To Everyone Who Follows Me From Ao3 And Keeps Up With My Natasha Romanoff Fic, I Am Still Working On

to everyone who follows me from ao3 and keeps up with my Natasha Romanoff fic, I am still working on the next chapter, but I wanted to see what everyone thinks of me splitting chapter 2 in half to get an earlier update? right now I'm at about 22k words, but it's definitely going to get longer because I have one more scene to write. I could post what I have already this weekend or I can wait until the whole chapter is done (which I unfortunately don't know when that will be because of exams and assignments).

If there's no clear consensus, I'll likely split the chapter up anyway. I just want to know your opinions before anything! super sorry it's been so long between updates, but this is my way of trying to fix that <33

A Feline Connection Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has an unexpected reunion while on a mission.

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: light fluff, slight angst, mention of gun

Words: 4703

Natasha sits at a small outdoor table, blending effortlessly with the weekend crowd outside a nondescript café. Dressed casually in a simple jacket, jeans, and sunglasses, she appears to be just another city dweller enjoying a quiet morning coffee.

Beneath the surface, however, her sharp eyes remain focused on the apartment building across the street, subtly monitoring every individual entering or leaving.

The team had received a tip suggesting that one of the building’s occupants might have ties to the city’s criminal underworld and could possess some information about an upcoming weapons deal they were investigating.

Natasha’s mission is to uncover more, though the lead is vague. They only know that the target supposedly resides in this area, leaving Natasha with little to do but wait and watch for anything suspicious.

Maintaining her undercover guise, Natasha casually lifts her coffee cup to her lips. Just as the rim touches her mouth, she feels a gentle nudge against her leg.

Startled, she frowns slightly and glances under the table to investigate.

Wide, familiar yellow eyes stare back at her, unblinking.

For a second, Natasha considers the possibility that it’s just a coincidence.

There must be dozens of black cats in the city, but when her gaze shifts to the sleek gold tag hanging from the cat’s collar, she reads the ironic name engraved on it.

Widow meows, placing her paw on Natasha’s leg and nudging her again, this time with more insistence, as if greeting an old friend.

Natasha can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips.

“Hey, it’s been a while,” she murmurs, lifting Widow onto her lap. She gently scratches behind the cat’s ears, feeling the soft, familiar fur beneath her fingers.

“Did she lose you again?” Natasha asks the cat with a slight chuckle.

Before Natasha can react, a soft, amused huff appears near her ear, followed by a low voice.

“Is that really how you think of me?”

Natasha starts slightly, momentarily caught off guard by the fact that she hadn’t sensed your approach. She turns her head to find you standing beside her with an amused smirk, your eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

You reach out and gently push the bridge of her sunglasses up, fully covering her eyes.

“Does this disguise really fool anyone?” you tease.

Natasha clears her throat, recovering her composure quickly, though she still feels a slight heat on her face caused by your close proximity.

“It works well enough,” she replies smoothly as you move to the other side of the table.

You chuckle, casually resting your hands on the back of the empty chair across from her, raising a brow in question.

“Mind if we join you?” you ask, your voice carrying that familiar blend of ease and flirtation.

Natasha hesitates, her eyes flicking toward the apartment building she’s been watching all morning. She knows she should stay focused on the mission, but the unexpected reunion with you and the cat resting in her lap has thrown her off balance.

Noticing her hesitation, you lean forward, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“You know,” you say, glancing around dramatically before locking eyes with her, “it’s a lot less suspicious if you’re sitting with someone.”

Your knowing grin makes Natasha sigh, but still, the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in amusement. She gives a small nod toward the empty chair across from her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “But Widow stays with me.”

The black cat meows as if in agreement, her body brushing more snugly against her lap.

You grin wider, pleased at her acceptance, and pull out the chair to settle in across from her, the faintest glint of fondness softening your gaze at the two of them.

“I wouldn't dare argue with either of you.”

As Widow curls up, her purring reverberates softly in Natasha’s lap as she strokes the cat’s fur.

After a long morning of heightened vigilance, this unexpected visit brings a strange but welcome sense of calm. The tension in her body unravels as she savors this brief moment of normalcy, an unusual pause in her otherwise relentless routine.

“So,” you begin, your voice pulling her back from the quiet comfort of the moment, “who are you watching?”

Natasha’s gaze sharpens, but she keeps her tone casual, taking a sip of her coffee before responding, “Who says I’m watching anyone? I’m just here for the coffee.”

You raise a brow, your smile growing.

“Right. Because the Black Widow spends her weekends blending in with civilians, sipping coffee, and definitely not on a mission.”

“Exactly,” Natasha replies smoothly with a smirk.

Releasing an exaggerated sigh, your expression turns mockingly disappointed as you remark.

“And here I was, thinking you sought me out specifically.”

Widow lifts her head at your words, releasing a chastising cry in offense.

“Sorry,” you amend, glancing at the cat with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “I mean, us.”

Natasha chuckles at the exchange, allowing herself to indulge in the banter to steer the conversation away from her mission.

“Isn’t it more likely the other way around? After all, you approached me first,” she counters with a teasing smirk.

You scoff playfully. “Ah, I see—someone’s pretty confident in herself.”

Raising a brow, Natasha gestures pointedly to the cat nestled comfortably in her lap.

“I’m just basing it on facts. Why else would you name your cat after me?”

You narrow your eyes, a playful glint returning.

“Who says she’s named after you?”

Natasha’s smirk widens as she leans back, clearly enjoying the upper hand.

“You’re not denying it.”

“And I’m not admitting it either,” you shoot back, leaning forward with a grin, resting your chin on your hand as you meet her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Natasha teases with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve had my fair share of admirers. There’s no shame in being a fan.”

With an amused scoff, you gesture toward the apartment building as you reply with a sarcastic tone.

“Yes, you’ve caught me. My apartment is filled with Black Widow merch,” you smirk at her, adopting a playfully serious expression.

Your words make Natasha pause in her playful banter, her brows knitting slightly at the casual mention of your home. She glances briefly at the building she’s been watching, remembering the intel she received.

“You live here?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusatory.

Widow raises her head at her and lets out another indignant meow, clearly displeased by the oversight.

Natasha pets the cat’s head gently, an apology in her touch.

“Sorry,” she corrects, “the two of you live here?”

“Yep, third floor,” you answer. “We were just on our way back when Widow spotted you.”

Widow meows again, almost as if confirming the information, nuzzling Natasha’s hand affectionately.

At the new information, Natasha taps her fingers lightly on the tabletop, humming in thought. She wonders if the intel the team received might have been about you—or perhaps someone from your past.

Before she can delve deeper into the idea, your hand slips over hers, gently stopping the movement.

“I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you say, your voice serious enough to catch her attention.

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that Natasha recognizes but can’t fully understand. Yet, instinctively, she feels she can trust you—at least for now.

Natasha’s gaze drops to where your hand covers hers, feeling the warmth of your touch seep through her skin. The contact sends a familiar stirring through her, the same unexpected feeling that often rises whenever you’re near.

She’s still not sure whether to welcome it or resist it.

Natasha looks back into your eyes, her curiosity piqued, ready to probe deeper with questions.

But before she can speak, you gently turn her hand over in yours, your fingers tracing light, random patterns across her palm.

“At your ten,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s pulse quickens, both from the delicate sensation of your touch and the subtle way you’ve pointed out something she missed.

Despite the distracting warmth radiating from your fingers, she discreetly shifts her gaze in the direction you indicated.

Sure enough, a man walks toward the apartment building, his posture tense, clad in a plain jacket and a cap pulled low over his face, clearly trying to avoid attention.

Widow’s body tenses in her lap and her ears flatten against her head as she lets out a low hiss in his direction.

Natasha attempts to soothe the cat’s nerves with gentle strokes.

“He moved in down the hall a few weeks ago,” you continue casually, not looking up, still focused on tracing her palm. “Seems normal enough, but I’ve recognized his type before.”

After calming Widow to the point where her tail is no longer lashing, Natasha’s eyes return to you.

“You’ve been watching him?”

With a faint sigh of exasperation, you reply, “Didn’t have much of a choice. He’s taken an…unwelcome interest in me lately.”

Curious, Natasha glances back at the man, her eyes narrowing as she observes him. As if sensing her attention, he pauses mid-step, his gaze locking onto your table—specifically, onto you.

His body language shifts, stiffening with barely concealed interest and tension.

Before Natasha can react, your fingers slowly and deliberately intertwine with hers. With a playful smirk, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss against her skin.

Natasha snaps her attention back to you, eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected gesture.

"Maybe that'll finally give him a hint," you remark nonchalantly, lowering your entwined hands back to the table as though the intimate moment were perfectly ordinary.

Natasha blinks, momentarily thrown by the shift in dynamic.

A now familiar warmth rises in her cheeks, and she's grateful her sunglasses hide the flustered look creeping across her face.

Natasha clears her throat softly after a beat, regaining her composure. Glancing subtly in the man's direction, she's relieved to have a reason not to meet your gaze.

He’s no longer standing there—storming away instead, his frustration and confusion apparent in the hurried way he vanishes into the building.

Before Natasha can fully process everything that just happened, Widow hops onto the table. Her little paws rest on top of your joined hands as if wanting to be part of the moment.

That touch settles her as she returns to her previous cool demeanor.

“You were using me,” Natasha accuses, her voice carrying a mix of mock indignation and dry amusement.

You grin, utterly unfazed.

“And in return, I gave you valuable intel to move your little operation along.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow playfully with a slight huff.

“You could’ve just told me from the start.”

Your smirk widens, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Natasha shakes her head, her lips twitching upward in a reluctant smile. Despite your methods and actions, you did give her a new lead on her mission.

Though, now she has to handle this new situation—the tension between you two.

Even though the man is gone, you haven’t released her hand, and she doesn’t pull away either.

Something else lingers in the air between you, something unspoken but undeniable.

Widow nudges her head against your hands as if offering her approval of the unfolding moment.

Natasha’s gaze drifts to the cat before her eyes return to you, her expression softening.

“You two never came by the Compound after that night,” Natasha comments softly, her tone casual but tinged with a hint of disappointment.

You shrug lightly and reply with a sly grin, “I’m sure Stark didn’t appreciate how easily I bypassed his security system.”

Natasha chuckles lightly at the memory.

“Telling him about that was the best part. You should’ve seen his face.”

You let out a soft laugh, the moment lingering in comfortable silence.

Eventually, you slowly release her hand, your fingers trailing against hers before pulling away completely.

Standing up, you adjust your jacket with casual ease.

“Well, now that you know where we live,” you say, nodding toward the building, “feel free to drop by whenever you’re not too busy saving the world.”

You gesture to the little cat, who’s now swatting lightly at Natasha’s coffee cup in a playful manner, adding, “I’m sure Widow wouldn’t mind your company.”

Natasha’s eyes twinkle with amusement, catching the cup before it could fall and giving the cat a tiny scratch on her head before returning her attention to you.

“Just her?” Natasha raises a brow, the question hanging between you with playful intent.

You don’t answer directly, but the slight smile on your face says enough.

“Good luck with your mission, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone shifting to something more sincere before turning toward the apartment building.

Widow gives her a soft meow goodbye before hopping off the table and climbing into your arms.

Natasha watches you walk away, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. Eventually, her mind returns to the mission but not without a fleeting thought of you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha leans against the rooftop's edge, her eyes fixed on the target’s apartment in the building across her. The cool night air brushes against her face, but her focus remains sharp.

You were right. The man you pointed out is involved with one of the organizations suspected of orchestrating a major weapons deal. His hidden familial ties and shady movements had confirmed it.

After bugging his phone and tracking his movements for days, Natasha discovered that tonight would be crucial—a drop-off containing the specs for some of the weapons in the deal and where they came from.

She watches patiently as the man opens his door to receive a small package from an unknown figure.

The exchange is brief, and once the door shuts, the man places the package carelessly on his counter.

As Natasha considers a plan to obtain the package, something causes the man to tense, and he cautiously turns back toward the door.

Her hand instinctively moves toward her own weapon, prepared to intervene when she spots him pull a gun, keeping it hidden behind his back as he cracks the door open again.

The man’s posture relaxes as he realizes who’s on the other side of the door, and he hides his weapon in the back of his waistband.

Natasha observes as his overly confident bravado takes over, and it becomes clear he’s trying to impress someone.

Natasha’s view of the visitor is blocked, but judging by the man’s lowered guard, she assumes this person doesn’t pose an immediate threat.

Whoever they are, though, they seem to hold some influence over him.

After a brief conversation that results in the man turning off the lights and slipping out of the apartment, led by the unseen visitor, Natasha seizes the opportunity to retrieve the package before he returns.

With practiced precision, she shoots her grappling hook across the gap between the buildings and swings silently onto the balcony outside the man’s apartment. Carefully picking the lock on the window, she slips inside without making a sound.

But as she steps into the room, she quickly realizes something is wrong.

The small package, which had been resting on the counter moments ago, is now gone.

Natasha scans the area, her eyes darting around the room.

Had it fallen somewhere?

A faint sound reaches her ears as Natasha walks around the room—movement just behind her.

She whirls around, gun raised, ready to face whatever threat is lurking in the shadows.

But the only thing she’s met with is darkness.

Her eyes narrow as her instincts scream that something is off. She’s sure she heard something.

She focuses on the shadows for a moment longer when a pair of familiar yellow eyes suddenly blink open, glowing softly in the dark.

Natasha lowers her weapon, momentarily caught off guard by the sight.

Widow emerges from the darkness, its head tilted curiously as she approaches Natasha. The corner of the small package is clutched tightly in her mouth.

Natasha lets out an incredulous huff.

“Really?” she mutters in disbelief as she kneels and waves the cat closer.

Widow trots over and jumps into Natasha’s arms without hesitation, the package still firmly between her teeth.

Standing up, Natasha tries to pry the package from the cat’s mouth gently, but each time she reaches for it, Widow swats at her hand and shifts her head, making it impossible to grab.

“You’re not serious,” Natasha sighs, exasperated.

But Widow only stares up at her with those wide, innocent eyes, completely unfazed by the situation.

Before Natasha can try again, she hears footsteps approaching from the hallway.

Instantly, she reacts, slipping out of the window with Widow still in her arms, her movements quick and silent. She carefully closes the window behind her, ensuring everything looks untouched, before flattening herself against the outside wall.

The light flickers on inside the apartment, and Natasha hears voices. She listens closely, picking up snippets of conversation.

“Thanks again, I don’t know what I would have done without your help,” your voice floats through the window, laced with exaggerated helplessness.

It’s not like your usual demeanor and tone. You were clearly playing a part.

“Anytime,” the man responds, his tone gruff, but Natasha can tell he’s trying too hard to sound confident. “You know, if it doesn’t work out with—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I really have to go!” you interrupt quickly, your voice fading as you move toward the door. “Have a good night!”

Natasha hears the door close with a soft click, signaling your exit. She waits a moment longer before making her own move, descending silently into the nearby alley below.

Landing with ease, she looks down at Widow, still cradled in her arms.

The cat is now lazily gnawing on the corner of the package, completely unbothered by the chaos of the situation.

Her claws grip the package tightly, almost possessively.

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curving into a small, amused smile despite herself.

“You two have a lot of explaining to do,” she mutters, glancing at the apartment building.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The moment you open the door, your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Natasha standing there.

“A bit late for a visit, don’t you think?” you tease with a playful grin, leaning casually against the door frame, trying to mask your surprise.

But Natasha doesn’t return your smile.

Instead, she tilts her head slightly, one brow arched with an unimpressed expression and pulls her jacket open just enough to reveal the black cat nestled comfortably in her arms.

Widow is still clinging stubbornly to the small package in her claws.

Your grin falters immediately, your gaze dropping from Natasha’s face to Widow and the damning evidence she’s holding.

Realization hits you like a wave, and your once-confident smile dissolves into a look of sheepish acknowledgment.

“Oh,” you murmur, awkwardness settling in as you glance between Natasha's unimpressed stare and Widow's innocent eyes.

“Well,” you sigh, stepping aside to open the door wider, “you might as well come in.”

Natasha steps past you, her eyes sweeping the room in quiet observation.

Your apartment is neat, save for the scattered cat toys littering the room. Natasha takes it all in quietly, her gaze eventually falling back on you—specifically, your night attire.

You’re wearing a black oversized t-shirt and shorts, casual and comfortable, but it’s the symbol on the front of the shirt that grabs her attention.

“Nice shirt,” she comments, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

You glance down and immediately realize what she’s referring to—the iconic red hourglass symbol of the Black Widow emblazoned across your chest. Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms defensively over the logo.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” you remark. “I’ve got shirts with the other Avengers symbols too.”

“Sure you do,” Natasha teases, clearly enjoying the moment before her attention shifts to the cat in her arms. She nods toward Widow, who’s still gripping the package as if it were a prized possession.

“How do you get her to let go of things?”

A proud grin spreads across your face at the cat’s actions.

Walking to the kitchen, you rummage through a cabinet, pulling out a small tube of cat treats before returning to Natasha’s side.

Tearing it open, you hand it to her.

Widow’s sharp yellow eyes instantly zero in on the treat. Natasha, intrigued, waves it in front of the stubborn cat.

“How about a little trade?” she offers.

The cat’s eyes follow the snack in contemplation. Slowly but surely, her grip on the package loosens, her claws retracting as she reaches a paw toward the treat.

Seeing the opportunity, Natasha quickly snatches the package and shakes out its contents—a USB drive, which she tucks into her jacket.

When Natasha still has not promptly given her reward, Widow yowls in protest, having already upheld her end of the deal.

Natasha huffs lightly at the exaggerated behavior but relents and offers the treat to the eager cat, who devours it with delicate bites.

“I guess that means mission accomplished,” you quip, attempting to bring some levity back into the room.

But Natasha doesn’t laugh. She glances up at you, her expression shifting as her playful demeanor fades.

“You said you didn’t do this kind of thing anymore,” she says, her voice edged with accusation.

You shrug, hands raised in defense.

“Technically, I didn’t,” you reply, though Natasha’s piercing stare cuts through your weak deflection.

With a tired sigh, you rub the back of your neck before continuing, "Remember that post I asked you to take down?"

Natasha nods slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, silently urging you to continue.

“Well, some of my old associates saw it before you did. And let’s just say…we didn’t part ways on the best of terms.”

Natasha places the finished snack on the table, her fingers moving to absently scratch behind Widow’s ears as she processes the situation. Her eyes narrow, her tone shifting to something more serious as concern creeps into her voice.

“So, they’re forcing you to steal for them?”

You lean back against the counter, exhaling a heavy breath.

“They have leverage,” you reveal cryptically. “If I don’t cooperate...things get complicated.”

Her fingers pause in Widow’s fur, her expression hardening as the situation sinks in.

“Then why help me? Wouldn’t that put you at risk?”

You manage a wry smile.

“If the Avengers get involved, they can’t hold it against me, right?”

You gesture toward her, adding teasingly, “I mean, what can one simple thief do against Earth’s mightiest heroes?”

Natasha shakes her head, frustration and disbelief mixing in her features.

“That doesn’t guarantee they’ll leave you alone.”

“And like I told you before,” you say, voice soft but resolute, “let me handle it. You’ve played your part. Now go be a hero to someone else.”

Natasha huffs, more in disbelief than anger.

“So you used me. Again.”

Her tone has no malice, but the sting of truth lingers.

You step closer and reach out to adjust the collar of her jacket. Your fingers brush her skin, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Like I said,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “you shouldn’t get involved with someone like me.”

Widow purrs contentedly in the stillness, oblivious to the tension in the room, nuzzling against Natasha’s hand affectionately.

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly at the sight of the cat—remembering what you once said about Widow being a good judge of character.

If this little creature, with all her instincts, trusts someone with a past like hers, then surely there must be a similar reason she chooses to be with you.

When Natasha looks up, her eyes lock onto yours, steady and unwavering.

“What if I want to be?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with something far more than just concern.

Your breath catches, the vulnerability in her words taking you by surprise. You quickly school your expression, forcing neutrality even as your heart pounds in your chest.

Natasha steps closer, the heat of her body brushing against yours as close as she can, her gaze piercing.

“Do you want me to be?” she asks softly, the challenge clear in her tone.

For a moment, you meet her gaze, steady and unrelenting, but your eyes betray you. They flicker, just briefly, to her lips.

Natasha catches it. Her lips part slightly, and the air between you thickens with tension, both of you standing on the precipice of something neither can quite name.

But you break first.

You step back, clearing your throat as if that could dispel the weight of what just passed between you.

“As tempting as that is,” you say, your voice thick with the emotions you’re trying so hard to suppress, “I can’t let anyone else get caught up in this.”

Natasha doesn’t move, her eyes searching yours for more explanation.

However, you reach for Widow instead, gently lifting the cat from her arms, using the small creature as a shield between you.

“This one’s already enough trouble,” you joke weakly.

Natasha’s gaze lingers, watching you with a mix of exasperation and something deeper—something you refuse to name. She tilts her head, her voice soft.

“You know my job is to help people, right?”

You swallow hard, the playful smirk returning, though it feels hollow.

“And I’ll let you know if I ever need it.”

Natasha narrows her gaze, unconvinced. “Really?”

Rolling your eyes, you offer a small concession.

“Fine. Check in whenever. You’ve got my number, remember? And I’ll even send you cute pictures of Widow often to keep you from worrying too much.”

Widow chooses that moment to let out a soft meow, raising her paws beside her face as if on cue.

Natasha’s stern expression falters, a tiny smile tugging at her lips at the sight. But even as she shakes her head in resignation, the tension between you both lingers, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

With a small sigh, Natasha accepts your decision and steps toward the door. As she reaches for the handle, she pauses, her hand hovering there momentarily before turning to look at you again.

“If you ever decide that you don’t have to handle everything on your own,” she says softly, “you know where to find me.”

You nod, your mask of indifference slipping back into place.

“You’d be the first one I’ll call,” you promise playfully.

Natasha lingers for a moment longer, her eyes searching yours for something that never comes. She finally opens the door and steps through, pausing briefly before turning back to you.

“Take care of yourself. Both of you,” she whispers before leaving, the door clicking softly behind her.

The room feels emptier in her absence, the warmth of her presence fading.

Widow stirs in your arms, hopping onto the counter and letting out a soft, sad sound as if sensing the change in the air.

You lean heavily against the counter, exhaling a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Natasha's words replay in your mind, sinking deeper into your heart than you will admit.

But as always, you push it aside. There’s no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing—not in your world.

Uncurling your fist, the USB falls from your hand—swapped from Natasha’s pocket with another containing misleading data.

Widow trots over to the item on the counter, nudging it with her paw before turning to you, letting out a sharp meow, almost as if scolding you.

“I know,” you sigh, guilt settling in as you scoop her back into your arms.

You stroke her gently, your hand brushing over a slightly raised patch of fur. The reminder of what's beneath fills you with concern for the little feline and your position.

Widow meows again, tilting her head curiously, oblivious to your worry. You force a reassuring smile, though it never quite reaches your eyes.

As your gaze drifts toward the window, your expression falters. You watch Natasha’s silhouette disappear into the shadows, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

“She really shouldn’t get involved with someone like me,” you whisper sadly, giving Widow one last scratch behind the ears before turning away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n: I have decided to make this into a series. It's probably not going to be like my other one with extensive plotlines and such (I don't think). But maybe leaning more toward light-hearted adventures and interactions between the two (and Widow). Thanks again for reading! I hope you'll enjoy this series too!

1K notes View Post

kaywa25

4 months ago

outta my mind | vi x fem!reader, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI) wc: 20k

synopsis: you didn’t plan on falling for anyone, let alone the painfully attractive bartender at the underground bar your friends dragged you to. she’s trouble, but she’s the kind you don’t mind getting into. | masterlist

content warnings: bartender!vi x fem!reader — modern au, bartender!vi, college student!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn ish, drinking/alcohol, flirting, mutual pining, pet names; baby, princess, sweetheart, smut!!!; top!vi, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, making out, marking/hickeys, fingering (r receiving), pls let me know if i’m missing anything else!

note: lovely request by @balinor93 ! fanart by wickestd on twitter! ( title inspo from song called outta my mind by monsune )

YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.

It was an underground pub, called the Last Drop, tucked between an alley of a street near your campus. The air inside is heavy, thick with a haze of cigarette smoke and the low hum of chatter and laughter. The brick walls are decorated with bright paintings and band posters, chipped and scratched in places, and adorned with flickering neon signs advertising cheap liquor and beers on tap. It’s dimly lit, with most of the light spilling from the bar itself—a warm glow reflecting off rows of liquor bottles stacked neatly against the back wall. The scent of stale beer and faint traces of spilled whiskey linger in the air, mingling with the beat of a bass-heavy track pulsing through the speakers.

You didn’t really plan to be here tonight.

In fact, you pictured something far less chaotic—maybe sitting cross-legged on your tiny dorm bed, your laptop open to half-hearted notes, headphones in to drown out the incessant noise of your hallmates partying down the corridor.

Finals week was looming, but somehow you found yourself here instead, caught up by a friend you weren’t too close with, Maddie, who told you to wear something cute and live a little.

You glance down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious in the outfit you hastily threw together—something a little nicer than your usual, a pretty black dress you found in your closet a jacket to battle the cold, though, it was not nearly as flashy as what your classmates seem to have pulled off effortlessly.

The slight chill in the room makes you tug at the sleeves of your jacket as you follow your group further inside, weaving through the crowd that seems to grow louder and rowdier by the minute.

Your friend is already laughing, tossing her short hair over her shoulder as she chats with someone from another group, leaving you trailing behind. They surge toward the bar, a noisy clump of university students jostling for attention from the bartender. You linger at the edge of the crowd, unsure of whether to join in or keep your distance.

Your eyes wander across the room, taking in the mismatched furniture and the way the low-hanging lights cast strange shadows over the scuffed wooden floor. It feels gritty, raw—nothing like the polished campus lounges or cafes you’re used to. People are packed into every available space, some leaning close to shout over the music, others pressed together in corners.

When you finally look toward the bar, something—or other, someone—catches your attention.

She’s pretty tall, her toned, tattooed arms flexing subtly as she works, pouring drinks expertly without even looking at her hands sometimes. Short, pink hair glows faintly under the neon lights, messy and partly shaved on the side of her head, but it was like she rolled out of bed and still managed to look better than anyone else in the room. She’s wearing a fitted black tee, tattoos peeking out along her biceps as she slides a drink across the counter to a waiting customer.

She glances up for the briefest moment, her sharp blue eyes scanning the crowd—and they land on you. Just for a second, you think, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

But you look away before you could give her a chance to the way your cheeks reddened slightly, thought it would’ve been hard to see anyway underneath the dimness of the light.

You ended up in a booth in one of the corners of the room, sitting with a couple of your classmates as they drank and ate their pizza. The booth creaks slightly as you lean back, your drink—something simple and unadventurous—sitting untouched in front of you.

The group you came with has scattered across the room now to various corners of the bar, their loud laughter and shouts blending into the rest of the noise.

You’re not sure why you agreed to come tonight. Finals around the corner were stressful enough without the added distraction of cheap liquor and the kind of music that vibrates in your chest.

Across from you, someone slides into the booth with a bit too much enthusiasm, too much confidence, their knee knocking against yours under the table.

You glance up to find a man from your group—one of those classmates whose name you barely remember—flashing you a wide grin. Jason? Jacob? He had short brown hair, a white button up under his coat and smells faintly of whiskey and strong cologne, his cheeks flushed in a way that suggests he’s had a drink too many.

“Hey,” he says, his voice pitched louder than it needs to be over the music. “You’re in Professor Medarda’s class, right? Postmodern lit?”

You blink at him, already regretting this conversation.

“Yeah,” you reply, tone flat, hoping he’ll get the hint and move on.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, propping his elbow on the sticky table like he’s settling in for a long chat.

“Aren’t you the one who absolutely wrecked her in that debate? Something about, what was it—‘deconstructing the deconstruction’ or whatever?” He waves a hand vaguely, his grin turning lopsided. “Man, that was brutal. Everyone was talking about it for days.”

You press your lips into a thin line, your gaze drifting toward the bar. The bartender with the pink hair is still there, moving effortlessly behind the bar underneath the warm glow of the lights. She laughs at something one of the regulars says, the sound faint but distinct over the din, and you find yourself wishing you were anywhere but here, maybe talking to her instead of… this guy.

“Yeah, well,” you say finally, dragging your attention back to him. “It wasn’t… really a debate. I just pointed out that her entire argument was contradictory.”

Jason-or-Jacob—whatever—laughs, a little too loudly, and takes a swig of his drink.

“See, that’s what I mean! It’s… it’s impressive… And not to mention… you’re… really pretty on the eyes.” He gestures vaguely in your direction, his eyes lingering a little too long.

You shift uncomfortably as you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Uh… right, thanks.”

He chuckles again, clearly not picking up on your disinterest. “No, seriously. You’re, like, intimidating. Smart. And hot. In a good way.”

“Uh-huh.” You tap your fingers against the edge of your glass, your patience wearing thin. “Listen, if this is your way of hitting on me, you might want to workshop it… or something.”

That finally seems to trip him up, his grin faltering as he moves awkwardly in his seat. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just…”

“Right,” you cut him off, standing and grabbing your drink. “Thanks for the conversation, but I’m gonna go… anywhere else.”

You don’t bother waiting for his response as you stand and step away from the booth, weaving through the crowd.

The bar feels slightly less oppressive now that you’re moving, and as you approach the counter, you can’t help but glance toward the bartender again. She’s wiping down a glass, her movements precise, and for the second time tonight, her eyes meet yours. This time, there’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—as her lips twitch into a subtle smirk.

You set your drink down on the counter, your heart skipping just a little. Maybe tonight isn’t a complete waste after all.

The stool creaks faintly as you settle onto it, the weight of the night pressing on your shoulders. You prop your elbow on the bar and glance down at your drink, still untouched. The condensation clings to the glass, cool against your fingertips as you absently trail them along its surface.

The music feels louder here, basslines thrumming through the wooden counter, but it fades into the background every time your gaze drifts upward—to her.

The bartender.

She’s been moving nonstop, hands deft and practiced as she pours drinks, slides glasses across the counter, and exchanges brief words with customers. She was confident and smooth without even trying, her short pink hair glowing faintly under the neon lights that flicker lazily behind her.

You tell yourself you’re not staring, but you are.

She’s impossibly attractive, the kind of person who seems entirely out of reach—too cool, too confident, too… everything. And yet, you catch yourself glancing her way more often than you should, trying to look away quickly enough that she doesn’t notice.

You sigh, shifting in your seat as you fiddle with your drink again, fingers tracing patterns on the glass. You haven’t taken a sip, and you’re not even sure why you ordered it. It was just something to hold, something to keep you occupied in this crowded room.

Just as you glance up again, hoping to catch another fleeting glimpse of her, a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Hey there,” someone slurs, the words thick and clumsy.

You blink, turning to find a man standing far too close, his grin lopsided and his eyes glassy from too many drinks. His shirt is untucked, and he sways slightly as he leans an elbow on the bar, effectively blocking your view of anything else—including her.

“You’re way too pretty to be sitting here all alone,” he says, his words slurred but bold. “Let me keep you company, yeah?”

“I’m not alone,” you say flatly, holding up your glass like it’s proof. “And, I’m not interested.”

He laughs, as if you’ve said something charming. “Nah, come on. You’re too gorgeous to be hiding away in the corner. You need someone to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your tone sharp. “I’m really not interested.”

But he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Don’t be like that. Just one drink, huh? I promise I’m a good time.”

You grimace, leaning back and trying to create some distance. “And I promise I’m not.”

The man chuckles, as if he thinks you’re joking, and you feel your frustration rising. You glance around, hoping someone—anyone—might intervene, and that’s when you notice her again. The bartender.

She’s been watching, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation. Her hands pause mid-motion as she sets down a freshly poured drink, and without missing a beat, she walks over to your side of the bar.

“Hey,” she says, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

The drunk man looks up, startled, as she plants both hands on the counter, leaning slightly forward. Her gaze is steely as she stares down the man next to you.

“You bothering her?” she asks, her tone deceptively casual, though there’s a warning laced in her words.

The man blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? No, we were just talkin’.”

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying the conversation,” she replies smoothly. Then she turns her attention to you, her expression softening just a fraction. “You good, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The word sends a small jolt through your chest, and for a moment, you can only shake your head, your voice caught in your throat.

The man mutters something under his breath, but the bartender doesn’t budge.

“You should go.” she says firmly. “Or I’ll have someone make you leave.”

He hesitates, but the weight of her stare is enough to make him backpedal. He stumbles away, disappearing into the crowd, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Thanks,” you murmur, glancing up at her.

You see her more clearly now. Light blue eyes. A strong nose. A small scar over her top lip. Another one over her eyebrow. Nose ring. And a small tattoo of the Roman numeral six on her cheek.

She straightens, brushing her hands off on a rag as a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Don’t mention it. A lot of people don’t know how to take a hint.”

You can’t help but smile faintly, your fingers still absently fiddling with your glass. “You seem good at dealing with them… They listen to you.”

“Well, there’s this rule around here that, uh, people shouldn’t really mess with the guy who pours the drinks, so… they either listen or I call Loris—our big scary bouncer.” she says with a smile, leaning against the bar now, her full attention on you.

“Do they always listen?”

The bartender smiles that charming smile of hers and simply says, “No.”

She clears her throat and looks down at your hands, then looks back up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“You gonna drink that, or is it just decoration?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you say. Her teasing tone makes your cheeks warm. You glance down at your untouched drink, swirling the liquid idly in the glass before muttering, almost to yourself, “I don’t actually drink that often, to be honest…”

Her voice pulls you from your thoughts, warm and teasing. “A glass of water for the pretty lady, coming right up.”

Your head snaps up at the words, your cheeks instantly heating. She’s already reaching for a clean glass. But there’s something different now—something about the way she smirks just a little as she glances at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Pretty lady?” you echo, trying for casual, though you’re sure the slight waver in your voice gives you away.

She shrugs as she fills the glass with water, the ice clinking softly against the sides.

“Well, yeah,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What else would I call you?”

Your stomach flips at the nonchalant confidence in her tone, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. “I don’t know. Most people just go with my name.”

She places the water in front of you, her smile widening just enough to show off the faintest hint of dimples. “Fair enough. But I don’t know your name yet.”

You hesitate, caught between the urge to give her your name and the inexplicable nerves that come with her attention.

You tell her your name, your voice a bit quieter than you intended.

Her smirk softens into something more genuine, and she repeats your name back to you, slow and deliberate, like she’s trying it out.

“I’m Vi,” she says.

Vi. The name suits her—short, sharp, and just as bold as the woman herself.

“Thanks for the water,” you manage to say, your fingers brushing the cool glass.

“Anytime.” Vi leans her weight on her forearms, resting them on the counter as she tilts her head slightly, her eyes catching yours. “So, if you’re not much of a drinker, what brings you here?”

You can’t help but smile, a small laugh escaping you despite yourself. “My friend thought I needed a break from studying. Dragged me out here against my better judgment.”

“Ah… Those your friends over there?” She nods her head in a certain direction, and you follow it slowly.

You see the group you came with, some scattered by the bar spilling drinks and laughing loudly, others by booths making out and shouting over the music and the rest dancing on the dance floor. There are others, who are gathered by the jukebox, laughing and trying to figure out how to play something other than the heavy bass thundering through the speakers. One of them is gesturing wildly, clearly tipsy, while another leans against the wall, scrolling through their phone like they’re already over it.

You shake your head and smile, “Yeah…”

“Loud bunch.”

“Sorry ‘bout that… finals are coming up soon this month, so...”

She gives you a smile and says, “No need to apologize, princess. I serve you, remember?”

Another one. Princess. You were sure you probably as red as a tomato now.

“I barely know half of them...” you say, taking sip of your new glass of water.

“So, what’s your usual crowd then?” Vi asked, her eyes completely on you as she grabs a glass to wipe it down with a rag.

You shrugs, “Textbooks?”

“Well, that’s no good.”

“So I’ve heard,” you reply dryly, taking another small sip of the water she’d poured for you.

She chuckles again as if she finds your answer amusing in a way she doesn’t quite want to admit.

“I’m not exactly big on crowds either,” she says, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret.

You raise an eyebrow, gesturing subtly to the packed room around you, where people are practically spilling over each other in their rush to the bar. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Vi follows your gaze, scanning the chaotic scene with a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Fair point,” she concedes, looking back at you.

You glance at her again, curious despite yourself. She’s standing still now, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her gaze is on you, not in the sharp, observant way she’s probably used to watching the bar, but softer—almost like she’s lost in thought.

Her smile is faint, but it’s there, tugging gently at her lips, and it’s different from the teasing smirks you’ve seen so far. This one feels more… personal, like she’s mulling something over and doesn’t quite realize she’s staring.

Your stomach twists, her attention making you acutely aware of every small movement you make—the way your fingers nervously trace the condensation on your glass, the way you’re trying not to shift under her gaze.

Finally, you can’t help but ask, your voice a touch quieter than you intend, “What?”

Vi blinks, like you’ve pulled her out of a daydream, and her soft smile turns into something a little sheepish.

“Sorry…” she says, before licking her lips. “Just, uh, a bit distracted.”

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if she’s debating saying something else. Absentmindedly, she tries to trace every feature of your face with your eyes, trying to remember it.

She wanted to say something else—anything… But, fuck. You were really pretty… and it was distracting her. She also decided that she really liked talking to you—even though it’s barely been ten minutes.

But then, from down the counter, someone shouts her name—a regular by the sound of it, slurring slightly as he waves an empty glass in the air.

“Vi! Another round over here!”

Vi doesn’t move right away. Her head turns slightly in the direction of the call, but her attention snaps back to you almost immediately. She hesitates, not wanting to go anywhere.

She shifts her weight, one hand resting on the counter, her body angled toward you even as she glances down the bar.

“Be right there!” she calls back. It’s almost begrudging.

Your lips twitch into a small smile, watching the tiny battle play out on her face.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you say lightly, though there’s something a little playful in your tone.

Her eyes dart back to yours, and she huffs out a soft laugh, her hand running through her short pink hair.

“Yeah, I know,” she smiles and mutters, almost to herself, before adding softly, almost like a plea, “Call me if you need anything?”

You nod and she smiles. You watch her go, the faint blush on your cheeks lingering as you sip at the water she poured, the ice cold and refreshing.

For the first time tonight, you’re glad your friend dragged you out.

You cant stop thinking about her.

The library is silent except for the soft rustling of pages and the faint clicking of keyboards. It’s a lot more crowded here now, especially during this time of the year, and you’ve grown not to like it. You’re hunched over a stack of textbooks, a highlighter in your hand, staring down at a paragraph you’ve already reread three times. The words swim on the page, refusing to stick, as if your brain has decided it’s reached its limit.

You let out a frustrated sigh and lean back in your chair, dragging a hand through your hair. The fluorescent lights overhead feel harsher than usual, and the quiet tension of finals week is suffocating.

But it’s not just the studying—or the endless pressure of upcoming exams—that’s been messing with your head.

It’s Vi.

You’ve tried to focus, tried to immerse yourself in everything you could but every time your mind starts to settle, her face slips back in. The way her smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. The way her pink hair caught the light behind the bar. The low, teasing lilt of her voice when she called you pretty.

You groan softly, rubbing your temples. This is ridiculous. You barely know her. You’ve spent what—maybe an hour total in her presence? And yet, she’s managed to lodge herself into your thoughts so completely that it’s becoming a problem.

The highlighter in your hand falls to the desk with a muted thud, and you drop your head into your hands, your elbows resting on the textbook in front of you. You can still see the way she looked at you—softly, like she saw something in you that others hadn’t bothered to notice.

It’s infuriating, really. You’ve got finals to prepare for, and instead, your mind is full of half-replayed conversations and fleeting glimpses of pink hair, strong arms and tattoos.

The worst part? You can’t shake the feeling that she’s thinking about you, too.

It’s irrational—you know that. She’s probably forgotten all about you by now, busy serving countless other customers, flashing that same smirk at someone else.

But a part of you, buried beneath the layers of reason and logic you cling to, whispers otherwise.

You snap out of your thoughts and glance at the open book in front of you. The words blur together again, mocking your lack of focus.

With a frustrated exhale, you push the textbook aside and pull out your phone, the screen lighting up in your hand. You scroll aimlessly for a moment, debating whether you’re actually considering what your restless thoughts are urging you to do.

Should you go back? Would she even remember you?

You shake your head, trying to will away the temptation.

Finals. Study. Focus.

You tap your pen against your notebook, each click bouncing off the walls of the crowded library. It’s packed to the brim, filled with students just as desperate as you to cram as much information into their heads as possible before finals. Yet, instead of feeling motivated, all you can focus on is the cacophony—the whispered conversations that aren’t really whispers, the shuffling of papers, the faint tapping of keyboards, the occasional obnoxious laugh breaking the tension.

Your head throbs.

With a sharp sigh, you drop the pen onto the desk and lean back in your chair again, staring blankly at the high ceiling. You’ve been sitting here for hours, yet the number of notes you’ve managed to take is embarrassingly low. Nothing is sticking. You can’t focus.

It doesn’t help that your thoughts keep drifting to her.

To Vi.

You shake your head as if it’ll clear the image, but it doesn’t.

The noise of the library swells again, louder this time—a group of students a few tables down bursts into laughter, drawing glares from everyone around them. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help.

The dorm wasn’t any better. Earlier, when you’d tried to study there, the walls practically vibrated with the bass of someone’s speaker. The hallway had been filled with voices, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of another dorm party kicking off despite the looming threat of finals.

You’d lasted maybe twenty minutes before storming out, bag slung over your shoulder, hoping the library would be better.

It wasn’t.

You sit there for a moment, staring down at your open textbook and the mess of half-finished notes in front of you. The sheer impossibility of getting anything done right now feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Screw this.

You grab your things in one swift motion, shoving your notebook and pens into your bag with more force than necessary. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you stand, drawing a few annoyed glances your way. You ignore them, slinging your bad over your shoulder and walking out of the library without so much as a glance back.

The cold evening air hits you the second you step outside, sharp and bracing, but you welcome it.

You pause at the edge of the path, staring out at the quiet campus bathed in the glow of dim streetlights. You should go back to your dorm, try again, push through the noise.

But the very thought of that makes your stomach twist.

Instead, your feet carry you forward, down the path and out toward the street. You don’t have a destination in mind, but you already know where you’ll end up.

It’s not a conscious decision—it never is, really. You tell yourself you just need a break, some fresh air to clear your head. But the truth hums beneath the surface, undeniable.

You want to see her.

When your feet finally stop, the bar looms in front of you, the soft glow of its neon sign illuminating the damp pavement below. The night air is cool against your skin, a faint breeze carrying the quiet hum of traffic and chatter.

Your hands are shoved deep into the pockets of your jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as you linger just outside the door. You glance at your reflection in the window—a hoodie that hangs a little loose on your frame, jeans you’ve had for years, and shoes slightly scuffed from the walk here.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wishing you’d thought to stop by your dorm first. Maybe throw on something a little prettier. But instead, your feet had brought you straight here, as if they knew something you didn’t.

It’s almost 9 p.m., and the bar looks alive even from the outside. You can always hear the faint hum of music seeping through the walls.

You hesitate. What are you even doing here? It’s not like you have a good excuse—no friends dragging you along this time, no group to blend into. You’re alone, standing in front of a bar where you might not even be remembered.

But the thought of her pulls at you, stronger than the nerves keeping your feet planted. You’d tried to shake her from your thoughts all week, telling yourself she was just a random bartender, someone you’d probably never see again. But it hadn’t worked. Every time you sat down to study, her face would slip into your mind.

Your chest tightens as you reach for the door, your hand hovering over the handle. What if she doesn’t remember you? Or worse—what if she does, and she thinks it’s weird that you’ve come back?

You shake your head, trying to push the doubts aside. You’re here now. You might as well step inside.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step into the warm, dimly lit space. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of perfume hit you first.

The bar is slightly less crowded than it had been the last time, but it still carries the same energy—low lights, muted colors, and a buzz of life that makes the air feel heavier than the world outside.

You glance toward the bar, your stomach twisting when you see her. Vi is behind the counter, her pink hair catching the soft light as she leans over to pass a drink to a customer. She straightens, her expression neutral as she scans the room, and then her eyes land on you.

For a split second, her face doesn’t change, and panic spikes in your chest. Maybe she doesn’t—

Then she smiles.

It’s subtle, but it’s there—a small, warm quirk of her lips that sends your nerves scattering in a hundred directions. She holds your gaze for just a moment before returning to what she’s doing, her hands moving fluidly to pour another drink.

You let out a shaky breath, your feet carrying you closer to the bar. You slide into one of the empty stools, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. The cool wood of the counter feels solid beneath your palms as you rest your elbows on it, trying to make yourself look casual.

But it’s hard to relax with your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears. You glance around the room, looking for anything to distract you from the fact that she’s here.

You’re trying not to fidget with your fingers, not to bite the inside of your lip, not to seem like you’ve been thinking about this moment for days now—trying to shake the nerves that have settled into your bones. But it’s hard when you feel her presence just behind the bar.

It doesn’t take long before you feel her eyes on you.

You glance up just in time to see Vi, mid-conversation with another customer, glance over the counter at you. And in a split second, she’s finished what she’s saying to the customer, brushing past them with an ease.

She doesn’t even seem bothered by the fact that she’s walking away mid-conversation. It’s as if she’s already decided where she needs to be.

Your pulse quickens.

You watch her approach, the way she moves is confident, the soft hum of the music surrounding her as she gets closer. Her smile is almost shy this time, like she’s not entirely sure what to say after the last time you were here. But she doesn’t hesitate.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” she says as soon as she reaches you, her voice low, almost teasing, with just a hint of something more.

Her words catch you off guard for a second. You shift slightly on your stool, trying to keep your cool, but you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. Her gaze is steady, not flirtatious exactly, but certainly interested, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as you have.

You clear your throat, and even though you try to sound casual, your voice betrays you.

“I didn’t really expect to be back so soon.” The words feel like a weak excuse even as you say them.

Vi chuckles softly, leaning just a little closer as she rests her hands on the counter, her gaze never leaving you. “Not really the type to stay away for long, huh?”

There’s that spark in her eyes again, that teasing warmth that makes you wonder if she’s deliberately making you squirm.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the nervous flutter in your chest.

“I needed a break,” you explain quickly, looking away for a moment. “Studying was driving me crazy.”

You pull your bag closer to the bar, pretending to straighten it out, but your thoughts keep slipping back to her.

Vi’s smile softens a little as she studies you, her eyes tracing your face for a moment longer than necessary. She doesn’t seem in a rush, doesn’t try to fill the space with empty words or awkward small talk.

You swallow, suddenly aware of how much closer she’s gotten, how much she’s drawn you in. There’s an easy chemistry between you, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Well,” she adds, a teasing glint in her eye as she straightens back up, “What’s your drink of choice, princess?”

You almost forget how to breathe for a second at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, your heart racing again. You take a moment to collect yourself before replying, your voice just a little quieter than usual.

“Surprise me,” you say, the words coming out with a confidence you don’t entirely feel.

Vi’s smile deepens, her eyes flashing with something a little mischievous, “Think I can manage that.”

She decides on making something light and sweet—remembering that you didn’t drink that often.

You watch her as she begins to gather the ingredients for your drink, her hands moving expertly behind the bar. The soft clink of glass bottles and the gentle hiss of the tap. You barely even realize you’re fidgeting until you catch sight of her looking back at you, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Finals week started?” She asks.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the question. The thought of finals feels like a weight you’ve been trying to avoid all week. The textbooks, the endless hours of studying, the fact that you’re still not feeling ready for any of it—it all hits you again in that instant. But Vi’s gaze makes it hard to focus on anything else.

For a split second, you can feel it too—the awkwardness, the nerves, the slight flutter in your chest that feels completely out of place. It’s not just her usual flirtation. This feels different somehow. She’s not the smooth bartender effortlessly working the crowd, she’s… her. And it makes your heart skip in a way you’re trying to ignore.

“Yeah, it did,” you answer, your voice quieter than you intended. You rub the back of your neck, feeling a little out of place yourself. “It’s… been a nightmare. The library’s packed, the dorm’s loud—honestly, it’s like no one even remembers that we have to actually study for this stuff.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile never quite fading but now tinged with something a little more… uncertain. Her gaze flits between you and the drinks in front of her, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s just waiting for something to happen.

“Seems like you’re trying to avoid it,” she says softly, her tone lighter but still holding that underlying curiosity. Her voice is almost shy now, like she’s letting down the tough-girl act just a little, and it feels natural. She looks at you again, this time a little less playful and more vulnerable.

You feel something stir inside of you at her words—maybe relief, maybe the sense that she’s giving you a little window into her own world.

“Yeah, kind of,” you admit, your gaze dropping to the counter as you fiddle with the edge of your glass. You take a breath, glancing back up at her, your tone playful but also a little softer than you meant.

She’s leaning slightly over the counter, her eyes scanning the room for a moment, as though looking for your friends. When she doesn’t find them, her gaze returns to you, a small quirk of her lips tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Here alone tonight?” she asks, her tone light and soft.

You feel a small flutter in your chest, a hint of nervousness bubbling up—was she genuinely interested?

“Yeah,” you say, a little unsure, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “My friends are… off somewhere else.”

Vi nods slowly, that small smile still playing on her lips, and for a second, you almost feel like she’s understanding you without needing you to say much at all. She’s always been so good at reading people, it seems.

“Well, lucky for you,” she says with a wink, her tone playful but sincere, “I’m here to keep you company, then. No need to be alone if you don’t want to be.”

She leans a little closer, her voice dropping just low enough that only you can hear.

“Not that I mind the company, either.”

Her words settle in your chest, warm and easy, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything else—the noise, the people, the pressure of exams—falls away. All that’s left is the gentle pull of her attention, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only one she wants to talk to tonight.

You can’t help but smile, your nerves starting to ease.

“I like that you’re here,” you say, a little quieter now, the honesty behind your words surprising even you.

Oh.

Vi swallows the tiny lump in her throat, ears reddening at your words.

“Me too,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours.

And then the night stretches on, the sound of clinking glasses and lively chatter filling the air, but somehow, the noise feels distant.

Vi moves between you and the rest of the bar, always managing to return to you just as you start to think she’s too busy to notice. She steps away occasionally to serve drinks, her smile never fading even when the pressure of the crowd pulls her in different directions.

Every time she returns, though, she looks at you with that same look in her eye, making you feel like you’re the only person in the room who matters. You can tell that she’s working, but there’s an ease in the way she glances over at you, as though she’s intentionally carving out space to keep you company, to make sure you’re not left alone in the bustle of the bar.

As the crowd grows louder and the night wears on, Vi seems to sense that things are getting a little out of hand. The rush of orders starts picking up, and she glances over at Mylo, a colleague of hers you’ve seen around. With a quick wave, she calls him over.

You watch as Vi leans against the bar, her body language shifting just slightly.

“Hey, Mylo, could you cover the drinks for a bit?” she asked, her tone casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way she does it. Mylo gives her a knowing glance, then nods and steps in to take over, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Vi doesn’t waste any time.

For the rest of the night, she stays close, always coming back to check on you between serving drinks, leaning against the bar whenever she has a spare moment. Mylo helps manage the crowd, but Vi is there, always making sure you’re okay, always drawing you back into the conversation.

There’s no rush, no pressure—just an easy flow between you two, and the more time you spend with her, the next time her eyes meet yours, the way she smiled, the more you realize that this is something you’ve been craving without even knowing it.

The night slips away quietly, and when you glance at the clock on the wall behind the bar, a wave of disappointment hits you.

It’s later than you thought. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing the edge of your empty glass, and then you finally say it, though it’s not what you want to say at all.

“I should, uh… get going,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intended. You already know you’ll regret it—regret leaving this place, leaving her.

Vi’s smile falters just a little, her eyes quickly flicking to the clock too, and you see the shift on her face, like she’s come to the same realization. There’s a brief, almost imperceptible pause between the two of you as the world around you continues on, but time seems to slow as she takes a breath.

“I… didn’t realize it was that late either,” she says, her tone softer now. And for a brief second, you can almost feel the space between you close in, like neither of you really wants to say goodbye.

Then, without skipping a beat, Vi’s voice pulls you back into the present.

“Hey,” she starts firmly, like she’s made up her mind about something. “Let me walk you back.”

You blink at her, the suggestion catching you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to offer—hadn’t thought she’d even consider it. And though a little part of you wants to say yes immediately, another part of you, the shyer, more self-conscious part, hesitates.

“I don’t want to put you out,” you say quickly, though you’re not entirely sure why you feel so shy all of a sudden. “Besides, you’re working.”

It’s a simple thing, after all, a walk.

But you’d be even more alone. With her. And although that made you excited, it made you even more nervous.

Vi doesn’t give you the chance to second-guess yourself. Her smile returns, and there’s a spark of something playful in her eyes.

“It’s no trouble,” she says, her tone light but insistent. “I’m not going to let you walk back alone at this time. I don’t think I’d be able to focus without knowing you got home safe, so...”

Before you can protest again, she turns to Mylo, who’s tending to the growing crowd at the far end of the bar.

“Hey, Mylo!” she calls out, her voice carrying just enough over the noise to catch his attention. “I’m taking my break now. Be back in a bit.”

Mylo doesn’t even look up from his work, just nods in acknowledgment. “Alright, Vi,” he calls back, and you catch the playful undertone in his voice. It’s clear he knows exactly what’s going on.

Not wasting any more time, Vi grabs her jacket from behind the bar. She slips it on ace doesn’t look back at you to see if you’re ready; she just turns, giving you that soft, inviting smile.

“C’mon,” she says, her voice low and gentle, like she’s pulling you into something that feels a little outside of the ordinary, but in the best way possible.

Her words make you pause, but only for a moment. You look at her—really look at her—and something about the way she’s standing there, waiting, makes your hesitation dissolve. The warmth in her smile settles in your chest, and for the first time in a while, you realize you don’t mind the idea of the night stretching out just a little longer.

You nod, a soft smile curling at your lips.

“Okay,” you say, your voice more confident than it was a second ago.

Vi grins.

Without another word, she starts walking toward the door, holding it open for you, and you follow her out into the cold night air. The city seems quieter now, the streets not as busy, and as the two of you step into the night, the world feels a little smaller, a little more intimate—just the two of you, alone together for the walk.

You can’t help but feel your heart race just a little, but in the best possible way.

The walk to your dorm is slower than you expect, almost as if neither of you wants to rush through it. The night air is cold, the streetlights casting soft pools of light on the sidewalk. The hum of distant traffic fades into the background as you walk side by side, your pace matching each other’s, no one in a hurry.

You’re not sure what it is, but something about the silence between you feels comfortable—like there’s no pressure, just two people walking together. Vi’s steps are easy, casual, but every so often, she glances at you from the corner of her eye, as though she’s watching you without even realizing it. It’s subtle, but you catch her gaze a few times, and each time, she looks away just a fraction too late, as if she was lost in thought.

You can’t help but notice it, how her eyes linger on you, how her attention feels a little more intense than you’re used to, but it’s not uncomfortable. No, it’s the opposite, actually—it feels like she’s admiring something in you, and the idea makes your stomach flutter in a way you can’t quite explain.

Vi keeps most of the conversation light at first, teasing you about how you managed to get through the day without completely falling apart under the weight of finals. But soon enough, the banter turns into something more genuine, more personal, and you find yourself sharing little details about your life.

Vi, on the other hand, seems to enjoy telling you bits and pieces about herself. She talks about the things she’s passionate about—how bartending isn’t just a job for her, but something that gives her a connection to people and to her dad especially, how she loves the way a good drink can change someone’s mood, make them feel more at ease. She tells you about her favorite spots in the city, the places she goes when she wants to unwind or just take a break from the noise.

She mentions that she has a little sister—one that she’s so proud of with how smart she is. She has a scholarship at some other university a pretty far from here, and you can tell Vi misses her dearly.

For the entire way, Vi doesn’t stop glancing at you.

It’s soft and subtle, but you can see it, feel it—the way her eyes linger on you, tracing the lines of your face in a way that makes you feel warm from the inside out.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t mind being the center of someone’s attention. You can’t help but wonder if, in some small way, she feels the same as you.

“So, your dorm’s just up ahead, right?” Vi says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Her voice is low, and there’s a hint of something soft in it. You realize, in that moment, that this walk has felt… different.

“Yeah, just a couple more blocks,” you reply, your voice a little quieter now, feeling like the night has already given you more than you expected.

Eventually, the two of you reach the entrance of your building. It was an apartment style dorm, sitting just a few miles away from campus.

You stop for a moment, your feet lingering on the sidewalk as you take a small breath, suddenly feeling reluctant.

You don’t want it to end—not just yet.

But before you can say anything, the loud thump of music reaches your ears, coming from one of the floors above. Vi’s eyes flick up toward the building, and her brow furrows slightly as she notices the source of the noise.

“Guess the party’s already in full swing,” she murmurs, a bit of a wry smile tugging at her lips, but there’s something in her tone that’s a little amused.

“Yeah. The usual,” you say, your voice tinged with mild exasperation. You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck, feeling a little embarrassed. “They don’t really care if it’s late… It can be quiet sometimes… but on rare occasions.”

Vi glances up at the building, the loud music still spilling out from one of the floors. She hesitates for a moment, then looks back at you.

“You know, uh, the bar doesn’t… open until six… I mean, the lounge opens at ten, but… no one really comes around that time,” she says, her voice quieter now, as if the suggestion she’s about to make is somehow more personal.

She glances at you again, her eyes flickering with tiny hint of nervousness.

“You could, uh, come earlier if you want some quiet… I’ll be there.”

You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected her to offer her own space at all. The bar, of all places.

You feel a warmth spread through you at the thought, a pull you hadn’t expected. Something about it makes your heart race a little faster, and you find yourself hesitating, uncertain if you should take the leap.

It was kind of a lousy excuse, Vi thought, but at least she’d get to see you again, instead of waiting all week to see if you’d stop by.

Though she knew she probably should’ve just asked you out on a date like a normal person, but… maybe she’d be able to see more of you this way.

“Vi, I—” you start, but you don’t really know what to say.

“You don’t have to,” she adds quickly, her voice gentle, as if she’s afraid to push too hard. “But if you’re looking for a place to study, it’s quiet in the mornings. And I promise not to be in your way. You don’t have to stay long or anything—just… if you want to, I’m there. And we could talk more, or just… not.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard, and you feel a small tug at your chest.

You glance at her, meeting her eyes for just a moment, and that’s all it takes. Despite the swirl of thoughts in your head, you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you say, your voice steady now, though there’s a trace of something soft beneath it. “I’d really like that.”

You watch as her smile brightens, a little relieved and a little pleased, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything, she just nods.

Vi pauses just as she’s about to turn away, a hesitant look crossing her face. For a moment, she seems to be second-guessing herself, like she’s trying to figure out the best way to say something without overstepping. Then, with a slight sheepishness that’s almost endearing, she glances back at you, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly.

“Oh, shit, I-I should probably give you my number… you know, in case I’m not there or anything,” she says, her voice a little softer, a little more self-conscious than usual. Her fingers nervously tug at the hem of her jacket, and her eyes flicker away briefly.

You can’t help but smile at the way she’s acting—this confident, capable bartender who, just moments ago, had been so cool and smooth, now hesitating as if she’s unsure whether she’s overstepping by asking for your number.

You reach for your phone, feeling a small rush of warmth in your chest.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” you say, your voice light but warm, trying to make her feel at ease.

You quickly unlock your phone and pass it to her, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Vi’s fingers brush against yours as she takes your phone, and for a second, the touch lingers. She types in her number quickly, and you catch the faintest flicker of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. She hands the phone back to you after saving her contact information and you glance down at the screen.

violet :)

“Done,” she says, her voice light again. “Just… in case you need to reach me or anything…”

Vi pulls out her phone, her fingers slightly fumbling as she unlocks it. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she gives you a small, almost nervous smile. You type your number into her phone in return, and when you hand it back, you make sure your fingers brush against hers just a little longer than necessary. She smiles softly when she gets her phone back, seeing the small heart you put next to your name.

“Thank you, Vi,” you say softly, feeling a little bolder now.

She grins, the playful glint in her eyes back now, “Text me… whenever.”

She lingers, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, the edges of her smile bright but just a little tight, like she’s holding something back. Her eyes meet yours, warm and soft, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

You notice the way her gaze flickers, almost imperceptibly, down to your lips. It’s quick, barely a second, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you wonder if she realizes how obvious she is—or maybe she doesn’t care. Either way, her attention makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

“I should…” she begins, her voice quiet and almost reluctant. She shifts on her feet, looking down for a moment before glancing back up at you. She hesitates, like she’s searching for a reason to stay, even though she knows she can’t. “…get back to work.”

Her words are practical, but the way she says them—soft and almost regretful—makes it clear she doesn’t really want to leave.

She’s stalling, and you can tell.

For once, Vi doesn’t have that confidence she carries behind the bar. Right now, she just looks… a little unsure. A little vulnerable.

“Goodnight,” you say softly, the words gentle but carrying more weight than you intended.

Her smile widens, though it’s still tight-lipped, and she nods, her hands still buried in her jacket pockets.

“Yeah… goodnight, princess,” she echoes, her voice just above a whisper. She lingers for another second, her gaze sweeping over your face before she finally steps back.

The sound of her boots on the pavement fades as she turns and walks away, heading back down the street toward the bar.

As she disappears into the distance, you catch yourself glancing at your phone, her number now saved there, and you wonder how long you’ll be able to resist texting her. The night air feels colder without her, but the warmth she left behind lingers all the same.

Truth be told, Vi isn’t usually the one to open the bar.

That’s Mylo’s job, and it’s been that way for as long as she can remember. Surprisingly, he’s the early bird, arriving just maybe thirty before ten—always grumbling about it but showing up on time regardless, keys jangling as he flips on the lights and starts the long process of getting the place ready. It’s quiet in the morning, and it’s practically empty until the sun starts to set.

Vi’s shift doesn’t typically start until later in the evening, right when the crowd begins to build, when the air gets thick with chatter and the clink of glass. That’s her time, where she thrives: loud music, fast drinks, and tiny bit of chaos.

But as soon as Vi gets back to work that night after walking you to you back, something shifts. She heads straight behind the bar, sets her jacket down with a quickly, and finds Mylo leaning against the counter, lazily wiping down the counter like he always does. He glances up at her, one brow quirked, clearly ready to make some smart comment about her lateness and tease her about that little crush she has on you.

But before he can get a word out, she cuts him off.

“I’m opening from now on,” she says flatly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Mylo freezes mid-motion, the rag in his hand hovering over the counter. He stares at her for a moment, like he’s not sure he heard her right.

“What?” he says finally, his tone incredulous. “Since when do you wanna deal with the morning grind? You hate opening.”

“Since now,” Vi snaps, her tone sharp like she’s already decided and doesn’t care for an explanation.

Mylo narrows his eyes, leaning against the bar with a skeptical look. “You’re serious? You, of all people, wanna deal with the dead hours?”

“Yeah,” Vi says simply, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and beginning to organize the counter with quick, efficient movements. “It’s not a big deal.”

Mylo snorts, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “It is for you. You hate the quiet. You told me that yourself. Even Claggor hates the quiet.”

Vi doesn’t answer right away.

She busies herself adjusting the liquor bottles, her back turned to him as she forces herself not to think about why she’s doing this—or more accurately, who she’s doing this for. But her thoughts betray her anyway, drifting back to the way you’d looked at her tonight, soft and unsure but trusting, the way you’d smiled at her when she offered you the bar as a place to get away. The memory makes something tighten in her chest.

She finally turns back to Mylo, her face composed, her tone even.

“Just need a change of pace,” she says with a shrug, though even she knows it’s not convincing. “Besides, you could use the extra sleep.”

Mylo stares at her for another beat and squints his eyes, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue.

“Is this about that girl you were talking with earlier?”

“No,” Vi said all too quickly, but she knows she couldn’t keep up the lie against Mylo for too long. “Maybe… Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just ask her out? Looked like she liked you enough. Plus—she literally came back to see you—“

“Just—Let me have this. If it goes sour, you can have all the free drinks you want.”

“Fine,” he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “It’s your funeral. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re stuck listening to the same three jazz songs we have on Vander’s old jukebox.”

Vi smirks, but it’s faint, her mind already elsewhere. “Noted.”

The truth is, she doesn’t care about the mornings or the hassle of opening. All she cares about is the chance that you might show up again, walking into the bar in the early hours, looking for a place to escape the noise.

And if that means opening the doors herself, sitting in silence for a couple hours, and putting up with Mylo’s grumbling, so be it.

She doesn’t tell him any of this, though. She just gets back to work, excited for the next time she might see you.

The sunlight filters in through the thin curtains of your dorm room, soft and golden, warming your skin as you slowly wake. Your eyes blink open, the haze of sleep still clinging to you, and for a moment, you simply lie there, staring up at the ceiling.

Then, your mind drifts back to the night before.

Vi… again.

The thought of her hits you like a spark, and you feel a smile tug at your lips before you can stop it. Your chest tightens slightly, but not unpleasantly, just enough to make you feel warm all over.

Still smiling, you roll onto your side, glancing at your phone on the nightstand. The thought of texting her had crossed your mind the second you got back to your room last night, but you hadn’t been sure if you should. What would you even say?

Now, as the morning stretches ahead of you, you find yourself staring at your phone again, the nervous energy in your chest making it hard to breathe.

You pick it up, the screen lighting up instantly. And there it is.

A small notification sits at the top of your screen.

“1 new message from violet :)”

Your heart jumps, and your thumb hovers over the notification for just a second before you tap it, unable to wait any longer. The message opens, and your breath catches when you see it.

not to brag, but it’s very quiet this morning. open invitation ;)

Attached is a picture of the bar. The room is empty, save for the neat rows of chairs and the warm light spilling in from the windows. The space looks so different from the lively, chaotic energy you’d seen before—calm, inviting, almost serene. But what catches your eye most is the subtle detail in the photo: her black jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs in the corner, and a mug sitting on the counter.

She’s there, waiting.

Your heart does a little flip, and you bite your lip, staring at the message. The cheeky little smirk emoji at the end feels so quintessentially Vi, and you can almost hear the teasing lilt in her voice as you read the words again.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, staring at your phone, trying to decide how to respond. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, typing and deleting messages you’re too nervous to send. Finally, you settle on something simple, something safe.

all that space for me?

You hit send before you can overthink it, your chest fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. Almost immediately, the little bubble indicating she’s typing pops up, and your stomach flips again.

you get special treatment, what can i say?

Her reply comes with another photo—this time, a close-up of her coffee mug on the counter, a little steam curling up from the top. In the background, you can see her hand resting on the bar, the edge of a tattoo peeking out from her wrist. It’s casual, but the fact that she took the time to send it makes your cheeks flush.

You can’t help but smile again, your heart racing as you stare at the screen. The morning, which had started so quietly, now feels electric, buzzing with the possibility of seeing her again. And as you type out your next reply, you can’t help but wonder where this might lead—and how you’ve somehow stumbled into something that already feels so much more than you expected.

You barely even remember the process of getting ready.

It was all a blur of rushing to find something cute, definitely cuter than the night before yet comfortable, sifting through your limited wardrobe for something that felt right. Even though the chill of winter was biting at the edges of the morning, you chose an outfit—layered up enough to keep warm, but nice enough to make you feel put together. You’d even spent a little more time on your hair, fixing it neatly just for Vi to see.

Now, standing in front of the bar, the nerves hit you all at once.

The quiet street around you makes the moment feel even more amplified. You glance at the entrance, the black-painted door that suddenly feels much taller, more imposing, than it had before. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the bag full of textbooks and notes hanging heavy at your side, reminding you of the excuse you gave yourself for coming here.

It’s just a quiet place to study, you tell yourself for the hundredth time, though you know it’s only half the truth.

The other half is much more difficult to admit—that you’re here for her. That something about Vi has been stuck in your head ever since she walked you home, her warm, smooth voice, the way her blue eyes lingered on you. She made your entire body flutter and you can’t help but want more of it.

You take a deep breath, clutching the strap of your bag tightly, and push the door open. The soft chime of the bell above the frame jingles lightly, and you step inside, immediately greeted by the sound of soft jazz playing in the background. The bar looks just like it had in the photo—empty, calm, and warm, bathed in the golden glow of lights reflecting off the polished surfaces.

Your eyes scan the room, and there she is.

Vi stands behind the bar, her jacket from earlier now draped over a nearby stool. She’s pouring herself a cup of coffee, her back to you at first, but as the door closes behind you, she glances over her shoulder. The moment she sees you, her face lights up with that easy smile, the one that makes your chest flutter in ways you’re not quite ready to deal with.

“Look who it is,” she says, setting her mug down and leaning casually against the counter. She folds her arms across her chest, giving you an appraising look. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

You step forward, trying to steady your breathing as you approach the bar. “Well,” you say, your voice soft but steady, “that picture you sent was pretty convincing. Had to check it out for myself.”

Vi’s smile widens, and she gestures to the empty space around you. “Guess you came to the right place, huh? It doesn’t get much quieter than this.”

You nod, trying not to fidget as you sling your bag onto one of the stools. “Yeah. Plus, you did say I’d get special treatment.”

Vi chuckles at that, her voice low and warm, “I did, didn’t I?”

She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the counter as she watches you unpack a few of your books.

“Something like that,” you mumble, flipping open a notebook and trying not to let her attention distract you too much. It’s easier said than done, though, especially when you feel her eyes on you, warm and curious, like she’s genuinely interested in every little thing you do.

Vi gestures toward your bag with a playful grin. “Didn’t know you’d bring your entire library with you.”

“It’s called being prepared.”

She smirks at that, but as you settle into your work, she finds herself falling quiet. Her gaze lingers on you as she leans back slightly, folding her arms.

“Go ahead and start. I’ll be here if you need anything,” she says kindly, a smile on her face that made your stomach flutter.

You thank her with a smile and a nod and the only thing Vi can think about is how cute you are.

In just a couple of minutes, you’ve focused up, skimming through a page of dense text, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi can’t help but notice the way your nose scrunches just a little when you hit something particularly complicated.

It’s… endearing.

She doesn’t mean to stare. Really, she doesn’t.

The jazz music playing softly in the background seems to fade into white noise as Vi lets herself get lost in the little details of you. The slope of your shoulders, the way your hair falls to the side when you tilt your head, the faint flush in your cheeks that she wonders—hopes—might have something to do with her.

She doesn’t even realize she’s staring until Mylo’s voice echoes in her head: You’re being so obvious, Vi.

She clears her throat, tearing her gaze away and reaching for the coffee mug she’d left on the counter. As she takes a sip, she glances back at you, this time trying to keep her interest a little more subtle.

You catch her staring just as you look up from your book, your eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. Vi freezes, caught, and you tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

She blinks, quickly shaking her head and giving you a grin that’s a little too casual.

“Nothing,” she says, her tone light, though her ears flush faintly.

Then she looks down at her mug, then back up at you. She watches you as you shyly turned away, trying to mask the way your cheeks reddened under her stare. With a soft chuckle under her breath, she moves towards the edge of the bar, finally deciding to make you a cup of coffee.

She moves quietly as she works the espresso machine. The bar is silent except for the faint hum of the machine, the relaxing jazz playing in the background, and the occasional sound of you turning your pages, but her focus isn’t entirely on what she’s doing.

Instead, it keeps drifting to you. Sitting there, head bowed over your notes, and Vi can’t help but notice how different you look today compared to the last time she saw you.

You’re dressed a little nicer today—nothing too flashy, just enough that she can tell you put some thought into it. She likes it. She really likes it.

Maybe it’s the way your sweater hugs your frame a little more snugly, or how your jeans look perfectly paired with your boots. Or maybe it’s just the fact that everything about you feels intentional, like you dressed up… just for her.

Either way, it’s distracting her in the best way possible. She shakes her head slightly, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the thought keeps nudging its way back in: So pretty.

She glances at you as she pours the espresso shot into the cup, the deep brown liquid swirling into the mug. You’re chewing on the cap of a pen, your brow furrowed in concentration, and Vi feels a faint, involuntary smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

She watches closely. Too closely. She watches your lips shamelessly, wrapping your lips around the cylinder shape, biting softly on that pen, and… god, you’re just… something else.

Vi shakes her head and tries to throw the thought out of the window. It’s far too early to be thinking about you like… that.

The hot water follows, and before she knows it, the americano is ready. She sets it on the counter softly, barely making a sound, and steps back to admire her handiwork—not the coffee, but you. And maybe she’d never admit it out loud, but she could probably watch you for hours.

When you finally notice the mug in front of you, you blink up at her with a smile, a little startled.

Vi shrugs, leaning one elbow on the counter, her grin casual but her gaze lingering. “Coffee. Figured you could use it.”

Your lips quirk up slightly at her teasing, but there’s something shy in the way you glance down at the mug, your fingers brushing the edge of it.

“Thank you,” you mumble shyly, almost under your breath.

“No problem, princess.” Vi leans back, her hands sliding into her pockets as she studies you for a moment longer. You’re even prettier up close, she thinks.

After a couple minutes, Vi busies herself cleaning the counter, though her eyes flick back to you more often than she means them to. There’s something about you today that feels different… And if she’s being honest with herself, it’s driving her a little crazy—in a good way.

When Vi had her back turned for a moment, adjusting the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, it was your turn to take the opportunity.

Your eyes wandered before you could stop yourself, taking her in as she worked. She moved smoothly, easy, like she’d done this a thousand times before—and maybe she had—but it didn’t make the sight any less captivating.

You’d been trying to focus on your notes, scribbling little reminders in the margins or flipping pages as if you were actually absorbing the words.

But who were you kidding? You couldn’t concentrate. Not when Vi was right there.

Your gaze lingered on her arms first, toned and inked, muscles flexing just enough with every movement. The way she reached up to straighten a bottle, her fingers long and strong, made your thoughts blur and stutter.

And then there was her profile—the sharp angle of her jawline, the way her asymmetrical lips curved faintly even when she wasn’t smiling. That tiny quirk, one side of her top lip arched slightly higher than the other, was unfairly charming. It made her look like she was always on the edge of smirking, always holding back some witty comment.

When she turned slightly, moving to wipe down the counter again, you quickly dropped your eyes back to your notebook, pretending to read a passage you hadn’t actually taken in.

But the distraction didn’t last long. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her pick up a glass, her hands moving over it in smooth, practiced motions as she polished it to perfection. Her forearms flexed again just slightly, and you caught yourself staring again, your thoughts hazy and full of her.

Every time you looked up, there was something new to notice—the way her brows furrowed just a little when she was focused, the way her tattoos seemed to tell a story you desperately wanted to know. You liked the way her hair fell just a little out of place when she leaned forward, the way her shirt clung to her broad shoulders and the defined curve of her biceps.

You liked the way she moved, so sure of herself yet entirely unaware of just how mesmerizing she was to watch.

It was distracting, sure, but you didn’t mind in the slightest. If anything, you welcomed it.

It didn’t take long for the mornings at the bar to become your new routine.

Vi would open promptly at ten in the morning, and you’d stroll in not long after, bundled up in a jacket, a bag full of textbooks and notebooks slung over your shoulder. She’d always greet you with that soft, lopsided smile of hers, already moving to make you coffee before you even asked.

“Morning, princess,” she’d say, setting the mug in front of you with a little flourish, and you’d roll your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips every time.

You’d settle into your usual spot, unpack your books, and get to work while Vi busied herself behind the counter.

She was always within view, her quiet presence oddly comforting as you flipped through pages and scribbled notes. And she didn’t hover, not exactly, but you knew she kept an eye on you. She’d pause her cleaning or organizing to glance over, catching little glimpses of your concentrated frown or the way you tucked your hair behind your ear absentmindedly.

For you, the quiet space was perfect, and Vi’s company made it even better.

You studied through the morning, your head bent over your books, easily working and concentrating with the quiet surroundings, before eventually packing up to head to your exams in the afternoon.

One morning, though, exhaustion finally caught up with you. You’d been cramming for a couple days, running on little sleep, and your body decided it couldn’t keep up anymore.

Vi noticed you were quieter than usual, your head drooping slightly as you flipped through your notes. She’d thought about saying something but didn’t want to disturb you.

When she looked over again a few minutes later, though, she saw you slumped forward on the counter, your head resting against an open textbook. Your breathing was slow and even, your face pressed against the pages, looking completely at peace.

Vi froze for a moment, her chest tightening in a way she couldn’t quite explain. You looked… adorable, she thought, almost too perfect in that quiet, vulnerable moment. She wiped her hands on a towel absentmindedly, then glanced around the empty bar.

Unable to help herself, she moved from behind the counter and slid into the stool beside you, making sure to be quiet. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the counter as she studied you.

The soft rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your lashes fluttered just slightly in your sleep, the curve of your lips as they parted ever so slightly—it all made her heart ache in the strangest way.

For a few long minutes, she just sat there, her head tilted slightly, watching you like she was trying to memorize every detail. She thought about waking you up, but part of her didn’t want to. You looked too peaceful, and honestly, she liked having this moment to herself.

Vi let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Pretty,” she murmured under her breath, the words barely audible even to herself.

When finals week ended, you should’ve felt relief.

You’d survived the late nights, the endless notes, the last-minute cramming. But as you walked back to your apartment after your last exam, all you could feel was a gnawing worry sitting heavy in your chest.

Without exams to study for, without needing the quiet escape of the bar in the mornings, what excuse would you have to see Vi now?

Could you just… show up?

Vi had told you plenty of times that you were welcome there whenever. But it felt different now, like you were losing the one solid reason you had to sit in that quiet space while Vi worked behind the bar.

The thought made you slow your steps, your bag of textbooks feeling heavier than it had all week.

You’d fallen into a rhythm with her—those soft, peaceful mornings where she’d make you coffee without asking, tease you gently when you got too absorbed in your books, and being in her presence made you feel more grounded than you’d ever been.

Now that the routine was gone, you weren’t sure where that left you.

You tossed your bag onto your bed and flopped down beside it, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe I’ll still go to the bar tomorrow morning, you thought, trying to reassure yourself. But doubt crept in immediately. Would she think it was strange if you kept coming back without a reason? Would it seem like you were lingering too much, too long?

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow as the worry churned in your mind. You couldn’t deny how much you liked being around her—how much you liked… well, her. The idea of not seeing her felt almost unbearable.

With a groan, you sat up and pulled your phone from your pocket. You stared at the screen, thumb hovering over Vi’s contact name.

You’d only messaged a few times before—mostly her checking in, asking if you’d made it back to your apartment safely. The thought of starting a conversation now made your stomach twist nervously.

But you wanted to see her. Needed to, even.

You tapped out a message and then erased it.

Then another.

Then erased that too.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, finals are over, but can I still come to the bar and stare at you for hours like a hopeless idiot? Stupid.

Finally, you set your phone down with a sigh, running your hands through your hair. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe she was thinking about you too, wondering if she’d still get to see you now that finals week was done.

But for a while, you stayed away.

Not because you didn’t want to go back—you wanted to more than anything—but the thought of walking into that bar now made your chest tighten with nerves.

The thought embarrassed you, enough that you buried yourself in other things—laundry, tidying your dorm, even a quick grocery run you didn’t really need. Anything to avoid confronting the growing ache in your chest that whispered how much you missed her already.

You told yourself you’d go tomorrow. Then tomorrow came, and you put it off again.

But those days dragged.

The emptiness of your mornings felt heavier than you expected, and the thought of Vi kept slipping into your mind no matter how hard you tried to focus on anything else.

Here, it felt hollow, like something was missing. And you knew exactly what it was.

By the second night, you were pacing your room, staring at your phone every few minutes, wondering if you should just message her. You groaned at yourself, flopping onto your bed and tossing your phone to the side.

It was ridiculous. You wanted to see her. You liked seeing her. So why was it so hard to just show up?

It was the knock on your door that snapped you out of your restless thoughts. You opened it to find Maddie standing there, already halfway dressed up, her hair curled and makeup done. She grinned at you, that mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Get dressed,” she said without preamble. “We’re celebrating. We deserve to let loose a little.”

You hesitated for half a second, your mind immediately jumping to Vi and that bar. “Where exactly are we going?”

Maddie smirked. “The Last Drop, obviously.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to play it cool, shrugging like you didn’t care either way. “Oh, back there again?”

“Hell yeah,” she said, already pushing her way into your dorm. “C’mon, don’t make me drag you. Get dressed. No excuses.”

For the first time in two days, you felt a rush of anticipation—nerves, yes, but excitement too. You couldn’t deny it anymore. You wanted to see Vi.

And maybe going with Maddie and the others would make it easier. Less pressure, less obvious that you were showing up just to see her.

So you jumped at the opportunity, rifling through your closet while Maddie lounged on your bed, offering unhelpful commentary about your choices. Eventually, you settled on something nice—a pretty dress, stockings, a coat to match.

“You clean up well,” Maddie teased as you slipped on your shoes.

You flushed, ignoring her as you grabbed your bag and jacket. It was cold outside, but you’d still made an effort—a bit of mascara, a touch of lipstick, enough to feel put-together.

But as you walked toward the bar, the nerves came creeping back.

The neon sign of the bar glowed in the distance, and your chest tightened as you stepped closer. The thought of seeing Vi again made your heart race, but you shoved the nerves down.

As soon as you stepped through the door of the bar, you could feel the atmosphere shift. It was quieter tonight, but still filled with the familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the low buzz of the jukebox in the corner.

Your eyes automatically darted to the bar, hoping—no, praying—that you might catch sight of her.

And then Maddie’s voice broke through your thoughts, loud and unmistakable.

“Hey, over here!”

You turned to see her waving enthusiastically at a booth toward the back of the bar. A few of her friends were already there, but what caught your attention wasn’t a group. It was the other two people sitting at the table, one of them leaning back with a casual air, a drink in hand, the other staring at you like they were expecting you.

You froze for a moment, your heart sinking. Your gaze flickered between Maddie and the table, noticing her bright, mischievous smile. She’d set you up.

You forced a smile, suddenly feeling out of place. “Uh, Maddie…?”

Your stomach dropped. A double date?

“This is Chris,” she interrupted, pointing at the guy sitting next to you. He smiled widely, practically leaning over the table as he extended his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, still processing the situation. “Uh… hi.”

“We thought you two would hit it off,” Maddie added, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

“Yeah, you know, I take Professor Talis’ class, right?” Chris said, his voice a little too eager. “We’ve had a couple of group discussions before.”

You offered a polite smile, not quite sure what to make of him. You weren’t even sure how to respond to the whole situation.

Was this supposed to be a date? You’d come to the bar to see Vi—not this.

You glanced around, your eyes scanning the familiar faces behind the bar, hoping to see her. And there, at the counter, you finally spotted her.

Vi.

Chris kept talking, his voice a constant buzz in the background as you tried to nod politely, throwing in an occasional “mhm” or “yeah” just to keep the conversation moving.

But your attention wasn’t on him. It wasn’t on anything other than Vi.

You saw her again, and this time, it wasn’t a subtle glance. Vi had noticed you, her gaze locking onto you from across the room. Her eyes moved briefly over your face, taking you in, before they shifted downward—her gaze narrowing slightly as she looked at Chris, who was still talking to you like everything was normal.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw her brow furrow, just enough to let you know she was confused.

There was something in the way she looked at you, something almost possessive, like she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on but she knew for a fact that she didn’t like it. She stood still for a moment, fingers wrapped around the edge a glass as she studied you.

For a second, you wondered if it was just your imagination, but then it clicked. Vi was jealous.

You hadn’t noticed before, but now you saw the little tension in her posture, the way her lips pressed together just slightly, the way her gaze flicked back to you every time he leaned in a little too close.

Chris, oblivious to well… everything, kept talking, his voice rising a little as he continued to try and make small talk.

You had no idea what he’d said because all you could hear was the beat of your heart in your ears, and the undeniable pull of Vi’s gaze on you. It was like she was silently challenging you, wanting to see what you’d do.

You glanced back over to Vi, who was still watching you, but now she was pretending to be busy with something—towels, or glassware, or whatever it was that could distract her from the situation.

You saw her glance down at her phone for a second, and you could almost feel her trying to decide whether or not to come over, to approach you, to do something to get your attention.

But instead of doing that, she lingered behind the bar, still looking at you—her expression unreadable now. And as much as you tried to focus on the conversation in front of you, your mind kept drifting back to her. You didn’t care about him anymore. You didn’t care about anything except the way Vi looked at you just now.

Your eyes slid back to Vi, and this time, you didn’t look away. You didn’t try to hide how you felt.

On the other side of the room, Vi’s eyes were locked on you, even though she tried to focus on the tasks in front of her.

She couldn’t help herself, a sense of possessiveness building in her chest. She wondered if you had dressed up like that for him. The guy you’d been sitting with, the one talking a mile a minute, clearly trying to impress you.

Vi’s stomach twisted, and she found herself gripping the counter a little too tightly as she watched you.

God, you looked so good. Vi’s chest tightened at the thought. She tried to focus on cleaning the counter in front of her, but the image of you with him—of you dressed up for him—kept invading her mind.

She wanted it to be her you were dressed up for. She wanted it to be her who got your attention, who you couldn’t stop thinking about.

She couldn’t do this.

She had to look away, had to force herself to breathe, because it was all getting too much.

With a frustrated sigh, Vi wiped her hands on a towel and excused herself, slipping through the back of the bar and into the staff area. She didn’t care if anyone noticed. She just had to get out of there.

She slammed the door behind her, pressing her back against it as she took a deep breath. Her heart was racing, and her mind was spinning. She had no idea what this was, what you were doing to her.

But the thought of you with someone else, the thought of you not being hers, made her ache in a way she wasn’t ready for.

She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to shake the frustration from her body. She tried to steady herself, taking in a few deep breaths as she stared at the floor. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She wasn’t supposed to be jealous.

But she wanted you.

And the more she thought about it, the clearer it became.

Vi’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the knock on the staff room door.

She’d half expected it to be Mylo, probably ready to give her a hard time for disappearing off the floor. He always seemed to have a knack for knowing when she was brooding in the back, and she was sure he’d have something to say about it.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Mylo.

It was you.

You stood there in the doorway, hesitant, but with that soft look on your face. You looked so damn good up close like this—like you had stepped out of a dream. Vi’s chest tightened, and she swallowed hard.

You looked at her for a moment, unsure of what to say, and then, in a voice that was soft, you say, “I thought… I thought you might be back here.”

She stood still for a second, just staring at you, unsure of how to handle the fact that you had found her.

“Uh, sorry if I—” You paused, glancing down at your shoes like you weren’t sure how to proceed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to, I don’t know, check in.”

“You’re not interrupting. I just—“ Vi stepped back to let you in, closing the door behind you. “—needed to take a break.”

She leaned against the door, keeping her distance, unsure if you’d notice how much she was trying to keep her guard up.

The silence stretched between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… intimate in its own way.

You were quiet too, glancing around the small room, but eventually, your eyes fell to her again. Vi noticed the way your gaze lingered on her, and she couldn’t help but feel the heat rise to her face.

Her breath caught in her throat for a second, but she quickly brushed it off, trying to focus on the conversation, trying not to get lost in the way you looked at her.

“You didn’t come back… when your tests were over…” Vi’s voice dropped quieter, a little hesitant, like she wasn’t sure how to ask the question.

She hadn’t seen you in a while, and it made her question everything.

The words hung between you, and Vi shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flickering away for a moment, focusing on something in the corner of the room.

She didn’t want to look too eager, too desperate. But the truth was, she had been thinking about you. Every minute of the day. And when she didn’t see you, when she didn’t hear from you, it made her feel like maybe she wasn’t as important to you as she had thought.

She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but the words had slipped out. Vi cleared her throat, turning back to you.

“I thought… I thought maybe I’d see you again, but… you didn’t come back.” Her voice softened again.

Did you want to come back? Had she somehow messed things up by letting herself feel this much for you? Vi couldn’t keep the questions from creeping into her mind, even though she tried to push them away.

“You didn’t even text,” she said quietly, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.

You blinked, surprised by the sharpness in her voice, the way it cut through the silence that had been so comfortable just a moment ago. You could see it in her eyes—something in the way she said that, something fragile.

It made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t meant to distance yourself from her. You just… didn’t know what to say.

“I… I didn’t mean to disappear,” you said quietly, your voice soft and unsure. You shifted your weight, glancing down at your feet, before looking up again. “It’s just, I was nervous about coming back without having a solid reason to, and I thought maybe, you know…”

Vi’s gaze softened, the intensity in her eyes giving way to something more tender. She tilted her head slightly, studying you.

“Nervous?” she repeated quietly, as if testing the word. Her brow furrowed slightly. “About what?”

You swallowed, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress, trying to find the right words. It felt strange, admitting it aloud, but with Vi in the room with you, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“About… you,” you said, the confession slipping out before you could stop it. “About all of this… about seeing you again, about how I feel when I’m around you… I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Vi’s heart skipped a beat at your words. Her breath caught for a fraction of a second.

“It’s just…” she started again, her voice a little rough. “I missed seeing you. That’s all.”

Her gaze shifted to the floor for a moment, a faint flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t used to admitting this kind of thing aloud either, not even to herself. But there it was, spilling out between you two like something she couldn’t stop.

You felt your heart tug at the honesty in her voice, the way it made you feel like maybe you hadn’t been the only one thinking about this.

“I missed you, too.”

And for the first time tonight, Vi finally smiled.

You couldn’t help but tease her, a small smirk curling at the corners of your lips as you said, “I was waiting for you to text me, too, you know.”

The words felt bold, but you couldn’t hide the nervous excitement bubbling up inside of you.

Vi dropped her head and let out a breathy chuckle. The jealousy, the frustration, everything she’d been feeling earlier—it seemed to vanish completely.

She leaned back against the door, her eyes never leaving yours, full of something far gentler now—something you hadn’t seen before, or at least not like this.

“Can you come here?” she asked, her voice soft, almost like a whisper, but there was something in it that made the air in the room thick.

You hesitated for just a moment, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t resist. Slowly, you walked over to her, your movements measured, though a nervous excitement fluttered in your stomach.

Vi’s eyes never left you as you approached. She watched the way your dress moved with each step, the way your body shifted as you walked toward her, and it drove her absolutely wild. She couldn’t help but let her eyes linger, taking in the sight of you, the way the fabric clung to your curves.

By the time you were close enough, Vi had already moved. She leaned against the door, her hands coming up to gently but firmly grip your hips, pulling you in closer. You felt the heat of her touch spread through you, her hands on your hips guiding you so that you were now flat against her chest, your bodies pressed together.

You couldn’t stop the breath that caught in your throat, the feel of her hands on you sending a wave of heat rushing through your body.

You could feel the rhythm of her breathing, the slight hitch in it when you finally stood there, so close. Her gaze flickered down to the dress you were wearing, and you could feel the tension in her fingers as she lightly traced the hem of it, playing with the fabric as though she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

“I like this,” Vi’s voice was quiet, almost a murmur, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s pretty.”

You didn’t say anything at first, instead simply meeting her gaze, your pulse quickening under her touch. The way she looked at you now, hungry and dazed, made your stomach flip in the best way.

“I… I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling a little shy but also emboldened by the way Vi was looking at you.

Vi smiled softly, her lips curving up as she leaned in just a little bit closer, her breath warming your cheek.

“It’s perfect,” she said, voice low, as if the words were meant only for you. “You look perfect.”

Her eyes darkened just a fraction, the playful smirk on her lips transforming into something more primal, more feral. Her hands on your hips tightened just a little, urging you closer, as if she couldn’t get close enough.

Vi’s gaze was heavy, her pupils dark and blown wide as they locked onto your face, moving slowly down to your lips. Her stare was intense—shameless, even—and it made your breath hitch.

Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers pressing firmly into your sides. The fabric of your dress bunched up under her hands, her thumbs brushing against the soft material as though she couldn’t help herself. Her touch was slow, almost like she was trying to memorize the feeling of you under her palms.

You could feel the heat radiating off her, the space between you almost nonexistent now. The way her gaze lingered on your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt rooted to the spot, as if moving would break whatever spell had settled over the two of you.

Vi swallowed hard, her Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, her hands twitching against your hips as though resisting the urge to pull you impossibly closer. Her chest rose and fell in time with her quickened breathing, and you could feel her struggle to keep herself in check, though the way she stared at you made it clear how difficult that was.

Instead, her fingers tightened again, the slight pull of your dress drawing you even closer to her. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were on the verge of saying something, but her gaze kept flickering back to your mouth, and you wondered if words were even necessary.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before you could form a single word, Vi moved. Her grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your dress as she leaned in and claimed your lips with her own.

Her mouth was warm, soft but insistent, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. You froze for half a second, startled, but then everything in you melted. Your hands found their way to her shoulders, gripping her lightly as she pulled you even closer, pressing your body flush against hers.

There was a kind of hunger in the way her lips moved against yours, but it was careful too—like she wanted to take her time and savor every second of it. Her fingers slid up your sides slightly, still gripping your dress, her thumbs brushing over your waist as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss.

When she finally pulled back, just barely, her forehead rested against yours. She was breathless, her eyes still heavy-lidded as they locked onto yours. Her hands were still on your hips, holding you against her.

Vi looks at you, a wide, soft smile spreading across her face as she leans her head back against the door, her hands moving upward, tracing the curve of your back slowly. Her fingertips brush against the zipper of your dress, playing with it absentmindedly as she lets out a breathy laugh.

“I think I’m doing this out of order…” she murmurs.

Your brows knit together slightly, still dazed from the kiss.

“Out of order?” you echo, your voice quieter than you intended.

Vi nods, her gaze drifting back to your lips as if they we drawn there magnetically.

Her smile turns almost sheepish, but the heat in her eyes doesn’t fade as she mutters quietly, “Yeah… ‘was supposed to ask you out on a date first.”

The words make your stomach flip, and before you can respond, she keeps going. Her voice softens, a little lower, as if she’s painting a picture just for you.

“I would’ve asked you where you’d like to eat… something casual, nothing too fancy. Then I’d pick you up, you’d wear something pretty for me, and I’ll take you somewhere nice. Not here,” she says with a small grin, “somewhere quiet, somewhere where I could actually talk to you without interruptions.”

Her hands are wandering now, sliding slowly down your sides, then up again, the warmth of her palms seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. One of her thumbs brushes against your ribcage, close to the underside of your breasts, her touch gentle but enough to make your breath hitch.

You’re barely holding onto her words as her hands move, but she keeps talking, her tone calm and almost hypnotic.

“Maybe, take you to this little Italian place I like. Not too crowded, but the food’s incredible. Candlelit, y’know? Not to be cheesy, but I think you’d like it.”

Her hands drift down again, her thumbs skimming along the curve of your hips as she keeps her voice low and steady.

“We’d get some wine—unless you’d rather have water, of course,” she teases softly, her lips twitching into a smirk, “and then we’d just… talk. No distractions, no noise, just you and me.”

Her fingers glide back up, tracing the line of your spine.

“After dinner, maybe a walk somewhere. I dunno, a park, the waterfront… wherever you’d want to go. Just somewhere I could hold your hand and maybe steal a kiss, if you let me.”

You try to focus on her voice, but her hands are relentless, mapping your body like she’s trying to memorize every inch. Your breath catches when her fingers tease the short sleeve of your dress, her thumb brushing your shoulder.

“Then,” she continues, her eyes flicking to yours, “I’d walk you home, make sure you got inside safe. And maybe… maybe if I was lucky, you’d ask me to come in and... Well, I don’t wanna spoil it.”

Her lips curve into a lazy smile, her fingers halting just above the small of your back.

“That’s how it was supposed to go,” she says softly, her voice dripping with affection as her gaze locks onto yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body warm and your mind spinning. It’s impossible to think straight when her hands are on you, her voice so low and inviting.

“So why haven’t you?” you ask softly, your voice almost a whisper.

You lean in closer, and Vi instinctively follows your lips, her breath brushing against them.

“Hm?” she hums, clearly distracted, her gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“—asked me out yet?” you finish, your voice trembling slightly, the boldness of the question surprising even you.

Vi freezes for a fraction of a second, then her lips tug into a small, almost bashful smile. Without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you again, soft and lingering, her lips fitting against yours. After a moment, her mouth leaves yours only to trail a path down to your jaw, her lips brushing against your skin.

She pauses at the curve of your neck, pressing a slow kiss there before muttering against your skin, her voice husky and low, “You make me nervous, too.”

You feel her lips curl into a smile against your neck, like she knows exactly what kind of effect she’s having on you. Her hands tighten slightly on your waist, holding you as if she can feel the way your legs are threatening to give out beneath you.

You tilt your head slightly, giving her better access without even thinking, and she takes full advantage of it. Her breath is warm against your skin, and every kiss feels like it’s melting away whatever distance was left between the two of you.

“Vi…” you murmur, unsure if you’re trying to stop her or encourage her to keep going.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“Yeah?” she asks, her voice quiet.

You don’t have an answer, not one you can articulate anyway. All you can do is stare at her, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure she can hear it. And then she smiles, a crooked, endearing smile that makes your stomach flutter in the best way.

Vi’s lips return to your neck, her breath warm against your skin. She lingers there, her mouth pressing gentle kisses to the curve of your throat, her hands holding your waist firmly as if to steady you. You feel her lips part, the faintest scrape of her teeth against your skin sending a shiver down your spine.

“V-Vi…” you whimper again, but your voice lacks conviction, too soft, too dazed.

And good god, her name sounds so good on your lips.

She hums in response, low and teasing, as her lips close over the sensitive spot she’s found, sucking lightly. The sensation sends a shiver through your entire body, and you grip the fabric of her shirt without thinking, your nails pressing into her shoulders as she kisses your neck.

Her hands slide up your back, keeping you close, and her lips move to a new spot, determined to leave another mark. You know you should stop her, that you’ll be left with marks you can’t easily explain, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Her tongue traces over the freshly made hickey, soothing it before she moves lower, her lips brushing against your collarbone now. You feel lightheaded, completely consumed by her—her touch, her warmth, her scent, her hands, her lips.

“Vi…” you try again, but it comes out weaker than before, more like a plea than a protest.

She chuckles softly against your skin, the sound low and rumbling, and you feel her smile.

“Too much?” she asks playfully, though she doesn’t pull away.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, your fingers tighten against her shirt, and she takes it as permission to continue. Her lips find the hollow of your throat, her teeth grazing against the delicate skin there before she sucks lightly, her hands roaming lower to rest just above your hips.

By the time she finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your head spinning. Her lips are slightly swollen, her smile smug but tender as she looks at you.

“You’re gonna hate me when you see those,” she says softly, her fingers brushing lightly against your neck where her lips had been.

As soon as Vi pulls back, her lips curling into that smug, tender smile, you don’t think. You act. You grab her collar, pulling her down as you surge up to meet her lips, kissing her hard and desperate, pouring every pent-up feeling into that kiss.

Vi grunts softly against your mouth, low and rough, and it sends a thrill down your spine. Her hands, still gripping your waist, tighten possessively to keep you exactly where you are. You feel her smile against your lips for a moment before she kisses you back just as fiercely, her teeth grazing your bottom lip, her tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

It’s almost overwhelming, the way she kisses you—like she’s been starving for you.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to push herself off the door, her hands sliding to your hips as she turns you around. Before you can even process what’s happening, your back hits the door with a soft slam, the wood rattling slightly behind you. Vi’s hands cage you in, one hand by the side of your head and the other on your hip, keeping you in place as she crashes her lips back onto yours.

She kisses you like she’s claiming you, like she wants to make it crystal clear who you belong to. Her heart swells with pride as she imagines that guy you were with outside, seeing all those little bruises she left on your neck for everyone to see.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Vi murmurs against your lips, her voice hoarse and ragged, before diving back in.

Her fingers slide underneath the hem of your dress, tracing the soft curve of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. The moment her touch makes contact with the bare skin of your thighs, you gasp, the feeling of her fingers inching higher and higher, making your pulse race.

You can feel the way she presses in, her grip firm, as if she’s marking territory, staking her claim. She wanted you so bad. But she’s careful with you, and you can feel how she’s holding herself back just a little, the restraint making you ache for more. You know she wants you just as much as you want her—and you can’t help but be drawn deeper into her orbit.

Her hands reach up under your dress, the pads of her fingers tracing your lace panties and Vi shudders at the feeling. She can feel the dampness and warmth of you already and fuck, it drives her absolutely wild.

“You’re already wet, sweetheart,” she says, smiling against your neck proudly.

“V-Vi… Here?” You gasp into her ear.

She nods eagerly, eyes dazed as she looks at you, “Mhm.”

“B-But, someone might hear—“

“Then, you’ll keep quiet for me, won’t you, princess?” She purrs into your ear. “Can you do that?”

Your breath hitches at the way she says it, making your knees feel weak. You feel her smile against your skin, a sly curve of her lips that tells you she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

“Hmm?” she hums, her thumb rubbing the center of your panties in soft circles, testing your reaction. She tilts her head slightly to catch your gaze. “Or are you gonna make it hard for me?”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you meet her gaze, your lips parting to answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, you nod, your breath hitching as her thumb presses your clit over the fabric of your panties.

She smiles, one hand coming up to fondle your breast. You whimper when she squeezes softly, enjoying the soft fullness in the palm of her hands.

“Tell me.”

You get lost in her stare, blue eyes telling you how much she wants you.

“I-I want you, Violet.”

Without wasting another second, Vi slips the hand that was under your dress and into your panties, her fingers immediately coming in contact with your soaking cunt, your folds slick with want. She hums in approval, and all you can do is nod again, biting down on your lip to keep from making a sound. Vi notices, her smirk widening as she leans in again, her lips trailing down your neck in a series of soft kisses.

“That’s my girl,” she whispers, her voice vibrating against your skin, making it impossible to focus on anything but her.

And when she slips a finger inside, you drop your head to her shoulder, trying to muffle your moan. Her finger immediately curls against your tight walls and you can feel your knees buckle as she thrusts her finger into you.

“Oh, V-Vi—“

She lifts her head up and kisses you on the lips, her tongue slipping inside with ease. She swallowed your moans as she whimpered into your mouth, her body trapping you between her and the door.

“You look… so good,” she murmured, voice hushed, her lips grazing your skin as she spoke. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

But then she adds another finger without any warning, her pace speeding up as you leaned your head back against the door behind you. You let your jaw fall when you feel her thrusting, and thrusting, and thrusting, and curling right into that spongy spot inside your pussy that made you moan.

“N-nh … A-Ah, fuck!” You gasp, unable to control your voice as she speeds up her fingers.

“Shh, shhhh, baby,” she murmurs against your lips, tilting her head as she watches you fall apart on her fingers. “Does it feel good, princess?”

“M-Mhm—ah—“

“Yeah?” You feel Vi smile on your lips.

Nodding your head, you whine, feeling your body grow weak the longer she fucked you.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs against your neck, her voice low and husky.

Her fingers move quickly as they piston in and out of you, a soft squelching noise filling the empty room, teasing and testing your boundaries, gauging every reaction you give her. You could hear the low thrum of the music outside, playing in the lounge and in the bar, but you can barely begin to think about anything else other than the way Vi was making you feel, the way you were coming undone right in front of her.

“Look at you,” she whispers, her voice thick with adoration, “so pretty like this.”

Her free hand, the one that was fondling your tits, moves from your waist to cradle your face, her thumb brushing over your cheek as she leans in to kiss you deeply.

And holy fuck, you could feel it—how close you suddenly were.

You were sure Vi could feel it, too. She groans against your neck, head falling to your shoulder as she breathes you in, feeling your tight walls clench around her digits. You close. You were so damn close—

Then, Vi’s ears twitch—the sound of footsteps coming closer from behind the door.

She freezes. But only for a brief moment when she hears Mylo’s voice through the door, her body going taut as she glances at you. Your eyes widen, but Vi doesn’t pull away. Instead, a sly grin spreads across her face, her pupils blown wide as she looks at you.

Her lips find your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine. “Stay quiet for me, yeah?”

And instead of stopping, her lips curl into a mischievous grin. Her fingers don’t falter, if anything she thrusted them faster into your wet pussy, her other hand moving quickly to cover your mouth as a quiet whimper escapes you, muffling all your delicious moans. You whimper against her mouth, eyes rolling back, not sure when you were going to cum. You felt so close—so fucking close.

“Shhh,” she whispers, her mouth brushing against your ear, her voice low and dripping with amusement.

From the other side of the door, Mylo’s voice comes again, confused but unconcerned. “Vi? You in there? You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she calls out, her voice steady, calm, like nothing at all is happening. “Just… needed a minute.”

You feel your face heat up as you struggle to stay composed, muffled against her palm, your eyes wide and pleading. But Vi’s gaze is locked onto yours as she continues to fuck you.

“Well, can you hurry up? The bar’s getting packed,” he says.

“Y-Yeah, I’ll be there!” Vi sighs as your legs begin to tremble.

Mylo grumbles something you can’t understand, footsteps retreating as he wanders off.

As soon as the sound of his steps fades, Vi lets out a low chuckle, finally removing her hand from your mouth. Her thumb brushes against your lips as she leans in close, her breath fanning your cheek. You were right around her fingers, and Vi couldn’t help but groan and press her thumb against your clit.

You jolt in her arms as you hold on to her shoulders for some leverage, trying to keep yourself steady, even though it felt like an impossible task. Vi groans when you clench, your soaking wet pussy dripping down your thighs, dripping onto her hand as she fingers you.

Vi could feel it on her fingers, slick and tight. How close you were—fuck fuck fuck. She moved faster and all you could do was hold on and cry into her shoulder.

“V-Vi, I—close—I’m—“

“You wanna cum? Yeah?” Vi whispers, using her body to press you against the door, fingers thrusting harder, deeper and faster. “Cum for me, baby.”

Then it crashes. Vi feels your body tense under her touch, your breaths coming faster as you gush around her fingers. She can see it in the way your hands clutch at her shoulders, the way your head tilts back slightly, lips parting as a soft, desperate mewl escapes your mouth.

But before that sound can grow louder, Vi’s lips crash onto yours, swallowing the moan that tries to escape. She doesn’t stop her fingers until you’re trembling in her arms. You melt against her, your body trembling, leaving you breathless and clinging to her, her strong arms and broad shoulders hold you up. Vi doesn’t pull back, keeping her lips on yours until she’s sure you’re done riding it out.

When she finally does break the kiss, her lips linger close, her forehead resting gently against yours. You’re panting softly, and she’s just smiling.

“Fuck,” she murmurs and you can feel her smirk against your skin as she presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Vi’s hand slows to a stop, pulling her fingers out of you slowly, her palm pressing flat against your thigh as she watches you. Her gaze is stuck on you, like she couldn’t believe what she’s seeing. The way your body trembles against hers, the soft flush of your cheeks, the way your lips part as you gasp for breath—it’s all too much and somehow not enough at the same time.

Her chest tightens as she leans her head forward against your shoulder. Vi wasn’t prepared for this—wasn’t prepared for you. And the thought crashes into her like a freight train: she’s falling hard. Maybe she already has.

She lifts her head up and he thumb absentmindedly brushes against your skin as you catch your breath. You’re leaning against her now, your head resting lightly on her shoulder, still dazed and glowing after your orgasm. Vi doesn’t even realize she’s staring, her lips slightly parted, her pupils blown wide with love.

She blurts it out without even thinking.

“So… dinner… Friday?”

Her ears burn as she watches for your reaction.

“I mean—” she starts, her voice faltering, unsure whether to backtrack or double down.

But when she glances down at you, still pressed against her, all she can do is grin sheepishly.

“You’re seriously asking me out… right now?” you say, lifting an eyebrow at her. Your voice is soft and teasing, but still a little breathless from everything that just happened.

Vi’s lips curl into a crooked grin, and she lets out a laugh that’s equal parts nervous and amused. She’s holding you up slightly, biceps flexing under her shirt, her hands resting lightly on your hips, her thumbs grazing the fabric of your dress like she’s afraid to let go.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice low but steady, her grin widening. “Is that a problem?”

You shake your head, narrowing your eyes at her like you’re trying to figure her out. You dart your eyes downward, glancing down at where her hands are on you, feeling the warmth of her touch through the thin fabric.

“Stupid,” you mutter under your breath.

You stare at Vi.

“Friday?” you ask softly, tilting your head slightly, your voice teasing her.

Vi nods again, more earnestly this time, her lips parting like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she just looks at you, like she’s this big, lovesick puppy. And, if she had a tail right now, you’re pretty sure it would be wagging hard enough to knock over a chair or two.

“Friday,” she repeats.

She shifts on her feet slightly, her hands still resting on your hips, thumbs brushing tiny circles against the fabric of your dress. You bite back a laugh, your smile growing as you watch her, all nervous and excited.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi’s entire face lights up, her crooked grin spreading so wide it makes her dimples appear.

“Yeah?” she says softly, and you nod, still smiling.

And then she stops, her eyes flickering to your lips one last time, but she doesn’t move any closer.

She’s waiting—patiently, sweetly—for you to close the gap if you want to. And it makes your heart ache a little because she’s trying so hard to hold herself back for your sake, even when you can tell it’s killing her.

But as soon as your eyes day to her lips and smile softly, her restraint crumbles. She leans in and kisses you, her hands tightening slightly on your hips. Vi’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest. She likes you—so much it scares her, so much she doesn’t know what to do with herself right now except kiss you harder.

You kiss her back with just as much intensity, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt to pull her even closer. You can feel the slight tremor in her hands where they grip your hips, sliding up slowly to your waist. She tastes like peppermint gum and something faintly sweet, and the way she kisses you makes your heart race so fast you’re surprised she can’t feel it through your chest.

Vi pulls back for just a moment, her forehead resting against yours as she exhales a shaky breath. Her lips are still parted, her eyes half-lidded as she looks at you, and she’s smiling—wide and boyish and so full of joy that it makes your chest tighten.

“I really, really like you.”

You laugh softly, your hand moving up to touch her jaw, your thumb brushing over her cheek where her tattoo is.

“I really, really like you, too,” you tease, your own voice a little shaky from how lightheaded you feel.

Vi grins, her dimples showing, and then she kisses you again, this time slower, softer, like she’s savoring it.

You cant think of anything else but her. The noise from the bar, the memory of whatever brought you here tonight—it’s all drowned out by the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours and the warmth of her hands on your waist.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself stop overthinking.

Vi feels like she’s floating, her chest so full it feels like she might burst. She likes you so much it almost hurts, and the way you kiss her back like you feel the same way makes her head spin. She pulls you just a little closer, her fingers slipping around your waist, and she can’t stop the quiet, breathless laugh that escapes against your lips. You smile into the kiss, your own heart thudding loudly in your chest.

If this is what liking Vi feels like, you think, you don’t ever want it to stop.

ty for reading ! | navigation

I Kissed The Scars On Her Skin

Natasha X Reader

Inspired by the lyrics ‘I kissed the scars on her skin, I still think you’re beautiful’ from the song A Match Into Water by Pierce The Veil.

Chapter warnings/Tags: Mentions of objectification/sexualisation, Brief Reference to Natasha’s past and unwanted sexual experiences, talks of body image, Insecurities and anxiety about body image, comfort, fluff (?)

Word Count- 2.6k

I wrote this to try and get out of my writer's block and it's not worked 🫠

Please read the warnings/tags before reading.

Masterlist

Staring ahead at the mirror in the corner of the room, emerald green intently stared at her reflection, observing every inch of her bare body that was on display, wet, red curls clinging to her body as she simply stood in front of the mirror, her usually playful green corrupted into disgust. Hurt, regret and shame crawled down her spine as her gaze flickered from one body feature to another, a lump clawing its way into her throat as pain creeped onto her face as she continued to stare, every second passing only amplifying the whirlwind of emotions flooding through her.

Natasha couldn’t stop the negative and despondent trail her thoughts drifted down as she looked at herself properly, nausea stirring deep within her. She didn’t see herself staring back at her, all she could see was an object, a tool she used to get the mission done, no matter what it took. She didn’t see someone soft or beautiful, someone you’d want to spend hours admiring because they were so pretty and delicate, all she could see was something… to be used. She was sexy and seductive, she wasn’t someone who was tender or gentle. She wasn’t someone lovable, she was something to be utilised for a mission.

Her eyes glossed over as she continued to berate her body, objectifying it herself as everyone else had done to her as she stared and ogled at her own body, trying to persuade herself there was something more to her than her looks. Her teeth anxiously bit down on her lower lip to stop it trembling as she failed to convince herself of anything positive, a stray tear managing to escape her when her gaze settled on one of the many scars that littered her body from her past.

The haunting memories of her past desperately tried to gnaw away at her thoughts but she didn’t pay them any attention as she was too focused on drowning in her other thoughts, drowning in the onslaught of doubts and insecurities eating away at her. She was a weapon and a killer. That’s all she was and all she was ever going to be.

The sound of keys twisting in the door made her aware of your arrival, the redhead not bothering to cover herself up as she assumed you would be happy to see her completely exposed, everyone else would. God, what did you even see in her? Was she just a good fuck? Is that why you hadn’t left her yet?

“Hey, you’re never going to believe what Sam did on the mission-“ You chuckled out as you opened the bedroom door, your eyes widening in surprise at the sight of her body, a smile naturally tugging at your lips before your gaze met her green in the reflection, the sheer amount of emotion swirling in them immediately filling you with concern, your face dropping into worry. “What’s wrong?” You ask softly as you carefully place your bag down on the floor, making your way gradually over to her body, watching her reaction as you approach your girlfriend.

“When you look at me, what do you see?” Her tone was laced with hurt as your brows furrow, your eyes trained on hers in the reflection as you move to stand next to her, being respectful and keeping your gaze locked on those eyes you fell so deeply for.

“I see the most beautiful woman in the world,” you whisper, your voice dripping with care and honesty as you watch her reaction, pain flashing across her face and causing confusion to wash across yours.

“No, no you don’t,” she mutters, lifting her hand to wipe away the tears lingering on her cheeks, brushing it away roughly as she hates crying, she hates showing any sign of weakness. “I’m not beautiful, I’m…I’m disgusting,” she mumbles, your face instantly reacting to her words, disbelief engraved on it as you take another step closer to her body, trying to think of a way to convince her that she wasn’t, she was more than what they made her.

“Nat,” you whisper softly as she stares ahead at the mirror, avoiding your gaze in the reflection as she tries to blink back the tears brimming in her eyes. “Natasha, look at me,” you murmur affectionately, waiting patiently for her to muster the courage to look at your loving and tender gaze, her mesmerising green eventually flickering over to your soft gaze. “Do you trust me?” your voice was barely above a whisper as your mouth moved near the shell of her ear, waiting for her consent before trying to show her how wrong she was.

She was beautiful, not because of her body but because of her heart. Despite everything she thought about herself, she was a kind, loving, and amazing woman, she was someone who managed to steal your heart without even trying. She was everything to you, and you needed her to know that.

When she nods, you show her your hands in the reflection, signalling to her you wanted to touch her before waiting for her to nod again, your hands gently moving to caress her waist when she was ready. Your warm touch felt odd against her skin momentarily, the sheer tenderness and care you managed to put into it made her heart flutter as you kept your gaze on her face, gauging her reactions carefully. It was almost overwhelming to feel so appreciated and seen by you, your hands moving against her soft skin slowly, your fingers moving over every inch of her body in an adoring way, not a hint of lust or desire present in your touch as you explored her body, slowly warming her cold body up.

“Do you know why I said I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?” you murmur as you place a delicate kiss to her bare shoulder, the kiss so innocent and affectionate it almost makes Natasha tear up from the loving blooming within her as you close your eyes, almost lost in your admiration for her. “Because there’s not a single part of you I don’t adore, I love all of you Natasha, not just your body,” you whisper, your warm breath tickling her skin as you kiss her shoulder blade, letting your lips ghost over a small scar you knew haunted her.

You kissed over the scar with as much love as possible, trying to sooth her worries about the physical scar as well as trying to comfort the mental scars that littered her, the feeling of their rough, forceful hands still invading her thoughts from time to time.

You can hear her exhale a shaky breath at your words and actions, her body slowly relaxing further into your touch as you move to glide your hands down her toned arms, propping your head on her shoulder as your mouth ghosted her ear again, watching her reaction to your touch as she lets her eyes flutter shut, trying to engrave the memory of your touch into her mind forever.

“Do you know why I love your hands?” You mumble softly, a smile tugging at your lips as she shakes her head, too scared to speak and ruin the tranquil atmosphere that’s wrapped around the two of you, wanting to let the world fade away. “I love the way you run your fingers through my hair when we cuddle,” you whisper, trying to list all the unique things she does that you adore, trying to express to her your undying love, needing her to realise how much you care about her. “I love how gentle they are when I let you braid my hair, the way you twirl your pen between them in debrief meetings, that when you get anxious you trace the lines on your palms,” you mimic the movement with your own fingers, dragging the tips of your fingers across her hand before up and along her forearm until you move them back to her waist to rest there for a moment, letting everything sink in for a moment before you continue.

“Do you know why I love your shoulders and back?” you ask quietly, letting your fingers trace her spine almost intimately as your body ghosts behind hers, her body subconsciously leaning back further against you, seeking your warmth and comfort. “Because despite carrying the world on your shoulders, you make time for others, you care for everyone else,” you whisper, “But most importantly, you let me take care of you, which I know was something difficult for you to start with. I love how now you let me run my fingers up and down your back because you know I love watching you relax,” your let your thumb gently press into a spot on her back, knowing it was her weak spot and watching as her body crumbles apart at your touch, relaxing instantly into your arms as your hands move to snake around her waist, letting her sink into your embrace.

You hold her for as long as you think she needs it, her eyes still closed as she focuses on the feeling of your steady heartbeat behind her, ears listening attentively to your calm breaths as you embrace her, smiling fondly at her reflection as the disgust on her features dissipated into shyness and love, the suffocating spiral she was trapped in easing it’s grip as your words lured her out of her dark thoughts.

Only when she was ready, did you move away from the embrace, moving around her body to face her, your lips pressing delicately against her forehead to make the corner of her lips lift up that little bit more before you slowly kiss down her body in an appreciative way, trying to express your love for her as you kneel before her, almost as if you were worshipping her.

“Do you know why I love this scar?” you whisper ever so gently, her head tilting to look at you as you peer up at her, honesty overflowing from your eyes as she struggles to process how you could love the old wound on her lower abdomen. “It shows how strong you are,” you mumble as you kiss the scars on her skin, “It shows that you are a good person, Natasha. You saved that man’s life, you risked yours just so he could go home to see his children, I think that’s something to admire and love.”

“Y/n,” she murmurs out but you kiss near the scar again, her hands naturally moving to thread through your hair, wanting to feel closer to you as she lets you continue praising her body.

“I’m not finished,” you mumble playfully, not letting her disagree with your words. “I also love how if I let my fingers brush over the spot above it…” you chuckle out, knowing she was some reason ticklish there, a soft laugh escaping her as her body jerks at the funny sensation, your hands settling at her hips to show you weren’t going to tickle her again. “I get to hear that angelic laughter,” you whisper with a cocky smile, her eyes rolling as she looks down at you, unable to stop the smile breaking out on her face, your comforting words a safety boat coming to save her from the sea of doubts and insecurities.

“That was mean,” she grumbles, scratching your scalp softly as you lean against her body, smiling up at her with nothing but love in your eyes.

“It still made you smile,” you say whilst kissing the spot you had just tickled, your hands moving down to her legs, deciding to compliment one more part of her body, having a feeling your plan had already seemed to have worked. “Do you know why I love your legs?” You hum out, looking up at her and noticing the small hint of mirth in her eyes.

“Why?” She murmurs in a tender tone, your lips peppering a few soft kisses against the soft skin and her tone muscles.

“I love how you wrap them around my body to pull me closer when we cuddle,” you whisper, knowing that, especially when she was tired, she’d throw her leg over your body and slide you closer to her, needing to feel you completely pressed up against her to sleep comfortably. “Or when you use them to trap me to the bed playfully, trying to prove that you could beat me in a sparring match,” you tease, knowing full well she’d kick your ass if you spared against her. You chuckle as you watch her brow raise at your words, her smile endearing as she gets lost in your enamoured gaze, her heart unable to cope with the amount of love pumping through it.

Gradually, you push yourself back up to your feet and let your arms snake around her waist, pulling her body closer to yours as she keeps her eyes on you, trying her best to express how grateful she was to have you in her life, to have you push away all those negative thoughts and clear the fog of anxiety that would cloud her mind.

“You’re beautiful, Natasha,” you whisper, not hiding an ounce of your love for her in your tone, the soft look in your eyes turning serious as you need her to know you mean it. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me think otherwise. I love you, I always will.”

“I love you too,” she murmurs back affectionately, kissing your lips innocently, not wanting anything to escalate as she simply wanted to be with you, to feel loved and cared for. You let her face rest at the crook of your neck as you try to slide your jacket off to cover her body, noticing how she shivered slightly at the gentle breeze that filtered through the room from the window. You let her take as long as she needed in your embrace, only parting when she moved first, deciding to warm herself up by slipping under the covers of your bed as she watched you sit on the edge of the bed, taking off your boots tiredly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles after a moment, realising that you had just gotten back from a long mission, exhaustion evident in your features as she observes you, your head instantly turning at her apology.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” your tone is quiet as you kiss her forehead, letting your hand cup her cheek and thumb brush over the smooth skin. “I’m here for you, no matter what,” your tone conveys your care for her as you kiss her once more, swiftly taking the rest of your clothes off so you could join her in bed, letting your bare bodies press into each other so you could both get lost in a tranquil moment between lovers, gazing into each others eyes.

“Thank you for loving me,” she whispers after a little white, your lips stretching into a soft smile, your head tilting to look at her as she hugs your side, her leg slotted between yours like she always did.

“Thank you for giving me the chance to,” your words are soft as you hold the intimate stare, her cheeks tinting pink before she lets her face press further against your body, trying to hide the sudden shyness consuming her as well as giving into her body’s desire for sleep, the tormenting thoughts from earlier draining her. “Goodnight Nat,” you whisper once you could tell she was drifting off to sleep, your lips pressing one final kiss to her hair before letting your own eyes close, content with being in the arms of your lover.

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kaywa25

9 months ago

I want everyone to know that this is me every time someone drops a comment on something I've written:

17K notes View Post

kaywa25

1 month ago

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

sumary: Natasha didn’t expect anyone to notice she was barely holding it together—let alone you. But when a simple playdate turns into days of fevers, exhaustion, and quiet overwhelm, you’re the one who shows up. No questions. No expectations. Just soup in hand, arms open, and eyes that see right through her

word count: 4905

warnings: flu, stomach bug, natasha being vulnerable, age gap and a huge amount of cuteness.

Part 1

author notes: Thank you all sooo much for the love you’ve sent over this mini fanfic — seriously, my heart’s full! I’m beyond excited to say that yes, a little series about our chaotic (but adorable) family is officially happening <3

　゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　　˳ 　　　　　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　　 ₊

Time had a funny way of folding in on itself when you weren’t paying attention.

One moment, you were a reluctant presence on the fringes of her and Ana’s quiet world, and the next… you were everywhere. Slowly. Naturally. Not because you forced your way in, but because Ana wouldn’t let you be anywhere else. Because Natasha hadn’t known she was waiting for you until you started showing up.

With each passing week, you had become more a part of them—tangled in the fabric of small, ordinary things. Breakfast crumbs. Quiet laughter. The gentle thud of little feet running to find you the moment she entered a room. Natasha had told herself it was nothing. Just temporary. Just the way Ana gravitated to you.

But it was more than that. You weren’t just a presence. You were constant. Steady. You were becoming a part of them in ways Natasha hadn’t prepared for.

And that terrified her.

Because she’d started loving you.

More than she meant to.

And not just emotionally—her body had begun responding to you like it remembered something ancient, like it knew what it wanted before her mind had a chance to catch up. It wasn’t just attraction—it was primal. Deep. Dangerous. Her womb would ache in ways she hadn’t felt since before Ana. Ovulation, hormones, cravings… not just for you, but for the idea of you beside her, in her, with her. You, with Ana. You, in their future.

And you made it worse by being exactly who you were. By showing up when she least expected it. Like now.

Natasha was wrecked. Exhausted beyond measure. It had started with one stupid playdate. She should’ve known better—one of the other mothers had been coughing in that vaguely suspicious “I’m fine, really” way, and now Natasha was paying the price. First came the fever. Then the stomach bug. First for her, then for Ana. And now they were both half-alive, curled into a blanket cocoon on Natasha’s couch, in the dim light of her apartment.

Ana was burning up and clingy in the way toddlers get when they don’t understand why they feel so awful. She wouldn’t let go of Natasha, not for a second—not even to sleep. And Natasha herself was barely staying upright, her limbs heavy, her head pounding, her body still trying to fight off the virus she’d caught. Her shirt was damp with sweat, and Ana had been crying for the last thirty minutes with no real reason other than pure discomfort.

She was drowning. Alone, exhausted, and on the edge of breaking.

And then the door opened.

No warning. No knock. Just the sound of your voice, soft but firm.

“Hey.”

Natasha didn’t have the strength to lift her head fully. But you were there. Jacket already half-off, eyes scanning the mess in a heartbeat. You didn’t need an explanation. You didn’t ask questions. You just moved.

You took Ana from her arms with practiced ease—Ana went willingly, burying her flushed face into your shoulder like it was the only place she’d ever belonged. You murmured something soft, bouncing her lightly, hand rubbing circles on her back. Natasha watched you lower onto the couch beside her, Ana now pressed between you both, content in a way she hadn’t been all day.

And just like that… the panic faded. Natasha breathed again.

Your hand brushed against hers when you reached for the thermometer on the table. You glanced at her sideways. “You look like hell.”

Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I brought soup.”

“You’re a menace.”

But you were her menace. She leaned her head against your shoulder without meaning to, eyelids fluttering closed for just a moment.

And you let her.

There weren’t any declarations. No promises. Just the warmth of your body beside hers, Ana dozing between you both, and the quiet understanding that, somehow, this wasn’t temporary anymore.

It had never been temporary.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—not really. Just close her eyes for a moment. But something about your presence always disarmed her, made her forget how long she’d been holding everything together. And now, with Ana tucked warm and feverish against your chest, with the tension in her own body finally starting to loosen, she let herself lean into it.

Only for a few seconds.

When she stirred, it was to the smell of something warm and simple. Soup. Real food. She blinked blearily and found you in her kitchen, moving with lazy familiarity. You were pouring the soup into a bowl, spoon already in hand, as if this was your place to do that. As if you belonged here.

You did.

You handed her the plate without a word, just gave her that look—eyebrow lifted, smirk tugging at the edge of your lips, the one you always wore when you were pretending not to care. She took it with both hands like it was a gift from the gods and didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

“Okay,” she rasped, already taking a spoonful. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You gave a faux bow, already shaking up a bottle for Ana with one hand while she watched you from the curve of your hip, dazed and blinking.

“It’s literally canned soup, Romanoff.”

She took another spoonful and closed her eyes, groaning. “You heated it like a pro.”

“Oh, I’m very skilled with microwaves. A real domestic goddess.”

“You’re lucky I’m too weak to throw this at you.”

“You’re welcome.” You smirked, adjusting Ana gently in your arms as you rocked side to side, absently bouncing her. It was natural now. So seamless it made something in Natasha’s chest ache.

She watched the two of you for a moment, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. Ana had gone still, her eyes fluttering closed, hands curled loosely against your chest. She looked content. Safe. Natasha swallowed past the knot in her throat.

“How did you know?” she asked, voice quieter now, worn at the edges. “That I was sick?”

You didn’t look away from Ana, just smiled lightly and said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. noticed your vitals were way out of range for a few hours. High cortisol, spiked temp. She told me you weren’t doing great. I figured something was up.”

Natasha blinked. “You figured?”

You finally looked at her, that teasing glint still there, but softened. “I’m not gonna let you fall apart on your own, Romanoff. You and Ana… you’re mine too. My family.”

She didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The warmth in her chest wasn’t fever—it was you. The way you said it so simply, like it wasn’t something enormous. Like it didn’t undo her piece by piece.

She looked down at her bowl and took another bite of soup, mostly to keep from crying. “Well,” she murmured after a moment, “you might’ve just earned another microwave session.”

You raised an eyebrow, adjusting Ana as she finally slipped into deeper sleep. “I’ll take that as a declaration of love.”

She smirked, eyes still on her bowl. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And in the quiet that followed, with Ana asleep between the two of you and the warmth of soup lingering in her hands, Natasha let herself believe it was real. That maybe this wasn’t just a moment, but the beginning of something she never dared to imagine.

The soup was almost gone by the time Ana stilled completely in your arms, her little hand twitching once, then going limp against your collarbone. You stayed swaying, even as your legs must’ve grown tired, and Natasha didn’t miss the way your fingers moved gently across Ana’s back, steady and rhythmic, like it was instinct.

The kind of instinct that made her want things she had no right to want. The kind of instinct that made her heart ache.

“She loves you,” Natasha said, voice softer now, almost inaudible. She wasn’t even sure why she said it—maybe to test the sound of it in the air. Maybe to see if it shook you the way it shook her.

You didn’t look up. “I know.”

The answer was simple. Certain. It wasn’t arrogance—it was truth. You knew. And Natasha realized then that maybe you’d known for longer than she had. Maybe you’d been letting Ana pull you into their orbit from the start, quietly, without resistance. Maybe you’d been falling too.

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” she said after a beat, not teasing this time.

You finally looked over, the weight of Ana sleeping across your body anchoring you both to the moment. “I don’t,” you said lightly. Then added, “But she’s not a kid. She’s Ana.”

And Natasha smiled.

God help her, she smiled.

You glanced at her empty bowl. “Do you want me to warm up the rest?”

Natasha shook her head slowly. “No, if I eat more, I’ll owe you even more declarations of love, and I’m not sure your ego can handle that.”

“Oh, I can handle a lot,” you said, setting Ana down on the couch between you both with infinite care, your hands lingering on her curls as she whimpered, then settled again. “I’ve got range.”

She gave a tired laugh, her body sagging sideways, finally letting herself rest now that the worst of it had passed. Now that you were here.

She glanced at you through her lashes, quieter this time. “You didn’t have to come.”

You looked at her for a long second. “Yes, I did.”

There wasn’t anything more to say after that. Not really. The silence between you both wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken things. Full of what was building day by day, moment by moment, croissant crumbs and emergency soup and the soft thump of Ana’s head against your chest.

Natasha watched Ana’s little face in sleep. Then she turned to you.

“You know,” she said lightly, “I think she’s just trying to get herself a stepmom.”

Your mouth twitched. “Well. She’s doing a damn good job.”

Natasha leaned her head back against the couch, eyes half-closing again, lips curved with something half-smile, half-surrender. “This is your fault, you know.”

You raised a brow. “Mine?”

She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You were supposed to hate kids. I was supposed to keep my life quiet. Ana was supposed to be enough.”

“She is enough.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Then softer, “But now there’s you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her like you already belonged there. Like you’d stay. Like maybe you were already home.

And Natasha—tired, sick, warm, and full of something she hadn’t felt in years—didn’t say it either.

She just smiled.

And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.

“Go take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch, Ana tucked easily against your shoulder like she belonged there. “You look disgusting.”

Natasha scoffed, too tired to argue. “Charming as ever.”

You shot her a smirk. “I’m just saying, it might not be the flu. It could be self-inflicted. Maybe try soap.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her mouth curved betrayed her. That ridiculous, easy charm of yours—that’s what made it dangerous. Not just because you were funny or disarming or beautiful in that sharp, effortless way. But because you made it feel like loving you would be so… simple.

She watched as you disappeared into the hallway with Ana, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. And despite the biting jokes and your performative annoyance, you moved like you were born for it. Like Ana was safest in your arms.

Natasha sat still for a moment. Her muscles were aching, her skin hot from fever and sleep, but her thoughts didn’t drift toward rest. They drifted toward you.

You, humming something softly under your breath while you ran warm water for Ana. You, scooping bubbles with your hand and making her giggle, even feverish and worn out as she was. You, being gentle. Thoughtful. Patient.

You, who weren’t supposed to want any of this.

But you did. Maybe not in the way you’d admit out loud—not yet. Still, it was there in every wordless offering. In the croissant you split without blinking. In the soup you served before she could even ask. In the way you told her, so casually, that they were yours too. That this—her and Ana—was home.

What are we even becoming? she thought, rubbing a hand over her eyes. The question made her heart beat harder than it should have.

She leaned her head back against the couch and sighed. For so long, her future had been a blank space—no risks, no attachments, just the weightless quiet of a life lived in retreat. Ana had changed that. She’d started painting the outlines of something new: slow mornings, comfort food, the kind of chaos that wasn’t dangerous but deeply, beautifully human.

But you… You filled the rest in.

And it terrified her, how easily she could see it now.

The three of you. A home that wasn’t just a safehouse. A life that wasn’t just survival. She could almost feel it like a memory that hadn’t happened yet.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, dragging herself to her feet. It’s just soup. Just a bath. Just you.

But she smiled anyway.

When you returned, Ana was clean and dressed in fresh pajamas, her damp curls already drying against your shoulder. She was fast asleep again, breath soft and steady against your neck. You were barefoot, shirt wrinkled, and your hair damp from whatever splash damage Ana had managed in the bath—but you looked so at ease. Like this had been your life forever.

“Your turn,” you murmured, keeping your voice low not to wake the baby. “Go. Before your skin peels off.”

Natasha huffed, but moved toward the bathroom without protest. She stopped in the doorway, turning back once more to glance at you. You were pacing slightly, patting Ana’s back, rocking her with barely a thought.

You didn’t see her watching you.

You didn’t have to.

Because the truth had already rooted itself deep in Natasha’s chest, undeniable and warm and terrifying.

This was never part of the plan, she thought, fingers curled lightly on the doorframe. But maybe it should’ve been.

And with that, she disappeared into the steam of the shower, letting herself wash off everything but the thoughts of you that clung stubbornly to her skin.

“You should take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch with Ana limp and quiet in your arms. “You look… borderline contagious.”

Natasha blinked at you, deadpan. “Wow. That’s romantic.”

You smirked, shifting Ana carefully to your other side. “Just thinking of your well-being. And mine. Mostly mine.”

She was too tired to quip back. Too tired to do anything, really, except let herself sink deeper into the couch cushions and close her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

She heard the bathroom door creak open. The faucet run. Then the quiet echo of your voice—lower, softer, like you only ever used that tone for Ana. Words she couldn’t quite catch, but the cadence was gentle, soothing. A rhythm built for trust.

Natasha opened her eyes.

She didn’t get up, not yet. She sat there and listened. To the occasional splash. To the stillness in between. To the silence when Ana didn’t fuss or cry or fight. No complaints. Just the warm hush of water and care.

Eventually, curiosity pulled her from the couch.

She padded slowly to the bathroom doorway and leaned against it, too exhausted to announce herself, too captivated to interrupt.

You were on the tiled floor, legs crossed, sleeves rolled up. The tub was only half-full, steam curling into the air like a dream. And there she was—Ana—leaned back against your chest, damp and drowsy, eyes fluttering closed even as you gently ran water over her curls.

She was asleep. In the bath.

Completely, utterly at peace.

And so were you.

Not smiling. Not speaking. Just there, holding her with the kind of quiet reverence Natasha didn’t even know you were capable of. Your chin rested lightly on her head. One hand supporting her chest, the other tracing idle shapes on her arm, slow and repetitive. Calming.

It should’ve been startling—how natural it looked.

But all Natasha could think was: Of course it’s you.

Of course you’re the one who could lull her daughter to sleep in the middle of a fever, in the middle of a bath, in the middle of a chaotic day that had nearly brought her to her knees.

You didn’t notice her watching, not at first. You were too focused on the moment. Focused on Ana.

And then, quietly, you spoke. “You’re staring.”

Natasha blinked. “I am not.”

You didn’t turn around, but your smirk was audible. “You’re allowed to be impressed, you know. I’m amazing.”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s asleep. You didn’t solve world hunger.”

“Not yet. But I did make her smell like lavender and peace.”

You shifted slightly, moving with impossible care as you adjusted her position, resting Ana more securely against you. Her cheek smooshed softly against your shoulder, mouth parted in sleep. She didn’t stir. She trusted you. Completely.

“She’s out,” you said, glancing back. “Want to grab me a towel?”

Natasha hesitated for a second. Then turned around and came back with the softest one she had, warm from the dryer. You took it without fanfare, and in one practiced motion, you scooped Ana from the water and wrapped her up in it, holding her as if she were something precious.

She was.

And Natasha wasn’t sure who she was talking about anymore.

You passed her gently in the hallway on your way back to the living room, whispering something into Ana’s ear even though she was fast asleep. Natasha just stood there for a moment, hand still resting on the towel rack.

Then, finally, she stepped into the bathroom.

The tub was still steaming. The scent of soap and baby shampoo clung to the air. And she stared at it—the water, the stillness, the ghost of a moment that wasn’t hers alone anymore—and for the first time in days, she smiled without exhaustion in her bones.

You were supposed to be a complication.

Instead, you were comfort.

She turned the water back on and stepped out of her clothes slowly, heart still a little full in her chest. As the shower rained down around her, Natasha let her thoughts wander—just a little.

To quiet nights and lavender baths.

To soft smiles and someone else cooking soup.

To a world where she wasn’t carrying everything alone anymore.

Maybe not just someone.

Maybe you.

The water had helped.

Not in any dramatic, life-changing way, but enough. Enough to strip away the fog in her mind, the heat on her skin, the ache in her muscles that had been screaming for rest. She toweled off slowly, her movements heavy but less desperate now. Steam clung to the mirror as she stepped out into her room, wrapped in one of her fluffiest towels, hair damp and curling against her neck.

And paused.

You were there. Bent over her bed, sleeves pushed up, changing the sheets like it was the most natural thing in the world. You had already stripped the sick-sweat-drenched set and tossed them in the hamper. Now you were laying down clean ones—fresh, cool cotton with the faint scent of lavender detergent. Probably the same kind you used for Ana’s things.

“You organizing my closet next?” she said, arms crossing loosely over her chest, voice drier than the towel wrapped around her.

You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “Already color-coded your knives, too.”

Natasha snorted, dragging her hand through her damp hair. “This part of the rescue mission, or are you just nesting?”

“Someone had to make your bed not smell like death,” you replied. “I drew the short straw.”

“Really? I think you’re just obsessed with me.”

You paused for half a second. Just enough for her to notice.

Then you looked at her with a smirk that was half-deflection, half-something warmer. “Keep telling yourself that, Romanoff.”

She hummed and moved slowly toward the bed as you smoothed out the comforter. You were almost done, and her limbs were already sagging with the pull of sleep again. Still, she didn’t want to rush this part. This version of you—quietly caring, effortlessly present, always pretending it meant less than it did—it made her want to look twice.

You finished tucking the corners in and stepped back, giving the space a satisfied nod.

“I know,” you said. “Perfect. You’re welcome.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but sat down, slowly sinking into the clean sheets like they were heaven itself. They felt crisp and cool against her overheated skin, and she let out a sigh she didn’t mean to.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, watching her with something closer to pride than smugness. “Say it. I’m incredible.”

She didn’t say it. But she smiled.

And when her head hit the pillow, she felt the familiar haze of exhaustion crawling back. Her eyes fluttered shut—but only for a second, because then you spoke again, voice lower now, less teasing.

“I can stay.”

Natasha blinked up at you.

You were standing beside her, looking down, and for once you weren’t hiding behind a joke. “I mean. If you want,” you continued, scratching lightly at the back of your neck. “I can sit with Ana tonight. Keep an eye on her so you can actually sleep.”

It wasn’t the offer itself that made her heart stutter—it was the way you made it sound like breathing. Like of course you would. Like this was your home too.

She opened her mouth to say thank you. To tell you that was kind. That you didn’t have to.

But what came out instead was, “Lie down.”

Your brows lifted. “What, here?”

She patted the empty space beside her. “You already changed the sheets. Might as well test them.”

You hesitated for a breath. Maybe two. Then you moved without a word, toeing off your shoes and sliding in beside her. There was still space between you—barely—but it felt charged. Intentional.

Ana’s soft breathing came from the baby monitor on the nightstand, and for the first time in two long, fever-drenched days, the room felt calm.

You turned your head on the pillow to face her.

“You sure about this?”

Natasha looked at you. At the girl who didn’t like kids. The one who made her soup and changed her sheets and rocked her daughter to sleep in the bath.

“I think I’ve been sure for a while,” she said softly.

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled—small and a little dazed—and reached over, letting your pinky brush hers between the sheets. Not taking. Not pushing. Just offering.

And Natasha, ex-spy, assassin, mother—she curled her finger around yours and held on.

The room had gone quiet.

Not the kind of silence that weighed heavy or pressed against your chest—but a hush that wrapped around them gently. Like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for them to notice it.

Ana’s breathing was soft through the monitor. The hum of the city outside filtered in faintly through the curtains. But here, in this bed, there was only warmth. And you.

You didn’t speak for a while. Neither of you did.

You stayed lying beside her, not touching, not rushing. The kind of nearness that said more than closeness ever could. And Natasha—who had known how to kill a man in a dozen ways before she ever learned how to ask for help—just let herself exist in the moment.

Eventually, your voice broke through the dark.

“Do you miss it?”

She turned her head slightly, eyes finding you in the half-light. “Miss what?”

“The life before this.” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Before Ana. Before… quiet mornings and lavender soap and someone needing you all the time.”

Natasha took a long breath. Then shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I was good at it. But I never wanted to go back to that.”

You nodded, slow. Processing.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Everyone talks about you like you were unstoppable. Like you were this myth in red.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “I was a myth. But it wasn’t peace. It was noise. Constant noise. I didn’t realize how tired I was until she was born.”

You looked over at her. “And now?”

She met your eyes. “Now it’s like… I finally exhaled. Like I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I saw her.”

There was a pause. You shifted slightly, the sheets rustling just a little. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” Natasha corrected gently. And then, after a beat, her voice softer: “And I think I’m starting to feel the same way about you.”

You blinked. Slowly. As if the words had knocked the air out of you without even touching you.

“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, eyes flickering down. “Just because I’ve been showing up. I mean… anyone would, right?”

“No,” Natasha said simply.

She reached out then—not boldly, but with certainty—and let her hand rest on your arm, grounding, warm. “Not anyone. You.”

You swallowed hard, and for a second, she thought you might pull away. Instead, you turned toward her a little more, eyes clearer than she’d seen them all night.

“I didn’t think I had room for this,” you said, and the way your voice cracked a little almost broke her. “Not just the kid thing. Any of it. I have lived on my own since I was seventeen. I wasn’t built for this kind of… closeness. I thought it would break me.”

“It’s not breaking you,” Natasha whispered. “It’s softening you. That’s different.”

You let out a shaky breath. Then, tentatively, like you were still surprised it was allowed, you reached for her hand and held it fully this time.

“Sometimes I think she knew before I did,” you said.

“Who?” Natasha asked.

“Ana.” Your voice turned fond. “She just… decided. I walked into that briefing room and it was over. She picked me. I never stood a chance.”

Natasha smiled again—tired, wrecked, but so full of feeling it ached.

“She does have good taste.”

“Yeah,” you said, thumb brushing over hers. “She really does.”

Another pause. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full—of something new, something forming in the quiet between you.

“I can stay,” you said again, softer. “Not just tonight. If you’ll let me.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

She looked at you, fully and openly, and saw the way you looked back—unguarded, raw, still scared, but trying.

Trying for them.

So she gave you the simplest answer she could.

“You already are.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, eyes barely open, red hair a damp halo on her pillow, face soft in a way the world rarely got to see. That expression—the quiet, raw one that didn’t come from war zones or missions or victory, but from something quieter. Something safe.

You shifted, slow and careful, until your body was turned fully toward her. And then, without asking, without needing to, you reached out and wrapped your arm around her waist. Gently, but without hesitation.

Natasha didn’t tense. Didn’t joke or protest or pretend to be made of stone.

She just let you do it.

And when you pulled her against you—when you guided her into your space like she belonged there—she went easily. Folded into you like she’d been waiting for it all along. Her back settled against your chest, her breath hitched just once, and then her whole body melted.

You held her close. Not like she might disappear, but like you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to. Like holding her was the most natural conclusion to every shared moment before this.

Your arm tucked snugly around her waist. Your nose brushed the back of her hair. She smelled like clean skin, steam, and something faintly herbal—maybe Ana’s baby shampoo, clinging to her like a memory. She was warm and exhausted and completely real.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world could’ve fallen apart around you and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Is this okay?” you murmured against her shoulder, voice almost lost in the dark.

She nodded, a slow movement against your pillow. “It’s more than okay.”

You felt her fingers brush yours where they rested on her stomach, weaving through them with deliberate care. Not asking. Not rushing. Just saying I’m here.

And she didn’t speak again. Didn’t need to. She let out a shaky sigh—half relief, half something deeper—and her muscles softened further in your arms. She nestled closer, fitting her body more tightly to yours until you could feel every small breath, every quiet shift, every wordless surrender.

You held her tighter. Pressed your forehead lightly to the back of her neck. Whispered her name once, like a promise.

And when she finally fell asleep like that—safe, held, loved—you stayed awake just a little longer. Listening to her breathing even out. Feeling the weight of her against you.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love like this.

But she made it feel like you were finally home.

1K notes View Post

kaywa25

4 months ago

Hotel California | Track 1: Smoke and Mirrors

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7k

Chapter 1/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I was going to wait to post this since I have fifty-leven WIPs but to make up for me not being able to write for a while and also finishing two stories in the coming weeks - here we are. I'm nervous about posting this one for some reason. Hope y'all like it.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Track 1 - Smoke and Mirrors (each chapter is a track)

In the world of music, there's no denying that Velvet Rebellion's sound is electric, their melodies are undeniably addictive. But offstage, the drama and chaos surrounding this band have been the subject of endless tabloid fodder. It's a classic case of the music being sweet, but the rest of the package is a tad sour. Will their rock 'n' roll lifestyle ultimately overshadow their undeniable talent? That remains the question on everyone's lips.

The TV channel flicking produced a rapid succession of blips and static.

"You know, when it comes to Velvet Rebellion, it's clear that Natasha Romanoff is the best thing about the band. Her vocals are just on another level!"

"Oh, absolutely! Natasha's stage presence is incredible, and her voice, that raw emotion she pours into every note, it's what sets them apart. But let's not forget the rest of the band; they bring their own magic to the mix!"

Another press of the button. Another channel emitting the same rhetoric.

"So, what are your thoughts on Velvet Rebellion, the band that seems to be taking the music scene by storm?"

"Look, I won't deny that they've had their moments. Natasha's got a powerful voice, and they've had some catchy tunes. But let's not forget, there's more to rock 'n' roll than just one person. We bring our own unique sound to the table, and we're here to show that rock isn't a one-trick pony."

Suddenly, the screen goes black. The television has been turned off. The room is silent.

“Whatever,” The mysterious person tsks. There are better things to do.

In the dimly lit room, the first flicker of a cigarette lighter illuminated a shadowy figure, and a guitar's haunting melody echoed through the air. It was a simple beginning, a humble birth of sound that would eventually become the anthem of a generation.

Images flashed in rapid succession—a chaotic whirlwind of memories and moments that had defined their journey from obscurity to stardom. The flashing lights of a small, dimly lit club, the very place where they had played their first gig, gave way to a sea of screaming fans, arms raised in fervent adoration.

“Bucky! Bucky!”

“Steve, we love you!”

Talk show interviews brought them into living rooms across the nation, their faces beamed into millions of homes as they shared their stories and their music with the world. The camera panned to Natasha, her fierce gaze unyielding as she answered questions with poise and grace.

And then, there were the guitars. Guitars being smashed in a blaze of glory on stage, a ritual that had become their trademark. The destructive catharsis of the act symbolized the release of their raw energy and passion into the world.

Groupies and fans clamored for their attention, their devotion evident in the longing looks and outstretched hands. Each face in the crowd told a story of how Velvet Rebellion's music had touched their lives.

Late-night studio sessions followed, with the band working tirelessly into the early hours, crafting the songs and lyrics that had earned them their place in music history. In the dimly lit room, the flicker of a cigarette lighter once again marked the beginning of a new song.

Magazine covers splashed with their images adorned newsstands across the country. Excerpts from clippings of their first studio album, "Velvet Love," told a tale of raw, unbridled emotion set to music—a story that had resonated with countless souls.

The montage painted a vivid picture of a band that had journeyed through the highs and lows of fame, never losing sight of the music that had brought them together. Velvet Rebellion had carved its path through the music industry, leaving an unforgettable mark on the hearts of those who had listened and loved.

*************

Sunlight filters through the curtains of Natasha and Wanda's cozy Los Angeles apartment. Disheveled yet determined, Natasha sits on the edge of her bed, cradling her guitar. She strums the strings absentmindedly, searching for that inspiration that once fueled Velvet Rebellion. Her fingers danced over the strings of her trusty guitar, each note a whisper in the quiet solitude of the bedroom.

Natasha's hair framed her face, and frustration lined her expression as she strummed the chords once again. The next album's melodies were meant to be born here. Yet, inspiration remained at arm’s length, teasing her like a fading dream.

"Come on Natalia," she whispered gruffly, remembering the name she had left behind long ago.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the muted TV on the dresser. A NEWS REPORTER's face appeared on the screen, accompanied by headlines that could never escape the relentless clutches of the media. She searched for the remote to turn up the volume as the face of one of her bandmates, Tony Stark’s pictures appeared.

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“In a surprising turn of events, Velvet Rebellion's Tony Stark was arrested last night for public indecency.”

Natasha's eye-roll was instinctive. Tony always had a way of making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“...fans and critics alike have noted the band's gradual decline, and it seems the once-revered punk rock indie sensation is now on the verge of falling apart.”

The reporter's words cut through Natasha's indifference, a scalding reminder of the shadows that had been gathering around them. She couldn't deny it; the band had been stagnant for too long.

Fury sparked in her eyes, and she clenched the neck of her guitar, momentarily abandoning the song. The Velvet Rebellion of yesteryears, the band that had ignited stages and won hearts, couldn't be reduced to this—a spectacle of controversies and dwindling star power.

Returning her attention to her guitar Natasha sighed. The room's stillness hung heavy as she gently laid the guitar down on the floor. It felt like a futile effort, the muse remaining frustratingly out of reach, leaving her with an empty canvas and an aching desire to create.

Her gaze dropped to the small, black notebook, its pages filled with aborted attempts to capture the essence of their experiences and emotions in song. But today, those pages mocked her, an unforgiving reminder of the creative void that had taken its home within her.

Just as her frustration reached its peak, the bedroom door swung open with a soft creak, and in walked Wanda, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her hand. She plopped down on the bed beside Natasha, her eyes rolling in a knowing, teasing manner.

“How’s writing going?” Wanda asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn to plop into her mouth.

Natasha let out a weary sigh, her notebook momentarily forgotten as she shared her woes with her best friend.

“You have no idea. It's like I've hit a wall, and I can't seem to find my way around it.” Natasha said. “How are we supposed to come up with another album with no songs? It’s been two years. We’re going to be known as one-hit wonders.”

“First off that’s a bit dramatic,” Wanda attempted to calm her down. “We made the hot rock and alternative songs billboard charts for our debut. I think the momentum is still there.”

Wanda cast a glance at the muted TV screen, where a news reporter was still busy dissecting Tony's latest escapade. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, mirroring Natasha's exasperation.

“And of course, our dear Tony adds another branch to the publicity tree. It's almost impressive how consistently he manages to get into trouble.” Wanda shook her head.

After placing her bowl of popcorn on the dresser, Wanda decided to abandon her sitting position and instead flopped onto her belly, propped up on her elbows. She grabbed Natasha's small notebook, a curious glint in her eyes as she skimmed through the handwritten lyrics and scattered notes.

“You know, Nat, I think I see where you're stuck.” Wanda hummed to herself for a moment.

Turning her attention to Wanda, Natasha felt her frustration momentarily ebb away, replaced by curiosity.

“Oh?” Natasha eyed her. “Please, share your wisdom.”

Wanda's eyes sparkled with an unexpected idea, and she pointed to a particular verse in the notebook. Her voice took on a sultry, poetic quality as she suggested a new lyric.

“How about this: "In the shadows of desire, we ignite the night."

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise as the words resonated deep within her. She quickly reached for her instrument and strummed the guitar, incorporating the new lyric into the melody, and in that instant, it all fell into place. A smile grew on her face, and she turned to Wanda.

“Wanda, that's brilliant! Thank you!” Natasha leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I know why I keep you around.”

Wanda beamed in response.

"Speaking of," she began, her voice casual yet laced with an underlying purpose, "we've got a gig this weekend. It's a birthday party for Harley Jameson, you know, the producer's daughter."

Natasha's response was swift and uncompromising, her will clear in her refusal. Her head shook slightly as she firmly voiced her decision, her thoughts already drifting toward the disturbing pattern of her bandmates taking liberties with decisions without consulting her, the lead.

"Absolutely not, Wanda," Natasha declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Aren’t we better than performing for snot-nosed brats?

Wanda, ever patient and understanding, propped herself up on her elbows.

“Well, when that snot nose brat is paying us fifty thousand dollars plus a retainer,” Wanda shrugs. “And all the booze and food we want.” Her words were measured, spoken with the calm that came from knowing this conversation was inevitable." Nat, remember," she began, "you're the lead, not the boss. We haven’t been taking gigs because you've been declining. You know we need to keep the momentum going."

Natasha's jaw clenched in frustration. She leaned back, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as she contemplated her response.

"There's a reason, Wanda," Natasha explained, her voice tinged with concern. "Our brand has taken a beating lately with all the scandals we've had over the years. It’s not a good look being so new. I want us to lay low for a while, let the storm pass."

Wanda sighed, her eyes reflecting her understanding of Natasha's concerns. But she also recognized the band's need to keep going ahead despite the challenges.

"Nat," Wanda said, her voice gentle and reassuring, "I get it, I really do. But we'll be fine. Harley's party should be a breeze, and I promise we'll stay out of trouble. We'll stick to the music, no antics."

Natasha's hesitation lingered. Ultimately, the trust she had in Wanda, her lifelong friend and partner-in-crime, began to outweigh her reservations. She finally nodded, a reluctant but willing acceptance of the gig.

"Alright, alright," Natasha conceded. “We'll do it. But just this one, and we'll play it safe."

Wanda's eyes sparkled with a victorious smile, recognizing that she had won this battle for now. With that agreement, they returned to their songwriting.

**************

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn of Harley Jameson's grand estate, Velvet Rebellion gathered on the makeshift stage. Around them, staff and party planners began to decorate the backyard. Their instruments glistened under the setting and stage lights.

Natasha, her guitar slung securely across her shoulder, couldn't help but notice Tony, seated behind the drum kit, his sunglasses doing little to hide the lingering effects of his earlier indulgence. She approached him with a stern expression, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Tony, you better get it together," She warned. "We're not messing this up tonight."

Tony, ever the charmer, brushed off her concerns with an easy smile and a wave of his hand.

"Nat, I promise, I'm fine. See?"

With that, he launched into a lively drum solo, his sticks dancing skillfully across the drumheads. The rhythm was tight, the sound electrifying. Natasha couldn't help but acknowledge his undeniable talent, even as she sighed in resignation.

"Great," she muttered to herself, "the sunglasses are his secret weapon now."

Standing beside Natasha, Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His quiet and calming presence was a balm to her nerves.

"It's alright, Natasha," He reassured her, his voice steady and comforting. "We'll get through this gig, just like our old days. Tony’s recovering but he seems fine."

Together they glance back to their bandmate who was more than likely inebriated. Tony chugged a bottle of water, before crushing it and dropping it down onto the floor beside him.

Natasha's gaze softened as she looked at Steve, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, he’s the epitome of fine.”

“Okay,” Steve pulled her gently to the side. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” Natasha shrugged. “I just can’t help but think that gigs like this are beneath us. I mean we went from performing at the MTV Video Music Awards to this? A sweet sixteen?”

Steve looked at her. He had been through thick and thin with Natasha and knew the depth of her concerns.

“Natasha,” He replied. “I get your worries, but I promise this is a good thing for us. Todd Jameson is one of the biggest music producers in Hollywood right now. There will be a lot of executives here just to support his daughter. Think of what that could mean for us.”

“Fine,” Natasha nodded. “But if he fucks up I kick his ass.”

“Oh, you bet. Right after I’m done kicking it,” Steve joked causing Natasha to burst into laughter.

Natasha steps back over to the mic. “Alright let’s take it from the top.”

As Natasha prepared to lead the band into their rehearsal of the first song, the peacefulness of the backyard rehearsal space was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of Harley Jameson. She swept onto the scene with all the extravagance befitting a Hollywood princess, accompanied by a harried-looking party planner and another woman, who appeared to be a guest.

Harley, the embodiment of a spoiled heiress, immediately began issuing orders with a sense of entitlement that left the party planner flustered.

"No, no, no! These decorations are all wrong! Change them around! The mirror ball should be over here. And I want a live peacock by the pool. It's not too much to ask, is it?" Harley demanded impatiently.

The party planner, clearly overwhelmed, tried to keep up with Harley's demands. "Harley, we only have a few hours before the party starts. It's going to be challenging to make all these changes in such a short time."

Harley huffed, uninterested in the logistical challenges she was causing. "I don't care about that. Just get it done. My dad said I could have whatever I wanted."

Meanwhile, Harley's attention shifted to Velvet Rebellion, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Oh, my God! I've been dying to meet you! I'm a huge fan!" she exclaimed with excitement. “I’m so happy I could get you here.”

She bounded over to the band, seemingly oblivious to the chaos she was creating, and introduced them to the party planner and you.

"This is Velvet Rebellion!" Harley introduced with enthusiasm. "Steve, the keyboardist, Tony on the drums, Bucky on the electric guitar, Wanda, the second lead singer and bass guitar, and Natasha, the incredible lead singer!"

You and the other woman exchanged glances, your expressions a mixture of frustration and amusement at the whirlwind that was Harley Jameson. You gave a small wave, opting to be in the background of this exchange.

Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, managed to maintain her composure and put on a friendly smile despite Harley's overwhelming energy. She nodded graciously at Harley's enthusiasm.

"Oh, thank you so much, Harley!" Wanda replied with genuine warmth. "We're thrilled to meet you too. Your party looks like it's going to be incredible!"

Harley's energy showed no signs of waning as she delved into the details of the band's performance. When Wanda mentioned their planned first song, "Smoke and Mirrors," Harley immediately piped up with an alternative suggestion.

"No, no, no," Harley interrupted with fervor. "I want you to start with 'Ink and Whiskey.' It's my favorite!"

Natasha, who had been preparing to protest the sudden change to their setlist, hesitated as she saw Wanda's meek demeanor. However, it was clear that Harley's demand had disrupted their carefully planned sequence.

Natasha began to voice her concerns, but Harley's retort was swift and smart-mouthed.

“We’ve already planned this out for-” Natasha began.

“Oh, you can change it, can’t you? It’s just a silly setlist,” Harly questioned.

Before Natasha could respond, you intervened with a calm yet authoritative tone.

"Harley, let's tone it down a bit," You advised, your demeanor oozing an air of authority that surprised Natasha. Harley listened, her earlier defiance giving way to a more composed demeanor.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Harley shrugged.

Natasha found herself intrigued by your presence and the respect Harley seemed to show you.

"Alright," Natasha conceded with a smile, "since it's your birthday, we'll start with 'Ink and Whiskey.'"

Wanda offered a nod of agreement, and the tension in the air began to dissipate.

Harley, feeling triumphant, turned her attention to the party planner.

"Sarah, darling, let's make sure everything is perfect. I want it to be a night to remember!" Harley changed the subject, pulling you both back into a conversation with ease.

Sarah, the party planner, nodded and tried to hide her relief that the brief crisis had passed.

"Of course, Harley. Everything will be just as you want it."

Natasha watched the exchange between Harley and Sarah, her curiosity piqued more by you.

“Who’s the chick?” Natasha pointed over to you with a tilt of her head. She got shrugs from Steve and Bucky. Tony was way too distracted to answer as he flirted with one of the staff. Wanda squinted to see if she could guess.

“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m guessing it’s not her mom.”

“Interesting,” Natasha mumbled to herself. She shook her head. There was no time for whatever the thumping in her heart was proving to be. She was here for the band and for the music. Also for the money, she couldn’t forget the money.

As the preparations for the party continued, your cell phone suddenly rang, breaking the conversation flow. You excused yourself with a polite smile and stepped away from the group, heading toward a quieter corner of the backyard a few feet away.

Natasha couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation, the tone of your voice suggesting a heartfelt exchange, likely with a significant other. Natasha discreetly glanced in your direction, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Your voice held a gentle warmth as you spoke softly into your phone, your words filled with affection and longing.

"I miss you too, sweetheart. Yeah, the party's getting started here in a couple of hours. It's not the same without you. Can't wait to see you soon." You smiled.

Natasha couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but the tenderness in your voice painted a clear picture of a loving connection between you and someone special.

Meanwhile, Harley, always the inquisitive host, began questioning Steve and Bucky about the band and its music.

"So, guys," Harley started, her interest genuine, "Have you ever thought about going solo? I am dying to know the secret."

Steve and Bucky, accustomed to answering these questions, engaged in a friendly chat with Harley, even if they also found her annoying.

As Natasha discreetly observed you from the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but be captivated by your natural beauty. You were dressed in a simple white t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, a look that should have been unremarkable, but on you, it was utterly captivating.

The way your hair was styled, framing your face in soft waves, added to your appeal. Your skin had a radiant glow, and your features held an understated elegance that drew Natasha's attention. Despite the casual attire, you exuded a timeless charm that was impossible to ignore.

Natasha found herself admiring the effortless beauty that seemed to emanate from you and she wanted to know more.

Just as Natasha started to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping, you turned around with a warm smile, catching her off guard. She quickly toyed with her microphone stand, feigning indifference.

You found her reaction amusing but were soon drawn back into your phone conversation. Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the person on the other end of that call and what had sparked such a genuine smile on your face.

She toyed with the mic stand for as long as possible, physically forcing herself not to look your way. It’s a few more minutes before you returned to the group. You turned your attention to Harley and Sarah.

"Harley, don't forget, you have that hair appointment in an hour," You reminded her, glancing at your watch. "We need to make sure you're all set for your big night."

Harley, momentarily distracted by the band's presence, nodded in agreement.

"Oh, right! Thanks, y/n. I'll head out now," Harley replied with a grin. She turned to the band and offered her farewells. "Catch you all later!"

With that, Harley and Sarah departed, leaving Velvet Rebellion alone in the backyard.

As the group began to disperse, you took a moment to say goodbye to the band.

“See you guys tonight,” You said. “I’m sure you’ll do great. If you need refreshments just ask one of the staff and they will be happy to help you with anything you need.”

Natasha responded with a small smile and a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of the brief but pleasant interaction.

Once you, Harley, and Sarah were out of earshot, the rest of the band couldn't resist teasing Natasha. Wanda, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, chimed in.

"Uh oh, I know that look," Wanda teased, earning a knowing chuckle from the others. Natasha's momentary fascination with you hadn't gone unnoticed, and her bandmates were more than happy to playfully nudge her about it.

“There’s no look, I don’t have a look.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Sure, you don’t,” Wanda grinned. “Any bets on how long until she gets her number?”

“I say within the hour,” Tony raised his hand pulling out a single, crinkled five-dollar bill from his back pocket.

“Fifteen says they sleep together after the show,” Bucky shrugged. Steve is the only one to remain silent.

“I don’t know,” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’ll save my thoughts for later. The girl barely said two words to any of us.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said. “Now, can we rehearse like a proper band?”

She tried to erase your image from her head as she positioned herself in front of the microphone.

From the top.

*****************

The night was alive with energy as Velvet Rebellion took the stage, the crowd gathered around, eager to soak in every note of their music. Natasha oozed confidence and charisma, a star in every sense of the word. The opening chords of "Ink and Whiskey" filled the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers. This birthday party was a rager if she’d ever seen one. Natasha always considered rich people stiff and uptight. Going to plenty of parties once their debut kicked off their careers. Stiff drinks, weird pleasantries, and even more drugs. She was being proven wrong with this particular shindig.

She moved to the edge of the stage, her presence magnetic. She sang with a passion that could be felt in every corner of the space, her voice carrying the weight of their lyrics. The audience couldn't help but be drawn into her performance, and they eagerly joined in, singing along and dancing to the beat.

Wanda, standing beside Natasha, bled a different kind of cool and calm. Her steady presence provided the perfect balance to Natasha's fiery performance. It was clear to anyone watching that their dynamic was the secret to their success.

Natasha lowered her head, giving Wanda the floor to sing her part of the chorus. Wanda’s hands moved steadily between the chords as she sang into the microphone.

Ink and whiskey, the pages of our hearts,

Tangled in the chapters where love starts,

In the darkness, our secrets we confide,

With every word written, our souls collide

Natasha steps forward, moving close enough to the microphone so that she and Wanda could harmonize the last verse. Her eyes travel from Wanda’s, smiling as they share in the energy and joy of being on stage before she maneuvers herself to face the crowd.

In the night's embrace, our love's sweet refrain,

Ink and whiskey, like a runaway train,

Through the highs and lows, we'll find our way,

With every word we write, love's here to stay

In the front row, Harley danced with her friends, reveling in the music and the excitement of the night. The atmosphere was electric, and the joy was contagious.

As Natasha sang, she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on familiar faces among the sea of B-listers and music enthusiasts. But the one that stood out the most was you. Your eyes locked, and Natasha couldn't resist a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of your earlier encounter.

You raised your glass in a silent toast and clapped enthusiastically when the song came to an end. You weren’t a huge fan of the music genre but you could see why Velvet Rebellion was such a rising star amongst new artists. Their stage presence was undeniable, the song was catchy and the beat was electrifying. It helped that Natasha was cute. All good things in your book. You can’t take your eyes off the stage as they move into their next song. It’s a bit disjointed considering Harley made them change the setlist around the last minute but it seems smooth either way. Natasha dances a bit for this one, her body movements fluid and effortless. Almost as if she’s had some training.

You’re momentarily distracted when a distant family member comes to say hello.

The show must go on as Natasha continues to sing her heart out.

**********************

The final notes of their setlist rang out, and the crowd roared in appreciation. Velvet Rebellion had given their all, and now it was time for the DJ to take over and keep the party going.

Wanda had convinced Natasha to stay a while longer, promising that the night was still young and full of possibilities. Tony, ever the charmer, remarked with a grin, "I see a few MILFs in the crowd that I wouldn't mind mingling with." He slipped into the crowd with ease, chatting up the first single woman he saw.

Natasha, however, remained all about business. She stood at the bar, surveying the party and keeping a watchful eye on her bandmates. The chaos and revelry around her seemed to blur into a colorful swirl of dancing bodies and laughter.

It was then that you approached her, catching Natasha's attention. Your presence was a welcome change of pace, and Natasha couldn't help but appreciate the genuine compliment she received.

"You guys were incredible," You said with a smile. "I'm impressed."

Natasha, always a woman of few words in such settings, offered a gracious nod of acknowledgment.

You extended your hand with a warm smile as you introduced yourself, "I'm y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Natasha shook your hand firmly and replied, "Natasha. Likewise."

You couldn't help but notice Natasha's reserved demeanor. Almost as if she felt too cool to be here.

"I couldn't help but wonder," You began, your curiosity evident as you raised your voice above the music. "why aren't you out there dancing like the rest of your bandmates?"

Natasha offered a wry smile and shot back, "I could ask you the same thing."

“Touche,” You nodded. “I’m not much of a party girl.” You turn towards the bartender. “Do you want a drink? Eric here makes the best mojitos.”

“Sure, I’ll have a sex on the beach,” Natasha asked.

“You heard the woman,” You jokingly said to Eric as he began to make your drinks. As you focused your attention on grabbing a few napkins, Natasha gave you a once-over. Your party dress was a delightful balance of simplicity and style. The knee-length and backless dress showcased a flattering silhouette, hugging your curves in all the right places. The deep, midnight-blue fabric was decorated with tiny, shimmering glitter that seemed to twinkle with each movement you made. Its sweetheart neckline and delicate spaghetti straps added a touch of femininity to the ensemble, while the mid-thigh slit allowed for easy movement as you moved. The overall effect was a cute yet elegant dress that perfectly suited the festive atmosphere of the party.

Natasha's observant eye caught the jewelry adorning your wrist. It was subtle but tasteful, hinting at a level of refinement that didn't go unnoticed. It was at least half of her salary for tonight’s show. This only interested her more. She needed to know who you were. She wanted to know the mystery behind you and your name.

“Here you go,” You step back over to Natasha to hand her a drink. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“Not at all,” Natasha shrugged.

"You know, if you're looking for a bit more quiet, we could step inside for a breather." You suggested, tilting your chin towards the house.

Natasha considered the offer, realizing that a change of scenery might be a welcome respite from the party's chaos. With a small smile, she agreed, "That sounds like a good idea."

You led Natasha through the sea of people and inside the mansion to a nearby office where the music's relentless thump was muffled, and the atmosphere was quieter. It was a welcome change from the frenzied party outside.

As you settled into seats close to each other on the couch, drinks in hand, Natasha couldn't help herself and began to ask you questions.

“Why did you ask me in here tonight?” Natasha asked. “Not that I’m complaining. I have been invited into much worse places.”

“Thanks, I think,” You chuckled. You sensed Natasha's curiosity and offered a simple explanation, your eyes holding Natasha's in an unspoken connection."I enjoy meeting new people," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "And I've decided I wanted to talk with you."

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze thoughtful. "I also wanted to apologize for Harley's behavior earlier. She can be... spirited at times."

Natasha waved off the apology with a small smile, understanding that spirited was one way to describe Harley's antics.

You went on to explain, "Usually, I don't speak up like that, but my uncle has a way of spoiling Harley. It's... complicated."

Natasha's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Your uncle? He’s Todd Jameson?"

You took a moment before revealing, "Yes. He and my dad are half-brothers. Making Harley my little cousin. I don’t admit it often."

The revelation left Natasha intrigued. She had heard the name Todd Jameson before, a figure of significance in the entertainment industry. The connection between you and Harley was now becoming clearer, and Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the family connection.

“That would make your dad…” Natasha began.

“Nick Fury, the one and only,” You finished for her. “Different fathers. My dad is somewhere out there tonight. It’s a thing I don’t like to admit to strangers.”

“I get it,” Natasha nodded.

The revelation about your family connection to Todd Jameson made Natasha pause for a moment. She had always admired the award-winning jazz player turned talent manager, Nick Fury, from afar. His contributions to the music industry were legendary, and Natasha couldn't deny that she was a fan of his music.

She decided not to fangirl, though, and instead offered a genuine smile. "Your dad is a legend. I've always been a fan of his music."

Your eyes lit up with appreciation. "Thank you, Natasha. I'll be sure to pass that along to him." You set your half-empty cup onto a coaster, before turning back to Natasha. “So, watching you on that stage. Not many people have that star power. I was wondering if you have experience dancing? You were incredible.”

Natasha's eyes sparkled as she recalled her performance. "The way I danced on stage during our set, it's a part of who I am. I guess you could say it's a bit of my background showing through."

Your curiosity piqued, and you guessed, "Ballet, then?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, I did ballet for sixteen years as a child. I even got into Juilliard."

Your eyes widened in admiration. "That's amazing, Natasha. How did you get into singing and music?"

Natasha took a sip of her drink and smiled as she delved into the story of how she got into music. It was a story that she didn't often share, but there was something about her conversation with you that made her feel comfortable opening up.

"It all started back in high school," Natasha began. "I was really into dancing, and it was an elective at my school. But then, one day, I decided to join the choir on a whim. And I fell in love with singing and songwriting. I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I needed something to keep me out of the house and off the streets."

She paused for a moment, reminiscing about those early days. "So, I started writing songs, and my friends Wanda and Steve would go over to Steve’s small bedroom. We'd play our rented instruments and experiment with different sounds. It was just a fun little hobby at first."

Natasha's gaze drifted, lost in the memories of those simple beginnings. "Then Bucky, Steve’s best friend well, he's always been a bit of a troublemaker, but he's got a talent for the electric guitar. And Tony...his dad's pretty wealthy and bought us all our equipment. Plus, he's good at the drums."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "It was a bit of a motley crew, but that's how Velvet Rebellion came to be. We started playing in small venues, dive bars, and country clubs. And somehow, we made it here."

Natasha's usually guarded demeanor had softened in your presence, and she found herself enjoying the opportunity to share a piece of her journey with someone who seemed genuinely interested in her story.

“I love that,” You nodded. You and Natasha share a smile before she asked.

“Is your boyfriend here tonight? I don’t want to keep you too long,” She fished for more information.

“No, no,” You shake your head. “No boyfriend. You?”

“Not really into monogamy at the moment,” She shrugged. She doesn’t know if this statement will bite her in the ass later but for some reason she trusted you. “Tell me about you. Are you in the family business or?”

"I've always had a bit of a connection to the music world," You began. "As a teenager, I sang a few backup vocals for artists my uncle produced. I guess you could say I almost pursued a career in music, but life had other plans for me. I got pregnant at seventeen. Dedicated to finish school and go to college."

You took a thoughtful swig of your drink and continued, "Now, I'm a publicist. I don't mean to brag, but I'm good at what I do.When I'm not working, I'm taking care of my daughter, Isabella. She's nine years old and the light of my life."

Your face softened as you spoke about your daughter, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and joy. "She's with her dad for the weekend," you added, "and we co-parent quite well."

Natasha was genuinely interested in your life outside of the party scene, and she couldn't resist asking, "Do you have any pictures of Isabella? I'd love to see her."

Your eyes twinkled with delight as you pulled out your phone and began to share a few adorable images of your daughter. Natasha couldn't help but smile as she admired the photos, enjoying this glimpse into your world beyond the music and the party.

“Here she is at gymnastics practice,” You flipped through a few pictures of Isabella’s smiling face. “And swim. She is a little spitfire and she wants to do it all.”

“Wow,” Natasha smiled as if Isabella were her own child. “Do you ever want more?”

“Maybe one day,” You said wistfully. “For now I feel pretty full with everything in life. You?”

You noticed the change in Natasha's expression and asked, "Is something on your mind?"

Natasha sighed, leaning back into her seat. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for motherhood," she admitted. "I have a younger sister, Yelena, she’s attending the University of Cambridge in England now. She's even developed a bit of a British accent." Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"But," she continued, "I enjoy the fast-paced life, the music, the performances, and the constant movement. A significant other won’t quite understand that I don't always have the time. Not that I don’t ever want that someday but…” Her voice died down.

You listened empathetically, understanding the complexities of Natasha's life as a musician. "I get that," you acknowledged. "But it's essential to find the right balance for you, whether it's in your music career, personal life, or something in between. My dad was able to do it. When he crossed over into hip-hop there was definitely a lot he missed but he still made things happen"

“Really? Well, I will have to ask him for pointers.” She grinned.

Just as the conversation was reaching its peak, there came a polite knock at the office door. A member of the party staff popped in to inform you that they were ready to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley.

You turned to Natasha with a warm smile. "It was nice meeting and talking to you, Natasha," you said genuinely.

Natasha, not wanting the connection to end, began, "You know, I'd love to..."

But before she could finish her sentence, your cheeks flushed, and you interrupted already knowing what she was going to say, your voice bold, "Are you going to call me, or are you going to leave me hanging in the wind?"

Natasha couldn't help but laugh at your sudden assertiveness. It was a pleasant surprise. "I’m not that type of woman," Natasha said. At your look, she laughed again. “You got me there.”

You returned her smile and handed Natasha your phone, saying, "You'll just have to trust me with your number instead, and I'll call." Asking for her number instead eased the pressure off Natasha, and also your nerves at hoping she’d call.

You gave Natasha a wink and chucked a thumb over your shoulder to indicate you were going back to the party. Natasha nodded and watched you walk away. When her eyes trailed lower she doesn’t even feel guilty about it.

Natasha left the office, rejoining her bandmates outside in the backyard, just as they were preparing to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley. The festive atmosphere was in full swing, and the energy of the party was infectious.

As the crowd gathered around Harley, Natasha's eyes scanned the faces, and they landed on you, who was standing among the partygoers. Your eyes met, and you shared a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had developed.

Tony, always quick to pick up on things, couldn't help but tease Natasha when he noticed her grin. "So, did you get her number?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony's assumption but then burst into laughter. "No," she replied with a playful smirk, "she took mine."

The party was still in full swing when someone on stage stopped the music with a loud, "Hey, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?"

The spotlight shifted to the stage, and all eyes turned toward the source of the interruption. It was a friend of Harley's, and he had a mischievous grin on his face as he spoke into the microphone.

"I have a special surprise for our birthday girl tonight," he announced. "We have someone here who's agreed to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Harley, and I think you're all in for a treat."

A collective cheer and applause erupted from the crowd as they eagerly anticipated the surprise. The spotlight moved to you, highlighting your face and putting you on the spot. You managed to not look like a deer in headlights which was a feat in itself. Natasha's curiosity was piqued, especially considering you had mentioned you weren’t much of a singer.

You tried to protest shyly, but the crowd begged you to come up on stage. Encouraged by their cheers, you reluctantly made your way up to the spotlight.

Once on stage, you cleared your throat and took a deep breath, your nerves palpable. You began with a little birthday speech, your voice tinged with affection and humor.

"I want to wish a happy birthday to my cousin Harley," You began, your smile directed at the birthday girl. "Even though she's a bit of a brat," you teased, earning laughs from the crowd, "she's my brat, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then, as expected, you began to sing "Happy Birthday." Your voice, which you had modestly downplayed earlier, was nothing short of remarkable. It was soulful, sweet, and filled with a depth of emotion that resonated through the entire backyard.

The crowd, including Natasha, was utterly blown away by the unexpected talent that you possessed. Your voice filled the air, making the birthday celebration even more special and memorable. It was a moment of pure magic, and Natasha couldn't help but be captivated by your incredible singing ability.

Natasha decided two things then and there. One, she really liked you, and two, boy, was she in for a ride.

---> next part

265 notes View Post

kaywa25

7 months ago

reblog if you’re a writer who feels guilt whenever they’re not writing and being productive, so I know I’m not the only one lol

14K notes View Post

kaywa25

4 months ago

Hotel California | Track 2 - Electric Desires

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

W/c: 7.2k

Chapter 2/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: Each chapter is hella long because I had time to sit and wait to release this one. Weekly updates might be the wave.

R and Nat will be moving quickly so if you like slow burn this isn't the story lol.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Natasha sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch in their cluttered studio: which was just Tony’s garage. The room buzzed with creative energy and the faint scent of old leather, a familiar combination that fueled the essence of Velvet Rebellion. She strummed her guitar absentmindedly, her fingers dancing over the fretboard, creating a gentle hum in the room. She was in her element in full force.

Steve, Bucky, Wanda, and Tony were huddled around a battered coffee table, scraps of lyrics, and scribbled notes strewn about like confetti after a wild party. They were her bandmates, her comrades in music, and tonight they were deep into a songwriting session. Natasha enjoyed days like this the most. She often found the songwriting process frustrating but fulfilling, which is why they’re on hour four of this session with only the first verse written. It seems she’s not the only one with writer’s block.

"Natasha, we need something here," Steve’s voice cut through the room's creative haze. He furrowed his brow, fingers dancing over the keys of a vintage synthesizer. "A melody to tie this verse together."

Natasha tore her gaze away from her guitar and glanced over at Wanda. Her fingers stopped mid-strum. She blinked; her thoughts momentarily disrupted.

"Nat, you with us?" Tony chimed in, his eyes darting between Natasha and his laptop.

A flush of embarrassment washed over Natasha. She'd been lost in thought, her mind wandering where it shouldn't have. She’d been thinking about you again. She couldn’t get you out of her head. There was a hint of exhaustion on her features as she sat her guitar next to her. She’d spent the previous night going down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos involving you. It seemed you’d understated how good of a musician you were. Natasha discovered you had a small fanbase with plenty of videos dedicated to your brief yet impactful career. Even if your resume included a lot of backup singing, she could see why there was a push for you to strive for something more. You were talented in every sense of the word.

With a sheepish smile, she nodded. "Sorry, guys. Got a bit distracted there."

She fumbled to put her phone face down on the coffee table, hoping her bandmates hadn't noticed her constant glances at the silent screen. Natasha had been replaying every moment of your brief encounter at the party in her mind, questioning if she'd made a connection or if it was just another fleeting moment.

Steve’s fingers continued their dance on the synthesizer as he tried out different melodies, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. "No worries, Nat. Happens to the best of us."

But Natasha couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration with herself. She was the lead singer and lyricist and usually held everything together. Yet today, her mind was scattered, torn between music and an unexpected, lingering hope that her phone would light up with a message from someone she'd barely known.

Natasha's fingers deftly reached for her well-worn writing book, nestled among scattered lyrics and half-finished songs. Her eyes scanned the pages, searching for something that had evaded her for far too long. Her bandmates carried on their musical discussion, oblivious to her momentary distraction.

Finally, she found it—a scribbled idea that had haunted her thoughts for weeks but had remained unreachable, refusing to take a tangible form. Natasha's heart raced as she read the words, her handwriting staring back at her, challenging her to bring them to life.

"Guys, hold on a sec," she called out, her voice trembling with excitement. Her bandmates stopped their conversation, turning their attention to her. Natasha's fingers tapped the page she'd found. "I think I've got something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What is it?"

Natasha cleared her throat and began to read the lyrics she'd unearthed, her voice carrying a hint of the sweet melody she envisioned:

"Underneath the city lights, I saw your face,

In the crowded room, you were my saving grace.

A glance, a smile, it all fell into place,

In that moment, I knew, love's tender embrace."

As Natasha recited the lyrics, Wanda's eyes widened, and she nodded appreciatively. "That's beautiful, Natasha."

Natasha couldn't help but blush at the compliment. She felt the lyrics were deeply personal, a reflection of the emotions she'd been grappling with. "Thanks, Wanda. But I think it's missing something."

Wanda leaned in closer, her fingers lightly grazing Natasha's arm as they huddled together over the writing book. "What do you have in mind?"

A spark of inspiration flickered in Natasha's eyes. "How about this? Instead of just a glance and a smile, it's about meeting someone and falling in love at first sight. The moment your heart skips a beat."

Wanda's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I like that. It adds depth to the story."

With renewed enthusiasm, Natasha began to sing the modified lyrics, her voice filled with emotion:

"In the heart of the city, I met your eyes,

In that instant, I felt my soul take flight.

Love at first sight, a sweet surprise,

Two worlds colliding, under starry skies."

The words flowed effortlessly, weaving a sweet melody that resonated with everyone in the room. Sitting behind his drum kit, Tony started tapping a rhythm, adding a pulsating beat to the song. Steve found his way back to the keyboard, his fingers searching for the chords that matched the melody.

The studio came alive with the energy of collaboration as they played off each other, improvising and experimenting. Wanda's voice dipped into low notes, adding a haunting harmony, while Tony began to find a mix to add to the music.

It wasn't the final product but the magic of creation—their music taking shape from a mere spark of inspiration. Natasha couldn't help but smile as they continued to refine the song.

Bucky sat down his guitar, a sly grin playing on his lips as the melody they'd created together hung in the air. He couldn't help but feel a shift in Natasha's usual songwriting style, one that intrigued him. "Nat, you're getting into writing love songs now?"

Natasha shot him a playful yet challenging look, her fingers still scribbling along the notebook pages. "Oh, please, Bucky. We had love songs on our first album."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Not like this. These lyrics, they're something else."

Natasha sighed, closing the tiny notebook again. She knew he was right, and she couldn't deny the shift in her lyrics and her emotions. "Alright, fine. Maybe I am writing a love song."

Bucky leaned forward, his gaze intense. "So, are you in love, Natasha?"

She met his gaze head-on. "No, Bucky. I'm not."

Bucky nodded in understanding, sensing the unspoken annoyance in her words. Natasha had always been guarded about matters of the heart, and they respected her boundaries. They returned to their instruments, each lost in their thoughts, letting the music speak the words that couldn't be said.

********************

The leotard store was an arrangement of colors, and Isabella, your spirited nine-year-old daughter, was bouncing between the racks, playing her own game of hide-and-seek with the endless collection of spandex. Her enthusiasm for picking out leotards rivaled her passion for gymnastics.

"Mama, check this one out! It's super sparkly!" Isabella shouted, triumphantly holding up a leotard adorned with sequins like a little treasure hunter.

You and Monica shared a knowing smile as you surveyed the options. "Great choice, Bella," you replied, trying to match her enthusiasm. "Let's add it to the pile."

Isabella nodded, seemingly satisfied, and skipped off in pursuit of her next leotard conquest.

As Monica and you continued your search, your mind drifted back to a conversation you’d had at Harley's party just a couple of weeks ago. There was a woman there, a stranger to you, who had engaged you in a conversation that had held your attention for longer than you’d expected.

"Hey, y/n" Monica began, her tone a mix of curiosity and amusement. She sifted through the clothes, trying to understand what she was looking for. Isabella had a very specific taste. "Are you going to finally tell me about the woman from the party? You two seemed to be hitting it off."

You glanced at Monica, feeling somewhat caught off guard. "Oh, that? It was just a casual conversation. I doubt it's anything worth dwelling on."

Monica raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your dismissal. "Just a casual conversation? You looked pretty into her. What's her name?"

You sighed, knowing Monica wouldn't let it go quickly. "Her name is Natasha Romanoff. She’s the lead singer of that band. Velvet Rebellion. We talked for a while. But honestly, I haven't reached out to her or anything." You shrugged.

Monica persisted, undeterred. "She’s cute. I’ve heard a couple of their songs in passing. Why haven’t you called her?"

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers unconsciously fussing with a leotard on the rack. "Life's been hectic lately. I've barely had a moment to breathe, let alone call someone."

Isabella, who had overheard your conversation while meticulously assessing leotards with the discerning eye of a seasoned fashion critic, joined in. "Mom, you should call her."

You couldn't help but smile at Isabella's straightforward logic. "You focus on the leotards. You only need a few for now. You’re growing like a weed."

Monica and Isabella exchanged amused glances, both united in their disbelief. "The kid is right," Monica declared, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Isabella nodded in agreement, adding her hint of authority. "I’m just saying." She held up a pink leotard and you shook your head. The cut wasn’t appropriate in your opinion. She returned the leotard to the rack with a sigh and went to a new one.

Monica's curiosity was relentless, and she wasn't about to let the topic of the woman from Harley's party go. As you continued looking through the racks with Isabella's energy bounding around you, she probed further.

"Come on, y/n, what's the big deal about calling her?" Monica inquired, a mischievous glint in her eye.

You sighed, trying to choose your words carefully. "Mon, you know their band's reputation. The tabloids haven’t been so easy on them. Especially with them being new. Trust me I’ve checked.” You shook your head. “And besides, Natasha used to date Carol Danvers. We’re not friends, but we’re not exactly enemies either. I’m not in the business of going behind her back. It was a bad breakup if it’s anything like the tabloids say and I don't want to risk the same fate."

Monica raised an eyebrow, her expression one of bemused disbelief. “You're not even dating this Natasha person yet. It could be a fun fling or something. You don't have to jump into a full-blown relationship. Also, you hate Carol Danvers."

“I don’t hate her,” You refuted her claims. “I simply enjoy spending my time in spaces that don’t have her in them.” You couldn't deny Monica's point, but the cautious side of you still hesitated. "Also, I know it doesn’t have to be more than what it is. But I've been down that road before, and it wasn't pretty. Besides, I don't want to have this conversation in front of Isabella."

You leaned down to pass a few leotards to Isabella and whispered to her, "Sweetie, can you go find some shoes that match these leotards? That would be a big help."

Isabella nodded enthusiastically, her focus shifting from the leotards to her newfound mission. As she scampered off in search of the perfect shoes, you turned your attention back to Monica.

Monica gave you an understanding look, her voice lowered. "Alright, I get it, y/n, But don't let the past hold you back from something potentially great. You deserve happiness, too. Even if that means you fuck a few times and that’s it."

“Monica,” Your eyes widened, clearly scandalized by her bluntness.

“Am I lying?” Monica held up a hand. “When’s the last time you had some? You don’t know do you?”

“I do know. It hasn’t been that long.” You considered her words. You thought back to the very brief casual sex thing you had with a woman around last year. Or was it two years ago? “You’re right I don’t know.”

“See,” Monica leaned against a rack. “Ask her out to the party tonight. It’s a group thing. I get to vet her. You get to see her. We all win.”

“Fine, fine,” You shake your head.

“Call her now,” Monica nodded.

“Um, she’s probably busy.” You furrowed your brow. Another excuse from you.

“She’ll answer,” Monica said assuredly. “Do it or I’ll dm her myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” You held up a warning finger to Monica. Sometimes your best friend’s forwardness wasn’t welcome. Even if she meant well. She raised a brow at you before pointedly looking toward your purse. “Fine.” You grumbled as you took out your phone.

You walked to a quieter corner of the store, away from the bustle and the excited chatter of Isabella and Monica, who were now hunting for beam shoes. You scrolled through your contacts until you found Natasha's name. With a deep breath, you pressed the call button.

On the first ring, Natasha's voice came through, calm and confident. "Hello?"

You couldn't help but smile, though your attempt to sound equally composed might have come off as forced. "Hey, Natasha. How's everything going?"

“Oh, it’s you,” Natasha's tone change was evident. "Everything's good. I've been wondering when you'd call."

You felt a rush of relief hearing that she'd been waiting for your call. "I'm sorry it took me a while. Life's been crazy lately, and, well, you know how it is."

Natasha's tone shifted slightly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "I do know. But you don't need to be nervous. It's just a call."

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "You're right. I've just been out of practice with this whole...courting thing."

“Courting? Is that what we’re doing?” Natasha's voice lowered, the flirtatious edge unmistakable. "Well, maybe we can help you get back into practice."

You couldn't help but blush, even though she couldn't see it over the phone. "That sounds like a plan."

Just then, you heard Isabella's excited voice in the background, likely showing off a pair of beam shoes she'd found. Natasha must have heard it too.

"Sounds like you've got company," Natasha noted.

Just as you were about to respond to Natasha, Isabella's excited voice carried through the phone in the background. "Mama, look at these beam shoes! They're so cool!"

You grinned and chuckled softly. "That's my daughter, Isabella."

Natasha's voice held a hint of warmth. "She sounds like a lively girl."

“She is,” You nodded. You give Isabella a thumbs-up and a smile. "Listen, Natasha," you began, "there's something I wanted to mention. There's a party tonight at this great club called Heatwave. Have you heard of it?”

“Yes, I’ve been there once or twice,” Natasha replied.

“Well, I don't usually go out much, but I'll be there. It would be great if you could join."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then Natasha's voice returned, filled with a sense of anticipation. "Heatwave, huh? I'll stop by."

Your heart skipped a beat at her response. It seemed that, despite your initial hesitation, the possibility of something exciting and new was on the horizon, and you couldn't help but look forward to seeing Natasha at the party tonight.

“What time should I be there?” Natasha questioned.

“I like to put Bella to bed before going out,” You informed her. “My mother will be watching her, so I’d say around nine. Does that work for you?”

“That works for me,” Natasha agreed.

“Okay then, Natasha,” You smiled, wondering if she could hear it in your voice. “I’ll see you then.”

“Great, see you then.” Natasha mirrored your excitement. You hung up the phone and tucked it into your back pocket. You walked back over to Monica, trying to hide your excitement, but she noticed immediately.

She gave you a silent questioning look and you give her a thumbs up in return. This should be fun.

***********************

Back inside the recording studio, the band was wrapping up what turned out to be a successful recording session. They’d written one song so far and revised a few Natasha had in her back pocket for times like this. Which was the most progress they’d gotten in a year. Either way, it was a session that left them fulfilled. Natasha stood in front of the microphone, her voice still echoing in the room. She exchanged satisfied smiles with her bandmates before returning her wired headphones to their stand.

As they wrapped up their belongings Steve spoke up, "Alright, Natasha, we nailed it today. What's the plan for tonight?"

Natasha leaned back against the soundboard, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Oh, you know me, Steve. I'm a creature of habit."

Steve chuckled, "Yeah, we all are, aren't we? It's one big codependent family."

Natasha nodded, her red hair cascading around her shoulders. "True, but you guys like it that way."

Steve smirked, "And you do too."

Natasha sighed playfully, "Alright, you caught me. I have a thing."

The moment she mentioned 'a thing,' the rest of the group became intrigued. Tony, Bucky, and Wanda started bombarding her with questions, eager to know more. They were known for their tight-knit bond, often spending their evenings together.

Tony asked, grinning, "What kind of thing? Spill the beans, Red!"

Natasha tried to deny it, but under the pressure of their excited curiosity, she finally admitted, "Okay, okay! I'm going to Heatwave, a club downtown. I'm meeting up with a new friend."

Immediately, it was settled - if Natasha was going out, they were all going out. Tony's eyes gleamed with mischief, "Sounds like a party! Can we come too?"

Natasha hesitated for a moment, thinking about the guys' tendency to get a little rowdy. Then she relented, "Alright, fine. We can all go."

Steve high-fived Tony, and Bucky and Wanda exchanged excited glances. "This is gonna be awesome!" Steve exclaimed. Though he wasn’t much of a partier he loved exploring new places.

Natasha couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm, "Yeah, let's hope it's good, then."

With the decision made, the band members packed up their instruments, ready for another night on the town.

*****************

As you stood before the bathroom mirror in your finest party outfit, face and hair all done up, the room around you painted a stark contrast. The soft notes of Beyonce’s “Yes” played in the background as you prepared for your night out. The bathroom was a chaotic scene, messy and disheveled, with makeup and hair curlers scattered haphazardly. Clothes lay strewn on the floor and over the edge of the bathtub. The countertop was cluttered with various cosmetic products, their caps discarded carelessly.

A hairbrush, half-buried under a pile of clothes, seemed to have given up on its role in maintaining order. The floor bore the evidence of spilled powders and makeup brushes discarded in haste.

Isabella, standing in the doorway, disapproved of this sight. Her usually tidy nature couldn't help but frown at the disarray. With her wide, disapproving eyes, she silently conveyed her thoughts to you. “Why must it be so messy in here?”

“Must? I knew I was creating a bougie child,” You laughed to yourself, applying the final remnants of your makeup.

“I’m not bougie. I just go to a good school,” Isabella quipped. She stood with her arms folded her expression showing her unhappiness with the looks of your room.

"I know I pay the high tuition bill remember?" You mutter. Sierra Canyon was a school worth every bit of the $35,000 tuition. Even if it did hurt you to sign that check every year. “Well, I’ll pay you twenty dollars to clean it up,” You offer.

“Forty and we have a deal,” She counters.

“Forty?” You asked incredulously.

“Inflation, Mama,” Isabella explains as if it’s obvious. “My favorite toys aren’t cheap anymore.”

“I see,” You mumble. “You drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal.” You turn back to the mirror.

You did a spin to get Isabella’s final say. You wore a black backless draped split dress that reached mid-thigh, perfectly complemented by your sleek, hair slicked into a bun with two small bangs framing your face. The finishing touches of makeup were precise, accentuating your features with a subtle, smoky eye and a deep red lip.

“You look really good,” Isabella nodded.

“Not too trampy?” You asked and she shook her head.

“Not,” Isabella said.

“You know that was kind of a test and you failed?” You sighed. “Your dad lets you watch reality TV at his place again?”

“Maybe,” Isabella pretended to zip her lips and throw away the key. She was not one to tell.

You couldn't help but smile. You bent down to Isabella's level and planted a series of gentle kisses all over her cheeks, as she mostly wiped them off with a giggle.

“Oh, Isabella Marie, my little artist," You chuckled, feigning scandalization. "You've ruined my masterpiece!"

Isabella just laughed, her eyes sparkling with admiration for you. She reached up to touch the necklace you were wearing, a subtle gesture of appreciation.

You took Isabella's hand and said, "Come on, it's time for bed."

“I really should try to convince you to let me stay up later,” Isabella commented as she allowed you to drag her out to the living room.

You made your way to her bedroom, where you tucked her in with great care.

“Did you brush your teeth?” You asked as you rearranged her pillows.

“Yep,” Isabella nodded. “And I washed my face.”

“Good girl,” You praised her.

As you smoothed the covers over Isabella and adjusted her stuffed animals, Isabella reminded you with a bright smile, "Mama, remember, I have Lenny’s skating birthday party tomorrow. You said we'd go together."

You leaned in and kissed Isabella's forehead, making sure to wipe her face free of your makeup, as your heart warmed by your daughter's excitement. "Of course. We’ll be there. Now sleep, I love you.”

“Read me a story?” She begged in anticipation of your answer.

“One story,” You warned her before walking over to her bookshelf. You grabbed Hair Love by Matthew Cherry, one of her favorites these days. You sat beside her, offering her your best voice as you began to read to her. Isabella leaned into your body. When you were done, her eyes drooped with drowsiness as she whispered a contented, "Goodnight, Mama.”

“Goodnight, my precious girl. Sweet dreams." You turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in a warm, cozy darkness. With one final kiss, you left Isabella to her dreams.

With your preparations complete, you rushed out of Isabella’s bedroom and headed for the kitchen. Time was of the essence. In your hurry, you grabbed your purse and a bottle of water from the fridge. With a sigh of relief, you twisted open the cap and took a long, refreshing sip.

As you did, your mother entered the kitchen, her gaze appraising your outfit with a discerning eye.

"You're going out looking like that?" Her mother's tone was a mix of concern and disapproval.

“What don’t you like my outfit?” You turned to face her with a determined look. Your mother sighed but said nothing. "Yes, Mom. I've already put Isabella to bed, and I'll be back by two at the latest."

Your mother's expression softened, but she couldn't hide her worry. "Y/n, you know I worry when you go out so late."

You smiled reassuringly. "I know, Mom, but I never go out anymore. It’s all mom's life and work. I just want to have some fun with friends tonight. I promise to be careful."

“That only makes me feel slightly better,” She shook her head.

"I'll leave my phone on in case of an emergency, okay?" You promised her.

Your mother nodded; her eyes filled with maternal concern. "Alright, but you better answer if I call."

You laughed softly and hugged your mother. "I promise. You can count on me."

With a final smile and a quick kiss on her cheek, you left the kitchen, hoping to catch your Uber before it was too late.

************

As Natasha and the rest of Velvet Rebellion arrived at Heatwave, the vibrant thump of bass and the lively chatter of the crowd spilled into the street. The atmosphere was electric, and it was clear that the club lived up to its reputation. There was a line wrapped around the entrance, everyone attempting to get to the same point.

Natasha was sure they would be able to get in unscathed. However, as they approached the entrance, it became evident that someone had tipped off the paparazzi about their plans. As soon as they exited the car, flashbulbs began to pop, and reporters shouted questions. Natasha and Wanda, not yet accustomed to such situations, swiftly made their way inside, their confidence unshaken.

The boys followed closely behind, with security personnel discreetly positioned around them. However, the security was mostly unnecessary. Velvet Rebellion wasn't a superstar band, and they had no intention of acting like one. They were here to enjoy the music and the vibes, just like any other patrons.

Once inside, the pulsating rhythm of the club enveloped them. Heatwave was a mix of hip-hop, reggae, rock, and everything in between. The diverse crowd danced and mingled, creating an intoxicating blend of cultures and energies. The dimly lit club was a sanctuary for adults, a place where the music was loud, and the energy was contagious.

Natasha and her bandmates moved deeper into the club, losing themselves in the music and the seamless fusion of genres. The vibes were indeed immaculate, and they were ready to savor every moment of the night, leaving their fame behind for a while and simply being themselves - music lovers enjoying a night out.

Wanda, swept up in the excitement of the club's atmosphere, leaned in closer to Natasha and shouted over the thumping bass, "Hey, Nat I'll find us a booth! Tony's going to grab drinks for everyone!"

Natasha nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before deciding to excuse herself to the bathroom. The path to the restroom was a maze of dancing bodies and neon lights. A few girls recognized her and attempted to approach her for autographs or selfies, but Natasha simply smiled and waved, preferring to do things in peace. She could feel the presence of her security guard, Mike, behind her as she stepped into the bathroom. He waited outside of course.

After freshening up in the bathroom, Natasha emerged and found herself back in the crowded club. As she navigated the sea of people, she accidentally bumped into someone. Before she could react, her security personnel stepped forward, ready to intervene. However, Natasha recognized the person she had bumped into and quickly raised a hand to stop her security detail.

“Mike, it’s okay,” Natasha nodded to him.

It was you. A hint of amusement danced in your eyes as you noted the security presence. You couldn't help but think of the time when you, too, needed security. Back when your father was at the height of his career. Now not so much.

Despite the loud music, you managed to engage in a conversation, leaning close to hear each other over the thumping bass.

Natasha, with a playful smile, observed you, her eyes raking over your bad in a way that sent chills up your spine. "You look stunning tonight. That dress suits you."

"Why, thank you, Natasha. You look great too.” You lightly touched her arm. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too.” Natasha shouted over the music. "Life's been busy."

You nodded in understanding, "Tell me about it. It's been a whirlwind."

Natasha's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What's new with you? How have you been?"

You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing against Natasha's ear as you shouted above the music. "Lots of work, but tonight, I'm here to let loose. What about you? Any new songs in the works?"

Natasha nodded with a grin. "Always working on something.”

“That’s good then,” You smile back. You blink at her through your thick lashes before your eyes scan the room. “I see you brought your friends.”

“I have,” Natasha stepped a bit closer, though it was subtle, and you didn’t notice. You liked feeling the warmth radiating from her. “They wouldn’t let me come alone.”

“Gotta love them,” You joked. “Care to dance?” You ask.

“Lead the way,” Natasha takes your hand as you drag her onto the dance floor. She pretends she’s not checking out your ass but when you look back you nearly catch her. Funny.

Just as you and Natasha hit the dance floor, the DJ transitioned into a surprising mix of "What Is Love" by Haddaway and "In Da Club" by 50 Cent. The blend of the '90s dance classic and the early 2000s hip-hop anthem was unexpectedly catchy, and the crowd roared in approval.

Natasha was a fantastic dancer, her movements fluid and precise. You were equally impressive, managing to keep up with Natasha's rhythm effortlessly. Your bodies moved in perfect sync as you joined the sea of people on the dance floor.

The atmosphere was lively, energetic, and incredibly fun. Laughter and cheers filled the air as the club-goers embraced the unexpected combination of music with enthusiasm. The dance floor seemed to vibrate with the collective joy of everyone present.

You couldn't help but enjoy having Natasha so close. Her skin against your fingertips felt like heaven. The way her hands rested gently against your back. It was intimate, warm, and sensual despite the tempo of the music.

As the music continued to pulse through the club and once you were all danced out, bodies slick with sweat, you led Natasha to a booth where her bandmates were already seated. Their faces lit up with excitement as they spotted Natasha. It’s then you noticed Monica was already sitting amongst the rockstars somehow having made it past security.

“There you are,” Monica smiled sweetly. “You two were on fire out there. I was just making friends with our new family.” She said despite the quizzical looks. You reciprocated her hug as you whispered low into her ear.

“I hate you so much,” You growled.

“I love you too,” Monica laughed.

"Natasha, this is Monica," you said, introducing your best friend to the redhead.

Monica extended a friendly hand and smiled, though there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Natasha."

Natasha returned the smile warmly, "Likewise, Monica."

As everyone settled into the booth, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Monica was cautious but kind, warming up to Natasha as they chatted about various topics. The club atmosphere had a way of breaking down barriers, and it wasn't long before they were all laughing and enjoying each other's company.

Somewhere along the way, the group decided to order a mix of different foods and drinks, sharing bites and sips as the night wore on. On the booth, Natasha sat next to you, the two of you sharing a closeness that was hard to ignore. During the lively conversations and the infectious rhythm of the music, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that someone in the crowd had their phone out, possibly recording you. The thought bothered her, but you kept her engaged and distracted, your charm and energy captivating.

There was a break in the peace Natasha felt as her sharp eyes caught sight of her ex-girlfriend, Carol Danvers, making her way towards the booth. Natasha knew that this could potentially lead to a problem, so she decided to intercept Carol before things escalated.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Natasha sighed. She was not expecting this to happen tonight of all nights. You watch the two of them walk away before turning your attention back to the group. It was none of your business. "Carol, hi, let me talk to you.” Natasha wanted to take action before the mess. The last thing she needed was a problem when there was none.

She gently guided Carol to a more private corner where the music was lower, allowing them to have a conversation without distractions. As they stood facing each other, Natasha's demeanor was polite but distant. She wasn't fond of talking to Carol but wanted to ensure she was okay.

“I see you’re having fun,” Carol rubbed her sweaty hands against her jeans. Her eyes looked a little bloodshot, the deep bags being covered by concealer and heavy makeup. In all honesty, Natasha could tell Carol was not in her correct frame of mind. Whether that was due to lack of sleep or something else wasn’t her responsibility. Carol's voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, "You look good."

“Thank you,” Natasha sighed and shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolution. "Carol, it's not worth it. We've been through this."

“I know,” Carol nodded. “I just wanted to say hello.”

Natasha found Carol’s meek demeanor unsettling. It was so unlike her. Again, not her problem.

“Look, it was good to see you,” Natasha peaked back at the booth to see you were laughing with Monica about something. “Take care of yourself.” Natasha rubs a hand over Carol’s arm before walking away. She was not in the mood to be dealing with this right now. When she sits down again, it takes a moment for her to reacclimate with the group, her feelings of dread and the aftermath of the breakup all taking over again.

You noticed the change in her demeanor and decided to check in on her.

With genuine concern in your eyes, you asked softly, "Natasha, is everything okay?"

Natasha tried to feign a smile, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... old memories, you know?"

You nodded, understanding that sometimes the past had a way of sneaking up on you. You decided to lift the mood by embracing the party spirit. As fans approached you for pictures, only allowed with the say-so of security, you graciously obliged, even though you weren’t used to so much attention. Having a famous family meant everyone assumed you were someone to know too. The smiles on their faces and their gratitude brought a spark of joy to the night.

However, Natasha's mood didn't seem to improve. You could see the lingering discomfort on her face and sensed that Natasha might need a change of scenery. You leaned in closer to Natasha and asked, "You sure you're okay, Natasha? If you want, we can get out of here."

Natasha appreciated your concern and gave you a small, genuine smile. "Isn’t this your friend’s party?”

“Alicia? She’ll understand,” You grinned. “I’m a mom.” You shrug.

“How many times have you used that excuse?” Natasha questioned.

“Once or twice,” You laughed.

“I think that might be a good idea then." Natasha leaned over to whisper to Wanda that she was leaving. Wanda narrowed her eyes between the two of you but ultimately said nothing.

“Monica, I’m leaving with Natasha,” You informed your best friend. “I love you.” “Love you too,” Monica smiled briefly. “Call me tomorrow and tell me everything.” She said a bit lower.

“I will,” You roll your eyes.

As you made your way towards the exit, Natasha felt grateful for your understanding and support. As you neared the club's exit, you leaned in closer to Natasha and suggested, "Let's use the back exit. It's a quicker way out, and we can avoid the paparazzi."

Natasha nodded in agreement, appreciating your thoughtfulness. She followed you towards the inconspicuous back exit, with Mike, Natasha's security guard, close behind. The corridor was dimly lit, and the sounds of the club faded away with each step.

Walking side by side, you and Natasha found a comfortable silence between you. Natasha appreciated the quiet respite after the club's raucousness.

Then, without hesitation, you reached out and gently took Natasha's hand. It was a bold move, and Natasha's heart skipped a beat. The connection felt warm and reassuring,

Natasha looked at you, her eyes softening with gratitude. Your fingers entwined, as you continued down the dimly lit sidewalk together, taking comfort in the simple act of holding hands, a gesture of comfort and support.

“Downtown Los Angeles is not exactly the safest place to hang out at night,” You point out.

“Did you have anywhere in mind?” Natasha questions. “I’m not really ready to go home yet.’

“How about here?” You point to the restaurant just across the street. It was settled.

You and Natasha walked into the small Japanese food restaurant and were greeted by a soothing ambiance of sleek and modern dining. The interior featured clean lines, polished wooden tables, and elegant, dimmed lighting that created a cozy yet sophisticated atmosphere. The walls were adorned with tasteful Japanese-inspired artwork, adding to the restaurant's aesthetic appeal.

Despite the late hour, they were still open, and there weren't many people left in the restaurant. The subdued chatter of a few diners in hushed conversations added to the tranquil atmosphere.

The restaurant staff welcomed you and Natasha with warm smiles, happy to accommodate your late-night visit. You were ushered to a well-appointed table with comfortable seating, creating a sense of intimacy in the otherwise empty space.

Once seated, you took the lead in order, your familiarity with the menu evident. You chose the baked crab hand rolls, a delectable choice known for its rich flavors and delicate textures, and edamame with a sprinkle of salt for a simple and satisfying appetizer.

Natasha decided to indulge in a sushi sampler, intrigued by the restaurant's offerings. She also ordered drinks for you to share, wanting to continue the evening in a relaxed and enjoyable manner, free from the distractions of the outside world.

As you waited for the food to arrive, you turned your attention to Natasha, your expression carrying a hint of concern.

"Natasha, "You began hesitantly, "Can you tell me more about Carol? Should I be worried about her showing up like that?"

Natasha sighed, recognizing the need for honesty. She leaned in, speaking softly, "Carol is my ex-girlfriend. We used to be really close, and she was a good person, but lately, she's been caught up in the wrong crowd. I've been trying to keep my distance from all of that."

Caught up in the wrong crowd could mean a host of things in the industry. Drugs were usually the most common. Though you didn't press for her to elaborate.

You listened attentively, her concern deepening. "Do you think she's going to be a problem?"

Natasha could see your question for what it was. Was she going to be a problem in whatever potential the two of you could have?

Natasha shook her head, her gaze reassuring. "No, nothing like that. She's just... lost, for now. I don't want you to worry about it. I'm doing my best to stay out of any trouble, especially now."

You nodded, appreciating Natasha's honesty and the effort she was making to ensure your time together was free from complications. You reached out and gently squeezed Natasha's hand, silently conveying your support.

You leaned in closer and admitted, "I understand, Natasha. My ex and I co-parent Isabella, and it wasn't always easy either. But we've found our way." You shrugged.

Natasha appreciated the understanding and felt a connection with you as you shared your experiences.

Then, the conversation took a different turn, and Natasha's curiosity got the better of her. She leaned in with a playful glint in her eyes and said, "Alright, enough about my drama. I want to know more about you. You downplayed your singing career at the party. Backup?”

“You’ve done your research,” You chuckled at the playful teasing but then became more serious as you responded, "You're right. Singing has always been my love, my passion. But the demanding career and the lack of privacy that comes with it gets to you after a while. That's why I love being a publicist. It allows me to stay in the industry that I adore but from a different angle, more behind the scenes. It gives me room to breathe and a sense of control over my life."

Natasha nodded in understanding, appreciating your candor. She could see the sincerity in your eyes as you spoke about your career and the choices you had made. It was clear that you had found a balance that worked for you, and Natasha respected you for it.

When the food arrived, you immediately dug into your meal. Your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked Natasha, "Do you and your band have a publicist or a manager?"

Natasha smirked playfully, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Is it that obvious? I guess it's the many times Tony's been arrested.” Natasha began to list. “Or the time I punched paparazzi for trying to take a picture at an awkward angle.” She grimaced.

You couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's observation. "Well, those incidents might have given it away a bit."

Natasha's smile faded slightly as she confessed, "Honestly, I know we need someone to manage us, but I've never felt entirely comfortable with the idea. It's like giving up a piece of our freedom and creativity. We've managed so far, but I know it can't go on like this forever."

You nodded in understanding, recognizing the challenges that came with managing a successful music career independently. You asked, "Do you have anyone in mind for the role, someone you might trust enough to bring into the fold?"

Natasha thought for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "Possibly. It's a big decision, and I want to make sure it's the right fit for us, you know? We've been doing this our way for so long that it's hard to let go."

“Well, when you’re ready, I’m your gal,” You offered your services. “I also may have a few wild cards that would work perfectly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha sips from her cup.

As the night drew to a close, you found yourselves waiting on a quiet street corner for your Uber to arrive. The bustling energy of the club was a distant memory, replaced by the calm of the late-night city.

Natasha looked at you with a genuine smile and said, "I had a lot of fun tonight, y/n. Thank you."

You returned the smile, your heart warmed by Natasha's words. "I did too, Natasha. It was great getting to know you."

The streets were mostly empty, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. There was a moment of silence as you stood together, the unspoken tension of the night hanging in the air.

Then, as if guided by an invisible force, Natasha leaned in and softly pressed her lips against yours. It was a gentle, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but smile.

Breaking the kiss, you teased, "Well, that's a surprise ending for the night."

Natasha chuckled and replied, "I couldn't resist."

“Don’t worry, I liked it,” You grinned. You leaned forward, kissing Natasha again, lingering when your lips pressed before you pulled back.

The distant sound of the approaching Uber pulled you back to reality. Your ride had arrived. You exchanged one last lingering look, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had shared that evening.

With a soft goodbye, you climbed into the waiting car, and Natasha watched as it drove away into the night. As she walked away, Natasha couldn't help but smile, feeling grateful for the unexpected and unforgettable night she had just experienced.

---> next part

To Everyone Who Follows Me From Ao3 And Keeps Up With My Natasha Romanoff Fic, I Am Still Working On

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