Summary: You have always been a touchy-feely person. Natasha on the other hand is not. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want your attention.
Warnings: fluff
Words: 1981
Natasha has always known you to be a touchy-feely person.
The first time she met you, you wrapped your arms around her before she even had the chance to blink. Her instincts flared immediately with her hand flying halfway to her weapon before her brain caught up to the fact that you weren’t a threat.
Her grip on the concealed weapon relaxed, but her arms had remained stiff at her sides, unsure where to put them, uncertain what to do with affection offered so freely.
It had startled her more than any ambush ever had. That feeling of not being feared. Of being a person worthy of the affection of another, despite everything.
But you never held back with giving yours.
Not then, and not after.
Over time, it became part of the rhythm between you. Your hand or arm slipped naturally into hers whenever you walked beside her. The lazy weight of your head leaning on her shoulder during briefings. The way you always pulled her into a hug when either of you returned from a mission, arms around her waist or shoulders, grounding her in something real.
She’d gotten used to that. Maybe even come to expect it.
So when the elevator doors slide open and she sees you standing there, her first instinct is to pause—her heart giving a quiet little stutter she doesn’t acknowledge.
Natasha steps out of the elevator, ready for that familiar warmth, that brief but steadying moment of contact she hadn’t let herself admit she was looking forward to.
You spot her a moment later.
“Hey, Natasha,” you say casually, offering her a quick wave.
No arms reaching out for her. Just a passing greeting as you walk by her without so much as the brush of your sleeve against hers, slipping into the elevator she just stepped out of.
Natasha turns, confused, mouth parting like she might call after you, but the elevator doors are already sliding shut, cutting off her view of you. She stares at the closed metal panels for a few lingering seconds, the silence pressing in.
That was…different.
Her brows knit faintly, but after a moment, she exhales through her nose and shakes her head.
You probably had somewhere to be. That had to be it.
Still, the absence of your usual warmth settles heavy in her chest. She folds her arms loosely across her torso and forces the tension out of her shoulders with a quiet sigh.
Then she turns on her heel and heads toward the debriefing room, pushing the disappointment down before it has the chance to root too deeply.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
Now Natasha is even more confused.
Earlier, she’d told herself you were just in a rush—that missing the hug in the hallway wasn’t personal—just bad timing. But now, sitting beside you in the common room with the other Avengers, that excuse feels thinner by the second.
It’s one of those rare nights when everyone’s actually home. Laughter ripples through the group, drinks are passed around, and stories are shared freely. Typically, nights like this meant you’d be curled up next to her, shoulder pressed to hers, fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve or resting on her thigh without thinking.
Tonight, though, you’re still right beside her on the couch. And yet you might as well be a mile away.
It’s not that you’re ignoring her. You speak when spoken to. You laugh at the group’s jokes. You even chime in when Natasha makes a dry comment that earns a snort from Sam.
But there’s no contact. Not even the accidental kind.
Your posture is pulled in just enough to create a subtle space between your body and hers. And the longer it lingers, the more Natasha begins to feel it as a form of avoidance.
She tests it.
Casually, she stretches her arm along the back of the couch behind you, a gesture she’s done countless times before that usually ends with you unconsciously shifting closer into her side.
But this time, you lean forward, seeming suddenly interested in one of Thor’s increasingly embellished battle stories, your shoulders moving just out of reach.
Natasha’s gaze sharpens. She shifts again, this time subtly sliding closer, just enough that your thighs would brush if you moved towards her even if just by a little.
You don’t. Instead, you cross your legs in the opposite direction, slightly angling yourself away without a glance.
Her lips press into a thin line.
But what finally makes her frown is the way your body betrays your exhaustion.
Natasha knows your rhythms too well. At this hour, you always start to fade, no matter how hard you try to stay engaged. And usually, when that happened, your head would gradually drift until it came to rest on her shoulder.
Tonight, it tilts in the other direction. You rest your cheek against your hand, elbow on the armrest, turning completely away from her.
Like clockwork, your eyes begin to flutter closed.
Natasha catches the subtle slump of your posture and the way your breathing slows, soft and steady.
Her fingers twitch against her leg.
If you were leaning on her like usual, it would be easy, just a quiet nudge, a soft murmur of your name to guide you up to bed.
But now, there’s nothing—no point of contact.
Not unless she reaches for it herself.
But Natasha hesitates.
And someone else beats her to it.
Wanda leans forward from her spot in the other chair next to the two of you, her voice low and gentle.
“Hey,” she says, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, giving it a soft shake. “I’m gonna turn in. Want to head up too?”
Your eyes blink open slowly. You nod, sleepy and half out of it, then reach up and take Wanda’s offered hand without hesitation.
You turn back toward Natasha, offering her a small, tired smile.
“Goodnight, Natasha,” you murmur.
Your hand lifts slightly as if you’re about to pat her leg like you’ve done a dozen times before.
But at the last second, it shifts direction and lands instead on the cushion beside her, fingers pressing gently into fabric before retreating.
Natasha’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Goodnight,” she replies.
She watches as you stand, still holding onto Wanda’s hand. The two of you walk out together, your head tilted toward her in quiet laughter as you lean slightly into her side.
And Natasha is left sitting on the couch, surrounded by voices and laughter, and yet with a space beside her that feels colder than it should.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
Natasha stands at the counter, fingers wrapped around a warm mug, steam curling up into her face as she takes a slow sip of coffee.
She’s been up for a while now, trying to clear her head. Sleep hadn’t come easily. Not with questions buzzing around her thoughts.
You hadn’t touched her.
Not once.
And it was driving her insane.
Natasha exhales slowly, grounding herself in the weight of the mug and the quiet hum of the Compound just beginning to stir. Then she hears your footsteps approaching.
Her heart reacts before her mind does.
You enter the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from your eyes, dressed in the kind of clothes that suggest you only half pulled yourself together before wandering in search of caffeine. You spot her immediately, offering a small, friendly smile—not the sleepy, instinctive shoulder nudge or greeting she used to get.
Just a smile.
You head toward the cabinet, clearly aiming for a mug.
The only problem is she’s in the way.
“Hey, can I squeeze past?” you ask, voice gentle.
Natasha straightens instinctively, stepping just slightly to the side. Enough to let you through, but only barely, with the space between her and the counter still being narrow.
But it’s also close enough that brushing shoulders would be unavoidable.
Except it doesn’t happen.
Natasha watches in disbelief as you deliberately maneuver your body in the smallest ways, turning sideways, angling your arm, even lifting your hand to avoid grazing hers. It’s done with care, but it’s unmistakable.
You didn’t want to touch her.
Natasha’s patience snaps.
Before you can reach the mug, her arms suddenly come down on either side of you, palms flat against the counter. You’re trapped, caged in by her arms and presence.
You yelp, startled, immediately turning toward her with wide eyes. Your hands rise automatically as if to rest on her arms, but then hover awkwardly mid-air, uncertain, before you lean back into the counter in a clear effort to maintain distance.
Natasha frowns, eyes flicking to your hovering hands, then back to your face.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks bluntly.
You blink, caught off guard.
“What? No. Why would you think that?”
Natasha’s jaw clenches before sighing in frustration.
“Because ever since I got back, you haven’t touched me.”
Her words hang in the air, too raw and direct to mistake.
You part your lips in surprise, but before you can say anything, footsteps sound in the hall before you can get a word out.
Steve appears in the doorway. He pauses mid-step, clearly having heard just enough to register the tension in the air and the compromising proximity of Natasha’s arms caging you in.
A beat passes. Then Steve clears his throat, awkwardly.
“I’ll, uh…circle back.” He turns and disappears almost immediately.
Both of you stare at the space he left behind for a second before Natasha turns back to you, one brow raised. Her gaze drops meaningfully to your still-hovering hands.
You fidget, realizing you’ve been caught. Your fingers curl slightly in the air, unsure of where to go.
“I…uh..I read your file,” you admit quietly. “From your time in the Red Room. What they did to you…”
Natasha’s expression eases immediately in understanding.
But you still look away, ashamed.
“It just—after that, I realized how much I’ve always just…touched you without asking. And it’s your body, Natasha. You probably put up with it every time. And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I thought I should give you some space for once.”
For a moment, Natasha just looks at you, stunned. Then she laughs. A quiet, surprised huff that escapes from her chest like she’s been holding it in for days.
“You’ve been driving me crazy,” she says, voice fond with disbelief.
Your eyes widen in confusion. “What?”
Natasha doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she lowers her head until her forehead rests gently against your shoulder.
Your hands hover again at her arms, but they don’t land.
“I like when you touch me,” Natasha murmurs. “It makes me feel safe. Like I’m supposed to be here.”
You blink, slightly dumbfounded. Still registering her words.
“…Oh.”
Natasha lets out a soft, amused sound at your tone of stunned surprise.
“And I’m still waiting,” she adds quietly, “for my welcome back hug.”
That startles you out of your daze. You let out a breath—half laugh, half sigh—as your arms finally rise and wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her in until there’s no space between you.
“Welcome home, Natasha,” you whisper into her hair like you’ve done many times before.
The effect is instant. Her body melts into yours, all the tension draining from her shoulders.
Natasha sinks into the embrace like she’s been craving it for days. Then slowly her arms slide around you, steady and secure.
She closes her eyes, breathing you in, confirming what she already knew.
This is where she feels safest. Warmth from your arms and hands on her back. Your heartbeat against her body.
And that flutter in her chest? From just your touch?
Natasha decides, just for now, she’ll let it be.
That can be a different problem to confront for another day.
Right now, she’s content to be in your arms once again.
sumary: The last thing Natasha expected was for her one-and-Half-year-old daughter to fall head over heels for the one person on the team who didn’t like kids.
Paring: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader. Natasha Romanoff x platonic!avengers
Word count: 5075
warnings: age gap, light mommy issues if you squirm your eyes, fluffly content, Natasha being the best mom ever, light humor and jokes
Natasha had never been the type to hope for softness.
Not for herself, at least.
She’d made her peace with that years ago—on the rooftops of Budapest, in the sterile hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D., in the long silences between missions where guilt and memory left no room for sentiment. And then came Ana. Not by accident. Not by surprise. By choice. Hers. A deliberate, defiant, I want this, spoken with all the clarity of a life finally claimed.
She never regretted a moment of it. Not the injections. Not the procedures. Not the days spent alone, watching her body change, knowing no one was coming but not needing anyone to. Ana was the best thing she’d ever done. Her softness, her quiet, her stubborn spark—that was Natasha’s legacy now. Not blood. Not missions. Her. Anasthasia Irina Romanoff. She’d chosen Irina long before Ana was even born. It wasn’t a family name, or a tribute to anyone in her past—it was a hope. Irina meant peace, and that’s what Ana was. Her stillness after decades of running. Her soft beginning after a life of sharp edges. Natasha had spent so many years living on instinct, choosing danger over safety, solitude over softness. But Ana was different. Ana meant slow mornings. Shared breakfasts. Laughter in the middle of the day for no reason at all. She gave her the name Irina because, for the first time, Natasha wasn’t surviving anymore. She was living. And Ana was the reason why.And maybe that’s why she was so protective of it—why she kept the world at arm’s length and Ana even closer. This calm, this rhythm she’d built, it was fragile in the way that mattered most. So when new variables appeared—new people, new energies—Natasha never let them close enough to shift the balance.
So she didn’t expect anything to come from your arrival.
Not in the way that mattered.
You were Tony’s daughter, and Natasha had always paid attention to the way people spoke about you—with a mixture of respect and restraint, like they weren’t quite sure what to do with someone who carried the Stark name but none of his chaos. She knew you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were barely old enough to be called an adult, that you’d carved your space without leaning on legacy, and that you’d been stationed in England for the last few years—low profile, high results.
She also knew something more personal. Something quieter.
You didn’t like children.
Not in a cold, heartless way. You weren’t cruel. You were respectful—always. Natasha remembered the way you helped Lila Barton when she scraped her knee during a holiday visit, how you’d stayed still and calm while the girl sobbed against your shoulder. But the moment she calmed, you’d set her down gently and disappeared from the room like your presence had been an accident. You didn’t mock them, or treat them like they were less-than. You just… didn’t want them near. Didn’t invite them close. Natasha understood that. Some people didn’t crave the chaos, the unpredictability, the weight of something small depending on you.
That was fine.
That was expected.
Which is why she didn’t even flinch when she brought Ana to the morning briefing.
The meeting was scheduled in one of the larger lounge rooms—bright windows, low coffee tables, plenty of space for Ana to exist without needing constant wrangling. Natasha had done this dozens of times. Her daughter came with her everywhere now. She didn’t leave Ana behind unless she absolutely had to. The team had long since adapted.
You, however, were new.
She entered the room with Ana tucked against her side, one arm looped around the child’s waist with practiced ease. You were already seated—coffee in hand, face unreadable, posture casual but distant. Natasha didn’t expect more than a polite nod, maybe a glance. And that’s what she got. You didn’t tense. You didn’t retreat. You simply acknowledged her presence and turned your eyes back to the screen.
But Ana didn’t.
Ana saw you. And for the first time since Natasha could remember, her daughter paused.
Not in fear. Not in confusion. In recognition.
It started as a slow shift—her little body repositioning against Natasha’s ribs, eyes locked in your direction, curious and alert. Then the squirming began. Not impatient, not fussy—focused. Ana leaned out of her arms, little hand pointing downward.
Natasha frowned. “What’s going on, kotyonok?” she murmured, brushing her lips lightly across Ana’s hair.
“Down,” Ana whispered.
Natasha blinked.
Ana rarely asked to leave her arms during meetings. And never in unfamiliar rooms. She’d been clingy the last few days—teething, off her sleep schedule, adjusting to so many new faces around the compound again. But now, her little legs were kicking softly, hands gripping at Natasha’s shirt in earnest.
“Down,” she repeated.
Natasha hesitated—glanced at you.
You weren’t watching Ana anymore. You were watching her. Confused. Curious. But not annoyed. Not disapproving.
Natasha could read people down to the smallest twitch of a muscle, and in that moment, she read one thing clearly: you didn’t know what was happening either.
So she shifted forward and lowered Ana gently to the carpeted floor.
Ana’s sneakers touched down. She took one look back—brief, instinctive—then turned toward you like she already knew the path.
Natasha’s chest tightened.
One step. Then another.
You looked up.
There was a breath, the room shrinking around it.
Ana stopped at your knees. Her curls were mussed from her mother’s shoulder, her little fox plush dangling from one hand. She tilted her head to look at you properly. She didn’t blink.
And then she lifted both arms toward you.
“Lap.”
You froze.
Not in fear. Not rejection. Natasha saw it—something break quietly across your expression, the way your eyebrows lifted just slightly, like your own body didn’t understand how it was reacting before your brain caught up. There was no mask now. No calm Stark logic, no precise detachment. Just you—and the shock of being chosen by someone so small, so unrelenting, and so certain.
Natasha didn’t move.
She stood where she was, heart pounding quietly behind her ribs, not from fear or worry—but something more intimate. Something that reached the parts of her still holding every shattered version of family she’d ever known. She watched as you stared down at the child who had never, not once, walked into a stranger’s arms. And she waited. Because whatever happened next… would matter.
You didn’t reach for Ana immediately.
Natasha noticed the exact moment your eyes lifted—not to the child now reaching for you with unwavering certainty, but to her. And it wasn’t a question. Not quite. There was no panic in your expression, no discomfort. Just a pause. A stillness that asked without words: Is this alright?
And Natasha, who rarely let anyone past the perimeter of her trust, gave you the smallest, most intentional nod.
You moved like someone reaching into deep water—carefully, gently, aware of the weight of what you were about to hold. Your hands met Ana’s sides, small and secure, and you lifted her with practiced ease, as though this wasn’t the first time, as though her body already knew how to fold against yours. She settled into your lap like it belonged to her.
Like she had always meant to end up there.
Natasha’s breath caught in her throat.
Ana laid her head lightly against your chest, little cheek pressing into the dark fabric of your jacket. One of her hands tucked the fox between your arm and her belly; the other—small, dimpled fingers—reached up to your collarbone and found your hand.
And then she started to play.
Not with toys, not with distractions. Just your hand. Your fingers. One by one she explored them, pressing her thumb into your palm, curling your pinky against her own, dragging the tips along her forehead in idle motion. Her eyes drifted half-closed, calm and curious, while you stayed perfectly still—watching her with that same look Natasha couldn’t read.
It was almost unbearable, the quiet of the moment.
The meeting had technically begun, but Natasha hadn’t registered a single word Steve said. She hadn’t even sat down. She just stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes on the impossible softness blooming in front of her.
Because that’s what it was. Impossible.
You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated. You hadn’t done what most people did—smile politely, hand Ana back, or distract her with something shiny so they could pass her off. You were just… there. Entirely present. Letting her settle. Letting her explore. Letting her choose.
And she had chosen you.
The worst part—if she could call it that—was that Natasha wasn’t angry. She wasn’t suspicious. She wasn’t even surprised anymore.
Because looking at you now—back straight, eyes lowered, completely surrendered to the tiny storm nestled in your lap—something made sense in her chest that hadn’t before.
Ana had found something.
Or maybe, someone.
And Natasha wasn’t sure what that meant yet, or how far she would allow it to grow—but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she didn’t feel the need to pull away. She walked slowly to her seat across from you, quiet as a shadow, never breaking the spell. And when she sat down, she didn’t take her eyes off you. The briefing wrapped without fanfare.
Steve’s voice faded into background noise, Bruce gathered his notes, and the others filtered out one by one with practiced efficiency. No one commented on Ana—no one dared. Maybe because they saw the weight of the moment. Maybe because it wasn’t theirs to touch.
The room was almost too quiet now.
Ana had slipped fully into sleep, her tiny hand still curled lazily around your finger, her head rising and falling against your chest like she’d found the safest place in the universe. You hadn’t moved. Not really. Just shifted to make her more comfortable—let her sink deeper into you without hesitation, like her weight belonged there.
Natasha couldn’t look away.
You hadn’t noticed—at least, she thought you hadn’t. You never were one to fidget under attention. But there was something different about you now. Something unguarded beneath all that calm.
“I have to admit,” she said, voice low, “this wasn’t how I pictured our first real conversation going.”
You glanced at her, brow arching just a little. “And how did you picture it?”
Natasha’s lips twitched. “Not with my daughter wrapped around you like a vine.”
You leaned back slightly, careful not to disturb Ana, and gave her that expression—dry, sharp, quietly amused. “You sound jealous.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Should I be?”
You made a show of glancing down at Ana, then shrugged one shoulder—so subtle it barely moved her. “She’s got good taste.”
The laugh caught in Natasha’s throat before she could stop it. Soft, surprised. God, you were so damn composed, and yet there was something underneath that surface—a spark of something warmer, something playful. She hadn’t expected that. And she was rarely caught off guard.
“I should warn you,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “If you let her get used to that lap, you’re going to regret it.”
“I don’t regret much.”
“She’s one and a half. You’ll regret it the next time you try to drink a coffee without someone demanding half of it.”
You smiled—not a smirk, not your usual reserved grin. An actual smile. And Natasha had to look away, just for a moment, because something in her chest pulled taut at the sight.
“And here I thought you brought her to meetings as a distraction tactic,” you said.
She looked back at you with narrowed eyes, playful. “You think I’d use my daughter to throw someone off their game?”
“I think,” you said, gaze darkening just a little, “that if anyone could weaponize a toddler, it’d be you.”
Natasha laughed, this time all the way—low and warm in her chest, real in a way she didn’t usually allow to slip out. She shook her head, leaning back in her chair.
“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.
You tilted your head. “Me? You’re the trained assassin.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes dropped to the sleeping girl between you. “And you’re the one she asked for.”
The silence curled again. Not cold. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed.
You looked down at Ana once more, brushing a thumb lightly over her curls where they stuck up against your collar. “Don’t get used to this,” you said, not looking at Natasha. “I’m still not a fan of kids.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” she replied, watching the way you softened around the edges without realizing it.Natasha didn’t argue—she didn’t have to. The proof was already wrapped around your side in cookie-stained pajamas. She just watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth, the kind that stayed long after you’d left the room.
She knew this wouldn't be a one- time thing.
A few days later, the morning unfolded differently, slower. Late morning sunlight filtered lazily into the kitchen, warm and indifferent. It fell across the countertops, gleamed off metal handles, and lit the soft chaos that was breakfast—or rather, the battle of breakfast.
Ana was seated in her high chair like a tiny queen in revolt, arms crossed firmly, lips pursed in open rebellion. The oatmeal had gone cold fifteen minutes ago. Natasha had tried coaxing, bribing, even threatening to call Bruce if she didn’t eat. Nothing worked. The spoon sat abandoned in the bowl like a white flag.
“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Natasha muttered, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Other people’s kids don’t get away with this.”
Ana remained unimpressed. She glared past Natasha’s shoulder as if expecting reinforcements.
The door creaked open behind them.
Natasha didn’t turn around right away—she was too focused on pretending she wasn’t about to lose a diplomatic war with a toddler. But she didn’t need to look. She could hear it: the shuffle of slow, dragging footsteps, the soft grunt of someone whose soul was not yet awake. Then came the familiar hiss of the espresso machine, followed by the rustling of a bakery bag.
You’d arrived.
She turned.
You looked… awful.
Delightfully awful.
Hair wild from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, mismatched socks peeking out under flannel pants. You were cradling your coffee mug like a lifeline, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in a petulant line that said you’d only been conscious for five minutes and deeply regretted that fact.
In your other hand: a cheese croissant, still warm, still flaking. You tore off a corner and bit into it like someone performing life-saving triage.
Ana stared, Hard. So damn hard.
Not at Natasha. Not at the bowl of oatmeal she’d rejected like poison. But at you.
You took another bite, chewed, then finally glanced up—and blinked, slow and heavy.
Your gaze drifted to the high chair. To Ana’s unrelenting eyes. Then to Natasha.
“I take it we’re in the starvation phase of child rearing?”
“She’s being dramatic,” Natasha said.
Ana made a noise like a whimper and kicked her feet, You squinted at her. Then reached forward, broke off a soft piece of croissant, and held it out between your fingers.
Ana took it like it was sacred.
“Traitor,” Natasha muttered under her breath.
You made a sound between a hum and a sigh and dropped into a chair with all the weight of someone being punished by existence itself. “I’ve been up for six minutes,” you mumbled. “I haven’t even looked at another human being yet.”
Ana reached again, You fed her another bite.
Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s not helping, right?”
“She was clearly starving.”
“I told you—she’s not.”
“She’s got the same face I do when I haven’t eaten,” you said, deadpan. “We understand each other.”
Natasha studied you, the way you slouched, bleary-eyed and nonverbal, croissant in one hand, coffee in the other. She looked at Ana—mirroring your expression almost perfectly, down to the pout and the silent demand for carbs.
She huffed a laugh.
“My God. You’re the same person.”
You gave her a tired glare. “Keep talking. See if I share.”
“You’re both insufferable when hungry.”
“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”
Natasha crossed her arms. “Of what? Your shared standoffish breakfast cult?”
You sipped your coffee slowly, eyes flicking to Ana and back.
“She chose me,” you said, tone flat but triumphant. “I don’t make the rules.”
Ana squeaked with joy, flailing her hands toward the croissant again.
“She betrayed me,” Natasha replied, pointing to the untouched oatmeal. “I gave her life. You gave her cheese.”
You shrugged, already handing Ana another piece. “She’s got good taste.”
Natasha shook her head, lips twitching as she turned away to clean up the bowl of oatmeal. “You’re both ridiculous.”
You yawned, eyes half-lidded as Ana leaned her head dramatically on the edge of the tray, already chewing the last bite like it was a reward for surviving the morning. You were still half-asleep, leaning into your chair like gravity was trying to reclaim you, clinging to that coffee as if it were the only thing standing between you and the grave. You were cranky, antisocial before noon, and notoriously stubborn about food—especially when it was yours.
Which is why Natasha watched with mild astonishment as you rolled your eyes in a perfectly theatrical arc, sighed like a martyr, and wordlessly handed the rest of your croissant to Ana.
She squeaked with joy and took it like treasure, immediately stuffing the larger half into her mouth with both hands.
“Unbelievable,” Natasha muttered, not even bothering to hide her smile.
You ignored her, sipping your coffee in silence like you regretted every decision that had led to this exact moment. Your eyes were dark and tired, but there was no real irritation behind them. Just that quiet resignation you always wore when you knew you were losing a battle you never meant to fight in the first place.
You took another sip, then looked at her across the kitchen—eyes still half-lidded, voice hoarse with sleep.
“Give me the oatmeal.”
Natasha blinked. “What?”
You gestured vaguely toward the abandoned bowl. “She doesn’t want it. And I’m starving.”
A beat of silence stretched between you.
Then, without a word, Natasha reached for the bowl and walked it over, setting it in front of you with a raised eyebrow. You didn’t meet her gaze. You just set your coffee aside and picked up the spoon like someone about to make peace with their fate.
Ana was already chewing noisily beside you, bits of pastry stuck to her cheek.
Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the counter again. “So let me get this straight,” she said, lips twitching. “You won’t share food with me, but she gets the last of your croissant and your breakfast?”
“She didn’t ask for it,” you said without looking up. “She demanded it with her eyes.”
“Right. So toddler mind control. That’s the explanation we’re going with.”
“She’s persuasive.”
“She’s one and a half.”
You glanced up then, finally, spoon midair. Your expression was blank, deadpan, and yet something in your eyes sparked with mischief.
“So am I,” you said.
And Natasha felt it—that little flicker again. The warmth that was growing far too easily in the quiet spaces between these moments. It settled somewhere under her ribs, soft and persistent.
You looked back down and took a bite of the oatmeal without flinching.
Ana, satisfied and full of croissant, leaned against the side of your arm and let out a sigh so deep it could only have come from the depths of her soul.
Natasha didn’t say anything else.
She just stood there, watching the two of you—both stubborn, both sleepy, both impossible—and thought, this isn’t going to stay simple, is it?
But she didn’t say that either.
She just smiled.And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.Days passed like that—quiet, unspoken things folding themselves into the rhythm of the compound. You didn’t come looking for Ana, but she kept finding you anyway. And Natasha… well, she kept watching. Kept noticing the way your edges softened more each time.
Then came the briefing.
It had started as a simple mission briefing. Nothing classified, nothing urgent—just a routine strategy session with the new intel team that Natasha absolutely couldn’t reschedule. One hour, tops. Ana would barely notice she was gone.
She was so wrong.
Clint had been her first call. Obvious choice. He knew how to juggle five kids and a mission report without blinking. But the moment Natasha handed Ana over, the girl went stiff in his arms like a statue, then started wailing as if he’d personally betrayed her.
Wanda tried next. Ana let her hold her for a full five seconds before twisting away like a feral cat and screeching “NO!” in a tone that made two agents duck for cover.
Steve, bless him, had approached with his most diplomatic smile and a stuffed bear in hand, only to be met with the full force of toddler disdain. Ana didn’t scream that time—just buried her face in Natasha’s neck and growled.
And Natasha… Natasha was five minutes late to her briefing and dangerously close to losing her mind.
Which is why, when you happened to pass by—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, clearly heading for the lab and not remotely interested in babysitting—Natasha didn’t think.
She acted.
“Ana, sweetheart?” she whispered, shifting the toddler to her hip. “Do you want to go see her?”
Ana lifted her head.
Wide green eyes blinked once. Then a slow, devilish smile curled across her face.
That was all Natasha needed.
“Catch,” she said dryly.
You turned just in time to fumble and catch the small human now squirming gleefully into your arms like she belonged there.
“Wait—what the—”
“Thanks!” Natasha called over her shoulder, already halfway down the corridor before you could protest.
Ana squealed in delight.
Natasha didn’t look back.
She made it to the meeting just in time. And to her own surprise, she didn’t spend the whole thing worried. Something about knowing Ana was with you—despite the fact you hated children (or said you did)—had her oddly at ease.
By the time she wrapped up and returned to the common floor, it had been almost ninety minutes. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and cleaning supplies. Bruce’s voice echoed from the open lab door, calm and methodical, talking through some kind of energy recalibration.
And there you were.
One hip leaned against the table, the other supporting Ana, who looked perfectly at home in the crook of your arm.
Your hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, your shirt was half-untucked and absolutely covered in cookie crumbs. Ana’s fingers were dusted with sugar. You were talking to Bruce about vibrational decay patterns in multi-core reactors, as if the weight of a toddler on your hip was completely natural. Your other hand gestured midair, precise, animated, still clutching a small whiteboard marker.
Ana watched your mouth move as if following every word.
Then she gagged—loudly and dramatically.
Not because of anything serious. Just… toddler flair.
You paused mid-sentence, looked down, and sighed. “Rude.”
Bruce snorted. “She takes after you.”
“She has better fashion sense.”
Ana giggled, then burrowed her face into your shoulder.
Natasha stood in the doorway, unnoticed for a second longer, just… watching. The way your body shifted automatically to balance Ana’s weight. The way you wiped her mouth with the edge of your sleeve without looking. The way you didn’t rush to give her back, or seem particularly bothered by the crumbs now stuck to your pants.
She cleared her throat.
You looked up, brows raised. “Hey.”
Natasha raised one eyebrow. “So… is this your new lab assistant?”
You looked at Ana, who blinked at her mother and clung just a little tighter.
“She works for cookies,” you said. “And occasionally heckles my equations.”
Natasha bit back a smile, folding her arms. “Well, she’s my daughter.”
“She’s very opinionated,” you said dryly, adjusting her on your hip. “She gagged at my thesis. I’m considering it a peer review.”
Ana giggled again, tucking her head against your collarbone.
Natasha stared at the two of you for another second, then finally stepped forward, brushing a few crumbs off your shoulder. Her fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to.
“You’re a mess,” she murmured.
You smirked. “I could be Your mess.”
She looked at you. And the words stuck somewhere behind her teeth, She didn’t say them.
Not yet.
Instead, she stepped forward, reaching her arms out gently. “Alright, peanut,” she said softly. “Come here.”
Ana blinked up at her mother, expression unreadable for a split second… then, without protest, reached out. You transferred her easily, and the little girl immediately curled into Natasha’s hold like she’d been waiting for it all along—her thumb going straight to her mouth, her head resting against the curve of her mother’s neck.
Warm.
Quiet.
Home.
Natasha’s hand rubbed small circles against her daughter’s back, and for a second, she just breathed her in. The scent of cookies, and your cologne, and a hint of vanilla shampoo clinging to soft hair.
“She’s full of sugar and attitude,” you said, brushing a crumb off your shirt.
Natasha glanced at you over Ana’s curls. “She’s exactly where she gets it from.”
You tilted your head, already sipping the coffee you’d left to cool. “You sure about that?”
Her smile curved lazily. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Then she walked away—Ana heavy and content in her arms, safe, sleepy, and smiling like someone who had everything she wanted in one place. Natasha had gone to her apartment at the Tower —just late enough for the city to fall into a quieter rhythm, just early enough that Natasha hadn’t had time to put up her usual walls.
Ana was half-asleep on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone, and Natasha held her like she was made of something finer than glass. There was oatmeal in her hair. Cookie crumbs on her onesie. A smudge of ink on her tiny palm, and no one knew how it got there.
But Natasha had seen it.
She had seen it.
She’d walked into that lab expecting chaos—Bruce hunched over a console, a loose wire sparking somewhere, maybe you arguing with JARVIS about protocols. But instead she found you standing still in the middle of it all, with Ana on your hip and your shirt covered in evidence of breakfast bribery.
You didn’t even pause the conversation with Bruce. You just kept talking about cellular decay patterns, as if you hadn’t realized Ana was happily gnawing on a pencil and gagging every time you used the word “neurotransmitter.”
And that sound you made—that little laugh when she fake-gagged for the third time?
It rewired something in Natasha.
Now she sat at the edge of Ana’s bed, staring down at the little culprit like she’d committed an unforgivable act of treason.
“You traitor,” she whispered.
Ana, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of her crimes, blinked lazily at her mother, thumb already in her mouth.
Natasha sighed, brushing a loose curl from her daughter’s cheek.
“You did this on purpose.”
Ana made a content hum and reached for her blanket.
“Don’t play innocent now,” Natasha murmured, tucking the soft fabric under her chin. “I was fine. You hear me? I had balance. I had boundaries. I had one thing—one tiny, simple rule that I lived by.”
Ana blinked again. Unbothered.
“Don’t fall for anyone.”
Natasha exhaled through her nose, quiet and helpless.
“You were supposed to be the only love of my life, peanut. You. I planned for you. I fought for you. You were the only thing I ever let myself want.”
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ana’s hair.
“I walked into that room today and you were hers. Just—completely and shamelessly hers. You were giving her orders like a little general and she was just taking it. And smiling. She never smiles like that.”
Ana giggled softly, maybe in her sleep. Natasha narrowed her eyes.
“Is this part of your long con? Huh? Were you trying to get yourself a stepmama? Because listen—if that’s your endgame, we need to have a serious strategy talk.”
Ana rolled a little, settling deeper into the mattress. Her small hand rested against her chest, and Natasha just… stared.
“She doesn’t even like kids, you know,” she continued, as if trying to justify this to someone who hadn’t been there. “She’s the one who leaves birthday parties early. She practically hisses when Clint brings his brood around. You sneeze near her with a juice box and she’s gone.”
She paused.
“But not with you.”
A slow breath pushed from Natasha’s lungs.
“She picks you up like you weigh nothing. She lets you shove half your breakfast into her mouth and doesn’t even blink. And I saw her yesterday—reading with one hand while you chewed on the other. I don’t even think she noticed.”
Ana’s breathing started to slow again, thumb slipping lazily from her mouth.
“And the worst part?” Natasha whispered. “She makes it look easy. Like maybe… maybe this whole thing isn’t a fluke. Like maybe she could actually stay.”
The confession hung in the dark like a sigh caught midair.
Natasha leaned down, resting her forehead against Ana’s tiny one.
“I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t want to see it coming. But you… You threw her right into the center of our orbit like it was nothing.”
She kissed her daughter again, voice teasing even as her chest ached.
“You couldn’t have picked someone older? Someone predictable? Someone who’s not Tony Stark’s daughter, for god’s sake?”
Ana didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Natasha ran a slow hand down her back, feeling the weight of love settle over her like a soft storm.
“You’re trouble,” she murmured. “But the best kind.”
Then she stood, brushing her fingers one last time across Ana’s cheek.
“You really couldn’t wait for me to fall first, huh?”
She flicked off the light.
Behind her, Ana slept soundly.
And Natasha stayed frozen in the doorway for just a moment longer… shaking her head to herself.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered, her voice low and wry—aimed at the girl down the hall who had no idea what she’d just done.
sumary: Natasha didn’t expect anyone to notice she was barely holding it together—let alone you. But when a simple playdate turns into days of fevers, exhaustion, and quiet overwhelm, you’re the one who shows up. No questions. No expectations. Just soup in hand, arms open, and eyes that see right through her
word count: 4312
warnings: flu, stomach bug, natasha being vulnerable, age gap and a huge amount of cuteness.
Part 1
author notes: Thank you all sooo much for the love you’ve sent over this mini fanfic — seriously, my heart’s full! I’m beyond excited to say that yes, a little series about our chaotic (but adorable) family is officially happening <3
Time had a funny way of folding in on itself when you weren’t paying attention.
One moment, you were a reluctant presence on the fringes of her and Ana’s quiet world, and the next… you were everywhere. Slowly. Naturally. Not because you forced your way in, but because Ana wouldn’t let you be anywhere else. Because Natasha hadn’t known she was waiting for you until you started showing up.
With each passing week, you had become more a part of them—tangled in the fabric of small, ordinary things. Breakfast crumbs. Quiet laughter. The gentle thud of little feet running to find you the moment she entered a room. Natasha had told herself it was nothing. Just temporary. Just the way Ana gravitated to you.
But it was more than that. You weren’t just a presence. You were constant. Steady. You were becoming a part of them in ways Natasha hadn’t prepared for.
And that terrified her.
Because she’d started loving you.
More than she meant to.
And not just emotionally—her body had begun responding to you like it remembered something ancient, like it knew what it wanted before her mind had a chance to catch up. It wasn’t just attraction—it was primal. Deep. Dangerous. Her womb would ache in ways she hadn’t felt since before Ana. Ovulation, hormones, cravings… not just for you, but for the idea of you beside her, in her, with her. You, with Ana. You, in their future.
And you made it worse by being exactly who you were. By showing up when she least expected it. Like now.
Natasha was wrecked. Exhausted beyond measure. It had started with one stupid playdate. She should’ve known better—one of the other mothers had been coughing in that vaguely suspicious “I’m fine, really” way, and now Natasha was paying the price. First came the fever. Then the stomach bug. First for her, then for Ana. And now they were both half-alive, curled into a blanket cocoon on Natasha’s couch, in the dim light of her apartment.
Ana was burning up and clingy in the way toddlers get when they don’t understand why they feel so awful. She wouldn’t let go of Natasha, not for a second—not even to sleep. And Natasha herself was barely staying upright, her limbs heavy, her head pounding, her body still trying to fight off the virus she’d caught. Her shirt was damp with sweat, and Ana had been crying for the last thirty minutes with no real reason other than pure discomfort.
She was drowning. Alone, exhausted, and on the edge of breaking.
And then the door opened.
No warning. No knock. Just the sound of your voice, soft but firm.
“Hey.”
Natasha didn’t have the strength to lift her head fully. But you were there. Jacket already half-off, eyes scanning the mess in a heartbeat. You didn’t need an explanation. You didn’t ask questions. You just moved.
You took Ana from her arms with practiced ease—Ana went willingly, burying her flushed face into your shoulder like it was the only place she’d ever belonged. You murmured something soft, bouncing her lightly, hand rubbing circles on her back. Natasha watched you lower onto the couch beside her, Ana now pressed between you both, content in a way she hadn’t been all day.
And just like that… the panic faded. Natasha breathed again.
Your hand brushed against hers when you reached for the thermometer on the table. You glanced at her sideways. “You look like hell.”
Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Thanks.”
“I brought soup.”
“You’re a menace.”
But you were her menace. She leaned her head against your shoulder without meaning to, eyelids fluttering closed for just a moment.
And you let her.
There weren’t any declarations. No promises. Just the warmth of your body beside hers, Ana dozing between you both, and the quiet understanding that, somehow, this wasn’t temporary anymore.
It had never been temporary.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—not really. Just close her eyes for a moment. But something about your presence always disarmed her, made her forget how long she’d been holding everything together. And now, with Ana tucked warm and feverish against your chest, with the tension in her own body finally starting to loosen, she let herself lean into it.
Only for a few seconds.
When she stirred, it was to the smell of something warm and simple. Soup. Real food. She blinked blearily and found you in her kitchen, moving with lazy familiarity. You were pouring the soup into a bowl, spoon already in hand, as if this was your place to do that. As if you belonged here.
You did.
You handed her the plate without a word, just gave her that look—eyebrow lifted, smirk tugging at the edge of your lips, the one you always wore when you were pretending not to care. She took it with both hands like it was a gift from the gods and didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.
“Okay,” she rasped, already taking a spoonful. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
You gave a faux bow, already shaking up a bottle for Ana with one hand while she watched you from the curve of your hip, dazed and blinking.
“It’s literally canned soup, Romanoff.”
She took another spoonful and closed her eyes, groaning. “You heated it like a pro.”
“Oh, I’m very skilled with microwaves. A real domestic goddess.”
“You’re lucky I’m too weak to throw this at you.”
“You’re welcome.” You smirked, adjusting Ana gently in your arms as you rocked side to side, absently bouncing her. It was natural now. So seamless it made something in Natasha’s chest ache.
She watched the two of you for a moment, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. Ana had gone still, her eyes fluttering closed, hands curled loosely against your chest. She looked content. Safe. Natasha swallowed past the knot in her throat.
“How did you know?” she asked, voice quieter now, worn at the edges. “That I was sick?”
You didn’t look away from Ana, just smiled lightly and said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. noticed your vitals were way out of range for a few hours. High cortisol, spiked temp. She told me you weren’t doing great. I figured something was up.”
Natasha blinked. “You figured?”
You finally looked at her, that teasing glint still there, but softened. “I’m not gonna let you fall apart on your own, Romanoff. You and Ana… you’re mine too. My family.”
She didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The warmth in her chest wasn’t fever—it was you. The way you said it so simply, like it wasn’t something enormous. Like it didn’t undo her piece by piece.
She looked down at her bowl and took another bite of soup, mostly to keep from crying. “Well,” she murmured after a moment, “you might’ve just earned another microwave session.”
You raised an eyebrow, adjusting Ana as she finally slipped into deeper sleep. “I’ll take that as a declaration of love.”
She smirked, eyes still on her bowl. “Keep telling yourself that.”
And in the quiet that followed, with Ana asleep between the two of you and the warmth of soup lingering in her hands, Natasha let herself believe it was real. That maybe this wasn’t just a moment, but the beginning of something she never dared to imagine.
The soup was almost gone by the time Ana stilled completely in your arms, her little hand twitching once, then going limp against your collarbone. You stayed swaying, even as your legs must’ve grown tired, and Natasha didn’t miss the way your fingers moved gently across Ana’s back, steady and rhythmic, like it was instinct.
The kind of instinct that made her want things she had no right to want. The kind of instinct that made her heart ache.
“She loves you,” Natasha said, voice softer now, almost inaudible. She wasn’t even sure why she said it—maybe to test the sound of it in the air. Maybe to see if it shook you the way it shook her.
You didn’t look up. “I know.”
The answer was simple. Certain. It wasn’t arrogance—it was truth. You knew. And Natasha realized then that maybe you’d known for longer than she had. Maybe you’d been letting Ana pull you into their orbit from the start, quietly, without resistance. Maybe you’d been falling too.
“I thought you didn’t like kids,” she said after a beat, not teasing this time.
You finally looked over, the weight of Ana sleeping across your body anchoring you both to the moment. “I don’t,” you said lightly. Then added, “But she’s not a kid. She’s Ana.”
And Natasha smiled.
God help her, she smiled.
You glanced at her empty bowl. “Do you want me to warm up the rest?”
Natasha shook her head slowly. “No, if I eat more, I’ll owe you even more declarations of love, and I’m not sure your ego can handle that.”
“Oh, I can handle a lot,” you said, setting Ana down on the couch between you both with infinite care, your hands lingering on her curls as she whimpered, then settled again. “I’ve got range.”
She gave a tired laugh, her body sagging sideways, finally letting herself rest now that the worst of it had passed. Now that you were here.
She glanced at you through her lashes, quieter this time. “You didn’t have to come.”
You looked at her for a long second. “Yes, I did.”
There wasn’t anything more to say after that. Not really. The silence between you both wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken things. Full of what was building day by day, moment by moment, croissant crumbs and emergency soup and the soft thump of Ana’s head against your chest.
Natasha watched Ana’s little face in sleep. Then she turned to you.
“You know,” she said lightly, “I think she’s just trying to get herself a stepmom.”
Your mouth twitched. “Well. She’s doing a damn good job.”
Natasha leaned her head back against the couch, eyes half-closing again, lips curved with something half-smile, half-surrender. “This is your fault, you know.”
You raised a brow. “Mine?”
She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You were supposed to hate kids. I was supposed to keep my life quiet. Ana was supposed to be enough.”
“She is enough.”
“I know,” Natasha said. Then softer, “But now there’s you.”
You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her like you already belonged there. Like you’d stay. Like maybe you were already home.
And Natasha—tired, sick, warm, and full of something she hadn’t felt in years—didn’t say it either.
She just smiled.
And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.
“Go take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch, Ana tucked easily against your shoulder like she belonged there. “You look disgusting.”
Natasha scoffed, too tired to argue. “Charming as ever.”
You shot her a smirk. “I’m just saying, it might not be the flu. It could be self-inflicted. Maybe try soap.”
She rolled her eyes, but the way her mouth curved betrayed her. That ridiculous, easy charm of yours—that’s what made it dangerous. Not just because you were funny or disarming or beautiful in that sharp, effortless way. But because you made it feel like loving you would be so… simple.
She watched as you disappeared into the hallway with Ana, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. And despite the biting jokes and your performative annoyance, you moved like you were born for it. Like Ana was safest in your arms.
Natasha sat still for a moment. Her muscles were aching, her skin hot from fever and sleep, but her thoughts didn’t drift toward rest. They drifted toward you.
You, humming something softly under your breath while you ran warm water for Ana. You, scooping bubbles with your hand and making her giggle, even feverish and worn out as she was. You, being gentle. Thoughtful. Patient.
You, who weren’t supposed to want any of this.
But you did. Maybe not in the way you’d admit out loud—not yet. Still, it was there in every wordless offering. In the croissant you split without blinking. In the soup you served before she could even ask. In the way you told her, so casually, that they were yours too. That this—her and Ana—was home.
What are we even becoming? she thought, rubbing a hand over her eyes. The question made her heart beat harder than it should have.
She leaned her head back against the couch and sighed. For so long, her future had been a blank space—no risks, no attachments, just the weightless quiet of a life lived in retreat. Ana had changed that. She’d started painting the outlines of something new: slow mornings, comfort food, the kind of chaos that wasn’t dangerous but deeply, beautifully human.
But you… You filled the rest in.
And it terrified her, how easily she could see it now.
The three of you. A home that wasn’t just a safehouse. A life that wasn’t just survival. She could almost feel it like a memory that hadn’t happened yet.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, dragging herself to her feet. It’s just soup. Just a bath. Just you.
But she smiled anyway.
When you returned, Ana was clean and dressed in fresh pajamas, her damp curls already drying against your shoulder. She was fast asleep again, breath soft and steady against your neck. You were barefoot, shirt wrinkled, and your hair damp from whatever splash damage Ana had managed in the bath—but you looked so at ease. Like this had been your life forever.
“Your turn,” you murmured, keeping your voice low not to wake the baby. “Go. Before your skin peels off.”
Natasha huffed, but moved toward the bathroom without protest. She stopped in the doorway, turning back once more to glance at you. You were pacing slightly, patting Ana’s back, rocking her with barely a thought.
You didn’t see her watching you.
You didn’t have to.
Because the truth had already rooted itself deep in Natasha’s chest, undeniable and warm and terrifying.
This was never part of the plan, she thought, fingers curled lightly on the doorframe. But maybe it should’ve been.
And with that, she disappeared into the steam of the shower, letting herself wash off everything but the thoughts of you that clung stubbornly to her skin
The scent of soap and baby shampoo clung to the air. And she stared at it—the water, the stillness, the ghost of a moment that wasn’t hers alone anymore—and for the first time in days, she smiled without exhaustion in her bones.
You were supposed to be a complication.
Instead, you were comfort.
Natasha deixou seus pensamentos vagarem — só um pouquinho.
To quiet nights and lavender baths.
To soft smiles and someone else cooking soup.
To a world where she wasn’t carrying everything alone anymore.
Maybe not just someone.
Maybe you.
The water had helped.
Not in any dramatic, life-changing way, but enough. Enough to strip away the fog in her mind, the heat on her skin, the ache in her muscles that had been screaming for rest. She toweled off slowly, her movements heavy but less desperate now. Steam clung to the mirror as she stepped out into her room, wrapped in one of her fluffiest towels, hair damp and curling against her neck.
And paused.
You were there. Bent over her bed, sleeves pushed up, changing the sheets like it was the most natural thing in the world. You had already stripped the sick-sweat-drenched set and tossed them in the hamper. Now you were laying down clean ones—fresh, cool cotton with the faint scent of lavender detergent. Probably the same kind you used for Ana’s things.
“You organizing my closet next?” she said, arms crossing loosely over her chest, voice drier than the towel wrapped around her.
You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “Already color-coded your knives, too.”
Natasha snorted, dragging her hand through her damp hair. “This part of the rescue mission, or are you just nesting?”
“Someone had to make your bed not smell like death,” you replied. “I drew the short straw.”
“Really? I think you’re just obsessed with me.”
You paused for half a second. Just enough for her to notice.
Then you looked at her with a smirk that was half-deflection, half-something warmer. “Keep telling yourself that, Romanoff.”
She hummed and moved slowly toward the bed as you smoothed out the comforter. You were almost done, and her limbs were already sagging with the pull of sleep again. Still, she didn’t want to rush this part. This version of you—quietly caring, effortlessly present, always pretending it meant less than it did—it made her want to look twice.
You finished tucking the corners in and stepped back, giving the space a satisfied nod.
“I know,” you said. “Perfect. You’re welcome.”
Natasha rolled her eyes but sat down, slowly sinking into the clean sheets like they were heaven itself. They felt crisp and cool against her overheated skin, and she let out a sigh she didn’t mean to.
“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, watching her with something closer to pride than smugness. “Say it. I’m incredible.”
She didn’t say it. But she smiled.
And when her head hit the pillow, she felt the familiar haze of exhaustion crawling back. Her eyes fluttered shut—but only for a second, because then you spoke again, voice lower now, less teasing.
“I can stay.”
Natasha blinked up at you.
You were standing beside her, looking down, and for once you weren’t hiding behind a joke. “I mean. If you want,” you continued, scratching lightly at the back of your neck. “I can sit with Ana tonight. Keep an eye on her so you can actually sleep.”
It wasn’t the offer itself that made her heart stutter—it was the way you made it sound like breathing. Like of course you would. Like this was your home too.
She opened her mouth to say thank you. To tell you that was kind. That you didn’t have to.
But what came out instead was, “Lie down.”
Your brows lifted. “What, here?”
She patted the empty space beside her. “You already changed the sheets. Might as well test them.”
You hesitated for a breath. Maybe two. Then you moved without a word, toeing off your shoes and sliding in beside her. There was still space between you—barely—but it felt charged. Intentional.
Ana’s soft breathing came from the baby monitor on the nightstand, and for the first time in two long, fever-drenched days, the room felt calm.
You turned your head on the pillow to face her.
“You sure about this?”
Natasha looked at you. At the girl who didn’t like kids. The one who made her soup and changed her sheets and rocked her daughter to sleep in the bath.
“I think I’ve been sure for a while,” she said softly.
You didn’t answer.
You just smiled—small and a little dazed—and reached over, letting your pinky brush hers between the sheets. Not taking. Not pushing. Just offering.
And Natasha, ex-spy, assassin, mother—she curled her finger around yours and held on.
The room had gone quiet.
Not the kind of silence that weighed heavy or pressed against your chest—but a hush that wrapped around them gently. Like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for them to notice it.
Ana’s breathing was soft through the monitor. The hum of the city outside filtered in faintly through the curtains. But here, in this bed, there was only warmth. And you.
You didn’t speak for a while. Neither of you did.
You stayed lying beside her, not touching, not rushing. The kind of nearness that said more than closeness ever could. And Natasha—who had known how to kill a man in a dozen ways before she ever learned how to ask for help—just let herself exist in the moment.
Eventually, your voice broke through the dark.
“Do you miss it?”
She turned her head slightly, eyes finding you in the half-light. “Miss what?”
“The life before this.” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Before Ana. Before… quiet mornings and lavender soap and someone needing you all the time.”
Natasha took a long breath. Then shook her head.
“No,” she said. “I was good at it. But I never wanted to go back to that.”
You nodded, slow. Processing.
“I didn’t think you’d say that,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Everyone talks about you like you were unstoppable. Like you were this myth in red.”
Natasha smiled faintly. “I was a myth. But it wasn’t peace. It was noise. Constant noise. I didn’t realize how tired I was until she was born.”
You looked over at her. “And now?”
She met your eyes. “Now it’s like… I finally exhaled. Like I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I saw her.”
There was a pause. You shifted slightly, the sheets rustling just a little. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to have her,” Natasha corrected gently. And then, after a beat, her voice softer: “And I think I’m starting to feel the same way about you.”
You blinked. Slowly. As if the words had knocked the air out of you without even touching you.
“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, eyes flickering down. “Just because I’ve been showing up. I mean… anyone would, right?”
“No,” Natasha said simply.
She reached out then—not boldly, but with certainty—and let her hand rest on your arm, grounding, warm. “Not anyone. You.”
You swallowed hard, and for a second, she thought you might pull away. Instead, you turned toward her a little more, eyes clearer than she’d seen them all night.
“I didn’t think I had room for this,” you said, and the way your voice cracked a little almost broke her. “Not just the kid thing. Any of it. I have lived on my own since I was seventeen. I wasn’t built for this kind of… closeness. I thought it would break me.”
You let out a shaky breath. Then, tentatively, like you were still surprised it was allowed, you reached for her hand and held it fully this time.
“Sometimes I think she knew before I did,” you said.
“Who?” Natasha asked.
“Ana.” Your voice turned fond. “She just… decided. I walked into that briefing room and it was over. She picked me. I never stood a chance.”
Natasha smiled again—tired, wrecked, but so full of feeling it ached.
“She does have good taste.”
“Yeah,” you said, thumb brushing over hers. “She really does.”
Another pause. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full—of something new, something forming in the quiet between you.
“I can stay,” you said again, softer. “Not just tonight. If you’ll let me.”
Natasha didn’t answer right away.
She looked at you, fully and openly, and saw the way you looked back—unguarded, raw, still scared, but trying.
Trying for them.
So she gave you the simplest answer she could.
“You already are.”
You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, eyes barely open, red hair a damp halo on her pillow, face soft in a way the world rarely got to see. That expression—the quiet, raw one that didn’t come from war zones or missions or victory, but from something quieter. Something safe.
You shifted, slow and careful, until your body was turned fully toward her. And then, without asking, without needing to, you reached out and wrapped your arm around her waist. Gently, but without hesitation.
Natasha didn’t tense. Didn’t joke or protest or pretend to be made of stone.
She just let you do it.
And when you pulled her against you—when you guided her into your space like she belonged there—she went easily. Folded into you like she’d been waiting for it all along. Her back settled against your chest, her breath hitched just once, and then her whole body melted.
You held her close. Not like she might disappear, but like you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to. Like holding her was the most natural conclusion to every shared moment before this.
Your arm tucked snugly around her waist. Your nose brushed the back of her hair. She smelled like clean skin, steam, and something faintly herbal—maybe Ana’s baby shampoo, clinging to her like a memory. She was warm and exhausted and completely real.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world could’ve fallen apart around you and it wouldn’t have mattered.
“Is this okay?” you murmured against her shoulder, voice almost lost in the dark.
She nodded, a slow movement against your pillow. “It’s more than okay.”
You felt her fingers brush yours where they rested on her stomach, weaving through them with deliberate care. Not asking. Not rushing. Just saying I’m here.
And she didn’t speak again. Didn’t need to. She let out a shaky sigh—half relief, half something deeper—and her muscles softened further in your arms. She nestled closer, fitting her body more tightly to yours until you could feel every small breath, every quiet shift, every wordless surrender.
You held her tighter. Pressed your forehead lightly to the back of her neck. Whispered her name once, like a promise.
And when she finally fell asleep like that—safe, held, loved—you stayed awake just a little longer. Listening to her breathing even out. Feeling the weight of her against you.
It had been weeks since Natasha had felt the warmth of your embrace for more than a fleeting moment. Your once bustling mornings, where you’d share quiet cups of coffee and stolen glances, had become a distant memory. Instead, Natasha watched the clock tick as she waited for you to finish whatever mission or task had consumed your attention for the day.
When you finally appeared, it was never long enough. Five minutes for a rushed lunch, barely enough time to talk, before you’d sprint off for another meeting, debriefing with Steve, or diving into Tony’s chaos. Natasha tried not to take it personally, but as the days passed, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being left behind.
She had suggested lunch together, but you were too caught up.
"I have five minutes, and then I need to brief Steve on the mission,” you had said, eyes scanning the files in your hands as you quickly stuffed the sandwich into your mouth.
"Five minutes," Natasha echoed, the sting of disappointment lacing her words.
She didn't want to argue or demand more of you, but the gap between the two of you felt insurmountable now. The movie night you had planned, a quiet, cozy evening for the two of you, never came to fruition.
“I can’t, babe. I’m helping Tony with the team’s weapons. I’ll make it up to you,” you had promised, but the days turned into weeks, and Natasha was left curled up on the couch, movie tickets long forgotten.
Then came the nights—quiet nights. Natasha would curl up in bed, waiting for you, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. You’d pass through the door just as she was about to fall asleep, your face flushed from running through the day’s tasks. She’d offer a smile, but you would always say the same thing.
“Don’t wait up. I have a ton of files to go through.”
And Natasha would nod, pretending everything was fine, even as she lay in the dark, alone.
Sometimes, other members of the team would come by, but they were too busy to stay long, and Natasha wasn’t about to burden them with her own loneliness. She didn’t want to be the needy partner who demanded attention. So, she tried to fill the silence by keeping busy, like working on her own training or catching up with Clint, but even that didn’t erase the quiet emptiness she felt in your absence.
You hadn’t realized. Or maybe, you hadn’t noticed how much you’d drifted away. Your focus was on the mission, on keeping the team safe, on the work that needed to be done, and Natasha understood that. She wasn’t angry with you. But somewhere between the late nights and early mornings, she had slipped through the cracks.
And with the passing weeks, Natasha's growing discomfort seemed to only intensify. She had always been strong, capable, but the changes happening in her body, combined with your increasing absence, were slowly eating away at her. She tried to brush it off, to remain the confident, fierce Black Widow, but deep down, doubts gnawed at her.
Her body had changed as the baby grew, and she could feel her insecurities creeping in. The soft curves, the slight roundness in her belly, the changes she couldn’t ignore. She knew, intellectually, that it was natural, that this was a process she was supposed to embrace. But all she could see was the woman she once was slipping further and further from view, replaced by someone unfamiliar.
And you, the person she needed most, were always busy. You were still there, but you weren’t really there. You’d rush in and out, offering half-hearted apologies when you saw the sadness in her eyes, but it never seemed enough. She didn’t want to burden you more, didn’t want to add to your already overflowing plate, so she remained silent, trying to make do with the little moments she could grab in between your tasks.
But then, as the days stretched into weeks, something shifted. The way you looked at her, or maybe the way you didn’t look at her. It was subtle at first, but Natasha started to feel invisible. Was it the baby? Was she no longer desirable to you? The fear of you losing interest in her started to fester deep inside. She knew you loved her, but that didn’t make the pain of being neglected any less real.
She tried to convince herself that it was just the stress, the weight of being an Avenger, but the fear of you leaving her, especially with the baby on the way, made her chest tighten. And it all festered until that fateful night.
--
It wasn't that late but the house was dark and quiet, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound as you slipped inside. The mission had wrapped up early, for once, and instead of your usual routine of staying to finish reports or help Tony tweak weapons, you’d decided to come home. Natasha had been on your mind all day, you missed her and wanted to see your favourite person and soon-to-be other favourite person (your baby) again.
As you walked down the hallway toward your bedroom, you noticed the faint light seeping through the slightly ajar door. You slowed, intending to surprise her, but the soft sound of her voice made you pause.
Natasha was talking. No, she was… whispering.
You peeked through the crack in the door, and your heart clenched at the sight. She was sitting up in bed, her arms wrapped protectively around her swollen belly, her head bowed as though in deep conversation. Her voice was thick with emotion, barely above a whisper, but every word carried the weight of her pain.
“Hey, малютка,” she began, her tone soft and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t heard in months. “It’s just us again tonight. I guess that’s nothing new, huh?”
You froze, your breath catching in your throat. She thought she was alone, pouring her heart out to the child growing inside her.
“I know she’s busy. She’s saving the world, like always. And I’m so proud of her. I really am,” Natasha said, her hand rubbing gentle circles over her belly. “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I’m the only one here. Like she’s forgotten about us.”
Your chest tightened, the guilt clawing at your insides as you stayed rooted in place, unable to interrupt her.
“Maybe it’s me,” Natasha continued, her voice cracking. “Maybe she’s just... not attracted to me anymore. I mean, look at me.” She let out a hollow laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. “I’m not the same woman she married. I’m bigger, slower, more emotional. I cry at stupid things like movies now. I wouldn’t blame her if she looked at me and thought, ‘This isn’t who I fell in love with.’”
“No, Nat,” you whispered under your breath, tears stinging your eyes.
“She probably thinks I’m too clingy,” Natasha said after a long pause. “But it’s just... I miss her. I miss the way she used to hold me, talk to me, look at me like I was her entire world. And now... now I feel like I’m just another thing on her to-do list.”
You wanted to burst in, to tell her how wrong she was, but you couldn’t move. Her words pinned you in place, each one hitting you like a punch to the gut.
Natasha’s voice softened again, almost a whisper. “I’m scared, малютка . What if she leaves? What if she realizes she doesn’t want this life, doesn’t want me... or you?”
Your knees nearly buckled as she continued, her words slicing through you like shards of glass.
“I’m trying to be strong for us. But some days, I feel like I’m falling apart.” Natasha sniffled, her voice trembling. “I just hope... I hope you’ll know how much I love you. Even if she doesn’t stay, you’ll always have me. I promise, okay?”
That was it. You couldn’t take another second of her pain. Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, and Natasha’s head snapped up, her tear-streaked face a mixture of shock and mortification.
“Y/N?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “How long have you been standing there?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too thick, and the shame was too heavy. Instead, you crossed the room in a few quick strides, sinking to your knees in front of her.
“Tasha,” you choked out, your voice breaking, unable to conjure any words.
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly, reaching for your hands. “No, Y/N, I didn’t mean—”
“No,” you interrupted, your voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to downplay it. I’ve been so blind, so caught up in everything else, that I didn’t even see how much I’ve hurt you.”
Your eyes glistened as you looked up at her, your heart breaking at the sight of her swollen belly and the raw pain in her eyes. “I’ve been such a selfish idiot, Nat. You’re my wife. You’re carrying our child, and I’ve been neglecting you. I let you feel alone, and I let you doubt yourself. God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
Natasha tried to squeeze your hands, to reassure you, but it only made you feel worse. “I know you’re busy,” she began, her voice soft and hesitant. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, don’t,” you pleaded, cutting her off. “Please don’t make excuses for me. I don’t deserve it. I’ve been putting everything else first when it should have been you. I’ve been taking you for granted, and I hate myself for it.”
She hesitated, her lips trembling, and you could see the walls she’d tried to build around her pain start to crumble. “I just... I didn’t want to be a burden,” she admitted quietly.
“You could never be a burden,” you said firmly, cupping her face in your hands. “You and our baby are the most important things in my life. And I’ve been so stupid, Nat. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I didn’t realize what I was doing to you, to us.”
“I’m so sorry, I—please forgive me, Nat. I promise, I promise, I’ll be here. I’ll be here for you, for the baby. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”
She looked up at you, her eyes filled with tears of her own, and for a moment, she was silent. But then she nodded, slowly, her face softening with the first real sense of relief you’d seen from her in weeks.
“You mean it?” Her voice was small, fragile, but hopeful.
“I mean it,” you whispered, pulling her into your arms, holding her tightly. “I’ll be here, Nat. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. You’ll never feel alone again.”
She melted into your embrace, her arms wrapping around you as her tears fell silently against your skin.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I’ve missed you so much.”
"I missed you too", you whispered back with a kiss to her forehead.
And you held her tighter, never wanting to let go. The weight of the past weeks hung between you, but in that moment, as you both finally allowed the distance between you to close, it felt like there was hope. Hope that, despite everything, you could fix this. You could be the partner she deserved. The mother of your child. The one she needed.
Summary: You give Natasha a visit in Norway and remind her she has more friends to call on for help.
Warnings: fluff, implied sexual themes
Words: 1300
Pulling up to the safehouse, Natasha’s eyes narrow as she catches a faint trail of smoke curling from the trailer’s ventilation.
Instinct kicking in, she turns off the engine and quickly reaches for the gun stashed in the glove compartment.
She’s still on the run, and Rick isn’t due to check in for another week, which means the sign of someone else being here is a red flag she can’t ignore.
Sliding out of the car, Natasha moves silently. As she approaches the door, her grip on the weapon tightens as she takes a steadying breath.
With a practiced calm, she swings open the door, stepping inside swiftly with her gun raised. Her eyes dart across the room, scanning for any immediate threats.
But instead of chaos or an ambush, she’s met with the quiet, domestic sound of sizzling food.
Your back is to her, the scent of spices mingling in the air as you casually tend to whatever is cooking on the stove.
You don’t even flinch at her dramatic entrance.
“You should go freshen up, love. Dinner will be ready in ten,” you say, your tone easy and unbothered, not even sparing a glance in her direction, as though she hadn’t just stormed in with a weapon aimed at your head.
Natasha freezes, her suspicion warring with confusion. She sweeps her gaze around the small trailer once more, confirming that you’re alone, before finally lowering her gun with a disbelieving huff.
Her tension melts into exasperation as she holsters her weapon and crosses her arms.
“What are you doing here?” she demands.
You chuckle softly, finally turning to face her. The spatula in your hand gestures toward the small, cluttered living space.
“I came by to drop off your package,” you reply, your tone light but with a teasing edge.
Natasha’s eyes flick to the black case sitting on the rickety table. She knows without opening it what’s inside—customized weapons and gadgets uniquely gathered and prepared for her.
Like you’ve done countless times before for her.
“I didn’t order anything,” she says skeptically.
“Hmm, you’re right. You didn’t,” you say with an exaggerated nod. “You called Mason instead. And he got you this…quaint little setup.”
The lights flicker as if on cue, emphasizing your skepticism about the condition of the safe house.
Natasha catches the faint jealous pout in your tone and sighs, moving closer until she’s leaning against the counter beside you.
“It’s nothing personal,” she murmurs, her voice softening. “I just needed something quick and discreet.”
Your lips twitch into a slight smirk as you turn to her. Without warning, you tug her closer, capturing her lips in a kiss.
You nip at her bottom lip in reprimand before pulling back, your eyes glinting with amusement.
“Love, isn’t that how most of our…entanglements end up?”
Natasha huffs a soft laugh, her smirk matching yours. Her hands find your waist, pulling you in closer.
“How much longer did you say dinner would take?”
Your grin widens as you turn off the stove, tilting your head closer to hers.
“All done,” you whisper against her lips.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
Leaning back against the wall of the trailer, Natasha sits on the bed, a now reheated plate of food in her hands. She eats quietly, her mind half on the simple meal you had prepared and half on the intimate moments you and she shared earlier.
The room is still, save for the occasional flicker of the dim overhead light and the low murmur of your voice.
At the edge of the bed, you handle a phone call that interrupted your dinner with her.
“No worries, love, I can get it to you by then,” you say smoothly, your voice oozing charm as you multitask, the phone pressed between your ear and shoulder while you pull on your pants.
Natasha’s brow arches slightly at your casual use of the term of endearment. Setting her plate aside, she moves toward you.
“Have I ever let you down?” you continue your conversation nonchalantly, though, the slight tilt of your head indicates you notice her movement behind you.
Wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, she leans into you, her warmth pressing against your back. Without a word, she begins trailing soft, deliberate kisses along your bare shoulder, her lips lingering just enough to send a message.
For a split second, your voice falters, the smooth flow of your words disrupted. You clear your throat, attempting to maintain composure.
“I—I gotta go,” you murmur into the phone, your tone edged with faint exasperation as Natasha’s kisses continue. “Mmhmm, I’ll call back later with the details.”
You end the call quickly, sliding the phone onto the table before turning to face her.
Your expression is a blend of amusement and mock disapproval as you take her in. “Really?”
Natasha shrugs innocently, feigning ignorance as she murmurs against your shoulder, “I thought I was ‘love.’”
Your lips curl into a smirk, your brow quirking as you tilt your head to meet her gaze.
“Oh, are we making certain things between us exclusive now?” you reply, your tone light but carrying a playful challenge.
Natasha huffs a small laugh and rolls her eyes, pointedly ignoring your question as she leans back on her elbows, watching you with a small smile as you finish getting dressed.
After zipping up your jacket, you lean over the bed, running your hand along her bare legs before resting it on her thigh.
“I do have other clients besides you, you know,” you say, rubbing your hand in small circles before pinching her skin lightly, “Just like how you have other contractors.”
Natasha slaps your hand away with a scoff.
“Rick’s just a friend,” she says reassuringly.
You hum thoughtfully, your smirk widening.
“And you’re the only client I ever end up in bed with.”
Her lips curve into a faint smile, unable to hide the flicker of satisfaction at your reassuring words.
Grinning, you pick up the black case from the table and set it on the bed.
“So…I guess that means we’ve come to an understanding.”
But Natasha’s smile fades as she pushes the case back toward you.
“I can’t take that.”
“If it’s about payment, I can give you a discount this time,” you offer, your tone playful. “Considering your…circumstances.”
“It’s not that.” Natasha shakes her head, her gaze dropping to the bed. There’s a moment of hesitation, a rare crack in her usual composure. Finally, she murmurs softly, “I don’t want to drag you into my problems.”
Your expression softens, the teasing edge replaced by something more genuine. You step closer, catching her chin lightly with your fingers, tilting her face up until her eyes meet yours.
“That’s sweet, love,” you say gently, your voice warm but unwavering. “But unfortunately for you, you’re my favorite client. That means your problems? They matter to me, too.”
Her lips part slightly, a breath catching as the weight of your words settles in.
You smile, a slow and reassuring curve of your lips, at the sight of the Black Widow so caught off guard by the care laced in your voice and tap her nose playfully in goodbye.
Before she can respond, you turn on your heel, heading toward the door.
Pausing in the archway, you glance over your shoulder, your silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from outside.
“Oh, and,” you add, your voice carrying a casual charm that hides just how much you mean it, “whenever you want an upgrade from this charming little safehouse, you know how to contact me.”
A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you lock eyes with her one last time.
“Always looking forward to your call, love.”
And with that, you’re gone, leaving Natasha sitting there, a small, fond smile on her lips.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
a/n: just a little cute fluff before I get back into my series. thank you for reading!
Request:What about Luke's first time saying mom or Mama to R? I know she'd be over the moon! Or maybe if you wanted to share Luke's words with both Nat and r while he's sitting on the ground playing ball with midnight and he points at both both r and Nat on opposite ends of the couch and squeals Mama!
The car was a madhouse.
Luke’s wails pierced the air, his little fists thrashing against the straps of his car seat. He hated being strapped in, and it didn’t help that it was after school — when his patience was nonexistent. Paige, from her spot in the back, was loudly insisting on playing Cocomelon for the hundredth time, her voice climbing over Luke’s cries.
“I said Cocomelon, Mama! Please, please!” Paige’s pleas turned into whining as she kicked the back of the seat in front of her.
Meanwhile, Charlie, seated directly next to Luke, was on her own mission, talking a mile a minute about something that happened at school. “—and then, Mom, she said I couldn’t have the glitter because Ava took it, but it wasn’t fair because—”
Natasha’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, trying to focus on the road ahead, while you juggled between soothing Luke and listening to Charlie's rambling. Your head was spinning from the constant noise. It was pure chaos, the kind that came with having a car full of kids on a wild, post-school energy high.
“Okay, everyone, let’s just—” You started, turning toward Luke in the back, trying to calm him down.
But the chaos had its own rhythm. No one was slowing down.
Luke screamed a little louder, the pitch of his wails rising.
Paige stomped her feet against the backseat, shouting for her music.
Charlie was still prattling away.
"Dear God, I'm going to walk home from now on," Cara sighed in annoyance. She pressed her headphones tighter into her ear. No matter how much the volume was turned up she couldn't cancel out the sound of her sibling's voices.
Your head pounded.
Natasha's grip on the steering wheel tightened even more. "Okay, everybody!" She yelled, her voice louder than the rest, "Everybody needs to calm down!"
Even Luke’s cries stopped at the sound of Nataha's serious voice. His tiny, tear-streaked face twisted into something determined as he pointed, still hiccupping, toward the front seat where both you and Natasha sat.
“M-mama!” he squealed, the word clear and insistent, cutting through the air like a beacon. His little finger bounced between the two of you. “Mama! Mama!”
"Did he just?" Natasha looked toward you. For a while, Luke's progression with his vocabulary had remained stagnant. His only words were Dog, Ball, and Mine. All very important words of course. But hearing him speak so clearly was new, and his word of choice was enough to make you want to cry.
You nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."
Paige clapped excitedly. "Yes, Lukie, say it again."
Luke's smile grew as he heard Paige's voice. "Mama," he giggled.
You and Natasha looked at each other again, your heart racing as Luke began to point toward Paige, repeating his new favorite word.
"I am not, Mama, silly," Paige laughed. "I'm your sister."
"Ma-ma," Luke said, his tiny brow furrowing. "Out!"
"No, no, don't throw your toy!"
"Ma-ma! Out!"
"It's okay, bud, we're almost home," You reassured.
But that was the wrong thing to say, and soon, his little face was twisting up. "Ma-ma! Mama! Out!"
"Okay, okay, buddy, I've got you," You said, releasing the seatbelt and reaching toward the backseat, undoing Luke's buckles, and scooping him up into your arms. "Let's just pull over for a minute and everyone breathe."
You had no idea if this was the correct way to handle this situation, but what the hell. You needed to get out of the car anyway.
The moment the car pulled over, Luke calmed down, his tears disappearing like they'd never been there at all. "Mama," he cooed, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss against your cheek.
"Thank you," Natasha breathed.
"No problem," You laughed, holding Luke close to you.
Summary: R and Nat talk about divorce and what their lives look like now
note: Idk what this is fr I just wanted to write it
This is about 3 years in the future from the actual timeline.
The kitchen is quiet, a gentle hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of dishes in the sink are the only sounds breaking the peace. You and Natasha are in one of those rare moments of solitude, settled into your domestic routine.
You sit on the kitchen counter, your legs dangling over the edge, a pile of mail spread out before you. You sift through it with a relaxed focus, your eyes skimming the envelopes and papers, while Natasha, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea in hand, vents her frustrations.
“Charlie was just—” Natasha begins, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “She gave me such attitude this week. I thought that was something we’d have to deal with when she’s a teenager, not now.”
You nod and hum your agreement, sorting the pile of letters into bills, junk, and others. The first pile is already quite large and will be a pain in the ass to sort through. You mentally remind yourself to look over the online bill payment settings again, as you have for the past month or so, to see if there are any new updates or if anything is still glitch.
As Natasha continues to recount Charlie’s most recent bout of rebellion, you can't help but grin, knowing exactly how your wife feels.
"She is a preteen. 11 years old is a pretty big deal," You offer her. You look up, catching Natasha’s gaze with a knowing smile. “You mean you don't like the whole ‘don’t tell me what to do’ thing?”
"I definitely don't," Natasha groaned. "It's almost like everything I say goes in one ear and out the other. And the whole smart mouth thing..."
"Well, when she was younger you told me not to scold her on it," You shrugged. "Remember when there was a time I was the one that was too strict."
"Yeah, yeah, but this is different. She's starting to get mouthy with me, and it's not cute anymore."
"I know, babe."
Natasha huffed and leaned forward, placing her mug down next to you. "I want to ground her for life."
You barked out a laugh, reaching a hand forward to squeeze Natasha's shoulder. "Babe, no."
"She's lucky she's cute," Natasha muttered, turning back to grab her tea. "Even though it's wearing off."
You smiled and shook your head, turning back to the mail.
"Speaking of teenagers, what happened with Cara? She's been out a bit late these days." Natasha asked.
"She's eighteen," You remind her. "She has her own curfew. We don't have to worry about her as much. Taking a year off to figure out what she wants to do with school hasn't been easy on her."
"Yeah, you're right," Natasha sighed.
She was quiet for a moment, and you heard the gentle scrape of the wooden spoon against the ceramic mug as she stirred her tea.
"So... I guess what I'm saying is I don't like having to parent my daughter," Natasha finally spoke up. "And I'm tired of Charlie and her attitude. It's getting exhausting."
"Oh, really?" You replied, looking up. You caught her gaze and grinned, tilting your head to the side. "What about your wife? You can't handle her either?"
Natasha chuckled. "Oh, I can definitely handle my wife."
"Yeah, well, that's good, " You looked into her eyes. "Charlie will get better. Give her time and talk to her more. Let her know you're there."
"Why doesn't she hate you?"
"I'm the cool mom," You shrugged. "It's practically a crime. Plus, Cara took me through the ringer so I guess it's high time you receive that."
Natasha pouted. "Not fair."
"It is," You chuckled. "But seriously, it'll all get better. Kids go through changes. We can't expect her to stay the same sweet little girl forever. But the good news is, when we get to the worst of it, we can always give her to my mom."
Natasha let out a chuckle and nodded. "Alright, I'll hold you to that."
You smiled and turned back to the mail. After a moment, Natasha began to stir her tea once more. You check your phone, deciding to check your messages when you find one from Denise. One of your mutual friends from college is divorcing her husband.
"Oooh, Denise says Jude and Nadine are getting divorced," You say, looking up.
Natasha raises a brow. "Oh? Why?"
"Apparently he was sleeping with her friend," You replied, reading the message. "Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you."
"About?"
"The friend's pregnant."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'll show you the messages," You said, putting the phone down. "That's insane to me. They've been married just as long as you and I have."
Natasha scoffed. "People can have a long marriage and still cheat."
"True," You agreed. "But they were really happy. I thought they were going to last forever."
"Well, not everybody gets lucky," Natasha said.
"That scares me a little," You admit. "I know we're solid but..."
"But?"
"Well, a lot of my friends are starting to split, and... it's weird," You said. "I mean, you remember our first few years. We didn't have the best luck either. Now, we're deeper into it. It's so much easier to get into a routine. We are just as busy if not busier than when we moved into the house. The kids take up most of our time. We don't even have sex like we used to. We're almost on a schedule these days and..."
"And?"
"We can't be that couple," You sighed.
Natasha smiled and leaned in, her lips ghosting over yours. "We are not like that."
You raised a brow. "Are you sure? Because the last time we were really spontaneous was... actually I can't think of a time."
"It's not a big deal, right? As long as we make time for us." Natasha paused. "You're really afraid? Did that message prompt this or was this something you've been thinking of a long time?"
You bit your lip, shrugging. "I'm not sure. I guess it's been building up."
Natasha leaned forward, her fingers brushing the strands of hair out of your face. She pressed her lips against yours, her hand falling to your neck. You closed your eyes, your hands finding her waist.
Natasha's kisses grew in intensity, her tongue sliding into your mouth. Your breath caught in your throat, and you found yourself moaning against her lips.
"Fuck, Nat," You groaned.
Natasha chuckled, pulling back. She placed a few chaste kisses against your lips, then pulled back completely, a satisfied grin on her face.
"Better?" She asked.
"Hmm," You nodded, smiling. "Yes, but I don't know if that eases my worries."
"We are fine," Natasha promised. "I'm glad you're telling me this right now. If it's something you're worried about we can work on it. My parents don't plan on moving out anytime soon. Trust me I've asked. Maybe we can utilize them a bit more." She rested her hand on your bare thigh. "We're just as solid as when we first started. Even more so. We are not the same people we were fifteen years ago. I promise, baby. We are not like them."
You smile, the warmth of her words and touch seeping into your body. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."
"No, you're not. It's okay," Natasha chuckled. "I'm not angry or upset. I want us to have these talks and check in with each other. As for the sex, when we do have sex, I'm just as satisfied now than back then."
"I can't believe you just used that term," You laughed. "Back then."
"It's true," Natasha argued. "Do you feel the same?"
You nod, a grin forming on your face. "I think my libido has grown as I've gotten older. As if that's even possible."
"What I'm hearing is I'm not taking care of you," Natasha moved to stand between your legs. She placed her hand on your knee, rubbing gentle circles against the skin.
"That's not what I meant," You insisted.
"Sure it's not," Natasha grinned. "Maybe I need to remind you just how good I can make you feel."
"Yeah?" You smirked, your arms wrapping around her neck. "Prove it."
"With pleasure."
Natasha pressed her lips against yours once more, her hands sliding up and down your thighs. She squeezed and massaged the skin, her lips molding with yours.
Your hands slid down her back, resting at the hem of her shirt. You pulled her closer, your tongues meeting in a passionate embrace.
Natasha pulled back, a low groan rumbling from her chest. "Fuck."
"What?"
"Luke."
"What?"
Natasha stepped back, holding a finger to her lips so you could be quiet. Sure enough, you heard the heavy footsteps of your four-and-a-half-year-old along with the scraping of dog nails. Luke walked into the kitchen sleepily, his hands holding gently to Midnight's fur, as he looked between the two of you.
"Can I have a drink?" He asked.
"Of course, sweetie," You answered.
"Do you want some juice?" Natasha asked.
Luke nodded, his eyes drifting shut. "Apple please."
"Okay, sit down, and I'll get you a glass," Natasha said, moving to grab the juice out of the fridge.
Luke stumbled to the table, and Midnight followed, plopping down beside him.
"We will finish this I promise," Natasha leaned over to quickly peck your lips.
Summary: Reader has a tiktok account and she decides to do the "I think you're bad in bed" prank on Natasha.
note: I really don't know what this is. I saw it on tiktok and decided to write it. if i cringed you also have to experience it.
this can be any universe really.
w/c: 1k
You and Natasha are about to head out for a drive, and you had a fun idea to capture a bit of the day for your TikTok account. You'd set up the camera before she slid into the driver's seat. You placed the phone on the dashboard, using a small, inconspicuous car mount that you’ve cleverly tucked away. The mount is just the right height to capture both of you without being too obvious. You adjust the angle, making sure the camera is aimed perfectly to catch the both of you.
"Are you recording us?"
You nod silently. "Just for memories." You inform her. You sit back into the passenger's seat and watch the scenery go by.
"So…I was thinking of going to Target later and getting us a few things for the house," Natasha tried. "I think I can get in and out without being recognized."
"Sounds good." You nodded. "If we need more detergent, I'll add that to the list."
"Ok, and maybe some new sheets. Those are getting pretty old."
"They are pretty old, aren't they?" You continue. The car ride is silent for the next few minutes and you glance at the camera to make sure it's still recording.
"You're awfully quiet today," Natasha mentions. She's so used to you talking up a storm whenever you get the chance.
"I'm just tired." You shrug. "It's been a long week."
"I feel that." Natasha nods. "Anything on your mind?"
You pause dramatically, picking at your nails before you look at her. "I need to tell you something and I kind of don't know how to say it." Your heart beats in your chest. How could you explain this? It's a prank so of course she will be clueless but you are unsure of how to go about it.
"You can tell me anything," Natasha said.
"Ok, so the truth is," You begin. "Lately, I've been feeling like you've gotten a little lazier in bed." You say.
Natasha looks over at you with a blank expression. "What?"
"Like you've been kind of boring in the bedroom." You repeat.
Natasha shakes her head in confusion. "What do you mean by that? Boring?"
"Well, last night, for example. It was your turn to go down on me and it wasn't really your best work."
"Really?" Natasha asks, surprised. "You didn't seem to have a problem."
"I was too embarrassed to tell you."
Natasha's face falls. "Wow. I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's been like that for a while and I didn't want to hurt your feelings," You reach across the console to grab her free hand. "I just want us to have fun together."
"That's what I want too." Natasha agreed.
"We used to have fun."
"Yeah." Natasha agrees.
"So much fun." You nod. "I just think maybe you can practice a bit more? Try some new techniques or something."
"Oh...well," Natasha's face turns a bit pink and she glances between the road and you. "New techniques? Where do you suggest i practice this?"
"I don't know." You shrug, keeping the smirk off your face. "Maybe start with me?"
Natasha stares straight ahead. "Oh, well, I can try. But I'm not really sure where to start. Can you give me a specific?"
"Hmm, yeah. I'll just go into more detail." You decide.
"Go ahead."
"I guess when you have sex with a woman, you just have to remember the pearl is the center of the universe," You censor yourself for Tiktok of course. "I don't know if you've forgotten where it is or..."
"No, no," Natasha shook her head. "I'm very familiar with where it is. Yours especially."
"Ok, because I'm not sure if you're aware, but when you go down on me, you don't pay enough attention to it," You tell her. "It's almost like you don't like the taste."
Natasha makes a face. "What? That's ridiculous. I love your taste."
"But you're not doing enough."
"Ok."
"You need to be better. Not even just licking around my pearl, but actually sucking it. Really, just doing all that. All the things that are important."
"You know, I'm very confused about where this is coming from," Natasha turned on her indicator to turn into the parking lot. "Like I said last night you were very happy with my performance. Unless you were faking it."
"Of course, I wasn't faking it," You shake your head. "I've been wanting to tell you for a while but I didn't know how. But it's not only that, there are other things too."
"What other things?" Natasha asked.
"I feel like you're not very experimental. Like, I want to have sex in more than just the bed." You say.
Natasha nods. "I guess Tony's lab wasn't experimental enough."
"Babe," You gasp. You turn to the camera and sigh. "I'm going to have to edit that out."
Natasha parks the car. "Why are you saying all this? Is something going on? Are you recording still?"
"Yes, I'm still recording," You admit. "This is for my Tiktok. It's a joke."
"A joke? I knew it had to be," Natasha shakes her head. "Are you going to upload that?"
"Probably."
"Oh, wow." Natasha finally gets a good look at you. "I know this wasn't one hundred percent the truth. You're always so exhausted after we finish. Also, the things you say there's no way you're not getting what you want."
"What does that mean?" You play dumb.
"Oh, baby, fuck me," Natasha pitches her voice higher. "Don't stop. Don't stop." She fake moans and pretends to be you in the moments of passion and pleasure.
"Oh, shut up." You playfully swat her. "I don't sound like that."
"Yes, you do," Natasha chuckles. "Some days I can barely get you to go multiple rounds. You practically fall asleep with me still inside of you."
"Shut up!" You laugh.
Natasha shakes her head at the absurdity of it all. "I can't believe you got me so good. I really thought we were having problems."
"You're cocky," You scoff.
"And you're the queen of the universe, baby." Natasha grins, leaning over to kiss you. "Let's get this over with so we can get home and you can show me how much I don't suck in bed."
"I can't upload this to Tiktok," You sigh.
"Well put it with the other videos that we can't upload."
"Good idea," You reached for the camera and shut it off. So much for being a tiktok star.
Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce
Masterlist | General Masterlist
10/10
w/c: 6.4k
Note: So, this is it. The past three years have added up to this moment. It was so tough finishing this story but we made it. I'm always so nervous for y'all to read the final chapter since I don't want to disappoint the people aka you. But this is all in good fun and thanks for being along for the ride.
Enjoy =)
It’s early. Possibly too early in the morning for Natasha. You lie in bed next to her, peacefully asleep, as she opens her eyes for the first time that morning. She blinks, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering into the room. The familiar scent of the apartment envelops her, a comforting reminder of the life she's trying to rebuild. She takes a moment, lying still, listening to the gentle rhythm of your breathing beside her.
Slipping out of bed carefully, Natasha is mindful not to disturb you. The cool floor beneath her feet is a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed. She takes another glance at your bare form. She heads to the kitchen, your t-shirt draped over her, a small comfort in this new yet familiar setting. The apex of her thighs ache, a welcoming feeling after another night of lovemaking. She rolls her head around her shoulders, hoping to work out any kinks, as she pads further through the apartment. As she starts making coffee, Natasha's thoughts wander. This apartment, your apartment, feels both strange and right. It's not the home you shared before, but a new space where you're trying to rebuild what was lost. The past year of separation and the divorce have changed both of you. Now, with almost ten years of history and two children, things are different.
Natasha pours herself a cup of coffee, reflecting on the differences this time around. She wonders if this reconciliation is real if you both have truly changed and learned from the past. The divorce left its mark, but maybe it also gave you both the clarity you needed.
The coffee machine sputters and groans, as the smell fills the space. She goes through the motions of fixing herself a cup. Natasha leans against the kitchen counter, her eyes glued to the bedroom. Her hands cup the mug, relishing in the warmth that spreads throughout her hands. She uses her foot to scratch an indistinct spot on her leg. She sips at her drink, enjoying the rich aroma and flavor, the taste of the coffee warming her body. She thinks back to the early days of your relationship. How, once, you had made the coffee for her every day. Her mind gets stuck on things like that. Reminiscing. She doesn't dwell, though. That's something new. Instead, Natasha focuses on the here and now. The sound of your breathing in the other room, the taste of her coffee, the soft material of your shirt against her skin.
She tries not to think about the fact that when the two of you make love it's always here. For the past few weeks, it's always been here. Not in your marital home. Not in the bed you bought together. Not underneath the sheets that you picked out and that she'd never replaced. She tried to reason that it was for the sake of the kids. She wanted to reason that this was all for the both of you to get better without the questions and prying eyes of your children.
But she can't deny the real reason.
This apartment, the bed, the sheets. It doesn't have the history of the two of you. It doesn't know the whispered secrets, the heated exchanges, the faint scent of the other's perfume on its cool pillows. Not like her home. Your home. The one that, until a few weeks ago, hadn't been considered as such.
This place feels like a fresh start and a neutral ground. A way for the two of you to be together without any pretenses. Besides the first night she'd stayed here, the two of you don't discuss the divorce. You don't mention counseling even. Every other morning, Natasha would slip back into her clothes and return to the kids. Eventually, hours later, you would come knocking on the door and visit. You'd kiss her sweetly, gently, as if you hadn't fucked her brains out the very night before.
As if the past year didn't happen.
And for the first time in a long time, Natasha is okay with that.
Natasha doesn't want to think too deeply about it.
You've moved past the divorce, she's moved past the divorce. She hopes. She hears shuffling coming from the bedroom. Her senses are heightened as she anticipates you waking up but you don't.
Another noise disturbs her solitude. A knock at the door. That's a first. From what she's heard you don't usually get visitors.
She gently places her mug on the counter and walks over to the door. She stands on the tip of her toes to peer through the peephole. She doesn't recognize the person on the other side. She fixes her shirt and unlocks the door. She's met with someone of a similar height. A young girl who could be no more than fourteen. Her makeup is slightly heavy, a bit too mature for her age, but meticulously applied.
"Oh, hi," The girl rocks slightly on the tip of her toes. She glances at the door number in confusion before looking back at Natasha. "Is y/n here?"
"Y/n?" Natasha repeats. Her eyes narrow as she takes in the girl's appearance.
"Yes, I'm here for y/n," The girl repeats as if Natasha has comprehension issues. "The owner of this apartment unless she moved without telling us. Probably is something she would do."
"What business do you have with y/n?" Natasha asks, crossing her arms across her chest. She can feel the cool material of her shirt rub against her skin.
"I just came to bring her package," The girl offers a small package to Natasha. "Here. The Amazon lady keeps dropping it off at our door. I don't think she cares who it belongs to."
"Oh, okay," Natasha drops her arms. She takes the package in her hands.
"Are you her girlfriend or something?"
"Or something," Natasha says. "Who are you?"
"I'm Mallory, you can call me Mal," The girl nods. "I live across the hall." Mal inspects Natasha's choice of clothing and then whistles. "I didn't interrupt anything did I? You’re pretty. Hey, I know you."
"You do?" Natasha isn't all that surprised.
"You're the woman in the pictures," Mal grins. "The ex-wife she's still hung up on."
Natasha's heart beats loudly. Her interest is piqued by how well this kid knows you. "You've seen pictures?"
"Well, not the ones she's got framed," Mal explains. "But she had a bunch in an album and shit. You guys were so cute. Too bad it didn't work out between you. Though considering you're not even wearing panties I'd think it's going fine."
"Excuse me?" Natasha doesn't make a move to tug the shirt down. That would mean this teenager wins and she wants to call the girl's bluff.
"Lucky guess," Mal shrugs.
"Mal, who are you talking to?" A voice calls from behind them as the door across the hall opens. Natasha watches a woman, possibly a few years older than the teenager, approach the doorway. "Oh, hi."
"Mom," Mal carries this shit-eating grin as she looks at the other woman. "This is y/n's ex-wife. You know the one she's been moping about for a while now."
"Nice to meet you," The woman extends her hand out to Natasha. "I'm Sarah. My daughter's a little blunt, but I'm not as rude as she is. Sorry if she bothered you."
"Oh, no she's not a bother," Natasha assures the woman. She looks back at the teen. "She's been a delight."
"Good," Sarah nods. She grabs the collar of the girl's shirt. "That's why she doesn't have many friends."
"I have friends," Mal argues. "Y/n's a friend. I'm the one that's told her to get back in the saddle. Are you going to break her heart again? That would be messed up for you. Of course, after all of the pretty women she's turned down, she deserves something good."
"Pretty women?" Natasha questions. She can't hide the frown on her face.
"Yeah," Mal laughs. "Y/n's been getting a lot of attention. The whole building knows. You've been missed. Don't hurt her again."
"I'm not planning on it," Natasha promises.
"Good," Sarah grins. She tugs on her daughter's shirt, pulling the girl inside. "Nice meeting you."
"Nice meeting you, too," Natasha smiles distractedly before closing the door behind her. She locks it just in time for her to hear the shuffle of your feet entering the kitchen.
"There's my shirt," You mumble as you eye her outfit. You opted for a clean one and boxers after not being able to find the one you'd stripped last night. "Hi, baby." You whisper as you close the distance between you. You rest your hands on her waist beneath the fabric as you plant a kiss on her lips. "Mhmm, you taste good." You dive in for another kiss.
"Y/n," Natasha hums. She feels you tug the hem of the shirt up and over her waist. Her bare bottom is exposed, but you keep her pressed against the door. "There's something you've been keeping from me."
"Hmm?" Your lips press against her pulse point, your hand tracing her inner thigh.
"A teenage girl and her mother were at your door," Natasha sighs. "They called me pretty. Told me a bunch of new things about you."
"I've been doing a lot of things," You mutter, kissing the exposed part of her shoulder.
"They mentioned," Natasha closes her eyes, feeling your fingers trace along the outside of her folds. "How many women have approached you? " She slightly pushes at your chest to get you to stop. You know that tone in her voice. It's not a playful one.
"A few have," You admit. "I didn't encourage anything. I wasn't interested. Why are we talking about this right now?"
"You're not interested?" Natasha questions.
"Not at all," You tilt your head. "Also, I wouldn't just say it's been that many women. Sarah and Mal are just fucking with you. Probably getting back at me for canceling our weekly dinner thing."
"Weekly dinner thing?" Natasha repeats. Her eyes are suddenly distant. It's almost as if she's debating on whether or not to make this a thing. "How often was that going on?"
"Every week for about six months," You answer, stepping away from her. "It's not a big deal. They've had a lot of people in their lives come and go. They're welcoming. Mal is a great kid once you get to know her."
"You know her," Natasha continues.
"Well, yeah she comes to the dinners too," You shrug. You take the box from her hands and step over to the counter to open it. if you weren't going to get any play you might as well open the surprise you'd gotten for yourself.
"Right, the kid that knew a lot about me," Natasha huffs.
"That should be a good thing right?" You glance over at her. You dump the contents of the box, a new pair of airpods after you've lost the last ones. "Is this going to be a conversation about how you think I'm sleeping with Sarah?"
"Should it be?" Natasha raises a brow.
"No, it shouldn't," You shake your head. "Are you jealous?"
"No," Natasha shakes her head. "I trust you. I just want to know more."
"Nat, it's nothing," You insist. "What's the big deal?"
"You didn't tell me," Natasha argues. "That while our kids were yearning and missing you, you were over here playing house with another woman and her kid. While Ryan and Emma got your voicemail inbox this kid got first in line to the family photo albums."
"That's not the case," You sigh. "It's not a thing, Nat."
"It's not?" Natasha scoffs. You didn't realize this would be an argument. You forgot how she finds the littlest things to dwell on.
"Did you just expect me not to have any friends?" You questioned. "If that's the thing you're mad at fine. I don't get it. You're insinuating that I was playing house with her is far from the truth."
"Were you?" Natasha challenges.
"Why are you doing this?" You sigh. You can't believe that this good day was turning into this. "I don't understand. I was lonely. Sarah was there for me. Mal is kind of just a part of the package. She let me vent to her. My not being there for the kids was my mistake. One I'm trying to make up for. It's kind of like your thing with Richard except she doesn't want to fuck me." Okay. You could have left that part out but you're honestly kind of annoyed at this entire thing.
"She doesn't want to?" Natasha laughs. "I thought you said you weren't interested. How can you know if she wanted to fuck you or not?"
"Because she's straight," You huff. "She's not going to want to fuck me."
You stand from your seat. "This is getting more ridiculous by the minute. If I knew a friend knocking on the door would trigger you this much I would have given you the warning to never open it. Actually, let me warn you Beatrice from the second floor likes to play bingo on Tuesday nights."
"Funny," Natasha rolls her eyes.
"is something wrong? You're picking a fight based on nothing," You sigh. "I'm sorry about the kids. Like I said it's something I'm working on. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows over here."
"It wasn't like it was with us," Natasha points out.
"Natasha," You start.
"Do you not think this is weird?" Natasha asks. "We haven't talked about it."
"Talked about what?" You grasp at straws. You don't know where the conversation is heading.
"Everything," Natasha throws her hands in the air. "We haven't spoken about it."
"I thought we've talked a lot," You are genuinely confused.
"We have but we haven't," Natasha's eyes narrow.
"Okay," You nod. "Let's talk. We can sit down and have a discussion. Just not when you're trying to accuse me of sleeping with some random woman and raising her child."
"It's just...a little hard to believe," Natasha says.
"Nat, I can assure you there was no one else," You sigh.
"I wasn't saying that," Natasha mutters.
"Okay, so let's sit down and discuss this," You gesture over to the couch. "Though you might want to put on panties first if you want me to keep my distance."
"Y/n," Natasha rolls her eyes.
"Hey, you started it," You hold up your hands.
Natasha takes a few steps to the couch and sits down. You sit a comfortable distance away, leaving room between the two of you.
"I know you guys thought I abandoned the kids," You frown. "It's not my best moment. I was going through a lot. It was inconsiderate of me. Selfish even."
"They cried for you," Natasha says with tears in her eyes. "Frequently."
"I didn't know," You frown. You didn't know how bad the situation was. "I'm sorry. I wish I could make up for it."
"You're not abandoning them now," Natasha reminds you.
"Never," You shake your head.
"I have a temper," Natasha spoke more to herself.
"Yes," You laugh. "I can remember."
"I just," Natasha takes a breath. "I just get a bit jealous."
"That's understandable," You nod. "You're possessive. A little whiplash comes with the territory."
"Is that why you left?" She looks at you curiously.
"That's not the reason," You shake your head.
"Why'd you leave?" Natasha questions. "Please be honest."
"You have no idea what it was like in my head," You frown. "The two of us weren't a team. Not like we should have been. We weren't even in the same book. We weren't reading from the same script. I was so focused on everything else that I didn't see what was happening in front of me."
"Was that it?" Natasha whispers. "That's the reason?"
"Part of it," You mutter.
"I want the other part," Natasha sighs. "If we're being honest with each other."
"You pick fights," You reminded her of what happened just a few moments ago. "I'm too nonchalant about shit. Fine, I can own up to it. You pick fights. Every day, I would come home. You would pick a fight."
"I wanted you to talk to me," Natasha replies. "I tried."
"I didn't feel like talking," You reply. "I'm sorry. It's not you. It's me. I didn't have anything to say. I was tired. Stress from work. I was afraid to admit that I would rather face that than anything going on at home. So many expectations. So many things to do. So much of people needing me."
"I'm sorry," Natasha nods. "I didn't mean for it to be like that."
"I know," You smile at her. "I'm sorry, too."
"We suck at communication," Natasha looked down at her hands.
"We do," You agree. "I felt we were growing apart and expecting too much from each other. For the record, if I hadn't told you I never stopped being attracted to you. I just couldn't bring myself to have sex. My libido had lessened. With us fighting it didn't make sense to me."
"That's good to know," Natasha says. "You turned me down a lot."
"Not my best decision," You cringe. "How do we come back from all of this while being truthful to ourselves and what happened in the first place? How do we keep that from happening again?"
"We could start by answering why you don't want to sleep over at the house," She suggested.
"I didn't want to," You frown.
"Why not?"
"It feels," You breathe. "Too many bad memories."
"Okay," Natasha nods.
"I know it's our kids' home," You add. "But I can't get past the fact that I left and everything has changed."
"I get that," Natasha hums.
"How do you get over it?" You question. "I've missed so much. How do you not let that cloud everything?"
"It does," Natasha nods. "But when you have two kids depending on you, you kind of just push through."
"How'd you manage?"
"I didn't," Natasha confesses. "For the first few months, I didn't. I didn't talk about you. I didn't show them the pictures."
"You didn't?" You are a little shocked.
"I wasn't ready," She admits. "I didn't know how to. There was this gaping hole. I was sad and angry."
"That's not the impression that was given," You mutter.
"I didn't show them," Natasha replies. "Richard did. I would watch him as he would talk to them about you."
"What?" You raise a brow. "That guy hates me."
"No, he doesn't," Natasha says. "He was disappointed and a little upset."
"Upset?" You question.
"He liked you," Natasha sighs.
"Yeah, okay," You scoff.
"He did," She insists. "Even if he is an asshole. I won't be trying to give you his redemption arc or anything. "
"He is an asshole," You nod.
"So are you," She says.
"What?"
"Sometimes you are," She smiles.
"You're right," You laugh.
"I am too," Natasha admits.
"I didn't think it was possible," You smile.
"What?"
"To fall in love with you twice," You look over at her. "I didn't think that was possible."
"I'm glad you did," Natasha's cheeks flush.
"Our marriage was like a piece of tape," You say suddenly.
"What?"
"It was always there," You shrug. "Trying to stick together. Never able to quite connect. There were a lot of issues that went unresolved. We never addressed the problems."
"I guess so," Natasha nods. "Do you want to fix them?"
"We don't have to," You remind her.
"I would like to," She looks over at you.
"I always wanted the kids," You confess. "I know that's been a doubt. Of course, you won't ask it out loud. I never felt pressured to have them. I wanted them just as much as you did. I want them just as much now."
Natasha bites her lip. It's amazing how well you know her.
"This divorce taught me how to be alone again," Natasha whispers. "I became too dependent on you for my happiness."
"We both did," You nod.
"Trying to have another baby would have been a mistake," Natasha has a look in her eyes. " Trying to have a baby when we weren’t okay would have been a mistake.” She clarifies. “A stupid one. The surprise would have ruined us. We were barely together as is."
"It was something you wanted," You put a comforting hand on her leg. "I would have been happy."
"Yeah?" She raises a brow.
"A little you running around? Not that Emma isn't already that," You shrug. "A lot of couples have babies to fix things."
"I didn't want us to be that couple," She shook her head.
"We wouldn't have," You promise.
"I was selfish," She admits. "I was mad at you for a long time. I didn't want to try."
"Nat, if you had gotten pregnant we would have made it work," You tell her.
"Isn't that crazy to think about?" She muses. "We always just made things work."
"It's how we were," You nod. "Until we couldn't anymore."
"Can I ask you something?" Natasha says after a long moment.
"Always," You nod.
"What do you need from me?"
"To be patient," You answer. "To communicate. I want the truth, even if it's a harsh one. To be my partner, not someone who feels like I'm obligated to do anything. What do you need from me?"
"Time," Natasha replies. "Just give me some time. Time to adjust and not think of the what-ifs. To figure things out. Time to not feel guilty for loving you."
"We're in no rush," You reassure her.
"Who needs marriage counseling now?" She smirked.
"We still do," You chuckled. "You're right. We're a lot alike. We don't talk. We don't have a way with words."
"We just say the wrong ones," Natasha agrees.
"We'll just have to work on that," You say. "Come here." You tug her over to you. Her lips press against yours and you let out a satisfied moan. "You're mine."
"Hmm," She presses her lips against yours. "Only yours."
"Good," You breathe. "Now, where were we?"
"I can't remember," Natasha smiles.
"Let's not remember, together" You pull her onto your lap.
"I like the sound of that." She kisses your lips. Your hands slide under the t-shirt again.
"You really answered the door without panties?" You ask cheekily. "Scandalous."
"It wasn't on purpose," She blushes. Your left-hand rises to toy with her nipples over the shirt. "We can't end all of our discussions with sex."
"No, but it's a great way to make sure we understand each other," You grin. You pinch the nipple and she jerks under your touch.
"You're going to ruin me," She lets out a whimper.
"Only a little," You tease. You kiss her lips and let her take control of the kiss.
"What happens if I don't have sex with you tonight?" Natasha whispers against your lips.
"I'll be disappointed," You say.
"You're going to have to take a raincheck," She replies. "You have lunch with my sister in like two hours."
"Ugh, I forgot," You groan.
"She's not going to go easy on you." She muttered as your kisses began to drift towards her neck. "Don't get too close or she might cut you."
"Natasha?" You mutter to her as you push the t-shirt over her head.
"Mhmm?" She half moans.
"I don't want to talk about your sister while I'm trying to fuck you," You say. "She's a bit of a mood killer."
"Fair," Natasha chuckles. "No more talking about Yelena. No more talking about anything."
"No more," You agree. The next few minutes are done in relative silence. You pepper her chest with kisses while your other hand waste no time finding her clit.
"Oh, god," She moans.
"You're soaked," You tell her. You can feel how wet she is against your thigh.
"You were taking too long," She pouts.
"Well, you were the one who insisted on arguing with me," You shrug. As a slight form of punishment, you tease the entrance of her pussy.
"I was trying to prove a point," She says as she bucks her hips.
"That I'm a whore with a second family?"
"I can't answer that," She breathes.
"You were being ridiculous," You shake your head. "I should be mad."
"Are you?"
"Not anymore," You sigh.
"Then," Natasha's lips move towards your ear. "I don't want to talk."
You smile as your lips find her's. "Neither do I."
****************
"I can't believe my sister has let you into her bed," Yelena says after the waiter leaves.
You sit across from Yelena at the table. You figured a public restaurant in a neutral place would be best. Though you have no doubt she's hiding a knife attached to her thigh or something.
"You don't think she can be forgiving?" You raise a brow.
"It depends on the situation," Yelena shrugs. "Natasha doesn't do anything if she's not a hundred percent on board. I should kill you for how much you hurt her."
"Go ahead," You shrug. "It'll be a lot better than what I've already put her through."
"So, this is you begging for forgiveness," She raises a brow.
"More so," You nod.
"I'm listening," Yelena folds her arms. She leans back in her chair and gives you the floor to speak.
"Wow, that easy?" You question. "I thought you'd want to strangle me by now."
"There's still time."
"Well, I've had a lot of time to think," You nod.
"You're telling me," She rolls her eyes. "The amount of nights I've heard Nat cry herself to sleep was...a lot. It was a lot."
"I'm sorry," You frown. "It wasn't my intention."
"What was your intention?" Yelena questions.
"To figure out how to be a good mother," You answer. "A good person to myself. How to be a person I think."
"How's that going?"
"I'm getting there," You chuckle nervously.
"You have a lot to work on," Yelena nods.
"I know."
"Do you think you and Nat can make it work?"
"I hope so," You drink from your cup.
"I don't like you," Yelena offers. "You messed up a good thing. "
"I'm aware."
"I'm glad that you are," She smirks.
"Are you going to be like this the whole time?" You question.
"Depends, you haven't done enough groveling," She replies.
"Fine," You roll your eyes. "What can I do to prove I'm worth a second chance?"
"That's a good question," She smirks. "I don't know."
"You're going to make me figure it out?"
"Yup," She grins.
"What if you don't like the answer?" You ask.
"Then, you'll never have Nat back."
"I don't think that's one hundred percent true,"
"She's desperate to have her family back," Yelena relents. She hates to admit it. "She wants it to work again because for some reason she still loves you."
"I don't understand why."
"I don't either," Yelena sighs. "I'm trying to see what she sees. But I just can't."
"You knew me before the divorce also," You pointed out. "We were close."
"Yeah," She nods. "Then you left."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry isn't going to cut it."
"I'm going to make this right."
"You said that already," Yelena looks away. "My dad wants to break your arms."
"Why?"
"For making Nat cry," Yelena says. "That's what he does when anyone does that."
"I'll keep an eye out," You nod. "Do you have any idea how long I should be watching my back?"
"A while," Yelena smirks.
"I deserve it," You reply. "I don't mind the threat."
"Have you asked her to marry you again?"
You almost choke on your water. You grab a napkin to wipe at the dribble along your chin.
"No," You sputter. "We've just gotten back together. I mean we haven't even truly defined what this is. We don't even know where we will end up or if this will work. Does she want to?"
"I have no clue," Yelena answers. "Do you want to?"
"Of course, I do," You reply. "She's the love of my life."
"She's a fool to think you are." Yelena sighs.
"You're a great sister," You shake your head.
"I am," She nods. "Nat is the one that's a fool."
"Besides insulting me and her in some odd way, don't you want to ask me anything else?"
"You didn't cheat on her did you?"
"Technically it wouldn't be cheating since we were divorced but no,"
"Good," She nods.
"I would never."
"But you did lie."
"I know."
"What do you see happening if she takes you back? You can't leave her again."
"I won't," You answer. "I want us to go slow this time."
"Is that even possible?"
"It has to be," You nod.
"Okay, that's a good start," Yelena nods. "You're going to have a lot of making up to do."
"I know," You reply.
"This won't be a quick fix," She warns.
"I'm aware."
"It might not even work."
"I hope it does."
"Are you still a season ticket holder to the American baseball games?"
"Yes, why?"
"Can I have your season tickets?"
"I can arrange that." You look at her quizzically.
"Perfect."
"I'm glad you think so."
"That was the hardest one." Yelena relaxes.
"Does this mean you forgive me?"
"No, but I'm closer," Yelena sighs. "I can't forgive you, not yet. It's not up to me, though. It's up to my sister. If she forgives you, then so will I."
"How generous."
"It is."
"Anything else you want?" You raise a brow.
"Can I have your apartment?"
"What? That's a crazy thing to ask."
"Well, eventually when my sister lets you back into the house you're going to let it go."
"Probably."
"You need a new place."
"I have a condo."
"A place that doesn't have any memories."
"Maybe," You sigh. "We haven't talked about living arrangements."
"Just think about it," Yelena insists.
"I'll think about it."
"Good," She nods.
"Are you done now?" You question.
"For now," She shrugs.
You were good.
***************
2 years later…
In the softly lit room of the therapist’s office, Natasha and you sit close together, a quiet sense of anticipation hanging in the air. This is your final session of couples counseling, a moment to reflect on the journey you've undertaken together.
Cheryl begins, her voice calm and encouraging. "Today, we’re going to review all the progress you've made, celebrate your achievements, and talk about what you’ve learned about yourselves and each other."
Natasha glances at you, a small smile playing on her lips. It’s been a long road, filled with challenges and revelations. She thinks about the changes she's seen in herself and you. The walls she built after the divorce have slowly come down, replaced by trust and understanding.
"You both have shown incredible strength and resilience," Cheryl continues. "Natasha, you’ve learned to open up and share your vulnerabilities. And you’ve learned to be patient and supportive, giving y/n the space she needed."
Natasha nods, feeling a swell of gratitude. She remembers the moments of doubt and the times she almost gave up. But looking at you now, she knows it was worth it. The love between you is stronger.
“Y/n, you’ve learned to also open up and share your vulnerabilities and take time for yourself,” Cheryl reads from her notes. "Now, let’s talk about what you've learned about each other, "She prompts.
Taking a deep breath, you speak first. "I've learned that you’re incredibly patient and forgiving. You never gave up on us, even when things were tough. You’ve taught me the importance of communication and trust."
Natasha’s turn comes next. "I've learned that y/n is one of the strongest people I know. She’s been through so much, but she still finds the courage to move forward. I’ve learned to appreciate her resilience and to give her the support she needs."
The therapist smiles warmly. "You’ve both come a long way. Remember to look out for ‘red flags’—signs that things might be slipping. Communication is key, and recognizing these early on can help you address issues before they become bigger problems."
As the session draws to a close, the therapist summarizes your strengths and achievements. "You’ve rebuilt trust, learned to communicate more effectively, and found ways to support each other. Celebrate these victories and keep working on them."
Leaving the therapist’s office, Natasha feels a sense of hope and determination. This final session isn’t just an end; it’s a new beginning. Holding your hand, she knows that, together, you can face whatever comes next.
Now to go home to your kids.
************
When you walk through the door, you hear the familiar sounds of CocoMelon blasting at a ridiculous volume. You make eye contact with Natasha, rolling your eyes, but neither one of you truly feels annoyed by it. You drop your keys on the table and follow her into the living room.
"I thought I told you not to allow her to watch that," Natasha rounds the couch. "It's too overstimulating."
"Mom, you're back," Ryan hops up. "I have to show you what I made on Roblox."
"Sure thing kid," You ruffle his hair. "Where's your sister?"
"Right here," Emma walks into the room occupied by her tablet.
"Oh, hush she likes it," Yelena argues as she bounces the infant in her lap. There are so many conversations going on at once and the drooling baby in her lap turns her head at the voices she hears. Her eyes immediately brighten and she lifts to reach for Natasha.
"Hey, little one," Natasha coos as she takes your daughter into her arms. She plops onto the couch to properly hold her.
"She spit up again," Yelena points out. "I don't know why you guys don't get a proper nanny."
"We don't want that," You sigh as you settle next to Natasha. "I like coming home and having my kids running up to me."
"Plus, the last one was a thief," Natasha adds. "I caught her trying to steal some of my jewelry."
"You two are impossible," Yelena sighs. "So stubborn."
"You could've just said no," You point out.
"I'm not saying no to that face," Yelena pouts. She makes a funny face to which she receives a smile.
"You are going to spoil her," Natasha warns.
"She needs a spoiling."
"She's only six months old," You chuckle. "She doesn't need much."
"She needs the best," Yelena says. "Isn't that right Wren?"
"Bye," Natasha waves with Wren's hand. "Say bye-bye, Wren."
Wren simply coos as her green eyes follow Yelena until she's out of the door.
It's then Emma decides to come and sit on your lap as Ryan rests at your feet.
"Hey put those devices away. Let's spend some family time," You nudge them.
"Okay," They groan as they put their stuff down. You receive a text on your phone and it's from none other than Tony Stark.
"Oh, come on, Mom you just told us to put them away," Ryan groans.
"I'm sorry, it's Tony, he wants to know if I'm willing to come back for my position," You offer. Your sabbatical had turned into a two-year break and a step down after the birth of Wren. You and Natasha had gotten remarried in a quiet ceremony this time. Just the four of you in a park with a minister. You didn’t announce it to friends or family. You’d both planned it out meticulously. You need it to be for both of you.
"Are you going back?" Natasha looks at you.
"What would you want me to do?" You question.
"Only you can decide that," She shrugs.
"I think I'm ready to go back," You nod. "With contingencies. My schedule can't be like it was. I want to spend as much time with my wife and kids as I can."
"Okay," Natasha nods. "Then, do it. You miss it."
"I'm still going to be here," You remind her. "I'm going to be there during important events like Wren's first steps. Emma's ballet recitals. Ryan's baseball games. All of it."
"I know, love," She kisses your cheek. "I believe you."
"Okay, let's settle the debate," Ryan interrupts. "Do you think Wren will say my name first or Emma's?"
"Probably Mom's," Emma replies.
"Or Auntie Lena," Ryan shrugs.
"Oh, God," You sigh. "She'll call everyone except you."
"I'll teach her to say it," Ryan promises.
"Okay," You roll your eyes.
"It'll be easy," Ryan nods. "She's a genius."
"I'm glad you think so highly of your sister."
"I can't help it," Ryan smiles. "She's pretty cute."
"And smart," Emma chimes in.
"Oh, and funny," Ryan laughs.
"Okay," You push Emma off you. "Wren, promise right now you'll say my name first."
The baby with the slightest bit of reddish-brown tufts of hair gurgles, stuffing her fingers into her mouth and chomping on them. Wren’s eyes, a striking green that mirrors Natasha’s, seem to take in everything with a surprising intensity for her age. There’s something undeniably familiar in her expressions and the way she moves—an echo of Natasha’s mannerisms. The resemblance is uncanny, a mini clone of her mother, right down to the determined set of her tiny jaw.
Having chosen the same donor for both Ryan,Emma, and Wren, it’s clear that the genetic legacy is strong. Wren’s features, the shape of her nose, the curve of her lips—all mirror Natasha’s so closely that it's like looking at a baby version of her. Even her little gestures, the way she furrows her brow in concentration or the slight tilt of her head when she’s curious, are pure Natasha.
"See, she gets it," You tell your kids.
"That doesn't count," Emma replies.
"It totally does," You argue. "Okay," you say with a laugh, feeling a warm sense of contentment wash over you. The playful banter between Ryan and Emma fills the room with a sense of normalcy and happiness that you cherish.
"Wren's lucky to have such a loving family. You two are going to be great role models for her." Natasha laughs.
Emma and Ryan exchange proud looks, their excitement about their baby sister evident.
As you all sit in the living room, the sense of togetherness and love envelops the family. Natasha takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "We've come a long way," she whispers.
You nod, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the journey you've been on and the family you've built together. The future is bright, and you know that, with each other, you can face anything.
5 Times Natasha Came To Rescue Y/n, Plus The 1 Time She Didn’t Arrive In Time.
Authors note: ready your hearts and tissue boxes friends, the angst train is here 💔😭
Warnings: canon typical violence, somewhat graphic depictions of injury, hurt/comfot(and then no comfort), angst, reader death
Word count: 4125 Short Sequel: Reunion
Nat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist
One
It was your first mission alone with Hawkeye and Black Widow. It was relatively simply one, go into the warehouse and apprehend the group of Tracksuit Mafia goons that were inside running guns and drugs.
The three of you had snuck in via the roof, each of you heading in separate directions to cover the most ground to view the entire operation. The plan was to sit and watch while communicating with the other two to decide when the best time to strike was and who would do what.
After nearly two hours of observation the three of you finally decided to strike because all the goons had converged into one area for some type of meeting. Hawkeye was to stay up in the ceiling where he had the best vantage points to use his bow. You and Black Widow were to drop down to the ground and take the nearly twenty men out.
Note: since y'all keep asking me to upload original and new stuff (eye roll)
Your love language had always been physical touch and quality time, especially spent with Natasha. With six children, two parents-in-law, two dogs, and a cat, there often left no time for either of you to spend any real time with each other. It's amazing how you do it. There's always something going on in your life that pulls you in every direction. Cara and Willow need braces. Of course, let's set an appointment for the only free time you have that week. James has soccer practice—okay, you can switch off on that. You pull into the driveway as Natasha is pulling out. A honk and a wave of acknowledgment are sometimes the only things you get that day.
Save for mornings. Mornings like this are reserved for the both of you. There's a certain level of intimacy that can't be achieved even with sex. Not that either one of you is looking for this to lead to sex. Making out was a lost art that you'd certainly enjoy during times like this. Natasha's warm hands are under your pajama top, mapping the expanse of your back, as you moan into her lips. You're not trying to take this further, but you certainly enjoy this. Natasha is a wonderful kisser, and she makes sure to make you feel loved and wanted, just as you do for her.
Her lips are soft and supple, and she's talented as hell as you push yourself further into her arms. The moment is lost, though, as your alarm goes off. The two of you laugh at each other as you help Natasha find her clothes. This is just another day for the two of you, but it's one of the few moments that you get to share like this.
*************
The next opportunity arises in the middle of a conversation with the kids. Natasha is preparing breakfast with the kids, making toast when she takes it out of the oven too soon. She barely reacts, but you notice just in time as you come in for your morning coffee.
"Ah," Natasha frowns, looking down at her thumb as she haphazardly drops the toast onto a plate.
"Careful, baby," you say as you take her hand in yours to inspect her injury. "Not too bad." You grin as you kiss her thumb.
She rolls her eyes with a smirk. "Thanks for the warning," she grins as she pecks your lips before returning to her task.
You watch her for a few seconds more. Gosh, you love that woman.
************
Another kiss as you head out of the door. You're running late for work and so she's volunteered to take the kids to school this morning. You thank her as you search for your keys. Somehow they're never where you left them.
"Where are my keys? Have you seen my keys?" You ask as you set your coffee down on the foyer table. Seven people seemingly ignore you as you frantically move about the room. "Cara?"
"Don't look at me," Cara shrugs.
"Charlie?" You look to the girl who often pretended to drive with you or Natasha's keys.
"Did you check your briefcase?" Natasha mumbles as she attempts to put Luke's shoes on. She glances in your direction to see you running around.
"They're not in there," You say with a slight eye roll.
"Just asking, they're usually in your bag," Natasha shakes her head.
"I know and thank you but they're not there," You sigh. Why did this have to happen today? When you have back-to-back meetings with your boss. Making partner at this company has been a goal of yours for a while now. You can't have any mishaps.
"Just take the corvette," Natasha offers.
"And risk dying? I don't know," You frown. The two of you go back and forth for a little longer.
"It's not that bad," Natasha stands to her full height. "It's either that or be late."
"I know I just-" You look down to see Paige staring up at you with a frown on her face.
"Mommy, James called me a potty word." She whined.
"What potty word?" You ask looking over at James who isn't the slightest bit phased by his sister telling on him.
"He called me Poopybutt," Paige scrunched her nose. "I told him that is not my name."
"James, please don't call your sister names," You say as you turn from her. You go over to the hook where your keys could possibly b and find nothing. "We're leaving in a minute, go get in the car." You order. "Where the hell are my keys."
"Oh, you cussed." Paige's eyes widened.
"Hell isn't a curse word, it's in the Bible," Charlie explains as she twirls in her school skirt.
"Mommy did it though," Paige argued.
"Yeah, so did James," Cara reminded her.
"Why is everyone trying to tell on me," James stomped his foot.
"Mom, can you take me to school now please?" Cara asked, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.
"She'll take you in a minute," You roll your eyes, patting your pocket and almost giving up until you find Natasha standing near your briefcase with your keys in her hand. She has a knowing smirk on her face. She'd seen them there as she was packing your lunch and thought she'd save you the trouble of searching for them. She knew how stressed out you were for the day. You could tell she was trying to hold her tongue, and not gloat in the moment. "Thanks, baby," You say sheepishly as you step over to her. You grab the keys gently from her hand and peck her lips thankfully. "Love you."
"Love you too, have a good day." She grins, patting your ass as she sends you on your way.
************
Other kisses happen when you're too engrossed in work to leave your computer and she comes in as innocently as she does. First, she rounds the computer, giving you a small wave, before she stands behind your chair. She wraps her arms around you and begins to run her hands over your arms.
"Hey, baby," She purrs. "How much longer do you have?"
"Just a little bit," You mumble. "I have this file here that I need to read through."
"And what do I need to do to get your attention?" She asks.
"You have it," You say, turning to see her grinning widely. "I'm just not finished yet. Why?"
"I miss you that's all," She murmurs as she kisses the side of your head. Those kisses then turn into more. She's kissing your neck, and leaving bites in strategic places while unbuttoning your shirt. She's trying to get you to abandon your work, and it's working.
"Nat, baby," You moan as her warm mouth closes around the shell of your ear.
"Yes, love?"
"You're distracting me," You inform her.
"I'm just kissing my wife," She says.
"I can't focus," You pout.
"Fine," She sighs, pulling away. She sits down near your desk. She looks at you with a playful pout. You've got a lot of work to do, so you decide to leave her be. You could be finished faster.
************
The next kiss is needy. It's the kind you get when you're in the middle of sex. The kind you can't even describe. The kind you get flashbacks from in the middle of your workday.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You chant as your wife's head bobs between your legs. Her tongue is lapping at your cunt, and her hands are holding onto your thighs. You're coming down from your orgasm when she moves up your body. Her face lingers inches away from yours and you can't help but place a hand on the back of her neck to bring her closer. "Kiss me." You beg her. She grins and brings her lips closer, just barely grazing yours. Your hips buck up to hers as she teases you. "Nat," You whine.
"Shh," She whispers against your lips, moving a little closer, but never touching. Her tongue traces your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you oblige. This type of kissing is one of your favorites. You could do it all day long. You could live inside the way Natasha kisses you. You could die a happy woman with your lips against hers.
"Are you sleepy, love?" Natasha asked as she massaged the temple of your head. You hadn't realized you'd begun to drift off until she spoke. You felt so comfortable here with your head in her lap. The TV is playing some random reality show that neither of you is paying attention to. You shake your head despite yawning. You feel at peace in her arms.
"I just want to be near you." You look up at her. "I feel like we haven't had any time alone."
"Is that so?" She says in a teasing tone. "This morning we scrubbed Lucas's puke shirt. That counts for something right?" You nod and laugh. It's not a lie. When he'd woken you both up early in the morning, he was crying and screaming for her. She told you it was teething.
"We need a vacation," You sigh. "I want you all to myself. No little grabby hands or puke shirts. Call me a bad mom or something but I need it. I might sit in silence the whole time."
"You're a wonderful mother, but I agree. A getaway sounds wonderful."
"And no diaper changing. No toys in the house. No noise-"
"You want a break from me too? Sounds like you need alone time." She says with a small smile.
"Never. You're my favorite noise." You lean up and kiss her lips. Your eyes are heavy and you can feel yourself start to drift. She rubs her thumb along your bottom lip. "Can we stay here for a bit? "
"I'm not going anywhere," Natasha nods. "Besides, I quite like you falling asleep on me. Even if you deny it."
"M' not sleepin'," you say, already drifting. "I'm just... resting my eyes.."
"Alright," Natasha laughs. "I'll make sure no one bothers you."
"Seriously, we need that vacation," You mumble again. "I want you in Greece, with a thong... on a yacht."
"I don't wear thongs so that's interesting," Natasha sipped from her wine glass. "And I'm sure that'll cost a pretty penny."
"I can afford it," You say with your eyes closed. "Just wanna lay with you, in the sand."
"You're starting to talk nonsense, baby," She laughed, but you're not listening.
"And when we're laying there you can just let me slip my fingers under your top," You continue. "Nothing dramatic."
"What happens then?" She asks. You can hear the smile in her voice.
"It's a surprise," You tell her.
"I hate surprises."
"Oh, you'll like that one," You snuggle into her further. "I know how sensitive you get and with the piercings, it can be even more fun."
"For me or for you?"
"Both. It's like a present to myself." You're mumbling now.
"I thought you didn't want anything for Christmas." She reminds you.
"Oh, I want something," You yawn.
"Since you're so compliant Cara wants a car for her birthday. Told me to use my sex powers to butter you up."
"She did not?" You gasp. "We raised that kid to be too open with us. Sex powers?" You chuckle.
"Oh, she's open alright," Natasha agrees. "You'd be surprised."
"I'm sure I would be."
"I was joking by the way," She clarifies. "She said something way worse."
"Yeah, I figured," You laugh. "But I wouldn't mind a car. She's sixteen."
"She's still a child," She argues.
"She'll always be a child. But she's responsible enough despite the tattoo and sneaking out with Avery last week."
"You knew about that?"Natasha poked you.
"Oh, I knew. I wasn't going to do anything because she wasn't out that late, but you better believe I talked with her."
"You're supposed to tell me things like that," She huffs.
"Well, it was in my imaginary list right there with Paige telling me she had a baby in her belly and Charlie telling me she has a girlfriend. " You inform her.
"She's 7!"
"It's important, Tasha." You shrug. "She and Savvanah are the best of friends. I think it's cute."
"It is," She agrees.
"Anyway, back to earlier, you on a thong, in a yacht," You say. "It's all I want for Christmas."
"So we're doing a Christmas present thing now? I thought I had 12 days."
"No, that was for the kids," You tell her. "Though I think nothing can top last year's present." You nuzzle her breasts alluding to the piercings she'd gotten there as a gift to you and herself of course. You can feel yourself falling into the dream world. "I can't believe I got you to get your nipples pierced."
"Believe it," She smirks.
"The most expensive, most sexy thing you've ever done."
"Wasn't that expensive but I guess," Natasha set her glass on the table. "For someone that was asleep a few minutes ago you sure are talkative."
"I'm not asleep. Just thinking. " You tell her.
"Right," She nods. "about me in a thong on a yacht."
"And you fingering me, while we watch the sunset," You tell her. "Maybe we get a hotel, get a spa day, and get drunk. We can fuck on every surface in the room. Even the balcony."
"Sleep," Natasha says pointedly. "And no drunk fucking. I'm not getting us arrested again."
"Again? The cops barely looked our way."
"So you say," She nods. "Don't worry, we won't have to get drunk for that. You can't handle your liquor anyway. So just relax and get some rest. We'll plan a trip."
"Sounds perfect."
"Go to sleep, любимая (darling)," Natasha kisses your head.
"Okay," You rest against her again. You'd think about chartering a yacht tomorrow.
⁀➷ Notes: Hey! I am so sorry this took so long! Things got busy and life was in the way so enjoy an almost 4k long saga of pure Nat fluff as a humble apology <3 (excuse editing mistakes, its too late :,)
⁀➷ Summary: The 5 times Natasha Romanoff falls asleep where she shouldn't and the 1 time she does.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Falling asleep was usually done in a bed. Preferably a comfy bed with a large spread of blankets to nestle into. That was your idea of a good place to sleep at least. However, as you’d come to learn, Natasha wasn’t exactly picky on where she chose to sleep.
The first time it had happened, the two of you were on a long train journey across Europe. You had been tasked with a mission in Prague, and Natasha insisted on accompanying you – which of course, you didn’t object to. Despite the urgency of the mission, the train ride had offered a rare moment of respite from the chaos of your usual lives.
You were only a couple hours or so into the half-day long journey when Natasha had seemingly lost interest in the book she’d been reading over, shifting in her seat as she folded the corner of her page and set the book on the small accompanying table. The train the two of you were riding was fairly modern, which made a pleasant change for once, so the luxury having a table with your seats was definitely something she was going to make use of.
You glanced over down at her, observing her subtle movements. She caught your gaze and offered a small, mysterious smile before leaning back in her seat. She sat there for a moment before you heard her shift again, this time you felt Nat’s head come to rest against your shoulder, her whole body leaning into your direction as she cosied up to you.
“You quite comfy there?” You teased gently, earning herself a small laugh as the redhead hid a smile against your shoulder.
"Very comfy," She replied, her voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate through your chest. "You make a good pillow."
The corners of your lips rose into an amused grin, “Is that so?” You rolled your eyes playfully as your hand came to settle on the back of her head, fingers running softly through her gorgeous red curls.
As the rhythmic clattering of the train wheels continued, Natasha's breathing gradually slowed, and you could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest against your side. The next time you’d looked down at her, her eyes had fluttered closed. Not in the way that someone rests their eyes but in way that someone closed their eyes after they’d given into the lull of sleep.
My, my, Natasha Romanoff. How you weren’t going to forget this.
You stole glances at her every now and then, admiring the serene expression on her face as she surrendered to sleep. It was a side of Nat that few were privileged to see – she was vulnerable, peaceful, and utterly captivating. Her usually alert demeanour softened in slumber, her features smooth and unguarded. Usually, this type of vulnerability was reserved for spaces where she couldn’t be witnessed but here, she was, curled up on your shoulder, sound asleep for the world to see.
You didn’t dare to disturb her, afraid that any sudden movement might wake her up. Instead, you shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position, careful not to jostle your sleeping girlfriend too much.
But as time passed, you found yourself growing accustomed to the weight of her head against your shoulder, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. It was a sensation you hadn't expected to enjoy as much as you did, feeling oddly content in this shared moment.
･ﾟ:
Now that was the thing about Natasha, she never failed to surprise you. Natasha Romanoff, the dangerous Black Widow herself. You could’ve never imagined she could possibly be so soft like this. It was from that moment onwards that you’d started to take a more thorough note of her sleeping habits.
The next memorable time had been only a few short weeks later. The pair of you had returned home from your mission and after a day or two settling back in, you both had to do the one thing every Avenger dreaded.
Mission reports.
They were just so boring! Of course, you understood why they were necessary for health and safety and such, but those reasons never seemed to be enough encouragement to sit from the hours of typing up, signing and filing documents. But it had to be done.
At least this time you had Natasha with you. The pair of you always did yours together anyway so being on joint missions just simplified the task. It wasn’t hard by any means, just very, very tedious.
You let out an exaggerated sigh as you stared at the mountain of paperwork in front of you, scattered across the table. Natasha, ever the professional, sat next to you, her expression stoic as she typed away on her laptop. The dim lighting in the room only added to the monotony of the task at hand.
"Nat, how do you manage to make something as bland as just typing sound so deadly?" You quipped, earning a small smirk from her, “You type with such assertion. It’s honestly impressive.”
She glanced at you over the rim of her reading glasses (the ones which you’d picked out for her even though she had insisted she hadn’t needed them) her green eyes locking onto yours. "Practice, darling. Lots and lots of practice."
As you both continue typing away, the monotony of the task begins to take its toll. After what felt like an eternity, Natasha finally pushed her laptop away and stretched, her muscles groaning in protest. "I think we've earned a break, don’t you?" She suggested, looking at the clock on the wall. "Why don't you go grab us some food? I'll stay here and finish up the last bit."
Relieved to escape the paperwork for a while, you agreed eagerly. "Food sounds good love. What are you in the mood for?"
She thought for a moment before replying, "Surprise me. Just nothing too greasy, please."
You nodded, standing up and stretching your own tired limbs. "Got it. Mind if I go take a short walk first, I could really use some fresh air, be back in a bit?"
“Yeah of course sweetheart,” Nat smiled and waved you off, “Take your time darling, we’re in no rush.”
You stretched out your arms as you stood up, shaking out the dull aches that had formed before moving round to Nat’s side of the table to plant a sneaky kiss to her cheek, “I won't be too long, maybe half an hour at the longest.”
Your kiss left her warm inside, and you shot her a small wave as you headed out the room. You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you’d started walking around the compound. The heating had been set so it would be comfortably warm for the two of you and the sudden chill of the outside air had you snapping awake. Going for a quick walk didn’t take long, all you really wanted to do was move around a little so after 15 minutes or so, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and made a pickup order at a local takeout place.
You’d decided pasta was a safe bet for dinner. Plus, you’d added a fruit smoothie for Natasha too. It didn’t take long to collect your food; it was only a short walk away and they’d actually made it fairly fast. In total you’d taken around 25 minutes or so, not too far from your estimate and you hummed to yourself casually as you made your way back the meeting room where you and Natasha had set up in.
As you approached the meeting room, you had to balance the bags of food in your arms, you pushed the door open gently, trying not to disturb Natasha in case she was still working. However, what you saw instead made your heart melt.
There she was, slouched over slightly in her chair, her head resting on folded arms with her curly red hair falling messily onto the desk. The dim reflection of light from her open laptop cast a gentle glow on her peaceful face, accentuating the tired lines that usually went unnoticed.
The sight of your girlfriend snoozing was adorable. You could never quite understand how just small redhead could be so cute. Gently, you reached out to brush a few strands of her tousled hair away from her face, helpless to stop your lips from forming into a soft smile.
The bags of takeout were momentarily forgotten as you carefully set them down on the nearest surface. Sitting down you turn her laptop to face you and quietly get on with completing what was left of her report. The weight of the day's responsibilities seemed to fade away as you typed, your prior displeasure being replaced by a quiet contentment in simply being with her.
It didn't take long to complete and after finishing up the report, you closed her laptop gently and put it away before you gathered the takeout bags and set them on the table, arranging the food neatly – it was still warm luckily.
With a tender smile, you leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Natasha's forehead, eliciting a soft murmur from her. It warmed your heart to see her so at ease, even amid her exhaustion.
Settling back into your chair, you allowed yourself a moment to simply watch her slowly come round from sleep and as Nat stirred awake, blinking sleepily, you couldn't help but chuckle softly at her drowsy expression. "Hey there, sleepyhead," you whispered affectionately, reaching for her hand. "Dinner's ready whenever you are."
･ﾟ:
Some people like to say that twice is coincidence but three’s a pattern. And this was certainly a pattern if you’d ever seen one. But you never expected it to happen twice in the same day. Of course it wasn’t a bad thing or anything, if anything you found it adorable that she trusted you enough to be vulnerable and open around.
You loved that she was so comfortable around you. And that comfortability really came to show a few months later when the pair of you had headed down to the gym to train together. The gym had become your shared haven, a place where the two of you could escape the stresses of daily life and focus on the physical and mental benefits of training.
On this particular day, the gym was buzzing with activity. The rhythmic sound of weights clinking and the occasional thud of medicine balls hitting the floor filled the air, Clint and Thor could also be heard grunting and throwing playful insults as they sparred together. Natasha and you decided to take residency in your usual corner.
As you both warmed up, you couldn't help but notice that Nat seemed a bit more fatigued than usual. You could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the subtle signs of a restless night, and the weariness that clung to her movements. Now that you thought about it, you faintly remembered being woken up by her tossing and turning and you began to wonder if she had even managed to get any sleep at all. You couldn't help but worry about pushing herself too hard.
"Come on, Natasha," you said, concern lacing your voice. "We can take it easy today. It's okay to rest. We don't have to push ourselves so hard every time."
But Nat only flashed you a tired smile, appreciating your concern. "I know, but I need this today. It's my way of clearing my mind and getting a bit of release.”
You nodded but as the session progressed, you made sure to keep a watchful eye over her, just to make sure she wasn't overexerting herself – you knew exactly just how she could get carried away. Yet despise her obvious fatigue, the two of you moved seamlessly through various sets of weights, pushing each other to improve.
Eventually, it was obvious you both needed a short break. Natasha stretched, taking deep breaths to regain some energy. You suggested finding a quiet spot to rest for a few minutes, and she agreed. You both settled down, and Nat leaned against the wall, closing her eyes briefly. After a few minutes the fatigue seemed to catch up with her all at once. She let out a soft sigh, and without intending to she let her head drop and gave into the exhaustion that had been lingering since the night before.
You observed as Natasha's breathing steadied, her features relaxing as she drifted into an unexpected slumber. A small smile played on your lips as you realised just how tired she must have been to actually fall asleep amongst the general clatter of background noise.
“You with me Widow?” You cooed in a low voice, hand coming to move aside a strand of sweat soaked hair from her face, biting back a smile as when she slowly woke back up, mumbling something incoherant to herself before looking up at you through sleepy eyes, “Awh look at you nodding off like that, come on baby, that’s enough for one day.”
You gently helped Natasha to her feet, supporting her as she rubbed her eyes and stretched. She blinked groggily, her eyes meeting yours. A faint grin tugged at the corners of her lips, appreciating the care in your voice.
“You awake enough to go get something to eat or do you wanna go get cosy on the sofa for a bit?”
“Can we watch a movie or something?” Natasha murmured softly, her hand finding your own and intwining her fingers in your own.
Of course you agreed. Nothing sounded better than to cosy up and snuggle whilst you watched a film together. It was especially nice considering how it’d give Nat a chance to unwind a little, finally letting her actually rest. Not just saying shes resting then going about her day as usual like she’d normally do.
You settled onto the sofa, Natasha snuggling close, her head finding a comfortable spot in your lap. Gently, you began to massage her scalp, feeling the tension slowly dissipate under your touch. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you scrolled through the movie options, eventually settling on Lion King, knowing it was one of her favourites.
The movie began to play in the background, but your all attention was on the peaceful expression settling across Nat's face.
“Oh my sleepy baby girl, again?” You whispered knowingly, recognising the way that her blinking began to slow, taking longer and longer for her to reopen her eyes, “Natty sweetheart, if you’re this tired do you not want to go up to bed? It’d be a lot comfy than sleeping on me my love.” You asked, your hand finding its way to her hair, gently massaging her head of red curls.
Your question fell on deaf ears however as Natasha had already given in and let herself fall back asleep. This wasn’t a problem of course, for now you’d be content to hold and watch over her as long as she needed.
･ﾟ:
By now you’d gotten used to Natasha’s sleeping patterns by now. It was an endearing habit by now. Still despite everything, she’d never complain or whine, always content just to fall asleep where she was.
You’d always reminded her that she only had to ask and you’d be more than happy to get cuddled up in her bed with, but she’d never found it in herself to ask.
Your favourite time it happened was only recently. You and Natasha were attending one of Stark’s galas, truthfully the pair of you didn’t really care much for them but Tony had insisted on everyones attendance so you’d both decided to dress up for the occasion.
Natasha looked stunning, her gorgeous curves being accentuated by a beautiful black dress. You were beyond proud to have her on your arm.
As you entered the grand ballroom, Nat's soft hand in your own, you couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for her. The way she carried herself with such confidence and grace never failed to captivate you.
The dim lights and elegant decor created the perfect backdrop for the event. As the gala continued the unfold, the two of you shared tales, whispered secrets, and effortlessly danced the night away. The drinks seemed to flow endlessly. Eventually you made the smart decision to switch to plain soda, meanwhile Natasha kept going.
Seeing her like this certainly wasn’t something you were used to. “I’m Russian, I can handle it.” This was her usual go to phrase when it came to drinking. You’d never seen her like this, spinning around your arms dizzily as a vodka-fuelled blush danced across her cheeks.
Despite her insistence that she was fine, you couldn't ignore the signs of her growing inebriation. Her once graceful dances turned into playful stumbles, and her words started to slur.
“Nooo, I’m fine, really, come, come dance with me.” Natasha smiled giddily, letting her hands flow over you and she span.
With a playful smile, she urged you to join her on the dance floor once again. As you twirled around together. The spinning and laughter continued until, inevitably, fatigue slowly began to creep in.
In the quiet moments between songs, she leaned on you, her eyes betraying the weariness beneath the intoxication.
You took this as sign to ease her away and you’d managed to get her settled in a small seating area away from the main floor. Now that she’d slowed down, she finally seemed to feel the effect of her drinks hit her. Her wide-pupils gazed up at the ceiling, adorably rambling off in incoherent babbles.
“Do you think we should get you to bed darling?” You smiled innocently, your hand slipping down her dress to rest against her slightly overheated skin.
She closed her eyes, still smiling up at you “Mm’ just fine here wi’ my favourite pilla’.”
“Your favourite ‘pilla’, hm baby?” You chuckled, shaking your head as she sleepily cuddled into your shoulder.
As Natasha drifted into a tipsy slumber, you couldn’t help but cradle her gently, even though this may not have been the most convenient of situations but you were certainly going to enjoy it.
･ﾟ:
Now all things eventually come to an end. Movies, books, and for the two of you, Nat’s little habit was about to be broken.
She’d come home late that night looking a look paler than usual, well, pale for Natasha’s standards anyway. When she’d left this morning her hair had been beautifully plaited, now her curls just hung loosely by her shoulders.
Nat shuffled into the living room where you’d been perched up with a book, kicking off her shoes and letting her bag fall to the floor as she came and nestled into your side.
“Long day?” You murmured softly, setting your book aside as you opened up the fluffy grey blanket you’d had previously draped over your knees to allow her to snuggle beneath it instead.
She simply nodded, biting back the urge to whine, “I hate those stupid meetings.” She grumbled, her voice holding the dragging weight of exhaustion.
Governor meetings were something every Avenger had to attend. They were painstakingly private about it meaning you were never allowed to accompany each other to them. The meetings varied a little from person to person but the main just of it was answering a long series of very repetitive questions and going through countless past missions and their details. Having to sit and listen as some fancy higher ups tried to pick you apart for every individual detail and mistake - and well, with Nat’s reputation of being constantly on Ross’s nerves, they weren’t going to go easy on her.
Nat rubbed her temples, a headache pounding behind her eyes. "And the fluorescent lights in that room... ugh, they're the worst," she added, wincing at the memory of the harsh glare. Her voice was a little raspy, most likely the result of having to constantly explain herself to idiots for the entire day.
You gently massaged her shoulders, feeling the tension in her muscles, “Do you want me to get you anything for that headache my sweet girl?” Your voice was kept low as your offered, not wanting to run the risk of making it any worse.
Your girlfriend sighed, leaning into your soothing touch. "Just some water would be nice," she replied, her eyes closing momentarily. After handing her a glass of water, you noticed her head nodding forwards slightly as she fought to stay awake.
"You look like you could use some rest," you suggested gently, anticipating her usual move to drift off to sleep on you whilst you stayed cuddled on the sofa.
But to your surprise, the redhead looked up at you with a faint, almost anxious smile. “Could you... carry me to bed?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, clear vulnerability thickening her tone.
You weren’t sure you’d heard her correctly at first. You asked her to repeat herself to which she barely mouthed her prior words. You were helpless to stop your heart from melting at her request, realising just how drained the poor thing must be feeling. "Of course, my dear," you replied tenderly, carefully scooping her up into your arms, cradling her close as you carefully made your way into your bedroom, “I told you Natty, I’ll always be here to take you to bed.”
There it was, the moment Nat had finally asked to actually go to bed for once. It was a long time coming and you’d loved being with her for every step of the way, even if it had involved her falling asleep in some pretty less-than normal places.
As you laid her down on the bed, Natasha snuggled into the pillows, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "Thank you," she murmured sleepily, her heavy eyes already drifting shut.
With a soft smile, you pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Anytime my love. Just close those eyes and get some rest, I'll be right here the whole time."
And right there you stayed, arms wrapped around her and the woman you loved slept against your chest in your shared bed. Finally she was getting the rest she deserved and there was nowhere else you’d ever want to be.
Note: this is just a small snippet to see if I should scrap or keep going. It’s about Natasha and R’s daughter getting really sick. Totally a crying fest. It has like two different povs so that’s been hard to get down.
The family gathered around the table, laughter echoing through the cabin's warm interior. Lark and Veda, their swimsuits still clinging to their damp skin, were beaming with the energy of their swim. Lark, however, shivered slightly, catching your observant eye.
Your voice soft and motherly, noticed Lark's chill and draped a warm blanket around her shoulders. "You're freezing, sweetie," you said, your protective instinct always at the ready.
Veda, ever the picture of defiance, declined the offer of a blanket. She was too busy digging into her burger, her appetite seemingly insatiable. Lark gingerly removed the pickles from her burger, gently sliding them over to Veda, who eagerly savored each one. The act revealed the clear distinction in their personalities. Veda perched with her legs pulled close to her chest, the very picture of casual and cool. Meanwhile, Lark, the meticulous one, swung her legs beneath her chair as she methodically disassembled her sandwich before artfully reconstructing it.
You and Natasha exchanged a quiet, knowing glance as you watched your daughters. You couldn't help but wonder if hot dogs might have been a more fitting choice for Lark, whose meticulous nature extended even to her mealtime habits.
Natasha, ever the voice of reason at the table, couldn't help but notice Veda's ravenous appetite. "Veda, slow down," she advised, her eyes filled with concern for her daughter's well-being.
However, it was you who playfully defended Veda's hearty meal. You chuckled and said, "The girls practically swam Olympic lengths out there. Veda needs all the strength she can get."
Veda's lips curved into a warm smile as she acknowledged your defense of her, though she also took heed of Natasha's gentle warning. Her pace slowed, and she ate as if she were raised with table manners.
Natasha, who had been rushing around the kitchen, finally settled into her seat, a contented smile on her face.
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Veda leaned in, her expression a mixture of curiosity and a hint of playfulness. She wiped ketchup from her mouth with the back of her hand. She only took a napkin when you tapped at her knees in reminder. "I have a question," she announced.
“We may have answers,” You shrugged.
“Where do babies come from?” Veda asked. Her nonchalance about it let you know she was completely serious. Lark, who’d only been half listening, raised her eyes. Seems she was interested in the answer too.
The question hung in the air, creating a moment of silence as you both exchanged surprised glances. Natasha was momentarily taken aback, her motherly instincts causing her to hesitate. You, on the other hand, seemed more amused than flustered, a subtle grin touching your lips.
Veda's question about where babies come from was a classic childhood inquiry, but it still caught you off guard.
“I feel like we’ve had this conversation several times,” Natasha tilts her head.
“Yeah, but not for real,” Veda shrugged. Veda's insistence continued, her determination unwavering. "I'm gonna be ten next year, Mama. Double digits. So I need to know the real truth."
Natasha took a deep breath and began, "Well, sweetie, most babies come from a very special process where a tiny cell from a woman and a tiny cell from a man come together to create a new life." She kept her tone gentle, aiming to explain the concept in an age-appropriate way.
You couldn't help but chime in, a playful twinkle in your eye. "It's like a puzzle, you know? Two pieces fitting together perfectly to make a baby."
Veda's brows furrowed in thought. "So, like a really, really small puzzle?" she asked.
You nodded with a chuckle. "Yes, a very small, intricate puzzle. And it's something beautiful and magical."
Veda seemed satisfied with the explanation, her curiosity appeased for the moment. "Okay, because Billy and Tommy told me it was called sex.”
You in the middle of taking a bite of your burger, had a near-comical moment. You almost choked on your food, your eyes widening in surprise as you coughed.
Natasha, quick to react, helped you take a sip of water to clear your throat. As you caught your breath, you couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief, your amusement evident.
“What’s sex?” Lark chimed in with her inquisitiveness. She had been just as confused by Veda's question and wore a quizzical expression on her face, mirroring her sister's curiosity and bafflement.
“Well,” You sighed, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “To talk about it, we’d have to go into detail about a lot more.” With a playful smirk, you began, "You know, girls, when you grow up, there are some pretty interesting changes that happen to your bodies. You begin to grow.” You gesture. “It’s sometimes happens all at once. Like—"
Veda, covering her ears with her hands, interrupted with a cringe. You’d informed her about periods the year before and it traumatized her ever since. "Mom, I don't think we need to hear this right now."
Lark, equally uncomfortable, followed suit by covering her ears. "Yeah, can we talk about something else, please?"
You couldn't help but chuckle at their reactions, your intention all along to make them squirm a bit. "Alright, alright," you relented, switching back to a more suitable topic. The girls sighed in relief, their expressions now reflecting their gratitude for returning to safer, more innocent conversations. Even if Veda was the one to begin it all.
Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce
Masterlist | General Masterlist
7/10
Note: Old friends I bet you never saw this day coming.
W/c:3.95
Rating: M (Minors DNI; angst, fluff, smut, heartbreak, heart fix? the best ending for them coming soon)Keep reading
As you pull into the driveway of your home, you give two quick honks before shifting the car into park. Anticipation bubbles inside you as you look forward to taking Ryan to his baseball practice. Undoing your seat belt, you glance at your watch to check the time, only to realize you're running late. A sigh escapes your lips, accompanied by a roll of your eyes at your oversight. Just as you're about to step out of the car, the front door swings open, drawing your attention away from your tardiness.
Ryan bounds down the steps, his red and white Raptors uniform proudly displaying his school's name. His baseball bag hangs heavily from his back as he rushes towards you. With a burst of energy, he throws himself into your arms, squeezing your midsection tightly and burying his head against your belly.
"Hi Mommy, I'm so excited you're here," he mumbles into you, his voice muffled by your shirt.
"Hi, baby, I'm thrilled to be here too," You reply, wrapping your arms around him and ruffling the curls on his head. "You need a haircut," you tease gently as you glance down at his tousled hair.
"Never," he declares with a shake of his head, a playful glint in his eyes.
“There’s no convincing him, I’ve tried,” Natasha says as she steps onto the front porch, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. You look up to acknowledge her, only to do a double take. Natasha looks incredible. She's sporting a fitted white tee that accentuates her toned figure, paired with denim shorts that hug her curves perfectly. Sunglasses perch on top of her head, and a pair of Converse shoes complete the effortlessly chic ensemble. It's not just about the outfit itself, but how she wears it with confidence.
“Is that what you wear to Little League?” you ask, tilting your head as you take in her casual yet stylish attire.
Natasha chuckles softly, a playful glint dancing in her eyes. “Well, I figured I’d give the other parents something to talk about,” she replies with a smirk.
“Interesting,” You smile back.
“Mommy, do you like my outfit?” Emma asks proudly as she stands beside Natasha. She's wearing a tart orange top paired with biker shorts, and her feet are adorned with the sparkliest shoes you've ever seen.
You glance over at Emma, a smile spreading across your face at her vibrant ensemble. "Wow, Emma, you look amazing!" you exclaim, genuinely impressed by her bold fashion choice. "Those shoes are dazzling."
Natasha beams with pride at Emma's excitement. "You look fantastic, sweetheart," she adds, reaching out to tousle Emma's hair affectionately.
Emma happily bounces down the steps one by one, her infectious giggles filling the air. Natasha's heart skips a beat as she watches her, a mini heart attack looming with each skipped step, especially when Emma forgoes holding onto the railing altogether.
You, still holding onto Ryan, quickly adjust, freeing one of your arms to reach out and steady Emma as she descends. With a reassuring smile, you wrap your arm around her, providing the support she needs to navigate the steps safely. Natasha breathes a sigh of relief as she sees you taking care of Emma, her worry dissipating as she watches the scene unfold.
“Okay, let’s all make it to the practice in one piece,” You remind Emma as she smiles up at you. “Do you have everything?” You ask Ryan and he nods.
“Yep, all set,” He pats his backpack.
“Mommy, are we going to get pizza after this game?” Emma questions eagerly. “My tummy has been rumbling for like an hour now. I think we have to get food.”
You chuckle at Emma's enthusiasm, nodding in agreement. "Pizza sounds like a great idea, sweetheart," you reply, glancing over at Natasha for confirmation.
Natasha smiles warmly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Pizza it is," she confirms. "But first, let's cheer on Ryan at his practice and game, okay?"
Emma nods eagerly, her excitement evident as she bounces on the balls of her feet. "Okay, Mommy! Go, Ryan!" she cheers, already looking forward to the post-game pizza feast.
“Race to the car?” Ryan suggests, and Emma takes off before she even agrees to it.
You watch the two of them run towards your car, their laughter filling the air as they argue over who gets the front seat before you let out a soft sigh.
“Does the bickering ever stop?” you mumble more to yourself than anyone else.
“I don’t think it does,” Natasha laughs, joining you by your side. She wraps her arms around your body, pulling you close. Despite the recent tension with Yelena, you had hoped things wouldn’t change between the two of you."Hey you," She greets, her voice filled with warmth and affection as she looks into your eyes.
You turn to face Natasha, a small smile playing on your lips as you meet her gaze. Despite the lingering worries, being in her embrace brings a sense of comfort and reassurance.
"Hey back," you reply softly, leaning into her touch. "I'm glad you're here." You lean in for a quick kiss, savoring the taste of cherry lip gloss on her lips. “Ready to go?”
“I am,” Natasha nods. “Though earlier Ryan told me that he wished it was just the two of you going.”
“He did?” You glance over to the kids who are now both seated in the backseat.
“Mhmm,” Natasha hums. “It might be for the better.”
You ponder her words for a moment, considering Ryan's perspective. "Maybe he just wants some one-on-one time," you muse, glancing back at the kids with a thoughtful expression. "We can make that happen sometime soon." The idea of spending quality time with Ryan fills you with warmth, knowing that nurturing your bond with him is just as important as maintaining your relationship with Natasha.
"Come on, Mommy, I'm going to be late!" Ryan calls out, rolling down his window to get your attention.
You smile at his urgency, realizing that you've been caught up in the moment. "I'm coming, Ryan!" you call back, giving Natasha a quick squeeze before making your way to the driver's seat. As you start the car, you can't help but feel grateful for these little moments with your family, cherishing the bonds that hold you all together. You’re so glad you get to experience this again.
*****************
You stand along the fence, the sweltering heat causing you to fan yourself off as you watch the game unfold in front of you. Somewhere behind you, Natasha sits with Emma, sharing popcorn and a few cold water bottles between them. Despite the discomfort of the heat, your eyes remain fixed on the field, eagerly awaiting Ryan's turn to bat. Each pitch and play holds your attention, anticipation building with each moment as you wait for the perfect opportunity to cheer on your son.
“Did we miss anything?” Kerry Cook asks as she settles into her spot next to Natasha. Her husband, Doug, follows behind, carrying their eight-month-old in a carrier on his body.
“No, not yet. It’s been slow,” Natasha replies, briefly tearing her gaze away from the field to acknowledge Kerry and Doug. Despite the conversation, her attention remains fixed on the game, her anticipation growing as she realizes Ryan will be up to bat soon.
“Good, Miles had a case of anxiety that we had to get together,” Kerry informs her, settling into her seat beside Natasha. “Is that y/n?” Kerry spots you only a few feet away.
“In the flesh,” Natasha nods, her attention still partly focused on the game.
“Wow, it’s been a while,” Kerry continues, observing you. “She looks toned.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Natasha replies nonchalantly, though her tone suggests otherwise.
“I’m sure,” Kerry responds, not sounding entirely convinced by Natasha's casual response. “It’s nice seeing her here. Well, even seeing you two in the same place is a miracle.”
Natasha offers a small smile, sensing Kerry's curiosity lingering beneath the surface. "Yeah, we've been trying some things out," she says casually, subtly hinting at the efforts she and you have been making to reconcile and mend your relationship. Despite her attempt to keep it low-key, there's a hint of pride in her voice, a quiet acknowledgment of the progress you two have been making together.
"Congratulations," Kerry almost beams with pride, her genuine happiness for you shining through. If there was one person on your team rooting for you, it was her.
Natasha enjoys Kerry and Doug’s company as they continue to watch the game. Occasionally, Emma will reach into the popcorn container to pop a few kernels into her mouth, and Natasha leans over for easier access. She could see you out of the corner of her eye, so engrossed in Ryan and his plays on the field. She'd missed this more than she could convey.
But as Ryan makes a good play that has them all cheering, Natasha's attention snaps back to the game. Ryan steps up to the plate, his determination is evident in the set of his shoulders, the pitcher winds up and delivers the ball with all his might. Ryan swings, the crack of the bat echoing across the field as the ball sails through the air.
It's not a perfect hit, but it's a solid one. The ball bounces just beyond the infield, rolling towards the outfield as Ryan takes off running. The fielders scramble to retrieve it, but Ryan's speed is impressive for his age. He rounds first base with determination, his eyes fixed on second as he picks up speed.
The outfielder scoops up the ball and throws it toward second base, but Ryan is already there, sliding into the base with a burst of energy. The umpire's call is clear: safe!
Cheers erupt from the sidelines as Ryan jumps to his feet, a triumphant grin on his face. His eyes scan the bleachers to find you standing directly in front of him. You offer a thumbs up to which he reciprocates. Gosh, you love that kid.
“Which one is yours?” A soft voice interrupts your focus on the game, drawing your attention to the woman beside you. She exudes a soccer mom vibe, with a warm smile and an air of familiarity that instantly puts you at ease. Her features resemble those of Gina Davis—sharp cheekbones framing a heart-shaped face, with expressive hazel eyes that seem to shimmer with genuine interest. Her hair is styled in a casual yet chic bob, framing her face in loose waves that bounce with every movement.
Despite her friendly demeanor, there's something about her proximity to you that sets off a faint alarm in your mind. She stands a little too close for comfort, her body language subtly leaning towards you in a way that feels almost intrusive. It's enough to make Natasha, who's been watching discreetly from a distance, take notice.
You gesture towards Ryan. “The kid with the reddish curly hair who's currently goofing off with Miles”
"Oh, yeah, Ryan, he's pretty good," the woman compliments, her gaze shifting towards him with a nod of approval. “He’s cute. Clearly takes after you.”
“I don’t know about that,” You blush slightly. When she turns her attention back to you, you inquire about her own child. "You?"
"Oh, my son is Teddy over there with the buzz cut," she replies, pointing towards a boy on the field.
“He’s solid,” You nod.
"I'd like to think so," she shrugs casually. "I'm Vera. What's your name?"
"Y/n," you reply, shaking her hand.
"Oh, you're the ex," Vera whistles, her tone carrying a hint of surprise.
“That would be me,” You tip your hat and offer a smile. “Has there been a lot of talk?”
Vera chuckles lightly, a knowing glint in her eye. "Oh, you know how it is," she replies vaguely, her tone suggesting that she's privy to some of the gossip but doesn't feel the need to delve into details.
"Unfortunately I do," you say with a rueful smile, acknowledging the sometimes intrusive nature of parents nearby.
Vera, ever the conversationalist, leans in a bit closer, a curious glint in her eyes. "So, how have you been holding up?" she asks, her tone filled with genuine interest as she tries to strike up a conversation. “Divorce can’t be easy. Trust me I’d know.”
You offer a small, appreciative nod, grateful for Vera's attempt to connect. "It's been... challenging," you admit, your voice softening with a hint of vulnerability. "But I'm taking it one day at a time." Despite the difficulties, you find solace in the genuine concern of those around you, including Vera's compassionate gesture.
“Well, if you ever need a shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen,” Vera offers, extending a comforting gesture.
“She won’t,” Natasha interrupts, her voice firm and protective, asserting her presence in the conversation.
Vera's expression falters momentarily at Natasha's interruption, her offer of support met with an unexpected rebuttal. She glances between you and Natasha, sensing an underlying tension in the exchange.
Undeterred, Vera quickly recovers with a gentle smile. "Of course," she replies diplomatically. “Well, nice meeting you.” Vera excuses herself to go sit on the other side of the bleachers.
“You sure scared her,” You chuckled, breaking the tension with a light-hearted comment.
“Wasn’t my intention,” Natasha smirks, her expression softening as she meets your gaze. “He’s so happy you’re here,” she adds, tilting her chin towards Ryan, who keeps glancing over to you, almost as if to check that you’re still here. There's a fondness in Natasha's voice as she observes Ryan's behavior, a silent acknowledgment of the bond between mother and child.
“I’m happy to be here,” You wrap your arm around her waist to pull her closer to you. “We can throw some balls before bed and talk. How’s he been doing? With his anger and everything?”
Natasha leans into your embrace, appreciating the comfort of your touch. "He's been better," she admits. "We've been working on it, but it's been a struggle. He's still adjusting, I think."
There's a hint of vulnerability in her tone as she opens up about the challenges of parenting. Ryan especially in the past months has regressed and resorted to anger in the form of violence, mostly toward Natasha. She had reluctantly admitted this after you caught the tail end of her scolding when he’d thrown a video game remote at her head. You offer her a reassuring squeeze, silently conveying your support.
“I feel guilty,” You admit. “I know this isn’t the place for us to get into it but… I do.” You take a deep breath. “I’ve left you all in the dark about everything. It hasn’t been fair to them.”
Natasha listens quietly, her expression softening as she hears your admission. She reaches out to gently cup your cheek, offering a reassuring touch. "I understand," she says softly, her voice laced with empathy. "It's been tough for all of us." She doesn't excuse your actions, but she also doesn't want to make you feel guiltier.
It’s Ryan’s turn again. Time to pay attention.
*******************
Chuck E Cheese’s was a great place to go after a baseball game, especially for kids like Ryan and Emma who were bursting with energy after spending hours on the field. As you walked through the doors, the lively sounds of arcade games and children's laughter filled the air, causing you to instantly become overstimulated.
Ryan's eyes widened with excitement as he caught sight of the colorful carousel and the flashing lights of the arcade games. Emma's face lit up as she spotted the towering play structure, complete with slides, tunnels, and ball pits.
You led the way to a table, the scent of freshly baked pizza wafting through the air and making your stomach growl in anticipation. The kids eagerly clamored around the table, their chatter filling the space as they debated which games to play first and which prizes to aim for.
As the kids dashed off to explore the arcade, you and Natasha settled into a booth, enjoying a moment of relative calm amidst the bustling atmosphere of Chuck E Cheese’s. You'd paid for 100 coins each, not much all things considered, but worth it for a fun time on a school night.
Sitting across from Natasha, you appreciated the chance to have a conversation without interruptions, even if it was just for a little while. The occasional shriek or burst of laughter from the arcade area served as background noise, a reminder of the chaos surrounding you.
“So, have you given any thought to the couple’s assignment thing?” You asked, breaking the brief lull in conversation. “Something for us to do together that doesn’t involve a bedroom.”
Natasha leaned back against the booth, her gaze thoughtful as she considered your question. "I have," she replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I was thinking maybe we could try cooking together. We used to enjoy trying out new recipes, remember?"
The memory brought warmth to your heart, a reminder of simpler times when it was just the two of you, experimenting in the kitchen and sharing meals. "That sounds perfect," you agree, returning her smile. "It'll be nice to spend some quality time together."
It was a date.
"I remember those times in the kitchen," You began, your voice soft with emotion. "They were some of the best moments we shared."
“That kitchen has seen a lot,” Natasha nods, grabbing a slice of pizza to bite into.
“It has certainly seen better days,” You agree. “I’m really glad you didn’t sell the house.”
Natasha's expression softens at your words. "Me too," she murmurs, setting down her slice of pizza to give you her full attention. "It wouldn't have felt right, you know? Selling the house felt like giving up on everything we built together."
You nod in agreement, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Despite all the challenges we've faced, this place still feels like home."
"It always will," Natasha replies, her voice filled with conviction. “There’s something else on the assignment list that would be cool. Do you want to discuss it now?”
“Here?” You look around.
“Sure, why not,” Natasha shrugs. “It’s a simple question. What is something you’re glad you’ll never have to do again?”
“Hmm, probably childbirth,” You answer honestly. You wipe your mouth with the corner of a napkin before setting it aside.
Natasha's brows furrow slightly in confusion at your response. "Childbirth? Really?" she asks, her tone laced with curiosity. "I mean, I know it's not a walk in the park, but I thought you handled it like a champ. You never really talked about it being that bad."
You hesitate for a moment, your gaze drifting away from Natasha's as you search for the right words. "Yeah, well, I guess I just... tried to focus on the positive aspects," you reply vaguely, a faint hint of discomfort creeping into your voice. "But, um, the aftermath wasn't exactly a walk in the park either."
Natasha's expression softens with concern as she picks up on your hesitation. "What do you mean?" she prompts gently, reaching across the table to place her hand over yours. "Is everything okay?"
You take a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you prepare to share something you've kept buried for far too long. "I... I think I had postpartum depression," you admit your voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... something I never really talked about."
Natasha's eyes widen slightly in surprise, her hand squeezing yours reassuringly. "I had no idea," she murmurs, her voice filled with empathy.
“Yeah, I hid it well I guess,” You frown. “You were away on a mission when it got really bad. I had to take Ryan to the compound. I left him there for a few days. He just wouldn’t stop crying and I just needed time and…”
Natasha's expression softens further as she listens, her heart breaking at the thought of you struggling alone with Ryan. "I'm so sorry," she says, her voice filled with genuine remorse. "I wish I had been there for you."
You shake your head, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "It's not your fault," you reply, your voice tinged with sadness. "I didn't want to burden you with it, especially when you were away on a mission. I thought I could handle it on my own."
"You never have to handle things alone, y/n," she says softly, her eyes locked on yours.
“Somehow I keep forgetting that,” You shrug.
Natasha doesn’t want to ask the next question. She’s almost afraid of the answer you’re going to give. “So what were the positives for you? In therapy, you mentioned that things got rougher when we had kids. I understand PPD can exacerbate that.”
You pause, contemplating Natasha's question for a moment before answering. "Honestly," you begin, your voice low and hesitant, "for a long time, I couldn't see any positives. It felt like everything was just... too much. The sleepless nights, the constant crying, the feeling of being overwhelmed... I couldn't see past it."
Natasha's hand finds yours across the table, offering silent support as you continue. "But... therapy helped," you admit, a flicker of hope in your eyes. "Talking about it, understanding it... It helped me realize that there were moments of joy. Like... the first time Ryan smiled, or when Emma said her first word. Little things that reminded me why I wanted to be a parent in the first place."
You glance up at Natasha, searching her eyes for understanding. "It's still hard," you confess, your voice raw with emotion. "But I'm learning to find the positives, even on the toughest days."
“Thank you for telling me this,” Natasha says.
“I would have preferred us to talk about it over dinner but I guess Chuck E. Cheese’s was as good as any,” You try to lighten the mood. “Honestly, I didn’t think you would take this information so lightly. I know you have this view of pregnancy and everything and back then I didn’t want to change that for you.”
Natasha listens intently, her expression softening as you speak. "I'm sorry," she says sincerely."I never realized you were going through all of that alone. I wish you had felt comfortable talking to me about it."
You give her a small smile, appreciating her understanding. "It's okay," you reassure her. "I didn't even fully understand it myself at the time. But I'm glad we're talking about it now."
Natasha nods, her eyes reflecting a mixture of regret and gratitude. "Me too," she agrees softly.
“But you never answered the question yourself,” You pointed out. Natasha raises a brow. “What’s something you’re glad you never have to do again?”
Natasha's expression turns thoughtful as she considers your question. After a moment of contemplation, she speaks, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I think," she begins slowly, "I'm glad we never have to go back to feeling distant from each other. Those times when we were both struggling individually and couldn't find our way back to each other... I'm glad that's behind us now. I never want to feel that kind of disconnection again."
You nod in understanding, feeling a sense of relief at her honesty. "Me neither," you admit. "I think we've both learned a lot from those moments, and we're stronger because of it."
Natasha smiles softly, her eyes meeting yours with warmth. "Absolutely," she agrees.
