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My Soul Aches For Your Touch

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with a spouse can be challenging, especially when children and mundane tasks take up so much of the day. Sometimes you have to do something drastic in order to shake things up.

warnings: 18+, minor DNI, Reader has a penis, smut.

A/N: This one is a labor of love, nervous to release it into the world but happy it's complete. First time writing anything like this. I tried my best.

Natasha stared at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had softened quite significantly with the domestic life she has been leading. Long gone were the days of powerful thighs and toned arms from countless hours spent in the training room. She knows she still looks beautiful, shapely even but she can’t help scrutinizing the ways in which she has changed. Not just physical changes but the emotional ones as well. The once unphased Black Widow now a mother and wife who wears her heart on her sleeve. She was barely on the cusp of 35 yet she sometimes felt like a has-been stuck in the same boring routine; having traded in saving the world for morning school drop offs. 

Don’t get her wrong, she loves her life. She has everything she had ever dreamed of and never truly dared to hope for. The most amazing spouse and two children who mean the absolute world to her. The changes that have been made to her mind and body over time are a testament to them. And the prolonged feeling of being loved and safe; they have instilled within her. But there was something missing in this wonderful life that left her feeling unfulfilled. A silent yearning to feel desirable again.

She needed a change of pace, desperately. Nothing too drastic, just something to knock her out of the rut she’s been in. If she is honest with herself, she wants to feel like her younger self used to; powerful and untouchable. A world renowned spy with a sexual prowess that rivaled none; making men and women alike beg for a chance to warm her bed.

Which is why despite her nerves she has decided to go through with this tonight. 

She finishes styling her signature auburn curls, the soft waves cascade down her back and shoulders, framing her face in a way that brings attention to supple lips coated in a subtle pink lipstick. She went a bit lighter on the mascara and eyeliner as well, wanting her natural features to shine through, and the green of her eyes had definitely become the star of the show. She smirks, trying to emulate the confidence that used to be second nature to her. 

Before the feelings of embarrassment could take root and she lost the will to continue this facade, she turned on her heels and strode into her closet, determined to find an outfit that would turn heads tonight. She wanted something that showed off her sex appeal; which she knew she still possessed. It just wasn’t something she flaunted anymore. 

She wanted something that was sexy yet sophisticated, settling on an understated black dress and a pair of matching pumps. The light pink lingerie set she had underneath would be quite the surprise for whoever would be finding themselves in her bed. She hopes the discovery makes their heart race. 

She felt a flicker of guilt twist in her stomach at the sensual thought, or perhaps just her nerves continuing to act up. Natasha compartmentalizes those thoughts away as she dresses quickly. It was sister’s night this evening and Yelena’s girlfriend’s family was hosting a bit of a soiree. And her goal for the evening was quite different to her baby sisters.

She took one last glance at herself, making sure she looked put together. She smirked again, this time she truly felt like her old self. For the first time in a long time she felt sexy and emboldened; it was a nice feeling. She turned to leave the walk-in closet, pausing at the entryway, her eyes briefly catching sight of her spouse's dirty boxers haphazardly thrown into their laundry basket. They’re covered in crocodiles with little sunglasses on them. The sight makes her heart pang with sorrow as she fiddles with her wedding ring, taking a deep breath she wiggles the ring until it slides off her finger, before placing it in her jewelry box.   

The front gate alarm pings, signaling that Yelena and Kate have arrived. She shakes the anxious thoughts from her mind not wanting to think about this any longer; steeling her resolve she makes her way out to her ride.

xXx  

You were in desperate need of a thrill. The life you had was one you coveted but the mundane activities that were expected of you everyday had grown rather dull. You knew that doing the same old things wouldn’t get you the results you wanted so you decided to shake things up. Instead of heading straight home after a long day of work, you decided to take up your client's invitation to her fancy soiree. 

After greeting Eleanor Bishop with a warm hello, you head straight toward the bar, asking for an old fashioned with an orange twist. You take a slow deep drink, enjoying the first initial burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. Gently, leaning against the bar you allow the alcohol to settle into your system and just bask in the ease at which it puts your mind. 

You let your eyes sweep across the room looking for a woman that peaks your interest. You knew you weren’t going home alone tonight; a beautiful woman warming your bed may just be the key to shaking up the monotony. You take note of several gorgeous women, some twirling around the dance floor and some chatting amongst peers, when a shimmering waterfall of red caught your eye. 

Your eyes zero in on her, she’s mingling with a group of socialites, an heiress in her own right perhaps. Not an outlandish guess with how she carries herself and the beauty that radiates from her. She’s made to be the center of attention and you can tell she revels in it. It’s not long before the belle of the ball is asked to dance. Some tall aristocrat; he’s handsome you suppose if you're into that sort of thing.  

You take another swig of your drink, allowing yourself to watch her move across the ballroom. The embodiment of grace as she dances.

You were mesmerized by the woman, and there was no way that pretentious asshole was going to be the one taking her home. Her fiery mane shimmered underneath the ballroom lights, the soft curls bouncing with every graceful movement. The black dress she was wearing had your mouth watering; every movement allowed you to see delicious amounts of ivory skin. Her curves were on full display; the thought of sinking your teeth into that voluptuous backside had you weak in the knees. And that damn smirk she’s wearing almost does you in; you swear she’s taunting you.

You want to worship every inch of her. It’s what she deserves being that damn fine. And you know for a fact that this yuppie won’t get on his knees for her.

You shoot back the rest of your drink, before setting down the empty glass, and making your way towards them.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, would you mind if I cut in?” You say almost breathless.

She’s even more gorgeous up close. 

xXx

She had seen you walk in a while ago, the warm greetings exchanged with Eleanor Bishop and the casual way you were leaning against the bar aroused her curiosity. And the form fitted black suit you were wearing aroused more than that. You looked dashing to say the least. 

She felt your gaze linger on her as she socialized, it exhilarated her to be watched in such a shameless manner. You did nothing to hide the desire, lighting up your eyes, your intentions quite clear. 

She smirked before accepting an invitation to dance from a rather stiff businessman, wondering just how far she would have to push you for you to be the one asking. Never taking into account that you would interrupt them. It was bold of you and she was pleased with your actions. 

With your offer accepted the nameless man left without making a scene; just slight disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t even feel a hint of remorse as you took her in your arms. 

She felt a shiver run up her spine as you took command of the dance. Leading her around the ballroom with a finesse that comes with years of practice. 

The two of you moved through the dance with a sensual grace, your bodies flowing together seamlessly, the passionate embrace amplifying the flirtatious atmosphere.

The warmth of your body, the smell of your cologne, and your hungry gaze had Natasha burning with desire. She hadn’t been this turned on in quite some time. 

As the dance was coming to a close she decided she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of your company any longer. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

You nodded without hesitation, grabbing her hand with tenderness as you led her out of the ballroom. She waved to Yelena before they got too far away, letting her sister know where she was headed. The blonde was grinning ear to ear. 

xXx

The car ride to their final destination was taking entirely too long. She was enchanted by the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips and the subtle bouncing of your left leg. It was one of the only indications she had that you were just as impatient as she was. The other clue she had to go off of was the generous outline of a semi-erect penis making itself visible in those deliciously tight pants of yours. She needed the fire burning between her legs to be satiated this instant. The hand caressing Natasha’s inner thigh was not helping matters.

“Pull over.”

“Sweetheart, we’re almost there.”

She didn’t care. All she cared about was the deep ache she knew could only be satisfied by your cock. As need and lust consumed her; every rational thought left her mind. 

She grabbed the hand resting on her thigh, slowly dragging it up to stroke against soft pink panties, the groan you released let her know you could feel how wet she was. 

“Pull the damn car over, now”

“Fucking hell, you’re already so worked up babe.” You husk, as you pull over onto the side of the road, safely parking. 

Natasha slides into your lap in a hast, “You have no idea.” 

xXx

You situate the seat so she’s comfortable, before pulling that tantalizing mouth of hers into an earth shattering kiss. She whimpers as your assault on her mouth turns frantic; wanting nothing more than to consume her. Delicate hands weave their fingers through your hair, as you work to undo the zipper on the back of her dress. You break away from the kiss briefly to peel it down Natasha’s arms, and to pull the black material down her body to pool around her waist. Fuck, the lacey pink bra covering her breasts makes your cock throb with need. 

Your eyes watch goosebumps erupt on Natasha’s heaving chest; as her flushed skin adjusts to the cool air. She tilts your head up, kissing you hard and desperate. Your tongues massaging one anothers in tandem, every once in a while pausing to suck and swirl your tongues into the caverns of each other's mouths.  

Your arms slip around her sides, fingers caressing the smooth skin of Natasha’s back before unclasping her bra and shimming it down her arms. Discarding it without care as your lips leave that additive mouth of hers to kiss along her jaw. She squirms in your lap, as you nip and lick your way down the line of her throat, leaving a trail of red marks in your wake. 

You pull back and admire the intoxicating woman before you. Those gorgeous emerald eyes that bewitched you from across the ballroom are now blown black with a carnal hunger and her lips are kiss swollen. That lovely shade of pink lipstick is smeared down her chin. And her neck is painted in your love-bites and saliva. She looks wrecked. You could come at the sight alone. 

“Are you going to stare at me all night or are you finally going to touch me?” 

She looks pleased by your admiration, despite what her words may otherwise imply.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been touching you but I promise you’re going to be able to feel me everywhere in a second.”

The pair of soft full breasts attached to this divine being are too tempting to ignore any longer. Your lips descend on her right breast with utter devotion, your tongue flicking over a pretty pink peak; coaxing it taut. Before pulling her nipple into your mouth and suckling. 

She arches into you with a breathless moan, offering more of herself up to you with fervor. As you show equal amounts of attention to each breast your hands caress Natasha’s sides, slowly making their way to her backside. You drag the dress up her hips and expose her center, sliding her panties to the side, your fingers slip through damp curls with ease to massage her clit. 

Natasha shudders from the contact, intuitively grinding her hips into your fingers. She revels in the friction for a little while, feeling the pressure begin to build, and knowing that she needs you inside of her right now. Her hands slide down to your belt buckle, yanking it open, you lift your hips up allowing her to drag your slacks and boxers down in one foul swoop. Her fingers wrap around your thickness with enthusiasm; her hand stroking in a firm but gentle caress.

“Hmm, fuck. I need you so bad.” You groan, thrusting into her hand. 

“Me too, baby. I need you inside me.” Natasha mewls.

Natasha slows her movements, grabbing your tie pulling you into a passionate kiss, her hips lifting up and with your guidance sinks down onto your cock. 

Her back grows taut, needing to take a minute to adjust to the feeling of being so full, before she starts rolling her hips. You grip her backside and begin to thrust up into her. She chants your name as you pick up the pace. Natasha matches your rhythm with vigor, her breath labored as she slams down onto you.

Natasha’s hands find purchase on your shoulders, her fingers crumpling the fabric of your suit jacket as she slides up and down against you. You can’t believe you bothered to get it pressed when this is the only way it should be worn; rumpled and covered in her slick. She rests her forehead against yours, panting into your mouth as your lower halves move in tandem. 

She is so tight and so incredibly warm. You continue to pump into her, her slick wet heat engulfing you as you feel the walls of her core beginning to flutter. With determination, you shove your hand between your gyrating bodies, your thumb sliding through soaked folds to massage her clit. 

You feel her inner walls clamp around you before she lets out a cry of your name, her nails sink into the back of your head and neck as she comes hard against you. The intense stimulation is too much for you to bear as you follow her over the edge with a grunt. 

She continues to keep you close as her breathing begins to mellow out, you sprinkle every inch of bare skin available to you with kisses as she begins to untangle herself from you. Natasha chuckles as she takes in your appearance, your expensive suit is wrinkled beyond repair and your skin is coated in a sheen of sweat. It fills her with a deep sense of satisfaction to have done such a number on you. 

Her eyes flick down between her legs, catching sight of the barely visible waistband of your black boxers, straining against your muscular thighs. They are too dull for her taste. 

“You know the suit was so sexy on you but I have to say I am not a fan of these underwear.” Natasha says, gaze returning to you and it’s full of mischief. 

You look up at her and grin, “Well the next time we fulfill one of our fantasies I promise I’ll buy a new pair of quirky animal boxers. Maybe some polar bears or something.”

She laughed and bit her lip, “Oh, I appreciate the consideration, Detka…” she trails off, lost in thought for a second, “Now tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”

You reach down grasping her left arm, pulling her hand up landing playful nips to the tips of her fingers. “Oh sweetheart, I’ve got so many fantasies revolving around you. Some new ones involving that damn lingerie set. You look so fucking sexy in pink.”

You note the subtle mood shift, the sadness and vulnerability now in Natasha’s eyes, it makes your heart weep.

“Yeah?” She asks tone so hopeful

You knew that the two of you had been stuck in a rut as of late, the monotony of family life not leaving much room for the two of you to nurture your relationship; emotional or sexual. There was a strict schedule for everything concerning the kids and with the long hours you worked, it left a lot of your marriage up in the air. Only really having time for quickies in the shower or watching a movie together at the end of the day. That is if your kids didn’t interrupt the two of you. 

When you were young the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and you know that love changes over time. This however was different and unacceptable to you. Natasha was the love of your life, the sexiest woman in the world in your eyes and the fact that she no longer knew that was gut wrenching. As you look up into her eyes, seeing all the love, hope and desire for you there, you know from this moment on you would do anything to make her feel like the strong, sexy and courageous woman you know her to be.

And after tonight, you know that the fire that burns between you two is still there. All it needs is a little coaxing to ignite it and you were damn sure going to keep that fire fed from now on.

You lift your hand up to caress her cheek, “Natasha, I know our relationship has fallen to the wayside a bit since the kids were born but sweetheart you are still so damn sexy to me. I love you so fucking much. And I am so sorry for letting it get this bad.” 

“I love you too, baby. Please don’t put all of this on you. I know I haven’t been making our marriage a priority either…I’m sorry for that.” Natasha kisses the corner of your mouth. “It’s a relief that after all this time you still think I’m sexy.” She chuckles, gesturing to herself with contempt. “I know I don’t look like I used too.”

“The fact that you don’t believe that your fucking gorgeous and that I crave you like a person in hell craves ice water is on me.” You implore her to see the truth in your words. “I am going to do everything I can to make us a priority again. I'm done always putting the kids first. You deserve to be loved and fucked to your hearts content.” Your voice holds conviction. 

Natasha yanks on your tie pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “Well in that case…maybe we can take advantage of the kids staying with your mom tonight. You can show me just how much you crave me, baby.” 

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.” You help Natasha slide back over into the passenger seat, and get your clothes in order. “That being said, when we get home Mrs. Y/L you're putting your wedding ring back on.” You send her a playful glare, as you restart the car. “If I ever see that finger bare again…there will be consequences.”

Natasha giggles, “Consequences huh?...mhmm.. I’d like to experience that but…” She winks at you. “It was definitely a bit of a risk I took, I'll admit. I won’t be taking it again. Now drive, baby.”

It was an exhilarating night for the both of you. And as you head down the road toward your shared home, it feels like the beginning of a brand new adventure. 

Hello!

Welcome to my blog! For now, this is mostly dedicated to my Natasha Romanoff series posted on Wattpad and AO3. I wanted to have a better way to connect with my readers on both platforms, so, here we are! I will primarily post updates and sneak peaks of my fics on here (you can also find playlists for all my works at the bottom of this post), as well as reblogs of things that I recommend/love from other creators, but I also want to interact with you guys! If you've read my works or you're just coming across it for the first time, feel free to reach out to me with any questions or comments! I'd love to chat <3

Playlists:

n.r. - act 1

n.r. - act 2

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER TWO: FISTS TO A KNIFE FIGHT

violet; 5,021 words; fluff, drama, brief depiction of violence (vi kicks ass), fake dating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, powder being hilarious, patching up injuries trope, wlw pining, mel is a badass, platonic gym soulmates jaycevi, no "y/n"

summary: in which both you and vi are suffering about each other, and you friends/fam try to help to varying degrees of success.

a/n: here it is !!! chapter two :) i hope everyone enjoys and that you're having a SMASHING beginning to your 202THRIVE. i truly had the best time writing powder in this chapter and i hope u guys love her just as much as i do u__u

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ "HASN'T IT ONLY BEEN LIKE… three weeks since —”

“Yes Powder, it’s only been three weeks since Cait and I broke up —”

“I mean, for the record, I never liked her —”

“Yes, you made that abundantly clear even when we were dating —”

“She was a stuck-up little horse-shoe crab with a weird obsession with turtlenecks and I mean, that always felt like a red flag to me —”

“Powder. Focus.”

“Oops — sorry,” Powder giggles, “what were you saying again? Something about a hot figure skater girl who’s tryna be your girlfriend?”

Vi sighs, adjusting her phone, propped up against a stack of pillows as she lazes in bed, her cheek pillowed on her crossed arms as she watches Powder fiddle with something or other through the screen.

“Trying to be my fake girlfriend,” Vi corrects.

Powder lifts up her goggles, “Oh, I like this one better already. So? What’s the issue?”

Vi groans, burying her face in her arms, “The issue is that…” she flips onto her back, staring at the faint Christmas lights strung up around her room, the soft diffuse lighting making her pause. She thinks back to the look of you on that kitchen floor, the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed, how your lips had tasted — sweet and intoxicating — against hers.

“I feel like… parts of her remind me of — of Cait.”

“Gee Wilikers, so you've gotta thing for ice queens that make questionable fashion decisions — please sis, this is not news. Not to me, not to Vander, not to the lady down the street who always tries to give us soggy croissants —”

Vi frowns, “What do you mean? And those croissants were just a little buttery —”

“Sweet god — you remember that one chick you were head over heels for when we were kids?”

Vi only frowns harder at the ceiling lights.

“You… mean the one with the long hair and —”

“Yes, the one you said looked like she could ruin your life?”

Vi makes a noncommittal noise, heat washing into her cheeks at the memory.

“I mean,” Vi muses, “she kinda did.”

Powder sighs, “Sis, we were twelve. Whatever. And then there was the basketball captain during your senior year —”

“She was like the hottest chick I’d ever seen up until that point!”

“Uh-huh — she also unironically wore crocs when she wasn’t on the court —”

“Hey, those shoes are comfortable —”

“They’re an affront to fashion and we both know it. But anyway — point being — why’re you acting surprised that you’re once again falling for someone that is A, fantastically talented at a thing, and B probably has mommy-issues up the wazoo?”

Vi swallows, the memory of your laughter ringing through her like church bells on a Sunday morning. She whines, tossing an arm over her eyes.

Powder laughs.

“Ohhh, I know that sound.”

“What sound?” Vi flips back over, squinting at her sister from her cracked phone screen.

Powder smirks, flipping an L-wrench between her fingers before pointing the straight end at Vi.

“The sound of a woman being completely and utterly pussy-whipped.”

Vi squawks, shooting up on her bed, frowning down at her phone.

“I — I am not pussy-whipped!”

Powder shrugs, dropping her eyes back onto her project, “Say what you will, but this is exactly what you sounded like when you first had a crush on that weird, turtleneck-loving mongoose —”

“What is it with you and turtlenecks? And I thought she was a horseshoe-crab? Now she’s a mongoose? They’re not even remotely similar —”

“Evil can come in all shapes and sizes —”

“She’s not evil —”

“Tell that to all her turtlenecks —”

“Okay, no what is it with you and turtlenecks —”

“I dunno! It’s just a vibe-thing, okay?” Powder drops her L-wrench and gestures towards the screen, her eyes wide even as Vi stares, nonplussed as her younger sister motions vaguely into the ether, “Like… what’s she tryna hide behind all those high necklines? And what does she have against the art and perfection that is the human collarbone — I mean —”

Vi nearly throws her phone across the room. She settles for screaming into her pillow instead.

Powder laughs, dusting off her hands and shrugging.

“All I’m saying is — this new girl, whoever she is — sounds like a better deal already.”

“How could you possibly know that? You know nothing about her.”

Powder hitches an eyebrow, “I know that she pretended to be your new girlfriend in front of horseshoe-crab-mongoose and her new button-cap mushroom of a sidepiece.”

“Button-cap — sidep— what the fuck —?”

Powder waggles her fingers, “Evil in all shapes, remember?”

Vi lets out another exasperated groan, “This was pointless —”

“It wasn’t! You just have to take her out on a date!”

“What?”

“You. Take skater-girl. On a date.”

Vi stares.

“B-but I can’t do that.”

“And… why not?” Powder tilts her head so far to the right she’s almost at 90-degrees with the camera.

Vi huffs out a breath, “Cause… the whole campus thinks we’re actually dating. So it’d be weird —”

“For you to take your fake girlfriend on a real date?”

“Exactly!” A pause. “Wait —”

Powder cackles, waving her hand.

“Lemme know how the date goes, sis! Oh! And try not fuck this one up, yeah? Wouldn’t want the whole campus to know that you fumbled an Olympic athlete, hm? Kay, love ya, bye!”

The Facetime call drops, and Vi’s left staring at a too-close image of her own bewildered face, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. She blinks at her own reflection for a few more seconds before the screen fades to black and she’s left with nothing but the silence of her own room to keep her company.

She slumps back against the wall, kneading her eyes with the heels of her hands as she runs over Powder’s words.

Take your fake girlfriend on a real date.

But she can’t quite tamp down the strange giddiness that rises beneath her ribs at the thought.

She almost jumps out of her skin as her phone lights up again and she scrabbles at it, flicking it open only to see a single line of text from Jayce —

mel wants to talk.

“I don’t want to waste anyone’s time here so —” Mel laces her fingers on the cafeteria table, looking down the bridge of button nose as if she were interviewing a candidate for a consulate seat, not tucked into a far corner of the dining commons on a busy Thursday night.

Vi blinks, “Wow, not one for smalltalk, huh? And here I was hoping that we could chat about the weather or something.”

She glances at Jayce, who only throws her a helpless sort of shrug.

Mel ignores them both, her eyes sharp as she looks Vi over.

“What are your intentions with my friend?”

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up as she sputters, “M-my intentions?” Her gaze slingshots over to Jayce once more, and this time, he has the decency to look just a bit sheepish.

Mel’s cocks her head, clearly waiting. Vi sputters.

“W-what d’you — your friend was the one that came onto me —”

“She saved you from what looked like a terribly uncomfortable conversation with your ex,” Mel says, her tone so smooth and certain that for a second, Vi pauses to wonder if she might actually be able to simply speak things into existence with nothing but her conviction in her own words.

“She announced to nearly the whole school that we were dating!”

Mel sighs, “Yes, which is why I’m asking you — what are your intentions with her?”

Vi stares, heat now beginning to eat up the back of her neck ,”Well up until that happened, I didn’t have any intentions with her —”

“So now you do?” Mel’s voice is sharp.

Vi groans, throwing up her hands, “What? No! I mean —” she runs a hand through her hair, “I don’t know!”

Jayce leans forward, “Look, Vi — what Mel’s trying to say is —”

“I’ve never seen her like this before.”

Vi goes still. Jayce sighs.

“What… do you mean?”

Mel lets out a long breath, and for the first time, her flawless exterior cracks ever so slightly as she leans back, folding her arms across her chest.

“Ever since that party, she’s been… distracted. And her routine’s suffering because of it —”

Vi lets out an incredulous laugh, “You’re raking me over the coals because her little figure skating routine isn’t going well? Alright, I’m outta here —”

Vi tries to stand up, but Mel’s hand shoots out, quick as a flash, and when she catches Vi’s wrist, her grip is startlingly strong. Vi grunts, her arm jerking back as she glares at Mel.

“You don’t understand,” Mel says, and there’s a quiver like a hairline fracture in the low thrum of her voice that makes Vi pause, “She’s… she’s not as strong as people think she is —”

Vi scoffs, “Not sure that’s the word I’d use but —”

Mel shakes her head, “I know what people say about her, that she’s frigid — the ice princess, right? But I’ve known her since we were kids — she’s not like that.”

Mel’s voice softens, and Vi sinks back into her seat, watching as Mel pulls back her hand.

“She’s just… passionate and a bit naive —”

“Tch, really.” Vi rolls her eyes, but she can’t help the grin that threatens her lips at the memory of you, admitting to her on the kitchen floor of the party that you’re ‘not the best with impulsivity’, the soft noise you’d made at the back of your throat when she’d kissed you, how soft your skin had been beneath the hem of that wet dream of a dress —

“— this sport’s been her whole life,” Mel says, fixing Vi with an imploring look, “and whatever you did or didn’t say or do to her at that party… it’s got her in her head. And she’s not the type to fall in love easily —”

“Whoa, whoa, it was one kiss —” Vi balks at the word ‘love’ but Mel only pushes on, her voice once more taking on it’s lacquer-like shine, her eyes dark as a moonless night —

“I’m just asking you to please think about what you want out of this because…” she lets out a breath, leaning back once more, “it might’ve been just one kiss to you. But it sure as hell wasn’t just that for her.”

This is starting to get ridiculous, you think, for the fourth night in a row, sitting up in bed and glancing at the small LED clock currently blinking 12:38AM at you in a traitorous red light. You groan, scraping your nails against your scalp as you slump back into your blankets.

Moonlight pools cool and silver over your sheets, slit into slivers by the half-closed blinds.

You take a deep breath and try to clear your mind, but seven minutes later, you’re jerking back the covers to rummage around for a pair of running shorts and a sweater.

Ten minutes after that, you set off on your normal jogging route, one earbud thumping an upbeat EDM song as you let your thoughts wander. It’d been one week since the sorority party and the kiss in the kitchen. One week since Vi had nearly run out of that kitchen, looking as if she were about to be sick.

Your stomach churns. Were you really that terrible at kissing? It didn’t seem like she was having a bad time — warmth coils in the pit of your belly even as you try desperately to tamp down the electric tingle of desire that shoots up your spine every time you let your mind wander near the memory.

It’d been one hell of a kiss. But what you remembered most was the way Vi’s expression had broken open with laughter as she’d sat next to you, calling you princess, telling you that she was impressed. How bewildered she’d looked the second before you kissed her, how she’d moaned low and long when you ran your tongue across her lips. How she’d opened her mouth and let you in.

“Oh shit —” your foot catches on a small crack in the pavement and you stumble forward a few steps, catching yourself before you actually hit the ground.

“You alright there, darlin’?” a slimy voice calls from somewhere behind you, and you whip around to find a group of three men sauntering towards you, cigarette butts and empty beer cans scattered around their feet as they push up from the stoop they’d been loitering on.

“Uh yeah — fine. Thanks,” you say, taking a few steps back, quickly taking stock of your surroundings. It’s only a few minutes passed 1AM on a Saturday night, but the street you’re on is quiet, a small by-way between two residential neighborhoods, the row of houses to your right look foreclosured, their windows dark and boarded up, the low hedges in front of them overgrown and ill-watered.

“You sure? Don’t need a hand with nothin’?” Another one of the men asks, smirking as they advance on you, looking you up and down, their gazes nothing short of salacious. The third man chuckles, pulling a tiny switchblade out of his pocket.

“C’mon, dollface,” the first one says, opening his hands, “wanna keep us company for a little while? Promise we’ll show you a good time.”

Ice seizes your veins as you try to calculate how long it’d take for you to sprint to the nearest house that might have someone living in it. You stumble back half a step, ready to take off when a smear of red flashes by you and a sharp crunch sounds before one of the guys is skidding across the pavement, knocked out cold.

“The fuck —” the second man gapes at the red-hooded figure for a breath before he dives for them. But the figure’s too quick, ducking under his arm and catching him with a solid punch to the stomach that sends him reeling.

But as they pull back, the red hood slips off to reveal a shock of bright pink hair.

“V-Vi?!”

You squeak, jumping back as she turns towards the third guy, his face split in a nasty snarl, the switchblade glinting dangerously in his hand. Vi eyes the blade in his hand for a second before smirking, cocking her head.

“C’mon big guy — you wanna see how that ends?”

The man hesitates for half a second before yelling and swinging wide, but Vi’s fist connects with his jaw and he tips backwards, just as one of his friends is staggering back onto his feet, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wild as he dives for Vi from behind.

You scream.

“Vi! Lookout!”

Vi’s elbow jerks back just in time to catch him in the chest, but he still manages to skim his fist along Vi’s cheek, and the impact jerks her head back. You let out another abortive shout as the knife-wielding man manages to catch Vi around the middle, grappling her even as she kicks out, her foot catching his friend on the chin and sending him to the ground again.

You look around frantically, eyes catching on a broken tree branch caught in one of the rusting fences — you scramble over and pull it free, heaving the surprisingly heavy branch behind you and swinging your whole body weight into it as you bring it crunching down onto switchblade’s calf.

He lets out a shout of pain, dropping to one knee, his grip loosening just enough for Vi to jerk her head back, butting him in the chin with her skull.

Dark red blood spills from his lips as Vi rips out of his arms and grabs for your hand.

You drop the branch and let Vi tug you behind her, the pair of you sprinting off till you reach the nearest through-street, the baseline thrum of car engines a welcome relief from the eerie quiet.

“What the hell were you doing out here so late?” Vi asks, rounding on you, even as her own chest heaves with the exertion.

You straighten up, pressing a palm to your stomach to stem the stitch twisting in your side.

“I — I was on a jog!”

“At —” Vi checks her phone, “1:17 in the morning?!”

You scowl, “I couldn’t sleep so I was trying to clear my head!”

“You know there are treadmills in our gym right? The gym that’s open twenty-four hours —”

“It’s not the same! And —” you cut off abruptly, slamming your mouth shut, your teeth worrying at your bottom lip.

“And what? God, holy shit — what were you gonna do if I didn’t show up?”

You crinkle your nose, sidestepping the question with, “What were you doing out so late, then?”

Vi blinks for a second before straightening up with a sigh.

“Doing the same thing you were.”

You throw up your hands, “Why’re you allowed to go running around at night, but I’m not?”

“Because I know how to lay a guy out when he tries to get fresh! Clearly, a skillset you don’t seem to share!”

“I could’ve outrun them…” you mumble, tugging at your sleeves.

Vi scoffs, “Right, and if you couldn’t?”

But your eyes catch on a cut along her eyebrow, the bruise blooming dark on her left cheek. You reach out a hand; she catches your wrist before you can touch her face, her expression guarded.

“You’re bleeding.”

Her grip loosens but she still shrugs you off, “It’s nothing.”

You frown, shaking your head. When she relaxes her fingers, you twist your hand around to catch her wrist instead.

“C’mon.”

“Uh… where’re we going?”

You lead her down the street, pausing at a crosswalk to look both ways even though the street itself is very much deserted.

“My place.”

Vi lets out a soft laugh, “Geez, princess. Are all you figure skaters this forward? Y’know usually, you’d take a girl out on a date first before inviting her home.”

You shoot her a nasty look over your shoulder.

“We’re already ‘dating’, remember?”

Vi’s smirk drops from her face, but she doesn’t pull her hand away. And by the time you reach the front of your building, she’s at a level with you, her arm hanging limp in your grip. You cast her a sidelong glance before dropping her hand and rummaging around for your keys.

“Hm. Nice place,” she says, looking around as you push into your apartment, tossing your keys in a turtle-shaped bowl by the door and toeing off your shoes. “Bit far from campus though, no?”

You head for the bathroom, flicking on the lights as you go.

“Yeah, but it’s closer to the rink — aha!” you pull out the first aid kit under the bathroom sink and make your way back into the small living room to find Vi standing awkwardly by the door. You jerk your head towards the couch.

“Sit.”

Vi sighs, eyeing the room over once more before kicking off her shoes and slumping down on the couch. You perch yourself in front of her, leaning in to check on the thin slash on her forehead.

“It’s not very deep but… I’m still gonna need to wipe it first.”

“Do your worst, princess.”

You roll your eyes, tearing open an antiseptic wipe with your teeth and reaching up to dab gingerly at the cut. Vi winces dramatically, chuckling when you give her another glare.

“So…” Vi says, in a bracing attempt to fill the thickening silence.

Your brow creases as you continue to wipe down the cut, flipping the wipe over to the clean side.

“Heard you’re training for the Olys… that’s… impressive.”

You sigh, putting down the now stained alcohol wipe and digging around for some neosporin.

“I have to qualify first.”

“Yeah? And what’s that look like?”

“Well… the quickest way to do that is to just be the best figure skater in the entire country.”

Vi lets out an incredulous laugh, “Oh yeah. It’s that simple, huh?”

You fix her with a look as you squeeze a tiny dollop of neosporin onto your finger.

“It is. But simple doesn’t mean it’s easy — hold still.”

You gingerly drag your finger across the cut, blowing gently before pulling back to tear open a bandaid.

“Barring that though, I basically have to consistently place within the top 3 at all the international competitions I participate in and… hope that the skating union thinks I’m good enough to represent the country.”

You press the bandaid to her forehead, leaning back to assess your work before letting your hand drop.

“Oh,” Vi breathes, watching as you fold the discarded bits of wrapping paper into smaller and smaller squares. “Damn, princess. You really are… good, huh.”

You let out a soft laugh, shrugging, “It’s… kinda the only thing I’ve ever been… good at.” You sigh, reaching into the first aid box for a cold compress, breaking the seal and shaking it in your hand to activate it.

Vi hums as you reach up to press the cold pack to her cheek, her hand catching yours before you can pull away completely. She doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches in your chest or the way your eyes go wide in the slant-wise light.

“Hm. You seem plenty good at getting yourself into trouble though.”

Her voice is low, husky in a way that catches even herself off guard. But you lick your lips and Vi can’t stop herself from glancing down at the soft pink flash of your tongue.

“Says the girl who bought her fists to a knife-fight,” but there’s no real bite in your voice, and still, your hand is poised beneath hers, pressed to the rapidly cooling pack on her cheek.

Neither of you seem to notice the steadily decreasing space between you, nor the rapid uptick of your pulse, nor the way your knee is somehow slotted between Vi’s legs, her free hand resting against your thigh.

“Where I grew up, a good pair of fists’ll take you much further than any fancy knife-work.”

You’re so close you can taste the heat of her words as they wash across your lips.

“Is this… the part of the night where you tell me you tragic backstory? Y’know, the one that makes you such a good hockey player?” you ask, grinning as Vi scoffs, her hand inching up your thigh till her fingers skim yours. She gives your other hand a squeeze, the one that’s still clutched beneath hers on the cold compress against her cheek.

“We really oughtta do something about that mouth of yours — it’s gonna get you into some real trouble some day.”

You tilt your head slow, your eyes caught on the dangerous curve of Vi’s mouth as you suck in a soft breath, her free hand linking with yours —

“And here I thought I was already in the realest kind of trouble I could find…”

Vi’s thumb skims along the soft pad of your hand and you wince, pain shooting up your arm as you jerk back.

“Ouch —”

“Sorry —”

You both look down and the moment fades from around you like a dissipating breath on a winter morning’s chill. She frowns down at your hand even as you try to tug it free.

“It’s nothing, I just —”

“Hold still,” Vi’s voice is still soft but stern as jerks your hand up to eye level.

A sharp splinter peaks out from the pad of your palm, just beneath your thumb and Vi sighs, dropping the hand holding the compress to her cheek.

“You got tweezers or something?”

You nod mutely, tugging away to grab a pair from your makeup bag and bringing it back.

“Guess I should be thanking you,” Vi says, frowning as she squeezes at the tender skin around the splinter, trying to get to a good angle.

“For what? You’re the one that saved me,” you say, your breath hitching as she nudges against the splinter with her thumb, her wincing as you let out a small whine.

“Shit, sorry — I mean — I would’ve been in trouble if you didn’t take that guy out with the branch — don’t move — I think I got it —”

“I just…” you shrug your free arm, watching as Vi tugs the small shard of wood from your flesh, a bead of blood collecting on your skin.

Vi chuckles, shifting back to flick the splinter from the tweezer head and hand it back to you.

“Just moved without thinking?”

You flush, nodding, rubbing at your hand, glancing anywhere but at Vi’s face.

The quiet gathers around you like smoke, swirling and thick till you can’t stand the weight of it anymore and turn back towards her.

“Look, I’m sorry I pretended to be —”

“Do you wanna go out sometime with —”

The pair of you speak at the same time and you freeze, staring at one another.

“Sorry, what?”

“No, you —” Vi breaks off, swallowing.

You shake your head, “I — you said —”

“Forget what I —”

You frown, “Did you just ask me out on a real date?”

Vi goes pink, pushing her tongue against her cheek as she glares at a blank spot on the wall.

“Not if you’re actually sorry for trying to be my fake —”

“There’s a really cute place off Centre street —”

Vi’s eyebrows hike up, a grin twitching at her lips, “Yeah?”

You purse your lips, heat crawling up your neck and kissing into your cheeks.

“They’ve got boozy cupcakes.”

Vi laughs, “Oh shit, yeah?”

“I’ve… always wanted to go but…”

“So why haven’t you?”

You swallow, the ticking, post-midnight quiet collecting sweet around the pair of you like honey.

“Th-they’re kind of big and — I’ve… I’ve never had anyone to… to share one with.”

“Kinda big, huh?” Vi asks, her voice licentious, her eyebrows waggling.

You give her a tiny shove, “Oh my god — nevermind —”

“Let’s do it.”

You blink, your lashes fluttering as Vi shifts back half an inch, sucking in a breath as if reminding her own lungs of the action of breathing. There’s a berry-stained darkness to her cheeks and a lost, liquid look to her eyes. You wonder if it’s just the dimness of your apartment but when she turns her gaze back onto you, you find yourself arrested in it’s light.

“Okay,” you breathe.

And Vi nods again.

“I’ll uh — text you — wait, do we even have each other’s numbers?”

You shake your head, watching as she digs her phone from her pocket.

“No but I —” you pause as your hand hovers over her proffered phone. Vi frowns.

“You… what?”

You take her phone and quickly punch in your number, hitting the save button and handing the phone back to her.

Vi glances down at your contact before shooting you a quick text.

You jump slightly, biting your lips as you flick open your screen, your cheeks staining a darker and darker shade of red as you flip your screen towards her.

“I might’ve… asked Jayce for your number.”

Vi stares at the saved contact — Violet <3

“Wh —”

“It was so that if anyone came up to me after that party to ask if we were really dating, I could —”

“Pretend to be my fake girlfriend better?” Vi finishes, smirking, even though her stomach flips inside her.

“Yeah… something like that,” you say, snatching your phone back, your eyes downcast.

Vi runs a hand through her hair, fisting it tight enough to sting as she backs towards the door. Her heart is thumping somewhere in the back of her throat, making a truly valiant attempt at leaping from her mouth and all she can think is that she needs to get out of here before she does something that she’s really going to regret.

“So… I should —” she gestures at the door.

“Yeah, it’s late — be careful — do you want me to call you a cab?” You push to your feet even as Vi shakes her head.

“Nah, I’ve — I can jog back — it’s not far —”

“Okay… if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, princess.”

The silence pools at your feet as you take half a step forward, a hand pressed to your chest, the other behind your back. Vi watches, her whole body tingling as she fumbles for her shoes, a heady drunkenness soaking into her skin that might be just her tiredness catching up with her or something else entirely.

“Kay — I’ll see you.”

You put up a hand and wiggle your fingers. Vi clears her throat as she pulls open the door and slips out, bringing the door shut behind her with a long exhale, sagging against it the second it’s closed.

You hiss out a breath, stumbling forward to press your forehead to the cool metal as Vi closes her eyes, her back braced against it on the other side.

You let your lashes flutter shut just as Vi forces hers open, and both of you murmur at the exact same time —

“Well, fuck.”

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt @lin-elizabeth @ryescapades @kingkamk @princesssmars @chobssss @mybelovedvi @bouqette @noietta @brooks-lin @ally-all-around @bunnyrose01 @stumpystump @lia-winther @folklore13lover @sawaagyapong @sevikas-whore @sunflowerwinds @taurtel @tourmalinetyrone @oidloid @marcylated @krisziepowlet @vikaswife @pa-co @devotedlyelectronicartisan @aliluvszs @elliecoochieeater

Hotel California | Track 2 - Electric Desires

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: 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

college roomate!vi x classical musician!reader

part one

men/minors dni!

pairing: vi x fem!reader

2.5k words

contains: brief mention of hockey player!vi, fluff, friends to lovers, reader’s instrument is described as being in a case, or for percussionists a stick bag (sorry pianists), reader plays in a symphony orchestra, reader is briefly described to wear a long skirt

note: I've been working on this for about a week now! I am a violinist and ex percussionist who wrote this. I tried to make it as inclusive as i could for other instruments, but alas I will never truly understand what every single instrument goes through. there are a few words or phrases that aren't universal, so feel free to ask what they mean! I'd love to explain. 😚

college roommate!vi who isn’t exactly well versed in classical music before she meets you. the best she knows is the songs played in commercials and at stores; beethoven 5, can-can, maybe even a couple of pieces from the nutcracker. she spends her time listening to rock music, because that’s all she’s ever known.

when the two of you first met, you made proper introductions, and violet--no vi, as she insisted, looked down at your case/stick bag. curious, she asked you what instrument you played. she nodded at your answer and said, "cool," in fake understanding.

for people who play an instrument that isn’t well known: vi asks you to explain to her what it is, and you show her, then she pulls the “oh so it’s like a _____?” you smile tightly at her and say, “sure, something like that.”

college roommate!vi when you leave your dorm to find a practice room for the first time.

"where ya goin'?" she asks.

“to go practice,” you say, pointing to what you were carrying with you.

“you don’t want me to hear you or something?” she said teasingly.

you rolled your eyes and said, “no, the campus here has rooms for people to practice their instruments in.”

she stared at you for a second. “huh, i had no idea we had those here. well have fun,” she said, ending the sentence with your name.

“I'll try," you chuckle.

one day, when there are no practice rooms open, you get fed up and go back to your dorm. vi is there, laying on the couch in a cropped black tee and grey sweatpants. she nods in acknowledgement toward you.

“hey vi,” you smile, trying hard not to stare at her abs on display, “is it alright with you if i practice in here? there are no practice rooms open.”

“yeah sure, knock yourself out sweetheart,” she replies, laying her head back down lazily.

you try not to show a reaction to the pet name, but the thumping in your chest makes it a little harder. you turn and walk into your room, letting the door close behind you. you stand in silence for a moment before letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

you situate yourself and set up your instrument, palms suddenly a little sweaty. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about vi hearing you play.

vi listened through the wall as you practiced a particularly slow and sweet piece. she felt a calmness wash over her. about 10 minutes in, her eyelids became heavier. your playing was quite literally lulling her to sleep. the only thing keeping vi awake was when you'd stop playing, and she'd realize that she wasn't listening to a recording of music, but to you, shaping every note that reached her ears.

when you finished practicing, vi found herself longing to hear more of your playing instead of the silence that followed. it was something different from the genre she typically listened to, but she definitely didn't hate it. she was definitely asking you later for some song recommendations.

you walked out of your room, immediately heading toward the fridge for a snack. vi looked at you from her spot on the couch, wondering how you could look so normal after gracing her ears with the most gentle sound she's ever heard.

vi sat up, grabbing your attention.

"damn, I've never heard anything like that before, it was--," she paused, trying to find the right word, "beautiful."

you look up at her, and find yourself looking at those bright eyes of hers with the most sincere smile on her face.

you felt something churn in your stomach, and a heat rise up to your cheeks that you tried to brush off as being flustered by the praise.

"thanks," you said, trying not to melt.

college roommate!vi who is up in the middle of the night scrolling on her phone when she hears you practicing for your rhythm dictation midterm. she hears a metronome going off in your room, and your voice carrying strings of "do-ta-da-ta-di-ta" through the wall. your mantra being occasionally broken by you slamming your hands on your desk and groaning out a frustrated, "fuck." your actions earning a chuckle from her.

college roommate!hockey player!vi who would periodically leave for practice at the same time you would leave for a rehearsal, and who was rather pleased when she found that the music building was not very far from the ice rink.

let's see...I have my music, my instrument, a pencil, and water. perfect, you thought. looking at the clock, it was 5:25 pm, 35 minutes before rehearsal started, and it was about a 5 minute walk to the music building from your dorm, give or take.

you walked out of your room and looked to the door, to see vi turning the door handle, on her way out.

"oh hey, leaving now too?" you say, looking down at her stuffed duffle bag.

she turned to look at you with a smile, and nodded. "let's walk together?"

you felt your stomach flip in excitement at the invitation. "sure," you said, in the most casual tone you could muster.

vi held the door open for you as you left the dorm building, following close after you, finding her spot beside you.

the sun was setting, and the orange light it cast on your face combined with the slight breeze blowing your hair as you walked made vi draw in a breath.

"so I've been thinking..." she started, her pause lasting longer than she meant for it to when you looked at her so intently with your big round eyes, "I want to get out of my comfort zone in terms of music. right now I only listen to rock, and you seem like you know all about classical music..."

you gasped, your face lighting up. "oh my god are you really asking me to put you on classical music?"

god, she's adorable, vi thought.

“yeah, hard to believe, i know,” she snickered.

"okay, so what do you think you'd be into? something more hardcore like Shostakovich?" you started.

"what do you mean by hardcore?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

you began to explain different periods of classical music to her, pulling out your playlist on your phone and showing things to her. listening to you talk, she realizes that your knowledge matches your skill. you talk for a while, asking her "does that make sense?" here and there. all the while she watches you with eyes that sparkle with adoration.

once you reach the music building, you say your goodbyes, and vi is left alone as she watches you through the glass door, waving at her one last time before walking down the hallway and greeting a friend.

she turns and continues walking, the space next to her feeling awfully empty.

college roommate!vi on a cold winter day, who is painfully bored and has nothing to do, so she nags you to let her go grocery shopping with you. you let her tag along, her presence not at all unwelcome.

when you pull in to the shopping center, you see somebody in the parking lot playing the same instrument as you. they have a speaker set up next to them, seemingly projecting the sound they were producing.

"playing in the cold must be rough," vi commented.

you took a few glances at the performer before saying, "it probably helps that they're not actually playing."

"they're faking it?" she said in surprise.

"yeah, look at their hands. it doesn't match up with what the speaker is playing."

vi leans forward in her seat, further examining the person. she leans back in realization once she sees your point.

"rent must be that high I guess."

you laugh at her joke, and the sound fills vi's chest and blooms onto her face with a smile that she turns away to hide from you.

you turn the car into a parking spot, oblivious to her reaction.

college roommate!vi during the nutcracker season, who gets so excited when you have to practice in your dorm again, and she recognizes one of the pieces you play (it was in the classical music playlist you gave her).

the moment you leave your room after practicing, vi approaches you and asks, "that was a piece from the nutcracker, right? russian dance?"

your face lights up in surprise. "yeah it was!" you grin. "look at you, you're a pro now, you even called it a piece," you joke, lightly bumping her arm with your elbow.

vi laughs and gets this feeling she has whenever she's around you, the one that makes her heart race, and her face spike with a flush of heat.

college roommate!vi randomly asking you if you want food (image below)

college roommate!vi who can't remember when the two of you got so close. since when did it become normal for the two of you to start listening to classical music together? to laugh and talk late into the night? or for vi to have been in your room so many times that she's memorized all of your stuffed animals' names?

college roommate!vi who is worried sick when you come back to the dorm after a long rehearsal, slumping face down into the couch with a groan.

"what's wrong sweet cheeks?" she asks, taking a seat beside you, rubbing your back with her hand comfortingly.

you chuckle at the nickname, feeling a bit of your worry leave with your laugh. you turn over to look at her.

"the conductor gave me a solo, and I'm honestly terrified. when I play, no one else is playing. it's dead silent. the only sound the audience is going to hear will be me."

vi's expression softens, and she lets out a little chuckle. "and that's a bad thing?"

"of course it is, what if I bomb the whole thing?"

"then you carry on. you're going to do the best with what you have in the moment, and whatever happens will happen," she shrugs. "at the end of the day, that moment will not have changed the trajectory of your life."

you prop yourself up and stare at her. it's dark out, but thankfully the living room window always lets in the moonlight, casting the room with a soft blue glow. vi is beautiful in this light, her eyes looking into yours.

silence lingers between the two of you, but vi doesn't seem bothered by it, and neither are you.

"violet," you say. the use of her full name catches her off guard, but the way it leaves your mouth leaves her wishing you would say it again.

"yes," she whispers. it's so quiet that she wonders if you can hear her heartbeat.

she didn't know what you were going to do, but she didn't expect you to wrap your arms around her in a hug. she felt you sigh into her shoulder, the breath of air rushing down her back.

vi wrapped her arms around you, returning the gesture. she settled her hands at either side of your waist. she felt your soft hair brushing against the side of her face, the scent of your shampoo entering her nose.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you tell her, arms tightening around her toned muscles.

"so am I," she smiles, and you feel her relax into you.

college roommate!vi who since that night, cannot stop replaying the moment in her head. something inside gnaws at her to find out if the hug you two shared meant anything more than gratitude.

college roommate!vi immediately saying yes when you invite her to one of your symphony orchestra concerts. you tell her what you'll be playing, and she adds the pieces to her playlist. she listens to them all day long leading up to the concert.

college roommate!vi who sees you dressed in concert black right before you leave for your dress rehearsal, and she swears she's never seen anyone look so good in a black long sleeve and a long skirt.

vi's eyes travel across your body, lingering on the way the skirt hugs the curve of your waist before dropping down into a long flowy curtain.

you catch her staring. "how do I look?" you smirk, twirling to show off your skirt.

vi stares at you, forcing herself to tear her gaze away to meet your eyes. "you look...stunning," she says breathlessly.

you don't want to assume anything, but the way that she's looking at you as if you were an oil painting of an angel makes you think that she would get on her knees and worship you right then and there.

"I'm gonna get going now," you say, slinging your music bag over your shoulder. You turn towards the door and open it, standing in the doorway. "I'll see you at the hall, yeah? 7:00 sharp!" you smile over your shoulder.

vi clears her throat and stammers out, "y-yeah, see ya there."

the door closes with a click, and vi slumps down, holding her face in her hands. she replays the image of your face cast in the golden sunset light.

she lets out a low "fuck" at the realization that she is madly in love with you, and the chance that you might love her back drives her insane.

ending note for my musicians: I know it may seem like I was over exaggerating the way that vi reacts to reader playing for the first time, but I'm really not! people who have never listened to classical music before have nothing to compare you to, especially when all they're used to hearing is some pop song with guitar and drums, accented on beats 2 and 4 (not that pop music is bad, it's just not the same as classical). I've performed many concerts in my life, and even when I was in high school, playing with my mediocre symphony orchestra, people who had never heard such music were always amazed and loved our playing. don't think that you need to be a professional to be a good musician. music is all about conveying emotions that cannot expressed with words, so as long as you are able to put your heart and soul into a piece, and just go out on stage and feel something, you are an amazing musician.

sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger, I'll make the next part worth it. 😏

comment if you want to be in the taglist for part 2!

With The Roses - Her Best Secret 2

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair. - they get to spend a night together

Note: I wrote this after watching Mother's Instinct with Anne Hathway and Jessica Chastain. I needed to make it gay. I don't know what this is truly but it's here.

Warnings: Smut and fluff and angst - there's a bit of panic =)

w/c: 7k

The sun was high, and the air was humid as you walked down the street toward your neighbor's house. Claire was having a girl's day with your mother, and Sam and Steve were away on one of their fishing trips. The house felt too big and quiet, so your feet naturally led you to Natasha’s. The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks. There she was, Natasha Romanoff, tending to her rose garden in the front yard, utterly absorbed in her work. She was sporting a crisp white blouse tucked into her black slacks. A sun visor perched on her head as she leaned down to inspect a blooming rose. She snipped away at the stems with small pruning shears.

You didn't call out to her immediately, enjoying the rare moment of seeing her so at peace. Her hair was tied back into a neat bun, with a few loose strands sticking to the nape of her neck with sweat. She hummed softly, a tune you couldn't quite place, as she moved to the next bush.

"Staring's rude, you know," She finally said, without even turning around.

"Well, I'm just enjoying the view," You said without thinking. Natasha smirked, though you couldn't see her face. "The roses are beautiful."

Natasha straightened up, turning to face you with an amused expression. Her cheeks were flushed, likely from the heat, and a faint sheen of sweat was on her brow. Even in the humid air, she looked as effortlessly composed as ever.

“They are,” she agreed, arching an eyebrow. “Though I have a feeling that’s not all you were looking at.”

You felt your face heat up, and you tried to play it off with a laugh. “Guilty as charged. But really, the roses are stunning.”

She smirked, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Nice save.”

You stepped closer, leaning slightly against her yard's white picket fence. “You’ve got quite the green thumb, huh? I don’t know how you keep them alive in this heat.”

Natasha shrugged, slipping off her gloves and tossing them into her wicker basket. “Patience. A little care goes a long way.” Her gaze flicked over to you. “Kind of like friendships.”

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Is that your subtle way of telling me I don’t visit enough?”

She chuckled, pulling the sun visor off her head and running a hand over her hair. “Maybe. But you’re here now, and I’ll take what I can get.”

“Well, I was feeling lonely,” you admitted, looking down at your feet for a moment before glancing back up at her. “Claire’s with my mother today. They've gone down to do a little shopping and to get tea."

Natasha’s expression softened. She gestured toward her house with a nod of her head. “Come on inside. I just made some lemonade. The perfect excuse to take a break from this heat.”

She turned and headed toward the front porch. You followed behind her, admiring the way her slacks hugged her shapely legs and backside. Your mind drifted to the first time you had seen her in her pants. You had been unable to stop your eyes from trailing over her body, her curves barely contained by her tight clothes. Natasha was a modern woman. She was everything you wished you could be. Not too long ago, you couldn't tell whether you wanted to be with her or be her.

In the kitchen, Natasha handed you a glass of lemonade, the ice clinking as it settled. You murmured a quiet “thanks” before taking a sip. The tartness was perfectly balanced with sweetness, and it helped you cool down. Natasha leaned against the counter, her gaze casually following yours as you scanned the room.

It was quiet there too. Your attention snagged on the stack of books on the table. The covers were worn, and the spines creased from countless reads. Titles like East of Eden by John Steinbeck, Peyton Place by Grace Metalious, and The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger caught your eye.

“You read a lot,” you said, gesturing toward the books as you set your glass on a coaster.

Natasha followed your gaze and smiled. “Guilty as charged. It’s how I unwind.”

You picked up East of Eden, running your fingers over the aged cover. “These are good choices. Heavy, but good.”

“I like a story that makes me think,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “But I also like a little drama. Something juicy enough to make me forget about the world for a while.”

“Peyton Place fits that bill,” you quipped, flipping through its pages.

Natasha chuckled, her voice warm and rich. “It does. Small-town secrets and scandal? What’s not to love?”

You glanced up, catching her watching you with a soft smile. Her red hair was coming loose from the bun, a few strands framing her face. Her tight white blouse clung to her form, and you could not resist letting your gaze linger for a moment longer than it should.

Natasha noticed—of course, she saw—but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she walked over, brushing past you to pick up another book from the pile. Her perfume lingered, a mix of roses and something earthy, grounding.

“You should borrow one,” she offered, holding the book out to you. “Unless you’re more of a magazine person.”

You smirked, taking the book from her hands. “I think I can handle a real novel, thank you very much.”

Natasha held up her hands in surrender, chuckling. "Alright, I’ll behave."

You glanced at the book she’d handed you, The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. Your fingers traced the embossed title on the cover, appreciating the texture of the paper.

"What a striking title," you murmured. "You do have an eye for fine books, Nat."

She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. "It’s a favorite of mine. You’d enjoy it, I think."

"How’s little Claire-bear?" Natasha asked, shifting the conversation with ease.

"She’s quite the spitfire," you replied, unable to hold back a smile. "Though she’s been picking up words, I’d rather she didn’t. I told her I’d wash her mouth with soap if she tried them again."

Natasha chuckled, her laugh as soft as the breeze. "Children do have a way of testing boundaries. I imagine Sam isn’t much help with discipline."

You rolled your eyes, though your tone was fond. "He’s utterly hopeless. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger. ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ and all that."

"Well," Natasha said, raising a brow, "it sounds like you’ve your hands full."

You hesitated, tracing the condensation on your lemonade glass. "I’ve been glancing at the classifieds lately," you admitted your voice a touch hesitant.

Natasha leaned forward slightly. "Oh? Are you considering a position somewhere?"

"Yes, though Sam doesn’t see the point. He keeps saying we’re managing fine, but it’s not about the money. I just... I feel as though I need something of my own."

Natasha frowned, her lips pressing together briefly. "And what’s his argument, exactly?"

You sighed. "It’s still the 1950s, Nat. No matter how modern things are becoming, people expect women to keep the house running while their husbands provide. It’s not as though I don’t understand it—it’s just..."

"It’s just not what you want," Natasha finished for you gently.

You nodded, the tension easing slightly under her understanding gaze.

"You deserve more," Natasha said firmly. "If there’s one thing I know, it’s that a woman who follows her heart is never truly out of step with the times."

You chuckled, her words both comforting and inspiring. "Thanks, Nat. You always know what to say."

"Anytime," she replied with a warm smile. "If Sam needs a nudge in the right direction, just say the word."

"Do I seem ungrateful?" You questioned. "Sam provides well; he is good to me, and I have everything a woman could ask for."

"Except the right to choose for yourself," Natasha remarked.

"Yes," you sighed. "I can't explain it, but something is missing. Like a piece of myself that I've yet to find."

Natasha hummed, her eyes scanning over your features. You held her gaze for a moment before shifting the conversation.

"You know," you began, tilting your head, "you never talk about you and Steve."

Natasha’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your remark. She recovered quickly, though, leaning back in her chair with a shrug. "There’s not much to say."

"Nat," you said pointedly, giving her a look. "That’s not true, and you know it. You’re always checking in on me, listening to my endless rants, offering advice, but you never let me return the favor."

Natasha’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I don’t mean to keep things from you. It’s just complicated."

"That’s not an excuse," you countered gently. "You’re my friend, Nat. I care about you, just like you care about me. Why not let me in for once?"

She hesitated, her fingers brushing against the rim of her glass. "Steve’s a good man," she said finally, her voice measured. "But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if being with me is best for him."

You frowned, your heart aching at the vulnerability in her tone. "Why would you think that? Anyone would be lucky to have you."

Natasha let out a soft laugh, though it was filled with bitterness. "I’m not exactly the ideal woman, am I? I’ve got too many rough edges and too much baggage. Steve deserves someone uncomplicated, someone who fits neatly into his world. Someone feminine. I'm not a homemaker. I can't cook but a few dishes. The roses are the only thing I can keep alive."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. Natasha shifted, the weight of the conversation settling between you both. She looked down at her glass, her fingers tapping lightly against the rim. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something but quickly closed again, unsure of how to continue.

"He's lucky to have you as a wife," you said, trying to break the tension. "You're smart, witty, and a great listener. You've got the sharpest tongue and a killer sense of style. Steve couldn't have asked for a better match."

"It's not the same," she insisted, her eyes meeting yours. "He doesn't need someone like me. He needs a woman to run a household and keep his parents happy. Someone who doesn't enjoy sex with women."

You blinked, startled by the last bit. Natasha was staring at you, her expression guarded. You felt the sudden urge to reach out and reassure her, but you didn't know how.

"I'm not sure what you mean," you said carefully. "Are you saying that you and Steve don't—"

"No," Natasha interrupted. "I'm not saying that. But our sex life is... complicated. I enjoy sex with him, but I also enjoy sex with other women. It's not something he can understand."

Your cheeks flushed as her words sunk in. The air seemed to crackle between you both, charged with tension. Natasha was still watching you, waiting for your reaction. You didn't know what to say. You'd never given much thought to other women before her.

"The postman is here," Natasha said, suddenly standing and heading to the window. It was her way of pulling away from the conversation. She tended to do that a lot. "Let's see if we've gotten anything interesting today."

She didn't wait for your reply before stepping outside, the screen door shutting behind her. You watched her walk down the front steps, her posture perfectly poised. She spoke to the postman briefly before heading back toward the house, a stack of envelopes in hand. You stood, clearing your throat as she came inside.

"Let's see," Natasha murmured, sorting through the mail. "Bills, bills, more bills... oh, and this must be the latest copy of Vogue."

She pulled out a magazine, its cover featuring a stunning model wearing an elegant evening gown. You glanced at the cover, admiring the sleek design.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who loves fashion," you teased, giving her a knowing smile. She stacked the mail on the foyer table.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good," Natasha said, a faint smile curving her lips.

You hesitated, the words spilling from your lips. "Do you want to go out?"

Natasha raised a brow, surprised by your suggestion. "Like a date?"

"Yeah," you said, shrugging. "We could get a bite to eat or go dancing."

"Oh, honey," Natasha said with a soft chuckle, leaning against the table's edge as she folded her arms. "You know it can’t be a date."

"I know," you said quickly, feeling a slight flush creep up your cheeks. "I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought..." You trailed off, fumbling for the words. "Well, I just thought maybe we could spend some time together. But if it’s too much, forget I said anything."

Natasha’s smile softened, her green eyes warm. "Now, don’t go putting words in my mouth," she said lightly. "I didn’t say no. I just think stepping out together might turn a few heads. Folks around here love a bit of gossip."

"True enough," you said with a small laugh, nodding in agreement. "The neighborhood grapevine’s quicker than a telephone line."

"Exactly," Natasha said, her tone playful but with a hint of caution. She paused for a moment, tilting her head thoughtfully. "But who says we can’t make a night of it here? I’ve got a good bottle of wine in the kitchen and more records than I can count. No need for all the hullabaloo."

You raised a brow, your lips curving into a smile. "So, you’d rather keep me hidden in your house than be seen with me in public?"

Natasha smirked, grabbing the stack of mail and heading toward the kitchen. "Something like that. Besides, I think you’d enjoy the songs I’ve been spinning lately."

"Oh, now I’m curious," you teased, following her. "What kind of tunes are we talking about?"

"Only the best," Natasha replied, glancing over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye. "But you’ll have to stick around to find out."

"Fair enough," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you. Spending a quiet evening with Natasha, just the two of you, felt more inviting than any night out.

********

Hours later, you found yourself back at Natasha’s house, taking note of the sun setting as your cue. You’d taken your time getting ready, selecting an outfit that was comfortable and flattering. It wasn’t overly fussy—Natasha would never expect that—but you wanted to look your best for her.

You’d even dabbed on your favorite shade of lipstick, which always made you feel more confident. And for good measure, you pinned your hair up, remembering how Natasha once mentioned how much she liked the style on you. Her words had stayed with you, playing on repeat in the quieter corners of your mind.

As you climbed the steps to her porch, the soft glow of light spilling through the windows made the house feel welcoming, almost magical in the dusk. You smoothed your skirt one last time and knocked, your heart picking up a rhythm that felt both ridiculous and exhilarating.

When the door opened, Natasha stood in a simple yet elegant outfit—a soft sweater and slacks that looked effortlessly chic. She gave you a once-over, her lips curving into a small, approving smile.

"You clean up nice," she said, stepping aside to let you in.

"You don’t look so bad yourself," you quipped, though your tone betrayed how much you meant it.

The house smelled faintly of roses, and the faint crackle of a record player filled the air with a familiar melody. Natasha led you into the living room, where a small table had been set with two glasses and the bottle of wine she’d mentioned earlier.

"You didn’t have to go to so much trouble," you said, taking it all in.

"It’s not trouble," she replied, her voice warm. "I just figured if we’re staying in, we might as well make it nice."

You couldn’t help but smile at that, feeling a little flutter in your chest. Natasha always had a way of making the simplest moments feel extraordinary.

"Here," she said, holding up the bottle. "I think it's best to start with a toast."

She poured the wine, and you each took a glass, clinking them together before taking a sip. The wine was smooth and rich, warming your throat as you swallowed.

"Good choice," you murmured, admiring the deep red color.

"Only the best," she repeated, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"So," you said, glancing around the room. "What song did you have in mind?"

"Ah," Natasha said, nodding. "Let me put on the record, and you'll see."

She crossed the room, and as the music began to play, your eyes widened.

"Oh, I love this one," you exclaimed. "Billie Holiday is a gem!"

Natasha smiled, the look in her eyes softening as the music filled the room. "She's a favorite of mine. This particular song always reminds me of a dear friend. A girl, actually. We used to dance together when we were younger."

Her voice was full of affection, and you imagined a young Natasha swept up in the arms of a girl, their bodies pressed close as they moved together to the music. You swallowed, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy in your belly.

"Did she mean a lot to you?" You asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Natasha laughed, her eyes sparkling. "We had some fun times. Truthfully, she was always a bit too wild for my taste."

"Oh," You nodded.

"Are you jealous?"

"No," you said, shaking your head. "Just surprised.”

Natasha grinned, her lips parting slightly as if she was going to say something, but instead, she walked over and held out her hand.

"Dance with me."

You stared at her, surprised. You didn't know what to say, and your heart was racing.

"Dance with me," Natasha repeated, her voice softer now.

Slowly, you took her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against yours. She drew you close, wrapping her arm around your waist, and you followed her lead. Your bodies swayed to the music, the rhythm guiding you both. You and Natasha had never danced this close before. You'd never had this moment of intimacy with her. All of your meetings before this were guided by hurriedness and practicality. There was always a purpose—a reason—for your time together, whether it was helping with her garden, sharing a quick cup of coffee, or catching up about your families. But this moment was different. There was no rush, no task to complete, no excuse to look away.

The world outside her cozy living room slowly faded, leaving just the two of you. Natasha’s hand rested firmly but tenderly against the small of your back, her touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

"You’re a natural," she murmured, her breath brushing against your ear.

You let out a soft laugh, a little embarrassed but unable to tear your gaze away from her. "I’m just following your lead."

Her lips twitched into a faint smile that softened her typically sharp features. "You make it look effortless."

You couldn’t tell if she was talking about the dancing or something else entirely, but the weight of her words wrapped around you just the same. The space between you was almost nonexistent now, and you were hyper-aware of every place her body met yours—the press of her breasts against yours, the warmth of her breath, the brush of her thighs against yours. You knew it was wrong to feel this way, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt.

You couldn’t deny how much you wanted her.

As the song ended, you remained close, neither willing to break the spell.

"This is nice," Natasha muttered. "Being here with you like this."

You hummed in agreement, her words sending a shiver down your spine.

"I can't believe you've been here this long and I haven't kissed you," She said.

"Natasha," you whispered.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Kiss me."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Her lips met yours, her kiss tender and firm, and you melted into her. It was unlike any other kiss you'd experienced, and you wanted more. You parted your lips, deepening the kiss, and she responded in kind, her tongue meeting yours in a slow, languid rhythm.

You were lost in the sensation, the taste of her, the scent of her perfume, the softness of her skin. You couldn't think straight. Your whole body was buzzing with desire, and the only thing you could focus on was her.

"You always taste so sweet,"

"Mmm, it's just my lipstick," you said with a soft laugh.

"It's more than that," she countered, her fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. "It's you."

Her words made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel yourself getting flushed.

"Nat," You murmured.

"Yes?" She asked, her gaze locking with yours.

"I love being here with you.” 

Her expression shifted, a mix of emotions playing across her face. Surprise, desire, and something else, something softer. Somehow, she figured that’s not what you were going to say. 

"I love being here with you too.” 

And with that, she captured your lips in another searing kiss. You both knew there was no turning back now. You were each other's, and nothing could ever change that.

"We haven’t had dinner," She whispered. "I cooked for you. Um, brisket. It's in the oven."

"It's perfect," you breathed, the two of you stumbling to the couch. "Everything's perfect."

"Well," Natasha said, her eyes dancing with amusement. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Take a compliment," you replied, a playful edge in your voice.

She smiled, leaning in to capture your lips once more. As the kisses grew heated, her hands began exploring your body, her touch igniting a fire within you. You were burning up with need; she was the only thing to quench the flames.

You couldn't resist reaching for her, pulling her close as your kisses became desperate and hungry. The heat between you was undeniable, and you were both lost in the moment.

"Can I touch you here?" Natasha asked as her hand raised to rest along your breast. It was an interesting question, considering she'd touched you in far worse places. You nodded.

She was careful and gentle, as if afraid to scare you away.

"Don't stop," You said, breathless, as she cupped your breast and rolled your nipple between her fingers.

You could feel yourself getting wet, the ache between your legs growing more intense. Natasha was relentless, her touch firm but tender, and you were drowning in the sensations.

"Please, Nat," you begged, not sure what exactly you were asking for, but you needed her more than anything.

"Shhh," She cooed. "Let me take care of you."

She began kissing down your neck, her tongue tracing the line of your collarbone. You gasped, your body responding to her touch as if it was made for her.

"I'm glad you wore a dress tonight," She said, her voice low and husky. "It makes things so much easier."

Before you could respond, she was lifting your skirt, exposing your thighs. She traced a path with her fingers, slowly making her way up. She took note of your lack of stockings and garter.

"Oh, no undergarments?" She teased. "You naughty thing."

Your face was hot as she slid her hand between your legs, her fingers teasing at your entrance. You couldn't hold back a moan, the pleasure too intense.

"Is this okay?" She asked, her touch light and deliberate.

"Yes," You gasped, your hips rocking against her hand.

She bit her lip, watching your facial expressions and chest heaving.

"I want to try something," She bit her lip. "If you're okay with it."

"Anything," You moaned.

She smiled and removed her fingers, placing them in her mouth. You could only stare, transfixed, as she licked them clean.

"You taste even sweeter down here," she said, her tone full of mischief. She dropped to her knees and, without another word, buried her face between your legs.

"Oh," you whimpered, feeling her tongue lick a long stripe over your sex. She hummed against your skin, sending vibrations through you.

"You like that?" She asked, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

"Yes," You breathed, barely able to form the word. Based on your responses, she could tell this was your first experience with a person's mouth there.

She was unrelenting, her tongue finding every spot that made you cry out and then some. The sounds coming from her were positively sinful, and they only added to the pleasure building within you. You were lost in the feeling, unable to do anything but let go and surrender to the waves of ecstasy crashing over you.

Your orgasm hit you hard, and you cried out, gripping the cushions beneath you. Natasha's grip tightened on your thighs as she helped you ride out the aftershocks.

"How was that?" She asked, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

You could only stare at her, completely speechless.

"That good, huh?" She chuckled, licking her lips.

"More," You demanded, your voice hoarse.

Natasha was happy to oblige until a distinct smell came into the air.

"Something's burning," You said, alarmed.

"Shit," Natasha exclaimed, leaping up and running toward the kitchen.

You followed her, quickly taking the pan out of the oven and opening a window.

"Damn it," Natasha cursed, looking down at the charred brisket. "I was so distracted, I forgot about dinner."

"It's alright," You reassured her. "The important thing is that we're together."

She smiled, the expression warming her features. "I couldn't agree more."

"We should eat something," You said.

"I'm not sure there's anything edible left," she joked.

"I can make some sandwiches," you suggested, not wanting the night to end. You looked over at Natasha's face. Her lipstick was smudged, and her hair was a mess. You couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

"What?" Natasha asked, looking at you.

"Nothing," you said, grinning. You reached across you to wipe her mouth. "Was it enjoyable for you to do that? It seemed awfully one-sided."

Natasha blushed. "I enjoyed it."

You gave her a coy look, feeling brave.

"Do you want me to... um... return the favor?"

Natasha swallowed hard, her gaze locked on yours. You could see the desire burning in her eyes. She leaned forward to kiss you, but you hesitated.

"What?"

"Is it proper for us to kiss after?" You asked. "I mean, you did just..."

Natasha grinned, shaking her head. "Nothing about what we did is proper. "

"Then why do we bother doing it?" You asked.

"Because it's fun," Natasha replied, her voice low and seductive. "And because I'm selfish. I want to see how far we can go before the neighbors start to gossip."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, your heart racing at her boldness. You leaned in and kissed her, the taste of you on her lips sending a thrill through you.

"To the bedroom," She said, standing and pulling you with her.

"But what about the sandwiches?"

"Screw the sandwiches," Natasha said, her expression dark with desire. "I want to fuck you."

You felt a flush spread across your cheeks, and a rush of heat flooded your core.

"Then take me," you breathed, wanting her more than anything.

The two of you made your way to her room, an unfamiliar room. You'd never been in her bedroom before. There was no reason to be, considering. She was a very private person. But now, you were both ready to take this relationship to the next level.

Once inside, she wasted no time in pulling you close, her hands exploring your body as she kissed you deeply. You could feel her urgency, her need, and it fueled your own.

"Let me undress you," she murmured, her breath warm against your ear.

"Natasha, let me spoil you," you insisted, wanting to repay the favor. "You deserve."

She didn't protest this time. Instead, she simply nodded, a small smile curving her lips. You stepped back, allowing her to watch as you slowly stripped off your dress.

"Beautiful," she breathed, her gaze lingering on your bare breasts.

You blushed, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny.

"Don't be shy," she said, her tone soothing. "You're perfect."

You couldn't help but smile at her praise, and you were suddenly filled with renewed confidence.

You stepped toward her, reaching for the hem of her sweater. You lifted it slowly, exposing her smooth skin.

She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts were just as perfect as the rest of her. You couldn't resist running your hands over them, feeling her nipples harden beneath your touch.

"You're amazing," you whispered, kissing her.

She responded eagerly, her lips parting to allow your tongue entrance.

The kiss quickly heated, and you pushed her back toward the bed. You both fell onto the soft sheets, your bodies tangled together.

Natasha was the one to break the kiss, her green eyes dark with lust.

"I want to do what you did to me in the den," You blushed. "I've never done that before. Will you show me how you like it?"

Natasha was more than happy to oblige. She lifted to remove her pants and underwear. Then, she laid back and spread her legs, allowing you to get a good look at her.

She was glistening with arousal, and the sight was almost enough to make you come right then and there.

"Go ahead," she encouraged, her voice low and husky. "Taste me."

You bit your lip, leaning in and pressing against her center. It was a simple kiss, one that garnered a weak expression. She was being patient with you. Her scent was intoxicating. Musky and uniquely her.

"Again," She urged gently. "But, harder."

You did as she said, putting more pressure behind the kiss. You could feel her body tense, her breathing growing heavier.

"More," she pleaded. "Use your tongue."

You obeyed, flicking your tongue against her, causing her to moan softly.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her hips bucking against your mouth.

"Is that okay?" You asked, worried you were doing something wrong.

"More than okay," she assured you, her hand resting on your head. "Just keep going." She directed your head where she wanted it, and you happily complied.

"Yes," she groaned, her grip tightening. "Just like that."

Her sounds were intoxicating, and you found yourself getting more and more turned on by her reactions. Recalling where her tongue had taken you, you decided to try something new.

You puckered your lips and suckled the sensitive bud there, earning a loud moan from Natasha.

"That's it," she gasped, her back arching off the bed. "Keep going."

You continued the motion, alternating between sucking and flicking your tongue. Her taste was addictive, and you couldn't get enough of it.

"I'm close," she warned, her voice strained. "Don't stop."

You picked up the pace, wanting to bring her to the edge. You could feel her body tensing, her breathing becoming ragged. You appreciated the fact that she could tell you how she felt, as this form of sex was not a common practice.

Suddenly, her body went rigid, and a cry tore from her lips. Her release was intense, her muscles clenching and releasing in waves.

You kept going, wanting to draw out her pleasure for as long as possible. She was breathtaking like this, lost in the throes of ecstasy. You'd never seen anything so beautiful.

As her body finally began to relax, you slowed your movements, bringing her down from her high. You rested your head against her thigh and waited for her.

"Come here," she said, her voice shaky.

You crawled up her body, meeting her lips in a deep kiss.

"That was incredible," she murmured, a lazy smile across her face. "Not bad for your first time."

"I had a good teacher," you replied, returning her smile. You slipped under the sheets. 

"And a very willing student," she teased.

You settled into her arms, both of you content and satisfied.

"Sex with you is," You began.

"Incredible?" She smirked.

"It is, but also... it's just so easy," you explained. "Being with you is like breathing."

Natasha didn't speak but drew you closer, kissing gently on your temple.

"I'm learning so much," You continued. "Thank you for letting me explore with you."

Natasha's expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss you, slow and tender.

"You're welcome," she whispered, her voice full of affection."Why do you do that?" She questioned.

"Do what?" You asked, unsure what she was referring to.

"Hide from me," She said, her gaze trailing over your bare skin. "There's no need. Not here."

You swallowed, not knowing how to respond.

"I've had a child," You answered. "My body isn't as..."

"It's perfect," She interrupted. "Just like the rest of you."

She was right, you decided. Why should you hide from her? After all, she had seen you in all your naked glory. It was only fair that you returned the favor.

Slowly, you emerged from beneath the sheets, letting her look her fill.

"Beautiful," she murmured, her eyes filled with desire. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Come here," She instructed, holding out her arms.

You obliged, crawling into her embrace. Her lips met yours, and the kiss quickly grew heated.

You found yourself straddling her, her hands exploring your body, and the ache between your legs intensified. You wanted her, needed her.

"Please," you whispered, desperate for her touch.

"Tell me what you want," she said, her voice low and husky.

"You," you replied, unable to articulate more than that.

"Then you shall have me," she said, rolling the two of you so she was on top.

"How would you like to come this time?" She asked, her hands cupping your breasts.

"Whatever you want," You answered, eager to give yourself to her.

She chuckled, her lips curling into a devilish grin. "Then we're in for a long night."

And with that, she proceeded to show you exactly how many times a woman could orgasm in a single night.

By the end, you were utterly spent, your body exhausted and sated. You lay against the pillows, your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath.

Natasha was curled around you, her body pressed against yours, her head resting on your shoulder.

"I could stay here forever," She said, her voice sleepy.

"Me too," You agreed, your own eyes heavy. "I should probably go home soon."

"What if you didn't?" She suggested, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

"What do you mean?" You asked, confused.

"What if you stayed here with me?" She elaborated, her words slow and deliberate.

"It's risky," You sighed. "If anyone found out—"

"I know," She interrupted, her tone soft. "But we've been doing a good job keeping this a secret. No one suspects anything. Besides, I can't bear the thought of not having you by my side tonight."

You considered her words, your heart pounding in your chest. It was true; the two of you had been careful. And, you had to admit, spending the night in her arms was tempting.

"Okay," You finally said, making up your mind. "I'll stay."

Natasha's smile lit up her face, and she kissed you, her lips warm and soft.

"Good," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Because I can't get enough of you."

***********

You stood by the armchair, slipping back into your heels quickly. The soft sound of your dress fabric brushing against your legs filled the quiet room. Natasha sat on the edge of the sofa, still in her robe, nursing a cup of coffee that smelled rich and inviting.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, observing every movement you made.

You gave her a fleeting smile, smoothing out the creases in your dress. "Claire’s coming home soon. She spent the night with my mother, but you know how she gets—she’s practically attached to my hip.”

"Mm," Natasha hummed, sipping her coffee.

"They’ll be back soon, too," you said, avoiding her gaze as you adjusted your earring. The rush in your movements betrayed the careful calm in your voice.

Natasha set her cup down, leaning forward slightly. "You’re in a hurry," she noted, her voice softer now, almost teasing but edged with something more. "Do you regret our night together?"

You froze for a split second, feeling her words settle uncomfortably in the air. You knew you shouldn’t feel guilty. You hadn’t done anything wrong—or had you? Shaking off the thought, you reached for your purse.

"I just don’t want to raise any questions," you said, your tone light. "It’s nothing."

Natasha’s voice followed you, stopping you in your tracks. "Do you think about it?"

You turned to face her, her words catching you off guard. "Think about what?"

Her green eyes stayed on yours, steady and unflinching. "What it would’ve been like if things were different. If we were different."

You blinked, caught in her gaze, the question hanging in the air. "Natasha," you began, trying to find the words. "I—"

"It's alright," she said, her lips quirking up. "I understand. We have our responsibilities. And, besides, some things can't be changed, no matter how hard we wish they could."

Her words cut through you, and you felt a wave of sadness.

"I'm sorry," You sighed. "I enjoyed my night with you. I really did."

"I know," She reassured. "So did I. We should do it again sometime." She opened her arms for a hug.

"I would love that," You answered. She breathed in your scent, smelling herself all over your body, and hummed.

"The idea of him touching you makes me crazy," she murmured. "But I also love smelling my scent on you. I bet he wouldn't be able to do a quarter of what I did to you last night."

It's the first time you've heard her be so possessive. Your breath caught in your throat at her words.

"It's only fair," She continued. "You should have let me mark you."

You felt a surge of arousal course through you at her words but also a flicker of unease. It was dangerous territory, the two of you getting so attached.

"We have to be careful," You warned, though it was the last thing you wanted. "Someone could find out."

"Would it be so bad if they did?" Natasha knew she was being reckless, but she didn't care. All she cared about was you. She nuzzled her nose into your neck.

"Natasha," You protested, your resolve weakening. "We can't."

"Yes, we can," She said, her voice low and seductive. "Just think about it, being with me every day, sharing our lives."

It was tempting, but you knew it was impossible. "It would never work," You said, trying to sound firm, but the words came out sad.

Natasha’s brows furrowed as she pulled back slightly, her piercing gaze locking onto yours. "Why wouldn’t it work?" she challenged, her voice steady, though there was a hint of frustration beneath it.

"Because it’s not just about us," you admitted, your hands trembling as you stepped away, needing space to think clearly. "I’m scared, Natasha. Scared of what this... of what you make me feel."

"Scared?" Natasha repeated, her tone sharp now, almost incredulous. "What’s there to be scared of? Isn’t it scarier to stay in something that doesn’t make you happy?"

You shook your head, your voice cracking as you tried to explain. "It’s not that simple. I love Sam. He’s a good man. And I don’t want to hurt him—or Steve."

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked away, exhaling deeply. "You should have thought about that before," she said quietly, her words cutting like a knife.

"I know," you replied, guilt heavy in your chest. "And maybe... maybe that’s why we need to cool down. This—whatever this is—it’s too much, Nat. It’s moving too fast, and I... I could lose Claire."

Natasha blinked, clearly taken aback. "Lose Claire?" she repeated, her voice filled with disbelief. "That’s ridiculous. Sam would never take her away from you."

"You don’t understand," you said, your voice rising as panic bubbled. "You can’t understand because you don’t have children. You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire life revolve around them, to know that one wrong move could take them away from you."

The words hung in the air, heavy and biting. Natasha’s face hardened a flicker of hurt, crossing her features before she masked it. "You think I wouldn’t understand?" she asked, her voice quieter now but no less intense.

"I didn’t mean it like that," you said quickly, regret pooling in your stomach.

"But you did," she countered, stepping closer, her gaze uncompromising. "You think because I don’t have children because I can’t have children, that I wouldn’t understand what it means to love someone so much it scares you?"

You froze, her words hitting you like a punch to the gut. "Natasha, I—"

"Don’t," she interrupted, her voice thick with emotion. "You’re scared, fine. But don’t you dare stand there and tell me I don’t understand love? That’s the one thing I do understand."

The room fell silent. Natasha’s breathing was steady but labored, as though she was holding back everything she wanted to say.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just... I’m trying to do the right thing."

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "The right thing? For who? For Sam? For Steve? When do you start doing the right thing for yourself?" Natasha sniffled. "You're right." She said. "You should go home and prepare for Sam."

"Natasha," you started, but she held up her hand.

You stood there, conflicted, unsure of how to proceed when she moved towards you. For a moment, it seemed like she was going to say something more, but instead, she reached out, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that surprised you.

"You're a good friend," She murmured. She placed a final kiss on your lips before pulling back. "I suppose you can see your way out."

She turned and walked down the hall, leaving you alone.

You stared after her, feeling the ache in your chest grow, and tried to ignore the sense of loss that was settling in.

You told yourself that you were doing the right thing, even as tears spilled down your cheeks. It was the right thing.

And yet, as you walked out the door and headed home, you couldn't help but feel like a part of you had stayed behind.

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

sumary: The last thing Natasha expected was for her one-and-Half-year-old daughter to fall head over heels for the one person on the team who didn’t like kids.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader. Natasha Romanoff x platonic!avengers

Word count: 5075

warnings: age gap, light mommy issues if you squirm your eyes, fluffly content, Natasha being the best mom ever, light humor and jokes

Part 2

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᥫ᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༝ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨♡୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᡣ𐭩 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꩜　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　⸝⸝⸝♡　　⁺　　୨୧　　　₊　 　 ˚₊

Natasha had never been the type to hope for softness.

Not for herself, at least.

She’d made her peace with that years ago—on the rooftops of Budapest, in the sterile hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D., in the long silences between missions where guilt and memory left no room for sentiment. And then came Ana. Not by accident. Not by surprise. By choice. Hers. A deliberate, defiant, I want this, spoken with all the clarity of a life finally claimed.

She never regretted a moment of it. Not the injections. Not the procedures. Not the days spent alone, watching her body change, knowing no one was coming but not needing anyone to. Ana was the best thing she’d ever done. Her softness, her quiet, her stubborn spark—that was Natasha’s legacy now. Not blood. Not missions. Her. Anasthasia Irina Romanoff. She’d chosen Irina long before Ana was even born. It wasn’t a family name, or a tribute to anyone in her past—it was a hope. Irina meant peace, and that’s what Ana was. Her stillness after decades of running. Her soft beginning after a life of sharp edges. Natasha had spent so many years living on instinct, choosing danger over safety, solitude over softness. But Ana was different. Ana meant slow mornings. Shared breakfasts. Laughter in the middle of the day for no reason at all. She gave her the name Irina because, for the first time, Natasha wasn’t surviving anymore. She was living. And Ana was the reason why.And maybe that’s why she was so protective of it—why she kept the world at arm’s length and Ana even closer. This calm, this rhythm she’d built, it was fragile in the way that mattered most. So when new variables appeared—new people, new energies—Natasha never let them close enough to shift the balance.

So she didn’t expect anything to come from your arrival.

Not in the way that mattered.

You were Tony’s daughter, and Natasha had always paid attention to the way people spoke about you—with a mixture of respect and restraint, like they weren’t quite sure what to do with someone who carried the Stark name but none of his chaos. She knew you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were barely old enough to be called an adult, that you’d carved your space without leaning on legacy, and that you’d been stationed in England for the last few years—low profile, high results.

She also knew something more personal. Something quieter.

You didn’t like children.

Not in a cold, heartless way. You weren’t cruel. You were respectful—always. Natasha remembered the way you helped Lila Barton when she scraped her knee during a holiday visit, how you’d stayed still and calm while the girl sobbed against your shoulder. But the moment she calmed, you’d set her down gently and disappeared from the room like your presence had been an accident. You didn’t mock them, or treat them like they were less-than. You just… didn’t want them near. Didn’t invite them close. Natasha understood that. Some people didn’t crave the chaos, the unpredictability, the weight of something small depending on you.

That was fine.

That was expected.

Which is why she didn’t even flinch when she brought Ana to the morning briefing.

The meeting was scheduled in one of the larger lounge rooms—bright windows, low coffee tables, plenty of space for Ana to exist without needing constant wrangling. Natasha had done this dozens of times. Her daughter came with her everywhere now. She didn’t leave Ana behind unless she absolutely had to. The team had long since adapted.

You, however, were new.

She entered the room with Ana tucked against her side, one arm looped around the child’s waist with practiced ease. You were already seated—coffee in hand, face unreadable, posture casual but distant. Natasha didn’t expect more than a polite nod, maybe a glance. And that’s what she got. You didn’t tense. You didn’t retreat. You simply acknowledged her presence and turned your eyes back to the screen.

But Ana didn’t.

Ana saw you. And for the first time since Natasha could remember, her daughter paused.

Not in fear. Not in confusion. In recognition.

It started as a slow shift—her little body repositioning against Natasha’s ribs, eyes locked in your direction, curious and alert. Then the squirming began. Not impatient, not fussy—focused. Ana leaned out of her arms, little hand pointing downward.

Natasha frowned. “What’s going on, kotyonok?” she murmured, brushing her lips lightly across Ana’s hair.

“Down,” Ana whispered.

Natasha blinked.

Ana rarely asked to leave her arms during meetings. And never in unfamiliar rooms. She’d been clingy the last few days—teething, off her sleep schedule, adjusting to so many new faces around the compound again. But now, her little legs were kicking softly, hands gripping at Natasha’s shirt in earnest.

“Down,” she repeated.

Natasha hesitated—glanced at you.

You weren’t watching Ana anymore. You were watching her. Confused. Curious. But not annoyed. Not disapproving.

Natasha could read people down to the smallest twitch of a muscle, and in that moment, she read one thing clearly: you didn’t know what was happening either.

So she shifted forward and lowered Ana gently to the carpeted floor.

Ana’s sneakers touched down. She took one look back—brief, instinctive—then turned toward you like she already knew the path.

Natasha’s chest tightened.

One step. Then another.

You looked up.

There was a breath, the room shrinking around it.

Ana stopped at your knees. Her curls were mussed from her mother’s shoulder, her little fox plush dangling from one hand. She tilted her head to look at you properly. She didn’t blink.

And then she lifted both arms toward you.

“Lap.”

You froze.

Not in fear. Not rejection. Natasha saw it—something break quietly across your expression, the way your eyebrows lifted just slightly, like your own body didn’t understand how it was reacting before your brain caught up. There was no mask now. No calm Stark logic, no precise detachment. Just you—and the shock of being chosen by someone so small, so unrelenting, and so certain.

Natasha didn’t move.

She stood where she was, heart pounding quietly behind her ribs, not from fear or worry—but something more intimate. Something that reached the parts of her still holding every shattered version of family she’d ever known. She watched as you stared down at the child who had never, not once, walked into a stranger’s arms. And she waited. Because whatever happened next… would matter.

You didn’t reach for Ana immediately.

Natasha noticed the exact moment your eyes lifted—not to the child now reaching for you with unwavering certainty, but to her. And it wasn’t a question. Not quite. There was no panic in your expression, no discomfort. Just a pause. A stillness that asked without words: Is this alright?

And Natasha, who rarely let anyone past the perimeter of her trust, gave you the smallest, most intentional nod.

You moved like someone reaching into deep water—carefully, gently, aware of the weight of what you were about to hold. Your hands met Ana’s sides, small and secure, and you lifted her with practiced ease, as though this wasn’t the first time, as though her body already knew how to fold against yours. She settled into your lap like it belonged to her.

Like she had always meant to end up there.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat.

Ana laid her head lightly against your chest, little cheek pressing into the dark fabric of your jacket. One of her hands tucked the fox between your arm and her belly; the other—small, dimpled fingers—reached up to your collarbone and found your hand.

And then she started to play.

Not with toys, not with distractions. Just your hand. Your fingers. One by one she explored them, pressing her thumb into your palm, curling your pinky against her own, dragging the tips along her forehead in idle motion. Her eyes drifted half-closed, calm and curious, while you stayed perfectly still—watching her with that same look Natasha couldn’t read.

It was almost unbearable, the quiet of the moment.

The meeting had technically begun, but Natasha hadn’t registered a single word Steve said. She hadn’t even sat down. She just stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes on the impossible softness blooming in front of her.

Because that’s what it was. Impossible.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated. You hadn’t done what most people did—smile politely, hand Ana back, or distract her with something shiny so they could pass her off. You were just… there. Entirely present. Letting her settle. Letting her explore. Letting her choose.

And she had chosen you.

The worst part—if she could call it that—was that Natasha wasn’t angry. She wasn’t suspicious. She wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Because looking at you now—back straight, eyes lowered, completely surrendered to the tiny storm nestled in your lap—something made sense in her chest that hadn’t before.

Ana had found something.

Or maybe, someone.

And Natasha wasn’t sure what that meant yet, or how far she would allow it to grow—but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she didn’t feel the need to pull away. She walked slowly to her seat across from you, quiet as a shadow, never breaking the spell. And when she sat down, she didn’t take her eyes off you. The briefing wrapped without fanfare.

Steve’s voice faded into background noise, Bruce gathered his notes, and the others filtered out one by one with practiced efficiency. No one commented on Ana—no one dared. Maybe because they saw the weight of the moment. Maybe because it wasn’t theirs to touch.

The room was almost too quiet now.

Ana had slipped fully into sleep, her tiny hand still curled lazily around your finger, her head rising and falling against your chest like she’d found the safest place in the universe. You hadn’t moved. Not really. Just shifted to make her more comfortable—let her sink deeper into you without hesitation, like her weight belonged there.

Natasha couldn’t look away.

You hadn’t noticed—at least, she thought you hadn’t. You never were one to fidget under attention. But there was something different about you now. Something unguarded beneath all that calm.

“I have to admit,” she said, voice low, “this wasn’t how I pictured our first real conversation going.”

You glanced at her, brow arching just a little. “And how did you picture it?”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Not with my daughter wrapped around you like a vine.”

You leaned back slightly, careful not to disturb Ana, and gave her that expression—dry, sharp, quietly amused. “You sound jealous.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Should I be?”

You made a show of glancing down at Ana, then shrugged one shoulder—so subtle it barely moved her. “She’s got good taste.”

The laugh caught in Natasha’s throat before she could stop it. Soft, surprised. God, you were so damn composed, and yet there was something underneath that surface—a spark of something warmer, something playful. She hadn’t expected that. And she was rarely caught off guard.

“I should warn you,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “If you let her get used to that lap, you’re going to regret it.”

“I don’t regret much.”

“She’s one and a half. You’ll regret it the next time you try to drink a coffee without someone demanding half of it.”

You smiled—not a smirk, not your usual reserved grin. An actual smile. And Natasha had to look away, just for a moment, because something in her chest pulled taut at the sight.

“And here I thought you brought her to meetings as a distraction tactic,” you said.

She looked back at you with narrowed eyes, playful. “You think I’d use my daughter to throw someone off their game?”

“I think,” you said, gaze darkening just a little, “that if anyone could weaponize a toddler, it’d be you.”

Natasha laughed, this time all the way—low and warm in her chest, real in a way she didn’t usually allow to slip out. She shook her head, leaning back in her chair.

“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.

You tilted your head. “Me? You’re the trained assassin.”

“Exactly.” Her eyes dropped to the sleeping girl between you. “And you’re the one she asked for.”

The silence curled again. Not cold. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed.

You looked down at Ana once more, brushing a thumb lightly over her curls where they stuck up against your collar. “Don’t get used to this,” you said, not looking at Natasha. “I’m still not a fan of kids.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she replied, watching the way you softened around the edges without realizing it.Natasha didn’t argue—she didn’t have to. The proof was already wrapped around your side in cookie-stained pajamas. She just watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth, the kind that stayed long after you’d left the room.

She knew this wouldn't be a one- time thing. 

A few days later, the morning unfolded differently, slower. Late morning sunlight filtered lazily into the kitchen, warm and indifferent. It fell across the countertops, gleamed off metal handles, and lit the soft chaos that was breakfast—or rather, the battle of breakfast.

Ana was seated in her high chair like a tiny queen in revolt, arms crossed firmly, lips pursed in open rebellion. The oatmeal had gone cold fifteen minutes ago. Natasha had tried coaxing, bribing, even threatening to call Bruce if she didn’t eat. Nothing worked. The spoon sat abandoned in the bowl like a white flag.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Natasha muttered, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Other people’s kids don’t get away with this.”

Ana remained unimpressed. She glared past Natasha’s shoulder as if expecting reinforcements.

The door creaked open behind them.

Natasha didn’t turn around right away—she was too focused on pretending she wasn’t about to lose a diplomatic war with a toddler. But she didn’t need to look. She could hear it: the shuffle of slow, dragging footsteps, the soft grunt of someone whose soul was not yet awake. Then came the familiar hiss of the espresso machine, followed by the rustling of a bakery bag.

You’d arrived.

She turned.

You looked… awful.

Delightfully awful.

Hair wild from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, mismatched socks peeking out under flannel pants. You were cradling your coffee mug like a lifeline, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in a petulant line that said you’d only been conscious for five minutes and deeply regretted that fact.

In your other hand: a cheese croissant, still warm, still flaking. You tore off a corner and bit into it like someone performing life-saving triage.

Ana stared, Hard. So damn hard.

Not at Natasha. Not at the bowl of oatmeal she’d rejected like poison. But at you.

You took another bite, chewed, then finally glanced up—and blinked, slow and heavy.

Your gaze drifted to the high chair. To Ana’s unrelenting eyes. Then to Natasha.

“I take it we’re in the starvation phase of child rearing?”

“She’s being dramatic,” Natasha said.

Ana made a noise like a whimper and kicked her feet, You squinted at her. Then reached forward, broke off a soft piece of croissant, and held it out between your fingers.

Ana took it like it was sacred.

“Traitor,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

You made a sound between a hum and a sigh and dropped into a chair with all the weight of someone being punished by existence itself. “I’ve been up for six minutes,” you mumbled. “I haven’t even looked at another human being yet.”

Ana reached again, You fed her another bite.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s not helping, right?”

“She was clearly starving.”

“I told you—she’s not.”

“She’s got the same face I do when I haven’t eaten,” you said, deadpan. “We understand each other.”

Natasha studied you, the way you slouched, bleary-eyed and nonverbal, croissant in one hand, coffee in the other. She looked at Ana—mirroring your expression almost perfectly, down to the pout and the silent demand for carbs.

She huffed a laugh.

“My God. You’re the same person.”

You gave her a tired glare. “Keep talking. See if I share.”

“You’re both insufferable when hungry.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “Of what? Your shared standoffish breakfast cult?”

You sipped your coffee slowly, eyes flicking to Ana and back.

“She chose me,” you said, tone flat but triumphant. “I don’t make the rules.”

Ana squeaked with joy, flailing her hands toward the croissant again.

“She betrayed me,” Natasha replied, pointing to the untouched oatmeal. “I gave her life. You gave her cheese.”

You shrugged, already handing Ana another piece. “She’s got good taste.”

Natasha shook her head, lips twitching as she turned away to clean up the bowl of oatmeal. “You’re both ridiculous.”

You yawned, eyes half-lidded as Ana leaned her head dramatically on the edge of the tray, already chewing the last bite like it was a reward for surviving the morning. You were still half-asleep, leaning into your chair like gravity was trying to reclaim you, clinging to that coffee as if it were the only thing standing between you and the grave. You were cranky, antisocial before noon, and notoriously stubborn about food—especially when it was yours.

Which is why Natasha watched with mild astonishment as you rolled your eyes in a perfectly theatrical arc, sighed like a martyr, and wordlessly handed the rest of your croissant to Ana.

She squeaked with joy and took it like treasure, immediately stuffing the larger half into her mouth with both hands.

“Unbelievable,” Natasha muttered, not even bothering to hide her smile.

You ignored her, sipping your coffee in silence like you regretted every decision that had led to this exact moment. Your eyes were dark and tired, but there was no real irritation behind them. Just that quiet resignation you always wore when you knew you were losing a battle you never meant to fight in the first place.

You took another sip, then looked at her across the kitchen—eyes still half-lidded, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Give me the oatmeal.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward the abandoned bowl. “She doesn’t want it. And I’m starving.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, without a word, Natasha reached for the bowl and walked it over, setting it in front of you with a raised eyebrow. You didn’t meet her gaze. You just set your coffee aside and picked up the spoon like someone about to make peace with their fate.

Ana was already chewing noisily beside you, bits of pastry stuck to her cheek.

Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the counter again. “So let me get this straight,” she said, lips twitching. “You won’t share food with me, but she gets the last of your croissant and your breakfast?”

“She didn’t ask for it,” you said without looking up. “She demanded it with her eyes.”

“Right. So toddler mind control. That’s the explanation we’re going with.”

“She’s persuasive.”

“She’s one and a half.”

You glanced up then, finally, spoon midair. Your expression was blank, deadpan, and yet something in your eyes sparked with mischief.

“So am I,” you said.

And Natasha felt it—that little flicker again. The warmth that was growing far too easily in the quiet spaces between these moments. It settled somewhere under her ribs, soft and persistent.

You looked back down and took a bite of the oatmeal without flinching.

Ana, satisfied and full of croissant, leaned against the side of your arm and let out a sigh so deep it could only have come from the depths of her soul.

Natasha didn’t say anything else.

She just stood there, watching the two of you—both stubborn, both sleepy, both impossible—and thought, this isn’t going to stay simple, is it?

But she didn’t say that either.

She just smiled.And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.Days passed like that—quiet, unspoken things folding themselves into the rhythm of the compound. You didn’t come looking for Ana, but she kept finding you anyway. And Natasha… well, she kept watching. Kept noticing the way your edges softened more each time.

Then came the briefing.

It had started as a simple mission briefing. Nothing classified, nothing urgent—just a routine strategy session with the new intel team that Natasha absolutely couldn’t reschedule. One hour, tops. Ana would barely notice she was gone.

She was so wrong.

Clint had been her first call. Obvious choice. He knew how to juggle five kids and a mission report without blinking. But the moment Natasha handed Ana over, the girl went stiff in his arms like a statue, then started wailing as if he’d personally betrayed her.

Wanda tried next. Ana let her hold her for a full five seconds before twisting away like a feral cat and screeching “NO!” in a tone that made two agents duck for cover.

Steve, bless him, had approached with his most diplomatic smile and a stuffed bear in hand, only to be met with the full force of toddler disdain. Ana didn’t scream that time—just buried her face in Natasha’s neck and growled.

And Natasha… Natasha was five minutes late to her briefing and dangerously close to losing her mind.

Which is why, when you happened to pass by—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, clearly heading for the lab and not remotely interested in babysitting—Natasha didn’t think.

She acted.

“Ana, sweetheart?” she whispered, shifting the toddler to her hip. “Do you want to go see her?”

Ana lifted her head.

Wide green eyes blinked once. Then a slow, devilish smile curled across her face.

That was all Natasha needed.

“Catch,” she said dryly.

You turned just in time to fumble and catch the small human now squirming gleefully into your arms like she belonged there.

“Wait—what the—”

“Thanks!” Natasha called over her shoulder, already halfway down the corridor before you could protest.

Ana squealed in delight.

Natasha didn’t look back.

She made it to the meeting just in time. And to her own surprise, she didn’t spend the whole thing worried. Something about knowing Ana was with you—despite the fact you hated children (or said you did)—had her oddly at ease.

By the time she wrapped up and returned to the common floor, it had been almost ninety minutes. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and cleaning supplies. Bruce’s voice echoed from the open lab door, calm and methodical, talking through some kind of energy recalibration.

And there you were.

One hip leaned against the table, the other supporting Ana, who looked perfectly at home in the crook of your arm.

Your hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, your shirt was half-untucked and absolutely covered in cookie crumbs. Ana’s fingers were dusted with sugar. You were talking to Bruce about vibrational decay patterns in multi-core reactors, as if the weight of a toddler on your hip was completely natural. Your other hand gestured midair, precise, animated, still clutching a small whiteboard marker.

Ana watched your mouth move as if following every word.

Then she gagged—loudly and dramatically.

Not because of anything serious. Just… toddler flair.

You paused mid-sentence, looked down, and sighed. “Rude.”

Bruce snorted. “She takes after you.”

“She has better fashion sense.”

Ana giggled, then burrowed her face into your shoulder.

Natasha stood in the doorway, unnoticed for a second longer, just… watching. The way your body shifted automatically to balance Ana’s weight. The way you wiped her mouth with the edge of your sleeve without looking. The way you didn’t rush to give her back, or seem particularly bothered by the crumbs now stuck to your pants.

She cleared her throat.

You looked up, brows raised. “Hey.”

Natasha raised one eyebrow. “So… is this your new lab assistant?”

You looked at Ana, who blinked at her mother and clung just a little tighter.

“She works for cookies,” you said. “And occasionally heckles my equations.”

Natasha bit back a smile, folding her arms. “Well, she’s my daughter.”

“She’s very opinionated,” you said dryly, adjusting her on your hip. “She gagged at my thesis. I’m considering it a peer review.”

Ana giggled again, tucking her head against your collarbone.

Natasha stared at the two of you for another second, then finally stepped forward, brushing a few crumbs off your shoulder. Her fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to.

“You’re a mess,” she murmured.

You smirked. “I could be Your mess.”

She looked at you. And the words stuck somewhere behind her teeth, She didn’t say them.

Not yet.

Instead, she stepped forward, reaching her arms out gently. “Alright, peanut,” she said softly. “Come here.”

Ana blinked up at her mother, expression unreadable for a split second… then, without protest, reached out. You transferred her easily, and the little girl immediately curled into Natasha’s hold like she’d been waiting for it all along—her thumb going straight to her mouth, her head resting against the curve of her mother’s neck.

Warm.

Quiet.

Home.

Natasha’s hand rubbed small circles against her daughter’s back, and for a second, she just breathed her in. The scent of cookies, and your cologne, and a hint of vanilla shampoo clinging to soft hair.

“She’s full of sugar and attitude,” you said, brushing a crumb off your shirt.

Natasha glanced at you over Ana’s curls. “She’s exactly where she gets it from.”

You tilted your head, already sipping the coffee you’d left to cool. “You sure about that?”

Her smile curved lazily. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then she walked away—Ana heavy and content in her arms, safe, sleepy, and smiling like someone who had everything she wanted in one place. Natasha had gone to her apartment at the Tower —just late enough for the city to fall into a quieter rhythm, just early enough that Natasha hadn’t had time to put up her usual walls.

Ana was half-asleep on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone, and Natasha held her like she was made of something finer than glass. There was oatmeal in her hair. Cookie crumbs on her onesie. A smudge of ink on her tiny palm, and no one knew how it got there.

But Natasha had seen it.

She had seen it.

She’d walked into that lab expecting chaos—Bruce hunched over a console, a loose wire sparking somewhere, maybe you arguing with JARVIS about protocols. But instead she found you standing still in the middle of it all, with Ana on your hip and your shirt covered in evidence of breakfast bribery.

You didn’t even pause the conversation with Bruce. You just kept talking about cellular decay patterns, as if you hadn’t realized Ana was happily gnawing on a pencil and gagging every time you used the word “neurotransmitter.”

And that sound you made—that little laugh when she fake-gagged for the third time?

It rewired something in Natasha.

Now she sat at the edge of Ana’s bed, staring down at the little culprit like she’d committed an unforgivable act of treason.

“You traitor,” she whispered.

Ana, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of her crimes, blinked lazily at her mother, thumb already in her mouth.

Natasha sighed, brushing a loose curl from her daughter’s cheek.

“You did this on purpose.”

Ana made a content hum and reached for her blanket.

“Don’t play innocent now,” Natasha murmured, tucking the soft fabric under her chin. “I was fine. You hear me? I had balance. I had boundaries. I had one thing—one tiny, simple rule that I lived by.”

Ana blinked again. Unbothered.

“Don’t fall for anyone.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, quiet and helpless.

“You were supposed to be the only love of my life, peanut. You. I planned for you. I fought for you. You were the only thing I ever let myself want.”

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ana’s hair.

“I walked into that room today and you were hers. Just—completely and shamelessly hers. You were giving her orders like a little general and she was just taking it. And smiling. She never smiles like that.”

Ana giggled softly, maybe in her sleep. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“Is this part of your long con? Huh? Were you trying to get yourself a stepmama? Because listen—if that’s your endgame, we need to have a serious strategy talk.”

Ana rolled a little, settling deeper into the mattress. Her small hand rested against her chest, and Natasha just… stared.

“She doesn’t even like kids, you know,” she continued, as if trying to justify this to someone who hadn’t been there. “She’s the one who leaves birthday parties early. She practically hisses when Clint brings his brood around. You sneeze near her with a juice box and she’s gone.”

She paused.

“But not with you.”

A slow breath pushed from Natasha’s lungs.

“She picks you up like you weigh nothing. She lets you shove half your breakfast into her mouth and doesn’t even blink. And I saw her yesterday—reading with one hand while you chewed on the other. I don’t even think she noticed.”

Ana’s breathing started to slow again, thumb slipping lazily from her mouth.

“And the worst part?” Natasha whispered. “She makes it look easy. Like maybe… maybe this whole thing isn’t a fluke. Like maybe she could actually stay.”

The confession hung in the dark like a sigh caught midair.

Natasha leaned down, resting her forehead against Ana’s tiny one.

“I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t want to see it coming. But you… You threw her right into the center of our orbit like it was nothing.”

She kissed her daughter again, voice teasing even as her chest ached.

“You couldn’t have picked someone older? Someone predictable? Someone who’s not Tony Stark’s daughter, for god’s sake?”

Ana didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Natasha ran a slow hand down her back, feeling the weight of love settle over her like a soft storm.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured. “But the best kind.”

Then she stood, brushing her fingers one last time across Ana’s cheek.

“You really couldn’t wait for me to fall first, huh?”

She flicked off the light.

Behind her, Ana slept soundly.

And Natasha stayed frozen in the doorway for just a moment longer… shaking her head to herself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered, her voice low and wry—aimed at the girl down the hall who had no idea what she’d just done.

oh my god I know you only posted that mechanic vi thing 6 hours ago but PAPA ME WANT MORE MOVIE 🤬🤬🤬 you have GYAT to extend it by like vi introducing us to vander or like idk like im tweaking like

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

dont worry anon im right there with you ive spent nearly my entire day just maladaptively daydreaming about mechanic!vi

sfw; car mechanic!vi cinimatic universe continuation of this hc post

it is not the most formal of introductions -- but by the time you make it downstairs to the kitchen, swimming in one of vi's thrifted band tees and jogging shorts, tamping down your hair, vander's already on his second cup of coffee.

"well, well, if it ain't the red corvette with the busted radiator," vander says, grinning wide as you fight the urge to duck behind vi like an antisocial child.

"h-hi -- morning..." you mumble, even as vi chuckles and pours you a glass of orange juice.

"heard you guys went to jericho's diner last night," vander says, looking between you and vi as you slip onto one of the mis-matched bar stools sat against the tiny kitchen island.

"yeah! the banana split almost did me in though," you say, reaching for the tall glass of juice.

vander laughs, "yeah, those are famously impossible to finish, though from what i heard, you made a very diligent effort." he shoots you a wink even as vi elbows him in the side.

"i -- we --" you stutter, your cheeks flooding with color. vi rolls her eyes and scoops two perfectly poached eggs out of a pot, placing them on two slices of toast.

you blink as vander nudges the salt and pepper shakers towards you.

"how... how'dyou know i like my eggs poached?" you ask, looking between vi and vander. they share a knowing look; vi shrugs, grinning.

"lucky guess."

you tuck into the eggs and toast, humming happily around the golden yolk as it bursts in your mouth. vi watches you with soft eyes and vander's smile stretches wide as he leans against the counter.

"so. seems like your daddy's got good taste," he says, a soft laugh rumbling through him, deep and thick as thunder. you glance up, cocking your head. vander puts his coffee mug in the sink.

"he might not remember me but couple years ago, he brought over the most beautiful gullwing -- mercedes, from the 50's --"

"oh yeah!" vi says, her eyes brightening as she rinses out the breakfast things "that was a sick car."

vander nods, humming, "one o'the first luxury cars post-war... and one of my personal favorites. some people say it's a bit tacky but --" he shrugs, laughing, "i've always had a soft spot for it"

vi scoffs, "better than all the db5's we see people bring in."

vander laughs then, a loud, uproarious sound. you swallow over another bite of toast and egg, content to watch him and vi banter.

"yeah, but you know why people like it --"

vi sighs, her eyes rolling so hard they might fall out of their sockets as she replies, "the james bond car, yeah yeah, whatever -- still tacky."

you slice into the second egg and watch as the yolk spills molten gold over the toast.

"that reminds me though, i've gotta order the parts for the crossflow radiator --" vi says, putting the pans in the sink as well, wiping off her hands before she rounds the island to lean up against your chair. she slips an arm around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder.

you load a bite of toast with egg and yolk, sprinkle the top with salt and pepper, holding it out for her to eat. she leans forward, mouth open as you feed the bite to her.

she groans around the bite, nodding appreciatively, even as you reach out to swipe a bite of yolk from the corner of her lip, popping your thumb into your mouth with an indulgent smile.

"'ow'dyou know i'd like more yolk than egg?" she asks, turning to pin you with a look.

you flash her a cheeky grin.

"lucky guess," you parrot her words back at her, setting down your fork.

across the island, vander watches the pair of you with soft eyes and a knowing smile.

"right, well -- i've gotta get to the bar. your uncle silco'll be mad if i --" he breaks off, running a hand through his hair.

vi waves him off, "go, we've got it here."

"text benzo if you need help with the parts --"

"yeah, yeah -- he already sent me the link for where to order the parts," vi answers.

vander chuckles, nodding. he reaches over the island with a large hand.

"it was lovely to meet you," he says, taking your hand and shaking it firmly; his palm is warm and callused, and you feel yourself sinking into the solidness of his touch even as he pulls away.

"keep an eye on 'er for me, wouldjya?" he says, winking, jerking his chin towards vi. you giggle, nodding your head.

"sure, i'll try."

"and you make sure to treat her and her car well, y'got that?" he turns his gaze towards vi, who blushes, a scowl knitting her brows as she sighs.

"what'dyou think i'm trying to do -- geez --" she huffs.

vander laughs, a big, booming, belly-full sound.

"that's my girl," he says, flashing you and vi one more wink before ducking out the garage door.

vi sighs, "sorry, i know he can be a lot..."

you smile, shaking your head, "he reminds me of you."

vi's cheeks darken as she looks you over, her eyes startlingly bright in the mid-morning light, her hair a blaze of pink as the sunrise paints her shades of orange and gold.

"he -- he's a good dad..." vi says, finally, her voice a bit rough.

you nod, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

"he is. and you're a good daughter."

vi swallows, tugging you towards her till she's slotted between your legs. you, poised on the edge of the bar stool, your arms looped around her shoulders, her palms laid flat against your thighs, inching up beneath the hem of her jogging shorts.

"y'know sweets, you can't just say shit like that to me --" she murmurs, leaning in just close enough to ghost her words along your lips.

"and not expect me to do something about it..."

your breath hitches, a delicious, gasping sound even as vi digs her nose into the hollow of your throat with a thick groan, pressing her lips to your collarbones.

"v-vi -- the dishes --" you hiss, but vi's already pulling you forward, hoisting you over her hips and carrying you towards the stairs back up to her room, her fingers digging into the meat of your ass as she kicks open her door and lets it slam shut behind her.

"the dishes..." she says, her voice breathy as she sets you down on her bed and crawls over your body, the shape of her caging you beneath her.

she leans down to trail her mouth along the bend of your neck, humming against your skin --

"... will still be there later."

do u ever get a comment on a fic thats just so sweet that ur like Maybe slaving over 24k of fanfiction was worth it for user SprinkleTrashcan2012 to leave a three paragraph comment