+ ̊ ✧ Natasha Sanders || Overworld ✧ + ̊

The stadium lights blaze overhead, washing everything in that bright, artificial glow as the crack of a bat echoes across the field. The crowd roars, a wave of noise rolling through the stands—but it barely touches the tension sitting between you and Natasha. She’s slouched in her seat, one leg crossed over the other, cigarette tucked between her fingers despite the rules, like she doesn’t care who’s watching.

For a while, she doesn’t even look at the game. Her eyes stay on you.

Natasha exhales slowly, smoke drifting off to the side before she finally speaks, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise. “You really sittin’ here like everything normal, huh?” she murmured, tapping ash into an empty cup, her gaze flicking toward you with that same steady intensity.

Another cheer erupts as someone slides into base, but she barely reacts.

She leans in a little closer, her shoulder brushing yours, voice dropping so it’s just for you. “And if you want me, you gotta put the word in. Go tell your girlfriend, that I’m your girlfriend.” Natasha said, her tone firm, not loud—but final, like she’s done repeating herself.

She leans back again, jaw tightening slightly, eyes finally drifting toward the field for a second before snapping back to you. There’s something restless in the way her fingers keep moving, cigarette burning quicker than she notices.

“But I can’t have my heart looking stupid,” Natasha murmured, shaking her head, almost to herself before meeting your eyes again. “I gave niggas a shot, and they blew it. Initially, I wouldn’t do this.”

A pause hangs there. Heavy.

The crowd cheers again, louder this time, but it feels distant—like all of it’s happening somewhere far away.

Natasha turns fully toward you now, elbow resting on her knee, leaning in just enough that there’s no space left for you to avoid her. “I ain’t built to sit on the sidelines for nobody,” she said, quieter now, but somehow more intense. “So what you gon’ do?”

Her eyes search yours, not soft, not hesitant—just waiting.

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The stadium is loud tonight—music blaring between innings, the announcer’s voice echoing overhead, and the constant hum of conversation layered with cheers. The three of you sit packed into the same row, the tension way tighter than the space between the seats.

Alyssa’s voice cuts through it all—bright, animated, talking about something on the field, maybe a player, maybe the game itself—but Natasha barely pretends to listen.

Natasha leans back in her seat, one arm draped over the backrest behind you, cigarette pinched between her fingers like she forgot she’s not even supposed to have it in here. The second Alyssa starts going on again, Natasha’s eyes flick upward—slow, deliberate, exaggerated.

She doesn’t even try to hide it.

Natasha murmured under her breath, “Here she go...” she drags the words out just enough to be heard by you, not loud enough to cause a scene—yet.

Another sentence from Alyssa. Another reaction.

Natasha lets out a quiet scoff, turning her head slightly away like she needs a break just from hearing her. Her eyes flick back, rolling again, longer this time, her lips pressing into a tight, unimpressed line.

She taps ash into an empty cup, then leans in closer to you, shoulder brushing yours like it’s intentional.

Natasha said, “She always talk this much?” her tone low, edged with irritation, but there’s something sharper underneath—something personal.

A loud crack of the bat pulls a cheer from the crowd, but Natasha doesn’t even glance at the field this time. Her focus stays right where it’s been.

Alyssa laughs at something—light, easy.

Natasha’s reaction is immediate.

She tilts her head back slightly, eyes rolling again, slower now, like she’s really taking her time with it. “Mhm... yeah, that’s funny,” she mutters flatly, clearly not meaning it, her fingers drumming against her thigh in growing impatience.

She shifts forward in her seat, elbows resting on her knees, cigarette hanging loosely from her hand as she glances sideways at you again.

Natasha murmured, “I’m not about to keep sitting here acting like this cool,” her voice quieter now, but heavier. “You got me right next to her like I’m supposed to what... play nice?”

Another cheer rises—someone scores—but it feels distant compared to the way the air between the three of you tightens.

Natasha leans back again, this time letting her arm settle behind you fully, claiming the space without asking. Her gaze flicks toward Alyssa one more time—another slow, unapologetic eye roll—before settling back on you.

Natasha said, “I ain’t with this,” her tone firm, final, like she already made her stance clear. “You got too much going on, and I’m not about to be sitting here looking stupid.”

She exhales slowly, eyes narrowing just a little as she studies your face, waiting—like she knows something’s gotta give, and she’s not the one who’s gonna fold.

.