One-shots or mini-stories about the MCU ladies, mainly Natasha Romanoff & Scarlett Johansson. I will write for other certain female characters if I get requests and I feel comfortable in doing so.
Toxic!Natasha x toxic!teacher reader - Nat is 19 (she had to stay back at school for a couple of years).
Natasha unknowingly makes the biggest mistake of her life and becomes trapped...
Warnings: Unprotected sex, Natasha has a penis, tiny bit of cum play, creampie, spanking, slight degradation kink, toxicity, little bit of dubious consent towards the end.
Word count: 1.8k
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Natasha sat in History, bored out of her mind, truly wondering how any of this would be useful information for her, considering she was going to college to be an athlete, but the attention of the brunette next to her made her perk up in her seat. "Hey, Natasha, right?" the brunette whispered out, to which Natasha nodded with a grin. "Do you fancy coming by mine later on to help me with this assignment? I'm really stuck on it, and I could use your help." Natasha thought about it carefully, she also didn't really know what to do, but when she saw the brown-haired girl flutter her eyelashes, she accepted. "Sure, detka, give me your number and I'll text you when I'm on my way." Natasha grinned wickedly, knowing that she wouldn't end up helping the brunette girl and would just use the situation to fuck another of her classmates into the mattress and add to her list of conquests.
"Miss Romanoff, could you repeat what I just said to the rest of the class please?" Natasha's cheeks flushed red under your glare, feeling humiliated in front of the rest of her friends and teammates. Not one to fall into line quite so easily, Natasha snarked back, "No Miss Y/L/N, I was preoccupied with someone and something more important. If you don't mind?" "Oh, I don't mind Natasha, but I'm sure you will when you have to spend every evening with me this week and miss your soccer practice. Miss Hill, move to the back of the room please, and Romanoff, do us all a favour and keep quiet. Now as I was saying..." Natasha quietly grumbled to herself as she started reluctantly writing notes about the subject you were discussing.
15 minutes later, the bell rang, and Nat had never been more grateful for a sound, until your voice, reminding her that she had detention with you, put her back into a grumpy mood. She stayed planted in her seat and laid her head down on the desk on top of crossed arms. The shutting of the door caused her attention to turn towards it, where she really took notice of you. Dressed in a tight black pencil skirt and a crisp white cotton shirt tucked into it, accentuating the curves of your hips and the fullness of your bosom. Natasha lost herself staring at your breasts as many more buttons than appropriate were undone, giving her a view of the lace that you wore underneath. It was only when the clicking of your heels came to a halt that she realised you'd caught her as you stood directly in front of her, sporting a smirk at her enamoured state.
"See something you like, Romanoff?" Slowly, her eyes trailed up your figure as she nodded with a sly grin, "hmm, very much so Miss. How about you give me a twirl, let me see everything, pretty girl." Turning slowly, you felt Natasha's lustful and predatory gaze on you, so you truly gave her a show. When you'd turned 180 degrees, you bent over, giving Natasha a better view of your supple thighs and nearly exposing your underwear as your skirt rode up your legs. Natasha could feel her cock hardening in her jeans as she got to see more of your exposed skin, wondering what it would feel like as she plunged herself into your willing depths. Standing back up, you made your way over to your desk, grabbing what you wanted for Natasha's detention task, but she clearly had other ideas, standing abruptly from her seat, causing the chair legs to scrape noisily against the floor. She pushed herself against you and trapped you against your desk, a squeal coming from your throat at the impact of her body on your back and your front against the desk.
