College, bills, bookstore shifts, your life is ordinary, until Wanda Maximoff walks in. Warm, curious, and persistent, she draws you out of your shell, and soon you’re visiting her home, meeting her sharp-eyed wife, Natasha.
What begins as shy glances and quiet conversation grows into a slow-burn romance, evolving into a dynamic built on trust, care, and obedience. A relationship of discovery, intimacy, and belonging: learning to let yourself be seen, and loved, by both of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Minors DNI
Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Link to AO3
Chapters:
Chapter 1: Eyes White Like Daisies
Chapter 2: Another Conversation
Chapter 3: Light as a Feather
Chapter 4: Stiff as a Board
Chapter 5: Wide-Eye Affection
Chapter 6: And it Felt Nice, so Nice
Chapter 7: And I Make Light of the Darkness
Chapter 8: My Brain Goes 'Ahhhh'
Chapter 9: Got a Pretty Face
Chapter 10: Stupid, Emotional, Obsessive Little Me
Summary: After saving Pietro at a previous frat party, Wanda and Natasha are convinced you're dating because of how close you all are. They instantly feel guilty for crushing on you when you're dating Wanda's brother, but the second they catch you "cheating"...
Wordcount: ≈1300
Warnings: language, mentions of accused cheating (not true), kissing, throuples
Reading time: ≈10 mins
Req by: Tumblr anon
Type: Oneshot
“This,” Pietro tells Wanda and Natasha, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “Is Y/N. Say hi, Y/N/N.”
“Hey,” you say, letting Pietro steal your drink for himself. “I paid for that, dickhead.”
Natasha's eyes finally meet yours, still half-fiery from the glare you shot Pietro. The corner of her lip twitches, barely. Wanda's eyes avoid yours like the plague, a slight pink tint dusting her face.
“Natasha,” She introduces herself, a smug smirk on her face. “And that's Wanda.”
The other woman glanced up at you with a small smile before looking back down again.
“Nice to meet you,” you reply politely, before hitting Pietros chest. “Seriously, give me my drink back.”
He sticks his tongue out at you, handing it back. You take a sip, swallowing it down.
“C'mon, Y/N/N. We gotta go.”
You hum. “See you around, ladies.”
Pietro spins you, walking with his arm around your waist for a few strides before breaking apart, blowing a mocking kiss. “Later. Love you.”
“Bye. Love you more,” you reply sweetly, waving as you walk in opposite directions. Wanda and Natasha's eyes are fixed on you as you leave. Clearly, Pietro was your boyfriend. But God if they didn't think you were stunning anyway.
________________________________________
A few weeks later, Wanda and Natasha have unfortunately learned two things.
The first was that Pietro was apparently incapable of existing within a five-foot radius of you without touching you somehow. An arm around your shoulders. His head in your lap. Your legs across his. Random hugs.
The second thing they'd learned was that every single time they started convincing themselves maybe you weren't dating, Pietro would do something ridiculous. Like now.
"Y/N/N!" You barely have time to react before Pietro launches himself dramatically onto the couch beside you.
"Move."
"No."
"You are sitting on my leg,” you complain, shoving his shoulder.
"Good."
"You are literally crushing me." Pietro grins and settles more of his weight on you.
Across the common room, Natasha look away before she could accidentally commit a felony. "They're definitely dating," she mutters.
“Definetly.” Wanda sighs miserably.
“Ow, my foots going numb! Move!”
“Nope,” Pietro replies, popping the P dramatically. “I'm cofmy.”
Natasha rolls her eyes, glancing at Wanda. Pietro eventually does move.
Mostly because you threaten to spill your drink on him. "Violence," he says dramatically, standing up. "Against your own boyfriend."
"You ate my fries."
"Exactly what a loving boyfriend would do."
Across the room, Wanda freezes.
Natasha slowly lowers her coffee. Boyfriend. There it is again. Not friend. Not roommate. Not "we're basically siblings." Boyfriend.
Pietro steals one final fry from your plate before sprinting away when you try to kick him. You point after him. "He's the worst."
"You're obsessed with me!" Pietro yells from the kitchen.
"I hope a bird steals your wallet!"
Natasha watches the exchange with a thousand-yard stare.
Natasha gestures toward where Pietro is now blowing kisses at you from across the room. "...No."
________________________________________
Another frat party. The girl beside you laughs, touching your arm lightly as she talks.
Across the room, Wanda's eye twitches.
"Nat."
"I see it."
"That's flirting."
"I know."
Meanwhile, Pietro is currently leaning against a wall charming the life out of another woman across the room.
Natasha narrows her eyes. "...Is he also flirting?"
Wanda follows her gaze. "...Oh my God."
The two women exchange a horrified look. Because now it isn't just a relationship. It's apparently two people cheating on each other at the exact same party. "Maybe they're broken up?" Wanda offers.
"Then why is he blowing kisses at her?"
As if summoned by the accusation, Pietro catches your eye from across the room and dramatically blows you another kiss. You respond by flipping him off. Natasha stares. Wanda stares. "That's not helping."
A little later, Natasha decides she's had enough. The second your conversation with the girl ends, a hand wraps around your wrist. "Come with us."
You blink. "What?"
"Now."
"Am I being kidnapped?” you ask. "Wanda?"
"Now."
They drag you into an empty guest bedroom upstairs. The door closes. You stare between them. "...Am I in trouble?"
"Are you cheating on Pietro?" Natasha asks immediately.
You stare. "What?"
"At least look guilty."
"I don't know what's happening."
Wanda throws her hands into the air. "The girl downstairs!"
"What girl?"
"The brunette!"
"The pretty one?"
"YES THE PRETTY ONE."
"Oh."
Natasha points accusingly. "You were flirting with her."
"Yeah?"
"And Pietro was flirting with someone else."
"...yeah?"
"You're dating."
Silence. Then you start laughing. Not a little laugh. A full-body, doubled-over laugh. Wanda and Natasha exchange confused looks.
"What's funny?" Wanda asks.
You wipe tears from your eyes. "Oh my God."
"Y/N."
"No—"
"Y/N."
"No, because this is actually incredible."
Natasha crosses her arms. "We're waiting."
You take a breath. "Pietro and I aren't dating."
The room goes silent. "What?"
"We're not dating."
Wanda blinks. Natasha blinks. "What do you mean you're not dating?"
"We've never dated."
"But he called himself your boyfriend."
"He calls himself lots of things."
"He said he loved you."
"He also told a professor he was legally dead so he could get an extension."
“Explain,” Natasha tells you bluntly.
“Well I told him the paper was due the next day, and he still waited until 11pm to start it and fell asleep, so he had to go ask fo—”
“The dating, not the paper.”
Then comes the real explanation. A year ago, at a different frat party, Pietro had stupidly started flirting with one of the frat leaders girlfriends. You realised this, and had quickly pulled him away, telling everyone that you were his girlfriend, and he thought the other girl was you because he was drunk.
"You've let us think you're dating for months?"
"Nobody asked."
Wanda groans. Natasha drops onto the edge of the bed. "I need a drink."
"You were jealous?" Both women freeze. "Oh."
"Oh no," Wanda mutters.
Your grin grows. "You were jealous."
"No.”
"Natasha."
"No,” Natasha tells you seriously.
"Wanda."
"...a little."
"A little?"
Natasha laughs. "A lot."
"So you thought I was dating Pietro this whole time?"
"Yes."
"And you still liked me?"
Wanda snorts. "Unfortunately."
"Very unfortunately," Natasha agrees.
You smile. "Why?"
The answer gets softer. Because now it's real. Because now they aren't hiding behind jealousy.
Wanda admits she fell first. Natasha claims that's a lie. Wanda insists she spent six months staring at you. Natasha immediately points out Wanda once drove forty minutes to buy your favourite coffee.
Then they accidentally expose all the ridiculous things they've done because they liked you. And you just stand there staring. "You two are idiots."
Summary: Y/N release a new song that goes viral immediately.
Word Count: 9,398
Request: Yes
Warning: Fluff, Little Smut, (18+), Reader has a P.
Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist
---
---
The internet didn’t explode right away.
It cracked first.
Like a glass under pressure—silent, subtle fractures spreading before anyone realized it was about to shatter.
Y/N’s name had already been trending that morning. That wasn’t unusual anymore. Ever since her debut, everything she touched turned into noise—charts, headlines, speculation. But this… this was different.
Because at midnight, without warning, she dropped a new single.
“Pillowtalk.”
No teaser.
No countdown.
No explanation.
Just a black cover, her name, and the track.
---
Lizzie’s POV
Elizabeth woke up to the sound of her phone vibrating relentlessly against the nightstand. She groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow—Y/N’s pillow, she noted absently, still faintly smelling like her—before blindly reaching for the phone.
“...what,” she mumbled, eyes barely open.
Notifications flooded her screen.
Mary-Kate: DID YOU HEAR IT??
Ashley: Lizzie. Call me. Now.
Trent: Uh… so is this about you or—
Unknown Number: “Pillowtalk?? Girl???”
Lizzie frowned.
“…what did she do now…”
She tapped one of the links. A music app opened, and the song started.
---
Climb on board…
We’ll go slow and high tempo…
Lizzie froze.
Her eyes snapped open.
“…oh no.”
---
Y/N’s POV
Across the city, Y/N was very much awake—pacing, phone in hand. Regret? No. Nerves? Definitely. She stared at the ceiling of her apartment, jaw tight as notifications rolled in faster than she could process. Streams skyrocketing. Fans losing their minds. Speculation threads already forming.
And then—
Lizzie ❤️ calling…
Y/N stopped pacing immediately. “…shit.” She answered.
“Hey—”
“Did you write a sex song about me?”
Straight to it.
Y/N blinked. “…good morning to you too?”
“Y/N.”
There it was—that tone. The one that made her both want to laugh and immediately behave. She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, first of all—”
“—it’s very detailed,” Lizzie cut in.
“I—”
“Second of all, my entire family just woke me up.”
Y/N winced. “…okay, that part I’m sorry about.”
“Y/N.”
“…yes?”
A pause. Then, softer—dangerously softer: “…is it about me?”
Y/N leaned back against the wall, staring at nothing. There it was. The real question. Not teasing. Not playful. Something vulnerable underneath it. And suddenly, all the confidence she had at midnight? Gone.
“…you tell me,” she said quietly.
Lizzie huffed on the other end. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m serious,” Y/N replied, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You’ve been in my life long enough. You know how I write.”
Lizzie didn’t answer right away—because she did know. Y/N didn’t just write songs. She documented feelings. Moments. People. And this song—the intimacy, the tension, the want threaded through every line—
Her cheeks flushed. She pressed her lips together, pacing once before dragging a hand through her hair. “…you’re unbelievable,” Lizzie muttered, but there was no real bite to it now—just warmth, familiarity… recognition.
On the other end, Y/N smiled softly. Not nervous this time. Just… fond.
“You know,” Y/N said, voice quieter, steadier, “it’s about this girl I’ve been dating for over six months.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes immediately, even as her heart picked up. “Oh really? Tell me more,” she said dryly.
Y/N huffed a quiet laugh. “She’s kind of a menace. Steals my clothes. Judges my cooking. Wakes up grumpy if I’m not there—”
“I do not—”
“—and I’ve been in love with her for a while now.”
That stopped her.
Not because it was new—it wasn’t. Y/N had said it before, softly, late at night, half-asleep, pressed into her skin like a secret meant only for her. But this—hearing it now, wrapped inside a song the whole world was dissecting… it hit differently.
“…you’re really leaning into this, huh,” Lizzie murmured, quieter now.
Y/N smiled. “I mean, it’s not exactly breaking news.”
Lizzie let out a small breath, shoulders relaxing despite herself. “No,” she admitted. “…it’s not.”
A pause settled between them—comfortable, lived-in. Then Lizzie spoke again, quieter now. “…come over tonight.”
Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There was a soft shift on the other end, like Y/N had straightened, like something in her had warmed at the invitation. “I’ll be there.”
Lizzie nodded to herself, even though she knew Y/N couldn’t see it. “…good.”
A beat. Then, softer—almost shy, but not quite: “And for the record…”
Y/N hummed. “Yeah?”
Lizzie’s lips curved, her heart steady now. “I really like the song.”
Y/N’s smile grew, slow and certain. “Good,” she said. “Because I wrote it thinking about you.”
Lizzie shook her head, huffing under her breath—but she was smiling. Of course she was. Because this wasn’t the beginning. It wasn’t some sudden confession. It was just them—six months in, already in love, and now, apparently… with a hit song to prove it.
---
Lizzie’s POV
The apartment felt quieter after the call ended. Not empty—never empty—but… full in a different way, like the air itself had shifted. I stared at my phone for a few seconds longer than necessary, Y/N’s contact still open, her last words lingering in my ears. Because I wrote it thinking about you.
God.
I dropped the phone onto the bed beside me and fell back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “…she’s insane,” I whispered, but my lips were already curving. Because this wasn’t new.
That was the thing. Anyone else listening to Pillowtalk would think it was some bold confession, some reckless, romantic reveal—but they didn’t hear her the way I did.
They didn’t know how she sounded at 2 a.m., voice low and soft, tangled up in me as she murmured I love you like it was the easiest thing in the world. They didn’t know how she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
They didn’t know the way she felt.
I did.
And somehow… that made the song feel even more intimate—not because it was the first time, but because it wasn’t. Because it was ours—just… louder now.
I turned my head, glancing at the nightstand—at her hoodie half hanging off the edge, at the faint imprint of where she’d slept last time she stayed over. My chest tightened, soft and warm. “…six months,” I murmured. It hadn’t felt like six months. It felt like something that had just… settled into place, like she had always been there and I just hadn’t noticed until suddenly I couldn’t imagine anything without her in it.
And now the entire world was trying to piece her together through a three-minute song.
I huffed, sitting up again and reaching for my phone. Big mistake. Notifications exploded across the screen the second it lit up, but curiosity got the better of me anyway. I tapped into Y/N’s page—and immediately, chaos. Comments flooding in faster than I could even read them.
“WHO IS THIS ABOUT???”
“SHE’S IN LOVE I CAN HEAR IT 😭”
“I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE—PICK ME Y/N”
“WHOEVER SHE’S DATING IS LIVING MY DREAM”
“GIRL WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER???”
I snorted despite myself, scrolling—thread after thread, fans dissecting every lyric like it was a crime scene. Some were sweet, some unhinged, most were… thirsty.
My eyes paused on one:
“I wish I was the one she’s singing about.” Another: “The way she sings?? I’d fold instantly.”
I shook my head, lips pressing together to hide the smile creeping in. “…you have no idea,” I murmured.
But then—another comment.
“Have you SEEN her Calvin Klein shoot?? Whoever she’s with is GOD’S FAVORITE.”
I froze. Oh. That. That week.
I groaned, dropping my head back dramatically. “…don’t remind me.” I could still picture it perfectly—those photos, the way she looked at the camera, the comments that followed, the absolute feral energy her fans had unleashed.
I had been so annoyed—not at her, never at her—but at… everything else. At the fact that everyone got to look. At the fact that people talked about her like she wasn’t—
Mine.
I rolled onto my side, staring at my phone again. And yet… now? Now I was just smiling. Softly. Because the comments kept coming—
“WHO IS SHE AND HOW DID SHE PULL Y/N???”
“SHE MUST BE INSANE LEVELS OF LUCKY.”
“I’D NEVER SHUT UP IF Y/N WROTE THIS ABOUT ME.”
My chest warmed, a quiet, almost smug kind of warmth. “…yeah,” I whispered. Because they didn’t know. They didn’t know what it felt like to have Y/N’s hands on you, steady and sure. To hear her voice drop just for you. To be the one she *looked at* when the world wasn’t watching. They didn’t know how soft she could be—how gentle, how *hers* she was when it was just the two of us.
I locked my phone, bringing it down to rest against my chest. A small smile stayed on my lips. Because for all the noise—for all the speculation, for all the people wishing, hoping, imagining—
Y/N was mine.
Only mine.
And tonight?
I’d have her right here again. Not through a song, not through a screen—just…
Mine.
My phone buzzed again against my chest.
I groaned. “Please don’t be—”
Ashley.
Of course.
I unlocked it slowly this time, bracing myself.
Ashley:
So… we’re all just going to ignore the fact your girlfriend dropped the horniest love song of the year?
I snorted. Before I could even type back—another notification.
Mary-Kate:
Be serious for one second. Is this the same girl you’ve been secretly smiling at your phone about for six months?
“…I hate both of you,” I muttered under my breath, already typing.
Lizzie:
You’re both dramatic.
Three dots appeared instantly. Then—
Ashley:
That’s not a no.
Mary-Kate:
That’s VERY much not a no.
I pressed my lips together, fighting the smile that was trying to give me away—even though they couldn’t see me.
Lizzie:
You already know I’m dating her.
Ashley:
Dating is one thing.
Being the muse of THAT song is another.
I rolled my eyes, flopping back against the pillows again. God, they were relentless.
Mary-Kate:
Okay, jokes aside—
That made me pause.
Because Mary-Kate only said that when she actually meant something.
Another message came through.
Mary-Kate:
We need to meet her.
My fingers stilled over the screen.
Ashley:
Yeah. Before this whole thing goes public and suddenly she’s everywhere with you.
A small knot formed in my chest—not bad, just… real. Because they weren’t wrong. This—whatever this was turning into—It wasn’t going to stay quiet forever.
I sat up again, pulling my knees in slightly as I read the next message.
Mary-Kate:
If she’s important to you, Lizzie… we want to know her.
Ashley:
Also I need to see if she’s actually worthy of inspiring THAT song.
I huffed out a laugh at that, shaking my head.
“…you two are unbelievable.”
But my heart had softened. Because underneath the teasing—they cared about me. About who I was letting into my life.
And Y/N…
My gaze drifted briefly to the hoodie still draped over the chair. To the quiet presence of her that lingered everywhere.
“…she is,” I murmured.
More to myself than anything.
Then I looked back at my phone and typed.
Lizzie:
You’ll meet her.
A pause. Then I added—
Lizzie:
Soon.
The replies came instantly.
Ashley:
Oh my god it’s serious serious.
Mary-Kate:
Of course it is Ash! They’ve been dating for six months!
I laughed, shaking my head as I locked my phone again.
“Idiots,” I said fondly.
But the word soon lingered in my mind. Because tonight—
Tonight wasn’t about family. Or the public, or any of that. It was just us.
But after that?
After the song…
After everything it stirred up—things were changing.
And maybe—Just maybe—I was ready for them to.
---
At Night
Lizzie’s POV
By the time I got home, my head was full.
Meetings always did that—too many voices, too many opinions, too many versions of my future being laid out in neat little bullet points like it was something that could actually be controlled.
My PA had gone over scripts, scheduling conflicts, press timelines… the usual. I said yes to some things. Maybe to others. No to a few I already knew I didn’t want. But through all of it—there was this quiet pull in the back of my mind.
7 p.m.
I slipped my shoes off by the door, exhaling as the silence of my apartment wrapped around me again.
Finally.
Just me.
Well…
Me—and her, in all the little ways she seemed to exist here even when she wasn’t.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Right on cue.
Y/N ❤️:
Still alive? Or did your meetings kill you?
I smiled instantly, dropping my bag onto the chair.
Lizzie:
Barely. I think I signed my soul away to at least two projects.
The reply came fast.
Y/N ❤️:
Damn. Should I be jealous?
I scoffed, walking toward the kitchen.
Lizzie:
You wish.
Three dots.
Y/N ❤️:
I mean… I am the one getting you tonight, so I think I’m winning.
My cheeks warmed.
God.
I leaned against the counter, biting back a smile.
Lizzie:
Don’t get cocky.
Y/N ❤️:
Too late.
Another message followed right after.
Y/N ❤️:
I’ll be there around 7. Still at the studio right now.
I glanced at the time. Just past five. Two hours.
My chest did that annoying little thing again—tightening, but in a way that felt more like anticipation than anything else.
Lizzie:
Okay.
I hesitated. Then—
Lizzie:
Drive safe.
A pause. Longer this time.
Then—
Y/N ❤️:
I can’t wait to see you.
And with that I smiling stupidly. I stared at that for a second longer than necessary before locking my phone.
“…okay,” I murmured to myself.
Two hours. I pushed off the counter, looking around my apartment again.
Still clean.
Still… very obviously lived-in by two people, if anyone looked close enough.
I walked into the bedroom, opening my closet without really thinking about it.
My hand hovered over a few options.
Something casual?
Something comfortable?
Something that would absolutely get a reaction out of her?
I huffed a quiet laugh.
“…why am I like this?”
Because it mattered. Because she mattered.
I pulled out one of her shirts instead. Of course I did. Slipping it on, I caught my reflection in the mirror—hair a little messy from the day, her shirt falling just right on me.
My lips curved slightly.
“…yeah. That’ll do.”
I left the room, glancing at the clock again.
6:12 p.m.
Still time.
I tried to distract myself—turned on the TV, flipped through channels, didn’t actually watch anything. Checked my phone. Put it down. Picked it up again.
Scrolled. Locked it.
“…this is ridiculous,” I muttered.
But my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. Because no matter how many times she’d been here—no matter how normal this should’ve felt by now—it didn’t. Not completely. There was always that little spark. That anticipation. That pull.
And tonight…
After the song.
After everything it stirred up—
It felt just a little more intense.
6:47 p.m.
I stood up.
Paced once.
Twice.
Then stopped in front of the door, like somehow that would make time move faster.
“…relax,” I told myself.
As if that was going to happen.
6:55.
The handle moved. I blinked.
“…wait—”
The door unlocked before I could even react, and then it opened—
And there she was.
Like she had just appeared.
Y/N stood there, slightly breathless, hair a little messy like she’d run a hand through it too many times, jacket still on—
And the second her eyes landed on me—
She smiled.
Wide.
Immediate.
Like it had been longer than three days. Like those three days had actually mattered.
My chest tightened.
“Hi—”
I didn’t even get to finish.
She stepped in, closing the door behind her without looking, already moving toward me—and then her arms were around me, pulling me in like she’d been waiting all day for this.
Like she needed it.
The height difference made it effortless. I barely had time to react before I was pressed against her, her warmth wrapping around me—her face burying into the side of my neck.
“Hey,” she murmured, voice soft, a little rough.
I exhaled, my hands coming up instantly, gripping onto her like I had something to prove.
“Hi,” I whispered back.
God. Three days. It wasn’t long. It shouldn’t have felt like this.
But it did.
She held me tighter, like she was making up for lost time. “Gosh, I missed you,” she mumbled against my skin.
And this time—I didn’t tease her.
“…I missed you too,” I admitted, quieter.
She stilled for half a second at that, like she felt it—really felt it—before pulling back just enough to look at me. Her eyes softened, something warm and a little undone flickering there. “Yeah?” she asked gently.
I nodded, not trusting myself to say it again without sounding… too much. But she already knew. She always did.
And then—she kissed me.
Not rushed. Not playful. Slow. Like she was grounding herself, like she was reminding herself I was actually here. My hand slid up to her jaw, holding her there as I leaned into it, letting it linger just a little longer than usual.
When we finally pulled back, my forehead rested briefly against hers. “…you’re early,” I murmured softly.
Y/N smiled faintly. “Couldn’t stay away.”
That did something to my chest. Of course it did.
Her gaze dropped slightly—and she paused. “…is that my shirt?” she asked.
I glanced down, then back up at her, completely unapologetic. “Maybe.”
Her smile returned, softer this time. “…looks better on you.”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t move—didn’t step away. Because after three days, this—this was exactly where I wanted to be.
Her smile lingered for a second longer before she finally shifted, like she’d just remembered something. “Oh—” Y/N pulled back slightly, one arm still loosely around my waist as she lifted the other.
A takeout bag.
I blinked. “…you brought food?”
She raised a brow, a hint of amusement slipping into her expression. “You just noticed?”
I glanced down at it, then back up at her, a little sheepish. “I was… distracted.”
Y/N huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah, I could tell.” She gently nudged the bag toward me. “Figured you wouldn’t have eaten properly,” she added, tone casual—but there was that underlying care she didn’t even try to hide anymore.
My chest warmed. “…I had a meeting,” I defended weakly.
“Exactly,” she said, like that proved her point.
I rolled my eyes, but took the bag from her anyway, peeking inside. The smell hit immediately. “…oh my god.”
Y/N watched my reaction, clearly pleased with herself. “Yeah?”
I looked up at her, genuinely impressed. “You got my favorite.”
“I know.”
Of course she did.
I shook my head, smiling as I walked toward the kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” she cut in easily, shrugging off her jacket.
I turned back just in time to see her toss it over the chair, already making herself at home like she always did—like this place was just as much hers as it was mine. And honestly? It kind of was.
“You eat yet?” I asked, opening the containers.
Y/N shook her head, leaning casually against the counter across from me. “Not really.”
I paused, glancing up at her. “Then we’re sharing.”
She smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
I grabbed two sets of chopsticks, handing one to her as I nudged the food between us. We stayed by the counter at first, eating straight from the containers like we always did when neither of us felt like being proper—comfortable, easy, familiar.
But it didn’t take long before the silence shifted—subtle, but noticeable. Because there was something sitting between us. Unsaid.
I glanced at her, catching the way she was focused on her food a little too much. “…so,” I started casually, leaning my hip against the counter. “The song.”
Y/N’s chopsticks paused mid-air for a second. Then she resumed eating like nothing happened. “Mm,” she hummed. “What about it?”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. “You really just dropped that,” I said. “No warning. No heads-up. Nothing.”
She glanced up at me, already reading the tone behind it. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said simply.
I blinked. “…a surprise?”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah.”
“For who?” I asked, half incredulous.
“For everyone,” she replied—then her eyes softened slightly when they met mine. “For you, too.”
That… did something to me. But still—
“You couldn’t have, I don’t know, mentioned it?” I pressed, though there wasn’t real anger behind it. “Like, ‘hey Lizzie, I’m about to release a very—very—specific song’?”
Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, scratching the back of her neck. “Okay, yeah… maybe I should’ve.”
I raised a brow. “Maybe?”
She exhaled, her expression shifting—more serious now. “I didn’t think it would hit like this,” she admitted. “The reactions. The speculation… all of it.” Her gaze flickered over my face, searching. “And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she added quietly. “So if it did, I—”
“Hey.”
I didn’t even let her finish. My chopsticks clattered softly onto the counter as I stepped forward, closing the small distance between us.
She looked up, slightly caught off guard.
I didn’t say anything else—just moved.
One second I was standing in front of her—the next, I was settling onto her lap, turning slightly so I was facing her properly.
Her hands instinctively came to my waist, steadying me.
“Liz—”
“I liked it,” I said immediately.
She blinked.
“…what?”
“I liked the song,” I repeated, softer this time, my hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “A lot.”
Something in her expression shifted—like tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding started to ease.
“You did?” she asked, almost careful.
I nodded, a small smile pulling at my lips.
“Yeah.”
Her thumbs brushed absently against my sides, grounding, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
“…it didn’t freak you out?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“No.”
A pause. Then, quieter—“It’s not the first time you’ve said those things to me,” I added. “It’s just… the first time the world heard it too.”
Y/N watched me for a second, really watched me.
“…and you’re okay with that?” she asked.
I held her gaze.
There was still that carefulness in her eyes—like she was bracing for something, like she didn’t want to push too far.
God.
She really didn’t get it sometimes.
My hands slid up slightly on her shoulders, grounding myself before I spoke.
“I love you too,” I said softly.
The words landed between us—familiar, but still heavy in the best way. Her breath caught just a little.
And I didn’t look away.
“I’ve loved you,” I continued, quieter but steadier now. “This doesn’t change that.”
Her eyes searched mine, like she was making sure—really making sure.
So I gave her more.
“And I don’t care if the world knows about us,” I added.
That did it.
I felt the shift in her hands immediately—tightening just slightly at my waist, like something in her had finally settled.
“Lizzie…” she murmured.
“I mean it,” I said, brushing my thumb lightly along her shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a lot. And yeah, people are going to talk and speculate and be… insane.”
That pulled the faintest smile from her.
“But they already are,” I added softly. “And none of that changes what this is.”
I leaned in just a little closer.
“What we are.”
Her gaze dropped briefly to my lips, then back up again. Something warm. Something certain.
“…you sure?” she asked, almost like she needed to hear it one more time.
I smiled.
“Yeah.”
A small pause.
Then, a little teasing—because I couldn’t help it:
“Besides,” I murmured, “if you’re going to write songs like that about me…”
Her lips twitched.
“…kind of hard to stay a secret.”
She let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something more emotional.
“Fair point,” she said.
But then her expression softened again, deeper this time.
More real.
Her hand came up, brushing lightly against my cheek.
“…I meant what I said too,” she murmured.
“I know.”
And I did.
Because I could feel it—
In the way she held me.
In the way she looked at me.
In everything she didn’t even have to say anymore.
Her forehead rested briefly against mine.
“…you’re really okay with this?” she asked one last time.
I didn’t hesitate.
“I’m okay with you.”
That was the answer. That had always been the answer. And whatever came with it—the world, the noise, the attention—
None of it mattered as much as this.
As her.
Y/N smiled then. Not the confident, teasing smile the world knew. Something softer. Something only I got to see.
“…come here,” she murmured.
I was already there.
Her lips were already on mine before I could say anything else.
This time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful.
It deepened almost immediately—like something that had been building all day, all week, all three days apart finally snapping into place.
I inhaled sharply against her, my hands sliding up into her hair as hers tightened at my waist, pulling me closer—closer—until there was barely any space left between us.
“Y/N…” I breathed, but it came out softer than I intended.
She answered by tilting her head, kissing me deeper, more certain—like she didn’t want to stop now that she had me again.
And I didn’t want her to.
God, I didn’t.
My fingers curled slightly in her hair, holding her there as I leaned into it, completely giving in to the warmth, the familiarity, the pull of her.
Her hands shifted—one pressing firmer against my lower back, grounding me, keeping me right where she wanted me.
And somewhere in the middle of it, I start to grind down on her lap.
It wasn’t intentional. Not really. Just instinct. Just the way my body reacted to hers—
The way I shifted on her lap, closer, seeking more without even thinking about it.
A soft, breathless sound slipped out of me before I could stop it. The sound was barely more than a ghost, but in the quiet of the kitchen, it felt deafening.
Y/N let out a low, rough groan against my mouth, and I felt it everywhere—vibrating through my chest, settling deep in my stomach. It was raw, unfiltered want. The kind of sound that never belonged in public, never belonged to the polished version of us the world saw.
Hearing it now, after everything today, made something in my blood spark.
I didn’t pull away. I leaned into it.
My hands tightened in her hair, and I started to move—slow, deliberate. A gentle roll of my hips, pressing myself down into the heat of her lap, testing, teasing.
Y/N hands, steady on my waist just seconds ago, suddenly gripped harder. Fingers digging into the fabric of the shirt—her shirt—that I was wearing.
“Lizzie,” she rasped.
Her voice cracked just slightly as she pulled back an inch, her forehead still resting against mine. Her breathing was uneven, her eyes dark and completely locked onto me.
I didn’t stop.
If anything, I slowed down, making every movement count. Every shift of my hips more intentional, more precise.
And then I felt it.
That firm, growing pressure beneath me—impossible to miss, impossible to misunderstand. The heat of her, even through the denim, sending a sharp, electric feeling straight through me.
My lips curved before I could stop them.
Not soft. Not shy.
A smirk.
Because I knew exactly what I was doing to her.
“Oh…” I whispered, letting it trail into a quiet hum as I shifted again, deliberately chasing that friction. “Is that for me?”
Her eyes fluttered shut, her jaw tightening like she was trying to hold herself together—and failing.
Another groan slipped out of her, deeper this time.
“You know it is,” she managed, her hands sliding from my waist down to my hips, guiding me—or maybe just holding on. “God, Lizzie… you’re going to be the death of me.”
I let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, the sound brushing right against her lips.
Leaning in, I nipped lightly at her jaw before murmuring into her ear, “Good. Because after that song… I think you owe me.”
I pressed down once more—slow, firm—feeling the way her breath hitched, the way her whole body reacted under me.
The rest of the world could keep talking, guessing, analyzing. Right here, in this dim kitchen—there was only one thing that mattered.
And I was sitting right on top of it.
The heat in the kitchen had become too much—too consuming, too intense to stay contained against the counter. I barely remember how we moved, only that I didn’t let her go for more than a second before we ended up in the living room, collapsing together onto the couch.
The change of space didn’t cool anything down. It made it worse.
The kiss deepened instantly—hungrier, more desperate—like the three days apart had left something aching under my skin that only she could fix. My hands moved over her without thinking, tracing the lines of her body through her clothes, relearning, needing more.
Too much fabric.
I grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up, the motion urgent, wordless. She understood immediately, breaking the kiss just long enough to lift her arms so I could drag it over her head and toss it somewhere behind me.
The second her skin was bare, she was back on me—her mouth crashing into mine with a force that made my head spin.
Then it was my turn.
Her hands found the bottom of the oversized shirt I was wearing—her shirt—and tugged it up and off. The moment it cleared my head, our skin met, and—
God.
It was like fire.
I let out a shaky breath as I settled back into her lap, straddling her, my chest rising and falling against hers. Without the layers between us, everything felt sharper. Every movement, every shift of my hips—
I felt her.
Firm. Heavy. Pressing through the denim of her jeans. Familiar.
My lips curved slightly despite how unsteady my breathing had become.
“You’re so desperate for me tonight,” I murmured against her mouth, the smirk slipping back into place even as my voice came out softer than I intended.
Her hands slid down to the small of my back, pulling me closer—flush against her.
“Can you blame me?” she breathed. “I spent twelve hours in a booth singing about exactly this. Having the real thing is… a lot better.”
Then she moved.
Her hips tilted up, pressing against me in a way that made my head fall back, a sharp gasp tearing out of my throat before I could stop it. The directness of it—the way she reacted to me so openly, so unapologetically—it sent a rush straight through me.
My hands moved on instinct, fumbling slightly in my haste as I reached for the button of her jeans. I popped it open, dragging the zipper down, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.
She exhaled—long, shaky—as she was released from the constraint of the denim, the tension eased.
And I felt it. Her cock, already slick and aching, sprang free, pulsing against my stomach. My eyes dropped, my breath catching as I took her in, my hand moving almost automatically, wrapping around her—warm. Soft. Alive under my touch.
I tightened my grip, drawing a slow, deliberate stroke that pulled a broken sound from her.
“Lizzie…” she warned, her head dropping on my shoulder, her voice strained.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, my voice dropping—lower, steadier, something possessive threading through it without effort. I shifted slightly, moving in a way that teased both of us, letting the contact build just enough to make her react again.
“I’ve got you,” I repeated softly, closer this time, my lips brushing near her ear. “And I’m not going anywhere.” The “soon” I’d promised earlier—everything waiting outside this moment—felt impossibly far away. Right now, none of that existed. No public. No expectations. No noise. Just her beneath me—and the undeniable, electric reality of us.
The air felt thick—heavy with the scent of us, with everything that had been building since that song dropped at midnight.
I didn’t slow my hand.
I kept that same steady rhythm—firm, knowing—and I felt the exact moment her composure started to crack. She leaned into me, her hips lifting instinctively into my touch, like she couldn’t help it anymore. Our kiss turned messy—desperate, teeth catching, breath mixing—until she pulled away, like she needed air just as much as she needed more of me.
Then her face was in my neck.
Her breath hit hot and uneven against my skin, and I shivered as she started moving—slowly, deliberately—her lips dragging along my jaw, then down my throat. Every small bite, every soft press of her tongue after, pulled sharp, shaky breaths out of me before I could stop them.
“Don’t stop,” she murmured against my skin.
I felt it more than I heard it.
“God, Lizzie… don’t stop.”
I wasn’t going to. My grip tightened, my thumb sweeping over the crown of Y/N’s cock, catching the beads of moisture gathering there. I watched her—really watched her—the way her eyes rolled back, the tension in her arms as she braced herself against the couch.
It did something to me.Seeing her like that. Undone. Because of me.
But she wasn’t the only one losing control.
Her hands moved over me, sliding up my sides, fingers spreading over my ribs like she was feeling everything—my breath, my heartbeat. Then higher, thumbs brushing just beneath my breasts before her mouth followed.
I gasped softly, my head tipping back as she moved lower, her kisses turning slower, heavier, more deliberate along my collarbone. My fingers tightened in her hair, holding her there without even thinking.
And when Y/N reached my chest—She didn’t hesitate. The moment her mouth closed around my nipple, her tongue moving in a way that sent a sharp, direct pulse straight through me—I gasped, my hips jerking forward on instinct.
The movement pressed me harder against the base of Y/N’s pulsing length, the friction sudden and overwhelming, and for a second it was almost too much.
But I didn’t stop. If anything, I sped up. My hand moved faster, more urgent now, feeling the way she was swelling, the way everything in her was starting to give.
I could feel it—the way she was winding up again, every small break in her control finally collapsing into something much sharper, much heavier. And I held onto it. Pushing her right to the edge.
The room felt smaller, like everything had narrowed down to just us—the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven, and the soft brush of skin against skin.
I barely had time to think before her hands moved to the clasp of my bra. Even with the slight tremor in her fingers, she was sure, steady. A quick flick—and it gave way, the lace loosening and falling from me. Y/N pulled back just enough to reach for the clasp of my bra, her fingers sure and steady despite the slight tremor of adrenaline. With a deft flick, she released it, letting the lace fall away.
A sharp, cut-off gasp slipped from my lips.
Y/N’s mouth was on me immediately—warm, firm, claiming—while her hand cupped the other one. The sensation hit all at once, overwhelming and grounding at the same time, like the only thing keeping me tethered while everything else blurred.
My hand never stopped. Still wrapped around her, still moving—firm, slick—feeling every pulse, every shift in her as she reacted. My other hand stayed tangled in her hair, holding her there, silently urging her not to stop.
“God, you’re so good to me,” she groaned against my skin. I felt it more than I heard it, the vibration running straight through me. She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark—heavy with something deeper than just want.
“Lizzie, you’re perfect. Everything about you.”
The smirk I’d been holding onto slipped away. All I could do was look at her, breathless, my chest rising and falling as I felt the way she harder and harder beneath me—the tension building in her thighs, her breathing turning sharp, uneven. Her cock starting to throb in my hand.
“Lizzie… I’m close,” she rasped, her voice breaking. “I’m so close.”
I didn’t answer. I just tightened my grip. My hand moved faster, more focused, every movement deliberate as I pushed her closer. My thumb brushed the crown focusing there, and her head fell back to my shoulder, a deep, raw sound tearing from her.
Then suddenly—
She surged forward, pulling me into a kiss that stole whatever breath I had left.
And I felt it. Her whole body tensed, a sharp shudder running through her as a hot, heavy release coated my fingers as she came in my hand—hot, overwhelming, the force of it making her go weak against me. She collapsed into me, arms wrapping tight, almost desperate, her face pressed into my shoulder as she rode it out.
I held her there, my own breathing uneven, my heart pounding against hers. For a moment, neither of us moved. Just that—our hearts racing, bodies pressed together.
Then she shifted.
Before I could react, her arms hooked under my thighs and she flipped us in one smooth motion. A breathless laugh escaped me as I landed back against the couch, her body now above mine.
Y/N reached for her bra, tossing it aside like it didn’t matter anymore, her hands already moving to the waistband of my jeans. I looked up at her—and the look in her eyes made my breath catch again.
Bright. Focused. Dangerous in a way I knew meant I was in trouble.
“My turn,” she whispered, her smile slow, certain.
My breath hitched as I felt her tug at my jeans, my heart already racing for what came next.
---
Next Morning
The next morning came softly—warm, quiet.
And then—
Ding dong.
I groaned, my face still buried somewhere warm and familiar. “…no,” I mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Ding dong.
I shifted slightly—and that’s when I realized.
I wasn’t in bed.
I was… on the couch.
More specifically—on Y/N.
My eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the windows. Y/N was still asleep beneath me, completely still except for the steady rise and fall of her chest. One arm was wrapped securely around my back, the other resting loosely at my side, like even in her sleep she hadn’t wanted to let me go.
And we were—
Oh.
Right.
Naked.
I huffed a quiet, sleepy laugh, my lips curving as I took her in. “…you’re going to have the worst back pain,” I murmured softly. Because somehow, at some point, we’d ended up here—half tangled, half collapsed—falling asleep in the middle of everything. There was a blanket thrown over us, barely covering anything, like one of us had tried… and then given up halfway.
I didn’t remember when. Or how. I must’ve passed out.
But still—she’d held onto me. Even like this.
My fingers lifted, brushing gently through her hair, slow and careful. God. She looked peaceful. Soft in a way the world never got to see.
Ding dong.
I groaned again, dropping my forehead lightly against her shoulder. “…whoever that is, I hate them.”
The bell rang again. Persistent. Annoying. Very much not going away.
I sighed, reluctantly pushing myself up—careful not to wake her as I slipped out of her arms. She shifted slightly at the loss, brow furrowing just a little, but didn’t wake. “Sorry,” I whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder.
Then I stood.
And immediately paused.
“…oh my god.”
The living room was a mess. Clothes everywhere—on the floor, on the couch, half hanging off the table. And—
I pressed my lips together, trying, and failing, not to smile. Used condoms. Two on the floor, one definitely on the coffee table, wrappers scattered around like we hadn’t even tried to be discreet.
“…wow,” I muttered under my breath.
I shook my head, heat creeping up my neck despite everything. “…okay.”
Grabbing a robe quickly, I slipped it on and tied it tight before making my way to the door, running a hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to look presentable.
Ding dong.
“I’m coming!” I called, still a little hoarse. I reached for the handle, pulling the door open—and froze.
“…oh my god.”
There she was. Mary-Kate. Standing on my doorstep like she hadn’t just flown across the country on a mission, looking way too pleased with herself.
Her eyes flicked over me instantly—taking in the robe, the messy hair, the very obvious context. Her lips curved. “Well,” she said casually. “Good morning.” She leaned slightly to peek past me into the apartment. “…I came to meet your girlfriend,” she added, far too calm.
I just stared at her.
“…you said soon,” she continued, completely unapologetic. “I interpreted that as immediately.”
I blinked once. Twice. Then glanced back over my shoulder—at the very naked, very asleep singer currently on my couch, and the very incriminating state of my living room—then back at her.
“…you have got to be kidding me.”
Mary-Kate’s smile only grew. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
I immediately stepped out just enough to block the doorway. “No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not. You can’t just—show up like this—”
“Lizzie,” Mary-Kate cut in, already trying to peek around me again, “you’re wearing a robe at”—she checked her phone—“eight in the morning.” She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to take in the details. “…and your hair looks like that.”
I deadpanned. “Thank you.”
Her smirk turned sharper. “So she’s here.”
I crossed my arms. “That is not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.”
She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it worse. “…I can smell it.”
I froze. “…you can—what?”
Mary-Kate waved a hand vaguely. “Not literally. Just—” she gestured toward me, then past me—“the vibe.”
I stared at her. “…you’re insane.”
“Move,” she said simply.
“No.”
“Lizzie.”
“No.”
A beat.
Then Mary-Kate spoke again, calm as ever—“Is she naked?”
I choked. “Okay—nope—conversation over.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, she is.”
I pressed my lips together, trying very hard not to laugh and scream at the same time. “You are not coming in here right now,” I said, lowering my voice. “She’s asleep.”
That made her pause. A small shift. Because despite everything—she wasn’t completely heartless.
“…I flew all the way here,” Mary-Kate said, softer this time—but still stubborn.
“And you’ll survive waiting five minutes,” I shot back.
She studied me for a second. Then, unexpectedly—she smiled. Small. Knowing.
“…you really like her,” she said.
I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
No deflection. No teasing. Just—yeah.
Her expression softened, just for a second. “…okay,” she said, holding her hands up slightly. “I’ll behave.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know how to behave.”
“That’s fair,” she admitted.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “…give me a minute.”
She nodded—reluctantly.
I stepped back inside, closing the door just enough to leave them outside, then leaned against it for half a second. “…oh my god,” I whispered to myself.
Then I pushed off and turned—and immediately softened. Because there she was. Still on the couch. Still asleep. Barely shifted from where I left her, except now one arm was stretched out where I had been, like she’d reached for me even in her sleep.
My chest tightened.
“…hey,” I murmured quietly, walking back over. I crouched beside Y/N, brushing my fingers gently through her hair again.
She stirred this time—brows furrowing slightly before her eyes blinked open, slow and heavy with sleep. “…Lizzie?” she mumbled, voice rough.
“Hi.”
She squinted up at me, clearly still half asleep. “…what time is it?”
“Too early,” I said.
That earned a faint, sleepy huff from her. Then her gaze focused a little more. “…why are you dressed?”
I smiled despite myself. “Because—”
I didn’t get to finish.
Her hand caught my wrist, tugging me forward before I could react. A soft yelp left me as I lost my balance, landing right back on top of her, the blanket shifting around us. “Y/N—” I started, but it came out more breath than protest. She was already smiling—sleepy, warm, dangerous in that quiet way of hers.
“Mm,” she hummed, eyes still half-lidded as her hands settled at my waist. “You left.”
“I was gone for like—two minutes,” I said, but my voice softened automatically as she pulled me closer.
“Too long,” she murmured.
Her fingers brushed the edge of my robe, slowly, like she was rediscovering me all over again. My breath caught slightly.
“Y/N…” I warned, though there wasn’t much strength behind it.
She looked up at me, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
“What?”
Her hands slid a little higher, pushing the robe open just enough to expose my shoulder. “You are not supposed to wear this yet,” she added, quieter now.
My breath hitched as her lips brushed just under my ear—soft at first, then a light nip that sent a sharp shiver down my spine. I bit my lip instantly, trying to keep quiet, but it barely helped.
“Y/N…” I whispered, already losing a bit of my resolve.
She hummed against my skin, clearly pleased with herself, her voice dropping as she murmured teasingly into my ear—“Thought you liked it when I take my time…”
That did it.
I turned my head, catching her lips in a kiss that was anything but slow this time—harder, needier, like the night before hadn’t been nearly enough. Her hands moved instinctively, sliding along my sides, pushing the robe further open—and then one of them lifted, settling against my chest—
“Wait—”
I caught her wrist gently but firmly, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe.
She frowned slightly, confused, still close enough that I could feel her breath against my lips. “…why?”
I let out a shaky exhale, pressing my forehead lightly against hers. “Because,” I said, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected, “my sister is outside.”
A pause.
Y/N blinked. “…your sister.”
“Mm-hm.”
Another pause.
Then her eyes closed briefly as she groaned under her breath. “…that is incredibly bad timing.”
I laughed softly, still a little breathless. “You think?”
She opened her eyes again, looking at me—really looking—like she was debating whether or not it was worth ignoring that fact. “…we have five minutes,” she said slowly.
I raised a brow. “Y/N.”
“I’m just saying—”
“No.”
She huffed, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. “…fine.”
I leaned in, pressing a quick, softer kiss to her mouth—gentler this time. “Later,” I murmured.
Her expression shifted instantly at that. “…yeah?” she asked.
I smiled. “Yeah.”
That seemed to satisfy her.
For now.
I pushed myself up with a quiet exhale, forcing my brain to actually function. “Okay—move,” I muttered, already stepping off her.
Y/N let out a soft, reluctant groan as I left her, but she didn’t argue this time. Instead, she ran a hand through her hair and sat up, blinking away the last of her sleep.
I grabbed the nearest thing—a shirt from the floor—and started picking up whatever I could reach. “…condoms,” I muttered under my breath, scooping up the very obvious evidence from the table and floor. “Great. Fantastic. Love that for me.”
Y/N snorted softly behind me. “Hey,” she said, voice still rough, “that’s teamwork.”
I shot her a look over my shoulder. “You’re helping.”
“I am helping,” she said, already leaning down to grab her boxers from the floor.
I huffed but didn’t argue, tossing wrappers into the trash as fast as I could. Behind me, I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she pulled on her boxers, then reached for the rest of her clothes—her bra, her shirt, her jeans—moving quickly but without that earlier rush. Now it was… focused. Real.
“We have, like, two minutes,” I said, glancing at the door.
“We’re fine,” she replied, way too calm for someone about to meet my sister for the first time.
“Easy for you to say.”
She smirked faintly. “I’m charming.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbing the last of the mess before backing toward the hallway. “Bathroom,” I pointed.
“Got it.”
I disappeared into my room while she headed the other way.
---
A few minutes later, I stepped out, now fully dressed, hair quickly fixed, trying to look like I hadn’t just—well. Everything.
At the same time, the bathroom door opened. Y/N walked out, running a hand through her hair one last time, looking… annoyingly put together for someone who had been asleep on my couch five minutes ago.
She glanced at me immediately. “…do I look okay?” she asked.
I didn’t even hesitate.
I stepped closer, reaching up slightly before leaning in and pressing a quick, soft kiss to her lips. “You look perfect,” I murmured.
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction at that. “…good.”
I smiled faintly, then grabbed the perfume from the table, spraying it quickly. “Okay,” I said, more to myself than anything. “We’re doing this.”
Y/N nodded once. “Yeah.”
I took a breath, reaching for the door. And then—I opened it.
Mary-Kate was still there. Waiting. Watching.
And the second she saw us, her expression shifted—curious, assessing, and just a little too amused.
I glanced back at Y/N briefly, then stepped aside.
“Alright,” I said. “You wanted to meet her.”
A small pause.
Then—
“This is Y/N.”
I stepped aside, giving her a clear view.
For a split second, everything went… still.
Y/N, standing just behind me, lifted her hand in a small, polite wave—calm, composed, like she wasn’t standing in front of my sister for the first time after… all of that. “Hi,” she said simply.
Mary-Kate didn’t wave back.
She just looked at her—up, down, then back up again. A slow, impressed hum left her.
“…okay,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “You’re hotter in person.”
“—Mary-Kate,” I snapped immediately.
Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard—and then, just slightly, she blushed. Actually *blushed*. Which somehow made it worse.
Mary-Kate let out a quiet breath through her nose, clearly amused—but at least she didn’t push it further. “What?” she said, glancing at me. “I’m just being honest.”
“You’re being inappropriate,” I shot back.
Y/N cleared her throat softly, lowering her hand with a small, slightly awkward smile. “…hi,” she said again, a little more unsure this time.
Mary-Kate stepped forward then, shifting gears. “Hi,” she replied calmly this time, extending her hand. “I’m Mary-Kate.”
Y/N took it immediately, grateful for the normal interaction. “Nice to meet you.”
There was a brief pause. A weird one. Not uncomfortable exactly—but new. Everyone taking each other in.
I cleared my throat, stepping in before Mary-Kate could say anything else that would make this worse. “…so,” I said, forcing a small smile, “how about breakfast?”
That seemed to break the tension just enough. Mary-Kate shrugged. “I flew here. I’ll take food.”
“Great,” I said quickly, already turning toward the kitchen—and, without thinking, reaching back to grab Y/N’s hand and pull her along with me.
The second we were out of direct view, I let out a quiet breath. “…oh my god.”
Y/N chuckled softly beside me. “That went well.”
I shot her a look. “Did it?”
She smiled, relaxed despite everything. “I’m still alive, so yeah.”
I huffed a laugh, moving around the kitchen to grab plates. Then, out of nowhere—
“You know,” Y/N said casually, leaning against the counter, “you really do look like her.”
I paused. “…what?”
She gestured vaguely toward the living room. “Your sister. You look like twins.”
I stared at her for a second—then laughed. “Okay, first of all—rude. And second, she has her own twin.”
She grinned. “I’m serious.”
I shook my head, still smiling as I turned back to the counter. But then—I glanced at her again, a thought clicking into place.
“…wait,” I said slowly, narrowing my eyes. “Is that why you blushed?”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
“Earlier,” I pressed, pointing slightly. “At the door. When she said…” I stopped myself, rolling my eyes. “When she said you were hotter in person.”
She immediately lifted her hands in defense. “No—no,” she said quickly. “That’s not—”
I raised a brow.
“I was just caught off guard,” she added, a little more carefully this time.
I studied her for a second. “…uh-huh.”
“I was,” she insisted, softer now.
Then she stepped closer—and just like that, the teasing faded a little.
“Yeah, you look alike,” she said, voice quieter. “But…” Her eyes met mine. “…you’re different.”
Something in my chest shifted. “How?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
Y/N smiled—small, but real. “You’re you.”
Simple. But the way she said it—like it meant everything.
“…smooth,” I muttered, but there was no bite to it.
She huffed a quiet laugh. “I mean it.”
I looked at her for a second longer, then shook my head, turning back to the counter to hide the way I was smiling. “Yeah, yeah,” I murmured. “Help me before she comes in here and starts judging my cooking.”
Y/N pushed off the counter immediately. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, stepping beside me.
And just like that—it felt normal again.
Well.
As normal as it could be—with my sister in the other room, and the girl I loved standing right next to me.
---
Everything… actually went well.
Surprisingly well.
There were a few teasing comments—mostly from Mary-Kate—but nothing Y/N couldn’t handle. In fact, she handled it better than I expected. Calm, easy, just the right amount of charm without trying too hard.
Mary-Kate warmed up to her quickly. That quiet, observant way she had? Y/N met it with the same kind of steady presence, and somewhere between breakfast and coffee, they just… clicked. Mary-Kate, of course, still tested her a little. Pushing. Waiting to see if Y/N would crack.
She didn’t.
And by the time they were both laughing over something stupid I’d said—completely at my expense, obviously—I realized something.
Y/N fit.
Not perfectly. Not instantly. But naturally.
Like she wasn’t forcing her way into my world—she was just… stepping into it.
---
Later, after MK left—after the apartment finally went quiet again—my phone buzzed.
I glanced down.
A message from Mary-Kate.
Mary-Kate:
Y/N is approved! I really like her.
I smiled before I could stop myself. Then—another message came through.
Ashley:
So you’re telling me you met her WITHOUT ME?
A second one, almost immediately—
Ashley:
I’m offended.
…another.
Ashley:
Actually no, I’m jealous.
I huffed out a quiet laugh. Of course she was.
Mary-Kate:
You were busy.
The reply came instantly.
Ashley:
That’s not the point and you know it.
I shook my head, locking my phone. “…unbelievable.”
But I was smiling. Of course I was. I looked up from my phone—and there she was. Y/N, sprawled comfortably on my couch like she belonged there, scrolling through something on her own phone, completely unaware of the messages I’d just gotten.
My chest softened.
“…hey,” I said.
She glanced up immediately. “Yeah?”
I shook my head, smile still lingering. “Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re smiling.”
“Am I not allowed to smile?”
“Not like that,” she said, already suspicious.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Just—come here.”
She didn’t question it—just got up and walked over, settling beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Which, at this point—It was.
---
Outside our little bubble, though—the world hadn’t slowed down.
Pillowtalk kept climbing. Streams rising, charts updating, the buzz getting louder. It hit Billboard.
And the speculation? It only got worse.
Fans digging through interviews, clips resurfacing, every glance, every interaction, every *moment* being picked apart.
“WHO IS SHE???”
“SHE HAS TO BE SOMEONE FAMOUS.”
And all the while—we stayed quiet. Stayed in this space that was still ours, for a little while longer.
---
Until few weeks later—we were spotted.
Just a simple moment. A walk, a laugh, a hand that lingered a little too long.
You were always used to being unnoticed. The one who stood in the back of group settings, sat in the corner seats while everyone else filled the middle.
That was until you met Wanda.
She noticed you immediately.
The very things you did to disappear were the first things she paid attention to. The way you lingered near exits at parties. The way you folded into yourself during conversations, content to listen while everyone else fought to be heard. The way your eyes always searched the room before sitting down, calculating where you’d be least perceived.
Wanda noticed.
And once Wanda Maximoff noticed something, she studied it carefully.
You’d known her for almost a year now. Your relationship if you could even call it that was complicated.
You weren’t dating.
But, you certainly weren’t friends.
There had been lingering touches. Long stares that lasted too long to be innocent. Kisses shared in empty hallways and parked cars and Wanda’s kitchen at two in the morning while tea went cold beside the stove.
But it had never gone further than that.
Not because you didn’t want it to.
God, you wanted it to.
Wanda had promised herself that when she finally had you, truly had you, she would do it right. No rushed moment. No careless hook-up. She wanted devotion. Something soft and consuming all at once.
You, meanwhile, were trying desperately not to look as affected by her as you really were. Which was difficult when Wanda looked at you like she was trying to memorize every version of your face that had ever existed.
Tonight was another crowded event at the avengers compound. Music hummed through the room, laughter bouncing off the walls while people squeezed together on couches around tables.
And like always, you drifted toward the exit of it all.
Safe.
Predictable.
You barely settled in before Wanda appeared beside you, carrying two drinks. Without asking she handed you the one she knew you liked best.
“You disappeared again,” she said softly.
You shrugged “I’m still here.”
“Hm.”
Wanda sat beside you instead of joining the others crowded around the center of the room. Her thigh pressed lightly against yours, deliberate enough to make your pulse stumble.
From across the room, someone called her name. Wanda ignored them. Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup in your hands.
“You know you don’t have to babysit me.”
Wanda finally turned to look at you fully. The noise in the room suddenly felt far away.
“I’m not babysitting you,” she murmured. Her gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. “I just prefer being where you are.”
The words settled heavily in your chest.
You looked away first.
That was another thing Wanda had noticed about you, how quickly you broke eye contact when things became too real.
“You always do that,” she said quietly.
“Do what?”
“Hide.”
Your breath caught.
Wanda leaned back against the couch, studying you with infuriating calm. “You sit in corners. You stay quiet until someone speaks to you first. You leave rooms without saying goodbye.”
Her voice softened.
“You make yourself small so nobody expects anything from you.”
Something vulnerable twisted painfully in your stomach because she was right. Worse, she’d been paying enough attention to know.
“I didn’t realize I was being analyzed,” you muttered.
A faint smile tugged at Wanda’s lips. “You were.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh despite yourself.
Then Wanda reached over, slowly enough for you to pull away if you wanted, and wrapped her hand around your wrist. Your entire body went still.
“I notice everything about you,” she said.
The sincerity in her voice nearly undid you. Across the room people were laughing, arguing over music, living completely separate lives from this moment unfolding quietly between the two of you.
You swallowed hard. “That sounds unhealthy.”
“It probably is.”
The honesty of the answer startled a laugh out of you. Wanda’s expression softened instantly at the sound, like she treasured it more than she should.
God.
That look would ruin you eventually.
“You know what your problem is?” Wanda asked.
You raised a brow carefully. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You think being wanted is the same thing as being a burden.”
Your chest tightened.
Wanda’s thumb brushed once against the inside of your wrist, absent minded and devastating.
“And you,” you said quietly, “have a habit of saying things that make me want to run away.”
“But you never do.”
Because she was right again.
You never did.
Not when Wanda looked at you like that.
Not when she paid attention to every hidden piece of you that everyone else overlooked.
The party continued around you, loud and alive, but Wanda’s focus never wavered. It stayed entirely on you, patient and consuming all at once.
Then, after a long silence, she asked softly,
“Do you want to stay tonight?”
Your heart stumbled.
Not a joke. Not teasing.
Real.
You searched her face carefully, looking for some sign that she didn’t mean it, but Wanda only watched you steadily, waiting.
“For sleeping?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
A slow smile spread across her face.
“Yes, detka,” she murmured. “For sleeping.”
You exhaled shakily, somewhere between relief and disappointment. Wanda noticed that too, of course she did. Her smile widened slightly.
“Don’t look so devastated,” she whispered. “I’m trying to be good for you.”
And somehow that felt far more dangerous than if she hadn’t tried at all.
Your eyes followed her as she grabbed her coat from the back of a chair. The room suddenly felt louder now that the decision had been made, conversations crashing back into focus around you.
You stood slowly. “We’re just leaving?”
Wanda glanced at you while slipping her coat on. “Did you want a goodbye announcement?”
You snorted quietly. “No.”
“Good. I hate those.”
She waited for you to put your own jacket on before leading you toward the door. Not ahead of you. Beside you.
Always beside you.
The cool night air hit your skin the second you stepped outside, crisp enough to make you inhale sharply. Behind you, music still pulsed faintly through the walls of the compound, muffled now by distance.
For a moment neither of you spoke. Then Wanda’s hand brushed against yours. Accidental. Maybe. But her fingers lingered for half a second too long before pulling away. Your stomach tightened.
“You’re quiet,” Wanda observed.
“You make me nervous.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Wanda actually looked surprised.
That alone made you want to disappear.
You looked down immediately, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Forget I said that.”
“No.”
Her voice was gentler now.
You glanced up just in time to catch the way she was looking at you careful, attentive, almost unbearably fond.
“I like when you’re honest with me.”
You swallowed hard. “That makes one of us.”
Wanda’s mouth curved faintly. “Detka, I’m painfully honest with you.”
That was true.
Wanda never hid her attention from you. Never pretended she wasn’t affected. Her apartment wasn’t far from the compound. Close enough that the tension had time to build quietly during the drive.
The heater hummed softly. One of Wanda’s playlists played low through the speakers. Something slow and warm that only made you more aware of her sitting beside you.
One hand rested lazily on the steering wheel.
The other sat near the center console.
Close enough that your pinkies brushed once when the car turned.
Neither of you moved away.
You stared out the window to avoid looking at her.
“You’re overthinking,” Wanda said suddenly.
“I’m literally not speaking."
“I can still tell.”
You sighed quietly, leaning your head back against the seat. “This is exactly what I mean.”
“What?”
“You always know.”
Wanda was quiet for a second.
Then, softer this time, “Only when it comes to you.”
That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did.
The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, heavy but not awkward. By the time Wanda parked outside her building, your nerves had settled into something calmer. Not gone.
Just quieter.
The elevator ride up was worse somehow.
Small space. Late hour. Wanda standing close enough for you to smell her perfume.
You became hyperaware of everything.
The gold rings on her fingers.
The faint smudge of lipstick she hadn’t fully reapplied after drinking earlier.
The way her waist and thighs looked in those jeans.
The way her eyes kept drifting toward your mouth whenever silence stretched too long.
The elevator dinged before either of you could say something dangerous.
Wanda unlocked her apartment door and stepped aside to let you enter first. Warmth immediately wrapped around you. Soft lighting. The faint scent of vanilla and coffee lingering in the air.
It felt unmistakably hers.
And for some reason that realization made your chest ache.
“You can borrow clothes if you want,” Wanda said, setting her keys down. “Unless sleeping in your skirt is part of your mysterious corner person aesthetic.”
You laughed under your breath. “You’re making fun of me now?”
“A little.”
She moved closer slowly, like she was giving you every opportunity to retreat.
You didn’t.
By the time she stopped, barely a foot separated you.
Your pulse was so loud you were convinced she could hear it.
Wanda looked at you for a long moment before reaching up and gently fixing a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so soft it nearly hurt.
Your own hands found themselves in the belt loops of her jeans, just against her belt, tilting your head up to look at her.
The air in the room seemed to thin, the only sound being the soft hum of the refrigerator and the frantic rhythm of your own heart.
By curling your fingers through her belt loops, you pulled her closer, pretending to possess a confidence you didn’t fully feel but wanted badly to believe in.
Wanda’s hand didn't move from your hair. Instead, her thumb traced the shell of your ear, a touch so light it sent a shiver straight down your spine.
Her gaze dropped to where your hands rested against her waist, a small, knowing hum vibrating in her throat.
"Thought you wanted to run away," she murmured, her voice dropping an octave.
"I do," you whispered, though you didn't pull back. "I’m terrified."
Wanda stepped into the remaining space, her body heat blooming against yours. She didn't grab you; she simply rested her hands over yours, her palms warm against the backs of your knuckles, anchoring you to her.
"Of me?" she asked softly. "Or of this?"
"Of the fact that you see me," you admitted, your voice trembling.
“And you haven't looked away yet."
Wanda leaned down, her forehead resting against yours. The scent of her, vanilla, a hint of woodsmoke from the compound, and something uniquely her clouded your senses.
"I'm not going to look away," she promised, her breath fanning over your lips. "I’ve spent too much time looking for you to stop now."
She tilted her head just a fraction, her lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, hesitant and asking.
It was a silent question, a final safety check for the person she knew was always looking for an exit.
You didn't look for the exit this time.
You let go of the belt loops and slid your hands up, your palms flattening against the small of her back, pulling her flush against you.
The contact was electric, a grounded wire finally finding the earth.
Wanda let out a soft, shaky exhale, a rare crack in her "infuriating calm" and then she was kissing you.
It wasn't like the movies; there was no explosion, just a deep, tectonic shift. It was slow and hungry, tasting of the wine from the party and the honesty of the car ride.
It was the feeling of being found.
When she pulled back just an inch, her eyes were dark, searching yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.
"Still want to sleep?" she whispered, her smile teasing but her eyes incredibly serious.
You let out a breathy, startled laugh, your forehead dropping back onto her shoulder. "I think... maybe the 'being good' part of the night is over."
Wanda’s hands slid down to your hips, her grip firm and possessive. "I certainly hope so, detka.”
You slid your hand back down to her belt, now undoing it as she captured your lips into a sudden kiss.
You undid her belt and let your hands find the button of her jeans, undoing them slowly, as Wanda was now running her hands up your bare thigh.
Your skirt now being bunched up around her waist, while her hand captured them in a tightening grip.
“Wanda,” you whine against her mouth, as you feel her grin “bedroom.. please.”
Words were unnecessary.
The weight of her hands on your waist as she lifted you spoke for her.
The sound of Wanda’s footsteps against the cool tile echoed through the apartment, followed by the light smack of your lips parting.
The bedroom door barely had time to swing open before Wanda walked you backward into it, her mouth finding yours again in the dark. Not frantic. Deliberate. The way she did everything when it came to you.
She found the lamp on the nightstand without looking. Soft light spilled across the room, and you understood immediately why she wanted it on.
She wanted to see you.
"Sit," she said softly against your mouth. Not a command. A request with a spine.
You sat on the edge of the bed. Wanda stood over you, unhurried, reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra and letting it fall without a second thought. Your mouth went dry. She watched you look at her and she let you, patient and unbothered, like she had all night and intended to use every minute of it.
Your hands reached for her immediately. She caught your wrists.
"Not yet," she murmured.
The protest died in your throat. She released you slowly and reached instead for the buttons of your blouse, undoing each one with a focused, deliberate care that was somehow more undoing than if she'd torn it open. When she pushed it off your shoulders her palms dragged down your arms on the way, warm and slow.
Her eyes moved over you and something in her expression shifted. Hunger she'd been keeping carefully leashed finally showing at the edges.
"God," she said quietly. Almost to herself.
She unclasped your bra next and the cool air hit your skin a second before her hands replaced it, cupping you with a reverence that made your back arch instinctively into her touch. Her thumbs moved in slow circles and the sound you made was embarrassingly immediate.
Wanda smiled. "Sensitive."
"Don't say it like that."
"Like what?" Her thumbs moved again. Deliberate.
You grabbed her wrists this time. She let you hold them there, amused, and then she leaned down and pressed her mouth to your throat instead. Your grip went slack.
She laid you back against the bed with one hand flat against your sternum, not pushing, just guiding. Her mouth traced down your collarbone, your sternum, closing hot over your breast while her hand slid down your stomach. You hips lifted before you could stop them.
"Impatient," she murmured against your skin.
"Wanda"
"I hear you." She pressed her lips to your ribs. Your stomach. The soft skin just below your navel. "I'm not in a hurry."
That was the cruelest thing she could have said. You already felt half out of your mind and she'd barely started, her mouth unhurried against your body while her fingers traced the waistband of your underwear without dipping below it.
"Please," you said. The word scraped out rough.
She looked up at you from where she hovered, chin resting just above the fabric. Her eyes were very dark.
"Please what," she said softly. "Tell me what you want."
Your face burned. "You know what I want."
"I do." She pressed a single kiss to the inside of your hip. "I want to hear you say it."
You held her gaze and told her. The words felt enormous leaving your mouth. Wanda's expression did something devastating at the sound of them, her composure cracking just slightly at the edges.
"Good girl," she murmured, and pulled the fabric down your legs.
She took her time. That was perhaps the most undoing thing about her. She was in absolutely no hurry. She pressed her mouth to the inside of your knee, dragged her lips up the soft skin of your inner thing, let her breath ghost exactly where you needed her before pulling back. By the time she finally gave you what you were asking for your hands were already twisted in her hair, your whole body coiled tight.
She was methodical about it. Attentive in the same way she was attentive about everything else concerning you, reading every sound you made, every shift of your hips, adjusting without being asked. When she found your sweet spots, she didn't move from it. When you tried to pull her closer she let you, mouth curving against you in a quiet satisfaction.
"Don't stop," you breathed. "Please don't... Wanda..."
She didn't stop.
When you came apart her hands were pining your hips down firmly and your thighs were shaking around her and her name left your mouth in pieces. She worked you through every second of it, slow and thorough, not pulling back until you were tugging weakly at her hair.
She kissed the inside of your thighs once before moving back up your body. When her mouth found yours you could taste yourself on her lips and the intimacy of it sent a second wave through you before the first had the chance to fully settle.
"Still with me?" she murmured.
"Barely," you admitted.
She smiled against your mouth. "Good."
Her hand slid between you again and you gasped. "Wanda.. I just-"
"I know." She kissed the corner of your mouth. Your jaw. The soft skin below your ear. "You can."
And she was right. With her fingers curling into you and her mouth against your throat and her voice low and certain in your ear, coaxing and relentless all at once, you could. You did. Twice more before she finally gathered you against her side, pressing her lips to your temple while you caught your breath in pieces.
The room was quiet. Your whole body felt wrung out and liquid, heavy against the sheets. Wanda's hand moved slowly up and down your spine.
"Still want to run?" she asked eventually, her voice quiet.
Summary: Sister Natasha, a young nun in a remote monastery, begins to sense something terrifying lurking in the abbey’s ancient halls.
Warnings: Religious horror, demonic themes, psychological tension, dead animals
W.C: 2.5K
A.N: The start of something incredible, let me tell you. The story is already written, and a new chapter will be posted every Friday at 18 (CEST) for the next few weeks.
-, Pt. 2 , ...
The bells woke the monastery at four.
Natasha had already risen before them.
She sat upright in darkness for several moments before the first toll sounded, the blanket folded neatly across her lap, listening to the silence breathe around her.
The dormitory smelled faintly of candle wax and old linen. Rain tapped softly against the high windows overhead, though the storm had weakened sometime during the night. Around her, the other sisters still slept beneath pale blankets, their breathing uneven and heavy with dreams.
Natasha envied them sometimes.
Not their faith.
Their ease.
The first bell rang.
Several sisters stirred immediately.
A groan sounded somewhere near the far wall.
“Oh, merciful Lord,” Sister Yelena muttered into her pillow, “if devotion requires consciousness before sunrise, I fear I shall never become holy.”
A few sleepy laughs spread through the room.
Natasha lowered her gaze to hide the smile threatening her mouth.
“You say this every morning,” Sister Marta whispered while tying back dark curls beneath her veil.
“And every morning I am correct.”
Yelena finally sat upright, glaring at the bell tower as if personally betrayed by it.
“You’re awake already?” she asked Natasha incredulously. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“A while.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“She doesn’t sleep,” Sister Marta said solemnly. “I’m convinced she simply powers down for an hour and waits for dawn.”
Natasha stood, smoothing her robes calmly. “Maybe God favours discipline.”
“Or maybe,” Yelena leaned in dramatically, “God fears you.”
More laughter.
Warmth flickered briefly through Natasha’s chest.
Small moments like this existed carefully within the monastery—quiet pockets of humanity hidden beneath ritual and restraint. Most outsiders imagined convent life as endless silence and prayer, but silence became unbearable without companionship to soften it.
Even Natasha understood that.
Sometimes.
The sisters dressed together beneath dim lantern light, exchanging murmured complaints about chores, weather, and aching knees from prayer.
Marta nearly walked into a bedpost while half asleep.
Sister Yelena snorted loudly enough to earn a warning glance from Sister Agnes.
Natasha watched all of it quietly while fastening the sleeves at her wrists.
She noticed things.
Always had.
The way Sister Marta rubbed at her shoulder when storms approached because old injuries ached in the cold.
The way Sister Yelena spoke more loudly whenever she felt uncertain.
The exhaustion beneath Sister Agnes’s eyes that prayer no longer seemed to fix.
Patterns comforted Natasha.
People became easier to understand when observed carefully enough.
“Sister Natasha.”
She glanced up.
Yelena tossed her an apple stolen from yesterday’s supper.
“You forgot breakfast again yesterday.”
“I was working.”
“You are always working.”
Natasha caught the apple easily. “Thank you.”
“See?” Marta whispered dramatically to Yelena. “Emotion. Gratitude. She does feel things.”
Natasha rolled her eyes faintly, which only encouraged them further.
By the time they entered the chapel together, dawn had barely begun staining the mountains beyond the stained glass windows.
Candles flickered across ancient stone.
The abbey was old enough that no one remembered who had first built it. Some parts dated back centuries further than recorded history, buried beneath newer walls and renovations like bones beneath skin.
Natasha loved those older places most.
The forgotten halls.
The sealed doors.
The silence hidden beneath the monastery’s daily rhythm.
Morning prayer began.
The sisters bowed their heads.
Natasha recited every verse perfectly from memory.
But midway through the litany, she became aware of something strange.
Not a sound.
A feeling.
As though someone stood directly behind her.
Watching.
Her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“…deliver us from evil…”
The sensation deepened.
Cold prickled slowly across the back of her neck.
Natasha resisted the urge to turn around immediately. Instead, she listened first.
No footsteps.
No breathing.
Nothing except prayer echoing softly through the chapel.
Still—
Someone was there.
She looked.
The back of the chapel remained empty.
Only darkness gathered between the pillars.
Natasha frowned slightly before forcing herself to face forward again.
Fatigue, perhaps.
The storm had disrupted everyone’s sleep.
Yet even after prayer ended, unease lingered beneath her ribs.
As the sisters rose from the pews, Yelena bumped lightly into Natasha’s shoulder.
“You look haunted.”
“I’m fine.”
“That answer usually means the opposite.”
Natasha almost responded but stopped.
One of the candles near the altar had gone out.
Thin smoke curled upward into still air.
Mother Superior noticed it too.
Her expression tightened briefly before she crossed herself.
“Storm pressure,” Sister Agnes murmured.
No one argued.
But Natasha continued staring at the extinguished candle long after the others had moved on.
The monastery settled into routine as morning passed.
Laundry.
Scripture study.
Kitchen work.
Natasha spent most of the afternoon repairing damaged texts in the library alongside Marta, whose true calling in life seemed to be complaining softly while doing meticulous work anyway.
“This ink is older than civilization,” Marta muttered, squinting at faded lettering. “If I inhale enough dust today, tell them I died beautifully.”
“You say that every week.”
“And one week I shall be right.”
Natasha smiled faintly without looking up from her work.
Rain hammered against the tall windows harder now.
The storm had returned by midday with unnatural force. Wind bent the trees beyond the cliffs violently enough that several younger sisters began whispering about divine warnings again.
The abbey disliked storms.
It became restless during them.
Doors creaked without wind.
Floors groaned at strange hours.
The older sisters crossed themselves more often.
By evening, even Mother Superior seemed unsettled.
“The western halls are to remain locked tonight,” she instructed during supper. “No one is to wander after prayer.”
Yelena leaned toward Natasha immediately.
“The western halls,” she whispered ominously. “Where ghosts and ancient sins reside.”
“Or storage.”
“That is far less interesting.”
“The answer is usually the less interesting option.”
Yelena narrowed her eyes. “One day your practicality will ruin my appreciation for drama.”
Natasha took another bite of bread.
But quietly she thought about the feeling from the chapel again.
Watching.
Waiting.
When evening prayer ended, Mother Superior stopped Natasha near the chapel doors.
“The keys,” she said softly, holding up the pair between them gracefully.
“You trust me too much.”
Natasha accepted them.
“I trust your discipline.”
Not the same thing.
The western corridor lay beneath the oldest section of the monastery.
Few sisters liked going there after dark.
Natasha had never minded it before.
Lantern in hand, she descended the narrow stone staircase alone while thunder rolled somewhere beyond the mountains.
The air grew colder underground.
Older.
The corridor stretched ahead beneath low arches blackened by time.
Ancient paintings lined the walls, saints fading slowly into shadow until their faces became impossible to distinguish from the dark surrounding them.
Natasha locked the first door carefully.
Then the second.
Rain battered the monastery above her.
Another step.
Another lock.
Then—
silence.
Complete silence.
Natasha stopped instantly.
The storm had vanished.
No thunder.
No rain.
No lantern crackling in her hand.
Nothing.
A sharp chill slid slowly down her spine.
Her breathing sounded suddenly too loud.
The corridor behind her remained empty.
But every instinct inside her screamed that she was no longer alone.
Natasha’s grip tightened around the lantern.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
Then the lantern dimmed.
Not flickered.
Dimmed.
As though darkness itself pressed against the flame.
Fear struck hard and immediately this time.
Real fear.
The kind that hollowed the stomach.
Natasha stepped backward instinctively.
Something moved at the far end of the corridor.
Not fully visible.
A shape.
Too large.
For one impossible second, she thought she saw the outline of horns emerging from the dark.
Then the shadow moved again—
closer.
Natasha’s breath caught sharply.
Every survival instinct she possessed surged violently to life.
Run.
The thought hit with terrifying clarity.
Run now.
And for the first time in years—
Natasha panicked.
She turned immediately, lantern shaking in her grip as she hurried back down the corridor. Her footsteps echoed too loudly against stone, breath quickening despite every attempt to steady it.
Behind her—
nothing.
No footsteps.
No pursuit.
That somehow frightened her more.
The staircase appeared ahead.
Natasha climbed it quickly, nearly missing a step before forcing herself to slow down. By the time she reached the upper halls again, her pulse hammered painfully against her throat.
Warm candlelight greeted her.
Voices.
Safety.
Several sisters still lingered near the kitchens preparing tea before bed.
Sister Yelena looked up first.
“There you are,” she said. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine.”
A lie.
Marta frowned immediately. “Sister.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Too sharp.
The room fell quiet.
Natasha lowered her eyes a moment later, regaining control.
That frightened them more than if she had screamed.
“I’ll bring you tea,” Marta said softly.
Natasha nodded absently.
But even surrounded by candlelight and familiar voices, she could still feel it.
Watching.
Patient.
-///-
Natasha said nothing that night.
And not during breakfast the next day, nor morning prayers.
Not while Sister Marta complained bitterly over burned porridge or while Yelena attempted to steal dried figs from the kitchens and nearly got caught by Sister Agnes in the process.
Natasha moved through the day exactly as she always did.
Measured.
Calm.
Controlled.
Only the slightest shadows beneath her eyes suggested otherwise.
Several times, she caught herself listening too carefully whenever corridors fell quiet.
Once, while shelving texts in the library, she turned abruptly after sensing movement behind her, only to find empty space.
The feeling remained.
Not constant.
Intermittent.
Awareness without presence.
As though something had noticed her specifically.
And was waiting.
By evening, the storm returned again.
Harder this time.
Rain struck the monastery windows violently enough to rattle the glass. Wind moaned through ancient stone like something grieving beneath the mountain.
The sisters crossed themselves more often.
Even supper felt subdued.
“The livestock outside the eastern village were found dead this morning,” Sister Agnes murmured quietly near the end of the meal.
Yelena frowned. “From the storm?”
“No marks on them.”
Marta immediately muttered a prayer beneath her breath.
Mother Superior silenced further discussion with a single glance.
But unease spread anyway.
Natasha kept her eyes lowered toward her untouched bread.
No marks.
The words settled unpleasantly in her chest.
That night, the western halls remained locked.
Mother Superior assigned Sister Beatrice to check the lower storage rooms before compline.
Beatrice was older than most of the sisters, practical and sharp-tongued enough that even Yelena feared her disapproval slightly.
If anyone could walk those corridors without trembling, it would be her.
Natasha watched Beatrice take the lantern and keys without complaint.
Something cold tightened slowly beneath her ribs.
“Mother,” Natasha said carefully, “perhaps I should go instead.”
Mother Superior looked surprised. “Why?”
Natasha hesitated too long.
“Because I know the corridors better.”
Beatrice snorted softly. “And I know how to lock a door without getting lost in thought.”
A few sisters smiled faintly.
Natasha did not.
Mother Superior shook her head once. “It will not take long.”
Beatrice disappeared down the staircase alone.
The monastery settled into evening prayer.
Rain battered the chapel roof overhead.
Minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
Natasha became increasingly aware of every sound around her.
Candles flickering.
Pages turning.
Yelena whispering softly beside Marta.
Her pulse began climbing slowly.
Mother Superior noticed first.
“Sister Natasha?”
Before she could answer—
a scream tore violently through the monastery.
Every sister froze.
The sound came from below.
Another scream followed immediately.
Frantic.
Broken.
Several younger sisters gasped in terror.
Mother Superior stood instantly. “Stay here.”
But Natasha was already moving.
She reached the staircase first, lantern clutched tightly in one hand as she descended into darkness two steps at a time.
“Sister Beatrice!”
No answer.
Only ragged sobbing echoed faintly through the corridor below.
Natasha rounded the corner sharply and nearly collided with Sister Beatrice stumbling toward her.
The older woman looked unrecognizable.
Her face had gone completely bloodless. Tears streaked wildly down her cheeks beneath a look of absolute animal terror.
The lantern had vanished.
“Sister—”
“Don’t let it touch me,” Beatice choked out immediately.
Natasha grabbed her shoulders before she collapsed outright.
“What happened?”
Beatrice’s hands shook violently against Natasha’s sleeves.
“There’s something down there.”
The words came out barely coherent.
“In the dark—I saw—I saw—”
Her breathing hitched painfully.
Natasha felt her own pulse spike hard beneath her skin.
“What did you see?” she asked quietly.
Beatrice stared directly into her eyes.
And whispered:
“Horns.”
The corridor suddenly felt much colder.
Behind them, Mother Superior and several sisters reached the staircase landing.
Beatrice broke immediately upon seeing them.
“It looked at me,” she cried. “God forgive me, it looked right at me—”
Mother Superior crossed herself sharply. “Bring her upstairs. Now.”
The sisters hurried Beatrice away carefully while she continued sobbing prayers under her breath.
Natasha remained still in the corridor.
Watching the darkness beyond the lantern light.
Watching it watch her back.
Because now she knew.
She had not imagined it.
-///-
Fear spread quickly through the monastery after that.
No one slept properly.
Natasha noticed something important.
No one asked exactly what Beatrice had seen.
They were afraid to know.
The younger sisters whispered prayers long after. Several demanded the western halls be sealed entirely. Some suggesting they moved further from the halls. Sister Agnes insisted they request a priest from the nearest village by morning.
Mother Superior agreed and gathered the sisters after supper.
“Until Father Victor arrives,” she said calmly, “the lower halls will remain under supervision. No one is to go there alone.”
Silence followed.
Then Natasha spoke.
“I’ll go.”
Several heads turned immediately.
Mother Superior frowned. ‘’Sister—’’
“I know the corridors best.”
“That is not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
The question came too quickly.
Too directly.
Mother Superior studied her carefully.
Natasha kept her expression neutral despite feeling every eye in the room settle onto her.
Finally, Mother Superior sighed quietly.
“You will not go alone.”
“I don’t need—”
“You will go with Sister Agnes.”
Argument rose instinctively inside Natasha before she forced it down.
“…Yes, Mother.”
Sister Agnes looked far from pleased.
The following night, they descended together carrying lanterns and scripture.
Natasha remained acutely aware of Agnes beside her the entire time.
Every footstep.
Every nervous prayer.
Every trembling breath.
Nothing happened.
The corridor remained silent.
Empty.
The doors locked normally. The shadows stayed motionless against stone walls.
No extinguished flames.
No presence.
No horns waiting in darkness.
Sister Agnes nearly laughed in relief by the time they returned upstairs.
“You see?” she said shakily. “Storm nerves. Fear spreads easily.”
Natasha said nothing.
Because the entire time they had walked below, she had felt it.
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader The Loud House - 5 years later
A few years later, the Romanoff house is louder than ever. Six kids, two tired moms, and not enough coffee. Natasha’s retired. R’s stretched thin. The sparks are flickering, the teens are testing limits, and nobody said forever would be this complicated.
But love built this family. And maybe love is what will hold it together.
Masterlist | General Masterlist
Chapter Summary: Love in this club
Song for this chapter:
Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, smut, and a tad bit of angst if you squint
w/c: 5.8k
"Oh fuck," Natasha whimpered into the quietness of your bedroom. Her hands gripped the loosened scarf atop your head, holding on for dear life, as she rode the waves of her impending orgasm. Her hips moved of their own accord, undulating in smooth, deft motions against your face.
A muffled, "Mmm," vibrated through her pussy as you ate her out with practiced ease. Your tongue swirled around her clit, teasing and torturing her for a few long moments before switching it up. You flattened your tongue, licking a broad stripe up her slit. Your nose pressed against her pelvis, your breath fanning over her as her tangy musk filled your senses. You'd been at this for a while now, and your chin was slick with her arousal, but you didn't mind. You loved the taste of her, the way her body responded to your touch.
You could feel her thighs trembling around your head, her muscles tensing as she got closer and closer to the edge. You knew her body almost as well as your own, knew exactly how to push her. You knew when she held her breath, seemingly unable to remember to breathe during the pleasure, and when she began to pant heavily, letting out little whimpers and moans that were music to your ears. She was close. So close. You could feel it in the way her walls fluttered against your tongue, in the way her hands tightened their grip on your hair. You gripped the back of her thigh, signaling for her to let out her moans and breathe.
You pushed her leg higher to her chest. Her body arched, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as you gave her clit a final, firm suck. Her walls clenched around your tongue, her hips bucking wildly as she came. You held on, riding out the storm of her orgasm, your tongue lapping at her folds as she shuddered and trembled above you. You could feel her juices flooding your mouth, and you swallowed greedily, wanting to taste every last drop of her release.
As the waves of pleasure subsided, Natasha collapsed into the pillows, her body limp and sated. She buried her face in your neck, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. You held her close, her hands stroking her back as she came down from her high. "That was... intense," she mumbled into your neck, her voice hoarse.
"You're welcome," you chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. You moved over to your side of the bed, not bothering to look for your underwear as you lay beside her. There was usually a routine to Natasha's satisfaction after sex. She would either fall into a deep and immediate slumber or spend a short, insignificant amount of time diving into whichever book was on her nightstand, the pages illuminated by a tiny reading lamp bought on Amazon.
You would wrap yourself around her, stroking her belly or hips, as you fell into your own period of bliss. This morning seemed to be a bit different. You were reconnecting, in every way possible, wondering how you'd gone without her for eight months. The past hour had been a blur of passionate embraces, kisses, and whispered words that had melted away the distance between you. You'd made love with an intensity that bordered on desperate, each touch and caress a silent promise to never let go again.
Natasha shifted in your arms, her body pliant and relaxed against yours. "You're thinking too loud," she murmured, her husky voice sending chills down your spine.
You chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Just trying to memorize every inch of you again. Making sure I haven't forgotten anything."
She turned in your embrace, her green eyes gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom. "I don't think you could ever forget." You sat up, moving to lie across her lap. Her fingers traced patterns on your chest, light as butterfly wings. "But tell me something," she added, her tone shifting slightly, "that you love about me."
You smiled, thinking for a moment. "Your laugh. The way it starts small, and then grows into this full, contagious thing that makes everything feel right in the world. Not to mention you don't laugh out loud often. So when it happens, you can't help but stop and listen. Then it makes me laugh."
Natasha's lips curved into a soft smile. "I missed that," she said, her fingers still tracing circles on your skin. "I missed being the one to make you laugh."
"You always have been," you replied, your voice earnest. "Even when you were being all serious and spy-like. I always want it to be you."
"Spy-like?" She questioned.
"Yes, spy-like," You nodded. "You know how you get."
"Which is vastly different from your lawyer persona?"
"It's not a persona," You rolled your eyes playfully. "It's actually who I am."
"Mhm," She hummed. "I like that suit."
"Which one?"
"All of them." Natasha weighed her options. "But there's a grey and pink one you wore. It's pretty low cut. Even for you."
You laughed. "Well, I'll wear it more often if it means I get that kind of reaction."
"Maybe just at home. I don't want anyone else seeing you in it."
Her possessiveness sent a thrill through you. "Jealous, Mrs. Romanoff?"
"Protective," She corrected, her hand sliding up to cup your cheek. "There's a difference."
You leaned into her touch, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When her lips met yours, you smiled into the kiss." I know," you said softly. "I feel the same way about you."
A comfortable silence fell between you. You could feel the tension of the past months melting away, replaced by a warm, contented peace. Natasha shifted again, her arm draped over your midsection, bringing you even closer. "Stay with me," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere," you promised, your arms tightening over hers. "In fact, I think I've especially been missing these." You shifted slightly to flick the metal jewelry in her nipple. "The last time we had sex." Natasha hissed as your finger squeezed gently this time. She was always so sensitive, and especially so since she'd gotten them pierced. "You wouldn't let me touch them." You hummed.
Natasha's breath hitched as your fingers toyed with the small metal barbell. Her back arched slightly, a silent invitation for more. "I was too sore," she managed to say, her voice strained with pleasure. It was that, amongst other things. "You've been patient."
"I have been," you agreed, leaning down to press a soft kiss against her breast, deliberately avoiding the sensitive peak. "But patience is overrated sometimes."
Your tongue traced a slow circle around her areola, feeling the texture change as her nipple hardened in anticipation. Natasha's fingers rested on your neck, pulling you closer. "Don't tease," she breathed out.
"I'm taking my time," You mumbled. "Think I can make you cum just by sucking them?" You glanced up at her.
Natasha's pupils dilated at your question, a slow smile spreading across her face. "You think you're that good?" she challenged, though her voice held a hint of excitement.
You raised an eyebrow, a confident smirk playing on your lips. "I know I am." Your thumb brushed over the metal barbell again, pulling another sharp inhale from her. "But we can find out for sure if you'd like."
Natasha's answer was a soft, breathy laugh that quickly turned into a gasp as your lips finally closed around her nipple. The metal was cool against your tongue, a strange and thrilling sensation. You could feel her heartbeat quicken under your touch, her body responding with an eagerness.
Your free hand slid down her stomach, fingers tracing the dip of her navel before continuing lower. Natasha spread her legs instinctively, a silent invitation that you were more than happy to accept.
"Patience is overrated," she echoed your earlier words, her fingers tightening in your hair as your fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs. You circled it slowly, deliberately, matching the rhythm of your tongue on her breast.
Her hips began to move in time with your touch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You removed your fingers, forcing her to keep her thighs open as you released her breast with a pop. You used the tip of your tongue to offer the lightest bit of pressure to her nipple.
"Ugh," She managed a sound that was almost more moan than speech.
"Keep them open," You ordered softly. When she hesitated, you flicked your tongue against the metal again. "Be a good girl for me. Let me see." She whined as her thighs trembled and she forced them open again.
The view of her, spread open and vulnerable before you, sent a jolt of desire through you. Her chest was flushed, the marks of your earlier passion already fading but still visible on her neck. Her breathing was ragged, anticipation written in every line of her body.
"Good girl," you praised, your voice low and intimate. The words seemed to resonate through her as they always did, a visible shiver running down her spine.
You lowered your head again, this time switching to her other breast. Your tongue explored the newly sensitive skin, learning the responses of her body all over again. Natasha arched into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Your other hand moved back between her legs, fingers exploring the wet heat of her. You circled her entrance slowly, feeling her body tremble with anticipation. Her hips tried to move, to take your fingers inside, but you kept your touch light and teasing.
"Please," she whispered, the word barely audible. "Don't torture me."
"I told you I want to try," You shook your head.
Natasha let out a soft laugh, her fingers still tangled in your hair. "You're insufferable," she said, though her voice held no real annoyance. "But I love you."
"Love you too," you replied, going back to worshiping her breasts. You started with light, open-mouthed kisses, your tongue tracing circles around her areola without touching the peak. Natasha's breath hitched, her hips lifting slightly off the bed in silent invitation. You ignored it, continuing your slow, deliberate exploration.
When you finally took her nipple into your mouth, your teeth scraped gently against the sensitive skin. Natasha gasped, her back arching off the bed. You could feel the hard metal of her piercing against your tongue, a strange and thrilling contrast to the softness of her skin. You sucked gently, increasing the pressure gradually until she was writhing beneath you, her hands gripping your shoulders.
"Ughhhhh fuck," She cried. Your other hand moved between her legs, not being able to help yourself, your fingers slid through her wet folds to find her clit. You circled it slowly, matching the rhythm of your mouth on her breast. Natasha's breath hitched, her hips moving in time with your touch.
"Oh," she gasped as your fingers pressed more firmly. "God, yes."
You could feel her getting close, her body tensing as she approached the edge. You increased the pressure on her clit, your teeth grazing her nipple again. That was all it took.
Natasha cried out as she came, her body arching off the bed. Her walls clenched around your fingers, her hips bucking wildly as waves of pleasure washed over her. You held on, riding out the storm of her orgasm, your fingers and mouth working in tandem to prolong her pleasure. As the waves subsided, Natasha practically curled into herself, not knowing whether she wanted to push you away or keep them open for more. You released her breast with a soft pop, moving up to capture her lips in a gentle kiss.
She deepened the kiss, her tongue exploring your mouth with renewed passion. "I love you," She breathed. You settled into your arms again. She began to reach for you, moving to reciprocate. You placed a hand over hers and brought it to your mouth to kiss.
“I’m okay,” you said, kissing her knuckles. “I just wanted to take care of you.”
As she huffed, she moved to reach into the nightstand. She pulled out a long black jewelry box. "I've been meaning to give this to you, but I couldn't find a good time."
She held it out to you, hiding her smile at your suspicious look.
“What is this?” You shook the box. It sounded light yet expensive. Naasha didn’t do cheap.“My baby loves me.” You grinned.
“I do,” She said softly. She kissed your lips again. “Open it.”
"The sex was that good, huh?" You joked as you ran your fingers along the opening.
Natasha didn't respond to your joke. She looked up at you, and for the first time, you could see the exhaustion etched around her eyes. "That and so much more." She replied.
You opened the box slowly, your breath catching in your throat. Inside, nestled on a bed of red velvet, was a delicate silver necklace. At its center hung a small, intricately designed locket. It was beautiful, but it was the engraving on the front that made your heart skip a beat: a simple number (2007). The year you got together.
"It's beautiful," you whispered, your fingers tracing the delicate design.
Natasha's shoulders seemed to relax at your reaction. "I had it made for you," she said softly. "A few months back. I was going to give it to you on our anniversary." She paused, her gaze dropping to the necklace. "I know it's late, but I wanted you to have it."
"It's perfect," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. Put it on me." You sat up, not minding the sheets falling from your body.
Natasha helped you put it on, her fingers brushing against the back of your neck as she fastened the clasp. The silver was cool against your skin, the weight of the locket a constant, comforting presence against your chest. "Open it." She urged you.
"Oh, right," You grinned. You opened the locket, straining your neck only slightly, to see the tiny ultrasound picture inside. "Nat." You said softly. You dropped your hand to your lap.
"I know it passed, but..." She said, referring to the anniversary of one of the saddest days in your entire life. The baby you'd lost. So many years ago. Too far away to actually still count, but always in your heart, wherever you looked at your other children. The miscarriage was always in the back of your mind. A quiet ache.
"This is... this is the best gift I've ever received," you managed to say, your voice choked with emotion. You closed the locket, pressing it against your chest. "Thank you. I love it. I love you."
You closed the space between you again, not so much this time for passion but more for the quiet closeness that she had been starved of. You didn't realize how emotional you'd feel after all this time. You certainly hadn't expected to feel it after a morning spent making love with your wife.
"Baby," Natasha whispered. She kissed your shoulder, adjusting your position against the headboard, and pulling you tighter against her. "I'm here."
There was something about Natasha that always understood how you felt. She knew when you were happy. When you were angry, especially when you would break. You'd been together for so long. So many years. You'd had more birthdays and anniversaries together than you could count. You'd made a family together. She'd nearly died countless times. You had nearly died then, too. She'd disappeared for a month on a mission she was never supposed to speak of and returned covered in burns and soot. You'd had your hearts broken and healed, and then broken again. But you always, always came back to each other.
"I was so scared," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. The vulnerability in your tone surprised even you. You were supposed to be the strong one, the rock in the storm of her life. But in this moment, with her arms around you and the memory of your loss fresh in your mind, you felt anything but strong.
"I know," Natasha said softly, her fingers stroking your hair. "Me too." She didn't try to shush you or tell you that everything was going to be okay. She just held you. "You can talk about him. To me."
"After all this time, you're still sure they were a boy," You chuckled, wiping at your tears. Natasha snorted. She tended to be right about those things. "I just... I still think about it. About him. About what he would be like. What would they be like together?"
"We both do," she replied, her fingers tracing the shape of the locket through your skin. "Every day."
"I didn't get to hold him," You frowned. "Or see his tiny face in the ultrasounds. I know I should be grateful. We have our babies. Times five." You laughed. "It's just that I don't know... It's an ache that I don't know how to soothe."
"I wish I could've made it stop," she said quietly. "I wish I could have taken the pain away from you."
"You did," You assured her. "You were there."
You lay there for a long time, just holding each other. It was a wound that had never fully healed, a scar that throbbed with a dull pain on days like this. But it was also a reminder of what you had overcome, of the strength you had found in each other.
"I love you," you said finally, breaking the silence.
"I love you too," Natasha replied, her lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "More than you know."
You shifted slightly, your head resting on her shoulder. "Remember when we first started trying?" you asked, a small smile playing on your lips. "You were so serious about it. You had charts and schedules and vitamins."
Natasha laughed. "I was a spy on a mission," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I was determined to put a baby in you."
"That you were," You nodded. "Can you imagine us with seven? We're already falling apart as is."
"I would have been a very tired mother," she admitted, her fingers tracing patterns on your back. "But I think we would have managed."
"We always manage," You said, your voice soft with affection.
Natasha's expression softened, her eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "We do," she agreed. "Because we have each other."
You leaned in and kissed her, a soft, lingering kiss. When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless. "That's the last of the sad stuff," You said, your forehead resting against hers. "I don't want to cry anymore today."
"Good," she replied, her thumb stroking your cheek. "I have plans for us today, and none of them involve tears."
You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "Oh, really? And what kind of plans might those be?"
Natasha grinned mischievously. "Well, our youngest daughter's tenth birthday is tomorrow. So we have to get planning. And we have a counseling appointment at ten.”
“Oh, don’t remind me.” You sighed. “Can’t we just skip it?”
“You really want to?” She asked.
“No, we can take it on.” You nodded. “Think we can sleep a little longer?”
“I’m betting on it,” Natasha got comfortable in teh sheets. “But I would like some of the cheesecake you made last night.”
“That was the bomb,” You nodded. “Oh, and maybe a bit of ice cream?”
“At six in the morning?”
“Oh, that’s where you draw the line?” You shook your head. You stood up, stretching along th bed before finding your panties. You pulled them on and then the oversized t-shirt. You began to pad out of the room, opening and unlocking the door, only to find Luke lying in front of it. He was curled into a fetal position, one thumb in his mouth, and the other hand gripping Midnight’s fur softly.
The dog raised her head at you before lowering it again.
“Tash,” You sighed. “You have a child out here.”
You knelt, feeling Luke’s skin for any signs of a high temperature, before tapping him gently. “Luke, buddy.” You said softly.
As if he weren’t asleep at all, his eyes fluttered open.
“Mommy?” He questioned.
“Hey, baby, what are you doing out here?”
Luke sat up slowly, Midnight moving with him. "My jacket."
"You were sleeping outside our door because of your jacket?" Natasha asked from behind you. She had the decency to wear more clothes.
Luke looked at her. Then at you.
Then back at her.
Luke shook his head. "I couldn't sleep."
"Bad dream?" Natasha asked.
Another shake.
"Then what?"
Luke picked at a loose thread on his pajama pants. Finally, in a voice so small it almost broke your heart, he admitted, "I wanted to cuddle."
Neither of you said anything.
Luke immediately looked embarrassed. Then his little lip poked out. “I can’t find my red jacket.”
Natsaha closed her eyes, mentally slapping herself for forgetting. “Your red jacket is in the hamper. I completely forgot to start the laundry.”
“I knocked, but you didn’t answer,” He said. “So Midnight and I went to sleep right here.”
You didn’t want to question how long he’d been outside your door. You prided yourself on being discreet, especially with your bedroom being tucked off in a hallway behind the kitchen.
The two of you had been so wrapped up in each other that neither of you had heard him.
"Oh, baby."
Before Natasha could move, you reached forward and scooped him up. At five years old, he was getting heavier every day, but he immediately wrapped himself around you like a koala. You carried him to the kitchen and set him on the counter. You made quick work of washing your hands before grabbing him again. You glanced at Natasha, and she was on it, grabbing two water bottles and a chocolate milk box from the fridge.
You sat on the couch, propping your feet against the ottoman, as Luke lay against your chest.
“I don’t wanna go to school,” He said. Again, you and Natasha shared a smile.
“Well, you need to go to school to learn,” You reminded him. “Today’s Friday anyway.”
“I already know stuff,” He mumbled.
“Well, how will your grandpa drop you off if you don’t go?”
“Deda’s dropping me off?” His eyes lit up thinking about his morning ritual whenever he went to school with Alexei. It usually involved some sugary breakfast.
You groaned. “There it is.”
“There what is?” He asked innocently.
“The betrayal,” Natasha said dryly. “Your mommy and I spend ten minutes comforting you, and all it takes is one mention of Alexei, and suddenly we're chopped liver.”
“I don't know what chopped liver is.”
“You don't need to,” Natasha muttered.
Luke snuggled deeper into your chest, a sleepy grin appearing on his face.
“Can we get donuts?”
“No,” both of you answered immediately.
“See?” Natasha pointed. “Your grandfather is a bad influence.”
“He lets me get the chocolate ones.”
“Exactly.”
Luke considered this. “I think that means he's nice.”
You laughed as Natasha rolled her eyes. “Your deda is incapable of telling children no.”
“That is not true,” Alexei's voice boomed from the kitchen.
All three of you turned. When had he gotten there?
He stood there with a coffee mug in one hand and what appeared to be three strips of bacon in the other. “You gave James ice cream before soccer practice.”
“That was strategic.” You defended. “The kid needed motivation without being overindulged.”
“It was vanilla.”
“Exactly. Vanilla is not exciting enough to affect athletic performance.”
“That's not how sugar works,” Natasha sighed.
Alexei waved a dismissive hand before turning his attention to Luke. “You are coming with me this morning?”
Luke sat up immediately. “Yes.”
“Then we should leave early.”
“Why?”
Alexei looked around dramatically before leaning closer.“For reasons.”
Luke gasped. “What reasons?”
“Secret reasons.”
You watched Luke's entire body vibrate with excitement. He lifted from your lap and bounced.
Natasha buried her face in her hands. “You're taking him for pancakes.”
“No.”
“Alexei.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
Alexei smiled. Luke smiled—the exact same smile. And suddenly you understood why neither of them could be trusted.
Luke looked up at you. “Can I go?”
You pretended to think about it. “Hmmm.”
“Mommy.”
“Hmmm.”
“Please.”
“You know,” you said thoughtfully, “I think school might be very difficult today if someone is full of pancakes.”
“Mommy.”
“Maybe impossible.”
“Mommy.”
You finally laughed and kissed the top of his head.
“You can go.”
“Come on,” Luke rounded the couch to pull his grandfather toward the stairs. “You can help me find clothes, but not my red jacket. Mama forgot it in the laundry.”
Natasha groaned.
“Sure, maybe I can help your mom find clothes next,” Alexei mumbled as he followed Luke to the second floor.
“I have clothes on,” You shook your head.
“That t-shirt isn’t covering much,” Natasha slapped your thigh playfully.
—-----------------
Dr. Aris’s office felt different this time around. The air felt breathable; it hadn’t felt like that last week when you’d come in. It was crazy to think that it had truly only been a short time between sessions. You felt as if you were healed. You’d spent more time with your wife this week than you had in months. You’d talked. You’d been scared straight, so to speak.
“So, ladies, how has it been?” She asked, looking up from her notepad.
“Good,” Natasha asked.
“Actually, good,” You agreed.
Dr. Aris smiled slightly. "That's wonderful to hear." Her smile lingered for a moment before she asked, "What was different?"
"We've been spending more time together," Natasha finally said.
"Intentionally," you added.
Dr. Aris nodded. "And what does that look like?"
You thought about the laundry room. The late-night conversations. The card game. The questions.
"We've been talking more," you said.
"A lot more," Natasha added. “Your homework has helped.”
"That's great." Dr. Aris made a note. "And how has that felt?"
Natasha laughed softly. "Weird."
You laughed too. "Terrifying."
"Terrifying?" Dr. Aris repeated.
You rubbed the back of your neck. "I think I came in here last time expecting some grand explanation for why we got here. Something dramatic. A smoking gun." You shrugged. “There’s really no true rhyme or reason. Well, just one, I’m thinking. We got busy," you continued. "Then we got tired. Then we got hurt.”
Dr. Aris looked between you. "You know what's fascinating?"
Neither of you answered.
"You both entered the first session convinced the other person had withdrawn first."
The realization hung in the air.
"You thought Natasha stopped wanting you." She pointed toward you. "And Natasha thought you stopped wanting her. A lot of couples come into the practice with their egos, fears, and everything under the sun." Now she sat back. "Neither of you was actually rejecting one another. You were protecting yourselves from rejection." She looked down at her notes again. “How has communication changed?”
“With the homework you assigned,” You said. “Finding something you enjoyed with your partner during the day. I don’t think we’ve ever sat down and explicitly said it?” You looked to Natasha.
“No,” She shook her head. “We’ve had moments here and there. Long conversations but never a simple ‘I enjoyed this moment with you here in this time.’” She paused. “At least not in a long while.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Hmm,” Natasha thought long and hard. “We’re just too busy most days. There’s always something that needs taking care of. Something always needs to be done, and it’s understandable. We chose this life.”
Dr. Aris nodded, though not in complete agreement.
"Busy is certainly part of it," she said. "But I see couples with ten children who still find ways to connect. I see couples with demanding careers who still find ways to connect. So I don't think busyness is the whole answer."
You needed her to elaborate a bit more.
"Busy is often the circumstance," she continued. "The question is what happened underneath it."
Natasha's brow furrowed. Dr. Aris looked toward you. "Let's say Natasha comes home from teaching her classes. The kids are loud. Dinner needs to be made. There's laundry. A million things competing for attention. In that moment, what keeps you from turning to her and saying, ‘I liked hearing your laugh today'?"
The answer felt embarrassingly simple.
"It feels silly."
Natasha looked over at you.
You shrugged. "It does. It feels obvious. We know we love each other. We know we enjoy each other. So why say it all the time?"
Dr. Aris smiled."Ah."
The sound made you immediately suspicious."What?"
"That's a very long-married answer."
Natasha laughed despite herself. "It is?"
"It is." Dr. Aris crossed one leg over the other. "Early in relationships, we narrate everything. We tell each other every thought. Every observation. Every feeling. If we don’t, we’re convinced the other person is not that into us. Maybe they’re seeing someone else, or maybe they’re just an idiot." She gestured between the two of you."Then we become comfortable. Comfort is good. Comfortable is safe. But eventually, many couples start assuming."
You found yourself looking at Natasha. She'd gone strangely still.
"I think," she began slowly. "I think I stopped saying things because I thought if I had to ask for them, they didn't count."
Dr. Aris nodded immediately. "Now that's interesting."
Natasha looked down at her hands. "If I told her I needed more affection, then she was only doing it because I asked. If I told her I wanted more time together, then she was only doing it because I asked. It felt pathetic."
Your heart sank. "Nat."
"I'm being honest."
"No, I know." You rubbed your palms together. "I just didn't know that."
"Because I never said it."
Dr. Aris let the silence settle. "And you?" she asked, turning toward you.
You took a breath. "I think I stopped asking because I was afraid of hearing no."
Natasha's head immediately snapped toward you. "What?"
"Every time you were tired. Every time you rolled over. Every time you said maybe tomorrow. It wasn't your fault. You were exhausted. But after a while..." You shrugged. "I stopped wanting to find out."
The realization crossed Natasha's face in real time. Dr. Aris finally broke the silence. "See, now we're getting somewhere. Y/n, I know you said a pain point for both of you is your work. Why do you think that is?”
You pushed the sleeves of your cardigan up to your elbows. “I used to say I don’t know. I work in corporate law now. Nine to five. Paid Time Off. Workable caseload. Ideally, this is what I was running from when I quit as ADA in New York.”
"You quit because of the workload?"
"Partly." You nodded. "We were getting around to adopting Luke. Natasha hadn't retired yet. One of us needed to be home with them."
"And that was a mutual decision?"
"Completely."
Dr. Aris nodded. "And what did you think you were gaining?"
"Time." You said. "Time with my family. Time with my wife. We were living in New York. The kids had no privacy. The house felt too small. Everything felt cramped."
"And did you get those things?"
You hesitated."Some of them."
Dr. Aris waited.
"I think the version of me who left New York would be surprised."
"In what way?"
You laughed softly. "A lot of ways."
"Pick one."
You looked down at your hands."How far apart we got."
Natasha looked at you.
"I stopped telling her things about my life. The birth control. Getting my nails done with Leslie. Little things."
You shook your head."I can take accountability for that. I should've told her. I just... didn't."
"And why didn't you?"
You frowned.
Because for the first time, you weren't sure. Finally, you sighed."It was easier not to have the conversations. I feel like I'm in this constant cycle of pushing myself too hard at work, burning out, and then coming back to... nothing."
"What does 'nothing' mean?" Dr. Aris asked.
You opened your mouth. Then closed it again."I don't know." There was a long pause. "Cara leaving for college was a new adjustment."
Natasha's gaze softened."I didn't realize how much that affected you."
"I didn't either."
You rubbed your palms together. "Then I'd come home and..." You laughed humorlessly. "I truly don't know."
Dr. Aris leaned forward slightly."When you say you came home to nothing, do you mean an empty house?"
You shook your head. "No. I think I felt empty. It wasn't just Cara leaving. It wasn't just work. I felt this overwhelming emptiness. Like, I didn't know how to connect anymore."
Your eyes drifted toward Natasha. "We fight. We have sex. We make up." You shrugged. "That was the cycle for a while. I mean, when was the last time we took a vacation together?"
Natasha let out a breath."I thought this would be the season where we found each other again."
You looked over. She was staring at her hands.
"The kids got older. They needed us less. We finally had more time. "A sad smile crossed her face."And every time I looked up, you were working." She immediately shook her head. "That sounds unfair."
"No," Dr. Aris said gently. "It sounds honest."
Natasha sighed. "I didn't tell her I missed her."
"Why not?"
The question hung there. Eventually, Natasha shrugged.
"Because I wanted her to want it too. I didn't want to ask my wife to spend time with me."
Dr. Aris nodded slowly. "So y/n stopped asking because she was afraid of rejection." She looked toward Natasha."And you stopped asking because you thought asking would make it less meaningful."
Neither of you argued. Because neither of you could. Dr. Aris glanced at the clock.
"We're almost out of time.” She closed her notebook."The good news?" For the first time all hour, she smiled. "Neither of you seems particularly interested in staying distant."
That earned a laugh from Natasha. "No."
"No," you agreed.
"Good." Dr. Aris stood. "Then this week, I don't want either of you trying to fix the marriage."
You immediately frowned. "That's literally why we're here."
Dr. Aris laughed. "I know." She gathered her things.
"For homework, Natasha, I want one direct request a day."
Natasha groaned.
"No hints. No, hoping she'll figure it out." Then she looked at you. "And y/n, I want you to hear the request you're being given. Not the criticism you think is hiding underneath it." You winced.
Fair.
“Also, take some time for yourself, y/n. No work. No kids. No wife. Just one hour to yourself.” Dr. Aris opened the office door. "Most couples think marriages struggle because of the big conversations they aren't having." She paused. "In my experience, it's usually the little ones."
And for the first time since walking into her office, neither of you felt like you were losing each other.
5 times you almost said the three big words to Natasha and the 1 time you finally did.
Warning : mention of violence, smut at some point...
Happy Pride Month!! <3
Still working on a long fic that's kicking my ass but had to write a little something that would not leave my mind otherwise, so... Enjoy :)
⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑
The room felt too big without her in it.
It was not really something you noticed right away, it was more gradual. The kind of thing that creeped in around the edges until suddenly you were hyper-aware of every empty space around you, every untouched surface, every silence that should not feel this loud.
You were lying on her bed, staring at her ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head and resting on her pillow.
You told yourself you would not do this.
You would not get used to the way it felt to be surrounded by her and her things - one of her leather jackets slung over the chair, a pair of her boots by the door, the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging stubbornly to the pillows around you.
And yet... here you were anyway.
Pathetically laying in her bed... Curled up beneath her blankets, your head buried in her pillow, surrounded by traces of her that made the absence somehow worse.
Missing her.
The thing was, you had spent years learning how to be alone. It had never bothered you before. You liked your own company. Liked the quiet, liked having your own space.
Then Natasha had happened.
And somewhere between late-night takeout, stolen hours between missions, and waking up tangled together more often than not, your definition of normal had shifted without asking permission.
"You’re such a traitor." You murmured quietly as Liho, her black cat, shifted slightly against the side of your head and let out the biggest sigh known to catkind.
Her tail flicked in response, unimpressed, before settling more comfortably against you, warm and solid and very clearly thinking the same as you.
You sighed as well, letting your head tilt to the side as you glanced down at her.
"You're supposed to make this less pathetic, you know?"
Liho blinked at you slowly, greenish eyes looking at you as if she were waiting for something.
You reached down absently, gently scratching behind her ears. She leaned into it immediately, purring, and you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips even if you tried. She always seemed to have that power over you. And her owner too.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," you mumbled, pursing your lips. "You miss her."
Because that was the thing, it was not just you. Perhaps the situation would be easier if it had been the case.
The whole room felt like it was waiting. Like it was holding its breath until Natasha walked back through the door and everything clicked back into place.
You let your gaze drift towards the nightstand - everything exactly where she left it, like she will be back any second.
Except she will not.
Not tonight.
Not for a few days, at least.
Solo missions would do that.
Liho shifted again, stretching this time, one of her paws pressing lightly against your ear.
You exhaled slowly, staring back up at the ceiling.
This was stupid.
You were being stupid. And you knew it, but apparently reason had no play in your feelings.
She was fine, after all. She was always fine.
You did not need to...
But your hand moved before you fully decided to, reaching for your phone where it rested on the mattress beside you. You stared at the screen for a second, the background picture greeting you not helping to talk yourself out of doing what you wanted to. Still, you paused for a second, teeth grazing your lower lip as you forced yourself to think rationally about this.
She was on a mission, after all. She did not need distractions.
She definitely did not need you calling in the middle of the night because you... Well, because you what? Missed her? Wanted to see her? Heard her voice? Make sure she was okay?
That felt... dangerously close to something neither of you were ready to unpack right now. Liho let out a small, impatient sound, nudging your hand with her head.
You glanced down at her, eyebrows raised.
"...You’re not helping." You grunted, closing your eyes before letting out yet another sigh.
God, you were so pathetic.
Liho was still staring at you when you opened back your eyes, you rolled them before hitting the call button.
It rang once... Twice... You almost talked yourself out of it and hung up but by the third ring, the line clicked.
"Yeah?" Natasha's voice answered, slightly hoarse, a little quieter than usual.
Relief hit you so fast it almost made you dizzy and angry at yourself. One word, one raspy, sleep-roughened word, and suddenly the knot that had been sitting beneath your ribs for days loosened.
Were you this desperate and gone for this woman? You hated that, hated how immediate it was - as if some part of you had been waiting for proof that she was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.
The realization hit a second later and made you want to throw your phone across the room. Because, God, you really were gone for this woman. You needed to get a grip on yourself, and that as soon as possible. And preferably before she found out as well.
"Hey, you..." You replied, smiling at the ceiling, scrunching your nose as Liho's snout nudged your chin.
There was a faint rustle on the other end - movement, maybe. Fabric shifting. The soft, distant hum of a foreign location you could not quite place.
"You okay?" Natasha asked immediately, worry lacing into her voice.
Of course she did.
You huffed a small breath, glancing down at Liho as she curled tighter against your shoulder, ears shifting at the voice coming out of your phone.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."
There was a beat of silence where you could practically hear Natasha thinking.
"Then why are you calling?" Straight to the point, not hitting around the bush with her - you always liked that. Usually.
You hesitated, because you did not actually really have a good answer.
"Can't I just call m-" You stopped yourself just in time, clearing your throat. Logically you knew she was your girlfriend. You had been on too many dates together if that was not the case. But you never said the actual word. There was actually more than one word you had not said yet. "Can't I just call you? It's been almost a week, I wanted to hear your voice."
Natasha let out a faint exhale on the other end, almost a huff.
"Of course you can call me, I just thought something was wrong at first," she grumbled, stopping as she heard you shift. "You're in my room."
It was not a question, it made you blink, caught off guard by her words.
"Wha-how did you even know?"
"Background noise," she replied, a smile in her voice. "And... you just confirmed it."
You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher as you rolled your eyes at her smug tone.
"Well, for the record, I’m here for a very important reason."
There was a soft, amused sound from Natasha on the other end.
"Huh uh, sure."
"It's true. You said Liho needed supervision and she doesn't wanna leave your room, so... here I am." You replied, chuckling when the cat let out a soft chirp, shifting closer to the voice.
"Alright, turn the camera on." Natasha asked, waiting.
You smiled, turning on your side and putting the phone on the other pillow to make sure she had a good view of Liho too.
Natasha's face appeared on the screen seconds later, her hair pulled back in a neat braid.
"There are my girls," she smirked, the corner of her mouth softening as she took in Liho's curled up position next to you. Her gaze flicked briefly to the side - like she was taking in the angle, the background, the way you were positioned. "You're on my side." She hummed, one eyebrow raising knowingly.
You narrowed your eyes, biting down the inside of your cheek.
"What?"
Natasha's smirk deepened, slow and knowing.
"The bed... you're on my side." She repeated, voice dropping just slightly as she raised both eyebrows this time.
You froze, because... you were. Without even thinking about it.
"It's... more comfortable." You said quickly.
Natasha did not respond right away, just looked at you like she knew that was not the real reason. Or to the very least, not the only one.
Your pulse picked up slightly at the look on her face so you quickly cleared your throat, looking down at the cat.
"Liho chose it first." You added, gesturing vaguely to the cat as backup. But of course, the traitor that she was, barely even reacted, simply staring at the screen while licking her paw absently.
Natasha chuckled, low and warm.
"Of course she did." She looked at the cat with playful suspicion before her eyes slid back to you.
You huffed out a quiet laugh, nodding.
"Yeah, she’s been complaining. A lot. I think she misses you."
Natasha pressed her lips together, taking in the sight in front of her.
"How is the roommate's situation going?"
"...She knocked over a glass earlier." You glanced down at the cat again, making a face.
Natasha sighed, glaring at Liho through the screen.
"I chose her name so well." She shook her head, but there was unmistakable affection in it.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
And she saw it.
Of course she did.
Her gaze lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
"Why did you call?" And there it was, the question you knew was coming again at some point.
You hesitated, because the real answer was sitting right there, obvious and inconvenient and a little too honest for comfort.
Because you wanted to see her.
Because you missed her.
Because her room felt too empty and wrong without her in it.
Because ever since you met her, she was always in a corner of your mind and these last couple of days you went back to that place more times than you would have liked - and actually needed to hear from the real her before turning completely crazy.
You shifted slightly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.
"Just checking in, you know..."
Natasha’s expression did not change but you could tell she did not buy it.
"Okay, and now the truth?"
"Hey, that's mean. I am checking in too." You grumbled, frowning at her.
She leaned closer to the camera, her face taking up more of the screen. The way she called your name always got you, and this time was no exception.
"You would check in if you knew I could actually talk about the mission. Which I can't. Which you already know. So...?"
"Wow. Okay. Read me like a book, why don’t you..." You huffed a small breath, rolling your eyes.
Natasha gave a small, smug shrug.
"I am."
You glanced back up at her. And unfortunately, she was still watching you like that. Too focused, too attentive, like she was waiting patiently for you to find the words.
Your chest tightened.
"...Couldn’t sleep." You admitted instead, softer this time.
It was not the whole truth but it was not a lie either.
Natasha's face softened.
"Yeah? Even if you're in my bed, surrounded by all my things... And wearing my shirt?" She sounded almost amused.
You glared at her, frowning.
"Stop being mean, I'll hang up."
"Okay, okay." Natasha held up one hand in mock surrender.
She looked genuinely amused for a minute though. But then silence settled again, not the same as before. It felt heavier now. Charged with something you could not quite name, only feel.
You watched her for a second. The way her eyes scanned the area behind the camera. The way her shoulders stayed just a little too tense, even when she was standing still.
She was working.
Even now.
Always.
"But I will anyway, you should get back to it..." You added quietly, offering her a gentle smile.
Natasha exhaled, and for a moment you thought she might actually protest.
"Yeah, probably." But she did not move, did not end the call, neither did you.
Your heart was beating a little too fast. There was something sitting in your chest again - that familiar pressure, that weight that had been building for weeks now, threading itself through every moment like this.
You swallowed.
"I-" You started, breaths burning your lungs.
Natasha stilled, eyebrows raising as you suddenly stopped talking.
"Yeah?" She prompted.
Your fingers tightened around the phone as you brought it closer. God.
This was stupid.
It was just words.
Just three words.
You could say them.
Right now.
She was right there. Looking at you like that. Like... like she was waiting. Like she could see the battle happening behind your eyes, like she was standing at the edge of the same cliff.
"I... I l-" The words caught, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you drew in a breath before panic slammed into you. You saw it then, so clearly, the possibility of silence. Of surprise. Of not hearing it back... And suddenly every survival instinct you possessed grabbed the wheel. "I mean I... You know,Liho is being very well taken care of. And I'll keep on doing that," you finished abruptly, the words coming out too fast. "Just so you know. Don't have to worry. About anything." You added with a smile.
Natasha blinked, then her face did something complicated, and suddenly she looked like she was the one whose air had been punched out of her chest even though you were the one actually out of breath.
"Yeah... I can see that."
"Good," you murmured, nodding a few times, hesitating again before clearing your throat. "Stay safe, okay?"
Natasha nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing.
"...I will," she said finally, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than it should. As if she were suspicious. "I’ll call you when I’m done."
You smiled, even though the motion felt rushed and out of place.
"Yeah. Okay."
Neither of you hung up immediately.
You just sit there for a second, looking at each other through the screen, waiting for more. Like there was something else to say.
Something just out of reach.
But then the screen went dark.
And the room felt just a little too big again, leaving you with words too big to deal with.
⧗
The plan had been simple on paper.
It always was.
In reality, however, it had dissolved into noise, smoke, and the kind of chaos that made your ears ring and all your carefully constructed thoughts scatter like startled birds.
Somewhere above you, something heavy collapsed with a metallic shriek, sending vibrations through the whole floor. The lights flickered twice before settling into a dim, unreliable pulse that painted everything in uneven shadows as dust fell from the ceiling like dirty snowflakes.
You pressed your back against the cold concrete pillar behind you, forcing yourself to breathe through the adrenaline clawing up your throat after taking down five other men. Your comm crackled with overlapping voices - Sam swearing, Tony complaining about power surges, someone yelling coordinates that immediately got drowned out by static.
Your earpiece buzzed again after another slow breath, and this time Natasha's voice came through clearly: "Status?"
Her voice was calm and grounded. Far too calm for the situation.
You exhaled sharply, something in your chest loosening just from hearing her - the sound of her voice hit you with embarrassing force. The building was still trying its absolute best to collapse on top of you. Your ears were ringing and your shoulder hurt and there were armed men somewhere in the vicinity actively trying to kill you. And yet the moment Natasha spoke, something inside your chest loosened.
You actually hated that she could do that, like some part of your brain had quietly filed her under safe, under trust, under the person you wanted beside you when everything else went to hell.
"Took down most of them but pinned on the lower level, door won't fucking open," you muttered, glancing around the corner before quickly ducking back as a burst of gunfire shredded the wall where your head had been a second ago. "Shit, three hostiles, maybe more. You?" There was a brief pause when you could practically hear her calculating.
"On my way." Natasha replied, voice steady despite the gunfire echoing faintly in the background of her comm.
You huffed a breath that was half relief, half exasperation, dragging the hand that was not holding your gun through your damp hair as dust still rained down from above. You perked by the wall, shooting one of the three guards.
"Nat, you’re not exactly in a position to be detouri-"
"I said I'm on my way." She cut in sharply before you could get another word out.
That tone meant she was not taking anything for an answer besides what she had already decided.
You rolled your eyes - even though she could not see you - before dodging another bullet as you ducked into another corner, firing two more back and hearing a groan as one bullet touched a shoulder.
"Yeah, okay, Romanoff. Because this mission hasn’t gone off the rails enough already, let’s just add 'reckless heroics' to the list."
"Shut up and hold your fire," Natasha scoffed, appearing on the other end of the hallways and taking down the two men before quickly jogging back to your side. "Well, you're welcome." She breathed out, bruised lips forming a small smile.
Before you could fire back, another explosion rocked the building, way too close this time. The wall at your back shuddered violently, cracks splintering up its side. You stumbled as the floor shook, catching yourself just in time, heart slamming hard enough to make your vision blur as the ceiling above the three guards lying on the floor suddenly collapsed on them.
"Fuck-" You gasped, pushing off and moving quickly to a slightly less terrible piece of cover with the redhead following. "Okay, that was... not ideal. Like at all." You added, one arm extended in front of Natasha - even though no one was coming your way as she stopped at your side.
"No shit." She grunted, scanning the area before tugging on your wrist to urge you to follow her.
"Took the long detour to come to me, huh." You joked as you carefully climbed back the stairs to find yet another issue.
"Traffic." She replied dryly, already peeking around the corner, assessing, calculating. Always working.
And God, even now, even like this, even with alarms screaming overhead and dust coating the back of your throat, even while your heart was trying to punch its way through your ribs - your eyes kept finding her.
The steady set of her shoulders. The quick, efficient movements of her hands. The way she assessed every angle, every exit, every threat in a matter of seconds.
Natasha always looked like she belonged in chaos, like she had made peace with it years ago and simply learned how to move through the storm, or perhaps had made a pact with it and already knew nothing would happen to her.
It should have been terrifying, instead it made something warm and painful unfurl beneath your ribs. Because every impossible situation somehow became more manageable when she was standing beside you. Because she had come for you.
The mission had gone sideways and the building was falling apart. And somehow Natasha had still heard you were trapped and immediately changed course. No hesitation, no discussion.
Your chest tightened - not from fear this time, but something sharper, heavier. Something that had been building for weeks, months, quietly threading itself through moments each more inadequate than the last.
You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the situation at hand.
"Hey, Nat," you said slowly, glancing up at the ceiling that was definitely not supposed to be doing that. "Tell me you have a backup plan."
Natasha glanced at you, lips pressed together.
"I do..." She grumbled, forcing a door open with her shoulder before quickly climbing up the next stack of emergency stairs. "Not sure you’ll like it, though."
"Natasha, I already don't like that we're going up right now..." You grunted, running to catch up with her.
She did not answer, just kept moving. The stairs were narrow and creaky underfoot.
"Sam or Tony’s gonna catch us on the rooftop." She replied, frowning at the door that refused to open. She kicked the combination lock, hissing as she grabbed a bunch of wires, ignoring the look you gave her.
Another tremor rippled through the building, stronger this time. A section of the ceiling caved in somewhere nearby with a deafening crash, the sound echoing through the corridors like a warning bell.
Your pulse spiked.
This was bad.
This was really bad.
Not because of the collapsing building, not because Tony's voice had disappeared from the comms three minutes ago, not because every instinct you possessed was screaming that the situation was deteriorating faster than anyone could fix. But because, for one horrible second, you genuinely thought this might be it.
And suddenly, all the things that normally seemed important vanished.
And suddenly, all you could focus on was Natasha. Natasha, crouched beside a broken security panel. Natasha, covered in sweat, soot and bruises.
And suddenly, the words were there.
Right there.
Sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and insistent and impossible to ignore anymore - because the thought of leaving this world without telling her hit you harder than any fear you might have felt all night.
You took in another shaky breath, your eyes tracking the smudge of soot along her jaw, the way a strand of red hair had come loose and was sticking to her cheek, the dried blood on her chin, the sharp focus in her eyes even as the world quite literally fell apart around you.
God.
If there was ever a moment... If the building came down right now, if this was the last conversation you ever had, you might actually not bear the idea of her never knowing.
"Nat," you started, your voice coming out tighter than you intended, almost swallowed by the distant sound of collapsing concrete. "If we, you know, don’t make it-"
"We will." She cut you off, the response immediate, like she had not even needed to think about it.
You blinked, lips parted as you observed her work on the colorful wires carefully.
"I... well, yeah, but like, if we don’t-"
"But we will," Natasha repeated, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. There was something in her eyes now - something stubborn, unyielding and fierce. "I won’t accept otherwise."
You stared at her for a second, incredulous, adrenaline and frustration tangling together in your chest.
"Oh my god, I know," you shot back, gesturing vaguely at the crumbling building around you. "I’m just trying to tell y-"
"Dekta," she cut in, her voice dropping just slightly, softer but no less firm. "It’s me. I won’t let anything bad happen to us... If you let me work on those fucking wires."
And there it was.
That certainty.
That absolute, unwavering belief that she could hold the entire world together through sheer willpower alone if it meant keeping you safe.
Your chest ached.
Because you knew her.
You knew where that came from.
And you knew how dangerous it was.
You let out a breath that turned into a frustrated half-laugh, dragging a hand down your face.
"Fuck, you’re so stubborn," you muttered, shaking your head at this impossible woman. "Whatever."
But the words did not go away.
They just settled deeper, heavier, waiting.
And the building gave another violent shudder, as if reminding you that time was running out.
⧗
It started as nothing.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
Just another debrief after another mission successfully wrapped. So, naturally, another cluster of agents and Avengers lingering a little too long in the common area with glasses in hands and loud music all around.
You noticed her by accident.
At least, that was what you told yourself later.
The truth was that your eyes had developed a bad habit over the past several months.
No matter how crowded the room was or who you were talking to, no matter how hard you tried to focus on literally anything else - they always found Natasha eventually.
Like a compass needle snapping north.
You could be in the middle of a conversation, could be laughing at something Tony said, could be halfway through a story - and somehow your gaze would drift across the room searching for red hair and green eyes before you even realized what you were doing.
Tonight was no different.
One second you were pretending to listen to Sam rant about government paperwork, leaning back against the counter with a drink you had half-drowned already, the next your eyes had wandered.
And there she was...
Beautiful.
Effortlessly, unfairly beautiful.
Standing a few feet away and talking to... someone.
You would not have thought twice about it, except... Well, she was smiling.
Not the polite, diplomatic curve of her lips she used when she was playing a role. Not the sharp, amused smirk she gave when she was teasing.
A real smile. Soft and easy and unrestricted.
Your stomach flipped, and not the pleasant kind of movements it usually did when it involved her.
You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to focus past the noise in the room to get a better look at who she was talking to. Some agent, you recognized the face vaguely, newer, maybe. You did not really know. What you could decipher however was the confident stance, way too relaxed to be speaking with Natasha, and leaning just a little too close.
And you realized with anger seeping into your veins that your girlfriend was not stepping away.
In fact, she tilted her head slightly, listening carefully before saying something back. And God, the agent had the fucking audacity to laugh.
Your grip tightened around the glass in your hand.
It was nothing.
Right?
It had to be nothing. Natasha knew plenty of people. People you did not know yourself. It was part of her job, after all. And it was not fair, she was not doing anything wrong. It was fine, not a big deal. But your slightly inebriated brain was set on convincing yourself it was a very big deal.
You forced your shoulders to relax, dragging your gaze away.
She was allowed to talk to people, a completely normal activity that human beings engaged in every day.
She was allowed to smile, too. Hell, you loved her smile.
This was normal.
This was-
You glanced back before you could stop yourself, and they were still talking. God, how long was this discussion going to be?
Your eyes kept on tracking every movement for the following minutes while the rest of your face was still pretending to listen to Sam’s story.
Every smile, every second she remained standing there. The worst part was that you trusted Natasha completely. This was not about trust, it was somehow more embarrassing than that, it was wanting.
Wanting her attention.
Wanting that smile.
Wanting to be the person she looked at like that.
And watching someone else get it felt like tiny little paper cuts somewhere beneath your ribs.
Death by a thousand stupid insecurities.
You took another drink.
An excellent decision, clearly.
Natasha said something else, her expression shifted - something amused flickering in her eyes - and the agent reached out briefly, brushing her dirty, unworthy fingers against her arm as she responded.
Something in your chest twisted.
Okay.
No.
Nope.
That was not happening.
You pushed off the counter before you could think better of it, crossing the room with the purpose you intended. You told yourself it was casual. That you were just... joining the conversation. Gathering information before actually stepping in.
Not interrupting.
Definitely not interrupting.
Natasha noticed you coming the moment your footstep hit a particularly creaky floorboard two steps to her right. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours - sharp, assessing and aware like she always knew exactly where you were in a room.
The... woman - whoever she was or thought she was - beside her was still speaking, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere.
"Hey," you said, a little too quickly, stopping beside the redhead and leaning into her side more heavily than you intended, blinking a few times to stop the world from moving too much - perhaps you should have stopped at two drinks like Sam suggested earlier.
The agent turned to you and offered an easy smile, probably delighted to have two Avengers speaking to her.
You nodded stiffly, barely acknowledging her before your attention snapped back to the person who actually mattered to you.
"Didn’t know you were still in debrief mode."
Natasha's lips twitched at the contact, subtle but there, her hand spreading on the small of your back to steady you.
"We’re not." She replied, her voice calm and even as always.
"Right," you said, glancing between them. "Just... chatting then."
"Yes." Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly.
There was a beat.
An awkward one, if you could say so yourself.
You did not like it.
"So," you added, forcing something casual into your tone that did not quite land the way you wanted it to. "What’d I miss?"
The unknown woman chuckled nervously.
"Not much. Just telling Miss Romanoff about my upgrade ideas for her bites."
"Her bites?" You replied, eyebrows raised, ignoring the way Natasha's hand tightened on your back in warning.
"Yeah, you know... widow bites. They're impressive already but Mister Stark wanted my help to upgrade them and Miss Romanoff had some very good suggestions," she continued, praising your girlfriend like you were not standing right the fuck there. "Didn’t expect that kind of knowledge, actually. You know a lot about... well, a lot." The young woman giggled.
Something about the way she said it, like it was new, like she was just discovering something you had known for so long... it grated.
"Yeah," you said again, tighter this time. "She does tend to know a lot about a lot." You let out a snort, giving the young woman a look.
Natasha’s gaze flicked to you again, sharper now. Assessing.
The woman glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on something. Finally. Tony had not picked the brightest one, it seemed.
"Well," she said, clearing her throat slightly. "I should, uh, let you t-"
"Yep," you cut in quickly. "Perhaps you should."
Natasha shot you a look at that, but the woman just nodded awkwardly and stepped away, muttering something about other projects.
You did not even watch her go, your focus was entirely on Natasha now.
The second she was out of earshot, the silence shifted.
Your redhead turned to you fully, arms crossing as she let go of you.
"Okay," she said, eyebrows raised. "What the hell was that?"
Your jaw clenched as you leaned against the wall for support, making a face of confusion.
"What was what?"
Natasha exhaled through her nose.
"That," she repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction the agent disappeared. "Just now."
You let out a short breath, shaking your head.
"Nothing, just... talked to your new friend, that's all."
Natasha's expression flattened, her eyes flashing with something that was both arousing and thrilling. God, whatever was in your drink really fucked you up.
"What is your problem?"
"My problem?" You echoed, incredulous. "I don’t have a problem."
Natasha stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Really," she said flatly, unimpressed. "Because you just interrupted a conversation for no reason and then acted li-"
"For no reason?" You cut in, the words coming out sharper than you intended. "Seriously?"
Natasha's jaw tightened, irritation flashing across her face.
"Yes. Seriously." She hissed back, keeping her voice low but making sure to send her point across.
You stared at her, incredulous.
"Wow," you muttered, running a hand through your hair. "Okay. Good to know then."
"Good to know what?" Natasha frowned.
"That you’re just... completely fucking oblivious." You grumbled.
"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows raised higher.
You hesitated. Because saying it out loud felt... actually ridiculous.
And petty.
And yet...
"You guys were flirting." You said finally.
The words hung in the air for a moment, then Natasha let out a sigh, leaned back against the wall, and turned to face you.
"I really wasn't."
You let out a disbelieving huff.
"Na-"
"I wasn't," Natasha repeated, firmer now, her gaze steady. "And if she thought I was, she's sorely mistaken."
You shrugged, the alcohol not helping you think clearly.
"Well, you were smiling."
"I smile," she replied, voice cooling as something you could not quite understand shifted in her expression, her shoulders dropping. "Sometimes."
"I don't know, not like that..." You grumbled lamely.
Natasha stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose as her eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, like what?"
"Like-" You stopped, frustrated, gesturing vaguely because you did not even have the right words for it. "Like you meant it or something."
"And that's a problem?" Natasha huffed out a laugh.
You opened your mouth before closing it again.
Because no. It should not be.
She was allowed to smile. Allowed to talk to people. Allowed to-
"Let’s just forget it..." You muttered, shaking your head.
Natasha reached out, gripping your chin gently and forcing you to look at her.
"Nuh uh," she said immediately, lips twitching. "Don’t do that. You started this, now finish it. Even if you're drunk."
You let out a sharp breath, throwing her a dirty look at her last words.
"Well, it’s just..." You cut yourself off again, jaw tightening. "It’s nothing, can we drop it?"
"It clearly isn't nothing."
"It is," you insisted, even though your chest felt tight, your thoughts a mess. "I just didn’t expect you to be so... friendly."
Natasha studied you, letting go of your chin to rest her palm on your sternum, thumb brushing the collar of your shirt.
"I'm friendly when I choose to be." She hummed.
"Yeah, I noticed." You chuckled, the words coming out more bitter than you intended this time. You reached for her hand with one of yours, keeping it on you - the touch grounding in a tilting world.
Natasha laced her fingers through yours, squeezing slightly.
"So what? I can't talk to someone now?"
"That’s not what I said."
"It’s what you’re implying."
"I’m not implying anything-"
Natasha sighed, cutting you off.
"You walked over there and shut down a conversation because you didn’t like it," she replied, voice sharpening. "So tell me, what exactly is the issue here?"
You stared at her.
Because the issue was obvious.
At least, it was to you.
But saying it out loud? That was different.
"That woman was clearly into you." You said instead.
Natasha blinked at you before snorting.
"Yeah, and?"
"And?" You stopped, frustrated, running a hand through your hair again. "And nothing. It’s just, like, obvious."
Her gaze locked onto yours, amusement flickering there.
"Yeah? Should I have?"
"I don’t know," you snapped, frowning at her, not understanding the funny aspect of this discussion like she seemed to. "Maybe... Probably."
Natasha leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath.
"Why?"
The question landed heavier than it should, the hair at the back of your neck standing up in alarm.
You hesitated.
Because the answer was sitting right there, at the front of your mind, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore.
Because you did not like seeing someone else look at her like that.
Because you did not like the idea of her wanting that from someone else.
Because you-
"Because I-" The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice cracking. "I just don’t like it, okay?"
Natasha hummed, lips curling into a satisfied smile, thumb brushing your hand.
You swallowed hard.
Your heart was pounding, she could probably feel it.
"I-I don't like seeing you like that. Imagining you with someone else." You grumbled, the words rough, pulled straight out of your chest.
Natasha pursed her lips, eyes on your frowning face.
"You think I’m 'with' someone else?" She asked, amused.
"No," you said quickly. "No, that’s not what I-just-" you shook your head, frustrated with yourself now. "Forget it. You can't understand."
Natsha hummed, looking at you with that familiar mixture of amusement and fondness, as if you were the most entertaining thing she had encountered all evening.
"Then explain it to me," she challenged, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you got jealous over a conversation."
"I didn’t," you stopped yourself again, exhaling sharply. "You're enjoying this too much," you grunted, giving her a look. "Okay, maybe I did. A little."
Natasha smirked, really smirked, the kind that made your stomach flip.
"Good of you to keep up, I've been enjoying it for five minutes," she chuckled, tilting her head to give you a knowing look. "A little?" She repeated.
"Fine. More than a little." You grumbled.
Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer, almost fond. Her eyes flicked downward, kissing you before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole than you were already, lips smiling against yours as she tasted the remeanant of the alcohol there.
You closed your eyes, trying to keep your mouth shut too. Because the truth was right there.
Because you loved her.
It sat at the back of your throat, heavy, burning, ready. Pulsing in time with the organ in your chest.
This would be so easy, too easy, to whisper it against her lips and blame it on the liquid courage coursing through you. To gasp it into her mouth, letting her swallow the words and sealing them with your insistent lips on hers.
You were already here, already halfway there, already saying things you probably should not be saying.
What were three more words?
Your pulse pounded as she stepped away, deep green eyes opening to stare at you.
"Wait..." Your voice faltered, breath catching as everything crashed together at once. "You're, like... very... important," you frowned, confused about where you were going with that, the words coming out of your mouth not necessarily the ones you expected. "I mean, like... I love... that you're interested in me. Only me." You finished, weaker than what you almost said.
Safer.
Natasha's eyes searched your face, like she was trying to find something you were not saying.
She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around your neck.
"Well, I thought that was pretty clear already, but I'm very much only interested in you, silly." She breathed out against your lips.
The words were steady and certain, making the hair at your nape raise again. But they did not quite settle the storm in your chest, even as your hands settled on her waist, heavy eyelids blinking to look at her.
Natasha kissed you again, softer this time, lingering.
Her hands came up to cup your face, thumbs slowly brushing over the apples of your cheeks like she was memorizing them.
"Next time," she whispered, smiling softly. "Maybe try using words a little better before jumping to conclusions."
You huffed a small, humorless laugh.
"Yeah. I’ll work on that, kinda hard after those insane drinks Clint wanted me to try, though..." You grumbled, staring into her green pools that lulled you closer, limbs melting into her.
And somehow you still wanted more.
Greedy and pathetic and hopelessly in love. The realization hit so hard it nearly stole your breath - well, that and her tongue tracing over your lips.
If only she knew the truth, though...
If only you could actually do that.
Said the words, the right ones, the real ones.
But instead, they stayed where they had been for weeks now, caught in your throat.
Unsaid.
⧗
Natasha woke you with a sound that did not belong in her bedroom.
Not a scream - Natasha Romanoff did not scream - but something very close to it. It sounded like a strangled inhale, like she surfaced too fast from underwater and forgot how lungs worked.
Your eyes snapped open instantly.
The room was dark except for the thin blue glow of the digital clock on the nightstand showing 3:13 AM.
Beside you, Natasha was rigid. Not sitting up, not moving, not one arm above her head like you caught her doing before. Just frozen flat on her back, chest heaving in shallow and uncontrolled breaths that were trying very hard not to become panicked.
"Nat?"
You pushed yourself up on one elbow when no response came from her, sleep dissolving immediately from your brain. The sheets were tangled around her legs, a sheen of sweat glinted across the exposed skin of her throat. Her hands were fisted at her sides so tight you could see the tendons straining.
"Natasha." You murmured, a little softer this time as you shifted closer, still careful, because you had learned to be careful with her.
Her eyelids finally fluttered open at the movemnt, eyes cutting toward you, green and glassy in the dark - but they did not really see you yet. They were still trapped somewhere else entirely, something years away from this room. The Red Room. A mission gone wrong. Or some memory she will never tell you about. There were ghosts living behind Natasha’s eyes sometimes. You knew that much.
And tonight they followed her into bed.
Your chest ached immediately - not because she looked broken, Natasha never looked broken, she looked exhausted like she had spent the last several hours fighting ghosts no one else could see.
"Oh, honey." The endearment slipped out before you could stop it and something in her expression cracked.
Not dramatically, because Natasha never broke dramatically either. But you saw it, that tiny flicker of exhaustion beneath the mask she was trying to pull back into place - tonight she was not fast enough. Tonight you caught the crack before the mask could close.
"’m fine..." She murmured automatically, her voice rough.
You almost scoffed at the lie, except there was nothing funny about the way her breathing still stuttered every few seconds.
"Yeah," you murmured instead, giving her a look. "Clearly."
Normally she would smirk at that. Throw something sarcastic back. Deflect. Tonight she just closed her eyes briefly like she was too worn out to actually pretend and let out a low sigh.
You hesitated for only half a second before reaching for her. That hesitation did not exist before. In the beginning, you touched Natasha carefully because you did not know if she wanted it. Now you hesitated because sometimes nightmares left her halfway feral with adrenaline and instinct. Once, months ago, she woke up swinging.
She cried afterward.
Not visibly, but her hands shook while she checked your jaw for bruising, and she refused to look at you for the rest of the night and following day so you would not be able to see her glassy eyes.
You remembered holding her face and saying, "Nat, hey, it’s okay, it was an accident." You remembered her whispering, horrified, "I could’ve hurt you." As if she had not spent every day since trying to make up for it with hands gentler than ever before.
Tonight, though, the second your fingers brushed her wrist, she grabbed you. Hard.
Never enough to hurt, just enough to reveal how desperately she needed the contact.
Your breath caught.
Natasha turned into you so quickly, almost hopelessly, and pressed into you like she could not get close enough fast enough. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other hooked under your shoulder, and then she was burying her face against your neck with a shuddering exhale.
Natasha never clinged before.
Your heart practically fractured on the spot.
"Okay," you whispered immediately, wrapping both arms around her. "Okay, I’ve got you."
She said nothing, not that you expected her to talk right now, but her grip tightened.
You could feel the aftermath of the nightmare in the tension running through her body. Every muscle pulled taut. Every breath measured too carefully.
You started rubbing slow circles against her back, carefully laying back against the mattress, thumbs pressing gently into her sides. It took a while before she melted even a little.
"You wanna talk about it?" You asked quietly, lips brushing her hairline.
You only received a tiny shake of her head against your throat in answer.
"Okay. That’s okay too."
Another few minutes passed in silence. Outside the compound windows, rain tapped very softly against the glass - a reminder that the world kept on moving in small, ordinary ways while you held one of the deadliest women on the planet together with your bare hands.
The thought would almost be funny if it did not feel so devastatingly tender.
Natasha shifted closer even though you did not think that was physically possible. One of her legs slid between yours, anchoring herself there. Her fingers curled into the back of your sleep shirt like she was afraid you would disappear if she let go.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly, lips pursing. Most people only knew the polished version of Natasha Romanoff. The smirks. The sharp edges. The glares. The dry humor. The controlled, untouchable elegance.
The Avenger.
The spy.
The weapon.
But you knew this version too.
The one who woke up shaking. The one who hoarded affection like she did not know when it would be taken away again. The one who pretended she was not tired right up until she fell asleep on your shoulder. The one who quietly moved closer whenever a room became too crowded. The one who checked that you got home safely even when she was halfway across the world. The one currently curled against your chest as if your heartbeat was the only thing keeping the nightmares away.
The one who pretended she did not need anyone while silently gravitating toward you over and over and over.
You planted a kiss onto her head, nose resting there as your lips stayed pressed on her temple. Immediately, impossibly, she softened further like that single gesture undid another knot inside her.
Your chest hurt so badly with it that you almost said it right then.
The three words rose so fast it scared you.
You stopped yourself so abruptly your breath almost caught audibly.
Natasha did not notice. Or if she did, she did not question it.
She was still tucked against you, eyes closed now, breathing gradually evening out while your heart absolutely lost its mind inside your ribcage.
Because holy shit.
Holy shit. You nearly blurred it out.
Again.
Panic bloomed instantly.
Not because it was not true.
God, that was part of the problem. It was too true. Because loving Natasha was not a choice you made anymore - it had never been your choice. It had become instinct. As natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. You loved all of her. The legend. The weapon. The woman.
Especially the woman.
You stared at the ceiling, fingers still moving gently through her hair while your thoughts spiraled violently out of control.
This was not the moment.
Actually, this would be the worst possible moment, if you thought about it.
She just had a nightmare. She was vulnerable and exhausted and clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world right now. Saying it now would be... unfair.
The realization landed heavy in your stomach - it would be unfair to put that on her now.
Natasha had spent her whole life with people taking advantage of vulnerability. Twisting soft moments into leverage. Making affection transactional.
You knew that.
You knew her.
The last thing you ever wanted was for her to think your comfort came with strings attached. Like she owed you something because she let herself need you tonight.
Your eyes stung suddenly.
God. And what if she panicked?
Not because she did not care about you - you knew she did by now, even if neither of you said it out loud - but because love was different.
Love was permanence.
Love was trust.
Love was something Natasha approached like a wounded animal approached an open hand: cautiously, suspiciously, waiting for the trap.
You could still hear her voice from months ago, quiet and strangely raw after a mission in God knew where left both of you bleeding in a safehouse bathroom.
"I’m not good at this."
You had looked up from where she was bandaging your ribs, eyebrows pulling together.
"Stichting me up? Could have told me before I let you put your hands on me, huh."
"No, just... this," she had muttered with a roll of her eyes, making a gesture with her free hand between the two of you. "All of it."
Relationships, she had meant.
Feelings.
You remembered smiling softly.
"Well, good thing you don’t have to be good at it, then."
Natasha had stared at you for a long moment like that answer genuinely confused her.
Sometimes you thought she was waiting for you to realize she was impossible to love.
The horrifying thing was that loving her was the easiest thing you had ever done.
You looked down at her now, at the red hair spilling across your shoulder. At the tiny crease still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Her plump lips partially parted, puffing air on your shirt.
At the way she unconsciously seeked your warmth even while asleep, fingers twitching against your back every few seconds just to make sure you were still there.
Your entire body ached with affection.
You wanted to say it so badly.
You wanted to whisper it into her hair and hold her until she believed it.
You wanted to tell her she was loved so fiercely and gently and without condition that it even terrified you sometimes.
But fear curled sharp beneath the longing.
Because what if she was not ready?
What if hearing it made her... retreat?
What if it changed this - whatever beautiful fragile thing the two of you had built together for months - into something frightened and uncertain?
Natasha did not do love.
Or at least she thought she did not, or to the very least act like she could not.
You had seen evidence of that belief everywhere: in the way she - most of the time - deflected sincerity with humor, in the way she usually went still when someone cared too openly, in the way she looked almost startled every time you chose her again.
As if she was still waiting for the moment you would not.
You could survive not saying it. You would rather swallow these feelings for another year than risk making her think she owed you an answer tonight, an answer given at three in the morning with tears still trapped behind her eyes would not really be an answer at all. However, you were not sure you could survive watching her pull away from you. Not over something like that. Not over timing. Not over words. So you swallowed the words down hard enough it hurt. And instead tightened your arms around her slightly and pressed another kiss into her red hair. Natasha made a small sound low in her throat. Contentment? Trust?
"You’re okay..." You whispered carefully.
Not I love you.
Even though every inch of you meant it.
"You’re safe. I’ve got you."
Her breathing evened out completely after a few minutes.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged at your own eyes again, but sleep came slowly. You mostly just laid there holding her, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.
You stayed. That was all. Stayed through the nightmares. Stayed through the sharp edges. Stayed through the parts of her she thought were too damaged to be loved.
You buried your face briefly in her hair, eyes burning.
"I’m here." You whispered.
Always, you almost added. But that was dangerously close to the other thing.
So instead you held her tighter and let the words live silently inside your chest a little longer.
⧗
You smiled against her insistent lips, blindly reaching for the handle of the door that was digging into your back, your other arm lazily draped around her shoulders.
Natasha chuckled into the kiss, breaking away just enough to push the door open with her hip.
She stepped inside first, pulling you along by your shirt collar before reconnecting your lips together the second the door of her quarters was closed behind you.
"Someone's eager." You mumbled between kisses, both arms wrapping fully around her neck now, back arching as you felt her warm hands on your hips.
Natasha bit your lower lip gently, hands sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press her burning palms against the shivering and bare skin of your back.
"Almost like it's been weeks or something." She breathed out, giving you a heated, amused look.
You shook your head, fingertips brushing along the loose curls of her braid. You tilted your face enough to look down at her cat who circled your ankles, purring at the contact. Liho meowed loudly at the lack of acknowledgement from both your parts, rubbing against Natasha's legs next.
The redhead ignored her, too busy nipping at your jaw instead, one of her hands tugging on the loop of your pants to bring you closer to her.
"She might be hungry..." You hummed, tilting your face back to give her more room, eyelids fluttering as you let your feet follow her wherever she was taking you.
Natasha grunted against your skin at your words, ignoring Liho entirely.
"She's always hungry," she muttered before pulling you in another heated kiss, hands gripping your hips as she walked backwards toward the door of her bedroom. "Plus, she already ate. Now's my turn." She smirked as she pulled you inside the room instead, closing the door before the black cat could enter.
"You’re so rude," you chuckled, leaning against the door, your hands feeling up her arms that quickly wrapped around you, refusing to let you go too far. "Slamming the door right into her face like that..."
Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes as she resumed her kisses along your jaw.
"Trust me you're not gonna want an audience," she said, lips hot on the hollow of your throat. "Know what else's rude?" Natasha asked, teeth grazing your skin, her eyes sparkling as goosebumps followed.
"Mhm, what?" You panted, already feeling yourself worked up, thighs pressed together for a semblance of relief, hands finding purchase at her toned shoulders.
Natasha smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your collarbone before biting down lightly, then soothing it with her tongue.
"You," she whispered against your skin, hands sliding lower. "You got no idea what you've been doing to me all day, huh? I couldn't stop thinking about you. During that meeting too," she grunted, nose nudging the collar of your shirt as far as possible. "Imagine that? Me? Distracted?"
"Well, I didn't do anything." You grinned, fingers slipping into her braid, purposely messing it up as you brought her lips back to yours.
Natasha groaned as you ruined her carefully braided hair - she hated when you did that. But she kissed you back anyway, hands fumbling and pushing fabric off your shoulders in a hurry.
"Liar," she accused between breaths. "You wore those clothes on purpose."
"My clothes? What about them?" You breathed out, helping her out of her own top.
Natasha kicked her shirt to the side, pressing flush against you, skin on skin now.
"That shirt," she said, voice rough as her fingers traced the waistband of your pants. "That clings like that? Your chest looked heavenly. Called my name." Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose before claiming your mouth again with a low whine of frustration as she tried to push your pants as far as she could.
You could not help but let out a shaky moan, kicking your shoes and jeans off to finish the job, fingers curling in her hair.
"I think you're losing your mind if you hear my tits talking to you." You chuckled against her lips, walking her to her bed, mouths still sharing the same oxygen.
Natasha fell onto the bed with you, laughing into your kiss - actually laughing, something rare and light that made your inside flutter so violently your lips parted against hers.
"Oh, your tits definitely talk," she teased back against your mouth before letting her mouth trail lower once you were fully straddling her lap. "They say 'touch me, Natasha' all day. Can hear them through all these walls and layers."
One of her hands slid up to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra, her other one pressing down your lower back to make you arch it.
"You're such a dork." You grunted, hips rolling on her lap, your hand not in her hair working on her bra, letting it pool between you like a final motion. Natasha let out a small laugh, but the sound turned into a breathy moan she tried to immediately swallow as your hips rolled against her lap again.
Her hands immediately reached behind you to take off the last piece of fabric hiding your silky skin from her gaze, eyes sparkling as the sight of your bare chest finally greeting her.
"Well hello, ladies. Missed you too." Natasha smirked, ignoring both the amused and bewildered look you sent her as she leaned down to press a light kiss on your sternum, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until your back arched against her on its own this time.
You let out a chuckle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you gripped her toned arm, your fingers still tangled in her head guiding her face lower. Natasha did not need guiding, she was already moving down - her lips trailing fire over your sternum, nipping gently at the soft skin of your chest before her teeth grazed the swell of your breast. Her hands trailed lower, feeling your soft sides and committing it all back to memories.
"Sorry, I might be delirious," she murmured, voice muffled against your skin as she pressed warm kisses over your chest. "Like I said, s'been weeks."
"Yeah..." You breathed out, eyelids heavy as you stared down at her. "...acting like you’ve been through withdrawal or something." You teased, though your chuckle died in your throat as her teeth grazed your sensitive skin in clear retaliation, piercing green irises looking up at you.
Natasha smirked against your skin before finally taking one of your nipples into her mouth, tongue swirling around it, slowly at first, teasingly. She could feel the way you tensed beneath her, how your breath hitched and fingers curled tighter in her hair. She hummed approvingly around the peak before sucking gently. Your hips jerked into her lap involuntarily as a reaction to her ministrations. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, breaths turning heavy as you tried to contain yourself even though her actions along with the faint friction happening between your thighs was making you dizzy with want for more.
Natasha immediately noticed the way you moved against her - subtle, involuntary, but so telling. She quickly switched to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while one of her hands slid down your stomach and over your hipbone, tugging down the last fabric clinging to your body.
You let her roll you over and watched as she dragged your panties off your legs, her burning fingertips grazing your skin. You shifted on your elbows, giving her a heated look as you stopped her from laying back with a firm foot on her toned stomach.
The redhead frowned, confusion clouding her gaze for a second.
"Nuh uh, you're wearing far too many clothes." You smirked, licking your suddenly dry lips.
Natasha arched a brow, but the smirk on her lips grew as she understood your demand. Without hesitation, she took a step back. Her buttons popped open in record time as she kicked off the remnants of her clothes. She grabbed your extended leg with one hand, squeezing your calf as she drew closer.
"Better now?" She drawled in a hoarse tone that groped at your belly with a small smile on her face, her lips trailing over the inside of your leg, eyes never leaving your face.
You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving her mouth as you tried your hardest not to melt too visibly under her ministrations. But it was harder said than done when your whole being filled with anticipation, your breath coming in faster before you could take the reins over it.
Natasha took her sweet time - kissing up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth of her mouth linger on your skin. She kept going until her nose bumped the apex of your thigh before finally reaching her destination, the first contact making every touch she did before small compared to the way her tongue eagerly seeked you out. Her eyelids fluttered for a second, a small sound escaping her parted lips as your grip in her hair resumed before tightening.
"Fuck-" You gasped, thighs already starting to tremble on either side of her head. "I almost forgot..." You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as her eyes snapped back to yours, her lips wrapping around your clit as she shot you a quick wink. "...how good you were at that." You finished in another gasp, letting the back of your head hit the mattress as you tried to keep the sounds in.
Natasha smirked - actually smirked, you could feel it against your folds - before diving back in with renewed focus. She alternated between slow, teasing licks and firm suction, like she had all the time in the world to relearn you - her tongue swirling expertly while one hand gripped your hip to keep you from bucking too much. The other slid up your stomach to pinch a nipple - multitasking like the terrifyingly efficient woman that she was.
"Inside-" You panted, back slightly arching off the bed while the hand not in her hair gripped the one that she rested on your chest for dear life, eyebrows furrowing as you focused on the pleasure she was making you feel. "Need you inside, Nat."
The redhead, your redhead, did not hesitate or drawled it longer than you thought she would - perhaps she did miss you as much as she claimed to - and slipped two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right on the first try like she knew your body better than her own. You rewarded her with a shaky gasp, unforgiving warmth spreading through you like wildfire.
Her tongue kept working your clit in perfect rhythm with her thrusting fingers, adding pressure exactly where it mattered. The wet sounds were loud in the quiet room, mixing with your gasps and Natasha's soft hums of approval against you as she stared at your body that chased the feeling she was giving you. And suddenly it was too much. Too many feelings. Natasha was all around you, everywhere - outside and inside. Her insistent hands, her heavy gaze fixed on you that you could not see but felt all the same, the scent surrounding the two of you. It was too much and you were right there, with the words ready to claw themselves out your chest and throat to finally slip past your parted lips.
You let go of her hair immediately as a semblance of dangerous clarity reached you, your hand pressing flat against your parted mouth. And what if you stopped yourself from breathing that way? At least the words were going down with you, and you would not blur them out of the blue, in the middle of sex, mind you.
You let out a trembling moan, thighs starting to shake as you bit down the inside of your fingers.
Natasha felt the exact moment you tensed, the way your body coiled like a spring ready to snap. She doubled down with eyebrows furrowed in focus, keeping the pace of her fingers and curling them while her tongue pressed hard against your clit. Your muffled moan only spurred her on, she always loved making you fall apart beneath her. Loved being the reason for that desperate grip on yourself, for those half bitten-off sounds she could practically taste in the air between you two. And then here you were, your thigh jerking up by reflex as your walls spasmed around her fingers, sucking them in.
She pulled back and took a deep, ragged breath, eyes traveling languidly over the faint sheen of sweat over your curves.
You opened your eyes again, face tilted to the side as you lazily reached for her with your hand, pushing the babyhair off her forehead with a faint, delirious smile on your face.
Natasha leaned into your touch, her damp lips curling as she kissed the palm of your hand. Her fingers, still glistening, brushed over your stomach as she crawled up to hover above you, arms caging either side of your head. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth first, then finally claimed it properly - slow and deep and so tender compared to what had just happened moments ago.
It made your toes curl.
"I love-" You stopped yourself just in time, gulping down, teeth grazing your lips as you tried to find something else to say. Something else than what you really wanted. Something that you might actually not regret saying. "I love, love when you do that." You finished in a lower tone, heavy eyes searching her face.
Natasha studied you, those green eyes always seeing too much, like she could read the hesitation in your chest, the words that did not make it out.
But she just kissed you again, slower this time, letting you taste the proof of your arousal clinging to her. Her hand came up to cradle your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheekbone gently, affectionate and warm.
"Yeah, I gathered as much." She grinned smugly against your lips.
You chuckled, pushing her away with one firm hand on her sternum before suddenly flipping both of you over, your body pinning her down on the mattress. You tried not to react too visibly as her hands immediately grabbed your hips by pure reflex.
"You know I don't like when you look too smug." You grunted, playfully rolling your pelvis into her lap, one eyebrow raised pointedly.
Natasha blinked up at you, almost surprised for once, her usually controlled expression flickering with something unreadable as your weight settled over her. A slow smirk curled on her lips, her hands traveling lower until she was cupping your buttcheeks.
"Well hello," she breathed out, tilting her chin to press a kiss to your jaw. "Missed those too." She smirked, her hands squeezing the flesh, a small chuckle escaping her as the involuntary movement it caused you to make.
"Oh, shut up." You laughed, your hands cupping her face to pull her into a firm kiss.
Because if there was one thing you were good at, it was distracting you from telling too much. And what could be a better distraction than those plump lips, stealing all possible breath from you until you could not speak anymore.
⧗
It was quiet in the compound.
Not the half-expected, tense, waiting kind of quiet that came after a mission or before one, but something softer, lived-in... And an atmosphere that could only prevail in the late hours of the day, one that only night owls could understand.
Most of the lights were off, the common areas were empty. And you were sitting on one of the couches, half-curled into the corner, a blanket draped over your legs more out of habit than actual need. There was a book open in your lap, but you had not turned the page in... well, a while now.
You were not reading. You had not been for the past twenty minutes. Or maybe even longer. Your gaze kept drifting.
To the doorway. To the window. To the hallway.
You did not know exactly when she got back.
You just knew she did.
You heard the faint echo of a quinjet followed by footsteps earlier. The soft click of a door. The almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere that always seemed to follow her presence - like something settled into place because she was back in your orbit.
You did not go to her. Not immediately. You had an unspoken agreement whenever one of you would return from solo missions, you would not go looking for the one who had just come back. It was up to her to come find the other if felt the need. Otherwise, you had to give the other time and space - enough to take a shower and put herself together while wiping away all the blood that stained the skin - before either of you could face the world again as an acceptable person.
So, you told yourself you would give her time, like always. Let her decompress. Shower, change, whatever she needed.
Totally normal.
Totally reasonable.
And it definitely did not end up with you pacing your own thoughts into the ground for what had to be the past half hour.
You exhaled slowly, dragging your eyes back down to the book you grabbed again.
You froze in the middle of a mess of words you surely must have tried to read before as soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. They were quiet - of course they were - but you recognize them anyway. Measured and controlled in the way that let you know she was letting you hear her approach.
Your heart picked up instantly.
Which was very stupid. It was just her.
Just Natasha.
The footsteps stopped right behind you.
You did not turn around right away, but you did not even know why. Maybe because if you did, this became real - that aching missing feeling whenever she was not near you. The words that had been sitting in your chest for weeks now, building and building and building until it felt like they were going to spill out whether you wanted it to or not.
"Your book’s upside down."
You blinked, looking down with a frown.
It was.
"...I knew that." You mutter, flipping it to the side quickly.
There was a soft sound behind you, something between a breath and the ghost of a laugh. You finally turned. And there she was. Clean now, changed too, her hair still slightly damp, falling loose around her shoulders. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, like she had already shed the mission and stepped back into something more... normal.
Her eyes were on you before they flicked to the empty mugs sprawled on the small table in front of you, eyebrows raising faintly.
"You’ve been sitting here for a while." She noted.
You shrugged, aiming for casualness to buy yourself more time on your emotions.
"Yeah. It’s a couch. That’s kind of what they’re for."
"Mhm." Natasha did not move closer, did not sit down next to you despite the empty place, she simply stood there, watching you. Like she was trying to figure something out.
You shifted slightly under the weight of it.
"What?"
"You’re weird again." Natasha tilted her head just a fraction.
Your eyebrows shot up.
"What!? Me? I’m not weird. What do you mean?"
"Yeah, you are," she replied simply with a scoff, like it was painfully obvious. "You keep almost saying something for weeks now."
Your stomach dropped, colors draining from your face.
Oh.
Oh, God, no.
You let out a short, awkward laugh, shaking your head.
"I don’t... what are you talking about?"
Natasha did not seem to buy it, not even a little, as she arched an unimpressed eyebrow in your direction.
"I’ve seen you do it," she continued, stepping a little closer now, her voice quieter but more certain. "You can’t lie to me, you know?"
You looked away, suddenly very interested in a nonexistent wrinkle in the blanket.
"I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things."
"I’m not."
"You might be."
"I’m not." She repeated, a little firmer this time.
You huffed a breath, rubbing the back of your book that laid on your side, upside down.
"Okay, even if I were, hypothetically, almost saying something... it’s probably not even important."
Natasha stepped closer, close enough now that you could feel the shift in the air between you as she leaned into your space.
"It is, though." She said, lips twitching.
You shook your head, letting out a chuckle.
"Nat-"
"Come on, just say it." The words landed softly, like a request. But solid with no room to dodge, no room to deflect anymore.
You swallowed hard, your pulse picking up again.
"This is a bad idea." You muttered, mostly to yourself, looking up at her with almost pleading eyes.
"Why?" She frowned.
Because you might ruin everything.
Because she might not say it back.
Because what you have right now is good and safe and enough-
"Because..." You started, before stopping. You held your breath, expecting... something. But Natasha did not move. She did not push. She just waited. And somehow, that was worse.
"You’re not gonna let this go, are you?" You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair in a nervous movement.
"No."
Of course not.
You glanced up at her, she was closer than you realized. Her expression was not guarded, not like it usually would be with... anyone else. Anyone else but you. There was something open there, she let you see it, decipher it like it was yours to. She was curious. Maybe even a little cautious. Like she knew this mattered.
Your chest tightened.
God.
This was it then. This was the moment you had been avoiding for weeks.
You were sure you could still back out. Say something else, make a joke, deflect, kiss her until you were both too distracted to remember the discussion at hand. You had done it before. You could do it again.
But you looked at her now.
At the way she was standing there, waiting. At the way she was clearly not letting it go this time. At the way she came to you without any mask on.
The faint dampness still lingering in her hair, the patience in her eyes, the way she had not pushed you once - just waited, as if she trusted you to get there eventually.
And God.
Maybe that was what finally did it, because something in your chest just settled.
You exhaled slowly. Because the truth was the truth. The truth was painful to hold in. The truth was choking you alive. Perhaps it was killing you more to keep it in than scream it at her. Because the truth was the truth and it was inevitable - even though you tried to run away from it. It would always come back to here and now, it would always come back to her.
"I love you." The words left your mouth in an exhale before you could stop them, like they almost did too many times to count before.
You froze immediately as your brain caught up, your heart slamming hard against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to take it back, to say something else. Anything.
But Natasha just... looked at you.
And for a split second, panic spiked, until a faint breath escaped her.
"Oh."
You blinked, your entire body went tense. The sound was not disappointed, it did not sound uncertain either. If anything, it sounded fond. Almost helpless.
And you were fucking lost.
"Oh?" You echoed, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were right now despite the blanket covering your clothes. "That’s-well, okay. Cool. Good. Great response. I-I actually really love that for me," you started to ramble, because of course you were - already half-turning away like maybe you could just physically remove yourself from the situation. "I mean, not that you have to say anything back, because you don’t. I just, well, clearly picked a great time to-"
"No, no, I just... was expecting something else," Natasha replied, lips twitching. "I mean, I already knew that."
You stopped before fully turning back now, elbows planted on the back of the couch as you caught up with her words.
"...What?"
Natasha smirked, something softer in her eyes now.
"I know." She repeated, like she knew you needed to hear the words again.
"You know, what? You knew? Since when?"
"A while." She shrugged slightly, pinching her lips together to hold the laugh in.
"A while?" You repeated, incredulous. "Natasha, I’ve been internally losing my fucking mind over this for weeks, actual weeks-"
"Yeah, I noticed." She scoffed, reaching for one of your hands.
"-and you just knew!?"
"Well, yes. I knew you loved me."
You stared at her.
Because that was... That was so unbelievably her.
"Oh my God, you are actually unbelievable." You muttered, dragging your free hand down your face.
There was a faint flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she stepped closer, fingers brushing hair away from your eyes so she could look into them.
"I love you too, by the way," she shrugged, lips twitching into a smirk. "In case you didn’t know."
You stared up at her, breath half caught in your throat. She loved you.
Of course she did.
The evidence had been everywhere.
You had just been too terrified to trust it.
"...You do?" You asked, because apparently your brain had fully stopped functioning as needed to hear things more than one time.
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"I just said that, didn’t I?"
"Yeah, I know, I just-" You let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "You could’ve, I don’t know, mentioned that before I spent months spiraling over it."
She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes.
"Well, you could’ve said it sooner.”
You stared at her, lips parted.
"...You’re really turning this around on me right now?"
"Mhm hm."
You huffed out another laugh, softer this time, something in your chest finally loosening after weeks of tension as she leaned in enough to press her smile against yours.
changing the locks on your heart ‘cause you’re bored
ᥫ᭡natasha romanoff x fem!reader
ᥫ᭡summary: You worry that your situation with Natasha has become one-sided, but she’s quick to reassure you of the opposite
ᥫ᭡content: fluff + a dash of comfort; legal age gap; technically stark!reader; gay panic because obviously; soft!nat allegations; a lot of exposition cause i couldn’t help myself; not proofread;
ᥫ᭡a/n: HAPPY PRIDE! 🏳️🌈 even though i cancelled my fic girl summer event, this was a draft for it that i’d already finished, so i believe it deserves to be out in the world! i’m still just trying to take my time off writing right now, but i hope you enjoy this fic in the meantime! i hope to be back in the swing of things soon
The summer heat wrapped around the compound like a blanket, sunlight glaring off of the massive pool outside the Avengers Tower. Music drifted faintly from the outdoor speakers set up, Cap and Clint took turns on the grill. You sat curled up in one of the lounge chairs in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, trying very hard to focus on the book in your hands. Trying and failing. Because Natasha lay in the chair beside yours. And Natasha in the summer was unfair.
She wore a black bikini and dark sunglasses, stretched out beneath the sunlight. One arm rested behind her head while the other draped lazily across her stomach. Relaxed Natasha was rare enough. Relaxed Natasha inviting you to spend the day with her? Was like a diamond in the rough.
Earlier that morning, she’d knocked lightly on your bedroom door before leaning against the frame. “Come sit by the pool with me today,” Simple, casual. But your heart had started racing immediately anyway.
Your pull to Natasha, and her pull right back to you, in a word had been miraculous. You’d been a young friend of Tony’s, something of a little sister to the man. You’d come from a troubled, orphaned past and he’d given you a place to stay. Now, you lived at the compound. You helped where you could, with research, mission support, communications, the less flashy stuff. Something else you’d gotten and you weren’t exactly sure how, was Natasha Romanoff’s attention.
You noticed a stark (no pun intended) difference from the looks she gave her other comrades and the looks she gave you. Soft looks were reserved from you, soft tones even more so. And you can’t remember having ever seen Natasha hug the other Avengers, or squeeze their hand, running her thumb along their knuckles. But that was the treatment that you got.
You’d spent your late nights together when neither of you could sleep, just you and Natasha in the kitchen with decaf coffee and deep conversations. Then came the touches. Natasha’s hand on the small of your back. Her knee bumping hours beneath conference tables. Natasha taking and squeezing your hand when she could sense you were overwhelmed with something.
You weren’t sure when it had shifted into something else. Maybe it was when Natasha started kissing you on the cheek when you ended the night. Maybe things had shifted the night she showed up at your room after a nightmare, and you’d held her close, snuggling up until sunrise. More than likely, it was the tennis court incident. God, the tennis court.
You still thought about it constantly. It happened last month after one of Tony’s parties. Too many people, too much noise. You’d barely gotten two words in with Natasha all evening.
Then suddenly, she’d appeared at your side and muttered, “Come with me,”
No explanation. Just Natasha leading you through the compound at midnight, fingers hooked loosely around your wrist. You’d ended up at the outdoor tennis courts under dim floodlights, warm summer air thick around you.
The second that gate clicked shut behind you, Natasha kissed you. Hard. Like she’d been holding herself back all night. You remembered stumbling backward until your spine hit the fence, Natasha crowding impossibly close while her hands framed your face.
You’d laughed breathlessly against her mouth at one point and whispered, “Nat—“
“I know,” she’d murmured before kissing you again. Like she couldn’t stop. Like she didn’t want to. You remembered hoping the moment never ended. And the way Natasha had rested her forehead against yours afterward, your breaths mingling, made you think she felt the same exact way.
So why did you still feel insane about it half the time? Why did every unanswered text make your stomach twist? Why did every mission leave you wondering if Natasha would come back distant again? Why did you feel so deeply while Natasha remained impossible to read? The thoughts followed you everywhere, even now. Especially now. Here you were, spiraling quietly beside her.
Sure, Natasha had been affectionate today. Softer, seeking you out more often. But your brain kept insisting that it was temporary. That eventually Natasha would realize you cared too much.
You turned another page in your book without processing a single word. A moment later, Natasha shifts beside you. You felt her looking before you actually glanced over. Sure enough, her sunglasses had dipped slightly down her nose so she could peer over the frames. Her smile was sleepy and fond and it made your chest squeeze.
“What?” you ask softly.
“Do you know you furrow your brows when you’re trying really hard to concentrate?” Natasha says.
Heat crawls into your face immediately. “I’m not straining myself or anything. I’m just reading. But it’s hot, so yeah, it’s a little hard to focus.”
Natasha snickers and settles back again. You try again to focus on your book, and fail a second time. Because every few minutes, Natasha would glance over at you. And sometimes she’d smile, and sometimes, she’d just look. Like she was just taking you in, admiring your presence. Which somehow made everything worse. Because if Natasha cared, really cared, wouldn’t things feel more certain than this? Wouldn’t you know what you were to her?
You were so lost in your own thoughts that you almost startled when a shadow suddenly crossed your book.
You look up, and Natasha is stood above your chair now, sunlight outlining her hair in coppery gold. God, she was beautiful.
“Wanna get in the water with me?” Natasha asks.
The answer escapes before you can think too hard about sounding eager. “I’d love to.”
Natasha smiles and holds out her hand. Your pulse skips as you take it. Her fingers curl around yours with familiar ease, and she gently tugs you to your feet. The walk to the pool was short, but Natasha never let go.
The concrete heats the soles of your feet while distant laughter echoes around the yard. Natasha stops at the water’s edge beside you. Blue water gleams beneath the afternoon sun.
For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, Natasha quietly asks, “What’s going on?”
Your stomach drops, but you attempt a smile. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been in your head all day, I can tell.”
Of course she noticed. Natasha noticed everything about you.
“It’s nothing.” You deflect.
Natasha turns fully toward you then. “Hey.” She squeezes your hand once. “Talk to me.”
And maybe it was the heat of the sunlight, or the way she’d looked at you all morning, but suddenly the words were pushing at your throat, too hard to keep inside.
“You ever worry,” you started quietly, staring at the pool water instead of her face, “that maybe you made something bigger in your head than it actually is?”
Your question is met with silence and you immediately regret speaking. Your laugh is nervous and you go for another deflection. “Forget it. That sounds dramatic.”
“Don’t do that.” Natasha says coolly.
You swallow hard. Natasha steps close enough for you to feel her body heat, smell the intoxicating musk of her perfume. “What makes you think this isn’t real to me?”
The question catches you so off guard that you finally look at her. Natasha’s expression had gone soft in that way she only allowed around you. It made your heart stuttered.
“You’re hard to read sometimes,” you admitted.
A flicker of guilt flashes across Natasha’s face and it surprises you. Then, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The gesture was unbearably tender.
“You know why I brought you to the tennis court that night?” she asks quietly.
Heat floods your face once again. You shake your head.
“Because I’d just spent four hours wanting to kiss you,” Natasha murmurs. “And I couldn’t stand pretending otherwise anymore.”
Your breath caught. Natasha’s thumb traces lightly across your cheekbone. “I invite you into my space constantly,” she continues softly. “You’re the first person I look for when I come home from missions. I sleep better with you beside me,” A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “You’ve somehow convinced the world’s greatest spy to willingly talk about her feelings.”
A startled laugh escapes you through the emotion clogging your chest. Natasha steps even closer.
“This isn’t one-sided,” she said firmly. “I’m so incredibly fond of you, y/n,”
Every spiraling thought in your brain seemed to stop in that moment. Natasha looked genuinely offended by the thought of you doubting her feelings for you. And suddenly all those tiny moments over the past few months rearranged themselves differently in your head.
Natasha bringing you coffee exactly how you liked without asking. Her hand finding yours beneath blankets during movie nights. The way she always drifted toward you in crowded rooms. The tennis court. This pool.
You look up at her, searching her eyes. “I’m fond of you too, Natasha,” you reply. “So goddamn fond.”
Natasha’s hands cup your face again and she drags your mouth against hers. You hum at the taste, at the feel of her, your hands wrapping around her waist. Your heart is a ticking metronome in your chest, and in that moment, you know you’re exactly where you need to be. And you’d never doubt Natasha’s feelings for you ever again, even for a minute.
My hands are cold, but your lips are warm (natasha x fem!reader)
word count: 1,800ish
warnings: oral (r receiving), kissing, biting, slight argument, lesbian yearning, and they were best friends!
context: failed mission in siberia, both are cold frustrated in shitty cabin in middle of nowhere. natasha and reader are best friends since red room, basically reader is a black widow like natasha and follows all same events. they are partners in SHIELD.
—
When fury said siberian weather conditions were not that bad during this time of the year, he clearly didnt mention this. the wind howled outside of the small cramped cabin that was supposed to be a safe house. everything was freezing cold. snow began covering the windows to the brim, fogging up every way to look outdoors.
only heavy sound that could be heard was the big door slamming open, shaky exhales from utter pain of the cold.
rubbing your ripped fingerless gloves together, trying to warm up at least a bit while thinking about the mission. you turned to natasha, about to start arguing about assignment gone wrong but she beat you to it. shoving frustratedly past you, she sat on a beaten up twin sized bed that was placed in the corner of the small bedroom. with her jaw violently tensing, she looked up at you then threw the broken comms device at your face. still not saying anything.
with a deep sigh, pinching the nose bridge and looking back at her, you took the broken comms device and put it on the small table. sitting down with your back turned, refusing to talk to her as you began taking off your shredded gear. only leaving yourself in the compression long sleeved thermal top and leggings. shit. those bruises hurt bad.
neither of you acknowledged one another for a long time. not the failed mission you were forced to retreat because of lost broken signal. not the tension that has been building up. not even checking each other for injuries like usual.
all your focus was on fixing the comms that you didnt even notice natasha moving. stepping behind your chair, she hesitantly tried to place her rough cold hands on your shoulders, making you jerk away. your head snapped back, looking up at her from your seat. you didnt relax, it looked like you became even more tense. brushing her hands off you sternly, you shooed her off in russian so you could fix the goddamn comms. it looked like you were going to be stuck in the safe house for quite a while.
—
after hours, you finally managed to scrap up a few signals and wires. managing to send a morse code message. all you now had to do was wait, which was not a good thing. it was getting darker outside, snow storm intensified, and it was becoming even colder. you shivered at just thought of it, sighing you finally looked around the cabin.
it wasn’t anything special. dust everywhere, broken closet, walls made out of old oak trees that did nothing to isolate the cold. looking down at the floor, your eyes finally spotted the ginger haired woman who was laying down with a thin ripped blanket covering her body, her head bumped into imitation of a pillow that was made out of her gear clothes. she was wearing just thermal clothing like you.
with a blank face, you took in her expressions. her eyes were clammed shut, eyelashes fluttering as she tried to fight off the shivers from the cold. jaw clenching, hurdling up into herself. pity took over your chest, looking down at your best friends of god knows how many years. you walked over, crawling up to the bed before leaning down to try tug at her. stopping yourself just moments before reaching her, you pulled back and let her be. you wouldn’t want the tension to get worse.
covering yourself with a thin spare blanket, you tried to use military methods that were taught in Red Room to keep the warmth in. it was a hard fight with siberian winter, one you were losing. you werent the only one it seemed. natasha finally let a shiver through, exhaling harshly through cackling teeth, her breath visible in the dark of the room.
giving up, you softened. you couldn’t stay mad at her for long. even if she was a bitch during the mission. she was still your supposed girl best friend and you didnt like seeing her in pain. with a frustrated sigh and a soft noise, you leaned down tugging at her sleeve.
ginger finally turned, acknowledging you. plopping on her elbows, she quirked her eyebrow tiredly. her braid was messy, baby hairs sticking out. yet she still looked beautiful, even in the dark. looking at her like that always made something churn in your lower stomach, bringing heat up your cheeks even in freezing cold. and when you two did act up on it, both of you wanted to keep it casual and not mention it again. it somehow felt different tonight, not just because of the failed mission or the constant tension. something has been changing lately, for a good while in fact.
snapping out of a daze, you scooted towards the wall, making space in the twin bed, petting the spot next to you and looking at her with best soft, warm eyes you could muster. and it always worked on her. she plopped on her knees fully just as you began talking
“come here, draga? its so cold, i need to warm up… please ‘tasha?” the words were raspy coming out of your mouth, little voice crack and accent slipping in. it made natasha look up at you with a strange familiar look in her green eyes. her lips tugged, moving up and dragging the thin blanket with her, she settled next to you.
getting in a comfortable position wasnt an issue for the two of you. you both had too much experience with one another for that. you settled half on top of natasha’s side, leg thrown over her hips, your chest completely smushed up against side of hers and her strong arm. she herself got loose, trying to gain as much warmth as she could, she snuggled her hips up against your inner thigh, pulling you closer to share body warmth. her arm was supporting your back, your face was right against her neck, breathing the sweat and gunpowder in.
staying like that for a while, you managed to get some body warmth but it wasnt enough for this kind of weather. it was never enough with natasha. gripping her bicep with one hand, and side of waist with another, you tried to angle her more towards you. she let out a soft grunt after a moment, gripping your hands away and quickly moving on top of you to cover your body like a human blanket.
her thighs didnt let your hips escape, gripping them tightly she snuggled deeper. letting out another sigh which you responded with a little hitch in the breathing. your chests were smushed together, her face right above yours. you felt her breath hot and quick on your lips, just a little closer and you will meet her halfway.
if natasha’s goal was to make you hot, she did succeed. except now you were hot and bothered, just like her. restless, you squirmed under her, matching her strength but not wanting to fight for dominance. you were submissive in your nature, and you werent going to deny your beautiful control freak best friend of having charge over you.
staring at each other, you analyzed one another’s features. before you knew it, tips of your noses were touching. the next moment, you were making out with her. hot lips pressed against yours, passionately pulling you in. it quickly escalated, she was pinning you down with her hands while her tongue licked and nibbled your bottom lip. asking for the permission in. you subconsciously parted your lips back, letting out a quiet moan at feeling of her saliva and tongue in your own mouth.
the more you kissed, the more hot you got. the earlier freezing cold seemed to never exist as heat took over. trying to grind and strut your hips up, trying to find any relief, you pulled out a sharp grunt from the ginger. she pinned your hips down, not allowing you anywhere and making you whine. you felt her shit eating grin against your neck.
soon enough, she began moving her mouth south. kissing your jaw. focusing on underside of it, she sighed into it, breathing you in before moving onto the neck. then lower. sucking at yours collarbone, then sneaking under your shirt and making your back arch instantly. taking one of your sensitive, already hard nipples in her mouth, warmth enveloped you. you sighed out her name, bringing her other hand up to your other breast.
kisses were getting lower and lower. licking and kissing your tummy muscles, she bit softly around your ribs. lower. licking your hipbones. lower.
the thermal leggings quickly came off, she adjusted your position, getting all up against your thighs. you rested your legs on her shoulders, needy expression coming across your beautiful face. chewing on your lower lip, you looked down at her only to see she was already glancing up. her eyes were filled with animal like hunger as she let her tongue swipe over fabric of your panties.
the teasing was endless. her hot breath hitching over the wet patch on the fabric, nudging her nose up to the sensitive bud through the underwear, gripping and biting all over your inner thighs. it made you ache, hot coiled feeling swarmed your tummy, your hips were raised as you gripped the back of her ginger hair.
she began eating the panties off of you, her warm tongue finally found your needy soaking cunt, making her groan in pleasure of the taste when she lapped up your slit. it made you moan in unison. you were so sweet, she couldve stayed like that forever, but you were getting impatient and overly needy.
lapping up your juices, she focused on the sensitive bundle of nerves. she didnt hesitate or tease anymore. her tongue flicked expert circles on your clit, finding its nervy sensitive spot, making you whimper and moan even louder, jerking your hips into her face, helplessly gripping her hair.
“please… please- oh god yes— nat please”she huffed from down there with a heavy breath when she heard you finally getting vocal. gripping your thighs closer, she watched you while eating you out. wanting to see and memorize every face that her best friend made through the hazes of pleasure she was giving them.
“come on… come on, give it to me” natasha grunted through, her rare accent thickening. strong forearms flexing. you melted at her words, intensifying the warm feeling that pooled through you. you felt yourself getting closer. your vision blurred, the stomach muscles clenching and flexing and your hips violently tried to grind.
“i cant—god i cant, i cant i cant i—“ the words turned into a deep moan of gingers name as white hot pleasure washed over you. your thighs clenched around her head, trapping her in until you rode it out. legs were shaking as you finally came to your mind, breathing out heavily and letting go of her head after she ate all of the essence with deep enjoyment.
after her lapping up your sensitive pussy, natasha smugly sat up, pulling your panties and thermal leggings back on, tucking herself into your side on top of you. sharing a taste of you through a kiss, she murmured
⧗ You and natasha instantly click at a party, is this the beginning of something new? Or just another work friendship?
⧗ fluff, stark party, eh flirty
⧗ short but ongoing! will post part 2 soon
New series hehehe stay tuned!
It was booming at one of Tony Stark’s famous parties, you’re a biochemist who helps Tony engineer many tools and resources for the Avengers. You’re in a stunning black dress, and as you peer up from the drink you see a whole group of superhumans come your way, however most drift off, except one widow.
“Natasha this is y/n, the one person in the lab with brains” Tony smiles, introducing you to the team. The red head smiles at you, her red hair cascading off her strong shoulders.
“Nice to meet you, scientist huh?” she smirks, giving you a friendly smile.
“Yeah, assassin?” you smile back, she nods.
“pretty much, what do you specialise in?” the avenger asks you, allowing her eyes to gently observe your body and landing on your lips.
“I’m doing some engineering right now but back in university I was really into molecular biology” you explain, the rest of the team disperses and its just the two of you and the loud chatter.
Natashas eyebrows raised, “I’m impressed, what made you switch to engineering over molecular?” She asks, genuinely curious. Not many times in your career somebody has asked you this many questions about your career aside from job interviews, men aren’t usually too interested women in stem but Natasha was……. different.
You two chatted for a while, Natasha asking about your job, and interests and you doing the same.
“You’re pretty cool” she smiles, handing you a drink. “And obviously very educated, I have a friend who’s the best sniper in the industry but got his right pointer ripped off, any chance you could help me out?”
You think for a second, “I mean yeah next month I’m pretty open, I’d love to take a look” you smile at her, getting slightly lost in her green eyes.
“Thank you, I mean it. I’ll make it worth your while of course, he’s a good friend of mine” she says softer, her eyes clearly showing her mind is off elsewhere.
A few weeks after your meeting, you bump into her in the hallway after a long night of work. The conversation had crossed Natasha’s mind a lot, she is often thinking if you. Your hair messy, eyes tired, and you’re holding a million things.
“Woah hey there” she smiles, grabbing a bag from you before you fall, “long night?”
“long week” you groan, “thanks I’ve got it” you say softly trying to get your bag back but you’re just. so. tired.
“Uh uh absolutely not, I’ll walk you back to your apartment, what floor?” she asks as you approach the elevator,
“eight” you yawn
“hey me too” she smiles.
The ride up is silent, calm silent. She walks you to your door then helps you put your bag inside,“well if you’re ever lonely I’m a door down” she smiles, as you go to close your door you pause,
“Oh hows your friend? Finger ripped off?” you ask, suddenly remembering your first conversation all those weeks ago.
“You remembered” she smiled, “wanna grab a coffee tomorrow? He’s an interesting guy”.
“Sure” you nod, “give me a call”.
“I will” she smiles, her green eyes lighting up for just a moment, you don’t admit it but you think of her all night long.
Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N=31, r=24), violence, blood, death, hate sex, oral (r receiving) fingering (r receiving), multiple orgasm
Word count: 13,3k
A/N: Final this Sunday.
Part 4
Two weeks should have been enough time for the world to begin making noise again..but it hasn’t.
That was the first thing Natasha noticed after the Snap. Not the empty streets, though there were too many of those or abandoned cars left crooked across bridges and highways. Not the phones ringing in houses where no one remained to answer them, not even the news broadcasts that had stopped sounding like news after the first three days and had become nothing but lists, emergency orders, missing persons appeals and anchors trying not to cry on camera.
Natasha had lived most of her life learning how to survive aftermaths. She knew how to step over bodies, how to read panic in a crowd, how to make herself useful when everyone else was screaming. She knew how to fold grief away until it became small enough to carry under her ribs without slowing her hands.
Half the universe had become dust and two weeks after Wakanda, everyone looked older. Steve stood at the head of the briefing room with his arms folded and his face hollow in a way Natasha had never seen before. He had bruises fading yellow along his jaw and a cut near his brow that should have healed faster, but grief had a way of slowing the body down.
The hologram above the table turned slowly, showing casualty estimates that were not estimates anymore. They had become admissions. Governments fractured, emergency services collapsed and entire towns vanished down to a handful of survivors. In some places, the dead from the accidents after the Snap were still being counted separately, as if arithmetic could make the first impossible number more bearable.
“Confirmed global population loss is holding at forty nine point six to fifty point three percent depending on region.” Bruce said quietly. “The variance comes from incomplete reporting. Some areas still haven’t reestablished communications.”
Steve’s eyes stayed on the projection. “And off-world?”
“Everywhere..” Rocket muttered.
Natasha had stopped looking at the numbers after the first hour. She knew what they said, everyone knew what they said. The universe had been cut open with one hand and the wound was too wide to close. She looked instead at the empty chair beside her. It had not belonged to anyone in particular, but that almost made it worse.
Steve followed her gaze and something in his face shifted and looked at Natasha. “What about Y/n?” The room changed and Natasha felt the question pass through everyone like a blade finding places already bruised. Y/n..
For two weeks, Natasha had tried not to think your name unless she had somewhere private to bleed from it. She remembered ash in the air, Vhassar wounded and lowering his massive head around you. She remembered soldiers vanishing in front of you and the exact moment understanding entered your face.
Then the mountain men had come and had surrounded you on the battlefield without speaking. A wall of blackened armor and blood-soaked cloaks closing around their princess while Wakanda still smoked around them. Their eyes had been wild with grief and fear and devotion, but none of them looked at Natasha. Not one.
You had looked once over her shoulder. There had been so much blood on her that Natasha could not tell where you were hurt. Your white braid had come undone in torn strands around your face and one hand still rested against Vhassar’s jaw and the other was closed around nothing, as if it still held dust. Then Thor’s bridge had opened one last time, burning rainbow fire across the ruined field, and you had disappeared into it with the remains of your army and your wounded dragon.
Natasha had not seen you since. She felt everyone waiting for her answer and hated that she did not have one. “I don’t know.”
From the far side of the room, Okoye shifted her weight and swallowed once. Her eyes moved briefly to the empty place where T’Challa should have been and straightened. “The mountain kingdom has fallen under her rule.”
The words did not make sense at first, not because they were complicated, but because the mind rejected them. Natasha felt her own body refuse the sentence for half a breath. Steve’s voice was very quiet. “What do you mean?”
“Her father is gone. Her mother as well. Their chief advisor vanished with them and several members of the high council. Their line of succession was not broken, but it was burned down to one name.”
Natasha’s fingers curled against the table. Your parents.. For one sick second, all Natasha could see was you on the battlefield, asking what was happening while ash slipped through your hands.
“She is not only Khaleesi now..She is queen.”
The room remained silent and Steve looked at Natasha as if he wanted to say something and could not decide whether it would help or only break another thing that was barely standing. Natasha said nothing, but inside her, something cold and sharp began to move. She imagined you returning to the kingdom with the castle corridors that had roared with war now hollowed by absence and the throne room half empty.
Bruce cleared his throat, “There’s more.”
The projection shifted before anyone could ask. A burst of energy appeared above the table and carol leaned forward slightly. “This was detected two days ago. Same energy signature as the Snap.”
“The Stones..” Bruce nodded. “Another surge. Smaller, but still massive. Wherever Thanos is, he used the gauntlet again.”
“Can we track it?”
Nebula’s eyes stayed fixed on the table. “I know where he said he would go.” Thor finally lifted his head.
“After he finished his work, he planned to rest. He called it a garden.”
Rhodey stared. “A garden.”
Steve put both hands on the table and leaned forward. “If he used the Stones again, then he still has them.”
Bruce’s eyes flicked up. “Maybe.”
“Then we take them.” Steve said. “We use them to bring everyone back.”
The thought of hope had barely formed when the room filled with thunder. The lights flickered once and glass along the far wall hummed. Everyone moved, Steve reached for his shield and Carol’s hands lit gold. But when the light vanished, you stood in the center of the room.
For a second, Natasha forgot everything else. You had always carried attention like a blade, even before Thanos. Even in soft rooms and half lit mornings, there had been something in her that made the world adjust around her. But this was different..This was not the princess from the balcony anymore, this was not even the Khaleesi riding a dragon over Wakanda..This was someone grief had crowned and failed to kill.
Your eyes did not move to Natasha, they went to Steve first, then Thor and to the projection above the table. Six soldiers stood around you, each in black armor, each with a hand near a weapon. One had his arm in a sling and still stood like he would kill everyone in the room before allowing anyone to touch you.
“Where is he?”
“All respect-”
“Where is Thanos?”
Natasha took one step forward before she could stop herself. “Y/n-”
The soldiers moved and Natasha stopped. Not because she was afraid of them, because you had not told them not to. She looked at you and you looked back at last. There was no relief in your face or a flicker of the woman who had once stood behind Natasha and braided survival into her hair. Natasha felt something in her chest go very still and Thor stepped forward. “I gave her leave.”
Steve turned his head. “What?”
“The Bifröst answers to Stormbreaker. I told her if she needed passage, she would have it.”
Your gaze did not leave the projection. “You found him.”
“We tracked an energy surge..” Bruce said carefully. “Same signature as the Stones. He used the gauntlet again.”
Steve watched her. “We’re not going there for revenge.”
Your eyes moved to him. “Then you are already lying to yourself.”
Steve did not flinch. “We’re going to get the Stones.”
“And use them.” Bruce added quickly. “To reverse what he did. Bring everyone back.”
For the first time, you were still in a way that looked less like command and more like impact. “Can you do that?”
“Maybe.”
Natasha wanted to hit him, because now you looked at him. “Maybe.”
Steve stepped in before the air could split open. “We don’t know what condition the gauntlet is in. We don’t know what condition he’s in. But if the Stones are there, this is our best chance.”
Carol’s voice was steady. “I can scout ahead. If he’s alone, we hit fast.”
“I am coming with you.” You said and Natasha’s stomach clenched and Steve looked like he had expected it “This isn’t-“
“I did not ask your permission, Captain.”
Your title for him was polite enough to draw blood. Steve held your gaze for a long moment till he looked at Natasha and she hated him for it. Because the answer was there before either of them said it: If they told you no, you would go anyway. If they tried to stop you, people would get hurt. And if Thanos still had the Stones, they needed every powerful ally they had left. And if there was any chance of bringing back the vanished, there was no world in which you stayed behind.
Steve looked back at her. “We leave now” and you gave one nod. The meeting broke apart into motion and weapons were gathered. Natasha waited until your soldiers were all gone and you turning toward the hangar. She caught up to you before you reached the ship. “Y/n.”
You did not stop and Natasha moved faster and stepped into your path. “Y/n.”
Those pale eyes lifted to hers and up close, the changes were worse. Your face was thinner and the softness had not vanished exactly, but it had been buried beneath sleeplessness and command. There was a faint bruise still shadowing your throat where Thanos’s hand had closed around it.
“What happened back home?” Natasha asked and you stared at her. The question was useless as if there were any answer small enough to fit between them. But Natasha needed to hear you speak, needed to know there was something beneath the armor that had not turned entirely to steel.
You moved to walk around her but Natasha caught your arm. The reaction was immediate, your gaze dropped to Natasha’s hand on your arm and for one second, Natasha felt the entire corridor freeze.
“Let go.”
Natasha did not. “Talk to me.”
“There is nothing to say.”
“There is everything to say.”
“You want a report?”
“I want you!” The words came out before Natasha could stop them and for a moment, something cracked behind your eyes. “You should have thought of that before you brought my kingdom to your war.”
Natasha’s hand loosened, because the words hit exactly where you meant them to. You looked at the place where Natasha still touched you, then back at her face. “I came back, do you understand that? I came back through the Bifröst with the wounded, with the dead, with my dragon bleeding onto the stones of my own courtyard and no one was there.”
Natasha said nothing and your eyes glistened “No one came down the steps. No horns or healers waiting because the healers were gone and my parents too.” Natasha’s throat closed. “My father’s crown was in the ash beside his chair.”
“Y/n…”
“I agreed to enter your war..I agreed because you asked me. Because I believed you. Because I thought if the world was ending, then perhaps the world deserved everything I had to give it.” Your voice lowered. “And what did it cost?”
Natasha could not answer and you stepped closer. “My knight is dead. My parents are dust. Half my people vanished while calling my name. My dragon screams in his sleep and my kingdom kneels because there is no one else left standing.” Your eyes searched Natasha’s face with something almost like hatred and almost like begging. “Tell me, Natasha. What did it buy?”
Natasha’s grip fell from your arm and you looked at the empty space where her hand had been. For one moment, you seemed smaller than the armor, then you turned away and Natasha watched you walk toward the ship and did not follow.
No one spoke much after takeoff. You stood instead of sitting at first, one hand braced against the wall as the ship lifted from Earth. Natasha watched from across the cabin and saw the exact moment the planet disappeared beneath them and space opened around the windows.
Rocket climbed into the pilot’s seat and looked over his shoulder. “All right, who here hasn’t been to space?”
Steve raised his hand, Natasha did too. Rhodey, Bruce and you followed after a beat. Rocket stared at them, then barked a laugh. “You people are going to hate this..”
Outside the ship, the stars stretched into lines and the jump hit like the universe had grabbed the ship and pulled. The ship pushed deeper into dark and for hours, no one said anything that mattered. Coordinates were checked, weapons loaded and plans repeated until they became less like strategy and more like prayer.
The planet appeared slowly and it was..green. Everyone had expected darkness, like a dead moon, but the world below them was green and gold and blue in places where water caught the light.
Carol’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll go first.”
She moved before anyone answered, light gathering around her as the airlock opened. For one brief moment, sunlight from the planet spilled across her face, then she was gone and the ship remained in orbit.
Then she came back, “He’s alone.”
They landed in a field where tall grass bent under the pressure of the engines. They moved in formation toward the small hut at the edge of the garden and saw smoke curled from the hut’s chimney.
Then Carol moved and the door exploded inward. Everything happened at once: Carol hit Thanos before he could fully rise from the chair, the force of it drove him through the back wall and Steve and Rhodey moved in and Bruce containment tech locked around Thanos’s torso. Thor came down with Stormbreaker in both hands and the blade flashed. A heavy, wet sound split the air and Thano’s left arm hit the ground with the gauntlet still attached.
For one second, no one moved, till Rocket lunged for it, “I got it! I got it!”
Natasha’s eyes snapped to the gauntlet and..it was ruined. The metal was blackened and warped, fused in places to what remained of Thanos’s severed arm. The sockets where the Stones had once burned were empty.
You saw it at the same time Natasha did. The hope went out of their faces so quickly it looked like death. Bruce dropped to his knees beside Rocket, his hands moved over the gauntlet, “No. No, no, no…”
Steve stared at it. “Where are they?”
Thanos lay in the dirt, one side of his body burned beyond recognition. Thor stepped toward him. “Where are the Stones?”
Thanos’s eyes opened and for a moment, he looked at all of them without surprise. Then his gaze found you and for the first time, his expression changed. “You..”
You stood in the broken doorway, with no expression on your face. Thanos breathed through the pain. “The child queen.”
Natasha’s skin went cold and you stepped inside. “Where are they?”
Thanos looked at the ruined gauntlet. “Gone.”
Bruce shook his head. “No.”
Thanos’s eyes stayed on You. “Reduced to atoms.” The room seemed to lose air and Rocket looked from the gauntlet to Thanos. “You used them two days ago!”
Thanos’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “I used the Stones to destroy the Stones.”
“That’s impossible.”
Thanos blinked slowly. “It nearly killed me.”
You walked closer and stopped at Thanos’s severed arm. You looked down at the gauntlet and at the empty sockets. For a moment, your face did nothing till you crouched and Natasha tensed. You reached toward the gauntlet and touched the edge of one empty socket with two fingers. “Bring them back.”
Thanos watched her. “I cannot.”
You looked at him. “Bring them back!”
“The work is done. It always will be.”
You rose. “The work.” You repeated and Thanos looked up at you from the floor. His body was broken, his arm was gone and his blood was under your boots. “I destroyed them because temptation is the enemy of balance..As long as the Stones existed, what I gave the universe could be undone.”
“What you gave?” Bruce whispered and Thanos’s eyes did not leave you. “Mercy.”
The word entered the room like rot and your head tilted slightly. “You call it mercy?”
“I saved what remained.”
“You murdered what was whole.”
“Whole?” Thanos drew in a painful breath. “You were a ruler before you understood the word. Tell me, child. Did your kingdom never take life to preserve itself? Did your armies never burn enemies to keep your borders? Did your dragon never turn men into ash because you called it necessary?”
Thanos looked almost pleased by her silence. “You understand more than they do..That is why you hate me. Not because I am a monster. Because I did what rulers pretend they are too moral to do. I chose the necessary slaughter.”
You stepped closer. “My mother had a garden.” The sentence made Natasha’s throat tighten because you said it with the same coldness as everything else. “She grew white roses in a place where nothing gentle should have survived. She used to say the mountain only looked cruel to people who did not know where to touch it.” You looked around the hut. “You came here to grow things.”
Thanos’s expression did not change, but your voice lowered. “With their dust still under your nails.”
Carol’s grip tightened around his throat and Thanos looked at you for a long moment. Then he said, “I do not know your mother.”
Your sword came free fast and Natasha moved at the same time. You did not swing for Thanos’s throat, that would have been cleaner, no, you drove the blade down through his remaining hand. The steel punched through flesh and wood beneath, pinning him to the broken floor and he roared. “Y/N!”
You did not look away from Thanos. His fingers spasmed around the blade and blood welled up and running along the fuller of the sword. You leaned over him. “Learn one name before you die.”
Natasha grabbed your arm. “Stop.” You did not move and Thanos breathed hard through his teeth and your eyes were black with rage and empty of heat. “Her name was Maeryn. She was my mother and liked winter apples. She hated council meetings, laughed when my father was angry because it made him angrier. She touched Vhassar before anyone else dared.” Your voice did not break and that made it worse.
“My father’s name was Vaelor. He taught me the weight of a crown before I could lift a sword, told me fear was a poor ruler but a useful guard dog.” Your hand tightened on the hilt, twisting the blade slightly and Thanos made another sound.
Natasha’s grip tightened. “Y/n!”
“My knight was Seraya. She died with your creature’s arm through her body and apologized to me while drowning in her own blood.” The room had gone absolutely still and you leaned closer. “Say one of their names.”
Thanos looked at her and for a moment, his face showed pain. “No.”
Your expression emptied completely and Natasha knew then that she had lost her. You pulled the sword free and lifted it for his throat but Natasha caught her from behind. Natasha’s arms shook with the effort of holding you back. “Killing him won’t bring them back!” Behind them, Thor moved and Natasha saw it from the corner of her eye when Stormbreaker lifted and coming down.
Blood struck the floor in a heavy spray and a body jerked once beneath Carol’s hands. Thanos head rolled across broken wood and stopped near the ruined gauntlet, eyes open, mouth slack and the last certainty gone from his face. For one second, the only sound in the hut was the slow drip of blood through the floorboards and Thor stood over the corpse, “I went for the head.”
You stared at the body, while Natasha still held your wrists. She let go by degrees, ready for you to move again, but you did not. You looked at Thor, then at Thanos’s head. “No..”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, they left the garden with Thanos’s blood still dark in the grass and the ruined gauntlet wrapped in containment cloth that no longer mattered. No one looked back except you. You stood at the ship’s ramp for one final second, staring at the quiet hut, the rows of crops and the smoke still rising from a fire someone had lit as if he deserved warmth. Then you turned away.
Five years later:
The world had adapted and some people called it proof. They whispered it first, then they said it louder. Then some of them wrote articles and formed groups and stood outside government buildings with signs that said things like Thanos was right.
Some of them had lost no one. Some of them had lost everyone and decided pain needed meaning badly enough to accept any lie that gave it shape.
Natasha understood that more than she wanted to. The world had settled into the aftermath because there was no other choice. People remarried, children grew and governments rebuilt badly. But Natasha had not settled, she worked. The Avengers compound had become a command center, a shelter, a grave and sometimes, if she was exhausted enough to be honest with herself, a punishment. She slept in the same building where empty rooms still held people’s names. She ate at a table too large for the living and answered calls that were not hers because no one else was there to answer them. She stayed because the world was broken and someone had to watch the cracks.
The holographic screen in front of her flickered blue over the dark meeting room. “All right.” Natasha said, scrolling through the reports on her tablet. “Earth side reconstruction in the Eastern European zones?”
“Stable enough.” Carol said. “If your definition of stable includes three governments arguing over border authority while half their labor force is gone.”
Natasha made a note she would probably reread at four in the morning and hate herself for not being able to fix. Her eyes shifted to Rhodey and he had gone quiet. Natasha leaned back slightly. “Where are you right now?”
For a second, he said nothing. Then he exhaled through his nose. “Mexico. For now.”
Natasha’s fingers stilled over the tablet. “I picked up information about a series of killings. Different cities, but same pattern if you know what to look for.”
Natasha’s stomach dropped before he finished speaking. Okoye’s voice sharpened. “Barton?”
“No.” Rhodey said and looked at Natasha, because she already knew. Clint left bodies like a man trying to cut out the parts of the world that had survived instead of his family. He went after organized crime with the precision of a blade that did not care whether it broke in the wound. This was not him..
Rhodey continued, “These aren’t cartel hits. Two men involved in trafficking, a father who beat his children badly enough that one of them won’t walk right again. Another guy who burned his wife and walked on a technicality.”
The room chilled by degrees and Natasha looked down at her tablet, though she was no longer reading. “Method?” she asked and Rhodey watched her. He knew. She could see it in his face that he knew she knew.
“Brutal.” he said. “One had his tongue cut out and nailed to the table beside the gag order he paid for.” Rhodey looked directly at Natasha through the screen. “Not Barton.”
Natasha closed her eyes for half a second. “Send me everything.” Rhodey did not move. “Nat.”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “The meeting’s over.”
The screens blinked out one by one until Natasha was alone with the rain, the empty chairs and the report Rhodey had sent. She opened it and photographs filled the tablet. A man tied to his own dining chair, eyes open, throat cut cleanly and documents spread across his blood soaked table. Another in a warehouse, hands severed and arranged over police files he had buried. A third on the steps of a courthouse with a brand burned into his chest in a language almost no one on Earth could read..Natasha could.
She set the tablet down very carefully. Then she bent forward, both hands gripping the edge of the table and the breath went out of her like something had punched through her chest, torn from somewhere too exhausted to protect itself anymore.
You were somewhere in the world carving justice into bodies because justice had not arrived fast enough through courts, governments, kings or gods..and Natasha had not reached you.
Five years.
Five years of reports, rumors, closed borders, unanswered messages, Bifröst flares over places where murderers stopped breathing. Five years of Natasha telling herself you were ruling and surviving. Five years of knowing survival could look like a blade in the dark.
“Nat?”
Steve stood in the doorway. He had always had the worst timing and the best instincts. Natasha straightened too fast, wiping at her face with one hand. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
She gave him a look that would have frightened most people. Steve only walked in and stopped beside the table and glanced at the dark screens. “Rough meeting?”
Natasha laughed once. “They’re all rough.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. Then his eyes moved to the tablet lying face down on the table. “Rhodey?”
Natasha’s mouth tightened. “He found bodies.”
Steve’s expression changed. “Clint?”
“No.”
Steve understood almost immediately and Natasha looked away. Steve then sat beside her, “What happened?”
“What always happens.” Natasha said. “Someone falls through the cracks and someone else decides the cracks are the problem.” Steve was quiet.
“She’s killing them..Rapists, traffickers, abusers..People who paid their way out of punishment and men no one bothered to stop.”
“And you’re sure it’s her?”
Natasha looked at the tablet. “No.” A beat. “Yes..” Natasha stared at the empty projection table. “She saw what this world became after the Snap.. saw governments collapse and people disappear into systems that were already broken before half the people running them turned to dust. She saw the worst people survive and the best people become memorials.” Her voice hardened. “And Y/n does not tolerate unfinished punishment.”
Steve looked at her carefully. “Have you talked to her?”
Natasha smiled without humor. “She sealed the kingdom.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I tried.”
“How hard?”
The question struck exactly where he intended and Natasha turned on him. “Do not do that.”
“Nat.”
“No. You don’t get to sit there and make this about me not trying hard enough.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m saying maybe you stopped because part of you was afraid she wouldn’t answer.”
Natasha went still and Steve’s face softened in that unbearable way of his. Of course she had been afraid..afraid you would hate her. Afraid the woman she found would no longer be the woman she remembered and that five years of grief had made Natasha into someone who only knew how to lead a dead team from an empty room and call it purpose.
“She blamed me..In the ship. Before we went to Thanos. She said I asked her to risk everything.” Natasha’s throat tightened. “And she was right.”
“She made her choice.”
“She made it because I asked.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It feels the same.”
Steve looked at her with a grief so familiar it almost made her angry. “We all asked people to follow us.” he said. “Wakanda. The Asgardians and her kingdom. We asked them to stand between Thanos and the universe. They did.” His voice dropped. “And then he won anyway.”
Steve looked toward the dark windows. “How is she?”
Natasha laughed softly. “I don’t know-“ Suddenly a crackling sound came from the corner monitor and both of them turned. The camera feed outside the compound gate flickered and a man’s face filled the screen, “Hi, uh, is anyone home?”
Natasha stared and Steve stood. The man leaned closer to the camera. “This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago? At the airport? Germany? I got really big and then really small. I had a mask!”
Natasha and Steve looked at each other while Scott waved awkwardly into the camera. “Can you buzz me in? I think I might have a crazy idea.”
—
Inside the mountains, the kingdom had changed too.
The old royal banners still hung from the black stone towers, but beneath them flew new cloth: ash-gray, black and deep red. Mourning colors that had become national colors because grief had lasted long enough to become identity. The city below the castle had been rebuilt in careful layers after the Snap gutted whole districts. Homes once empty were filled by refugees and market squares were quieter than they had been before the war, but not dead.
Children still ran through alleys, bread still baked and smiths still hammered steel into useful shapes. At sunset, bells rang for the vanished, every single day and in the castle courtyard stood a wall of names. Every person taken by the Snap and soldier who died in Wakanda. Every civilian lost when the kingdom’s systems collapsed in the days after. The letters were carved into black stone and filled with pale metal so they caught moonlight like wounds refusing to close.
At the center of the wall were three names larger than the rest. The king. The queen Seraya. The first knight sworn to you
The queen did not visit the wall when others could see, but every morning, fresh white roses appeared beneath those names and the people noticed. They noticed the way their queen walked through the lower city without a crown and listened to old women complain about grain storage. They noticed the way she knelt to speak to children instead of making them look up at her. They noticed the way no hungry person was turned from the kitchens during winter and they noticed the way widows of Wakanda received letters written in the queen’s own hand when the bodies of mountain soldiers were finally sent home.
They loved her, but feared her too. Because mercy had survived in you, but it had grown teeth. When a village lord beat a servant girl so badly she lost an eye, he was dragged before the queen’s court in chains. He pleaded his bloodline, his service and loyalty to her father.
You listened and asked the girl whether he had begged when he hurt her and the girl said no. The lord was executed before sunset. When three soldiers attacked a refugee boy in an alley and thought their armor would save them, you stripped their ranks herself and one died by your hand. Two were sent to the mines with their names removed from the rolls of honor.
The kingdom learned and the queen was kind to those who had been hurt. She was merciless to those who hurt because they thought no one would stop them and sometimes, when the moon was dark and the court believed she slept, you left the mountain.
The world beyond your borders had taught you too much. You saw what Natasha’s world had become: the abandoned systems, reports filed and forgotten, the wealthy buying clean names with dirty money and men who hurt families behind closed doors and walked free because half the officers were gone, half the judges buried grief in whiskey, and half the governments cared more about stability than justice. You did not ask permission from governments that had failed their own people. You just crossed borders like weather. Five years made you into a legend twice over. Once, as the queen who fed orphans and again, as the shadow that came when the law refused to.
Natasha entered the mountain kingdom through an old northern pass with no escort and two knives she knew would not save her if the mountain decided she did not belong. Natasha knew she was being watched long before she saw anyone and then a shadow moved once above her and the dragon landed in front of her.
Vhassar came down without warning, black wings snapping open hard enough to throw snow and stone dust into the air. Natasha staggered back and barely kept her footing. He was larger than she remembered or maybe memory had made him smaller because remembering the truth was too much.
His eyes fixed on Natasha with molten, terrible recognition and he lowered his head. The sound in his throat was not a roar, it was more like a warning growl that made the snow beneath Natasha’s boots tremble.
Natasha’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Hey..”
The dragon’s lip lifted just enough to show teeth longer than her forearm.
“Yeah..” Natasha breathed. “Fair.”
Her knife suddenly felt embarrassing and she removed her hand from it. Vhassar’s eyes followed the motion. “You know me.”
The growl deepened and Natasha swallowed. “You do.” She took one careful step forward and the dragon’s head moved closer, so fast the air shifted and Natasha froze. Heat rolled over her face and her body screamed at her to move and to run. To do anything except stand in front of a creature that could end her with one breath. “I’m not here to hurt her.”
Vhassar’s pupils narrowed and Natasha almost laughed, “I know.” she whispered. “I know I already did.” Natasha took another step and her hand shook when she lifted it. The space between her palm and his scales felt impossibly wide and impossibly small. One wrong movement, one breath he did not like and the mountain would have one more name to carve.
Natasha touched him and he exhaled. The breath nearly knocked her backward, but he did not pull away and Natasha closed her eyes for half a second. “Please..”
Minutes later, Vhassar did not fly toward the gates with her but towards the castle. Toward the balcony carved into the side of black stone and Natasha realized what he intended half a second before he landed.
“Wait-”
Vhassar struck the balcony with terrifying precision and Natasha barely held on as his wings folded and his massive head swung toward open doors leading into a chamber she remembered too well. She slid down from Vhassar’s back and landed silently on the balcony and inside the chamber, you moved.
Natasha saw only the flash of your hand, till a dagger flew toward her face and Natasha twisted. The blade cut past her cheek close enough that she felt the air move, it struck the stone wall behind her and buried itself to the hilt.
For one suspended second, neither of them moved. You stood near the center of the room in a black robe belted over trousers a second knife already in your hand. Natasha straightened slowly. “Hi.”
For the first time in five years, Natasha watched shock break through the queen’s face. “Natasha.”
Her name sounded strange in your mouth now. Vhassar shifted on the balcony behind Natasha and your eyes flicked to him, then back to Natasha. “How did you get in here?”
Natasha glanced over her shoulder at the dragon. “Vhassar.”
“What?”
“He brought me.”
You looked at Vhassar and he lowered his head through the open balcony doors with the smugness of a creature too large to be questioned by anyone but you. For one brief, impossible second, your mouth changed.
“Traitor..” You said softly in the old tongue and Vhassar rumbled. Natasha looked between them. “I’m choosing to believe that means welcome.”
“It does not.”
You set the knife down on the table with careful precision. “You should not be here.”
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
“No.”
Your gaze returned to her slowly. Natasha had stood in rooms with assassins, war criminals, gods, monsters. She had faced guns held by men who wanted her dead and smiles from men who wanted worse. None of them looked at her the way you did now.
“You come into my chambers after five years, through my skies, on my dragon and your first act is refusal?”
Natasha swallowed. “Not my first act.”
“No. Your first act was silence.”
That hit, but Natasha let it. “I wrote.”
“You sent letters.”
“I tried to come.”
“You turned back at the third pass.” Natasha went still and you knew. “You thought I did not watch my borders?”
Natasha’s jaw tightened. “I thought if you wanted to see me, you would let me through.”
“And if I had let you through then? What would you have said?”
Natasha had no answer for that. Five years ago, she would have said she was sorry. That the world was broken. That she did not know how to fix anything. That she missed you. That she was afraid of what you were becoming and more afraid that you had become it because Natasha had asked you to join a war. Five years ago, none of that would have been enough.
“Leave before the court knows you are here.”
Natasha stepped into the room and you stopped. Vhassar’s head shifted behind them and Natasha moved carefully, not because she feared you would kill her, but because part of her feared you would let her speak and still feel nothing. “I know what you’re doing, Y/n..”
You stood with your back half-turned. “I rule.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.”
Natasha looked at you and saw the terrible truth of it. That was why this was so hard, because you had not been hunting innocents. You had found people who had turned survival into permission to harm and you had ended them. The world had become quieter after the Snap and you had filled the silence with screams no one mourned.
“That is not the way.”
“Your way left them alive.”
Natasha inhaled sharply and you walked to the table and lifted one of the reports, barely glancing at it before setting it aside. “I have spent five years watching your world ask the wounded to be patient while the cruel reorganized. I have watched councils debate what to do with men whose crimes were known to every person in the room. I have watched mothers stand outside locked offices with photographs of daughters no one intended to search for.” Your eyes returned to Natasha’s. “Your world is very fond of procedure. It keeps its hands clean while others bleed.”
Natasha’s voice softened despite herself. “What happened to you?”
You looked at her and for a second anger flashed. “What happened to all of us.”
“No.” Natasha stepped closer. “This is not the same.”
“Five years and you still believe there was a version of me waiting to be preserved.”
“I know there was.”
“You knew a princess.”
“I knew you!”
Your eyes sharpened. “No. You knew what grief had not taken yet.”
Outside, Vhassar shifted and you looked toward him briefly and something in your face eased by a fraction. Natasha saw then that your softness wasn’t gone..It was just guarded by teeth, fire, law and five years of blood.
“I came because we found something.”
Your gaze snapped back to her. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“No.”
“Y/n-“
“No!” This time the word cracked through the room, even Vhassar lifted his head. “Do not!”
Natasha stopped and your hand gripped the edge of the table. “Do not come here with that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“Hope..”
The word was almost spat and Natasha’s chest tightened. “Do you think I do not recognize it? I wore it into Thanos’s garden, I carried it across stars like a fool. I stood over the gauntlet and believed, for one breath, that the universe had left me one mercy..It had not.”
Natasha took a slow step forward and you stepped back. “Do not give me hope unless you are prepared to watch what it does to me when it dies.”
Natasha’s throat worked. For five years she had imagined this conversation a hundred ways. She had imagined you blaming her. She had imagined you refusing to see her. She had imagined violence, silence and tears. She had not imagined this.
You standing in the room where Natasha had once been allowed to see her scars, begging without begging not to be made vulnerable again. “I wouldn’t be here if it were nothing.”
You stared at her. “That is what everyone says before they ask a queen to bleed.”
Natasha reached for her and you watched the movement as if it were a weapon. Natasha’s fingers touched your hand and you went very still. For a second, Natasha saw the battlefield again. Your hand catching her sleeve to make sure she was real and Natasha covering it and saying, I’m here.
“Someone we know was trapped somewhere. Somewhere outside time as we understand it. For him, it was hours, for us? It was five years.” You did not breathe, Natasha felt it through her hand. “Bruce thinks it may be possible to use that. Not to find the Stones now, but go back to when they existed.”
Your face lost color and Natasha tightened her grip. “We found a way.”
“No.”
“It’s real.”
“No.”
“Y/n-”
“No!” The word broke from you again, “Do not say that to me..”
Natasha held on and you tried to pull her hand away, but Natasha did not let you. “Listen to me.”
“No!”
“Listen!”
Your eyes burned. “You do not get to come here after five years..” you whispered, “touch my hand and tell me my dead may not be dead.”
“I know.”
“You do not know what those words do.”
“I know what they do to me.”
You looked away violently, but Natasha stepped closer, refusing to let the moment close.
“We have a chance, Y/n..” Natasha said. “Not a promise or certainty. A chance.”
You inhaled like the words had struck you. “And if you fail?”
“Then we fail.”
You laughed, but it broke halfway through. Your hand twisted in Natasha’s grip, not pulling away now but gripping back with sudden, painful force. “And what am I supposed to do if I become that fool again?”
Natasha stepped closer until there was almost no space between you both now. “Then I’ll be one with you.”
Natasha lifted her other hand and touched your face and you closed your eyes at the contact. Then, finally, one tear escaped and slipped down your cheek and over Natasha’s thumb.
“I cannot bury them twice..” You whispered and Natasha leaned her forehead against yours. “I know.”
“I cannot.”
“I know.”
“If this is another garden-”
“It isn’t.”
“You do not know that..”
“No.” Natasha said. “I don’t.”
You opened your eyes and Natasha held your face still so, so gently. “But I came anyway.”
You looked at her for a long time, then your gaze shifted past Natasha to the balcony. Vhassar watched you both, his scarred wing folded close, but his head remained lowered towards you and you spoke in the old tongue.
Vhassar rumbled and Natasha did not know the words, but she knew the sound of a creature being told something it did not want to accept. You pulled away from Natasha and crossed to the balcony and placed one hand against Vhassar’s jaw. The dragon leaned into your touch with a low, wounded sound that seemed too gentle for something so enormous. For a moment, you stood there with him, moonlight catching the white of your hair and the black of your robe, queen and dragon framed against the mountains that had kept them both alive.
Then you looked back at Natasha and the tear was gone from your face. “Tell me everything.”
You said nothing as you walked through the compound. You still wore the black traveling cloak from hours before. Natasha kept glancing at you and you pretended not to notice. The compound smelled faintly of rain, old coffee, machine oil and loneliness. It smelled like people had once filled it and then stopped. In one hallway, you passed a framed photograph of several people standing together, smiling as though the world had not yet learned how to punish them for being alive.
There were faces she knew from Wakanda, but there were so many kinds of absence now. At the end of the hallway, voices carried from a large workroom and Natasha stopped just outside the doors and looked at you
“You don’t have to like them.”
Your brow lifted. “Am I expected to?”
“No.” Natasha almost smiled.
Then the doors opened and the room beyond was chaos wearing the costume of science. Screens glowed along the walls, diagrams floated in the air and tools covered half the tables. In the center of it all stood a narrow platform surrounded by metal arms, wires, and glowing blue white rings that hummed softly with contained power.
“I’m just saying, the rules of it are not normal rules. I mean, obviously, because I was gone for five years but it felt like five hours! So either time is broken in there or it works differently and if it works differently, maybe we can use different differently!!”
Tony looked up from a tablet. “That sentence just committed several crimes.”
Scott pointed at him. “But you understood me!”
Then Bruce turned and you stopped. For a second, you simply just stared, because he was..there and was green. Not the mild, nervous man who had spoken too quickly and looked at her dragon with scientific terror in his eyes, no, this was something between and beyond..both. Massive
He smiled carefully. “Prin- Your Grace..”
“Dr. Banner.”
Scott looked between them. “You know her?”
Bruce lifted one large hand in a small wave. “We met before.”
Your gaze moved over him slowly. “You were not green.”
Bruce’s smile faltered into something sheepish. “Yeah. A lot happened.”
Scott raised his hand slightly. “Hi. Sorry. Medieval execution committee?”
Natasha gestured faintly. “Scott Lang.”
You looked at him and Scott straightened. Your gaze then dropped to his shoes, then returned to his face. “You are the insect man.”
Scott blinked. “Okay. That has come up twice now and I feel like maybe there’s branding damage happening..”
Tony snapped his fingers toward Scott and your attention returned to the machine. “Explain it.”
It took exactly one hour until they got through the most important details and you found yourself following along and despite yourself, having to admit that it might actually work.
“We identify when and where the Stones existed, go back, retrieve them, bring them here, use them to undo the Snap, then return the Stones to their timelines before reality sues us.”
You looked at Bruce. “Can this really be done?”
Bruce hesitated but Tony did not. “Maybe.”
Your gaze turned to him. “We’re past certainty. Certainty died five years ago with half the universe. What we have is math, a rat, Scott’s weird survival story, my brain, Banner’s brain body situation and a prototype that might either work or turn someone into soup.”
You looked at the platform again and Natasha did too. “Someone has to test it.” Bruce said quietly.
You stepped forward “I will do it.”
“No.” Natasha stepped towards you and Bruce as well. “We need more calibration. More safety checks.”
Your eyes stayed on the machine. “Then calibrate.”
Natasha crossed the space between them. “You are not doing this. You do not get to walk into this building after five years and throw yourself into the first machine that might kill you because you want proof.”
“That is exactly what I get to do.”
“No.”
Your gaze hardened. “I am not one of your agents.”
“I know.”
“Then do not speak to me as if I am waiting for permission.”
Natasha took one step closer. “Then do not act like dying is just another way to make a point.”
Bruce cleared his throat softly. “There are risks.”
You turned to him. “What kind?”
“Temporal displacement..Memory disturbance. If the suit fails to anchor you, you could be lost in the Quantum Realm..”
You listened without flinching. “Send me.”
Natasha’s jaw clenched. “Y/n-”
“I need to know if hope has a body..” You said quietly. “Or if it is another ghost.”
Natasha felt her anger falter. That was the cruelty of it, because you’re not being reckless because you thought you could not be hurt. You were being reckless because you had been hurt so much that pain had stopped being persuasive.
You saw the circle of silent permission forming and stepped onto the platform before anyone could make it more formal and Natasha followed instantly. “Y/n!”
You did not turn around as Bruce approached with the suit components. The test suit was sleek and strange, black and white with red accents, designed to fit over clothing and seal around the body. It looked too modern against your dark leathers and old steel. Bruce adjusted the wrist controls with careful fingers and Tony handed him a helmet.
You looked at it and then at Natasha. “You said there was a chance.” Natasha’s throat tightened. “There is.”
“Then let me look at it.”
Natasha wanted to refuse, wanted to drag you off the platform. Wanted to say no until the word became law, wanted to take every weapon from your hands, every crown from your head, every grief from your body and put them somewhere safer than this humming circle of metal and impossible science. But you had spent five years being queen of the dead. Natasha could not ask you to trust hope blindly, so she stepped closer and helped seal the collar of the suit.
Her fingers brushed your throat, the bruise from Thanos was long gone, but memory was not. Your eyes flicked down to Natasha’s hands and neither of you moved for one breath. Then Natasha lifted the helmet and you let her put it on.
Tony moved to the console. “We’re sending her back and pulling her out after ten seconds subjective and no souvenirs.”
Your eyes cut to him through the helmet and Tony pointed at you. “I mean it. Time is not a market, don’t steal anything.”
You said nothing and Natasha stepped off the platform slowly. Every instinct screamed at her not to.
“Ready?” Bruce asked and you looked at Natasha. Then you gave one short nod and Tony’s hand hovered over the controls.
“Three.”
Natasha’s hands curled into fists.
“Two.”
Steve’s shoulders tightened.
“One.”
Tony pressed the button and the platform flashed white and you vanished. For one second, nothing happened, then everything happened somewhere else.
You opened your eyes in your own room. Not the room as it was now, or the queen’s chamber full of reports, knives, maps and grief. Your room, five years ago-
No. More than five..way before because the air hit your first. The faint spice of the oils her mother’s attendants used to polish the old wood centuries ago..the smell of the mountain before ash became its second skin.
You couldn’t move. Your bed stood near the far wall, carved posts draped in pale fabric and a gown lay across it. Your fingers lifted without permission, and remembers the last time she had worn it, her mother had stood behind her and complained that you never stood still long enough to be dressed properly. Your father had laughed from the doorway and told the queen she should be grateful their daughter could stand still before armies, even if not before seamstresses.
Your hand clenched in the gown. No. No, no- Suddenly a roar split the sky and you turned so fast the room tilted. You stumbled toward the balcony and outside the kingdom lived. The courtyard below was full of voices, soldiers crossing between gates and servants carrying baskets. Children chasing one another near the fountain before a guard barked at them and failed badly at hiding his smile.
Then shadows passed over the towers. Three dragons flew across the mountain sky and you stopped breathing. Vhassar was first, younger by years and untouched by the scars Wakanda had burned into him. Beside him flew two others. A silver gray dragon with long narrow wings and a red crest like a wound of flame down her neck and a bronze one, smaller but faster, cutting through the clouds with a cry that made the windows tremble.
Your knees almost failed. “W-What?”
They were dead. They had been dead before Wakanda, before Thanos and Natasha. Lost in the old wars of the mountain kingdom, buried in stories you carried like bones beneath your skin, but there they were..alive.
You made a sound that was not a sob only because there was not enough time for it to become one when suddenly l a voice called from the corridor. “Y/n?”
The world stopped because it was your l mother. You turned from the balcony so violently your shoulder struck the doorframe. “Y/n, are you dressed? Your father will start the council without us if you make him wait again.”
You ran. You did not think, did not remember Tony’s warning, did not remember the suit or the compound or the machine or Natasha. There was only that voice, that impossible, living voice moving away down a corridor that had been silent for five years.
“Mother!”
Her own voice came out ragged and suddenly a distant signal began beeping in your ear. “Mother!” You reached the chamber door and tore it open. The signal in your ear screamed, white light took the hall and you hit the compound platform on your knees.
The impact cracked through the room and Natasha was moving before anyone else understood you had returned. Your hands slammed against the metal platform, your breathing came too fast and one fist was closed around something red and black.
Natasha dropped in front of you. “Hey, hey..”
You did not seem to hear because your whole body shook. Natasha grabbed the helmet release with fingers that fumbled only once and the seal hissed. You gasped like someone dragged from drowning and Natasha cupped your face. “Look at me.”
Your breathing hitched. “Look at me.” And your eyes found hers. For a second, Natasha was not sure you knew where you were. Then you looked down at your hand.
You had brought back part of the gown and Tony stared. “She brought back a souvenir.”
Bruce looked like he might cry and Scott whispered, “Oh my God.”
You touched the fabric with your free hand and looked up. At Natasha first, then to the others. “It..works.” The words came out barely above a whisper.
Natasha did not look away from you and saw how your eyes filled. “It works..” you said again and this time, the room heard the second meaning. They were alive somewhere..somewhen.
Hours passed and the compound became something it had not been in five years. People moved quickly now. Screens filled with timelines, locations, energy signatures, historical records, old mission files. Tony and Bruce argued with the speed of men trying to outrun doubt. Scott told the same Quantum Realm explanation three more times and made it worse each time.
You sat on a couch near the back of the room and had not let go of the fabric. The strip of gown lay across your palm, your thumb moving slowly over the embroidered silver wing, again and again. You had said very little since the test and that worried Natasha more than tears would have. She crossed the room while Tony and Bruce argued over branching timelines near the holographic board. “Hey.”
You looked up when Natasha sat beside you. “You okay?”
You looked at the fabric. “No.” After a moment, your voice came softer, “I saw my room. The way it was before the war. Before all of this. The gown was on my bed.”
Natasha watched your face and you looked toward the windows, “I saw them.”
“Your parents?”
Your mouth trembled once. “My dragons.”
Natasha stilled and you looked down at the fabric again. “All three of them..” your voice changed on the number, “Vhassar and his two siblings I buried before him. They were flying together.”
Natasha remembered enough of old stories and quiet confessions to understand. “I thought I remembered the sound of their wings, but I didn’t..”
Natasha’s hand moved before she could stop it, covering yours where it gripped the cloth.
“Then I heard my mother. he called my name from the corridor..It has been so long since I heard her voice without dreaming it wrong.”
“You saw her?”
You shook your head and a tear finally slipped free. “No..”
Natasha looked at the strip of gown. “But you brought this back.”
“Yeah.”
“Then it was real.”
You inhaled carefully. For five years, hope had been a thing you killed on sight. Now it sat in your hand wearing your mother’s embroidery. You looked toward the glass board where Tony had begun writing possible Stone locations in aggressive strokes. “When do we go?”
Natasha’s answer was immediate. “As soon as we can.”
The planning took hours..The universe had hidden its salvation across time, space and several bad decisions. They gathered in the main briefing room once the initial calculations stopped exploding into arguments. The table filled with holograms of the Stones: Space, Mind, Reality, Power, Time, Soul. Six colors hanging above them like accusations.
You sat beside Natasha this time and Tony stood near the board with a marker in one hand and the expression of a man trying very hard not to admit he was enjoying the puzzle because the stakes were too obscene.
“Same year, same place, Mind Stone was in Loki’s scepter.”
Bruce pulled up another image. “And the Time Stone was with the Ancient One. Also in New York.”
Rhodey leaned forward. “Three Stones in one place?”
“One city.” Tony corrected. “Not one place. And it’ll still be a mess because we were also there, the Chitauri were there, S.H.I.E.L.D. was crawling everywhere and half of us were emotionally less developed.”
Steve gave him a look and Tony tapped the marker against the board. “Some of us.”
Natasha studied the timeline. Three Stones in 2012. It was almost too clean. “If we time it right, three teams can hit New York at the same point.”
Tony looked at the last hologram. The Soul Stone.
Nebula’s voice went flat. “Vormir. 2014.”
Steve looked at her. “You know it?”
“Thanos found it there.”
“How?”
Nebula did not answer quickly. “He sent Gamora with him.” she said at last. “He came back with the Stone but without her.”
The room chilled and you looked at the orange light while Natasha looked at you.
Steve leaned forward. “So that’s six Stones. Three in New York, one on Asgard, one on Morag, one on Vormir.”
They began assigning teams. Tony, Steve, Bruce and Scott to New York, 2012.
Thor and Rocket to Asgard, 2013.
Rhodey and Nebula to Morag, 2014.
Then the room turned toward the last Stone and Natasha knew before Steve said anything. Maybe because she had lived long enough to recognize the shape of her own road before seeing its end. “I’ll go.”
You spoke at the same time. “I go with her.”
Natasha turned. “No.”
Your eyes moved to hers. “Yes.”
“You do not even know what Vormir is.”
“Neither do you.”
Steve looked between them. “Nat-”
“No.” Natasha said and you leaned back slightly, “Are we doing this again?”
“You are not coming with me because you think every dangerous place is yours by right.”
“And you are not going alone because you think dying for the mission is a personality.”
The room went silent and Natasha stared at you. There were years between them. Blood, ash, letters unanswered and hands held too late..Finally, Steve said, “You two are the best fit.”
Natasha looked at him sharply and Steve’s expression was gentle and terrible because he knew exactly what he was doing and hated it. “Vormir is unknown territory. We need someone who can move quietly, read danger fast and get out if something goes wrong. That’s Nat.” His gaze shifted to you. “And if something bigger is waiting there, we need someone who can survive it.”
Natasha hated the logic because it was sound. The teams settled around the table like pieces on a board no one trusted and hope had shape now. By the time they stopped, night had folded fully around the compound, but no one called it sleeping.
They called it resting. Anything but admitting they were going to lie down with the possibility of tomorrow pressing against their throats. Tony left first and soon everyone else followed, but you remained seated after the room emptied. Natasha stood near the door. “I’ll show you your room.”
You both walked through the compound in silence. It was different now with the building dark and the glass walls reflected them as they passed. Natasha opened a door near the guest wing and the room beyond was clean. You stopped at the threshold and Natasha watched her face. “It’s temporary.” Natasha said.
You looked at the bed. “At the compound, I mean. We leave in the morning.”
Your fingers tightened around the fabric. “It does not feel like a room..”
Natasha looked inside. She had never thought about it that way before. Now she saw it through your eyes, no books worn by hands, no weapons within reach except what a guest brought in. No scent of smoke or leather or old stone. Just a place to place a body until morning.
Natasha’s voice softened. “No. It doesn’t.”
You looked at her then. For the first time since the test, uncertainty crossed your face without armor rushing immediately to cover it. “Could I…” The sentence died.
Natasha waited and you hated asking, Natasha could see it. This was a woman standing outside an empty room after seeing your dead almost alive and not knowing how to be alone with it. Natasha stepped closer. “What?”
You looked away. “Could I stay with you?”
Natasha’s chest tightened. “Yeah.” Way too fast, but she doesn’t care. You looked back and something moved between you then.
“This way.” Natasha said quietly. Her own room was on the other side of the compound. She had chosen it because it was close to the operations center and far enough from the rooms that hurt most. It was smaller than the guest suite, but less empty, though not by much. Natasha opened the door and stepped inside first. “It’s not much.”
You entered behind her and the room changed with you in it. Not because it became warmer, because Natasha suddenly saw every part of it as evidence. The exhaustion she had folded into this room night after night because no one else had been there to see it. You stood in the center, looking around quietly. “This is where you live.”
Natasha closed the door. “Yeah.”
Your gaze moved over the desk. “You work here too..?”
“I work everywhere.”
You looked at her then. The tension from the hallway had followed you inside and grown teeth. Natasha felt it under her skin too. You placed the strip of gown carefully on the desk and turned back. “You kept going.”
Natasha leaned against the door, because standing upright without support suddenly felt too honest. “So did you.”
“Do not compare them.”
“Why not?”
“Because what I did was not noble.”
Natasha’s mouth tightened. “Neither was all of what I did.”
“You answered calls. Held your team together. Led what remained.”
“I hid in work because the alternative was sitting still long enough to feel everything.”
You stared at her because the truth shifted something. Natasha stepped away from the door. “You think I don’t know what it’s like?” she asked softly. “To turn pain into a job because at least jobs have rules? Reports, targets, missions or people to save so you don’t have to count the ones you didn’t?”
Your jaw tightened and Natasha took another step. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing.”
Your voice dropped. “Then you should know not to stand too close.”
Natasha stopped and you looked at your hands. “There is blood on me you have not seen.”
“I’ve seen blood.”
“Not this kind.”
Natasha’s face softened despite the ache in her chest. “Y/n.”
“No.” You looked up sharply. “Do not say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you remember me.”
Natasha’s breath caught and you looked away, but there was nowhere in the small room for either of them to hide. “I do remember you.” Natasha said and your mouth trembled once.
“I remember your hands in my hair. I remember the way you looked at me when you gave me your clasp. I remember you on Vhassar above Wakanda. I remember you kneeling in the mud with Seraya in your arms. I remember you in that garden, asking where to put your grief.”
You closed your eyes and Natasha stepped closer. “I remember all of it.”
“Then you remember that I blamed you.”
“Yes.”
“You should have.”
“I did.”
Your eyes opened and Natasha was close now. Too close for five years of restraint but not close enough for five years of wanting. “I did blame myself.” Natasha said. “Every day. For asking, surviving..For not following you through the Bifröst or stopping outside your borders. For being relieved when you didn’t answer because it meant I didn’t have to hear you tell me you hated me.”
“I did not hate you..”
“I know.”
“No.” You stepped closer now. “You do not know. Hatred would have been cleaner. I tried, I wanted to hate you. I thought if I made you part of the wound, then maybe the wound would have a name I could speak without breaking.” Natasha’s eyes burned. “But I missed you, Natasha.”
You looked furious with yourself for saying it. “I missed you.” You said again as if repetition could punish the softness out of it. “While I buried my dead. While I wore a crown I did not want. While I judged people and killed monsters and stood before my people as if I was not still kneeling in Wakanda with ash in my hand. I missed you and I hated that too.”
Natasha’s breath shook, you were close enough now that Natasha could see the faint line of a scar near your mouth, the silver thread at the edge of one braid, the places where grief had altered you and failed to erase her. “I missed you too..” Natasha whispered.
You looked at her mouth and that was all it took. Five years collapsed and Natasha moved first or maybe you did, it did not matter.
They met in the middle like two storms that had spent too long pretending to be weather systems instead of hunger. Your hand caught Natasha’s waist and Natasha’s fingers slid into your hair, careful for half a second and then not careful at all. Their mouths collided hard enough to hurt.
Natasha backed into the door with a soft, sharp sound and pulled you with her. Your body pressed against hers and Natasha kissed you again, deeper this time and you made a sound against her mouth that broke something open in Natasha’s chest.
Her hands fisted in the front of your cloak and yanked it open, shoving it off your shoulders so it hit the floor in a heavy pool. Your own hands were already under Natasha’s shirt, nails dragging up her ribs like you wanted to mark her, like you needed proof she was real and not another ghost. Natasha gasped into your mouth when your thumb brushed the underside of her breast.
She shoved a thigh between your legs and you ground down against it immediately, a broken sound escaping you that Natasha felt all the way down to her bones. She bit at your jaw, your throat, the place just beneath your ear that had always made you shiver. Your hands were in Natasha’s hair now, yanking her head back so you could look at her. “I wanted to hate you..” you hissed. “I tried so fucking hard.”
“I know.” Natasha’s voice was hoarse. She slid her hands down to your thighs and lifted, and you wrapped your legs around her waist without hesitation. Natasha carried you the few steps to the bed and dropped you onto it, following you down. “I wanted you to.”
You pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it somewhere behind her. You stared up at her for one suspended second, eyes glassy and furious and so full of want it hurt to look at. Then you surged up and kissed her again. Your hands went to Natasha’s belt, yanking it open with impatient fingers.
Natasha pushed you back down and kissed her way down your body like she was relearning it. She bit at the curve of your breast, soothed it with her tongue, then moved lower, dragging her mouth over your stomach, your hip, the inside of your thigh. You were already shaking when Natasha settled between your legs.
“Look at me.” Natasha said and you did and Natasha licked into you like she was starving for it. Your back arched off the bed. One hand flew to Natasha’s hair, gripping tight, the other fisting the sheets. Natasha didn’t go slow, she licked and sucked like she was trying to pull every sound you’d held back for five years out of your throat. Your thighs trembled around her head and you made a noise that was half a sob and half a curse and Natasha groaned against you, the vibration making you jerk.
“Natash-” Your voice broke on her name. “Fuck-”
Natasha slid two fingers into you without warning and you came almost instantly, clenching hard around her, with a broken moan tearing out of your chest. Natasha didn’t stop and worked you through it, then kept going, gentler now but relentless, until you were gasping and pulling at her hair, “Get up here..” you rasped. “Now.”
Only then did she crawl back up your body and shoved her fingers back inside you without asking and buried her face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in like she needed it to live.
“I fucking missed you..” she whispered against your skin, her fingers curled deep, fucking you slow and rough at the same time. “Missed the way you taste. Missed the way you sound when you finally let go.” She bit at your throat, not hard enough to mark but enough to feel. “Missed being the one who makes you fall apart.”
You made a wounded noise and grabbed her wrist, not to stop her, but to hold her there. Your other hand was still in her hair. She fucked you like that until you came again, quieter this time, your face turned into her hair and your body trembling under hers. She stayed pressed close the whole time, whispering against your skin between thrusts, how she thought about you every night, how she wrote letters she never sent, how she was terrified you’d never let her touch you like this again.
When you finally pushed her onto her back, it was with shaking hands and a look that said you were done being taken apart. You straddled her stomach, completely bare and Natasha went still beneath you. Her eyes dragged over every inch of you like she was starving. The way your body moved when you breathed, the way your hair fell around your face. The queen and the woman and the girl she had slept with before the world broke.
Natasha’s hands came up to your thighs, gripping tight and thumbs stroking over your skin like she couldn’t believe you were real. You leaned down, kissed her once and slid down her body until your mouth was between her legs. Natasha’s head fell back against the pillow the second your tongue touched her. She was already soaked, already shaking from how worked up she’d gotten just from touching you.
Hours after hours passed, till you finally crawled back up and collapsed half on top of her, both of you were shaking. Natasha pulled you in immediately, one arm locked around your waist, the other hand stroking your hair with trembling fingers. Your face was tucked into her neck and neither of you spoke for a long minute. Till you whispered, “Why did you come for me?”
The question was simple but too simple for what it carried. You looked at her. “Not for the mission..not because I can fight or because I am useful.” Your voice lowered. “Why did you come?”
Natasha stared at you. There were so many answers, because Scott came back and the world had changed again, because you deserved to know, because the kingdom deserved its vanished, because Natasha could not bear the thought of you discovering hope from anyone else.
All true and none enough.
Natasha looked at the ceiling, then back at you. “Because I never stopped looking for a reason to.” She forced herself to keep going before fear could close her throat. “I told myself I stayed away because you closed the borders. Because you didn’t answer or maybe you hated me and maybe you had the right to. I told myself you were better off without me standing in front of you with apologies that couldn’t bring anyone back. But the truth is, I was afraid.” Natasha said. “Afraid you wouldn’t let me in or you would. Afraid I’d find you and there would be nothing left of the person I-” She stopped but it was too late.
Your eyes searched hers. “The person you what?”
Natasha closed her eyes briefly. All the things she had survived and this was still the place her courage thinned. When she opened her eyes again, you were watching her. Natasha reached up and brushed a loose strand of white hair from your face.
“The person I loved.”
The words were barely louder than breath but the room heard them and you heard them. Everything stopped and for a second, you did not move at all. Then your eyes filled so quickly it looked painful.
Natasha’s chest tightened. “Y/n-”
“No.”
Natasha froze and you shook your head once, but your hand clung to Natasha’s like letting go would drop you through the bed, through the floor, through every year between them. “Do not take it back.”
Natasha’s breath broke. “..I wasn’t going to.”
You stared at her. “You loved me?”
Natasha gave a small smile. “That’s what I said.”
“Before?”
“Yes.”
Your voice was fragile now. “Before Wakanda?” Natasha nodded. “Before the garden?”
“Yes.”
“After?”
Natasha’s eyes burned. “Especially after.”
A tear slipped down your temple into your hair, you looked almost angry at it. Natasha reached for it, but you caught her wrist. “I tried to kill it..” You whispered and Natasha’s smile faded. “What?”
You looked at her with a grief so open it felt like being trusted with a wound still bleeding.
“What I felt for you, I tried to kill it. I thought if I could make myself cold enough, if I could bury enough of myself under the crown, under the names, under all the blood, then it would die too.”
Natasha’s throat closed. “It did not.” Your fingers trembled around Natasha’s wrist. “It survived everything I did to it. I hated that most..” You whispered. “Not you. The wanting.. the way I could stand before my people and command executions without shaking, but then hear your name in a report and feel like the floor had gone out from under me.”
Your breath caught. “I loved you too.” You said and the words sounded almost unwilling, as if they had been dragged from somewhere too guarded for language. “I loved you when I left Wakanda. I loved you in Thanos’s garden. I loved you every time I told myself I had become something that could not love anyone anymore.”
Your hand rose to Natasha’s face, “I love you still..” You shifted closer under the sheet until your forehead tucked against Natasha’s collarbone. The movement was small, almost awkward, like you were remembering something your body had learned before the rest of you forgot. Natasha wrapped an arm around you and held on.
Natasha pressed a kiss into your hair. “I love you.” she whispered again, because now that she had said it once, keeping it back felt cruel. Your fingers tightened against Natasha’s ribs. “I love you.”
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Balletinstructor!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader
♪ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You attend a highly favored ballet school in New York, and are your instructor's star dancer. Little did you know she had differing intentions than previously imagined.
♪ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Innocence corruption, sexual tension, cunnilingus, naive reader, Wanda needs that, competence kink, sizeable age gap ( W is 38, R is 19), Dom = W, Sub = R, and yea
♪ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3k
You frantically dig in every nook and cranny of your pink gym bag for your phone as you near the grand, slightly run-down entrance of the studio; you cannot be late again.
"Aha! Thank god," you exhale, a small victory. You think to check the time, 12:13 pm, great. Miss Maximoff won’t be here for another fifteen minutes; you can stretch some more.
It’s pretty cloudy today, and it's probably going to rain soon. You hum as you shove your phone into your back pocket, then push open the double doors of The Scarlet Ballet School. You were just as surprised as everyone else that you got in, more so even. Not many of your relatives are supportive of your passion for the art of ballet. Wanting you to pursue something more sustainable, more real. But you didn’t let them stop you.
Only the dancers with the most credibility got in, but you... were an exception. You're here on a scholarship. Screw up? And it's back to square one.
You’ve been at this studio for a few months and in New York for a little less than a year, and it’s treated you well, especially your new ballet instructor. Wanda Maximoff. Wanda… has a more hands-on approach. So to speak.
The inside of the studio has the sort of charm that you only see in movies. Never did you think you'd make it a reality. The front desk is manned by Billy, the scrawny, awkward teen with smudged eyeliner, every day. He types away at whatever as he sips his Monster.
"You know drinking those every day will give you heart murmurs, right?" You smirk as you approach the desk, propping your arms on it.
Billy doesn't spare you a glance; he rolls his eyes, though. "That? Is a myth."
"Fuck around and find out, I guess." You shrug, which gets a small smile out of the teen. "Has Yelena come in yet?" You ask, lightly drumming your fingertips on the desk.
Billy nods, finally meeting your eyes, "Mhm, like five minutes ago. She said she'd meet you after she's done in Miss Romanoff's room."
You hum, "Alright, thanks, Billy!" you say as you begin to walk away.
"Cute skirt!" He calls after you, and you smile brightly over your shoulder.
--
"Are we still on for lunch tomorrow?" Yelena Inquires, stretching her leg on the barre, putting her short blond hair in a small ponytail. "Since you cancelled last week." She mentions with a pointed look.
You huff before you get a sip of water from your bottle. "Yes, Lena, we're still on for lunch tomorrow." You playfully roll your eyes and smile easily, though it falters somewhat. Your brows knit together in concern. "Shouldn't... shouldn't, Miss Maximoff be here by now?" You glance at the entrance to the ballet room.
Yelena follows your gaze before meeting yours again, shrugging lightly. "Little graces," she snorts, getting off the barre to stretch her back now, adjusting her navy leotard straps.
You sigh. You're sorely aware of the fact that no one here likes the older woman. You can practically feel the dread suffocate the room when she comes in on bad days. Sure, she's abrasive sometimes, too strict, and can be mean. However, for whatever reason, you never got to experience that side of her. She differs from you. Patient, a sweet-talker, and lenient. You have no clue as to why. The other girls in your room hate you for it, too. Whispering amongst themselves and giving you sideways glances.
Suddenly, the doors to the room swing open as Wanda struts in like she owns the place. Confidence exudes from her every step, not the in-your-face kind of self-assurance, but the quiet kind. One that shows just how comfortable she is being who she is. Her black pencil skirt is just shy of the knee, and her blood red satin button-up is perfectly tucked into it, with a few tantalizing buttons left unbuttoned. The sound of her heels reverberates on the vinyl floor.
Click.
Clack.
Click.
Clack.
Your heart skips a beat at the sound. Your hands subconsciously smooth over your fitted black tank top and small pink skirt.
"Speak of the devil, and she will appear," Yelena mutters beside you, her stretching halting. You subtly nudge her.
Everyone in the room waits with bated breath for Miss Maximoff to speak; conversations die mid-sentence, and a few girls suddenly become very interested in their stretches. Someone near the mirrors straightens so fast she nearly loses her balance.
Wanda regards everyone with a pointed look, assessing, before they land on you. Something in her gaze shifts, something… dark, it makes you blink and falter. "Good afternoon." She says briefly, getting her keys to her office out of her purse. "Since everyone seems fascinated by the time of my arrival," she says coolly, removing a pair of reading glasses from her blouse pocket, "perhaps someone would like to explain why we're standing around instead of warming up."
Like clockwork, everyone who stopped stretching to show some sort of respect for Miss Maximoff, scatter to continue stretching; it's almost comical.
__
Some time has passed, and Yelena is practicing her ballons on the opposite side of the room. The other girls are working on whatever movements Miss Maximoff has drilled them to perform. You stand alone, near the barre, in first position, your legs burn from the effort you put into them today, in fear of disappointing your instructor. You take a minute to breathe. Suddenly, you feel warm hands glide gracefully to support your sides, and you straighten almost instantly, ignoring how every inch of you screams to settle into the touch.
The scent of her, vanilla and something faintly smoky, like incense, hits you before she even speaks.
Wanda’s hands are firm but gentle, warm from the studio lights above. Her fingertips press just slightly into your ribs through the thin fabric of your tank. No one else gets this close to her during class - not unless they’re being corrected harshly or praised quietly.
You don’t turn around right away.
Instead, you feel her lean in, her breath a whisper against your ear, and then that low voice wraps around you like velvet, “Breathe deeper than that, detka.”
Ugh, that pet name makes your gut coil.
Her lips brush the shell of your ear for half a second before she pulls back slightly to adjust how she’s holding you, but you miss the barely there touch. Your pulse spikes so hard it feels audible in the quiet.
“Now rise.”
Wanda’s hands don’t just rectify you; they linger.
When you rise, her palms slide up your sides like she’s memorizing the curve of your waist, thumb brushing the dip just above your hip. She doesn’t let go when you’re fully upright. No, she keeps one hand there, warm and possessive at your back, while the other lifts to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Too intimate for an instructor during class… everyone knows it. No one dares say anything, though. Not with Wanda Maximoff standing two inches away from you, her favorite student. You don't mean it with sovereignty; it's simply a fact.
“You look tired.”
You blink out of your reverie, stammering. "I-I… yeah. I am, I was up too late practicing for the past two days." You explain sheepishly.
The brunette's presence shifts to one of concern and disapproval. She raises a brow and sighs lowly. Her grip on your sides tighten imperceivley, sending a cold shiver down your spine. "Now, why did you think that was a good idea?"
Your lip catches between your teeth, and your green eyes follow the motion. "I don't want to be behind, I'm here on a scholarship… I need to be ahead." You elaborate determinedly.
Wanda pouts, "I see how hard you work, honey. I'm proud of you, but burning out won't help anyone." She pulls back slightly, her hand still on your left hip, and slowly glides up your back, to your shoulder, stopping just shy of your neck, her thumb barely caressing your collarbone. "You don't need to prove yourself to me." Miss Maximoff whispers in the most intoxicating tone you've ever heard, and your lips part.
You don't know what comes over you; maybe it was the stress, or the weight of expectation, or perhaps the lack of real sleep.
Your eyes well up with tears.
Your instructor notices almost immediately, and her taller form comes a step closer before you, her hand now fully holding the back of your neck, her thumb gently rubbing your cheek. Her brows furrow, grabbing your jaw lightly when you try to avoid eye contact. "Hey, hey, look at me when I'm talking."
You fight and fail miserably to stop the stray tear that falls, you sniffle, then meet Wanda's eyes, hesitating some.
Wanda smiles. "Good girl. You wanna come to my office, sweetheart? We can talk about it," she coos.
The way Wanda spoke to you makes you feel small, dumb, and incapable of handling this on your own. The words catch in your throat. You nod.
Wanda shakes her head, "Nuh uh, use your words."
You take a shuddering breath, scared the dam will break. "I do. Want t-to talk about it." You wipe another tear.
Wanda hums approvingly, standing straighter; she almost looks relieved. "Smart girl." She praises, her hand falling from your neck to your lower back, leading you to her office. You don't want to look and see everyone staring in the ballet room, but you do catch Lena's questioning gaze, her head tilted, she mouths, 'Where the hell are you going?', throwing her arms up slightly.
You wince, 'I'll be back', you mouth in reply.
—
The office is small but cozy, cluttered with ballet books, framed photos of Wanda’s friends, you assume, a few potted plants that look like they’re barely surviving, and the ever-present scent of her vanilla-sandalwood perfume.
Without asking permission, she sits right beside you on the plush velvet couch, the kind made for crying students or exhausted instructors who just need five minutes alone. Close enough that your knees touch, and hands you your tea.
You mutter a thank you before taking a sip.
Wanda watches you sip the tea, the sliver of green remaining in her eyes tracking the way your lips press to the rim of that scarlet mug, how your fingers curl around it for warmth.
“Is it good?” she asks softly. Her voice is honeyed, no sharp edges like during class. You nod slightly, and she smiles, a small, private little thing meant only for you.
Then, without hesitation, she lifts her free hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear again. Her fingertips linger there - a featherlight brush along your temple before sliding down to cup your jaw gently.
“Look at me,” she commands gently.
Your eyes meet hers, your breath catches at how the older woman stares openly at you. Hungry, sympathetic, and restrained. All demonstrated by her flushed cheeks, parted wet lips, and furrowed brow. You set your mug down on the old coffee table, praying that your tremors aren't visible.
"I know... what can make you feel better, honey."
A beat passes, which feels like an eternity as the gears in your head shift. "What?" You gulp.
She licks her pink lips, "You're gonna have to trust me, think you can do that for me?" She asks hopefully.
You nod frantically.
"Say it."
You subconsciously squeeze your thighs together, failing to quell the ache. "I trust you."
Her hand finds your thigh, fingers pressing into your thigh. “Do you?"
"I-I really do..."
"Good girl."
Your eyes widen, chest constricting as she rises from the couch and sinks slowly to her knees before you on the faded Persian rug. The shift of her weight, the quiet rustle of her black pencil skirt, it feels obscene.
Her warm hands slip under your skirt slowly, stopping on your mid-thigh. You’re sure Wanda can feel the heat radiating from your pussy.
“You do so much. Being my star student, dorogoy. It must be exhausting,” she pouts, gently kneading your inner thighs, coaxing you to spread them wider. The older woman smirks.
“I wanna make you feel better.” She continues.
Your not even fully aware you're holding your breath; you’ve never actually gotten eaten out before. Sure, in high school, a girl fingered you in the bathroom once, but other than that, nothing. You really hope Wanda can’t tell.
“P-please…” The whine that follows your plea surprises even you.
Wanda seems to excite from the noise, her cheeks flushing once more, blinking repeatedly.
Her expression softens, deepens. She realizes that you're the type to whimper, to whine. To beg. She swallows hard, her mind racing with new, dirtier thoughts. "Please what, honey?"
You stammer, “D-do something!”
She laughs, a breathy, delighted sound that vibrates in your abdomen. Without warning, she taps your thigh, signaling for you to lift enough for her to peel off your damp, cotton panties. They stick to your glistening folds, embarrassingly so.
Never mind to Wanda, it seems, she leans in and licks a slow stride from your hole to your throbbing clit.
You cry out, back arching off the couch cushions. "Oh fuck!"
"Like that?" She inquires coyly.
She dives back in before you can even process that she spoke, her tongue circles your clit gently but firmly.
One hand grips your hip possessively, holding you still as she licks into you again, and again. She settles between your spread thighs, face buried against your pussy, tongue working lazy circles around your clit. Her other hand moves to cover your mouth, muffling the whimpers and cries that spill past your lips.
Your hips move without your permission, seeking more pressure, more contact. She groans against your pussy, the vibration making you see stars. She pulls back briefly to speak against your core. "Quiet, honey... God, you taste so good..."
She goes back to eating you out like she's starving for your taste, her tongue never stopping its gentle circles around your clit. Your whines are getting louder despite her hand covering your mouth, and she knows you're close when your hips start rolling harder against her face.
The tip of her tongue curls, deliberately tracing the letters W-A-N-D-A across your throbbing clit and sensitive folds. It’s possessive and obscene, branding you from the inside out. Your back arches violently, a muffled sob tearing from your throat behind her hand as she writes the final 'A' with agonizing precision.
A full-body shudder wracks through you when she finishes spelling her name. Her name is written in saliva across your pussy. Her mouth stays glued to you, sucking softly on your clit.
Your hands grip Wanda’s hair tightly, and you whimper constantly against her hand. You accidentally tug on your instructor's hair in the midst of your pleasure.
A deep, throaty moan reverberates against your core as she feels your fists tighten in her hair. The sound sends vibrations directly to your clit, making you gasp louder against her palm. She actually smiles against your pussy, loving how desperate and noisy you're getting.
Her mouth is sealed over your clit when your orgasm hits, the intense suction sending you hurtling over the edge. You convulse against her face, fingers yanking hard on her hair as a silent scream tears through you. She drinks you down greedily, swallowing every drop of your release.
Wanda licks your heat a few times before her head rises, her hand falling from your mouth. Her lips glisten with your come; she licks them slowly, "Good girl," she praises. “You did so well for me, sweetheart.” Miss Maximoff pants while wiping her chin, then moving her chestnut hair from her face.
You reel from your orgasm, your vision still swimming some. “T-thank you…” You cannot believe you actually-
Summary: you try to help pay. Natasha doesn't let you
Word count: ≈1200
Warnings: fluff, slight sexual implies
Reading time: ≈10 mins
Type: Oneshot
a/n - apparently i just got a random minor MINOR horny stroke in the middle of this so that's fun
The front door clicks shut behind Natasha Romanoff, the rhythmic click of her heels coming to a stop just inside the doorway. You meet her quickly, pressing a kiss to her lips. She smiles as she watches you stand on your tiptoes to reach her.
“You're home early,” you comment, arms wrapped loosely around her neck.
She hums, holding your waist. “Mm...guys finished up early, so I thought I'd take you to dinner.”
“Dinner? Where?”
“It's the little Italian restaurant.”
“What do I where?”
“It's not too fancy, but it's not jeans-type either,” Natasha replies, smiling. She knew you hadn't been out together in ages, and she knows she's been staying at work longer than she should've been. “Come on, get off me. We both need to get changed.”
You sigh, untangling yourself from her before turning to walk back up the stairs as Natasha follows you.
Natasha doesn't change her style much, just swaps her navy tailored pants for black ones, her shirt for a white, thick strapped tank top and a black blazer draped over her shoulders. She never changed her earrings or her jewellery, though her wedding ring was always the only thing on her left hand.
You change into something a little nicer than your previous "eat leftovers on the couch" outfit, adding jewellery around your wedding ring where necessary.
Natasha locks the front door behind you both, quickly sidestepping Infront of you to open the passenger side door of her black Audi for you. She pushes the door shut with little effort before climbing in the driver's side, turning the key in the ignition. Her hand doesn't leave your thigh as she drives.
Once she stops the engine, you let her walk around the car to collect you, because Natasha Romanoff treats you like a princess. You both follow the waitress to a quiet booth in the corner, sitting down opposite each other.
She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Happy?”
You nod. “I'm glad you finished early. We haven't spent time together in ages.”
She grimaces slightly, reaching across to bring your hand up, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Sorry, sweetheart. We can spend all tonight together.”
You smile, squeezing her hand. “I love you.”
She smiles back just before two menus are slid onto the table by the waitress. “Can I bring any drinks first?”
“Red wine, thanks.”
“Peach Bellini,” you tell the woman. She nods, walking back behind the bar.
“That's not wine.”
“It has alcohol in it,” you tell her.
She snorts. “Barely.”
You stick your tongue out at her, a childish gesture. “You're just jealous mine comes with fruit.”
Natasha sighs, shaking her head lovingly. “What are you fancying? Same as usual?”
“Always. You?”
“I might try a Papperdelle beef Ragu this time.”
“Ooh...that does sound good..”
Natasha smiles again, taking a sip of red wine immediately as it arrives. The waitress asks, “Are you ready to order, or still deciding?” with that typical, over polite, tired custome service smile.
“I'll have the beef Ragu, and she'll have the seafood linguini.”
“And garlic bread for the table, please,” you tell the waitress, her pen scratching across her notepad. “Thank you.”
The waitress smiles before leaving, you and your wife alone again.
“For the table?” Natasha questions.
“Yeah. For both of us.”
She just hums in response, smiling, before reaching across the table for your Bellini, taking a sip.
“Hey, you've got your wine.”
“Mm...but I wanted yours.”
You huff, rolling your eyes. “At least ask next time.”
“Don't roll your eyes at me,” Natasha murmurs lowly across the table, one eyebrow raised. You roll them again, just to be annoying. “You wanna be a brat, rolling your eyes? Oh, sweetheart...they'll be rolling tonight.”
Unfortunately, your food arrives just as your cheeks flush a hot pink, the waitress sliding your usual linguini in front of you, Natasha's Ragu in front of her and the garlic bread between you. “Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you,” you reply, embarrassingly shy now.
“Someone's gone shy,” Natasha hums.
“Shut up,” you mutter, biting into a piece of garlic bread. Natasha takes a bite of her beef Ragu. “Good?”
She hums. “It's alright. Not as good as you though.”
The casual way she said things like that was always what caught you off guard, like she was talking about the weather instead of how you taste or how she'll make your eyes roll back.
You clear your throat. “Yeah. Mines good too.” Natasha reaches over her plate to grab a piece of garlic bread, just as you lean over with your fork to grab a forkfull of her Ragu. “Mm..it is good.”
The food disappears quickly between you two, sharing each others meals and drinks because that's what married people do, according to Natasha.
The tiramisu you ordered, which ended up being shared because Natasha decided that she actually did want dessert, was equally delicious, and the bill was soon being slid onto the table in place of the plates. You reach into your pocket, pulling out a $50 bill and sliding it towards her.
Natasha sees it immediately. “Sweetheart.”
“Natasha,” you reply, batting your lashes innocently.
“What's that for?”
“The bill.”
“Y/N.”
“Nat.”
“No.”
“I can help pay,” you tell her.
"You can," Natasha agrees. You brighten. "Just not tonight."
You groan. "Natasha."
"Y/N."
"That's not fair."
"It is when I invited you."
You fold your arms. "We're married."
"Correct."
"Our money is basically the same money."
"Also correct."
"Then why won't you let me pay?"
Natasha considers this. Then she takes your note out of the folder. You smile triumphantly.Only for her to slide it back across the table. With two extra hundred-pound notes tucked underneath it. You stare. "Natasha." She raises an eyebrow. "Natasha."
"What?"
"Why is there more money now?"
"I improved your contribution."
You look horrified. "You added four hundred dollars!"
"Two hundred."
"That's still ridiculous!"
Natasha shrugs. Across the table, the waitress is trying very hard not to laugh. "Take it back."
"No."
"Nat,” you half-whine.
"No."
"That's not how paying works."
"It is for me."
You push the notes toward her. She pushes them back. You push them again. She pushes them back again. The waitress finally gives up pretending she can't hear. "Should I come back in a minute?"
"Please," you say immediately.
"No," Natasha says at the same time.
The waitress snorts and walks away. You drop your head into your hands. "You're impossible."
"Yet you married me."
"Unfortunately."
Natasha's smile softens. "Keep it."
"I don't need it."
"You wanted to pay."
"Yeah, not profit,” you mutter.
She reaches across the table and takes your hand. "Buy yourself something nice."
You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "Is this your way of spoiling me again?"
"Maybe."
"Natasha."
"Maybe."
You try not to smile. You fail. Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself.
A few minutes later, when you stand to leave, she slips an arm around your waist and guides you toward the door. "I'm paying next time."
"Of course you are."
You stop walking. "Really?"
"No."
"Natasha!" Her laugh follows you all the way to the car.
As Thanos moves closer to Vision and the Mind Stone, the Avengers seek help from a hidden kingdom ruled by an ancient royal bloodline and protected by the last living dragon. Their only hope is a girl, a feared young warrior princess who once ended a century-long war and commands absolute loyalty from her people. But before she agrees to join their fight, the Avengers must earn her trust, survive her court and convince her that Thanos is a threat even her kingdom cannot ignore. Luckily Natasha has her ways.
Avenger!Natasha x Princess!Reader
Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (N=31, r=23), so so much smut, royal stuff, violence and more
A/N: There it is! The first chapter drops tomorrow at the same time. It’ll be a small 4 part series and after that I’ll focus on all the requests, I promise! See you tomorrow! 👀
Summary: living under Red Room control for your whole life, your new life begins after Natasha rescues you. At your new school, someone takes an interest in you.
Word count:≈900
Warnings: fluff
Reading time: ≈10 mins
Type: drabble
a/n - if even a single person saw the avengers game reference my life is complete
You hear your fellow classmates complain about school often. How it was so hard, hell on earth, and like a prison and the food sucked and the dress code wasn't good. You had realised quickly that none of them truly experienced hell.
That none of them had ever been forced to physically harm other girls, or wear tight jumpsuits, or have cold food, the bare minimum you could give someone to remain fit and mostly healthy. That none of them had ever only had a total of three or four outfits to wear total, and only three different things to do with their hair.
One thing that was different, was relationships. Friends, romance, even just a teacher-student relationship. Sure, you all considred yourselves sisters within the confines of the Red Room, but at the end of the day it wasn't real. You weren't really sisters by blood, more like bonded through a shared hell-like life. But it was never said out loud, never recognised. You could have it used against you, a vulnerability. Something you have to kill.
Here, though, at this high school in New York, it was different. Girls walked in large groups, chattering down hallways. People kissed, laughed, held hands. They wouldn't last a day in the Red Room.
One girl, you realise, has taken a particular interest in you. She sits with you at lunch, helps with your homework since your learning is a little behind, laughs at anything you say.
So you decided to ask your big sister, who had experienced more of the world than you had. "Nat!" You call loudly, the apartment door clicking behind you.
"In the kitchen," Natasha replies.
You drop your backpack beside the couch and follow her voice. Natasha stands at the counter chopping vegetables, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It still amazes you sometimes; the former Black Widow, one of the deadliest women in the world, making dinner. "School okay?" she asks.
You shrug. "Fine."
Natasha glances over her shoulder immediately. Fine usually meant something was bothering you. "What happened?"
You sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island, swinging your legs slightly. "There is a girl."
The knife stops mid-chop. Natasha slowly looks up. "A girl." You nod. "A problem girl?"
"No."
"A bully?"
"No."
Natasha sets the knife down completely now. "Okay. Tell me about the girl."
You think for a moment. "She sits with me at lunch." Natasha hums. "She helps me with homework." Another hum.
"She laughs at my jokes." Natasha's lips twitch. "Even when they're not funny."
"Maybe you're hilarious."
You ignore that. "She walks with me between classes."
"Mhm."
"She gave me one of her cookies yesterday." Natasha is openly smiling now. "She said she likes spending time with me."
The smile grows. "And?"
You frown. "And what?"
"That's it?"
"Yes."
Natasha stares. You stare back. Then Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."
"What?"
"She has a crush on you."
You blink. "A crush?"
"Yes."
You genuinely look confused. "No."
Natasha laughs. "Yes."
"No."
"Y/N."
"She is being friendly."
"She is flirting."
You fold your arms. "I know what friendship looks like."
Natasha raises an eyebrow. "You spent your first week at school convinced the librarian was adopting you because she remembered your name."
"She was very nice."
"She worked there."
You huff slightly. The concept still feels strange.
In the Red Room, nobody gave gifts because they liked you. Nobody spent time around you because they wanted to. Everything had a purpose. Everything was a test. A weakness. A weapon. Not... affection. Not because someone simply enjoyed being around you.
Natasha's expression softens immediately when she notices you growing quieter. "Hey."
You look up. "She likes me?"
"I think so."
"Why?"
The question comes out genuinely confused. Natasha pauses.Because that was the real issue. You still didn't understand why anyone would choose you. Not after everything. Not after the Red Room spent years teaching you that love was something people exploited.
"Because you're smart," Natasha says. You immediately make a face. "Because you're funny." You make the same face. "Because you're kind."
"That seems unlikely," you continue. "I've done...not good things."
Natasha's expression softens. "So have I." You look up. "That doesn't mean we're only the worst things we've ever done."
You almost smile. Natasha points a carrot at you. "There it is."
"What?"
"That thing."
"What thing?"
"The reason people like you."
You frown.
Natasha smiles. "You don't even realize you're lovable." The words hit harder than they should. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Natasha reaches over and bumps your shoulder gently. "Do you like her?"
You think about it seriously. "She makes me feel... comfortable." Natasha nods. "She remembers things I tell her." Another nod. "And I like when she sits with me."
The smile on Natasha's face becomes almost impossible to hide. "Congratulations."
"For what?"
"I think you might have a crush too."
Your eyes widen. "Oh." A pause. "Oh no."
Natasha bursts out laughing. "Welcome to being a normal teenager, sestra."
And for once, despite how confusing it all is, the idea doesn't seem quite so terrifying. Because if there was one thing Natasha had taught you since rescuing you from the Red Room, it was that not every feeling was a weakness. Some of them were worth keeping.
Summary: when you regress you are at Bucky and Steve's apartment, but this time you are at Wanda's because Steve and Bucky were on a big mission.
But there was no problem, you had regressed around her before.
Word count : 595
A/n This is my first fanfic so I hope you guys enjoy it.
Wanda maximoff x little!reader
Wanda woke up by some noise from the hall, she went up and checked if someone was there and it was.. you who was trying to put your rain coat on and boots.
Wanda: Little one, what are you doing?
You look at her and point to the door and try to show you wanna go outside and play in the rain.
She just chuckled and ruffled your hair a little before picking you up.
Wanda: Don't you think it's a little too early to play outside?
You: No!
Wanda: No? Really huh, how about we get something to eat before heading out to play?
You just nodded and took your rain coat and boots off before walking to the kitchen table and sitting down and waiting for Wanda to make some sandwiches and something to drink.
The rain starts getting more than before, you look at those mud puddles that you wanna do much
jump in.
You immediately eat when you get the sandwiches.
Wanda: Hey hey! Take it easy before you choke on those.
You: sorry..
Wanda: It's fine, sometimes we are little in a hurry to fast, just take your time then we go outside.
you help her with the dishes and you love how she uses her powers.
You: Are you finished??
Wanda: Almost , just wait a little.
You went to your room to get your elephant plushie with you and tried to put your rain coat and boots on again.
Wanda: Here let me help you with the coat.
Her motherly voice made you feel safe.
She opened the door and you immediately went over to the mud puddles and jumped up and down. She sat on the swing she had built for you two under the roof.
You notice that your plushie got all dirty from the mud, tears start to build up.
Wanda notices that you are about to cry.
Wanda: Honey.. come over here.
You walked over to her and sat next to her and handed over your elephant to her.
Wanda: Maybe we shouldn't play with elephantine outside in the rain, he will get all dirty.
You look at the plushie and place him on the swing where you sat and went back to the puddle.
Wanda sat and read a book and drank some tea while you were having fun until you fell into the puddle, she immediately went over and picked up.
Wanda: hey it's okay.. you just lost the balance there.
She dried your tears and took your plushie and walked back inside.
You: Bubble bath.
Wanda: You want a bubble bath?
You just nodded and tried to escape from her arms.
Wanda: Alright.. I get the bubble bath ready and I'll clean the elephantine for you, so go get undressed while I fix the rest.
You just nodded and took off your clothes quickly and went back to the bathroom.
Wanda: Almost ready.
She picked you up and placed you in the water you started to splashed around like normally.
You felt how she started to clean your hair from all the mud.
After a while she pull you out from the tub and she found some clothes and pull up just incest of any accident.
You two are lying on the couch she read a book for you in Sokovian before your afternoon nap.
Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader The Loud House - 5 years later
But love built this family. And maybe love is what will hold it together.
Masterlist | General Masterlist
Chapter Summary: we talk to the kids
w/c: 6.6k
Note: We're all adults here, right? 😉
You were on a redemption tour of sorts.
You wanted to be intentional with your family again. You needed to be.
Your kids were growing right before your eyes, and while you’d always been active and involved, that wasn’t necessarily what they appreciated most from you. Not really. Quality time had always been the thing that kept your family close. It was how you stayed in the know.
You’d always silently judged parents who didn’t know their teenager’s favorite music, best friend, or what they were nervous about lately. You’d scoff at the fathers at the firm who bragged about only paying a couple of hundred dollars in child support, like it was a badge of honor instead of embarrassment.
You weren’t that type of parent.
You never would be.
Today was about Paige.
Charlie had bragged endlessly about the basket she got when she first got her period. It had become somewhat of a tradition after Cara. But for Paige, you knew a basket alone wouldn’t really do it.
Which was how the two of you ended up at Off The Record, a small mom-and-pop record store tucked into the city, smelling of old paper sleeves and incense.
Paige was your youngest girl and, unsurprisingly, the most detached in a way. Independent. Reliable. Sometimes, too much so for a child who was only nine going on ten.
Sometimes you missed when she used to cling to your leg every waking second, wanting nothing except to be wherever you were.
Now she wandered.
Browsed.
Built little pieces of herself privately.
You looked over at her now as she stood at the counter, seriously explaining to the cashier what kind of music she liked while flipping through stacks of CDs. Paige was taller now. Long-legged and expressive with her hands when she got excited. Her hair was pulled into two pigtails that bounced every time she turned her head.
“…and my sister says Lauryn Hill changed her life,” Paige informed the poor cashier with complete seriousness. “So I probably need to hear that too.”
You smiled to yourself before looking away quickly, suddenly overwhelmed by how fast all of this was happening.
“Mom,” she called suddenly. “I’ve never listened to a full Mariah Carey album before, have I?”
“We’ve listened to some singles, but never a full album, no,” you shook your head.
Paige gasped softly like this was a genuine parental failure.
“So can I get that too?” she looked up at you with wide puppy eyes. “And maybe Taylor Swift? Oh, and Beyoncé. I’m old enough for her music now, right?”
“I’d say no, but I won’t deny you the queen,” you leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
Paige grinned triumphantly before immediately turning back toward the shelves.
“How much is all this going to cost me?” you muttered, finally glancing down at the price tag on a Michael Jackson Off the Wall vinyl nearby.
Your eyes widened. “Forty dollars for one record?”
Paige blinked innocently beside you. “You said whatever I wanted.”
“I always tend to eat my own words.” You mumbled.
“You’re the best mom ever,” She bounced on her toes.
You snorted softly under your breath, shaking your head as she carefully pulled another vinyl from the rack. Watching her here, excited, curious, growing into her own little person with opinions and taste and favorites, made something ache warmly in your chest.
This was what you’d been missing.
The next stop was a boba tea shop. Boba was her new obsession, and though you weren’t a big fan, you wanted to indulge her. Paige amazed you in more ways than one. She and Charlie were little fashionistas in their own ways. While Charlie was more New York chic, Paige, meanwhile, took a softer approach. Vintage denim jackets. Colorful sneakers. Hair clips shaped like stars and butterflies. Though the purse she carried was no doubt her older sister’s. You wondered if Charlie even knew.
You watched her now as she carefully stirred her drink with concentration, brows pinched.
“What?” She looked up immediately, catching you staring.
“Nothing,” you smiled into your own drink. “You’re just getting big.”
Paige groaned dramatically. “You say that every five minutes now.”
“Because every five minutes you grow another inch.”
“That’s not scientifically possible.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” she slurped loudly from her straw. “I’m literally in advanced science.”
You laughed softly, leaning back into the booth.
Outside the window, people passed by without much thought, the city moving around the two of you like always. But for once, you didn’t feel rushed to catch up to it. Cincinnati was supposed to be slower than New York. It was supposed to be your break from the big life you left behind.
Paige reached into the record bag again, peeking down at her choices for what had to be the tenth time already.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I think this is my favorite day we’ve had in a while.”
“Yeah,” You nodded. “Me too.”
Paige seemed to blush, then hid her curiosity by taking another sip of her drink.
“You want to ask something?” You guessed. She seemed a bit surprised, but then rolled her eyes at herself. You’re her mom, of course, you could tell.
“Do I look like her?” Paige asked, kicking her feet under the table. “My mommy. My birth mommy. Karen.” She felt the need to clarify. “Halmeoni always says I do, but I don’t know.”
You knew how important it was to answer truthfully. “Yes. You do.” You try to hide the sadness still in your voice. Thinking bout your best friend always brought a sense of melancholy. “You have her eyes, “ you continued. “Especially when you’re annoyed.”
Paige snorted softly.
“And your smile,” you added after a moment. A smile of your own spread wide across your face. “That little crooked thing you do when you’re trying not to laugh? That’s all her.”
Paige looked down into her drink, strangely shy now.
“She was really pretty,” she mumbled. “I mean, from all the pictures I have and the videos.”
“She was,” you agreed instantly. “And loud. And dramatic. Like someone else I know.”
That earned you a laugh.
“She sounds fun.”
“She was,” you smiled softly. “She loved really hard, too. Especially you.”
The smile on Paige’s face faded into something smaller. More thoughtful.
“You think she’d like me?” she asked quietly.
Your chest tightened so fast it almost hurt.
“Paige,” you reached across the table for her hand. “She would’ve been obsessed with you. She was obsessed with you. ”
Paige blinked quickly after that, looking away toward the window before you could fully catch her expression.
“And she didn’t die because she gave birth to me?” She asked. That question practically knocked the wind out of you. What was it with your kids and asking incredibly hard questions at random times?
But Paige was getting older now. Of course, the questions were changing too.
You squeezed her hand gently before answering.
“No, baby,” you said carefully. “No.”
Paige looked back at you immediately, searching your face to see if you were telling the truth or just trying to protect her feelings.
“Your mom got very sick after you were born,” you explained quietly. “And the doctors missed some things they shouldn’t have.”
Even now, years later, anger still flashed low in your chest when you thought about it too long.
“But you are not the reason she died.”
Paige’s eyes dropped again.
“Not even a little?”
“Not even a little,” you repeated firmly.
The boba straw bent between her fingers as she messed with it absentmindedly.
“I think about it sometimes,” she admitted. “Like… if she didn’t have me, she’d still be alive.”
You got up from your side of the booth before you could think twice about it, sliding in beside her instead.
“Oh, Paige,” you pulled her into your side immediately. “Listen to me.”
She curled into you without resistance, suddenly looking much younger than she had when walking through the record store earlier.
“Your life was never something bad that happened to her,” you murmured into her hair. “You were the best thing that happened to her. To all of us.”
Paige stayed quiet after that, small against your side as the city moved outside the window beside you.
“You really mean that?” she whispered eventually.
“With everything in me,” you answered.
“Sorry for making this sad,” She said. “I know that’s not how you want to spend your time off work.”
Your face softened immediately.
“Hey,” you reached up to move one of her pigtails from where it had fallen into her face. “This isn’t sad to me.”
She looked unconvinced.
“It’s important,” you corrected gently. “There’s a difference.”
Paige picked at her straw. “I just don’t want you getting tired of me asking about her all the time. We don’t talk about her a lot anymore.”
“Oh, baby.” You pulled her closer again without hesitation. “I will talk about Karen with you for the rest of my life if that’s what you need.”
That seemed to hit her harder than expected. She blinked quickly, trying to keep herself together in the way your kids always did when emotions caught them off guard.
“You know what your mom used to say when she was pregnant with you?” you asked softly.
Paige shook her head against your shoulder.
“She said she hoped you’d be stubborn enough to survive this family.”
A tiny laugh escaped Paige before she could stop it.
“And look at you,” you kissed the top of her head. “Bossing me around in record stores and spending all my money.”
“I’m glad you and Mama aren’t getting divorced,” She admitted. “We were really scared.”
“Me too,” you confessed. “Your Mama and I love each other and you guys too much.”
“Good,” Paige said. “Sometimes I miss it. Like when we first got here, and Cara was home. We would do all these things together.”
“Well, your birthday is next week, and I have it on record that we will all be together.” You promised. “Mama and I will try to make an effort to keep those family things going. Movie nights. Dinners. All those board games we have are collecting dust.”
“And Charlie hates me sometimes,”
You sighed softly through your nose.
“Yeah, I heard about that,” You nodded. “I’m not too happy with how that’s going between you two. I thought we solved it.”
“I guess,” Paige shrugged. “She acts like she doesn’t even want to be my sister sometimes.”
“You sound just like her with Cara,”
Paige’s face twisted immediately. “That’s different.”
“It’s really not.”
She groaned, already knowing where this was going.
“You and Charlie are a lot alike,” you continued. “Too alike sometimes. And when sisters start growing into different versions of themselves, there’s usually some bumping around.”
“She’s quitting ballet,” Paige frowned. “That’s something we always did together. I mean, I even joined because I wanted to be like her.”
You smiled at that. You remember Charlie being so excited to take her younger sister to school.
Paige pushed her drink away. “She’s changing,” she admitted quietly. “Everybody is.”
The honesty of it sat between you. You reached over, smoothing your hand over the top of her hair.
“Baby,” you said softly, “your sister growing up doesn’t mean she’s growing away from you.”
Paige looked unconvinced. “But things are different.”
“Yeah,” you nodded honestly. “They are.”
You looked out the window for a second before continuing.
“When Cara left for college, Charlie cried in her room for two days straight.”
Paige blinked. “Seriously?”
“She made Natasha drive her to campus three separate times in one month because she ‘forgot something.’”
“I did forget things,” Charlie had insisted every single time.
Paige smiled at the memory.
“Families change,” you continued quietly. “People get older. Interests change. Schedules change. But that doesn’t mean the love leaves with it.”
Paige rested her cheek against your shoulder then, quieter now.
“I don’t like it.”
“I know,” you kissed the top of her head. “Me neither sometimes. Neither do your siblings. But we’re working on it. Hey, ask her to help you with last minute things about your party. I bet she’ll answer.”
“That’s a good idea,” Paige nodded. “Can we go to one more place? The bakery on Scott?”
“Sure, we have time.”
“Great, I have ideas.” She said. You wondered what she was cooking up.
—-----
It was a great day to be outside. For Natasha, this meant sitting on the sidelines, watching as Luke and James attempted to teach Max and Midnight new tricks. She sat stretched across one of the patio chairs with her bare feet tucked under her, a pen balanced between her teeth, and her yoga manuals spread out before her. Every few minutes, she would underline something, scribble in the margins, and then glance back out at the yard.
“No, no, you have to say it with authority,” James snapped his fingers so Midnight would sit.
“Midnight,” Luke squared his shoulders. He deepened his voice and said, “Roll over.”
The dog barked once and sprinted off in the opposite direction.
Natasha smiled into her book. They’d be at this a little while longer.
The backdoor slid open behind her. Yelena stepped out carrying a bottle of water and one of Natasha’s protein bars she definitely hadn’t asked permission to take.
“You know,” she said as she settled into the chair beside her, “watching you become suburban has been one of the strangest experiences of my life.”
Natasha didn’t look up from her notes. “You say that every time you visit.”
“And every time it becomes more true.” Yelena gestured vaguely toward the yard. “You’re outside annotating yoga books while children train rescue dogs. You used to fall asleep in vents.”
“I’ve never fallen asleep in a vent,” Natasha scoffed.
“Twice you did,” Yelena shrugged. “Once in Venice.”
“You and I remember that differently,” Natasha flipped through another page. “How long are you here for again?”
“Until Kate is done visiting with the Bartons,” Yelena tore open the packaging of the bar. She bit into it, her nose scrunching at the taste. “Tastes like chocolate chalk and ass.” She dropped it onto the table between them.
“You would know what that tastes like,” Natasha muttered without missing a beat.
“You’re so funny,” She rolled her eyes. “So,” She said casually. “I can’t help but notice your wife is not home,” Yelena looked around the yard. The boys were playing some kind of game of tug-of-war with the dogs and James’ t-shirt. “Again.”
“She’s with Paige,” Natasha closed the book against her knee. She looked at Yelena fully.
“Funny, I didn’t see her kiss you goodbye this morning,” She said.
“Why don’t you come out and say what you really want to know?” Natasha raised a brow.
“No, ice cream together. No disgusting cuddling on the couch,” Yelena began to list off. “No displays of affection that make me want to hurl. I would say your marriage is in trouble.”
“You’d make a wonderful spy,” Natasha shook her head. She looked back into her chair. “My marriage is not in trouble.”
“But it’s not like normal? Tell me I’m wrong,” Yelena threw up her hands.
“You’re not wrong,” Natasha sighed. “We’ve become disconnected. But we’re trying. Actually, we were supposed to have this talk with you together.”
Yelena narrowed her eyes. “You think I couldn’t handle the truth.”
“I think you’re our child by proxy at this point,” Natasha shrugged. “You tend to dig your nose into our marriage anyway.”
"Hey, it's traumatic when you two stop flirting? The whole house becomes cold.”
Natasha laughed despite herself, shaking her head.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I am serious,” Yelena pointed at her. “You and Y/n are like… weirdly in love. It’s unsettling. So when that disappears everybody notices.”
That quieted Natasha a little. Her eyes drifted back toward the yard where Luke had now wrapped himself around Max like a backpack while James argued with him about “proper dog training techniques.
“It didn’t disappear,” Her voice was even softer now. “At least that’s what I keep telling myself. She’s been busy with work.”
“So, it’s her fault?” Yelena tilted her head.
“No,” Natasha denied. She fiddled with her hands. Very uncharacteristic. “I think it’s been building up for a while. Starting with me after that mission.”
“That was five years ago?”
“She mentioned it in an argument,” Natasha nodded. “I mean, would you really expect your wife to get over saying you wanted to abandon her and the kids? Especially without telling them?”
“You did that?” Yelena gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I almost did,” Natasha said. “I wasn’t in the right headspace after that mission. Wanda had to step in and find me, but…there’s a reason I don’t like magic.”
“But why didn’t you want to come home?”
“I didn’t feel like me anymore,” she admitted finally. Her fingers twisted together again. “And when I looked at them…” she swallowed. “I loved them so much it scared me.”
Yelena’s face softened immediately.
“I thought if I came home like that,” Natasha continued quietly, “I’d ruin everything.”
“But you still stayed,” Yelena pointed out gently.
Natasha looked back toward the house. Toward the kitchen windows. Toward the life inside it.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment.
A small, almost disbelieving smile crossed her face. “Because apparently I love my wife more than my own self-destruction.”
“And this now is payback?”
“I think it was an indicator we needed counseling together,” Natasha breathed. “We still made time. We still had our moments, but we both got too busy. Too wrapped up in emotions and jobs and the kids.”
Yelena leaned further back in her chair, staring up at the sky dramatically. “This is all way too mature for me,” she declared. “I liked it better when relationship problems were just somebody cheating or getting arrested.”
Natasha snorted softly. “You’re thirty-four.”
“And still emotionally nineteen.”
“That explains a lot, actually.”
Yelena ignored her. “I just…” she sighed, glancing over again. “You two have always felt permanent to me.”
“You know what the weird part is?” Natasha asked after a moment.
“What?”
“I don’t think either of us realized how bad it got until we stopped touching each other.”
“No more couch cuddling?” Yelena grimaced. “Tragic.”
Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it this time. “I’m serious,” she murmured. “We stopped reaching for each other.”
“When’s the last time you had sex?” Yelena asked. “Wait, too mature, again. Don’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Natasha laughed. Her sister was genuinely unbelievable at times. Though in her own head, she probably couldn’t tell her a date. There was still work to do. “I met this widow,” she changed the subject. “She has a kid, and she wants me to help her meet the kid.”
“Why you?”
“I asked the same thing…” Natasha exclaimed. She was happy for the topic change.
—-----
Paige stood right next to Charlie’s bedroom door for a long moment before finally knocking. She could hear music permeating through the door. It was slow and calm.
“What?” Charlie called through the door.
“It’s me,” Paige answered.
“Go away,” Charlie said.
Paige rolled her eyes. Typical. “I have something for you.”
“What kind of something?”
“Open the door and see,” Paige knocked again. “I’m going to drop it.”
The door finally cracked open just enough for one suspicious eye to peek through. Charlie’s curls were piled messily on top of her head and she was sporting black eye liner and mascara.
“You’re annoying,” she mumbled.
“And yet you opened the door.”
Charlie sighed dramatically before opening it wider. Paige stepped inside, balancing a box of macarons and two cups of matcha from the bakery.
“I picked these up when I went out with mom,” Paige set them on the desk. “These are your favorite right?”
“They are,” Charlie’s eyes lit up. “So, did you do the whole period basket thing.”
“I got vinyls,” Paige shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Wait, that’s way cooler,” Charlie gasped.
“I know,” Paige grinned.
“I still think it’s weird you kept it a secret from everyone,” Charlie bit into a macaron with a frown.
“It wasn’t really a secret,” Paige tilted her chin defensively.
“Then what was it?” she asked. “I mean… weren’t you scared?”
Paige was quiet for a second longer than expected.
“A little,” she admitted eventually. “But mostly I just didn’t want everybody acting weird around me. I already knew what to do.”
“But you didn't come to me,” Charlie looked over at her. “We tell each other that stuff.”
“I don’t know,” Paige shrugged again. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, okay,” Charlie let her have it. “Is that the only reason you came in here?”
“No,” Paige took another macaron for herself. “I wanted to talk about my birthday party. I was wondering if you could help me dye my hair.”
“You’re going to dye your hair?” Charlie’s mouth dropped. “Dude, moms will kill us both. You’re turning ten, not sixteen.”
“It wouldn’t be permanent or, like, my whole head,” Paige defended quickly. “Just maybe the front pieces. Or underneath.”
Charlie stared at her for another second before narrowing her eyes thoughtfully.
“…What color?”
Paige grinned immediately, knowing she’d won her over a little. “Maybe dark red?”
“Oh, that would eat,” Charlie admitted before catching herself. “Wait. No. I’m supposed to be responsible.”
“You literally have a Pinterest board called hair inspo.”
“That is private information.”
Paige laughed into her drink.
Charlie watched her for a second after that. Really watched her.
“You’re getting big,” she mumbled.
Paige groaned loudly. “You sound like Mom.”
“Well, you are.” Charlie reached over, absentmindedly fixing one of Paige’s pigtails where it had started coming loose. “It’s weird.”
“You’re weird.”
“True.”
“Maybe we could do a little trim too. I’m good with scissors,” Charlie pretended to search for them.
“No way,” Paige shook her head.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Charlie said. “But we have to ask Moms. I’m not getting grounded over this.”
“Fine,”
—----------------- —-----------------
The first thing Natasha noticed when she stepped into your shared shower was the delicate gold anklet wrapped around your left ankle. Tiny little charms glittered against damp skin every time the water hit it. It was new, and she wanted to question where you got it from, but it seemed unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
You were carefully scrubbing around it as you hummed softly to yourself, completely unaware she’d followed you in.
For a second, Natasha just watched.
The steam curled around you, your braids pinned messily up away from your face, one of her oversized shirts abandoned somewhere on the bathroom floor outside the glass doors.
“Can I join you?” She asked, finally.
You jumped slightly, hand flying to your chest as she stepped inside anyway.
“Natasha!” you laughed breathlessly. “You scared me.”
“Mhm.” Her hands settled automatically at your waist once she was close enough. “That was the goal.” She didn’t mind the hot water splashing against her back.
You rolled your eyes, though the smile stayed as warm water splashed against both of you now.
Natasha’s eyes drifted downward again.
“When did you get this?” she asked quietly, kneeling so that her thumb brushed against the anklet.
You looked down like you’d forgotten it was there.
“Oh,” you smiled softly. “A few weeks ago. I picked it out when I went shopping.”
Natasha hummed at that, still tracing absent patterns against your ankle underwater.
You tilted your head slightly at her silence.
“What?” you asked softly.
Natasha just shook her head once before leaning down to kiss your calf.
“Nothing,” she murmured against damp skin. “You’re just pretty.”
“Just pretty?” You pulled her into your arms. The steam made your cheeks flush, or maybe it was the look in her eyes, or the feel of her bare skin against yours. “Nat, you’ve called me a lot of things over the years. Just pretty feels like an insult.”
A slow smile spread across her face. She reached up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Alright then. You’re devastatingly beautiful. You’re the kind of beautiful that makes people forget their own names. Better?”
You pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against your lip. “Hmm. Getting warmer.”
Natasha laughed, a real, unrestrained laugh that echoed off the glass walls. She pulled you closer, water streaming between your bodies. “Fine. You’re so beautiful it physically hurts me sometimes. There. Are we done rating my compliments now?”
“Depends,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss her jawline. “Are you trying to get lucky?" It sounded sexier in your head, and you both knew it, sharing a smile between the two of you. "It's been too long."
"Eight months," She said, closing her eyes after a particularly hard nip at her throat. "But who's counting?"
"Is that why you came in here?" You questioned. "To talk about my anklet and how pretty I am?"
"No. I came in here to see how long it would take to get you on your knees." Her response was quick, and you shivered despite the steam.
"It's a shame. You beat me to it." You whispered.
The water continued its steady rhythm against your skin, but Natasha’s focus was solely on the way your body moved against hers. She let out a shaky breath as your fingers traced the line of her collarbone, down between her breasts.
She bit her lip. This was what she had been wanting for so long. "I need..." The redhead started.
"I know, baby," you murmured against her skin. "I know."
Her hands tangled in your braids, gently guiding you back to her lips. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something more desperate. Months of unspoken tension, of carefully maintained distance, melted away under the hot spray of the shower.
Your hands roamed her body with a confidence that made her tremble. You knew every sensitive spot, every place that made her gasp into your mouth. When your thumb brushed against her nipple, toying with the jewelry piercing both ends, she arched into your touch with a soft cry.
"I've missed this," she whispered against your lips. "I've missed you. I wanted it to be more special for us. Dinner. Candles." Her speech was broken by pants as your other hand traveled lower, tracing patterns on her stomach.
"We can have dinner tomorrow," you murmured, nipping at her earlobe. "Or I could make you wait."
"You could," She nodded. "I came in here to be with you. Not for sex."
"Hmm," You nodded. Natasha pulled back slightly, her green eyes dark with desire and something deeper. That unwavering devotion that had defined your relationship from the beginning. She watched you for a moment, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.
"You still want me, right? Even after everything? After my stupid pride and the distance and..." Her words faltered as your fingers continued their torturously slow descent.
"Every day," you said simply, and it was the truest thing you had ever spoken. "Even when I was angry with you, I still wanted you."
That was all the encouragement she needed. Natasha surged forward, pressing you against the tiled wall of the shower as the water cascaded over both of you. Her kisses grew more demanding, her hands exploring every curve of your body.
"I love you," she gasped between kisses. "I never stopped. Not for a second."
Your response was lost in a moan as her teeth found your shoulder, biting gently before soothing the skin with her tongue. Your fingers finally reached where she wanted them most, and Natasha's knees nearly buckled at the contact.
You found her clit with ease, circling slowly at first, building tension with each pass. Natasha's head fell back against the tiles, water streaming down her face and neck as she surrendered to the pleasure you were giving her.
"Fuck," she whispered.
The water began to cool as you brought her closer to the edge. Your other hand came up to cup her breast, thumb and forefinger rolling her pierced nipple between them. Natasha's hands gripped your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as her hips began to move against your hand.
"Look at me," You commanded softly.
Natasha's eyes fluttered open, locking with yours. The intensity of her gaze nearly undid you. In that moment, there was no distance, no months of separation, no stubborn pride. There were only the two of you.
"I love you too," you murmured, and with those words, you increased the pressure, your fingers moving faster as she cried out your name.
Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her body trembling against yours as she gasped for breath. You held her through it, your movements gentling as she came down from her high.
Natasha slumped against you, her face buried in the crook of your neck as her breathing gradually returned to normal.
"Wow," she finally managed, a weak laugh escaping her lips. "Just... wow."
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Yeah."
The water was definitely cold now, but neither of you seemed to notice or care.
"I came in here innocently at first," She spoke against your skin. "Just wanted to be with you."
"I know, Tasha," You kissed the top of her head. "Get out. I'll be there in a minute."
She pulled back reluctantly, her eyes searching yours. "Don't be long."
"I won't."
As Natasha stepped out of the shower, you watched her grab a towel, her movements slightly unsteady. She caught your eye before wrapping the towel around herself, and the look she gave you was full of promise for what the rest of the night might hold.
You finished washing up quickly, your mind racing. Eight months. Eight months of distance, of carefully constructed schedules, of avoiding the one person you needed most. And all it took to break through everything was one innocent question about an anklet.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped securely around your body, you found Natasha perched on the edge of the bed. She hadn't bothered dressing, just holding the towel around herself as she watched you approach.
"I was thinking," she said as you stopped in front of her.
"About?" You asked, reaching out to tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear. You stood between her legs, caressing her face.
"About how long it's been since we had a vacation," She said, tracing the back of your thigh with the tip of her fingers.
"Hmm."
"I booked us something for the week after Paige's birthday. Paris."
Your eyes widened. "Natasha—"
"Don't," She interrupted. "No excuses. Just say yes."
You studied her face, seeing the determination in her green eyes. "What about the kids"
"My parents can handle things for a week," She said dismissively. "And I've already cleared it with Yelena to help."
You laughed softly. "Of course you have."
"So?" Her fingers stilled on your leg. "Is that a yes?"
You leaned down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Yes," you whispered against her mouth. "That's a yes."
Natasha's relief was palpable, her whole body relaxing as she deepened the kiss. When you finally pulled apart, she was smiling, a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes.
"I was worried you'd say no," she admitted.
"After what just happened in the shower?" You teased. "I'd say yes to just about anything you asked right now."
Her grin widened. "Good to know. You don't think it was too soon?"
"I think it was too quick," You clarified at her eyebrow arch. "I meant I want us to have the opportunity to go all night." You lowered your head to her neck. "Too soon isn't a thing for us after almost two decades in. That's our problem, we're working off what we think should happen or schedules and everything else. If I wanted to eat your pussy in the parking garage of the therapist's office, I would." You paused. "Don't get any ideas."
She laughed. "Noted. No parking garage cunnilingus." Her hands slid up your back, tracing the line of your spine. "But the bed is fair game?"
You hummed, leaning in to nip at her jawline. "The bed is very fair game."
Natasha's response was to capture your lips again, this kiss deeper, more demanding. Her hands roamed your body, mapping familiar territory. You responded in kind, your own hands exploring as you slowly backed her toward the center of the bed.
When the back of her knees hit the mattress again, Natasha fell back with a soft gasp, pulling you down with her. The towels between you felt like an unnecessary barrier, and she wasted no time in remedying that. She flipped the two of you, effectively pinning you.
"Much better," she murmured against your skin as she finally got you naked beneath her.
You laughed, arching into her touch as her mouth found your throat. "I agree."
Natasha took her time rediscovering your body, her lips and hands tracing every curve, every dip, every scar she already knew by heart. It was both familiar and new, like coming home after a long absence.
When her mouth finally closed around your nipple, you gasped, your fingers tangling in her damp hair. She teased with practiced skill, knowing exactly how to drive you wild with minimal effort.
"Natasha," you breathed, your hips rising to meet hers.
She lifted her head, her green eyes dark with desire. "I want to taste you," she said, her voice husky with need.
Instead of waiting for a response, she began her descent, pressing kisses along your stomach, dipping her tongue into your navel, smiling against your skin when you squirmed. By the time she settled between your thighs, you were already panting with anticipation.
She paused, looking up at you from between your legs. The intensity in her gaze made your breath catch.
"You're so beautiful," she whispered, and this time, the compliment felt like a revelation.
Then she leaned in, and all coherent thought ceased to exist.
The first stroke of her tongue against your clit sent a jolt of electricity through your body. Eight months of pent-up desire melted away in an instant. Natasha had always known exactly how to touch you, how to read your responses, how to push you to the brink and then pull you back, drawing out the pleasure until you were begging for release.
"Babe, we didn't lock the door." You didn't even know why the thought crossed your mind when she was tongue deep inside you.
"Then I'd guess you better be quiet so the kids don't come in," She mumbled without breaking her rhythm.
You rolled your eyes at her cockiness but didn't protest again, lost in the sensation of her tongue exploring your folds. Your hands found her hair again, guiding her as she built a rhythm that had your hips moving against her face.
When she added two fingers, curling them perfectly to hit that spot deep inside, you couldn't suppress the cry that escaped your lips. Natasha smirked against you, clearly pleased with herself as she increased her pace, her tongue working in tandem with her fingers to push you higher and higher.
The tension coiled in your stomach, tighter and tighter, until finally it snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your back arched off the bed as you called out her name, your fingers tightening in her hair as your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm.
Natasha stayed with you through it all, her movements gentling as you came down from your high. When your breathing finally returned to normal, she placed one final kiss on your sensitive flesh before crawling back up to lie beside you.
You turned to face her, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "Wow," you whispered, echoing her earlier sentiment.
She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "I thought we could be spontaneous for a change."
"So you came in from your little yoga reading session and thought, damn, I wanna fuck my wife?" You teased.
"Not exactly," She rolled onto her side to fully face you. "I wanted to talk to you about the trip, and then I saw your tits." She shrugged.
You let out a laugh, the sound filling the quiet room. "Always so romantic, Romanoff."
Natasha's smile softened, her fingers tracing patterns on your arm. "I want you again," she admitted quietly. "If you're up for it."
You raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"It's been eight months," she reminded you. "I have a lot of lost time to make up for."
The thought of another round sent a fresh wave of desire through you. You leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. "I'm always up for anything with you," you murmured against her lips.
Natasha responded by deepening the kiss, her body pressing closer to yours as one of her hands slid down to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it hardened under her touch. You arched into her, wanting more, needing more.
When her other hand slipped between your legs, you gasped into her mouth. She wasted no time, finding you already wet and ready for her. Her fingers explored with familiar confidence, stroking, teasing, building that fire in your belly all over again.
"I missed this," she whispered, her lips trailing along your jawline. "I missed being inside you."
"Then stop talking," you breathed, hooking your leg over her hip to give her better access. "And fuck me."
Natasha's response was to enter you with two fingers, slow and deliberate, drawing a moan from your lips. She set a languid pace at first, her thumb finding your clit as she moved within you. The familiar stretch, the perfect angle, it all came rushing back like second nature.
You met her gaze, seeing the raw emotion in her green eyes. Eight months of distance, of carefully maintaining space, all melting away with each thrust of her fingers. You reached up, caressing her face.
"I love you," you whispered, the words coming easily now.
"I love you too," she replied, her movements gaining speed as her own arousal grew. "So much."
You could feel her need pressing against your thigh, and it spurred you on. You rolled your hips, meeting each thrust, encouraging her to take you harder, faster. Natasha obliged, her fingers moving deeper, her thumb working your clit with skilled precision.
The second orgasm built more slowly but was no less intense. When it finally washed over you, you cried out her name, your body trembling with release. Natasha didn't stop, continuing to move within you, drawing out your pleasure until you were completely spent.
Only then did she withdraw, gathering you in her arms as you both caught your breath. The room was quiet except for your ragged breathing, the cool air from the open window doing little to cool your heated skin.
"I think we're going to need two weeks in Paris," you finally spoke.
-------> next part
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