Wanda knows it the second she steps through the door -- knows it in the way the air sits wrong, thick and unmoving, like even the dust is waiting for something to break.
She hears the soft slam of a cabinet in the kitchen.
Your cabinet slam. Small, sharp, frustrated.
Her heart drops. She caused that. She caused all of this.
“Y/n?” Her voice is cautious. Too cautious, even to her own ears.
She finds you standing at the counter, hands braced on either side of the sink, shoulders tense. You don’t turn when she walks in. You don’t even pretend.
Wanda swallows hard. She deserves that.
“You left,” she says quietly. “Before we finished talking.”
You let out a breath that sounds like you’re trying not to cry or yell or both. “Yeah. Because you weren’t listening.”
Wanda closes her eyes. That’s fair. That’s painfully fair.
She takes a slow step forward. “I was listening, dorogaya. I just--”
“--don’t trust yourself.” You cut her off with a tired laugh, shaking your head. “I know, Wanda. I know. It’s always the same thing. You’re scared you’ll hurt me. Or touch me wrong. Or lose control. Or--”
“Stop,” she whispers, the word cracking. “Please.”
You finally look at her.
And that alone almost brings her to her knees.
Because you’re not angry. You’re hurt.
Quietly, deeply, devastatingly hurt. And Wanda would rather be shot than be the reason for that expression on your face.
She takes another step toward you. You don’t back away, but you don’t soften, either.
“I laid rules down because I love you,” she says, voice low, steady only because she wills it to be. “Because I’ve lived my entire life being told my power destroys everything it touches. That I destroy everything I touch.”
Your jaw tightens. “Wanda, you don’t destroy me.”
She lets out a breath that sounds like surrender. “I’m terrified I will.”
Silence. Not angry -- just heavy.
You push your fingers through your hair, pacing once before facing her again.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you say quietly. “I don’t need you to be safe. I just need you to stop assuming the worst version of yourself is the only one I get to love.”
Wanda’s throat goes tight. Painfully tight.
Because she hears the truth in your voice -- the exhaustion from fighting to be close to someone who keeps putting distance where you’re trying to build a home.
She steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her, the little static flickers of power under her skin.
She has spent years repressing that warmth around others--but around you, she wants to offer it.
“You shouldn’t have walked out,” she murmurs. “You shouldn’t leave in the middle of a fight. Not with me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to scream at you in your own house, Wanda.”
“I didn’t want a fight.” Her voice lowers. “I wanted you to stay. With me. Even if we were angry. Even if it was messy. I don’t… I don’t want distance with you.”
Your heartbeat stutters. Her eyes follow the movement in your chest like it matters more than anything else.
She exhales shakily. “I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you. And that should make me happy, but it terrifies me because wanting you means I have something to lose.”
You soften. Just barely.
“Wanda--”
“No,” she says quickly, stepping even closer until your bodies almost touch. “You need to hear this.”
Her hand lifts -- slowly -- and hovers near your cheek but doesn’t touch.
Not until you lean in the tiniest bit.
She cups your jaw with trembling fingers.
“I lay rules down because I am selfish,” she confesses. “Because if I ever hurt you, I wouldn’t survive it. I would rather chain my own powers, silence myself, cage every part of me that scares me—than risk losing you.”
Your lips part, breath catching.
Her thumb brushes your cheek in a feather-light stroke, and your eyes sting because god, she’s trying. She’s really trying.
“I love you,” she whispers, like she’s bleeding it out. “I love you so much it feels dangerous. And I don’t know how to do this without being afraid.”
You step forward until your forehead meets hers.
“Wanda,” you say softly, “loving someone doesn’t mean controlling all the ways they could get hurt. It means letting them stay anyway.”
She closes her eyes.
Her breathing steadies against your skin.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she murmurs, voice small in a way she never lets anyone hear.
“You’re not going to.”
She finally opens her eyes--bright, emotional, glassy but not broken.
“You left earlier,” she reminds you, voice cracking again.
You shake your head gently. “I walked out, Wanda. I didn’t leave you.”
Her lips part like she’s tasting that difference for the first time.
Then she whispers, “Come here,” and pulls you into her chest, arms wrapping around you with a desperate tenderness that isn’t rough or magical or frantic.
Just human.
Her face buries into your shoulder as she exhales a shaky breath against your neck. One of her hands slides into your hair; the other presses flat against your back like she’s trying to memorize the exact shape of you.
You melt. You forgive. You breathe again.
“You always think you’re too much,” you whisper into her hair. “But you’re not. You’re just scared. And that’s okay. But don’t shut me out when I’m the one person you’re safe with.”
She swallows hard, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead with a slow, reverent heat that promises more but doesn’t rush.
“Don’t walk away from me again,” she whispers.
You smile, small and tired and full.
“Then fight with me,” you answer, “not against me.”
Wanda lets out a tiny laugh -- pained, relieved, unbelievably soft -- and kisses you again, this time on the corner of your mouth.
“You’re stubborn,” she murmurs.
“So are you.”
Her lips ghost over yours, barely there, asking for permission without words.
You give her a quiet nod.
And when Wanda finally kisses you -- carefully, hungrily, terrified and hopeful all at once -- everything in the room exhales with you.
It’s not fixed. It’s not perfect.
But it’s real. And it’s the kind of love she never thought she’d have.
You walked away from the empire you helped build, burned by power, broken by the man who used you, and determined to never be vulnerable again. Now you're applying for a quiet, forgettable job beneath a woman who doesn’t forget anyone.
Wanda Maximoff isn’t supposed to interview junior hires. She’s not supposed to care. But the moment she sees you, brilliant, guarded, dangerous in your silence, she can’t look away.
4523 Words
Written January 1-6th 2024
-----------------------------------
The elevator hummed like a held breath.
Fifty floors above Manhattan, the air tasted different. Polished, cold. Even before the doors opened, you could feel the gravity shift, pressure, presence, prestige. The kind of atmosphere built not by glass and steel, but by power. Unspoken, unyielding.
You smoothed your coat down your arms as you stepped out.
Reception was minimal, brutalist. Slate gray floors, soft recessed lighting, and one long pane of smoked glass stretched behind a carved obsidian desk. The receptionist, barely twenty three, perfectly symmetrical, blank eyed, looked up, blinked once, and smiled like she’d been programmed for it.
“Name?”
Your voice was calm, low.
“Y/n Y/l/n”
There was a flicker. Recognition. But she masked it quickly, typing something into her touchscreen before nodding toward the double doors ahead.
“She’s expecting you.”
No one asked for ID. No one offered coffee. It wasn’t that kind of place.
You walked, slow and measured, toward the office of Wanda Maximoff.
The corridors were silent.
Not empty, just hushed. Reverent. You could hear your own footsteps on the marble. Hear the faint tick of a mechanical clock embedded in the wall. The tension of this building wasn’t carved from chaos. It was colder than that. It was control. Perfect, surgical control.
And it should have unnerved you.
But it didn’t.
Not after what you’d walked away from.
The last time you’d been in an office like this, you’d been someone else, top of your class, youngest ever executive hire at a billion dollar conglomerate, media darling with a face for boardrooms and a mind that could take apart company structure like a machine. Then came him. The deal, the scandal, the betrayal.
Now?
Now, you were applying for a mid-tier project management role beneath someone who didn’t even usually conduct interviews.
But she was.
For you.
You paused at the door, black wood, untouched by fingerprints. You inhaled once, then lifted your hand and knocked.
There was a pause. Then… “Come in.”
Her voice was velvet over a blade.
You stepped inside. And there she was.
Wanda Maximoff sat behind a curved desk of black marble, high-backed in a leather chair that swallowed her frame but couldn’t dull the precision in her posture. Her head was bowed slightly, reading something in her hands, papers, not a screen. Her hair was loose today, auburn waves cascading over her shoulders, catching the light like dark wine.
She didn’t look up.
You stepped further in, and the door clicked shut behind you. Soft, final.
Still, she didn’t look up.
So you stood there. Poised. Still. Letting the silence stretch just long enough to make a lesser woman uncomfortable.
Eventually, she spoke.
“You’re early.”
Her voice was sharper now. Cool, unreadable.
“So are you,” you said softly.
That made her glance up.
And the air shifted.
For a second, it was nothing, just a glance. But then her eyes stilled on your face, and the moment stretched, pulled tight, caught on something invisible.
She was looking at you, not at your clothes or the paper in your hand, but you. Eyes like garnet glass swept over your features, sharp and still. It wasn’t sexual, not yet. It was analytical. Dissecting. Like you were a puzzle she didn’t remember buying, but now couldn’t stop trying to solve.
You let the corner of your mouth twitch upward.
Wanda blinked. Then slowly, deliberately, set the papers down.
“I expected someone older.”
You stepped forward, unhurried. “You’re not the first.”
She gestured toward the chair opposite her desk. You sat without being told.
Her fingers tapped once against the marble. Then stilled. She studied you, her chin resting lightly on one hand, elbow bent, fingers brushing the edge of her bottom lip. A motion that felt absent-minded, but wasn’t. Nothing about her was.
“I’ve read your file.”
“I’m sure.”
“Impressive, overqualified, highly competent. Left your last role under… delicate circumstances.”
“I prefer the term ‘necessary.’”
Her mouth twitched, an almost smile.
The silence fell again. But this time, it felt heavier. Charged.
Wanda tilted her head, just a fraction, eyes narrowing as she took you in again. You didn’t fidget. You didn’t look away, until you chose to.
And when you did, you felt her watching the side of your face like a brand.
“I don’t usually conduct interviews myself,” she said.
You turned back. “I know.”
She raised one brow. “So you expected someone else?”
“I didn’t expect to be called in at all.”
She smirked, barely. “Then why apply?”
You let the pause hang. Let her feel the weight of it.
And then, “Because I wanted to be seen.”
Wanda didn’t answer. But her gaze darkened slightly.
“I had the impression,” she said slowly, “that you were trying not to be seen.”
Another flick of tension. Another hairline crack.
You leaned back in the chair, eyes drifting toward the skyline behind her.
“It’s hard to disappear when you’re already a headline.”
Wanda’s lips parted like she might say something. Then she didn’t.
Instead, she shifted. Crossed one leg over the other beneath the desk. Her heels made no sound on the floor, but you felt the movement anyway. Like the room had adjusted its center of gravity.
“People talk,” she murmured.
You looked back at her. “They do.”
“I heard you turned down three interviews in the last six months.”
“I did.”
“But not this one.”
Your lips curled slightly. “I suppose I wanted to see if the rumors about you were true.”
That did it.
Her fingers stopped at her lip. Her gaze sharpened, no longer casual. No longer neutral.
Wanda leaned forward, just enough.
“And what have you concluded?”
Your voice was barely above a whisper. “That I don’t think I’m the only one in this room who’s running from something.”
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then, slowly, Wanda smiled.
It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t warm.
It was interested.
She stood.
You remained seated.
Wanda stepped around the desk, heels soundless, red slacks cut like liquid along her hips, a silk blouse cinched by a gold chain at her throat. She didn’t come close. Not quite. Just far enough for your lungs to catch the scent of whatever perfume she wore, clean, dark, with some hint of vanillia and rose.
She perched lightly on the edge of her desk. Her arms crossed, sleeves rolled to her elbows. She studied you like a chessboard.
“I don’t need someone like you,” she said finally.
You tilted your head. “No?”
“I need someone loyal. Quiet. Predictable. Not someone with a scandal and a PR trail.”
Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “Then why didn’t you end this already?”
Silence.
Then, in a voice low and deliberate:
“I don’t usually make decisions based on curiosity.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“Then make an exception.”
Wanda’s eyes flared, just barely. Like a match caught too fast.
And for a moment, something unspoken passed between you. It wasn’t attraction in the way most people understand it. It was something older, darker, more elemental.
Recognition.
She saw it. You felt it.
And neither of you looked away.
The silence stretched.
Wanda rose, slow and deliberate, returning to her desk like nothing had happened. Like the room hadn’t tilted in the last five minutes. Like she wasn’t breathing slightly deeper now, and you hadn’t seen the faint twitch of her fingers as she passed by.
She sat.
Lifted the manila folder in front of her like she hadn’t read it a hundred times already.
You watched her do it. The performance of it.
As if your entire digital footprint wasn’t already mapped, dissected, and memorized. As if she hadn’t hovered over your headshot, that neatly cropped photo from your last year in the industry, dark eyes, pressed lips, an expression that said come closer if you dare.
She opened it with a practiced flick.
“Let’s begin,” she said, like the last ten minutes had been a weather report instead of a storm.
You smiled. But said nothing.
She flipped a page. Made a sound that could have been interest, or disdain.
“You graduated summa cum laude. Ivy League. Fast-tracked your MBA while launching your first startup out of a shared office in SoHo.”
“Correct.”
“You sold it for double the valuation and walked into a director level position at Argent Corp before you were thirty.”
“Also correct.”
“Three promotions in under two years.”
You nodded once.
She looked up. “Why the step down now?”
There it was. The easy pitch.
You folded your hands in your lap, legs crossed. “I told you. Peace.”
“Peace is for the dead,” she said coolly, flipping another page. “You built empires. Now you want to coordinate spreadsheets and wrangle interns?”
Your smile didn’t move.
“I don’t expect you to believe me. You’re not the trusting type.”
That slowed her.
Wanda’s eyes flicked up again, sharp as a knife dragged across glass.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.”
The moment hung between you like wire pulled taut.
“I’m not looking for pity work,” you said after a beat. “And I’m not running from ambition. Just the kind that eats people alive.”
“Interesting,” Wanda murmured, tapping the folder once with a polished nail. “Is that how you’d describe your former employer?”
And there it was.
Your mouth didn’t twitch. Your eyes didn’t move.
But the temperature in the room dropped by a degree.
Wanda noticed. She watched you like a scientist watches a cage: for the first twitch of the animal before the lunge.
You gave her nothing.
She leaned forward. “I noticed you didn’t include a letter of reference.”
You nodded once. “Correct.”
“Or an explanation for why you left.”
“I wasn’t asked.”
Her fingers toyed with the edge of a page, turning it slowly, as though she wasn’t already working from memory.
“You do understand,” she said, “what people assume.”
“I do.”
“And you’re comfortable with those assumptions.”
“No,” you said simply. “But I’m not obligated to correct them.”
That made her pause.
She tilted her head slightly, and again, those fingers grazed the corner of her mouth. Like she was trying to stop herself from smiling. Or biting back something sharper.
“I like honesty,” she said, voice deceptively soft.
You met her gaze. “Do you?”
Wanda let the silence return, curling around the space like smoke.
When she spoke again, her voice was low. Careful.
“You were in a relationship with Michael Levan of AsteraTech for two years. He was your boss. Your lover. Then came the merger scandal. Insider leaks. PR damage control. You disappeared from the press for seven months.”
Each word was precise. Controlled. Lethal.
You sat perfectly still.
She was watching for a flinch. A tremble. Anything.
But your voice was like stone in silk.
“Yes,” you said. “And none of that is illegal. Or new.”
Wanda’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m not interested in legality.”
“No,” you said, “you’re interested in liability.”
She said nothing.
You leaned forward slightly, voice calm.
“Would you like the real story? Or the version you can deny hearing later?”
Wanda’s pupils dilated, just a flicker. But enough.
“I’ll decide after I hear it.”
You smiled, not sweetly. “He made promises. Took credit. Kept me close while I fed him strategy and solved the problems he couldn’t. And then, when the scandal broke, he bled me out to keep himself clean.”
“And you let him?”
“I survived him.”
Her lips parted slightly. That smile again. That dangerous, interested tilt of her head.
“You don’t strike me as the victim type.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what are you?”
You looked her straight in the eye.
“Rebuilding.”
Silence again. Heavy, like velvet soaked in rain.
Wanda shifted her position, just slightly. Her crossed legs uncrossed. Her shoulders straightened. She was recalibrating.
And it was the most beautiful thing you’d seen all day.
Because beneath all her elegance, all her surgical self-control, Wanda Maximoff was not just a CEO. She was predatory. Brilliant. Dangerous.
And now, she knew that you were, too.
“Let me be clear,” she said at last. “I don’t hire ghosts. I don’t take in strays. And I don’t give second chances.”
You tilted your head.
“I didn’t ask for one.”
She stared.
You stared back.
It was nothing. And it was everything.
The kind of moment that rewrites the air in a room.
She closed the folder. But didn’t look away.
When she finally spoke, it was quieter.
“You know what I think?”
“Always.”
She ignored that.
“I think you walked in here expecting to prove something.”
“I did.”
“And what was that?”
“That I still can.”
Her lips parted slightly. Not to respond. To feel it.
Wanda leaned back in her chair, eyes never leaving you.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
For real this time. Not cruel. Not calculated.
But interested. Deeply, thoroughly interested.
And that was more dangerous than anything else in the room.
Wanda didn’t look away. Not when the silence stretched.
Not when your shoulders shifted slightly, like you were settling into something you hadn’t planned on revealing.
Not when your fingers finally loosened in your lap. She was watching you too closely now. Not like a CEO evaluating talent.
Like a woman standing too close to a flame.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said quietly.
You blinked once. “I did.”
“No,” Wanda replied. “You gave me the strong version. The edited one.”
Her voice lowered.
“I want the truth.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose.
For a moment, you considered lying.
It would’ve been easier. Cleaner. Safer.
But something about the way she was looking at you, jaw tight, eyes intent, fingers hovering near her mouth like she was holding herself back, made it feel impossible.
So you told her.
“I thought,” you said softly, “that someone had finally chosen me.”
Wanda didn’t move.
“I thought he loved me.”
Your gaze drifted toward the floor, just slightly.
“He listened. He stayed late with me. Asked my opinion. Told me I was brilliant. Told me he’d never met anyone like me.”
You swallowed.
“I didn’t realize he was just… empty. And I was convenient.”
Her jaw clenched.
You noticed.
“So when things got hard—when the company started bleeding, when the pressure mounted—he came to me. Not as a partner. As a release.”
Wanda’s fingers brushed her lip.
Once. Slow.
“He took everything I gave him,” you continued. “Ideas. Time. Loyalty. My body. My faith in him.”
Your voice didn’t break. That was worse.
“And when the board started asking questions,” you said, “he handed them my name like a shield.”
Silence. Heavy.
Wanda’s eyes had darkened. Not with pity. With fury.
“I signed things I shouldn’t have,” you admitted. “Trusted things I shouldn’t have. Because I believed him.”
Her hand tightened into a fist on the desk.
“But I never stole,” you said quietly. “I never lied. I never sabotaged anyone.”
You lifted your gaze.
“I just loved the wrong person.”
Wanda inhaled slowly through her nose.
Then again. Her jaw flexed.
She dragged her thumb across her lower lip, pressing hard enough to blanch the skin. When she spoke, her voice was dangerously controlled.
“He used you.”
“Yes.”
“He destroyed your reputation.”
“Almost.”
“And you’re standing here,” she said, rising slowly from her chair, “asking me for a junior position.”
Her heels clicked once. Then stopped.
She was closer now. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to feel.
“I’m asking you for a chance to work,” you replied. “Not to be saved.”
Wanda stopped in front of you. Too close.
You could see the flecks of gold in her eyes now. The tension in her throat when she swallowed. The way her shoulders were held too tight, like she was restraining something volatile.
“Do you know,” she said quietly, “what I do to men who exploit people under me?”
You didn’t look away.
“I imagine it’s unpleasant.”
Her mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker.
She studied your face like she was memorizing it. Every line. Every shadow. Every fracture you’d just revealed.
“You trusted him,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“And he broke that.”
“Yes.”
She reached out. Stopped. Her hand hovered near your wrist for half a second.
Then fell back to her side. That hesitation spoke louder than anything.
“I don’t tolerate weakness,” Wanda said.
“I know.”
“But I respect resilience.”
Your breath caught, just slightly.
She noticed. Her eyes flicked down. Then back up.
“You didn’t come here to beg,” she continued. “You came here to rebuild yourself.”
You nodded once.
“And you’re willing to start small to do it.”
“Yes.”
Her gaze softened. Not gently. Dangerously.
“Someone like you,” she said, “should never have been made to feel disposable.”
The words were low. Intimate. They landed somewhere deep. You felt them. So did she. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The office felt smaller now. Warmer. Charged. The city beyond the glass blurred into nothing.
Wanda finally stepped back. But her eyes never left yours.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly.
“And yet,” you replied, “here I am.”
Her lips parted. She laughed once under her breath.
“You’re going to ruin my schedule,” she murmured.
You smiled faintly.
“Wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve ruined.”
Her gaze lingered. Slow. Hungry. Calculating.
And something else.
Protective.
Wanda gave you the job.
She slid the offer across the desk at the end of that long, charged hour, and you’d taken it with a steady hand and a quiet “thank you,” never once asking why the title had been elevated by two levels, or why the salary was, unmistakably, higher than what anyone else in that tier would ever see.
You didn’t question it. You just showed up the following Monday in black slacks, soft linen, and silence.
You kept your head down. You worked. And you were exceptional.
Not just “competent.” Not just “sharp.” You were brilliant.
Fluent in complexity, subtle in your leadership, capable of reorganizing internal systems in two days without stepping on egos. You navigated corporate red tape like it was second language. You wrote proposals that needed no editing. You anticipated crises before they were born.
People started whispering again.
This time, it wasn’t scandal. It was reverence.
Who is she?
Wanda didn’t touch you.
Not once. Not even when she passed behind your desk, not even when she handed you documents that could have been emailed. She never stood too close. Never let her fingers brush your wrist again.
But she watched you.
Constantly.
She learned the shape of your handwriting. The way your fingers hovered over your lips when you were deep in thought. The way you never flinched when a senior executive raised their voice, but did flinch, slightly, when she praised you too openly.
She noticed the way you wouldn’t meet her eyes when she lingered too long. The way you froze, almost imperceptibly, when her voice softened near you.
She saw your fear. And it killed her. Because it wasn’t fear of her position.
It was fear of needing her. Fear of trusting again.
Fear of the very thing building between you.
The paycheck came two weeks in.
You found it by accident, sitting at your desk, reviewing the month-end cost projections, when a cross-reference caught your eye.
It wasn’t an error.
It was your own name. Highlighted. Flagged as “non-standard compensation.”
Wanda had doubled your pay. No one had mentioned it. There was no memo. No HR bump. No raise announced.
Just a quiet override. From her.
You stared at the line item for a long time.
Then slowly turned your head.
Through the glass wall, you saw her in her office, head tilted, lips parted slightly, one finger tapping the corner of her mouth, watching you like you were a threat and a promise all at once.
By week three, the tension was unbearable.
You’d become her second shadow.
She called you in to consult on things far above your pay grade. Strategic meetings. Global calls. Pitches to investors that had nothing to do with your department.
She listened when you spoke.
Not like others did. Not just to respond.
She listened like your words meant something. Like they mattered.
And yet, when the meeting ended, she would brush past you with that same practiced calm. No words. No looks. Just breath between two bodies and the echo of everything unspoken.
One night, late, you returned a file to her office.
She was sitting on the couch in the corner, something soft and velvet gray, the lights turned low, her heels discarded on the rug beside her.
Her blouse was undone at the collar. Her jacket draped over the back of the sofa. A half-empty glass of wine sat beside her tablet.
You stood in the doorway, unsure.
She didn’t look up. She just said “Close the door.”
You did. She didn’t ask why you were there. Didn’t ask what you needed.
She just looked at you, eyes slow, tired, raw.
“I gave you too much,” she murmured. “Didn’t I?”
You blinked. “What?”
“The salary.”
You stared. “That’s not why I’m here.”
Her lips curved faintly. But her eyes said something else.
Something breaking.
“Do you hate me for it?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
“Then why won’t you let me be kind to you?” That landed like a blow.
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Because how could you explain that kindness from someone like her, someone in power, someone watching you, was more dangerous than cruelty?
How could you explain that the last time someone looked at you like that, it had ended with you bleeding reputation and trust from every open seam?
She stood. Slowly.
Her bare feet padded across the rug as she stepped closer.
Not too close. Just far enough to feel the heat.
“I’m not him.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you flinch when I ask you to stay late?”
Your throat tightened.
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
Her voice was soft now. Breaking down, not building up.
“I can see it in your hands. In the way your shoulders go rigid. Like you’re bracing for me to touch you. Or use you.”
You dropped your gaze. Her voice cracked, just slightly.
“I’m not trying to own you.”
You didn’t respond. She stepped closer.
You looked up. And for the first time, really saw her. Not the CEO. Not the predator.
Just the woman underneath. Tired. Tempted. Terrified that she’d already crossed the line.
Her eyes were red, not from her powers. From restraint.
From how badly she wanted to keep you close… and not ruin it.
You swallowed.
“You look at me,” you whispered, “like I’m the most important thing you’ve ever seen.”
Wanda said nothing.
“You don’t even realize you do it.”
Her voice was barely there.
“I do.”
You hesitated.
Then.. “That’s what scares me.”
The air between you felt like glass, like if you breathed too hard, it would crack and pull you both under.
She looked at you like she wanted to reach out.
Not to take. To hold. But she didn’t. She just stood there, inches away, breathing the same air, her hand slowly curling at her side.
“Then tell me how to make it safe,” she said.
The words shook something in you.
Because she meant it.
Powerful. Composed. Feared.
And asking you how not to break this. You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.
She stepped back. Just slightly. A breath of space.
And said, “I’ll wait.” Then turned away.
Three nights later It started in silence.
It was late again, past ten. The office lights were dimmed, the city below bleeding neon and gold across the windows. You were still at your desk, half-reading a proposal, half-pacing your own thoughts.
She didn’t call. She didn’t text.
She just appeared, leaning in your office doorway like a sentence left unfinished.
Wanda.
Hair slightly undone. Lips parted like she’d already spoken your name in her head five times.
You looked up. And something in you snapped.
Because it was the same look again, the one she always gave you when she forgot to pretend. The one that said I want you, but I’ll wait. The one that never pushed.
But tonight… You couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could she.
You rose from your chair slowly. Walked toward her.
She didn’t move. Her throat flexed once.
You stopped just in front of her, lose enough that your breath touched hers.
And then, finally, you sai “I’m not scared of you.”
Wanda’s eyes darkened. “You were.”
“I was scared of needing you.”
She said nothing. Just stared. But her hands twitched. Her jaw clenched. Her restraint wavered, and that’s when you leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was starvation.
Mouths clashing, teeth grazing, lips dragging open like a dam breaking. You pushed her back into the wall, and she moaned into your mouth, low, wrecked, like she’d been holding it in for weeks.
Her hands cupped your face, your jaw, your throat, desperate to feel you, all of you, like touch would prove this wasn’t a dream.
You kissed her harder. Tugged her blouse free of her skirt. Pushed it open and bit her bottom lip when she groaned at the cold air hitting her skin.
“Fuck,” she breathed, voice breaking, fingers gripping your hips. “I—”
“You waited long enough,” you murmured against her neck.
And she broke.
She spun you around and pinned you to your desk.
Not with magic, with want.
Her hands yanked your shirt open, buttons flying, her mouth dragging down your collarbone with heat and hunger. When she bit your shoulder, you gasped, arch-backed, and she grinned against your skin.
“You taste better than I dreamed.”
“You dreamed about this?”
Wanda looked up. Eyes blown wide. Voice like smoke.
“Every fucking night.”
You pulled her back into you, your hands sliding under her blouse, cupping her breasts, thumbs circling over her nipples until she whimpered. It was too much, too fast, but you didn’t care. You needed to feel her fall apart.
She let you. But not for long.
Wanda dropped to her knees in front of you, dragged your slacks down with sharp fingers, and pressed her mouth between your thighs like she owned you.
You cried out, hand flying to her hair as her tongue traced a devastating, slow circle.
“Wanda—!”
“I’m not him,” she growled against you. “I’ll never be him. Say it.”
You gasped, hips grinding helplessly. “You’re not him—fuck—you’re better—you’re—”
She moaned at that. And devoured you. Tongue and lips and heat, wet and filthy and perfect, hands digging into your thighs as she pulled you deeper against her mouth. You came with a gasp, sharp and aching, her name on your lips like a prayer.
She didn’t stop.Not until you were shaking. Not until you tugged her up by the collar and kissed her like your life depended on it
You didn’t make it home. You didn’t make it to the couch. You ended up in her office chair, legs spread over her lap, blouse torn, her fingers inside you, her mouth on your throat, telling you how beautiful you looked when you broke for her.
And you told her You trust her. You need her. That she’s nothing like him. And she believed you.
Because she’d waited. And now you were hers.
Neither of you spoke for a long time once you both came back down to your senses
You didn’t need to. You just… breathed.
In the silence, she traced small circles into your hips with her thumbs.
And you let her. For the first time. “You okay?” she asked softly, eventually.
You nodded, cheek pressed to her shoulder.
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” you whispered.
Her arms tightened around you slightly, and you felt her exhale, like she’d been holding something even through the kiss, the crash, the come.
“Good,” she murmured.
You sat like that for minutes. Maybe longer.
The world outside the glass walls kept spinning. But in here, time slowed.
She pulled back, just enough to see you. Her eyes were unreadable, but her hands didn’t stop moving.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
You hesitated. But you told her.
“That I want to believe this is real.” Her jaw tightened again.
“I don’t lie to people I want.”
You looked up.
“Do you want me?”
Wanda leaned forward, forehead resting against yours.
“Very much.”
You closed your eyes.
Because that, more than anything else, broke you open.
She didn’t say love. She didn’t need to.
Wanting you was worse. More dangerous. Because Wanda didn’t want anyone. She devoured. She used. She conquered.
But you? She waited. She earned.
You ran your hands up her arms, soft and slow.
“Do you regret it?” you asked, quieter now.
Her hands stilled.
“Do you?”
“No.”
She tilted your chin up. Then kissed you, slowly, reverently, like she was relearning your mouth now that it was hers.
When she pulled away, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’d burn this company down before I let anyone use you again.”
You stared at her.
Something flickered behind your ribs, recognition, safety, heat.
And you believed her.
You didn’t go home that night. She took you upstairs to the penthouse suite no one else was allowed to access.
She gave you a clean shirt, helped wash your back in the shower, made you tea like she wasn’t one of the most powerful women in the country.
You fell asleep curled in her sheets, her arms around your waist, her breath warm at your neck.
And for the first time in a long time… You didn’t dream of him. You didn’t flinch.
You just slept.
And when you woke, Wanda was watching you, her eyes soft, her hand on your thigh like she’d never let go again.
Summary: Natasha gets the wrong idea after seeing you out of work.
A/N: Thanks for the request, @notcreativenames
This is why you don’t like to play.
Of course it wasn’t a good idea to agree to a pool match with a super soldier. Thankfully, Steve is too morally correct to place a bet, so after he defeats you, all you’ll have is a bruised ego.
To add to your bad luck, Natasha and Sam join you a little bit after starting the game. Out of all the people you’d like to impress, Natasha is definitely at the top of the list.
“Tell me you bet something big” Sam says, looking around and nodding approvingly.
“You know I don’t do that” Steve says, aiming and getting three more balls.
You sigh, hoping this can be over quickly.
“In the corner” Natasha says, standing next to you. Your eyes are immediately drawn to her lips, a crimsom lipstick making her features stand out.
“What?” you say, feeling like it’s almost illegal to look that beautiful.
“Go for the left corner. Just an advice… if you trust me” she says, and it looks as if she’s trying to backtrack. As if saying something like that is a risk of its own.
“Of course I trust you” you nudge her side, getting ready to follow her advice. It works, because two balls go inside and even if you’e still about to lose, it won’t be such a gigantic defeat. “Can I get you another drink to thank you?”
“You’re not done playing” Sam says when you hand over your pole. But it only takes another shot for Steve to finish and you give him a pointed stare.
After that, you walk behind the bar and ignore the waiter. You’re one of the only people who can get Natasha’s drink right.
“Cheers” you say, sipping your glass of wine as she nods, confirming the martini is perfect. “Thanks for having my back. Nice to not be a total loser”
“Well, you did listen to me. Most people don’t” she smiles, and you lean against the bar.
“I always do. And I trust you, more than anyone” you smile, enjoying the little moment of privacy.
You’re always running around, going on missions, training recruits, filling out paperwork. It’s messy, loud and dirty work to keep the world safe.
But you wonder if at the very least, people like you and Natasha don’t deserve the courtesy of a break from time to time.
“Without knowing me that well?” she half jokes, but you can tell part of her means it.
“I think I know you. Not everything, but enough to feel like… we’re friends. Unless we’re not?” you chuckle nervously.
Truth be told, there’s always someone around when you’re in the same room as Natasha.
“I like to think we are” Natasha eases your nerves, and you take another sip of your wine, hoping it will hide your blush. “And if there’s anything you want to know, there’s my file”
“I don’t care about that” you’re quick to say, because you know what she means. A list of crimes, her infamous ledger.
But that’s not who she is.
“You sure?”
“What would you like to know about me?” you say, chaning the subject.
Natasha’s taken aback, and you’re not sure if she’ll just say one of her little jokes and steer the conversation away from an actual talk into safe territory.
“Did you ever have a pet?” she finally says, though she wants to slap herself at the basic question.
But you’re already smiling, remembering the dog you had.
“Rufus. Beagle, extremely food oriented. We had a two second rule in the house, because if you dropped something, that’s how long it would take him to get it. Lived to be 15”
“Cheers to Rufus” Natasha jokes and you smile, waiting for the next question. “I’m… a little embarrassed to say I’m blanking right now”
“You? The woman who interrogates gangsters for breakfast?”
“Well, I wasn’t… expecting this”
Which is true. She’s been looking at you, from afar. The way you’ve built your relationships around the team, always smiling and knowing exactly what to say.
Natasha could be like that, but it was mainly the spy in her, knowing how to get the exact outcome she wanted out of every interaction. You always came off as genuine, easy to talk to. It wasn’t an act.
And to be on the focus of that charm, it made Natasha uncharacteristically shy.
“Well, you could think about other questions and we’ll just chat. Like, over dinner? Or coffee, if it’s better for you”
Do you want to ask Natasha out on a date? Yes, since the moment you met her.
But right now, as she’s looking at you so intensely, part of you hesitates. Is it too unprofessional?
“Actually…”
Natasha doesn’t get to finish that sentence, though. Your phone rings and you hum, frowning.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this”
“Yeah, that’s ok” Natasha says, letting out the breath she’d been holding the minute you leave.
Were you asking her out? Or just being polite, like you were with everyone?
Whatever it is, Natasha’s going to take the chance to say yes to your invitation.
Except you don’t return to the party at all, and your phone’s off.
For the rest of the night, Natasha wonders if she did something wrong.
—
The last thing Natasha ever does is take things personally.
But it’s hard to avoid that feeling when you’ve been gone for the entire day and no one seems to know where you are.
What if you’re in some kind of trouble?
She walks around the Compound, finding your pocket knife and smartwatch safely stored in one of the shelves. You never leave without those, ever.
Fearing something’s seriously wrong, she decides to go on a little private mission. If you’re fine, then she’ll let it be and not bring up anything at all. Natasha prefers to be safe than sorry.
After looking at some of the cameras and tracking your cellphone activity, she pinpoints your location to a nice, unassuming neighborhood outside of the city.
She only hesitates a moment before taking one of her guns with her. And if she goes over the speed limit and runs a couple of red lights? It’s an emergency, and no one will really dare to fine an Avenger.
At this point, she’s memorized the address and it only takes her a short walk from an alley to find the place. It’s just a small house, one floor and a big backyard. A woman is standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding a baby as she looks over something in a casserole.
It all seems so normal, that she hesitates a second longer.
Then, a little girl shouts for her mom, and you appear in the doorway, carrying a laundry basket. You laugh at the small girl, fumbling with the basket and the toy she gave you.
Natasha can’t hear what is said, but the other woman speaks to you and you roll your eyes, though there is some affection behind the gesture.
Right.
You’re not in danger.
The redhead retreats, as silently as she came. Except her heart is heavy with something unfamiliar, and she takes the long way back to the Compound.
All she wants is to be alone right now.
—
First one at the conference room before a mission overview. You look around, sighing.
These chairs suck, and you’re noticing just now. You’re pretty sure Cap chose them, since he barely notices those kind of things.
It doesn’t help that your back is hurting, from all the stuff you’ve been doing these past few days.
Just as you’re settling in your seat again, Steve, Sam and Natasha walk in the conference room.
You smile at her, happy to see her but all you get is a small glance.
“Nice to see you again” Steve says.
“Thanks. Had some stuff to do” you say, not providing any more details. However, you can’t help but grimace as you move in the chair.
“Did you hurt your back training?” Steve asks, concerned.
“Or doing something else?” Sam jumps in before you can answer, his playful tone implying a not so innocent activity. You glare, and Natasha interrupts, clearly not in the mood for jokes.
“Let’s just review the mission, yes?”
“Right. We need access to Sokolov’s communications. He’s having a party at his mansion. You’ll infiltrate. Natasha as a guest, Y/N as part of the catering staff” Steve explains, handing over two files.
“So Nat gets to have fun while I serve hors d'oeuvres” you joke, but Natasha just nods, standing up.
“Gotta get changed”
You’re about to stand up and follow her, but Steve asks you to stay. You can’t help but feel like you’re being called to the principal’s office.
“Everything ok with you?”
“Yeah. It was just… some family stuff. I’m fine”
“Want to get some medical clearance before leaving?”
“No, I just carried some heavy stuff” you say, avoiding the subject. “Do you know… is Natasha ok? She seemed quiet”
“She’s always quiet. Well…” he’s about to say something but then shakes his head.
“What? Come on, say it, Rogers” you push him and he smiles.
“I was going to say except when she’s around you. But I think you’ve already noticed”
“Ha. Nice one, grandpa” you pat his shoulder, leaving the room.
—
It’s a fancy party, but you’re not expecting anything less from a Russian mercenary. You’re stationed at the bar, making drinks and engaging in small talk with attendees. This is actually not such a bad cover, as you can gather intel. After all, people are coming to you to get even more drunk than they already are, and they think you’re just a bartender.
In the end, you and Natasha drove separately. It didn’t make sense for a party guest to arrive at the same time as a staff member. You were really hoping to at least get a chance to ask if she was ok. Maybe something happened while you were away. Of course, you had your phone with you, but Natasha tended to isolate herself. If she was going through something, you would always…
“Can I get a dirty martini?” a voice says, stopping your spiraling thoughts.
The moment you look up, you feel like the world stops moving. Natasha’s wearing a green dress, her hair arranged in a side swept that gives off an old Hollywood vibe.
“Right away” you fumble with the bottles of alcohol, the guy working at your side giving you an angry stare.
You work in silence for a few moments, tempted to look at her again. Once you’re done with the drink, you slide it over. She discreetly passes a comm as your hands connect.
“When I mentioned a night out, this isn’t what I had in mind” you try to joke, but she shuts it down quickly.
“Don’t you think it would be highly inappropriate?”
“I… what?” you look at her, confused.
Is it because you work together?
Had you crossed a line?
But before you can ask what does she mean, Natasha walks away from the bar, mingling with the crowd, and out to look for Sokolov.
The plan is to catch his eye, and make him take her back to his private office. You hate the idea, but it’s not your choice to make.
Even more so now, that you seem to know less about Natasha than you thought.
—
This isn’t going to work. Natasha’s too distracted to focus on the mission, which is incredibly dangerous. She’s surrounded by criminals who would not hesitate to kill two Avengers if your cover was blown.
The problem is, she can’t help but go over your secret. It’s not the fact that you’re married with kids and keeping it hidden from the rest of the team. That’s exactly what Clint did, and his reasons were completely valid.
What she can’t understand is why the hell were you flirting with her, even going as far as asking her out. Were you doing it so people thought you were single?
The other choice seemed less likely, but Natasha couldn’t help but wonder… were you ok with cheating on your wife?
The Russian is pulled back to reality when Sokolov approaches her.
“I don’t believe we’ve met” he says, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.
Natasha has to supress a groan and the urge to kill him right there.
“Creep” you mumble through the comms. “I’ll be right there with his special drink”
There’s a sedative in his vodka, and you’re tempted to slip a little more than recommended. Still, you stick to the plan and walk over to where the man is speaking with Natasha.
He barely glances your way when he takes the drink. Natasha grabs the glass of red wine you’re offering. You know she’s not supposed to look at you or even acknolwedge your presence, but it still hurts you a little that she’s giving you the cold shoulder.
From your place at the bar, you see them talking and then Natasha spills wine on his white suit. The man makes a face that quickly turns into a smirk when Natasha grabs his hand. According to plan, she’s probably suggesting they go to his studio.
You’re ready to kill him when you catch his hand going down Natasha’s back.
God damn it.
What if he doesn’t fall asleep immediately? What if he tries to touch her?
“Where are you going?” the guy at the bar says.
“To get more ice” you lie, following them to the study.
You wait a minute before you barge in the door, and both Sokolov and Natasha turn to look at you, alarmed. He’s standing too close for your liking.
“Get the fuck out of here” he says, slurring his words. So, the sedative is working.
Still, you don’t know what comes over you when you walk up to him and knock him down with a single punch.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Natasha says, pushing you.
“That was faster” you shrug your shoulders, inspecting your hand.
“You idiot! This is not the plan. You’re putting us both in danger” she pushes you again, and you take her by the wrist.
“I didn’t like how he was touching you! I hated every second of it, ok? I hate that you have to put yourself out there during missions”
“You’re such an idiot” Natasha slaps your hand away, cursing under her breath as she begins to hack into his systems. “I can’t bug the place now, because he’ll know we were agents. Best I can manage is steal the information he already has”
“I’m sorry” you say, trying to walk up to her.
“Stay away from me”
“Why are you so mad at me?”
“Because” she says, clinching her jaw and looking at the computer screen.
“Because…”
“I’m not just some cover you can use so people don’t know about your family. And I’m certainly not a fun little affair you can have whenever you feel like it”
“Wow, wow, what the hell are you talking about?” you say, raising your hands in confusion.
“Your wife seems lovely” is all Natasha says, finishing with the files. “I’m done here. You stay, and if you do anything stupid again, I’m not helping”
“What wife? Natasha, I’m very confused” you plead, blocking her way.
“Move”
“I’m not married!” you insist.
“And those were definitely not your kids? The oldest one even looks like you. You have a lot of nerve…”
“Wait, are you talking about my nieces?” you say, suddenly understanding at least a fraction of what’s happening.
Unfortunately for you, one of the security guards walks in, and it only takes a glance before he sees his boss on the floor, unconscious.
“Go get the car, I’ll meet you by the exit” you push Natasha away, knowing she’s faster and has a better chance of getting out.
Before the guard can call for backup, you throw a punch to his throat, rendering him speechless. The gun slips from his hand and you kick it away. The moment people hear gunshots, it will become chaos.
The man throws you to a coffee table that shatters and you crawl around the glass, small cuts in your arms. The effort made him drop to his knees, and you force yourself up, holding a shard of glass that you stab directly into his neck.
“Shit” you say, noticing he was holding a small knife and he managed to stab you with it as you killed him.
With a new sense of urgency, you leave the study, hoping Natasha decided to wait for you. Sticking to the back of the room, you leave the main hall, and go out the back. You can feel blood dripping down your side. It’s not so bad but you’re definitely feeling dizzy, the rush of adrenaline beginning to wear off.
“What now?” you say when you almost get run over by a black Mercedes Benz. Natasha stares at you, still looking angry. “You sure? Don’t want to leave blood stains”
“Get in the damn car” she says when she notices the stab wound.
“I don’t want to die” you mutter when she drives at full speed. “And the Compound is that way”
“We’re too far away, and you’re bleeding out. I know a place”
“I’m not bleeding…”
“Stop talking” she says. Natasha doesn’t shout, doesn’t curse.
No, her tone is ice cold and that’s somehow ten times scarier.
So, you keep your mouth shut, making pressure on the wound to slow down the bleeding.
Fifteen minutes later, Natasha turns left into a hidden path, and she drives for another five minutes until you spot a small cabin.
“Safe house?”
All she does is nod, parking and getting out of the car to help you.
“I got it” you ease her, limping towards the door.
“Where else are you hurt?”
“Just the stomach, don’t worry” you say, sitting down while she gets the supplies she needs from a small bathroom.
“There’s no anesthetic” she informs you when you lose your white shirt and you grimace.
“I’ll be fine”
But honestly? You wanna cry the minute she starts to stitch you up, and you hold your breath, anticipating the feel of the neddle piercing your skin.
“I’m sorry” she says after you let out a whine.
“It’s my fault. You’re right. I ruined everything” you shake your head. On top of getting stabbed, you’re going to have to deal with Steve’s reprimand. Honestly, you can’t blame him after the stupid stunt you pulled.
“If I had asked… instead of assuming things. Maybe you wouldn’t have been so sensitive” she says, finishing with the last stitch. “Let me see your arms”
You let her work in silence, removing small pieces of glass that are stuck in your skin.
“Wanna tell me what happened?”
“I… was worried about you, the day after the party. So I tried to find you. I mean, I did find you, at that house, with the kid calling you mom”
“That’s Katie, my two year old niece. She can only say the word mom, so she calls everyone that. Including her father, also know as my brother in law. The idiot insists he can clean the gutters and then breaks his leg” you sigh, looking down at the wound.
That’s going to leave a scar.
“So the woman is your sister” Natasha nods, feeling incredibly stupid.
Talk about jumping to conclusions.
“Yeah. Had to go help for a few days before our mom arrived to take over. That’s why my back was killing me. I had a toddler asking for piggy back rides while I was lulling her little sister to sleep”
“I feel so…”
“Don’t” you take her hand, smiling as she sighs. “I wanted to tell you. I just… I know it’s safer to keep our families hidden. But all the time, I just kept thinking that I wish you knew. Because they’re such a huge part of who I am and I wanted to share it…”
“Of course”
“I like you” you blurt out. “Sorry, I might have a concussion”
“I like you too. And I’m pretty sure I don’t have a concussion, for what is worth” Natasha says, helping you out of the bloody shirt and handing over a SHIELD t-shirt she found in a closet. “Are you feeling better?”
“Maybe. There’s one thing that would really help” you say, frowning as you take Natasha’s hand.
“Painkillers?”
“Go out on a date with me” you shake your head, smiling as she blushes.
“Not the concussion talking?”
“Nope. Been meaning to ask you for a while now”
“I’d love to” Natasha agrees, and you throw your fist in the air, regretting it a second later.
“Fuck, that hurt”
—
The narrative changes slightly. For all Steve knows, you saved Natasha from the mercenary and got valuable intel.
Under the excuse of helping you move, Natasha wraps her arm around your waist, your own over her shoulders as you walk back to the rooms.
“Heard you got stabbed” Sam comments as you pass him.
“Yeap” you say.
“Then how come you look so happy?” he insists and all you can do is shrug your shoulders.
Natasha walks you to your room, reminding you of the medicine you have to take, but all you do is pull her to lay by your side, happy to feel her next to you.
“No more missions with ugly guys all over you” you kiss her forehead and she melts against you.
“We’ll send Barnes next time”
“Yeah, let’s see how well they do if they try to kiss him”
“So about that dinner…”
“How about takeout and a movie until I’m better? And then I promise I’ll take you to the best place in New York”
“You got yourself a deal” she looks at you, and you raise your eyebrows, hoping she’ll say something else.
Instead, Natasha leans forward, connecting your lips in a short kiss.
“Stalker” you joke and she pinches you.
“You almost got us killed because you got jealous”
“And you know what? I’d punch him harder next time”
With a small laugh, Natasha goes back to resting her head against your shoulder, happy when you kiss her temple.
“It was kinda hot, though” she admits, which makes you laugh until your side hurts.
summary: years into loving you, Natasha still looks at you like it’s the first time.
still obsessed. still deliberate. still choosing you…every day.
tags/warnings: established relationship, still obsessed Natasha, domestic softness, british reader.
author's note: hi 🤍 i’m very fond of the idea that some loves don’t calm down with time, they become intentional.
this is years in, still obsessed, still choosing each other.
natasha loving like this felt inevitable.
thank you for reading, i’d love to read your thoughts in the comments.
english isn’t my first language, so please be kind.
They’ve been together for years.
Long enough that it’s not a secret. Long enough that no one questions it anymore. Long enough that you think you’re used to the way Natasha looks at you.
You’re not.
Because Natasha Romanoff loves like she’s discovering it for the first time, every single day.
You’ll be talking about something completely inconsequential, like how you never quite got used to American bread, and she’ll be watching you like this is the most important conversation she’s ever been part of.
“Nat,” you say, amused. “You okay?”
She blinks. “Yeah.”
She’s lying. But not in a dangerous way. In a soft one.
Years ago, she learned the rhythm of you. The way your accent thickens when you’re tired. The way you get quieter when you miss London, even though you insist you don’t. The way your hands always find her without thinking.
None of it ever stopped being new.
Sam once made a comment, something about how it’s been years, how she could stand to chill.
Natasha didn’t even look up from where you were curled into her side.
“No.” she said simply.
And that was that.
She still memorizes you like you’re temporary. Still kisses you like she’s proving a point. Still reaches for you in her sleep, as if afraid you’ll disappear between one breath and the next.
“You know you don’t have to look at me like that...” you tease one evening, catching her again.
“Like what?” she asks.
“Like you’re in love with me.”
She smiles. Soft. Dangerous.
“But i am.”
There are days when she listens to you talk about London—again, for the hundredth time—and she doesn’t tune out a single detail. Still imagines you there. Still wants to learn every version of you that exists, and every one that almost did.
You catch her one night, tracing circles on your wrist, thoughtful.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” you ask.
She hesitates. Then, honestly:
“I still can’t believe I get to love you.”
That’s the thing.
Natasha doesn’t love you like it’s safe.
She loves you like it’s deliberate.
Like a choice she keeps making, over and over, long after the novelty should’ve worn off.
And if anyone ever asks who Natasha Romanoff is, the answer has never been clearer.
She is the woman who survived everything
and still chose love.
Still chose you.
Which is how she ends up here.
Standing in the kitchen, years into this, watching the universe briefly misalign.
It happens by accident.
You’re tired, half-distracted, holding a mug in your hand when you say it.
“Did you put the trash out?”
The word barely leaves your mouth before Natasha freezes.
Actually—freezes.
She turns slowly, narrowing her eyes like she’s assessing a threat.
“The what?”
You blink. “The trash.”
She stares at you, genuinely offended.
“No,” she says calmly. Too calmly. “Try again.”
You frown, confused. “Nat, I’m literally asking if you—”
“The bin,” she interrupts. “You mean the bin.”
You laugh. “I’ve lived here for years. I’m allowed to say trash.”
Natasha steps closer, lowering her voice like this is serious.
“No, you’re not.”
You snort. “Why not?”
“Because,” she says, like this should be obvious, “that’s not how you say it.”
She reaches out, cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing your cheek like she’s grounding herself.
“You say bin,” she continues. “And flat. And petrol. And you complain about the loo being too small.”
You grin. “Wow. You’ve been keeping track.”
“I keep track of everything,” Natasha replies without hesitation.
This isn’t new.
Years together and she still corrects you gently, reverently, like your Britishness is something precious she’s responsible for preserving.
Once, you said sidewalk instead of pavement and she physically stopped walking.
Once, you ordered fries instead of chips and she stared at the menu like it had personally betrayed her.
“You’re becoming American,” she’d said quietly. Horrified.
You tease her about it now.
“What, scared I’ll lose my accent next?”
Her expression shifts instantly. Serious. Soft. Intense.
“Don’t,” she says. “I love it.”
Not in a playful way. In a this is part of how I love you way.
You lean into her touch, amused. “You’d still love me if I said trash.”
She exhales, forehead resting against yours.
“I would,” she admits. “But I’d be upset about it.”
You laugh, kissing her. Natasha kisses you back like it’s instinct—like time hasn’t dulled a single thing.
Later, when someone overhears her gently correcting you again, they roll their eyes.
“It’s been years,” they say. “You still act like it’s the first time.”
Natasha doesn’t deny it.
Because every time you speak—accent intact, British words slipping out like muscle memory—it still feels like a gift.
And Natasha Romanoff has never learned how to love anything halfway.
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader
Summary: -You smell really good./-I taste even better.
Word Count: 200+
It’s late enough that it feels like you are the only people.
You’re both in the common area, not really doing anything. Natasha’s perched sideways on the couch, scrolling on her phone, bare feet tucked under her. She looks relaxed.
You pass behind her to grab a glass of water and catch it.
Her scent.
It stops you mid-step.
Before you can think better of it, you mumble, almost to yourself, “You smell really good.”
Natasha doesn’t look up right away.
There’s a beat.
Then she smiles.
Slow. Knowing. Like she’s just been handed a loaded weapon.
“Mm,” she hums, finally lifting her eyes to you, “Do I?”
You nod, suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing, “Yeah. Just... yeah.”
She tilts her head, studying you with open amusement, lips twitching like she’s holding back a laugh, “That’s cute.”
You frown, “Cute?”
She slips her phone away and leans back into the couch, relaxed, playful, “You said it like you didn’t mean to. I like that.”
You open your mouth to defend yourself, but she beats you to it.
“I taste even better,” she adds lightly, like she’s commenting on the weather.
Your brain short-circuits.
Natasha laughs, soft, pleased, clearly enjoying herself now, “Wow,” she says, “That reaction alone was worth it.”
She stands, brushing past you on purpose, shoulder bumping yours, “Relax. I’m teasing.”
Then, just before she walks away, she glances back at you with a grin.
“…mostly.”
And you’re left there, glass of water forgotten, wondering how she does that so effortlessly.
Tag list: @mirage018 @yelldontwhisper @canvascoloredin @perfectlyfoggycloud @taliiiaasteria @checkenlittlsblog
summary: one drink turns into several. you accuse a very patient stranger of kidnapping you. unfortunately, she’s your wife.
tags/warnings: established relationship, married couple, drunk reader, funny drunk, chaos night out, protective Nat, Wanda is TIRED, accidental flirting, domestic fluff,reader has no survival instincts.
author's note: hi 🤍 i’m supposed to be studying for my exam on thursday (as i said, supposed), but somehow this turned into me projecting my inability to drink responsibly onto reader. that one’s on me.
Wanda being done with everyone and Natasha having infinite patience felt inevitable.
english isn’t my first language, so please be kind.
i’d love to hear what you think, comments always make my day.
You’re halfway through putting on your jacket when Natasha looks up from the couch.
“You’re not wearing heels.” she notes.
You freeze mid-zip. Slowly turn. “Why does that sound like an accusation?”
“It’s an observation,” she says calmly. Too calmly. “When you don’t wear heels, you drink more.”
“That is fake data.”
Natasha smiles like she has spreadsheets.
You narrow your eyes. “You cannot possibly have—”
“I have charts,” she says. “Trends. A very upsetting bar graph.”
You laugh, walking back toward her. “I am going out for one drink.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Two,” you amend. “Max.”
Nat stands, steps into your space, and fixes your collar with unnecessary precision. “Text me when you’re done,” she says. “I’ll pick you up.”
“I can Uber.”
“Absolutely not,” she says. “I’m picking you up.”
You grin. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“You're my wife, so yes.” she agrees easily.
You lean in, kiss her—soft at first, familiar, then deeper because she hums against your mouth and her hand slides to your waist like it belongs there. Because it does.
She pulls back just enough to murmur, “Behave.”
You smile sweetly. “Never.”
Two hours later, the bar is loud, sticky, and absolutely not designed for the amount of chaos currently occurring inside it.
Everyone said just one round.
Everyone lied.
One drink becomes two. Two becomes celebratory. Wanda is sipping slower than everyone else, Maria is already laughing too loud, and Carol has decided tonight is a physical challenge night.
“Carol,” Wanda says, blinking slowly. “Why are you on the floor?”
“For pride…” Carol says, already lowering herself.
“I can do twenty push-ups!” Carol announces.
A group of random men at the next table perk up immediately.
“I’ll do thirty.” one of them says.
Carol cracks her knuckles. “Count me in.”
You’re half-slouched on the couch, cheering with full confidence and zero balance.
You clap weakly from the couch. “GO MUSCLE LADY!”
“FIVE—” Carol shouts.
Wanda? absolutely done.
She’s seated at the table, nursing the same drink she’s had for an hour, eyes glazed with the resigned patience of someone babysitting a disaster.
You’re on your third—fourth?—drink, perched dramatically on a barstool, telling a bartender a very emotional story about how your wife once reorganized the entire spice rack alphabetically and you’ve never recovered.
“And she smiled,” you whisper, hand over heart. “Like it was normal.”
The bartender nods solemnly. “That’s terrifying.”
“It was hot.” you correct. “But terrifying.”
Then, across the room, Wanda watches you stand on a chair to cheer Carol on.
“Ten! Eleven! Twelve! CAROL YOU’RE A NATIONAL TREASURE—”
Carol collapses onto the floor, laughing. The men look like they might pass out.
Wanda sighs, pulls out her phone.
Natasha is halfway through paperwork when her phone rings.
She answers immediately. “Is she okay?”
Wanda doesn’t bother with greetings. “Well…she’s not hurt.”
“Wanda...”
“She is, however, extremely drunk.”
Nat exhales through her nose. “Where are you?”
She gives the address.
“I’m on my way.”
“She says she’s married,” Wanda adds.
Nat pauses. “…Yes.”
“And that she’s waiting for her wife.”
Nat closes her eyes. “I’ll be there in ten.”
You’re mid-sentence—something about proposing to your wife again because she deserves it—when Wanda touches your arm.
“She’s coming.”
You blink. “Who?”
“Wife.” Wanda says flatly.
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “My wife.”
“Yes,” Wanda replies. “That one.”
You frown. “You’re confusing me.”
“I know.”
Wanda glances at the door, then at you.
“Okay. Show’s over.”
Natasha walks in.
Nat laughs the second she sees you.
“Oh, you’re funny drunk,” she murmurs. “I forgot about this version.”
You spot her immediately. You always do.
Your face lights up like she personally invented electricity.
“Ooooh,” you breathe. “She’s pretty.”
Nat steps closer. “Hey, baby. Ready to go home?”
You recoil like she’s crossed a line.
“Absolutely not,” you say. “I’m married.”
“Yes,” Nat replies patiently. “To me.”
You gasp.
“Nonono,” you say, shaking your head. “My wife is hot.”
Nat smirks. “Correct.”
“And intimidating,” you add. “And she would never approach me like this.”
Wanda points at Nat. “That’s literally her.”
You shake your head. “Nonono. Don’t confuse me. She’s blonde.”
Nat’s smile turns wicked. “You’re married to a redhead.”
You lean closer, squinting harder. “That is exactly what a stranger would say.”
She sighs fondly. “You’re impossible.”
“I will scream.” you warn.
Before you can react, she grabs you—efficient, practiced—and hoists you over her shoulder like you weigh nothing.
Maria chokes on her drink.
Wanda laughs so hard she has to grab the counter.
Someone whistles.
“HEY—” you protest, dangling upside down. “Put me DOWN. I don’t KNOW you.”
Nat pats your leg. “Relax.”
“I’M BEING KIDNAPPED.” you announce to the room. “BY A… VERY ATTRACTIVE WOMAN.”
“Your wife.” Wanda says.
“I will be reporting this,” you insist. “To my wife!”
Nat starts walking toward the door, unfazed.
You squeal.
“HEY—” you smack her back weakly. “Wanda! WANDA I’M BEING TAKEN.”
Nat gives your ass a firm pat. “Behave.”
You gasp. Loudly. “SHE TOUCHED ME.”
“That's my ass,” Nat says calmly. “I’m allowed.”
“She’s gonna be so mad,” you continue. “She doesn’t like strangers touching me like that.”
Nat adjusts you higher on her shoulder. “She’ll survive.”
“I don’t know that.” you argue, upside down.
Carol waves happily from the floor. “Bye!”
The car ride home is… a lot.
You’re slouched in the passenger seat, gazing at Natasha like she hung the moon.
“You drive so well,” you say.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very strong.”
“I know.”
Five minutes pass.
Then you turn your head.
“…You’re very pretty,” you say thoughtfully.
Nat smiles without looking over. “Drink your water.”
“And your arms,” you continue. “They’re… disrespectful.”
She laughs softly. “Careful.”
You lean close, lowering your voice like it’s confidential.
“If I wasn’t married,” you say, “I would absolutely flirt with you.”
“Oh?” Nat glances at you.
“Yes. But I’m a faithful woman.”
“Good to know.”
You lean closer. “Are you single.”
She laughs. “No.”
“That’s a shame,” you say sadly. “My wife would hate you.”
Nat glances at you. “Why?”
“Because I’m flirting with you.”
You suddenly freeze. Eyes widening.
“Oh my God.”
Nat raises an eyebrow. “What.”
“I cheated,” you whisper.
She blinks. “You did not.”
“I emotionally cheated,” you insist. “With… you.”
Nat bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Baby…”
You clutch your chest. “She’s going to be devastated.”
“I think she’ll survive.”
“No,” you say solemnly. “She loves me.”
Nat reaches over, laces her fingers with yours. “I love you.”
You stare at her hand. At her face.
“…Wait.”
The realization hits you like a freight train.
“Oh.”
She smiles gently. “Hi.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Yes.”
“I flirted with you.”
“Yes.”
You think for a moment. “That’s okay then.”
Nat laughs so hard she has to pull over.
At home, she changes you into comfy clothes while you narrate everything.
“These are my pants,” you inform her. “They are very soft.”
“I know,” she says. “I bought them.”
You pause. “…You’re incredible.”
She tucks you into bed.
You immediately sit up. “Wait...”
“What?”
“You still haven’t proven you’re my wife.”
Nat arches an eyebrow. “How would you like me to do that?”
You think hard. Way too hard.
“…Show me your scar.”
She lifts her shirt just enough to reveal it.
You gasp. “MY WIFE.”
She smiles. “Sleep.”
Morning comes with consequences.
Your head is pounding. The light is offensive. Your mouth tastes like regret.
Nat is already awake, sipping coffee, watching you with entirely too much amusement.
You groan. “Why are you smiling?”
“You told a stranger you’d report me to your wife.”
You bury your face in the pillow. “Did you… did you carry me.”
“Yes.”
“And then?...”
She smirks. “I patted your ass.”
Your eyes fly open.
“You did WHAT??????”
She leans down, kisses you slow and smug. “You didn’t complain.”
Summary: With the start of winter, you need to be sure Natasha stays warm.
Warnings: fluff
Words: 1132
The first thing you register when you wake is the chill. The kind that nips at your nose and seeps through the blanket despite how tightly you’re curled into it. Instinctively, you reach out to Natasha’s side of the bed, but your hand meets only cool sheets. That explains the absence of the usual warmth you’d been trying to hoard all night.
You blink at your phone on the nightstand. One glance at the time tells you Natasha is probably already at the Tower. As if on cue, a soft buzz vibrates against the wood.
It’s cold outside. Be sure to stay warm.
Her timing never fails to make your chest feel warm and stupidly full. You smile, tapping back a thumbs-up and a little heart. When you pull the curtain aside, you catch sight of the thin dusting of snow sitting on the window ledge, the first of the season, and breathe out a slow sigh before peeling yourself out of bed.
By the time you’re ready to head out, you’re layered like your life depends on it: thermal undershirt, turtleneck, thick sweater, heavy winter coat, gloves, scarf, beanie — the whole stubborn-defense-against-winter ensemble. You grab your bag, then pause.
Within the next few minutes, two thermoses of hot chocolate sit on the counter.
You hadn’t planned on two, but at some point while standing in the kitchen half-asleep, you remembered her text telling you to stay warm, and you’d frowned at the memory of how terrible Natasha was at following her own advice.
You tuck the second thermos under your arm and head out, determined to make sure she stays warm too.
By the time you arrive at the Avengers Tower, its interior is warm, polished, and humming with energy the way it always is this early.
But as you cut through the hallway toward the main entrance to the training yard, a burst of cold air drifts in through the brief opening of the glass doors. Beyond them, you see white snow coating the ground in a thin, crunchy sheet.
And in the center of the yard—
Natasha. Standing outside. In a tank top and sweatpants.
You stop dead.
For a full three seconds, your brain refuses to process what your eyes are seeing. Then it clicks, and suddenly, you’re marching over.
“Natasha Romanoff!” you snap as soon as the door whooshes open, cold air slapping you in the face as if joining in your outrage.
Natasha turns, her training batons resting loosely in her hand. The second she sees you barreling toward her like an angry, overstuffed marshmallow, her expression freezes, not with guilt, but with sheer stunned confusion.
“What—?” she begins, but you’ve already reached her.
You grab her hands. Her bare, freezing hands.
“Natasha,” you hiss, “why are outside in this cold?!”
She blinks at you, a slow, almost comedic reaction as if her brain has momentarily disconnected.
“I was just—”
“No. No, no, no.” You slip off your gloves with brisk, scolding movements and immediately shove them onto her hands. “Put these on. Now.”
Her lips twitch, eyes warm with amusement even as she lets you do it, not uttering a single argument.
Once you finish covering her hands, you slide your palms up her arms on instinct, and the moment you feel the goosebumps there, your glare sharpens. Without hesitation, you begin shrugging out of your coat.
She tries to protest this time.
“Moya lyubov—”
“No.” You swing the heavy coat around her shoulders, tugging it close. “You told me to stay warm. Me. Meanwhile you’re out here recreating a Russian childhood or something!”
Natasha is absolutely smiling now, the soft, helpless, and loved-up kind of smile, and somehow that only irritates you more.
And then you notice the tips of her ears. Red from the cold.
Your beanie comes off your head instantly and lands on hers before she can blink. You yank it down over her ears, adjusting it with efficient, angry little pats. And just for added measure of security, you remove your scarf.
Natasha opens her mouth to speak once more, but you wrap the scarf around her neck before she can finish forming the first syllable.
When she’s fully bundled — in your coat, your gloves, your beanie, your scarf — you shove the second thermos against her side with a huff.
“Unbelievable,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “You warn me about the cold, and then you come out here dressed like winter isn’t a thing that can kill people. I swear, Natasha, if you want me to stay warm, then you need to stay warm too.”
She looks unashamed at your chatising and instead continues to look at you like you’ve hung the moon.
“No,” you say firmly, refusing to meet that look. “Do not give me that face right now.”
But of course she steps closer, gently hooking a finger under your chin until you finally, reluctantly, meet her eyes. There’s mischief there. And something tender. Something that melts the last of your anger into exasperated affection.
“You know,” she murmurs, “my lips are feeling a little cold too.”
“Oh really,” you deadpan, tilting your head at her in disbelief.
“Mm-hm.” She leans in, voice low and dramatic. “Terribly cold. In need of warmth, actually. Do you have anything for that?”
You roll your eyes, but her smile is contagious, pulling a small one out of you too. Your hands come up to cup her cheeks, and you press your lips to hers.
The kiss is soft. Sweet and slow. A quiet thaw against the winter air.
When you pull back, your tone is stern but your thumb still strokes her cheek.
“You better take care of yourself too.”
“Yes, moya lyubov,” she says with comically obedient seriousness, nodding like she’s being given mission instructions. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“You better have.” You give her one last quick kiss before turning toward the Tower. “I’m going inside. Where it’s warm. Like a normal person.”
Natasha watches you walk away, that soft, private smile she only wears for you stretching across her face.
A few seconds later, Steve trudges back into the yard, breath fogging in the cold. He pauses mid-step when he sees her, fully bundled now with a thermos in hand.
“I thought you were changing into lighter training gear to test the new training bots,” Steve says, baffled.
Natasha lifts the thermos to her lips, still smiling. “Maybe another time.”
“Why? It’s barely—”
“It’s cold outside,” she interrupts simply. She glances toward the doors where you disappeared. “Besides, there’s something much warmer waiting for me inside.”
Before Steve can respond, she’s already jogging after you, scarf ends fluttering behind her like a banner. And though the start of winter finally settles over the city, Natasha feels entirely warm.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
a/n: The weather has me cold so here's a short fic about it. Thanks for reading! And little update: next chapters for my series are done but they need to be edited, so look forward to those releases soon.
Reader is the new language teacher at Abbott, she teaches Spanish cause her parents are Mexican, but knows a lot of languages, including Italian. They discover it when Melissa calls Jacob something stupid in Italian and reader translates it to him. Because of this Melissa has an instant liking to her. A few weeks pass and Mel kind of takes the girl under her wing, letting her sit at the table with her and Barb. Then the whole group goes to a night out at a bar, to have a few beers after work. Suddenly the reader’s ex shows up at the same bar, with her new girlfriend. What makes the reader uncomfortable, cause she’s still single and not a womanizer like her ex. When the reader goes to the bar to get refills for the group, her ex approaches her to gloat. Melissa is watching everything like a hawk and goes to her rescue, putting her hands around her and pretending she’s her new girlfriend, calls her babe and everything. That makes her ex pissed. Reader thanks her when they get back to the table. Later, the ex tries to approach reader at the dance floor, but Mel gets kinda possessive. When they go home, Mel gets reader to her house and finally kisses her on her doorstep.
Words Unspoken: Melissa Schemmenti x Reader
Word count: 4.4k
warnings: none, fake dating, some possesive!melissa
a/n: Thankful for this request this holliday, sorry its taken so long to get to, I love it though!! I love fake GF Mel tropes teehee, and loveeee getting detailed requests they help so much and i love seeing new ideas
Also thankful for all my supporters and mutuals, y'all keep me going.
shout out to @babytakeittothehead I fear I use you gifs more than anyones teehee.
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One of the many perks of being a language teacher, is the more languages you know, the easier they are to learn. You grew up speaking Spanish and English and in high school took French. From there you tried to learn as many as you could, German, Italian, and you were working on Mandarin.
When it came to teaching you were open to teaching any language, but managed to land a job teaching Spanish soon after getting your degree so you took the opportunity. From the moment you stepped through the halls you knew you were going to love it at Abbott Elementary.
However, dreams shifted and you had managed to make some acquaintances but no close friends, or people to hang out with outside of work. Then again it had only been a few months, but still people were never more than just friendly.
“All I'm saying is I have it under control.” Jacob said in defense and the group around him all groaned and rolled their eyes.
“What you have, is a problem.” Janine quipped and the others nodded.
“An addiction.” Barb added with a righteous seriousness and Janine agreed firmly.
“Look, I used to buy a new vape every week, at least it's bi-weekly now.” He said in defense and Melissa let out a sarcastic scoff and you turned your gaze to the intimidating woman who had remained silent up until now.
“I started smoking when I was 14.” She said confidently and Janine shook her head in disappointment.
“See, and she’s fine. I mean listen to that raspy voice, who doesn't want one of those?” Jacob smiled and she elbowed him roughly.
“I was going to say, I quit years ago and yet I'm still dealing with consequences of it. Throw it out Jacob.”
“Just let me finish this one then I swear, no more.” He put his hands up in surrender and the group just nodded, giving up on the debate, except Melissa.
“Fine. Fai il saputello, allora. / Fine. Be a smartass then.” She muttered under her breath and you let out a soft giggle, covering your mouth when you realized the group heard it. Jacob looks over at you then to Melissa.
“What? What did she say? What did you say?” he whined to Melissa and she couldn't help but tune him out as she looked over your appearance.
The way you were flustered from her comment, and the glint of knowledge and mystery in your eyes had her instantly intrigued. Sure she had taken notice to you when you started, how effortless and beautiful you were, but you were quiet, kept to yourself. She never had the chance to get to know you.
“Parli italiano, tesoro? / You speak Italian, hon?” Melissa asked and your eyes met her quizzical ones. You nodded with a small smile.
“Per lo più, però, sono un po' arrugginito. / Mostly, though I’m a bit rusty.” you answered and she just nodded and Jacob waved his hands.
“Um Hello, well, what did she say?” he hollered and you laughed.
“She said you were a know-it-all, a smartass.” you explained and he rolled his eyes.
“Whatever, I don't need friends that bring me down.” He said before storming off and you giggled to yourself.
From that day on Melissa had taken an interest in you. Eager to show you the ins and outs of the school, the best bathrooms, and the places to go when you needed to get away. She would gossip with you in Italian for fun and to keep you in practice with it; she also seemed to love to hear it come from you. The way you pronounced the words sent heat through the woman's cheeks. Your soft accent only made the phrases sound more meaningful, more fluent than her own, since hers had been tainted by a thick Philly accent.
You had a lot in common and always found something to talk about, thanks to this Melissa started inviting you to sit with her and Barb and you promptly accepted. The first few lunches went terrifically. Barb understood your sense of humour, and how it mirrored Melissa’s. She also could see the way your eyes stared at the redhead with sparkling intrigue, and how anytime you spoke Melissa would watch you with pride.
“Y/n, are you coming to the bar with us tonight?” Janine asked as she passed by and you looked at her with furrowed brows but a small smile. Your eyes flicked to Melissa as if you were asking for permission and she nodded.
“Yeah, you up for it hon?” Melissa asked with a smirk and you nodded. This is exactly what you had waited so long for, to make friends at work, and to like them enough you could hang out casually.
“Sure, just let me know when and where.” you said kindly and Melissa said she would text you the information, reaching for your phone so she could put her number in your contacts. You blushed ever so slightly at the confidence and swiftness of her actions.
It wasn't until later when she texted you that you noticed she had added a red lipstick kiss emoji next to her name. The small detail left you slightly confused yet fascination and flattery soon took over.
That night you arrived at the bar with caution, thankfully you had been here a few times so you wouldn't be in an entirely new environment. Still you were careful with how you approached the group of teachers, not wanting to give a wrong impression of your personality outside of work. You had texted Melissa asking her what the dress code was so you arrived in vintage jeans that hugged your ass and curves perfectly and a simple yet alluring blouse. Little did you know all these efforts would be in vain considering what the universe had planned for you.
“You made it! Benvenuta, tesoro. / Welcome, sweetheart.” The redhead chirped and you moved to sit in the round booth beside her.
You failed to notice how her eyes raked over your frame, admiring the skin of your chest and collar bones that was normally hidden beneath a cardigan or sweater.
“What’s everyone having?” you asked the group and they all replied with their drinks of choice. Gregory nursing the same beer all night since he was the assigned DD, Melissa did the same since she insisted on driving herself.
“Sweet, sorry I’m a little late. I’ll catch up.” you said kindly and they all hummed and waved off your apology as you got up to order at the bar.
“I’ll come with.” Melissa said and you smiled at your fiery friend before leaning against the bar, waiting to be helped.
“So do you guys come here a lot?” you asked and she shrugged.
“Depends, probably once a month if we aren't too swamped from school.” She replied and you nodded.
“So, who taught you Italian? I don't think I ever asked.” she smiled and you returned the sentiment.
“Myself actually.” You spoke and she looked impressed as you continued, “Spanish is my first language, so l'italiano was easy to pick up.” You said with more confidence than usual. Melissa smirked, she found you utterly fascinating and the more she learned about you the more she grew attracted to you.
“Teach me a word I wouldn't know.” She spoke out and you hummed for a moment as you thought, the bartender came over and Melissa just watched in awe. The swiftness of your order, the ease of your words exchanged with the server, you were breathtaking. You turned back to the woman and your sparkling eyes locked with her mesmerized ones and you couldn't help but feel a ripple travel through you at her gaze. Your words came out suddenly, but you didnt seem to mind.
“Tu as des yeux magnifiques.” You said with a small smile and she furrowed her brows with a small scoff.
“I said a word.” She laughed and you joined before shrugging and taking your drink from the bartender.
“Hah, sorry.” You said playfully and she rolled her eyes.
“Melissa!” Rang out suddenly from your table and you both looked over.
“Jacob is trying to insult you in Italian, come defend your honor!” Janine shouted in a tipsy slur and you let out a laugh. Melissa rolled her eyes and turned back to you but you gestured to the group.
“It’s looking like he’s a little backed up. I’ll be fine go ‘defend your honor’” You mocked and she flashed a smirk and nodded before heading to the table. She paused and turned on her heel.
“Wait- What did you say?” she inquired and you gave her a mischievous grin.
“You’ll have to figure that one out, Schemmenti. Consider it your homework.” You smiled and she rolled her eyes with a glint of sarcasm and walked back to the table.
You admired her as she walked away, your eyes absentmindedly dragging down her frame, admiring her curves and the sway of her hips. The woman seemed to be a mystery to you, you wanted to know more about her but weren't sure how or where to begin.
As you waited you admired the crowd and people watched for a few blissful seconds before you were pulled from your short-lived haze, a familiar voice coming from behind you.
“Y/n, hey. What brings you here?” You turned your head to look beside you and there stood your most recent ex. Your eyes went wide, your face pale, and you stammered a reply as you managed to regain composure.
“Lena- hey, um I’m just out with some people. How have you been?” The question was polite and drew out as you looked to the woman that stood beside her. You suddenly felt very awkward, and stuck in a situation you really didn't have the energy nor intoxication level to deal with.
While you were oblivious to the eyes that were on you, Melissa sat restlessly with her gaze flicking between the ever-chatty Janine and Ava, and you at the bar talking with the couple.
She focused her ears on you but couldn't hear the exchange over the noise, but she could tell by your body language you weren't very happy to be having that conversation. She knew it wasn't her place, but her instincts took over and she felt her intuition pulling her towards you.
She got up making some excuse and walked to the bar, ordering a drink a few stools down out of your sight as she listened in and quickly gathered the dynamic she was witnessing.
“I’ve been good. Oh- Y/n this is my girlfriend Naida.” She said and you nodded slowly, watching as your ex slinked her arm around her date with a grin and you chewed your cheek, feeling your insides grow hot as you grew more embarrassed.
“Well it’s nice to meet you.” You said politely and Melissa fidgeted with her nails, waiting to see if her growing suspicions were correct.
“Naida, Y/n was my old girlfriend I told you about that knows like a million languages.” she said with a laugh, as if this fact made you insufficient in comparison to Naida’s seemingly plastic appearance and matching personality. Naida made some sort of robotic reply and you nodded.
Melissa was now fuming but the flames were smothered with the confirmation of her internal questions. This woman was your ex-girlfriend which only meant one thing. Something Melissa couldn't believe she had never asked you. Of course she secretly hoped this was the case, if only to fuel her delusions, her fantasies of taking you out. She suddenly checked back into the conversation and looked up at you, who had still failed to notice the redhead's presence.
“Not a million, but-” you began awkwardly and Lena cut you off.
“You look good Y/n, you seeing anyone?” she asked jarringly and you stammered out a reply as you thought about her question.
“Um I mean-” The words fumbled from your mind, panic took over you. You hated lying even if it was to defend your already bruised and insulted ego.
“Hey babe, need another drink?” Melissa spoke out from beside you and you turned your gaze to the woman, stunned.
Her hand slowly, seductively, met your waist before dragging to wrap around your lower back as her nails scratched gentle circles. Your eyes met emerald ones and you looked over her stance, your body tensing at her touch before immediately relaxing under the soothing motions of her fingers. You quickly picked up on her pseudo- girlfriend act and cleared your throat.
“Nope, I am still working on this one, my love.” You said sweetly before turning to answer your ex’s question.
Melissa smirked at your choice in pet name, a small blush creeping to her cheeks knowing you were such a romantic. She couldn't help but smile at you in awe as you replied to the arrogant women before you.
“Lena, this is Melissa, my girlfriend. Mel, this is Lena, we used to go out.” You said casually and you could see your ex’s shift in posture and you bit back a smirk. Damn this already felt good.
Lena sized up Melissa and sucked her teeth with annoyance before turning her attention back to you.
“Well if you get bored, come hang with us Y/n.” She said with a cocky tone and Melissa held back a scoff of her own.
Melissa knew this was all for show, but the woman was getting under her skin and the insinuation in her voice only made Melissa more furious on your behalf.
“That won’t be happening Linda, but have a good night.” Melissa said and it took every muscle to hold back your laugh.
“It's Lena. And we will see about that,” Lena leaned closer to talk softly to Melissa, “I'm sure Y/n hasn't told you about her, necesidades muy específicas / very special needs.” She said with a pompous grin as she pulled back and moved her arm over Naida’s shoulder before leading her off to the dance floor.
“Stronza presuntuosa. / Arrogant bitch.” Melissa muttered under her breath.
She didn't need to be fluent in Spanish to understand Lena’s last quip and started to step towards her and you grabbed her hand to keep her from stomping Lena into the ground. As she turned back to you, your gaze had softened and you looked comfortable once again. You stared at her sweetly and she felt her heart tighten.
“You didn't have to do that.” You said softly and she shrugged you off.
“No one understands asshole ex’s like I do. It was only right.” She replied with a humble tone and you smiled.
Her hand hesitantly came up to tuck a strand of hair out of your face and your breath caught. You looked down and noticed her hand was still on your hip and she did the same before pulling it away sheepishly.
“Sorry, they were looking over here.” she muttered and you nodded your head.
“Right of course.” You laughed nervously and looked down.
“I can't thank you enough Melissa. What can I do? Let me get your drinks for the night.” You suggested and she shook her head.
“No, I’m serious. It was just the right thing to do, you looked uncomfortable so I figured I would step in.”
Your eyes darted between her genuine emerald ones and you felt your heart skip a beat. The atmosphere suddenly shifted and you felt an all too familiar heat rush to your cheeks and quickly snapped out of your gaze.
“We should head to the others.” You suggested and she nodded quickly and led you to the table.
After a little while the scene from earlier that had been partially witnessed was brought up and you had to explain to the group who you had run into, though you left out Melissa’s key part in it all.
“So why did you two break up?” Jacob asked and Melissa nudged him, a signal to not ask such a personal question.
“It’s okay,” you said to Melissa before answering the inquiry, “She cheated on me, with the woman she brought here tonight actually.” You replied honestly and they all gave their sympathies and personal anecdotes.
Yet Melissa watched with sad and angry eyes. She knew the pain of being cheated on better than anyone, and to think someone could do that to you, sweet, compassionate, and graceful you, only made her blood simmer. Then to bring their mistress here and parade them around in front of you. It made her sick with rage; rage that didn't survive long since any look to you only urged on the rare nurturing side of her.
As the night went on, and more drinks were consumed, the group decided to get up and go dance. Gregory, Barb, and Melissa decided to hang tight at the booth and watch as you four were soon highlighted by the colorful lights of the dance floor.
Ava danced with you as Janine and Jacob attempted to square dance despite the pop song playing above. Truthfully you felt quite good in the moment. After running into your ex and the feelings from the ill-fated relationship being brought back up, only to be piled under confusing feelings for your intimidating coworker, you ended up having a few more drinks to bury these conflicting emotions. Little did you know they were about to only grow more intense.
As you faced Ava and moved in sync with her and the music you felt eyes on you, though you were unsure where they were coming from, you looked around and met Melissa’s gaze from the table, her legs were crossed and her chin rested on her fingers as she admired you. Her eyes watched as you smiled wide and danced without shame, suave and polite even in your rhythm.
The redheads' gaze burned holes in your brain and you couldn't help the butterflies you felt in your stomach. The heat was palpable and not just because of the bodies on the dance floor. You smiled and turned away shyly and she returned her attention to Barb.
A presence could be felt behind you and you ignored it at first, thinking it was just another person out dancing. That was until you felt them stand closer against your back and you recognized the perfume that wafted over you. A hand came to your arm and fingers gently dragged up the side of it to toy with your tank strap. You turned quickly, stumbling away slightly.
“Hey!” your voice cracked out under the loud music and Lena just smirked.
Melissa heard your shriek and looked back over, her blood that had finally calmed from the consistent simmer earlier in the evening quickly turned to a boil. She saw the way Lena was standing over you, her hand stroking down your arm as you pulled away. Her jaw tightened and once again she felt this urge overtake her; the desire to swoop in and protect you, and keep you from engaging with this irritating woman.
She didn't want to make a scene in front of the others, so she sat silently fuming, keeping a close eye on you and her.
“What do you want?” you exclaimed and Lena looked you up and down, her eyes not hesitating to objectify you, causing a disgusting chill to run over you.
Melissa watched in aversion as the woman invaded your space, her knee bouncing in frustration at feeling so powerless.
“Dance with me, amor.” Lena spoke and you rolled your eyes. Ava had decided to mind her own business and moved to dance with Janine and give you some space.
“Not a chance, and don't call me that.” you said firmly, though there was a slight delay in your words.
“You used to love to dance with me.” Her hand came to grip your waist tightly, her thumb pressing into your hipbone and you seethed.
Melissa began to sit up in her seat, watching and waiting for the woman to go too far and give her just enough material to justify her coming to your defense. She smirked as you grabbed Lena’s hand to pull it from your hip. Atta girl. She said to herself.
“Dónde está tu pequeña novia? / Where is your little girlfriend?” You scoffed out and she stepped closer, her hand not budging under yours, and her other coming to rest on your lower back. You wiggled under her grip, trying to pry her invasive hands from you.
“Dónde está el tuyo? / Where is yours?” She said with a crass condescension and you opened your mouth to speak but soon felt your ex’s hands being pulled from your frame. They were quickly replaced by strong yet gentle manicured ones and you turned your head behind you. Melissa stood with furrowed brows and an intense threatening stare.
“Lei è proprio qui. Tocca ancora la mia ragazza e ti ritroverai senza dita. Capito? / She's right here. Lay a finger on her again and you'll lose em'. Capiche?” Melissa said firmly, and you felt the butterflies appear in a different area of you this time, watching in awe as she threatened Lena without hesitation.
The others soon noticed the scuffle and came over to ensure Melissa wasn't getting into any trouble. They stared in confusion and Barb asked what was going on.
Lena looked at her in confusion and noticed the smirk on your face.
“Qué dijo ella? / What did she say?” The woman said, clearly offended and angry.
“She said to fuck off.” The words came out crass and bold and for once utterly confident.
You shrugged mindlessly and she let out a heavy and audacious scoff.
“Just leave me alone Lena. I’ve moved on.” You said as you held onto Melissa.
“Is there a problem over here?” Barb asked with Gregory standing close behind her. Lena looked over the posse behind you and rolled her eyes.
“Ask Y/n’s girlfriend here.” She said before slinking off the dance floor. The group looked at the both of you confused and Melissa quickly slid her hands off your waist and you frowned at the loss of her touch.
“Y’all good? Y/n is Melissa getting you into fights already?” Ava asked and you shook your head.
“No- not at all. She was just helping me out.” You replied and the redhead who had suddenly grown quiet just nodded.
After a few more minutes of explaining what had happened and reassuring the group, they decided it was getting late anyways. Melissa grabbed ahold of your hand suddenly and you didn't resist her touch.
“Y/n has had a long night, i’m gonna make sure she gets home okay.” She stated, not waiting for a reply from you or the group before pulling you out to her car.
The drive was short and silent, the tension thick and heavy. It was hard to sit so close to her without touching her now. It was all you craved, her hands on you, her gaze on you, her attention on you.
She was stunning and to know she didn't hesitate in coming to your rescue only made your rosey cheeks burn brighter.
As the car pulled into the driveway you let out a shaky breath and Melissa flashed a small smile.
“I’ll walk you to your door, make sure you get in.” She nodded and you didn't bother to object to the somewhat unnecessary gesture.
You unlocked it and stood in the doorway turning to look at her with a small smile that caused the fire in her core to only deepen.
“I’d invite you in, but it's not ready for company right now.” You smiled and she shook her head.
“No worries, hon. Are you okay after everything?” She asked and you nodded.
“Yeah, thanks to you.” The compliment was said with a deep sincerity you hoped she understood and she smiled back at you, her green eyes shimmered under the light of the moon and your heart stuck for a moment.
“Tu as des yeux magnifiques.” You said once more, this time your hand was the one to move a strand of red hair from her face.
Melissa hid the nerves she felt infiltrate her bones at the action and just raised a brow at your statement, urging you to translate. As if you could read her mind you spoke out softly.
“You have beautiful eyes.” the words came out softly and the woman was taken aback for a moment before a smile graced her lips. Words hesitated to form in her mind so she did what she was used to and went with her instincts, allowing her body to express its desired actions.
Her warm hand came to cup your cheek, and her eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth. You knew the signal all too well and didn't show any signs of protest as you leaned into her hand. She stepped closer and leaned in slowly, allowing you time to pull away but you didnt. Instead you leaned into her and soon her lips were crashing onto yours. Her hand ran through your hair as you kissed her deeply, with a raw and passionate need that only made the kiss more electric. Her lips were soft and powerful against yours and you couldn't help the light hum you let out. Melissa reminded herself of who you were and the problems this action could cause but she couldnt find the strength to pull away. She refrained from deepening it anymore and placed a few more sweet kisses to your plush, reddened, lips before pulling back and smiling up at you.
The pink hue of your cheeks was adorable and she brushed her thumb over one of them.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, is that okay?” she asked and you nodded with a dopey grin.
“Sound’s perfect. Thank you again for everything, I promise to repay you somehow.” You said sincerely and she tilted her head.
“You just did.” She joked and you laughed as she went to step away. Your hand found hers once again to pull her back to you and your lips quickly met hers. You initiated another passionate kiss, your lips moving perfectly in sync as your hands gripped onto her hips before pulling her away.
“Buonanotte, tesoro.” she said and you blushed as you waved her off with serious intent this time and a fuzzy feeling spreading in your chest.
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: You fell for your roommate, Natasha, but a mix-up with her visiting sister Yelena forces you to confront your feelings
Word Count: 1800+
Genre: fluff, angst?
You never meant to fall for your roommate.
It wasn’t part of the plan when you agreed to split the rent on the small two-bedroom apartment with Natasha Romanoff. She was the kind of person who always knew how to fix a leaky faucet or a broken stool. You told yourself it was just admiration.
Except admiration didn’t make your pulse skip when you brushed your arm in the kitchen. It didn’t make you lose your train of thought when she leaned in too close, hair smelling cinnamon.
So you buried the feeling under friendship. It worked. Until the night she brought someone home.
You were halfway through your favourite movie on the couch when the front door opened. Natasha stepped in, laughing softly with a blonde woman. They looked comfortable enough. The woman dropped her bag on the floor.
The sight hit you like a cold water.
“Hey,” Natasha said when she spotted you, “This is Yelena. She'll be staying for tonight.”
“Hi,” you managed, forcing a smile. Yelena grinned back, bright and confident.
They looked good together. The kind of good that made your stomach twist.
You could tell yourself they were just friends, but the way Natasha’s eyes softened when Yelena nudged her side made it difficult to believe. So you decided right then that you’d give them space. No hovering, no hoping. Just... distance.
Dinner was a quiet ordeal. You ate at the small kitchen table, picking at your pasta while Natasha and Yelena chatted easily across from you. They spoke half English, half in Russian, words flowing so naturally it felt like you were intruding on something private.
Natasha laughed at something Yelena said and the sound curled painfully in your chest. You smiled when Natasha glanced at you, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
Natasha noticed, “You okay?” she asked lightly.
“Yeah, just tired,” you lied, “Long day.”
After dinner, Natasha insisted on doing the dishes.
“You two talk,” she said, already rolling up her sleeves. Then she disappeared down the hall to grab a towel and, apparently, a shower.
That left you and Yelena alone in the living room. She sprawled comfortably on the couch, studying you.
“So,” she started, a sly edge to her tone, “you’re the famous roommate.”
You blinked, “Famous?”
Yelena smirked, “Natasha talks about you all the time.”
That startled a small laugh out of you, “does she?”
“Oh, constantly. How you always forget your keys, how you hum when you cool, how you...” Yelena tilted her head, eyes narrowing mischievously, “...make her coffee exactly right every morning.”
Your cheeks were burning, “She told you that?”
“She said you’re the only one who gets it right. She even tried to show me once and burned the milk.” Yelena chuckled, “That was the day I realized she might...”
She didn’t get to finish, because something hit her. You looked behind her. On the door frame was standing Natasha in her pyjamas, obviously a little mad. She had hit Yelena with a rolled-up magazine.
“Yelena!” Natasha warned, eyes narrowing.
Yelena raised her hands, grinning, “What? I was just being friendly.”
“Uh-huh,” Natasha tossed the magazine onto the counter and gave Yelena a look that promised a lecture later.
You tried to hide your confusion. Whatever that exchange had meant, it felt like something you weren’t supposed to understand.
Natasha brushed past you, her voice casual, “You don’t mind if Yelena takes my bed tonight, do you? I'll bunk with you.”
You managed a nod, heart pounding for a reason you couldn’t explain.
Yelena smirked from the couch, “Oh, this will be fun,” she murmured.
“Don’t start,” Natasha shot back, but there was warmth in her voice.
Yelena stretched, yawning theatrically, “Alright. I'm calling it a night, then.” she said, standing and slinging her jacket over her arm, “Big day of doing absolutely nothing tomorrow.”
Natasha rolled her eyes, “Don’t go through my things.”
“No promises,” Yelena shot back with a grin before disappearing down the hall.
You watched her gp, the tight knot in your chest refusing to loosen.
When Natasha dropped onto the couch beside you, the cushion dipped, her warmth instantly filling the small space between you.
“Movie?” she asked, remote already in hand.
You nodded, eyes fixed on the screen. She picked something light, a comedy she knew you liked, but you couldn’t focus. Every time her knee brushed yours, you flinched slightly, edging away just enough that she noticed.
At first, she didn’t say anything. She just leaned back, trying again a few minutes later, her arm resting on the back of the couch behind you. You tensed. You moved.
Natasha frowned slightly, her attention no longer on the movie. You could feel her eyes on you.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked softly,
You forced a smile that didn’t quiet hold, “Yeah, fine.”
She didn’t press, but her silence said more than words could. Normally, watching a movie with Natasha meant laughter, shared popcorns. Tonight, it felt like walking a tightrope.
By the time the credits rolled, the apartment had gone quiet except for the low hum of the city outside. Natasha yawned softly and turned off the TV.
“Come on,” she said, standing and stretching, “Let’s get some sleep.”
You hesitated for a second before following her down the hall. The thought of sharing a bed with her again made your stomach twist. Not because it was new, but because this time it hurt. You tried to remind yourself it was only because Yelena was taking her bed. Nothing more.
Natasha flicked off the light and slipped under the covers first, leaving space for you. You climbed in carefully, keeping to your edge of the mattress.
Natasha moved closer, slow and familiar, the way she always did, her hand brushing your waist as she started to pull you back into her arms like she had so many times before.
Only this time, you froze.
Your body went stiff under her touch, breath catching before you could stop it. Natasha paused immediately.
“...You’re tense,” she murmured, “Again.”
You swallowed hard, “Just... tired.”
She stayed still, her voice quiet but steady, “You’ve been saying that a lot tonight.”
You didn’t answer. The silence stretched.
Then she asked, “Did I do something?”
The softness in her tone made your throat tighten. You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault. That it was yours for falling for her, for hoping for something that was never meant to be.
But she shifted closer again, her hand finding your shoulder, “Talk to me,” she said quietly, “Please.”
You exhaled, “I just... I don’t want to make things weird for you and Yelena.”
There was a pause, “Weird?”
“You two are...” you stopped yourself, but it was too late.
Natasha blinked, “We’re what?”
You hesitated, face hot even in the dark, “Together,” you whispered, “You don’t have to explain it. It's none of my business.”
For a second, there was absolute silence. Then, very quietly, Natasha let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
“Together?” she repeated, amusement and disbelief in her tone, “You think Yelena and I are dating?”
“Aren’t you?”
You heard the rustle of the sheets as she sat up slightly, “She’s my sister.”
You froze, “Your… what?”
“My sister,” Natasha said again, now clearly trying not to laugh, “Yelena Belova. She’s visiting from out of town.”
“Oh my god,” you muttered, pressing your face into the pillow, “Please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.”
Natasha’s laugh broke free then, low and warm and a little bit teasing, “You did.”
You groaned, covering your face with both hands, “That’s mortifying.”
“Maybe a little,” she admitted, voice still amused, “But also kind of adorable.”
You peeked at her through your fingers, embarrassed, “You could’ve said something.”
“I didn’t realize you thought that,” she said gently, lying back down beside you, “But now it explains why you’ve been acting like I’ve got the plague.”
You sighed, “I just didn’t want to get in the way.”
Natasha turned onto her side, her face close enough that you could see the small, fond smile on her lips, “You could never be in the way.”
You stayed quiet for a moment, letting Natasha’s words sink in. Her hand rested lightly on your arm, warm and steady. You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat felt tight.
“Good” you muttered, voice low, barely above a whisper, “Because i don’t think I could stay away from the girl I like.”
Natasha froze. Her eyes widened just slightly, and then she blinked at you.
“What did you just say?” she asked softly.
You froze, realizing your words had slipped out before you even thought, “I… I didn’t mean... uh... I mean… forget it!”
Natasha tilted her head, amused, leaning closer, “You like me?”
Your face went hot, and you buried your face in the pillow, mumbling, “I… maybe. I mean… it’s not...”
Natasha’s laugh was quiet but full of warmth, “Detka… you don’t have to hide that from me.” She brushed a strand of hair from your face, gentle, “I’m not going anywhere.”
You peeked at her, still embarrassed, and she gave you a reassuring smile, “See? Nothing ruined. Just… honesty.
Natasha shifted closer under the covers, her hand brushing yours. You didn’t pull away.
“You’re not running this time?” she murmured, teasing lightly.
“I… don’t think I could,” you whispered, voice barely audible.
Her lips found yours softly, a brief, gentle kiss that made your chest flutter. She pulled you into her, wrapping you in her arms.
“Good,” she said softly, nuzzling your hair, “Because I’m not letting go.”
You rested against her, heart still racing, finally letting yourself relax. Warmth, comfort, and a quiet happiness settled over you as you drifted off to sleep in her arms.
BONUS
The morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen as you leaned against the counter, Natasha brushing past you to grab a mug. The heat of her arm pressed against yours, and you couldn’t help the small shiver that ran through you.
“Coffee?” she murmured, sliding closer than necessary, her hand brushing yours as she handed you the mug.
“Thanks,” you whispered, heart skipping.
She grinned, leaning her forehead against yours for a brief moment, “You look sleepy,” she teased softly.
“I’m… fine,” you managed, trying not to melt against her.
Just then, the door swung open. Yelena stood there, arms crossed, smirking like she knew everything.
“Well, well,” she said, voice loud enough to make both of you jump, “look at you two. Practicing to see who can be the clingiest?”
You felt your face heat up immediately, and Natasha laughed, a little embarrassed, “Yelena!”
“Oh, come on,” Yelena said, leaning against the doorway, “it’s adorable. I didn’t know my sister had such… strong taste in roommates.”
You groaned, Natasha muttered something under her breath about her sister being impossible, and Yelena just winked before finally walking away, leaving the two of you in silence.
Helloooo dear author!! I request a fem reader x Natasha. BTW i got this idea from the lawyer verison of "neglected".
Reader and nat are dating and none of the avengers know except maybe a few? And she's a lawyer maybe with her own lawfirm? So maybe an enemy tries and sue the Avengers, but they went to the first trial and lost and now theyre really looking for a good lawyer to save their bums. So nat decides to bring in her gf and maybe Tony's like "what can she do that my lawyer can't" and then reader becomes such a badssa and wins😝
BTW I LOVEEEE YOUR STORIES!! I read the crush au this morning before going to my classes and got me feeling good through my day especially since I hated my classes today and it was a monday😭😩
-Please and thank you!!🥰
Hot Shot
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
[A/N] Late update tonight! Thank you for another cute request lovely, hope you enjoy this one 😘
You sit up in bed and Natasha smiles, reaching out to rub a hand over your back “Sneaking off so soon?”
“You’re the one who wanted to keep this a secret, not me.” You say with a smirk, her touch making you even more reluctant to leave her bed.
“Hey, I’ve started telling people.” Natasha says “Clint, Yelena, Steve… They all know.”
“And yet you haven’t told Tony.”
Natasha groans “Yeah ‘cos he’ll have the most to say. You know how he feels about lawyers.”
You snort “Lawyers? Or just this lawyer?”
You and Natasha have been dating for eight months now and she’s still keen to keep it on the down low. Initially you’d met Natasha when a client of yours had sued the Avengers for damages to his property after the battle of New York. The case had been controversial - superheroes were just beginning to emerge, and insurance companies weren’t clear about whether their acts of heroism could be covered in people’s policies. The man you were representing, Mr Kingston, was a local business owner who’d had his sandwich shop in New York for years. His insurance wasn’t allowing him to make a claim, and the shop was such a wreck that his meagre savings couldn’t possibly cover the cost of repairs.
Tony had been furious when the case had been brought forward to court. Truthfully Natasha hadn’t been thrilled either. They’d saved New York, why were they being sued? You were the owner of one of the most successful law firms in the city and you’d taken on Mr Kingston free of charge because his case had intrigued you. Who was responsible for damages accrued by the Avengers? Insurance companies were beginning to update their policies but for people like Mr Kingston it was too late. The battle of New York had happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that contingencies weren’t in place. Mr Kingston had lost everything through no fault of his own.
The court case had been lengthy, taking several days and attracting a lot of media attention. In the end Tony hadn’t accepted liability for the damages on behalf of the Avengers but had agreed to pay out enough for Mr Kingston to rebuild his business as a gesture of goodwill if the case was dropped. Other corporations had reached out to you hoping for similar assistance, but you hadn’t been interested. Big business corporations would recover. Without your help Mr Kingston’s shop wouldn’t have.
Natasha had wanted to dislike you, but she was drawn to you instantly. You were clearly passionate about what you did. Your business had thrived because you were affordable and approachable to everyone, regardless of what help they needed. You’d made a reputation for yourself and now your law firm had expanded across the city. In your fight for Mr Kingston you hadn’t been looking to blame anyone – you simply wanted to help a man rebuild the business that had supported him and his family for generations.
You hadn’t crossed paths with Natasha again until a few months later when she’d spotted you in a bar. She’d approached you with a confident smile “Remember me?”
You’d smiled back “Now how could I forget a face as pretty as yours?”
Natasha had bought you a drink and before she knew it it was the next morning and she’d woken up at your place. Since then, you’d been dating – though Natasha hadn’t wanted the other Avengers to find out. Eventually she’d opened up to some of them. Yelena first because of course she had to tell her sister. Then Clint, her best friend. Steve, because she’d been bugging him to go on a date with anyone and he’d started bugging her back so she’d had to shut him up. On her list of people to tell… Tony was towards the bottom of the list.
“I wish you could stay the night.”
“We should’ve gone to mine; you could’ve stayed with me.”
Natasha sighs, knowing it probably would’ve made more sense. She’d begun to feel bad about how often you hosted though. It was always you making them both dinner, making sure your apartment was clean and homely for them both. At this point she owed you a lot of dinners so she’d insisted you come round to the compound, sneaking you in through a back entrance and then you’d spent the evening in her bedroom. Dinner had of course lead to kisses and then fun beneath the bed sheets, and now all she wants to do is hold you in her arms as you both drift off to sleep.
But you need to sneak out. Besides, you have work in the morning and turning up at your law firm in yesterday’s clothes would not be the most professional approach. Natasha sighs and sits up, wrapping her arms around you, still reluctant to let you go “Why don’t you just move in?”
You snort “Oh yeah? And just hide in your room so no one finds out we’re dating?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, why would you think that?”
“You’ve mentioned the secretive thing a couple of times. Is it really bothering you?”
“No, not really, just… Wish we didn’t have to sneak around. I wanna curl back up and fall asleep with you.”
Natasha kisses your cheek and then leans her head against yours “I’ll tell them. Honestly.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” You kiss her cheek back and then climb out of bed, grabbing your clothes from where they’d been thrown haphazardly on the floor.
Natasha watches you dress and then slowly climbs out the bed, unable to resist wrapping her arms around you again as you pull your shoes on “I’m serious, I’ll tell them. I don’t want you to leave every night anymore.”
“You’re sleeping at mine next time and I’m not letting you go anywhere.” You kiss her cheek “Love you.”
“Love you too.” Natasha’s cheeks turn pink, still not used to hearing those words from you. You’d said it first about a month ago, but Natasha knows she fell for you first. Vulnerability is not Natasha’s strong suit, so she never would’ve said those words out loud first… She definitely felt it first though.
You give Natasha one more kiss before waving and sneaking out of the compound. It’s late, only the security team will still be up doing patrols, but Natasha knows they wouldn’t rat her out - they wouldn't dare. She climbs back into bed and pouts, her hand stroking over where you’d just been lying, already missing your warmth.
“Brock Rumlow is suing us?” Steve asks “Seriously?”
“Specifically you Cap. And Sam and Nat. But yes.”
“Shouldn’t he be in prison?” Natasha asks “Given his links to Hydra?”
“Let out on a technicality. And now he’s suing us for the injuries he sustained in the crash. I’ve got my lawyer on the case, it shouldn’t be too difficult.” Tony runs a hand through his hair, his tone and actions not reflecting his confident words.
“Are you sure?” Sam asks “I heard you got dragged across the coals at the hearing for that guy, the one with the sandwich shop-”
“That was different.” Tony snaps, clearly irritated by the reminder “He’s not going to win, there’s no case here. Trust me, there's nothing to worry about.”
Tony eats those words when a month later they are dragged across the coals again. Tony’s lawyer is out of his depth and it’s clear from his weak defences. Rumlow’s lawyer is confident, citing how Steve, Sam and Nat have to take on most of the responsibility for the helicarrier crashing. Rumlow is portrayed as an innocent SHIELD agent who got caught up in the line of fire. Sam bristles at that, remembering the fight he’d had with Rumlow just moments before the crash.
At the end of the first day Tony buries his head in his hands “I am not paying that man money.” He says bluntly.
“He doesn’t just want money; he wants the Avengers to disband.” Steve says “And at the rate he’s going… He might get his wish.”
“No.” Natasha says flatly “We just need a better lawyer.”
“My guy is the best-”
“No, Tony, he’s the most expensive.” Natasha clarifies, standing up “I know a better lawyer.”
“Oh yeah? Who?”
“My girlfriend.”
Tony’s nose scrunches up in disbelief “You have a girlfriend? A hot-shot lawyer girlfriend?”
“Yes. I think she can get us out of this.”
Tony rolls his eyes dismissively “And what can she do that my lawyer can’t?”
“She got Mr Kingston reparations for his sandwich shop for one.”
Tony’s expression darkens and he shakes his head “You’re not serious-”
“The girl from the sandwich shop case? That’s who you’re dating?” Sam asks.
“You’re really dating the bitch who-”
Before Tony can finish his sentence Natasha slaps him across the face. Hard. So hard he's nearly knocked off his feet. His jaw drops as he looks at her, gobsmacked but Natasha’s voice is eerily calm “Call her that again and you will lose teeth.”
Tony puts his hand to his cheek and grimaces dramatically “Okay. Consider me warned.” He sighs “What have we got to lose? Fine. Call her.”
Natasha had thought you’d take more convincing, but you’d been surprisingly open to the case. You’d been dating Natasha when everything with Hydra infiltrating SHIELD had gone down - you had seen how hurt she’d been afterwards, how much it had taken out of her. It was a disgrace that Rumlow was even walking the streets let alone having the opportunity to sue the Avengers.
Natasha watches with a smug smile as you pick apart every argument in court and present your own. Tony’s still gobsmacked, watching as you move around the courtroom like you own the place. You’re calm, confident and collected, so sure of yourself and everything you say. Natasha has never been more attracted to you than she is in this moment.
Five days had been put aside for this court case but after only two the jury has their verdict, and they rule in favour of the Avengers. Rumlow will receive nothing, and the Avengers won’t have to disband. You made it look easy.
Natasha can’t help but rush forward the moment the trials over and throws her arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek “God, you’re amazing.” She mumbles, burying her face in your hair “How did someone as cool as you end up with someone like me?”
“What, someone infinitely cooler? Yeah, it’s a real mystery.”
Natasha grins, giving you a kiss and then leaning her forehead against yours for a moment until she’s interrupted by Tony who clears his throat and offers his hand “Well done.”
“You’re welcome.” You say, shaking Tony’s hand.
Natasha grins as she watches you. You’re a force to be reckoned with and Natasha’s glad that she met you. She reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a light squeeze. People often call Natasha a badass for the work she does as an Avenger but you’re a badass too. Her badass. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Summary: Natasha is trying to get used to your touch
Word Count: 1800+
Genre: fluff
The briefing room was quiet, lit only by the overhead lights. You were supposed to be finishing mission reports, endless pages of debriefs, signatures, and summaries, but your focus was elsewhere.
Natasha sat across from you, her brow furrowed in concentration, pen moving steadily across the pages. Every now and then, she’d tap the pen against the table.
A loose strand of red hair slipped forward, falling across her cheek. She didn’t seem to notice. But you did.
Without thinking, you reached out and brushed it back, tucking it carefully behind her ear.
Natasha froze. The pen stopped mid-tap.
Your fingers lingered just long enough for her to feel the warmth of your touch. Then you pulled away, pretending to look back at your papers.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t move either.
Later that night, long after the paperwork was done and the lights were off, she caught herself replaying that short moment. The way it had made her heart stutter in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
She wasn’t a touchy person. She had never been.
At least, that’s what she used to believe. But tonight, she couldn’t stop thinking about your hand brushing her hair away. And how much she liked it.
~
It happened again after a mission. Nothing serious. Just a shallow cut on her arm, the kind that bled more than it should. She insisted she could handle it just fine, but you didn't listen.
Now she was sitting on the edge of the bed, jacked tossed aside. The sleeve of her shirt rolled up to her shoulder. You stood in front of her, holding the first-aid kit.
“Let me,” you said quietly. She didn’t argue.
Her skin looked warmer under the soft light of the room. You sat on the stool beside her, cleaning the cut carefully. She didn’t move, but you could feel the tension in her arm.
Your fingers brushed her skin by accident. She flinched and your hand stilled. She didn’t pull away.
You worked in silence.
When you smoothed the last piece of tape down, you felt her eyes on you. You just pressed your palm gently over the bandage, grounding her, grounding yourslef.
“Thank you,” she said, so quietly you almost missed it.
You only nodded, packing the supplies away. When you looked up again, she was still watching you.
You smiled at her and said your ‘goodbye’ before leaving the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts again.
~
The movie was still playing, but neither of you were really watching it anymore. The sound filled the room.
You’s both had a long day. The kind that left you wordless, sitting side by side on the couch. The space between you was smaller than it used to be.
At some point, you shifted closer, too tired to think about it. Your head found her shoulder, the movement so natural it barely felt like a decision.
Natasha froze. Just for a second. Her spine straightened, her breath caught. But then she looked down at you, your eyes already closed, your breathing slow and even.
Something in her chest eased.
Carefully, she exhaled, the tension melting from her shoulders. She didn’t move away. Instead, she adjusted slightly, so you could lean more comfortably against her.
Your warmth seeped into her. The weight of your head against her shoulder, the rise and fall of your chest. It anchored her in a way she hadn’t realized she missed.
Her eyes grew heavy. The movie blurred into background noise, forgotten. She let her head fall gently on top of yours, her hair brushing your cheek.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha didn’t fight the feeling. She let the quiet hold her, and she slept.
~
The morning light slipped through the curtains, soft and pale. You stirred first, still half-asleep, realizing your cheek was pressed against something warm and solid.
It took a moment before it clicked, it was Natasha.
Her arm was draped loosely around you, her head resting on top of yours, hair tangled between your shoulders. She was still asleep. Peaceful. So unlike the Natasha everyone else saw.
You didn’t move. You just watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint crease between her brows that never really disappeared, even in sleep. Carefully, you brushed your fingers against her arm, barely a touch.
Her body tensed, the instinct immediately. Then her eyes fluttered open. Green, hazy with sleep, focused on you.
“Morning,” you said softly, barely above a whisper.
She blinked once, then twice, trying to orient herself. “Morning,” she finally murmured back, her voice still rough from sleep.
You started to pull away, but her arm tightened for just a second, a silent ask for you to stay. And you did.
The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore. It was steady. Familiar. Natasha let her head fall back against the couch, her hand brushing against yours, slow and deliberate this time. Not accidental. Not hesitant.
For Natasha, it was small, but it was everything. Her way of saying I want this. Even if she wasn’t ready to say the words out loud.
~
The movie flickered across the screen, its glow washing over the living room in muted colors. You were both quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, but comfortable.
You sank deeper into the couch, your eyes barely following the movement on the screen. Natasha was next to you, a little too still, her arms crossed loosely over her chest.
After a while, you yawned softly. “Long day,” you murmured, stretching your legs out.
She hummed in agreement, voice low. “You looked half-asleep during the debrief.”
You smiled faintly. “Wasn’t just me. You almost fell asleep on your report.”
That earned you a small laugh, soft, real. Then silence again, broken only by the quiet hum of the TV.
Natasha shifted beside you. You felt the couch dip, her arm brushing yours. At first, it seemed accidental, until she moved closer, just a fraction.
“Cold?” you asked, glancing her way.
“Maybe,” she said, though the warmth in her tone gave her away. Her fingers fidgeted on her knee, hesitating for a moment before she reached over and let her arm rest around your shoulders.
You blinked at her, a bit surprised. “So... that’s your way of asking for a blanket?”
She smirked. “No. This is my way of saying you look like you need one.”
You let out a quiet laugh but didn’t move away. “You sure that’s the only reason?”
Natasha’s gaze stayed on the screen, but her voice dropped, softer now. “No,” she admitted.
You didn’t say anything. You just leaned into her, feeling her tense for a second, then slowly relax.
Minutes passed like that, the movie forgotten. Her arm tightened slightly around you, a small, almost unconscious pull that brought you closer.
When your head eventually fell against her shoulder, she froze for a heartbeat, then exhaled and rested her cheek lightly against your hair.
You heard her whisper, so quietly you almost missed it, “This isn’t so bad.”
You smiled, eyes heavy. “Told you. You just needed to try it.”
She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your temple. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“Never,” you mumbled, already half-asleep.
Natasha looked down at you, her fingers brushing your arm once before she let herself sink into the warmth between you, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling her into rest, too.
Tag list: @mirage018 @yelldontwhisper @canvascoloredin @perfectlyfoggycloud @taliiiaasteria @chickenlittlsblog
Craaaaving ceo!wanda so muchhhh! Was thinking about how she would be with a new young intern. Cause yn would totally be the sweet supervisor and wanda I mean is just wanda, the ceo, she won’t go soft on the intern. And it would be a moment when the intern finally figures out that yn is Wanda’s wife.
. . . 𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽 — w. maximoff
The new intern—Sarah—did not know she had made a mistake. At least not at first.
She thought you were just the nice one. The one who explained how lunch breaks worked, who gently reminded her to use BCC, who offered half of your cookie during the Tuesday budget review because “everyone needs sugar during numbers hell.”
Sarah liked you.
You were normal, soft-voiced and undeniably sweet.
Unlike the boss — Wanda Maximoff.
Wanda was… something else, entirely —Cold, impossibly perfect, always in black or navy.
She never smiled, never blinked. Probably didn’t bleed, probably killed people in her previous life with those cheekbones and that voice.
So when Sarah was asked to help with filing upstairs—in the CEO's office—she panicked.
You smiled. “You’ll be fine, just knock first. She doesn’t bite.”
Sarah states, muttering. “I feel like she definitely does.”
You winked “Only after six.”
Sarah laughed.
Wanda did not.
The moment Sarah stepped into Wanda’s office, it was clear the temperature dropped five degrees as the Sokovian paid her no mind and barely looked up from her screen.
“You’re late.”
Sarah stuttered, “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Three minutes. That’s enough to miss a deal.”
The blonde swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Wanda repeated, one eyebrow lifting. “What am I, sixty?”
“N-no?”
“Don’t stutter. Say what you mean. Speak like someone who belongs in my company.”
Spooked out enough, she swallowed thickly and nodded furiously. “Yes—Ms. Maximoff.”
Wanda stared then nodded once. “Better.”
Sarah thought that was it — just a terrifying run-in. Until she handed over the folder. Wanda opened it, flipped through. Her brows furrowed.
“Did Y/N supervise this formatting?”
“Yeah, she tried to help. She’s been so sweet about everything.”
Your wife's eye twitched. “Sweet?”
While Sarah, oblivious, nodded quickly. “Yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She even offered to stay late to help me fix the printing error—like, no one else would do that and honestly? I feel like she deserves better than this place sometimes, you know? She’s too kind for how cold everyone is up here.”
Sarah was greeted with silence after that exact sentence.
Wanda very slowly set the folder down. She stood, walked around the desk and stared at Ava like she was mentally writing her eulogy.
“She’s my wife.”
“Wait, what?”
“My wife, intern. As in married to me. As in—mine.”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. “You—you’re… her…?”
“Yes.” Wanda’s voice dropped to low and lethal. “The one who makes her coffee in the mornings. The one who rubs her back when she stays up too late reading proposals. The one who buys her flowers after stressful Wednesdays, and the one who got her that cardigan you complimented earlier, because she gets cold during meetings.”
“...Holy sh—”
“Correct,” Wanda said calmly. “Now, are you going to fix this formatting before I start regretting ever signing your internship approval?”
Sarah practically sprinted, “Immediately, Mrs. Maximoff. I mean Ms. Maximoff, I mean Wanda. I mean—”
“Out.”
. . .
Later that night, Wanda walked into your shared office, still fuming. “She called you sweet,” she muttered, setting a new tea beside you.
You laughed softly. “I am.”
“She said I was cold.”
You grinned up at her. “Well, you are.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You like it.”
You stood, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I love it.” She smirked, hands resting on your hips.
“You’re mine,” she said against your lips. “I don’t care who hears it.”
Summary: Wanda returns home late to find you asleep on the couch.
Pairing(s): Wanda x reader
Warnings: nothing just pure fluff
Word Count: ~1.1k
a/n: sorry guys this was so rushed but i wanted to post something before my writers block got the better of me.
---
The apartment was quiet when Wanda unlocked the door. Too quiet.
Her key slid from the lock with a muted click, and she pushed the door open with her shoulder, careful not to jostle the paper bag she carried. A late shift meant she’d missed dinner again, but she’d stopped by the bakery on her way home and grabbed something she thought you’d like. Chocolate croissants. Not exactly nutritious, but she figured it might soften the apology.
The living room lights were low, just the soft golden glow of a lamp left on. At first, Wanda thought you’d gone to bed already. Then her eyes fell to the couch, and her heart stuttered.
You were there.
Curled up, head tipped awkwardly against the armrest, a blanket half-slipped down your shoulder. The TV flickered silently in front of you, a paused screen frozen on some sitcom you’d probably put on to pass the time. Wanda’s chest tightened when she realized what had happened—you’d waited up for her.
She set the paper bag down quietly on the counter and slipped out of her shoes, moving soft as shadow. Her work bag fell against the wall with a muted thud, but you didn’t stir. You were gone to the world, lips parted just the slightest bit, breaths even and steady.
Guilt crept up her spine. She hadn’t meant for her shift to run so late, but she’d gotten caught up again, another crisis that had pulled her attention longer than it should have. She hated that you had fallen asleep here, waiting for her, instead of tucked safe and comfortable in your bed.
For a moment, she just stood there, watching you. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the small crease in your brow even in sleep—it made her ache. Wanda crouched down beside the couch, her face close to yours.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered, her Sokovian accent soft, barely brushing the syllables. “You should have gone to bed.”
You didn’t answer, of course. Your lips twitched, though, as if the sound of her voice tugged faintly at the edge of your dream. Wanda’s smile was helpless. She reached out, brushing back a loose strand of hair that had fallen into your face.
The touch lingered.
Her thumb skimmed the curve of your cheek, marveling at how warm you felt compared to her rain-chilled skin. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed you all day until now—until the relief of seeing you safe and close hit her like a wave.
Wanda straightened, moving carefully to tug the blanket back over your shoulder. She smoothed it down, tucking it around your arms the way she wished she could have held you all evening. For a second, she considered letting you sleep there, but the thought of you waking with a stiff neck made her shake her head.
“Alright, dorogaya,” she murmured, slipping her arms under you. “Up we go.”
You stirred when she lifted you, body shifting instinctively against hers. Your cheek pressed against her collarbone, a faint sigh escaping you. Wanda froze, holding her breath like she’d been caught, but your eyes didn’t open.
She carried you slowly down the hall, adjusting her hold so you wouldn’t bump into the doorframe. You were heavier than you looked, but Wanda didn’t mind. The steady weight of you in her arms was grounding, comforting. When she laid you down on the bed, you mumbled something half-formed, words lost in sleep.
Wanda sat on the edge of the mattress, brushing your hair back again. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Sleep, love. I’m home now.”
She left you there long enough to change into her own pajamas and wash the day off her face. When she came back, you’d shifted onto your side, one hand stretched out like you’d been reaching for her.
Wanda’s heart twisted. She climbed into bed carefully, sliding under the covers and letting your searching hand find hers. Even half-asleep, your fingers curled around hers, gripping lightly, and she felt her throat tighten.
She leaned closer, pressing her lips to your temple. “I’m sorry I was late,” she breathed. “I won’t let it happen again.”
Maybe it was her imagination, but she swore she felt you squeeze her hand in answer.
Hours later, when the first hints of dawn pressed against the blinds, Wanda was still awake. Not because she couldn’t sleep—she was exhausted—but because she couldn’t stop looking at you.
The rise and fall of your chest. The way your mouth softened when you were truly, deeply at rest. She memorized every detail like it was the first time.
You stirred faintly, eyelashes fluttering, and Wanda quickly closed her eyes, feigning sleep. A second later, the mattress dipped as you shifted closer, tucking your head against her chest. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale.
Wanda wrapped her arms around you then, finally allowing herself to drift, the world narrowing to the steady rhythm of your breathing against her.
---
When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the smell of something warm and sweet wafting from the kitchen. The second thing was Wanda’s absence beside you.
Groggy, you dragged yourself from the bed, padding down the hall.
Wanda was at the stove, hair still messy from sleep, wearing one of your old shirts that hung loose on her frame. She turned at the sound of your footsteps, eyes lighting instantly.
“Good morning,” she said softly. “You slept well?”
You blinked, still half-asleep, and rubbed your eyes. “I was waiting for you last night.”
“I know.” Her voice faltered just a little. “I’m sorry.”
You shuffled closer, leaning into the counter beside her. “You carried me, didn’t you?”
Her lips curved despite the guilty flush rising in her cheeks. “You make it sound like it was difficult.”
You gave her a look, and she laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Yes. I carried you. You were stubborn, even in your sleep.”
The memory softened something in you, the irritation you’d meant to hold on to slipping away. Wanda reached over, cupping your jaw, her thumb brushing over your cheek.
“I hate leaving you waiting,” she murmured. “But I promise—I’m here now.”
And with the way her eyes held yours, steady and unshaken, you believed her.
SUMMARY :: natasha secretly knits you a scarf for the colder weather. she’s embarrassed when you find it but you wear it every day.
PAIRING :: natasha romanoff x female!reader
WARNINGS :: kind of shy!natty.
WORDS COUNT :: 2k
You’d noticed little things about Natasha over the past few weeks.
She’d disappear into her room for an hour here, two hours there. Sometimes she’d brush you off with a quick kiss and a vague, “I’ll be back soon.” Other times you’d find her on the couch at odd hours of the night, something hidden behind a book or her laptop when you walked in.
You hadn’t thought much of it. Natasha was Natasha — mysterious habits came with the package.
But then one chilly October evening, while digging in the hall closet for an extra blanket, you found it.
Folded carefully at the very back, hidden beneath a stack of old sweatshirts, was a scarf. Not just any scarf, either — a hand-knitted, slightly uneven, deep-green scarf. The yarn was thick, soft, and warm, clearly chosen with care.
You lifted it gently, your heart catching. A few loops were tighter than others, the edges not perfectly straight, but that only made it more beautiful. Because Natasha had made this. For you.
“Y/N?”
You spun, the scarf clutched in your hands. Natasha stood in the doorway, eyes wide, the color draining from her face faster than if you’d caught her mid-mission slip-up.
“You—uh—” Her voice faltered, and she actually stammered. “That’s… not—”
You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “You knit this?”
Natasha crossed the room in two quick strides, reaching as if to take it back. “It’s not finished,” she muttered, gaze darting anywhere but your face. “It’s just… practice.”
You held it out of reach, teasing. “Practice, huh? Then why’s it in my favorite color?”
Her ears turned pink. Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. Blushing because of a scarf.
“Because—” she stopped, then groaned softly. “You weren’t supposed to find it yet.”
Your grin softened into something gentler. “Nat… you made this for me?”
Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. She shoved her hands into her pockets, looking every bit like a sulky teenager caught sneaking out. “Maybe,” she mumbled. “It gets cold. You’re always forgetting gloves. I thought… it might help.”
Your chest squeezed. You stepped closer, slipping the scarf around your neck before she could argue. The knit was a little lopsided, sure, but it was perfect. It smelled faintly of her — leather, faint lavender shampoo, something distinctly Natasha.
You tugged the ends snug, looking up at her with watery eyes. “It’s warm. And it’s from you. Which makes it the best scarf I’ve ever owned.”
Natasha finally looked at you, vulnerability flickering across her face. “You’re going to wear it?”
“Every single day,” you promised.
For a moment, she just stared — like she couldn’t quite believe you meant it. Then, slowly, her mouth curved into the tiniest, most tentative smile.
“Come here,” you murmured, looping the scarf ends around her wrist and pulling her closer. She came willingly, resting her forehead against yours.
“Don’t tell the others,” she whispered, as if admitting the truth would ruin her reputation. “If Barton finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
You laughed softly. “Your secret’s safe. Though… I might accidentally show it off at the compound tomorrow.”
“Y/N—”
You kissed her before she could protest further. She melted into it instantly, hands coming up to cup your face.
When you pulled back, you whispered, “Thank you, Nat. For this. For letting me see this side of you.”
Her blush deepened, but she pressed another kiss to your temple. “Don’t thank me. Just… stay warm. That’s all I wanted.”
. . .
And true to your word, you wore it. Every single day.
On missions. On coffee runs. On late-night walks with her.
It wasn’t long before the others noticed, of course. Clint raised an eyebrow, Steve gave one of his knowing smiles, and Wanda smirked. Natasha glared at all of them until they shut up.
But when you caught her, one crisp morning, burying her face into the scarf while it was still around your neck, you knew she wasn’t really embarrassed at all.
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