interviews, or the moment you saw your name officially at the top of the championship standings. For the first time in a long time..you won. But even through the celebrations, through the waves of congratulations, champagne, and endless cheering-
You felt it. The weight of something unfinished. Because this wasn’t the end. It was just the second race of the season. And there were still 22 races to go.
By the time the paddock had settled, the celebration had moved, to the team’s private lounge, deep in the heart of the circuit’s hospitality center. The place was alive, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the undeniable high of victory. The mechanics were already a few drinks in, celebrating like they’d just won the championship itself.
Yelena had made it her personal mission to keep the drinks flowing, practically forcing a bottle of champagne into your hands.
“Come on, golden girl.” she teased, nudging you. “You actually did it. Time to celebrate!”
You laughed, shaking your head. “I am celebrating.”
“Not enough.” she countered, tilting the bottle toward your glass. “Drink.”
You rolled your eyes but took a sip anyway, the sharp fizz burning against your lips. And then, You felt her before you saw her. The pull was unmistakable. You turned- And there she was. Natasha stood near the edge of the room, her expression calm, drink in hand, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting shadows over her face.
She wasn’t celebrating like the others. She was watching. You. Your pulse stuttered. Because there it was again. That same tension. That same unspoken thing that had been lingering since before the race. Since the almost..You swallowed hard, setting your drink down.
Your feet moved before your mind caught up. You crossed the room, weaving through the crowd, until you were right there, in front of her, the noise of the party fading into the background.
She tilted her head slightly, lips curving in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not enjoying the celebration?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Natasha’s eyes flickered over you, lingering for a second too long. “I am.” she murmured. “Just..observing.”
Your heart twisted. Because you knew her well enough to know that wasn’t the whole truth. She was thinking. Calculating.
And feeling, more than she wanted to admit. You exhaled, shifting closer. “Natasha-”
She cut you off. “You drove like hell today.” she said, voice low. “You fought like hell.” Something in her tone made your breath catch. “But.” she continued, softer now, “it’s not over.”
And just like that, the weight of it all crashed back down on you. The victory. The adrenaline. The illusion of finality. But she was right. It wasn’t over. There were still 22 races to go. Your grip on your drink tightened, the celebration suddenly feeling distant. “Yeah..” you muttered, exhaling slowly. “I know.”
Natasha’s eyes softened, just a little. She lifted her drink slightly, her gaze locked onto yours. “Then enjoy this one.” she murmured, her voice dipping just enough to make your chest tighten. “While it lasts.” You swallowed hard, clinking your glass against hers, the taste of champagne still lingering on your lips. But even as the party went on, as the laughter and music filled the night. You both knew the truth. The fight was just beginning.
The next ten races were a rollercoaster of emotion, grit, and war. If the second race had been about proving yourself, the next ten were about survival. Every lap, every overtake, every mistake and triumph was a battle..not just against the other drivers, but against your own mind, against the past, against the unrelenting pressure that came with leading the charge in the championship fight.
And through it all, Natasha was there. Watching. Calculating. Pushing you to your absolute limits.
And Walker? Walker was waiting. He wasn’t finished with you yet. The third race was a fight. You started P3, behind Walker and another rival. The car felt perfect, the balance just right, and by Lap 20, you were leading.
It was yours to win. Until- “Puncture! Rear left!” The words hit your radio like a gunshot. No. Your heart plummeted as the car twitched, the tire barely holding on as you limped back to the pits.
By the time the crew slapped on fresh rubber, you had dropped to P7. Your jaw locked, your breath ragged.
“Head down, recover.” Natasha’s voice cut through the noise. You pushed. You fought your way back to P3, but Walker won. And in the post-race press conference, he made sure to remind you of it.
“Bad luck out there, Y/n.” he said, his smirk just mocking enough to make your blood boil. “But hey, at least you’re getting used to fighting your way back up the grid.” You clenched your fists. It wasn’t over. Not even close.
Race 13
You didn’t just win. You dominated. Walker had pole, but you took him into Turn 1, clean, precise, unstoppable. Natasha’s voice over the radio was pure steel.
“Now hold it.”
And you did. For 58 perfect laps, you controlled the race, crossing the finish line five seconds ahead of the entire field.
Walker barely made it to P4.
And this time, when the cameras flashed, you smirked at him first. Headlines read:
“L/N vs. Walker: A Battle for the Ages”
“Two Titans, One Championship”
The tension between you and Walker was all-consuming, turning every press conference, every overtaking battle, every glance into something that felt like war.
The championship lead was shifting constantly. One race, you had it. The next? Walker stole it back. And with every lap, every podium, every single fucking mistake, Natasha’s grip on you tightened. Because she knew, just as well as you did. If you let anything slip now, it was over.
The media loved talking about race days. The victories, the mistakes, the rivalries. But no one ever talked about the days in between. The seven days between races, where the real battle happened.
Because those were the days Natasha broke you down. Mornings? Training so hard your muscles screamed. Cardio, weightlifting, reaction drills—pushing your endurance to the limit. Afternoons? Simulator sessions, lap after lap, perfecting every single braking zone, every racing line, every overtaking strategy. Evenings? Race debriefs, where Natasha sat across from you, arms crossed, green eyes pinning you in place as she tore apart every mistake you made.
“You should’ve covered the inside on Lap 42.”
“You hesitated in sector two.”
“If you let Walker get in your head, you’ll lose everything.”
It was ruthless. It was relentless. And yet, somehow it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Because she never let you break. No matter how close you came to shattering, no matter how exhausted you were..She never let you give up.
And that? That scared you more than anything. Because it meant she cared. And neither of you were ready for that conversation. The Unspoken Shift - Natasha, Closer Than Ever.
Race 18
The ride back to the track was silent. Painfully, suffocatingly silent. Natasha’s grip on the wheel was tight, her knuckles white. Her jaw was clenched so hard you thought it might break. You wanted to speak. Wanted to say something..anything. To explain, to defend yourself, to apologize.
The second the race ended, you knew you were in trouble. Not because of the result, you had still finished. Not because you had lost, because technically, you hadn’t. But because of how you raced. Because you had ignored Natasha’s orders. Because you had pushed too hard, took too many risks, fought too recklessly..
And Natasha? Natasha had seen all of it. The team felt the tension the moment you rolled into the garage. The air was thick, charged, dangerous. You knew you had pushed her too far this time. You had ignored every single call over the radio. You had fought her instead of Walker.
And now? Now she was so furious, so cold, so quiet, it almost scared you more than if she had just started screaming. You swallowed, exhaling sharply. “Nata-
“Don’t.” Her voice was low, firm, cutting off whatever you were about to say. You clenched your jaw, sinking into your seat, the weight of it settling over your chest. You wanted to apologize. But she didn’t want to hear it. Not yet. And as the car rolled into the facility, as she pulled into her usual spot with precise, controlled movements, you knew..
The worst was still coming. The door in her office slammed shut behind you. And then? Natasha lost it. “What the fuck was that?!”
Her voice cut through the air like a gunshot. You barely had time to process it before she was on you, her fury crashing into you like a hurricane.
“Do you have a death wish?!”
Your chest heaved, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. “I-”
“No, Shut up!”
Your breath hitched. Her tone was dangerous now, low, firm, absolute. She took a step forward. Then another. Until she was so close, you could feel the heat rolling off her skin. “You think you’re unstoppable?” she demanded. “You think you can just ignore orders? Disobey me? Throw yourself into battles you can’t fucking win?!”
Your stomach twisted. “I was racing! I-”
“No, you were fucking reckless!”
The words hit hard. Too hard. Your hands clenched into fists, your body coiling with frustration. “I was fighting-
“You were out of control!”
Natasha’s voice rose, her green eyes flashing, her entire body taut with rage. “Do you even realize how close you were to wrecking the car? To wrecking yourself?”
Your pulse spiked. “I knew what I was doing!”
“No. You didn’t.” Her voice lowered, rough, almost dangerous. “You let him get inside your head.”
Your breath caught. Because that was the truth. And you hated it. Your fingers dug into your palms, your jaw tightening, burning with anger, with shame, with something else entirely.
And Natasha? She saw all of it. Her breathing was uneven now. Her shoulders tight. Her chest rising and falling just as fast as yours.
The air between you crackled..so thick, so charged, so suffocatingly tense, “You don’t get to fight me on this, Y/n.”
Your body froze. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because it wasn’t just a command. It was a warning. You swallowed, breath shaky, eyes locked onto hers. “Natasha-“
“You don’t get to argue with me.” Her voice was lower now, dangerous, daring you to push her further. Your pulse skipped. You should have backed down. You should have stepped away.
But you didn’t. “Please..”
A muscle in her jaw ticked. And then, She kissed you. Hard and Punishing. A lesson. A correction. A reminder of exactly who was in control. You gasped against her mouth, but she didn’t let you pull away. She owned you. Her hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, pulling you against her, your body melting into hers.
You moaned into her mouth, and she devoured the sound. Your back hit the desk, papers scattering everywhere, but neither of you cared. Her hands roamed your body, possessive, taking exactly what she wanted.
Her teeth scraped against your lip, and you whimpered, gripping her tighter, pulling her closer, needing more, more, more. She was everywhere. All fire and control and dominance, and you were drowning in it. She broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “You drive me crazy, do you even realize that?”
Your body burning from the inside out. And then she kissed you again. And this time? Neither of you were stopping. Your breath hitched as she dragged your racing suit down your body, the cool air hitting your flushed skin.
Natasha didn’t hesitate. Her hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wide, her gaze hungry, demanding. “Look at you.” she murmured, her fingers teasing, barely touching, making you squirm.
“So fucking stubborn. So fucking desperate, even when you pretend not to be.” Your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing friction, but she held you down, denying you.
“There you go..” she taunted, her pace slow but ruthless, her fingers curling inside you in a way that made your entire body tremble.
“Still think you don’t need to listen to me?”
Your hands gripped her shoulders, your nails digging into her skin, trying to ground yourself. “F-Fuck-”
She growled at the sensation, loving the way your body clung to hers, resisting but so goddamn weak for her at the same time. “Say it.” she demanded, her voice low, wrecked, dripping with authority. “Say you fucking obey me.”
You shook your head, your lips parted, gasping for breath, still fighting her. “I—N-Natasha, I—”
She thrust deeper, her other hand gripping your throat, tilting your head back so she could watch you completely fall apart beneath her.
“Say it, Y/n..”
Her pace increased, her fingers relentless, knowing exactly how to unravel you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tightening around her, fighting the pleasure overtaking you.
“I-I obey—fuck, I obey you, Natasha—”
Natasha let out a wrecked groan, her lips crashing onto yours, swallowing your surrender. “That’s my girl.” she murmured against your lips, moaning as she felt you shudder beneath her.
“Now take it.” She didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t let you breathe. Her body hovered over yours, pressing into you, her fingers curling inside you just right, her lips ghosting over your jaw.
“You’re mine..” she whispered, her voice possessive, dark, full of something uncontrollable. “Say it again.”
Your head tilted back, your moans breaking into wrecked sobs, your hands clutching her shoulders like she was the only thing keeping you grounded.
“I’m yours, Natasha—fuck, I’m yours—”
Her pace increased, dragging you higher, higher, until you couldn’t hold on anymore. “Come for me, Detka..” she commanded, her voice raw, her fingers working you over the edge. “Now.”
And fuck, you did. Your orgasm ripped through you violently, your body arching, convulsing, completely lost in her. Natasha let out a guttural moan, her forehead pressing against yours, holding you through it, keeping you safe even as she completely wrecked you.
“Good girl.” she whispered, pressing kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, your lips. “You did so good for me, detka.”
Your body was still trembling, your breath uneven, shattered. Natasha didn’t let go. She stayed pressed against you, her arms wrapping around your waist, her lips leaving soft, grounding kisses along your skin.
“Still think you don’t need to listen to me?” she teased, her voice low, adoring, but still smug. You let out a weak, breathless laugh, your fingers trailing up her arms, holding onto her.
“Guess I had to learn the hard way..” you murmured, voice still wrecked, but teasing. Natasha smirked, pressing another kiss to your lips, slow, deep, full of something more.