Friday Snippet

RUNNING IN CIRCLES- NR

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 23rd — stress relief, free use, friends with benefits

DAY FOURTEEN || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- natasha romanoff x medic!avenger!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natty, fingering (n rcv), oral (n & r rcv), rough & vulnerable sex? not many tags in this one!

wc- 8438 words

a/n- absolutely loved writing this :') differs from my usual filthy stories, but it's still got it's smutty goodness hidden! :p very poorly edited and reread though, sorry in advance <3

synopsis- uhhh later i gotta study

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches, @lizziewitchy ❀ - comment or dm to be added :)

The crisp autumn air carried a bite that sank into your skin, even through the thick fabric of your SHIELD uniform. Outside, the trees had begun their slow transformation, leaves turning from deep greens to vivid shades of amber and crimson. As you walked down the corridor, you could see the skyline of the city framed by the headquarters’ tall windows, the buildings standing tall against the grey-blue sky streaked with the orange light of dusk.

Autumn had always been your favourite time of year. There was something invigorating about the chill in the air, the way it sharpened your senses and reminded you of the changing seasons. It wasn’t just a shift in weather—it was a time of transition, of letting go and starting anew. The world seemed to draw inward, becoming quieter, more introspective. And yet, for all its beauty, autumn was also a time of unravelling, of revealing the underlying fragility beneath nature’s vibrant display.

It wasn’t much different from life at SHIELD, you thought. The polished surfaces and steel corridors held a kind of deceptive calm, a veil over the constant motion of agents moving from one mission to the next, patching themselves up and heading right back into the fray. The medical team worked tirelessly in the med bay, patching up wounds that spoke stories of close calls and dangerous encounters, although there were always those who chose to bypass the med bay entirely.

Natasha Romanoff was one of those.

You’d seen her a handful of times in the corridors and offices, her expression always calm, almost detached, as she moved with a purpose that never faltered. It wasn’t that she was unapproachable—she exchanged words with other agents quite often, actually—but there was a clear distance she kept, a barrier that kept others from getting too close. As far as you knew, she had not once come to the medical wing. If she had sustained injuries, she kept them hidden well to an untrained eye.

You suspect that she handled most (if not all) of her wounds herself, stitching up gashes in the quiet solitude of her room and bandaging bruises with the same efficiency as she did her missions. It was the kind of self-sufficiency you’d expect from someone with her background. She had come to SHIELD from a life that demanded resilience, a life where depending on others could mean the difference between survival and death.

But the traces were there if you, SHIELD’s best medic both on and off the field, looked closely enough. Sometimes, when she crossed paths with you in the halls, you’d notice a faint mark along her jaw, or the slight favouring of one leg over the other. Nothing major, but enough to suggest she wasn’t invincible, no matter how she made it seem. It was as if she considered her injuries her own secret to keep, never offering them up for anyone else to see.

You often wondered what it was that kept her from seeking help. Pride, perhaps, or a simple lack of trust in others’ abilities to treat wounds as precisely as she could. Or maybe it was just a habit—an old reflex from her past, carried over into the present, one that kept her self-reliant to the point of isolation.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity whenever you saw her passing by. What kind of person could continue like that, carrying their pain alone and never asking for anything? What did it cost her to keep everyone else at arm’s length? And what would it take for her to finally walk through the doors of the med bay, to let herself be cared for by someone else?

(You acted like it wouldn't matter if that someone else turned out to be you.)

(It did matter. Who are you trying to fool??)

The Avengers, Fury and his right hand eye Maria, and Agent Coulson were seated at the debriefing table, half-listening to Fury’s voice as he went over details of the recent happenings in New York. The room felt cold and stale despite the hushed murmurs and shifting bodies of the gathered Avengers. Natasha was no stranger to these debriefings, yet today felt different. There was a tension that hung in the air, a sense of expectation she couldn’t quite shake.

Fury paused, glancing toward Maria before asking, "Where’s Dr. [Y/L/N]? I want her in here for this."

Maria nodded, left the room with a quick stride, and the space fell into a brief, uncertain silence. Natasha’s brows furrowed as she stared at the door Maria had just exited through. She had heard the name before—Dr. [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. The head medic at SHIELD, supposedly one of the best in the business. Natasha knew your name, but that was it. She’d never bothered to seek you out, preferring to handle her own injuries anyway, to keep her vulnerabilities under lock and key.

As the door opened again and you entered behind Maria, the quiet murmur of the room seemed to still completely. You stepped in with a confidence that felt almost casual, your uniform fitting snugly against your muscular frame, showcasing the strength in your arms and legs, while still accentuating your femininity. You had a kind of presence that filled the room—bold yet serene. It was something that Natasha found herself drawn to almost immediately, her attention locking onto you as you came to stand near the table.

Your skin seemed to glow against the muted tones of the room, a healthy flush brought out by the brisk autumn air outside. Natasha’s gaze drifted over you, taking in the shape of your jaw, the arch of your brow, the curve of your lips. You looked… different from what she’d expected. Not in a way that was disappointing—no, far from it. It was more that she hadn’t expected someone with your kind of beauty to be the person who spent their days stitching together the wounds of agents, taking care of others in a world that offered so little care in return.

God, you were so pretty.

Natasha hadn’t meant for the thought to hit her so suddenly, but there it was. It unfolded in her mind with a kind of vividness that startled her. You were pretty. No—beautiful. Strong. Mesmerising, even. The kind of person who stood out without trying, who seemed to belong in the very air around them.

She cursed herself quietly, realising she was staring, and that her thoughts were running away with her. Her chest tightened with a strange, unexpected sensation, something that lingered in the back of her throat, catching at her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this about anyone—let alone someone she had just met, or if she ever even had felt this way at all.

She hadn’t even really met you yet. She was just looking at you—right now, at this exact moment—for the first time.

And already, there was something there. An unfamiliar warmth unfurling beneath her ribs, spreading outwards in a way that made her wonder if it was adrenaline or something else entirely.

As you took a seat at the table, Maria introduced you to the Avengers, Bruce and Tony sending you a small smile in recognition, "Dr. [Y/L/N], head medic at SHIELD, also responsible for overseeing the field medics. She’s been with us for a while now, recently keeping out of the action but always ensuring our agents come back in one piece."

The explanation seemed distant to Natasha, drowned out by the thoughts that crowded her mind. You had been the head medic at SHIELD all this time, and she had never even thought to step foot in the med bay. How many times had she stitched herself up in her room, refusing to show any sign of weakness to anyone? And now, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest hint of regret. What would it have been like to be treated by you? To have those hands bandaging her wounds?

A blush crept onto her cheeks unbidden, and she clenched her jaw to hide it, forcing herself to focus on Fury as he spoke. But then there was that moment, that brief exchange when you glanced her way, and your eyes met hers for the first time. Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, a hitch so subtle she doubted anyone noticed. But she noticed it. She felt the way her pulse quickened just the slightest bit.

You were speaking to Fury now, your voice calm and unwavering as you discussed your hesitation about the new position. Natasha listened intently, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t like her to pay this much attention to a person she didn’t know. Yet, there was something about you—the way you carried yourself, the way you seemed both grounded and powerful, that made her want to know more.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.

You let out a sigh, your mind racing with the implications of what Fury was asking. It wasn’t that you doubted your ability; you had proven your strength countless times in the field, and your physique—a testament to hours of gruelling training—reflected that. But something about this offer felt different. He was asking for more than medical expertise. He wanted you back in the thick of things, facing enemies head-on while patching up your teammates whenever that would be needed.

“What exactly would change?” you finally asked, voice steady as you pretended not to feel the Black Widow’s gaze boring into your soul.

She could sense your uncertainty as you spoke, could see the way you hesitated when Fury explained that the role would involve being more than just a medic. You’d be a full-fledged agent, an Avenger, basically. You looked at Fury with scepticism in your gaze, your lips pursed in a faint frown. Natasha almost smiled at that. She liked the way you questioned things, the way you didn’t simply accept everything at face value.

The weight of his words settled in. You would be more than a healer. You would be a warrior.

You sighed softly, shook your head, and stood up. You walked over to Fury, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat and pulling out his pen with a deft, graceful movement. It was such a simple act, but Natasha found herself watching every second of it, as if it were a dance unfolding right before her. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the steady thrum of it filling her senses.

When you signed the paper and handed the pen back to Fury, Natasha could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corners of your lips, as if you were silently challenging the world—or maybe just him. And just like that, you turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind an unexpected sense of anticipation in your wake.

Natasha realised then, as the door clicked shut behind you, that her curiosity was already blooming into something else, something she didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to admit.

Yet for the first time in her life, she found herself wondering what it would be like to let someone in, to let someone see past the carefully constructed walls she kept around herself.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Natasha found herself standing at her room’s door, her fingertips grazing the very faint burn on her palm. The dull sting served as a reminder of her momentary distraction in the kitchen. She glanced at the door across the hallway—your door—still unoccupied. Her brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as her mind wandered to thoughts of you. You should’ve moved in by now, settled into your newly assigned Avengers room in front of hers. But for some reason, it remained untouched, a constant reminder that you weren’t there.

It was absurd, really. She wasn’t used to this—this strange, inexplicable feeling of missing someone she barely knew.

With a frustrated sigh, she turned on her heels and headed down the corridor, her steps picking up pace. 

She wasn’t sure why she was doing this—why she was making her way to the med bay for something so minor. The skin wasn’t even burned, just red and slightly tender, the kind of irritation that would go away in an hour or so. Normally, she wouldn’t even give it a second thought. But this time, as she approached the med bay, she found herself hoping that you were there.

The sliding doors parted, and Natasha hesitated at the threshold, her gaze searching the room. There you were, sitting in your office behind the glass walls, a faint frown on your face as you worked on some paperwork, your work glasses perched delicately on your nose. Her heart gave an unsteady thump as she took you in, the way the light cast gentle shadows across your features. It was so mundane, so normal, yet something about seeing you there—focused, calm, and completely unaware of her presence—sent a jolt of nervous energy rushing through her.

As if sensing her gaze, you looked up from your work. Your eyes met hers, and for a second, everything seemed to slow. The tension in her chest unravelled just a bit, the weight of her own uncertainty lifting at the sight of the small, welcoming smile you sent her way.

But then, the reality of the situation crashed back in, her nerves flaring up once more. What was she doing here? Natasha wasn’t used to feeling nervous—she was the Black Widow, for god's sake. Yet the warmth creeping up her cheeks betrayed her, and she quickly averted her eyes, glancing around the med bay in a futile attempt to hide the flush that tinged her skin. She scanned the empty beds, hoping for any distraction, any excuse to turn back. There wasn’t a single medic in sight.

When she glanced back at you, you were still watching her, your expression now tinged with a hint of curiosity. The small smile remained on your lips, but your brows drew together slightly, a question forming in your eyes as you took in her hesitant stance. Natasha stood there, rooted in place, her hand still pressed to the burn that she’d nearly forgotten about.

You tilted your head, motioning her inside with a simple gesture. She took a steadying breath, feeling her pulse quicken as she pushed open the door to your office. Her steps were quieter than usual, hesitant even, as she crossed the threshold. She took a steadying breath, walking into your office with a calm that didn’t quite reach her racing pulse. Your eyes tracked her movements, and she could feel your gaze lingering on her, keen and observant.

“Natasha,” you greeted, your tone light, yet there was an underlying note of concern. “This is a surprise.” You glanced at her hand, then back to her face, as if piecing together the puzzle before you. “What brings you to the med bay?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. “Burned myself,” she admitted, her voice steady, though it felt like every nerve in her body was lit up with the awareness of how close you were, of how you were looking at her with such careful attention. She showed you her hand, revealing the reddened skin of her palm.

Your gaze flickered down to the ‘burn’, your expression softening as you took her hand in yours. Your touch was gentle, professional, but even so, it sent a jolt of awareness through her.

You gave the faintest chuckle as you looked at the ‘injury’, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Not sure this qualifies as a burn,” you said, your tone dry, though not unkind. “More like… a heated reminder that pans get hot.”

Natasha huffed, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “Guess I’m not much of a chef,” she murmured. The words tasted foreign on her tongue, an admission of sorts, one she wouldn’t normally make. But there was something about the way you looked at her—patient, unhurried—that made her feel like she could let that slip.

You motioned for her to sit on one of the medical beds, and though you knew you wouldn’t need to treat her ‘burn’, you figured it would be better than letting her stand there awkwardly. “Go ahead, take a seat,” you said with a nod toward the bed. “Might as well make you comfortable while I bandage you up for, uh, safety reasons.”

She sat onto the bed, her movements graceful but not entirely relaxed, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself in this setting. You took your time gathering a few supplies—far more than you needed, really—giving her a chance to settle in. As you approached, you couldn’t help but wonder what had truly brought her here. The faint redness on her palm wasn’t worth a trip to the med bay, especially not for someone like Natasha, who you knew could take a bullet without flinching.

You gently took her hand in yours, inspecting the skin. “Honestly,” you murmured, keeping your tone light, “I’ve seen paper cuts worse than this.” You dabbed at the redness with a disinfectant wipe, more out of habit than necessity. “If you’re planning on cooking again, though, I’d recommend sticking to things that don’t involve open flames. Or hot pans. Or, well, anything that could potentially burn the whole tower down.”

A faint scoff escaped her, but there was a trace of amusement there, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, her voice laced with dry humour. But as you worked, she found herself less focused on the barely noticeable sting of the wipe and more on the warmth of your hands, the way your touch was careful and gentle, even though it really didn’t need to be.

“You know,” you started again, your tone conversational, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the infamous Natasha Romanoff in the med bay.” Your lips curved into a teasing smile. “I thought you were allergic to hospitals.”

Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes even as a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Not allergic,” she replied.

You began to wrap a small bandage around her palm—a completely unnecessary measure, but you had a suspicion that there was more to her visit than a minor kitchen mishap. You chuckled softly, and the sound wrapped around her, disarming her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first doctor,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “I solemnly swear to do my best to make it worth your while.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence as you finished bandaging her hand, your touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. When you finally stepped back, Natasha found herself reluctant to leave the warmth of your presence. It felt strange—this desire to stay, to linger in your office just a little while longer. But before she could come up with an excuse, you spoke again.

“Try not to make a habit of burning yourself, okay?” you said, your tone gently teasing. “But if you do, you know where to find me. Well, you’re welcome here anytime, actually not just with me,” you said, the warmth in your tone unmistakable. “Even if it’s just to burn yourself on another pan.”

Natasha shook her head slightly, a small smile curling at her lips as she slipped off the bed. “Thanks, doc,” she murmured, her voice softer now, the weight of her unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between you. She turned to leave, but not without glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer.

When she walked out, she felt an odd mix of relief and regret, like she’d left something important behind in that small, sterile room. But there was also a sense of quiet anticipation, a nagging thought at the back of her mind that maybe, just maybe, she’d be finding her way back to you sooner than she’d expected.

As the med bay’s room clicked shut behind her, Natasha couldn’t help but notice the absence of that soothing calmness your presence brought.

Her thoughts trailed back to the feeling of your hands on her skin, the way you looked at her with such genuine care. It was foreign, this sense of wanting to be seen, to be taken care of. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as she headed back to her room, her mind kept drifting to you, to the thought of what it might be like to let herself be vulnerable for once. To let someone in.

And it was that thought that left her standing in the hallway, staring at your empty room again, with a faint glimmer of anticipation she didn’t quite know how to name.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The dimly lit corridors of the Avengers Tower were quiet at this hour, the stillness only broken by the sound of Natasha’s footsteps as she made her way down the hall. It was well past midnight when she returned from the mission, her body aching from bruises and scrapes that ran deeper than they looked. There were no major injuries—nothing that would keep her from reporting for duty tomorrow—but she knew she needed to see you. There was something different about this mission, something that gnawed at her. The kind of thing she didn’t talk about.

When she reached the med bay, she found the lights still on in your office. You were hunched over a tablet, reviewing some data from the Regeneration Cradle project, still in your scrubs despite the late hour. Natasha hesitated for a moment, unsure of what exactly had drawn her here yet again. But before she could question it any further, you glanced up and saw her standing there, framed by the doorway, your brows knitting together in concern as you took in her dishevelled appearance.

“Natasha,” you murmured, rising from your chair and crossing the room in a few swift strides. “What happened?”

She shrugged, the motion a little stiff, her expression unreadable. “Mission got a bit rough. Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied, though you noticed the faint tremor in her voice. It was almost imperceptible, but you’d spent enough time with her now to pick up on the small cracks in her otherwise flawless façade.

“Sit down,” you said softly, your voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument. She obeyed without protest, settling onto one of the medical beds while you began to gather supplies. As you worked to clean and dress her wounds, you could see the signs of fatigue written across her features, the way her shoulders sagged and the dullness in her usually sharp eyes.

You tended to her in silence for a while, your hands moving with practised ease, but as you wrapped a bandage around her arm, you noticed the distant look in her gaze. Her mind was somewhere else, reliving whatever had unfolded on that mission. It wasn’t just the bruises or the cuts—something deeper had left its mark on her, something that bandages couldn’t heal.

When you finished, you packed up the supplies and glanced at the clock. You could see the exhaustion settling over her like a weight she couldn’t shake off. “Come on,” you said quietly, your tone gentle yet insistent. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity and surprise flickering across her expression. “And go where?” she asked, though her voice was softer now, not challenging.

You didn’t answer right away, just gave her a small, reassuring smile as you started toward the door. She fell into step beside you, and for a moment, the silence stretched on, neither of you quite sure what to say. It wasn’t until you reached your floor, walked into the hallway and passed by the door to your own room that she noticed your hand lingering on that handle.

Natasha watched as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was the first time she’d seen you enter your room, and something about it felt significant, like you were crossing a line that had been quietly drawn between SHIELD-you and Avenger-you. But just as quickly, you emerged again, pulling the door shut behind you as if it had been nothing at all.

You turned to her, and before she could think of anything to say, you placed your hand gently on the small of her back, your touch grounding her in the quiet darkness of the hallway. Leaning in close, you whispered, “You’re not going to be alone tonight, Natasha. I’m not leaving you to deal with this by yourself.” Your voice was firm, yet so tender it almost broke her resolve.

Her breath hitched, and she felt a shiver run through her at the closeness, at the feeling of your warmth pressed lightly against her. The words hung in the air, wrapping around her in a way that made her want to lean into you, to let down the walls she’d so carefully built up. But she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to someone offering to tend to her in this way, to look beyond the bruises and cuts and see the wounds that lay beneath.

You saw the hesitation flicker in her eyes, so you took a step forward, pushing the door to her room open with your foot and guiding her inside. She let you steer her, grateful for the quiet control you took over the situation. It felt strangely freeing to relinquish that power, even just a little, and she found herself relishing the way you took charge, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her mind was racing now, her thoughts blurring into a haze as she imagined you continuing to take control—not just over this moment, but over her entirely. She could almost see it, feel it—the way your hands would travel across her skin, guiding her to let go, to forget about the burdens that weighed on her. It was a dangerous line to tread, one she’d never dared to walk before. But as you gently steered her toward the bed, keeping your hand at the small of her back, she found herself wishing for it, craving it.

You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, the sound almost like a promise. “You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, your voice steady, yet carrying a note of command that sent another shiver down her spine. “Just let me take care of you tonight. Whatever you need.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, the emotions swirling inside her too complex, too raw to unravel right then. But as she sank down onto the bed, she allowed herself to look up at you, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. There was none. Only the steady calm of your gaze and the silent promise that you wouldn’t let your friend and teammate be alone with the darkness of her thoughts.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the gentle rustling of sheets as Natasha settled onto the bed. You could see right away now that something was different about her tonight—her movements were slower, her gaze unfocused, and there was a hesitance in the way she held herself. This wasn’t the confident, self-assured woman you’d come to know. She looked almost… lost.

You didn’t comment on it, though. There was no need to call attention to what was already evident in the way she slumped slightly, or the way her eyes drifted to the floor, avoiding yours. Instead, you pulled up a chair beside the bed, lowering yourself to her level. "Natasha," you said softly, your voice laced with concern, "is it alright for you if I stay here tonight?" She looked up at you, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression. "I see what you're going through," you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, but I just want you to know that you’re safe here. I meant it when I said you could always come to me.”

She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, but there was a weight to it that spoke louder than words. "You can stay," she murmured, though the admission seemed to make her tense up even more, as if the very act of accepting comfort was something foreign to her.

You moved to sit beside her on the bed, and she hesitated for a moment before scooting closer, leaning into you ever so slightly. Her mind must have been racing, you realised, because the look in her eyes was distant, glazed over with something that lay beyond mere exhaustion. A soft flush began to bloom on her cheeks, high up on those sharp cheekbones of hers, and you could see the way her breath quickened ever so slightly.

Curious, you tilted her chin up with your fingers, guiding her gaze back to you. "Natasha," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "talk to me."

Her composure cracked like thin ice under the weight of her emotions. Her shoulders slumped, and her breath shuddered out of her. "The mission," she began, her voice raw and tired, "it was… draining. More than usual." She took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with a vulnerability you hadn’t this explicitly seen from her before. "I’m so exhausted, in my head… But my body doesn’t know how to stop. I can’t seem to switch off, not even for a few hours of sleep."

You pulled her into your arms without hesitation, feeling her melt into your embrace as you held her close. Her head rested against your chest, her breaths coming in uneven patterns as you gently stroked her hair, your fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm. She nestled herself deeper into you, finding comfort in the steady beat of your heart, and for a long while, you simply held her, letting the silence stretch on as she settled into the warmth of your touch.

After a while, she tilted her head up, resting her chin against your sternum so she could meet your gaze. Her eyes were dark, filled with a yearning you couldn’t quite place, and she whispered, "Do you… have a remedy for that? For this? For helping me sleep?" There was something in the way she said it that carried more weight than just the words themselves, like she was asking for something deeper, something that went beyond comfort and rest.

You shook your head softly, your fingers still combing through her hair. "I don’t," you admitted, your voice low and steady, "but I can stay with you. I’ll be here, Natasha. For as long as you need me."

A small, frustrated whine escaped her lips as she burrowed her face into your chest again, trying to get comfortable in your embrace. She shifted against you, the silk of her bralette brushing against your skin as she cuddled closer, her hands slowly trailing down your sides. You continued to rub her back, your hands tracing gentle circles over the soft material, pressing into the tense muscles to release the knots that seemed to have built up there. She sighed into your touch, her breath hot against your skin, her body relaxing bit by bit under your ministrations.

But then, as your hands wandered lower, you felt it—the slight roll of her hips against your thigh, a subtle motion at first, as if she hadn’t quite realised she was doing it. But there was no mistaking the soft, breathy moan that slipped from her lips as she continued, her body responding to the contact in a way that betrayed her exhaustion. It was instinctual, unthinking—her hips moved with a slow rhythm, grinding against the muscle of your thigh, her breath quickening as she unconsciously chased some kind of relief.

Your hands stilled for a moment, and you could feel your pulse quicken at the realisation of what was happening. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t anticipated that her need for comfort would turn into something else. But as she pressed herself against you, her breath becoming more laboured with each movement, you found yourself reacting to her in ways you hadn’t thought you would. Heat pooled low in your belly, and you felt the tension building as she rutted against you, completely unaware of just how much she was affecting you.

You slipped your hands lower, cupping her behind and giving it a firm squeeze, feeling the way she gasped, the sound escaping her lips louder than before. "Natasha," you breathed, your voice low and gravelly as you massaged the flesh beneath your hands, the heat of her skin searing through the thin silk.

She whimpered at your touch, burying her face even deeper into your chest as if to hide the flush that burned across her cheeks. Her hands fisted the fabric of your pyjama shirt, tugging at it almost desperately, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly as you reached down to help her peel it off. She pushed it up and over your head with trembling hands, her gaze still filled with that desperate, confused need that made her look so beautifully vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice gentle but laced with a hint of command. “I’m here, Natasha. I’m your best friend, remember? I said I’d help you with anything.” The words hung in the air between you, their meaning sinking in as you brushed your thumb over the curve of her cheek. Her breathing hitched, her eyes searching yours for reassurance, and you gave it to her without hesitation, pulling her closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

Natasha’s body trembled against yours, the air thick with a mixture of tension and anticipation. Her breath came in shallow pants, and you could feel the way her muscles tensed as your hands wandered over her curves again, massaging the silk-covered skin beneath your touch. You kissed along the side of her neck, gentle and slow, as if to coax her into relaxing even further, but you could sense the way she craved more—something deeper, something stronger.

Her hands gripped your shoulders, nails digging in as you eased her back onto the bed. She lay beneath you, her hair fanned out across the pillow, and you took a moment to admire the flush on her cheeks, the darkened look in her eyes that spoke of need.

Natasha’s breath hitched, her back arching instinctively as your hand slid between her thighs, grazing the damp fabric of her underwear. She gasped, hips jerking up to meet your touch, the thin barrier doing nothing to hide the wetness that had already pooled there.

"You're so tense," you whispered, your voice low and soothing as you slipped a hand inside her panties, finally touching her bare. The heat of her arousal coated your fingers, and Natasha’s head fell back with a sigh as you began to trace slow, teasing circles over her clit. "Just let go for me… I'm right here."

Your words seemed to unravel something in her, a barrier breaking down as her legs fell open wider, inviting more of your touch. You slid a finger inside her, her walls clenching around you instantly, hot and slick.

Her moans were soft at first, barely audible as you set a gentle rhythm, the pads of your fingers curling up to stroke that sensitive spot inside her that made her toes curl. She was dripping, her arousal coating your fingers as you slipped another one in, filling her more. Her hips moved in time with your thrusts, as if seeking even more pressure, more friction.

It was pure bliss for her; your touch was skilled, coaxing her closer to release with every deliberate stroke. Her hands fisted the sheets as you leaned down, kissing along her collarbone, and you could feel the way she trembled beneath you, her thighs quivering.

It didn’t take long before you felt her tightening around your fingers, her breath coming faster, her moans growing higher and more desperate. You kept your pace even as she came, her body shuddering in pleasure, riding out the waves of her first orgasm.

You kept your touch and movements gentle, drawing out her pleasure, letting her ride the waves as they gradually ebbed, not wanting to overwhelm her just yet.. But just as her breathing steadied, a hoarse whisper escaped her lips, "More… please, I need… rougher."

The desperation in her voice was raw, unfiltered, and it made something tighten in your chest. This wasn’t just about pleasure; she was asking for something deeper, a way to escape the weight she carried.

Natasha’s skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat, the warmth radiating off her body mixing with the coolness of the room. As you leaned over her, your hands travelled the curves of her ribs, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her silk bralette. The fabric felt smooth against your fingertips as you traced over the taut muscles of her abdomen, her body tense and ready beneath you. She let out a soft sigh, a quiet surrender as she allowed herself to let go, to focus solely on the sensations you were creating.

You shifted your weight slightly, your hips pressing into the firmness of her pelvis as you slid your fingers back into her, this time with more force and speed than before. Natasha moaned, the sound vibrating in her chest as you pushed in deep, filling her completely. Her walls tightened around your fingers, clenching with each thrust as you built up a rhythm that left her gasping, her hips rocking back against you. Her body was a mix of heat and tension, the friction of your skin against hers heightening every touch, every sound.

“More,” she whispered, the word slipping out like a plea. “Please… I need more.”

The raw need in her voice spurred you on, and you complied without hesitation. You could see how much she was aching for it, her body craving the kind of release that came not only from pleasure but from being overwhelmed, from being taken. You angled your fingers upwards, finding that perfect spot deep within her, and began to stroke it with every thrust, sending sharp jolts of ecstasy through her. Natasha’s breath hitched, a choked moan escaping her lips as her hips bucked, seeking more of the relentless pressure you provided.

“Is this what you needed?” you asked, your voice low and rough as you watched her come undone beneath you. “For me to fuck you like this?”

Her response came in the form of a breathless cry, her fingers digging into the sheets as her back arched off the mattress. Her body trembled with each deep thrust, the wetness coating your fingers making each movement slick and easy, allowing you to pound into her at a brutal pace. You could feel the way her walls gripped you tighter and tighter, the pressure building up inside her like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Then, in one swift motion, you turned her over onto her stomach, and Natasha let out a surprised gasp as you pressed her down against the bed. You kept her legs spread, your hand slipping between her thighs once more, but this time your other hand slid up her spine, following the curve of her body until you were gripping her shoulder. The position allowed you to thrust even deeper, the new angle making her whole body shudder as you buried your fingers inside her, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the room.

Natasha whimpered, burying her face into the sheets as you began to pound into her from behind, the pressure of each thrust making her toes curl. The sensation was overwhelming, her senses consumed by the way your fingers drove into her, the roughness of your touch giving her exactly what she’d begged for. She pushed back against you, her hips meeting every thrust with desperate need, as if she couldn’t get enough. The force of your movements rocked her body forward with each plunge, and you could feel the way her muscles tightened, the tension building in her core with each deep stroke.

As you drove her closer to the edge, you leaned down, your lips brushing against her ear. “You look so beautiful like this,” you murmured, your voice thick with desire. “Falling apart, just for me.”

Her body shivered at your words, her breath catching in her throat as a flush crept up her neck. You could feel the way she was spiralling, her control slipping away with every thrust, every stroke of your fingers inside her. And then, just as she teetered on the brink, you withdrew your fingers, only to replace them with your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat against her slit, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from her entrance to her clit, tasting the heady mix of her arousal on your lips.

The sound Natasha made was somewhere between a gasp and a sob, her body jerking in response to the sudden shift in sensation. You felt her thighs tremble as you dipped your tongue inside her, savouring the wet heat of her. Her taste was intoxicating, each flick of your tongue drawing out another moan from her as she pressed her hips back, desperate for more contact. You alternated between licking and sucking, your lips closing around her clit to draw it into your mouth before swirling your tongue over it, sending sparks of pleasure racing through her.

Natasha’s body tightened, her legs trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable peak, her orgasm finally crashing over her in a wave that left her gasping for air. Her moans were unrestrained, desperate, as her body shuddered beneath you, the intensity of her climax making her limbs quake. You didn’t let up, continuing to lap at her with slow, thorough strokes, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was completely spent.

As her breathing began to steady, you pulled back, allowing her a moment to catch her breath. Natasha's body lay limp against the bed, the flush still lingering on her cheeks, her hair a wild mess around her face. But even as the exhaustion settled in, you could see a renewed hunger in her eyes as she turned over onto her back again, reaching for you. Her hand slipped down to your thigh, tugging at you weakly as she whispered, “I… I want to taste you.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then obliged, positioning yourself over her. As you settled above her mouth, you felt a shiver of anticipation run through you. Her breath was hot against your core, the warmth of it making your skin prickle. 

Natasha's tongue darted out, hesitantly at first, tracing a slow path along the inner curve of your thigh before moving higher. Her touch was unsteady, as if she was still recovering from her own release, but you could feel the eagerness in every movement as she began to lick at you, her tongue sliding over your folds, tasting the arousal that had gathered there.

The first real contact sent a jolt through your body, a sharp intake of breath escaping you as Natasha pressed deeper, her tongue curling upwards to tease your entrance. The sensation was electric, the wet heat of her mouth surrounding you, and you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan as she began to suck gently, her lips closing around your sensitive clit. She licked with a kind of desperation, her mouth moving in frantic, needy strokes that made your hips twitch involuntarily. You could feel your own release building, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck.

But then her pace faltered, her movements growing slower and more languid as the exhaustion pulled at her. You felt her head slump slightly, her breathing uneven. Acting quickly, you grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled sharply, your voice a low growl as you demanded her attention. “Natasha,” you said, a dark chuckle slipping past your lips as you looked down at her. “You’re not done yet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, filled with a renewed determination. You stroked her jaw, feeling the wetness smeared across her cheeks and lips before guiding her back to your core. “Keep going,” you instructed, your voice firm and commanding as you bucked your hips forward slightly. “You’re doing so well. Show me just how good you can be.”

The words seemed to ignite something in her, and she dove back in with fervor, licking at you greedily. Her tongue moved in long, deep strokes, lapping up every drop as if she were trying to devour you entirely. You could feel your own body trembling with the effort to hold back, the pleasure cresting higher and higher with each pass of her tongue over your clit, each eager suck. Your fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her movements as you rode the waves of pleasure, the sensation building to an almost unbearable peak.

The tight coil in your belly finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge into a mind-numbing climax. Your thighs clamped around her head, your moans spilling out uncontrollably as the pleasure coursed through you in heavy, pulsating waves. Natasha’s mouth never left you, her tongue continuing to stroke you through every spasm, every shiver, milking every last bit of your release until you were left trembling and breathless above her.

Natasha’s body moulded perfectly into yours, her weight a soft, reassuring presence as she settled against your chest once more. The aftershocks of pleasure still lingered faintly in her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her muscles as she curled tighter into you, seeking comfort. Her breath was warm against your neck, her chest rising and falling slowly, as if her exhaustion was finally overtaking her.

You stroked her back, fingers moving with practised tenderness, tracing small, soothing circles over the silky fabric of her bralette. Her skin beneath was flushed from the intensity of what had just transpired, the heat from her body sinking into yours. You could feel the subtle tension still in her muscles, the kind that came from more than just physical exertion—it was the emotional weight she carried, the one that had been gradually cracking through her tough exterior tonight.

“You’re okay now,” you whispered into her hair, your voice barely more than a breath. The words were simple, but you knew how much she needed to hear them. “I’ve got you, Natasha.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat, a low hum of agreement or maybe relief, her arms tightening around your torso as if she didn’t want to let go. “You’re always good to me,” she murmured, her lips grazing your collarbone with each quiet word. There was a vulnerability in her voice that was rare, as though she was allowing herself to drop her walls completely, if only for this moment.

“And I always will be,” you reassured her, your voice soft but firm. “Whenever you need me, for anything… I’m here.”

The weight of those words seemed to hang between you, not just as a promise but as something deeper—an acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you, shifting from mere friendship to something with far more gravity. Natasha tilted her head back slightly, her eyes heavy-lidded but searching yours, as though she was trying to understand why you were so steadfast, why you remained by her side even when she was at her most vulnerable.

Her lips curled into a small, almost fragile smile. “It goes both ways, you know,” she said, her voice low and still tinged with that post-orgasmic haze. “If you ever need… anything… anytime, I’m here for you too. I mean it. If you need to blow off steam, or… just… need someone to take care of you.” Her gaze flickered with an unusual openness, her green eyes catching the low light in the room. “I’ll always be there. For you.”

You felt your chest tighten slightly, a warmth blooming inside you at the thought of what she was offering, what she trusted you with.

“You’d be up for this… whenever?” you asked, a teasing edge to your voice, though your heart pounded a little faster at the idea.

Natasha nodded, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, clearly struggling against the heavy pull of sleep. “Anytime,” she whispered, her words soft and sincere. “Even if it’s the middle of the day… middle of the night… if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Your lips quirked into a soft smile at her honesty, feeling the significance of her admission. Your hand found its way to her cheek, gently tilting her face back to you. She gazed up at you with exhaustion and trust written across her features, her breath slow and steady, her body pliant against yours.

"Good to know," you murmured, running your thumb along her jaw, feeling her relax into your touch. 

Natasha's eyelids fluttered shut as the weight of sleep began to pull her down, her body growing even heavier against yours. Just when you thought she’d drifted off entirely, she spoke again, her voice slurred with drowsiness. “Let’s… keep this just between us,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “No one else… needs to know.”

You pressed your lips to the crown of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. “Just us,” you promised, your voice low and soothing as you cradled her closer. “No one else has to know.”

Natasha gave a small, sleepy nod, her arms tightening around you as if clinging to the comfort you offered. “Good,” she whispered, her words barely audible as sleep finally claimed her. “Just… ours.”

As she drifted off, you continued to hold her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath against you, your fingers still tracing soft patterns over her skin. You knew this arrangement, this shared need for each other, was more than just a temporary fix. It was a deeper understanding, an unspoken promise to be there in whatever ways the other needed—whether for comfort, for stress relief, or something more that neither of you was ready to name yet.

SO CUTEEE

Sun-kissed by an angel | n romanoff

summary: the perfect lazy morning in the Romanoff summer beach house

wc: 1.5k

notes: I know I’ve been MIA for a while, but I’m back with a short but soft and fluffy oneshot. I wish this was my life tbh, I feel like a beach holiday and a cozy morning with a hot girl would make my life so much better

-⧗-

The gentle tickle of the ocean breeze brushed across the sleeping woman’s exposed skin, stirring her from her heavy slumber with the promise of sun. It dappled through the open curtains of the balcony doors, but the light wasn’t harsh like it usually was. Many days had started just like this, crumpled sheets and exposed limbs being warmed by the dazzling sun. Y/n blinked to adjust to the brightness, stretching her limbs out across the expanse of soft white blankets, frowning as her palms landed upon nothing but fabric. The bed was larger, far bigger than any she’d slept in before, but it felt even bigger without her person by her side.

Waking up with the sea view directly in front of her was a dream but even the gentle rolling waves didn’t quite tug the smile back to her lips as she swung her legs out of bed and let her feet land upon the sanded hardwood floor. Without pulling on anything to cover her blue pyjama shorts set, she wandered down the hallway of the country style house, passing the photo covered walls and airy windows, until she reached the kitchen.

The radio on the windowsill crackled out nostalgic tunes and Y/n paused in the doorway, taking in the sight before her. The redheaded woman she adored with her whole heart was swaying softly to the music, the oversized white button down that adorned her body hanging loosely from her shoulders and stopping mid thigh. The large window above the sink was wide open, letting in a deliciousness to drift from the beach below and mix with the combination of freshly brewed coffee and the new bouquet sitting in prize position on the grand windowsill.

Natasha’s back was turned as she hummed to herself, allowing her wife a moment of admiration before she crossed the tiled floor and slipped her arms around the redhead’s waist. Natasha wasn’t startled, she was an ex spy after all, but her body immediately relaxed into the touch of her wife. They stayed embraced for a few moments, Natasha’s head tilting backwards to rest on Y/n’s shoulder behind her. She smiled lazily and brought her own hands up to grasp onto her lover’s, holding her tightly.

“Did you sleep well?” She muttered softly, goosebumps littering her skin as Y/n’s hands grazed her stomach.

Y/n hummed, turning her wife around so they were finally face to face. “I would have slept better if you didn’t leave before I woke up.” Her mouth pouted slightly but Natasha quickly kissed her lips, her remedy for unhappiness.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she apologised, “I just wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at the mention of food. Her wife was a lot of things, but a cook she was not. She followed Natasha’s gaze to a pan on the stove where a sorry looking egg was cooking - or at least trying to.

“Tasha, honey… you haven’t turned the stove on.”

Natasha went to protest but Y/n pressed the button and turned the dial, the pair of them watching as the oil in the pan began to sizzle. Y/n smiled, trying to hide her laughter but Natasha caught her and huffed, sliding away from the stove and dragging Y/n over to the other counter, trapping her body in between the granite countertop and her strong body.

“How long have you been trying to cook that egg?” Y/n asked with fake seriousness, one which Natasha saw straight through. She rolled her eyes and pressed her hips forward, grabbing her wife’s face in her scarred palms.

“You’re lucky that I love you and will put up with this teasing after everything I do for you,” she grumbled, even though she wasn’t at all offended. Her wife was the light of her life and a far better cook, despite Natasha’s best efforts. She gazed into her love’s eyes, watching them sparkle in the sunlight and she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. Natasha pressed their lips together in a loving but firm kiss, almost like she was trying to kiss the smirk off her wife’s face. Her hands cupped Y/n’s cheeks with such tenderness that the other woman melted slightly, her body falling forwards into the comfort of her wife.

“You’re too good at that, my love, but that egg will burn if we continue like this,” Y/n started, trying to push Natasha away, much to the redhead’s disdain. The promise of breakfast was far in the back of her mind and she ignored Y/n’s help of protest when she grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her up onto the counter, spreading her thighs to stand between them with a smirk.

“You were saying?”

Y/n shook her head, a playful smile dancing across her lips. Her wife really was unbelievable. “At least turn the stove off, Nat. We just had this kitchen redone.”

“It’s barely warmed up.”

“And I know you. You’ll forget all about it and then complain when it’s black.” Natasha opened her mouth. “Don’t protest, you know I’m right.”

The redhead rolled her eyes but stepped away for two seconds, keeping her eyes locked on her wife on the counter as she fiddled around for the knob, turning it with a click. She raised an eyebrow, almost asking ‘happy?’ and Y/n nodded whilst beckoning her back over.

“That wasn’t hard now, was it?”

Natasha stayed quiet. Her fingertips slowly danced up Y/n’s bare thighs, tracing invisible patterns on her freshly tanned skin until they reached the hem of her shorts. Natasha laid her palms flat, suddenly looking up at her wife again through her lashes, giving her a look that melted the world away.

“Stop…” yet she wasn’t at all convincing. Y/n’s own hands absentmindedly drifted to the open collar of Natasha’s shirt, her collarbones just showing under the soft linen. “I love this shirt on you, my god.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Y/n hummed softly. She followed her fingers with her eyes, connecting the freckles on her wife’s pale skin across her chest. Regardless of her hours spent in the sun, Natasha was never tanned, but it only made her look more ethereal in Y/n’s eyes. Like an angel with a glowing halo of hair about her head.

They didn’t need to talk, not in moments like this. Their eyes spoke a thousand words, and the soft call of seabirds in the distance reminded them both of the life they now lived, the craziness of the Avengers a thing of the past. A slow life was their new normal, and Natasha had moulded into her new role surprisingly well.

“Why don’t we go to the farmer’s market today?” Natasha suggested, her hands still resting on her wife’s thighs, her favourite place to be.

Y/n narrowed her eyes, seeing through that innocent facade. “You want me to make my salad don’t you?”

Natasha grinned, moving her hands up to Y/n’s waist, pulling her closer until her legs wrapped around Nat’s waist and they were as close as they could be. Natasha was an utter simp for her wife, and she wasn’t ashamed of that. Not at all. She would get it tattooed on her forehead if she could.

“I do, but I also want to see you in a pretty summer dress in our town today.” Another weakness, Natasha was feeling extra soft today, and Y/n would never complain. Natasha’s possessiveness came out extra strong when Y/n wore one of her favourite dresses. They always attracted extra attention and there was nothing more that the redhead loved more than to slide an arm around her waist or stop her in the street and kiss her fiercely. Just to shut down the wandering eyes of the other men and women in their small coastal town.

“What my wife wants, she gets,” Y/n leaned down and kissed Natasha’s forehead before signalling to get down. “What about breakfast?”

They both peered over at the half cooked mess of an egg on the stove before bursting into laughter. Straight into the trash it went, that was clear.

“I’m going to take my gorgeous wife out for breakfast,” the redhead announced, twirling Y/n under her arm in time to the music still playing from the radio. “With the promise of properly cooked eggs and a beautiful view.”

“I already have a beautiful view.” Cheesy.

“Get out of here,” Natasha joked, administering a slap to her wife’s ass as she ran out of the kitchen and down the hallway, a redhead hot on her heels.

But their urgency to leave was short lived as Natasha tackled Y/n onto the bed, peppering her face with kisses as they rolled around on the crumpled sheets, acting more like teenagers than thirty year old women. But they were allowed to, Natasha had been robbed of a childhood after all.

Breakfast could wait, this morning was much more important.

In the spirit of encouraging people to comment on fanfics while also making it easier to do so, I feel obliged to share a browser extension for ao3 that has quite literally revolutionized the comment game for me.

I present to you: the floating ao3 comment box!

From what I've seen, a big problem for many people is that once you reach the comments at the bottom of a fic, your memory of it miraculously disappears. Anything you wanted to say is stuck ten paragraphs ago, and you barely remember what you thought while reading. This fixes that!

I'll give a little explanation on the features and how it works, but if you want to skip all that, here's the link.

The extension is visible as a small blue box in the upper left corner.

(Side note: The green colouring is not from the extension, that's me.)

If you click on it, you open a comment box window at the bottom of your screen but not at the bottom of the fic. I opened my own fic for demonstrative purposes.

The website also gives explanations on how exactly it functions, but I'll summarize regardless.

insert selection -> if you highlight a sentence in the fic it will be added in italics to the comment box

add to comment box -> once you're done writing your comment, you click this button and the entire thing will automatically copied to the ao3 comment box

delete -> self explanatory

on mulitchapter fics, you will be given the option to either add the comment to just the current chapter or the entire fic

The best part? You can simply close the window the same way you opened it and your progress will automatically be saved. So you can open it, comment on a paragraph, and then close it and keep reading without having the box in your face.

Comments are what keep writers going, and as both a writer and a reader, I think it's such an easy way of showing support and enthusiasm.

To my readers:

If your comment is long and rambling and full of quotes you enjoyed, I will love it.

If your comment is full of story related questions, I will love it.

If your comment is a single sentence, I will love it.

If your comment is a single emoji, or a string of them, I will love it.

If you comment, I will love it. It's that simple.

Whispered in Russian

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha teaches you how to speak some Russian during your time together on a mission.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. Not sure if it was what you expected but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, cursing, Russian translations from google (because I unfortunately do not know the language)

Words: 3250

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.”

Natasha’s Russian accent flows effortlessly, her voice smooth and confident as she speaks to the front desk receptionist. Her tone carries the ease of someone completely at home in the language. 

It’s a voice you’ve grown intimately familiar with—not just as her teammate for years but also as her partner.

Which also makes it easier to pick up and piece together some of the words, though you’re still far from being fluent. 

Reservation for Natalia Romanova, you translate silently.

The receptionist offers a polite smile, tapping away at her computer until she finds the reservation. With a nod, she retrieves a key card and slides it across the counter to Natasha.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.”

You listen intently, trying to match the sounds to meaning, but the words come faster than you can process. Your grasp falters after the first few phrases. 

Welcome…Romanova…key

You almost have it, but the rest slips through your mental filter, lost in the quick flow of syllables. Before you can catch up, the receptionist continues in a kind but rapid tone.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.”

At that, Natasha’s lips quirk up in a small, amused smirk. The expression is subtle but unmistakable, and it draws your curiosity. 

You glance at her, silently asking what amused her, but she offers no explanation, only thanking the receptionist with a graceful nod as she takes the key card. 

“Spasibo,” Natasha says, her voice as composed as ever.

Thank you. 

That part you recognize immediately, the basic phrase standing out like a familiar face in a crowd.

Natasha’s hand finds your waist as she guides you away from the desk, her touch grounding and affectionate. 

Still, your mind lingers curiously on the exchange. 

Once inside the room, you dive into setting up your equipment for the mission, carefully pulling out the listening gear from your bag. 

Meanwhile, Natasha checks the room methodically, her eyes scanning for anything amiss. She ends her sweep at the window, drawing back the shutters slightly to observe the building across the street—the one where the targets work at.

“What did the receptionist say to you at the end?” you ask, your curiosity finally spilling over as you adjust the calibration on the gear. 

Natasha glances over her shoulder at you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. She takes her time responding, watching as you work with meticulous focus.

“She said if we needed anything, we could call the front desk,” Natasha replies casually, her tone almost too neutral.

You pause, narrowing your eyes as you turn to face her. 

“That’s it?” you ask, skepticism lacing your voice. “Then why did you react like that?”

The smirk you’d noticed earlier reappears, tugging at the corners of her lips. Natasha steps closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning in.

“Zhena,” she repeats slowly, enunciating the word with deliberate care. Her breath is warm against your skin as she presses a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. “It means ‘wife.’ She called you my wife.”

“Oh,” you reply, your heart fluttering at the thought. 

You fall silent for a moment, processing, before quietly repeating the word under your breath. 

“Zhena,” you murmur, practicing the pronunciation like a secret you want to keep safe. You say it again, slightly louder, trying to mimic Natasha’s intonation.

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches your reaction, her smirk giving way to a small, genuine smile.

Once satisfied with your attempt, you nod firmly, confidence growing. 

Your gaze shifts to the small table in the corner of the room, and something catches your eye. You gesture toward it, brow raised.

“Well,” you say, “that explains the bottle of champagne.”

Natasha follows your gaze, her chuckle warm and rich as she spots the chilled, unopened bottle perched beside two crystal glasses. 

“Hill said this was the only room available,” she replies, her fingers tracing soft patterns at your sides. Her voice drops slightly, the edge of a smirk returning to her lips. “Guess that means we’re playing newlyweds.”

You wrap your arms around her shoulders, leaning against her as you ponder the situation. 

“Alright,” you nod thoughtfully, “and it won’t look suspicious if we don’t leave our room much since, technically, we’re on our honeymoon.” 

Natasha’s smirk deepens, her eyes glinting with mischief. She tilts her head closer, her lips brushing lightly against yours. 

“Oh, that sounds fun,” she murmurs, her tone dropping into a suggestive lilt.

You roll your eyes, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays your amusement. 

“I meant it’s a good cover for our mission,” you say pointedly, pulling back just enough to regain your composure. You gesture toward the gear on the table before raising a brow at her. “Or did you already forget the reason why we’re here in the first place?”

Natasha doesn’t answer immediately. 

Instead, her smirk shifts into something a little more daring as she tightens her hold on your waist before pulling you flush against her. Her lips ghost over yours again as she leans in, just close enough for her voice to drop to a whisper.

“I’m multitasking,” she teases, the husky tone sending a shiver down your spine before she closes the small distance between you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Some time later, after you two manage to refocus on the mission, you settle in to monitor the listening equipment. 

The two of you wait patiently, earpieces in place, scanning for the key information you need.

But after a few hours of static-filled recordings, indistinct conversations, and absolutely nothing useful, Natasha notices your shoulders beginning to tense with exhaustion. 

She rests a hand on your arm. 

“Take a break,” she offers softly. “I’ll keep watch for now.”

You hesitate, but the encouraging smile on her lips convinces you. 

“Alright,” you relent, stretching out your stiff shoulders before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once inside, the hot water works wonders, the steam easing the tension in your muscles. 

You feel the stress of the mission starts to melt away, but as you finish, you realize you’ve made a small mistake. 

You forgot to grab your change of clothes for the night. 

With a sigh, you wrap the towel around yourself, water still clinging to your skin, and step out of the bathroom.

The cool air sends a shiver through you as you pad quietly toward your bag.

Natasha’s back is to you as she speaks on the hotel phone. 

Her voice flows smoothly in Russian, soft but clear, and you catch a few familiar words—borscht, pelmeni, blini—dishes you’ve heard her name before.

As you rummage through your belongings, it hits you: she’s ordering dinner. You smile to yourself, amused by the domesticity of the moment, even in the middle of a mission. 

Not wanting to take any longer, you quickly grab what you need, tossing your bag back in its original position as you hear Natasha finish up.

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…”

The abrupt edge in Natasha’s voice pulls your attention, her sudden exclamation making you look up in curiosity.

Her words have stopped mid-sentence, her lips parted slightly as her eyes roam over you. Her gaze lingers on the droplets of water still glistening on your skin, the curve of your shoulders, and the towel that clings just a little too loosely to your body.

It takes her a moment to catch herself. Natasha clears her throat, her voice steadier as she quickly finishes her conversation. 

“Prostite,” she mutters into the phone. “Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.”

You pause where you stand as you attempt to piece together what she just said. Your limited Russian skills manage to translate fragments: leave…food…door. 

It’s enough to guess that she told them to leave your dinners outside the room so they won’t come in and see all your equipment set up.

But you also notice that there’s one word missing from the sentence—the one she exclaimed earlier.

It lingers in your mind, unaccounted for, and you try remembering how Natasha said it.

“Blyat…” you repeat, testing the word carefully, sounding it out until you nod in satisfaction, confident you’ve got it.

A low groan comes from Natasha, prompting you to look back at her. Her eyes are noticeably darker now.

“Bozhe moy…” Natasha mutters under her breath, shaking her head lightly in exasperation.

Your brow quirks in amusement at her tone, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a curse word—just something someone would say when they’re surprised or frustrated,” Natasha says stiffly, her voice a little strained, though she manages to seem mostly composed.

Her eyes eventually betray her, though, drifting back to the droplets of water sliding down your skin. 

“So what’s the translation?” you press, crossing your arms at her vague response. The motion inadvertently shifts the towel, loosening it further.

Natasha’s jaw tightens. Her gaze flickers to the towel, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her control clearly fraying. 

Even though she looks like she’s about to close the distance between you, it’s clear she won’t answer your question, which makes your expression fall lightly into a mock disappointed pout.

“You said you’d help me improve my Russian during this mission,” you remind her, your tone innocently light as you step closer to stand in front of her. 

The memory of her promise lingers in your mind—how she’d caught you practicing in secret and insisted you ask her for help whenever you needed it.

Her lips twist in hesitation, probably also remembering her promise, and for a moment, it seems like she might resist.

But then she relents with a sigh. 

“It’s basically like saying ‘fuck,’” Natasha explains, her voice low and even. She fixes you with a pointed look, her gaze burning as she adds, “As in, you surprised me, standing half-naked in the middle of the room like this.” 

A laugh escapes you, though your cheeks warm at the intensity of her gaze. You move to hover a hand above her chest, tracing a finger lightly against the edge of her tank top.

“Were you surprised…or frustrated?” you ask, your tone full of mischief. 

Natasha shoots you a warning look, one that says you already know the answer.

“I don’t think learning Russian curse words was part of your original goal here,” she counters, her voice tight.

“Who says I haven’t learned some phrases already?” you reply with a playful shrug.

Her eyebrows lift, intrigued. “Like what?”

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate. “I’m still practicing my pronunciation.”

Natasha smirks, leaning closer. “I can help.”

The listening equipment chooses that moment to beep suddenly, interrupting your conversation, as it signals incoming noises.

“Too bad we’re still on the clock,” you quip with a teasing smile.

Natasha’s attention flickers reluctantly to the gear, her expression briefly clouded with disappointment.

You take the opportunity to head back to the bathroom and finish up.

As you go, a smirk tugs at your lips, the Russian phrase you’ve been practicing simmering in your mind.

Just as you step through the doorway, you hum thoughtfully, your voice low and deliberate as you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for Natasha to hear.

“How did it go again...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…”

You don’t need to turn around to know the effect your words have. Natasha’s sharp intake of breath is unmistakable, and your smirk widens in satisfaction. 

Behind you, Natasha freezes, her lips parting slightly, her entire body going still as she processes what you just said. The weight of your casual tone and the boldness of your phrasing leave her momentarily stunned.

By the time she regains her composure, you’ve already disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click.

A low, disbelieving chuckle escapes her after a moment, followed by a quiet grumble as she mutters to herself, “Of all the times to be on a mission…” 

Natasha shakes her head and exhales, grabbing the earpiece with a resigned sigh.

Sliding it back on, she tries to focus on the task at hand, her eyes scanning the equipment as if sheer willpower could drown out her thoughts.

But her gaze betrays her, drifting back toward the bathroom door.

It lingers there, her resolve wavering as the temptation to follow you creeps in, tugging at her self-control.

Her mind conjures an image of you inside—water still clinging to your skin and your voice low and teasing as you repeat the Russian phrase for “fuck me” over and over again. 

The imagination is enough to make her swallow hard, her grip tightening on the table’s edge.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Natasha forces her attention back to the mission, her eyes narrowing as if determination alone could block the distractions. 

And she does succeed in regaining her composure eventually, though, every now and again, your voice echoes in her mind—soft, playful, and full of mischief.

Each syllable you murmured is as clear as if you were still standing there, taunting her with that dangerous smirk.

The corners of her lips twitch despite herself. 

You’ve always told her how much you love hearing her speak in Russian—how the sound of it stirs something in you. 

Natasha had always found your words amusing, but hearing you just now, with your hesitant yet deliberate tone, she’s beginning to understand exactly what you meant.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After dinner, Natasha takes it upon herself to continue monitoring the listening gear, insisting that you rest up first after the long trip here and the exhausting setup.

Her tone left little room for argument, so you relented, knowing how stubborn she could be about these things and the fact that she is more than capable of staying concentrated on the task for longer than you can.

Hours pass, the rhythmic static and indistinct chatter from the equipment blending into the quiet of the room.

Natasha barely notices how late it’s gotten until she feels your arms wrap gently around her shoulders from behind.

You lean in close, your warm breath brushing against the side of her head as you carefully remove her earpieces. 

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” you whisper softly.

Natasha’s lips curve into a small, pleased smile at your perfect pronunciation. Turning to face you, she raises a brow, her expression amused.

“Did you learn that specifically for moments like this?” she teases.

You smirk back at her. 

“With how often you lose yourself in work, I figured learning how to call you to bed should be one of the first things I perfect.” 

Natasha shakes her head fondly, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. 

“Of course you would,” she murmurs, but there’s no mistaking the affection in her voice.

Obliging you, she removes the rest of the gear and allows you to pull her gently from the chair toward the large bed.

As she moves, her gaze flickers to the nightstand, catching sight of your tablet screen. The familiar display of the language-learning app you’ve been using to practice Russian glows faintly in the dim light.

Settling in beside her, you lie back against the pillows while Natasha props herself up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand. Her green eyes glimmer with a soft light as she looks at you, a small smile playing on her lips.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “I’m sure I can teach you Russian better than that app.” 

Her comment makes you laugh lightly. 

“I know, but our free time doesn’t always line up for me to get a lesson from Ms. Romanoff,” you tease, smirking.

“It’s Mrs.,” Natasha corrects, her playful smirk matching yours. “Don’t forget, we’re technically married right now.”

You smile, your gaze softening as you look at her. 

“Right. How could I forget that you’re my ‘zhena?’”

The word slips out in a playful, teasing tone, but it has an unexpected effect.

Natasha’s heart flutters so much at hearing you call her your wife in Russian that she has to look away for a moment to regain her composure. 

Her expression is tender when she looks back at you, her other arm moving around your midsection and pulling you closer. 

“I have time now,” she offers, her voice low. “Anything you want to learn?”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin as you consider. 

“Alright, how do you say…‘you look beautiful?’”

Natasha’s smile widens slightly. 

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” she replies smoothly.

You repeat the phrase under your breath, scrunching your face slightly in concentration as you practice. Once you’re confident enough, you turn to her with a gentle smile.

“Ty vy-glya-dish’ prekrasno,” you say, your pronunciation close but not perfect.

Natasha chuckles softly in amusement when she realizes you just wanted to say the phrase back to her. 

“Are you trying to make me fall for you even more by complimenting me in Russian?”  

You smirk playfully. “Depends. Is it working?”

Huffing lightly, Natasha rolls her eyes, though there’s a clear fondness in her exasperation. She looks away briefly, but you catch her cheek gently, turning her gaze back to yours.

“How do you say…‘I love you?’” you ask softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and affection.

Natasha’s expression softens further, her features open and vulnerable as she answers. 

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she says, enunciating each syllable carefully for you. 

“Ya tebya lyu…blyu,” you repeat slowly, trying to mimic how her lips move, but the last syllable doesn’t quite land how it should.

Natasha chuckles lightly, her hand moving to cup your chin. 

“When you say ‘lyublyu,’” she explains gently, “you have to purse your lips more.”

You try again, adjusting your pronunciation, and then glance at her for confirmation. 

“Like that?” you ask innocently, unaware that you had said it perfectly, making Natasha’s heart beat a little faster at the sound of your voice saying those words to her in her native language. 

“Say it again,” Natasha murmurs, her voice soft. 

Focusing intently, you follow her previous instructions.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Just as you say the last sound, Natasha leans in suddenly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

Your smile grows against her mouth as realization dawns that she made you repeat it for her benefit. 

“Mmm, you’re teasing me when you're supposed to be teaching me,” you murmur lightly in reprimand.

Natasha pulls back slightly, her green eyes glinting with playful mischief. 

“Maybe I just love the way you say it,” she counters, her tone low and warm. 

You huff lightly, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation before scooting closer.

Natasha relaxes fully into the bed, letting you rest your head on her shoulder and tuck your face into the curve of her neck. Her arms wrap around you, holding you in a soft embrace.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Natasha’s voice breaks through, gentle and curious. 

“What made you decide to learn Russian?”

There’s a brief pause as you consider her question, and then you tilt your head to look up at her, your eyes filled with affection. 

“Russian is a part of who you are, Natasha,” you say earnestly. “Where you came from. To learn another way to connect with you…” You trail off, your soft smile widening. “Who wouldn’t want to do that?”

Natasha’s heart swells at your words, and for a moment, all she can do is hold you closer, her fingers brushing lightly over your back.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but still filled with the depth of her feelings for you.

You settle back against her, smiling into her shoulder, your voice gentle as you reply.

“Ya tebya lyublyu, too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: got distracted by a cute request and made another little fluff fic. thank you for reading! Now I'll get back to working on my series. 😅

Also here are the translations below:

“Bron' dlya Nataliyi Romanovoy.” - Reservation for Natalia Romanova.

“Dobro pozhalovat, gospazha Romanova. Vot vashi klyuchi ot nomera.” - Welcome, Mrs. Romanova. Here are your room keys.

“Esli vam ili vashey zhene potrebuyetsya pomoshch, pozvonite na resepshn, i my s radostyu vam pomozhem.” - If you or your wife need assistance, please call the front desk and we will be happy to assist you.

“Spasibo,” - Thank you

“Zhena,” - Wife

“Da, prosto ostav’te—blyat…” - Yes, just leave it—fuck...

“Prostite, Ostav’te yedu u dveri. Spasibo.” - Sorry, leave the food at the door. Thank you.

“Blyat” - fuck

“Bozhe moy…” - My god...

“...trak-hni…menya…trakhni menya…” - ..fuck...me...fuck me...

“Poydem so mnoy spat’,” - Come to bed with me

“Ty vyglyadish’ prekrasno,” - You look beautiful

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” - I love you

Patience, darling (pt. 1)

vi x reader, 18+ themes!!

Semi-famous Vi who has you on a live with her for the first time and... isn't very good at waiting

Vi sort of assumed that once the rush of getting together had calmed down, her yearning for you would lessen a little. That you wouldn't always be all over each other. But the longer she's with you, she's starting to think maybe... that won't be the case.

You've been going out for some years now, and still even the briefest peck sends heat prickling down Vi's spine.

Normally she'll just pull you close without a second thought. She discovers it's worse—much worse—when she has to wait...

Mechanic Vi who has a super dedicated following for doing little "how to fix this in your car" videos for girls, and also for the photos she posts of her on her motorbike, which always go viral. She often does lives where she just chats to whoever's watching as she works, or cooks dinner or cleans up her workspace.

Her fans all know about your relationship, as she'll use any excuse to gush about you. Because you often work late, she's on live a lot as she's making dinner for when you get back, and her followers are always asking about you. It's gotten to the point where her followers collectivly refer to you as "Cupcake," a nickname she jokingly called you one time.

But... they've never seen you in any of her lives. Although she talks about you all the time, you're pretty private about your personal life, and so there's never anything identifying in her posts. Sometimes a photo that cuts off at the shoulders of a mystery girl leant up against her bike, Vi's hands wrapped snugly around your waist. You're also never in her "how to" videos, apart from an occasional quiet laugh or comment off camera, and you don't have any socials of your own.

Her fans are always begging to see you, and Vi always just smiles a little, saying coyly, 'Well, we'll see...'

One time she's reading through the comments, saying some out loud. It's a casual live today, she's just eating and chilling out, waiting for you to finish work.

'When's Cupcake coming home...' Vi reads aloud. She checks her watch. 'Any minute now,' she tells the chat, standing to take her plate to the sink then returning to the table where her phone's propped up against a jug of flowers—you love flowers, there are always some in the flat.

'Oh, you wanna meet her?' she asks, reading another question. Smiling a bit, she lifts a shoulder. 'Well, maybe I'll ask her when she gets back.' She gives the camera a wink. 'We'll see.'

A few minutes later there's the sound of the front door, then your heels clicking down the hall.

'Hey,' Vi turns to you with a smile as you enter the living room, a shopping bag over one arm and all your work bags over the other. You're still dressed for the office, a neat blouse and skirt.

'You on live?' you ask, toeing off your shoes and dropping your bags on a chair.

'Uh-huh.' Vi's looking at you in a way that tells you instantly she wants a kiss, but if she's on live you're not going to disturb her now. She holds out a hand to you. 'Wanna come say hi?'

'Say hi?'

Vi nods, hand still outstretched. She raises a questioning eyebrow, giving you the option of saying no if you're not comfortable with the idea. When you lift a shoulder in a little shrug, showing you're not fussed, a small smile tugs at Vi's lips. The chat is going crazy, comments coming in one after the other, as Vi turns back to the camera to say cheekily, 'She's a little shy.'

You roll your eyes, walking over to her. Standing beside her, the camera is angled so that your torso is cut off, and the chat can't properly see you yet. Vi looks up at you, her hand settling on your waist. For a moment you forget about the camera and everyone watching, reaching out to brush her hair back.

'Work okay?' Vi asks softly. It's been a long day and she's missed you, and it takes everything in her not to wrap her arms tight around your waist and tug you close.

'Mhmm.'

Vi smiles a little. 'Mhm?'

You hum again, unable to help smiling back. 'You?'

'Mhm,' Vi echoes. The way you're looking at her, teasing and playful, is enough to get her heart racing, and her eyes stray to your lips. She's about to tug you down before suddenly remembering the camera and turns back, clearing her throat, cheeks slightly red. The chat is rioting.

We're third wheeling so bad

HELP

kiSSKISSKISS

crying in single

IS THE TENSION IN THE ROOM WITH US

The comments make her snort with laughter, and she tugs gently on your waist, encouraging you to lean down.

'Budge up,' you say, nudging her knees for her to move a little and allow you to squeeze into the chair with her, but Vi only grins broadly, spreading her legs wider.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you lean down so the camera can see your face.

'I say move and she spreads her legs,' you tell everyone, before reaching out for another chair to drag it next to Vi. You've barely stretched out your hand when she makes a wounded noise.

'What are you doing?'

Turning, you find her staring up at you, looking ridiculously hurt.

'Uh, getting a chair?' you say, amused.

Vi makes a vague gesture at her lap. 'What, I'm not good enough?'

You can't help but laugh at her affronted pout, sliding into her lap and wrapping an arm around her neck. One strong hand instantly settles your waist, her other hand resting lightly on your thigh. Leaning towards the camera, you smile, giving a little wave.

'Hi everyone...' you pause to peer at the comments. 'She's so pretty,' you read aloud. 'Oh, I know!' you turn to face Vi, cupping her face and leaning down to press your nose briefly against hers. Vi's looking up at you, face tilted to meet yours, and there's only one word for her expression.

Adoring.

'She's the prettiest,' you smile, leaning back and giving Vi a very quick kiss on the tip of her nose that makes her laugh softly, the hand on your waist tightening a little. 'My pretty girl.'

'I think they were talking about you,' says Vi, tucking you more firmly against her and resting her chin on your shoulder. 'But thanks, love.'

Leaning forwards to read the comments again, you gasp in faked shock.

'Babe! They're all calling you a massive bottom.' You pretend to frown at the camera. 'How dare you!'

Turning to face Vi, there's a teasing smile playing at her lips as you cover her ears with your palms until she huffs a laugh.

'Don't listen to them,' you say, then, tucking a knuckle beneath her chin to keep her looking up at you, you lift a hand to your face so the camera can't see what you're saying as you mouth, 'you fuck me so good. '

You mean it to be playful, a little joke, but Vi's eyes instantly darken as the words leave your lips, her gaze dropping to your mouth as she visibly swallows, her jaw tightening. The hand she had resting loosly on your waist suddenly digs in, her nails scrunching the fabric of your office skirt.

You laugh softly, fond, knowing exactly what's on her mind.

'Patience,' you singsong. 'Not in front of the children, love.'

this love will find me when

😭 😭😭 😭 😭 😭😭

SHOULD WE LEAVE THEM TO IT

KISSKISSKISSKISS

Reading out the chat again, you can't help but laugh.

'Kiss?' you ask, turning to give Vi a kiss on the cheek. She rolls her eyes playfully, but her cheeks are flushed, the hand on your waist still gripping tightly.

You turn back to the camera, biting back a grin—you know just what you're doing and hell if you don't enjoy Vi's reaction to you. But then she leans up, her warm breath ghosting over your neck so you can't help but shiver, quickly lifting a hand almost on reflex to cover the camera because you know what Vi's like when she wants you, you know exactly how her control slips.

All she does, however, is brush her lips over the shell of your ear as she whispers, 'Fuck, princess, you just gonna tease me all night?'

There's a slight strain in her voice, and you know she's more worked up than she's letting on. Still, you're pretty sure you're both just teasing, just putting on a bit of a show for the live, so, confident that she won't do anything more... risky, you let your hand drop away from the camera, laughing as you reply softly, 'We'll see.'

guys they kissed i was the chair

omg?!?!!?

im giggling STOP

AJDBAJABWAKSJSJS

The comment makes you laugh. 'Yeah, I feel that,' you agree. Behind you, Vi drops her forehead onto your shoulder with a soft, bitten-off groan. 'Right!' you grin, 'we'll be pg from now on.'

You start chatting to everyone, asking people where they're from, answering their questions about your work. Vi is unusually quiet, chin resting on your shoulder and hand never leaving your waist. At some point she turns her face a little so you can feel her breath on your neck. Shallow and quicker than normal.

'You all good?' you ask her without turning your head, running a soothing hand along her arm as you look at her in the camera.

She gives you a small smile as she nods, but there's something tight about her expression.

'Sure?' you double check, before continuing with your conversation with the chat when she nods again.

Almost absently, the hand she had resting on your thigh twitches a little, and she starts lightly tracing a finger along your skin, teasingly brushing under the edge of your skirt. It sends a spark of heat dancing up your spine, and you grin again, sure you know what she's doing, what game she's playing.

Well, two can play at that game.

But, not breaking off your conversation with the chat, when you reach back to thread your fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, Vi makes a choked off sound near your ear, her fingers squeezing reflexively on your thigh as if she wasn't the one trailing a finger under your skirt a moment ago.

Glancing at her in the camera, she's got her teeth sunk into her lower lip, eyes trained on the back of your neck, exposed where your hair is twisted up for the office. You squint— it's hard to see properly in the camera, but her cheeks are definitely flushed.

Suddenly you're... not so sure this is a game at all.

cupcake i think you broke vi

vi blink three times if u need us to go

EYES NEVER LIE

she's down so bad whelp

WE SHOULD LEAVE BEFORE VI GOES INTO CARDIAC ARREST

'You all need to, like, go out in the sun or something,' you laugh, but a moment later you feel Vi shift a little beneath you where you're still sitting in her lap. The tiniest cant of her hips upwards and an accompanying quiet whine in your ear and oh—

This isn't a game. She needs you.

You genuinely thought all the teasing was for the live, but you know very certainly now that it's not just for show anymore. Right now, she's desparate for you. For a second you let your mind wander, wondering if she's wet enough that she's soaked through her boyshorts, your mouth going dry as Vi drops her head on your shoulder again, fingers tightening reflexively on your thigh.

Clearing your throat, you give the chat a bright smile.

'Right! So we have to make dinner now and ya know...' you give them a wink, 'things to see, lots to do—'

*people to do

queen you're gonna fuck don't lie to us

crying in single

lol you be fucking frrrr

😭 😭 so happy for you guys 😭 😭 100% happy and not jealous at all

sleeping on the highway xoxo

lmao same

'Hey, no sleeping on highways,' you smile. 'Okay, well bye everyone! I had a lovely time meeting you all.'

You say a few more quick goodbyes as the chat sends love and kisses, and the second you press the end button Vi lets out a funny, strangled noise.

'Fuck,' she hisses, pulling her head up from your shoulder, 'fuck fuck fuck—'

Laughing softly, you turn to face her and oh—

She's absolutely wrecked.

A flush is creeping down her neck, her bright blue irises almost entirely swallowed by pupil and eyes heavy-lidded in want, her lips bitten and swollen. The sight sends an aching wave of heat through you.

'Oh hey,' you say gently, turning so you're straddling her as both her hands come to grip your waist and she looks up at you, the expression on her face nothing short of pleading.

'Fuck, princess you can't do that,' she says, voice shaky. 'You can't—can't tease like that it's not fair, fuck—'

Closing her eyes, her head tips back a little as you press a thumb against her lower lip. Leaning forward, you brush your own lips over her neck, allowing your tongue to flick against her pulse point. At the movement Vi lets out a ragged sort of moan, a full body shiver going right through her as she bites off another curse.

'I'm sorry,' you whisper against her throat. You're trying to feel bad about it, you really are, but honestly? Knowing that you do this to her makes you feel nothing short of a goddess.

Kissing a line down to Vi's collarbones, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that her chest is heaving just from this brief moment of contact, you draw back, allowing your eyes to flick up. 'Let me make it up to you? I'll take care of you baby.'

pt 2 will be posted soon xo

This is the magic lucky word count. Reblog for creativity juice. It might even work, who knows.

Eyes Closed

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Day 11: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 11th of January, which is 'prom'.

Fluff and gentle smut contained below.

.

You were in bed. The darkness had crept into the room slowly, just like the silence. You turned on a light but it wasn’t enough for that kind of darkness. 

You thought about her. You tried not to worry.

.

‘I know, I know.’ Natasha called out as soon as she entered the room. Your mouth dropped as you stared in shock at her appearance. Blood stains coated her face and suit. You could barely see her skin beneath. Natasha stood at the foot of the bed with a nonplussed expression on her face. 

‘I feel like Carrie at the prom.’ She yawned as she unzipped her blood-soaked suit to her waist, revealing her toned stomach and sports bra. 

Natasha reached up to her hair then, ready to undo the end of her usual braid. She groaned as she remembered her more intricate hairstyle made up of several smaller braids.

‘Here, love.’ You slipped off the bed and walked to her. ‘Let me help.’

Natasha tilted forward, her head pressing tiredly against your shoulder as you worked to undo each braid. You tried not to hesitate as you worked around the hair matted with even more blood.

When you were done, you resisted the instinct to kiss her.

‘This might be your most disgusting post-mission look.’ You said wrinkling your nose at the pervasive smell of the dried blood. 

Natasha gave you a sarcastic thumbs up as she headed to the ensuite bathroom.

‘Guess you won’t be joining me.’ She commented dryly as the shower began to run. 

‘It’s so hard to say no.’ You grinned, grabbing your phone and keys and heading out of the room. ‘I’ll bring you back sustenance.’ You promised as you left. 

You returned soon enough, a peanut butter jelly sandwich in one hand. You’d cut the crusts off. Natasha didn’t actually care about the crusts. That wasn’t why you did it. 

You knocked the door as you entered. Natasha was lying on her stomach, sprawled out on the bed, wrapped in a fluffy white robe that she’d stolen a million years ago from a fancy hotel. It was tied loosely, already half off one shoulder. You could tell she was naked underneath. Her long red hair was damp, combed through and already curling at the ends. 

She turned at the sound of the door. Her attention immediately fell to the plate in your hands. 

She made a happy noise, muffled by her pillow as she rolled over onto her back. She shuffled to a seated position in the bed.

‘Give.’ She demanded teasingly as you held out the plate. 

Natasha noticed the missing crusts. Her delight was easy to see. She covered her face and gave a laugh. 

‘I’m special.’ She teased.

‘Yep.’ You agreed simply and sat down next to her, your arm automatically snaking around her waist. 

Natasha leaned against you like you were her support pole. She chewed slowly on the sandwich, her eyes closed with the first bite and she nodded happily to herself.

‘Good?’ You checked teasingly. 

Wordlessly, she gave you another thumbs up.

When the sandwich was done, Natasha fell backwards onto the bed. With great effort she moved back to her starfish position across the centre of it. 

You felt yourself finally approaching the moment. The time for acknowledge what she was obviously avoiding. 

The energy had been too light since she got back. It had been a bad mission. 

‘I’m so tired.’ Natasha mumbled finally against her pillow. 

You crawled over to lie beside her. You brushed her damp hair away from her face.

‘What kind of tired?’ You prompted gently. Natasha’s eyes screwed tight against your gaze.

‘A lot of people died.’ She murmured at last. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

She opened her eyes again and met you with a heavy stare. You recognised the swirling regret and thought inexplicably about ocean waves crashing over rocks.

‘I should’ve-’ Her voice cracked. 

The rush of love was overwhelming and you leaned forward with the sudden, aching, urgent want to kiss her.

Natasha clung to your lips needily, her fingertips brushed your jaw. 

Her lips were cracked and the sensation brought you back to yourself. You cupped her cheek gently as you slowly encouraged Natasha back to a sitting position. 

‘You’re thirsty.’ You hummed out as Natasha’s lips continued to brush yours over and over again. 

Natasha’s eyes briefly squeezed shut again and then she nodded. 

You left the bed to retrieve her water bottle on the other side of the room. Natasha unscrewed the top and wordlessly drank it all.

Your stomach twisted as you watched her.

It could be a symptom, sometimes, of the bad missions. Not giving herself what she needed. Punishing herself for things that weren’t her fault. 

Natasha put the empty water bottle back on the nightstand. She turned back to you with the same hidden sadness in her eyes. Still, she gave you a small smile. 

You reached forward again with a surge of the same want. You left a trail of the softest kisses along on her neck. You could smell the familiar mix of her body wash and that scent that was only Natasha. 

Natasha hummed with pleasure. You felt her body rise and fall as her breathing evened out into slow, deep breaths. You tugged the white robe gently away from her shoulder, and then again, until you’d removed it all the way.

Natasha acquiesced readily to the direction of your touch. There was a relief almost in the way she was naked next to you. As if the pretence could leave her. 

She arched her back dramatically and you watched the muscles move and stretch. Then, she returned her body easily to its most comfortable bad posture. 

Natasha looked at you again and, this time, her gaze was easier and her smile was warm. 

A longing caught itself in your throat. 

Hesitantly, you touched the old scar that sat between her shoulders. Evidence of another mission survived, another risk taken.

You pressed a little harder and Natasha moaned in response to the pressure on the fatigued muscle just beneath the skin.

You adjusted yourself back on the bed, propping yourself up on your knees. You kissed the base of her neck as your thumbs began to rub concentric circles over her shoulder blades. 

Natasha murmured your name. Her back arched again in pleasure. 

‘You are brave.’ You told her, consumed with the constant need to take away her pain. 

You kissed her again, trailing a path down the curve of her spine.

‘You are strong.’ You murmured, your mouth grazing past another nameless scar. 

You felt the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest against your lips. The steady proof of her existence; all you could hope for.

‘You are trying your best.’

Your thumbs brushed lightly over the large, fresh bruise that sat under Natasha’s ribcage. Natasha stiffened.

You ran your hands soothingly back up to her shoulders and then around to cup her soft breasts.

‘And, you are always, always forgiven.’ 

You felt Natasha’s limbs loosen unthinkingly with your words and then, slowly, you felt her muscles tighten again with a different want. 

Natasha murmured your name again. And then again. You listened to the longing soaked into her voice. 

You squeezed her breasts slowly before moving around to stand in the space in front of her seated position on the bed.

You reached over and took a pillow from the bed. You held it to the back of Natasha’s head and gave her a teasing smile as you pressed her gently in encouragement to lie back. 

Natasha’s fingers caught the front of your shirt automatically as she let her torso go flat against the mattress. 

Her feet were still touching the ground. You watched her hip bones cant upwards towards the air in this new position.

You lost yourself briefly in the act of just looking down at her. At the softness and sharpness that made Natasha's body the only one that you craved. 

Natasha’s eyes were half-shuttered as she watched you too. Her smile was easy but you caught the swirling of a thousand emotions that sat beneath her stare.

It was enough for you to drop to your knees.

You spread her legs slowly and slid between them. The steady warmth of her was your favourite heat. 

Another anchor that promised you she was here. 

You stretched out your arms, letting your fingernails brush back and forth along her toned stomach. You didn’t waste any more time. 

Slowly you ran your flat tongue along her pussy. There was the familiar tang of her body wash  and the taste that could only be Natasha. 

Natasha groaned above you. You felt her stomach muscles tighten under your fingers and knew that she was already close. 

You moved on instinct, your eyes closed as you lost yourself in the sounds of her hums and sighs. The heat of her against your tongue spread through you. You let your tongue arc and flatten, finding the rhythms that caused her breathless moans. 

You felt her tensing. Felt the pleasure inside her become a desperate need. You used your hands to keep a steady pressure against the urgent movement of her hips. 

Natasha gave a strangled cry and in the midst of it you heard your name. You pressed again and again with your tongue. You felt her body wind itself tighter and tighter and then undo itself all at once. 

You tasted the dripping want and heard the soft pants of something achieved. 

You gave one last lick along her pussy. 

‘Good?’ You murmured, as you moved back to survey Natasha. 

Natasha didn’t move or speak. Slowly, as if with great effort, she gave you a silent thumbs up. 

You breathed a laugh, kissed her one more time and got to your feet.

You headed to the bathroom, grabbing a flannel and running it under the warm water. You returned and gently washed between her legs. 

Natasha’s eyes were fully shut now. 

You leaned forward and Natasha moaned in automatic pleasure at the sudden heat of your body against her bare one. 

‘Bed, love.’ You whispered, pulling the covers back and coaxing her gently. 

Natasha acquiesced and you watched her crawl beneath the warm covers. 

You left and got yourself ready for bed too. 

Just as you were about to slide under the covers, you heard the first snuffling noises of Natasha pressing herself comfortably into her pillow. 

A moment later, you clicked off the light on your nightstand.

.

You turned to face her. Natasha’s face was framed by her own messy curls. You thought about her. About the sadness that you could always see unless her eyes were closed. You tried not to worry.

Natasha snored suddenly and the sound was another steady proof that she was here. You closed your eyes and finally slept. 

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

.

.

AO3 Kudos and Comments

For all those beautiful AO3 readers out there...

I get an email notification from AO3 every time I get kudos or comments on my fics. I receive those emails while I'm at my soul-sucking day job.

It is a blinding flash of pure joy and delight and love, that floats me along for the rest of the day (and several days after).

So, if you're reading and enjoying someone's fic on AO3... PLEASE KUDO AND COMMENT telling them how much you love it! You are literally feeding their soul.

Bonus points if you tell them what specifically you love, and why, and how much.

DOUBLE BONUS POINTS if you quote your favorite lines from their work. <-Writers love this

***THANK YOUUUU <3 <3 <3 we don't do it for money, we do it because we LOOOVE to do it and we can't not do it, and we love to share it and talk to others who love it too!!!!!!***

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!