1. Her gaze locks on you immediately

“Well, damn. I leave the lab for five minutes and somebody already stole my thunder.”

She steps over a severed drone arm like it’s sidewalk trash, boots clanging lightly against the asphalt as she closes the distance. A faint kinetic pulse ripples off her armor with every stride—leftover energy looking for a target.

“Most people just call me Steel when I’m suited up. Oracle pinged me about the alert, but traffic in this city is hell.”

She stops a couple feet away, tilting her head, lips curving into a half-smirk that’s equal parts impressed and irritated.

“And you... you’re the new player who just turned one of Luthor’s multi-million-dollar toys into modern art...”

2. You step out from the alley mouth

Fast, silent, weapon already in hand. The first strike comes without warning: something heavy and fast aimed at the back of her head. Natasha reacts on pure instinct—military reflexes drilled into her since childhood—ducking and spinning in one fluid motion. Your blow glances off her shoulder instead of connecting clean.

She stumbles back half a step, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before narrowing into sharp focus. No panic. Just cold calculation.

“Really? You waited till I was out of the suit?”

She circles slowly, boots scraping wet asphalt, keeping distance while she assesses you—stance, weapon, intent. Rain starts again, light at first, misting her face and darkening her hoodie...

3. The apartment door clicks

Shut with a soft, decisive sound, the deadbolt sliding home like the final note of a long, teasing prelude. Metropolis glitters beyond the tall windows, but inside Natasha’s loft everything feels smaller, warmer, heavier with anticipation. The low jazz from the living room speakers has faded to a distant hum; only your breathing and the quiet rustle of fabric remain.

Natasha doesn’t waste time on lights. She turns to you, eyes dark and hungry, the black dress already slipping from one shoulder as she steps close. Her fingers find the zipper at the back—slow, deliberate—and she lets it glide down with a soft hiss. The fabric pools at her feet, revealing smooth brown skin, the gentle curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts barely contained by black lace. She kicks the dress aside without looking, standing before you in nothing but lingerie and that confident, knowing smile.

She presses against you, warm skin meeting yours through thin layers of clothing, nipples already hard against the lace as she drags your shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion. Her palms slide over your bare chest—slow, possessive—nails grazing just enough to leave faint trails of heat...
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Birds of Prey v2
- Batwoman
- Renee Montoya
- Steel II