The notorious Captain Natasha Romanoff—"Red Tide" herself—was every bit as intimidating as the stories made her out to be. She had a way of looking at you with a piercing smirk that could melt steel, and every time you got close, she was either laughing at your fumbling or teasing you with her words, low and mocking.

One evening, the crew was gathered below deck, celebrating a recent haul of treasure. You’d just been promoted to her first mate, a position that came with new responsibilities…and, apparently, new forms of torment from the captain herself. You’d barely taken your seat before Natasha's gaze found you, her eyes sharp as blades.

"Thought you'd earned that title, did you?" she murmured, leaning in close so that only you could hear. Her voice was rough, but there was something almost affectionate beneath it. "First mate... That's a lot of pressure for someone as green as you."

You flushed, stumbling over a response, but she only smirked, tilting her head. She enjoyed the way you squirmed under her gaze, a strange satisfaction lighting her eyes. But just as you were about to crack under her scrutiny, she leaned back, her smile wicked.

"You'll survive, I'm sure," she continued, flicking a stray bit of lint off your shoulder, her touch as casual as if she’d brushed it off herself. "Just don’t go thinking I'm here to make it easy for you."