Pairings: Fire Department Captain Romanoff x Lieutenant Female Reader
Word count: 4k
Tags | Warnings: 18+ angst, fluff, dirty talks, death, sexual innuendos, sending nudes, you and Nat are just horny shits, talks about having kids—the future
Author's Note: Scheduled repost
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⧗
Natasha's voice on the other end of the phone was like a soft caress, sending tingles down your spine. Even though she was just kilometers away, the connection you shared was palpable, and you could almost see and feel her smiling through the phone.
"Hi baby," she cooed, her voice warm and intimate. "Do you know what today is?"
Still sleepy and grumpy, you managed to say a quick "no."
She gasped in shock, feeling offended before letting out a whine, like a small child pouting over a secret. "Huuuuh? Whaaat? No idea?"
Eyes still closed, you couldn't help but smile and chuckle, relishing in her cute behavior. You feigned ignorance, playing along with the game you started. "No idea at all, baby. I'm sorry."
She let out a "nooooo" drawn out long and whiney, like a toddler having a tantrum. It was almost comical how childlike she sounded. You couldn't help but burst out laughing over the line, the sound loud and clear in Natasha's ears. It was adorable, the way she was acting like a child, whining and pouting.
"That doesn't sound like my captain," you chided, "and that is definitely not how you sounded last night."
Natasha's whining quickly changed, now with a smirk behind it even you cannot see her face to face, you know that it is what's plastered in her face. "Well, as far as I can recall, it was not me who was whining and crying last night."
Now there she is.
"Oh yeah?" You couldn't help but challenge her, a hint of cockiness in your voice as you shifted in your cold bed, missing your girlfriend's warmth.
"Sorry for leaving you this morning," she sighs, "Work called me early." You didn't miss the groan that she let out after.
"You should've woken me up, Nat. I would've gone with you." You say hazily, still sleepy but you managed to get yourself out of the bed, leaving your phone on top of the duvet covers.
"I don't wanna wake you up, princess. And besides you have a shift in your station today, so rest. But I'll see you later," she smiles and you can feel it, "if you remember what today is." She adds.
"Maybe I need some reminding, captain." You let out a long hum and Natasha's keen instincts picked up on that.
"Baby, what are you doing?"
"Just tryin' to remember…"
"Baby," her voice was undeniably soft and careful in the line, but there was a hint of something darker and more authoritative beneath the surface of that pet name. The tone was subtle, but you knew that it was a warning.
"Yes..? Captain?"
"Baby…" now her tone became dangerously low. "Open your cam." She demanded.
You wanted to laugh as you stood in front of your shared cabinet to get yourself something to wear, but you didn't so she wouldn't suspect a thing. You remained silent and your girlfriend seemed to be really impatient.
"Y/N? I swear to God."
Still, no answers from your end. Then, you let out a moan and a gasp after, then your breath hitched as another fake moan escaped your lips. The sound of your ragged breath filled the line, and you could sense your girlfriend's tension through the phone. She was silent on her line, her jaw clenched, and you could tell she was listening intently. You fought the urge to laugh.
"You know I can tell if you're faking your moans, right?" she could tell you were just playing with her, but she couldn't help but respond to the provocative sounds you were making.
The laughs you have been keeping now escaped your lips, and it echoed through the line, filling your shared room and her ears with the sound. You couldn't help but find it amusing, of course she would immediately know if you're faking your moans having to have nightly routines ending up with you either whining because it's not enough or crying because it's too much. Sometimes, it's both and God, you love those nights.
You took your phone in your hand and quickly opened the camera, flipping the camera to the front-facing mode. You held the phone up in front of your face, grinning shyly into it.
"Hi," you say softly, gently biting down on your bottom lip as you look directly into the camera.
Her voice came through the line, "Hey, printsessa," and her tone was tinged with so much affection.
"I miss you already, baby. So much." You pout slightly as you start to go back and gather the clothes you chose to wear for the day.
"I miss you too." You replied, "I'll visit your work today."
Before your girlfriend could even reply, her co-workers appeared, their voices loud and boisterous through the phone.
"Hey, cap! We bought you some breakfast!" The youngest, Peter announced, holding a tray of coffee and donuts.
You noticed that your girlfriend's attention is already divided, not that you don't like it, but today, you feel like edging, playing…and not sharing her. She was not looking at you, she was smiling at her co-workers as she reached for the food they brought her, and by her angle you could tell that her phone was clutched on her left hand.
"Baby, don't let your phone slip up, I'm naked."
You didn't miss the way your girlfriend mouthed a "fuck" immediately thanking her team and ordering them to get out. But before she could even check her phone to finally focus her attention on you, the call had already ended. She didn't know if it was her accidentally ending the call or it was you. So she checked your private chat to see you sending her a photo, scrunching your nose and teasing the skin just above your nipples.
You: Hi baby, gonna shower now. I'll go to your station today. I just don't want to have to share your attention…
Captain (Natasha): Baby, I'm here☹️
You: Aww, I was about to let you join me in the shower but I see you're going to have a different breakfast.
Captain: You know you're my favorite breakfast, right?
You: Oh, yeah?
Captain: Baby, don't be like that please…☹️
You: I'm sorry baby😂 I was just playing. I'll drop by later and bring you lunch, what do you wanna eat?
Captain: You☹️
You: You cute silly pervert, bye now for real. I love you and I will see you later, xo.
Captain: I love you moreeeee, my baby!
You: I love you mooooost, my beautiful beautiful hot girlfriend❤️💞
Captain: Nou, I love you more than most☹️
You: Do you love me more or do I love you more?
Captain: You love me more…☹️
You: Good girl💞
[Lieutenant sent an attachment]
⧗
You pulled up to the fire station, parking your car near the entrance. As soon as Natasha's co-workers noticed your pick-up, they immediately made their way towards you, their faces lighting up with anticipation. They knew you had a reputation for bringing takeouts for the team, and he was eager to see what you had brought this time.
You gestured to the back of your car, shouting, "I bought you all some lunch!" The others swarmed over enthusiastically, heading straight for the food. Peter, on the other hand, made a beeline straight for the driver's seat.
"Hi LT! Thank you so much for the food!" You couldn't help but find him endearing, he was the youngest among the bunch and there's one time you jokingly told Natasha that you were thinking of adopting him after seeing him cry rescuing a cat stuck on a fence.
"You're welcome, kid. Where's cap?" you inquired as you gathered the food you'd bought for Natasha from the passenger seat.
"Office." He grins, already jumping his way to your trunk to see what you bought for them.
The team surrounded the trunk of your car. As you held a whole lot of stuff in your hands, you managed to wave your fingers back at them, all while holding your phone, wallet, and girlfriend's takeaway. The team shouted words of gratitude, waving back at you as they devoured the food you had so kindly ordered for them.
"You're spoiling them." She remarks, looking at you with amusement and mild chiding as soon as you enter her office as if she's been expecting you to be there which she actually is.
"They're my kids now, like it or not."
"What's that for?" she pointed at the takeout you were carrying which was her favorite boneless sweet and sour chicken.
"Lunch?" you laughed, before putting your things down her desk. You leaned towards her and kissed her lips.
"I thought I am going to have you for lunch? I was spoiled on what my lunch would be with that photo you sent me." Natasha leaned back in her seat, a smirk playing across her lips as she watched you round her desk. It was a mirror shot of you with your exposed boobs, just for her eyes to see.
You moved swiftly, slapping her shoulder before she could react. You were behind her, your hands massaging the spot you'd just struck. Her posture relaxed slightly under your skilled fingers, a soft sigh escaping her lips despite herself. She cocked an eyebrow, glancing back at you over her shoulder.
"Remind me never to piss off a woman who can rub the tension out of my shoulders in seconds."
Her breath caught as you leaned in close, your weight pressing softly against her back. Your arm remained across her front, effectively trapping her. She could feel your heartbeat against her spine, steady and strong despite the chair slat that boundaries you both.
"I missed you," you pout, then you pressed a kiss on her ears and her cheek.
"Me too," she then caressed your cheek, "I'm hungry," she now declared. And you immediately straightened up to prepare the lunch you bought for her. Before you could even take a step away, she slapped your ass sharply.
"What are you doing?" she cackled playfully.
"Okay, eat real food you pervert." You point your finger at her, walking backwards before she could even sneak up and grab you behind. But she stood and snatched your hand and pulled you to her lap.
You let out a shriek of surprise, your hands instinctively gripping the arms of her chair for support. She smirked, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you in place. You wiggled on her lap, making her tighten her arms around you. Suddenly, you brought your hand up and smacked her chest playfully.
"Jerk," you muttered, trying not to laugh. Her eyes widened, then she caught your wrist, bringing your hand back down slowly. Then, she leaned in, resting her jaw on your shoulder. Her arms remained wrapped protectively around you, holding you close. You could feel her breath against your neck, warm and gentle. For a moment, she just sat there, enjoying the simple comfort of having you in her lap.
"Do you want kids?" her voice was soft, almost hesitant. She rested her chin on your shoulder, awaiting your response. Her arms tightened slightly around you, almost as if she was bracing herself for your answer. "Real kids, okay? Normal ones. Not those big ass kids outside." She gestured vaguely towards the door with a roll of her eyes, eliciting a soft chuckle from you both.
Your body relaxed against hers, your arm clung behind her neck, "Yeah, I want kids," you answered. "Like two or three. Not too many, though. I don't want my house to be chaotic." You wiggled slightly on her lap, making her smirk again. "What about you?"
"Of course I want a…" she trailed off puckering her lower lip, thinking, "At least four mini you running around the house, so I have someone to be chaotic with," she laughed softly, then added teasingly, "God help me if they have your mouth too."
You gasped genuinely offended, your hand flying to your chest. "I am not that loud!" you protest. "I hate you." You tried to unclasped her tight hands that were gripping each other, locking you in her embrace but she just laughed heartily.
"I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry!" she apologized between laughs.
"I will not give you my babies." You threatened. "And four?! Are you kidding me?!" But oh, how many kids your girlfriend wanted, you will give it to her even if she wanted an entire football team.
Natasha choked on her laughter, her eyes widening in mock horror at your threat. "Whoa, whoa, no need to withhold my future children just because I teased you a little." You just rolled your eyes on her, turning your face away. She leaned in, nuzzling your neck gently. "Come on, you know I'm just messing with you," she cooed softly. "Besides, who else is going to give me those adorable mini-me's if not you?" she kissed your cheek again, trying to soften your resolve.
You sighed dramatically, your stern expression crumbling. "Fine, fine! I'll give you your stupid cute mini-me's." You muttered, trying not to smile. Inside, you were secretly delighted that she wanted your children so badly as much as you wanted hers.
"Did you see the dress I bought for you?"
"Nope," you say, reaching towards the take out that was on the other side of her desk. "Where?"
Natasha's eyes lit up mischievously as she saw your confusion while you unwrap the food. "In the closet, hanging all pretty."
You were so focused on unwrapping the food that you didn't notice her watching you so intently. She looked at your features, admiring them, already imagining the beautiful kids that you two are going to have—kids that are for sure will get those beautiful features of yours.
You gave her a gentle nudge with your elbow when you noticed her staring, "Why are you staring, pervert?" you laughed. "When I go back later, I'll look for it," you continued, your voice casual and teasing. Then, you picked up a piece of garlic parmesan chicken from the takeout container, "Here you go," you said softly, bringing the chicken to her lips. Natasha opened her mouth obediently, her eyes never leaving yours as she took a bite.
You both eat together, you sitting comfortably on her lap while she gets fed you. A win is a win.
"I am excited to see you in it." Natasha reached out, puckering her lips invitingly towards you as she repeated herself playful yet sultrily.
You leaned in, pressing a quick, playful kiss to her puckered lips before pulling back with a smirk. "Hm, maybe you're just excited to rip it out of me. I really want to watch you eat because I know you won't be touching this once I step out of that door," you said softly, clean hands cupping her cheek, thumb gently caressing her skin. "But I need to get to my station in thirty, baby."
"You can't even watch me eat," she retorted suggestively, making you laugh and roll your eyes. You finally decided you'd had enough of her teasing and lifted yourself off her lap.
"Baby! Where are you going?" she laughed loudly.
You licked your fingers clean as you stared directly at Natasha, sitting there watching you intently. She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking between your eyes and your fingers. You then grabbed a wet wipe, cleaning your hands thoroughly. She just watched you prepare and fix yourself.
"Do you now remember what today is?"
You strut towards her, a playful smirk on your face. She leaned in as you did, you captured her lips in a quick, teasing kiss. "About that, I need some reminding, yeah?" you say, pulling back and grabbing your things sprawled on her desk, clearly ready to leave.
"Well, I'll remind you tonight then."
"Aye, captain."
"With that dress on."
"Got it cap."
"I love you, Y/N." She said softly before you could grip her doorknob.
"I love you more, baby."
"No, I love you more." She shook her head, grinning as she repeated it back to you.
It is a competition that has become a running joke between you two—well, it's actually not a running joke because you both meant every word. Every time you said it, she'd say it louder and more dramatically—like who loves each other the most.
"I love you most." You say confidently. You put a kissy face on her before you shut the door behind, knowing you won again.
⧗
The call came through on your radio, the crisp voice of the dispatch officer crackling through the speaker. "Fire Department, this is Central dispatch. We have a report of a large fire 18 kilometers north of your station. First responders have arrived on scene, but the situation is escalating rapidly."
You immediately switched to the team channel on your radio. "All units, we have a call for a large fire 18 klicks north. Gear up." You paused, gathering your thoughts, you still have a date tonight.
Sirens blaring, lights flashing, your engine roared to life as you sped towards the 18 kilometer mark. It was late afternoon, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an eerie orange glow amidst the billowing smoke. Shadows lengthened as you approached the fiery scene, the daylight fading prematurely due to the thick plume choking the sky.
As your company rounded the final bend, the first thing to catch your eye was the familiar logo of your girlfriend's station emblazoned on the side of one of the fire engines. Your gut clenched as you realized she was likely already inside the burning structure, doing what she did best—bringing people out alive.
You jumped down from your truck, gear in hand, and made a beeline for the command post set up by the first responders. You spotted Peter on the other station, his face grimy with soot and sweat. He nodded at you as you approached, recognizing the elite team's arrival.
"Lieutenant." He's definitely not a kid on missions.
"Captain inside?" you asked, your voice steady but urgent and the kid nodded.
"Yes, she's leading the team through the east wing. We've got multiple civilians trapped on the upper floors." He layed out.
Not that you're not used to this kind of situation. You were used to seeing danger, used to making split-second decisions that often meant life or death because that is the nature of your work—fire. But you just couldn't help but be worried about your girlfriend.
Suddenly, the main entrance burst open, and firefighters emerged, hunched over civilian forms they carried carefully in their arms. The scene repeated multiple times—firefighters appearing, offloading their human burdens onto paramedics, then disappearing back into the hellish building. Dead bodies were retrieved but most are alive.
"Gonna get inside." Before you could even put your mask on Peter called out to you.
"It's cap."
When you took the walkie, laughter, unexpected and sweet, filled the line, cutting through the heavy feeling in your chest.
"Hey, lieutenant." Her voice, though strained, teased you. You could almost feel her smile on the line.
You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head despite knowing she couldn't see you. "Gonna get in and get you out, cap."
"No. I'll be out soon. I can handle myself. That's an order, lieutenant."
"Well, I hope you get out soon. If I remember you still need to remind me what today is." Her laughter echoed through the walkie, a sound that was both reassuring and irritating in its stubbornness.
"You think I'd miss our anniversary for anything less than burning buildings?" she asked, her voice muffled as she coughed. "I'll be out soon."
"Make sure of that or I'll have our table set up right outside this building."
The walkie crackled with static before her voice came through, low and serious. "Y/N?" she paused, then blurted out, "Do you still want to have kids with me?"
Your response was immediate and certain. "More than anything," you said softly. "You said you want mini me's but I just know they'd be brave like you, like their mama. I want to have your kids, Nat."
She needed to hear that.
"I saw the dress," you rushed out when you didn't hear her answer from the other line. "You better see me in it."
"I better see you without it." Now there she is. You let out a giggle that your girlfriend heard on her end.
She needed to hear that—that laugh of yours.
"I love you, Y/N." She says in the line, it was static but it was all clear to you.
"You tell me that in person." You said, you held the words so you could say it to her in person but it was so hard to not say it back right at this moment, "I love you more."
"No. I love you more." Her voice came through, softer this time, almost vulnerable.
And you didn't challenge her. You didn't push, didn't fight, didn't argue back that you loved her more. You let her win this time—you let her love you more.
⧗
Her voice was soft and husky over the phone, never failing to send shivers down your spine. "Do you know what today is?" she asked slowly. "Of course not, because it's my secret but you'll know later, babe. Don't worry."
"Silly," you muttered, wishing she heard you so she'd laugh that infectious laugh. But she didn't.
Then, you heard the knock on your door. You quickly grabbed your phone together with your purse and walked to the door to see your girlfriend's sister, Yelena.
"Wow," she said, a smirk on her lips.
"You think she'll like it?" you couldn't help but ask.
Yelena laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, she definitely will," she said, shaking her head. "She probably already has a hundred little jokes and innuendos running through her mind, only for your ears. And when she bought that dress, she was already drooling just imagining you wearing it." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Let's go?"
The drive was quick and silent and one thing you know is you are already standing up in the eyes of so many people on you. You were wearing the dress Natasha had told you she bought for you out clung to your curves perfectly, the plunging neckline accentuated by the delicate silver necklace she'd given you. The stilettos, also her choice, clicked loudly against the wooden floorboards with each step you took.
"Lieutenant."
"Sir." You recognized the chief of the fire department in your state.
"You're the only one we're waiting for." You just offered a curt nod. You can still feel so many eyes boring on you.
Well, how could they not? You're the only one wearing red in the sea of black.
You walked down the aisle, heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor. As you reached the casket, your face immediately fell upon her peaceful face, her hair was braided like she'd always loved. Memories flooded back—her laughter, her smile, her voice.
"Well, I guess I love you more because you weren't able to say it to me in person." Your breath caught in your throat, the irony not lost on you that her silence had left those precious words unspoken forever.
You cannot look at her, not like this. Not when you know you'll never see those beautiful pairs of green anymore. Not when you will always feel cold at night without her having to ground and hold you. Not when you'll settle listening to her voice through the voice records you had retrieved during your phone calls with her.
"When we planned our life together, burying you is not a part of it."
With trembling hands, you finally reached out and closed the casket lid. The soft thud echoed through the silent room, each click of the latch sealing her away seemingly louder than the last. A single tear finally spilled over, carving a path down your cheek. Natasha's co-workers step forward, one of them was Peter, bearing the national flag. With reverence, they carefully placed it atop the casket, the red, white and blue stars threaded the thick fabric.
Precisely at the moment the flag was properly rested, your arm moved in a fluid, practiced motion.
From planning a life with you...
To rendering my salute to you...
Time seemed to lose all meaning as you stood there, arm extended in a steady salute. You didn't waver, didn't move. Your eyes remained locked onto the flag-draped casket, seeing not just a symbol of her service, but the woman you loved.
Your fire has gone forever. You will always remember what today is.
Summary: Who would've thought that Natasha's best friend's milf hunting mission for her will haunt her forever?
Pairings: Nerd Natasha Romanoff x MILF Reader
Word count: 5.2k
Tags | Warnings: +18 AMAB!Natasha, beefy nerdy Natasha, MILF!reader, reader is 45 and Natasha is 22, dating app, lying about age, dirty talk, switch r & Nat but more like a top!Natasha, breeding kink, mommy kink, rough sex, creampie, squirting, overstimulation, fingering (r), ghosting (kinda)
Author's Note: Scheduled repost
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⧗
"What do you want Tony?" Natasha chuckled as she saw her best friend on her apartment door at 7 o'clock early in the morning, standing there holding a pizza box. "Really? Pizza? Early this morning?"
Tony rolled his eyes and pushed his way inside, shutting the door behind him. "Well, thank you for the warm welcome," he teased. "Before I go to my asshole of a father's place, I want to do one thing. Something purposeful for you, my friend."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what would that be?" she asked, as she led him to the living room of her small apartment.
"Let me see your phone," he said, taking it out of her hands.
"Hey, wait!" the redhead protested, but Tony was already fiddling with it. "What are you doing?!"
"Setting up an account on a dating app," he replied, typing away.
"Wow. So this is your grand purpose? Setting me up on a dating app? I'm touched." She said sarcastically. She watched him, a box of pizza on his left hand and her phone on the other, seriously typing whatever it is that is asked to fulfill the account—he is really serious about setting her up on a dating site.
"You gotta be kidding Tony…"
"Nope. Enough robotics Romanoff before you turn into one."
Natasha's eyes widened as she suddenly realized that she told Tony her plans. And a wave of regret washed over her. She had meticulously scheduled out her entire summer break even though it hasn't started yet, she intended to spend time working on her robotics project every single day of the summer break. But now, with Tony in the picture with her phone in his hands, she could already imagine the chaos that was going to ensue.
The dating preference section came up and Tony immediately, with no hesitations, clicked women. It had been common knowledge among their friends that Nat had a strong liking for girls. He chuckled to himself, thinking about the kind of women the app would likely recommend for her.
"Let's make things spicy," he said under his breath as he set the age range for Natasha's profile. With a few taps, he set the age preference to 30-50 years old. "You'll thank me for this, Nat," he said with a sly grin on his face.
Every time he and Nat would pass some women on the street, Tony would stealthily observe Nat's reactions. Whether it was a woman walking past them with her kids or a lady jogging in tight-fitting leggings who he was sure was around 35 to 40, the red head is drooling already. Tony had taken note of Natasha's undeniable interest in women—women who are old enough to be her mother.
The last step came, he only needed to pick a photo of Natasha and it's all done and set up, ready to swipe left and right. So he went through her gallery to find photos of her, but her gallery is just full of screenshots about freaking science.
As Tony sifted through Natasha's gallery, his mood grew more impatient and bored.
"Seriously Nat, you've got like a million screenshots of scientific articles and memes about space, and when you do actually take a photo, it's of some historical artifact in a museum. This is like a grandma's photo album…" he grumbled, scrolling further.
"Okay, that's enough." The redhead stood from the sofa but Tony backed away not even looking at her, too busy to smile like an idiot with whatever he saw on her phone.
"Damn, Nat," he muttered under his breath, a smirk forming on his face. "I had no idea you were hiding this much muscle under those baggy clothes." He came across a couple of mirror shots that Natasha had taken in the gym. In these photos, she was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and some baggy shorts, showing off her muscular arms and strong physique.
Tony chuckled, his eyes still glued to the photos of Natasha's flexing arms. "Yeah, definitely milfs will absolutely love these shots."
Nat couldn't help but blush, both at the compliment and at the mention of milfs. "You really think so?" she asked, a hint of shyness in her voice.
"Oh yeah, they would swipe right in a heartbeat," he said, chuckling. "These are juicy…"
"Okay, now you sounded perverted. Gimme that…" Natasha was finally able to get her phone back and Tony raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Hey, I was just trying to get some good pictures of you in there. You gotta give the ladies something to look at, you know?" Tony watched as Natasha went through the app, "You just need to click confirm, and it's all set up…but it's still your choice. And…I gotta go, mom's gonna call me."
Natasha paused and looked at Tony with relief and confusion. She was grateful for the break in the conversation, but she also didn't want him to leave just yet. "Okay...go ahead. Can't keep mommy waiting." She said jokingly.
"Okay, now that sounded perverted coming from you, Romanoff." Tony pointed a finger at her while walking backwards towards the redhead's apartment door.
"I'm just kidding," Natasha let out some giggles as she walked Tony off her apartment, "Don't kill your father, Tony."
"I'll try not to, I can't believe mom wanted me to spend half of my summer with him. I love her so much that I'll do anything she asks of me even though it's spending some time with the man who hurt her."
"You'll be fine, just don't get your hand bloody like last time."
Tony chuckled and saluted her back, then turned to leave. "I make no promises, Romanoff." He sighed, Natasha just gently patted his shoulder and when she was about to close her door, her best friend's foot stopped it from closing.
"Goodluck with the milf hunting."
⧗
For the next few days, Natasha found herself thinking about the dating app and Tony's playful attempt to set her up. She would secretly open the app every now and then but couldn't bring herself to swipe in any direction. She thinks all these women are deserving to be dated, but she could only pick one of course.
Finally, one night, Natasha couldn't resist the temptation any longer. She sat on her couch to browse through the potential matches. She'd take her frustration out on her pillow, mumbling to herself about how ridiculous this all was. But she continued, her heart raced as she began swiping through the profiles. Her cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment as she came across various women who fit her preference—older attractive women, thanks to her best friend who knew exactly what her type is.
As she read the bios, she couldn't help but be intrigued by some of their descriptions. They were confident, successful, and had a certain allure about them that made her even more flustered.
She should've swiped right to have more chances of winning like what Tony advised her, but Natasha continued swiping left through profiles. Yes, she noticed that the women she saw were undeniably beautiful, however, she wanted to see something different, that's why she started swiping left. It wasn't because she found them unattractive, but rather because they didn't quite match the image she had in mind.
She was so intimidated, all these women looked so powerful—like how women should be. So far she'd seen a woman who's a pilot, CEO, business owners and many jobs that she for sure puts a lot of zeros on their bank accounts. Not that she didn't want that and she's definitely not opposed to the idea of being a sugar baby, but...she wanted someone who's simple, domestic yet can lead her.
Each profile she scrolled through brought a mix of excitement and anxiety, but curiosity pushed her to keep searching for that one woman who would make her heart skip a beat.
"Y/N, 44 years old, mother of two, loves gardening, sketching…" she read to herself, trying not to blush as she looked at your photo. Most women she had seen in this app either had a picture with the Eiffel tower or a selfie inside the high premium car—no offense, she loved everything old women do. But you? You just had a picture of yourself in a beautiful garden she thought was in your place, surrounded by lush greenery. Your genuine smile and a sparkle in your eyes stood out to Natasha.
"Just 4 hours drive away from here…"
Natasha's heart raced as she nervously swiped right on your profile, her hand trembling a little. The moment she did it, she immediately slammed her phone shut and threw herself onto her bed, her heart pounding in her chest.
The thought of you potentially seeing her profile and possibly matching with her made her stomach flutter. The redhead buried her face into her pillow, unable to wipe the redness of her face.
She stood and immediately put on her glasses to distract herself from the constant nervous feeling of seeing a notification from the app, Natasha threw herself into various activities to keep her mind occupied. She deep cleaned her apartment, organized her cluttered drawers, and even got started on her robotics project.
Days passed, but there still wasn't any notification from the dating app. And Natasha actually forgot about it, the robotics project she's working on consuming and occupying every time she had for the day.
Natasha was deep in thought, working on her project, when the sudden notification sound from her phone jolted her from her focus. Startled, she picked up her phone, expecting it to be an email from the agency she applied for an internship or her sister asking for some 5$ on cashapp. However, when she looked at the screen, her heart almost jumped out of her ribs when she saw the dating app icon. She shakingly and immediately opened it.
You: Hi dear
Natasha found herself biting her lower lip, wrestling with her thoughts. She'd faced down debaters, cracked numerous codes, and aced countless exams and quizzes. But responding to a simple "hi" from an older woman had her completely flustered. It was a ridiculous feeling, but she couldn't deny the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of conversing with you.
She typed and deleted various responses, unsure of what to say, until finally, she decided on something simple yet respectful at least.
Natasha: Good evening, how are you?
You: I'm good, just finished cooking some dinner. You?
Natasha: I haven't eaten anything yet, I was working for a project.
You: That's not good for your health and for those massive muscles of yours.
Natasha felt her cheeks grow warm as she read your reply about her muscles. Tony was indeed right when he said milfs will definitely like those. She hadn't expected you to notice that, but reading it brought a smile to her face.
Natasha: Massive muscles? I think you're exaggerating a bit.
She typed, trying to downplay your compliment, yet secretly loving the attention.
You: Exaggerating? Not one bit, love. Your biceps are godly💪🔥
You responded, clearly amused by her attempt to deny your compliment.
The redhead felt her heart rate increase at your playful banter and the cute emojis you used. She couldn't help but feel the pain of her cheeks from smiling with your attention and the nicknames you're calling her.
Nat: Thanks :)))
You: So…where exactly do you live in Brooklyn?
⧗
"Y-You should probably stop that," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I-I'm not...I'm not good at…"
You slowly start to grind your hips against Natasha, feeling her body tense up beneath you. Her eyes dilate, and she licks her lips nervously.
Despite her protests, you continue to grind against her, feeling her hips instinctively buck up to meet yours. Natasha's face turns a deep shade of red, and she lets out a soft whimper as she feels herself getting hard beneath you. "P-Please...stop…"
And you did, you pause, lifting your hips away from her but you were still straddling her—kneeling straightly where your tits were right in front of her. Natasha whines softly at the loss of the friction, her hips bucking forward as if seeking more. You smirk mischievously, leaning in close to her ear. "I'm stopping because my baby told me to. Mommy has to listen to what her baby says, mommy doesn't wanna be bad."
"F-Fuck please be bad mommy." Natasha whined.
"No mommy wants to be bad to their baby…"
Natasha lets out a frustrated whine again, her hips bucking forward again as she chases the friction she was just denied. "B-But Mommy...it feels so good, you're so good…" she whimpers, her eyes filled with need and puppy-dog sadness. "Please, just a little more—"
You slowly unbutton your top, revealing your bra. Natasha's eyes flick down to your chest, watching intently as you unhook the bra and let it fall to the floor. Your bare breasts come into view, you guide Natasha's face to your chest, gently cupping the back of her head. Her mouth parts slightly, and you can feel her warm breath on your tits.
"Be good and suck mommy's tits," you whisper, your voice laced with desire.
Natasha, like a good baby she is, eagerly obeys, pressing soft kisses to your breasts. She kisses and licks, her touch gentle and reverent. You can hear her breathing grow heavier, feel her body tensing as she gets more aroused.
"That's it, baby. Be so good for mommy…"
Her mouth finds your nipples, and she begins to suck and lick enthusiastically. She moans against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. You can feel her hands gripping your waist tightly, her nails digging in slightly.
She continues to suck and lick your peaks, her cold glasses press against your warmth against the skin of your breasts, the temperature difference sending goosebumps across your flesh. You moan softly, your fingers tangling in her hair to keep her head in place as she paid attention to both of your tits.
After several minutes of shared attention on your tits, you guide Natasha's face back up to yours. You lean down and press a soft, passionate kiss to her lips finally settling back down to her lap feeling her hard once again.
Your hands gently stroking Natasha's braided hair. You reach out and slowly move your hands towards her shorts, immediately feeling her hard cock through her boxers. Her eyes widened as he realized what you're doing. You then pulled out his cock spring free.
"Guess who's being bad, hm?"
"Please…p-please mommy."
You carefully shifted to position yourself on Natasha's pointing cock. You guide her hands to your hips as you slowly lower yourself onto her. You can see the shock and pleasure on her face as you envelope her with your warm walls.
"Y/N…" she stammers.
"That's not my name baby."
"Mommy, please!"
You bit your lower lip and began to move, taking her in and out of your warmth, Natasha's head lolls back, her mouth opening in a silent 'O' of pleasure. Her hands on your hips tighten, her fingers digging in slightly.
"I-It's so tight, Mommy…you're so…"
"Mhm, yeah?" you pant condescendingly, "Mommy's what baby?"
"So good! So tight!" she cries.
"Oh yeah?"
You lean down, your breath hot against her ear. "That's because Mommy's special hole is made just for my special baby. Only for you…" you punctuate each phrase with a slow thrust, taking her deeper.
Natasha's breathing grows faster, her chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Her hips buck upwards to meet your slow, languid movements. "Mommy it-it feels…so good…" she moans softly, her voice barely a whisper. "I-I think I'm-I'm—"
"Are you good?" you asked, but the redhead didn't answer, her eyes shut closed behind her fogged glasses and was too focused on her pleasure and you loved it. "Are you good, Natasha?" Now you calling her on her first name caught her attention.
"Y-Yes…"
Your hands gripped her shoulders as you continued to ride her. "Then hold it, baby. If you're good you're going to hold it until I say you can come," you increase the pace slightly, your own pleasure building as you feel her throb inside you. "That's it, just hold on…"
Her face scrunches up in concentration, her hands bruising your waist. "M-Mommy, it's too much! I can't-I can't hold it!" she whines pitifully, his voice filled with need and desperation. "Please…"
"No, baby. You hold it. You can do it. Mommy knows you're strong…" you lean back further, grinding down onto her, your abdominal muscles flexing, "and you're good, you can do it baby."
Natasha lets out a high-pitched whine, her body trembling as she tries her best to obey. "I-I'm trying, I'm trying to be good…" her body stiffens, her back arching slightly as she struggles to hold back.
You lean in close, your voice dropping to a low, soothing tone. "That's my baby...you're doing so well, just a little longer…"
Her face flushed with heat, her pupils dilating as she watched you with an agape mouth, riding her. Suddenly, her expression turns defiant. "Fuck maybe I wanna be bad," she grips your hips tightly and begins to thrust up into you, ignoring your command. "Fuck, mommy I wanna be bad."
You're taken aback by her sudden defiance, your eyes widening in surprise. "Natasha...baby, no...oh! " your voice trails off as she continues to thrust into you deliciously. "Shit baby, fuck!"
She is so fucking strong!
So now, it's you who's trying to hold back, but Natasha's sudden burst of strength is overwhelming. Her thrusts become brutal, pounding into you with relentless intensity. You're trapped, pinned on top of her dominant form, unable to escape the force of her desires.
"Natty…baby stop…"
"I can't stop…" she moans, her body tensing as she reaches her limit. "I-I'm gonna...I'm gonna come! I'm gonna come inside you!" she throws her head towards your shoulder, her movements become erratic, her hips bucking wildly as she empties himself into you. You're left shocked, gasping, trapped on top of her as she finds her release.
"Turn around...get on your hands and knees…"
"Wha—"
Your shocked expression quickly turns into one of pleasure as Natasha's dominant command wash over you. You scramble to obey, turning around and dropping to your hands and knees. Natasha stands up, her hands gripping your hips as she holds you in place.
"Good, my good girl...now stay like that…"
As Natasha starts to move behind you, you feel a surge of emotion. Shock, awe, and a touch of humiliation mix together. You never imagined that she would take control like this, especially after she'd seem like the one to submit. Now, the roles are reversed, and you're the one being taken.
Natasha's grip tightens around your hips as he begins to thrust into you from behind. The angle is different, deeper, and you can't help but let out a moan. "You like that, hm, mommy?" she growls. "You like being on the other end, don't you?" she thrusts deep, her hips slapping against your ass. "Answer me…" her hand reaches around, finding your most intimate spot. "Answer me or I'll stop…" she teases you mercilessly.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
Natasha suddenly pulls out, lifting you up and carrying you to the edge of the bed. She sits down, easily manhandling you over her lap. Your back rests against her chest as her hands hold your thighs, keeping your legs wide open as she slides her cock back into your wetness. She spreads your thighs wider, her knees pushing yours apart as she continues to pound into you. Her touch is unyielding, her rhythm punishing.
"Hold your thigh…" she took your hand and put it to keep your thigh up. "Hold...hold the other, hold both…" she commands, her breath hot against your neck. You comply, your hands gripping your thighs tightly as her strong hand comes down to string your throbbing clit.
"Oh-oh God, Natasha! Please...I can't-I can't take it anymore…" your cries fill the room, your tits bouncing as she pounded inside you.
You threw your head back against Natasha's shoulder, exhausted from your struggles. She reaches up, her hand cupping your jaw and turning your head. Her mouth descends on yours, swallowing your moans. Her tongue slips past your lips, dueling with yours as she continues to pound into you.
You try to wiggle away from her relentless touch, but a strong hand wraps around one of your thighs, pulling you back. "Oh, no you don't…" Natasha's voice breathed in your ear, her hold was strong to keep your legs apart. Her fingers never stop their relentless strumming on your clit and her cock pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, mama…" she whispers in your ear, her voice dark and commanding. "Squirt all over my cock…"
Her words send you over the edge. With a loud cry, you laid your head on her shoulder, your body convulsing as you came undone. You squirt all over her, your juices gushing out as she continues to thrust into you.
Natasha's own release hits her hard. With a final, brutal thrust, she buries herself deep inside you, her body shuddering as she comes. Her hot seed fills you up, spilling out around her still-pulsating cock. You can feel her hot cum mixing with your own fluids, the combined liquid slowly leaking out of you. You can't help but moan at the sensation, your body continuing to spasm when her cock bumped accidentally in your clit.
"You're so good for me, mama."
⧗
You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside. Blinking your eyes open, you find yourself alone in Natasha's bed. You stretch, wincing slightly at the soreness between your thighs. A quick glance around the room reveals no sign of the girl.
You sit up, rubbing your temples as a wave of guilt and self-disgust washes over you. Post nut clarity hits hard.
"How could I have been so stupid?" you chide yourself, your voice barely a whisper. "I drove four hours just to...to sleep with a stranger on a dating app."
"Am I really that desperate for a good fuck?" you whisper harshly to yourself.
Panicked, you start searching for your clothes, but they're nowhere to be found. "Where are my clothes?" you mutter, your heart pounding in your chest. Your gaze falls on a large, plain shirt draped over a chair. You grab the shirt, smiling as you read what was printed on it that says, "The physics is theoretical but the fun is real."
You quickly slip it on, the fabric swallowing you whole. It reaches down to your mid-thighs, the hem fluttering around your bare legs. You realize with a blush that you're not wearing anything else—just the shirt and your damp underwear.
You decide to take in the surroundings of the woman you slept with last night, it wouldn't be bad wouldn't it? The first thing you notice is how clean and organized Natasha's room is. The walls are adorned with intricate diagrams of solar systems, planets, and stars, each one meticulously labeled and colored. You spot a few custom-made lamps on the desk and shelves, their shapes resembling various celestial bodies that you thought she made herself.
The lamps cast a soft, warm light over the room, their glow mimicking that of distant stars. You see a bookshelf crammed with books on astronomy, physics, and electronics. A large whiteboard takes up one wall, covered in complex mathematical equations and diagrams.
Your gaze drifts downward, landing on a piece of paper on the floor. So you bend down to pick up the paper, smoothing it out on the table as you sit down. At first glance, it appears to be an application of some sort. Your eyes scan the page, taking in the details of information you see.
"Natasha...Alianovna Romanoff," you smiled as her name tumbled out of your lips. "Beautiful name to moan to..." and you did in fact moan it last night. "December 3," you frowned, tilting your head slowly as you read the detail, "2002…" you felt your heart dropped to your stomach.
"22 years old?"
A sound of footsteps and a humming echo from outside the room made you alarmed. Panicked, you gripped the paper and rushed towards the door, slipping out just as it creaks open. And there you saw Natasha who was cooking some breakfast.
She looks up as you exited her room, her eyes widening briefly as she takes in your appearance. Your hair was a mess and you're wearing her clothes—her favorite one, the oversized t-shirt clings to the curves of your breasts, revealing the outline of your hardened nipples. The hem barely reaches mid-thigh, revealing your bare legs—and your nude colored panties she herself took off last night.
You march towards her, barefoot, brandishing the application paper like a sword.
"You're 22?!"
"Wha—"
"Your bio says you're 28!"
"Wha—I-I didn't kno—"
"That's bullshit!"
"And I was like...God! I slept with someone who's the same age as my sons." You mimic the same line you said as you recall the events of what happened weeks ago, sharing every detail with Thena, your best friend. She was in fact, the one who told you to try going on a dating app.
"At least you had a good fuck," your eyes widened with Thena's vulgar words but you hesitate for a moment before nodding, your face burning with embarrassment. Because, well, it's true…
"Yeah, it was…" you trail off, unable to meet her gaze.
"Good? Good?" Thena asks pulling the words out of you as she noticed you being hesitant.
"She was so gentle at first, almost shy...let me lead her but once she got going…whew!" you whistled softly, fanning yourself as you laughed.
"And you ghosted her…" you pause mid-laugh at your best friend's reply, you felt like she just slapped reality across your face.
"I—" you raised your brows, palming your chest as you looked at her, "I didn't, okay, I just left. What would you expect me to do? She lied." You defend, leaning down to your chair as you glance at your best friend who was eyeing you like she knows all your secrets. And she does though, but not this one. "She's young, Thena," you reason, "she'll move on. She'll meet someone new." You dismiss the idea of Natasha being hurt by your not so sudden disappearance with a wave of your hand. "It's not like we had any emotional attachment or anything. Hell, maybe I am the third girl she had in her apartment that week. Who knows?" you chuckled humorlessly. You really wished you weren't.
"Hm, just fucking."
"Exactly, just fucking," you say, mirroring Thena's crude language. "We both needed that at the moment." You nod confidently, convinced that's all it was—a simple physical need fulfilled, nothing more. But as you continue to talk, a small, secret part of you whispers that it was more than just a physical need. You felt a connection, a spark, something that went beyond the surface level. But you quickly silence that voice, deciding to keep your true feelings buried deep inside because there is no chance of getting back, you have deleted the app so there is no more way to contact her. But going to her place is a different conversation and there is no way in hell you're going to do that.
Sighing heavily, you rub your temples, trying to ward off the sudden headache that's formed.
"Besides, what would my sons think if they knew I was dating someone their age?" you muse aloud, looking at Thena with concern and embarrassment. "They'd probably be disgusted, Thee, I swear…"
"At least you're not robbing the cradle or y'know. It's not like she's underage or anything."
"Okay, enough, stop justifying her age. She still lied, which I didn't like. I wouldn't date someone who's the same age as my sons and someone who's younger, period." You said with a finality making your best friend laugh at your now serious face, she's really not used to you being like that. "Gosh, they wouldn't even let me date anyone..." you sighed, slumping back in your chair dramatically, making Thena laugh even harder.
"You've got some overprotective babies there." Thena chuckles between giggles.
You can't help but agree with your best friend, nodding your head in agreement. "Yeah, they are pretty overprotective. I swear, sometimes I think they forget I'm an adult too." You smiled, remembering that your two sweet boys are coming home today for summer break.
⧗
You are excited and all jumpy thinking that every sound you hear is a knock on a door.
You started preparing for their visit, tidying up your home and making sure everything was just right and in place, especially with their bedrooms. The clock ticked by, and soon enough, finally, you heard a real knock towards the door.
With a quick glance in the mirror to make sure you looked presentable, you went to the door to open it. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and then swung the door open.
There they both stood, a cocky smile on their face as they greeted you with a casual "Hey, Mom."
"Hello my babies." You almost cried on the spot seeing your grown sons.
"Whatchu cookin' mama?" your eldest, Bruce asked, kissing your forehead before entering the house.
"Your favorite beefy creamy mushroom, baby!" you shout.
"I love you so much, 'ma!"
Before you could even reply, an arm wrapped around you in a tight embrace, and before you knew it, you were being lifted off the ground, your feet dangling in the air. You squirmed playfully, laughing as you tried to put your weight back down.
"Put me down, you little devil!" you scolded lightheartedly, playfully pushing against your son's broad shoulders, though secretly enjoying the sweet gesture of your youngest.
As he finally set you down gently, a wide grin still plastered on his face, he let out a sigh and looked at you affectionately.
"I missed you so much, mom."
"I missed you too, Tony." You cupped his cheek and pestered him with so many kisses making him giggle.
"I...uhh mama, I hope you wouldn't mind, I am sorry for telling this to you right now. But I brought a friend over, if that's fine?" you placed your hands on his shoulders, as he looked at you with his usual puppy-dog eyes, "I owe her big time, I was the reason she's heartbroken and why her favorite shirt is stolen."
"Yeah, yeah..." you nodded encouragingly to assure him that it's okay to have some friend over, and the mention of a stolen shirt made you laugh—it was silly you thought. Kids. "Yeah, sure baby…you ca—" you trailed off, your world stopping as you saw the friend your son brought over, standing just a few steps behind him.
The friend your son brought over was none other than the person who haunted your dreams every night, the same woman you shared a night with many weeks ago that gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm that not even their father could give.
And you found her looking back at you, her gaze trailing down the shirt you're wearing that was in fact hers.
Author's Note: Long wait is over. My birthday is coming so if you wanna gib a li'l tip for this angsty, dark, allergic-to-happy-endings writer imma just throw this link right here...>< I mean, it's always there hahaha
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⧗
You came out of the operating room numb, the kind of numb that settles deep in your bones. The ceiling lights passed over you as they wheeled your wheelchair down the hall, everything was too bright and too quiet. When they finally stopped inside a room, you were left there staring upward, hands resting uselessly at your sides.
Then you heard it.
A cry. Sharp and full and alive. A newborn's cry, echoing somewhere down the hall. Nurses moved quickly past your door, voices gentle, congratulatory. Life continuing, uninterrupted.
But not for you.
Your hand moved to your stomach on instinct, fingers pressing lightly as if something might still be there if you just checked. Your chest tightened, breath breaking apart as the reality settled in all over again. That cry wasn't yours. That baby wasn't yours.
Tears slipped silently down the sides of your face. You didn't sob at first. You just lay there, staring, holding your stomach then your body twisted as the sobs finally broke free, pulling you inward. You curled onto your side, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold something that was already gone.
Then Wanda came. She stood frozen for half a second, eyes locked on you, taking in how you were curled up shaking. Then she pushed past the nurses without a word and rushed to your side. The moment they left the room, she was already there, dropping to the edge of the bed, hands hovering yours. Her face crumpled as she squeezed your hand, bringing it to her cheek.
"I'm here," she whispered over and over, voice breaking. "I've got you. I'm right here, love."
You tried to say something but your mouth wouldn't open. The words were there, crowding your chest, but they couldn't find their way out. All that came instead were broken sounds, breath hitching, tears soaking into Wanda's hand.
She didn't press you. She just nodded slowly, like she understood the language of your crying without needing it translated. Her hand stayed warm against your own.
"What do you want?" your bestfriend asked gently. "Are you hungry?"
You shook your head, small and tired.
"Okay," she said softly. "Then tell me, love. What do you need?" when she said your daughter's name, it broke something open in you. "Do you need Iyah?" she asked, careful, watching your face.
You nodded. Slowly. Once.
"Okay. I'll call Pietro. He'll bring her here. Don't worry," she said, brushing your hair back from your face.
Your best friend stayed with you. The crying wore you down until there was nothing left to hold you upright. Your breaths grew uneven, then slowly began to steady as exhaustion crept in. When you finally drifted off, Wanda pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders, adjusted the pillow so your neck wouldn't ache, and brushed your hair back from your face. She lingered a moment, watching to make sure you were truly asleep, then slipped quietly out of the room.
In the hallway, she found your doctor. She told her you should be able to go home tomorrow, that being in your own space would help more than another night under hospital lights.
"And I already talked to Y/N's wife, Natasha?" the doctor said, pausing like she was waiting for confirmation.
"Oh, uhm…yeah," that name got Wanda to raise her eyebrows to your doctor, "What about her?"
"She just settled all the paperwork and the bills."
Wanda nodded again, forcing a small smile as the doctor excused herself to check on you. The moment she was out of sight, the smile faded. Her jaw tightened, and she let out a slow breath through her nose, arms crossing over her chest as she stood there alone tapping her flats on the cold tiled floor.
Just as Wanda turned to head back to your room, she stopped short. Down the hall, unmistakable even from a distance, was the familiar red hair. She was walking toward your room like she knew exactly where she was going.
Like the fuck she has a right to, your bestfriend thought.
They locked eyes. Wanda held her ground, unmoving, a clear line drawn between her and your room.
Natasha slowed and stopped a few steps away. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Can I see her?"
Your best friend didn't hesitate. Her expression hardened and her politeness was gone. "You know," she said, "I really didn't expect you'd be here because all I know is how a heartless piece of shit you are."
Wanda took a slow step forward, closing the space between them until their faces were only inches apart. Natasha blinked, fisting her hands.
"I really want to sit down and have a conversation with you," Wanda continued, her voice tight. "But I won't. Because I don't trust myself to keep it just a conversation." She took a breath like she was forcing herself to stay in control. "Just…you know, I can tell you all of it. Everything she went through for three years you were gone. Everything." She hissed. "She was miserable, I can't even explain," a short, humorless breath escaped her. "But one time she didn't see a way out. If Aliah hadn't walked in when she did, if she hadn't called for help…I wouldn't be standing here talking to you. Maybe that's enough to tell how miserable she was, yeah?" she tilted her head slightly, sarcasm cutting through the anger.
For a split second, the mask slipped and the memory surfaced too clearly. That phone call Wanda received in the middle of the night of you crying and all hysterical, no words coming in your mouth rather than sobs, sorry's and cry for help. Wanda swallowed hard, then looked back at Natasha again, eyes burning.
"And she lived through that. All through that. Without you." Wanda leaned in just a fraction more. "And then you came back. She took it as a chance to make it up to you, for Aliah to have a complete family. But what did you do? Huh?" her voice was tight, edged with anger and she was barely holding back. "You ruined her all over again."
She stepped closer, their faces inch close to each other. "So no, you don't get to see her. You're not needed here. So you better get the fuck out."
Natasha took a step back to leave. Not because she wanted to, but because she knew staying would only draw more attention, more tension, more damage. Her shoulders were tight, her jaw set, every part of her resisting the choice to walk away.
But Wanda didn't let it end there, as the woman in front of her turned to walk away she spoke once again.
"You know after everything you did," she said, voice low but cutting, "she still wanted to fix things with you. She still believed in you." Her voice cracked.
"She told me she still loves you."
Natasha paused.
"But fuck you," Wanda spat with nothing but anger. "You don't deserve her love. You never have." A beat. "And you're once again proving that right now."
⧗
Carol noticed it from the school yard. Aliah was talking to someone she didn't know. A guy had crouched down in front of her, talking, his silver hair catching the light. Something about it felt off. Carol didn't hesitate and walked over.
"Hey, Aliah," she said gently, dropping to her level. "You know this guy?"
The man looked up first. "Oh—hi," he said quickly. "I'm Pietro. I'm her mom's friend." He glanced at Aliah, then lowered his voice so she wouldn't hear. "She's…in the clinic right now."
"Why?" Carol's expression changed instantly. "Something happened to her?"
Pietro hesitated, just a little too long.
Aliah heard it anyway. Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "What happened to mommy? She didn't cook me teriyaki for breakfast. Aunt Yeye cook me eggs with small eggshells."
The two went quiet for a beat, the weight of the question hanging there. Pietro swallowed, glancing at Carol, both of them suddenly aware that whatever they said next mattered more than anything else.
Pietro moved quickly, forcing a smile as he tried to soften it. "Oh, she was a little sick earlier?" he said gently, so unsure. "But she's fine now. We're just gonna go visit her at the clinic." He lifted Aliah into his arms, holding her close, already bracing himself. He knew how she gets when it came to you. He expected tears, panic, and questions all at once. But she didn't cry. She just rested her head against his shoulder.
"I want mommy."
"Yes, honey," Pietro's chest tightened. "We'll go to mommy."
Carol watched Aliah for a moment longer, then looked back at the man in front of her. "I'm Carol," she said, offering her hand. "I'm…Y/N's friend."
Pietro shifted Aliah on his hip and shook her hand. "Pietro," he replied.
"Is there any chance that I can visit her?"
Pietro paused, Wanda could be very strict and territorial with people around you especially right now, but the thing is, the man cannot say no. "Yeah." He lowered his voice. "She's at Harborview Maternity Clinic." He glanced down at Aliah before adding, "She'll be there until tomorrow morning." He gave Carol a small, polite nod, said a quick goodbye, and walked off with Aliah held close.
Carol stood there for a second after he was gone, the words sinking in.
Maternity clinic
The answer landed hard in her chest. She didn't need anyone to spell it out.
After dropping Monica, Carol stopped at a small shop on the way. She picked a simple bouquet and a hot chocolate from your favorite cafe.
When she reached the clinic, the smell of antiseptic hit her first. Then she saw her, Natasha—your wife.
She was standing near the counter, signing papers, speaking quietly with a doctor. They met eye to eye but maybe Natasha didn't recognize her or maybe she was too occupied with the paper in her hands.
Carol's stomach tightened. Instinct kicked in before thought could catch up. She turned away quickly, lifting the bouquet to half hide her face, pretending to adjust it as she slipped out of sight.
She didn't want to be seen. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Of course not by your wife.
The blonde walked straight to the lobby instead, pulse still a little too fast and signed in at the desk. A nurse led her down the quiet hallway and stopped in front of your room, knocking softly before opening the door for her. When she stepped inside, your eyes widened in surprise.
"Carol? Hey…what are you doing here?" you said quickly, lifting your head a little, instinctively fixing your expression like you didn't want her to see how fragile you felt.
Wanda squeezed your hand once, then stood. "I'll leave you two for a sec," she said gently, already moving toward the door.
"Hi," Carol smiles at Wanda and the woman just smiled back. Carol waited until she stepped out before she spoke. "Hey," she spoke softly and carefully. "I'm sorry. Someone earlier picked up Aliah, and…yeah. I talked to him and that's how I found out you were here." She took a step closer, bouquet still in her hands, her eyes full of concern as she looked at you. "If this isn't a good time, I can go. I just wanted to check on you. I was worried."
You managed a small smile, soft and tired, "No, it's okay," you said gently. "Thank you for coming, Carol. I really appreciate it."
The cup of hot chocolate sat warm in your hands, the heat seeping into your palms as you and Carol talked quietly. You two catch up and minutes slip by without either of you really noticing.
Then, almost casually, you asked between your conversation with her. "Have...have you seen Natasha outside perchance?"
Carol blinked, she noticed how you seem so uneasy like something is bothering you and you just addressed it now. "You haven't seen her?"
"Not since I got here. Maybe she's at work or something. I don't know. I was just wondering." You shook your head, a sad smile pulling at your lips.
Carol nodded slowly, "Okay, but I haven't seen her." She lies.
She lied.
She had seen Natasha. Just earlier at the lobby. But Carol didn't say that. She kept her voice even, her face calm, and let the moment pass without correcting it.
It just hurt her, that it was her who was there but you were looking for a different person.
She likes you—a married woman. There was no innocent way around that fact. No clean explanation that made it less complicated.
And now, sitting across from you, she couldn't help but notice the cracks. The pauses. The way you always feel awkward and distant when you talk about your wife, and the way something heavy always followed right after. She was picking up on it.
She never told herself she was entitled to you. She wasn't imagining taking you away or crossing lines on purpose. But she couldn't pretend the feeling wasn't there either. You being married didn't make it disappear. If anything, it made it heavier. So she kept it to herself, stayed careful, and chose to hold it quietly instead of acting on it.
But the thing about Carol is that when she saw a crack—a chance. She would immediately act on it. And now, she could see a small light slipping through, just enough to tell her the space was there.
⧗
Natasha drove back toward your residence to see your daughter. She was already aware of the woman who harbored an obvious dislike toward her. From what Yelena had learned, it was your close friend, Wanda Maximoff, who had a twin brother named Pietro. Both were immigrants from Russia. Wanda had been present since the earliest stages of your professional life, back when you secured your first corporate position, and from that point on, the two of you had remained closely attached.
As Natasha prepared to leave the clinic, she overheard Wanda speaking on the phone, mentioning Aliah and noting that she had just arrived home from school. That information shifted Natasha's course. She decided to pick Aliah up, and possibly return to the clinic afterward, creating an opportunity to see you. She did not pretend otherwise; she was fully aware that she was using her daughter as a means to reach you.
But now her mind wouldn't shut up.
Wanda's words kept replaying, over and over, louder with every block she passed. Three years. Alone. Miserable. The parts she hadn't seen, the moments she'd missed because she wasn't there. Natasha's grip tightened on the steering wheel, guilt creeping back in like it always did when she let herself think too long. The guilt hit harder the longer she drove. It wasn't just Wanda's words anymore. It was the comparisons she couldn't stop making. When she lost you, she'd still had someone. She had her mother, even if it was complicated. She had her sister. She had people who noticed when she was falling apart, people who caught her before she hit the ground.
You had none of that. Not even your mother. No one.
That realization sat heavy in her chest. Who held you when you couldn't hold yourself together? Who stayed up with you when the nights got too quiet and the thoughts got too loud? Natasha swallowed hard, blinking fast as her mind went somewhere she didn't want it to go. She tried not to picture it. Tried not to imagine you at your lowest, so tired of hurting that you almost gave up. She tried not to imagine what attempt you did. And Aliah—the thought of her precious girl being there, seeing even a glimpse of it, made Natasha's stomach twist.
Her thoughts were spiraling, stacking one on top of another until she couldn't hold them in anymore. She called Yelena. The moment her sister answered, everything poured out—Wanda's words, the anger behind them, the things she'd said about you. About the years Natasha hadn't known anything. About how bad it really was.
Yelena listened without interrupting at first. Then she let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "You just proved her right, Natasha," she said. "You walked away. Again."
Natasha's jaw tightened as she stared straight ahead, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel.
"You should've stood your ground," Yelena continued, her voice tense. "You should've fought for Y/N. You should've stayed. And don't forget—you're still her wife. You didn't divorce. You have every right to be there. She doesn't get to tell you to leave, Nat.
Natasha closed her eyes briefly and exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "I just didn't want to escalate things," she said quietly, exhaustion seeping into her voice. "She was angry. I was getting angry. If I pushed back, it would've turned into something worse, and that wouldn't have helped anyone. I thought walking away was the better choice."
She sighed, long and heavy, the sound carrying clearly through the phone.
"But that doesn't mean I'm walking away from her," Natasha added, firmer now. "I'm not giving up on her, Yelena. I won't disappear again."
She pulled into your apartment's parking lot and sat there for a moment, engine idling, hands resting on the wheel like she needed a second to steady herself because she knew that Aliah will not only bombard her kisses but also questions about you. Before getting out, she reached over to the passenger seat where the pizza boxes were stacked.
She knocked on your door, already rehearsing what she'd say. But when the door opened. It wasn't her daughter.
It was a man.
"Hi," he said, polite but surprised.
Natasha blinked. "Uhm, where's my daughter?" she asked, confusion slipping into her voice. Hadn't she just heard Wanda say Aliah was home?
"Oh," the man replied easily. "She was at the clinic. I just dropped her off earlier. I'd say about thirty minutes ago." He paused, then added with a small shrug, "We must've missed each other. Natasha, right?"
Natasha nodded, she was in the pizza parlor for almost 20 minutes so maybe they really did miss each other.
"Well," he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door, "do you want to come in?" his eyes flicked to the pizza boxes and he smiled. "Perfect timing 'cuz I'm starving."
The red head wanted to just step back and just say she needed to see her daughter so she could use her to get to you but she doesn't want to appear so disrespectful so she nods. Besides, this twin seems nice and she doesn't want to get into this twin's bad books.
"I was just cleaning up the room for Y/N," the man added casually, stepping back inside. "For when she comes back tomorrow. You can go upstairs if you want," he said over his shoulder. "Actually," he paused, glancing at the boxes in the living room, "I could use some help carrying a few things up there too."
Before she could respond, he was already heading toward the stairs. Natasha hesitated for a second before picking up a box, then followed the man. It was the first time Natasha had ever stepped into your room. The room where you had lived for three years without her. The space that had held all the days she wasn't part of.
She slowed as soon as she crossed the doorway. She put the box down before wiping her hands on her jeans. Then, her eyes moved quietly over everything. The queen sized bed, the desk with two office chairs—one big and one small that she thinks is for you and the small one for Aliah. The little signs of a life built carefully, deliberately. Then she noticed the photo frames.
The first things she saw were the photos of you and Aliah.
Newborn pictures, tiny and wrapped up, your face soft and exhausted beside her. Then another frame. First birthday. Second birthday. A christening photo, Aliah dressed in white, you holding her carefully like she was something sacred. Natasha's throat tightened as she followed the timeline on the wall, each photo quietly telling her what she'd missed.
Then her eyes caught on something else.
A photo of you and her.
She knew that one. Back in college. She remembered exactly when it was taken, and remembered the night after her first gig. The laugh, the way you'd looked at her like nothing else mattered.
She looked again.
There was another photo of the two of you. Not the same one. Different angles. You were hugging her and she was kissing your cheek.
Natasha stood there, staring, confusion settling deep in her chest. There were more photos, collage photos that were mostly taken from your dorm room and the getaways you two always had every month.
You had kept these. Through everything. Through three years without her. She didn't move for a long moment, like she was afraid the truth in front of her would vanish if she did. She didn't understand, why?
Why?
"She put those there because she doesn't want to erase you in Aliah's life."
The man spoke as he adjusted the curtain rod, his tone steady, deliberate, as though he knew exactly where Natasha's thoughts had gone. "My sister—you probably met her at the clinic," he continued. "She told her not to do it. Said she shouldn't put those photos up because, well…you weren't really here."
Natasha felt it hit her all at once.
"She didn't want Aliah to feel like something was missing," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "Like there was a hole she couldn't fill. She wanted her to know you existed. That you mattered. Even if you weren't around."
Natasha turned her face away, blinking fast to make tears go away. More and more guilt pressed down on her, sharp and familiar, but this time it carried something more heavy. So heavy she doesn't know how she can bring herself up.
"So yeah, she just told Aliah you were at work. That was the story," he went on. "Mom's working. Long hours. Sometimes out of the country. She's on a plane so she can't call." He gave a small shrug. "Aliah bought it. Kids usually do when the story's simple enough." He glanced toward the photos again, then back at Natasha. "What's kind of funny is how it turned out, though. The whole thing." A short breath, half laugh. "That little plot she made up? It kinda became real."
Natasha frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, spreading his hands, "you actually came back. You were really actually working and suddenly came back home one day. So now, in Aliah's head, it all lines up. Like it was always supposed to be that way."
Natasha blinks, looking back at the photos of her daughter.
"But honestly, kids don't really get curious about that stuff," he said. "Not when they're that young. They don't sit around wondering why someone is missing. They care about who's there. Who shows up every day, who breastfeeds them, who tucks them in." Then he shook his head slightly. "But Y/N? She was stubborn about it. Really stubborn. She could've let it fade, because it's much simpler. Plenty of people would've. But she didn't. She kept you in the stories. Kept the pictures up. Kept your name alive in small ways, even when it probably hurts."
He looked back at Natasha, expression softer now. "And you know what I think? I think she also did that because she still loves you."
Twice today, Natasha had been told the same phrase.
That you love her.
The first time came like a blow, sharp and deserved. The second time landed slower, heavier, settling deep where guilt already lived. Hearing it once hurt. Hearing it twice made it impossible to ignore.
Because love like that wasn't supposed to survive with what she'd done. It wasn't supposed to last through absence, through years of silence, through the pain and damage that didn't heal cleanly. And yet here it was, reflected in photos on a wall, in stories told to a child, in people who knew you well enough to say it out loud without hesitation.
The guilt that followed was thick and relentless. It sat there, pressing in on her chest, reminding her that while she had found ways to survive losing you, you had found ways to carry her anyway. That you had loved her quietly, stubbornly, even when it cost you.
The man cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "Uh…I'm Pietro, by the way," he said, finally turning fully toward her. He held out his hand without thinking, palm dusty from whatever he'd been fixing, bits of plaster still clinging to his fingers.
Natasha wiped at her eyes quickly.
Pietro noticed his dirty hands a second too late. "Oh—" he pulled back awkwardly, glancing down at it, then gave a small, sheepish shrug. "Sorry."
He reached instead for the curtain rod leaning against the wall, lifting it like it had always been his intention.
Natasha drew in a breath and straightened, like she was pulling herself back together piece by piece. "Well, Pietro," she said, her voice coming out shaky, "I think I need to go back to the clinic. I need to see Aliah and Y/N. The pizza downstairs is all yours, thank you for doing all this."
"Oh—yeah, you're welcome." Pietro replied, nodding. "I think Aliah's sleeping there tonight." He hesitated, then added, "And there was a friend of Y/N who came by earlier. Carol, I think?"
"Carol?"
"Yeah," Pietro said. "Tall blonde. Military vibe." He shrugged. "She might still be there."
How didn't she notice her when she was there? Something shifted in Natasha's expression. She remembers a familiar blonde catching her line of sight while she was with your doctor in the lobby earlier. Her heart dropped realizing that someone else has been close in a moment she wasn't there for.
Especially when it was that tall blonde, military-fucking-vibe.
"Right," she said, a little bit pissed.
Pietro glanced at her, clearly catching how her words had landed, but he didn't say anything about it. "Anyway," he said, reaching behind the couch, "take this for Y/N." He pulled out something huge and awkward. "She won't sleep without it."
He handed her a worn out electric guitar pillow.
Natasha paused, staring at it for a second before taking it. It was from her. It was a gift she bought you during your first date. This time, Natasha really had a hard time fighting her tears, but she still managed to.
"Okay, thanks."
Pietro nodded and went back to what he was doing. Natasha stood there for a beat, holding the pillow, before heading out, the memory sticking with her as she left.
Walking in on your wife and your daughter with someone else was never something a spouse wanted to experience.
Especially not with a tall, blonde, unmistakably military-fucking-vibe woman sitting too close for comfort.
Natasha felt it the second she stepped inside. Aliah was on the bed, curled into you, arms wrapped tight around your body as if she were protecting you from the world. Carol sat nearby in a chair, close enough that it mattered, close enough that it made something sharp flare in Natasha's chest.
She forced herself to breathe. To slow it down and to get control. She had to.
The moment Carol noticed her standing there—having walked in without knocking—she stood immediately, careful and deliberate, like someone who knew exactly how this looked. You, on the other hand, looked genuinely surprised, eyes widening as you turned toward Natasha, caught completely off guard.
"Nat?" you said, blinking in surprise. "Just got off from work?"
"No, baby. I was here the whole time." The petname naturally came out.
Aliah slid off the bed and ran straight to her. She didn't say a word, just wrapped her arms around Natasha's neck and asked to be picked up. Natasha groaned as she lifted her without hesitation, holding her close. Only then did she look at the blonde, dead in the eye.
Carol got the message.
She stepped forward and squeezed your hand. "Get well, alright? I'll see you," she said softly.
"Thank you for coming," you replied, just as quietly.
As Carol headed for the door, Natasha moved without thinking, stepping into her path and stopping her short. They stood there for a second, just looking at each other. It always seemed to happen like this. Whenever they were face to face, Aliah somehow ended up right between them, like a tiny referee making sure things didn't go too far.
Natasha held her daughter a little tighter and met Carol's eyes. There was a lot she could've said. A lot she wanted to do. But she didn't. Instead, she was reminded what jealousy brought her last time—it cost everything.
Then she stepped aside, clearing the way.
"Bye, Y/N."
"Take care."
The door closed behind her and the room finally went still.
"Ali?" Natasha glanced down at Aliah, "Honey?" she shifted her slightly in her arms like she was checking if she was still awake.
"She's asleep." You say, seeing the sleeping angle of Aliah on Natasha's shoulder.
Natasha looked closer, at the way Aliah's head had gone slack against her shoulder, her breathing slow and even. She really had fallen asleep.
"Get her here," you whispered.
Natasha nodded and moved carefully, lowering Aliah onto the bed beside. Once she was settled, Natasha reached for the paper bag she'd brought and pulled out the electric guitar plushie. She tucked it into Aliah's arms, instinctively your daughter curled into it without waking, hugging it tight.
Your eyes lingered on the plushie. Then you looked up at Natasha. "You were at my apartment?"
She hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I thought Aliah was there. But turns out it was only your guy friend who was…there. The one with silver hair."
"Pietro."
"Yeah, him."
Silence settled over the room again, stretching on long enough that you became too aware of every breath, every small shift of the sheets. You cleared your throat softly.
"Nat," you said at last. "Come sit."
She looked like she was about to. She stepped closer, reaching for the chair—when the door opened.
Your best friend.
She stopped dead the moment she saw Natasha. The air changed instantly, like something tight had snapped into place. You knew that look on Wanda's face. You knew how angry she was, how fast that anger could turn into something loud, something sharp. She didn't care who was around when she reached that point.
So you acted before she could.
"Wands," you said quietly, almost pleading, tilting your head toward the bed. "Aliah's sleeping."
Wanda's eyes followed your glance. She saw your daughter curled beside you clutching the guitar plushie like it was her anchor. Something in Wanda's expression cracked. The anger didn't disappear, but it pulled back, held in by sheer will. She looked at you then, seeing your eyes softened, pleading in a way that said everything you can't say out loud.
"Call me if you need anything," she said quietly, the fight drained from her tone.
Before leaving, she glanced back at Natasha. The look she gave her was cold, furious, restrained only by the child sleeping and by you.
Once it shut, Natasha let out a slow breath. "She was really fighting the urge to slam that door," she said quietly, almost to herself.
You didn't say anything about that because you knew how much your bestfriend hated her and you feel guilty for it.
The silence that followed was awkward. It hung there, thick and uncomfortable, making you aware of every breath, every small movement in the room.
Natasha kept looking at you. Her eyes stayed on you with quiet worry, tracking the small things—the way you were laying in bed, the way your shoulders slumped, the way you avoided her gaze.
You couldn't bring yourself to look back. Every time you felt her attention, your eyes dropped to the bed, to Aliah, to anywhere that didn't risk breaking whatever fragile balance was holding the moment together.
Natasha wanted to say something. It showed in the way her lips parted, then pressed together again. She was worried, but afraid that speaking would make it worse, that the wrong words would push you farther away.
But she couldn't stay silent anymore.
"How are you?" Natasha asked quietly. "How do you feel right now? A-Are you in pain?" her voice softened as she went on, eyes finally lifting to your face. "What do you need? Are you hungry?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she felt the doubt and the cringe for herself. The worry that she'd crossed a line she hadn't earned the right to cross.
Too much. Too much questions, Natalia—she told herself.
Natasha's shoulders tensed slightly, her gaze flickering away for a second. It suddenly felt like too much—too soon, too heavy. Like she was asking for things she hadn't yet made up for. She swallowed, regret creeping in as she wondered if she should've stayed quiet, if her concern was just another burden on you instead of comfort.
"I am fine, I feel a little discomfort down there you know but I'll be fine. Also, Wanda gave me some soup earlier.
Natasha nodded a little too quickly. "Uhm—okay," she said, the word catching on the way out. "Y-You just…tell me when you need something." She paused, fingers flexing at her side, clearly unsure where to put her hands. "I'll be here. I mean—if that's okay with you."
There was an eagerness in her voice she didn't quite manage to hide, layered with nerves, with the fear of the feeling of overstepping again. She held your gaze for half a second longer than necessary, then looked away, waiting, hopeful and uncertain all at once.
You nodded softly. "You can stay," you said, barely above a whisper.
Another silence slipped in after that, heavier than the last. It stretched long enough that you could feel the moment settling. You swallowed and drew a breath, realizing this was yours now. Your turn to say something—anything.
"I didn't see you earlier. I thought you went to work after..." Well, that's an okay way to start a conversation again, right?
"No, I was here the whole day. I didn't go to work."
You frowned slightly, the pieces not lining up. You were about to say that Wanda hadn't mentioned seeing her—but the thought stopped short. You remembered the obvious animosity your best friend carried whenever Natasha's name came up. Wanda wouldn't have volunteered that information even if she had seen her.
"Carol said she didn't see you." You said instead.
Something changed in Natasha's face, subtle but unmistakable. "She did. I saw her."
You frowned. "Really?"
"Yeah. I didn't realize it was her at first. By the time I did, I was already leaving your place."
That only left you more unsettled. Carol had been so casual, so certain when she said she hadn't seen Natasha. Maybe she really didn't and she just didn't realize.
"I…I want to get up."
Natasha reacted immediately, "Okay. Yeah. Slowly," she said, already moving closer. She adjusted the blankets first carefully, making sure Aliah stayed asleep. Then she slid one arm behind your back and offered the other for support, her touch light but steady.
She guides you up inch by inch, watching your face the whole time, ready to stop if you so much as flinched.
"Restroom?" she asked softly, already reading it on your face.
You nodded.
Natasha stayed close as she guided you forward, one hand steady at your back, the other ready if your knees gave out. She matched your pace, quiet and focused, watching your footing, making sure you stayed upright until you reached the doorway. Only then did she ease her grip, still hovering, still ready, in case you needed her again.
She stayed right by the door, close enough that you could feel her presence even with it half closed. When you finally stepped out, she moved instantly, arms already lifting, prepared to guide you back.
You straightened, steady enough, and gave her a small smile. "I've got it now," you said softly. "Thank you."
Natasha froze for a second, hands hovering in the air before she let them drop. She nodded, a little awkward, a little relieved, and stepped back just enough to give you space.
"Do you want coffee?"
Natasha blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I—uh," she started, then stopped. Her eyes drifted to the coffee pot sitting there, like it had only just appeared. "Do you want coffee?" her face turned red, embarrassing for repeating your words. "I mean—I can make you some." She cursed herself when she remembered you don't drink coffee.
You smiled at that, the tension easing just a bit. "I've got it," you said softly.
When you said you had it again, Natasha nodded, but something in her chest tightened anyway. She wished you'd let her do it, it's for her anyway. She wished she could step in, do something—anything—that proved she could still take care of you.
Instead, she watched you move carefully on your own. You'd learned how to manage by yourself. Had been doing it for a long time. Too long.
She sat back down in the chair, hands clasped together, eyes never leaving you.
Tears threatened to spill, and she blinked them back quickly. This was what hurt the most—not that you struggled, but that you'd learned how to carry everything alone, and she hadn't been there to help you hold any of it. That you didn't really need her or in the way she'd imagined, not in the way that might've made things simpler for her guilt.
While the coffee brewed, you stood there a little longer than necessary, hands resting on the counter. Your back was to her. Somehow, that made it easier.
"Natasha?" you said quietly.
She lifted her head at once, ready to ask if you need something.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," you went on, voice low, careful. Saying it like this felt safer—without having to meet her eyes, without seeing what it might do to her face.
Behind you, Natasha stayed silent because she doesn't know what she should say. But you don't really care if she hears you or not, you just need everything out of your system.
Your lips shook as you spoke, the confession tumbling out before you could pull it back. "I-I really don't plan on telling you," you said quietly. "It was gone anyway, so why would I?"
You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a steadying breath before turning around. You walked back slowly, her cup of coffee in your hand.
"Here," you murmured, setting the cup down on the table beside the chair she was sitting on.
You barely had time to step back before Natasha closed the distance. She was still sitting in her chair when her hands took a hold on your waist—it caught you off guard. She said nothing. Her thumb moved slowly at your side, an absent, tender motion that drifted toward your stomach, guided by instinct rather than thought.
Then she leaned in, resting her forehead against you, a breath leaving her that sounded unsteady, exhausted, relieved all at once.
You didn't know what to do at first. Your hands hovered, uncertain, before settling on her head. Slowly and gently, you ran your fingers over her braids, smoothing them down the way you used to, the way your body remembered even if your mind hesitated.
That was when you felt it.
Her shoulders shook, just slightly at first. Then a breath hitched against your chest, sharp and broken. She sobbed quietly, the sound muffled where her forehead rested against your stomach, like she was trying to keep it contained and failing anyway. Natasha shifted then, before you could register what she was doing, she pressed a soft kiss to your stomach. The thin hospital gown was the only thing between her lips and your skin, but it didn't matter. The gesture landed—gentle, reverent, full of grief she hadn't found words for.
It broke something in you.
Your breath hitched and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You turned your face just enough to hide it and wiped it away quickly.
She then guided you back toward the bed, making sure you were settled. Her hands lingered for a second too long because she didn't quite trust herself to step away.
She looked at the way Aliah slept so peacefully, unaware of how fragile everything around her really was. Natasha swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice down. But even whispering was difficult. Her voice cracked anyway.
"I…I have no right to cry," she said, her voice breaking despite the words as she sat back in the chair. "Not when it was you who had to go through all of that."
"Natasha—"
"I need to say this now," she murmured, words rushing out like she was afraid they'd disappear if she waited. "Because I don't want to lose you." She pressed her forehead a little closer to you, breath uneven. "I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and you won't be here anymore and it'll be my fault," she admitted quietly. Her voice broke completely then. "I can't…I can't go through that again."
She stayed there, trembling, holding the moment carefully, like if she spoke too loud or waited too long, it might all slip through her fingers.
"I'm sorry," she kept saying. "I'm so sorry. I should've been there. I should've known. I never should've hurt you—" her voice cracked, and she shook her head, unable to finish any of it.
You reached up without thinking, she immediately took your hand and leaned into your touch like she needed it to breathe.
She swallowed hard, eyes lifting to yours, desperate and afraid. "You haven't…you haven't brought up the divorce," she said quietly, like the thought alone terrified her. "I hope you won't." Her voice dropped, raw and pleading. "Please. Baby, I want a chance. Just one. I don't need forgiveness right away. I just—I don't want to lose you again."
She stayed there, leaning her cheek on your hand clinging to the possibility you hadn't taken away yet.
She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before speaking again. "I've been in therapy," she said quietly. "For the drinking. For…everything." Her voice wavered, but she pushed through it. "I want to be better." She lifted her head just enough to look at you. "For you. For Aliah. And for myself," she added, like she needed you to hear every part of it. That she was going to be better and she is worthy of you. "I want my life back. I want us back. Let me make up for it, let me make up for you, baby please."
You looked away to the other side to wipe a tear that fell down your cheek.
"I don't know how to do this alone. I'm trying. I really am. But I don't want to do it without you. I don't want to come back to a life where you're not there."
She swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm asking for a chance. Baby, please just…a chance."
"I love you."
You didn't know what to say.
Seconds passed and you still didn't say anything and that made Natasha tighten her grip on your hand as she pressed her cheek deeper on your palm.
She closed her eyes, breathing you in, memorizing the moment in case it was all she would ever get.
Summary: Every God has its own angels. And she needs one for her own.
Pairings: Fugitive!Natasha Romanoff x Church Girl!Reader
Word count: 16.5k
Tags | Warnings: +18 blasphemous content, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, top!Natasha, bottom!r, non-consensual touching, dubious consent, strap-on, scissoring, FLUFF, angst, usage of bible verses, internalized homophobia, manipulation, abuse, emotional distress, and other triggering themes
Author's Note: This was set after the accords (Norway/Nomad Nat). I planned the ending of this story to be dark but now, I decided to post the alternative one instead to avoid being flagged, I will still see if I will be able to publish it.
NSFW Art
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⧗
The green flowy dress accentuated your waist perfectly, the messy bun with stray strands framed your face beautifully, and those glasses...they just added an unexpected touch of intelligence to your already innocent appearance. That was the first time she saw you, watching you hand out leaflets with a smile.
She watched you for a few moments more, seeing how gentle you were with the people who accepted your leaflets, and how patient you were with those who ignored you.
It was like watching a delicate flower sway in the breeze, untouched by the harsh reality of the world around it.
She could faintly hear your voice carrying through the air. It was soft and small, and it seemed to cut through the noise around her.
"Hi there...happy sunday!" you extended your hand, offering the leaflet, "I'd like to ask if you have some couple of minutes…" you're not even done yet but everyone shook their heads already or ignored you completely, passing on you like you were a ghost.
"No thanks."
"Not interested."
"I'm good."
The rejections came one after the other but your smile never faded though. "God bless, have a nice day ahead!" you'd still say softly to each person who refused and completely ignored you or those few who took the leaflets out of habit, only to crumple them up and throw them aside without even reading.
You were a rare sight in this cruel world, and it both fascinated and intrigued her. She felt an unexplainable urge. She watched your sweet smile and innocent eyes, hearing your kind and soft words. While her mind echoed with dark thoughts.
What would you look like if you cried?
If that sweet voice screamed?
If those innocent eyes were filled with fear and tears?
"Hi, would you spare a minute for a word of God?" you asked, completely oblivious to the danger standing right in front you.
"Hmm...yeah." She had a deep, husky tone that contrasted sharply with your soft, melodic one.
Your heart fluttered like a little bird as she agreed. She was the first person today to actually agree to listen to you share what you loved sharing—the word of God!
She watched your giddy expression that was almost infectious. She accepted the leaflet carefully from your fingers, noticing how neatly it was folded.
Your hands were small, soft, clean—unlike hers. Bloody and rough.
"Find your path to salvation." The leaflet says.
You two moved to the side, away from the passersby. You turned to her with a warm smile, your eyes shining with genuine interest. "What's your name?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, waiting for her response.
"Natasha."
"Natasha, I can see you're in a rush. You could've just kept walking, but you chose to stop. That means something. This is God's plan, God has given you these five minutes with me for a reason. So let me share something quick with you."
God's plan indeed...that this pure soul should cross my path today. She thought in her mind.
"Natasha, in the earlier mass I attended today the priest shared the Holy Gospel today about Romans 16:19…" you looked at her with that smile on you that seemed to never disappear. "For your obedience is known to all, so that I rejoice over you, but I want you to be wise as to what is good and innocent as to what is evil." You say, completely unaware of the irony of sharing this verse with her.
Inwardly, Natasha taunted the heavens. Isn't that sweet? The God himself watches over his angelic creature, yet little did he know, a monster stands here among his precious flock…
Does he know?
He does, right?
He's God.
You continued, "It's about being wise in discerning good from evil, but also maintaining innocence. It's a balance, you know? Being aware of the world's darkness without letting it taint your pure heart."
Natasha hummed, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she listened intently, nodding along to your explanation. She seemed genuinely intrigued, or at least pretended to be. You couldn't tell the difference, but you liked that she appeared to be hanging onto your every word.
Suddenly, a loud roar of a motorcycle engine pierced the air. Without hesitation, the womam shoved you hard to the side with surprising strength, causing you to stumble and let out a shriek. You hold on to her leather jacket. The bike zoomed past where you two had been standing just moments before, nearly clipping you.
"He must have an emergency, I hope God blesses him and keeps him safe." Your voice was filled with genuine concern, as you silently whispered the words in the air—just between you and God. But the quiet prayer didn't go unheard by the redhead.
"He's an asshole, sweetheart." She murmured, letting you go after being flushed with her and you simply shook your head gently, your smile never wavering.
"He might be rushing to the hospital to see a family member, or maybe his-his wife is…giving birth? You never know what's really going on, Natasha."
You always have to find the good in everyone, don't you?
"Would you say that would be God's plans too then? Someone running over his…angel?" her voice carried a challenging edge, paired with an almost begrudging admiration for your unwavering faith. She gestured towards you, implying that you were the angel in question.
Natasha watched as you hesitated, biting your lip in thought.
"If that were the case, then perhaps God has a greater purpose even in that tragedy. Maybe that angel is needed back home, or maybe the person rushing had a lesson to learn," you say, "I-I suppose even death serves a purpose in God's plan."
"So you're saying someone's life is more important than yours, angel?"
You were much more confident this time with your faith backing you up, your eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. "God values all lives equally. To Him, everyone's life is no less precious than the other. His love is not selfish. He doesn't play favorites. Sometimes, He asks one life to pave way for another."
"So you will you?" The redhead crosses her arms, challenging you, "Pave the way for others?"
"If that's God's plan," you repeated softly, maintaining eye contact, your expression completely serene, "Then I'm ready."
In Natasha's mind, she wanted desperately to push the question further, to try and make you falter, somehow sow a seed of doubt about God's reasons. Her lips curled into a smirk as she watched you, clearly impressed despite herself.
She took a step back, breaking the intense eye contact. "I think I should get going. As much as I want to listen to you more, angel...I have a schedule to keep."
And some plans to make…
"Oh, okay. Wait, let me just…" you turned back to the small table behind you and reached for your bag, you fished a rosary bracelet and unwrapped it, "here, to keep you safe."
She watched, almost mesmerized, as your small, delicate hands placed the bracelet in her large, rough ones. She doubted the bracelet would even fit around one of her thick wrists. Yet, here you were, giving it away.
"Sorry, I don't even think if it will fit. That's all I have left."
"Don't worry, I will make it fit."
There was a dirty undertone to her words, a hidden meaning behind the simple statement that someone like you wouldn't understand. And as what Natasha expected, you just shyly smiled, not with her kind-of-dirty reply, but with the bracelet you gave her that she tried to fit in her tree trunk wrists.
"Thank you, angel, for this." Her thumb brushed over the beads.
"No, thank you," you said earnestly, your eyes shining with sincerity, "I think you're my angel. You saved me earlier today. If not for you, who knows what would have happened to me?"
Exactly, finally, you're catching her drift. That is exactly the reason why you need to be hers, because if not for her what would happen to you?
God wouldn't mind if someone would take over to take care of one of his angels, right?
After the Accords, Natasha has been always on the run being hunted by the government. The woman who once had controlled now felt like she had no control over anything. But despite everything, just like you, Natasha learned to see the good in things. Being an Avenger trapped her. Every mission, every order—no room for... indulgence. But now? Being on the run? She feels like she's one step ahead—freedom tastes different than she expected.
She felt like God.
Natasha had no trouble finding you. Her ex-spy training meant she could locate anyone, even someone who'd gone off-grid. She knew everything—your name, where you lived, what your favorite food was...hell, she probably knew what you'd eaten the day she saw you.
She scrolled more on the accounts tagged on your Facebook, staring at every picture you're in. Out of all the pictures and people you're with in those photos, you stand out. You were glowing, untouched—like a fucking saint. And she wanted to ruin that. She wanted to break you open and crawl inside that purity. Make you dirty with her darkness.
Or maybe she could just keep you locked away in a cage. Untouched, unsoiled—but all hers.
Every God has its angels.
And she needs one of her own.
One thing that she also liked after being now an ex-Avenger, she didn't need to follow long-ass instructions, didn't need to consult anyone nor concur. The moment she saw you, it was done. The only thing she followed was her heart pounding in her chest in a wild drumbeat of excitement.
The car idled quietly as she trailed behind you on your way home. With one smooth motion, she was out of the car, moving silently behind you. The cloth over your face was quick and efficient, no struggle, no resistance. You crumpled to the ground unconscious almost instantly. She lifted you easily into her arms, carrying you back to her car like a precious cargo.
Was it impulsive? Yes. But was it complicated? No. It was so simple and quick and that's how Natasha likes her work to be done. No more dramas.
Slowly, she swiveled the creaky chair around, staring at your pale skin that seemed to glow in the faint light filtering through the tiny, reinforced window that she noted to cover later on. Natasha had you caged and naked. Her eyes were glued to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, mesmerized by the simple act of your breathing. She had brought you home, to her private hell where only she could see your divine beauty.
While waiting for you to wake up, Natasha disposed of her only link to the outside world—to your world. She had to go old school this time, buying a crappy laptop just to look for information about you. She knew the risks, it could be traceable and there was no help from Stark's technology meant she was truly alone now, but she didn't care. And now, there is no need to wait, no more searching. She had found her angel, and now she would keep you forever.
Your body ached as you slowly opened your eyes, you were curled on the floor. The room was dim, cold, and there is a curtain that connects to the other room. You shivered, realizing you were completely naked and caged. You immediately sat and pulled your knees to your chest to cover yourself. Your breaths came in short, rapid gasps as panic surged through your veins. Your chest heaved, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs. You leaned your head against the cold wall, trying to calm yourself, your hands hugging tightly your body, but the unfamiliar surroundings only amplified your fear. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.
So you prayed, like you always do.
"He is my refuge and my fortress...my God, in whom I trust..." each word felt like a shield against the unknown terror surrounding you. Your voice was barely above a whisper, yet every word resonated in the empty room. "Dear Lord, please keep me strong. Please protect me from whatever..." your voice caught slightly, fear threatening to overwhelm you. "Please...please guide me through this. I feel scared, I don't know where I am, but with your name in my heart I know I am safe—"
"You are."
You paused, your eyes widening as a soft, gentle voice echoed in your mind. The words were soothing, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. You were hallucinating, weren't you? Maybe that was God, but it was most definitely a woman's voice, low and rough that tickled your ear. You felt a strange sense of comfort, but also confusion.
A figure finally materialized behind the curtains. You wanted to deny what your eyes were seeing, to cling to the hope that this was just another hallucination.
But no, you weren't. The same woman who stopped to listen to you share a word of God, the same woman you were looking forward to meeting next sunday for mass, not in this state where you were caged, naked and cold.
"N-Natasha?"
"Hey, angel."
Your pulse thrashed in your throat. You wrapped your arms tightly around your chest.
Natasha stepped closer, her silhouette sharpening as she pushed the curtain aside. She wore simple clothes—dark jeans, a loose sweater—as if she had just come from anywhere normal. As if this wasn't a nightmare. As if she had every right to be here.
As if she had every right to look at you like that.
"W-Why…how—" your voice cracked, shame and terror tangled in your words. You tried to swallow, but your throat burned. "Why am I here?"
Her smile was small. Devastatingly gentle. "Because," she said, fingertips drifting across the bars like a caress,
"I finally have you where God meant you to be."
Your heart stopped.
And the woman leaned in, her breath warm against the cold space between you.
"With me."
⧗
Days passed.
At least…you thought they did. Time felt slippery in this place—stretching, collapsing, twisting into something unrecognizable. You slept in fits, woke in panic, and drifted in and out of moments that barely felt real.
One thing did stay constant though is you still didn't understand what was happening. Not why you were here. Not why she was the one visiting you. Not why the person you trusted—someone who listened to you talk about God, someone you smiled one sunday morning—was now the same person keeping you behind iron bars.
Every time you heard her footsteps, your heart would seize. Not with relief or anger. But with a collapsing, desperate hope. Whenever she approached with food, sliding a plate or a bowl through the narrow gap of the cage, you would immediately reach out. Not to the food but to her hands. Your fingers shaking, grazing the beads of the bracelet you had given her.
"Please," you sobbed every time, your voice already hoarse from begging.
"Natasha, please just let me out. Please…I don't understand why you are doing this. I-I just want to go home."
Every time, she froze for a moment—like your touch startled her, like your tears scraped at something inside her. She'd watch your form, all fours wearing her shirt that is like a dress on you, hand gripping hers like your life depends on it. But then her expression settled into that same unreadable calm.
"Eat," was all she would say.
"Rest."
"Don't cry, angel."
And she would gently—so gently it hurt—uncurl your fingers from her hand, one by one, until you were left clutching air.
Then she will walk away.
The first days you held onto hope like it was the only thing keeping your body upright. Every morning still felt like a blessing, even in that cold, suffocating cage. Sunlight barely reached you, but if it did, you would lift your face and let it touch your skin, whispering thanks like it was a prayer that mattered.
You prayed. Always.
Softly, loudly, sometimes barely moving your lips. God, angels, saints… anyone who would listen. You asked for strength, for guidance, for the courage to survive. And sometimes, when the despair gnawed too sharply at your chest, your prayers weren't for freedom at all—they were for Natasha.
And when Natasha would slide food through the bars, your heart would lurch. You would immediately crawl to her and reach for her hands. And you'll beg like you always do but the thing is you don't even know what you are begging anymore—was it for her to let you out? Or simply to reach her, to touch her hand to feel human again, to anchor yourself to sanity amid the fear that gnawed at your mind?
Time had lost all meaning. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? You didn't know. All you knew was the rhythm of your prayers, the brief glimpse of her presence, and the aching need to feel seen—even if only through a touch, a hand, a fleeting moment of her attention.
Hope and faith have their limits, though.
One morning, Natasha placed the small plate with a pancake she had made carefully inside your cage. You didn't move. Your back was to her, your face on the wall, curled up on the thin comforter she had laid down for you. Your body felt heavier than it had in days, as if the weight of fear, despair, and hopelessness had settled into your bones.
It had been twenty-three days. Almost a month. But only she knows that.
Natasha waited patiently, expecting the familiar motion—you crawling toward her, reaching for her hand, begging, pleading for her. But you didn't move. Not an inch. Not a sound.
She let out a quiet, irritated huff when you didn't move. Fine, she seemed to think. You'll come around.
She slid the food dish farther inside the cage and left without another word.
But lunch came, then dinner. Both trays stayed exactly where she'd pushed them. Untouched and cold.
Natasha checked on you each time.
She saw your hand moving weakly, your fingertip dragging across the wall in slow, unfocused lines—shapes, letters, or prayers she couldn't decipher even being a spy. It was the only sign you were still alive. She watched for a moment, jaw tight, she will not deal with this—with you being like this, like a brat. So she simply walked away and closed her bedroom door.
Morning arrived again—day twenty‑four.
The stale pancake from yesterday sat rotting, the stroganoff for lunch and the pizza for dinner, still untouched where she left it. Natasha entered with a fresh plate, the smell of warm food filling the air…but it stopped abruptly in her throat when her eyes found you.
You were crouched in the farthest corner you could reach, knees pulled hard against your chest, your arms wrapped around your legs like you were trying to disappear into yourself. You stank, your hair was matted and oily, sticking to your hollow cheeks. Your lips were cracked, an angry red from days without drinking any liquid.
Natasha held the plate mid‑air, the faintest flicker crossing her face—annoyance? Concern? Frustration? Even she didn't seem sure.
But you didn't look at her. You didn't reach out and beg. You didn't whisper a prayer. You were just…there. Folding inward…shrinking.
Breaking.
Like something inside you had gone quiet.
The older woman clicked her tongue, the sound sharp in the silence. "Stop being a brat and eat," she murmured, shoving the plate inside the cage with more force than necessary.
You didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
She waited a second, just one expecting the usual crawling, begging, desperate reaching. But you remained curled in the corner, eyes focused on the ground, mouth slightly parted just enough to pull in shallow breaths. Natasha's jaw tightened. Without another word, she turned and walked out.
But still, you didn't eat.
It wasn't because you'd lost your faith—you would never. But something inside you had begun to settle, like dust finally giving up and sinking to the floor.
The acceptance that you wouldn't leave this room alive. That your prayers were no longer about deliverance, but about peace.
Your mind began to slip. Whispers curled around the edges of your hearing—soft hymns from your childhood, psalms sung in distant tones. You murmured back to them. You talked to yourself, answers to questions no one asked, conversations with people who weren't there. It was easier than feeling—easier than begging, easier than hoping.
Then one night, you saw your mother, she was smiling at you with so much affection and love, whispering...
"You're home."
You smiled for the last time.
You're going home.
Day twenty‑five came.
Natasha's footsteps were brisk, impatient, echoing sharply as she approached with yet another untouched plate—your third in a row. She crouched, ready to slide it inside. And then she froze.
Your body was slumped on its side, legs awkwardly tangled in the thin comforter. Your chest, it wasn't rising, it wasn't falling either.
It wasn't moving at all.
A strange, cold expression flickered across Natasha's face—something she couldn't name, something that looked dangerously close to panic—then fear. Something she would deny feeling.
She dropped the plate, scrambled at her pocket, fingers shaking as she fumbled for the key. Metal clanged against metal as she missed the lock twice, cursing under her breath before finally jamming it in and twisting hard.
She only checked your pulse and when she felt nothing, she immediately carried your body in a bridal style and brought you to her room.
⧗
Maybe this was heaven. That was the first feeling that drifted through your barely-waking mind. There was something gentle beneath you, something warm and soft. For a moment— a single, suspended moment—your soul loosened its hold on everything it had endured and wondered, Is this what dying feels like? Softness?. Maybe God had finally taken pity.
But when your eyes fluttered open, the instinct that had always lived in you— gratitude, prayer, thankfulness for a new day, did not come. You didn't whisper a prayer of thanks for breath or waking. Instead, something sharp and hot unfurled in your chest—anger. It burned through you before you could swallow it down.
It wasn't heaven. It was a room. A soft bed, clean sheets. You were dressed in fresh clothes, a loose shirt, still no panties on. You smelled like strawberries—like someone had washed the suffering off your body and tried to pretend you were whole. Your hair was damp, brushed away from your face.
A sob ripped from your throat before you even realized you were crying. All the breath you thought you no longer had come rushing out of you in a broken, wounded sound. You scrambled backward until your spine hit the headboard, then curled yourself into the corner like a terrified animal. Your hands trembled, your fingers clawing at the blanket as if it could hide you, protect you, undo what had happened.
You cried from a place so deep inside you it felt like your soul had cracked open. You should have died. You were supposed to die. You had made peace with it. You had surrendered to the idea of rest, to the idea that God would finally catch you when you fell. But He didn't. He let you wake up here. He let you breathe again only to belong to the same nightmare.
And in that moment, for the first time in your life, you felt betrayed by Him. Truly betrayed.
Why didn't He take you?
Why let you suffer again?
Your tears soaked your shirt, your breath stuttered, and all the prayers you had whispered for all days you were taken dissolved into the air like smoke.
Then the door creaked open, your entire body went rigid. You didn't need to see her—you knew that sound now especially, knew the rhythm of her footsteps, the quiet way she pushed doors like she was afraid of waking something precious. Anger, raw and instinctive, clawed up your throat before your mind could even form words. Your hands curled into trembling fists. All the terror, all the sadness, all the exhaustion you had swallowed for all the time you were here. She stepped inside, carrying a plate of food and a glass of water as if she were entering a normal room, visiting a normal person, doing a normal thing. And that quiet ease broke something inside you.
The scream tore out of you before you even felt your mouth open.
"What do you want from me!" you screamed. Tears spilled down your face faster than you could wipe them. You barely managed to stand behind the bed, you couldn't feel your legs after all the time being folded inside the cage. "Why?! Why me?!" you sobbed, fists balled so tightly your nails dug into your palms. "I only saw you once! I trusted you!" your whole body shook with the force of your crying, the betrayal punching through every word.
Natasha didn't flinch. She didn't yell back or apologize. She just watched you with those unreadable eyes, the same calm expression that had haunted you from behind the cage bars. She set the plate of food on the bedside table, placed the water beside it with a soft clink, and moved with deliberate slowness—like approaching a scared animal she didn't want to startle. Then she began circling the bed.
You whimpered and you stepped back even though you had nowhere left to go. Your heel hit the wall. Panic crawled up your throat. You rubbed your arms in tight, frantic motions, as if trying to warm yourself, as if trying to hide. Your forearms covered the outline of your nipples from your shirt, shoulders curling inward, head shaking back and forth as tears poured down your cheeks.
"Please," you whispered through sobs you couldn't swallow, shaking your head harder and harder. "What do you want from me?"
She kept coming.
And you kept shrinking.
Until there was nothing left to fall back into except fear.
Natasha stood still for a moment, her breath steady while yours were breaking apart. Then she spoke in a low, dangerous calm that slid under your skin like cold water. She breathed in slowly, her expression softening in a way so painfully human that it made everything more frightening.
"You keep asking what I want," she murmured. Her voice wasn't angry. It wasn't mocking.
It was…tired.
Old.
Like she was carrying centuries of exhaustion in her ribs.
"The truth is…" she exhaled, rubbing her palm over her sternum as if steadying herself, "I haven't gotten what I wanted in a very, very long time."
Your breath trembled. You didn't understand—you didn't want to.
But the woman kept going.
"You know what it's like," she whispered, "to spend your entire life doing what everyone else needs from you?" she stepped closer, leveling her face with yours again, though you pressed harder into the wall, trembling. "Saving people. Fixing things. Carrying everyone's pain like it's your own."
A bitter, crooked smile tugged at her lips.
"Being the weapon. Being the answer. Being whatever they told you to be." Her voice cracked just slightly at the edges—not enough to break, but enough to reveal a fracture.
"I saved cities, strangers. This…world."
Her jaw clenched. Before letting out an airless chuckle.
"But you know what I never got to be?" Natasha's eyes softened, something raw flickering across them. "I never got to be me." Her fingers flexed slowly, like she wanted to touch you but knew it would make you bolt like a trapped animal.
So she stayed still, letting her words creep toward you instead of her hands.
"Everything I did was for someone else."
Her voice grew lower, steadier. "Every risk. Every bruise. Every sacrifice. Every life I took. Every life I saved…"
You swallowed hard, tears streaking down your cheeks—your soft heart pitying the woman.
"There was never anything that was mine."
Natasha leaned just slightly closer, her eyes searching your face with a chilling, desperate intensity.
"And then I met you."
Your breath stuttered violently.
"You weren't part of the world I had to save. You weren't a mission. You weren't a responsibility. You didn't even know me."
She chuckles, then pauses—a soft inhale.
"You were…the one thing I wanted just because I wanted it." Natasha's voice dropped into something dark, velvety, and broken at the edges. "And I'm done…" her eyes locked onto yours, "Being the person who never gets what she wants."
She tilted her head, looking at you with terrifying clarity.
"I am no longer…someone others expect me to be…I am just the woman who finally took something for herself."
Natasha's thumb smoothed over the tear tracks on your cheek, her touch unbearably gentle for someone who had stolen your entire world. Her voice dropped to a soft murmur, warm enough to bathe your skin, cold enough to chill your spine.
"Don't worry," she whispered, as if you were simply frightened of a thunderstorm and not of her. "You'll learn. You'll learn to accept this. To feel safe here. To...love it here."
You choked out a sob and pulled your face away from her hand, shaking your head so fast your teeth clattered.
"No-No! No! I would never!" you cried, voice cracking as fear drowned every syllable. "I would never love you! That is a sin! It's wrong!" your voice disappeared into a scream you swallowed back down, your hands pressing against your ears as you slid down to your knees.
Because love—love was not something you could give, not like this, not to her…
Not to a woman. A woman who broke your trust and you didn't even realize you were repeating it—your voice hoarse, frantic.
"It's a sin! it's a sin! It's a sin! You're—"
Natasha didn't flinch. She never does no matter how your shout is ringing in her ears. Not even at the word sin, the word that had shaped her life and soul.
"I never said you have to love me," she said softly.
You froze, a fresh wave of trembling overtaking you.
Because she was right. She hadn't said it. But the moment she mentioned love, your brain had spiraled, racing toward the worst, toward the only explanation you could understand. Your faith twisted with fear. Your beliefs wrapped around your terror like thorns. The idea of loving her—loving a woman—felt like falling into the deepest pit of damnation your mind could imagine.
Your faith had been the last thing left untouched, the last thread connecting you to who you were. And now even that felt violated.
Natasha slowly and deliberately, kneels in front of you. She fixed the hair that sticked to your cheek with tears and sweat. "Sinning is good," she murmured, voice warm, almost amused. "People only fear it because it feels too good to let go of." Then, her fingers slid under your chin, lifting your face so you couldn't escape her eyes. She pulled back just enough to study you—your shaking head, your refusal, your horror. "You've been taught to fear the fire, but I promise you…it burns beautifully."
⧗
Life with Natasha slowly settled into a strange rhythm. The cage is gone. You figured you were living in a trailer, she let you roam around, though you knew very well you were not allowed to leave. The place was small—just one bedroom, a tiny kitchen, a cramped bathroom, and walls thin enough that you could hear every sound outside yet never reach it.
Nights were the part you dreaded the most. You had to sleep in the same bed as her. It wasn't wide, so the space between you was only a few inches, but she never touched you. She would lie down on her side, back turned, and fall asleep without a word. Her breathing was soft, steady, almost too calm for someone who had done such terrible things. She never reached for you, never moved closer, never tried to cross the invisible boundary between your bodies.
Every morning, she was gone before you woke up. Natasha would wake long before the sun rose, slipping out of the bed without disturbing you. She moved through the small trailer with a kind of practiced silence, opening cabinets and drawers carefully, never letting anything clatter. You could almost imagine she had lived her whole life learning how not to be heard.
She always cooked for both of you. Pancakes, eggs, oatmeal, sometimes fruit she must have bought the night before. She plated your food with a calm precision—not fancy, but thoughtful, as if the neatness alone proved something she didn't know how to say. She would set your plate on the table, pour you a glass of water, and then sit on the other side with her own breakfast untouched.
Then she waited.
She knew exactly when you usually woke up. She must have memorized the rhythm of your breathing, the way your body shifted under the blankets. The way you pray almost half an hour after you wake up but then some days you tried pretending to be asleep longer, but she always knew. She never knocked or called you out for it; she simply sat at the table, hands wrapped around her mug, staring at the door to the bedroom in patient silence.
And then you will finally walk out—hesitant, guarded, still unsure of your place in this strange tiny place. She watched you settle and waited for you to finish your prayer again before picking up your fork. Only after your first bite did she lift her own fork and begin to eat.
That became your routine. You ate together quietly every morning, not because she commanded you to, it's more like a rule you had to follow to avoid upsetting her.
Evenings were quieter. Sometimes the trailer grew dim as the sky darkened and still Natasha wasn't home. Those were the nights she came back past midnight, footsteps soft, the door closing with careful noise. Those nights the doors were locked like always but doubled—Natasha always made sure of that—but deep inside, you knew there were still ways to break out. The windows were small, but not impossible. The hinges on the bathroom door were a little loose. The kitchen knives were real.
It almost felt as if the Lord Himself was laying the chances right in front of you—signs, opportunities, gentle pushes toward freedom. You felt them, you recognized them. Your instincts screamed that these moments were not accidents but invitations to run. And yet…you didn't move. You'd just walk back to the bedroom, breathing slow and shallow, fingers curled in the blanket, telling yourself you were waiting for the right moment but deep inside, you feared there was no right moment at all.
Every chance slipped through your fingers, and every time you found yourself asking, Why, Lord? Why didn't I break free when I could've?
Because what you didn't realize was while you were staring at the door, you weren't waiting for the right time to escape.
You were waiting for the woman to come back.
One night, she was gone again—and you realized just how long you'd been lying awake waiting for the sound of her footsteps. Hours passed, each minute heavier than the last, until finally you heard the soft, familiar creak of the door. Your heart lurched. Relief shouldn't have hit you, but it did—briefly. Then the horror set in.
She stepped inside.
She muttered something incoherent, swaying slightly. Immediately, the sharp, intoxicating smell of alcohol hit your senses. Panic tightened around your throat. Before you could react, her arm looped around your waist, pulling you against her body. You whimpered as you tried to push her away, struggled, but she was too strong—immovable, relentless.
You pretended to be asleep, holding your breath so she wouldn't realize you were awake. Every muscle in your body was rigid, every heartbeat loud in your ears.
Then her lips pressed against your shoulder, peppering marks along your skin, leaving a burning trail. Your stomach twisted, your chest heaving as terror. You felt her teeth on your skin, it stings.
Your mind screamed. This isn't right. This can't be happening. Fear coiled tight in your stomach, turning every breath into a struggle. The warmth of her body, the intoxicated heaviness in her movements—all of it collided with the horror clawing up your throat. You wanted to run, to vanish, but there was nowhere to go, nothing to grab onto, nothing strong enough to free yourself from her grip.
Then she felt that you were awake, well, she knew, she always knew.
"Shh…it's just me." She slurred.
It didn't bring you any comfort. Your chest heaved, tears springing to your eyes as the horror and confusion collided. You sobbed quietly, trembling in her arms, praying silently for it to end.
Her rough hands slowly slid under your shirt, calloused fingers tracing patterns on your smooth skin. You squirmed instinctively, your body tense at the unwanted touch. But beneath the discomfort, there was a strange sense of…grounding, a feeling you shouldn't feel!
Your legs kicked out to push her away. Then all of a sudden, you felt her move prop herself up before a knife was pierced through your pillow making you scream.
"Don't move, angel." She said so calmly, like she didn't just almost stab your skull. She lay back down beside you again, her movements eerily calm. The knife remained lodged in the mattress, a stark warning right in front of your face.
Your tears fell silently onto the pillow, your body shaking with quiet sobs. Natasha continued to touch you, her rough fingers playing with your sensitive nipples. She kissed your shoulders, biting and licking the delicate skin. Her hands moved down to your stomach, caressing the soft flesh gently.
Eventually, your crying subsided into occasional sniffles. The last sight in your eyes was the knife that remained in the mattress, reminding you of who's in control. While Natasha continued her touches, until your breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep. She held you close, her body curved around yours protectively. She kissed your shoulder one last time before settling down, her arms wrapped tightly around you.
You woke up alone.
Just a hollow silence and the lingering echo of last night pressed into your skin. Your eyelids felt heavy, swollen, aching when you tried to open them. The world blurred for a moment, your throat was sore, scraped raw from holding back sobs.
And under it all—a numbness that frightened you more than the night itself.
You pushed yourself upright slowly, every movement stiff. That's when you saw it. Your pillow torn beside you, ripped clean open, soft stuffing scattered like snow across the sheets.
The knife was gone.
The sight made your stomach drop. The absence of the blade was somehow worse because it meant she had taken it with her. And it only reminded you how easily she could change, how quickly things could break.
You lifted a hand to your shoulder, then your arm, then your side—touching the places where she had held you too tightly, too close, too possessively. Even with her gone, your body remembered. The faint pressure. Her weight. The heat of her breath. Your lips trembled, but you didn't cry. You couldn't. It was like something inside had shut down, closed itself off. You felt nothing, just a hollow ache in your chest and a sick twist deep in your stomach.
"God…" you whispered, barely a sound. "Please…I don't know…but I know you do. I know you know what I feel and I am asking for your help to get through it."
The words came out broken, incomplete. You didn't even do the rosary. You weren't sure what you were praying for—safety, strength, escape, for her to never touch you like that again—or maybe none of it. Maybe you were just praying out of instinct because you had no idea what else to do or maybe because that's the only thing you know what to do—pray.
You stepped out of the room slowly, your heart beating fast. You weren't sure what you would see, or how she would be. Part of you was still scared, still holding onto the night like it might happen again. But when you reached the small table, Natasha was already there, sitting the way she always did, like it was just another normal morning. She looked up when you came in. She didn't look angry or drunk.
You hesitated by the chair, your fingers tight around the edge before you pulled it back. The wood scraped loudly against the floor, and the sound made you flinch. You did what you always did. You lowered your head and whispered a short prayer, even though your chest still felt empty. She stayed quiet, watching but not interrupting. When you were done and touched your food, only then did she finally start eating too.
Natasha's eyes flicked up for just a second, then stopped. Her gaze settled on your shoulder where the fabric slipped just enough to show the faint purple marks beneath. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Looks good on you," she said casually, before lowering her eyes back to her plate and continuing to eat.
Your nose flared as you pulled in a sharp breath, fighting the sudden sting behind your eyes.
Natasha felt it before she saw it—the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your breathing changed just enough to give you away. She didn't look up right away. She kept eating, slow and deliberate, as if nothing had shifted at all. But her voice dropped when she finally spoke, quiet and sharp, meant only for you.
"Don't you dare cry." She said flatly.
You froze.
Her eyes lifted then, meeting yours for the briefest moment, cold and warning. "Or I'll give you a real reason to."
The words landed heavy, sinking straight into your chest. You swallowed hard, jaw tightening as you forced everything down —the ache in your throat, the burn behind your eyes, the trembling that wanted to spill over.
Natasha went back to her food like nothing had happened. The clink of her fork against the plate filled the space between you, loud and ordinary. You stared down at your own meal, appetite gone, breath carefully controlled. You tried not to cry. You just sat there, holding yourself together, knowing she was watching even when she pretended not to be.
After eating, you stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands moving on their own as you washed the dishes. The sound of running water filled the small space, steady and ordinary, and for a moment it almost felt grounding. Almost. Then you sensed her behind you before you heard her. Your shoulders tensed, breath catching as her presence closed in, her breath brushing lightly near your ear. One of her hands came to rest at your waist, not tight, not pulling—just there—and your body stiffened on instinct.
She noticed immediately.
"Hey," she murmured, low and calm, a quiet hush meant to steady you rather than warn. She withdrew her hand, giving you space, and reached past you instead. You watched, confused, as she set something on the counter beside the sink. A rosary and a Bible, all new, all sealed. She nudged them closer to you with two fingers.
The fear you'd been holding dissolved all at once, replaced by a sharp, breathless surprise. Maybe an offering, a way of her apologizing for what she did last night.
You stared at the items, then back at the water, blinking fast as you swallowed hard. You tried to hold it back. The sudden rush in your chest, the tight flutter just beneath your ribs, the way your hands almost started to shake. You focused hard on the plate in your hands, on the warmth of the water, on breathing slowly so she wouldn't notice. Because this—this—meant more than she could ever understand. These weren't just objects on the counter. They were pieces of you. Pieces you thought were lost, taken, buried somewhere you'd never reach again.
You cleared your throat, fingers tightening around the edge of the sink as you tried to speak. "Th-Thank you," you stuttered softly, eyes fixed on the counter, on the rosary, on anything but her face.
"No kiss for it?" she said lightly, like she was joking, like it didn't matter either way.
The change of her emotions is starting to scare you at this point. Earlier, she just wants to give you a reason to cry to and now she wants a kiss?
Heat rushed to your face. For a second you considered pretending you hadn't heard, but the thought of her being mad made your chest tighten. So you rinsed your hands, turned off the tap, and took a small step toward her, just to get it over with. You leaned in and pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to her bruised cheek, careful, fast, almost clumsy. Then you pulled back immediately.
"Thank you…for this, it…it means a lot," you said again, quieter this time, still not looking at her but you tried to smile.
Natasha let out a low chuckle. As she walked away toward the room, she tossed over her shoulder, casual as anything, "This bruise I have? I got it from stealing those."
The door creaked shut a moment later, leaving you alone with the running water, the clean dishes, and the weight of what she just said settling in your chest.
After doing the dishes you stood there longer than you meant to, just staring at the rosary and the Bible on the counter. The shine on the beads, the clean edges of the pages. Stolen. That word sat heavy in your head. You haven't touched them yet. You weren't sure if you should. Your mind twisted itself into knots. Maybe you shouldn't use them. Maybe you should keep them but not open them. Or maybe…maybe God already knew how they'd end up here. Maybe He knew they'd be used for something good. That thought made you pause, unsure if it was comfort or just something you were telling yourself to survive the moment.
You didn't notice Natasha watching until she spoke. She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp but amused. "You asking forgiveness to God on my behalf?" she said, tone lazy and teasing. "For stealing those for you?"
"You should've asked the church for it, sometimes they'd give it for free or for a very low price." You swallowed, did you just talk back? "They help people," you said quietly. "That's what churches do."
The redhead stopped short instead of leaving this time. She turned back, one brow lifting, her mouth curling into that sharp, knowing half-smile. She tapped the bruise on her cheek with two fingers, not gentle, like it didn't hurt her at all.
"Your church?" she said, voice dry. "Who did this on my face, huh?"
You flinched at the question, shoulders drawing in. You kept your head down, eyes fixed on the counter. "I…I don't know," you said quietly. "I just meant…churches help people. They don't—"
Natasha let out a short laugh. "Help people," she repeated, amused. "Yeah. Tell that to the sacristan boy who did this to my face." She leaned back against the doorway again, arms crossing loosely. "I wonder how he is in the hospital." She muttered.
You didn't ask anything else.
You looked at the rosary and the Bible on the counter and felt your chest tighten. You didn't want to know more. You didn't want to imagine what they went through before they reached you. The thought alone made you feel bad.
You woke up from your afternoon nap to the quiet and Natasha was gone again, like she usually was. You didn't need to check the door or look around to know what it meant. She wouldn't be back until late. Maybe not until midnight.
You didn't panic this time. You already knew what to do. You got up, fed yourself with whatever was easy, and cleaned the dishes right after. You moved quietly, carefully, like the walls were listening. When you were done, you went back into the room and stayed there. You didn't sit outside, you didn't wait near the door because the last time you waited for her like that, standing outside the bedroom because you were worried it ended pretty badly. The memory was enough to keep you still.
So you stayed inside the room, door closed, doing only what you had to do. When the room finally felt still enough, you took what she had left for you. The Bible and the rosary. You sat on the edge of the bed and held them like they might vanish if you didn't. Your hands trembled as you peeled away the seal on the Bible, careful not to tear anything. A small smile pulled at your lips, shaky and unsure, matching the way your mouth quivered as you breathed out slowly.
The Bible smelled new, clean, like fresh paper and something faintly sweet. You pressed it lightly to your chest for a second, eyes closing. Then you picked up the rosary. It was red, deep and warm in color, the beads smooth beneath your fingers. It smelled like oiled roses, soft and familiar in a way that made your throat tighten. You smiled anyway, even knowing how they were taken. The thought lingered, heavy and uncomfortable, but it didn't erase what they meant to you.
You turned the pages slowly, careful not to tear them. You haven't read it like this in a long time now, you don't know. Growing up, you have read it at all times, remembered a few verses by heart. Now, holding the new Bible in your hands, the verses felt alive. Some lines came back to you from memory, quiet and familiar. You traced the words with your fingers, reading slowly, feeling a peace you hadn't felt in a long time.
You read and read, completely absorbed in the words, letting them sink in like they were speaking just to you. Time slipped away without you noticing. You didn't hear the faint creak of the door opening. You were wrapped up in the pages, the verses, the quiet rhythm of reading, as if the world outside had paused and left only you and the Bible.
The sound of footsteps finally reached you, faint at first, but uneven, limping. You shot your head toward the door and froze. Her side was bleeding, a dark stain spreading through her shirt. Your chest tightened, and the Bible almost slipped from your hands.
You set the Bible down carefully and rushed to her side. Your hands grabbed the tissue from the bedside table before you even thought about it.
"Natasha!" you whispered, voice trembling. "Oh, God!" you pressed the tissue to her side as gently as you could as you guided her towards the bed.
Natasha froze, caught off guard by the intensity of your reaction. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she simply stared at you. God…you were so pure like this. So utterly unguarded, so impossibly kind. For a moment, she wanted to shrink, to pull away, to tell you it was nothing—but she couldn't. Not when your tears reflected nothing but worry for her, nothing but the kind of kindness she had long stopped believing existed.
Even after everything she'd taken from you, you were still here.
Natasha didn't feel the pain. The cut on her side was deep, a wound that should have had her gasping, trembling—but all she felt was you. She thought, this is what it felt like to be cared for—not just superficially, not just words—but completely, fully, without holding anything back. Even with the blood and the bruises, even with everything she had endured, even with everything she had done, she only felt the warmth of your touch, and it made the world feel almost bearable.
Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into it, letting herself feel safe, letting herself realize how deeply someone could care for her—even after she thought she didn't deserve it.
Morning light crept across the room in thin, hesitant streaks, touching the edges of the blankets before Natasha even fully woke. She shifted slightly, wincing as the cut on her side throbbed—but that wasn't what made her eyes snap open. It was the emptiness beside her. The cold stretch of mattress where your warmth should have been. For a second she simply stared, her breath caught halfway in her chest, confusion slipping into something far harsher. And then the realization hit her all at once, a bitter, stinging rush that scorched through her veins. You were gone. You had run. She had been wounded and vulnerable last night—showed you more weakness than she had shown anyone in years—and of course, of course the first chance you got, you took it.
The betrayal felt physical, sharp enough to rival the pain in her side. Her throat tightened, her jaw locking into something hard and cold as instinct took over. Natasha practically lunged forward despite the burning in her ribs, her hand going immediately under the pillow for her gun. She didn't allow herself to think. Thinking would mean admitting it hurt. Instead she moved on adrenaline alone, pushing to her feet even though the wound protested violently. She checked the drawers of her cabinet to check if the suspicious red chemical she had to fight her life for last night was still in there, and indeed it is, with the photo of her and her sister as a kid.
She now crossed the room in harsh, determined strides. Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. No one would take you so one thing for sure is you had run and she would find you, and she doesn't know what she'd do once she did. She didn't want to think about how that would feel. She didn't want to think about last night—about your hands on her, the warmth of your touch, the way your voice trembled when you said her name. Fuck, you fell asleep on her shoulder! It was the first time you were that close. A fucking weakness. She had been stupid enough to let you see it. And now you are gone. She shoved the anger down like a blade she could sheath, clinging to it so she didn't have to feel everything beneath it.
Natasha slammed the door open harder than she meant to. But the sight that greeted her hit her so abruptly that it knocked the air right out of her chest. You were there, you were standing barefoot in the tiny kitchen, shoulders slightly hunched, tongue peeking from the corner of your mouth in concentration as you awkwardly set plates on the table. A small breakfast—simple, uneven, obviously rushed—was spread out in front of you.
When you heard the door shut, you jolted and turned around, eyes wide. The moment you saw her, your face broke into a relieved, little smile—like you were proud of yourself, like you were happy to see her awake. But the second your gaze dropped and noticed the gun in her hand, your expression collapsed instantly. Your shoulders lowered, your excitement drained out of you, and you instinctively stepped back, almost like a scolded child.
"I-I'm sorry," you whispered without knowing the reason why, voice small, guilt sinking into every syllable. You didn't even lift your head, scared you'd done something horribly wrong that upset her, "Please don't hurt me." You are already crying.
Natasha stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Everything inside her collided—fear, anger, relief—so tightly wound she couldn't trust her voice to speak. Her hand slid the gun behind her jeans, hiding it from your sight, hiding the instinctive panic that surged at the thought of you running.
Of losing you.
She stepped closer, each movement sharp, and yanked at your hair making you whimper. "You weren't supposed to do this," she spat, the words biting.
"You were hurt…" you cried, reaching for the hand still gripping your hair, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I just…I wanted to help. Please, I'm sorry, Natty."
For the first time in what felt like forever, something inside Natasha softened, even as her chest ached and twisted. The nickname slipped past your lips, small and tender, and it made her heart bloom with a strange, unfamiliar ache beneath her ribs. Watching you shrink under her harsh tone, she felt the impossible pull of wanting to punish you and protect you at the same time.
Suddenly, her hand came up sharply, and before you could react, it connected with your cheek. The sting burned and you flinched instinctively. She didn't wait for a response, didn't give you time to cry out.
"Go back to what you were doing."
You swallowed hard, tears threatening again and nodded, your hands trembling as you tried to focus. You lowered your head and returned to your task, your heart still hammering from the slap, the words, and the weight behind both.
After finishing everything, eating and the dishes, you reached for your Bible, expecting it to be on the counter like before. Instead, it was in Natasha's grasp. You hesitated, watching her carefully, not wanting to disturb her. You waited, patience stretching thin, but nearly thirty minutes passed and she still hadn't brought it down.
Then, almost as if she knew exactly what you were thinking, she said, "If you want it, you can get it."
"I'll just wait for you to be done," you said softly.
The redhead smirks, "So respectful, so patient. But you can still read it, you know?" she said while waving the Bible, but there was something sharper beneath it, a teasing edge you could feel even if it was subtle. You reached forward, thinking you could take it, but just as your fingers brushed the cover, she pulled it back. Your hand froze.
She looked at you, the Bible still in her hands, and gestured with a quiet insistence. "Sit on my lap," she said, voice calm but heavy with command.
You shook your head, heart pounding, uncertain, hesitant.
"No?" she smirks. Her gaze darkened, sharp and unyielding. You shook your head again and took a step back.
"Y-Your…wound…" you tried to reason.
But when she started counting, fear gripped you like ice in your chest, cold and immobilizing. Your legs shook, your hands trembled, and before you could fully think it through, your body moved on its own. You found yourself sitting on her lap, careful, tense, unsure how much of this was choice and how much was the power in her presence pushing you forward.
She hummed softly, the sound low and almost comforting, though it carried an edge that made your chest tighten. Her lips brushed the back of your head in a quick, deliberate kiss, and she murmured, "Good girl," letting the words settle over you like a strange feeling of praise and warning.
You sat in her lap, Bible in her hand, reading slowly as the words settled over you. At first, the position felt awkward, your body tense, but as minutes stretched into hours, you began to grow comfortable in her lap, feeling the steady warmth of her against you. As you turned the page, careful not to crease it, her hand moved suddenly, palming your breast, firm but not rough, and pulled you so your back rested against her front. The motion startled you, almost squirming in her grasp.
"Stay still." She just said as she lined up the Bible to your front view properly again.
As you tried your best to focus, Natasha's hand slowly slid down from your waist to your inner thighs. Without warning, she brought your legs up and out, making you straddle her thighs. The new position causes you to squirm uneasily. A strange warmth pooled in your lower belly as you felt something unfamiliar and slightly terrifying.
"Keep reading," she commanded, her hands gripping your hips to keep you in place.
Your voice cracked as you pleaded, "I'm not comfortable...please, Natty." Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Natasha's expression softened momentarily before hardening again.
"Shh...you will be."
She reached into her pocket and pulled something out, the fabric bright against her dark clothes. Before you could see what it was, she lifted it and draped it over your head, careful but firm, letting it fall until it covered your hair, your cheeks, your eyes—soft black mantilla veiling your whole face.
Your breath hitched as the cloth settled, the smell clean and faintly familiar. It made everything feel closer and quieter at the same time, like being tucked away from the room, from her gaze, from everything except the sound of her breathing behind your ear.
"Obey me, and I will be your God, and you will be my people. Do everything as I say, and all will be well." She recited slowly, like the verse was so reassuring. "What verse was that?"
"J-Jeremiah…7:23"
The woman smirks, "Good girl." Afterwards, her hand slipped inside your shirt, violating your tits without warning. You gasped softly through the mantilla veil covering your face. Then, her hand trailed down further until she reached between your legs—no underwear since the day she had taken you. Her fingers found your bare clit and began rubbing circles, you were already embarrassingly wet. A whimper slipped past your lips as an unfamiliar sensation coursed through you, muffled by the mantilla.
"Oh, Go—what...what was that?" you asked naively, not understanding the new pleasure building between your legs. Natasha's fingers continued their gentle rubbing against your sensitive clit, coaxing out more wetness and confused noises from you.
"Shh…just feel, angel."
Your head fell back against Natasha's shoulder, a desperate need to grasp onto something consuming you. But you didn't reach for her or even swat the hand that is rubbing you. Instead, you writhe, hips bucking forward involuntarily seeking for more friction.
She kept one hand on your pussy, making you whimper and buck, while her other hand remained clutching the Bible open to Jeremiah.
Your conscience finally screamed loud enough that you managed to stand on shaky legs, only to collapse onto the floor in front of the woman. As you fell to the floor, your mantilla slipped off completely, exposing your tear-streaked face and parting lips. Your mind screamed that this was wrong in so many ways, being touched like this while she held the Bible, being touched like this while not being married, and the heaviest sin of all—being touched like this by a woman.
The woman just sighed. She set the Bible down gently beside her, her eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, she unbuckled her belt, letting it fall open. A foreign red silicone shaped…like a man's genitalia came into view, attached to something she wore under her clothes—you couldn't figure out. She saw your eyes widen in shock and fear.
"Come here." Tears streamed down your cheeks as you shook your head, backing away from the red head. Natasha grabbed your mantilla off the floor and used it to pull you closer. "Stop crying," she forced you to look up at her.
"You can repent to your God later, but right now...I am your God."
She yanked your head and had you crawling through her spread thighs. She put the mantilla back over your head, but this time she folded it just above your forehead instead of covering your face completely. Natasha gently wiped the tears from your eyes with her thumbs, her touch surprisingly gentle compared to her rough handling earlier. She shushed you softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Quiet now, angel. No more crying." She tilted your head back, examining your face closely.
Without warning, Natasha grabbed your hand and forced it between her legs. She wrapped your fingers around her cock firmly, guiding your hand to stroke it slowly.
"Touch it." She pushed your head down until you were eye level with it. "Spit on it."
When you hesitated, tears still fell down your cheeks. She slapped your face lightly, "I said spit." You hesitantly leaned forward and spat on her cock twice, coating it in your spit before sucking the tip. Natasha smirked, clearly pleased by your obedience despite not giving you a direct order to put it in your mouth.
Then, the woman grabbed a handful of your hair and the mantilla, pulling your head back sharply as she pushed the dildo deeper down your throat. You gagged instantly, your eyes watering even more. She held it there, letting you feel the foreign object stretching your throat. She released your hair and pulled the dildo out of your mouth abruptly. Before you could catch a breath, she spun you around violently so that you were facing away from her. Your back slammed against her chest as she yanked you back against her lap, the mantilla falling over your face.
The warm, wet plastic of the dildo was now pressed directly against your bare pussy, coated in your own spit. Natasha wrapped her arms around your waist possessively, pulling you even closer until the toy was nestled between your folds.
"Can you feel it?" she whispered darkly in your ear.
Natasha slowly dragged the toy along your entrance, teasing your folds before abruptly pressing it against a particularly sensitive spot—the spot where she had touched you earlier. You cried this time, your legs trying to close as intense pleasure overwhelmed you.
"I'm gonna put it in." She rasps. You didn't say anything, you were trembling in her lap, your head dropped back against her shoulder. "I'm going to put it in, angel. I need you to answer me." She paused, letting the toy press against that sensitive spot.
You knew damn well that even without permission, she would have done it anyway. You whispered a trembling "yes" against her neck, your voice barely audible. She gripped the toy firmly and began to push it inside you, inch by slow inch. You moaned loudly, your hands gripping her arm tighter.
"Natty..." you cried out, feeling the toy stretch you open.
"Fuck, angel."
Your body instinctively tries to pull away from the sudden discomfort and pain. But the woman held you firmly in place, one hand gripping your hip while the other slowly pushed the toy deeper. You whimpered and adjusted, learning to bear the intrusion.
"Adjust to it, baby," Natasha whispered soothingly into your ear. Her hand moved from your hip to gently rub your stomach in comforting circles while the toy continued its slow invasion. Then, she grabbed the Bible beside her and put it in your line of view. "Continue reading."
The way you still tried reading the Bible in her hand while your face was covered with the clothed lace, while she thrusts in you was blasphemous, the way your faith didn't leave you even now.
Worshipping a God that wasn't Him. Or worse, being taught to.
Her smirk deepened, can your God see this? Can He see His angel sitting here, making scandalous sounds that can summon demons? Taken by someone like her?
She wondered how a God who was supposed to watch over the gentle could allow this kind of claiming. Her gaze dropped to you, to the way you mewled, the way you started bouncing on her lap, the way your faith hadn't saved you from her hands. You're praying, she thought, but not to Him anymore. Not really. Not when your stillness, your fear, your attention all bent toward her instead.
You passed out from the overwhelming sensation and pain sometime during it, your body finally giving in. You woke up hours later, still straddling Natasha but your front was on hers. As you tried to stand, you let out a soft whimper, your legs giving out beneath you. The pain between your legs was intense and raw, a constant reminder of what had happened.
"Shh...easy, angel."
You broke down completely, crying into her neck. Her scent surrounded you—leather, roses like the rosary she gave you. She held you tightly, one hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other pressed firmly against your lower back to keep you still.
That same night, Natasha lay still on the bed, her eyes half-closed, her breathing slow and even—just enough to make you think she was asleep. She saw a vision of you kneeling in front of the wall, clutching the rosary so tight your fingers trembled. Your whispered prayer cracked mid-sentence, swallowed by a quiet sob you tried so hard to muffle.
Natasha cannot hear every word. But she heard the guilt in your voice and the way you were begging for forgiveness. And she didn't move. She didn't reach for you. She just let you be. So she stayed still, pretending to sleep, even though your muffled crying carved its way into her chest—leaving a bruise deeper than any she came home with.
She closed her eyes tighter.
Maybe it was just a dream.
But the next morning, Natasha immediately felt it—the shift.
You didn't greet her with that soft, sleepy, awkward smile, the one that always made her pretend she wasn't secretly pleased.
And it continued like that for the next few days. You moved through the house like a shadow, soft steps, soft voice, soft everything…but never soft toward her anymore. You did your chores and you ate your meals. You now only answer with a nod and a shake of your head.
You stopped sitting beside her on the couch, choosing the farthest corner of the room instead. You didn't reach for her hand when she came home bleeding. You didn't even look at her bruises anymore. When she entered the room, you went quiet. When she left, you didn't follow her with your eyes the way you used to.
You looked at her like she was something to fear again.
When you woke up the next morning, the house was cold as usual. When you reached the kitchen, the emptiness hit you like a physical thing. Natasha wasn't there. Her seat was empty, pushed in perfectly. No breakfast waited for you, no mug of tea cooling on the counter. She hadn't waited for you to wake, hadn't hovered by the door listening to your morning prayer like she always did now. You stood in the stillness, the Bible clutched to your chest, the cross hanging loosely from your fingers.
You were praying at midday not out of routine, but out of worry—real, growing worry that had been tightening in your chest since morning. Natasha still hadn't come home. You knelt by the bed, rosary wrapped tight around your fingers, whispering every prayer you could remember just to keep from imagining the worst. You've seen her bruises, stabs, what worst can happen to her?
Then—you heard it. Heavy footsteps.
Your breath caught. Before your mind could even form a thought, your body moved on instinct. You scrambled to your feet and ran, nearly tripping over yourself as you threw the door open.
Natasha stood there, chest rising and falling from the long walk back, dust on her clothes, her wet pants, exhaustion in her eyes—but alive. Your relief was so sharp it almost hurt.
She blinked, surprised by the way you rushed toward her. For the first time again, you did that. And then she said, softly—almost like she'd been practicing the words the whole way home.
"Let's go to church."
Your lips parted, breath trembling. A tiny nod slipped out before you even realized you'd agreed. She threw you a dress and a pair of Mary Jane flats that is surprisingly your size, you wonder if those were stolen as well.
The world felt too wide after so long. Endless sky. Trees shifting in the wind. The faint hum of insects in the grass. And then—the river. Clear, moving fast over polished stones, with no bridge in sight.
So this is the view outside her trailer.
You froze at the bank, your rosary tightening painfully between your fingers. Natasha saw the way your breath faltered, the way your legs refused to step forward.
"There's no bridge," she said gently.
Your shoulders curled inward, fear creeping up despite your effort to hide it. Natasha didn't push. Instead, she took a breath, stepped in front of you, and lowered herself slightly, turning her back to you.
"Come," she murmured. "I'll carry you."
You stiffened, eyes widening. Instinct told you to refuse, to step back—but worry and relief and something softer pushed you forward. With trembling hands, you reached for her shoulders, hesitating a final heartbeat before letting your weight settle against her.
Natasha lifted you like nothing, her hands steady under your knees, your arms looped carefully around her neck. You could feel her warmth, her heartbeat, the strength in her back as she stepped into the cold river. When she set you gently down on the far bank, your face flushed hot, your heart pounding loud enough you were certain she could hear it.
The small town ahead felt impossibly real—people walking, children running, old men chatting on porches. You hadn't seen anyone but Natasha in so long. You clutched your rosary with white-knuckled hands, holding your folded mantilla close to your chest.
Natasha stayed at your side, her hand resting at the small of your back.
The parish came into view, its doors open wide, warm candlelight flickering within. As you stepped inside, the second reading was already underway. You lowered your gaze, slipping the black mantilla over your hair with trembling fingers. Natasha stood close behind, like a shadow choosing to stay near.
After mass ended, people slowly filtered out—soft chatter, shuffling feet, doors creaking as sunlight poured back into the church. You stayed kneeling, hands clutching your rosary, heart still steady in prayer. Natasha stood beside you, quiet, restless, eyes never still.
When you finally rose, you turned to her with a small, hopeful look. "Natasha…can we stay a little longer?"
"I'll be here."
You smiled at her before you went and knelt near the side altar, and let your voice fall into the familiar rhythm of the rosary. The world softened, blurred, became holy again. The beads warmed under your fingers. Your shoulders finally dropped as you whispered each mystery.
When you finished, you stood, smoothing your dress, ready to return to her side. But the pew where she sat was empty. You blinked and looked again. Then again. Your heartbeat stumbled painfully. You stepped forward, eyes scanning every passing face—families leaving, elderly women chatting, children tugging at their parents. Everyone blurred into shadows except the person you didn't see.
"Natty…?" you cried, voice cracking. People looked at you in curiosity, some were squinted for how loud you were inside the house of the Lord.
You spun toward the doors, panic rising sharp and fast in your chest. Tears welled in your eyes as you searched. Your breath hitched, your hands trembling around your rosary.
She was gone.
What you didn't know was Natasha was just about to walk out—leaving you inside. She heard the echo of her name inside the church—your call for her. When she looked behind, she saw the way you searched every corner for her instead of running, instead of escaping. Her jaw clenched. Her hands curled into fists.
Because this moment was her plan.
She'd brought you here to let you go. To give you a chance to run. To free you without saying the words she couldn't bear to speak.
And yet the first thing you did when you thought she'd left was look for her.
Not escape.
Not freedom.
Her.
Natasha whispered under her breath like a prayer she didn't believe in while looking at you afar.
"Go. Just go. Run. Just fucking run. Please." She spat madly.
But you stayed exactly where she'd left you—small, trembling, eyes full of tears, calling for her.
She broke.
Her feet moved before she gave them permission, boots striking the tiled ground harder than she meant. You didn't hear her until she was right behind you. And then her arms wrapped around you from behind, warm leather and familiar scent pulling you against her chest, then guided you out of the church.
You gasped, collapsing into her hold as if your legs couldn't hold you anymore. The sob tore out of you before you could stop it.
"Where were you?" you whimpered, fingers gripping her jacket, burying your face into her shoulder. "Where did you—"
"Run," she snapped, gripping your arms hard, fingers digging in before pushing you. "Fucking go. Why don't you run?"
A few heads turned toward the sound of your crying. People nearby slowed, eyes flicking over, catching the sight of you—so small and clean compared to the tall woman who has a bruised face—clinging to her and her standing there rigid, breathing hard.
She tried to push you away again, hands coming up to your arms. She nudged you back once, then again, like she was testing how much force she was willing to use. You stumbled half a step, but before she could say anything, you went right back to her, clinging on her leather jacket as if your body had decided for you. Your grip was tight, desperate, stronger than she expected, fueled by fear and something painfully close to trust.
"Fucking go! Go away!" she now shouted, shaking you hard before shoving you with both hands. This time she didn't hold back. You stumbled and fell to the ground, palms scraping against the stone, the impact knocking the breath out of you.
For a split second, she thought that was it. That maybe being cruel enough would finally make you run. That pain would do what fear and anger couldn't.
But you didn't stay down.
You pushed yourself up almost immediately, knees shaking, face twisted with sobs, and before she could react you were back in her arms again. You hugged her tighter than before, burying your face into her clothes, crying so hard it left you gasping. Tears and snot soaked into her jacket, messy and humiliating and completely unguarded.
Her body went rigid. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to leave. You were supposed to save yourself.
Instead, you clung to her like she was the only solid thing left in the world, like being pushed away only proved how badly you needed to hold on. Her hands then stayed where they were, not pushing anymore. The difference felt thin, almost invisible, but it was there.
"It's a sin to be with me." She mumbled, jaw tight, caught between forcing you away again and holding you in place, and in the end she did neither. She just stood there and let you stay.
Then you pulled back, your face wet with tears, Natasha saw the raw fear and longing in your eyes. Then, almost instinctively, you leaned forward. Your lips pressed to hers in a trembling, messy, urgent kiss, soft but full of everything you'd been holding inside for so long—relief, fear, gratitude, and something deeper that scared you even as it burned through your chest. Your sniffles shook the brief contact, and when you broke away just enough to breathe, you pressed yourself into her again.
"Let's go back home," you whispered against her neck, voice choked with sobs. Your words were almost lost in the shivering breath, but they carried everything you felt.
When you reached home, the silence followed you inside. The door closed. The space filled with familiar stillness. She set you down gently, more carefully than before, and moved past you as if everything was the same as it had always been. You didn't mention the kiss. She didn't either. It stayed where it was, unspoken and heavy, resting in the quiet between you, as if acknowledging it might shatter whatever fragile peace had brought you back together.
But in the middle of the tense silence, Natasha suddenly turned to you. Without warning, she grabbed your face and pressed her lips to yours. You froze for a moment, but instead of pushing her away, you found yourself letting her take control.
Her hands moved swiftly, unzipping your dress with practiced ease. Before you knew it, she had scooped you up in her strong arms and carried you bridal-style over to the bed. She threw you down gently but firmly, climbing on top of you instantly. You realized you were still clutching the rosary beads tightly in your fist. The small wooden beads dug into your palm as Natasha settled between your legs, pressing you into the mattress with her body weight.
The redhead kissed along your collarbone and down your chest before suddenly switching to pepper kisses along your inner thighs. You watched through hazy eyes as she moved lower and lower, her mouth never leaving your skin.
She buried her face between your legs and started sucking your clit directly into her mouth. Her tongue dragged firmly over your sensitive spot, knowing exactly how much stimulation would make you delirious with pleasure.
"Praying to God with no panties on? Seems like mockery to me."
You let out a shaky breath as she continued her relentless assault on your clit. Your fingers tightened around the rosary beads, knuckles turning white. You tried to whisper something but your voice trailed off into a moan as she sucked harder.
She suddenly pulled away, leaving you gasping. She quickly undressed herself, tossing her clothes aside carelessly. She looked at your hands above your head and the tangled rosary in your hand before she positioned herself between your legs—her thighs pressing against yours as she rubbed her wet pussy against yours. She started grinding against you, her slick folds sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She then reached up and grabbed your hand that was still clutching the rosary beads. She intertwined her fingers with yours, trapping your hand against her chest as she continued to move against you. The beads dug into her skin, mixing with her sweat and your arousal.
After bringing you to the edge multiple times without letting you fall over, Natasha suddenly leaned down and whispered harshly into your ear.
"Cum. Now." Her command was firm and unyielding as she pressed her forehead against yours, maintaining eye contact.
You cried out loudly as you obeyed her command, your body convulsing with a powerful orgasm.
As your orgasm subsided, Natasha pressed a soft kiss to your lips then moved to your cheek, before slowly pulled away. Instead of getting up or putting space between you, Natasha surprised you by laying her head on your chest. She curled her body around yours, listening to your heartbeat slowly return to normal. You found yourself gently playing with her hair, running your fingers through the silky strands.
As a child, sin was explained to you in small, clear rules, the kind meant to shape behavior early. Don't take what isn't yours, even if it's just a coin from the table or an extra candy. Don't lie when asked who broke the glass, even if telling the truth meant punishment. Don't raise your voice when you're angry, don't roll your eyes, don't question adults who speak with authority even if you think they're wrong—because they know better than you. Keep your hands still, keep your thoughts clean, don't linger on curiosity about your own body. Don't compare your life to others who seemed more blessed, more loved, more seen. And woven quietly into all of it was another rule, treated as obvious truth—a man is for a woman, and a woman is for a man. Anything else wasn't discussed. It didn't need to be. You were simply taught it wasn't right.
When you failed, the lesson was always the same. Pray and be quiet—try harder next time. You were taught that sin wasn't something to understand, only something to control. Something you could press down with discipline, with routine, with obedience, until it stayed buried. You learned to watch yourself constantly, guarding your own heart like it was a problem waiting to happen, believing that goodness meant keeping everything contained and unseen.
But this—this wouldn't stay contained.
No matter how much you tried to deny it, it surfaced in the way your chest tightened when she was near, in the way your body relaxed when she touched you, in the way your thoughts returned to her even when you begged them not to. You tried to name it anything else, good, bad things. Anything but what it was reaching toward. You wanted to deny it because admitting it means crossing a line you were never meant to see, let alone step over.
And yet the question wouldn't leave you alone. Not whispered by father's sermon, not shouted by guilt, but asked softly from somewhere honest and afraid inside you.
Is this love you felt? Not for a man—but for a woman.
You didn't know. You only knew it refused to be hidden the way you were taught sin should be.
"You're sinning," she said—but somehow, even that sounded beautiful.
After that, you stopped running from it. You started seeking her instead. You leaned into her touch, waited for it, missed it when it wasn't there. Sometimes you were the one who moved first, closing the space between you, letting things unfold without stopping them.
What followed was never gentle or calm. It left you both breathless, tangled together, you learned about her toys, but you prefer her fingers more inside you. There were tears mixed with pleasure, relief tangled with guilt, but you kept coming back to her anyway.
You knew what you were doing. You knew what it meant.
You're sinning.
One quiet morning, you were eating breakfast together after a long, long night.
"It's tuesday," she said, she looked at you for a long moment, brow slightly raised, and then checked her watch. "Do you wanna go to church?"
You nodded, heart fluttering, "Yeah!"
"Go finish your food."
Your chest lifted with a mix of relief and excitement. You quickly got ready, folding the little things you needed into a small bag, careful not to make too much noise. She watched you from the doorway, her expression unreadable but calm, the usual weight of her presence always watching you.
When you reached the river, you froze, unsure how you'd cross without getting swept away. Natasha just smirked, bending down slightly. "You know what to do, angel," she said, and before you could argue, she lifted you effortlessly onto her back. You squealed, half in fear as she waded into the water.
The current tugged at her boots, but she didn't falter, keeping you safe above the flow. You both laughed—nervous, breathless, the sound spilling into the open air—as she steadied herself. You clutched her shoulders tightly, feeling her steady heartbeat against your hands and the world felt small and bright all at once.
Once you reached the other side, she didn't put you down. Instead, she carried you piggyback through the forest. When she finally set you down on your feet, your legs felt wobbly, almost like you'd forgotten how to stand on your own. Your heart pounded in your chest, you were nervous and excited as your eyes dragged across the town. The redhead noticed immediately and didn't let go of your hand.
"Stay close," she murmured and you nodded, squeezing her hand back without realizing it.
Together, you stepped into the bustling market, the air full of voices, clanging pots, the scent of fresh bread and spices. People jostled past, shouting prices and greetings, and your chest tightened with the unfamiliar crowd. You wandered slowly, hand still in hers, letting yourself take in the chaos without fear for the first time.
At one stall, someone offered free tastes of strawberries and you couldn't help but say no to free foods! You took one and bit into it, juice sweet on your tongue, sticky on your fingers. Excitedly, you turned to her, holding the strawberry near her mouth, eyes bright, wanting to share it with her. Instead of taking it, she leaned in and kissed you—soft, quick, unexpected. When you blinked, the moment lingered in the air between you, sweeter than any strawberry you'd ever tasted.
Your cheeks burned, a soft blush spreading across your face as you held her hand. The moment felt quiet and sweet—until a group of kids ran up behind you.
"Can we braid your hair?" they asked, they looked at Natasha like she could make their little wish come true with just a smile.
You glanced at her, unsure what she'd say, but the kids were so cute and eager it made your heart lift.
Natasha froze, glancing at you with a small frown, "Me?" she mouthed, clearly not interested in being the center of attention.
You tugged gently at her hand, whispering, coaxing her softly. "Come on…it wouldn't take long."
"Fine," she said quietly, letting the kids gather around her.
As the kids braided her hair, Natasha kept looking at you, eyes asking for help. You could only giggle, covering your mouth, feeling both amused and helpless. She just gave a small shrug and you kept laughing.
When the kids finally stepped back, brushing their hands together and admiring their work, Natasha looked at you, hair braided with little flowers tucked in between the strands.
You couldn't help but smile between laughs. This tall woman who is wearing nothing but black, had her hair braided and styled with little flowers on. "You look…cute."
She glanced at you, sighing like a kid, but the warmth in her eyes told you she liked hearing it. And in the middle of your moment one of the kids, shy but bold, looked up at you with wide eyes and asked.
"Can I get a kiss from you, ma'am?"
Natasha's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing in a sharp glare. Where did this kid come from?! Before she could do anything, your hands shot out, tugging her gently and stepping in front of her. You pressed her behind your back, shielding her with your small frame, your own heart racing as you scolded.
"Natty…it's a kid."
You heard her grumble and that's when you faced her. "Behave." But the taller woman just scowled and it made you giggle once more, she looked like a child! "Are you jealous of the kid?"
"No, I am not!" she said, her eyes throwing daggers on the poor boy behind you.
The little boy blinked at her, but then you finally turned and as you bent down, you kissed your forefinger, then touched it to his chubby cheek before ruffling his hair gently.
Without a word, Natasha grabbed your hand and pulled you along. You ran together through the stalls, laughing breathlessly, letting her lead as the market faded behind you.
You kept running, until the streets began to open and the familiar steeple of the parish came into view. Your chest heaved, but a rush of relief washed over you as you slowed, finally letting your feet carry you to the heavy wooden doors.
"Do you…want to get inside?" you glanced up at her, heart still racing from the run.
She looked back at you for a moment, her usual sharp gaze softened and then she nodded.
You two walked in quietly and went into the nearest pew. You finally let go of your hands as you lowered yourself slowly on your knees. Your forehead touching your interlaced fingers. The quiet of the church settled over you like a blanket.
Natasha's gaze slowly lifted from you, drifting toward the altar at the front of the parish. Her eyes traced the lines of the cross, lingering on the image of Jesus, the soft light catching the edges of the carved wood. She stared at the altar, letting her thoughts drift. Is this guy even real? But she didn't question it anymore—not the stillness, not the quiet, not the way you were there, kneeling before him…not her. For a moment, she simply looked, silent, before slowly closing her eyes, letting herself pause there as if she was holding some unspoken thought or prayer between the folds of her mind.
She was so lost in her prayer—though she'd never admit it—that she didn't notice you quietly settled beside her. When she finally opened her eyes, she blinked and saw you smiling at her.
"Hi…" you grinned, nudging your shoulders to hers. "What were you doing?"
She shrugged, crossing her arms. "Nothing."
"You were praying," you teased, grinning.
"No? I'm…just resting my eyes," she murmured, trying to sound casual.
"Yes, you were," you insisted, nudging her shoulder again, and her lips twitched, betraying the smallest flicker of a smile. You tilted your head. "So… what were you praying for?" you moved closer to her as you waited for her to answer.
But the woman just looked at you—straight into your eyes, tracing the curve of your smile with that steady, unreadable gaze. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you and in that quiet, unspoken way, it was clear.
You may not know but the answer to your question was already here—you.
In fact, she didn't need to pray at all. She'd done all the work to have you—every step, every risk, every control—and in her mind, she was the one who shaped this, who held it. She didn't need God.
She is God.
But still…she prayed to Him.
She thanked Him.
She never broke eye contact with you, but then she looked at the altar then back to you. "Do you think…if I kissed you in front of Him, He'd be mad?"
"The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. Psalm 145:8," your voice trembled just a little as you recited the verse, but the words carried certainty. "He doesn't get angry at love…He wants it, in all its forms."
"Then do you? Want it?" she whispered, her voice low, almost unsure, and for a heartbeat, doubt flickered in your eyes. "Aren't you afraid?"
You drew in a slow breath, letting the echo fade. Your fingers lifted on their own, brushing her cheek.
"There is no fear in love," you said softly, eyes never leaving hers. "Perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. And the one who fears is not made perfect in love."
But the moment was already moving faster than thought. Before the words could completely root in your mind, your lips met hers, soft and urgent, messy and real. When you finally pulled away, your breath was uneven, your forehead still resting against hers.
That was when you noticed it.
Her eyes kept drifting away from you, just for a second at a time, down to her watch. Each glance felt small on its own, but together they built something heavy in your chest.
"I don't wanna go home yet," you murmured, almost to yourself.
She looked at you and smiled before shaking her head, "No, baby, we're not going home. Don't worry."
There was something in the way she said it that felt off, something sharp beneath the warmth. But you didn't think much about it.
The woman reached out again, thumb brushing your cheek, warm and careful. "So…if we get married," she said quietly, nodding toward the altar, "in front of Him…do you think He'd be mad?"
You huffed a small breath, trying to lighten it. "Why do you care about what he'll think of?" you giggle that made the redhead fake a gasp, "What about you gotta have a ring for that first?"
Her smile shifted, slower and certain.
Without a word, she reached into her pocket. She took your hand gently and slid a ring onto your finger. The cool metal settled there like it had always belonged. You blinked at it, then up at her, a small laugh escaping you.
"It's too big," you whined, "And you gotta put the ring when we're together at the altar, silly," you said, half teasing, half nervous. Looking at the simple ring on your finger.
"It's the one you're going to give me," she replied simply before waving a smaller ring, "I have yours." Then she stood and tugged you up with her, already guiding you toward the aisle.
When you reached the middle, she stopped. Her hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek, and you leaned into her palm without thinking. Her voice softened. "Go. You go from the doors and I'll wait for you at the altar." You giggled, the sound light and breathless, and nodded before turning away. She watched you run toward the doors, your steps quick and uneven with excitement, then turned and walked the rest of the way herself.
When she reached the altar, she checked her watch one last time. Then she turned to look back.
There you were. Standing at the doors, stunning without even trying, waving at her like this was the easiest thing in the world. Her breath caught. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She smiled through it.
Then she laughed, quietly, like she couldn't believe any of this was real—and that somehow, impossibly, it was.
You were about to take your first step towards her when a voice cut through the quiet and called your name.
You turned and your breath caught when you saw them.
"Mom?"
Your feet wouldn't move. You stayed frozen as she reached you and wrapped her arms around you, holding you hard, like she was afraid you might disappear again if she let go. Your sister hovered close, eyes scanning you, relief and fear tangled together.
"W-What are you doing here?"
"We got a call from a stranger, giving us information that we will find you here." Your sister said, taking a hold of your cheek.
You tried to look back over your shoulder.
Natasha was still there, standing at the altar, exactly where she had said she'd wait. She didn't move. She just watched.
Then you saw it—her lips curved into a small, quiet smile. Seeing it made your chest tighten and the tears you'd been holding back finally slipped free, rolling down your cheeks. You couldn't stop them, and you didn't want to.
Your family hovered close, voices soft, worry in every word, hands reaching to check if you were okay. But your eyes stayed locked on her, refusing to look anywhere else.
You wanted to call her, to run to her, to close the distance in an instant. Everything just felt fast, jumbled, like the world had gone loud with your own heartbeat. Sounds were muffled, voices blending into a dull hum and every thought scrambled over the next, there were voices, cries, then there were sirens.
And the moment you finally blinked, even for that one bit second, she was gone.
Six years later...
Though it didn't feel like it. Time had a way of slipping past, unmarked, until one day you realized you were included to those who had been blipped.
Now, you were kneeling on the cool soil, hands pressed to the earth, staring at a gravestone that carried a weight your heart still struggled to hold.
The black mantilla she had given you is placed over your head draped softly around your shoulders. The fabric still carried the faint scent of her—a leather and a rose—a memory pressed into cloth. Carefully, you adjusted the small items that were left by people and the ones you'd brought.
You moved with the quiet care of someone who had done this many times in their head before ever doing it in real life. Straightening the flowers. Brushing dirt from the stone. Adjusting the veil she had given you so it didn't slip from your hair. Anyone watching would have thought you were a grieving wife, tending to the grave of the person you loved most.
Author's Note: Posting this before going to work. Thoughts about this chapter is deeply appreciated...
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⧗
The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom floor. You sit on the cold tile next to the toilet, your body wracked with sobs that shake your entire frame. The early morning silence is broken only by your muffled cries and occasional retching.
For the past week after you left, it's been always like this every morning—alone, crying, doesn't know what to do.
Suddenly, you hear small footsteps approaching—the soft patter of tiny feet against the wooden floor. The bathroom door creaks open, revealing your precious little Aliah, still in her pajamas, she must've heard. You know that she knows, she's aware. She always is.
"Mommy?" she asks, her voice innocent, pure. It should've stopped you from crying, you should've stopped crying for her not to see you like this but hearing her made you emotional even more.
"Baby…" you sobbed like how a kid her age would cry and she did too. She cries loudly, her tiny shoulders shaking as she cries too—telling you to stop crying, asking you what's wrong with ragged breaths. Her tiny hands wiping your messy face with snot and tears. But you spoke no words, no answers, because you can't—suddenly you don't know how to.
You just pulled her closer to your chest, wrapping her in your arms like a blanket. She snuggles into you, pressing her ear against your heart just like she always does when she needs reassurance—when she wants to hear that familiar beat that means her mommy is alive and safe.
She's the only thing keeping you grounded. You feel like if you let her go, even for a second, she might disappear—and you wouldn't be able to handle that.
Not again.
You couldn't lose her too.
The entire day, Aliah is like your shadow. She follows you everywhere, her little hand always reaching out to touch yours or grab your shirt. She wants kisses every few minutes—on her forehead, on her cheeks, on her nose—and she constantly checks your face for any sign that you're okay.
"Mommy, are you sick?" she asks softly, her tiny hand reaching up to feel your forehead. She frowns when she doesn't feel any heat but senses something else is wrong.
You force a small smile and kisses Aliah's forehead for the third time, hoping it would reassure her. "Mommy's fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired," you say softly. But Aliah's not convinced but knew better than to ask you. She's smart like that. Instead, she runs to the room and grabs her tablet. She opened the calling app like how her mama taught her and pulled it on speaker as she waited for her to answer.
"Hi mama." Aliah calls when she's sure her mama answered the call because she can now see a video on the screen although it was a bit pixelated.
"Wow, hi love." Natasha greets on the line, she just got out of the shower when she received the call and she was surprised that it was from her daughter who was just learning to use the calling app.
Aliah's voice suddenly becomes urgent, "W-When are you going back home mama?" she asks breathlessly.
"I'll be back tonight, my love but I will see you tomorrow."
"O-Okay, mama." She says, unsure on what to say next. Her little mind struggled to word everything out but Natasha, although miles away and with the screen as the barrier sensed something.
"Why, baby? What's wrong?" her brows furrow with concern.
"Mommy is…" she swallowed an incoming sob, like she's trying to be strong, "mommy cries a lot." She nods, her lips trembling, "She's sick, something's wrong mama. I know something hurts because she-she cries a lot."
Hearing her little girl's voice break with fear absolutely shatters her. She sounded so scared, Natasha could see how she was fighting her tears on the screen. Her heart feels like it's being squeezed in a vice.
"Mama, please come soon."
Natasha watches, helpless, as her princess tries to be brave and wipes away her own tears. Her own eyes burn with unshed tears, but she refuses to let them fall. She asks her daughter about you, about what was happening and Aliah tells her everything as much as she can.
"Can you talk to mommy?" It wasn't a request, it's more like a beg. Natasha debated on saying yes but she knew that once your daughter hands her the tablet, you would just make an excuse just not to talk to her.
"I am so sorry baby, but not right now." She tried to not let her voice crack with her forced response. "But I need you to be strong, okay? Take care of mommy for me while I am gone, I promise you I will be back home soon baby."
The call ended with a heavy weight on Natasha's heart. She wished she could stay on the line, hoping to at least see a glimpse of you but she knows that can't ever happen—not now.
Natasha's guilt grew heavier with each passing day and today added a new weight, haunting her even in broad daylight. Every waking moment was a reminder of the pain she had caused, that kind of guilt that stuck with her, that could never be washed away even by how hard she scrubbed it off her skin—it lingered, like a shadow she could never shake.
Day and night, it was all she could think about. Everything that you had to go through, everything—all of it—from Steve, your mother…
And to her.
You had been the one who had to pay the price for it all, enduring the pain and suffering alone. And it was now her turn.
When you left, it was a punishment for Natasha already. Every time she wakes up knowing she wouldn't be able to see or speak to you, your daughter who never stopped talking about you felt like a knife twisting in her heart. She knew that she had to wait and give you time, but every moment without you was more torturous than the last.
There is one thing Natasha couldn't find before and that was her buried love for you. And now, she was determined to fight for that, even if that meant refusing to sign the divorce papers.
⧗
It was 12 midnight when the pain woke you up. You slowly sat up in bed, your body aching all over. Every movement set off a wave of ache, and your head felt dizzy and disoriented. Despite the discomfort, you tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake your daughter who was sleeping next to you. You slowly and carefully wormed out the bed and went downstairs.
Every step was agony and you couldn't help but let out a small, pained hiss as you walked. Then, you were snapped out of your body at the sound of a knock at the door. Startled, you rushed down the stairs vigilantly, heart pounding in your chest because who could be at the door at this hour?
Just as you opened, you smelled her already—that leather and that cologne—a smell that is uniquely hers. You froze, your hand on the door handle, seeing Natasha standing on the other side.
"Natasha..." your voice a fragile whisper. "I...I thought your flight back is tomorrow?" you moved partially behind the door, as if you're trying to hide something—yourself.
"I rebooked." She looked so tired, the fatigue etched into her features like she didn't get a good rest. Her voice was hoarse and raw, an obvious sign of exhaustion that made your heart ache.
But you were conflicted whether to let her in or not..
"Aliah, she's...she's asleep right now," you said as you opened the door for her. You know that she's here for your daughter, well, that's what you thought. You led her into the living room, your steps slow and careful as you tried to ignore the pain that still lingered in your body. "Do you want anything? Water? Tea?"
She didn't answer your question, she wasn't even listening at all. All she did after she closed the door was focus on you, as if she's trying to figure things out before she could even bring up her concern.
"How are you?" she now asks. Rushed. Soft. Deeply concerned. Desperate. As if that's the only thing she came for—you—to know how you're feeling, to know what's wrong. "Aliah told me you weren't feeling well."
You froze midstep on the way to the kitchen, your heart skipping a beat at Natasha's question. "I'm...I'm fine," you lied, wishing your voice didn't come out shaky. "Aliah was just worried about me, that's all." You didn't dare look back at her, not wanting her to see the true state you were in.
Despite your best efforts to keep up a strong front, Natasha could see through your facade. She knew you weren't being honest, but she didn't want to push too hard, respecting your boundaries. And she didn't want to ruin this moment with you so she just asked about your daughter while she looked around the living room waiting for you.
"How was Aliah?"
You were in the kitchen, busying yourself with making a cup of tea, your movements slow and deliberate. "You know, like always, full of energy." You say, with a faint smile she could never see, as a response Natasha hummed.
She would never pass down to have a conversation with you. She was so desperate to get a word out of you but right now she was so focused on looking around your apartment since it was her first time here. Then, just as before she started a new conversation her gaze fell upon the table, she recognized it as the one she had seen you sitting at during the video call, and there was no mistaking it. Natasha knew it was wrong to go through your things—when she was a kid her mother had taught her that. But her paranoid thoughts about the divorce had been eating away at her. She tried to resist the temptation, tried to tell herself that she shouldn't, but the curiosity, anxiety, and that constant fear she felt was getting the best of her.
It was consuming her that she's starting to go insane.
So carefully, with shaking hands she sorts through the papers, her eyes skimming over the different documents that are laid out. Fast. Resolute. Scared. Tensed. Like a thief not wanting to get caught. There were bills to be paid, receipts, car insurance, and mortgage paperwork, among other things.
There is only one envelope that wasn't touched by her yet. A brown long envelope.
Her hands were shaking more violently, she reached out for it, her heart racing.
She didn't know how. It was only her hand that was shaking when she took the envelope, but when she finally saw what's in it—it was now her whole body trembling uncontrollably, even her insides. At that moment, a loud shattering noise rang out from the kitchen; she barely registered it, not until it was followed by your gasp.
Natasha flinched as the sound broke through the silence, her head snapping up, frozen in place, unsure of what to do. But she rushes into the kitchen with the paper still clutched in her hand and her heart up against her throat.
Her eyes widened in horror as she took in the sight; there were shattered pieces of glass not so far in front of you, blood dripping steadily between your legs, pooling onto the kitchen floor. Your face is pale, lips trembling as you look down at the crimson stain tainting the porcelain tile.
Your legs give out slightly as you lean against the counter, you never dared to look at her but you knew she was right there.
You cannot hide yourself anymore. You cannot hide it anymore.
"It's…it's not mine." You tried sounding so calm but the words came out shaky—you sounded so scared.
And it tears her heart like shards of glass.
The blood wasn't yours, it was the baby's.
The ultrasound photo slips from Natasha's nerveless fingers, fluttering to the ground like a dead leaf. She hasn't processed anything yet but all she knows is she's rushing towards you—she needs to—her heart pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest. She kicks the broken pieces away using her boot and reaches you just as your legs give out completely, catching you before you fall. She cradles you on the floor, her hands still shaking unstoppably when she fumbles for her phone to dial her sister's number, one hand while supporting your body with the other.
All the distance you've tried to put between you two crumbles away like sandcastles against the tide. As much as you've denied it, in this moment of utter despair, it's her arms you crave, her heartbeat you need to hear, her voice you long to soothe you.
It always has been.
Now, you let yourself break uncontrollably into her.
You were helpless, fingers digging into the leather of her jacket. You let yourself curl your body, folding your bloodied legs on her lap. It was a torture, emotionally, mentally and physically. Your body—your insides were aching. You can feel every movement of pain like something—a part of you—is being dislodged away from you against your will. And you cannot do nothing to prevent it—to save it.
But bleed and feel how your angel is being taken away from you.
"Baby…" she smiled, she tried to even though her lips trembled so hard. "I-It's okay. Hey, you're okay. We'll be okay." She holds you tighter, rocking you gently as if trying to absorb your pain into herself—oh, how she wished to, to carry it all. All those weight of pain you have been carrying alone. "Well be okay." A promise, even though her voice is cracking.
Your cry continues, every part of you is just hurting and it is killing her, every sound and sob was like an attack straight to her heart. Your cry that she knows you're trying to control because you still have a daughter who's in a deep sleep in your room.
And she feels like she wasn't doing anything at all.
She can't do anything at all.
Natasha kisses you on your forehead. Hard. Deep. Desperate. Tears now streamed down her eyes, her voice cracks with emotion as she begins to hum your favorite song—Only Hope—even if she isn't sure if it still is your favorite. That's what she used to sing to you late at night when you were just students in love. Her arms tighten around you as if trying to go back to those simpler times.
You two just sat there. Helpless—but you had each other—sitting on the pool of blood that stains on the floor and on the fabric of your clothes.
An obvious reminder of the life that was lost.
⧗
The hospital corridor echoes with silence as Natasha waits alone outside the operating room. Yelena had taken Aliah to their mother's house temporarily. The clock ticks louder with each passing minute.
She has been staring at her jeans and boots that are dried with blood.
Suddenly, a redhead marched towards her.
"Are you Natasha?"
She stood slowly, voice coming out hoarse and tired as she confirmed, "Yes…"
She hasn't even blinked when her head snaps to the side from the sudden slap, her tired eyes widening in shock. She stumbles back slightly.
"That's for my friend." The redhead's composure is unnerving, her eyes cold and hard as she stares into her. She didn't even give Natasha a chance to recover and slapped her again one last time, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "That's for hurting her so badly that she lost her baby."
Then, the redhead left, walking past her pushing her shoulders to Natasha that made her stumble backwards, as if that's the only thing she came for—slap the reality into her. Her hand slowly rises to touch her stinging cheek where the unknown woman slapped her. She doesn't try to defend herself or explain herself—she knows she deserved that. Her fingers trace over the reddened skin on her jaw and her eyes start stinging with tears—not from slap—but from the crushing weight of her words.
Natasha doesn't even know the woman but she was right. That even if she didn't want to accept it, the truth was brutal and undeniable.
She had hurt you badly, and did a part in losing the baby.
"Hey."
Natasha held her jaw tightly, shutting her eyes to not let the tears fall. Her voice cracks, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I won't blame you if you don't pick up after me now," she paused, "I really am good at messing things up," she muttered, a self-deprecating smirk twisting her lips. Her gaze flicked to Yelena, taking in her deeply concerned expression, before she looked away again, unable to bear the weight of her sister's sympathy. "I really messed up this time, Yelena." She whimpered, a strangled sob finally escaping her lips.
"Hey, hey." Yelena immediately came up and hugged her sister. And Natasha finally lets out all the pent-up emotion—the grief, the guilt, the sheer misery of her existence.
"YA deystvitel'no oblazhalsya." She cried over and over on her sister's shoulders. (I really screwed up)
Yelena had found you both in your apartment's kitchen, Natasha was hunched over your prone form, her arms encircling your body as you sat limp and almost lifeless against her. Both swimming with blood. She was clutching on your body, kissing your head over and over, her hands stroking your hair with a tenderness that belied the anguish etched into every line of her face. She hummed songs, murmured words but they fell on deaf ears as you remained lost in your own private hell. You were awake, but not truly present, your glassy eyes staring through the ceiling as if it's already the heavens.
Life has been drained from you.
A life has been taken from you.
When she drew closer, she found herself staring into her sister's eyes, the eyes of a woman on the brink of collapse. Tears streamed down her face, her jaw clenched tight as if to hold back the screams that threatened to tear from her throat. Her eyes begged for help, pleading for anything—anything that will make you stop hurting.
"Are you related to the patient?" A doctor who suddenly appeared like a ghost, asked.
"I'm her wife," she said firmly, as she faces her. It felt strange to claim that title after all that had happened because she felt like she doesn't have a right to it with what she did to you, but she refused to relinquish it, not when she needs to be by your side the most.
Yelena pats her sister gently.
The doctor nods, "I am OB-GYN, I performed an emergency D&C procedure to stop the bleeding and remove the remaining tissue," the doctor explained, her voice gentle but firm. "It was a complicated procedure due to the amount of blood loss, but your wife—she is stable now. Physically, she should recover with time and proper care. But emotionally and mentally you know, it's different…"
It's a weighted discussion that doesn't need explanations. It's already given how in this situation, your emotions and mental state would have the most impact on.
She could only nod, her vision blurred by the tears that streamed down her face.
"Your wife was 11 weeks pregnant when she came in for her routine check-up last friday. That's when we discovered...that the baby no longer had a heartbeat." The doctor said it as if she knew that Natasha doesn't know these critical details and she was right after noticing the subtle twitch in her jaw and how she shuts her eyes as if she doesn't want to hear more of it.
Natasha had only seen the ultrasound photos and the next thing she knows is that you were losing the baby.
Behind her, Yelena stood silently, keeping a respectful distance, sensing the raw, unbridled emotion radiating off her sister. She had never seen Natasha cry like this again, the last time was when she went hysterical for you. She never even cried when their father died. Never with such a depth of sorrow, such a crushing weight of guilt and regret. Only for you.
It pained her to witness her agony, but she knew she needed this moment with the doctor, and needed to understand the full scope of what they were facing.
Or to fully see how really deep she had messed up.
Summary: Natasha finally discovered the baggage you had to carry alone in the past and how she contributed to that heavy weight—from none other than, your ex.
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
Tags | Warnings: +18 angst, divorce, emotional avoidance, MANCHILD, implied r4p3 and cheating, devising a murder
Author's Note: It's long overdue and I apologize, chapter 11 is already scheduled. Hbd to my dear friend!🐅
⧗
"I'll draw up the papers."
Those five words, cold and unyielding, was the last thing you said to her that night. And now, it has been three weeks since you moved out.
Three weeks of silence.
Three weeks without you waiting for her downstairs with a packed lunch in your hands and that small, unnecessary touch of makeup you'd apply just for her.
Three weeks of just her and Aliah at the dinner table.
Three painful weeks of explaining to her daughter why you don't live in the house anymore. A house where families are supposed to stay together.
While the apartment feels emptier than ever.
Three weeks of being alone.
Three weeks of cooking meals for one, the extra plates especially your daughter's favorite strawberry shaped one gathering dust in the cabinet.
Three weeks of not having to clean up a mountain of toys scattered around.
You cannot say you're at peace but you aren't happy either.
Every school day, Natasha sends Aliah off. While you pick her up and drop her back home, it's the only time you get to spend with your daughter—those brief moments before the day ends.
You know Natasha's schedule by heart, even after all these weeks of being away. You time your drop-offs perfectly, ensuring that you arrive while Natasha will still be at work. But right now, your heart literally stops when you see her car parked perfectly in the driveway. She's home early—a very rare occurrence since she usually comes home the next hour.
"Mommy! Mama's early! Come!" she beams at the idea of you being complete again and that made you physically wince.
"Honey?"
"Yes, mommy?"
"I have a challenge for you." Your daughter hummed happily and eagerly swaying her little feet in her car seat. "Good. This is a really, really big challenge where you act like a big girl and unstrap the buckles on your seat and grab your trolley. You kiss mommy before you open the car door and walk yourself at the door like a big girl. How's—"
"Mama!" you almost jumped when Aliah shouted, she wasn't listening to you. Not at all, and you know what? You knew that. She was just staring at Natasha rushing down the porch, while you didn't dare turn your head on to see the woman.
The kid unstrapped herself and hastily plopped her hands in the door of the car, you panicked and clicked it open. Then, she almost threw herself out of your car.
"Jesus, Aliah! Careful!"
You stay seated, watching your daughter round the car. Her small fists pound on your car door, "Mommy! Come out!" She tries to pull the handle but it's locked. You watch through the tinted window as she jumps up and down in excitement. Then, your gaze went up to see Natasha standing behind her in a simple polo shirt, her hands grabbing around Aliah's trying to hold her unexpirable energy from leaving a dent on your car.
She leans down to her daughter's level and whispers something to which your daughter nodded excitedly then scampers back towards the house. Natasha turns her attention to your car, walking over to the driver's window and knocking gently before putting her hands back on her pants pocket, moving aside.
Well, you don't have much of a choice now. Do you?
You take a deep breath, closing your eyes briefly before unbuckling your seatbelt. The leather creaks under you as you push yourself out of the car. The evening breeze hits your face as you step onto the driveway.
The moment you stepped your foot outside, Natasha's world seems to slow down. Her eyes trace every detail of your movement—your legs were the first thing she saw, then your shoulders, your hair whipping gently in the breeze. You always prefer dresses that fall to your knees, modest yet feminine. Tonight, you're wearing a light blue, surprisingly loose dress that has small white flowers printed on it, a cardigan and a pair of white flat sandals.
Then there's a brown envelope clutched in your hand.
Natasha's slowing world comes to a complete stop. Her heart pounds heavily in her chest, and the cool evening air suddenly feels suffocating. Despite wanting to run, her feet feel glued to the pavement. This moment feels surreal—it's the first time seeing your face in what feels like an eternity, but somehow, it also feels like the very last time.
God, she doesn't want this to be the last.
She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. The air felt heavy around her as she watched you approach—each step bringing both relief and sorrow. She could feel her eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. "Please don't do this." She whispered most likely to herself. Her body trembled slightly as panic set in. She wanted to grab the envelope from your hand and tear it up, to beg you to stay, to let her make love to you right there on the driveway and forget about the divorce papers altogether.
You stopped in front of her, the envelope still clutched tightly in your hand. You looked at her with a small, almost sad smile.
"Hi," you said softly. A single word that felt like a stab that is meant to kill her and an envelope in your hand that is a declaration of her own death. "These are Aliah's grades, you might wanna see." You continued casually, handing the envelope.
Oh…
She was so consumed completely by the fear of divorce that she had forgotten about your daughter's card's day today.
As she takes the envelope from you, her hand shakes violently, but you don't seem to notice. Her breath comes in short gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to keep herself from completely breaking down. You avoid her gaze, hugging yourself tightly as if trying to ward off an unseen chill. She stares at the envelope. She needs to be sure—she needs to know that you haven't ended everything yet. With trembling hands, she opens it again, pulling out the sheets of paper inside with straight A's.
She forces herself to smile weakly in relief. It really is not a divorce paper. She tried to pull off a conversation despite her internal turmoil. Her voice is shaky as she speaks, "Straight A's, smart girl…" she pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. "She got that from you. You always helped her with homework…"
Well, not anymore.
You simply nod casually, not answering her question or compliment. Your silent treatment makes her stomach churn with unanswered questions and rising panic once again. She watches you unconsciously rub your arms, trying to warm yourself against the cold breeze that's suddenly made the open space feel even colder. The gesture is so familiar, yet it feels foreign now.
"I'll go now. Aliah's bag is in the car. She has no homework today." Her hand reaches out instinctively, almost touching your arm but stopping mid-air, suddenly you're far away. She opens her mouth to say something—anything—to make you stop moving further from her. But the words get stuck in her throat. She feels like she's drowning again, this time in desperation.
"Just..." her voice cracks slightly. "Wait." You pause and look back at her. She sees the distance in your eyes, the coldness that wasn't there before. It hurts, physically hurts, to see you like this.
So close, yet so far.
"I'll be traveling. Four nights for some deal abroad. If you want, Aliah can stay with you while I am gone?"
There was a subtle shift in your expression as you tried to hide your excitement behind a calm facade. It's like seeing a glimpse of the old you—the one who used to light up when you see Aliah or when you see Natasha bring you your favorite yogurt back in college. Her heart aches at how much she misses seeing that. How much she wishes you wouldn't hold back.
"You know you can always get Aliah if you want, right?"
"Yeah," you mutter softly, your dimples showing. "Thanks." You fiddle with your car keys, there's nothing to talk about now, this small talk is killing you just the same. "I'll go now." You point your thumb to your car over your shoulder.
In a desperate attempt to keep you just a little bit longer, Natasha mentions your daughter. She knows it's a low blow, using your Aliah to manipulate you—no, make you stay. But she's drowning, and she'll use anything to keep from sinking further.
"Aliah's expecting dinner...just the three of us."
You glance at your phone, seeing that it's already 6:30 pm. Dinner time is approaching fast. Natasha watches as your expression softens slightly at the mention of Aliah. She knows she's hit the right chord. But her desperation turns to suspicion when you glance at your phone again, this time with an urgency that makes her heart race. You're dressed nicely, too nicely just for picking up your daughter in school. Do you have work? Or maybe you're going to see someone after you had just dropped off your daughter in your soon to be ex-wife's home. Is that blonde threat making a move on you already?
These thoughts are making Natasha crazy.
"I'm sorry, I really need to go. But I will see her tomorrow." You nod curtly, your words clipped and final. She feels like she's being shut out, locked out of your life and decisions.
As you reach for your daughter's trolley in the passenger seat, Natasha immediately rushes to help—an automatic reaction from being so desperate to get a point for her to win her wife back. But as soon as she moves closer, you instinctively step back, creating distance between you two. The subtle move doesn't escape her notice, fuck, it stings deeply.
"Drive safe," she calls out softly, you smile—a casual small tug at the corner of your lips. A smile that she's starting to hate. She stands there for a moment longer than necessary, hoping maybe you'll come back, maybe you'll turn around.
Maybe in her dreams.
When you're out of the property, you take your phone and dial your best friend's number.
"Hey, Wands. I'm on my way."
"Good. I was starting to think you stood me up."
⧗
The day Natasha left for Vienna, you had called and offered to just pick up Aliah at her place when she had initially planned and told you that she would drop her off so you wouldn't need to tire yourself from driving. But you had a sudden change of mind and insisted that you would pick her up yourself and when you did, Natasha was already in the airport—thankfully.
The initial plan was okay to you, really—until it wasn't.
You were okay seeing Natasha not until you cannot.
Fuck, you can't. You don't know how.
Aliah watches you closely, like a tiny psychologist. She sees how you jump slightly when the timer of the oven goes off, how you avoid looking at your phone for too long. She notices how you stopped humming the songs—songs you told her her mama used to play back in college. She sees how easily exhausted you get. Your usual energy seems drained and she wonders if it's because you're working too hard like what her mama told her.
"Mommy? What is your work again?"
You smile gently at your daughter unaware of her trying to psych you. "You know, baby, it's just the usual office stuff. Mommy sits at a desk all day, talks on the phone, and looks at a computer screen, reads files, cases—just like before."
Your little one nods before she climbs onto the kitchen counter with surprising agility for a four-year-old. "Mama said she can work for the all of us, so you wouldn't need to go. I wish you come back to the house but mama promised soon!"
Soon? And she promised it? You don't want to get the hopes of your daughter high, so you didn't answer. Because you don't know what to do anymore. Everything feels like a blur, and nothing makes sense. You picked up on how Natasha is trying hard to win you back, but you just don't know if you're ready to give her another chance. Everything still hurts, everything still feels heavy and yet your heart still yearns for her, fuck, you still love her after all, but your head is telling you to keep your distance and even doing that hurts. And you don't know how to reconcile these two conflicting feelings.
Lost in your thoughts you didn't realize you were staring straight at your daughter. You almost flinched when you saw Natasha in her. God, she looked just like her and it's starting to hurt you. Your daughter giggled at you saying that her mommy is being weird and jumpy. She then reaches up and places her small hands gently on your forehead, her tiny fingers spreading out, checking your temperature. Okay, now she's a tiny doctor. "Are you sick, mommy?"
Your laughter is sudden and a little too loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. It's a nervous sound, lacking its usual warmth and depth. You shift uncomfortably, your eyes darting around the room like you can't focus on anything for too long. You force a smile, trying to reassure Aliah and yourself. "Mommy's not sick. Mommy's cooking your favorite pasta right now, you see?" you turn back to the stove, stirring the sauce with more force than necessary, your movements jerky and restless. "Mommy's strong."
The kid has always been unusually perceptive for her age. You know that, you were also aware of how she feels your moods like a tiny emotional radar. She knows when you're happy, sad, angry…
Even when you're lying or hiding something.
But not in this—definitely not with this one.
And luckily for you, your daughter cannot seem to place what's wrong with her mommy. She knows when to stop pestering you—usually. She's learned that sometimes mommy needs her space, or quiet. But today, she can't shake off the feeling that something is very wrong. Her little hand cupped your cheek as she looked up at you with those too-knowing eyes.
You two stared at each other. Her, out of concern, while you—you are so scared, you cannot keep an eye contact. God, you feel like she can see right past you that it is starting to scare you!
"Okay, mommy." She finally gave up with a cute pout that makes your heart crack.
You let out a heavy chuckle, more like a relief chuckle and quickly devise a distraction, turning to her with a bright, albeit forced smile. "Hey, sweetheart? Can you be mommy's helper today and grab those plates from the cabinet?" she seems to beam at the chance to help you and reaches up eagerly for the plates, particularly her favorite strawberry-shaped one, her prior concerns momentarily forgotten.
The evening seems to fly by in a blur of tea parties and pretend cakes. Now, you sit at the dining table, the large mahogany piece stretching out in front of you. Your hands hover over some papers, a pen clutched tightly between your fingers. Aliah plays quietly on the iPad Melina bought her, you were actually opposed to it but you couldn't deny your mother-in-law so you would just supervise Aliah with it and only allow her 2 hours a day of use, well not until you left.
Unbeknownst to you, Natasha had installed a calling app and spent some time teaching Aliah how to use it, just in case she needed to reach her urgently but most importantly because she would be far away.
Definitely not to have a chance to get an update or glimpse of you.
You hear Aliah's shriek from the living room and freeze. "Mama!" she shouts out happily. You on the other hand, immediately as if on autopilot, covered yourself with the thick fluffy robe you were already wearing. As if you were trying to hide something—hide yourself.
You're confused, she's not here. She's miles away. You peek from the dining room and find your daughter beaming at her iPad.
"Iyah?" you call, while looking at her. Still sitting at the dining, tying the robe in front of your abdomen.
"Look, mommy!" Aliah says excitedly, holding up the iPad. "It's mama!" she presses the speaker button, and Natasha's voice comes through clear as the sun goes down.
"Hi," Natasha says warmly. Awkward. Unsure.
You give a brief nod, not caring if Natasha sees your gesture or not. "Aliah, you have 43 minutes left on the iPad, okay?" you quickly turn back to your papers, adjusting your glasses as if trying to erase the interruption. The robe hides your body completely, your hair covering your face slightly that when Natasha tried looking closely through the camera, she'd barely see anything but your glasses and focused expression…
On some papers on the table.
Natasha grips her phone hard and whispers to it. "Baby, what's mommy doing?" she watches carefully, trying to see your actions clearly on the small screen.
"Papers," Aliah whispers back, mirroring her mother's soft voice.
Papers, yes. But what fucking papers! When she sees papers, especially when it's with you, she imagines the worst—divorce papers. Her heart pounds harder against her chest. Natasha feels like she's losing her mind again. The papers you're so focused on could be anything—good or bad. But her imagination runs wild with the worst possibilities.
As if sensing her mama's distress, Aliah walks over to you slowly. She climbs onto the chair beside you, not wanting to disturb your work but needing your attention. "Mommy?" she asks softly, holding the big iPad with her small hands. "Whatchu doing?"
You look down at Aliah, your glasses slipping further down your nose. You smile slightly, pushing them back up. "Big girl stuff," you say softly, ruffling her hair gently.
That doesn't answer Natasha's question! What does that even mean? It does nothing to ease her panic. Instead, it only fuels her imagination, making her think of even more worst-case scenarios. The thought of your daughter sitting beside you while she looks at the big girl stuff her mommy is doing that will declare the end of her parents' marriage.
"Honey," you say softly, "Go spend some time with your mama. Ask her about her day." You suggest, because Aliah had stopped paying attention to her mother's digital face as she read some paper on the table. You quickly usher Aliah away, not wanting her to see any more of the papers. "Go, go, go!" you say urgently, waving her towards the living room. She giggles and runs back to the sofa, climbing onto it with her iPad in hand.
"Hi, mama! How's your day?"
Natasha forces a cheerful tone as she talks to Aliah during their call. The two asked each other how their day went, she praises her daughter for being good to her mommy helping setting up the table for lunch and tells her what kind of place Vienna is. While Aliah reminds her mama to not forget to eat and drink water. Digital kisses were blown on Natasha's screen before the call ended. As soon as the call disconnects, Natasha takes deep, shaky breaths, and she tries to calm herself. She knows she needs to keep her composure, but the paranoia is eating away at her.
Every corner of her mind is spiraling, because what if those papers on your table were really a divorce papers? The terrified thought plays out in her mind's eye. She pictures herself walking through your apartment door to finally see Aliah and you, exhausted but happy—only to have you hand her that envelope containing a legal document spelling out the end of your marriage.
The Russian paces back and forth like a caged lion, her mind consumed by fear and anxiety. She's terrified to go home, because she's afraid once she does, there's no turning back—whatever is in those papers on the table will become real and done.
The sudden ringing of her phone startles Natasha out of her spiraling thoughts. She answers it hastily, at least for the mean time there was a distraction even if it's just her assistant on the other line.
"What is it?" her voice comes out sharper than intended, laced with unshed tears and barely contained panic.
"Mr. Rogers is currently in Vienna for business matters. He got the news that you're also there and asked if you'd like to meet up for tonight? He provided the location."
Then a number was sent to her. Natasha stared at it for a long minute before typing.
"Hey, it's Romanoff. I'll be there at 9 pm."
⧗
Just a little bit of business and lots of catching up, that's what Steve told Natasha during call.
She spots him from across the bar and he did as well, waving with a warm smile. The blonde pulls her into a hug and the Russian stiffens imperceptibly in his arms, secretly cringing and hating the feeling. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that this man is the same man you've been with—the man you chose. He's oblivious to the affair you two once had before and also to the fact that Natasha is now married to his former lover. So if anything, this man was supposed to be the one disgusted by her, therefore she pushes down her anger and sits across from him.
"Long time no see."
"I know!" Steve's energy is infectious, his smile genuine and warm. He's still like the full of life slash authoritarian council president you once had before. He orders drinks for both of them and starts talking about his business trip, his hands gesturing animatedly as he speaks—as always. "So, how's life treating you? Anyway, Bucky's here. He just went out for a call."
When Bucky came back, the energy of Steve was multiplied. Meanwhile, Natasha keeps her responses short and vague, not wanting to give away too much about her personal life while the two share much of theirs.
"Married?" Bucky's gaze lands on Natasha's hand resting on the table. His story about his cheating boss trails off as he notices the ring on her finger.
The woman looked at the ring in her finger. Unsure. But she nodded, anyway—proudly even, as if her marriage was not deteriorating.
Steve and Bucky exchange a glance, both smiling broadly as they raise their glasses in unison. "Congratulations!" Steve says enthusiastically, the man is a bit tipsy now.
Natasha offered a nod, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and raised her glass as well. Oh, only if these two knew…
"Man, do you remember when you almost got married?" Bucky's laugh catches everyone off guard. Steve chokes on his drink, laughing as well. But Natasha freezes, sitting up straight in her seat, the question wasn't hers but she knows—and she remembers.
The blonde throws back another drink before asking Natasha casually, "You know Y/N, Nat? The president of the liberal arts club back in college?"
Oh, very well. In every aspect, in every angle. But he could never ever know that.
"Yeah," she plays along, pretending she only knows you from college reputation, not from being her own affair—now wife, soon ex-wife. "Why?" she asks urgingly, a bit desperate to know what really happened between you two—when you chose him.
Suddenly, their table went silent. From full of boisterous laughter from these two loud men to silence, like an angel passed by. Steve breathed before starting as if he was about to vent to his therapist. "You know, she almost became Mrs. Rogers. We were gonna get married. Then suddenly, she was pregnant. The kid was redhead…and I was blonde."
Then, the two bursted out laughing again.
"Man, that always gets me!" Bucky hacks, clapping his friends' back who is out of breath. "Mind you, Steve was a celibate."
The blonde placed his hand on Bucky's arm, "Bro, you didn't have to say that but yeah I was." Then, he laughed again.
Natasha watches them guffaw about the situation. What's so funny about it? Steve seems completely unaffected, almost like it's a funny story rather than a painful memory. There are complex and unexplainable feelings swirling inside the redhead—guilt because she was the one you cheated with back then and this man clearly had no idea. And there's this irritation and above everything else, confusion especially with the reactions the two were showing right now.
"You're like celibate not after Sharon, you remember after graduation?" Bucky snickers after he emptied his glass, unaware of what he just said.
"Man..." Steve eyes him and his bestfriend let out a silent oh shit. "You're really snitching me here!" The blond whines, but laughs after. "Well, since it's now out and about that was a little...accident turned into something more y'know?"
"Wait, Sharon Carter? We're in the same program." Natasha says, confused if she's understanding all this right.
"Yeah, and we're getting married soon."
Oh, this hypocrite motherfucker.
All the feelings Natasha has been struggling to explain is now replaced by one fuming feeling—anger.
"That's like..." Natasha squints her eyes, looking straight at Steve. Hesitant on how she will phrase her words. But she didn't care because this man didn't as well. "That's kind of unfair don't you think? Basically after grad you and Y/N were engaged, then you cheated? Well, both of you did and you get her to suffer while you get to run away with from the same thing you did?"
Steve, hearing Natasha's words, retorted a cold, heartless response, "Well, I wasn't caught, she was. And that's just the way the world works, you know? It's unfair, like what you said. It will always depends on who will get a head start." He shrugs with a smirk, "And I did."
That response and face only fueled Natasha's anger, she couldn't believe his lack of acknowledgement or remorse for his actions.
Is this still a mind of a decent person? Or a psychopath?
"So, going back, you know what? She was a piece of work. I kicked her out of the house with that kid." He said it so casually, as if he's discussing the weather—as if what he didn't just ruined someone's life.
"Damn, man. That's cold. But you did the right thing." Bucky laughs, "Can't have some bitch dragging you down with some other person's kid. Right?"
Natasha almost broke her glass of drink with her vice grip. She feels like she might throw up right there at the table. Her voice and question comes out softer and quick than she intends, "Did you...did you really kick her out?" She already knows the answer but needs to hear it again.
Steve looks up from his drink, his expression carefree—unconcerned as he repeats his statement, "Yeah, I did. I think the kid was 1 month old when I did." He let out a chuckle, clearly finding the situation humorous. "Hey, okay. Before you all judge I gave her a roof over her head for nine months. More than most guys would do in that situation. It's just too much for me, you know? Obviously, it wasn't mine and I just did what any rational man would—cut my losses."
The two never stopped laughing.
"She ruined my life, so I just reversed back y'know? And made her pay double." Steve leans back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips, "I made sure she had nothing. No home, no family, no job, no support or connection. Ruined."
Natasha swallows hard, trying to hide the storm inside her. "What do you mean no family?"
A cruel glint in Steve's ocean eyes that matched Natasha's. "Told her mama all about it and she disowned her." He takes a satisfied sip of his beer. "So now, she's just a bitch with a kid."
"Oooh, my man is standing on business!" Bucky drawled, hyping the obvious wrongdoing of his manchild friend.
Then, the two shared laughter once again. Making the situation a laughing stock—your life.
For Natasha, they are standing on a thin line.
She joined though…just a low and throaty chuckle, a sound that might seem sarcastic to anyone paying close attention. But Steve and Bucky are too drunk to notice anything amiss. They continue their banter and laughter, completely unaware that they're sharing drinks with someone who wants them dead.
"When did you last see that bitch?" Bucky slurs his words slightly as he asks. Alcohol is now getting to his system.
"She was desperate, man! She said she would do anything for me to forgive her." He snorts, finding the memory hilarious. "So I asked her to meet me at a cheap hotel."
Bucky blinked, "Dude, tell me you didn't…" he shakes his head, already knowing where this story is going.
"She said she would do anything, man." The blonde shrugs then chuckles, staring at his glass like a madman. As if he was reliving the memories in his mind.
His friend's mouth hangs open in shock and drunkenness. "Did she?" he repeats, his voice rising with incredulity and morbid curiosity.
"Well, she said no…"
A long suspenseful silence.
"But unfortunately for her, she lost the right to say that word to me. So I made her do anything."
Natasha's body is practically vibrating with unspent rage. Her mind screams obscenities. She wants to gouge his eyes out. She wants to watch him bleed. She wants to shut their mouths with her fists and smash their heads together. She wants to scream and curse and kill.
But she keeps her face smooth, managing a small, unreadable expression.
You had to go all through that, alone—Natasha keeps telling herself. Because if anything, it should be the both of you who should be punished since she was a part of it too—the affair. Suffering that should have been directed at her too. She was just as guilty, just as responsible for the affair.
But it was only you who paid for it and up until lately you were paying for it with how Natasha was treating you.
She cannot imagine the fact that when you two met again, you have been carrying loads of pain that she didn't bother to even know, she had questions, once curious. But was too heartless to know.
And the fact that she added to the weight of pain you've been carrying.
Now, she knows.
"So that's the last you've heard from her?"
Steve adjusted himself in his chair, swirling his drink around his glass, a smug smirk playing on his lips that Natasha really wanted to rip off. "Hm, well…" he slurs, "how will I put this one? Well, I kept tabs but not with her directly. Just for a few months with someone I paid."
"With someone you paid? Man, you had her followed, you mean?" Bucky says slowly, his brow furrowing.
The blonde shrugs, "If you'll put it like that. Well, just to make sure she's not pregnant this time and with my child you know?"
"You had her stalked." Natasha's tone is casual as she suggests the right word with her barely contained anger. This idiot just keeps adding and adding more charges that will put him to death row.
"Yeah, that's more accurate." Steve laughs, pointing at Natasha like he's giving her a point.
This man isn't as clean as she thought him to be.
Natasha forces a smile, a chuckle escaping her lips that sounds almost genuine. She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs and playing the part of one of the boys. The two laugh uproariously, their voices booming as they talk over each other, Natasha's presence is already forgotten. She doesn't mind; in fact, she uses the opportunity to listen intently. At times, she keeps her expression neutral, but she lets out a small, noncommittal laugh and comments at the right moments, just enough to keep the egos of the two inflated. She nods slightly, as if impressed by their crude stories, at first she would be disgusted like any other normal person would react but they could never know that. But now, she starts feeling numb as if she's gained immunity from it all, all while her mind races with the information they're unwittingly providing—something she can use later on.
As the two become increasingly intoxicated, their conversations slurring and their inhibitions lowering, Natasha watches them closely, their drunkenness making them oblivious to her intense stare. In movies, this is the right time for the serial killers to draw the victims in and do the exciting part, but Natasha didn't—she's not a killer—well, not until tonight.
Her visions are full of blood. She thought about a single bullet that would shoot through the head of the two, but that's too quick, not nearly satisfying enough for what these two idiots deserved.
So she devised something that is not better because for her, what will always come out on top is the one that will make them pay with blood. Now, she thought of something that doesn't require her to get her hands dirty. One that requires no effort, just efficiency, connections, and a lack of heat—the one that is torturously, slow and satisfying—evil. The plan wasn't even originally hers, she was just recycling—a process of turning waste into something reusable, and the idea was from none other than, smart president Steve. It was as if he was handing her his fate.
But she was their fate, to begin with.
"Anyway, Steve. How much do you need this deal again?" Natasha asks sweetly, as she looks at her phone to end the recording device she had turned a couple of minutes ago.
Summary: Despite moments of tension, uncertainty lingers over your relationship with Natasha. You grapple with the conflicting emotions, questioning where you stand with her again.
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
Tags | Warnings: +18 angst, fluff, kissing, possessiveness, jealousy, manipulation if you squint, intoxicated Natasha, DUIA, cursing, heated argument (huge warning for this)
Author's Note: This series has now become a commissioned work.
⧗
As the days go by, a comfortable routine settles over the house. You found yourself waking up to a sound that you for sure know even if you haven't opened your eyes yet is a giggle of your daughter. This has been becoming more frequent, waking up, seeing your daughter and her mama giggling in front of you as they play together first thing in the morning. It's a sight to see and you didn't mind it at all even if you were slightly conscious about the face you make that Natasha literally had to see while you were still asleep.
The door slowly opens and you see Natasha tip-toeing into the room, she didn't notice you awake at first but when she finally turned around and saw your confused face, she felt nervous. Before she can even explain herself, you hear a loud shout coming from outside the room that is clearly your daughter.
"Mama! Weady or not, here I come!"
You wanted to scream out of shock when Natasha literally threw herself on your daughter's bed, hiding herself under the duvet. You hear her whisper urgently, more like a squeak, "Cover me, please." And you quickly oblige, pretending like you don't know she's there. She scoots under the duvet but she makes sure that her body isn't pressed up too close to you.
Before you can even ask the woman beside you what is happening, your daughter flings the door open and rushes into the room.
"Hi mommy, good morning!" she's filled with so much energy and excitement already this morning. And here you are, still having no energy after a long sleep. "Did you see mama?"
Oh, hide and seek.
"Sweetie, I haven't seen…mama." Your voice cracks at the end when you feel Natasha poke your side. God, you hated lying to your daughter. There was another jab on your waist, purposely tickling you so in revenge, your left hand went to grab a strand of Natasha's hair and tugged it so hard that she almost groaned that it almost blew her cover.
Your daughter just nodded, not suspecting anything. She looked around her room, checking the bathroom and the closet, but she didn't find her mama hiding in either of those places. She seemed confused on where to go now, she was breathing hard from running here and there and you can see her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Then, she runs out of her room, leaving you all alone with the hider she's looking for under the duvet next to you.
You were just about to carefully slide out of bed when suddenly you feel Natasha grab your hand, pulling you back under the covers with her. You find yourself pressed up against her, your bodies almost intertwined, and you can feel the heat radiating off her skin. You're both enveloped in the duvet, and now you can see her face right in front of yours.
"What are you doing? You gonna rat me out?"
"If you don't want to rat you out, don't tickle me!"
The two of you were so caught up in your argument that you didn't even notice your daughter coming back to the room and pulling back the covers to reveal you both in such a compromising position. You froze on the spot, your face just inches away from Natasha's, staring at each other in stunned silence. Your daughter stood there, looking at the two of you with a curious expression, wondering what on earth was going on.
"Found you, mama!" she then exclaims, her voice full of enthusiasm, pointing her finger on Natasha.
Natasha carefully lays down on her back, her body relaxing against the bedding. There's a slight sense of relief in her eyes, grateful that your daughter didn't suspect anything unusual happening between the two of you under the duvet together.
Well, nothing unusual happened so…
Your daughter giggles when Natasha quickly grabs her and gently plops her down on her stomach.
"Mommy, help me!" she squeals, she's having a blast, but you can tell that Natasha is still holding on to her firmly, just for the fun of it.
"Oh no, I am not risking myself on that tickle monster again." You pretend to be exasperated, but you can't help but laugh at the scene unfolding before you. "So sorry, baby," you say with a playful tone, feigning helplessness while Natasha still playfully keeps your daughter trapped on her stomach. "I'll come back for your shower Iya. Prepare your clothes, okay?"
"I will help Aliah shower." Natasha offers, trying to catch your daughter's small hands that's attacking her like a snake.
You're so glad you gave birth to a kid that will make Natasha swallow her own pill—like will literally shove it in her.
"Don't you have work today?"
"I can be late." She said so surely. Her hands trapping the small hands of her daughter. While your daughter never stopped giggling on top of her, eager to take her hands back, Aliah lifted her body up and slammed herself back on Natasha's stomach.
"Oh fu—" she started to say, but then she caught herself as her eyes met yours. Her face contorted in different reactions, her breath literally being knocked out from the force of Aliah's impact.
You squint your eyes harder as if challenging her to continue what she was going to say. No one curses around Aliah and Natasha knows that rule, besides she's in with that rule too.
Despite her best efforts to remain stoic, the pain still lingered in Natasha's face, and your eyes were still at her. And to add to the scene, your daughter couldn't hold back her cute little giggles, finding her mama's pained expression funny.
"Try not to kill each other." You remind for the last time, leaving them alone, not even coming to Natasha's rescue. Though you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself as you heard the sounds of laughter and playful struggles from the bedroom.
Aliah is in her toddler phase and it has been nothing but a whirlwind of energy and curiosity for her. She was constantly on the move, always exploring her surroundings and seeking out new experiences. She would run, jump, one time she literally gave strangers some stickers—very enthusiastic. However, her endless energy also meant that she would sometimes have difficulty regulating her emotions, leading to occasional temper tantrums when things didn't go her way.
As Aliah's mother, you would have no problem handling her boundless energy or tantrums, you actually thought you're being good at handling and disciplining her. It was your job, after all, you literally gave birth to her. But right now, you didn't mind not having to deal with it. Besides, Natasha had offered to take over, and she seemed blissfully unaware of what she had gotten herself into.
⧗
You had been cooking in the kitchen, enjoying the peacefulness of the morning. But as time went on the two still hadn't appeared downstairs. Aliah should have been eating her breakfast by now. So you decided to go up and check on the two of them, curious to see what they were up to.
The first thing you saw was Natasha, only in her sports bra, her muscular body now exposed as she removed her shirt. She looked exhausted, sweat glistening on her forehead, as she panted and tried to catch her breath.
"She...she has so much energy," Natasha says breathlessly, struggling to speak. "She got me all…"
"Wet," you grimace with how you finished her statement. Definitely not right now. Your daughter is in the same room and this is her room! You shake your head before calling your Aliah. You walked past Natasha and when you saw your daughter in the bathroom swimming in the bathtub, you quickly shot your head back to the red head. "You gave her a bath?!" your voice almost scolding as you asked.
Natasha's face instantly contorted with guilt, her cheeks flushing bright red as she stuttered, "Y-yeah...she said she wants a bath. In the bathtub."
"Oh god...you've fallen for her game, newbie. Beware of it next time, because she can stay on that boat for the whole day." All you can do is shake your head, sighing defeatedly.
Okay, maybe you didn't inform her beforehand not to fall for Aliah's little tricks but your pride won't admit that to her, hello?
"Sorry." She muttered, toying with her wet shirt, even her pants. She really is new to this. She did play with Aliah a lot, lots of lots of playtime together. But she wasn't able to experience how to handle Aliah during serious times like right now.
"It's fine, I can handle this. You can prepare for your work now. And I…uhm, I prepared some breakfast downstairs if you want." You hesitate the offer for breakfast.
"W-wait…I-I can drive…you two to school?" Natasha offers back. "I…I'll just go shower quick and—"
"You sure? What about work?" You cut her off, this is the first time she took initiative. Usually, she would pick and send Aliah to school but without you.
"W-work can wait." Natasha stutters and she doesn't know why she was so damn nervous.
"Okay."
⧗
You got out of the car alongside Natasha and your daughter Aliah, who was still bursting with an abundance of energy. She excitedly bounded out of the car. When Natasha got out of the car, you looked at her, slightly confused. You thought she'll just drop you two off then she'll go straight to her work.
"Hey, I've got it. You have to go to work now." Before you could protest and say more, she effortlessly picked up Aliah's trolley and clicked her car keys to lock the car.
"Work can wait." She said with more confidence this time. Your daughter ran to her and held onto her hand tightly while she jumped. This kid hasn't run out of energy.
After you had sent Aliah off to her room, you spotted Carol near the school field when you were just about to exit. You sauntered over to her, a mock pout on your face when you noticed she's not bringing any cups of hot choco for you today, "No choco for me today?" you playfully asked.
"Well, I was wondering if I could ask you out for coffee…I mean chocolate drink." Carol's smirk curled at the edges of her lips. But it quickly disappeared when she saw Natasha behind you. She doesn't want to over exaggerate everything but she looks like her eyes were throwing daggers at her. "I…I am sorry I didn't know. You…"
You were confused when Carol stammered and when her eyes looked restlessly from you to your back. And then that's when you remembered, you were with Natasha. Okay, in your defense this is the first time you were with Natasha in Aliah's school. This is the first time she is present…with you.
"Oh yeah, I'm sorry yeah I'm with Natasha. But she'll go to her work now…I think. Right, Nat?"
Natasha didn't know whether you were intentionally trying to make her jealous, or you were simply oblivious to this blonde woman clearly has…something for you. Whichever it was, it was driving Natasha up the wall. The way you two teased each other, talked to each other, the easy banter and the way your eyes would crinkle when you laugh when talking to who this Carol is.
Annoyance. That's what she feels right now. Annoyed because she's jealous. And God, she hated it that she didn't notice herself taking a step forward and placing her hand on your waist like it belonged there.
It belongs there.
"Natasha..." You call out her name, feeling her body closely to yours. You turn to look at her, your gaze searching for a response. As she meets your eyes, she senses your obliviousness, and defeat settles over her.
Natasha sighs, her voice tinged with resignation as she speaks, "Yeah... I'll go to work." Her words are a reluctant admission, even though she really doesn't want to leave especially with this blonde threat in front of her. She felt like she's being pushed away, as if you were trying to distance yourself from her by reminding her about her work. Her mind buzzed with a whirlwind of thoughts, and she couldn't help but feel uncertain and threatened.
Overall, jealous.
If you were distancing yourself and playing games with her feelings, she should be the first one to read between those lines because she had done the same thing before to you. If you were making her jealous? Hurt? It shouldn't be a surprise anymore, because she had done it first to you. She had done it first and worse. And she doesn't want to get reminded of it.
"Okay, I'll just go get my bag to your car," you said with a warm smile, seemingly unaware of the emotions stirring within Natasha.
She was supposed to be the one distancing herself from you, but every little thing you did seemed to crumble the walls she built around herself. The more she pushed you away, the easier it seemed for her to unravel, succumbing to the effect you had in her heart and body.
"Take care, thank you. I'll go to the catering services after my coffee with Carol. Will you pick Aliah? Or you want to…" you rambled off, obviously suggesting if you want to pick your daughter together again like how you dropped her off to school.
But before you can finish your sentence, Natasha sealed her lips to yours. Pressing you against her car. Her hand slid possessively around your waist, pulling you closer as her tongue darted into your mouth. The kiss deepened, she fought her way to your lips like she's claiming what's hers, that leaving you with something to think about while you're going to have some-whatever with that blonde girl.
And you didn't fight her. You didn't resist; instead, you melted into her embrace, letting her dominance, jealousy, possessiveness take over you.
Your hands instinctively gripped her suit, holding onto her as the intensity of the kiss increased. She growled softly against your mouth, her kisses becoming more demanding but she pulled back just enough to press her forehead against yours, her chest heaving with exertion. She stared at your swollen lips for a second, as she caught her breath.
Making out in the school parking lot was something you didn't expect happening today. Especially with your distant wife.
You were still catching your breath as you stared at Natasha's darkened orbs, she blinked, breaking the intense gaze that had held you captive as if she's hiding something behind those eyes of hers. She finally stepped back, putting some distance between you both. Her voice was slightly hoarse as she spoke, "I uh...I...I will pick Aliah up later. You take care." So will she pick up your daughter alone or with you?
Her car sped out of the parking lot. And you were left there, frozen, alone, and lost—unsure of where you stood with her. Again.
⧗
"Earth to Y/N." Carol sat in front of you, cradling a cup of hot chocolate and a black coffee. Noticing your distracted state, she leaned in conspiratorially, "Something bothering you?"
"I'm fine." You smile, dismissing her question as you grab your hot chocolate. "Thank you for this."
Carol didn't push for an answer, instead she sipped her coffee quietly, not to make everything awkward she smoothly changed the topic, "So...Aliah's birthday is in a few days, right?
You were idly sipping on your chocolate drink as well, and after taking a hearty gulp, you nodded in response to Carol's question. "Oh, yes, yes. On Friday, she'll be turning four. We've been planning everything, especially you know..." your words trailed off, grimacing slightly as you wiped your mouth, "She told everyone that she lives in a castle..."
The blonde let out a laugh, "Oh yeah, I remember Monica telling me about that. She said that she wants to live in a castle just like Aliah."
"Kids, you know?" you sighed before letting out a few laughs. "I was actually against the idea having the party at the house but…Natasha just spoils her a lot."
"You and Natasha, you're married? I mean..." another question of her goes smoothly but awkwardly. Carol looked down at her coffee cup, swirling the dark liquid nervously. "You never really answered when you know…I don't wanna be rude..." she trailed off, cringing at why she asked, because she asked it the moment you mentioned Natasha's name. She just hoped that she didn't overstep anything.
"Yeah, we're married." The statement was quick, fast, like you were just trying to get past this conversation.
The marriage was more complicated than it seemed on the surface. You and Natasha had a civil ceremony, intimate and small, but that intimacy hadn't translated into your daily life. There was a chasm between you two that you couldn't quite measure but you had to understand and take the blame for. You had hurt her from the past and you were more than willing to pay the price for it.
And you have been paying the price for it since you two got married.
You actually thought she saw marriage the same way—a way to save what you had, to force some kind of connection between you two. But now, you wondered if she had other reasons for it and she did. Everything was just for your daughter. It was a good reason though and you actually would do the same for Aliah.
So you let things be, you let her be. For the sake of your daughter, and for the pain you had caused Natasha.
You let her treat you like nothing. You let her be with another woman. You let her use you. Pride, dignity, and self-respect are long gone—only your love left. Your brain is dead and it was just your heart doing all the thinking.
But change was bound to happen eventually but you didn't expect it to happen so suddenly, so unexpectedly. Things had shifted subtly after you met Natasha's mom. Small things at first—Natasha taking the breakfast you make her, she's always present during dinner like she promised your daughter, you often wake up seeing her firstly in the morning. She smiles a lot than usual and you see her more often.
And the kisses? God, the kisses.
These small gestures felt enormous in your emotionally distant marriage. It made you feel like walking on cloud nine. Others might see it as stupid and ridiculous being so easily pleased by crumbs when you deserved a whole feast.
But you rather be optimistic about it, seeing these small changes as positive signs, believing that things were slowly getting better between you and Natasha. You convinced yourself that these little gestures meant she still loved you, that she was trying to fix things—that she wants to start over with you.
"She's not wearing her ring." Carol's voice was soft and fast, she said it more to herself rather than addressing you directly.
"Huh?" you ask since you didn't quite hear her from being so deep in your thoughts.
"I said." She blinks seriously, putting her cup down. "She's not wearing her…wedding ring? And you too?" Carol shrugs.
"I…we just don't wear it?" you grimace nervously with your stupid reason. You actually thought that she's not wearing it because she doesn't want to get reminded that she is actually married to you. And as for you, you genuinely forgot to wear it.
"Right..." the blonde drew out the word, sounding unconvinced but she chose not to push further not wanting to make you uncomfortable.
Not to make her crush uncomfortable.
Carol had internally berated herself for having feelings for a married woman. It was stupid, she knew that. She had seen the wedding ring on your finger the very first day she met you and right now you just confirmed that you are in fact married—a question that never failed to visit her brain every single day. Yet, here she was, crushing on you, a taken, married woman.
How can't she? With that warm, gentle smile that could light up a room. Your reservedness, your cute laughter, the way you dressed fashionably yet modestly and elegantly, always looking put together but never trying too hard.
She labeled it as "stupid harmless crush."
"What are you trying to imply huh?" you made a confused look, and not to make it awkward, you chuckle.
"I am not implying anything. It's just weird you know, being married but no wedding rings on?" Carol bit her lip nervously as she blurted out, "Better put a ring on it." She avoided eye contact, her fingers fidgeting with her empty cup drawing some invisible lines, "Before someone else does, you know?"
That was a bold line there, but you didn't catch what she really meant with it.
"Well, sorry for them. I am already married, my ring's just forgotten at home."
"Wedding rings are something you just forget."
"I think you're really trying to imply something." You smiled at her playfully and eyed her suspiciously this time.
"Nothing being implied. Just facts. Wedding rings are important. You don't forget them at home or...anywhere." She defended guiltily, her eyes studying your bare left hand. "Unless…"
"Unless?" you encouraged her, intrigued.
Carol felt herself on the verge of discovery, like she was close to unraveling something about your marriage with Natasha, maybe you're unhappily married or on the tip of divorcing. However, you sound pretty confident about your marriage…but you don't look happy.
But who is she to say that you aren't happy?
"Nothing." Carol says, not pushing further and so did you. "What about I help you with Aliah's birthday?" Now that wasn't a smooth transition.
You gave her a look—the one that made her stomach flutter and her heart race. You were a bit skeptical and amused, she just feels like she's on the hot seat. Your eyebrow arched perfectly, your lips curled into a smirk, and your eyes seemed to see right through her act.
"Mhm? Yeah?" you taunt.
"Look." She held her hands up, "I am…I am just offering my help here." She just hoped that her cheeks weren't as red as the hotness she feels with them.
"Offer accepted then."
⧗
"Thank you, Rick." You arrived home with multiple bags, plastics in your hands and Rick carrying some behind you. The house was eerily quiet that actually made you curious. You knew Natasha had probably already picked up Aliah from school while you had spent the afternoon running errands for her birthday. And by this time you would mostly hear your daughter's scream being chased by her mama, it's their playtime but you heard none.
Dining area was the first place you went to and there you found your princess.
"Baby?" you called, ready to have yourself slumped on the floor with her hug. But Aliah just looked up at you, you noticed her red, swollen eyes immediately. Her food sat untouched in front of her.
"Baby what's wrong?" And there, she started sobbing out loud. You immediately crouched down, and Aliah immediately wrapped her small arms around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder. She clung to you tightly, as if her life depended on it. You could feel her tiny body shaking with sobs, and her hot tears wetting your blouse. As you held Aliah close, trying to soothe her, she was trying to speak, but her words were muffled and incoherent against your shoulder. It sounded like she was repeating something over and over again, but the words were too jumbled to understand clearly.
"Shh…shh…can you talk right now properly princess? C'mon look at mommy." You shifted her on your left arm so you can see her properly. The crying turned down, only hiccups and sobs. "What happened? Can you tell mommy?"
"Ma…ma…" your little one managed to say between sobs. "Smelly…" she added.
"Mama's smelly?" you ask, wiping her cheeks and her hair that sticked to her skin with sweat.
"Ang-angry…I don't want food. Mama made ang-angy noise…" You didn't want to ask Aliah more and make her relive whatever had upset her. Instead, you shushed her softly, stroking her hair and rubbing her back to finally put her to sleep. You will just clean her up when she wakes up.
You gently tucked Aliah into her bed, making sure she was comfortable and secure. You waited until her breathing evened out and her little body relaxed into sleep before quietly slipping out of her room. You made your way downstairs, hoping to find one of the house helpers who might have witnessed what had happened earlier while you were gone. And just what you were looking for, you saw Leo, the house cook, wiping down the kitchen counter, trying to look busy as you entered. He saw you coming and hesitated, knowing you were about to ask about Aliah.
"You're gonna ask about what happened earlier, aren't you?" he caught you first.
"I…I was here to ask where you got your nails done?" you smile faintly making Leo huff.
"I just experimented, darls. I actually did it myself." He says, flexing his newly done nails but he immediately crosses his arms, hiding her fingers since he knows that's not really what you're here for. "Princess was being a kid, not wanting to eat the food I prepared for her and that made Natasha snap." He did not stutter.
"And?" you didn't know why you asked for more but you feel like there's more to the story because Aliah won't cry that bad if her mama just scolded her.
"She slammed her fist on the dining table. And I think she's drunk, Y/N." So maybe that is why Aliah said that her mama was smelly. She was drunk.
That's all what you needed to hear before you head up to find Natasha. You should be rational at this point, if Natasha was drunk, right now is definitely not the time to talk to her. And she was mad too, but so are you! So you had no time to be rational or logical to approach this situation.
As you entered her office, you found Natasha sitting at her desk, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of her. She looked up as you walked in, her eyes glassy and red from both alcohol and what you can notice is anger.
"You're home," she slurred, pouring herself another glass.
"What are you doing?" you asked, trying to remain calm despite the situation and that growing anger inside you. But no answers came from Natasha. Well, it's pretty obvious she's drinking, but you are asking what she is doing. Why is she being like this? "Did you drive Aliah home drunk?" the question is like nothing to Natasha's drunken haze, she ignored you again.
"Natasha." You called, but it is more like a warning.
"We're home safe aren't we?" she finally answered, her voice was flat and emotionless.
"It's not even about that!" you can't help but raise your voice "It's about how you're acting right now! You're drunk in the middle of the day, you were drunk around Aliah! And she had been crying! Did you ev—"
"What happened to your date?" she cut you off abruptly, her voice sharp and accusatory. The sudden change in topic caught you off guard, and she didn't give you a chance to respond before continuing. "Did you enjoy the drink? Did you have a good time? Because you weren't answering my calls."
"Really?" you scoff, "You're thinking about that right now after you had hurt our daughter?" your tongue grazed behind your teeth, jaw clenching in controlled anger. "Natasha, it's not a date. I swear, Carol's just a friend. I was just doing some errands for Aliah's birthday party, that's all." You asserted, firm and not angry even though your every muscle feels that right now. You really wished you sounded calm to quash any suspicions or misinterpretations.
Natasha just sat in stoic silence, her glass of whiskey clutched in her hand. Her gaze was fixed on nothing in particular, you didn't even know if she heard what you just said. You now stood in front of her in fear—fear that everything was falling apart again. Despite your attempts to remain composed, the intensity of the situation was getting to you. Everything was fine, it feels like you were all starting over and you were off to a good start and then in just a snap everything were slipping away again.
"N-Natasha?" you called her despite the shakiness of your voice.
"Get out, I've had a long day."
"Then tell me!" you cannot control it anymore, you cried, you felt your throat constricting every second. "Tell me what's wrong! Talk to me, Nat!"
"Don't even try." Natasha murmured under her hot breath.
"Tell me, please. Talk to me." You couldn't hide the desperation in your voice as you pleaded, "Please. We're okay. We're okay, right Nat?" The words tumbled out of your mouth, a desperate plea for reassurance, you desperately tried to cling onto the feeling, to convince yourself that everything was okay. Because you are, right? You two are okay, just this morning, everything had seemed fine—it was better! You both cooperated for Aliah, sent her to school together, then she surprisingly kissed you for the first time again. It was everything you had wished for, a normal routine you had always dreamed of for your family.
"We're okay, right? But what's...this? What's happening right now?" your words came out between sobs and gasps for air, "Because I don't understand anymore. I don't know where you're coming from. Tell me what to do, h-how to fix it again. I will do anything. Please, Natty."
"Fuck! Stop! Stop calling me that!" you flinch at her sharp movement and harsh words, Natasha takes a shaky breath, trying to gather more anger to push you away. She can see the hurt and confusion in your eyes, but she can't seem to stop herself from lashing out. She seemed to want to lash out to you and not.
"I did you a favor marrying you to keep Aliah. This…this marriage is nothing! So stop acting like you care!" Natasha spits out the words that have been festering inside her for so long. She let out a bitter laugh, "I wanna see you suffer. Locked up in this marriage, trapped with a wife who hates you." She says it with a twisted sense of pleasure, imagining your misery as her own personal revenge. "We're okay? You think this would be a hope for us? No. I want to see you fucking break."
"But I-I care about you." A tear fell down your cheek, lips trembling, "I…I still love you." The words came out of your mouth before you could even blink.
"Shut up." Natasha closed her eyes, her chest heaving in anger. "F-fuck! You're fucking lying! You fucking liar I wish you were dead so Aliah would be mine!"
It felt like there was a ghost that ran past you, your face paled. You took a step back like she physically hit you. "I…I'm so sorry, Natasha. I'm so sorry I hurt you." Is the only thing you were able to say.
As the words left her mouth, a wave of shock hit her. She blinked rapidly, a single tear escaping down her cold skin. "No... no, that's not..." Natasha reached out, she stood calling after you desperately. "Y/N, baby wait. I didn't...I didn't mean it like that…"
Before she can even stumble and walk out of her chair, you have already left her office.
Summary: Changes in breathing patterns, reduced vital signs, altered skin color and temperature, and decreased consciousness. These are the signs your loved one feels when you're about to lose them.
But those are the things that you feel when you are losing someone you love.
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
Tags | Warnings: +18 angst, divorce
Author's Note: I was told to ask y'all what you wanna see after this chapter...
⧗
"Are they here yet?"
Natasha's heart was racing and so is she in the foyer, her eyes constantly darting towards the door. She couldn't remember the last time she was this nervous. Probably after the last time she saw you, but at that moment she was hysterical, so definitely not nervous.
"Natasha, calm down." Yelena's words snapped Natasha back to reality. "Fix yourself, you got this."
It had been days since that nightmare encounter. 5 nights of Natasha tossing and turning in bed, 4 days of uncontrollable crying spells, 4 days and 5 nights of not having to drink even though she badly wanted to—no, needed just for herself to sleep hoping to forget the look on your face that day.
She has been a wreck since, completely lost without you. And she will not deny that anymore.
And today, she is going to see you…
Natasha walked her way to the backyard, the main venue of the event. She has been staring at her phone, specifically on your contact that says Wife❤ Natasha didn't remove it nor did she replace the wallpaper. And Yelena caught her once again in the act when she tried catching up on her speed walking.
"Don't Natasha, we talked already."
Oh, yes, the talk where Yelena actually did not just talk but also showed her sister some…tough love—literal tough love.
Natasha had never called you, but when she did, she called non-stop, clicking the green phone icon like a damn stalker. First was the day you were with some friend for some drink, and the next one was that very night you ran away where Natasha did nothing but drink and click the call button of your contact on her phone until she passed out.
And right now, the urge to add more to that 86 calls that you missed from her is very tempting. Each one a silent scream for attention and apology, each missed call piercing through Natasha's desperate longing and her inability to cope without you.
You, you, you!
Every thought, every dream, every nightmare was consumed by you. She couldn't think straight without you. She couldn't sleep without imagining you. She couldn't eat without remembering your taste.
You were everything.
You, you, you…
Only you.
"Sestra." Yelena, noticing her sister in deep thought, fished her out of it. "You'll be fine."
You had called everything off, the catering was canceled, delivery for decorations too—the party in whole. And Yelena had to convince you not to because Natasha practically begged her to talk to you and it's definitely not because it will only be the chance she will finally see you and Aliah both, well, maybe.
Natasha looked around the backyard, her eyes scanning the pink and purple balloons, glittery princess cutouts, the catering, and the giant castle she stayed up all night building proudly standing at the center of the garden. This was all your plan and this party was supposed to be cooperated by you and Natasha but due to some unfortunate circumstances which she had taken as her fault, she executed it alone and she had no problem with that.
She had wanted everything perfect for Aliah's birthday party because it is going to be the first time she will celebrate it with her, with you.
With your whole family.
She went back inside the manor to see her reflection staring back at her. She had been checking and re-checking her appearance for what felt like hours. She was getting out to check the venue and coming back inside the house to check herself. She was wearing a king costume looking handsome and beautiful at the same time. The gold brocade jacket hugged her curves, and the white breeches and boots completed the look. She turned this way and that, making sure nothing is wrong with her—she relentlessly fixed herself.
Because she wants you to see her fixed, put together, not drunk or hysterical—not a mess like what she has been with you.
And as the minutes ticked by, Natasha found herself becoming more and more restless. She had started walking around again. The fake sword she had strapped to her waist, swinging as she circled like a caged lion. She sees Yelena, who is dressed in a knight costume, welcoming each parent and kids that were arriving at the manor. Couldn't bear overthinking, she walks over to her to ask her for the 6th time again if you're really coming over.
"They'll be here soon. Rick called, he already picked them up." Yelena said, Natasha hasn't even uttered a word yet. She now pulled Natasha aside, her expression turning serious as she began briefing her on the plan for the party, again. "Slushat'," (listen) she started, pointing a finger at Natasha, "You're going to behave today. Once they're here, I will give you Aliah and you will help her get dressed. The gown…"
"Is already in her room, I know." Natasha finishes.
"And I will assist Y/N with hers. Got it?" Yelena says as she looks intently at her sister.
"Got it." Natasha nods.
"And Nat, give Y/N a space. Okay? I think it's better to wait for her this time. You can make small conversations and I know you'll know when she's off and once you feel that, you know what to do."
"Yeah, this day is about Aliah."
"Good, behave. Okay?"
"C'mon, do I look like I am going to cause some chaos?" she pushed herself away from her younger sister, she doesn't like the feeling of being reminded to behave like she's a toddler.
"Oh please," the knight rolls her eyes, "Do you really want me to remind you?"
Natasha's jaw clenched, "Not today," she murmured under her breath like she almost just said it to herself. She actually doesn't need to get reminded of it because what she did was already ingrained in every corner of her mind, that even when she sleeps it never fails to bring her nightmares.
Yelena watches her sister take a deep breath, seeing the unspoken guilt in her eyes—today is not the day to bring up bad memories so now she feels guilty too. And to ease the guilt she immediately changed the supposed to be memories she was about to bring up. "No, no, no, I mean with that look? You will definitely cause some chaos, king."
"Can we just remove the sword, it's…it's intimidating and exaggerated." Natasha clears her throat while she adjusts the brocade that's making her sweat already.
"I have the same and I ain't saying a damn word. Just be grateful you're not getting a face lift with an iron helmet!"
"You two."
"Mama?! Kak dolgo vy zdes'?" (How long have you been here?) Melina smiles as Yelena runs over to her and kisses her cheek.
"Not too long, dear. Just enough time to watch you two banter." She pats Yelena's arm affectionately. "Go get Y/N. They're here now."
"They're here? I thought Rick…" Yelena's eyes widen in shock but stops when Melina simply nods at her with a knowing smile, silently urging her daughter to go get you without further explanation.
Natasha had rehearsed her words countless times before this very moment, knowing exactly what she would say to you and Aliah. She had imagined about every scenario and how to handle them—she thought.
But not with her mother.
"Kak vy?" (How are you?) Melina didn't ask her anything. She didn't confront her about the things she figured out her daughter did nor her side of the story. What she just wants to know is how she's doing, if her daughter is okay.
"Pytayus' byt' luchshe." (Trying to be better) Natasha's lips quivered, she finally eyed her mother and tried her best to smile and not let that damn tear that is threatening to fall from her eyes.
"Vse budet khorosho." (Everything will be fine)
It's a phrase she's heard a million times before, it was a simple statement becoming overused and plain overtime. But hearing it right now from her mother made her heart feel some different kind of pain and comfort.
"Yelena's probably with Aliah, go."
Natasha nods, feeling a lump form in her throat. But she cannot cry right now, well, not yet, so she just kisses her mother before going.
The walk to her daughter's room is quiet, but her heart is pounding loud in her chest. Just as she was outside, Yelena exited the room. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the moment she has been both dreading and longing for.
"She's there already, I told her to wait for you." Yelena said as she pointed at the door behind her, she wanted to remind her once again to behave but chose not to. So she just gave her sister a pat of support. "Go."
Natasha breathes before opening. And her now four years old is already standing by the door, waiting for her. Natasha immediately lowered herself to her knees, and wrapped her arms around Aliah's tiny form, pulling her close.
It feels like forever.
"Happy birthday, Princess Aliahnovna Franceska Romanoff," she swallows hard to hold back her sobs, instead letting out a groan as she lifts Aliah into her arms.
"I missed you, mama." Was the first thing Aliah said, the way she said it was with pure genuineness but her voice was so small like she's not sure if she's supposed to say it. Natasha knows her daughter too, she's giddy and jolly, and right now Aliah is lacking those.
And Natasha doesn't know why.
"Princess, mama missed you too. I missed you so, so much." Her voice cracks slightly.
"But you don't love me any'ore."
Now, she knows.
Natasha was in pure disbelief and her heart ached at the pain of that statement. She immediately brings her down and kneels in front of her, gently cupping her small face in her hands and there she sees the pain in her daughter's eyes.
"That's not true," Natasha carefully says, trying her best not to sound offended. "Of course I love you, more than anything in the world. W-why would you say that?"
"But you don't love mommy any'ore, so that means you don't love me too."
Now, she knows.
Natasha shook her head, frowning to hold her tears back and it's getting really harder this time. "That's...that's not true baby," she managed to say, her voice cracking. "I love mommy. I love mommy as much as I love you. I love you both." Her voice grew more desperate as she tried to defend herself—defend her love for you.
She thought she had imagined all the possible scenarios, she thought she was ready but it seems like you really don't know what to expect.
"You not gonna make mommy cry? Mommy cry a lot, mean people make mommy cry. I don't want her to cry any'ore." She pouts, crocodile tears in her little eyes. "You're big mama, you can portect mommy so she will not cry."
"Not gonna make mommy cry." Natasha repeated as if she's on oath.
"You not hurt mommy."
"I will not hurt mommy."
"You are mean to mommy, she cries." Although Aliah isn't crying, the hurt is something you wouldn't miss in her tiny voice. It's not the usual hurt of a little girl who's upset because she didn't get a toy or something she wants. This hurt goes deeper.
"And I am sorry." Natasha couldn't face her daughter anymore. "I am sorry."
"You hurt mommy." That overwhelming wave of shame is hitting her really bad.
"Y-yes, I…I know. I'm sorry, baby." Natasha nods, a tear now falling down to her lap.
"You promised." Her little girl is stating facts like an adult. The fact that Natasha might be the first person to break a promise on her daughter's life made her guilty even more.
Then suddenly, Aliah's tiny arms wrap around her neck, her little face pressing into the crook of Natasha's neck. She is frozen, stunned by her daughter's sudden gesture. She doesn't dare move, afraid that any sudden motion might pull her little girl away. Natasha couldn't help it anymore, she breaks down completely, burying herself in Aliah's small body like it's the only thing keeping her alive.
Aliah pulls back slightly, her small hands cupping her mama's face gently. Her tiny fingers wipe away her mother's tears with a tenderness that belies her age. She looks into Natasha's eyes with such love, and understanding. And there is a look of pain in her innocent eyes that breaks Natasha's heart all over again.
At Aliah's age, she should be out playing, learning about the world, and finding joy in discovery. Instead, she is here, confronting her mother about something that she did—about something she wants to know but wouldn't understand. Exposed with no young child should have to face. And Natasha felt responsible for it.
"Mama...I don't want you cry too."
⧗
Glancing in the mirror, you couldn't help but force a smile at the sight of yourself donning a queen costume. Yelena was behind you, grinning through your shoulders.
"I think it's a bit…exaggerating?" you say carefully.
"Ouch."
Okay, maybe that was not careful at all. Dressing up as a queen was not a part of your initial plan for Aliah's birthday and you knew it was Yelena's added plan, well, she could be extra at times.
"You know, that's what Natasha said too." Yelena snorts.
She was not careful there too.
You dodged Yelena's comment about Natasha, instead shifting the focus to the dress. "I just don't want to get attention with the dress." It was something straight out of a fairy tale—a flowing silk dress in a shimmering shade of green and a delicate pearl headband that matched it.
"Oh c'mon, it's you who's overreacting. It's simple but elegant!" She tries to convince you when she sees you slightly doubting the whole look.
"Can I be like…you?" you slid your palms in the lengths of the fabric of the dress, clearly uncomfortable. "Or like be a maid or something?"
"Definitely no—"
"Is that a castle?" you ask in rush disbelief, when you get the view of the party in the garden and some kids playing around.
"Oh yeah, Natasha did that overnight." Yelena's words hang in the air, a casual yet powerful endorsement of Natasha's efforts—backing her sister up.
Despite everything she's done—despite the pain she caused—you can't deny that she will always be brought up to you. That is something you have no mastery to shut out. But you have conditioned yourself and put things aside for now because you know avoiding her today would be just impossible.
Today isn't about you or Natasha or whatever drama that is going on between you two; it's about your daughter.
An announcement from the host was heard from where you're from that the event was about to start.
"Your Highness, I think that's our cue." The knight said with a smirk.
"Okay, now you're really exaggerating." You covered your face with your hands, the teasing and attention Yelena is giving you is making you embarrassed already.
"C'mon before I make you a stable girl."
At this point, you'd rather be a stable girl.
Yelena separated ways with you, telling you she needs to check on something so you continued on your fast walking. You were nervous, a bit shy—embarrassed but you don't care now, for Aliah you will do anything.
As you walked through the living room overseeing the venue, a familiar blonde bumped into you and it wasn't Yelena.
"Oh, sh—" the blonde stopped at her tracks when she was able to take a good look at whoever the medieval queen she just bumped into, "My Highness, apologies."
"Carol?! Oh guh-please, stop." You almost whined in embarrassment, once again covering your face—you let out a muffled cry as you did.
Then, you felt Carol's hands grip your wrists softly so she could take them away from your face. But your arms remained ironed, you just moved your fingers to uncover your eyes and peeked at her.
"You're pretty, c'mon."
Natasha watched everything until the blonde completely disappeared. The sight of you with someone whom she considered a threat only reinforced the guilt she felt for her actions when she cheated on you. She doesn't even know if she had a right to feel that way, but she couldn't help it. What she did to you is just haunting her down, and she knew it was a thousand times worse than what she is witnessing right now.
"Mama, c'mon. Mommy's there." Natasha had been so engrossed in watching you that she hadn't even noticed Aliah tugging her exaggerating costume.
The birthday girl practically dragged Natasha towards your direction.
Your face lit up with joy as you spotted Aliah approaching you. You knelt down, your eyes brimming with affection.
"Baby!" you exclaimed, opening your arms wide to hug her. Aliah giggled and ran into your embrace, her little hands encircling your neck as she snuggled into you. "Oh, look at you," your voice slightly shaky, taking the sight of your daughter who is dressed up like a real princess—which she really is. "My baby, my princess, my everything please don't grow older."
"Mommy, mama will give you something." Your daughter removed herself from your embrace and took your hand, guiding you to stand while her other hand pulled Natasha towards you.
"O-oh…okay."
Natasha's heart races as she holds your gaze. For a moment, everything else fades away—the party, the thick fabric that she is wearing that is making her sweat really bad, and even her own daughter that is between.
For a moment all that exists is you standing before her.
"For you," Natasha nearly cracked her voice, but hell, she didn't stutter. "You're really beautiful."
"Thank you."
Your smile is like a double-edged sword, beautiful but painful as you carefully took the small paper rose from her hand. You're not cold or distant, Natasha thought. You're not ignoring her either, but rather treating her with the same polite detachment as everyone else. As if she was just a duty you're supposed to make—a duty for your daughter's sake.
The smile didn't reach your eyes like it always did before and she cannot see what's in there anymore, not clearly. The distance between you feels both too close and not close enough. She wants to touch your cheek, to pull you closer, but she's terrified of what she might find there.
"Hi, royal fam." The host greets with a wide smile and you quickly shift your focus from Natasha to the woman. "So, we will introduce Aliah in a minute and then my partner will give the cue when to make the entrance with her. Okay?"
"Okay, yeah. Sure, sure." You say cooperatively while Natasha didn't listen at all, she was just looking at you…
Like a dandelion, slowly disappearing from her reach.
⧗
Changes in breathing patterns, reduced vital signs, altered skin color and temperature, and decreased consciousness. These are the signs your loved one feels when you're about to lose them.
But those are the things that you feel when you are losing someone you love.
Natasha stood slightly apart, the party had come to an end, with the festivities winding down gradually. She watched as you bid goodbye to each child, a gentle smile on your face as you handed them the small trinkets and treats.
The sight of you with Aliah, a warm smile on your face while your little one giggled, hugging her friends for the last time.
This is the beautiful family she had destroyed.
"Hey," Yelena placed a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder, noticing her once again in deep thought. "We already brought every gift to Aliah's room. Mom already left too."
"Oh, yeah sure. Thanks." Natasha clears her throat.
"You good?" Yelena asks as she finally sees the view her sister has been looking at—you and Aliah.
"Nervous." The word is understatement, Natasha is scared.
"You two gonna talk?"
Natasha nodded, her expression serious. "If she wants to talk," she said quietly.
Yelena gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Well, good luck, Nat," she said. "Please, fix it this time. I don't want to have to pick up before your mess again."
"I'm sorry." Natasha let out a weary sigh.
Yelena chuckled softly in response. "C'mon," she said, gently punching her sister on the shoulder, a huge difference from the punch she did to her last time. "That's what siblings do. We try to almost kill each other when we think the other is being an idiot..." she trails off and eyed her sister comfortingly, "but we never leave each other."
Natasha looks down to her boots, the corner of her mouth lifting up in a half-smile. "Thanks," she said, finally meeting her sister's smile.
Yelena has always been the one to step in and save Natasha from her own impulsive decisions, whether it's stopping her from causing further damage in her marriage or preventing her from completely embarrassing herself. She has always been the voice of reason in her sister's life, she never tolerated her but she never failed to offer guidance and support when she thinks she needs it. Especially now, Natasha being so desperate to see you and have this party for Aliah, without Yelena, this whole thing wouldn't be successfully done.
Before she can even say more to Yelena, she saw you and Aliah walk in her direction, all her friends are now gone home. She glanced to her side, expecting to find her sister. But much to her surprise, she was nowhere to be seen.
What happened to the we're never going to leave each other?
Aliah, who has a sleepy expression on her face—yawns every chance she gets, eyes drooping slightly as she stares off into space while hand in hand with you. Her little arms now stretch out towards her mama, Natasha knowing exactly what her daughter needs, immediately runs and scoops her up into a warm embrace.
"Who's my sleepy princess?" Natasha asks. Aliah snuggles against her neck, letting out a contented sigh as she nestles in.
"Mommy." Your little one slurs while her tiny finger pointed at you, you made an offended look that made your daughter giggle slightly. "Mommy's sleepy."
"Sure, my love." You carefully removed her tiny crown and smoothed her hair back before placing a kiss on her forehead. And with that, she's hit the sack.
Natasha placed her gently onto the soft bed, you decided not to change her clothes afraid that any move will ruin her sleep. You silently watched as Natasha tucked her in then looked around your daughter's room that is surrounded by the mountainous kingdom of presents waiting for her the moment she wakes up.
When Aliah is finally settled, Natasha placed a kiss on her forehead, the same area you had kiss your daughter. She stood and turned to face you, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. Your gazes remained fixed ahead, neither of you daring to look at each other directly. But your bodies seemed to betray your emotions, subconsciously turning towards each other as if waiting for something to happen.
What now?
"Natasha, can we talk?"
Her heart races at the sound of her name on your lips, a name she hasn't heard in a while.
"S-sure yeah." Natasha was nervous, she was scared but her eyes are shining with a familiar obedience and willingness to please you.
That she will do everything, anything just to make things right.
She holds the door open for you, her eyes never leaving your face. Once you step inside, she closes the door behind you softly. The office is indeed unfamiliar territory for you; it's a space she's kept private until now. Natasha will never bring you to her old one, the place where she always caught herself in between a mess.
The two of you stood away from each other, the costumes of the earlier party of your daughter still clinging on your bodies making it a bit awkward.
"Here, sit," Natasha quickly walked towards the couch, she even offered her hand to which you declined. She's overly attentive, almost nervous…and desperate. "Do you want some drinks? Or juice? Come, sit, you must be tired in that dress."
"I'm fine." Natasha's face falls slightly at your short response, but she quickly masks it with a smile. "How have you been?"
Natasha blinks slowly to your sudden question as if it has stirred something deep within her. Her eyes glisten slightly, and she takes a moment before responding. "I was...a mess," she admitted, blinking again to keep any tears at bay. She looks down briefly before meeting your gaze once more. "I'm so sorry," she now said, finally addressing the elephant in the room.
You nod silently, your eyes starting to water as well but you did not say anything.
Then there is a flicker of something in your eyes that Natasha can't quite place—longing? Hurt? It confuses her but you are definitely not angry. And the absence of any anger or disappointment in your eyes seemed to hurt her more than if you had shown what you truly felt. It was like a cruel reminder of how she had pushed you away, and now she couldn't even tell if there was still any love left in you.
She takes a deep breath before starting again, "I...I just want to make things clear that nothing happened between me and that woman you saw that day. I promise you, nothing." She emphasizes each word carefully. Her voice shakes with emotion as she looks into your eyes pleadingly.
And you nodded again, you believed it, tracing no lies in her words. "But what about the days...or weeks before that? Did something happen between you two?" you didn't need to ask but you just had to confirm your suspicions—you still have that right.
The woman in front of you drops her head down as she nods, confirming everything you've been crazy about. "Yes. The last time was in...in my office. Long time now." Her voice full of genuine shame and guilt.
Now you wish you hadn't asked. The thing you saw that night in her office...and the things that happened between the two of you after that, the things you let her do to you are still burning freshly in your memories.
"Wow, long time." The words tasted like copper in your tongue. A single tear finally escapes down your cheek when the reality of her confession sinks in. You were quick to wipe it away. You hated the fact that she said it's been a long time now, she still cheated on you. No matter how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years—she still betrayed you. And yet she's here saying it like she's trying to downplay what she did since it's been a long time now.
"I...I am sorry I didn't mean it that way. I promise..." Natasha tried to consider her words now. "that meant nothing b-but still it was wrong, Y/N. And I am sorry, it will never happen anymore."
You nodded, again.
"I want a divorce."
Natasha thought she had imagined all the possible scenarios, she thought she was ready but it seems like you really don't know what to expect.
She freezes at your words, it was heavy and final—you sounded so sure. She doesn't move, doesn't breathe for several heartbeats. It was now her turn not to speak, not that she doesn't want to because if anything, she wanted to speak, to shout, to cry, to beg—anything. But nothing. It's like someone stole her voice. Her shoulders stiffen as she swallows hard. She won't look at you. She can't.
Not when you're really slowly drifting away.
"Those things that I said the last time, they're true. I wasn't lying." You deepened your frown to fight the tears back, "And even now, I still love you, it has always been you and it's still you. And I think it will probably always be you. But sometimes..." you feel your chest constricts with your every word. "I couldn't tell if you're closer to me or you're out of reach again. I did my best to understand where it's all coming from, because I hurt you and I was willing to take it all. But..." you paused, swallowing a sob, then a painful chuckle emitted from you, "it's making me crazy. I was losing myself. One minute you're letting me in, I thought we're okay and then when I blink you're pushing me away again like...like I'm the thing you hated the most." You wiped the tears that started to fall shamelessly on your cheek. "It's just so hard having you in between, Natasha. I feel sorry for myself, I'm getting tired."
Shared sobs filled the room.
"I thought if I let things be, if I let you do whatever you wanted to do even though it was killing me—it will save us. When I tried doing everything I thought it will fix us. But how do you fix something that keeps breaking itself? Something that doesn't want to be fixed?" your swollen eyes search hers intensely, painfully. "Never in my whole life did I think you were hard to love, Natasha. Just..." you gasp for air, voice strained.
"Just now."
Natasha thought she had herself together, collected. But now she's falling apart again—she is a mess again.
"I-I'm so sorry, Y/N…" Natasha is out of breath now, pleading with you through her tears. "Please..." she doesn't even know what she's begging for anymore.
You took a step back and Natasha didn't like that at all, all the distance you were putting.
"Maybe our time has really gone by. We had such beautiful time before but I'll admit, I wish it was under different circumstances—"
"No."
She doesn't wanna hear what you're about to say next. She doesn't like where this is going. But still, you continued and rephrased each word in your mind, despite everything you're still being careful not to hurt her, but the new careful words didn't do anything to sting less.
"We're going to keep hurting each other like this."
The way you said it feels like you've been pondering this for ages with your already made up mind. You sounded so resolute as if you've been sitting there, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, repeating these words in your head until they've become a part of you.
And Natasha didn't like it at all.
"Y/N—"
You clear your throat that made her stop, maybe you didn't want her to have at least a damn millisecond to talk, not even a word because if she did you're afraid you're going to lose it again—it will make you crazy again. So what needs to be said and done should be said and done. You wiped the trail of wet tears from your cheek and composed yourself again.
"I will let you have Aliah's full custody." Your heart aches as you say those words, but you know it's for the best. "I just don't want us to get dirty."
Without warning, the woman in front of you drops to her knees in front of you. Her hands wrapped your legs desperately as she pressed her forehead against your stomach. A choked sob escapes her throat. "No, please...don't leave me. I can't do it without you." Her voice cracks with emotion and desperation. "Please...please I'll make it right, baby."
You had expected this to happen, you've seen it. Her doing something that will make you crumble, just like you always do. She knows your weakness—seeing her like this—and she's playing it perfectly. The last time it was you begging like this, it was you who was a sobbing mess. You were the one desperate for a chance, a chance to make things right.
All of these felt familiar to you.
Her grip tightens, making it nearly impossible for you to escape when you try to wiggle your body around her.
"No," Natasha mutters, her voice dropping dangerously low. "Don't, don't. Please…" Her arms are like steel bands around your waist. You try to unravel them gently, but she refuses to let go. "Baby, baby, baby..." she cried.
"Natasha." You tried again, pushing her by the shoulders this time but she only rushed to put her head back to your stomach as if trying to burrow into your warmth.
"It's Natty…" from hating you say it, now she's begging you to call her that again. "T-tell me what to do. Tell me baby. Please, Y/N…please."
Now you stopped pulling away from her. You stopped fighting. You didn't move. You didn't push her away. Instead your hands went to caress her shoulders and there you felt her body shaking. You gently run your fingers through the back of her head with such tenderness Natasha has been yearning for. Then, slowly and carefully you tried untangling her arms that is tight around you.
"Please, Natty. Let me go."
She said she will do everything—anything to make it right.
Summary: The once secret, a forbidden love hidden from the world. Those stolen moments together had been thrilling, but ultimately, drove the person you truly love away from you. But when she left, she didn't just leave you; she also left you a part of herself that would constantly remind you of her for the rest of your life. This fragment of her essence became an indelible mark on your soul, shaping the course of your life in ways you never could have imagined.
You know what they say, when someone leaves, someone else will come.
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
Tags | Warnings: +18 angst, fluff, implied (panic attack, jealousy, and trauma), dare I say possessive and jealous Natasha? toddler innocently triggering an adults' trauma, breastfeeding, kissing, mention of giving a blowjob, implied cheating (but no cheating happened in this chap, almost...but yeah)
Author's Note: Some lizard robot is really eager to read the chapter and it is unfair if she gets to read the chapter first again, so here we are! Next, we're off to get to the most requested part...(NOTE: Major change of title, from Curtain Time to Act One)
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Yelena was sitting in the passenger seat, rolling her eyes as Natasha drove. "You know what's really pathetic? You still don't have Y/N's number saved in your phone," she scolds. "How did you not think to at least save her number?!"
Natasha had always thought that since she lived in the same house with you and she would never need your number, so why bother? Besides, she doesn't want to receive any phone calls or texts from you, unless it's all about Aliah—well, maybe that was before she thinks. You actually had her number, her work number not the personal one that you got from her sister.
"How the hell are we supposed to find them now?" Yelena hisses urgently through clenched teeth as she continues to scroll on her own phone call logs remembering you had called her once.
Melina had called a surprise dinner with the whole family that's why Natasha and Yelena are desperately trying to hunt you and Aliah. They only have one piece of information from Rick who told them that Ali had a playdate, and you were picked up together earlier this morning and you told him that you will be back before evening.
"Wait...I think this is her number!" Yelena pulls out her phone, scrolling through her contacts. Natasha tries to peek over her shoulder, but the blonde rolls her eyes and turns the screen away. "All eyes on the road." Then she quickly dialed the number, her voice came through the speaker, her tone slightly more controlled but still urgent, "Hey, Y/N, where are you? Mama called us about having dinner and it's in one and a half hours."
"O-oh, Yelena? Is this you?" you had to make sure since the number is unknown on your phone. "We are in Aliah's friends' house, they are having some playdate."
"Yes, yes this is me. Can we pick you up there right now?" Yelena rushes out.
You hesitate for a second, thinking about how you'll have to stop your child from playing. "Okay, uhm I'll just send my location, Yelena. I'll end the call now and have Aliah prepared."
Yelena keeps her phone to her ear for a moment longer, listening. Suddenly, she hears a deep voice on the other end, asking, "C'mere, who was that?" followed by some humming.
Natasha, who was driving, also hears the familiar voice. Her grip on the steering wheel tightens, and a frown forms on her face. She grabs her sister's phone and puts it on speaker, "Y/N?"
"Nat?" You call hesitantly, confusion etched on your face.
"Hey…we're on our way there now." Natasha didn't know why she had to say this to you on the call. If she wanted the other woman you are with to hear her or for you to shift your focus on her from that other woman. She slightly cringed herself but fuck it.
Uhm? Okay? You thought. You're caught off guard, well, you didn't ask for her. Out of shock, you mumble, "Uhm, okay. Take care." Before ending the call immediately.
Natasha's irritation grows as she notices her sister trying to cover up the sound of her laughter, but a small giggle escapes anyways. She shoots her a glare, "The fuck is wrong with you?!"
Yelena bites her lip, trying to hold a giggle. "Nothing...nothing," she coughs again, taking her phone from her driving sister, clearly composing herself. "Nothing."
"Suka." (Bitch)
"You trying to get her attention from whoever that deep voiced woman is? Not gonna lie I was kind of intrigued too—" Before she can finish, Natasha hits the brakes hard purposely, making Yelena jolt forward suddenly, almost sending her into the dashboard. "Ow! Bitch!" Yelena shouts, rubbing her forehead.
Natasha only huffed satisfyingly as she continued to drive. "Can you uhm…can you put her number on my phone?"
"Nope, you get it yourself." Yelena says, leaving no room for argument. She immediately puts her phone away in case her sister will plan on snatching it from her.
As Natasha parks the car on the location you sent, you and Ali come into view. Yelena notices you standing beside a tall blonde short-haired woman. Her eyes squinted as she saw the woman carrying what appears to be her passed-out little niece. Before she could nudge Natasha, she was already opening her own door to match towards you.
You see Natasha approaching and an awkward stiffness overtakes you. Her face remains impassive, unreadable. And when you realized she's walking in your direction, you swallowed a lump on your throat and before you knew it, unexpectedly, she leaned in and kissed your cheek softly.
"Hey." Natasha's hand settles on your waist possessively.
"Hey." You find yourself repeating her greeting, sounding rather dumb in the process. Her touch sends electric shocks through you, making your thoughts jumbled. And the kiss? What was that for?!
Then, she reaches out and gently takes her daughter from the blonde woman's arms. "I've got her." She said more to herself than to the woman in front of her. She didn't even glance at her and just effortlessly scoop up the passed-out Aliyah like she weighs nothing. She tucks her small body against her chest, making Aliah's red curls bounce slightly.
"She conked out during the movie," you say rather awkwardly, helping Natasha get your daughter comfortable in her arms. You were so overwhelmed and giddy with the attention she is giving you that you craved for more.
"I see. Let's go?"
"Wait," you went back to Carol to get your daughter's small backpack filled with toys, then Natasha watched unblinkingly as Carol pulled you into a not-too-tight hug, that you almost stumbled to your feet, your cheeks slightly pressing each other.
"Coffee next week?" Carol asks quietly.
You laugh softly, "I don't drink coffee."
"Right, only chocolate drink." The blonde smirks.
Natasha's eyes drop to where your bodies are pressed together, her expression unreadable. As your eyes meet hers, she gives you a subtle, almost imperceptible nod before gently urging you towards the car with a light touch on your lower back. "Let's go," she says softly, her voice carrying a hint of command. "It's getting late."
"Oh Nat, this is Carol. Carol, Nat."
Her wife, Natasha could only add in her mind.
"Hi." Carol extends her hand while Natasha was contemplating. She doesn't care about who this woman might be but she has no choice now that you just introduced her.
And she definitely didn't care that you didn't introduce her as your wife.
Natasha didn't say a word but she reached the blonde's hand only to take it in a matter of seconds. And you were oblivious with the tension between the two.
"Bye, Carol. Thank you again."
"Always welcome, be safe."
You make sure you're safe as well, Natasha thought in her mind and she immediately dismissed the thought that came after that. Only for the respect that she is carrying her daughter.
Natasha buckles Liah into her car seat, adjusting the straps to ensure her daughter's comfort and safety. As she does this, Yelena leans against the car, chatting animatedly with you. "You sure you have everything?"
You slide into the passenger seat, your blouse riding up briefly as you settle in. "Yes, all set," you reply to Yelena with a smile. "Where do we meet your mom?"
"The Italian place downtown," Natasha answers.
The drive to the on the way is silent since you have your daughter sleeping inside the car with you. You and Natasha occasionally glances at the rearview mirror to check on Liah even though you both know that her auntie Yelena is right there beside her.
"Can I have your phone number?" Natasha asks casually, keeping her eyes on the road. She holds out her phone to you, "Mind putting it in for me?"
Are you hearing all of this right?
You take her device carefully and hesitantly, like it might burn you. You tapped the screen, her wallpaper reveals a beautiful picture of your daughter smiling brightly. It's a recent photo, you guessed that maybe she'd taken it during one of her playdates with her.
"Uh-uhm, t-the password." You stuttered.
Natasha reached on her phone, her thumb unlocking her phone. Now she's back on driving, you're suddenly conscious of every small movement. You open her contacts, your mind blanking on what to save yourself as, so you put your number first.
Unknown to you is the blonde watching behind, she can see what you were doing on the phone—typing. When you finished putting your number on she immediately snatched her sister's phone from your grasp, catching you and Natasha who was driving off guard.
"Got it Y/N." She grins, typing 'Wife❤️' as your contact name. Then, she quickly opens the camera and snaps a photo, capturing an angle of you in the passenger seat that you were completely unaware of, she immediately sets the photo as Natasha's new home screen wallpaper, "I'll keep your phone for now, Nat since…you're driving."
Natasha shoots Yelena a deadly glare in the rearview mirror, her gaze sharp enough to cut steel.
The sound of a small sleepy voice breaks through the tension in the car. The three of you fall silent and stiff. Yelena didn't move an inch while Natasha was tight-lipped as she drived. But clearly, Aliah is awake now, she starts to move around, her little legs kicking and her hands clutching at the seatbelt of her seat that's still wrapped around her. Yelena starts to unbuckle her and she immediately starts squirming and protesting.
"No, Aunt Yeye!" she cries out, stretching her arms towards you instead. "Mommy!"
Your heart swells with love at the sight of your daughter reaching out for you. You quickly unbuckle your own seatbelt and turn around, scooping Aliah up into your arms. She snuggles immediately into your chest, her small hands grasping at your blouse.
"Mama picked us up, baby. Can you kiss mama?" you whisper softly, ruffling her hair slightly. Instead of responding, Aliah whines quietly and burying her face deeper into your chest, her body language clearly stating she's still cranky, ignoring her mama and what you said completely. So you started cooing her, trying to see if she would be back to sleep. Her small hands fisting your blouse as she listens to the gentle hum you make. While the siblings tried their best to stay quiet.
"Boobie," she mumbles sleepily, then louder, "Boobie milk!" she starts to nuzzle harder on your cleavage, making grabbing motions with her small hands.
Natasha's eyes widen, her cheeks immediately flushing a deep red at her daughter's loud demand. She blinks rapidly, trying to focus on the road ahead while also stealing glances at the scene beside her.
"Aliah, we talked about this sweetheart. No more boobie milk, remember? You're a big girl now." Your voice is firm but still gentle, not wanting to turn her whining for boobie milk into a full-rage tantrum.
"You're still breastfeeding her?" Natasha's voice comes out hesitant but worried and a little shy. She didn't know why she asked either, out of curiosity or she just wanted to talk to you?
"Sometimes she'll wake up in the middle of the night and climb onto my chest," you laugh as you answer shyly, "Before I know it, she's already latching on again." You realize you're practically whispering, like you're sharing a secret.
Aliah's tantrum escalates rapidly as she feels ignored. She starts stomping her tiny feet against the car door, her cries escalating to screaming demands for your boobie milk. You swiftly intervene, firmly grasping her ankles to stop the stomping.
"Aliah…" It should be a warning on your daughter but clearly she is now transitioning to that full-blown tantrum and you have no choice but to give what she wants. "Can...can I?" you timidly ask Natasha, your cheeks are already pink. Knowing exactly what you're asking, Natasha swallows hard, catching your innocent expression. She nods eagerly, almost dumbfoundedly.
"Yes," she croaks, her voice lower than usual. "Go ahead."
Without hesitation, you swiftly unbutton the front of your blouse exposing one of your full, milky-looking breasts. In a blink, Aliah is already latching on hungrily, her tiny body quivering with relief and satisfaction as she starts to suckle greedily. Natasha's hands tighten around the steering wheel as she fights the urge to look at you. Her eyes flicker towards the side, catching a glimpse of your exposed breast and Aliah's contented sucking before she quickly looks away, her face burning with embarrassment.
"Keep your eyes on the road, Natasha." Yelena scolds mischievously as she sees her sister's struggle through the rear view mirror. She mouthed a voiceless pervert on the rear view mirror and Natasha cannot do anything but glare at her.
Natasha tries her best not to steal glances, telling herself she's not being perverted. But seeing you like this is almost too much. You're cradling Aliah protectively, your blouse slipped off one shoulder, your hair slightly parts to reveal your skin of motherhood. Her mind drifts back to your pregnancy—where she could've been there for you…if things were different way back.
If it was her you chose to be with…
Or if she had fought for you…
She can't recall the last time she saw you, the image is blurry in her memory. She remembered a lot of crying. But she can't remember the confrontations and the moment that led to Aliah. It's all a haze.
More and more questions lingered in her mind. Did Steve take good care of you when you were pregnant? How did it end between the two of you? Was it mutual? Did he ever suspect that Aliah wasn't his? Did he see the signs and just walk away, or was there a confrontation? Why did you move states away? Was it because of him? Did you run?
She doesn't want to imagine all of it—she hated it. But the thought that she could've had the chance to hold your growing belly, steal kisses on your swollen belly button, gentle caresses of your changing body. She feels a pang of regret, longing and hatred…realizing just how much she missed the opportunities.
Now she cannot deny it anymore.
Her heart aches as she allows herself to fully entertain the thought.
Things could've been different.
She could've been there.
But it was different.
And she wasn't there.
Your little one finally removed her mouth to your nipple and now started playing with your hair. "You full now young lady?" you huff playfully, tickling her side.
"Ya!" Aliah giggles with that cute little voice of hers.
You pull your blouse up and adjust your bra, making sure your breast are covered again. You catch your daughter watching you intently. "Mommy?" she asks sweetly. "Where did milk go?" she wrinkles her nose, making you laugh. You catch Natasha's gaze and as you both look at each other, you feel your face heating up like a tomato, the warmth spreading from your cheeks down to your ears. You quickly look away, pretending to fuss with your blouse buttons to hide your flushed face.
As if she didn't undress and latch your boob couple of weeks ago.
"Mama's already here." Yelena says as she helps you get out of the car, carrying Aliah, wishing that her niece wouldn't tantrum. Meanwhile, Natasha parks the car.
The aroma of fresh garlic and tomatoes fills the air as you step into the cozy Italian restaurant for the first time. Aliah clings to her auntie, curious about the new surroundings. And there you saw Melina waving to your direction over to the table she reserved, already seated and waiting.
"Hi 'Ma. Yelena greets her with a warm hug and a kiss, before leaning down to speak to your daughter. "Aliah, kiss babushka hello."
"My sweet angel!" Melina coos. Aliah tilts her head up to plant a tiny, wet kiss on her babushka's cheek. She took Aliah on her lap and you walked over and greeted her with a warm hug. "Where's Natasha?" she asks you.
As you were about to answer her, there was a hand that touched your lower back like it belonged there.
"Hey Mama," Natasha greets, placing a kiss on her mother's cheek.
"Where's your wedding ring?" Melina immediately noticed the absence of Natasha's ring.
"I think I must've left it when I was in the shower." She straight up lied.
"Yeah, I think you did." You covered up for her. Yelena could only roll her eyes to the both of you, knowing that you are two lying.
Natasha suddenly pulls out your chair before you could do it, her action catching you off guard—a small thank you for covering up for her. You're momentarily stunned by the unexpected gentlemanly gesture, but quickly composed yourself.
She has been surprising you a lot today.
"Thanks."
"Y/N is there any way I can meet your parents?"
Can you just…seat first for the love of God?
Your heart suddenly pounds in your chest as the question hits you like an attack. You've never talked about your parents, your dad, a bit, but your mother?
"My father died when I was a kid," you say quietly, keeping your gaze fixed on the tablecloth. "As for my mom...I-uhm we're not on speaking terms anymore." Your voice carries a slight tremor that Natasha picks up on.
The second one is a fact Natasha didn't know of. She recalls the stories you had told her when you two were in college. She remembers hearing about your father, a hardworking man who loved you dearly but you weren't able to have much time with since he died before you could even go to preschool. And about your mother, a strict and traditional woman who expected a lot from you. She had talked to your mother during graduation and that was it. What could be the reason you don't talk to her anymore? Or maybe it was her not speaking to you anymore?
Melina smiled warmly and empathetically to you. She reached out and gently squeezed your hand, offering a silent reassurance without pressuring you to share more than you were comfortable with. "You have us now, sweetheart."
"Noona make scary sounds." Aliah suddenly mumbled. "And mommy cries."
"Aliah." You glance sharply at your daughter, silencing her with just her name. Immediately, she stops talking, her lips pressing together tightly.
The revelation from Aliah's memory doesn't go unheard by the three. Melina's eyes slightly widen in shock, while Yelena's face turns awkward. Natasha's expression turns guarded as she processes the implications of what her daughter just said. It only added to the unanswered questions in her mind. They understood what Aliah had just said and meant and they knew better than to press further.
"It's…it's a long time now, you know." You say, dismissing the topic with a faint smile.
Despite the initial unease from the earlier conversation, the dinner had unfolded relatively smoothly. However, that lingering awkwardness remained, a subtle undercurrent that hovered around your reserved table.
Your daughter has been unusually silent, keeping her head down while her babushka feeds her—she hasn't looked at you since your earlier scolding. You made a mental note to talk to her at home later.
Kids are honest, their innocence shining through in everything they say. Aliah, your daughter, had just demonstrated this once again, blurting out something that she had overheard and this isn't the only time she did this, she had done this a couple of times now.
It's not that it's wrong for your daughter to be honest and unfilter her words, but you couldn't help but feel concerned about the sensitive and vulnerable things she had been innocently revealing, especially that it is all about you. As a parent, it was your duty to guide her all while protecting her young, innocent ears and heart from the harsh realities you had grown too familiar with. But now you're not sure if you did, you were surprised too that she had retained those memories and understood what was happening back then when she was so young.
Before you got outside, you all gathered near the door, bidding each other a final farewell. Melina wrapped her arms around you in a tight embrace, her action an unspoken reassurance, conveying a message that words could not capture. You didn't ask for an explanation though, but you understood the intent behind her hug to you.
"We're family now, we are your family now. You are safe." She says, cupping your cheek. You fought back your tears and just felt the embrace of a mother you hadn't felt for so long.
Meanwhile, your daughter immediately went to Natasha, her small hand holding onto her tightly, grasping it as if her life depended on it. She really is avoiding you.
As the drive home began, Natasha attempted to initiate a conversation with her daughter. She inquired about her playdate and asked if she felt full after dinner, trying to bridge the silence that hung in the air. However, you remained silent, Aliah responded to her mother's attempts at conversation with a short but respectful tone. Natasha noticed the shift in her daughter's behavior but refrained from pushing further.
You gathered your belongings and got out of the car, your daughter is already hiding behind Natasha as she gives the car key to the butler.
"I'll put her to sleep."
"I want Mama to put me to sleep," the words spilled out of your daughter's lips. She looked up at Natasha, her grip on her hand tightening as she repeated, "Mama put me to sleep." It was a request, a demand, and a plea all wrapped into one, the fear and uncertainty reflecting in her eyes.
Natasha was left torn, her expression conflicted as she wrestled with her indecision. But deep inside she knew better to go against you, though she tries to hide it, she's kind of scared of you right now. "Mama got some things to do, bub so you go with mommy okay?"
Aliah pouted and whined a little but accepted. You followed her as she walked to her room. You helped her clean up and change into her pajamas, your movements gentle and unhurried as you tended to her needs. The tension from before had lessened, a small sense of normality seeping in, albeit fragile.
After she was changed and ready for sleep, you called out to her, patting the edge of her bed and inviting her to sit.
You never wanted your daughter to fear you. You didn't want her to experience the fear and pain that you had faced in your own upbringing. When she came to your life you were determined to give her a different life than the one you had experienced, one free from the fear and anguish that lingered in your own memories. And the last thing you wanted was for her to feel the fear that came with being around a difficult mother, just as you had.
"Do I do something bad, mommy? Do I make you hurt?" she was close to tears, sensing she had done something wrong but unable to pinpoint exactly what it was. Because she knew you too well, and she could sense the smallest change in your demeanor, even if you tried to hide it. She knows when you're upset, she knows when you're hurt. She feels everything you feel, her intuition keen and attuned to your emotions.
You gently shook your head, taking her small hand in yours and reassures her, "No, baby, you didn't." You struggled to find the right words, knowing how to explain the concept of boundaries when it comes to sharing personal things to your almost 4-year-old child.
"You know, we always share the truth, right? We don't lie," you began, your tone soft yet firm. "But sometimes, we need to keep things hidden, you understand?" Your fingers gently squeezed her small hand, hoping she would comprehend the importance of what you are telling her. "Like…earlier you shared something ab-about noona, you don't need to share it with others, you know? Yes, we may tell the truth, because they happened in reality, but that doesn't mean others need to know about it. It's important to know the difference between what to share and what to keep to ourselves."
She nodded, then, her small hand found its way to your shoulder, her touch moving past your blouse and strap bra. Her fingers traced over the scar that marked your skin. Memories flooded your mind, the pain of your past rushing back in an instant again. You don't know how you got it, but when your mother threw you away from your home after she lashed out emotionally and physically at you, you immediately felt the stinging pain on your shoulder as you carried your daughter and your heavy baggages in the middle of the rain.
"Do you…do you remember noona?" you couldn't help but ask especially with what your daughter had shared during dinner. You didn't know that her brain would retain those painful memories you thought she wouldn't, because she was just a little.
Aliah nodded, her face solemn and her eyes filled with sadness. "She makes scary sounds and you cry. She throws…" she threw her little hand to mimic the scenario, "And you cry…she's not like mama's mommy bab'shka." She continued. Her words and actions painted a vivid picture of a past you had hoped to forget.
You tried to shield her away from it but you failed.
As the tear slid down your cheek, Aliah sobbed hard, her innocent tears a reflection of your own.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." She didn't understand the reasons behind your apology.
But you are sorry you failed her—you failed to protect her.
Unbeknownst to you Natasha has been standing at the door, silently watching the scene unfold before her. She had frozen in her spot, her heart heavy as she watched you and your daughter cry your eyes out. She then closed the door carefully to not bother.
You sat at the edge of her bed, gently stroking her hair as she snuggled up in your embrace. The room was quiet now, the only sound was the soft sound of your breathing. You hummed a lullaby, singing softly as she closed her eyes, her grip on you loosening as she slowly drifted into sleep.
"I love you, my Iyah."
Natasha had silently watched you go out of Aliah's room, when she's sure you were on your way to the bedroom she made her way to your daughter's room. She quietly opened the door and entered, her eyes taking in Aliah's sleeping form. She tiptoed to her bedside and gently bent down to press a kiss to her daughter's forehead. She lingered there for a moment, watching the small rise and fall of the child's chest as she slept.
"Mama?" Aliah stirred in her sleep, her eyes partially opening as she mumbled softly.
"Hey, tiger," Natasha said softly, gently stroking Aliah's hair. "It's time to go to sleep now."
"Mama, you won't leave us, wight?" The question caught Natasha off guard but she quickly reassured her that she wouldn't even think of it.
"Wouldn't think about it, bub."
"You always potect mommy, wight?" Natasha's expression faltered for a moment, her hesitation and guilt seeping through. She knew damn well how she has been treating you, she didn't want to lie to her daughter either, it's just that the truth is so complicated.
She could feel a mix of emotions bubbling up inside her, creating a tangled mess that she struggled to make sense of. On one hand, there was the desire to protect you and hide you from the world, but at the same time, she couldn't shake off the lingering feeling of anger and pain from the past. To get revenge, to get back at you and she thinks she's doing it really, really well.
But now she felt lost, stuck in the middle of that complicated situation, unable to fully embrace one side without disregarding the other.
"Yes," she finally said, her voice firm despite the slight tremble in her tone. "Of course, I will protect mommy. You don't have to worry about that, okay?"
"You not gonna make mommy cry? Mommy cry a lot, mean people make mommy cry. I don't want her to cry any'ore." She pouts, crocodile tears in her little eyes. "You're big mama, you can portect mommy so she will not cry."
"Not gonna make mommy cry." Natasha repeated as if she's on oath.
"You not hurt mommy."
"I will not hurt mommy." But she just did.
"You kiss mommy tonight."
"I will kiss momm—" she seriously started to lean in her daughter's direction, only to stop herself at the last moment. Her words halted, her eyes locked on her daughter's gaze who was staring right back at her, waiting for her to repeat the words. "I will kiss mommy tonight."
"You will love mommy?"
"I will love mommy." Will she?
Aliah giggled softly, her eyes twinkling with affection as she pinky promised to Natasha, her small pinky tangling with her mama. "Good night, Mama," she planted a soft kiss on Natasha's lips. "I love you," she added, her small hands reaching up to wrap her in a tight hug.
Natasha gently closed the door to Aliah's room as she finally fell into a peaceful sleep. As she walks down the hallway, her footsteps are quiet and deliberate. She pauses outside the door to the bedroom—a room that once belonged solely to her but upon the suspicions of her mother, she now shares it with you. The night after Melina's surprise visit, Yelena made sure Natasha had moved your stuff to hers. But you have never yet to sleep in her room, you always make your way out and sleep in your daughter's instead. Natasha didn't dare to question it, you even thought that you are doing her a favor for it because you know…you feel like she cannot stand to be in the same room as you. So, you just painted that illusion together even without knowing it, that you two actually share the same bed but really, not.
"Hi." You turn to Natasha, with a faint smile on your lips as she peeks to the bathroom. You've changed into a nightgown, and the soft light catches the scar on your shoulder—the one she saw Aliah was caressing moments ago.
"Where'd you get that?" Natasha couldn't hold herself now and asked.
"The what?" you ask confusingly as you wipe your face off with wet cotton pads.
Natasha gestured to her shoulder, "The-the scar."
"Oh…well, just from a shattered piece of vase." You dismisses. "I actually didn't realize it was that deep until it stung when it got wet in the rain."
Natasha listens intently, her expression a mix of empathy and something else—something she's trying hard to suppress. She wants to know more about what you really went through. Yet, at the same time, she doesn't want to care too deeply. She doesn't want to care at all. At least that's what she pretended to.
"I'll be done in a minute and I'll go back to Aliah's room."
"You can sleep here…if you want." More like you can sleep here because that's what I want.
It was an obvious invitation, very nice of her, but you simply smile faintly again at her offer, then slowly shake your head from side to side.
Natasha moves slightly away from the bathroom door and removes her outer clothes, revealing her body in just a sports bra. She went back to the opening of the bathroom and she leaned there as if she's waiting for you to finish—displaying her almost naked self. Her arms are crossed over her chest, emphasizing her muscular arms.
You smile tightly despite your exhaustion and the unshed tears in your fatigued eyes as you make your way out of her bathroom, you didn't even realize that four packs displayed in front of you. You're too emotional and vulnerable to even notice her antics.
And well, Natasha suddenly realized that and her earlier bravado fades and is now replaced by guilt.
God, she just wanted to kiss you. Because she promised her daughter…that she will. She's only doing it because her daughter made her promise. Well, she wouldn't even know if she didn't right?
You are now reaching the door of her bedroom and Natasha doesn't know why she is having an internal panic. You're really not sleeping in her bedroom, you're actually declining her offer—an offer she thought was too obvious for you to refuse.
"Hey," your hand pauses on the doorknob as she calls out to you. Natasha's voice is soft, almost pleading, as she speaks.
You turned around, eyes tired, your hair framing your face. Arms covering your chest since you're not wearing any bra.
Despite your tiredness, there's a certain vulnerability and beauty about you that she can't ignore. And she hated herself that she even thought about that.
"Yeah?" you asked, Natasha opens her mouth to speak but no words came out. She stares at you, dumbstruck. She swallows hard, her mind racing with unspoken words and unsaid feelings—wait, there are unspoken words and unsaid feelings?!
"Nat, I really enjoyed this day. Thank you." Your voice is sincere, and your smile never falters as you continue just to fill that awkward silence between the two of you. Maybe you're just being overwhelmed, some might say you're being dumb falling for the antics of your said wife, her being so distant and cold towards you to being caring, a little bit touchy which you really liked, that all happened in just a day.
She had surprised you with the attention she has been giving you and you loved every bit of it. Never questioned any of it.
You didn't know how it happened either. You were surprised as well when you reached to her and pressed a kiss on her cheek mimicking the one she did with you hours ago, before disappearing, leaving Natasha dumb and surprised in her own room.
Well, she guessed she failed to do one of the oaths she had with her daughter moments ago.
⧗
Natasha sits at her desk the following morning, surrounded by the usual stack of paperworks and the same company contracts that she needs to sign for, but it seems like these are the last thing on her mind right now. Boy, she was restless, the leather seat creaking softly beneath her as she swiveled back and forth. Her gaze is fixed on the ceiling as she thinks of what happened last night even though nothing really happened between the two of you. Well, something happened, you kissed her. It was a very harmless kiss but good Lord, it has been plaguing her mind.
Her heart almost drops in panic as the door to her office creaks open and Claire steps inside. Her heart races as she quickly glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot. "What are you doing here?" Natasha hisses, her voice low and urgent, trying to keep her composure.
"You know what? You never react like that when I show up at your office. Like someone stuck a rod up your ass," she says bluntly. "What's got you tense, Tasha? Whatchu been doing?"
"I didn't call you, get out!" Natasha keeps on looking at the door as if someone will catch them both together in her office.
Well, is there something to catch?
"That's exactly why I'm here," she purrs. "You haven't called for weeks. I miss our little...meetings. I figured I'd stop by and check you myself." Natasha stiffens visibly as Claire makes her way over, beginning to massage her shoulders with her new manicured fingers. She frowns, barely suppressing a flinch at the unexpected contact.
Without missing a beat, Claire's hand reaches down and grabs a prominent bulge in Natasha's pants. Natasha immediately jerks away, her face twisting into a scowl. "Get out," she growls, her voice cold and menacing.
"Damn, not even a blowjob?" she was offended but was able to hide it with a chilling smirk, she leaned back against Natasha's desk with a suggestive tilt of her hips. "You used to love my mouth on you, Tasha. What happened to that insatiable woman who couldn't get enough? Is it because your sister saw us?"
Natasha lets out a frustrated breath, her shoulders slumping slightly as she cringes internally at the memory. She started to feel guilty, ashamed even, not because her sister witnessed her clandestine meetings…but because of what happened between the two of you again—she may be drunk that time but she can still feel her lips as it hover on your skin. And that's the reason she stopped calling her for some meetings.
"It's not just Yelena who saw us, did she?"
"I don't know."
Claire shakes her head, letting out a rueful chuckle. "You know, I should've called it quits when you first told me you got married. But no, dumb me, I kept answering your calls every time, even during your marriage. Well not until these past few weeks, you've changed…"
"The night I asked you to come over to my house and Yelena caught us…something happened to us." Natasha admitted.
"You and Y/N?"
"Yeah."
"Is it the guilt?" Claire suddenly asks, tilting her head slightly as she gauges Natasha's reaction.
"I…huh?" Natasha blinks, genuinely confused.
"Or is it because you still love Y/N deeply or both like…the guilt because you still love her?"
"You will love mommy?"
"I will love mommy."
Natasha's mind races, trying to untangle the knots of her emotions. Love? You? No, that couldn't be right. She feels a sharp pang in her chest, it's not love. If not, then did she just lie to her daughter? Fuck she's not sure—but she feels something more painful.
Anger. Betrayal. Hurt.
But love?
"Maybe it's buried deep." Claire says with a casual shrug as if she can read what Natasha has been thinking. She walked her way to the seat in front of her desk. "I was your friend first, Nat before you know…we agreed to this set up. I may not know ins and outs between you and Y/N, but I don't know…" she trails off, trying to find the right words to tell Natasha, "Maybe you're angry…guilty, gosh I think we both feel that right now." She chuckles, guiltily. "But under all that…it's there, you know? It never went away, it never disappeared, it has always been there. It's just buried deep."
Natasha sits in silence, her eyes glazed over as she stares at nothing in particular. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, but none of them seem to form into anything coherent. She doesn't know what to say, what to think, or how to feel.
"You did moan her name when I was giving you a blowjob. You may not be aware of it but…yeah, it happened countless times."
She did?
Claire chuckles as she sees Natasha finally reacting, blinking rapidly at what she said, pulling her out of her own thoughts. She was embarrassed. But still, Claire didn't push her to speak or say something. "But c'mon, Natasha. I know you know what you're doing, names you're moaning, words you're saying...and what you're feeling." Claire continues, emphasizing each word. "It's just somewhere…there." She pointed at the chest of Natasha, pressing her point finger firmly. "You know, your silence is making me think I am giving very, very good advice." The redhead says with so much pride and ego and it made Natasha finally crack a smile, she still didn't speak but it was something.
"I…I don't know, Claire." Natasha says defeatedly, she seems genuinely adrift. Lost in the waters, unable to navigate its current.
"You know, Natasha. You do. It's here," Claire pointed at her own chest now, clicking it like a button over and over. "Just…just find it and when you did, feel it, let it in again."
Natasha is now alone in her office. Claire is long gone, the two had agreed to not see each other again only if it's about real business meetings and events.
She leans back in her leather chair, her brow furrowing as she listens to her assistant's update about some urgent business partnership. Goodness, every company thinks they're the biggest deal of the century. She taps her fingers impatiently on the polished mahogany desk. "Seriously? Are they dumb or something? It's not rocket science to direct their request through the proper channels. Who do they think they are? Is the world gonna end if I didn't immediately allow it?"
"They said they know you personally? Mr. Steve Rogers? Vice-president of Stark Industries?"
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