I Have A Whump Prompt I Found On Pintrest: "Baths Were Used As A Form Of Torture Against Reader. They

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FIVE: DON'T HATE THE PLAYERS

violet; 5,460 words; fluff, suggestive content, drama, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, smau-intermissions, miscommunication, fake dating, lesbian situationships rly hit diff, toxic ex!cait, simp!vi, rival!sevika, inappropriate use of locker rooms, vi is down so horrifically bad its kind of sad tbh

summary: in which instagrams are posted, texts are sent, hockey games are played, and you try your best to make it back in time to gie vi her present.

a/n: a lot of things happen here. LOL but i promise they're not all bad! ALSO. the insta post picture IS NOT PERFECT but it was the best i could do. and i didn't have time to commission an artist to draw the exact image that i wanted :( but i hope it at least gives the vibe of the post. and... it starts getting frisky here so... yall have been warned!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ "OH SHIT, she said that?”

Vi grunts, rolling her eyes as she drops the deadlift bar with a loud thunk, flicking her belt off with her thumb.

“Yeah. I told her to fuck off.”

“Atta girl!” Jayce says, thumping her on the shoulder. Vi casts him a disgusted look.

“If you value your future offspring, Talis, never call me that again.”

Jayce laughs, reaching down to help Vi put the weights back onto the rack.

“I honestly thought it was gonna take much longer for you to, y’know —”

Vi pauses before straightening to pin him with a look.

“What? You thought I’d super hung up on her or something?”

Jayce shrugs, “Well, yeah. You seemed pretty deep in it when you two were together so…”

Vi sighs, carding a hand through her sweat-slicked hair.

“I mean, I was, but… I dunno… seeing her with that new girlfriend of hers… and just… her reaching out to try and — what… sabotage my…” Vi bites back the word ‘relationship’ so she just makes a vague sort of gesture and continues, “really kinda put things into perspective for me.”

Jayce hums thoughtfully, “Yeah, but that Nolen girl’s no joke either. Her whole family’s been in the military — her dad’s some sort of war hero, and her mom’s the daughter of a politician, I think.”

Vi casts him a sidelong glance before scoffing, “Wow. Mel really did her research, huh?”

At this, Jayce jerks up, sputtering, “Well — she just — you know — her family’s also — I —”

Vi laughs, waving him off, “Whatever dude… but I already knew all that — why d’you think Caitlyn even ditched me in the first place?”

Jayce frowns, “Wasn’t it… because her mom didn’t approve of you or something like that?”

“Yep. We had one dinner together, and her mother made it very clear that she didn’t think someone of ‘my elk’ was worthy of being with her daughter. Apparently, having an adoptive father who owns a local watering hole and coaches college hockey isn’t the exact pedigree she’s looking for.”

Jayce lets out a low whistle.

Vi grabs a dumbbell for bicep curls.

“And… it seems like Caitlyn really look her mother’s words to heart. Cause a few weeks later… well, you know the rest.”

Jayce sighs, “That’s… unfortunate. But hey, look on the bright side. Without Cait’s mom, you would’ve never had the chance to date an Olympic athlete, right?”

Vi’s mouth twists into a half-grimace as she puffs out a breath and flexes her arm up, her eyes focused on her form in the mirror.

“Yeah well — not sure what exactly we are right now so… who knows.”

Jayce folds his arms, “Give her time. I haven’t known her as long as Mel has but she’s still a really good friend and…” Jayce allows himself a tiny, slanted grin as Vi pushes through her reps, “Mel wasn’t lying when she told you that we’ve never seen her like this with anyone else before.”

Vi finishes her first set with a loud exhale, glancing up at him.

“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that, pretty boy,” but she’s smiling when Jayce bends down to hand her a bottle of Gatorade, “hasn’t anyone told you it’s not good manners to toy with a girl’s feelings?” she pitches her voice up at the end, wiggling her fingers through the air even as Jayce rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, Jayce frowns as he turns back to Vi.

“You’ve blocked her number, right?”

Vi huffs, still counting beneath her breath, “— twenty-two, twenty-three — who? What? — Twenty-four —”

“Caitlyn’s.”

Vi grunts, straining through a few more reps before stopping to glance up at Jayce.

“No. Why? Should I?”

Jayce licks his lips, frowning slightly.

“Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Vi shrugs, “Yeah. I’ll do it later.”

Jayce nods, “Good. Alright — abs, lets go.”

You’re antsy all the way to the airport, checking your phone every four seconds, your knee bouncing even as the cab driver pulls up into the terminal and opens the trunk to grab your bag with a smile.

You bolt through the doors, thanking the heavens that the TSA Pre line is nearly empty.

Just as soon as you get through security, Mel calls.

“Have you got it?” you ask, without even saying hello.

Mel sigh, “Yes, yes, but it won’t do much good if you’re not here to give it to her —”

“I know! I know — I’m at the airport, and just got through security. Are you and Jayce —”

“I’ll come pick you up at the airport — thank god it’s only 16 minutes away from campus.”

“And you’re sure we’ll still make it on time for the game?”

“So long as your flight doesn’t get delayed —”

“It won’t.”

Mel laughs, the sound soft as you speed-walk your way through the terminal, slumping down next to your designated one with a long breath.

“Alright then, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Mel says.

You make a loud kissing noise into the speaker and hang up, your fingers automatically flicking through the open windows till you come to yours and Vi’s text history.

You grin down at it stupidly for a few more seconds before jolting out of your seat as one of the gate agents comes to shake your hand and help you board first. As you sink into the wide, business-class seat, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Your fingers fiddle with a thin gold chain around your neck and you bite back another grin.

You tug out the small teardrop locket dangling from the chain and flick open the clasp. Inside is nestled a single violet flower, pressed and perfect, preserved behind a thin pane of shimmering glass.

Vi makes a round of the rink, scanning the crowd with furrowed brows.

Nope. Nope. Nope…

She swears silently to herself, rolling her shoulders as the crowd roars.

You promised you’d be here tonight.

“And tonight, we’ve got our season’s top two favorites for the NCAA’s Frozen Four Championship — the Piltover Enforcers, and the Zaunite Barons!”

Vi grins as the stadium positively shakes with applause. It’s always nice playing on home-ice. Across the rink, she can see the huge, lumbering shapes of the Barons, and her jaw clenches as she catches Sevika’s eye.

They’d been something like childhood friends once upon a time. But after a falling out of meteoric proportions, they’d settled somewhere between grudging acquaintances and mortal enemies. Where they land on the scale on any particular day typically depends on the weather, the orbital tide height, and whether or not Mercury is currently in retrograde.

Though judging by the smirk that’s visible from beneath Sevika’s helmet, Vi thinks it’s nearing the mortal enemies end of the spectrum today.

All the players line up for the face off.

Vi bites down on her mouth guard and smacks her stick against the ice. Sevika skates up to her, bending down so close their helmets clack.

And for a brief, interminable second, Vi thinks Sevika’s going to stay quiet. But the moment passes and Sevika chuckles, the sound low and hoarse and utterly derisive. It sets Vi’s teeth on edge even before the first word leaves her mouth.

“Heard America’s snowflake-sweetheart’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Tch. What’s it to you?” Vi’s eyes flash up.

Sevika’s smirk has morphed into a full blown grin, sharp as freshly turned blades.

She shrugs, keeping her voice low as the official says something or other to both the teams.

“Well… just a lotta people buzzin’ online about her perfect skate at her competition this past weekend and I’m just thinkin’… man… you must not be fuckin’ her right —”

“You —” Vi nearly jerks up, but Sevika presses in just a bit tighter and Vi grounds her teeth down over the mouth guard.

“Cause if you lemme **take her for a spin, you can bet your scrawny ass that she won’t even be able to stand up straight, let alone skate clean.”

The puck hits the ice as if in slow motion; Vi feels a white-hot anger mixed with something very much like hurt surging up the length of her spine as she watches Sevika’s stick make contact with the puck first. But she doesn’t care — she slams her body forward and feels her shoulder check into Sevika’s chest as they both go sprawling across the ice and the puck goes wide.

They scramble up and take off after the puck, now in Zaunite possession, Sevika’s shoulder ramming reflectively into Vi’s as they jostle down the length of the rink.

Vi cracks her shoulder back into Sevika and the momentary gap is all she needs to break away, circling wide behind the goal. Someone shouts Reverse! and Vi feels more than sees the tiny black puck make contact with her stick. Her body moves on instinct, and she’s halfway down the rink before the others catch up to her.

She allows herself a single, tight-lipped grin before someone slams into her back with the force of a speeding firetruck. The world spins, but a second later, Vi hears the unmistakable sounds of Sevika’s heaving breaths.

“Ha. Aren’t you glad your little girlfriend isn’t here to see you eat shit?”

Vi flips around and before she knows it, she’s swinging her left arm into Sevika’s helmet, knocking it askew.

“Vi!”

Vi’s whole body seizes at the sound of your voice, and she looks up wildly, but she pays for it a moment later as Sevika’s fist connects with her jaw and her head snaps back. She brings her elbow down against Sevika’s extended arm, her free hand grappling to keep Sevika’s head shoved against the ice.

A whistle blows and they shove apart, shaking their heads and spitting blood. Vi tastes iron on her tongue and winces as she rotates her jaw. There’ll be a nasty bruise, but it’s not dislocated, and Vi’s suffered much worse at Sevika’s hands.

Half a foot from her, Sevika is shaking out her arm, looking murderous as the official comes up to point them towards the penalty box.

Vi looks around, and halfway across the rink, she sees you, your eyes wide, your hands pressed over your mouth, Mel and Jayce sitting next to you, both looking worried. But you’ve got dark streaks painted on your cheeks, and it takes her a second to recognize the large “VI” written there — her number, her name.

The world melts around her as she meets your eyes, and you look so worried that she almost laughs. This is nothing, she wants to say, you ain’t seen nothing yet, princess.

But the second is short lived as the official skates over and jerks his head towards the penalty box. She sighs, begrudgingly skating over and settling herself as far away from Sevika as humanly possible as the clock starts on their five minutes.

When all’s said and done, the game is a good one — with the final score of 3-2 in Piltover’ s favor. Sevika gets another penalty, but Vi manages to keep her cool. And by the end, everyone’s sweaty and tired, but riding high, and Vi can’t help the way she once more scans the cheering crowd for your face.

But, you’re not there. The seat next to Jayce and Mel is empty, and Vi can’t help the clawing, hollowing sensation that burrows up her chest from the base of her stomach.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Margot teases, bumping Vi as they all clamber off the ice.

Vi narrows her eyes, “What’dyou mean?”

Margot only grins, shooting Vi a wink before following the rest of the team towards the lockers.

Her phone buzzes and Vi glances down, only to see a single line of text from you:

come to the figure skating lockers. i’ve got a present for you.

Electricity zings up Vi’s limbs as she pivots hard left and makes her way down the heavily padded hallway towards the figure skating lockers, tugging off her gear as she goes. By the time she gets there, she’s managed to get most of her upper pads off, shucking them outside the door, leaving her in her loose jersey and pants.

She pushes through the thick metal door into the figure skating lockers. They’re smaller, brighter, and generally cleaner than the hockey team lockers. Vi’s never thought herself a stickler for things like nicer locker rooms but stepping in, she can’t help the way that her eyebrows shoot up.

“Whoa.”

“They’re not all this nice.”

Vi whips her head around so fast she almost gets a crick in her neck at the sound of your voice. And there — standing next to the far row of pure white lockers, with your hands behind your back and her number (her name still painted on your cheek), you.

“Yeah?” she asks, even as she drops her helmet on the thickly padded floor and shuffles forward in her skates. She takes her time looking you over — and objectively, she knows it’s only been a few days since she’d last seen you, but it feels like forever, the way time stretches endless when you’re a little kid on the playground and eternity is just another thing you can take for granted.

You purse your lips around a shy grin and Vi almost groans as she notices the bright pink ribbon tied around your neck like a choker. You’re wearing the little black dress that you’d worn to that sorority party, the one that’s been the subject of one too many of her dirty daydreams — her varsity jacket slung around your shoulders.

“Sweet god, princess… is this the present you have for me? Please tell me it is —”

You let out a soft puff of exasperated laughter.

“No! I mean —” your eyes cut away as you shift your weight from one foot to another, falling back half a step as Vi takes a few steps closer. “I-if you want it to be — this can be — uhm — an additional present —”

“Mm… I don’t think I want any other present if I’ve got this one —” Vi says, inwardly thanking the heavens that she’d kept her skates on as they give her a few more inches as she corners you against a row of snow-white lockers, so bright they’re almost blinding.

“I — well that’s —”

“Mm… cat got your tongue, princess?” Vi asks, reaching up to tug your chin back towards her as you try to glance away.

You suck in a short breath, your lashes fluttering as you meet her gaze with yours — dark to light, amber and ice.

There’s adrenaline coursing through her system, and Vi knows she’s still riding high off the win, off the knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here for her. She looks you over with reverent eyes, her gaze lingering on the dark paint now slightly smeared across your cheeks in a large “VI”.

“I… I got this for you a while back…” you say, pressing something into her chest. Vi pauses, glancing down to see a small black box wrapped in a length of bright pink ribbon the exact same make and color as the one around your neck.

Vi falls back a step to take the box in her hands, turning it over.

“What is it?”

You shrug, a tiny, bird-like movement. Sweet and almost daring.

Vi grins as she traces a finger along a single ear of the perfectly tied bow.

“Can I?” she asks.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Vi tugs on the ribbon and it comes loose with a whisper. She opens the box to reveal a simple, teardrop locket set on a golden chain. She picks it up, letting the locket dangle from her fingers.

“Go on, open it,” you prompt, looking both bashful and eager. Vi gives you one more glance before fumbling open the locket to reveal a single snowflake, carved into the thick glass set into the middle of the locket.

“Oh.” Vi breathes, her voice nothing but a whisper. She stare at the locket, at the simplicity and delicacy of it. And then, she looks back up at you.

“It’s — Mel and Jayce helped me pick it — I didn’t know if you even wore stuff like this but —”

“I’ll wear it,” Vi says, letting the pendant drop into the palm of her opened hand. She offers it to you with a lopsided grin. “Can you help me put it on?”

You nod, a bit breathless, even as you take the locket from her and undo the clasp with trembling fingers. Vi grins as she leans in to let you fasten the chain around her neck, reveling in the tiny kiss of cold metal against her sweaty skin as she pulls back.

“So? How’s it look?” she asks.

You stare at the locket, and then up at her, and she swears she can see your eyes go molten.

“It looks… good.”

“Good,” Vi whispers, reaching up to finger at the tiny pink bow still tied around your neck. You suck in a breath, going still against her as she ghosts her breath along the long column of your neck. And she thinks she can almost hear the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage by the way your pulse flutters in your neck — she sure as hell can feel her own traitorous heart thundering away in her chest as she glances from the bow around your neck up to you and back down again.

“Can I?” she asks again, though this time, her voice is gentle, imploring, something like a plea as opposed to question.

She revels in the way your pulse flutters beneath the bright pink of the satin.

“Y-yeah —” you say, your own voice a harsh scrape of sound over a burgeoning need that Vi can almost taste on her tongue. But, she wants to take her time with you, she thinks, so she trails her fingers up to your neck and teases at the rabbit ears of the butterfly bow before tugging one end loose. And just like before, the ribbon gives way much too easily, and something gold shimmers as it drops from beneath the pink satin.

She stares.

It’s a gold chain identical to the one around her neck, with a teardrop pendant strung from it that mirrors her own.

This time, when she glances up, her eyes are wide, almost disbelieving.

Your throat bobs as you clench your fingers at your sides, resisting the urge to lift your hands and help her.

“What…” her voice trails off, disbelieving.

You lick your lips. “Go on — open it.”

Vi nearly fumbles the locket twice before she gets it open, and her short intake of breath is the only sign you get that she’s seen what’s inside. You hold your own breath, watching her face as it flickers through a film-frame series of emotions.

“Is that —” her voice is hoarse; she clears her throat, running a thumb over the glass.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching up to take the open pendant from her, glancing down at it yourself, heat pricking into your cheeks as your eyes settle on the pressed violet.

She’s kissing you before either of you can say another word, and the force of it nearly slams your head back into the lockers but Vi’s hand is somehow there to cushion you, her fingers digging into your hair as you gasp open for her wanting mouth. It’s not a sweet kiss and there’s nothing gentle in the sting of her nails raking against your scalp as she presses you close, and then closer.

It’s a clash of teeth and tongue, skin and sound — your tiny, surprised squeak eclipsed by the low moan that reverberates from her chest to yours as she licks into the hot cavern of your mouth and feels you soften against her — sweet as sun-warmed honey.

“F-fuck princess —” Vi hisses, pulling back with a panting breath as you let your head fall back, gasping for air even as she yanks you towards her till both of you are toppling onto one of the long benches, your legs falling open to straddle her thighs, her hands poised over the round of your hips.

You look down at her, running your thumbs along her cheeks eyes flickering over her face — and the admiration caught behind the fractured glass of your eyes is so obvious that Vi almost turns away, embarrassed. Instead, she leans up to nose into the triangle of your threading pulse, delighting in the shiver that chases down the shape of you, in the involuntary way your thighs squeeze on either side of hers.

She grins, inching her fingers beneath the hem of your little black dress, groaning as she finds the winged hollows of your hipbones and realizes, half a breath later, that you’re not wearing any panties.

“Holy shit — w-were you like this the whole game?” she asks, her eyes going wide with awe.

You bite your lips, cocking your head to one side as you reach up to brush away a strand of hair from her forehead.

“No…” you say, but your voice trails off and you glance towards the side. She follows your gaze to the left, only to find your bookbag sagging against one of the far lockers. A smirk twists her lips as her eyes slingshot back to you.

“Oh wow… so…” she drawls, trailing her fingers ever so slowly up the bare skin of your hips, hitching the hem of your tight black dress further and further up till it’s barely covering what she now knows is your bare cunt.

“You came in here and took them off… just for me?” she bats her lashes at you, her skylight eyes going dark and liquid as she watches you fidget above her. Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip and Vi has to physically bite back a moan.

“Maybe I did — what of it?”

Vi’s smirk stretches as she reaches up to tug your face down towards hers, so close you can taste her breath dissolving on your tongue like sugar into tea.

“Princess…” she says, and her voice is so thick with desire it might’ve been spread there with a butter knife, “I thought… you wanted to take things slow.” Her fingers have successfully rucked your dress up high enough for it to gather at your waist, though she keeps her eyes on yours and makes no move to take advantage of the fact that you’re now entirely naked from the waist down.

You shrug up a single shoulder.

“Right… but I also remember telling you that I’m not the best with impulsivity…”

Vi laughs, the sound bright and honest. You giggle, pursing your lips, your cheeks tinted such a darling shade of crimson that Vi doubts rosy-fingered dawn would’ve had the power to eclipse it.

“Good,” she says, reaching up to cup your face with both her hands, bringing you down to tease her lips over yours, her words soft and indulgent, “cause honestly, I’ve never been the best with that either.”

She’s about to kiss you again, content to lose herself in the intoxicating drag of your lips on hers, but a text message alarm blips from her pants pocket and it jars the both of you from your desire-induced trance.

You blink, a slight frown creasing your forehead as she reaches into her hockey pants and digs out her phone. You sit back slightly as Vi clicks on her screen to see a slew of notifications dating back till god knows when, but the latest is sent from a few seconds ago and only reads:

New iMessage from cupcake 🧁

“What the —” Vi frowns.

But a second later, you’re pushing off her lap, and Vi catches a glint of the hurt in your eyes before you’re tugging down your dress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s Caitlyn, right?” you ask, your voice tenuous.

And for a second, Vi seriously considers lying to you, telling you that it’s someone else — that it’s Powder or even one of the girls from the hockey team, but she sees the fractured look in your eyes and knows that she can’t.

“Y-yeah — it is but —”

You suck in a deep breath, your fingers twisting in front of you even as Vi pushes up from the bench to try and reach for you. You jerk away, your back hitting the lockers with a loud clang that set’s Vi’s teeth on edge, even as she clenches her fist and drops her arm.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” you say, making your swift way to your bag and snatching it up, digging around for your phone before shouldering the straps and rounding the benches again. And maybe it’s the sheer desperation curling up her chest, or the fact that the name had just come up on her screen but when she opens her mouth again, Vi says the worst possible combination of words —

“Wait, cupcake —”

You physically flinch at the pet name and Vi squeezes her eyes shut with sigh. Fuck.

When she opens her eyes again, you’re by the locker room door, your hand poised on the handle. You shoot her a single, broken backwards glance before pulling it open and slipping away.

Vi stands there, held still by the oppressive silence and the bleached-white metal all around her. She’s frozen for a single second longer before she swings her fist into the row of lockers next to her and pain ricochets up her arm from her knuckles, and her fingers pull away, already bruised.

“Fuck!”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes you three tries before you manage to punch the call button on Mel’s speed dial. She picks up after a single ring.

“Hey there, darling — well that was quick — we’re all heading to the after party if you —”

“Mel — c-can you come and p-pick me up?”

Mel goes quiet, and then —

“Darling? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“N-Nothing I just — can you come pick me up?” you hiccup halfway through your sentence, wiping at the fat, traitorous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Distantly, you can hear Mel saying something and Jayce’s voice answering back. A moment later, she’s back on the line.

“I’ll come get you, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Why’re you crying? Did Vi do something?”

“No — it’s — it’s nothing — I just d-don’t feel very good —”

Mel sighs, “Alright then, stay where you are and I’ll come get you. I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Yeah — t-thanks Mel.”

You hang up the phone and dart into the nearly abandoned parking lot, the crowds have long since dispersed, leaving you thankfully alone. You slump against the outer wall of the rink and suck in a deep, shuddering breath, reaching up to rub at your eyes with an angry palm. You cast your eyes up at the ruefully clear autumn night, the moon hanging fat and low, the stars twinkling with their cold, far-off light.

Approximately five minutes later, Mel pulls into the parking lot, mercifully alone, rolling down the windows as you rush forward and let yourself into the passenger’s side of the car, sinking into the seat with a bitten-off sob.

“Oh my darling… what happened?” Mel reaches over to give your hand a squeeze.

You bite your lips, blinking hard at the dark tarp roof of her convertible, clutching at your bag.

“Sh-she got a text from ‘cupcake’.”

Mel stares at you for a solid three seconds before slumping back into her seat and reaching up to pinch her nose bridge.

“I’m going to murder Jayce.”

“I fucked up — I fucked up —”

“Whoa, whoa — slow down — what the hell happened?”

Vi nearly chucks her skates into the already dented lockers just as Jayce makes an abortive move forward as if to stop her. She drops her skates and buries her face in her hands instead.

“Caitlyn texted me, and — and I never changed her contact from ‘cupcake’ —”

Jayce groans, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I told you to block her?”

“I forgot, okay?” Vi says, tugging so hard on her own hair that Jayce has to reach out and smack her hands away.

Jayce sighs, leaning back against the lockers, looking over the shape of her. He can’t help the tiny grin that hitches his lips or the small puff of helpless laughter.

“Wow.”

Vi looks up, “What?”

Jayce just shrugs, “No, it’s just — been a while since I’ve seen you down this bad.”

Vi flips him off, “Fuck you, Talis. Yeah, laugh it up — look! It’s Vi! Piltover’s favorite train-crash lesbian, fumbling yet another —”

“Y’know, one of the things about being in a nice, committed, completely non-toxic long-term relationship —” Jayce says loudly, cutting her off despite the murderous look in Vi’s eyes, “is that you learn real quick that you’re always gonna be the one that’s wrong, and that your dear, darling, perfect girlfriend will always be the one that’s right.”

He grins, bitten-lipped and open-palmed. Like this, he looks almost like the politician that Vi knows Mel’s parents so desperately want him to be.

Vi frowns, “What’re you getting at, pretty boy? Spit it the fuck out — I don’t have the patience for your bullshit right —”

“And you know what people do when they’re wrong?” Jayce continues in that chipper, Sunday-morning commercial voice of his. He leans forward even as Vi leans back, the frown digging ever deeper between her brows.

“Uh… cry and punch things and shoot for a new PR at the gym?”

Jayce snorts, but at least Vi’s smiling.

“No, you fuckin’ fratbro son of a — you apologize.”

Vi’s gaze goes flat. “Ah. Right. Of course — why didn’t I think of —”

“And then — ” Jayce continues, raising his voice even higher, a finger pointed up in the air as if he were delivering the valedictorian speech at graduation, before he twists his hand and pokes it into Vi’s jersey-clad chest.

“You do better.”

Vi’s breath catches; she blinks up at Jayce before swallowing around the peach pit in her throat.

“R-right…”

Jayce hikes both of his eyebrows comically high. Vi glances up towards them before puffing out a breath.

“Think you can do that?” Jayce asks, his voice now finally back to normal.

Vi chews on the inside of her cheek before shrugging up a shoulder.

“Dunno, but… I really wanna try.”

Jayce thumps a fist into her chest.

“Good answer, Lanes. Now. Phone.” He opens his hand palm up.

She blinks at it for a second before sighing and digging her phone from her pocket and dropping it into his hand.

Jayce punches in the password without breaking eye contact, pulling up her text history and turning the phone around to face Vi as he clicks — Contact > Info > Block Caller — on Caitlyn’s number.

He hands it back just as the screen goes dark.

Vi stares at the long crack running through the center of her screen before the phone lights up again, this time, with a text from an unknown number.

Jayce barely glances at it before smiling.

“That’ll be Mel.”

Vi’s eyebrows knit as she flicks open the screen. There are two texts in quick succession:

i’ve gotten her to agree to come to the afterparty.

Do not. Fuck this up.

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𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: requested by a very dear reader on wattpad :)

summary: based on the song by justin timberlake; SHIELD agent!reader, iron man 2!nat because i rewatched it recently and goddamn 🤤

warnings: smut (fingering, n receiving), blood, descriptions of injuries

word count: 11.5k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Practiced hands adjust seams and smooth over her arms. The fabric doesn't bunch, which is good — it wouldn't be practical during a fight. You tighten the straps around her thighs, making sure they're snug and secure, and then look up.

Natasha smiles at you and cups your jaw. Her thumb brushes along your bottom lip.

"Taking your time?"

"More like stalling."

It's dark in your lab. Machines whir, scanners beep occasionally. You're crouched in front of her, fitting and prepping her suit pre-mission. You've done this dozens of times. It's how everything started between you and her.

Back then, you couldn't believe your luck (you still can't), because who would've thought that being her weapons specialist would lead to what you have now? In hindsight, however, it makes sense.

It's intimate. It's quiet. It builds trust. You know her better than most people around here, which is a privilege. You know her favorite types of knives, how she likes her suit fitted, what exactly she needs to be able to perform at her best.

And then, afterwards, you go home. Other things matter, like her favorite candy (sour patch kids) or the show she's currently watching.

You adjust the suit around her waist, fingers skimming her hips. You secure a few holsters, attach some knives, and then straighten up. You feel her lips against yours before you can even look at her again.

Deep, firm, slow. Savoring it. You cup her face before slowly moving your hands into her hair. The curls are soft between your fingers.

She pulls away, but you can still taste her breath. Her lips curve into a sweet little smirk.

"Stalling, huh?", she mumbles, glancing at your lips. You lick them and taste the lip balm she loves so much.

"Yeah. They take a while. Missions, I mean."

"I'll be back before you know it."

Your hands trail down her sides again. You absently adjust her knives.

"Not soon enough", you say, pecking her lips. "Who's joining you this time?"

Natasha tilts her head. "I'm not telling you."

You frown. Truthfully, it might be for the better that you don't know. Depending on who it is, the answer might end up making you waltz up to said person and show her off just to make a point.

Mine. Seriously. Look, don't touch. Actually, don't even look.

She smiles and steps away. You quickly snake your arm around her waist and tug her back into you.

"I want an answer", you insist. Her hands splay out on your chest, toying with the zipper of your SHIELD vest. "For safety."

"Remember that lie detector test you took?"

You furrow your eyebrows. "What's your point?"

She grasps your bottom lip. "No wonder you failed. You're miserable at it."

"Not necessarily a bad thing."

"Never said that's the case."

She steps away and gathers her stuff — her favorite gun, her backpack, her Widow's Bites that she puts on. You stand there, watching her, arms crossed and mind running in circles.

Hopefully, she's not going with Valerie. What they had was barely a relationship, but the entire organization knows that she's still pining for Natasha.

Or Ward. Nothing happened between them, to be fair, but you heard him call her 'eye candy' once.

Was he wrong? No. Did you mess with his suit anyway, just so it'd smell like something had rotted in it? Possibly.

"Be careful", you mutter, still slightly disgruntled.

"Always am." She shoulders her backpack. "Hands off Ward's stuff."

Your head snaps upward. "What? I didn't-"

"Lie detector test, honey."

You grunt, rubbing the back of your neck. Natasha puts her foot up on a chair to adjust the strap around her thigh. You catch yourself staring.

Behind you, something starts beeping rapidly. You quickly walk back to your and curse quietly. One of the new high tech gadgets you've been tinkering with has started sparking.

Natasha glances at you, trying not to smile. "New?"

"Of course", you mutter, trying to find what the issue is this time. You reach for the pliers and cut one of the wires. "Goddammit."

"Don't burn yourself."

You sigh and put the gadget aside. How unfortunate — you've been putting a lot of time and energy into this little project. It's a small gadget, merely the size of your palm, but its impact would've been huge. It's multifunctional, designed to help agents hack into databases, unlock different kinds of locks, even scan rooms for traps.

Of course, you mainly had Natasha in mind when designing it. She's complained about similar issues a couple times in the past, and the idea struck you when you were lying in bed together.

Whatever. Looks like you'll have to keep working. In the end, it doesn't matter whether you put ten weeks or ten months into it — as long as it'll end up making her life safer and easier.

"You're nerding out again", Natasha says, suddenly behind you, and presses a kiss to your exposed neck. Your cheeks flare up. "I'm leaving."

"A goodbye, maybe?", you say, turning to face her halfway. She pauses, then cups your jaw with one hand and puts the other on the small of your back.

She's not used to this yet. This having-someone-to-say-goodbye-to, tender thing. Having someone who wants that goodbye, and the obligatory kiss that follows. Someone who'll wait in the hangar when she returns. Someone who'll check up on her.

How couldn't you, though? The reason why you're doing it is standing right in front of you. You'd be an idiot not to care like this.

"Don't go all sentimental on me", she mumbles, finally kissing you.

It's softer this time, lingering even after she's already parted from you. You walk her to the jet, where the pilot is waiting already. Another kiss, a bit quicker, then she turns around. You watch her leave, red curls bouncing slightly as she climbs into the jet.

. . .

SHIELD's hallways are never quiet, never silent, never empty. There's always someone wandering about — whether it be security or agents getting from one place to another.

It's not different tonight. You're walking through hallways, boots thudding against concrete floors and your hands tucked into your vest. Comparing you to a dog would be stupid, but you're not too unlike Hachi in that moment.

You round a corner, greet a fellow agent and check the time. 2.40am, so Natasha should be arriving in about ten minutes. You run your hand through your hair and step into the hangar, where Fury is waiting already.

You give him a quick side eye. "Another one of those?"

"Immediate debriefing. Not much time, Y/L/N." He raises his eyebrows. "What're you up for this early?"

"Nat", you say evasively. "I always wait for her."

He nods. It's not that your private relationship isn't known around here. You've been seen kissing, sneaking into each other's workspaces, flirting over lunch and leaving together a bunch of times. But Fury always seems to assume that it just isn't that serious. That it can't be that serious.

You know what he bases that assumption on. It's not fair, or right, but you can't change the mind of a man who's as stubborn as a mule.

He'll always see Natasha as the person he was first introduced to. The girl from the Red Room, who wouldn't let anyone get too close to her. The one with the trauma, the one who built walls too high to climb and too thick to take down.

It's bullshit. You know it is because you've seen the proof. You've held it in your hands, you've seen it in a way no one else is allowed to. Which is exactly why you won't tell him about it, though. There are different ways in which you can protect someone.

You hear the spinning of engine blades, still muffled but slowly increasing in decibel level. As the jet nears the hangar, the sound gets less and less bearable. If it were only slightly louder, it'd cause you pain.

You walk down the stairs as soon as the jet has touched down. The moment Natasha steps out, though, your stomach turns.

Valerie, in all her glory. Straight black hair, a little nose piercing, her hand resting on your girlfriend's lower back and steadying her. She mumbles something and laughs before Natasha can even react properly.

In that moment, you're glad you left your taser in your office. Giving her a quick little shock probably wouldn't sit too well with Fury, and you're pretty sure Natasha wouldn't love it, either.

Thankfully, she spots you before you can say anything stupid. She's next to you in the blink of an eye, smiling softly, secretively, and squeezing your hand. She doesn't dare do much else, but that's fine. Just like that, Hachi is back home.

You wrap your arms around her and kiss the top of her head. Her head rests against your chest, if only briefly.

"How was it?", you mumble, ignoring the fact that the Director is trying to talk to the woman wrapped up in you. She tips her face up, letting your lips brush against her nose.

"Exhausting and painful", she replies, voice soft.

"No Ward?"

"Careful there."

"Can't blame me for asking." You glance in Valerie's direction pointedly. Natasha pinches your side. "What's she doing here?"

Natasha sighs and kisses your cheek. A rare moment of PDA meant to calm you down, but it ends up having the opposite effect. Valerie gives you a look that's entirely too long. You frown and turn back to Natasha again, your arms tightening around her.

Your little moment gets disrupted by none other than Fury. He pats your back with a little too much force, so you let out a long-suffering exhale and let go of her. Right, the debriefing. Another hour spent here, waiting.

You trail through the hallways, following Natasha like a guard dog. The debriefing room is familiar, with its black leather swivel chairs and long table. A fancy high tech screen hanging on the wall, a projector, the shutters closed so that not a single photon can escape.

You sit next to her. Obviously. She raises her eyebrows at you, but truthfully, she should be glad you didn't just say 'screw it' and pull you into her lap.

Fury stares at you like you just shapeshifted into an actual dog. You weren't part of the mission. All you did was prep her gear and fit her suit. You don't belong here. Yet you waltzed in like you do, and no one seems to be complaining.

Grinning faintly, you put your legs up on the table and cross your arms behind your head. You nod lazily.

"Feel free to start, Sir."

Another stare. A sigh, long and loud. He rubs his forehead and finally turns on the projector. A bunch of mission jargon, accompanied by a map and a few pictures, appear on the screen.

An hour turns into two. You leave the debrief room with your arm around her shoulders. You're tired, but she's drained. You know she'd never admit to it — you know she tends to push herself no matter what; even on the brink of death, she'd keep fighting — but you can see the signs.

The blinking, slightly more frequent. The redness in her eyes. The way her voice softens into a mumble.

She barely says anything on the way home. But as soon as you've entered her apartment, she pulls you into the bedroom with her. You're the one who fitted her suit, who made sure it's like a second layer of skin on her. You know every strap and zipper, and you undo them all blindly.

Your vest is shrugged off. It lands on the floor. Boots are toed off and kicked aside. Bodies fall onto the mattress together.

Right as you're kissing down her neck, hands wandering over her body, you feel something that shouldn't be there. A bandage, around her thigh, with dried blood on it.

First, you stare. Then, Natasha puts her fingers under your chin and tips your head up.

"You know what I think about you doing that."

You almost grimace. She hates it when people stare at her wounds and scars. It's not just a pet peeve — it's a deeply rooted insecurity. It's only a small part of what she tends to cover.

In that moment, though, you don't care. Because you know what Valerie was for on this mission. She was there to watch Natasha's back, to make sure she wouldn't get hurt.

"She failed", you say, sitting up. Natasha sighs and rests her upper body on her forearms. "She had one job-"

"And she made a mistake."

"One that could've killed you!"

"Do you really think I'm that easy to kill? Trust me, she's helpful, but she's not the reason the mission was successful."

You snort derisively. Not because of her, but because she thinks she has to remind you. Of course you know all of this. There's a reason as to why Natasha is so feared, why Fury values her so much. But you're looking for things that'll help you win this argument.

It's not really an argument. You're just pissed at her ex.

"I'm aware", you say, fingers brushing against the bandage again. "Still, you know...what's the point of her joining if you end up getting shot at, anyway?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, silently challenging you. Do you really want to hear this?

"Oh, come on."

"You're ridiculous."

"Okay, maybe I am", you concede. "You're still the one with a bullet wound, though."

She flops backwards onto the mattress. You sigh and crawl on top of her, hands braced next to her head, and kiss her.

She grasps the front of your top, lips pressing against yours firmly, essentially shutting you up.

Well, it shuts you up for exactly five hours. The second you're back at the headquarters in the morning, you drop Natasha off and then make your way to the gym. Boots thud, your steps heavy and determined.

You push open the door with such force that it slams against the wall, but Valerie doesn't bat an eye. She's on the treadmill, warming up, her hair in a sleek ponytail and her clothes tight. There's a band around her wrist that measures her vitals.

She barely glances at you. You stomp to her side and tug the earphones out of her ears. Another glance, slightly annoyed.

"What?”

"What do you mean, 'what'? You're the reason my girlfriend has to take antibiotics!"

She stops the treadmill and leans on one of the handrails. You'd love to wipe that look off her face — smug, unimpressed, almost daring. You used to be naive. You used to believe that no one could be that petty. Natasha's ex managed to prove you wrong.

"She's fine", she says, sounding like she's explaining the concept of love to a toddler. You clench your jaw. "She's not even in med bay. They sent her home."

"'Fine'? She got shot at! You were there to prevent it, and what did you do?"

"I tried", she replies curtly. She straightens back up and turns the treadmill on again, but you slam your fist on the stop-button. "What's with you and those anger issues?"

"You tried? You don't go there to try! You go there to do your fucking job!"

Valerie raises her eyebrows at you. You've never been nice to her, no, but you've never snapped at her like this. Truthfully, she thinks it's ridiculous. It makes her wonder why Natasha bothers being with you, but that's a thought she's not going to voice unless she has to.

"She's alive", she says, leaning back against the other handrail this time. Her arms cross in front of her chest.

"Oh, and that's enough? It's the bare minimum! I need to be able to trust you that you'll protect her!"

"No, you don't", she says. "Nat trusts me, and that's enough."

You almost flip the treadmill she's on, but that'd be overkill, so you lean over the handrail and grip it tightly.

"Not enough, apparently. Otherwise-"

"Agent Y/L/N."

You turn around, blinking. As soon as you see Fury's face, you almost roll your eyes. Of course. Who else would it be but the man who could fire you.

You put some space between you and Valerie to make it seem like you weren't about to chew her out.

"Yes, Director?", you ask, trying your best to seem normal.

"Romanoff's asking for you."

Maybe you should be embarrassed that those few words are enough to make you perk up, but honestly, you don't care. She's asking for you, not Valerie. When she needs to talk, she talks to you. You're jealous, and that's fine, but deep down you know there's no reason to be.

You shoot Valerie a pointed glance, then leave the gym.

. . .

"You're insane", she says, combing her fingers through your hair.

You're in the rec room, which is only empty because almost everyone is at lunch. Natasha, on the other hand, received a sweet little text that made her tug you away from the cafeteria.

She's straddling your lap, hands all over you. In the sweatpants and tank top she's wearing, you can barely focus. Too bad there are security cameras all over this place. The storage room falls flat as well. 'Too dirty', she said. 'So much dust.'

Though, if you hook up at work once, it might affect your performance for the rest of your career.

"She had it coming", you say stubbornly. Natasha raises her eyebrows. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Noticed what, exactly?"

You shift under her. She clicks her tongue and cups your face. "May as well tell me."

If only it were that easy. You doubt she hasn't noticed how Valerie stares at her, how she still seeks her out, how she wants what's clearly taken. You don't have ownership over her — obviously not, god forbid — but you're selfish. You know you are. If you could keep her to yourself, you would.

"The point is-"

"The point is you're overthinking this", she cuts you off. "Val and I are on good terms..."

(The nickname makes you fume. You bite your tongue.)

"...and I don't need to end up in a spat with a coworker." She pushes her finger into your chest. "And neither do you."

No reply. You stare at her, tongue between your teeth, a million unsaid things on your tongue. You're not sure if she hasn't realized or if she simply doesn't care, but you do have your reasons. Valerie is annoying, and she's petty, and she hovers around Natasha like she has any right to do so.

You don't like this feeling, either — this all-consuming jealousy. It's not something you're used to. But something about that woman just drives you up the wall.

"Fine", you mutter. "Fine, I'll let it go."

"You better."

"I still don't like her."

"Fair. I guess."

Natasha pecks your lips and scoots off your lap. You watch her grab the coffee pot and pour a generous amount. Sugar, no milk. Back to work it is.

You pick her up once you're both done with your shifts. Arm wrapped around her shoulders, you make sure to walk past Valerie's desk on your way out. She doesn't look at you, but her typing on the keyboard speeds up.

"Ha", you mumble.

"What was that?"

You shake your head and kiss her ear. She squirms at the feeling.

"Doesn't matter. I'm happy now, angel."

. . .

"Whose idea was this?"

"Hill", Natasha says, reapplying lipstick. You're in the elevator that leads to the building's top floor, but you're not here for work. It's Fury's birthday, and apparently Maria Hill decided that the grumpy old man deserves a proper celebration.

You're leaning against the wall of the elevator, hands in the pockets of your slacks, an absentminded look in your eyes. A gift is tucked under your arm, your shirt is open at the top, but it's not your reflection that's got you this distracted. It's Natasha, looking at herself in the mirror and gently blotting her lips. Hair freshly curled and dress hugging all her curves, she looks unfairly sinful for an office celebration.

"Doubt he even wants a party", you mumble, eyes trailing lower. You exhale quietly. "That dress is a blessing, you know."

"So dramatic", she says, smiling faintly. "I'm not complaining. I want to see him get drunk. Think that’ll change his grumpy attitude?"

You hum. The elevator dings and comes to a stop, so Natasha links her arm around yours. You step into the hallway, her heels clicking with every step. You can already hear the music and feel the bass thump.

“Nothing could change it”, you say, eyes on her. She tilts her head. “A real Fury the Grouch.”

“Sesame Street?”

“I babysat my niece while you were gone. Don’t ask.”

Natasha laughs, the sound soft and raspy and genuine. She tugs you into an empty corner, hands finding the collar of your shirt, and brings her lips up to yours.

“Good thing you’re not a grouch. And even better that I know exactly how to turn a grumpy you back into a happy you.”

“It’s quite easy”, you affirm. Your hands slide to the curve of her back, keeping her close. “It involves you and the disposal of a dress.”

“Charmer”, she whispers.

Cheeks reddened, you smile. You lean in, slowly, and steal that kiss you’ve been waiting for since you stepped out of your apartment.

She tastes like mint and something entirely hers. Her fingers grasp your collar tightly, her skin is warm under your palms. She nods her head to deepen the kiss, one hand finding the back of your neck.

“Romanoff, Y/L/N! You really have no shame, do you?”

You pull away with a quiet groan and shoot a glare at the offender. Of course it’s Ward, because who else would it be but SHIELD’s most annoying agent.

Natasha doesn't even glance at him. She just smiles at the sight of your mouth, smudged with her lipstick, and swipes her thumb across your lips.

"Not your color", she says thoughtfully.

"Agreed", Ward says, putting a tray of horsd'œuvres down next to you. “You guys hungry? Probably not, since you’re eating each other’s faces. The salmon’s good, though.”

“Can you creep someone else out?”, you mutter.

Natasha smiles at you, which is enough to soften your attitude a little. Ward rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, Fury gets uncomfortable when someone holds hands. But keep the girl-on-girl action going, I’m not complaining.”

“I’ll shoot you”, you say, gripping Natasha’s waist.

He lifts his hands. “You can try.”

“That’s enough”, your girlfriend mumbles, patting your side. “Stay here for a moment, hm? I’m getting us something to drink.”

You hum reluctantly, staying in your spot against the wall. With your hands losing the purpose of holding Natasha’s waist, you have no other choice but to tuck them into your pockets.

She’s already halfway to the bar, hips swaying and red curls moving with every step. You sigh quietly and turn your head. The way you scan the crowd isn’t deliberate, but it’s purposeful. It’s you making sure that nobody is staring too hard.

You’re fine with Natasha getting looked at. Somewhat fine, that is. You know she’s gorgeous, and that others can see that too. Humans can’t help it — if something’s beautiful, they stare at it.

Or avert their eyes. Which is what happened when you first met her. But knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere with that attitude, you’d forced yourself to get your shit together. Thankfully, you didn’t make an idiot out of yourself. It worked out.

You still remember it all. First dates, leaning against bars and sipping whiskey. Getting to know her. Sleeping with her. The tingling feeling in your stomach whenever your phone made a sound — a text? A call?

That hasn’t changed. You still hope it’s her behind every phone call, every text.

Natasha leans over the bar and mumbles her order to the bartender. He nods and turns around. Valerie slides closer. Just like that, the mood shifts. It’s like a storm rolled in.

You’re somewhere between making a beeline for the bar and staying right where you are. After what happened last week, you’re sure she wouldn’t appreciate an unwarranted interruption by her girlfriend right now.

They’re talking, that’s it. Just a brief chat. They’re co-workers, after all. Friends. Exes. It’d be selfish of you not to let her have this, right? Even if they’re connected by history.

But Valerie’s getting closer. If you were in Natasha’s spot, you’d probably feel her breath and smell the cigarette she smoked.

You subtly feel for the gun tucked into your belt. It’s always there. Not a moment of peace for you, but you’ve gotten used to it.

Natasha smiles. Valerie tilts her head, scoots closer. Your heart beats faster.

Natasha gets up and turns around. Valerie stares at her, blinking. You quickly push off the wall to meet her halfway.

She wraps her arm around yours neck and holds the glass to your lips, tipping it. Vodka burns in your throat, your eyes water, and you pull away enough to kiss her. She hums, sucking the remaining alcohol off your tongue.

“What was that for?”, you mumble, rubbing her side.

“Thought you needed it. Tried to stop you from breaking her nose.”

“Oh, you…” You huff. “Alright.”

“You’re everything but subtle”, she reveals, putting the empty shot glass aside. “And shooting her really isn’t necessary, baby.”

You roll your eyes. Natasha smirks and tilts her head, nose brushing against your jaw. Her hand cups the side of your face. Your cheek feels warm beneath the pad of her thumb.

“I don’t know why you’re this chill”, you mutter.

“Because I know that Val can be sad and desperate”, she whispers. Her hand moves to your shirt, and she undoes another button. Palm against your chest, she feels your steady heartbeat. “And it’s you who’s taking me home tonight.”

You put your hand on her wrist, holding her hand in place. Your eyes slowly trail back to the bar, to Valerie; and when your eyes meet, she knocks back another shot.

She's looked pissed off before, but never like this. Time to amp up the heat.

"Taking you home, huh?", you mumble, glancing at Natasha's lips. "You're optimistic."

Natasha raises her eyebrows at you. Her hand, still on your chest, slides back up and into your hair. "What're you saying?"

"I'm saying..." You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I don’t want to wait. Let me touch you."

She exhales. Her head tilts, her eyes search yours. What you’re doing is painfully obvious, but she can’t deny the thrill your words send through her. The idea is risky, but appealing.

You, her. Hidden in a dark hallway. Dress hiked up, lipstick smudged, your hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

Would you keep her quiet? Or would you try and do the opposite?

Your hand moves down her body and to her backside. You give it a light squeeze, and she gives you another glance.

Her hand grabs yours. You sneak away from the party and into the hallway.

Before you even manage to push her up against the wall, she's already pulling you closer. Your lips crash into hers, desperate and needy, and she clutches your collar. Your hands fumble with her dress, bunching it up around her hips.

The party is still in hearing distance. A pop song is playing instead of whatever techno music was booming earlier. You hear voices, muffled and blending together. Natasha’s lips press against your shoulder, your own trail kisses down her neck.

“Don’t leave a mark”, she warns, breathless, when you suck on her collarbone.

“Why?” You pull away enough to see the hickey blooming on her skin. “Looks good.”

She moans quietly and tugs you back in. Your fingers slide between her thighs, to the lacy underwear she’s got on, and nudge the fabric aside.

Moonlight seeps in through the window. You taste alcohol and mint. Wet heat envelops your fingers, and her back arches. You thrust in deeper, all the way you your knuckles, and kiss her through it. She pulls away, panting into your open mouth.

"Fuck."

"Don't make a sound", you mumble, peppering her jaw with kisses. "You'll get us caught."

A whine. Your free hand grips her thigh, hikes it up. Having better access now, you add a finger. She almost falls apart, and her moans and whines echo in the empty hallway.

A door opens and shuts. You angle your body a little, still fingering her relentlessly.

Butterflies and tingles, legs trembling and breath uneven. You hear footsteps, quiet and muffled. Your hand is drenched, her underwear is sticking to her thighs.

Another whiny moan. You shush her, curling your fingers and pushing them deeper.

"Not a noise, love. Or I'll make you come again. Want to go back in there shaking?"

The footsteps are approaching you. Natasha writhes, and you wrap your arm around her thighs to keep her in place. When she comes, it's loud and barely restrained. You laugh against her neck, breathless, and let her ride out her orgasm.

She slumps against the wall. You pull out and lick the excess moisture off your fingers. She watches you, dazed and spent.

"Back to the party?", you ask, already adjusting her dress with one hand.

"A moment", she mumbles, closing her eyes. "Good luck explaining this to Fury."

"Huh?"

She nods at the ceiling. You look up and huff. Security cameras, of course. Everywhere. Filming and remembering every moment, every gasp, every movement of your hand beneath her dress. You curse quietly.

"Goddammit."

"This was your idea", she says, adjusting her dress and smoothing it out. "Have fun dealing with him."

You roll your eyes and kiss her flushed cheek. Natasha's managed to go from looking wrecked to almost normal. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair a tad more disheveled, her cheeks still got a hint of color in them, but nobody would suspect that it's from anything other than a makeout-session.

Well, except for whoever checks the security cameras. You bite your lip when you realize just how much they'll see.

It's an odd feeling. Yes, they'll see way too much — but they'll also see you with her.

Natasha fixes her lipstick, wipes the smudges off your mouth with a napkin, then you return to the party. Of course, almost nobody noticed. They're too caught up in chatter and alcohol. Fury looks like he's about two minutes away from exploding. You can't blame the poor guy; he's surrounded by a bunch of drunk agents trying to get him to dance the Cha Cha Slide.

Valerie's ignoring you, but in that one way that lets you know she's trying her hardest to do so. She knocks back another shot, her jaw set.

You smile to yourself and let Natasha lead you further into the room. Once you've reached the middle, she wraps her arms around your neck and presses a quick kiss to your swollen lips.

"Round two in my office later?"

"Don't you dare", she murmurs.

"Shame."

The look on her face is unimpressed, but her lips twitch. You hug her closer to your chest, still swaying in spot. You dip your head and kiss her shoulder.

"Let me show you off", you mumble, running your hands over her back. Natasha smiles now, her face buried against your neck.

"You are, dumbass."

You hum. You can't argue, you are showing her off. You pulled her into the center of the room, the center of the universe, and pulled her into a slow dance that probably would've had her running a few years ago.

Her head tilts slightly, resting against your shoulder. She stays silent for a while, lost in everything happening around her.

The party, now a bit more quiet. The music, having changed to a slower rhythm. You, holding her.

The contrast between the thing in the hallway and the dance here is drastic enough to give her whiplash. But she's content, happy, silently and quietly. She's unlike you in that regard — no need to make a big scene of it. Keep things as lowkey as possible. Not everyone needs to know.

(Two days later, you get called into Fury's office because the person checking the security camera footage complained about emotional damage. You get banned from the hallways. Natasha's belief to keep things private is reinforced. All you hear is that your office is still an option.)

. . .

You're on the floor, cross-legged, Natasha's suit on the ground. A lightweight Kevlar blend you designed, adjusting to every movement. You straighten out the fabric and check for damage.

"The side is singed", you comment. "An explosion?"

"You don't want to know."

You shake your head and get up. Natasha unzips her jacket and peels it off, the tight fabric revealing creamy skin you're definitely not supposed to be staring at.

Her pants follow, then her shirt. You crouch in front of her and help her step into the lower half. You tug the fabric over her legs, smoothing it out as you go.

It's been a while since you started doing this. You should be used to it. But your hands brush her calves, her thighs, and your ears burn.

"Cold hands", Natasha comments.

"Stop squirming."

"Can't blame me, your hands are very cold."

You look up, jaw set. "Just...don't move."

She smirks as she lets you help peel the fabric over her arms. You grab the zipper and pull it up, slowly straightening up as you go.

When you're face to face and you've got her all zipped up, you don't let go. Natasha hums, watching you. You hesitate one last time — the quicker you're done, the sooner she's leaving for her mission. Again.

"You're staring", she mumbles. You let go and turn around, leading her into the weapons storage room. Tight quarters, as you barely fit in there together. But you make it work.

"I should be used to this", you admit, scanning the shelves. Natasha reaches over you to grab a gun, her front brushing your back. "But I'm not."

"Neither am I."

You grab her Widow's Bites and a couple blades. You turn around and fit the bracelets with an automatic look. Then you kneel in front of her, slide her belt into place, adjust it accordingly. The thigh straps follow — lord have mercy — and you tuck her weapons in. You tap each of the concealed items: the blades along her ribs, the guns, the taser.

Natasha brushes her fingers through your hair and makes you look up. She crouches, breathing more heavily, her lips right in front of yours. You smell perfume and gunpowder, leather and shampoo, cleaning solvents. Her breath is hot against your lips when she speaks.

"Blades are lighter."

"Shaved an ounce off", you mumble, blinking. "Makes it easier."

"Always thinking about everything", she replies. Her lips meet yours halfway and she kisses you with her fingers tangled in your hair. You grab her waist and keep her close, knees still on the ground, head tipped back slightly. It's warm, slow, enough to make you wish you could cancel the damn mission.

She pulls away. You clear your throat.

"I'm keeping an eye on Valerie."

"Oh no, you're not."

"She doesn't have a clue what she's doing", you say, getting up. Natasha sighs. "You got shot!"

"Her responsibility is to support me as best as she can and focus on the mission. She's not my babysitter, Y/N."

She turns around and picks up a scope. You narrow your eyes, silently trying to both find an argument and figure out whether you designed the gadget she grabbed. It's not the matte black one you handed to her a couple months ago. It's more clunky, less practical, the magnification range is probably less optimal as well.

She turns, the scope in her hands, and looks at you. You raise your eyebrows.

"You're sure that's the one you want?"

Natasha tilts her head, idly toying with the scope she's holding. "What's wrong with this one?"

You frown, irritated, and gesture at it. "Well, first of all, the magnification range is not nearly as good. Its system is also outdated. The reticle doesn't auto-adjust, which means that if the light conditions are less than optimal, you'll suffer from it. The thermal and night vision are also pathetic. I tested it, and it's no good."

"Sounds fine to me", she drawls. You narrow your eyes.

"Babe", you say, already turning around to grab the scope you personally designed from the shelf, "I spent half a year tinkering with this. I burnt my fingertips off twice."

"Appreciate the dedication", she says. You swap the scope out yourself, not breaking eye contact. "And the confidence, too."

"I mean it. This one's better. Ergonomic, biometric lock, the casing is great, and the internal shock buffers? Even Fury was impressed."

"You sound in love."

You bite back an 'I am', because she knows you are. Not with the damn scope, though. The scope is the result of being in love, and she knows it. But that's no reason to make her even more cocky.

You nudge her out of the storage room and lock it behind you. Safety measure — no need for anyone to get into her private stash. Even Fury needs permission, but in a less official way.

Natasha leans against the wall and watches you clean up. You wipe the workbench with a towel, arms flexing in a way that makes her wonder why you aren't joining. You fit in, she knows that already.

Then again, it'd make her job even more terrifying. She'd spent every second worrying about you.

"Five minutes", she reminds you.

"Right", you mumble. "Be careful. Make sure Valerie's doing her job or I'm doing it for her next time."

She wants to argue that you have no idea what it's like on the field. How dangerous it is, how much it differs from what you do every day. But you have been on the field before, years ago, when you were just starting out. Your talent has always been weapons and everything high tech, but when you got injured, you had no choice but to switch to what you're doing now.

You're good at it. Better than at field work. But she knows you sometimes miss it. Specifically those few months you got to spend alongside her, right after you met and before everything turned more intimate.

You can't protect her by being there anymore. But you can design tools that will make her job safer.

"I have your scope", she says, voice softer. "I'll be fine."

You can't help but preen at her words. You've been praised for your inventions many times, but it's only her opinion that really counts. When she says something, she means it.

"Be careful", you say. "The scope's good, but..."

"But it all boils down to the person using it", she finishes, grabbing her duffel bag. "I'll be fine."

"I know."

"Good."

"We'll stay in touch?"

Natasha steps closer to kiss you. It's fleeting, brief, and you know why. Quick goodbyes leave dry eyes. She'll be back soon, but what she does is risky, and you're never not scared that any goodbye could be your last one.

She steps out. You've watch her leave.

. . .

This time, you don't have to wait that long to see her.

Something goes wrong during the mission. Not horribly wrong — there are no accidents, no injuries, which is a relief. But one of the prototypes, a crucial one, malfunctions in the field. It's so tailored that nobody else can fix it, and since you're the one who designed and understands it, you're flown out.

The helicopter touches down in a remote area of the Catskills. You adjust your suit before jumping out and landing on thick grass. The forest is cold, the area foggy. Leaves that were once green have started to turn red. You exhale quietly.

A winding pathway leads to a small cabin. The exterior is hardly impressive, but the inside hides an entire bunker and an underground facility. Clutching your duffel bag, you walk towards the front door.

You're welcomed by a man in his 30s. Hair already graying, jeans, a flannel shirt. He stares at you and you stare at him. You can smell his stupid cologne.

"Want to let me in?"

"Who the fuck-"

"It's Y/N", a familiar voice says. Natasha. You can hear her from somewhere in the cabin. "Let her in."

"Oh", he says, stepping aside. "Right. The girlfriend. They told us you'd come by."

You push past him, not saying another word, and make your way into the cabin. Natasha emerges from downstairs, her hand on the railing. Her hair is curly and tied back, and she's wearing one of your old band hoodies. The sight is enough to let you forget about Mr. Wannabe-Lumberjack.

You meet her halfway. She hesitates, then decides it's worth it and leans in. You reciprocate the kiss and cup her cheek. She tastes like black coffee. It's way too short, but you can't really complain — you feel like you're being watched, whether that's actually true or not.

"Who's the guy?", you ask, following her into the lab.

"Agent Mintz", she says. "Formerly a lieutenant in the US army. Did you bring your little toolbox?"

"Little", you mutter, lifting the toolbox to test its weight. "This thing weighs 30 pounds. Lieutenant, you said?"

She flicks on a light and leads you to a workbench. You haul the toolbox up onto the top and open it. Natasha slides the prototype, a combat neural link, in front of you. You jack a tether into the side port and hook it up to a tablet to diagnose the problem.

"Tried to guess my body fat percentage", she says casually, right as you're running a scan. You pause. "He was off by one percent.”

You exhale, your fingers drumming against the surface of the workbench. "Of course."

"Very observant."

"Mhm", you mutter, looking at the data on the tablet. The prototype is desynced — her muscle memory has been outpacing the link's adaption rate. "Sounds like a great dude."

"He designs tech as well", she says, leaning on the workbench next to you. Her head is turned toward you, her voice softer and more sultry. "You know the GhostSuit?"

You bite your tongue and straighten up to brush Natasha's hair aside. "Hoodie off."

She hums and strips so you can access the link housing. You rearrange the central circuit array with tweezers and a soldering pen. You curse when your hand accidentally jerks.

"Burned your fingers again?"

"Crap", you hiss, shaking your hand. "What's this Mintz dude's issue, anyway?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, your body fat percentage? Is he kidding?"

"Pretty sure he wasn't."

Footsteps, on the staircase behind you. You whip around and glare. You should've expected it to be him — there's nobody else around — but his presence is still an unpleasant reminder that you aren't alone.

Arms crossed and tattoos showing, he leans against the railing and nods at Natasha. "Combat neural link?"

"Very much so."

"I designed it", you mutter, starting to re-upload the stored neural combat data. "Specifically tailored for her."

"Of course", he says, grinning. "Only the best for Ms. Romanoff."

You roll your eyes and plug in a thumb drive. Your hands brush over her shoulders.

"There", you say, ignoring Mintz's presence. "Want to test it a little? Just some quick movements."

Natasha nods, the neural link facing you. It's nothing huge, just a few kicks and balance shifts, but the prototype's lights glow smoothly again.

Agent Mintz raises his eyebrows. He steps closer, inspecting the little device, and almost runs his fingers over it.

You stare at the floor. You're not going to do anything — Natasha will break the guy's wrist if he crosses a line, and you stepping in would be unnecessary. You turn around and start to put your stuff back into the toolbox.

"Impressive", he says. "Doesn't take away from your beauty, either."

An explosion makes them both flinch. You give Natasha an innocent look and gesture at the test grenade that 'accidentally' rolled off the workbench, now on the floor and releasing smoke.

"Oops."

Natasha purses her lips to stop herself from smiling. Mintz just clenches his jaw, clears his throat, and steps aside.

"Alright", he says. "I'll see you later."

He leaves, but you don't turn around. You keep cleaning up, hands moving swiftly, until you feel her mouth right next to your ear.

"What was that?"

"Nothing", you say, closing the toolbox. Natasha's hands sneak under your zip-up hoodie, fingers digging into your abs. "Happy accident or whatever."

"You're not slick."

Your mouth opens and then promptly shuts again. Her lips are against your jaw, the kisses wet and warm. It's only been a couple days, but god, you missed this. Your bed's too empty when she's not around.

Instead of arguing, you let yourself melt. Even if just for a minute, you do. Her body's pressed up against yours, her touch familiar. She smells like your perfume, which confirms your suspicions that she's the one who grabbed it from the shelf in your bathroom.

The tech, the clothes, the perfume — all yours. You wonder if there's a part of her she hasn't claimed as yours yet.

She turns you to face her, her hands staying under your hoodie. Only then does she wrap her arms around your neck and pull you closer to kiss you. You hold her to you, nodding your head to deepen the kiss. Her heart beats faster, and so does yours, but you have a significant advantage — you're not attached to a link with stress-response sensors.

The tablet lights up. You glance at it, briefly pulling away from the kiss, and bite back a smirk. The device logged her rapidly accelerating heartbeat, her changing vitals.

"You know it records this stuff, right?", you mumble. "Heart rate, adrenaline spikes. Practically broadcasting your- ouch."

"Don't."

"You didn't have to twist my ear like that, you know."

Natasha laughs quietly, her lips brushing against yours. She doesn't feel sorry. Not at all. "That's what you get for embarrassing me."

"I'm not the one embarrassing you", you murmur, smiling, and kiss the corner of her mouth. She hums. "The device is."

"And who designed that device?"

You shake your head, but she cups your face and pulls you into another kiss. When the neural link sends another signal, she reaches behind her neck and tugs it off. It gives you enough time to grab her and spin around to set her down on the workbench.

Her thighs wrap around your waist. You mouth at her neck, hands slowly bunching up her hoodie around her torso. Slender fingers tangle in your hair, tug at the strands, and you move your lips back up to hers. She moans into your mouth.

"You do that one purpose", you mumble whenever you take a short break from kissing her stupid. Natasha hums against your lips. "To get a rise out of me."

"It works", she says, using her calves to pull you closer and closer. Your pelvis creates friction between her legs. "I wish I could put one of those neural links in you. See what your body does."

"Cruel", you mutter, pecking her lips. Your hand pushes past the waistband of her sweatpants. Her breathing gets heavier. "You already know what it'd say."

Your fingers find their target. You kiss down her neck, biting and nipping, and slowly thrust into her. Right as her hips buck against your hand, you hear someone hurry down the stairs.

You don't even flinch. You just sigh into her neck, hand still buried in her sweatpants. You're not stopping this unless someone's dying.

"What now?"

Mintz stares at you, frozen in place. He's uncomfortable, so much so that he keeps making himself even more uncomfortable by staring. Natasha bites her lips and grabs your wrist, guiding you out of her pants again.

"There's, uh, movement. We got ten minutes. Suit up."

You sigh and pull away. Natasha slides off the workbench and grabs the neural link again so you can attach it. You work fast, brushing hair aside and attaching it to the link housing again. She turns and reaches for her suit, and you pack your things.

She looks at you and hesitates. The injury, the accident, is still fresh in her mind. It may have been years since that happened, but she can't forget it that easily.

Blood on pavement, in your mouth. Coughs that sounded way too scary. Your hand shaking in hers, your entire body trembling.

You tilt your head. She's thinking, probably so much so that she's lost in whatever train of thought she's following. Natasha shakes her head when she realizes that she's gone quiet.

"It's fine."

You nod and look at Mintz. "Keep an eye on her and the neural link. She shouldn't go out with it untested in live combat, but it's a little late for that."

He shrugs, rubbing his jaw and starting to look for his gear. "Then go with her."

Natasha immediately looks at him. "What?"

"Yeah. Hell, no one knows how to fix that thing. Only she does. If shit goes sideways..."

"It won't", she interrupts him. "She knows what she's doing. The link is fine."

"Nat", you say, making her look at you. She blinks and averts her eyes again. "Hey. I'll be careful. Besides, it might be safer if I join."

"I don't want you out there."

"Well, too late." You walk up to the storage space with the suits and dig through heaps of old clothes. "Better be safe than sorry."

"Trust us", Agent Mintz says. He straps a knife to his thigh and adjusts his suit. Natasha shoots him a glare, her own suit zipped up halfway. "I've got overwatch. But if something happens with the link-"

"Nothing's going to happen", Natasha insists.

You reach for a vest and slip into it. "Don't be stubborn, baby. Doesn't even look good on you."

"This isn't a joke."

"Never said it was." You step closer to zip up her suit. She briefly closes her eyes. "Let me help you suit up. It's basically tradition."

She doesn't say anything as you step away again to swap your shoes for some combat boots. You reach out your hand, the set to her jaw cracks for a split second, and you lead her up the stairs and outside.

. . .

Natasha notices the neural link misfire when she gets out of the van.

Minutes ago, you were adjusting it. You brushed her hair aside, checked the prototype, made sure it's up to date and connected to your tablet. You seemed certain. You were, probably, otherwise you never would've let her out of the vehicle. The mission may be important, but she knows you'd never test her luck like that.

She jumps out of the van and approaches the building. SHIELD's abandoned black site, sitting in the middle of the forest. Not something they thought would be targeted, but ex-HYDRA agents found out about some data drive that was apparently forgotten her, and now they're trying to steal it.

As soon as she sneaks into a corridor, walking close to the wall, she notices an issue. She doesn't tell you anything, but she feels it. She feels it misfire in motion, feels the little glitch. It's not supposed to happen, and she knows it.

Too late now. There's not enough time to be running back to the van and get it fixed.

"You inside?", you ask via comms.

"Corridor on the east side of the building, approaching a staircase. Any news?"

"Copy. Sir Lieutenant is in position. Do they train them in the army for this kind of stuff?"

"No", he suddenly speaks. "We usually just die."

"Oh really? And you're still here?"

"Y/N, I am begging you", Natasha hisses. You shut your mouth. "Focus. Both of you."

"Sorry, babe.”

Your mumbled response would've been enough to make her smile in just about any other situation, but right now, she's too on edge to react. The neural link glitching, the shuffling noises, the fact that you're outside, in a van and basically alone.

She keeps her back pressed against the wall. Mintz mumbles instructions into her ear — go left, down the hallway, go right, down the stairs — and you're checking the neural link's feedback via your tablet.

Someone pops out from behind a staircase. Natasha, not having to think twice, ducks right as he shoots. It's combat, and she knows what shes doing. She's been trained for this. The neural link usually helps, too.

This time, it doesn't. What it does is worse than it not helping.

Right as she's about to kick him and twist the gun out of his hands, her shoulder locks. The neural link misfires, again, lasting only a split second but still long enough to almost get her shot. She curses quietly.

You stare at the tablet, unable to believe your eyes for a moment. You're not sure what happened, but very briefly, everything glitched and you lost signal. Now that it's back, though, Natasha's vitals have spiked.

Which doesn't have to mean the worst, obviously. The vitals spiking is normal, especially during missions. But the glitch? The signal going poof? Bad signs.

"Natasha", you say, already desperately tapping on the screen to see if you can do anything, "what happened?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it. I found the vault."

"Okay", you say, packing your stuff and hopping out of the van. Into the corridor, go left, down the hallway, etc. Thank god you listened to Mintz as he gave her the instructions. "Be careful."

"I said don't worry."

"You said don't worry about it", you mutter. A gun in one hand and your most important tools in the other, you're easy meat. "What do you see?"

"Desks", she says, eyes scanning her surroundings. "Computers. Deposit boxes."

The signal is lost for another short moment, making her voice sound chopped. The feedback displays another glitch. Your heart beats faster and you hurry up.

"Right. Column five, row ten", Mintz adds. "Iris scan, ten digit password and a keycard. You got everything?"

No sound comes through. Then, a grunt. Something breaks, possibly a chair or a table. Whatever it is — it has you speeding up, running, searching for the stupid vault. But you reach it and the door is locked.

You glance at the screen. Bleeding located.

"Nat?", you say, rummaging through your tools. Maybe you have something that'll help you unlock it. "Any updates?"

Again, nothing. You curse and grab a hairpin, but this is SHIELD's abandoned black site. The doors are designed to keep trespassers out.

You end up grabbing the little grenade you packed. It's tiny, usually only enough to take out one person, but it'll have to do. You attach it to the door, active it, and quickly move backwards.

It blinks three times. It explodes, the door bursting open, and you exhale and run into the vault.

Blood, and a lot of it. It's soaked the right side of her shoulder. Right as you move to help her, someone wraps their arm around your neck and squeezes. You gasp, choking, and start clawing at their forearm.

Natasha barely manages to move enough to point her gun and shoot. The pressure on your airways disappears and you fall to the floor, wheezing and gasping for breath. You crawl to her side and put both hands on the bullet wound in her shoulder. Thick blood seeps between your fingers, and you take off your vest to ball it up and use it to stop the bleeding.

"You're okay", you say, voice shaky. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shakes her head. "Get the data drive."

"No", you say, keeping the vest pressed to her shoulder. You speak into the comms. "Mintz, you there?"

"What happened?"

You swallow, fingers digging into the fabric of the vest. "The neural link, it- it glitched. Misfired. Natasha got shot."

"On my way."

You nod, still putting your entire weight on the wound, still watching her every breath. She seems stable enough, but speaking from experience, it's not a good idea to rely on the hope of something happening.

There are two things you're thinking about.

One: she could die. Right here, right now.

Two: you designed the neural link. You 'fixed' it. If anything happens to her, it's your fault.

Earning her trust seemed to be the biggest honor once. None of your achievements seemed as valuable as getting someone like Natasha to trust you, getting to watch her open up and show you sides nobody else had ever seen. In that moment, however, you curse it. If she'd never trusted you, she wouldn't have worn the neural link. She wouldn't have gotten hurt.

. . .

It's quiet in medbay. Natasha's better now — the wound has been treated, the bleeding has been stopped, she's stable. But the heavy feeling in your gut remains.

She's asleep right now. Her cheeks are rosy instead of pale, her curls have flattened a little. You reach out and brush your fingers against her jaw, then you get up.

The neural link has been in your pocket ever since you got her to medbay. It's sitting there like a mass that's pulling you down, defying the laws of weight.

You reach into your pocket and pull it out. The surface shimmers in the dimmed lights of the room, your initials carved into the side. You ball your hand into a fist, clutching it, then leave the room. Natasha barely stirs.

Your steps are quick and filled with silent anger. Boots thud against vinyl flooring, your throat bobs with every despaired swallow. You push open the door to your lab and slam it shut behind you.

You reach for the hammer before you can think twice. The neural link shatters into tiny pieces, bursting to the sides and falling to the floor. Breathing heavily, you put the hammer aside. Then, the tears come.

They're silent, unthreatening. Rolling down your face in drops, staining your hoodie. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and pause, hand still against your face, when your phone buzzes.

It's the nurse, telling you she woke up and asked for you. You hesitate — do you want to go back there? Does she, despite asking for you, actually want you back there?

It was a mistake. It could've happened to anyone. But when Valerie made a mistake that got her shot, you lost your mind. But who's going to do that to you? Who's going to chew you out?

Nobody. Not even Natasha. You'll get away with it.

Sighing, you make your way out of the lab and back to medbay. It smells clinical, like disinfectant and cleansing chemicals. Metallic, too. You feel nauseous.

When you approach Natasha's room, you see a figure enter and close the door behind themselves. Heart starting to beat faster, you hurry up. You push open the door only to find Valerie standing next to her bed. That's when you lose it.

"Get the fuck out."

She barely even looks at you. "I'm just checking in on her. Making sure she's okay. Heard what happened."

"I said get out."

"Valerie, leave."

Both your and Valerie's heads whip around. Your first instinct is to be petty and make sure she knows it, but Natasha is injured, and you truthfully have other things to worry about.

She exhales sharply, then turns around and leaves. The door shuts loudly.

Natasha looks at you, not saying anything. She's studying you — you can tell that much. It's what she's always done. You shift, then hesitantly sit down on the edge of her bed.

She tilts her head. A soft breath leaves her lips. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You broke the neural link."

You blink a few times. Oh, so that's how observant she truly is. Or maybe she just knows you really well.

"Well, I...", you trail off. "It's useless anyway."

"No", she says, voice quiet. "You spent months working on it. It worked."

"It didn't. It's the reason you almost..." You rub your face. "You could've died, Nat. Because of me."

"That's not true."

"But it is."

"That thing helped me", she insists. "I wore it because I trust you. Because I love you. And you just broke it?"

You stare at the floor, jaw set. There's no way to explain what's going on in your head. All these years, you tried to be the one who protects the one person who claims she doesn't need protection. The one who protects everyone around herself — you, too.

When you got injured all those years ago, it was Natasha who got you out of the battlefield safely. She carried you to the field medics, she went to medbay with you. She stayed until you were better.

You would've kissed her. Neither of you were ready, though. But she was worth the wait.

"I fixed it", you say, glancing at her. She softens. "I tried to fix it. I swear. I don't know what went wrong."

"Accidents happen."

"Not like this", you reply, raking your fingers over your thigh. The denim feels overstimulating against your fingernails. "Not to me. Not when it comes to you. Valerie makes mistakes, and Mintz, and Ward, but-"

"And you're flawless? Perfect?"

You shut your mouth. No, you're neither of those things.

"If I were, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Natasha scoffs. You refuse to look at her, so she shifts in bed despite knowing she shouldn't. It's a plan, though — a plan that works. You quickly lift your head.

"Don't even try", you say, already trying to gently nudge her back into bed. She smiles and you know what she's done. "Oh, fuck me."

"Not while I'm injured."

You roll your eyes, but what she's doing seems to work. You smile, one hand still on her waist and thumb rubbing circles into her side. She flops into the pillows again, a tad more dramatic than others would expect her to do it.

"It was supposed to help", you say softly. "I wanted it to be safer for you. Easier. It almost got you killed instead."

Natasha hums. "You're right", she says. "It did. But how many times did it save me?"

"That's not important."

"Oh, but it is. And I'm not just talking about the neural link. You've invented a dozen of these nifty little things, and how many times were those faulty?"

You shift, refusing to answer. You could say it — never. They were never faulty, never malfunctioned so badly. Sure, there were some issues and minor problems every now and then, but Natasha was always able to keep going despite those. This was a one time thing. An unlucky coincidence.

You feel her fingertips trail down your back. You sigh and then smile tentatively. "Alright. Fine. You got me."

She stays silent for a moment, her fingers glued to your back for no specific reason. She's touching you, and that's enough.

"You didn't invent your way into my life, you know."

You look at her, frowning. Those are words you didn't expect. "No?"

"No." Her fingers drum against your spine. "The gadgets are great. Truly. But they're not the main appeal here, and they never were."

"It's just..." You swallow. "You saved me. It's like, I don't know."

"A debt?"

"Maybe."

Natasha doesn't say anything. She just moves her hand, reaching for yours. When you give it to her, she tugs you into her side.

You know she's being serious. She doesn't need the gadgets. You'll keep inventing them, anyway.

. . .

There's a bandage around her shoulder and a tiny bandaid above her eyebrow, but she's still attracting attention from everyone in the room. You know she is. She always does. You pull her into your side and lead her through the hallway.

"They're staring", you mutter, gently squeezing her upper arm.

"I wonder why."

"You're beaten up and they're still staring." You enter your lab and walk right towards the little couch in the corner. Natasha sits down without arguing, which is a miracle. Getting her to do just about anything that'd be beneficial for her injuries is like fighting a very stubborn bear.

She shifts until she's comfortable, her injured arm resting on a pillow you tuck against her side. "So?"

"Nothing", you say evasively, closing the door now. You're pretty sure no one's going to come by anyway, but you're not keen on taking that risk right now. "Need anything? Water, a granola bar?"

"I'm good." She tilts her head. "You gonna keep me locked in here until they stop staring?"

Hand around a water bottle, you pause. You're crouched in front of the mini fridge.

"Well..."

"Oh god."

"I'm kidding."

She laughs and, despite saying no earlier, accepts the water bottle you hand her. "Hey, at least feel sorry Valerie quit."

"Feel sorry?" You snort and step up to your workbench. You grab the new neural link you've been working on and the stack of data necessary to program it so you can get to work. "I don't do that."

"No, of course." She leans back and watches you work. You adjust wires, program the link using your tablet, test it a few times.

It took two days for you to get up and get started on another neural link. You've barely been sleeping, and Natasha knows that's the case, but you're relentless. Having experience with this prototype, creating an updated, better one hasn't been hard. That doesn't make the process less painful, though. You've burnt your fingertips again already.

"I'm relieved, you know", you mumble.

"Mhm?"

"Valerie really was incompetent."

The cap of the water bottle hits you in the back. But she's smiling, trying not to laugh, and you turn around.

"I mean it."

"She's not even here anymore", she says. "Dial down the jealousy."

"It's not jealousy, it's me disliking her."

"And why do you dislike her? Because you're jealous."

You walk up to the couch and sit down. Hands cup her face, fingertips burnt and wrapped into little bandaids so they'd hurt less, and your breath fans against her lips. You lean in and kiss her, but briefly enough to leave you both wanting more.

She sighs, eyes lazily trailing across your face. "That's not an answer."

"I'm not in the mood to argue. I need to work on your new neural link."

"Better not make any mistakes this time."

You give her an unimpressed look like, Really? You know how much that destroyed me. But she just smiles and tugs you closer.

"I told you I trust you", she says. You roll your eyes. "Don't give me that look, or I'll start using someone else's scope."

"Oh, don't even-"

"Kidding", she cuts you off. "Again."

You narrow your eyes at her. But with the bandaid over her eyebrow, and her bandaged shoulder, you can't be too mad. You sigh and press a kiss to her mouth, your hand on her cheek. She smiles against your lips, hand resting on yours, fingers tangling with yours.

"You're beautiful, you know", you mumble, placing another kiss on her mouth. "No wonder they're all staring. Can't blame them."

"Mhm? Beautiful, you say?"

"So so beautiful." You run your hand down her arm and lightly squeeze her wrist. "It's not fair. You're all beaten up and you still look like you escaped some frame in a museum."

Natasha huffs a laugh. Her forehead rests against yours, her thumb brushes against the side of your hand. You scoot closer and the cushion dips slightly beneath you. She rests one leg over your lap.

"Not jealous anymore?"

"Oh, fucking mental", you say, nodding. "But Valerie's gone, so that helps."

"Terrible."

"Honest."

She scoots and ends up fully in your lap, her weight welcome and familiar. You wouldn't be able to guess her body fat percentage (that detail still leaves you stunned whenever you think about it), but you don't need to see or hear her to recognize her.

Your hand trails down her side and slips under her hoodie. She's warm, her body nestled against yours.

She smiles and nods at the workbench. The neural link lays abandoned, at least for the time being.

"You're stalling again."

"No", you mumble, kissing her shoulder. "Just taking my time."

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FOUR: FOR CUP'S SAKE

violet; 5,052 words; fluff, fake dating (is it tho?), situationship be situating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, miscommunication, vi is very bad at feelings, simp!vi, first date, powder being powder, mention of skating competition, wlw, no "y/n"

summary: in which you and vi go on a cupcake date for the ages. oh, and skate america happens too, i guess.

a/n: WOOP WOOP its finally first date time!!! lmao i won't say much more for now ;) read and find out!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ YOU TRY NOT TO FEEL too self-conscious, fiddling with the sleeves of your baby pink sweater.

“Hey!”

“Oh — hi!” you jerk up, smiling as you catch sight of Vi, and your throat seizes — god, that’s not fair, you think as your eyes flicker down the shape of her, dressed in tight black jeans and a cropped leather jacket, beneath which you’re sure she’s wearing nothing except a light gray muscle tank. You swallow, clearing your throat.

“Y-you’re not cold?” you ask, cursing your voice for the way it cracks.

Vi grins, shrugging, “Nah. I run pretty hot.”

“Right. Hot. Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from the sliver of skin peaking out from under her tanktop and jerk your head towards the cafe entrance, “Shall we?”

Vi sweeps her arm across her front, “After you, princess.”

You drop into a little curtsey as she pulls open the door for you and you prance passed. You don’t notice the way her eyes linger just a second too long on the bare skin of your shoulders as you shrug off your coat, or the way she puffs out a breath as her gaze skates up the long column of your neck, buttercream and swansong, the way it slopes up so gracefully into the thin cut of your jaw.

She shakes her head, forcing her eyes away as you smile at the server at the front.

“Just the two of us,” you say, and Vi swallows around the skip in her heartbeat at the word us. As if it means something more than just the word.

“Ohhh,” the server girl says, looking between the two of you as she leads you to a small table tucked into a corner, “first date?” she asks, setting down the menus as you take a seat and hang your fluffy coat on the seat back.

You chew on your lip, glancing at Vi for a second before smiling back up at her.

“Something like that.”

Vi nods, “First one here, anyway,” she offers smoothly, even though she stomach is hanging somewhere, suspended by her ankles as she drops into the seat across from you, doing everything she can to keep from salivating at the way your off-the-shoulder sweater frames your collarbones. And for the first time, she thinks that Powder might be onto something there, what with her near religious appreciation of them.

She makes a note to text Powder about this later.

“Well then, you should know we have a discount for couples — you get a free cupcake if you let us take a picture of the pair of you together and post it on our socials. Your faces don’t have to be in it or anything! It can just be your hands or whatever, but yeah! If that’s something you’re interested in…” the server lets her voice trail off as she looks between the pair of you.

You lick your lips, glancing at Vi, only to catch her looking at you with just as much uncertainty.

You turn back to the waiter, “That sounds cool! Let us think about it.”

The server nods, rocking on the balls of her feet, and for a second, she hesitates, but then, she leans in and says —

“And — sorry of this is cringe or anything but — I love your skating — big fan. Good luck at Skate America this week!”

She scurries off before you can say anything. You blink after her, a plume of heat working into your cheeks as Vi’s eyebrows tick up.

“Wow… geez, princess. You like… famous, or something?” Vi asks, her voice lilting into a tease even as you bury your face in your hands with a soft groan.

“Just… don’t…”

Vi laughs, glancing down the menu, trying to tamp down the wildfire thrum that she thinks is her heartbeat. She can’t quite remember the last time she’s felt like this, heady and light with that stupid, fluttery, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation eating at her from the inside out.

“Huh, so the Pina Colada flavor looks good…” she muses, glancing up to admire the way you crinkle your nose and pull at your own menu, your cheeks still tinted.

“Y-yeah, and the — I think the Espresso Martini flavor is the one Mel said was super yummy,” you say, fiddling with the corner of your menu, your eyes flickering over the page without ever really settling on one thing.

“Sounds like we’ll be needing that free-cupcake coupon,” she says, her voice low.

Your eyes flash up, wide and uncertain as you search her face for a hint of… something. She shrugs, leaning back in her chair, fighting tooth and nail to keep the heat from eating too high into her own cheeks.

“’S like that girl said — our faces don’t have to be in it or anything, right?”

“R-right —” but your voice is drowned out by the sound of the server welcoming another couple into the shop. Vi freezes at the unmistakable, accented voice.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for weeks,” Caitlyn says, tossing a strand of midnight blue hair over her shoulder as the server walks her and Maddie to a table a few down from yours. You can barely see them from the corner of your eyes, but from her seat, Vi has a perfect view.

You can see her fingers clenching on the table, her knuckles going white.

“Hey,” you reach out, pressing your hand over hers, sighing as Vi jerks out of her reverie to look back at you.

“Huh? Oh, sorry —”

“You guys know what you wanna order?” the server swings back by your table, and you flash her a camera-ready smile.

“Yeah! Can we get the Pina Colada and the Espresso Martini? And —” you glance at Vi before cutting back to the server, your fingers giving Vi’s hand a squeeze, “we’ll take you up on that free cupcake.”

“Fantastic!” the server says, seemingly overjoyed as she reaches down to take your menus. “The picture’ll be candid, so don’t stress out too much about it — just… enjoy your time here, and we’ll show it to you with your receipt. Okay?”

You nod, still grinning. You think distantly that, if for nothing else, at least your years of camera training as a kid is paying off now, as you watch the server bounce away from you, her ponytail swinging behind her.

You turn back to Vi, only to see her watching you with a strange look in her eyes.

“Vi?”

She shakes her head, “Yeah? Sorry —” she puffs out a soft laugh, “I’m… not being a very good date, am I?”

“It’s alright — ‘s not like I’ve had much else to compare it against.”

“Wait — what?”

You bite your lips, your eyebrows ticking up at the incredulous expression on her face.

“What? Is that so hard to believe?”

Vi blinks at you, her expression open and incredulous.

“Uh — yeah. I mean —” she gestures towards you, “you’re —” she casts about for a fitting word, puffing out a breath when she finally settles on, “insane.”

You let out a startled laugh, your head tipping back, and a few tables down, you see the faint figure of Caitlyn glancing over towards your table, her eyes sharp as she watches you and Vi.

“Wow, thanks,” you intone, rolling your eyes even as Vi sputters.

“No! I mean like — have you seen yourself?”

You nod, propping a cheek on your knuckles, “Sure have — more than anyone should have to, honestly,” you drop your eyes to the table, fingers drawing abstract patterns into the pastel napkins.

Vi’s hand appears in your field of vision, running a thumb over the back of yours before she tugs your fingers loose and laces her own fingers between them.

Your breath hitches as your glance up.

“I could spend entire days lookin’ at you and never get tired of it, princess.”

Your throat squeezes as she reaches up to run a thumb along your cheek, coaxing your eyes towards hers.

“Y-yeah?” you breathe.

Vi nods, but before she can say anything else, the server bops back, with two massive cupcakes balanced on a pretty patterned plate. She sets it down between you, seemingly clueless to the way your hands have to jerk apart to make room for it. She giggles as she sets two miniature cocktail glasses on either side of the plate, tiny versions of the drinks the cupcakes are supposed to be emulating.

“And… here we are — the Pina Colada, and the Espresso Martini — the drinks are complimentary,” she leans down with a conspiratorial wink, “usually, they only come in pre-order packages but —” she lowers her voice, “I figured since it’s your first time here…” she lets her voice trail off, standing back up, looking mightily pleased with herself.

You flash her another bright grin, nodding, “Thanks so much! I’m sure they’re great.”

The server beams before she turns and flounces off to greet another set of guests.

Vi stares at you, a lopsided grin hung loose over her lips.

“Damn. I should come out with you more often, princess, if this is the kinda service you get.”

You laugh, “It’s usually not like this,” you say, “it’s a once every four years thing. When the Winter Olympics roll around and suddenly everyone remembers figure skating is, like, a sport.”

Vi chuckles, and it’s stupid, really, how easy it is to talk to you. How easy it is to tease you, how much she likes making you pout or squirm in your seat, how she’s hungry for the soft hitch in your breath, the part of your lips. How she can’t help herself when you lean forward and split one of the cupcakes with a plastic knife and push half of it towards her, pulling your finger back to lick the frosting from it, the way her throat bobs at the thought of reaching out to tug your finger into her mouth.

When you lean down to take a bite of your own half a cupcake, she licks her lips, thinking of the phantom taste of sugar on that might’ve lingered on your tongue.

“Wow —” Vi says, through a mouthful of cake, “this is good.”

You giggle, nodding as a crumb topples out of the edge of your mouth, “Mhm!”

And she’s so arrested by the sight that for a second, she forgets who’s sitting three seats from her, until she hears it — the loud, derisive laughter she’s come to know all too well.

Her head swivels towards the table before she can stop herself, and she sees Caitlyn smirking as she turns away, her eyes dark as she splits a cupcake in half with Maddie and pushes the larger half towards the ginger.

Vi swallows, the sugar in her mouth going ashy.

“Vi — you’ve got frosting all over your lips —” you say, laughing, your voice pulling her back as a soft finger runs across her lips and she’s left gasping at the sensation. She blinks, reeling ever so slightly as she watches you pull your thumb back and pop it into your mouth, your eyes sparkling.

A sharp spate of desire twists somewhere deep in her gut and Vi has to bite back a groan.

“You’re one to talk,” she murmurs, leaning forward to drag her thumb along the corner of your mouth, her heart thundering inside her chest as your bottom lip tugs open beneath her touch, easy as anything, and the hot kiss of your breath washes along her skin.

Sweet fuck.

The harsh tang of alcohol hits her tongue a second later, and her head spins to the sound of your breathy laughter. She watches you pick up the tiny Pina Colada glass in a sort of trance, your lips painted pink and perfect as you press them to the rim and take a sip.

Vi nods, her stomach flipping once, twice inside her as she reaches for your proffered glass.

She takes a sip without breaking eye contact, reveling in the way you flush three shades darker as she licks her lips clean of the foam.

“Yeah — whoa,” she clears her throat, “that packs a punch!”

You break into a fit of giggles so endearing Vi has to bite on her lips to keep from smiling too hard. And distantly, in the back of her head, a voice very much like Powder’s coughs up something like sounds suspiciously like pussy-whipped.

By the time you finish the second cupcake and the equally miniscule Espresso Martini, Vi is sure that she’s drunk, though perhaps not on the actual alcohol (of which she’s sure there was more than either of you had initially bargained for), but on the sound of your voice, on the way you tug on the ends of your hair when you’re talking, absently, and then how you flick them over your shoulder, the perfect bend of your collarbone dipping in the bright lights of the cake shop.

She’s drunk on the way your lashes flutter every time she makes you laugh, and god, does she really like making you laugh — she can’t remember the last time she’s tried so damn hard to be charming, pulling out all the stops (and on the first date?!) till she’s sure you’d have nothing else to talk about, but, despite that, the conversation flows, and flows.

“Wow, holy shit —” Vi leans back, running a hand through her hair as she checks her phone — 3:37PM. It’s been two and a half hours.

“Sorry, d’you have somewhere else to be?” you ask, and you sound so genuinely concerned, Vi has to laugh, shaking her head.

“Nope. Nowhere else but here, princess. Cleared my whole schedule for you.”

You flush, crinkling your nose, folding your napkin into progressively smaller and smaller bits.

“Oh. That’s…” your brows furrow as you stare down at the empty plates between you, “that’s really… nice of you.”

Vi clears her throat, her eyes catching on the shape of Caitlyn and Maddie as they stand up, Cait wiping her lips as she thanks the waiter with a tight-lipped grin.

She raises her voice just as Caitlyn walks by.

“Nothin’ less for my favorite ice princess.”

She leans forward to run a thumb along your cheek, but you stiffen as Caitlyn scoffs, brushing by your table with an upturned nose, Maddie following behind her, looking nervous as she glances between the pair of you.

You shrug off Vi’s hand as soon as they disappear, flagging down the waitress, flashing her another winning smile even as Vi curses beneath her breath. You’d put down your card before she can even fumble for her wallet, and you’d signed the electronic tablet faster than she has the time to wipe her mouth and stumble after you into the sunset street, a gust of wind picking up, whipping your hair into a silken frenzy around your cold-bruised cheeks.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You round on her, your eyes over-bright.

“Sorry, I forgot that this whole thing was just —” you suck in a long breath, eyes cutting away before they slice back to her, so sharp Vi almost winces at the contact, “a ruse for your ex.”

Vi gapes, her fingers digging so hard into her palms she thinks she might just draw blood.

“What? No! Oh, fucking —” she yanks you back as you try to turn away, and like this, with your windblown hair and the setting sun cast behind you, gliding the shape of you in gold, you look nothing short of ethereal. You swallow, curling your arms around yourself as the wind kicks up, your hair feathering around you like loose tendrils of sunlit silk.

“I —” Vi grasps for words she does not have, and you are so, so beautiful, even like this, even sad and wary, and bracing yourself against her, against the late autumn chill.

You lick your lips, “It’s okay, Vi… I knew what I was getting into when I —”

“No,” Vi says, so vehemently she almost startles herself. “That’s not — I mean — sweet fuck,” she swears, twisting around to rake both her hands through her hair, tugging harshly at the ends as she tries to center herself in the sting.

You stand there, watching her, holding yourself, the street behind you pooling with liquid gold.

Vi takes a deep breath, “I’m — I’m sorry. I didn’t mean — it was —” she pinches at her nose bridge, “I came here today for you,” she says, turning back towards you with an imploring look, hoping you’d understand. “Not for Cait, not for that new, ginger, button-cap mushroom girlfriend of hers.”

And at this, you let out a surprised laugh, shaking our head.

“Button-cap… mushroom?” you press a hand to your lips.

Vi grins, chuckling, “Yeah, sorry, it’s what my sister calls her —”

“Your sister… sounds like an interesting person.”

Vi rolls her eyes, “Interesting doesn’t even start to cover the basics with her —”

You laugh, and the sound is so inviting Vi almost groans.

“But… I — I mean it, princess. I came here today for you.”

“Yeah?” you sound so breathless, so disbelieving, that Vi almost tugs you to her, almost kisses you just to prove a point.

But she doesn’t, instead, she only nods, keeping her posture open as you look her over, and your arms loosen around your torso. You take half a step towards her, careful and a little hesitant.

Vi sighs, “Yeah. And… i-if you don’t believe me, I… I’d love to take you out on another date to prove it to you.”

You suck in a breath; your lashes flutter.

“Okay.”

Vi blinks, “Okay?”

You nod, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah,” Vi echoes, feeling her heart thread up against her voice box as she nods, shoving her hands into her pockets, “okay.”

You laugh, shaking your head to free yourself from the tangle of hairs that had collected in front of your eyes. You brush them away and Vi feels her breath catch at the sight of you, your cheeks kissed pink by the cold, your eyes glittering with a promise of the days and nights to come, the street lamps around you flickering on one by one as the sun sinks beyond the far horizon.

“Then… I guess I’ll see you, Violet,” you say, smiling shyly up at her.

Vi nods, “Yeah. I’ll see you, princess.”

She watches as you take a few steps back, before turning to make your way down the street. Vi turns herself to head the opposite way, feeling a strange lightness in her steps, almost as if she were walking on clouds, as she fights down the urge to whoops and click her heels in the air.

Halfway down the block, she turns and shouts down the street, startling a good few passersby as she calls —

“Good luck at Skate America!”

You jump, twisting around to find Vi waving at you from nearly an entire block away, her hair a bright gash of pink against the dying light.

You curse yourself for the way your heart skips at the sound of her voice.

“Thanks!” you yell, waving back, “I’ll uh — call you after!”

Vi nods, “I’ll be watching!”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

You give your hand another hard wave before turning down the corner, and letting the oncoming darkness swallow the shadow of Vi, still waving, behind you.

“Unless you’re calling to tell me that you’ve successfully laid some Olympic-level pipe, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Powder, I think I love her.”

“Oh wow… first date went well, I see.”

“Powder, no — you don’t understand —”

“Actually, I think I might understand way better than you do —”

“She wore this pink, off-the-shoulder sweater —” Vi gulps in a long breath of the chilly air, squinting at her phone screen as Powder dabs electric blue dye into her roots.

“Oh, I knew I liked her.”

“No, like — this is insane.”

“Sis, I swear, if you don’t wife her up, I will.”

Vi frowns, “You’ve literally never met her.”

“Don’t have to. I’ve seen all her clips on Youtube. Hey, did you know she’s got one of those Vogue ‘What’s In My Bag’ videos?”

Vi stares, “Uh… no?”

Powder rolls her eyes, twisting a strand of dye-saturated hair up to pin it, “You’re missin’ out, sis! There’s an entire treasure trove of content relating to your little ice-cream sandwich of a girl-crush, and all you gotta do is search.”

Vi blinks at the Facetime call for three whole seconds before pulling up her Youtube app and searching your name, and sure enough, the first video that comes up is the Vogue What’s In Your Bag video with nearly half a million views.

She clicks into it, digging in her pockets for her earbuds, shoving one into her ear just as the ad finishes and the screen cuts to you sitting in front of a pastel blue background, waving at the camera, your voice soft in her ears as you say —

“Hi Vogue! Today I’ll be showing you… what I carry in my skating bag every day —” you laugh, crinkling your nose, and Vi’s heart skids in her chest.

“Yeah… anyways,” Powder’s voice cuts through the video; Vi almost drops her phone for the shock — she’d nearly forgotten she was still on a call with Powder, “I’ll let you… explore,” Powder finishes, grinning crookedly at Vi before dropping the call.

A second later, Vi gets a text that’s just a link to a playlist of 47 videos, detailing your greatest figure skating programs, interspersed with interviews you’ve done with a variety of fashion and lifestyle magazines, and then the line —

Don’t forget to take pee breaks!

Vi rolls her eyes, swiping out of Powder’s iMessage to the Youtube app again.

Vi re-clicks play on the Vogue video, sighing into the sound of your voice, grinning stupidly to herself, thinking that she’ll be locking in for a long, long night.

You don’t remember much of Skate America, only that Vi had sent you a quick text of — good luck, pretty girl, seven minutes before your short program, and you’d stepped onto the ice feeling weightless.

You remember Amara’s smiling face, Mel and Jayce’s excited expressions as you’d passed them on your way to the Kiss and Cry. You remember staring at the number on the megatron screen even as the crowd erupted into screams around you, Amara clutching your hands so tightly in hers you lose feeling into your fingertips.

A new personal best, and a World Record to boot.

You’d skated clean.

The days before your free-skate are a whirlwind of flashing cameras and early morning practices. Amara’s voice ever constant in your ear as she works you through your paces. You barely have time to eat and drink and shower before collapsing into bed each night, and before you know it, you’re stepping onto the ice again, the sweet chill of the rink greeting you like an old friend.

Four minutes and six seconds, exactly — Liebestraum.

You close your eyes as the music starts. A flash — the faint after image of a memory cast behind your eyelids — Vi watching you from across the hazy plastic as the rest of the hockey team jostles around her. But her, standing still, the only in-focus thing in a smeared rush of shapes and color.

You smile; your body moves without you ever having to tell it to.

You remember stepping off the ice, feeling the fire expanding in your chest, the soreness already tingling through your limbs. But Amara’s tugging you into her side, pressing her palms to your cheeks.

You remember glancing down at your phone to see a missed Facetime call from Vi, and a string of texts.

You smile, flicking open your screen even as you’re herded towards the Kiss and Cry booth. You barely have time to see all the exclamation marks before the announcer is calling out your scores. Amara lets out a pleased yelp, and the spectating audience roars their approval. You glance up at the numbers, the mental math you’d been doing since childhood stacking up as you realize, a little belatedly, that you’re in first place.

It isn’t till the afterparty, long after you’ve received your gold medal and posed for all the necessary podium photos that you finally come to, ducking out of the raucous party hall to give Vi a call back.

She answers on the second ring.

“Hey!” she sounds slightly out of breath as she fumbles with something in her ear. A second later, she settles on what looks like a bed, and it’s only then that you realize it’s nearly 11PM at night.

“Hi! Sorry — I know it’s late but — I saw you called —”

“Yeah! No that was my bad — I uh — I called you by accident while I was watching your stream —”

“You were?”

Vi laughs, “Yeah! Of course I was! I got a Peacock subscription and everything — and I promised I would, didn’t I?”

You lick your lips, feeling your cheeks prickle with heat. You lean back against the padded hotel hallway, silently thanking the heavens that you’ve only had two glasses of champagne.

“You — you didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to! And holy shit! You killed it, princess! I mean — you skated totally clean!”

You nod, laughing, buoyed up by her excitement even as she grins at you through the screen.

“Yeah — I know! I haven’t done that since —”

“Your Chopin skate — and I mean — this time though, you were so —”

“Wait — how do you know about my Chopin skate?” you ask, cocking your head.

Vi stares, and then, a bright flush works into her cheeks, visible even in the dim lighting of her bedroom.

She chews on her bottom lip.

You hitch an eyebrow, “Vi… have you… been watching my skates on Youtube?”

Vi clears her throat, “Uh… I mean —“ you watch as she chews on her lip, the thin scar on her top lip made all the more obvious by the sharp light of the phone screen. “Is it really that strange to wanna watch the pretty girl you’re trying to date do the thing she seems to be put on this earth to do?”

You blink, “Trying to date?”

Vi purses her lips, “I — sorry if that’s weird — I know everyone thinks we’re already dating but…”

You shrug, staring at your own fingers, clutched around the phone, your baby pink nail polish a tad chipped at the thumb. You resist the urge to pick at it.

“We… we can take it slow, though… right?”

It’s Vi’s turn to blink, before a crooked grin splits her face.

“Yeah? I mean — yeah… we can.”

You smile, nodding as Vi fights not to do something stupid, like break into a riverdance right there in her bed, even though her limbs are trembling with the urge.

“Cool,” you say, glancing somewhere off screen, and Vi lets out a breath. A second later, light appears and you say something to someone who’s apparently come to look for you.

“Sorry,” you say, pursing your lips with an apologetic little smile, “I’ve gotta get back to the Gala party.”

Vi nods, “Go on then, pretty girl. Have fun. You… you deserve it.”

You flash her a grin that makes her heart crawl into the back of her throat.

“Thanks,” you breathe, and the phone screen wobbles, the camera flipping down as you fumble with it for a second, affording Vi a glimpse of the dress you’re in. And its nothing like the one you’d worn to sorority house party, but it still makes her mouth go dry.

“I’ll — I’ll text you after the party’s over then?” you sound unsure.

Vi grins, “Sure. I might be uh, passed out by then — early morning practice tomorrow. Gotta utilize the rink when all you figure skaters are gone, right?”

She winks.

You crinkle your nose and something in Vi’s chest stutters.

“Okay then — tomorrow?”

Vi blinks, “Huh?”

You laugh, color washing into your cheeks as you tug open a door and light floods your face, the unmistakable sounds of a party blaring into your mic. Vi gulps — like this, she can see the glitter you’d painted on your eyelids, the mascara on your curled up lashes. She can see the light sheen of highlight on your cheeks, setting off the pink of your blush, your hair a little messy, but gorgeous as it cascades around your shoulders.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” you say.

Vi nods, “Y-yeah — right. Tomorrow. Good.” She feels the heat eating into her face even as she bites back the urge to smack her head against the wall. God, she sounds like a fucking idiot.

You giggle again, the sound shuddering straight through Vi’s stomach to coil somewhere low and heavy in her belly.

“Kay… gnight, Vi. Bye!”

“Yeah, bye Princess.”

The call drops and Vi lets the phone tumble from her fingers. Her head slumps back into her pillows and she’s left staring at the pebbled ceiling of her messy room, the far wall tiger-striped by the tremulous yellow streetlight peaking through her half-closed blinds.

She presses a hand to her chest, if only to feel the frantic thumping of her heart, to reassure herself that it really is still there and not somewhere in the vast metasphere, having leapt clear through her phone screen, just to try and get to you.

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

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: on a slow day at your grandmother’s bakery, a customer captures your attention. as the weeks pass, you see her pop up more and more. a gentle friendship ignites between the two of you. the only issue was the undeniable attraction to her and it didn’t help now having to do her a kind favor. it would go away…. right?

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, reader is described to have long enough hair to tie up, reader has a sister named mila, we love gram, vander, isha and jinx mentions <3, nothing but fluff, strangers to friends to lovers:)

word count: 3.5K

a/n: i seriously had so much fun writing this and i am excited to dig into a mini-series with vi. i hope everyone enjoys this as much as i do </3

— ONE

Running your grandmother’s bakery wasn’t easy but it was a light in your life. She taught you tips and tricks of working the large industrial oven, every single one of her recipes, and wiping down the chalkboard to write the specials for the delicious treats.

She was charm personified; somehow able to convince pretty much every person that walked to the pastry shop to try at least one item. You were on the more quiet side, not insanely secluded but you weren’t extroverted. Nice people cracked you open and next thing you knew it, you were shoving a donut into their palms to take home.

It was a bad habit.

It was a slow Thursday in November. You were sweeping the small area of seating, softly asking one of the usual college students that came if they needed anything else. You were just a few streets down from the community college so many people your age would come in for coffee and furiously type on their laptops.

Once you were told they were good for now, you excuse yourself back to behind the counter to adjust the display desserts. You were bent over when you heard the bell over the door echo within the space, shouting ‘welcome in’.

“If you have any questions, just let me know. We have a daily special which is on the blackboard,” you stood back up with a slight grunt from the rush, brushing a few flyaways to kindly smile at the new customer. “Today we have buy one, get one donut free.”

Your eyes slightly widen at the… attractiveness of the customer. You adjust the neckline of your soft brown cable knit sweater to tug out your necklaces, plastering on a friendly smile.

“I actually came in because I was curious about the sign,” she trails off, tilting her head as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Do you actually just let people smell the food?”

You let out a soft chuckle as you nod. Your grandfather, one of the only men who had ever tolerated, made the sign for your grandmother the second she mentioned it to him. Now, in all its carved glory ‘Free Smells!’ is hanging underneath the shop's main sign: Sweet Tooth Bakery + Cafe.

“Yeah, my grandma thought it’d be a funny sign to draw people in. Obviously, we don’t let them shove their nose into it or anything,” you shake your head, holding your hand out to the stranger. “Because that’s… unsanitary.”

The pink haired stranger nods with a soft chuckle, stepping back to check out the arrangement of treats in the display case. In that moment of silence, you, as discreetly as possible, check her out. She had on a navy blue cut off sleeve zip-up, a soft white tank top underneath and a pair of grey sweatpants hugging her lower half. Very simplistic outfit but she made it look good.

You think she just naturally looked good. If you stared for long enough, which you embarrassingly did so, you could see markings of ink on the side of her neck and following down the backs of her arms and the smallest etching on her cheek.

“Any suggestions on what to smell first?” She questions, curious eyes bouncing back up to you.

You hum to yourself as you, too, stagger your eyes from pastry to pastry to carefully choose which one you could have her smell.

“Are you a fan of blueberries?” You question with a beaming grin.

“Uh, sure, yeah. Blueberries are good.”

“Then you have to take a whiff of the blueberry danish. It’s one of my favorites.” You offer, pointing to the sweet treat.

The pink haired stranger leans forward, folding her bare arms across her chest. You, again, can’t help your stares as you try to figure out what was exactly dotted into her pale skin. She nods with a shrug, looking at you with a kind smile.

“I’ll give it a whiff, yeah,” she stepped forward so that the glass of the display case was the only obstacle between the two of you.

You can feel your face getting hot as you mutter a bright ‘okay’ to yourself. You bend over once again grab the metal tongs to pick out the danish to place on a ceramic plate. You place it on top of the display case, motioning for the stranger to give it a smell.

Still seeming a bit hesitant that you were playing a joke on her, she leans her face forward so that she is mere centimeters away from the pastry. She inhales a bit, letting out a long sigh as she leans back to look at you.

“Shit, that smells amazing,” she praises the sweet aroma, nodding in satisfaction. “I’ll take it.”

You blink at her before chuckling awkwardly.

“You don’t have to buy the ones you smell. I promise.” You reassure her as you attempt to put the danish back so that you can shove the cranberry-orange muffin in her face.

She’s quick to hold a palm out to stop you, shaking her head. A beautiful smile spreads on her lips, temporarily forgetting how eager you were to show her every single pastry on display.

“I want that one. I swear. Plus, my sister’s going to rush me out of here if I take too long.”

A part of you was disappointed that she was so quick to purchase the first, yet incredibly delicious, treat. You selfishly wanted her to stay for as long as possible. Your grandmother would be on your ass for being so distracted by an attractive customer.

She would give you a clap on the back for making a sale, though.

“Oh, okay. Did your sister want anything?” You offer, itching to find any way possible for her to stay just a bit longer.

The stranger hums to herself for a moment as she examines the rest of the delicious treats. You tilt your head as you grab a small brown paper bag to place the danish into, waiting patiently to see if she was going to pick another item.

To your delighted surprise, she nods as she points to a more simplistic pastry.

“I think this pink donut should be good,” she nods to show certainty.

You grasp onto the sweet treat to slide it into the bag with her danish, trying not to spill a lot of the sprinkles. You seal it closed with a custom sticker with the logo of the shop, typing up her total into the register. The stranger reaches into her sweatpants pocket to pull out her wallet.

“Your total is gonna be $7.89. Cash or card?” You question.

“Card.”

You watch her hand you a simple light blue credit card, grinning as you not-so-discreetly check out her full name on it. Her first name caught your attention. Violet. As you swipe her card, you clear your throat to work up the courage to give her a compliment.

“I love your name. It’s pretty,” you say as you hand her back the card.

The stranger, now known as Violet, smiles small at your words. Her long fingers take the card from you as she slides it back into her wallet.

“Thank you. My, uh, dad named me,” she grins at you.

“Well, he made a very good choice,” you hand her the bag as well, nodding as you try not to appear awkward. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Were you being weird?

“No, no, I’m good,” she chuckles as she crinkles the bag in her palms. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You nod as you hand her own copy of the receipt, holding onto the half second of the tip of her fingers brushing against yours. You watch her turn her back and leave the shop, eyes never leaving her sculpted back profile. You huff at your behavior once the bell from above the door snaps you out of your small trance, shoving your copy of the receipt into its designated spot.

“She’s cute,” you hear from behind you, causing you to jump and whip your head around.

You’re met with your grandma grinning evilly at you, a little bit of flour smudged on her cheek from her baking in the back.

“Gram,” you sigh as you shake your head, brushing away your loose hairs.

“I’m just saying, bug,” she walks up next to you to rub up and down your arm.

You blush at what she was insinuating. As much as you love your grandmother, she attempted to be your match maker like you were an introverted middle schooler. You were 22 for God's sake. You would make moves and flirt when you felt like it.

“Don’t you have something in the oven?” You raise your eyebrows at her, hoping she’d leave it alone.

“Hey. I could fire you, you know,” your grandma pointed a finger in your face accusingly but her tone was light and a cheeky grin was on her face.

You roll your eyes playfully as you softly bump your hip with hers.

Everyday since Violet came in, you perk at the sound of the bell hoping to see that head of pink hair waltzing in again. Two excruciatingly long weeks pass before you see Violet again.

What was disappointing about seeing her today of all days was that you were working this shift with your 17 year old sister who was… less than thrilled to be working now; especially with you being her superior in a workplace. She, like most teenagers, was yearning to be more independent which meant constantly disregarding your instructions on what to do at work.

You were irritated beyond belief with her constantly arguing with you. You couldn’t even really fully pay attention as Mila smacked your arm with the rag. When you saw her from outside the shop, this time around she came with company. You were in the midst of a bicker with her because she didn’t wipe down a table like you had told her to when you saw Violet coming in with a little girl walking beside her.

You gasp at her childish antics, pinching her arm but then shushing her as you tight-lipped smile at Violet as she approaches the familiar display case. You try not to frown at the sight of her bandaged nose and small bruise sitting right on the apple of her cheek. Her outfit is similar from the last time you saw her except a simple oil-black hoodie with those same joggers. You even saw a bit of wrapped bandages on her hands peeking out from the sleeves.

Was she jumped or something?

“There are only, like, two people here and they’re sitting outside,” your sister whisper-shouts at you, plastering on a fake smile at the new customers. “Hi! Welcome in.”

Violet glances at Mila when she straightens her back, placing a gentle hand on the back of the child’s back to guide her to the display of new and fresh treats for the day. She places her little hands on the glass as she very eagerly bounces on the soles of her worn in dark blue tennis shoes.

“Hi! Violet, you’re back.” You turn to your sister and sneer quietly. “Clean the tables. Now, please.”

Mila gives Violet a once-over and you a narrow glare as she grumbles a ‘fine’ as she rounds the corner to go and wipe down the crumb and dust filled tables.

“Hey. You can call me Vi, by the way. I, uh, was with my sister for the day and she wanted to try this place. I gave her some of my danish and she went crazy.” Violet motioned to the child just a few feet below her, chuckling at her gazing hungrily at the sweets.

“Well, Vi, I’m glad to hear,” you lean your head to the side to get a good look at her sister.

She had a wild head of short waves, a small gap in between her two front teeth. Her outfit made her ten times more adorable; a plain white Henley long sleeve with a pair of overalls. Her big hazel eyes stared at you patiently.

“Hi, cutie. Do you see one that you like?” You question her with a friendly smile.

Her adorable face scrunches up in thought, stepping back to look at her choices. She turns her head to her older sister before pointing at a strawberry muffin and raising her hands to sign what you believe is ASL. You curse yourself for not knowing what she was telling the pink haired stranger.

“She wants to smell the strawberry muffin,” Vi chuckles. “I told her about how you let me smell my danish first before buying it.”

“Okay, I can do that for you. What’s her name?” You question, hoping it didn’t come off as offensive.

“Isha. She doesn’t talk much,” Vi raised a bandaged hand to settle on her light brown waves on her head, ruffling the strands.

“Well, Miss Isha,” you focus your attention on her once again, watching her bounce on the balls on her feet with excitement. You grab your trusty metal tongs to grab the muffin and place it on a soft blue ceramic plate to set it down on the counter area of your register set-up for her to smell. “Here you go. Let me know if you want to smell anything else.”

Your heart grows tenfold as Vi quietly tells Isha to not shove her nose into the muffin, smiling at her sister as she hovers close to the pastry.

“Is she the one who ate the pink donut?” You turn your attention to Vi, raising your brows as you adjust your flyaways from your bubble braid.

Pretty blue eyes flickering to yours, her brows twitch as if she was shocked that you remembered such a minuscule detail.

“No, that was my other sister,” she shakes her head. “Isha was actually very angry with me when I came home with no cupcakes or muffins for her so I’m making it up to her.”

You watch her scrunch up her bruised bridge of her nose for a second as Isha signs something else to her. Vi playfully rolls her eyes with a sigh as she turns to you with another wince.

“Can she eat this now? She has an impatient appetite.”

You chuckle with a nod as you hand the plate to her, muttering a ‘careful, sweetie’ to Isha who beams up at you. She scurries over to a small round table to hop up on the seat to divulge. Now that it was just you and Vi standing in front of each other.

“Hey, are you okay?” You ask softly, eyes flicking to each injury on her gorgeous face.

Confused about your concern for her, her brows furrow for a moment. You watch her turn around to make sure Isha was all good, hounding down the muffin with crumbs falling from her mouth to the ground.

“Oh, yeah,” Vi shook her head, waving at you off as she grins sweetly. “I work at a kick-boxing studio and some of the kids can get aggressive. I’m okay, though, trust me. I’ve taken more than a few hits to the head.”

That explains the injuries and the bandaged hands. Of course, she was a kick-boxer. Her physique gave that away but what did you know? Isha was distracted with her muffin so you were able to converse with her, get to know her a little more so your gram would stop asking you if that cute pink haired girl came in again.

“Really? Where at?” You hum.

“It’s like fifteen minutes from here. Why? You want to come see kids beat me up?” She teases, folding her arms over her chest.

You hum with a nod, walking around the counter to place a napkin on the table so Isha could wipe her face to be rid of the sticky crumbs on her face. “Yeah, that’s exactly why. Because I’m a masochist.”

An actual laugh left her plush lips as she shook her head, eyes following you as you face her now. If Gram could see you now. Well, she was probably watching you from the security cameras in the back room with an evil smile.

“You know, I meant to ask. Do you make custom cakes?” Vi leans back to rest her lower back on the countertop where your register was, crossing her legs and shoving her hands into the pocket of her hoodie.

She really just looks like that, you thought to yourself.

“We do, yeah. Is your birthday coming up?” You look at her with raised brows.

Vi shakes her head, pointing to the little girl behind you. “No. Her birthday is next week and my family is throwing her a zoo themed birthday party.”

You awe out loud at the thought.

“That’s so cute. Yeah, I can— I mean, we can do that,” you shake your head as you correct yourself, hoping she didn’t catch your desperate slip-up.

Isha stands up from her table, dusting off the crumbs from her overalls. She walks over to you to hand you the plate, signing ‘thank you’ to you. You pause for a moment before hesitantly signing back ‘you’re welcome’ slowly, not sure if you were doing it right. You knew the basics but weren’t extremely educated on ASL. After today, though, you were determined to brush up on it.

Isha eyes brighten at you signing back to her. She turns to Vi with a smile so wide, you swore her cheeks would split open. She nods down at Isha, ruffling her hair once again as she reaches for her pocket to retrieve her wallet.

“Shit, sorry, how much do I owe you for the muffin?” Vi shuffles through the bills in her wallet.

“No, no. You’re… good. Don’t worry about it.” You wave her off, shaking your head.

Vi pauses before scoffing, attempting to shove the money into your palms. “I’m paying for the muffin.”

“Seriously. It’s one muffin, Vi. Plus, a little early birthday present for Isha.” You shove the bills into her hands once again, gripping onto her hands to make sure she doesn’t try to give them back.

Vi glances down at your gentle hands around hers. Reluctantly taking the money back, she takes the bills before shoving them back into the crease of her wallet. You try not to focus on how slightly bigger her hands were from yours; how surprisingly soft her knuckles were.

Isha seems to become impatient now with her elder sister, reaching up to tug on two of her fingers. Vi nods down to her, muttering a soft ‘okay, okay’.

“Thank you for that, by the way. And if it's not too much trouble for you, cupcake, can I get your number?” Vi questions as she takes Isha’s hand in hers. “You know, for any questions about what the cake should look like and what flavor it could be.”

Your brows furrow at her words before nodding, pursing your lips to repress the smile creeping onto your face. Cupcake. You like that nickname coming from her lips.

“Right! Yes, um,” you walk over to the counter to grab a sticky note and a pen to scribble down your personal number. “Here. Call or text me with all the information.”

You place the small yellow piece of paper into her palm that wasn’t holding Isha’s. She takes it in between her pointer and middle fingers, nodding with a confident smile.

“I will. See you, cupcake.”

“See you, Vi. Bye, sweetheart,” you bend down ever so slightly to wave at Isha.

The adorable girl waves her free hand at you with a just as cute toothy smile on her face. You excused it as a sugar rush as they walk away from you, hand in hand as they leave the store. Vi turns her head to give you one more glance before Isha is tugging her down the sidewalk.

Mila angrily stormed up to you the second they left and raised her hand with the rag to smack you on the forearm. You gasp and snatch the weapon away from her, pointing a finger in her face.

“What the hell? Stop hitting me with this,” you sneer.

“I’m wiping down tables and you’re flirting? How the hell is that fair?” Mila quips back as she folds her arms in front of her chest.

“I wasn’t flirting. I was taking a cake order, by the way, so you can stop whining.” You roll your eyes as you walk back around to the counter.

Mila sucks in a deep breath before shaking her head.

“Really? So what was that whole,” your sister cleared her throat, sucking in a deep breath. “Giving her your personal number when you could’ve just given her the store's number?”

You pause your movements of wiping down the counter from behind the register, thinking about it for a moment. You knew why. You just hated your sister being all in your business.

“Okay, what is it to you?” You get defensive. “I can’t… make new friends?”

Mila merely snorts before rolling her eyes.

“Sure. You definitely only want to be friends with her.”

TAGLIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25

Boundless Devotion - Part I

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: slight angst

Words: 1991

In the training yard of the castle, the sound of clashing steel fills the air as the Captain of the Royal Guard, Steve Rogers, faces off against the eldest princess and heir to the Romanov kingdom, Princess Natasha. 

The sun shines on the area as the two circle each other, carefully watching the other’s movement.

Surrounding them, some of the castle’s staff and the other knights pause in their activities to watch the match with anticipation. 

The captain lunges forward first, his polished sword gleaming in the sunlight. With a swift flourish, he aims a diagonal strike at her midsection.

In response, Natasha sidesteps the attack gracefully, her own blade moving smoothly to parry his sword.

The crowd watches with rapt attention as Steve continues to press forward with additional powerful swings, but the princess evades every strike, stepping as if she were dancing.

On a particularly powerful thrust, Natasha ducks under his attack, extending her arm to him. Then with a twist of her wrist, she expertly hooks her blade around his sword’s hilt and applies pressure. Using his momentum against him, she jerks the sword out of his grasp, sending it spinning through the air. 

The blade lands with a clatter several feet away.

Then in a swift and uninterrupted motion, she hooks her leg around the back of his knee, sweeping it out from under him. 

Her sword points at the captain’s chest in victory, ending the battle, as cheers and applause erupt around them.

With a quick twirl, Natasha holds her sword behind her before extending her hand to the captain. Steve gives her a grateful smile and takes her hand as she pulls him to his feet. 

He dusts himself off before giving her an exasperated look.

“Did you really need to show me up in front of my knights?”

Natasha gives him a smirk, replying.

“Well, I have to keep you humble.” 

Captain Steve Rogers was the one who trained her and her younger sister, Yelena, ever since they were little. Years later, they have both mastered their sword and martial arts skills, becoming one of the best in the kingdom.

Glancing around, Steve gives a stern look to the surrounding knights who rush to resume their training. When he turns back to Natasha, he nods in the distance.

“Looks like you have some guests, your Highness.”

Natasha brushes her hair out of her face, turning to look at the directed area.

At the edge of the training yard, she finds you standing alongside another noble, Lady Kate Bishop. 

Kate waves excitedly at her in greeting, and the golden retriever next to her also jumps in place, matching his owner’s energy.

Visits to the castle from the two of you were not surprising. With both of your noble families having prominent positions in the kingdom, it was natural that the four of you, including Yelena, would end up forming close bonds, having known each other since you were children.

Kate is Yelena’s closest friend while you are hers.

Well, you two used to be close.

However, ever since the incident last year on the night of her birthday, you’ve kept your distance from her, only seeing or talking to her when necessary. 

Even now, Natasha can see that the only thing holding you in place is Kate’s interlocked arm in yours.

Your body is turned towards the castle, and your eyes are looking everywhere else but her.

Natasha sheaths her sword at her side and walks over to the two of you. She is knocked back slightly when the golden retriever leaps at her in greeting, his tail wagging enthusiastically.

Natasha chuckles and pets his head, “Well, hello to you too, Lucky.”

Kate’s excited energy follows, moving closer, which in turn pulls you forward also. 

“That was amazing! You have to teach me that move!”

Natasha releases the dog with a final scratch before letting him return to his owner’s side. 

“I’m sure Yelena can show it to you the next time you two practice,” she tells her.

Kate nods to herself, reminding herself to ask the younger princess about it later.

Natasha turns to you, giving you a hopeful smile.

“How have you been, Y/n?”

You give her a slight bow in acknowledgment, your eyes still averted from hers.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking, princess.”

Natasha's smile drops slightly at your neutral response. 

So far, her interactions with you have been like this, formal and distant, unlike the usual banter and casual teasing that typically characterizes your friendship.

Before she can ask anything further, Natasha notices a slight movement in your arm as you discreetly tug Kate, trying to get her attention. 

Kate turns to look at you in question and sees your pointed stare as you tilt your head subtly towards the castle.

Her mouth opens in realization, and she turns to Natasha apologetically.

“Oh, that’s right! I’m sorry, Natasha, but we have to get going. Y/n has a meeting with the queen.”

You are practically dragging her away as she finishes talking, offering Natasha a tight smile and a small farewell bow.

Natasha’s shoulders slump in despair as she watches you rush away.

It was disheartening to see her closest friend become almost like a stranger, but she can only blame that incident which caused this rift between the two of you. 

Sighing sadly, she pulls out her sword again and heads back toward the center of the area to resume her training.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha is practically sprinting to the dining hall with how fast she is walking through the hallways.

Guards and maids dodge out of her path as she rushes by, already understanding the need to hurry, judging by the time. 

As she approaches the entrance of the dining room, the guards open the doors for her to enter. Stepping into the room, she is immediately greeted by the queen’s reprimanding voice.

“You’re late, Natasha.”

Her mother, Queen Melina, sits at the head of the table while her father, King Alexei, occupies the opposite side. Yelena is positioned on the table's side facing her, subtly shaking her head in warning as her eyes gesture meaningfully toward their mother.

Natasha thinks back to how she spent the remainder of the day after her encounter with you, destroying the training dummies around the training yard in frustration.

By the time she realized how long she’d been training, the sun had already set. 

Deciding there was no point in making up an excuse, she settled with the truth.

“I lost track of the time,” she replies.

In response, Queen Melina nods at the chair closest to her, indicating for her to have a seat. 

When Natasha sits down, a member of the kitchen staff places a plate of dinner in front of her before stepping away.

In an attempt to break the tension, King Alexei claps his hands together and exclaims joyfully.

“Great, the family’s all here! Let’s eat!”

The members of the royal family start eating their meals, except for Queen Melina, who instead turns her attention to Natasha.

“I heard that you were at the courtyard today, training with the royal guards.”

“I was,” Natasha responds casually.

“What about your studies?”

“I already finished them all.”

“If you had told me earlier, I could have given you the next part of your lessons,” Melina admonishes before continuing her lecture. “You are about to be crowned soon as the next ruler of the kingdom. There’s always more that you can learn.”

A small snicker from Yelena catches Melina’s attention, causing her to direct her lecturing tone to the younger princess.

“And you should not laugh at your sister. At least she finished her studies. I heard that you didn't even show up for your lessons. Where exactly were you all day?”

Yelena shrugs nonchalantly before looking down next to her chair at the Akita dog eating from her bowl.

“Fanny wanted to go out for a run, so we spent the day out in the fields.”

At the sound of her name, the dog looks up attentively.

In response, Yelena gives her a gentle scratch on the head, before turning the dog's face toward her mother.

“You can’t say no to this face,” Yelena coos. 

Melina gives the two of them a deadpan look before shifting her gaze forward to her husband.

Alexei chokes on his food in slight panic when he realizes her attention has now turned to him.

“Our daughters have inherited your adventurous spirit,” Melina remarks accusingly.

“That’s my girls!” Alexei exclaims proudly before he catches the sharp glare from Melina. “I-I mean, girls, your studies and lessons come first. You know how important they are to your mother.”

Melina sighs defeatedly, shaking her head at his poor attempt at scolding. She returns her attention back to her eldest daughter.

“I have scheduled several meetings for you this week, Natasha. They’re with the daughters from some of the noble houses, so be sure not to miss any.”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Natasha brings her cup up for a drink as she asks for more information.

“What are the meetings for?”

“To find you a partner, of course.”

Natasha spits out her drink in surprise, coughing as she reaches for a napkin.

“Mind your manners, Natasha,” Melina chastises.

Ignoring her mother's reprimand, Natasha exclaims in outrage.

“Why am I looking for a partner?!” 

Unfazed by her tone, Melina answers her question with a serious expression, “Taking on the responsibilities of the kingdom is a lot for one person. You should have someone at your side.” 

Natasha makes a sound of disagreement and gestures at her in accusation.

“A couple of months ago, you told me that I was fully prepared to take over the throne,” she reminds her mother. “You’ve never mentioned that I needed to have someone back then!” 

“Well, that was before I realized that you have obviously made no attempt at looking for a potential partner. So I took the liberty to invite these lovely candidates to help you get started, and you will meet with them.”

Natasha huffs and crosses her arms, shaking her head in disbelief.

Seeing her reluctance, Melina continues, declaring, “If you cannot find someone by the time of your coronation, your father and I will choose one for you.” 

Natasha’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open in shock at her words.

This was not fair.

Throughout her life, her parents have never shown interest in her romantic relationships before. Suddenly, they decide that she is not capable of taking over the kingdom unless she has someone by her side. 

As Natasha tries to come up with a way so that she can get herself out of this situation, an idea comes to her mind.

“What if I’m already in a relationship with someone?” Natasha asks.

Three sets of eyes stare at her with varying looks of disbelief on their faces.

Yelena speaks up first, giving her a skeptical look.

“Nat, you’re popular throughout the kingdom, but the truth is, you spend more time with your sword than you do holding a lady's hand.”

Natasha subtly kicks her sister under the table in response to her comment, causing her to curse in pain. 

“Watch your language, Yelena,” Melina reprimands her before resting her clasped hands on the table and focusing on Natasha. “But she’s not wrong. I have not seen you romantically close with anyone,” she points out accusingly.

Without hesitation, Natasha smoothly lies, “We’ve been meeting in secret.”

Melina examines her critically, and she matches her mother's intense stare.

When Natasha’s gaze doesn’t waver, Melina relaxes her posture and relents. 

“Alright then, if you could tell me who you are in a relationship with, I will cancel all of the meetings.” 

The name rolls off naturally on her tongue before Natasha can even stop herself.

“Lady Y/n Dreykov. I’m in a relationship with Y/n.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

With The Roses - Her Best Secret 2

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

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

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

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

w/c: 7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," You nodded.

"Are you jealous?"

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

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

"Dance with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t deny how much you wanted her.

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

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

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

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

"Natasha," you whispered.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Kiss me."

She didn't need to be told twice.

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

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

"You always taste so sweet,"

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

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

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

"Nat," You murmured.

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

"I love being here with you.” 

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

"I love being here with you too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anything," You moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could only stare at her, completely speechless.

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

"More," You demanded, your voice hoarse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We should eat something," You said.

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

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

"What?" Natasha asked, looking at you.

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

Natasha blushed. "I enjoyed it."

You gave her a coy look, feeling brave.

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But what about the sandwiches?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blushed, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And a very willing student," she teased.

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

"Sex with you is," You began.

"Incredible?" She smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed, not knowing how to respond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***********

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

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

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

"Mm," Natasha hummed, sipping her coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotel California | Track 1: Smoke and Mirrors

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7k

Chapter 1/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I was going to wait to post this since I have fifty-leven WIPs but to make up for me not being able to write for a while and also finishing two stories in the coming weeks - here we are. I'm nervous about posting this one for some reason. Hope y'all like it.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Track 1 - Smoke and Mirrors (each chapter is a track)

In the world of music, there's no denying that Velvet Rebellion's sound is electric, their melodies are undeniably addictive. But offstage, the drama and chaos surrounding this band have been the subject of endless tabloid fodder. It's a classic case of the music being sweet, but the rest of the package is a tad sour. Will their rock 'n' roll lifestyle ultimately overshadow their undeniable talent? That remains the question on everyone's lips.

The TV channel flicking produced a rapid succession of blips and static.

"You know, when it comes to Velvet Rebellion, it's clear that Natasha Romanoff is the best thing about the band. Her vocals are just on another level!"

"Oh, absolutely! Natasha's stage presence is incredible, and her voice, that raw emotion she pours into every note, it's what sets them apart. But let's not forget the rest of the band; they bring their own magic to the mix!"

Another press of the button. Another channel emitting the same rhetoric. 

"So, what are your thoughts on Velvet Rebellion, the band that seems to be taking the music scene by storm?"

"Look, I won't deny that they've had their moments. Natasha's got a powerful voice, and they've had some catchy tunes. But let's not forget, there's more to rock 'n' roll than just one person. We bring our own unique sound to the table, and we're here to show that rock isn't a one-trick pony."

Suddenly, the screen goes black. The television has been turned off. The room is silent. 

“Whatever,” The mysterious person tsks. There are better things to do. 

In the dimly lit room, the first flicker of a cigarette lighter illuminated a shadowy figure, and a guitar's haunting melody echoed through the air. It was a simple beginning, a humble birth of sound that would eventually become the anthem of a generation.

Images flashed in rapid succession—a chaotic whirlwind of memories and moments that had defined their journey from obscurity to stardom. The flashing lights of a small, dimly lit club, the very place where they had played their first gig, gave way to a sea of screaming fans, arms raised in fervent adoration.

“Bucky! Bucky!”

“Steve, we love you!”

Talk show interviews brought them into living rooms across the nation, their faces beamed into millions of homes as they shared their stories and their music with the world. The camera panned to Natasha, her fierce gaze unyielding as she answered questions with poise and grace.

And then, there were the guitars. Guitars being smashed in a blaze of glory on stage, a ritual that had become their trademark. The destructive catharsis of the act symbolized the release of their raw energy and passion into the world.

Groupies and fans clamored for their attention, their devotion evident in the longing looks and outstretched hands. Each face in the crowd told a story of how Velvet Rebellion's music had touched their lives.

Late-night studio sessions followed, with the band working tirelessly into the early hours, crafting the songs and lyrics that had earned them their place in music history. In the dimly lit room, the flicker of a cigarette lighter once again marked the beginning of a new song.

Magazine covers splashed with their images adorned newsstands across the country. Excerpts from clippings of their first studio album, "Velvet Love," told a tale of raw, unbridled emotion set to music—a story that had resonated with countless souls.

The montage painted a vivid picture of a band that had journeyed through the highs and lows of fame, never losing sight of the music that had brought them together. Velvet Rebellion had carved its path through the music industry, leaving an unforgettable mark on the hearts of those who had listened and loved.

*************

Sunlight filters through the curtains of Natasha and Wanda's cozy Los Angeles apartment. Disheveled yet determined, Natasha sits on the edge of her bed, cradling her guitar. She strums the strings absentmindedly, searching for that inspiration that once fueled Velvet Rebellion. Her fingers danced over the strings of her trusty guitar, each note a whisper in the quiet solitude of the bedroom.

Natasha's hair framed her face, and frustration lined her expression as she strummed the chords once again. The next album's melodies were meant to be born here. Yet, inspiration remained at arm’s length, teasing her like a fading dream.

"Come on Natalia," she whispered gruffly, remembering the name she had left behind long ago.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the muted TV on the dresser. A NEWS REPORTER's face appeared on the screen, accompanied by headlines that could never escape the relentless clutches of the media. She searched for the remote to turn up the volume as the face of one of her bandmates, Tony Stark’s pictures appeared. 

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“In a surprising turn of events, Velvet Rebellion's Tony Stark was arrested last night for public indecency.”

Natasha's eye-roll was instinctive. Tony always had a way of making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“...fans and critics alike have noted the band's gradual decline, and it seems the once-revered punk rock indie sensation is now on the verge of falling apart.”

The reporter's words cut through Natasha's indifference, a scalding reminder of the shadows that had been gathering around them. She couldn't deny it; the band had been stagnant for too long.

Fury sparked in her eyes, and she clenched the neck of her guitar, momentarily abandoning the song. The Velvet Rebellion of yesteryears, the band that had ignited stages and won hearts, couldn't be reduced to this—a spectacle of controversies and dwindling star power.

Returning her attention to her guitar Natasha sighed. The room's stillness hung heavy as she gently laid the guitar down on the floor. It felt like a futile effort, the muse remaining frustratingly out of reach, leaving her with an empty canvas and an aching desire to create.

Her gaze dropped to the small, black notebook, its pages filled with aborted attempts to capture the essence of their experiences and emotions in song. But today, those pages mocked her, an unforgiving reminder of the creative void that had taken its home within her.

Just as her frustration reached its peak, the bedroom door swung open with a soft creak, and in walked Wanda, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her hand. She plopped down on the bed beside Natasha, her eyes rolling in a knowing, teasing manner.

“How’s writing going?” Wanda asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn to plop into her mouth. 

Natasha let out a weary sigh, her notebook momentarily forgotten as she shared her woes with her best friend.

“You have no idea. It's like I've hit a wall, and I can't seem to find my way around it.” Natasha said. “How are we supposed to come up with another album with no songs? It’s been two years. We’re going to be known as one-hit wonders.”

“First off that’s a bit dramatic,” Wanda attempted to calm her down. “We made the hot rock and alternative songs billboard charts for our debut. I think the momentum is still there.”

Wanda cast a glance at the muted TV screen, where a news reporter was still busy dissecting Tony's latest escapade. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, mirroring Natasha's exasperation.

“And of course, our dear Tony adds another branch to the publicity tree. It's almost impressive how consistently he manages to get into trouble.” Wanda shook her head. 

After placing her bowl of popcorn on the dresser, Wanda decided to abandon her sitting position and instead flopped onto her belly, propped up on her elbows. She grabbed Natasha's small notebook, a curious glint in her eyes as she skimmed through the handwritten lyrics and scattered notes.

“You know, Nat, I think I see where you're stuck.” Wanda hummed to herself for a moment. 

Turning her attention to Wanda, Natasha felt her frustration momentarily ebb away, replaced by curiosity.

“Oh?” Natasha eyed her. “Please, share your wisdom.”

Wanda's eyes sparkled with an unexpected idea, and she pointed to a particular verse in the notebook. Her voice took on a sultry, poetic quality as she suggested a new lyric.

“How about this: "In the shadows of desire, we ignite the night."

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise as the words resonated deep within her. She quickly reached for her instrument and strummed the guitar, incorporating the new lyric into the melody, and in that instant, it all fell into place. A smile grew on her face, and she turned to Wanda.

“Wanda, that's brilliant! Thank you!” Natasha leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I know why I keep you around.”

Wanda beamed in response. 

"Speaking of," she began, her voice casual yet laced with an underlying purpose, "we've got a gig this weekend. It's a birthday party for Harley Jameson, you know, the producer's daughter."

Natasha's response was swift and uncompromising, her will clear in her refusal. Her head shook slightly as she firmly voiced her decision, her thoughts already drifting toward the disturbing pattern of her bandmates taking liberties with decisions without consulting her, the lead.

"Absolutely not, Wanda," Natasha declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Aren’t we better than performing for snot-nosed brats?

Wanda, ever patient and understanding, propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Well, when that snot nose brat is paying us fifty thousand dollars plus a retainer,” Wanda shrugs. “And all the booze and food we want.” Her words were measured, spoken with the calm that came from knowing this conversation was inevitable." Nat, remember," she began, "you're the lead, not the boss. We haven’t been taking gigs because you've been declining. You know we need to keep the momentum going."

Natasha's jaw clenched in frustration. She leaned back, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as she contemplated her response.

"There's a reason, Wanda," Natasha explained, her voice tinged with concern. "Our brand has taken a beating lately with all the scandals we've had over the years. It’s not a good look being so new. I want us to lay low for a while, let the storm pass."

Wanda sighed, her eyes reflecting her understanding of Natasha's concerns. But she also recognized the band's need to keep going ahead despite the challenges.

"Nat," Wanda said, her voice gentle and reassuring, "I get it, I really do. But we'll be fine. Harley's party should be a breeze, and I promise we'll stay out of trouble. We'll stick to the music, no antics."

Natasha's hesitation lingered. Ultimately, the trust she had in Wanda, her lifelong friend and partner-in-crime, began to outweigh her reservations. She finally nodded, a reluctant but willing acceptance of the gig.

"Alright, alright," Natasha conceded. “We'll do it. But just this one, and we'll play it safe."

Wanda's eyes sparkled with a victorious smile, recognizing that she had won this battle for now. With that agreement, they returned to their songwriting. 

**************

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn of Harley Jameson's grand estate, Velvet Rebellion gathered on the makeshift stage. Around them, staff and party planners began to decorate the backyard. Their instruments glistened under the setting and stage lights. 

Natasha, her guitar slung securely across her shoulder, couldn't help but notice Tony, seated behind the drum kit, his sunglasses doing little to hide the lingering effects of his earlier indulgence. She approached him with a stern expression, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Tony, you better get it together," She warned. "We're not messing this up tonight."

Tony, ever the charmer, brushed off her concerns with an easy smile and a wave of his hand.

"Nat, I promise, I'm fine. See?"

With that, he launched into a lively drum solo, his sticks dancing skillfully across the drumheads. The rhythm was tight, the sound electrifying. Natasha couldn't help but acknowledge his undeniable talent, even as she sighed in resignation.

"Great," she muttered to herself, "the sunglasses are his secret weapon now."

Standing beside Natasha, Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His quiet and calming presence was a balm to her nerves.

"It's alright, Natasha," He reassured her, his voice steady and comforting. "We'll get through this gig, just like our old days. Tony’s recovering but he seems fine."

Together they glance back to their bandmate who was more than likely inebriated. Tony chugged a bottle of water, before crushing it and dropping it down onto the floor beside him. 

Natasha's gaze softened as she looked at Steve, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, he’s the epitome of fine.”

“Okay,” Steve pulled her gently to the side. “What’s the problem?” 

“Nothing,” Natasha shrugged. “I just can’t help but think that gigs like this are beneath us. I mean we went from performing at the MTV Video Music Awards to this? A sweet sixteen?”

Steve looked at her. He had been through thick and thin with Natasha and knew the depth of her concerns. 

“Natasha,” He replied. “I get your worries, but I promise this is a good thing for us. Todd Jameson is one of the biggest music producers in Hollywood right now. There will be a lot of executives here just to support his daughter. Think of what that could mean for us.”

“Fine,” Natasha nodded. “But if he fucks up I kick his ass.”

“Oh, you bet. Right after I’m done kicking it,” Steve joked causing Natasha to burst into laughter. 

Natasha steps back over to the mic. “Alright let’s take it from the top.” 

As Natasha prepared to lead the band into their rehearsal of the first song, the peacefulness of the backyard rehearsal space was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of Harley Jameson. She swept onto the scene with all the extravagance befitting a Hollywood princess, accompanied by a harried-looking party planner and another woman, who appeared to be a guest.

Harley, the embodiment of a spoiled heiress, immediately began issuing orders with a sense of entitlement that left the party planner flustered.

"No, no, no! These decorations are all wrong! Change them around! The mirror ball should be over here. And I want a live peacock by the pool. It's not too much to ask, is it?" Harley demanded impatiently.

The party planner, clearly overwhelmed, tried to keep up with Harley's demands. "Harley, we only have a few hours before the party starts. It's going to be challenging to make all these changes in such a short time."

Harley huffed, uninterested in the logistical challenges she was causing. "I don't care about that. Just get it done. My dad said I could have whatever I wanted."

Meanwhile, Harley's attention shifted to Velvet Rebellion, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Oh, my God! I've been dying to meet you! I'm a huge fan!" she exclaimed with excitement. “I’m so happy I could get you here.”

She bounded over to the band, seemingly oblivious to the chaos she was creating, and introduced them to the party planner and you.

"This is Velvet Rebellion!" Harley introduced with enthusiasm. "Steve, the keyboardist, Tony on the drums, Bucky on the electric guitar, Wanda, the second lead singer and bass guitar, and Natasha, the incredible lead singer!"

You and the other woman exchanged glances, your expressions a mixture of frustration and amusement at the whirlwind that was Harley Jameson. You gave a small wave, opting to be in the background of this exchange. 

Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, managed to maintain her composure and put on a friendly smile despite Harley's overwhelming energy. She nodded graciously at Harley's enthusiasm.

"Oh, thank you so much, Harley!" Wanda replied with genuine warmth. "We're thrilled to meet you too. Your party looks like it's going to be incredible!"

Harley's energy showed no signs of waning as she delved into the details of the band's performance. When Wanda mentioned their planned first song, "Smoke and Mirrors," Harley immediately piped up with an alternative suggestion.

"No, no, no," Harley interrupted with fervor. "I want you to start with 'Ink and Whiskey.' It's my favorite!"

Natasha, who had been preparing to protest the sudden change to their setlist, hesitated as she saw Wanda's meek demeanor. However, it was clear that Harley's demand had disrupted their carefully planned sequence.

Natasha began to voice her concerns, but Harley's retort was swift and smart-mouthed. 

“We’ve already planned this out for-” Natasha began. 

“Oh, you can change it, can’t you? It’s just a silly setlist,” Harly questioned. 

Before Natasha could respond, you intervened with a calm yet authoritative tone.

"Harley, let's tone it down a bit," You advised, your demeanor oozing an air of authority that surprised Natasha. Harley listened, her earlier defiance giving way to a more composed demeanor.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Harley shrugged. 

Natasha found herself intrigued by your presence and the respect Harley seemed to show you.

"Alright," Natasha conceded with a smile, "since it's your birthday, we'll start with 'Ink and Whiskey.'"

Wanda offered a nod of agreement, and the tension in the air began to dissipate.

Harley, feeling triumphant, turned her attention to the party planner.

"Sarah, darling, let's make sure everything is perfect. I want it to be a night to remember!" Harley changed the subject, pulling you both back into a conversation with ease. 

Sarah, the party planner, nodded and tried to hide her relief that the brief crisis had passed. 

"Of course, Harley. Everything will be just as you want it."

Natasha watched the exchange between Harley and Sarah, her curiosity piqued more by you. 

“Who’s the chick?” Natasha pointed over to you with a tilt of her head. She got shrugs from Steve and Bucky. Tony was way too distracted to answer as he flirted with one of the staff. Wanda squinted to see if she could guess. 

“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m guessing it’s not her mom.”

“Interesting,” Natasha mumbled to herself. She shook her head. There was no time for whatever the thumping in her heart was proving to be. She was here for the band and for the music. Also for the money, she couldn’t forget the money. 

As the preparations for the party continued, your cell phone suddenly rang, breaking the conversation flow. You excused yourself with a polite smile and stepped away from the group, heading toward a quieter corner of the backyard a few feet away.

Natasha couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation, the tone of your voice suggesting a heartfelt exchange, likely with a significant other. Natasha discreetly glanced in your direction, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Your voice held a gentle warmth as you spoke softly into your phone, your words filled with affection and longing.

 "I miss you too, sweetheart. Yeah, the party's getting started here in a couple of hours. It's not the same without you. Can't wait to see you soon." You smiled. 

Natasha couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but the tenderness in your voice painted a clear picture of a loving connection between you and someone special.

Meanwhile, Harley, always the inquisitive host, began questioning Steve and Bucky about the band and its music.

"So, guys," Harley started, her interest genuine, "Have you ever thought about going solo? I am dying to know the secret."

Steve and Bucky, accustomed to answering these questions, engaged in a friendly chat with Harley, even if they also found her annoying. 

As Natasha discreetly observed you from the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but be captivated by your natural beauty. You were dressed in a simple white t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, a look that should have been unremarkable, but on you, it was utterly captivating.

The way your hair was styled, framing your face in soft waves, added to your appeal. Your skin had a radiant glow, and your features held an understated elegance that drew Natasha's attention. Despite the casual attire, you exuded a timeless charm that was impossible to ignore.

Natasha found herself admiring the effortless beauty that seemed to emanate from you and she wanted to know more. 

Just as Natasha started to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping, you turned around with a warm smile, catching her off guard. She quickly toyed with her microphone stand, feigning indifference.

You found her reaction amusing but were soon drawn back into your phone conversation. Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the person on the other end of that call and what had sparked such a genuine smile on your face. 

She toyed with the mic stand for as long as possible, physically forcing herself not to look your way. It’s a few more minutes before you returned to the group. You turned your attention to Harley and Sarah.

"Harley, don't forget, you have that hair appointment in an hour," You reminded her, glancing at your watch. "We need to make sure you're all set for your big night."

Harley, momentarily distracted by the band's presence, nodded in agreement.

"Oh, right! Thanks, y/n. I'll head out now," Harley replied with a grin. She turned to the band and offered her farewells. "Catch you all later!"

With that, Harley and Sarah departed, leaving Velvet Rebellion alone in the backyard.

As the group began to disperse, you took a moment to say goodbye to the band. 

“See you guys tonight,” You said. “I’m sure you’ll do great. If you need refreshments just ask one of the staff and they will be happy to help you with anything you need.” 

Natasha responded with a small smile and a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of the brief but pleasant interaction.

Once you, Harley, and Sarah were out of earshot, the rest of the band couldn't resist teasing Natasha. Wanda, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, chimed in.

"Uh oh, I know that look," Wanda teased, earning a knowing chuckle from the others. Natasha's momentary fascination with you hadn't gone unnoticed, and her bandmates were more than happy to playfully nudge her about it.

“There’s no look, I don’t have a look.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Sure, you don’t,” Wanda grinned. “Any bets on how long until she gets her number?”

“I say within the hour,” Tony raised his hand pulling out a single, crinkled five-dollar bill from his back pocket. 

“Fifteen says they sleep together after the show,” Bucky shrugged. Steve is the only one to remain silent. 

“I don’t know,” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’ll save my thoughts for later. The girl barely said two words to any of us.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said. “Now, can we rehearse like a proper band?” 

She tried to erase your image from her head as she positioned herself in front of the microphone. 

From the top. 

*****************

The night was alive with energy as Velvet Rebellion took the stage, the crowd gathered around, eager to soak in every note of their music. Natasha oozed confidence and charisma, a star in every sense of the word. The opening chords of "Ink and Whiskey" filled the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers. This birthday party was a rager if she’d ever seen one. Natasha always considered rich people stiff and uptight. Going to plenty of parties once their debut kicked off their careers. Stiff drinks, weird pleasantries, and even more drugs. She was being proven wrong with this particular shindig. 

She moved to the edge of the stage, her presence magnetic. She sang with a passion that could be felt in every corner of the space, her voice carrying the weight of their lyrics. The audience couldn't help but be drawn into her performance, and they eagerly joined in, singing along and dancing to the beat.

Wanda, standing beside Natasha, bled a different kind of cool and calm. Her steady presence provided the perfect balance to Natasha's fiery performance. It was clear to anyone watching that their dynamic was the secret to their success.

Natasha lowered her head, giving Wanda the floor to sing her part of the chorus. Wanda’s hands moved steadily between the chords as she sang into the microphone. 

Ink and whiskey, the pages of our hearts,  

Tangled in the chapters where love starts,  

In the darkness, our secrets we confide,  

With every word written, our souls collide

Natasha steps forward, moving close enough to the microphone so that she and Wanda could harmonize the last verse. Her eyes travel from Wanda’s, smiling as they share in the energy and joy of being on stage before she maneuvers herself to face the crowd. 

In the night's embrace, our love's sweet refrain,  

Ink and whiskey, like a runaway train,  

Through the highs and lows, we'll find our way,  

With every word we write, love's here to stay

In the front row, Harley danced with her friends, reveling in the music and the excitement of the night. The atmosphere was electric, and the joy was contagious.

As Natasha sang, she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on familiar faces among the sea of B-listers and music enthusiasts. But the one that stood out the most was you. Your eyes locked, and Natasha couldn't resist a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of your earlier encounter.

You raised your glass in a silent toast and clapped enthusiastically when the song came to an end. You weren’t a huge fan of the music genre but you could see why Velvet Rebellion was such a rising star amongst new artists. Their stage presence was undeniable, the song was catchy and the beat was electrifying. It helped that Natasha was cute. All good things in your book. You can’t take your eyes off the stage as they move into their next song. It’s a bit disjointed considering Harley made them change the setlist around the last minute but it seems smooth either way. Natasha dances a bit for this one, her body movements fluid and effortless. Almost as if she’s had some training. 

You’re momentarily distracted when a distant family member comes to say hello. 

The show must go on as Natasha continues to sing her heart out. 

**********************

The final notes of their setlist rang out, and the crowd roared in appreciation. Velvet Rebellion had given their all, and now it was time for the DJ to take over and keep the party going.

Wanda had convinced Natasha to stay a while longer, promising that the night was still young and full of possibilities. Tony, ever the charmer, remarked with a grin, "I see a few MILFs in the crowd that I wouldn't mind mingling with." He slipped into the crowd with ease, chatting up the first single woman he saw. 

Natasha, however, remained all about business. She stood at the bar, surveying the party and keeping a watchful eye on her bandmates. The chaos and revelry around her seemed to blur into a colorful swirl of dancing bodies and laughter.

It was then that you approached her, catching Natasha's attention. Your presence was a welcome change of pace, and Natasha couldn't help but appreciate the genuine compliment she received.

"You guys were incredible," You said with a smile. "I'm impressed."

Natasha, always a woman of few words in such settings, offered a gracious nod of acknowledgment. 

You extended your hand with a warm smile as you introduced yourself, "I'm y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Natasha shook your hand firmly and replied, "Natasha. Likewise."

You couldn't help but notice Natasha's reserved demeanor. Almost as if she felt too cool to be here. 

"I couldn't help but wonder," You began, your curiosity evident as you raised your voice above the music. "why aren't you out there dancing like the rest of your bandmates?"

Natasha offered a wry smile and shot back, "I could ask you the same thing."

“Touche,” You nodded. “I’m not much of a party girl.” You turn towards the bartender. “Do you want a drink? Eric here makes the best mojitos.”

“Sure, I’ll have a sex on the beach,” Natasha asked. 

“You heard the woman,” You jokingly said to Eric as he began to make your drinks. As you focused your attention on grabbing a few napkins, Natasha gave you a once-over. Your party dress was a delightful balance of simplicity and style. The knee-length and backless dress showcased a flattering silhouette, hugging your curves in all the right places. The deep, midnight-blue fabric was decorated with tiny, shimmering glitter that seemed to twinkle with each movement you made. Its sweetheart neckline and delicate spaghetti straps added a touch of femininity to the ensemble, while the mid-thigh slit allowed for easy movement as you moved. The overall effect was a cute yet elegant dress that perfectly suited the festive atmosphere of the party.

Natasha's observant eye caught the jewelry adorning your wrist. It was subtle but tasteful, hinting at a level of refinement that didn't go unnoticed. It was at least half of her salary for tonight’s show. This only interested her more. She needed to know who you were. She wanted to know the mystery behind you and your name. 

“Here you go,” You step back over to Natasha to hand her a drink. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“Not at all,” Natasha shrugged. 

"You know, if you're looking for a bit more quiet, we could step inside for a breather." You suggested, tilting your chin towards the house. 

Natasha considered the offer, realizing that a change of scenery might be a welcome respite from the party's chaos. With a small smile, she agreed, "That sounds like a good idea."

You led Natasha through the sea of people and inside the mansion to a nearby office where the music's relentless thump was muffled, and the atmosphere was quieter. It was a welcome change from the frenzied party outside.

As you settled into seats close to each other on the couch, drinks in hand, Natasha couldn't help herself and began to ask you questions. 

“Why did you ask me in here tonight?” Natasha asked. “Not that I’m complaining. I have been invited into much worse places.”  

“Thanks, I think,” You chuckled. You sensed Natasha's curiosity and offered a simple explanation, your eyes holding Natasha's in an unspoken connection."I enjoy meeting new people," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "And I've decided I wanted to talk with you."

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze thoughtful. "I also wanted to apologize for Harley's behavior earlier. She can be... spirited at times."

Natasha waved off the apology with a small smile, understanding that spirited was one way to describe Harley's antics.

You went on to explain, "Usually, I don't speak up like that, but my uncle has a way of spoiling Harley. It's... complicated."

Natasha's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Your uncle? He’s Todd Jameson?"

You took a moment before revealing, "Yes. He and my dad are half-brothers. Making Harley my little cousin. I don’t admit it often."

The revelation left Natasha intrigued. She had heard the name Todd Jameson before, a figure of significance in the entertainment industry. The connection between you and Harley was now becoming clearer, and Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the family connection.

“That would make your dad…” Natasha began. 

“Nick Fury, the one and only,” You finished for her. “Different fathers. My dad is somewhere out there tonight. It’s a thing I don’t like to admit to strangers.”

“I get it,” Natasha nodded. 

The revelation about your family connection to Todd Jameson made Natasha pause for a moment. She had always admired the award-winning jazz player turned talent manager, Nick Fury, from afar. His contributions to the music industry were legendary, and Natasha couldn't deny that she was a fan of his music.

She decided not to fangirl, though, and instead offered a genuine smile. "Your dad is a legend. I've always been a fan of his music."

Your eyes lit up with appreciation. "Thank you, Natasha. I'll be sure to pass that along to him." You set your half-empty cup onto a coaster, before turning back to Natasha. “So, watching you on that stage. Not many people have that star power. I was wondering if you have experience dancing? You were incredible.” 

Natasha's eyes sparkled as she recalled her performance. "The way I danced on stage during our set, it's a part of who I am. I guess you could say it's a bit of my background showing through."

Your curiosity piqued, and you guessed, "Ballet, then?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, I did ballet for sixteen years as a child. I even got into Juilliard."

Your eyes widened in admiration. "That's amazing, Natasha. How did you get into singing and music?"

Natasha took a sip of her drink and smiled as she delved into the story of how she got into music. It was a story that she didn't often share, but there was something about her conversation with you that made her feel comfortable opening up.

"It all started back in high school," Natasha began. "I was really into dancing, and it was an elective at my school. But then, one day, I decided to join the choir on a whim. And I fell in love with singing and songwriting. I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I needed something to keep me out of the house and off the streets."

She paused for a moment, reminiscing about those early days. "So, I started writing songs, and my friends Wanda and Steve would go over to Steve’s small bedroom. We'd play our rented instruments and experiment with different sounds. It was just a fun little hobby at first."

Natasha's gaze drifted, lost in the memories of those simple beginnings. "Then Bucky, Steve’s best friend well, he's always been a bit of a troublemaker, but he's got a talent for the electric guitar. And Tony...his dad's pretty wealthy and bought us all our equipment. Plus, he's good at the drums."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "It was a bit of a motley crew, but that's how Velvet Rebellion came to be. We started playing in small venues, dive bars, and country clubs. And somehow, we made it here."

Natasha's usually guarded demeanor had softened in your presence, and she found herself enjoying the opportunity to share a piece of her journey with someone who seemed genuinely interested in her story.

“I love that,” You nodded. You and Natasha share a smile before she asked. 

“Is your boyfriend here tonight? I don’t want to keep you too long,” She fished for more information. 

“No, no,” You shake your head. “No boyfriend. You?”

“Not really into monogamy at the moment,” She shrugged. She doesn’t know if this statement will bite her in the ass later but for some reason she trusted you. “Tell me about you. Are you in the family business or?”

"I've always had a bit of a connection to the music world," You began. "As a teenager, I sang a few backup vocals for artists my uncle produced. I guess you could say I almost pursued a career in music, but life had other plans for me. I got pregnant at seventeen. Dedicated to finish school and go to college."

You took a thoughtful swig of your drink and continued, "Now, I'm a publicist. I don't mean to brag, but I'm good at what I do.When I'm not working, I'm taking care of my daughter, Isabella. She's nine years old and the light of my life."

Your face softened as you spoke about your daughter, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and joy. "She's with her dad for the weekend," you added, "and we co-parent quite well."

Natasha was genuinely interested in your life outside of the party scene, and she couldn't resist asking, "Do you have any pictures of Isabella? I'd love to see her."

Your eyes twinkled with delight as you pulled out your phone and began to share a few adorable images of your daughter. Natasha couldn't help but smile as she admired the photos, enjoying this glimpse into your world beyond the music and the party.

“Here she is at gymnastics practice,” You flipped through a few pictures of Isabella’s smiling face. “And swim. She is a little spitfire and she wants to do it all.”

“Wow,” Natasha smiled as if Isabella were her own child. “Do you ever want more?”

“Maybe one day,” You said wistfully. “For now I feel pretty full with everything in life. You?” 

You noticed the change in Natasha's expression and asked, "Is something on your mind?"

Natasha sighed, leaning back into her seat. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for motherhood," she admitted. "I have a younger sister, Yelena, she’s attending the University of Cambridge in England now. She's even developed a bit of a British accent." Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"But," she continued, "I enjoy the fast-paced life, the music, the performances, and the constant movement. A significant other won’t quite understand that I don't always have the time. Not that I don’t ever want that someday but…” Her voice died down. 

You listened empathetically, understanding the complexities of Natasha's life as a musician. "I get that," you acknowledged. "But it's essential to find the right balance for you, whether it's in your music career, personal life, or something in between. My dad was able to do it. When he crossed over into hip-hop there was definitely a lot he missed but he still made things happen"

“Really? Well, I will have to ask him for pointers.” She grinned. 

Just as the conversation was reaching its peak, there came a polite knock at the office door. A member of the party staff popped in to inform you that they were ready to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley.

You turned to Natasha with a warm smile. "It was nice meeting and talking to you, Natasha," you said genuinely.

Natasha, not wanting the connection to end, began, "You know, I'd love to..."

But before she could finish her sentence, your cheeks flushed, and you interrupted already knowing what she was going to say, your voice bold, "Are you going to call me, or are you going to leave me hanging in the wind?"

Natasha couldn't help but laugh at your sudden assertiveness. It was a pleasant surprise. "I’m not that type of woman," Natasha said. At your look, she laughed again. “You got me there.”

You returned her smile and handed Natasha your phone, saying, "You'll just have to trust me with your number instead, and I'll call." Asking for her number instead eased the pressure off Natasha, and also your nerves at hoping she’d call. 

You gave Natasha a wink and chucked a thumb over your shoulder to indicate you were going back to the party. Natasha nodded and watched you walk away. When her eyes trailed lower she doesn’t even feel guilty about it. 

Natasha left the office, rejoining her bandmates outside in the backyard, just as they were preparing to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley. The festive atmosphere was in full swing, and the energy of the party was infectious.

As the crowd gathered around Harley, Natasha's eyes scanned the faces, and they landed on you, who was standing among the partygoers. Your eyes met, and you shared a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had developed.

Tony, always quick to pick up on things, couldn't help but tease Natasha when he noticed her grin. "So, did you get her number?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony's assumption but then burst into laughter. "No," she replied with a playful smirk, "she took mine."

The party was still in full swing when someone on stage stopped the music with a loud, "Hey, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?"

The spotlight shifted to the stage, and all eyes turned toward the source of the interruption. It was a friend of Harley's, and he had a mischievous grin on his face as he spoke into the microphone.

"I have a special surprise for our birthday girl tonight," he announced. "We have someone here who's agreed to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Harley, and I think you're all in for a treat."

A collective cheer and applause erupted from the crowd as they eagerly anticipated the surprise. The spotlight moved to you, highlighting your face and putting you on the spot. You managed to not look like a deer in headlights which was a feat in itself. Natasha's curiosity was piqued, especially considering you had mentioned you weren’t much of a singer.

You tried to protest shyly, but the crowd begged you to come up on stage. Encouraged by their cheers, you reluctantly made your way up to the spotlight.

Once on stage, you cleared your throat and took a deep breath, your nerves palpable. You began with a little birthday speech, your voice tinged with affection and humor.

"I want to wish a happy birthday to my cousin Harley," You began, your smile directed at the birthday girl. "Even though she's a bit of a brat," you teased, earning laughs from the crowd, "she's my brat, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then, as expected, you began to sing "Happy Birthday." Your voice, which you had modestly downplayed earlier, was nothing short of remarkable. It was soulful, sweet, and filled with a depth of emotion that resonated through the entire backyard.

The crowd, including Natasha, was utterly blown away by the unexpected talent that you possessed. Your voice filled the air, making the birthday celebration even more special and memorable. It was a moment of pure magic, and Natasha couldn't help but be captivated by your incredible singing ability.

Natasha decided two things then and there. One, she really liked you, and two, boy, was she in for a ride.

---> next part

do u ever get a comment on a fic thats just so sweet that ur like Maybe slaving over 24k of fanfiction was worth it for user SprinkleTrashcan2012 to leave a three paragraph comment

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.

Caitlyn and Vi, but after Caitlyn and Ambessa fight and Caitlyn is really hurt

Title: Atonement

Ship: Caitlyn x Vi

Wordcount: 3772

Summary: Caitlyn is lying on the battlefield after her brutal fight with Ambessa. She's ready for everything to end, but the familiar footsteps of someone she cares immensely for pulls her out of it.

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, blood, not waking up after injury, shooting, eye injury, prison violence, pre-mature death, mentions of not waking up after injury, possible suicide (Not really though, it's complicated, just not wanting to wake up after getting hurt idk), horrible grammar, I don't beta read.

[A/n: This is dedicated to the lovely @ittynyte who saw this fanart by @qvert and wanted to see something like this written. Hopefully, I did it justice. I absolutely faded out in the end.]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

It was quite unbefitting of a battlefield to be empty. Caitlyn had never concerned herself with the cleanup of something so morbid. It wasn’t in her nature, something that didn’t cross her mind. The battle itself had always weighed so heavily on her armor-clad shoulders that what happened after, if there was an after, did not warrant energy.

Her blurred gaze stared up at the clear blue sky now. The audacity it had, to be so beautiful. It was nearly cloudless, the sun just out of her periphery. She considered this a mercy. There was a thick, warm smattering of blood that had crusted over her left eye, and she was sure the right one was as unfocused as her mind. Clear. Sky blue. Unmoving.  

There were injuries to tend to. Armies to direct. Where had the wolf stalked off to? So many questions that lingered at the back of Caitlyn’s mind that couldn’t push through the fog. She needed to move. Had to get off the dirt ground that she lay upon in the center of chaos.

Noxian soldiers scattered and still, she was frozen in time. They must have thought her dead. She was not opposed to the idea. It was easier this way. A body among the others. The great commander Kiramman fallen and turned the powdered dirt to that of metallic mud.

Her breath had tethered into something slow and tacky. One lift of her hand and whoever was in charge of cleaning up the mess they had made would rush to her side with a medic. But this was enough for now. For a long agonizing moment.

A punishment. Atonement.

She should apologize, she was sure. 

The crunch of dirt under steps that were much too frantic, much too heavy-footed, caught her attention. Caitlyn’s body thrummed in pain with each slow beat of her heart. The scrambling belonged to someone who cared too much for someone who deserved to die where she lay.

A bleeding heart, some would say, and boy, did she bleed. Her wounds spurted even as she sprinted from her own true demise. She skidded when her knees hit dirt, her shins taking the brunt of the slide. The overwhelming warmth of her made Caitlyn want to turn her head like a flower-seeking sun.

Her mouth was too dry, her heart beating too slow, breathing much too shallow. Now that she wanted to move, had that fire spark in just the right way, she couldn’t. Trapped within herself and the very blood that gushed from her eye like one of those chocolate fountains at her parents galas waved as if it were a personal white flag.

“Fuck,” Vi’s hurried whisper came out cracked. She’d been screaming. Wailing, really. Cait had never heard her broken like this. She sounded as if she had swallowed gravel, tongued it until it filled her lungs and her stomach and found a permanent home there. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”

A large hand was suddenly gripping at Caitlyn’s breastplate, another cradling the back of her head, threading through her sweat-soaked hair as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Not the scum that had put Violet here in the first place. She didn’t deserve to be coddled. She should be the one mending the heart on Vi’s sleeve.

“You’re not allowed to die on me, Kiramman. You piece of shit.”

That damned temper of hers. It was fierce and endearing all the same. Caitlyn pushed any oxygen she could from her lungs, a pathetic-sounding whimper punctuating the effort. It was enough for Vi to call out with enough force to set things into motion. Her calls echo off the cement structures that surround them.

The hand on her chest brushed gently against the curve of her Caitlyn’s features. She wanted so badly to lean into that touch. The kiss the inside of her palm, taste the ashen skin calloused from years of pain and exhaustion that had worked into her bones.

“Hold on for me, sweet girl.” Vi choked out in a whisper. “Hold on.”

Solid ground was no longer under her. There was the spiced scent of Vi’s body wash as Caitlyn’s head lulled into the small of the woman’s neck. She’d bought that soap at a local market when pushed by the seller. She hadn’t expected the herbs to cling so heavenly to her, but in the darkness, she was thankful for them now.

That was months ago. When her mother had died, and her father was locked away in the recesses of the Kiramman manor. Caitlyn was numb, but functional, not yet spurred on by her bitterness. She bought the soap because it was something to do. She’d let a shop keep lead her through dozens of scents, and yes, that does smell exactly like the love of my life, thank you, sir.  

Was that before or after she shoved the blunt end of the rifle into the soft spot of her abdomen? Things blended quite wickedly, now. The heat had gotten to her, and so had her dripping wounds. Ambessa kept her blades sharp like her tongue. They carved her like the star of a Christmas feast.

“Drop what you’re doing.” Vi’s voice was stern, a low grumble. She rarely got this way. Only when it came to Caitlyn. “This is your Commander.”

Was she? She’d failed at that too. Yet, here was Violet, parading her around as such. She supposed it wasn’t up to her. Her mouth was still filled with sand and what little strength she had still clung to Vi’s breastplate as she was pulled away. She whimpered in protest, had to have her fingers pried away with small admonishments by either a doctor, or Vi herself.

Caitlyn couldn’t see the sky from where she was now, nothing but a burlap tent. Her vison was fading, flickering at the edges and pounding along with the thrumming of her heart. If she were succumbing to her wounds, she wanted to be outside. She wanted to be on the battlefield, even if it was empty. It was a mercy, she knew, she didn’t rightly deserve.

Her father had worn the same brand of deep red saddle shoes for as long as she could remember. Caitlyn would buy him two custom pairs for Christmas each year because he wore them out like clockwork by the time spring rolled around, and once more when the air grew a stark type of cold. He’d need them once more when the annual Snowdown gala was in full swing.

He’d shake the meticulously wrapped box with a glint in his eye and a devilish smile that reflected the flicker of the fire in the hearth. They rattled around like wooden dice and he boomed ‘I wonder what these are’ from the time that Caitlyn was six all the way until she was an adult and well past her enforcer exams.

She humored him every time, and he loved the gift every time. This year, they hadn’t had a Christmas, and while she still purchased the shoes to give the cobblers some sense of routine, to give themselves something, she had just placed them at his door and waited for him to find them.

His breakfast tray that morning had been deposited with two bites taken out of plain toast, but the shoes were also pulled in, so she figured that was a good sign.

Right now, she could hear his familiar click and clack as he paced with fervor. Anyone at the Piltover Institute of Medicine and Teaching could tell where Doctor Kiramman was by the sound of his red leather saddle shoes, gifted by his very own daughter.

Caitlyn’s fingers twitched. Her toes too, and it was agonizingly painful. Everything was. She figured that she suffered a concussion from the way each step drove through her temples like an icepick. Most of her unconsciousness was marred with darkness but there had been gruesome flashes of her long brawl with Ambessa.

The knife in her gut. A blade through her eye. She’d been chewed up and spit out. Her tendons were shredded, and bullet was nearly lodged in her neck. She could have been paralyzed. She should have been left to bleed out at the hand of the traitors Maddie Nolan. A turncoat that hadn’t warmed her bed but had made it colder.

Another set of footsteps had entered the room, halting her father’s. Much too heavy-footed. Caitlyn swallowed around the knife in her throat, she couldn’t’ even cultivate a whimper. However pathetic the noise, she wanted to do something to call out to them, to let them know that she was here. Fuck her pride. She had nothing left to hold onto.

“Sir,” Vi’s voice was soft. “Please,”

This wasn’t begging, this was something akin to pleading. There was a pregnant pause before Caitlyn registered the sound of porcelain shaking and then steadying just a moment later. Tea. She was bringing him something to drink. Forcing him to take care of himself.

Vi and her father did not have a relationship. The Kiramman estate was large enough to harbor them as strangers. There was staff to separate them, and Caitlyn had long assured that they would never have more than tense eye contact. Especially after the blood relation of Cassandara’s slayer.

Not something that Violet could control.

Tobias forgave too cleanly and Vi loved too heavily. Here they both stood. Vi, leading her father to one of the chairs in front of the fire, her taking the other one and forcing the drink back into his hand, intent on him finishing it. Neither had slept. She could hear it in their voices.

“I was sure that she would wake.”

“Yeah, well… She’s stubborn. You take good care of her, doc. She’ll come around.”

“You speak with such assuredness.”

“If she wasn’t up for the fight, she would have given up by now.”

A stillness fell over the room, the sound of the fire eating away at the logs and Caitlyn’s own stilted breath took away some of the quiet. Vi was right. She was still here. She didn’t know why. Hell, she was so ready to give up on the battlefield. She had caused so much carnage by balling up her grief. Weaponizing it. Pushing she people she loved away.

Yet here she was. Sharing tea with her father, large, bandaged hands dwarfing what she imaged to be the only porcelain cups they owned. Little white things with purple flowers painted along the delicate features. A gold rim that her teeth would clink against because at the last minute, she would grow too eager.

“Did Caitlyn ever tell you about her hunting dogs?”

She could hear the grin in Vi’s voice. “No, sir, I don’t believe she has.”

There was oil paintings scattered around the house of the dogs. She was certain Vi had seen them. The brawler wouldn’t’ admit to it, but she had a curiosity that was unmatched. Caitlyn had caught her taking books from some of the hidden nooks in the home, flipping through them and mouthing the words.

She would stop and run her calloused fingers over the plagues that were bolted under cement busts, or slow when they passed an informational booth in the center of Piltover. The history of things caught her attention. She’d ask questions, and Caitlyn would answer them by a fault.

“Cassandra bought two of them as puppies, small things that she took an instant liking to. Her mother was convinced that they were outdoor dogs meant to work. That’s how she was raised out in the country, and that’s how these dogs were going to be taught. But not if Caitlyn had anything to say about it.”

Tobias chuckled, a low and rustic sound that blanketed Caitlyn in warmth. She fisted her hand, ignored the pain that came with the action. She wanted to reach out to them, to curl up between them with a blanket. To be apart of the moment.

“She started to sneak them into the house at night, and for awhile it worked. Cassandra and I worked late hours so she got away with the puppies sleeping in her bed. Trained them real nice too. Got them to sit, stay, heel. Better than any hunting dog that I’ve ever seen.”

Vi was laughing, a genuine one that came from the belly. “How’d she get caught?”

“During a hunting trip,” Tobias scoffed “We took all of our business partners, including Sheriff Grayson and the dogs out. Caitlyn insisted on going and I saw no issue with it. Even though she was young, she was as skilled as any shooter as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course,”

“It was just before dusk and we had one of the largest bucks I had ever seen in sight, but one of the dogs, Razi, caught wind of Caitlyn. Let out the most excited bark I’d ever heard and bounded over to her before knocking her off her feet, the other dog Rilo following soon after.” He’d dissolved into full giggles at the memory “I’d never seen those dogs in any mood other than stoic. For a few seconds I thought she was getting attacked, but she was laughing.”

Vi was laughing too, the only happy sounds to fill the Kiramman manor in months, perhaps a year at this point. Her chest ached and her jaw too. She wanted to smile, wanted to stir herself from this hellish purgatory from which she resided.

“I’m guessing you didn’t get that buck?” Vi asked, breathless.

“We didn’t,” Tobias huffed “but we got a hell of a story out of it. Grayson took an instant liking to Caitlyn after that, spent the whole weekend helping her perfect her shot. We never knew she had a soft spot for dogs.”

The laughter faded out into the same disquiet that had engulfed the room before. The clattering of porcelain rose to Tobias’s lips and then back to the coffee table. Caitlyn tried to expel the same breath that produced a miniscule sound on the battlefield. But nothing came out.

I’m here damn it. I’m here.  

She felt the silk under her fingertips and the scream that was lodged in her throat. It refused to bubble up. Naively, she wanted her father. The same dad who stared in disbelief as Razi and Rilo licked at her face in the cold of winter before breaking out into the most genuine smile she had ever seen.

She wanted Vi, who at first, she had despised. It had only taken a few hours to endear her. The moment she sloppily ate some type of seafood soaked in broth in the undercity was when she truly softened. Her nerves were running high and the stench was one like no other, but there was a look in Vi’s eyes, something of unbridled relief and happiness that was unmatched.

“What if she stops fighting, Violet?” Tobias asked.

“We’ll uh,” Her voice cracked, something sullen and shattered “We’ll have to be prepared for that too.”

The room was bathed in pale moonlight when she willed herself to stir. Fire had long since been snuffed out and the tile floor brought on a familiar chill to her childhood bedroom. She brought in a stifled and sore breath, staring up at the canopy above her, small holes poked in the fabric when she was a child to mimic the constellations.

Her bones felt like mush, functional eye blinking listlessly before she clenched and unclenched her fist. There was a splay of air against her cheek, a scent that was spiced. She dropped her head to the side carefully. Violet.

Her form was taut, curled up on her side on a mountain of pillows. She was as close to Caitlyn as she could be, lying on top of the duvet with her chest moving up and down in soft breaths. Her boots were on, as if she had just gotten to sleep, as if she were ready to spring into action at any moment. How long had it been since she had truly slept?

Her skin was nearly as pale as the moonlight that flitted through the window and her scarred lips parted, letting out little snores that were nothing short of endearing. Caitlyn wished she could fight the urge to press her fingers against them. But she couldn’t. She was used to taking what she wanted.

It took some shaky effort, but she gently pressed the pad of her thumb to the small scar that had been cemented into Vi’s expression. There was a downturn of her lips, and then a quick intake of air before a large hand was gripping tightly onto Caitlyn’s wrist.

She wanted this. The security. The urgency. There was no easy way to awaken Vi. She always startled unless it was by the hand of the sun. Tired gray eyes widened with a heavy inhale. The grip loosened as quickly as it had tightened and Vi shot up with such urgency that she must have seen as many stars as Caitlyn manufactured as a child.

“Fuck, what the fuck?” She whipped her head to the side, blinking rapidly to level Caitlyn with a stare as if she had arisen from the dead. “Cait? Are you… Jesus Christ”

Vi rubbed a large hand across her face and flicked on a light, making them both flinch before she hurriedly turned back to Caitlyn who blinked at her dumbly. She hadn’t tried talking, didn’t really know what to say, was waiting for Vi to ask her a real question and not just sputter at her.

She didn’t. Instead, she busied herself by pouring a glass of water and guiding a straw that was obnoxiously green to Caitlyn’s lips. She’d always had the ability to read what wasn’t overtly there. She had been a caretaker all of her life and Caitlyn greedily swallowed as many gulps as she could.

“How do you feel?” Vi eventually dared, setting the glass down and pulling her knees to her chest. She peered at Caitlyn like she was a puppy, a steel-toed boot shoved into her ribs, but patient all the same.

“Like I got hit by a Disc-Runner.”

Her voice came out scratchy, almost like air being let out a of tire. But it was her voice, and she was hearing it for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Vi let out a long sigh of relief and her shoulders dropped from right below her ears as if she had the same exact sentiment.

Vi’s fingers tightened around her pajama pants, decorated with little Runeterra Raptor logos stilted in a sea of cobalt “We didn’t think you were going to wake up. It’s been weeks, your dad has been pacing a hole in the floor.”

“Just my father?” Caitlyn scoffed weakly and a beautiful pink blush colored Vi’s cheeks.

“Well, me too. I should probably go get him, but I think it’s pretty late. Or early.”

“Violet it’s fine, really.” She reached out and took a hand that was too afraid to reach out first but held on with such ferocity. “That can wait.”

“He’s been keeping a log of all of your vitals, you know? You’ve been out long enough to heal. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.” Vi frowned and started to play with Cait’s fingers, suddenly filled with so much warmth and life. She never wanted to let them go.

Caitlyn felt her cheeks dampen, using her heels to push herself into a sitting position with some difficulty. Vi watched her with almost vigilant curiosity. Caitlyn grasped at her t-shirt, pulling her close. She needed to feel her close, it had been long. Too long.

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m broken,” Caitlyn purred, pulling Vi’s nose into the small of her neck, reveling in the way the woman clung to her, drooped her arm over her now-healed-mid-section. “I know I am.”

“Cait, you’re not broken, you’re healing.” Vi whispered, held her tighter. Her voice was marred with emotion and Caitlyn’s own shirt was sodden with tears. She felt Vi’s shoulders tremble and wondered how long it had been since Vi allowed herself to cry, allowed herself to be held instead of doing the holding.

Caitlyn started to card her fingers through the small hairs on the nave of Vi’s neck, scratching at the skin there, feeling every shiver and breath the woman took. She craved this, needed this. It was all she had wanted during the pain staking moments when she had been there, but hadn’t been. That hellish time when she couldn’t’ scream loud enough to be heard. She’d taken this for granted.

“I didn’t think you were going to come back.” Vi’s fingers curled into the silk of Caitlyn’s shirt.

“I almost didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Vi gazed up at Caitlyn with an almost childlike wonder, hand moving down to a pearl button each exhale brought goosebumps to her skin. She traced patterns on Vi’s upper back. “On the battlefield, before you were there, before you found me. I was ready to give up.”

She ran her thumb over the cross stitching on the button, around the edges, but didn’t say anything. Not for a few moments, just listening to the crackle of Caitlyn’s lungs. “Every single day that I was in Stillwater, I thought the same thing. I’d wake up and keep my eyes closed for as long as I could because sometimes that darkness was better than whatever would be waiting for me when I opened my eyes. Sometimes… sometimes your body knows that you need to stay where you are to keep you from where you think you need to be.”

“Did you ever feel guilty?”

“About not wanting to wake up? No, Cupcake. Not then.” She shifted so she was hovering over Caitlyn, careful not to jostle her too much, one hand resting above her shoulder. “Now though, I’d claw my way back from the depths of hell to get back to you.”

Caitlyn cupped her cheek, pulled herself forward and pressed her lips tenderly to Vi’s. She tasted sweet, of mint and of the slightest bit of bourbon. Violet sighed into the embrace, careful not to melt entirely. They broke apart, Vi’s fingers brushed across her jaw.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn whispered against her lips. “For waiting for me.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, cupcake.”