break down these walls and come on in
emily prentiss x f!reader
tags: fluff, established relationship, attempt at humor, amelia prentiss, fiancées!!!, teenage relationships, momily, sweeeeet emily, down bad!emily, mom-daughter arguments
warnings: mentions of emily's arc in demonology (abortion and related themes) very briefly, mentions of underage sex (discussed only)
summary: amelia has a boyfriend. emily is not pleased.
word count: 3.6k
request: from @its--a--lonely--road -> I have an Amelia request / Amelia and Emily have a fight (probably Emily being over protective) and Amelia asks Reader's input as she's kind of a parental figure in her life now. (...)
more amelia
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a/n: ohhh boy this one is FUN! i hope you like it as much as i did, and that you have fun reading it. i tried to make it a little funny, don't know if i succeeded lol
read on ao3 or below the cut
Amelia has a boyfriend. Which is, you know, fine. Normal, even, for a seventeen year old.
Except when that seventeen year old is the daughter of one Emily Prentiss.
Emily doesn't like the idea. Hadn't, even when Amelia was 13 and had a “relationship” in middle school. Of course, you hadn't been there for that, but Amelia used it as an argument in many discussions with her mother, especially when annoyed about Emily's overprotection.
Alright, you remember what being a teenage girl was like. Your parents were constantly out to get you, even if they weren't, even if they really were worried about drugs, predators or something worse. You know that Amy will see it soon, she'll understand Emily's view on it when she's older, when she's not infatuated. You're sure of it.
That doesn't mean she understands it now.
In the living room, you've been witness to a few arguments. From the day Amelia sat Emily down and said she had a boyfriend, until today, when she sat her mom down, again, to ask if said boyfriend can sleep over.
“Absolutely not,” Emily says, once again.
“Why?!” Amelia exclaims, her face indignant, just like Emily's. “What difference does it make if he sleeps over or not?”
Her mother sighs. You stay very, very quiet.
“The difference is I don't want him to.”
“Oh, great argument, mom.” Amelia scoffs, “very convincing.”
Emily stands up, moving away from the couch to pace away her stress. “I'm your mother, I don't need to convince you of anything.”
Amy presses her lips together for a second. Then, in an honestly shocking action, calls your name. You look up at her, confused.
“Tell her she's being unreasonable.”
Widening your eyes, you notice Emily is also looking at you and waiting for an answer. Her eyebrow raised in a challenge.
“Oh,” you chuckle forcedly, “I'm not getting in the middle of that.”
“Why not?!” Amelia asks, waving her arms around indignantly. “You're getting married,” she gestures at the ring on your left hand, still recent and shocking to you when you look down at it. “You're like, practically, my mom too, right? You should have a say in this.”
Lips parted in surprise, you look over at Emily, whose shoulders have dropped ever so slightly. She nods, “tell us what you think.”
Clearing your throat, you look between them for a moment. God, it's annoying how much they can't see that they're exactly the same.
“Um, I don't see much of a difference if he's coming over, anyway,” you say, finally, and Amelia looks at you triumphantly. She points, making a face at her mother that says see?
In a second, you lift up a hand to stop her. “But, you said you'd just be sleeping, right? So, no harm in keeping the door open through the night.”
Amy scoffs, “that's ridiculous.”
Well, you don't really believe that. You're trying to be diplomatic, whatever, sue you. Of course, it doesn't make a difference if the door is open or not. If Amelia wants to have sex, she'll find a way to do it, at home or somewhere else. You'd much rather it be at home, safely, and you just want some time to discuss it, properly, with Emily before she has a stress induced stroke.
You look at Amy, begging her to understand that you need time to help Emily get used to the idea. She seems to get the hint.
“He can come over for dinner, and then he can stay over. Door open, that's it.”
You both look at Emily, bracing for her reaction. She keeps her arms crossed, lips pursed, but relents. “Fine. No closing the door and for one night. I need to meet him.”
Amelia looks at you gratefully, then thanks her mom, quickly darting away to her room with the excuse of telling Nick the good news. You take a deep breath, turning to Emily, who's still fuming, by the looks of it.
You walk towards her slowly, then softly uncross her arms for her, wrapping them around yourself. Resting your hands on her shoulders, you lock eyes, waiting. Emily sighs, again, like she has the weight of the world on her back.
“Compromises,” you say, trying to get her to understand.
“I guess,” she shrugs. Her lips are still in the cutest pout, though you'd never tell her that.
“Wouldn't you rather they sleep here instead of somewhere you don't know?”
“I'd rather they not sleep together at all,” she says indignantly.
You bite your lip to contain a smile, knowing it'll just add to her distress. “She'll be fine, she's a smart girl. Besides, if she wants to do something more, she'll find the time, even if it is in the middle of the day,” you say carefully. “You remember what being a teenager was like.”
Emily nods, “that's what worries me.”
In the end, dinner comes and goes easily. Nick sleeps over, they keep the door open, and Emily doesn't end up having a stroke. She even likes him, as much as she can. He seems like a good kid, and after dinner they even studied together in the den, so you're guessing this is as good as it'll get when considering 17 year olds.
Emily was touched that Amelia asked for your opinion. She'd smiled about it and kissed your cheek, and you told her she was allowed to say I told you so if she wanted to. She did tell you Amy would come around, and she had, a while ago as well. Now, though, after you got engaged, it seemed she was even more welcoming of your place in her life.
After a half day of work, your boss ends up letting you go home to finish everything remotely. It's a slow day, so there’s no need for you to be at the office, and you'll take any opportunity you can to work from home. As you drive, you call Emily to let her know about your change in plans and ask what she wants for dinner, figuring you'll whip something up in case she gets home late.
At the house, which you, sometimes, still can't believe you can call yours, you finally sigh after getting in, tired from the drive back. It's eerily quiet, which is to be expected. In the middle of the day, on a Friday, Emily at work and Amelia at school, you hope the silence doesn't lull you to sleep over your laptop and you actually manage to get some work done. Deciding you'll grab a coffee to keep you company, you leave your stuff in Emily's office, since you're both still working on redecorating the spare room as an office for you, and start towards the kitchen. You greet Leo in the hallway, scratching between his ears and letting him go when he quickly skips away.
On the way there, though, you hear a noise from the second floor. Immediately startled, you try to rationalize that it must be the wind, or one of the windows moving with the force of it. A beat later, though, you hear it again.
Reaching the second floor, you realize the sounds are coming from Amelia's room. The door is closed, so you guess she must've forgotten the window open, as usual, and there's a branch or something hitting the glass. Hoping there isn't actually an intruder, and praying to whoever is listening that if there is one, they haven't been able to get into Emily's gun safe, or you're about to be in big trouble.
Telling yourself you're being paranoid, you slowly open the door to Amelia's room, bracing yourself for someone to come swinging or pointing a gun at your face.
What greets you isn't that, but something much worse.
Sure, that's really dramatic, though the thought of explaining this to Emily brings immediate nausea, and your eyes widen in shock as you take in the scene.
Amelia yelps, hiding herself under the comforter, as you finally get control of your body back, slamming the door and walking quickly down the stairs. Defeated, you already know you won't be getting any work done today.
Because Amelia is home when she should've been at school. And Emily hadn't said anything, which indicated she was skipping class, a whole other can of worms that you don't want to unpack right now. And Amelia is home with her boyfriend, door closed, when they both should've been at school.
If you’re trying to grasp at silver linings, at least they were both clothed.
Although they were, most definitely, making out on Amy's bed. With the door closed. Skipping school. While Emily was at work, completely oblivious.
And, shit, you're going to have to tell Emily about this.
No matter what Amelia sees you as, no matter that you're finally growing into a proper role in her life. Emily has to know. And, fuck, you were the one who encouraged her to be fine with this relationship, you said Amelia was smart, you said she knew what she was doing,
And now Amelia is skipping school to make out or do God knows what with her boyfriend.
Oh, Emily's never gonna let you make a decision about this ever again.
It takes a few minutes for Amy to come find you, but she does, eventually.
You're sat at the dining table, staring at your laptop screen, pretending to work and not managing to convince even yourself. You see her in the reflection before she makes herself known.
Amelia clears her throat. As you turn, you notice her flushed cheeks, the way she's wringing her fingers together like her mother does when she's uncomfortable. You wait.
“I'm guessing there's no hope in asking you to keep this quiet?” She asks, yet she's already dejected, a self deprecating little smile on her lips.
You stay silent, raising your eyebrows.
“We weren't even doing anything,” she tries. “We were studying and got distracted.”
“Okay…” You nod, willing to hear her out. “And why aren't you at school?”
Amy shifts from one foot to the other, looking down at the floor. “We had a free period, then only an English class after, but there's this test next week and I was worried, so Nick was helping me study-”
At the perfect moment, of course, Nick comes down the stairs, his backpack in hand and looking redder than a tomato. It's an admittedly amusing sight, though you keep your laughter in. Leo skips down the stairs right behind him, probably infatuated with his new friend.
“Hi, Nicholas,” you say, enjoying the way he folds in on himself — it's funny, okay? You're still human, after all. “I think you should go home.”
He nods, quickly kisses Amy's cheek and makes his way out. She doesn't even look up at him, but you're guessing they're okay from her little wave.
“Amy,” you stand up, closing your laptop and walking around the island, moving to grab a glass of water just to have something to do with your hands. “I'm hoping you're going to be responsible enough to tell Emily about this yourself.”
Amelia opens her mouth to protest, but you silence her with a look.
“I'm not going to berate you for having a boyfriend, or wanting to spend time with him. I know your mom gets a little protective sometimes-” You ignore her scoff, taking a sip of your water before setting the glass down. “But she's still your mom, and she has rules for a reason. You skipped school, sneaked in here and did exactly what Emily was afraid you'd do.”
She sits heavily on the couch, keeping her eyes down, biting her lip in an effort to keep her emotions in check. It's cute to see how much she and Emily have in common, even in a situation like this.
“When you tell her about it, you should ask her why she’s so against you having a boyfriend. I'm sure she'll explain it to you.”
Crossing her arms, Amy looks up, “she's trying to ruin my social life.”
You smile despite yourself at her stubbornness, “ask her and you'll understand.”
She stays quiet, most definitely thinking about how her parents are the worst. Well, we've all been there.
“I thought you'd be the cool mom,” she rolls her eyes, leaving the den swiftly, and still slamming her door for good measure.
After a beat, she yells out Sorry! I didn't mean to slam it.
At least there's that.
Emily arrives silently, like always. She takes off her boots by the door, leaves her coat hanging, drops her bag on the couch.
She finds you in the kitchen, after following the smell of dinner, which is waiting for her on the stove. She grins.
God, you’re about to ruin her day.
Emily greets you in that low, raspy voice after an entire day of using it. Her tone would normally have your knees buckling. This time, your shoulders tense. She notices, of course, yet doesn't say anything.
She kisses your cheek, the side of your mouth, taking note of the two glasses of wine on the island. Wraps her arms around you from behind, then murmurs, “you okay?”
You hum in response, pushing the glass towards her softly. Tilting your head, you wordlessly ask for a kiss, to which she complies happily. Sighing into her mouth, you pull back slightly. “I have to tell you something.”
Emily nods, waiting. Before you can say anything, though, you both hear Amelia's footsteps behind you. Turning, Emily smiles at her, heart warming at the sight of her daughter, wearing pajamas with her dark hair in a braid.
“Hey, Hon.” She calls, hand still resting on your shoulder, like she's making sure you won't leave. There's nowhere else you'd want to go.
“Hi, mom,” she says, looking at you and nodding. You nod back, proud she's seemed to take your advice.
“Maybe we should move to the couch,” you suggest, causing Emily to frown immediately and look at the two of you, one at a time, cataloguing expressions and narrowing her eyes, trying to catch whatever it is by reading the faces of the two most important women in her life.
She doesn't say anything, again, and you know that's just her own style of profiling. Quietly assessing before she can get to a conclusion. Still, she lets herself be guided to the living room, sits down without prompting and accepts the glass you bring her. Amelia stands near the couch, shifting on her feet, as usual.
Emily frowns, and, finally, Amy starts talking.
If you weren't so tense, you'd laugh at the rollercoaster of emotions on Emily's face. Confusion, anger, then a shock so genuine you could kiss her, declare how much you love her and how adorable she looks when she's just, absolutely, lost. You don't do any of that, naturally, falling back into your role of spectator and waiting to see if you might need to be the extinguisher for Emily's fire.
For a moment, everything stills. Emily doesn't say a word.
For all her fame at the FBI, for how intimidating she looks, you know she's nothing like that in her personal life. At work, she needs to put up that front to earn people's respect, which is upsetting, but not unreal. At home, she's a loving, caring, understanding mother, even when Amelia tests her patience, even when the cat breaks one of her favorite picture frames.
At home, she prioritizes conversations instead of hard glares, she squeezes your hip when you look upset but won't tell her why, she plays with Amelia's hair when she needs comfort but won't ask for it.
The Emily you know is warm and sweet, truly comparable to marshmallow on the inside when it comes to you or Amelia. The Emily you know looks nothing like the woman next to you right now, who you're pretty sure just gained another gray hair in a span of thirty seconds.
“You did what?” She asks in an almost whisper, her jaw locked, eyes boring into Amelia's own, a mirror to hers.
Amy presses her lips together, then drops herself on the wooden coffee table, immediately placing her hands on her mother's thighs. “I'm sorry, okay? I am. And I won't do it again.”
“Of course you won't,” Emily says, way too calmly for you to trust it. “You're not going to see Nick again.”
Amelia jumps up, “mom! That's so ridiculous.”
Emily sits up, moving to the edge of the couch. Your hand on her thigh keeps her from standing up. “No… What's ridiculous is you making terrible decisions after starting to date this boy.”
“You said she'd understand!” She almost yells, looking at you. A fire behind her eyes that you've only seen before in Emily's.
Lifting a hand to placate her, and keep Emily from saying whatever it is you can see from the corner of your eye that she's about to. “I said you had to ask her, and that she'd explain it to you,” you say it slowly, not wanting to oxygenate the flame even further.
Amy takes a deep breath, sitting on the loveseat this time, a little further away from you both. “Why you hate that I have a boyfriend.”
Your fiancée scoffs, “haven’t you given me enough reason? You skipped school, Amy! You defied a rule I specifically set.”
She shakes her head, “you never liked it, even before that.”
“I told you, I don't have to explain anything to you, Amelia. I'm your mother.” Emily grabs her wine glass, taking a long sip. “Fuck, now you've made me sound like my mother.”
You touch her arm, earning her attention. You find it sweet how her eyes immediately soften. “I think she might understand it better if you tell her about when you were a teenager.” Watching as realization dawns in her eyes, you quickly squeeze her hand. “Only if you want to.”
Emily thinks about it for a moment. Amelia taps her foot impatiently. You figure she's glad the attention is not on her for a brief moment.
Seeming to make a decision, Emily turns to her daughter, leaving her glass on the coffee table, but her other hand still in yours. Then, she tells her.
Emily tells her about Rome, and John, and Matthew. She tells her about the priest, the clinic, like it's a story she only heard of. Her voice never wavers, her resolve never falters, though her hand squeezes yours when she says the word ‘abortion’.
“I've always done everything I can to ensure this didn't happen to you,” she explains. “Not because I don't trust you, or because I wouldn't help you do whatever you wanted in that situation because, believe me, Amelia, I would.” Emily reaches a hand in front of her, waiting for Amy to hold it. She does, of course, not even taking time to think about it. “I would move heaven and earth to make it your decision, and I always wanted to be a mother to whom you could come to if anything like that ever happened, unlike the one I had.”
Amy shakes her head incredulously, “you are.”
Emily smiles at her, “something like that changes you, Amy. I know I did what was right for me at the time, and I don't regret it, but it's something that weighs on you. I didn't want you to have to make that decision.” She wipes away a single tear that had escaped, “which is why I always worry when you mention a boy, and why I gave you the talk when you had your first period, even if your grandmother judged it way too early.” She sighs, “I know you're a smart girl. But this decision you made was very stupid.”
Amelia bites her lip, embarrassed. She looks down at her hand that's still clasped with her mother's.
“I want you to date, to have fun. But I don't want you making stupid decisions, Amy, you’re my daughter and you know better than that.”
She nods, her eyes moving to you for a second, then back to Emily. “I'm sorry. And I'm sorry, too,” she looks back at you, “that I said you weren't the cool mom. You definitely are.”
You let out a surprised laugh. Amy smiles back and even Emily, with her tense shoulders, shakes her head with a small grin.
“I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that so you don't get an extra week without your phone.”
Amelia opens her mouth to protest, but is silenced with a single brow raise. She deflates, leaning against the cushions, defeated. Looking up shyly, “can I still see Nick? Mom, I swear we never did anything more, I would've told you, I promise.”
Emily looks at you with an indignant look, “that's what she's worried about?”
You shrug, “she's in loove,” you sing-song, delighting in Amy's blush.
“Fine, you can see him.” Before Amelia jumps up, Emily continues, “only at school, or here, with supervision. It'll be a while before he can go up to your room again.”
Amy nods, smiling softly. “Thanks, moms.” She hugs you both quickly, leaving her phone on the coffee table and swiftly leaving the room, her footsteps fast on the stairs.
“She called you her mom,” Emily beams, kissing your chin.
“Huh,” you jokingly consider, “I thought having a teenager would be harder.”
Emily stares at you, attempting a glare, “I almost had a stroke!”
“You should've seen my face when I caught them,” you shake your head, sipping on what's left of your wine. “Or Nick's.”
She, finally, guffaws, finding humor in the situation. “Fuck, honey, I'm gonna need a lot more wine to get through the night.”
You nod, grabbing her empty glass and starting towards the kitchen. “Whatever my lady wishes,” you call back with a chuckle.
summary: who would've thought spencer reid's old college friend was a beautiful woman rather than another nerd? definitely not emily, because she almost has a heart attack at the sight of you, and is eager to get your number.
wc: 1.1k+
The bar is loud from a mix of chatter, music, clinking of glasses, and people playing darts and billiards in the corner of the bar. Everything that Spencer would usually avoid is surrounding him, and it’s reduced him to a non-verbal lump squeezed between two of his teammates. His teammates have attempted to cheer him up, and he’s grateful for that, but he just wishes that the next time they celebrate a successful case, it’ll be in a different setting. Maybe in someone’s quiet home, or even in a pub with a quarter of the number of people here.
Derek wraps his arm around Spencer’s shoulders, shaking him steadily and asking “Come on pretty boy, what can I do to cheer you up?” Spencer shrugs, swirling the colourful drink Emily had bought him. “I’m fine, just… quiet.” Derek knows better than to insist, so he nods and returns to the conversation with the rest of the group.
But then suddenly, as though the universe knew Spencer needed something more than just his teammates to bring his mood up, someone loudly calls “Spencer!? Oh my god.”
It’s not just Spencer who looks in your direction, but the entire table does, faces morphing into a mix of different expressions when they see a beautiful girl pushing her way through the bar to reach the table. Derek freezes at the sight of you, arm falling from Spencer’s shoulders. Emily laughs to herself against the rim of her glass, keeping a composed face to disguise her shock at the sight of such beauty. Spencer breathes out your name, a wide smile reaching his features when you dodge a man who was about to put a hand on your waist, eyebrows furrowing as you put on a face of disgust.
Your expression quickly melts away when you reach the table, and Spencer nearly climbs over JJ as he stumbles out of the booth to meet you. “Spencer Reid, I never thought I’d see your face again.” You say, bringing your arms up to give Spencer a hug. Across the table, Penelope chokes on her drink when Spencer pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your torso.
When you break away from the hug, you bring a cold hand up to Spencer’s cheek, taking a good look at him. “Wow, look at you.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Spencer asks, a smile on his face. “You’re a whole man now.” Spencer rolls his eyes playfully, turning to his table and saying “Uh, these are my teammates.” You wave your hand casually, introducing yourself, and Spencer adds “We met when I was doing my doctorate in chemistry.”
“And I was doing my undergrad at the time, like any normal 18 year old.” Spencer huffs at your jab, but gestures for you to take a seat anyway. You shake your head, saying “I’m here for a friend’s birthday, so I do have to rush off, but we should definitely catch up, okay? Let me give you my number.”
Spencer grins, pulling his phone out of his pocket and muttering “I do have to warn you though, I’m not very good at this texting thing. Might want to give me a call.”
You hum to yourself, rolling your shoulders back inquisitively. “Spencer Reid, you might be the only man I ever call.”
Derek and JJ’s jaws go slack at the subtle flirting techniques you’re using on the clueless man, watching as you type your phone number into his contacts before pressing the phone back into his hands. They all watch when you leave, mesmerised by the situation and more so by your behaviour.
“Spencer Reid, you better ask her out before you miss your chance.” Derek states, bringing his beer up to his lips. Spencer crinkles his noise — not in disgust, but at the mere idea of dating you. He sits next to JJ, eyebrows still furrowed as he says “She doesn’t partake in romantic or sexual relationships with men.”
Emily suddenly straightens, and the movement attracts the eyes of her friends, who quietly giggle between them. “See something you like, Prentiss?” JJ teases, and Emily swallows thickly, feeling her cheeks go hot. Of course she saw something she likes, she thinks. After all, you are a beautiful woman, and everyone enjoys looking at things that are easy on the eyes. “Didn’t you all like the sight of her?” Emily counters, but she immediately knows that she had offered the wrong answer at the look her coworkers give her. They’re a little too unimpressed, but luckily for her, the alcohol running in her veins allows her to roll her shoulders back confidently rather than shrinking in on herself. “Look - and what about it? I’m allowed to think a woman’s attractive, aren’t I?”
“You probably have a shot, if you wanted to take it.” Spencer says, shrugging his shoulders lightly. Emily freezes, staring at Spencer for a long moment before trailing her eyes to find you in the crowd. She swallows thickly, gaze glued to the way you laugh at something one of your friends says.
“Give me your phone.” Emily commands, extending an arm out towards Spencer, who reluctantly obeys. She searches for your contact in his phone, opening it in messages. She opens Spencer’s pictures, searching for the photo she took with Spencer at Rossi’s dinner just last week. She attaches the message ‘What do you think of my friend Emily?’ before sending the message. Spencer laughs loudly when he takes his phone back, seeing what she’s done.
Neither of them expect a response from you yet, so they put the phone aside for the rest of the night. Eventually, Emily stands, making her way to the restroom. She stands in front of the mirror, so focused on reapplying her lipstick that she almost misses your reflection behind her. A quiet giggle has her gaze snapping upwards to spot the culprit. She smiles softly at the sight of you, confidently leaning back on the wall. Emily spins around to meet you face-to-face, capping her lipstick.
“Emily, isn’t it?” You ask, and she nods, at a loss for words. “I think you should give me your number instead of communicating through Spencer.” She breathes out a laugh, ducking her head down to stare at the floor. She watches your feet as you take a step forward, bringing a hand up to push her chin up. She licks her lips at the realisation that you’re so close to her, and she fumbles as she pulls her phone out of her purse. She hands it over to you, staring at your nimble fingers as you type away, and she smiles at the sight of your name with a little smiley face written into her contacts.
tags: established relationship, attempt at humour, fluff, implied mature themes, emily's sister, lighthearted teasing, strained family dynamics
summary: emily gets a visitor. which would've been fine if you weren't in minimal clothing.
word count: 2.4k
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a/n: i think emily is the most only child to ever only child BUT i wanted to use this as a plot device lmao (tho its still fuck canon) IM SORRY THIS IS SO BAD I LOST INSPIRATION HALFWAY THROUGH
read on ao3 or below the cut
It's not usual that Emily gets a real day off. Most times she's “free”, she's still taking phone calls and doing paperwork.
This time, though, she said she'd turn off her phone and she did. The night before, she made a show of turning it off and leaving it in her desk drawer, all the way in the home office. You laughed at her antics, but were clearly glad to see it — the thing had interrupted you way too many times. Then, she had made a dinner that you both thoroughly enjoyed and you actually managed to enjoy her for the night without that shrill ringtone in your ears.
This morning, she takes long to wake up. It's already nine by the time you open your eyes, something that rarely happens, and Emily is still sleeping, worn out, probably. From her long week or your activities the night before, well, that's yet to be determined. Either way, your stomach rumbles irritatingly, but you decide to ignore it for now.
Emily slowly blinks awake, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks when they move. You scoot closer, keeping her face in your line of sight. She smiles unconsciously at the feeling of being so close to you, even half asleep.
“Morning,” she mumbles, turning her face away even though you've told her a million times you don't mind the morning breath.
You tilt her face back to you with a soft hand on her jaw, “morning.” Smiling, you nip at her chin, then leave a kiss on her cheek.
Emily hums. “Any plans?”
“Sure,” you say, breathing her in after hiding your face in her neck. “They involve you and this bed.”
“That's it?”
“Mhm,” you agree.
Emily turns on her side, bringing your body with hers. Her hand drifts down to your waist, squeezing as she lands there, then she closes the gap between you, apparently over her own made up issue.
You kiss her slowly, savoring the time you have together, something that's not common or even to be taken for granted. Your fingers wrap in her silver hair, pulling just enough to sting, just enough that she lets out that delighted little sound in the back of her throat.
You're about to throw a leg over hers, growing impatient by the second, though your stomach has other plans. It rumbles again, causing you to groan annoyedly.
Emily laughs, pulling away reluctantly, “let me make you something.”
You shake your head, turning away and picking up her shirt from the floor. It's a button down, but you don't bother buttoning it up all the way, just enough to ward off the cold. “I'll just grab a banana and I'll be back.” You look back at her, pointing a finger, “don't move.”
She smiles, “wouldn't dream of it.”
Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, only because you forgot slippers and the floor is always so damn cold in the morning, you try to quickly make your way to the kitchen. On the way there, though, something catches your eye.
Doing a double take, you let out an involuntary yelp.
Because there's someone sleeping on Emily's couch. Someone you have never seen before.
Well, they were sleeping before you screamed. Now, the woman is slowly blinking up at you, her forehead creased in a frown.
Emily, mercifully clothed, in a t-shirt and sleep shorts — clothed nonetheless —, comes running out of the bedroom, her eyes fully open in panic. She doesn't even get a word out before you're hiding behind her and turning her body towards the intruder, hoping she knows what to do, due to being law enforcement and all. Maybe. Consciously, you know you're just being a bit of a coward.
“What the fu- Sarah?!” She exclaims surprisedly, frowning strongly now.
Oh. Sarah! Sarah?
The woman waves from the couch, placing her other hand on her forehead and pressing, perhaps to ease some pain.
You had no idea Emily's sister was in town, you didn't even know she had a key to Emily's apartment. Surely Emily would've said something about it?
“What are you doing here?” Emily asks, still half shocked. The other half… you're not so sure. “How the fuck did you get in?”
“Mom lent me her copy of your key.” She waves a hand, now bored of the commotion.
“Just like that? Without asking me?”
Sarah shrugs, “I told her I'd stay with her, gently, she told me to come here. Nice place, by the way. Have you been back from London for long?”
“Um,” you clear your throat before Emily can reply. Catching her attention, you give her an awkward smile, “I'm gonna go change into something less- You know.”
Quickly darting into the bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief when the door is finally closed behind you.
More annoyed now than anything after the adrenaline has passed, you start looking for something to wear. Your first free weekend with Emily in weeks gets interrupted by her estranged sister. Seriously, what kind of cosmical joke–
You hear Emily introduce you through the door, the slight shiver present whenever she says my girlfriend right after your name. You walk further away from the door fast, not wanting to intrude.
Following Emily's lead, you find sweatpants and a modest t-shirt of hers to wear. Hopefully it'll tell Sarah that you don't intend to have visitors for long, even if the apartment is not yours. The point stands.
Slowly creeping into the living room, you find the silence oddly disconcerting. Emily is still standing, Sarah still sitting, and they're both just looking at each other without saying anything.
Ever so gently, you move next to Emily. As if not trying to spook a cat, for a second thinking of Sergio who's probably still sleeping, hiding from all the noise somewhere, you lay a hand on her arm.
She turns to you, her eyes immediately softening the slightest bit. You smile minutely, “want me to put the kettle on?”
“Oh, some coffee would be great. I have the worst headache,” Sarah complains from the couch, leaning back into the cushions now that you have interfered with their staring contest.
Emily ignores her, “we'd love some tea, honey, thanks.”
Moving to the open floorplan kitchen, you secretly curse the fact that there's no wall for you to hide behind to listen to their conversation. Unfortunately, you'll have to settle by pretending to be busy making tea, which usually just takes five minutes, as they talk.
“Did mom give you the security code as well?”
“Yes! April 14th, what's it for, anyway?” She asks curiously. Emily doesn't respond.
You think of Sergio again. His birthday. Or, well, his made up birthday. You both decided on one for him after Emily told you she had an old rescue cat at home, in the very beginning of your relationship.
In no time, you feel his tail on your shins.
Crouching down, you scratch behind his ears, whispering good morning to him and promising you'll put his food out soon.
“What are you doing here?” Emily finally asks again, crossing her arms.
Sarah sighs tiredly, “I went to a friend's birthday party last night.”
Emily hums knowingly, “and went back to mom's estate?”
Looking up, you notice Sarah nodding.
“She didn't want you there drunk, so you came here.”
“Look, I just had a little nap. I figured, you're my sister, so what's the harm?”
Stopping short in the middle of pouring Sergio's kibble into his bowl, “wait. What time did you even get in? How did we not hear you?”
“Don't worry,” she smiles. “I didn't hear anything, if that's what you're wondering.”
You feel your cheeks heating up involuntarily.
Emily clears her throat pointedly, “leave my girlfriend alone.” She walks over and sits on a barstool, her back to you as she stares her sister down. “What time did you get in?”
“Around seven,” Sarah shrugs. “Look, can I just have some ibuprofen and a small nap? I'll get out of your hair after, I promise.”
Scoffing, Emily turns, that deep frown still between her eyebrows. You wish you could smooth it out.
“Would you grab the advil, please, sweetheart?” She asks, her voice low and just for you. You smile encouragingly at her, hoping she'll understand what you mean.
Handing her the bottle, you squeeze her hand quickly before she turns away again.
“Not even a glass of water?” Sarah jokes, taking the pills. “Wow, you're reminding me so much of mom.”
Waiting for the tea to steep, you risk a look at them. From this angle, you can clearly see the resemblance in their sloped noses and the shape of their cheekbones. They both look more like Elizabeth than anything, you remember from the few pictures of Emily's childhood that you've seen.
Most photos were from official events, Emily with her parents and her sister, sitting in front of some expensive piece of art or in a well maintained garden. Their ten year age difference was clear, but only on height — Emily still had a baby face, no matter that she's older. Only a couple were of Emily alone, more candid, and she told you those were taken by her grandfather in her visits to the Alps. As children, they definitely looked more alike than they do now, but you can see it if you really pay attention.
You push both mugs towards the edge of the counter, closer to Emily. Your own mug stays beside you as Sergio jumps on the island, still impressively quick for an old man. You scratch his head, leaving a kiss on it.
Looking over, you see Emily extend her hand, holding out one of the mugs for Sarah to take. Her sister scrunches up her nose, but takes it anyway.
“How long are you in town for?” Emily asks, sipping from her own way-too-hot mug as usual, earning a glare from you as she casts you a glance. The blip of normalcy eases the tension in your shoulders.
“I thought I might stay,” Sarah shrugs.
“Not here?” She poses it as a question, or at least tries, but everyone in the room knows it's not one. Even Sergio.
Sarah rolls her eyes, “no, Emily, not here.” She drinks her tea, surprisingly making an appreciative face. “With mom, of course.”
You walk around the island, leaning back on the counter next to Emily's barstool.
She lets out a loud laugh, “good luck with that.”
“I think we can coexist in a ten thousand square foot house, right?” Sarah asks, looking unconvinced even as she says it.
Emily places an arm around your waist distractedly, “maybe if you stay in the pool house.”
Sarah looks at you both, cataloguing your body language, you're pretty sure. “Look, I don't wanna ruin your weekend.”
Emily waits her out, sipping her tea.
“I'll just go back to mom and crawl until she takes me back. I can take two hours of a lecture about my drinking problem.” Okay, that's new. You didn't know that.
Sighing tiredly, Emily shakes her head. “Stay.”
If you're being honest, that decision surprises you. You would've guessed Emily might've offered to drive her to Elizabeth's, or to pay for a hotel room, but now… You see the way Emily looks at Sarah, like she's just her little sister again.
“Just for tonight. And you're not going out to drink again.” She crosses her arms, as if talking to a misbehaving child, “actually, I'm hiding all of the alcohol.”
Sarah rolls her eyes yet again.
Emily turns to you, “let's eat something, I know you're starving.”
You chuckle slightly, “I kind of forgot about that, to be honest.”
As you're eating — even Sarah, who's managing to keep down some dry toast —, Sergio jumps on your lap.
“What's his name again?” She asks, pointing at the cat.
“Sergio,” Emily says, eating her scrambled eggs impressively fast for someone who claims she doesn't get hungry in the mornings.
“Oh!” Sarah perks up, “like that butler we once had!”
Incredulous, you look at Emily in question.
“Shit.”
You let out a loud laugh, “you named your cat after a butler?! You aristocrat.”
“Okay,” she protests. “Not consciously!”
“He was pretty somber. Like a black cat!” Sarah counters. “Mom claimed he was efficient but too depressing.”
You hum, “Elizabeth always manages to surprise me, somehow.”
“Have you met?” She asks, with genuine interest now.
“A few times,” you shrug. “She's always been cordial.”
“Yeah,” Emily scoffs, “she loves to pester us, not others. Just wait until you mov- I mean,” she corrects herself, “until she's more familiar with you.”
You find it cute how she's blushing. It's been a few weeks since she gave you a key, but has yet to properly ask — you know better than to rush her, so you haven't said anything.
Sarah presses her lips together in amusement, but keeps quiet. Thankfully.
When you finally manage to get some time alone it's because Sarah has succumbed to her much desired nap. In Emily's room, you start tidying up the clothes from the night before that have ended up on the floor.
Swiftly, you feel Emily's arms wrapping around you from behind, stopping your movements.
“I'm sorry.”
You frown, turning to catch a glimpse of her face, “for what?”
“I didn't even ask how you felt about her staying. I know you don't know each other.” She sighs, “even I barely know her.”
You turn in her arms, placing what you hope are comforting hands on her shoulders, “it's your apartment, your sister… You decide what's best.”
“Well,” she says petulantly, “I was hoping it would be our apartment soon.”
Smiling, you wrap your arms around her neck, “you were too afraid to ask, I gather.”
“I wasn't afraid,” Emily rolls her eyes.
“Sure,” you smirk. “Well, if it means that much to you, no, I don't mind if she stays. She's still your sister. You grew up together.”
“Grew apart together…” She mumbles. “Are you sure you don't wanna go to yours? Maybe christen some surfaces before you move in here.”
You give her a look. One that says you know exactly what she's trying to do.
Emily shrugs, “worth a try.” She squeezes your waist, leaving a peck on your lips. “This was supposed to be our free weekend.”
“Well, we can still have our weekend,” you argue, kissing her once, twice. “We still have a shower... And I don't know about you,” you walk backwards, pulling on her hands in the direction of the ensuite, “but I can be very quiet.”
CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF MEETING DANA AT THE HOSPITAL & EVERY ONE GIVING HER A SIDEEYE
you don't visit dana at the hospital often. being a charge nurse in an emergency department doesn't allow much time for socialising, she could perhaps stretch to a quick hello or a peck on the cheek if you're lucky. but since you're a passenger princess by title, relying on public transport in the absence of your girlfriend, you don't make the trip unless it's an absolute emergency.
6:49pm— you're running through the rainy, grey streets of pittsburgh, using your purse as an umbrella; the weather wasn't this shitty when you'd left the house. you're unprepared. summer dress soaked, the silky fabric darkened by rain and your wet hair clings to your neck all sticky and hot. you run up through the ambulance bay, straight for the automatic doors. you see the department glowing, the fluorescence inside, dana's station. you're not that familiar with the layout, looking like a little lost pup as you crane your neck to look for your girl, eyes scanning the moving bodies for silvery blonde hair.
"you okay hon?" a nice red-headed lady called you over, pulling a jacket off to drape it over the back of her chair. lena, ready for handover and just getting started at the beginning of her shift.
"hey!" you run over, straightening out your dress, eyes bright and starry. "is dana here?" lena's gaze raked over you, not unkindly, just presumptuous from a rumour that'd circulated the ED months ago. you know she's thinking it. is it true? is it you? she gets her answer when dana emerges from a bay, glasses pulled off her nose and swinging in her hand. her lips curl at the corner, tongue darting out to wet the skin there when she sees you.
"well this is a surprise" dark eyes soak you up, landing on your drenched dress and damp shoes. she steers you away from the station, away from prying eyes and ears, "what happened to emergencies only huh?" she's playful, actually elated to see you an hour earlier than she was expecting.
"it was an emergency? i missed you and i wanna go out for dinner?" you said it like it was obvious. dana shakes her head, tongue in cheek, hand squeezing your arm in acceptance.
"let me change, we'll go straight to that italian you like" she smacks your hip in jest, a subtle wink and she's walking back to the locker room til you're stood alone again. you catch the eyes of a couple people at the hub, nurses and doctors alike. some familiar faces, not many. when dana returns with her bag hung from her shoulder and a hand at the small of your back, she guides you out and away from the sea of side eye.
"come on baby" her face is smug at the heads whipped round to see you leaving together, arm slung around your shoulder. "let's get outta here"
can I order uhhh clingy natasha with some fluff on the side? thank you
. . . 𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙽 — n. romanoff
Before you, Natasha Romanoff’s mornings were usually going on by routine. The Russian was already up before dawn, swallowing down a glass of water then going for a ten miles run. At her return, she'd shred a heavy bag in the compound gym, shower, and drink her black coffee in silence. She was a creature of early dawn and quiet efficiency.
Then, she fell in love with you.
And suddenly, the fearsome Black Widow discovered a brand-new, highly formidable weakness: the warmth of your arms.
. . . . . .
The digital clock on the nightstand glowed a soft seven forty-two am. The sun was already filtering through the gaps in the blinds — casting lazy, golden stripes across the duvet.
You shifted, gently trying to untangle your legs from the heavy warmth of the sheets, intending to slip out of bed and put the kettle on. But the moment your hips moved more than two inches away, the iron-clad grip around your waist tightened.
A protesting, sleep-heavy groan rumbled against the bare skin of your shoulder blade.
“Where are you going?” Natasha’s voice was a low, raspy purr thick with sleep and heavily laced with her slight Russian accent that only came out in moments like these—a side of her she only let guard down for you.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you whispered, turning your head to smile at her. “I was going to make coffee. And maybe get a head start on the day.”
Instead of letting you go, she buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. The redhead's nose was cold against your skin, making you shiver, but her body was like a furnace pressed against your back. She threw a shapely leg over yours, completely pinning you to the mattress.
“No,” she mumbled, her lips brushing your collarbone as she spoke. “Five more minutes.”
You let out a soft laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through her tangled red hair. “Nat, It’s almost eight.”
“Then I need ten more minutes.”
“That's not how bargaining works, Romanoff.”
“I am a master negotiator, I dictate the terms,” she murmured, tightening her arms around you until there was absolutely no space left between you. She was incredibly clingy in the mornings, a sweet, needy contrast to her sharp daytime persona.
She liked to be wrapped around you like ivy, anchoring herself to your warmth.
“What happened to the woman who used to be up and about by dawn?” you teased gently, tracing the line of her jaw. “The one who told me sleeping past six was a waste of valuable training hours?”
Natasha opened one eye, looking up at you through a fan of thick eyelashes. A lazy, incredibly fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“She realized that training doesn't hug back,” she replied softly.
“And your morning run?”
“I rescheduled,” she shrugged, kissing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, making you gasp softly. “I do night runs now. The pavement is cooler, the compound is empty, and...” She paused, trailing her fingers lightly down your arm, interlocking her fingers with yours. “..it means I don't have to miss a single second of this.”
Your heart melted a little.
It was still hard to grasp sometimes—how a woman who had spent her entire life running, fighting, and surviving now fought so hard just to stay still with you. The fact that she had completely restructured her rigid, lifelong routine just to hold you in the quiet hours of the morning was a testament to how deeply she loved you.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft, slow, lingering kiss to your lips. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath warm on your skin. “I am a hostage to this bed. You'll have to stay and keep me company.”
“Well, if it's a hostage situation, I suppose I have no choice,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her close.
The Russian let out a contented sigh, burying her face back into your chest, her hand gently tracing soothing circles on your lower back. Within seconds, her breathing evened out into a calm, steady rhythm.
The coffee could wait. The world could wait.
For now, you happily surrendered to five more minutes, just for her.
The first time Natasha reached for your hand after you started dating, you froze. Not because you didn’t want her to. Quite the opposite, it was because you’d imagined that exact moment so many times over the years that your mind refused to accept it as real.
Natasha had laughed softly, intertwining your fingers anyway. “You know,” she’d murmured, “you’re allowed to hold my hand.”
“I know,” you said with a light blush.
“You don’t look convinced.”
“I’m trying to convince my brain.” At your words, she smiled in that almost imperceptible way that only existed for people she trusted.
“I’ve been trying to convince mine too,” she whispered, squeezing your hand softly.
Years of friendship had built a rhythm between you. You knew how she took her coffee, she knew you hummed absentmindedly whenever you were happy. You could recognize each other’s footsteps in the hallway, each other’s moods from a single glance across a crowded room.
You had been partners. Best friends. Home.
Somewhere along the way, every lingering glance had started lasting a little longer. Every goodbye had become a little harder. Every accidental touch had left an ache that neither of you dared to acknowledge. Until the words escaped.
Dating Natasha wasn’t what either of you expected. You had imagined that, once the feelings were out in the open, everything would become natural.
Instead, everything became more intense. When she looked at you, you noticed. God, did you notice.
She had always looked at you, but now you knew what it meant. Every glance carried affection she no longer had to hide. Sometimes, you’d catch her staring while you cooked or read or talked with the team.
“What?” you’d ask. She’d blink as though she’d been caught stealing.
“...Nothing.”
“Nat.”
“I just like looking at you,” she’d murmur. And suddenly you couldn’t remember what you were saying.
“You can’t just say things like that.”
“I just did.”
You groaned, your cheeks carrying that blush that were always around in her presence. “That’s unfair.”
With a tiny smirk, she’d say “I know.”
**
The strange thing was... you still got nervous. Not around anyone else, just each other.
Sometimes you woke before she did, those mornings were your favorite. Natasha looked younger asleep. Peaceful.
You’d trace invisible patterns in the air above her freckles, never quite touching. It still amazed you that this woman – Natasha, your Natasha – had chosen you.
As if sensing your thoughts, her eyes slowly opened. “You keep staring,” she murmured with that low voice you loved.
“I wasn’t staring.”
She nuzzled into you, seeking your warmth. “Liar.”
“I was... appreciating,” you whispered, shyly.
Her voice was still thick with sleep. “I appreciate you too,” she reached for your hand beneath the blanket.
**
One rainy afternoon, you found yourselves alone in the common room. A book lay forgotten on your lap.
Natasha sat across from you, neither of you had spoken for several minutes. You simply looked at each other.
She smiled first. “What?”
“I still can’t believe you’re my girlfriend.”
Your confession hung in the room, and Natasha’s ears turned faintly pink. “You can’t?”
“I’ve wanted this for years,” your fingers playing with the edges of the book.
“So have I.”
“It still feels...” she nodded before you finished.
“...Impossible.”
She stood and crossed the room, every step seemed deliberate. When she reached you, she rested her forehead against yours. “So,” she whispered, “we’re really doing this.”
“We are,” you whispered back.
“We’re together.”
You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. “We’re together.”
Natasha closed her eyes. For a moment neither of you moved, the rain tapped gently against the windows. The tower was quiet, the world could wait.
꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: being a single parent isn't easy, especially finding a partner that would love you AND your child. will natasha romanoff be different than the ones you sought out before? (i hate this summary pls someone help me change it 😞)
꩜ ۫ . PAIRING :: natasha romanoff x female reader.
꩜ ۫ . WARNINGS/TAGS :: fluff. no use of yn. reader playing hard to get. natasha being kind of pushy in the beginning. reader has a child from a previous relationship. mention of rejection. this is a slow-burn. (or kind of).
꩜ ۫ . WORDS COUNT :: 9k
AUTHOR'S NOTE ; this was supposed to be out on february 14th, but anyways, procrastinating is my middle name :)
and yes, no smut 🫶🏽 as much as it's our guilty pleasure, i think i wanted to portray this dynamic (and nat) differently here —considering they're weeks only into this relationship and a shy of one/two months of knowing each other!
and i haven't mentioned it into the fic but i think it's obvious that constant rejection leads to (self) doubt and trust issues so natasha will wait until reader initiates.
The bar was alive with its usual symphony of clinking glasses, low laughter, and soft music humming in the background.
It wasn't the busiest night you'd seen since the place opened, but there was enough movement to keep your hands busy and your focus sharp.
You'd been behind the counter for hours now, sleeves rolled up and hair tied half up out of your face, the glow of the neon lights overhead reflecting off rows of polished bottles.
You were covering for a co-worker—Charlie, who was practically a friend now—tonight, which meant an unusual extension of your shift. Normally, you'd be home by now, tired but satisfied, while the night crowd swelled in and another bartender took over.
You'd been here long enough to know the routine, to recognize most of the regulars, and to brush off the flirtations that came with the territory.
Pretty faces, charming lines, casual compliments — you'd heard them all.
You'd grown used to the attention; it came with the territory. A new, trendy club with a sleek design, good drinks, and—if the reviews online were to be believed—"a ridiculously attractive staff."
Most meant you.
People came for the cocktails and stayed to flirt, hoping for something more than a smile. You never gave it.
Not because you weren't tempted — some of your regulars were downright gorgeous, even nice — but because you simply didn't have the time or the energy to let your mind wander from work. You'd built your reputation here, and the bar's reputation too, on professionalism.
And so, you didn't notice her at first.
Natasha Romanoff slipped into the bar the way shadows slip through an alley : quiet, smooth, and with a presence that pulled attention whether she wanted it or not.
She didn't come often, and when she did, it was always late, long after your shift was over. She liked it that way — fewer people, fewer eyes. She'd sit in the corner, order a drink or two, and leave without fanfare.
But tonight, fate had nudged the two of you into the same space.
She watched you for a long moment from the end of the bar, her sharp green eyes tracing the easy way you moved, the relaxed confidence in every gesture. You were laughing with a customer as you poured a drink, shoulders loose, dimly lit by the warm glow above.
Natasha wasn't used to seeing you, and she found herself... intrigued.
“Evening,” she said when you finally came over, her voice smooth and low.
You glanced up, not giving much away. “Evening,” you echoed, polite but neutral.
“What do you recommend?”
“Depends.” Your lips curved into a practiced smile. “Do you want something strong enough to forget your troubles, or light enough to keep you company while you think about them?”
That earned a quiet chuckle from her, and for a second, Natasha thought she had your attention. But you were already reaching for a glass, unfazed by the striking redhead in front of you, treating her like just any other customer.
And that? That was new.
Natasha Romanoff was used to attention —commanding it, deflecting it, using it. She wasn't used to being... ignored. She watched you pour her drink, her curiosity deepening. “You work here often?” she asked casually.
“Every night,” you said, sliding the glass across the bar without missing a beat. “But not usually this late. I'm covering for a friend tonight.”
“Lucky me, then.”
You gave her a polite smile again, the kind you'd given a hundred customers before her, and went to take another order without lingering. Natasha raised a brow, watching you turn away. So that's how it was going to be.
The Russian swirled the drink in her glass, elbows resting casually on the polished wood of the bar. Her sharp green eyes tracked you as you moved, the way you navigated between customers with practiced ease, as if you owned the space. She was impressed—not that she'd say it outright yet.
When you came back to check on her, she smirked.
“Strong,” she quipped, nodding at the drink. “You got a heavy hand..” she trailed off, her forest green orbs lowering just a few seconds to check you name tag before quickly returning to your eyes as she ended her sentence by saying your name.
You gave her the faintest smile. “You asked for a surprise.”
“I do like surprises,” Natasha murmured, leaning forward slightly, her voice smooth. “Especially when they're as good as this one.”
Your brows raised, but you didn't bite, just moved to wipe down the counter near her. “Glad you like it.
“So,” Natasha tilted her head, amused by your calm. “Are you always this focused?”
“Usually.”
“I take it you don't get distracted easily, do you?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, swirling her drink again. “So if I told you that I'll be coming here for weeks, hoping to see you, that wouldn't distract you either?”
You paused briefly, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. “Probably not.”
Natasha grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “You're either very good at this job or completely immune to flirting.”
“Maybe both,” you answered again, moving to refill a customer's water glass.
The redhead chuckled softly, clearly entertained. “You're not even going to ask my name?”
“I assume you're not here to make friends,” you replied coolly. “Just like I'm not here to socialize.”
That only made her grin wider. “I like that about you.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “But for the record, it's Natasha.”
“Nice to meet you, Natasha,” you said in the same calm, polite tone you'd use for anyone else.
Her smirk deepened. “You're hard to impress, huh?”
You finally met her gaze, deadpan. “I'm working.”
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. Natasha wasn't used to this—being brushed off so easily—but it only fueled her interest.
“Alright,” she said, standing to leave after finishing her drink. “But I'm coming back tomorrow night. Maybe I'll finally get you to look at me the way everyone else does.”
You shrugged, already reaching for the empty glass. “Good luck with that.”
Natasha chuckled as she slipped a bill under the glass, far more than the cost of the drink, and slid her jacket over her shoulders. She paused at the door, glancing back at you one more time, smirk firmly in place.
“See you soon, hotshot.”
You barely spared her a glance as you cleaned the counter. “Have a good night.”
Natasha walked out into the cool night air, grinning to herself. She'd definitely be back.
. . . . . . . .
It had been nearly a week now, and Natasha had made herself a fixture at the club.
She didn't even wait until your shift was almost over anymore. She started coming in early, right when you clocked in, sliding into her usual seat with that same lazy smirk, effectively scaring off anyone else who even thought about trying their luck with you.
Not that you minded much. It was quiet when she was there. Even if her sharp gaze followed your every movement, even if she asked for your attention in ways no one else had the nerve to. Natasha Romanoff didn't beg. She didn't push. She just... showed up and asked.
Every. Single. Night.
“A date,” she'd say, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Just one.”
Tonight was no different.
You were wiping down the counter after a rush, finally catching a breath. Natasha, of course, was right where she always was, chin resting in her hand, looking at you like she was cataloging every detail.
“You're very persistent, aren't you?” you stated, exhaling a soft sigh, your hand pausing mid-motion.
The Russian's lips curled into that dangerous little smirk. “So I've been told.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make it sound like a secret. “Can I at least get your number, pretty girl?”
You blinked, the corner of your mouth oh so slightly twitching at the nickname. “You really don't give up easily.”
“Not when I see someone I want.” She propped her chin on her hand, completely at ease, but her gaze was sharp, unwavering. “And right now, that's you.”
You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “You don't even know me.”
Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer. “Then let me fix that.”
You turned to grab a glass to polish, pretending to busy yourself. “Don't you get tired of hearing 'no'?”
“Nope,” she said simply. “Every 'no' just means I get to come back and ask again.”
You gave her a look over your shoulder, deadpan. “That's... not exactly how that works.”
“It is tonight.”
You huffed out a laugh despite yourself, quickly masking it. Natasha caught it though—of course she did—and her smile deepened.
“I'm good company, you know,” she spoke again, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “You'd have fun.”
You glanced at her, meeting those sharp green eyes for just a moment too long. “You sound confident.”
“I am confident,” The redhead murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "But I'm also patient." She pushed her empty glass toward you. “Another one of those, hotshot.”
You rolled your eyes but reached for the shaker, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. Natasha wasn't like the others — she didn't try cheesy lines or offer tips that doubled as propositions. She just showed up, looked at you like she meant it, and asked.
And for the first time, you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to keep saying no.
Natasha watched you with that usual, infuriatingly calm confidence, swirling the drink you'd just set in front of her. The bar had quieted down, most of the late crowd trickling out, and it was nearing the end of your shift. She'd been here for hours again, her presence steady and unwavering, always asking for the same thing: a date.
She hadn't expected tonight to be any different.
You leaned on the counter slightly, wiping it down one last time as Natasha nursed her drink. She'd asked for your number earlier, throwing in a casual “pretty girl” with that smirk that had made a few other patrons flush over the week. You'd brushed it off like you always did, and Natasha had resigned herself to yet another night of polite rejection.
But then you slid something across the polished wood toward her. A small folded piece of paper.
Natasha blinked, her brows arching as she picked it up, unfolding it slowly.
A phone number—your phone number.
Her lips parted slightly, surprised for the first time in days of this back-and-forth. "You're serious?"
You smirked faintly, drying your hands on a towel. “Not many people get that so easily.” You tilted your head, locking eyes with her. “Make good use of it, Red.”
It was the first time you'd ever given her a nickname and it hit her like a shot of whiskey, making Natasha's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, I will.” She slipped the paper carefully into her jacket pocket like it was something precious. “You have no idea.”
You shrugged like it was nothing, though the smallest smile tugged at your lips as you turned to grab an empty glass. “Goodnight, Natasha.”
She stood, sliding on her jacket, her eyes never leaving you. “Goodnight, pretty girl.”
As she walked toward the door, the redhead felt a rare thrill settle in her chest. She'd been persistent, sure, but she hadn't expected this today.
And if you thought Natasha Romanoff was persistent before, well... you had no idea what you'd just invited into your life.
. . . . . . . .
Half an hour later, the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you.
The quiet of your space was a relief after the buzz of the bar, and you kicked off your shoes, shaking out the day from your shoulders.
Usually, not long after you'd pull the door open, the familiar ound of feet thunding on the floor would be a heard and a tiny set of arms would be wrapped around your waist in greetings from your daughter but it was winter break, and she was over at her other parent's place.
You were the primary caretaker. You had her during school days while your ex would get her on weekends and during the holidays—of course there could be exceptions.
You were thankful that your ex was not an asshole and that whatever had happened between you wasn't going to be projected on your child. They were mature enough not to make you stress or fight with them just to see your own child.
(now, let's pretend it's cold out and that we don't need a cold shower to wash out the sweat from us — because for my defense, this had been written around dec/jan)
The shower ran hot, steaming up the small bathroom as you let the water wash off the residue of the night. By the time you stepped out, towel wrapped around you, your hair damp, you felt the tension in your shoulders start to ease.
You were halfway through applying lotion—arms, legs, and the soft curve of your neck—when your phone buzzed on the dresser.
<Unknown number>
You froze for a moment, then a small smirk tugged at your lips. Of course you picked up.
“Hello?” Your voice was casual, but you couldn't keep the smile from your tone and—from some yet-to-be-known reasons—off your face.
“Hi, pretty girl,” Natasha's voice purred on the other end : deep, smooth, and deliberately teasing. “I hope you're not too tired after your shift.”
You lowered the device from your ear, placing it on your vanity before putting her on speaker so you wouldn't have any trouble applying lotion while talking to her at the same time.
“No, not too tired,” you replied, letting your voice stay light though your pulse had picked up. “Just... winding down.”
“Good,” she said, a chuckle in her tone. “Because I was hoping to hear from you. I wanted to make sure that number I got tonight actually belonged to you, and not some random bartender with a pretty smile.”
You rolled your eyes, though it was playful, with a grin on your lips—Your left hand going to grab the bottle to add some more of the oil onto your right palm then rubbing both palms together. You propped your leg up on the chair, your hands automatically applying the lotion on it as you answered. “Aren't you a persistant one.”
“I prefer the term 'determined',” she replied. “Besides, it's hard to resist someone who works the bar the way you do. You've got a rhythm, a... presence.”
You paused momentarily, careful to keep your composure. “You really won't quit, will you?”
Natasha's laugh was low, teasing. “With someone like you? Absolutely not.” She let the words hang, deliberate, making sure they reached you in all the right ways. “So, tell me, pretty girl... when can I take you out? Or are you planning on keeping me on the hook forever?”
Bitting back a smile, you also finish moisturizing your skin. You close the lotion and deactivate the speaker mode and put your phone back to your ear. “Don't flatter yourself too much, Red. But... maybe I could pencil you in.”
“Hmm,” The Russian purred, clearly amused. “I like the sound of that. You don't say yes easily, and that just makes me want it more.”
You rolled your eyes again at her antics, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You make it very difficult to act professional.”
“That's my specialty,” she said, voice dipping low, teasing, almost intimate. “I've been practicing for weeks.”
That made you utter a soft laugh. Unconsciously, you shook your head, but there was a flutter of excitement in your chest. “Alright, Red. Just... don't get used to this.”
Natasha's voice on the other end was smooth, low, and deliberately teasing.
“I'm already planning my victory speech,” she had said, and you chuckled softly.
“Victory speech for what?” you questioned, playing along, though your pulse betrayed the flutter her words caused.
“For convincing you to finally go on a date with me,” she responded, her tone sly, deliberate. “I mean, how many people get a chance like that and actually resist me?”
You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn't see you. “You really think you're that special, Red?”
“I know I am,” she replied with a laugh. “But I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. I want to hear you say yes, not just hand it to me.”
You smirked, brushing a hand through your damp hair. “Persistent. Determined. Arrogant. Pick one.”
“I'm all three,” The redhead stated—unbothered, confident, arrogant—maybe all three, but honestly, at this point you didn't know anymore. “But there's one more you should know—charming.“
That made you snort softly. “Oh, I'm glad you're self-aware.”
“And you,” she leaned into the words, though you couldn't see her, “you're still refusing to give me a proper chance. So I'll ask again—just to make sure it's not because you can't say yes.”
You froze for the briefest second, just long enough for her to notice. "A date," she added simply, her voice lowering, sultry and deliberate. “One night. Dinner, drinks, whatever else you want. Just me and you. I promise to make it... memorable.”
You chuckled softly, shaking your head again, but the edge of amusement in your voice was unmistakable. “You're not gonna give this up.. "
"I already told you," she answered. Then, softer, teasing: "So... dinner? Saturday night?"
You bit your lip, pretending to think.
“Fine. Saturday. But only because you finally asked nicely.”
Natasha's laugh was low, satisfied, and utterly triumphant. “Oh, pretty girl... you won't regret it.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I better not.”
“Good,” Natsha stated, her voice softening just a touch. “I'll pick you up. Be ready to have your mind blown.”
“Sure... I'll try to be prepared.”
“Don't try. Just be you," she said, a subtle smirk in her voice. “That's enough to keep me coming back, night after night.”
You exhaled, already knowing she was right. Even over the phone, Natasha Romanoff had found a way to unsettle you, charm you, and get you smiling at the exact right moments.
“Alright, Red. Night,”
“Goodnight, pretty girl,” she whispered, the final words lingering in your ear like a promise.
. . . . . . . .
The next few days passed in a blur of shifts, orders, and polished counters, but no matter how much you tried to focus on work, your thoughts kept drifting to one person.
Natasha.
You caught yourself smiling at the sound of your phone, imagining her low, teasing voice again. Her persistence, her smirk, that subtle way she made even a simple question feel loaded with intent. You told yourself it was just harmless fun. She was flirtatious, yes, but so what? You were busy, independent, and focused. Right?
Still, you found your mind replaying the call.
"One night. Dinner, drinks... just me and you."
You rolled your eyes at yourself. Who even talks like that? Who makes you laugh and bite your lip at the same time just over the phone?
At the bar, she kept coming back — though not too often, careful not to overstep — but the thought of Saturday lingered like a secret thrill. You caught yourself checking the clock, imagining her sliding into her usual spot, that smirk in place, ready to tease you mercilessly.
You told yourself you were being careful, unbothered, professional. And yet...
You found excuses to linger near the phone. You caught yourself drafting what you'd wear, imagining the little smirk she'd give if you picked that dress over another. You even practiced your "I'm calm and collected" demeanor in the mirror, knowing full well she'd be able to see through it.
The more you thought about her, the more impossible it became to act like it was just another night. Your pulse quickened at the memory of her voice, her words, the way she'd laughed when she got what she wanted: your attention.
By Thursday, you were already anticipating Saturday like a secret thrill — half nervous, half excited, and entirely aware that Natasha Romanoff had somehow wormed her way into your careful, professional world without even showing up yet.
And as much as you swore you weren't letting yourself fall for it... a small, stubborn part of you couldn't wait.
Saturday night wasn't just a date. It was a test.
And you had a sneaking suspicion Natasha Romanoff would make sure you didn't walk away unscathed.
. . . . . . . .
Saturday night.
Your apartment smelled faintly of your favorite perfume, the soft scent mixing with the clean crispness of freshly washed sheets and candle wax. You'd been pacing for the last ten minutes, pretending you weren't nervous, pretending this was just... dinner. Just a casual outing with a customer who happened to be ridiculously attractive, ridiculously confident, and ridiculously good at making your heart skip.
You adjusted your outfit in the mirror one last time, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of your clothes. It wasn't overly fancy, but you'd put thought into it — just enough to look good without seeming like you'd spent an hour planning it. (You absolutely had.)
Then came the knock.
Three soft, deliberate raps at your door that made your stomach flip. You took a steadying breath, smoothing your hair back before opening the door and there she was.
Natasha Romanoff stood in your doorstep like she owned the place, dressed in black slacks and a perfectly tailored jacket over a black blouse that shimmered faintly under the hallway light. Her hair was loose, soft curls framing her face, and those sharp green eyes immediately flicked over you in one slow, approving sweep.
You'd have to admit, she looks ridiculously gorgeous in a silk blouse, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins on her forearms.
“Well,” she murmured, her smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I was expecting you to look good, but you really outdid yourself, pretty girl.”
You raised an eyebrow, fighting the heat creeping up your neck. “You clean up alright yourself, Red.”
The Russian chuckled low in her throat, pushing off the doorframe. “Just alright?” She stepped closer, her voice dipping into that smooth, teasing tone. “You wound me.”
You amusingly rolled your eyes, stepping up to walk past her after locking your door. “Come on. We're gonna be late if you keep fishing for compliments.”
. . . . . . . .
The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Natasha drove, one hand casually on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. She glanced at you every so often, that amused glint in her eye, like she was trying to read every detail about you without you noticing.
“So,” she said finally, her tone easy. “I've been asking for this date for a week. Was it worth the chase?”
You crossed your legs, looking out the window with a faint smirk. “We'll see.”
Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Playing hard to get. I like that.”
“I'm not playing anything,” You tell her, glancing at her side profile. “I just don't hand my number out to everyone and afterwards, allow them to take me out.”
“Mm, I noticed,” The Russian answered, her voice dipping lower. “Makes me feel special.”
A soft snort slipped past your lips. “You're impossible.”
“And you,” she shot back smoothly, “are stunning. So, I'd say we're even.”
You turned your head toward the window to hide the small smile tugging at your lips, but Natasha caught it anyway.
The car pulled up in front of an intimate, softly lit restaurant — small, classy, with warm light spilling from the windows. Natasha was out of the car before you could finish unbuckling, opening your door like a perfect gentlewoman.
You raised an eyebrow as she offered her hand. “Wow. Someone's really trying to impress me.”
Natasha smirked, her eyes glinting. “Oh, sweetheart... I haven't even started yet.”
You slipped your hand into hers, warmth sparking at the contact, and tried to ignore the way your pulse skipped when her fingers brushed yours just a little too deliberately.
Something told you tonight was going to be... dangerous.
In the best way.
Inside, the restaurant is dimly lit, all flickering candles and soft jazz humming in the background. The host leads you to a table tucked away in a corner, the kind of table meant for secrets and Natasha slides in across from you with the kind of casual confidence that makes your stomach flip.
She leans back, green eyes glinting. “I'm glad you said yes.”
You scoff lightly, settling your napkin on your lap. “I didn't really get much of a choice, did I? You were practically stalking my bar shifts.”
The redhead chuckles, low and warm. “What can I say? I like a challenge.“ She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “And you, sweetheart, are very worth chasing.”
Your breath hitches at the pet name, but you hide it by picking up the menu. “You know, I'm starting to think you're just this confident with everyone.”
“Not true.” Natasha's voice softens slightly, but her smirk remains. “You make me want to be confident. It's not every day I meet someone who makes me wait almost a week just to get their number.”
You glance up over the top of your menu, catching her staring at you like she's memorizing your every movement. Heat curls low in your stomach, and you shift in your seat.
The waiter shows up with appetizers, wine and water—courtesy of the restaurant, indicating that you are in no rush to order—and for a moment, the tension breaks as you focus on the amuse bouche. But even then, Natasha's gaze lingers on you like a caress, making it very clear that this date is only the beginning.
"So..." The Russian begins, swirling her glass of wine. "Do I get to learn more about the mysterious bartender who's had me wrapped around her finger all these weeks?"
You chuckle, shaking your head. “You make it sound like I've been playing hard to get on purpose.”
“Haven't you?” A hint of tease is heard in her tone, accompanied with a raised eyebrow.
You meet her gaze, steady this time. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd actually stop trying”
“You know,” Her smirk softens into something a little more sincere, voice dropping lower, “I didn't expect you to give me your number that night. I was ready to walk out of that bar empty-handed. Thought you'd send me home with nothing but a bruised ego.”
“Hmm. Maybe I like keeping you on your toes,” you say, smirking as you take a sip of your wine—your eyes not leaving her green ones.
Her eyes narrow playfully, and she leans in, her voice a soft purr. “Careful there, pretty girl. I'm already thinking about how I can return the favor.”
The waiter comes, but Natasha had barely glanced at the menu. She smoothly orders the simple dish, then waves you off. “Get whatever you want. I didn't bring you here to worry about the bill.”
You can't help the scoff that slips. “Is this your usual date tactic? Throwing money around to impress girls?”
Nat grins, leaning forward on her elbows so the dim light catches her smirk. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to impress you, I'd be telling you how beautiful you look in that dress, not the price of the wine. Which, by the way...” Her eyes slowly drag down, then back up, and the deliberate once-over makes your breath hitch. “...is criminally short.”
You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, doing your best to keep your composure. “Bold.”
“I told you I wanted to take you out. I meant it. I want your time. Your attention.” She tilts her head, that predator's smirk curving her mouth. “And maybe your lips. Eventually.”
Your fork nearly slips from your hand, your gaze faltering but you make a show of recomposure by clearing your throat — although, your mind had started to slip back to the reason why you always push away in the first place. “You don't waste time.”
“Why should I?” She shrugs, eyes locked on you. “You've been making me come to that bar every night, watching you brush off every guy who thinks they have a shot. I'm just cutting the line, detka.”
The Russian endearment rolls off her tongue like velvet, and you feel your pulse spike.
You try for calm, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you so sure you're not wasting your time too?”
The redhead leans closer, elbows resting on the table, her voice dropping just enough that it makes the hair on your neck stand. “Because you wouldn't be here if you didn't want me to try. ”
The flicker of candlelight made Nat's eyes glow in a way that made your heart twist. She leaned in slightly, the usual chin-resting-on-her-hand pose as she studied you like you were a puzzle she desperately wanted to solve. The conversation had been easy so far—flirty banter, teasing remarks, and the occasional smirk that made your pulse quicken. But now... now it was getting too real. She was serious.
You cleared your throat softly and dropped your gaze to your glass, fingers tightening around the stem. “Natasha, I think I should.. probably tell you something.”
Her brows furrowed faintly, her teasing smirk softening into something gentler. “Sounds serious,” she murmured, voice low but encouraging.
The quiet hum of the restaurant wrapped around you both, soft jazz playing in the background while candlelight flickered between each of your wine glasses. Natasha was halfway through cutting into her steak, perfectly at ease, when you finally spoke, yout voice hesitant but firm.
“I have a child.”
Natasha's hand didn't even pause mid-slice. She looked up, expression calm, maybe even curious. “Oh, really?” she asked casually, like you had just told her you liked her steak medium rare. “How old are they?”
“Yes, I know it's sudden but—” You blinked, stunned by her reaction. “Wait.. didn't you hear what I said? I have a child, Natasha. A daughter.”
“Yeah,” Natasha replied evenly, green eyes flicking up to meet your before she took a bite of the piece of steak. She was casual about this. Way too casual and damn, you were not used to this. "And I asked how old she is."
Guess you never thought Natsha Romanoff would've surprised you in more ways than one.
After a few minutes of silence, You let out a sharp, sarcastic chuckle, leaning back in your chair, your chest tightening as old memories clawed up. “Really? That's what you're asking? You're not gonna... I don't know, make a whole scene or suddenly get a phone call, maybe excuse yourself to the bathroom, and disappear from my life forever?”
Natasha's fork paused midair this time, her green eyes locking onto your face again with an intensity that made her heart stutter.
“Now,” Natasha said softly, voice low but razor-sharp with conviction, “why would I do that?”
The question hung heavy between you.
You froze, caught between defensiveness and disbelief, because that damned Russian was looking at you like you'd just said something tragic, not shameful. Like you were the one who deserved an apology for being made to feel this way.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. “You thought I was here for... what? A fling?” Her tone wasn't mocking, but it carried weight—like she needed the truth.
Your lips twitched as you tried to keep your cool. You tightened your jaw then let it relax. “Well... most people, when they find out about her, they just—" you exhaled shakily, cutting yourself off.
“Disappear," Natasha gently finished the sentence for you as she started to understand. “Because they're cowards.”
You chewed on the inner part of your lower lip, stunned silent by the simplicity of her answer.
The redhead tilted her head, eyes softening. She could tell it wasn't quite easy for you to process this, since you had seemingly been going through the same pattern of rejection for God knows how long. So, as the sympatetic person she is, she didn't try to show pity but went on with the conversation. “So, how old is she?” she asked again, this time quieter, gentler.
You finally whispered, “...She's four.”
Natasha's lips curled into a faint smile. “That's a fun age.” She reached for her glass of wine like nothing about this conversation scared her. “You'll have to tell me her name.”
That cracked something deep inside you, a shaky laugh slipping out. “You're really.. not running away, huh?”
Natasha smirked, leaning back in her chair, confidence radiating off her in waves. “Sweetheart,” she said with a slow smile, “if I wanted to run, I wouldn't have asked you out in the first place.”
You blinked at her, startled and she continued to speak. “If anything, I'm impressed. You've been out here looking like that”—her gaze swept over you slowly, deliberately—"and raising a kid on your own? That's badass.”
Your lips parted in surprise. “You don't care that—?”
“Of course I care,” Nat said softly, her tone shifting again, grounding. “It matters. She matters. But if you're asking if it makes me want to leave? No. Not even a little.” She tilted her head. “Actually, I like that you told me. Shows me you trust me enough to be honest.”
The tightness in your chest loosened all at once, and you didn't realize you'd been holding your breath until you exhaled shakily.
The Russian's hand slid across the table, palm up, silently asking for yours. Hesitant but desperate for that grounding warmth, you placed your hand in hers, and she immediately laced your fingers together.
Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You're gorgeous, you're smart, and now I know you're a devoted mom too? You're kind of raising the bar, detka.”
You couldn't help it — you laughed, half from relief, half because of how serious and sincere she looked while saying it.
Then Natasha leaned in just a bit more, voice dropping lower, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. “And now I definitely need that second date.”
You just stared at her, stunned, heart pounding because Natasha wasn't just staying—she was all in.
. . . . . . . .
The night air was crisp, soft against your skin as the redhead led the way down the quiet street, her hand lightly brushing yours. Not holding, not yet—but that subtle contact made your pulse spike every time.
“Thanks for walking me back,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice casual even though your stomach was a riot of nerves.
Natasha glanced at you, that smirk tugging at her lips. “You're welcome. I don't let pretty girls wander home alone, detka.”
You chuckled, but your laughter was nervous. “You don't know how used I am to people disappearing the second they find out anything about my life.”
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I mean... no one ever reacts like you did tonight. Every date I've had just look at me like they've seen a ghost when they find out I have a child. They stutter, they make excuses, and then they leave. Forever. I... I wasn't expecting you to be any different.”
The street was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic. Her eyes were steady, warm, and full of that rare softness that made your chest ache.
“And yet,“ you continued, voice trembling slightly, “you were. And I...” You trailed off, letting out a heartfelt chuckle. “I'm happy you were. I'm happy you're here.”
Her lips curled into a small, tender smile. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
There was a long pause, just the two of you in the glow of a nearby streetlight. Natasha's hand finally reached for yours, intertwining her fingers with yours in a gentle grip.
“I should say goodnight,” she murmured, though her voice betrayed the hesitation in her own chest.
“Or...” you started, heart hammering, “maybe not.”
Before Natasha could respond, you leaned in, brushing your lips against hers in a deliberate, confident kiss. To her surprise, you were the one initiating it. Her eyes widened for the briefest moment, then slowly closed as she deepened the kiss, one hand moving to cradle your face while the other stayed entwined with yours.
When you finally pulled back slightly, breathless, Natasha rested her forehead against yours. “Well,” she murmured, a teasing smirk returning, “you've got quite the initiative, hotshot.”
You chuckled, chewing on your lower lop while your thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you knew you're not the only bold one here.”
Nat's laugh was low, warm, and full of admiration. “Oh, trust me... I know. And I'm really glad you are.”
For a long moment, you stayed like that, foreheads together, hands intertwined, letting the quiet of the night wrap around you both, knowing that something—dangerous, thrilling, real—had just begun.
. . . . . . . .
Its Thursday morning when your phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand as sunlight streamed in, catching dust in golden beams. You groaned, pulling the phone toward you, and saw Natasha's name lighting up the screen.
Of course it was her.
After that Saturday night date, a second, a third and a fourth one took place. Obviously not followed up, since you were both busy with your own lives and jobs.
The second date was on Tuesday afternoon and Natasha wanted to do something of your choice, since she had chosen the spot for the first date. It was after work for her while you had an evening shift. That was a way to get to know you better so, you both went to explore an art gallery and discuss each of your favorite pieces—that's how she discovered your subtle appreciation for art.
The third date took place on Thursday and you both decided it would be fun to try an escape room together. There were other people there as well : three teenagers, another couple—friends,maybe—at last, a father with his teen son. Out of the four teams, you and Nat solved the mystery first and that's how you discovered how incredibly smart she was since she'd found most of the enigma's answers on her own. Then you walked to a nearby ice cream shop afterward to talk about the funniest moments, the clues you had missed, and what you'd try differently next time.
And finally the fourth date happened last night, on Saturday. You attended a drive-in theater, then went out for bowling.
Her company was certainly enjoyable and she was quite funny. She also beat you multiple times at bowling and the only three times you scored : first one was out of luck. second, she'd let you win since you kept missing and as much as she enjoyed your pouty face, she preferred your smile and thank God you hadn't noticed her purposefully missing the shot so you'd get a score instead. the third was when she eventually taught you how to aim for a perfect strike
You can recall the fluttering feeling of her chest pressed against your back, her hands hovering yours as you both held the ball—and oh, the rasp of your voice at your ear.
You were also convinced that she actually wanted you for you—not because she simply saw a pretty face that made her look twice and a nice body—because she never pushed for sex.
Those days that you didn't spend together—last Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday—you both fulfilled them with phonecalls instead. either to talk about her day at work, yours or any other topic. Between all that, she never asked, initiated or even hinted for sex. Not even once.
And yes, one might say, 'it had only been a week', but not you. Not when you'd been asked for it at two day's time of getting to know the person or even right in the middle of the first date.
She wasn't driven by lust, she actually liked you unlike many others who simply saw you for your body.
“Morning,” you said, voice still hoarse from last night.
“Good morning, pretty girl,” Natasha purred on the other end. That low, teasing tone made your stomach clench in the best way. “Slept well?”
You tilted your head, biting back a smile. “Better than I probably should have. You?”
“Like a kid in a candy store,” she said smoothly. “Though some candy is much more... distracting than others.” Her grin practically radiated through the phone.
You chuckled, leaning back against the pillows, a hint of sleep tugging at your eyes. But it's not like you would fall asleep again anyway. It's been four years since you've woken up early but that didn't mean you were going to let her sweet talk you as an apology for waking you up. “It's early, Romanoff, why'd you call. And don't say it was to «hear that beautiful voice of yours».”
"No, really," she said seriously now, though that mischievous edge never left. “I want to see you again. Soon. I can't stop thinking about you. About last night."
You felt your pulse spike. "Nat..."
She cut in before you could get shy, bold and playful. “I know, detka. Just... when can I see you again? Dinner? Or maybe breakfast this time?”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Breakfast, huh? You're really pushing it, Red.”
“And you,” she countered, voice dropping low and teasing, “are going to let me. Because last night? I know you liked it. Admit it.”
You blinked, caught off guard by her confidence. “...Maybe I did,” you whispered, voice soft.
"Good," she murmured, a satisfied smirk in her tone. "Then it's settled. I'll come for breakfast. And maybe after that, you can teach me some of your bartender tricks."
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I think you'll just be more of a distraction than a student.”
“Perfect,” she said, almost triumphantly. “I like being a distraction. Especially for you.”
You rolled your eyes again, heart hammering, but couldn't help the wide smile spreading across your face. Natasha Romanoff had just proven she was not leaving—and somehow, you didn't want her to.
. . . . . . . .
You weren't expecting Natasha to actually follow through with the "I'm coming over with breakfast" text. Yet, there she was at your door at eight fifty in the morning, hair in a loose bun, the usual leather jacket swapped for a hoodie, and a paper bag in one hand.
You were in your pajamas. Not the cute, matching kind. Just a soft pair of linen short and a slightly oversized shirt. Your hair was messy, and you were pretty sure you still had pillow lines on your cheek.
And Natasha Romanoff was standing there looking like sin in a leather jacket.
“You're...early,” you said, blinking as she stepped into your apartment without hesitation.
“I said breakfast,” she teased, shrugging as she placed the bag on your kitchen counter. “That usually happens in the morning, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes, trying not to feel flustered. “Yeah, well, I didn't think you meant actual morning. You could've at least given me a warning.”
She gave you a slow, amused once-over. “What, you don't like surprises?”
“Not this early. And definitely not when I look like this.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow, leaning on your counter. “You look perfect. Now sit down. I got coffee, too.”
You squinted at her but obeyed, climbing onto one of your kitchen stools. "Mm—coffee first, compliments later."
She smirked and handed you a cup. “Bossy.”
You took a grateful sip and hummed. “God, that's good.”
“Of course it is. I got the same thing as last night—vanilla latte with oat milk. You're easy to please. ”
You raised a brow. “Or maybe you're just paying too much attention.”
The Russian smirked, clearly not denying it. She pulled out bagels, pastries, and a little container of fruit, arranging everything on your counter like she was setting up a feast.
“You know, for a first date aftermath, you're setting the bar really high.”
“Good,” she said simply, settling on the stool next to you, close enough that her knee brushed yours. “I like high bars.”
You took a bite of your bagel, smiling around it. “You're very confident for someone who barged into my apartment at nine a.m.”
Natasha tilted her head, “You let me in.”
“Because I was too tired to say no.”
She laughed softly, that low, warm sound that made your stomach flutter.
“Don't tell me you're shy now,” Natasha teased, leaning a little closer.
Swallowing and trying to match her energy, you raised your chin. “I'm not shy. I just wasn't expecting.. this.”
“What, breakfast?”
“No,” you said, smiling faintly. “You.”
That seemed to throw her for a second, her smirk softening into something very much more genuine.
Your heart fluttered, and before you could allow yourself overthink it, you leaned forward and kissed her.
It was soft at first, just a brush of lips, but Natasha was quick to deepen it, her hand coming up to cup your jaw. The taste of coffee lingered between you, and you couldn't help but sigh into her mouth, feeling her smirk against your lips.
When you finally pulled away, Natasha was grinning, eyes glinting with amusement as she used your words against you. “Bold.”
“Well..” You shrugged, trying to play it off even though your heart was racing. “You like bold.”
“I do,” Her voice was a gentle murmur, her thumb brushing your cheek. “And you,” she countered, voice dropping low and teasing, “are exactly the kind of chaos I've been trying to chase all week.”
You perched on the counter edge, swinging your legs. “You might get addicted to my chaos,” you said, leaning forward and pressing your lips against hers once more—a soft, teasing kiss this time before pulling away. “Consider yourself warned.”
Natasha laughed—a low, warm sound—capturing your wrist in her hand and pulling you back gently toward her. “Addicted already, hotshot. I'll need more than one warning.”
Before you could respond, she leaned in, brushing her lips lightly against yours in a feather-light kiss. “See? Bold doesn't always have to come from you,” she whispered against your lips.
You smirked, tipping your head forward and daring her. “Oh? You want to play that game?”
Natasha grinned, low and wolfish. “I always play that game, pretty girl.” She leaned in again, longer this time, and your lips met hers with more insistence. Her hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you close, and you let yourself relax fully against her, running your hands lightly along her arms.
When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, the Russian's green eyes glinted with mischief. “You're terrible,” she murmured.
Then she reached for a piece of your bagel without asking, and the moment dissolved into playful bickering about food theft.
By the time breakfast was over, you were laughing in your kitchen, still barefoot as you cleaned around, Natasha stealing kisses every time she got the chance—on your cheek, your jaw, and once, scandalously, on your just to see you shiver.
. . . . . . .
With a belly full, you're now curled up on the couch with Natasha, the two of you in a perfect cocoon of warmth. She's got an arm draped around you, fingers lazily tracing patterns over your arm as if she's memorizing every inch of you. The faint scent of coffee lingers in the air, and the sunlight filtering through the curtains makes the whole moment feel unreal—like time slowed down just for you two.
The redhead murmurs, her voice low and husky, lips brushing the crown of your head. “I could get used to this.”
You tilt your head back to look at her, playful. “Lounging around in pyjamas while you bring me breakfast? Yeah, I could get used to this too.”
That earns you a soft smirk. She leans closer, her nose brushing yours. “I'd spoil you like this every day if you'd let me.”
Natasha presses her lips to your temple in a lingering kiss that makes your heart skip. “You're... really something, you know that?”
You smile at the gesture and the sincerity in her voice. “Something good, I hope,” you tease, though there's a vulnerability under your words.
“The best,” The way she looks at you makes you shift, suddenly aware of how close you are. Her hand slips from the couch to rest lightly against your back, coaxing you closer. Your heart stutters at how effortlessly she says it, no hesitation, no shield. Natasha Romanoff doesn't say things she doesn't mean. She hums softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I don't do and I won't do this with or for anyone else,” she says gently, her hand sliding to cup your jaw. “You are... different. Safer, refreshing. Like I can actually breathe when I'm around you.”
The vulnerability in her tone makes your chest ache in the best of ways so you shift closer, curling into her side, and she lets out a quiet sigh like she's been waiting for this.
“I like you a lot, Y/N,” Nat admits finally, her fingers brushing along your arm. Her lips twitch into the ghost of a smile before her expression softens. “I want this. You. Not just as some... temporary thing.”
You can feel her heartbeat against your side, steady and strong. For a while, there's silence, just her fingers combing gently through your hair. Then she speaks, her voice quieter now. Her hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin with the lightest touch.
“I want to get to know you even more. All of you.” There's a pause before she keeps talking. “And one day, when you're ready... I'd love to meet Maeve too.”
Your breath catches a little at her words, not because you're scared, but because of how genuine she sounds. Natasha Romanoff, this confident, cocky but over-all gorgeous woman who had spent weeks chasing after you, and proved to be different than any other people you had tried to date, was now sitting on your couch talking about wanting to meet your daughter.
“If I'm sticking around, I need to know the tiny human that's part of you.”
You laughed softly, surprised at how warm the words felt coming from her. “Yeah... soon,” you murmured, already anticipating the chaos, laughter, and warmth she was bringing into your life. “But fair warning—she's a handful one.”
The Russian grinned, that wolfish spark in her eyes returning. “Well, I think I can handle that.”
You smile softly, leaning into her touch. “That means a lot, Nat... Really.”
Her eyes flicker with something tender, almost vulnerable. “She's part of you. How could I not want to know her?”
You blink rapidly, fighting the unexpected sting in your eyes. Natasha notices, of course she does, and she leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, slow and careful like she's afraid of pushing too far.
You kiss her back without hesitation, and when she pulls back, she's smiling softly.
You let out a quiet laugh, tucking yourself closer to her side, and she wraps her arms around you like it's the most natural thing in the world. The rest of the morning passes in this cocoon of warmth : her heartbeat, her quiet humming, her thumb stroking lazy circles on your arm. You keep cuddling on your couch, the TV on—playing a show as a background noise— as you keep making out and sharing each other's warmth.
It feels safe, like home.
Noon rolled by, and it was time for Nat to leave. As much as she would enjoy spending the entire day with you, she couldn't and you understood that.
You made a task of walking her up to the door while kissing her. You weren't usually clingy but the lack of genuine care and warmth (aside from the one you received from your daughter) and the fact that she was actually here for a long time, not just a good time, not to leave right the moment she got what she seeked from you, made you never want to let her go.
She let out a soft, low moan as you bit down her lower lip—making you grin slightly, then she pulled out.
“I'll miss you.” you admit, still glued to her as your hands had slipped past the hem of her hoodie, resting at her waist. “Don't get all cocky when I say this but.. I wish you didn't have to leave. I want to keep kissing you.”
A soft laugh erupted from her throat, accompanied by a smile. She cupped your cheeks “I wish that too, sweetheart, and I'll miss you even more.” She leaned in, brushing her lips lightly against yours—a promise of more to come. “I'll see you soon, pretty girl,” she whispered.
. . . . . . . .
author's note ; longest one i've put together so far! i was planning on making this a one shot (with the rest of the fic) but it was going up to 19k words count and that ... is a lot in one go 😀
anyways, thank you for your time :) i hope i didn't disappoint! soft nat will forever be cherished <3
part 2 out soon!
(ps : inbox is open if you have any suggestions for how the meeting with Maeve should go or anything about this au, if it is even one atp)
tags: momily, light angst, london!emily, hazel and olivia, fluff, hurt/comfort, we'll be okay y'all, suggestive moment, mentions of scratch arc (eww), no use of yn
summary: emily gets called back to DC.
word count: 2.5k
hazel and olivia
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a/n: im obsessed with them so whatever TAKE IT
read on ao3 or below the cut
It comes as a curveball. The call from Virginia pulling Emily away from dinner to take it in her office. You don't say anything, but you feel in your bones that something is about to change.
She comes back with that frown between her eyebrows, the one that you find cute but despise when it brings her such stress. She still laughs at Hazel's dramatic reenactment of something that happened at school, she still coos when Olivia attempts to mush peas with her fingertips, but you know her mind is halfway somewhere else.
Much later, after the girls are in bed and you've been waiting for her to be done getting ready for bed, you're trying to read a book but mostly just staring at it. Something is wrong, or at least out of place, and you can't relax before you know what it is.
You smell her before you see her. The jasmine of her body wash and the light coconut of her moisturizer. Emily comes out of the bathroom in her silk sleep set, leaving a cloud of steam behind that you catch a glimpse of before she closes the door to the ensuite softly.
She sits next to you under the covers, leaving her hair brush on the nightstand next to her reading glasses. You close your book, place it on your own nightstand and turn to her. Waiting.
“Rossi called.”
You hum, “Dave usually calls.”
Emily sighs, “something's happened with Hotch.”
Your heart rate picks up. You've known Emily's BAU team for years, you've watched Jack grow up like you did Henry. The decision to leave for London when Hazel was on her way to three was not an easy one, but you both decided it'd be best after what happened with Doyle.
It hurt both of you to leave your family behind.
Of course, Emily worked with them everyday, Emily was closer to Dave and Hotch than you. But you know them, you know their kids, and you worry for them just as much.
You ask Emily what happened, she gives you a rushed summary of what Dave told her. He doesn't even know much himself.
“How's Jack?”
“In danger,” she says, “Hotch's thinking of going into witness protection.”
You look at her for a beat, seeing something in her eyes that tells you she's holding back. “What are you not telling me?”
Emily leans back against her pillows, looking at the ceiling. “Dave asked if I could come in.”
You turn to look at the side of her face, your shoulders tensing without prompting.
“Just for a few weeks,” she looks at you. “To support them during Hotch's absence. Help catch Peter Lewis.”
“Into the lion's den, then,” you murmur, turning back to look straight ahead.
Emily touches your arm, you don't turn to her, but lift your hand to hold her own. “I'll be fine.”
“You don't know that,” you say, defeated. “We moved here so you could be safe. For the girls.”
You feel the tip of her nose touching your cheek. It's surprisingly warm. Turning to her, you give her a look as she nudges your own nose with hers. She gives you a quick kiss. “I'll be back before you know it.”
You sigh, pulling away slightly to see her face in its entirety. Damn Emily Prentiss, her perfect face and her huge doe eyes. “How long is a few weeks, anyway? A month, two?”
“I'll come back every weekend.”
Scoffing, you smile ironically at her, “are you trying to kill yourself? It's an eight hour flight.”
“I’d do it.”
You touch her cheek, “I know you would.” Sighing, “I don’t want you to. We’ll be fine.”
Emily frowns, “that’s it? No argument?”
“What’s the point?” You ask, but not unkindly. “I know this is something you have to do.” Shaking your head, you kiss her cheek. “I’m worried about Hotch, too. I wouldn’t want to keep you from helping him and Jack.”
“You know I’d ask you to come with me if it weren't for the girls,” she murmurs, kissing your hand that’s still on her face.
“I know.” You pull her closer, snuggling up so you can soak up whatever time you have before she leaves. “We’ll be fine,” you repeat, even if you don’t know if that’s the case.
You’d never resent Emily, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
She calls every day. Sometimes more than once. She never misses a day, never goes more than twenty-four hours without talking to you or the girls. Even though she's busy, even though you can see the job taking its toll.
Hazel understands, mostly. Sometimes she's subdued, but a call with her mom manages to cheer her up. You let her have chicken nuggets on more days than you'd like, and you don't even say anything when she insists she's going to school in a tutu.
Olivia is too young to understand. She calls for her mama, she tries to touch the phone screen when Emily facetimes, even though sometimes she turns it off by accident. She whines at dinner and you know it's because Emily is the best at getting her to eat. At least she falls asleep pretty easily, you're not going to take that for granted.
And you, of course you understand. Yet you hate it. You hate sleeping in an empty bed, you hate making your tea in the mornings without Emily next to you. You hate reading in absolute silence before going to sleep because the shower isn't running and Emily isn't going to come out of the ensuite any second warm and soft from her bath.
You tell her you're fine, you tell her about the girls and what you did during the day. But you don't tell her about tossing and turning because she's not there, you don't tell her about Hazel's meltdown because Emily wasn't there to take her to ballet. You keep it in, and you know you shouldn't, you should tell your wife about how you're really feeling with her away, but you don't want to burden her with it. She tells you Scratch seems to have slipped through the cracks, so you don't want to add to her stress.
And you can't shake off the feeling that there's something she's not saying. You look at her though a phone screen and you still know her better than anyone. But you don't ask and you trust she'll tell you when she's ready, though you're hoping she can do it in person because you're getting really, really tired of waiting.
Hazel is playing quietly in the living room as you're making dinner. She's been quieter than usual this last week, refused to attend any of her extracurricular activities and even declined a sleepover at her friend's house. It's been a little over a month and you honestly have no idea what to do to cheer her up anymore. Sometimes, even the phone calls with Emily leave her sad afterwards, the tiny image of her mom on screen not being enough to settle the ache in her heart.
Olivia has been clingier, so of course she's in your arms as you try to cook one-handed. At least she doesn't wriggle too much on your hip like Hazel used to, or having her this close to the stove wouldn't be an option. If looking at the bright side, you're getting pretty good at doing things with a baby wrapped around your back or while having to keep two little girls in check outside of the house, making sure nothing happens to either of them and that they don't wander away when you're just trying to lock the car.
You're so focused on the food that you don't hear any movement in the entryway, only being alerted to something being different when Hazel yells “mommy!” at the top of her lungs. Startling, you only manage to turn the burner off before running to her, guessing she might've hurt herself, but the sight that finds you is nothing like that.
Hazel's dangling from around Emily's neck, her little legs kicking as she tries to climb her mother's arms. Emily's smiling brightly, but there's tiredness in her eyes, a weight to her that you haven't seen in a long time. When she manages to hoist up your daughter, she makes an exaggerated oof! that makes Haze giggle loudly — you haven't heard that sound in a couple of days.
You smile back unconsciously, letting Olivia down after she starts wriggling and whining. She toddles over to Emily, who meets her halfway, still with Hazel on her hip. On a normal day, you'd chastise her for picking Hazel up, the girl already too heavy and putting a strain on her back, but today is not that day.
Emily gives her daughters kisses all over their faces, squeezing them to her heart's content, telling them how much she missed them. You're happy to just watch for now, there'll be time for hugs later, at the moment you're just pleased to have all of your girls underneath the same roof.
“Hi,” Emily calls from her spot in the middle of the living room.
“Hi,” you answer, giving her a delighted grin. “Haze, let your mom breathe, please.” You say softly, then watch as your daughter loosens her grip ever so slightly from around Emily's neck.
She moves to the couch, sitting down and keeping both girls sitting in her lap. Hazel finally agrees to let go of her death grip on Emily, settling for holding the fabric of her shirt in one of her little hands. Olivia doesn't take her eyes off her mother, touching her cheek and babbling whenever she gets Emily to look down at her.
After a while, Hazel decides there are three new toys she absolutely needs to show Emily — and if you bought her all of those to soothe Emily's absence, then that's just for you to know —, so she runs into her room in search of them. Emily looks at her retreating form with a wistful grin, finally sighing exhaustedly. She stands up with Olivia in her arms and makes her way towards you.
“Hi,” she says again.
“Hi,” you say back.
When Emily kisses you, you decide you're never going to let her leave again, no matter what it takes.
“I missed you,” she murmurs into your lips.
You open your eyes, taking note of the dark shadows under hers, the redness derived from sleeping poorly. “You have no idea,” you say, because, really, what else is there?
Emily smiles apologetically, kissing you again. “Sorry I stopped replying to your texts, I wanted this to be a surprise.”
Shaking your head, you squeeze her free hand, “consider me surprised. And I just figured you were busy. What time was your flight?”
“1pm local time,” she says, bouncing Liv slightly. “It was the earliest I could get.”
Hazel comes running back, her arms full of toys, so you give Emily a look that says later.
Later actually means much later. After dinner, baths, bedtime. After Emily was the one singing Olivia to sleep. After she read three books to Hazel before her little eyes finally drooped closed.
Later means Emily almost falling asleep during your shared shower, means you holding her up by the waist as she rinses because if she closes her eyes for more than two seconds she might not open them for a few hours.
You let her off the hook. There's so much to talk about, of course, but it's nine pm and she's so exhausted her words are slurring just the tiniest bit. It worries as much as it endears you.
You open your arms and she falls into them, tucking her face into your neck and immediately falling asleep to the feeling of you softly scratching her back.
In the morning, she doesn't wanna talk. At least, not at first.
In the morning, she straddles your hips and pulls her shirt off, she kisses you with intent, with everything that she's missed in the last weeks. She doesn't have to say anything, you understand.
Only after, with no clothes on and comfortable in your bed, the bed you couldn't wait to see taken up by her again, does she talk.
Emily caresses your arm softly, her blunt nails eliciting shivers from your skin.
“You're holding something back,” you murmur, shifting closer. She sighs loudly, caught.
“Maybe you should do this for a living,” she retorts, lifting an eyebrow.
“Funny.” You say dryly. “You know I'm no behavioralist.”
She hums, smiling softly at you. After a beat, she turns serious again. “He got away,” she states heavily, as if this is somehow all on her. You squeeze her hand. “They went into witsec, I have no idea if we're gonna be able to get them out or when.”
Emily looks up at the ceiling, but her hand stays in yours.
“Before Hotch left for good, he…” She shakes her head. then chuckles humourlessly. “He asked me to replace him as Unit Chief.” Rolling her eyes, Emily scoffs. “He actually said that. He said his final request was for me to replace him, run his team.”
You stay very still. The truth is, you don't like the idea. The entire reason you left everything behind and moved to London was to get away, so Emily could have a steadier job, away from all the heaviness of the BAU, the ghost of Doyle haunting you all in Boston, DC, wherever. You made plans, you said you could finally have another kid, and you did, Olivia came along and she's a true Londoner now. Even Hazel is picking up the accent.
But besides everything, you don't hate the idea because it means going back to DC. You hate it because it means putting Emily in danger again, putting her in the spotlight as Unit Chief, a position she didn't ask for nor considered before all of this happened.
Still, you stay quiet, you let her work through what she needs because, above all, Emily's your wife and you love her, and if she feels like she needs to do this, well, she's not doing it alone.
“Aren't you gonna say anything?” She asks, looking at you with those big eyes that tell you she actually has no idea what to do.
“Not right now,” you answer, leaning your head on her shoulder. “How long do you have to decide?”
“I asked for a week,” she says, then winces, “I know that's ambitious, they'll probably call before that.”
“Okay, so not in the next twenty-four hours, then, right?”
“No,” she murmurs into your hair, leaving a kiss where she can reach.
“So, now, we're going to stay here. I'm going to enjoy my wife's company that I missed very much. We're gonna wait for a cry or for Hazel to come pounding on the door demanding food, and we'll deal with that later. Okay?”
You feel Emily sigh deeply from underneath you, her shoulders losing their stiffness for the moment. “Okay.”
Can u write a story about Natasha as a celebrity and then reader works as an interviewer especially in every premier movie like that, then the reader and Natasha are actually secretly together and no one knows. Then Natasha has an upcoming movie and starts promoting the film with her co-stars, then it's scheduled that they will be interview by reader. during the interview they act as just professionals but through the interview one of Natasha's co-stars is kinda touchy and flirty with her and reader can feel and see it while interviewing them..... I've been having this idea for a long time and idk how this would work lmao.. i hope you'll see this😭... Btw you're really talented! I love alll ur work💗..
Celebrity
Celebrity!Natasha Romanoff x Reader
[A/N] A massive Happy 4th of July to all my readers who celebrate! I hope you all have an amazing day ❤️ Does everyone have fun weekend plans? Me and my bestie went clubbing last night and I'm ngl, I think my clubbing days are behind me 😂 All I could think about on the dance floor was how I'd rather be at home reading my book 😂😂 Thanks so much for the request lovely anon, hope you enjoy this one 😘
You take a sip of water in the green room, having just finished checking that you’re camera ready when you suddenly feel arms around your waist. “So… Are you excited to be interviewing the greatest movie star of all time?”
You smile, not turning around yet, “Oh I didn’t realise Meryl Streep was here, I’ve been dying to meet her.”
Natasha laughs and squeezes your waist, “Idiot.”
“You’re not meant to be back here, someone might see-”
“No one here would rat us out. Besides, I had to get some proper time in with my favourite person before the cameras roll.”
You finally turn to face her, giving her a small smile as you roll your eyes, “You say that you like you didn’t wake up in my bed this morning. Like I won’t be all over you again the moment the cameras are off and we’re home.”
Natasha kisses you before grinning against your lips, “I want every second I can get.”
You laugh, tucking a strand of her bright red hair behind her ear. You’d known Natasha for a long time, back when she was an Avenger. In those days you’d been more of an investigative journalist, and your boss had been pushing for an Anti-Avengers story. You’d been granted clearance for a tour of the compound and then to interview some of the Avengers. Natasha had been your favourite – she’d clocked your angle immediately, and had been sullen and difficult throughout the conversation. That night you’d promptly quit your job and then asked Natasha out on a date.
Not long after you got a job for a magazine that specialised in published and video interviews of celebrities. You’d quickly climbed the ranks, being offered the most high profile jobs, interviewing the most famous celebrities. Around the same time Natasha had been looking for a career change – the Red Room had been taken down and the endless fights had taken a toll on Natasha’s mental health. So she’d decided to try acting, and had quickly realised she had a talent for it, landing amazing opportunities. It was hard to remember that Natasha had once been an Avenger, everyone these days knew her from her movies.
Throughout it all the two of you had continued to date whilst both of your careers had blown up in different directions. You were the one who’d wanted to keep your relationship a secret. “People will start gossiping about how I only got my job because of you,” You’d said, intertwining your fingers with hers. “Besides, it might not look great for your career if you’re dating a peasant like me.”
“Oh shut up,” Natasha had snapped though she couldn’t help laughing. “Nobody would think that. And nobody would think twice about the fact we’re together, I mean look at you, you’re gorgeous-”
“Not as gorgeous as you,” You’d countered quickly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“And besides, anyone who bothered to fact check would see that you got your job first. And you’re good at it. If anything, you might’ve given me my job-”
“I just want to keep it a secret for a while. If that’s okay.”
Natasha had sighed, pressing kisses to your neck and mumbling about how she hated keeping you a secret but had conceded. You understood her hesitance – Natasha had had so many secrets across the course of her life, of course she was fed up of the lies and the sneaking around. But she was still willing to respect your wishes.
The relationship had remained a secret for two years now. You’d both been on countless dates, moved in together, gone on romantic vacations together, even talked about getting married one day, and nobody but the two of you and a select few close friends had any idea. Tabloids had speculated about Natasha’s dating life before but had their suspicions had never landed on you, usually on co-stars or sometimes even people that Natasha had never met before. It made her laugh but admittedly, it made you a little jealous – the thought of someone else being with your girl.
It was easier in moments like this when Natasha’s arms were around you, her attention was on you and her lips were on yours. Natasha’s PA calls out the five minute warning but Natasha is in no hurry as she kisses you again. “I was thinking we could get sushi tonight. Stay in and watch a movie. I have an early flight in the morning but I might just push through, get some sleep on the plane. I want to spend every minute possible with you.”
Natasha was in the midst of promoting her movie and was flying to Europe in the morning. You didn’t want her to go, her promotions always felt like they went on for months, and then she’d often get shipped off to random locations to film her movies. Sometimes you could go with her but more often than not you couldn’t as your work was solely based in New York. The thought of her leaving again makes you feel a mixture of sad and irritable, but the promise of sushi and cuddles on the couch late into the night instantly make you feel better. “That sounds good to me.”
You reach out to touch her hair again, biting back the words you want to say. About how you’ll miss her, about how you wish she didn’t have to go but that you’re so proud of her for leaving her old life behind, for how successful she’s become. Instead you just kiss her again and she smiles when you pull back, “I know. I’ll miss you too.”
Your own PA calls out your name this time and you glance over your shoulder before looking back at Natasha, “Looks like it’s show time.”
“Why can’t we just tell everyone we’re dating? It’s been two years; it’s starting to get weird.”
You take her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers, “Soon. I promise.”
“Y/N!” Your PA’s voice has taken on a sharper tone.
You kiss Natasha’s knuckles and it makes her grin just as it always does, “Love you.”
“Love you too idiot. Let’s do this.”
Five minutes later you’re forced to pretend to introduce yourself to Natasha, something that you can tell irritates her a little bit but she doesn’t say anything. Along with Natasha are her two co-stars Skylar and Will. You’d met Skylar last year when she was promoting a different movie and the two of you hug like old friends. When you introduce yourself to Will he barely looks up from his phone to acknowledge you. Not too surprising from the stories you’d heard from Natasha about his attitude on set but irritating nonetheless. You’ve met celebrities like him before, who seem to think they’re above you and everyone else, just because they’d been lucky enough to shoot to fame.
Will eventually puts his phone away as the interview begins, and you immediately jump into professional mode, ignoring the fact that you and Natasha are dating. It’s irrelevant right now as you focus on the questions you’d researched the night before. You took pride in that aspect of your job, making sure you had relevant questions about whatever your interviewee was promoting but also personal touches to make it more interesting for your audience.
Natasha is every bit as professional as you are, leaning back in her chair and answering all your questions confidently without being overly familiar. It makes your chest swell with love, to see that even though she’s not keen on keeping this a secret; she’s willing to do it for you. Skylar is funny as usual, just as bubbly and energetic as you remember, always a treat to interview. Will is quiet at first, not offering much up – you hadn’t expected anything more from someone who clearly thought he was above all of this.
“Is there anything in this movie that we should watch out for, that fans should be particularly excited about?” You ask.
“This one,” Will suddenly says, his finger moving to run up and down Natasha’s arm in a way that makes you pause, your eyes narrowing as you take in the slow, suggestive movement. “I mean, when you have an ex-Avenger in an action movie, there’s always going to be something special about that.”
“Can you elaborate?” And also get your hands off my girlfriend, you want to add.
“Well Natasha is a legend in the industry already, especially when it comes to doing her own stunts. She makes a real point of it and it’s incredible to see the things that she can do.” Will gives Natasha a look, biting his bottom lip, “And she’s very flexible if you know what I mean.”
Your hand clenches into a fist and the questions written on the paper in front of you suddenly blur as you’re blinded by an irritable rage. Who does this cocky asshole think he is? He might be playing Natasha’s love interest but that’s only in the movie. Natasha says nothing, twitching her hair over her shoulder in the hopes it will get Will’s hand off her arm but it doesn’t seem to do the trick.
“And what do you think of the criticism from fans online that there isn’t much chemistry between you and Natasha to make the romance scenes believable?” You suddenly blurt.
Will raises his eye-brows whilst Natasha and Skylar share a glance. “I wasn’t aware of any criticism from fans,” Will eventually says evenly.
“There have definitely been some… Thoughts.” You reply in your most professional voice.
“Well I would say that they don’t need to worry. Natasha is an amazing woman and the sparks flew between us pretty much instantly. Our scenes will speak for themselves but we’re as close off screen as we are on screen.”
“Really? Because I heard a rumour that she had to try and calm you down at the wrap party when you threw a tantrum about the-”
“Y/N,” Your PA says sharply. “Maybe we should take a break?”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Will snaps the moment the cameras stop rolling. “All of that is being cut. I’m speaking to my agent, this is-”
You never hear what it is because you climb out of your seat and head back to the green room, running a stressed hand over your face. Natasha follows after you, not caring who sees her, “Y/N-”
“Don’t. I already know I fucked up, but that asshole just got under my skin, okay?”
“Y/N, it’s all pretend. You know I don’t like Will anymore than you do but-”
“I know, but he still had no right to be all over you like that.”
Natasha puts her hand on your arm, “Why has this bothered you so much?”
“Why did it bother me? Because you’re mine, Nat!” You burst. “And I don’t mean to sound like a creepy, possessive, controlling piece of shit but you’re my girl and I love you and I can’t stand seeing that assholes hands on you, talking about you right in front of my face as if he knows you better than me. He doesn't, he has no fucking idea.”
You expect Natasha to be irritated but to your surprise when you finally work up the courage to meet her gaze she’s smiling. “What?”
“Baby, you’re the one who wanted to keep this a secret. Will has no idea I’m dating you, neither does Skylar. In fact, they have no idea that I’m dating anyone. Of course I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, and I’ve always wanted everyone to know that.” You fold your arms and Natasha wraps her arms around your waist, “I can’t shove him off me in the middle of an interview no matter how much I’d like to-”
“Of course you can-”
“No, I can’t, because the producers and the higher ups want us to look like we actually like each other. I can certainly give him Hell once the cameras are off but when they’re rolling I have to smile and play the part. You know that.”
You look down, still irritated, “Well, I still think he’s an asshole.”
“Of course he is. And I’m not going to let him get away with that little stunt but-” Natasha grins again, having to bite her lip to hold back her laugh. “That was kind of cute how protective you got back there.”
You groan, “It was embarrassing!”
“I want the video footage of this. I know they’ll never let you air it but I want it. For personal reasons.”
“That footage is never seeing the light of day.”
You let yourself relax in her embrace, wrapping your own arms around her as Natasha kisses your cheek. “I’m yours. Always have been, always will be. Okay?”
You nod, leaning your forehead against hers and mumbling, “Okay.”
Anger still surges through your veins as you remember the way that assholes hand was on Natasha’s arm, the flirty way he’d been looking at her, but it pales in comparison to the love you feel as Natasha presses another kiss to your face, her arms tightening around your waist. Maybe Natasha’s been right all along – maybe it’s time to tell everyone the truth. Sure, maybe people will think that you got your job because of Natasha but like she’d already said, you’d gotten your job long before Natasha’s fame had even taken off. You knew the truth and that was enough. But you didn’t want to hide your girlfriend anymore. Especially because your girlfriend was someone as amazing as the Natasha Romanoff.
Summary: When Cassie drags you to a Dodgers game with the promise of making it a date, she fucks it up. Now, she has no choice but to make it up to you.
Word Count: 7.3k
Warnings: Mild angst | Cassie being a jerk and then showing how downbad she really is | Smut - Fingering (Reader!Receiving), Oral (Reader!Receiving)
Traffic moved toward the stadium in slow waves, the city highlighted gold by the evening sun. The windows were cracked just enough to let cool air move through the car, carrying distant noise from outside
Cassie looked completely relaxed behind the wheel.
One hand rested at the top of the steering wheel while the other stayed spread across your thigh, fingers warm against your skin. Every so often her thumb moved without her realizing it, small, absentminded strokes while she talked.
“And if they keep playing like they did last week,” she explained, eyes still on the road ahead. “They’ll probably keep this lineup through postseason.”
You looked over at her from where your head rested against the seat. “I know you think I understand what you’re saying.”
She frowned slightly. “But you do understand. I explained this earlier.”
“No,” you said honestly. “I’m just listening because your voice is nice.”
That pulled a soft chuckle out of her. “Well thank you, baby. For putting up with me.”
“Mhm.”
She shook her head in amusement.
The closer you got, the thicker traffic became. Cars packed around you with Dodgers flags hanging from windows, groups of people crossing streets in jerseys and caps.
Cassie kept talking anyway. She just got like this when she was excited about something. She couldn’t exactly help it, but you didn’t mind.
“And Garcia swears they’re gonna fall apart by August, but she says that every season so nobody listens to her anymore.”
You hummed quietly, tracing your fingers along the frays of your shorts. “Who’s the one you said takes baseball weirdly seriously?”
“Langdon.”
“The one with the hair?”
That pulled a snort from her. “Yeah, babe. The one with the hair.”
You nodded like that meant something to you. Truthfully, most of Cassie’s coworkers blurred together after a while. You knew stories more than faces at this point.
“You should’ve heard them arguing,” Cassie said, smiling to herself now. “It went on for like half the shift.”
That argument is precisely how you got here in the first place.
Earlier that week, the emergency department had been unusually calm for once. Someone had the Dodgers game playing near the nurses station while everybody worked, and at some point Garcia made a comment about the team blowing the series.
That should’ve been the end of it.
Instead, Langdon argued back. Then Santos joined in. Then Whitaker started looking up stats on his phone while pretending he didn’t care enough to participate.
Ahmad simply made the entire thing worse—always one to add fuel to the fire.
He’d turned around in his chair and started collecting predictions from everybody like he was hosting some kind of game show instead of working another security guard shift in the Pitt.
Garcia said the Dodgers would lose.
Langdon insisted they’d win in six.
Santos mostly participated to annoy Garcia.
Whitaker claimed everybody was overreacting while continuing to contribute statistics nobody asked for or paid any attention to. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, he mentioned he had two Dodgers tickets he wasn’t going to use because his brother canceled on him at the last minute.
That was when the bet stopped being casual.
Ahmad immediately decided whoever guessed the series outcome closest got the tickets.
Cassie had only joined because everybody else was already involved and in the end, the Dodgers won exactly the way she predicted they would. Which meant she walked out of her shift with two tickets and an ego big enough to be genuinely irritating about it.
You still remembered the way she came through your apartment door that night.
Still in scrubs, bangs messy from a twelve hour shift, exhausted, but smiling so hard the second she saw you that you knew immediately she was about to ask for something.
“What?” you asked from the couch before she could even speak.
Cassie dropped her bag by the door. “I have a surprise.”
“Should I be scared?”
“No, you should be proud of me.”
You laughed skeptically at your girlfriend. “Okay, let me rephrase that. What did you do?”
“I won.”
“You saying that with no context is terrifying.”
Cassie walked over to the couch, already digging into the pocket of her scrub pants before pulling out the tickets.
Your eyebrows lifted immediately. “Those are real?”
“As real as they get.”
You took them from her carefully, looking down at the Dodgers logo printed across the front. “You won baseball tickets?”
“I won the bet.” Cassie explained, sitting down beside you close enough that her knee pressed against yours.
“Cass…”
“I know, I know.” she said quickly, gently pulling the tickets from your hand and setting them down on the coffee table. She took your free hands into hers like she was trying to coax a shy puppy out of its cage.
“I don’t even like baseball.”
“But you like me though, right?”
You looked at her unimpressed.
Cassie was sitting up straight, watching you carefully now. She looked excited, but quieter about it suddenly, like she truly cared what your answer would be.
“We don’t have to stay the whole game,” she assured. “I just thought it’d be nice.”
“You want to spend your Friday night explaining baseball to me?”
“I want to spend my Friday night with you.”
That was the problem with her sometimes. She said things like that so simply that it made it hard to argue back.
“And,” she added after a second. “I’ll make it feel just like a date. Promise.”
You narrowed your eyes at her slightly. “A baseball game.” you said bluntly.
“A date at a baseball game.”
“I bet that sounded different in your head than it did out loud.”
Cassie laughed then, leaning closer until her shoulder bumped yours. “Come on,” she said softly. “Please?”
And honestly, it wasn’t really the tickets that convinced you.
It was her.
The way she looked genuinely excited at the idea of bringing you somewhere she loved. So eventually, after enough convincing, a kiss to your cheek, and Cassie promising multiple times that she wouldn’t spend the whole game neglecting you for baseball—you agreed.
Now, sitting in the passenger seat while stadium lights glowed ahead of you, you were starting to think maybe it had been worth saying yes after all.
Cassie pulled into the parking lot slowly, rows of cars stretching around you. “You look beautiful by the way.” she said suddenly.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward your outfit before she parked expertly between two cars.
You’d spent longer getting ready than you originally planned to. Jean shorts, white top, the oversized Dodgers jersey Cassie insisted you borrow hanging open over it all.
A little more makeup than you usually wore on a daily basis, mostly because she kept calling this a date all week and somewhere along the way, you began treating it like one too.
“You already said that before we left,” you reminded her.
“I know.” Cassie shut the car off, looking over at you fully now. “Just felt like telling you again.”
Warmth crept up your face before you looked away toward the windshield. She reached over, brushing her fingers briefly against your thigh again before opening her door. She fell into step beside you, immediately reaching for your hand as the two of you started toward the entrance.
The stadium felt different once you were actually inside it. The music, the announcers, the buzz of thousands of voices blending together—everything echoed. People moved with trays of food and drinks through the crowded walkways while the smell of popcorn and hot dogs hung in the air.
Cassie walked slightly ahead of you, turning back every few seconds to make sure you were still there despite her firm grip on your hand.
You let her pull you toward concessions first, mostly because she looked so confident weaving through the stadium like she’d done this a hundred times before.
Popcorn. Nachos. Two drinks.
You watched her while she waited for everything, the way she shifted her weight impatiently from foot to foot, already glancing around toward the field every few seconds like she was trying not to miss anything before the game had even officially started.
It was kind of adorable.
She balanced the food carefully while leading you toward your section, occasionally stopping to look at signs overhead before continuing down another set of stairs.
“You really know where you’re going,” you said.
Cassie glanced back over her shoulder. “I studied the map.”
“You studied the map?”
“So I knew where to go. I didn’t want to have you just walking around.”
The way she said it made your heart skip a beat in your chest again—because of how hard she was trying to make this enjoyable for you.
Cassie let you slide into your seat first before sitting beside you, setting the popcorn between your legs and drinks in the cupholders.
You looked around, and it was actually kind of nice. The sky had gone fully dark now, the lights shining against it while people settled into their seats all around you.
Cassie watched your face carefully for a second. “Well?” she asked.
You looked over at her. “Okay. I kind of get why people like this.”
A grin spread across her face immediately. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get too excited.”
“Too late.”
Cassie relaxed back into her seat beside you and when you shifted closer, she adjusted. Her arm stretched around the back of your seat so you could tuck yourself against her side comfortably.
“There you are,” Cassie murmured quietly.
You peered up slightly. “What?”
“You finally stopped acting like I kidnapped you.”
“I’m still deciding, thank you.”
Cassie chuckled, looking down at you for a second before smiling to herself. A few minutes later, she reached into the popcorn bucket and held a piece near your mouth without saying anything.
You stared at her and she just lifted her eyebrows slightly.
You laughed under your breath before leaning forward enough to take it from her fingers.
“See?” she said. “You’re already getting into the baseball experience.”
“It’s just popcorn.”
“It’s stadium popcorn. Different thing entirely.”
You rolled your eyes a little, but you were smiling.
At one point, while you were simply watching the field more than actually paying attention to it, she turned your head slightly and kissed you quick enough that it almost caught you off guard. Just one soft press of her lips against yours before she leaned back again like nothing happened.
You looked at her.
Cassie fought back her grin as if she was trying to seem oblivious, eyes already drifting back toward the field again. “What?”
“Nothing.”
But warmth lingered in your chest afterward anyway—and for a while, you really did think the night was going to be fun.
Then the game started.
The crowd got louder, thousands of people focused in the same direction all at once, and beside you, Cassie changed with it.
The second the players ran onto the field, she was on her feet with everybody else around you, clapping loudly, yelling toward the field with a grin wider than you’d seen all night.
The sudden noise and movement from her startled you enough that you jerked slightly where you sat—previously cuddled up to her side.
At first, you tried following along.
Every few minutes the crowd exploded over something happening on the field you didn’t understand quickly enough to follow. And every time it happened, Cassie got pulled into it instantly.
Even though you didn’t understand most of what was going on, you had to admit the concentrated look on her face was cute. She’d lean closer to you between plays so you could hear, explaining things quickly while still watching the game.
“That guy’s been struggling all season, so if he gets on base right now—”
The entire crowd roared before she could finish explaining and Cassie stood right back up with them, eyes fixed on the field while people around you shouted and clapped.
You looked out at the game, trying to figure out what everyone was reacting to, but by the time you understood where to even look, the moment was already over.
For a while, you didn’t really mind.
You mostly watched her.
The way she hunched forward during close plays. The way she reacted half a second before the crowd sometimes, like she already knew what was about to happen.
She looked happy, and honestly, that was enough.
But eventually, you started feeling the distance between you grow anyway.
“Cass, look at that guy on the screen—”
“Wait, hold on, baby.” Cassie said, her hand falling to our arm briefly as if to stop you while her eyes stayed fixed ahead. “I think they’re reviewing the play.”
You nodded along, but it quickly started happening more. Every time you tried getting her attention, the game interrupted first.
“Cass—”
“Hold on.”
“Wait, look—”
“One second, baby.”
And after a while, you mostly stopped trying.
You just huffed, slouching back into your seat while the game pulled more and more of her attention away from you a little at a time.
It almost seemed like she acknowledged strangers more than she did you, as she talked with the people sitting beside you over bad calls made by the umpires.
The worst part was she didn’t even realize she was doing it.
Then the home run happened.
One second everybody was tense and focused—the next, the entire stadium exploded into screaming.
“Holy shit!”
Cassie sprung up suddenly and her knee slammed into the seat hard enough to jolt the drink from the cupholder. You barely even had time to react before freezing cold soda spilled down the front of your shirt and straight into your lap.
The shock of the icy drink made you suck in a breath immediately, and Cassie froze immediately. Her face fell and her eyes dropped to your soaked clothes before widening.
“Oh shit—baby.” she dropped back into her seat, grabbing the few napkins from beside the popcorn bucket so fast they nearly tore in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she rambled. “I’m so sorry.”
She started trying to blot the soda from your shirt frantically, despite clearly realizing that there was way too much for a few napkins to fix.
“I didn’t even—fuck.” Cassie looked up at you again, guilt written all over her face.
“It’s okay,” you said, even though your voice came out tighter than you meant it to.
She kept trying anyway, dabbing uselessly at your clothes while apologizing under her breath. You looked down at yourself for a second before exhaling quietly through your nose.
And suddenly the whole night hit you all at once.
The noise.
The crowdedness.
The constant feeling that you’d come here to spend time with Cassie, while she came here to watch baseball.
You caught her wrist gently, stopping her movements. “Cass,” you said, and her eyes found yours immediately. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”
Her expression fell even further, like she knew there wasn’t really anything she could say right now that would help. “Okay,” she said softly.
You nodded once before stepping past her and disappearing up the row of stairs.
— —
By the time you came back, your shirt was still damp. Not soaked anymore, but enough that you could still feel it clinging uncomfortably against your skin underneath the jersey.
You walked back down your row expecting to find Cassie completely focused on the game again. Instead, her head lifted from the field almost instantly the second she saw you.
Relief crossed her face so fast it made your chest ache a little despite yourself.
“There you are,” she stood to let you pass before holding out a folded blue Dodgers hoodie from the merch stand in one hand, your favorite candy awkwardly tucked into it.
You blinked once.
Cassie rubbed the back of her neck lightly and swallowed. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted quietly.
Some of the irritation in your chest loosened at the embarrassment she obviously felt, and you took the hoodie carefully from her hands. “Thank you.”
“Is your shirt stained?”
“A little.”
“Yeah,” Cassie muttered. “I’m really sorry about that.”
Then, before you could answer, the crowd erupted into angered remarks at something happening on the field again.
Cassie’s gaze flicked to the field on instinct. “Oh—wait wait.”
She sat back down quickly, eyes already returning to the game while you pulled the hoodie over your damp shirt.
A second later she leaned toward you again, pointing towards the players. “Okay, this is what I was trying to explain earlier.”
And the rest of the game passed exactly like that. Cassie zeroed in on the game just as she was before, and you now wanting nothing more than to just go home.
— —
When the game finally ended, the entire stadium was on its feet. The Dodgers won, and Cassie looked thrilled. She laughed, already speaking before the two of you had even fully stepped out of your row.
“I told you they’d pull it off,” she said, looking over at you with flushed cheeks and that same bright excitement she’d had all night. “Did you see that last play?”
You smiled faintly. “Mhm.”
Cassie continued on while the two of you slowly moved with the crowd toward the exits, her hand finally finding yours. Most of it faded together after a while—something about pitching, something about defense, players names you still didn’t know.
You just listened quietly beside her.
The parking lot was chaos afterward, headlights stretching endlessly between rows of cars while people yelled across the lot still riding the energy of the game.
Cassie was still riding the high of the win too. She kept talking as she drove, replaying moments from the game out loud, occasionally shaking her head and laughing to herself when she got to a part she still couldn't believe happened.
You listened with your head resting against the window.
Every now and then you'd hum or nod just enough to acknowledge you were listening, but the conversation never really became a conversation.
When the car came to a stop at a red light, Cassie’s hand settled back onto your thigh, warm and familiar just like it had been earlier.
Only this time, you turned slightly toward the window without really thinking about it.
Cassie noticed anyway, her words trailing off for a second before she glanced over at you briefly. “You okay?”
You kept your eyes on the passing lights outside. “Yep.”
Then the light turned green. She looked at you for another second like she was trying to decide whether she believed that, but decided to drop it, her gaze falling back on the road ahead.
By the time Cassie pulled into your apartment complex, you felt drained.
The second the car stopped, you reached for the door, and the sound of it shutting behind you made Cassie pause.
Not just because it was loud— but also because you moved fast too. You were already halfway up the walkway before she'd even grabbed her keys.
And the moment she'd ignored at the red light returned to her mind immediately. When she finally caught up to you, you had gotten the apartment door unlocked.
"Hey,” she said.
You didn't stop.
The door swung open as you stepped over the threshold, and Cassie barely caught it before it closed on her. Inside, the apartment was quiet. After spending three hours in a packed stadium, the silence felt eerily strange.
Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft click of the door shutting completely. Behind you, Cassie dropped her keys onto the counter, the sound echoing through the room.
For a second she just watched you.
You kicked your shoes off by the door and headed toward the living room. The Dodgers hoodie followed next, pulling it over your head and tossing it onto the couch.
The shirt underneath clung to your skin.
Hours later, the soda had mostly dried, but it left behind a tacky material that stretched across your stomach every time the fabric shifted.
God, you wanted a shower.
“Okay,” Cassie finally spoke up, her voice breaking through the quiet. “What’s going on?”
You shrugged off the button up jersey she insisted on you wearing, discarding that onto the back of the couch as well, leaving you in a white tank top. Cool air finally hit your skin, and it felt refreshing after the long game you’d sat through.
"Nothing's going on."
"Come on, I know that’s not true."
“Everything’s fine, Cassie.”
"Baby,”
You rolled your eyes, huffing in annoyance before finally deciding to look at her. She was still standing by the front door, her hands on her hips as she studied you carefully.
You broke eye contact first. "Next time just take Langdon."
The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Cassie's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
You shrugged. "You would've had more fun."
"With Langdon?"
"Or Santos. Or Garcia. Whoever else."
Cassie looked genuinely baffled. "Where is this coming from?"
"You spent the whole night talking baseball with the people around us anyway."
A small crease appeared between her brows—she still wasn't following. "Okay..."
You laughed quietly to yourself, shaking your head, because somehow she still didn't get it. "You know what? Forget it."
You turned toward the hallway that led to the bedroom, however, Cassie caught your wrist before you could get very far. Not roughly, just enough to stop you.
"Hey."
You glanced down at her hand wrapped around your arm, then back up at her. "What?"
"What are you actually upset about?"
The question irritated you immediately and you pulled your wrist free.
"What am I upset about?" you stared at her for a second in disbelief that she even had to ask. "Cassie, I just sat through two and a half hours of baseball."
At that, a smile immediately threatened to appear on her face.
You pointed a finger at her. "Stop it."
Cassie bit the inside of her cheek, trying and failing to hide it. You shook your head and started pacing toward the couch.
"I don't even like baseball. I spent the entire night pretending to understand what was happening."
"I know, baby. And I appreciate you for that."
"Yet somehow you're still looking at me like I’m a joke."
The amusement faded from her face instantly at your words. Maybe she should be taking this more seriously than she was. "Then tell me what I'm missing."
You stopped pacing now to actually look at her. "I went because you wanted me there." your voice came out quieter this time.
Cassie's expression visibly softened from the change. Like the irritation had faded and a tinge of vulnerability began to emerge even if you didn’t mean for it to.
"I thought I was finally gonna spend a night with my girlfriend after a busy couple weeks." you said, continuing before she could respond. "I got ready, I stood in front of my closet for twenty minutes trying to figure out what you wear to a baseball game."
Her eyes moved over your outfit automatically—or what was left of it, but she remembered exactly how you looked before you’d left the house.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Not teasing, but fond. Which somehow made you more annoyed.
"I was trying to look nice."
"You did look nice."
"That's not the point."
"Then what's the point?"
"The point is that I felt like I was sitting next to the commentator instead of my girlfriend the entire time."
Something shifted in Cassie's face, you saw the way it fell immediately. The realization or at least something close to it.
Good, maybe she was finally listening.
"And then you dumped your soda on me."
Cassie groaned, throwing her head back. "Oh my God, that was an accident—"
"I was marinating in Coke for hours. I still am."
“Okay,” despite herself, she let out a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over her face. "Okay, yeah. That was pretty bad. You still looked cute in the hoodie, though."
"Cassie."
"I’m sorry."
You stared at her blankly, like you were trying to confirm if she was actually being serious before sighing and shaking your head.
"I should've just stayed home."
"Baby, no—"
"I would've had a better time if I did."
“Come on, don’t say that.”
She watched as you began collecting your clothes from the cushions, and reached for you. Her arms went to wrap around your waist, but you stepped back before she could fully touch you.
Cassie's hands dropped, and so did her expression.
"I'm gonna go take a shower."
"Baby—"
"Not right now." you inhaled through your nose as you turned and headed down the hallway. "I still feel gross."
This time, she didn’t try to stop you. Her mouth opened only to close when she couldn’t find the right thing to say, if there even was such a thing in that moment.
A few seconds later, she heard the bathroom door shut, the sound ringing through the apartment. Cassie stood in the living room for a second longer before slowly sinking onto the couch.
Her eyes landed in the direction of the bedroom you left.
Then on your abandoned shoes by the door.
And finally on the empty spot beside her.
At first she just stared, then squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back into the cushions, mentally cursing herself for how stupid she’d been. The more she replayed the night, the worse she felt.
Because she recounted the amount of instances you'd tried to spend time with her while her focus was somewhere else.
A knot formed in her stomach.
Then the spilled drink.
At the time she'd been focused on cleaning up the mess and getting you something to cover up with. Now all she could picture was you sitting there uncomfortable for hours while she kept talking about the game.
The realization made heat creep up the back of her neck.
Fuck.
Cassie pressed her lips together. You hadn't been asking for much.
Just her attention. Just a date. Just her.
She thought about the drive home and how quiet you'd been. How she'd filled every silence with baseball again. How she'd only asked if you were okay when you physically pulled away from her.
She let out a heavy sigh, because you were right.
— —
The apartment was still buzzing with silence when you stepped out of the bedroom.
The shower had helped—maybe not with your mood, but at least you no longer felt like dried soda was glued to your skin. You’d changed into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, the clean set of clothes making you feel refreshed.
Cassie looked up the millisecond she heard you coming down the hallway.
She’d remained in her spot on the couch the whole time you were gone. Not watching television, or scrolling on her phone. Just sitting there. And the second she saw you, she straightened slightly.
She watched as you made your way over to the kitchen, mentally debating if now was the time, before deciding to follow. The couch cushions shifted under her weight as she stood up.
“Hey,” she said quietly, her feet brushing against the floor, slow.
As if she were approaching cautiously because she wasn’t sure how you’d react. Her shoulders dropped a little when you ignored her, only opening a cabinet to grab a glass.
“Baby,”
This time a faint hum left you.
Not exactly an answer, and also not completely disregarding her. You filled the glass from the refrigerator water dispenser, and Cassie appeared behind you a few seconds later. She didn’t touch you, but she was close enough that you could feel her presence.
“I’m sorry.”
You took a sip from your cup. “Hm.”
Cassie sighed, the sound carrying a little frustration with it. Because for someone who spent all day talking baseball, she suddenly couldn’t figure out what to say.
You downed the rest of your drink and set the glass beside the sink, turning to leave again. But before you could get more than a step away, Cassie’s hand closed gently around your wrist.
The movement happened so quickly you barely processed it.
One second you were planning to leave, the next you were being spun back around and your feet had left the floor. She lifted you like you weighed absolutely nothing and set you on the countertop.
Immediately, she stepped between your knees and her hands braced themselves on either side of you, effectively trapping within her arms.
Your eyes widened as you blinked at her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get you to listen to me.”
“I was listening to you.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow, the action alone telling you she didn’t believe that for a second.
“No,” she denied slowly. “You might’ve been listening to my voice but you weren’t hearing what I was saying.”
You scoffed. “Yeah, doesn’t feel too great does it?”
That response shocked her into silence, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. Your arms folded across your chest as you looked past her shoulder toward the living room, toward anything except her stare.
Clearly you were still very upset.
For a moment neither of you said a word.
Cassie eventually inhaled a deep breath before speaking up. “You were right. About everything.” she started softly.
Your jaw tightened immediately.
You hated hearing that because it made it harder to stay angry.
For the last hour you’d been mentally preparing for this exact conversation. Planning what you were going to say and how you were going to say it. Now, she was agreeing with you.
It was annoying.
“I didn’t realize how dismissive I was being, and I hurt you.”
A quiet sigh escaped through your nose that Cassie noticed instantly.
“You weren’t there because you wanted to watch baseball.” she said. “You were there because I asked you to be.”
Your fingers tightened around your folded arms. The words landed harder than you wanted them to because that was exactly it. You hadn’t gone for the Dodgers, you had gone for her.
“I keep thinking about you trying to talk to me.” Cassie’s voice stayed quiet. “I remember now, and I hate that I brushed you off the way I did.”
Your eyes dropped briefly to the counter between you at the memory of how upset you gradually became, how embarrassed you were.
“I was so excited about the game, but that’s not an excuse.” she watched your face carefully when you continued avoiding her gaze.
“I meant it when I said I wanted it to be a date.”
Your gaze flicked back to her at that.
For the first time since you’d come out of the shower, and Cassie’s eyes softened immediately when she realized she’d finally gotten your attention.
“I wasn’t lying.”
You looked at her—really looked at her, and the sincerity in her gaze made all of your built up walls nearly crumble on the spot.
“I just got carried away.” a tiny smile pulled at one corner of her mouth. “And apparently I turned into some crazed Dodgers fan.”
Your lips twitched before you could stop them, and immediately your mouth flattened again.
But it was too late.
“There she is.” a faint warmth appeared in her eyes.
You rolled your eyes and looked away again. “Don’t ruin it.”
The smile that spread across Cassie’s face was soft, relieved. Like she’d been waiting all night to see even the slightest crack in your stubbornness.
Cassie slid her hands to your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter and against her front. This time you let her, and a warm kiss landed against your cheek.
Then another.
“Cassie.” you warned.
And another.
“Yes, baby?”
“You think you can fix everything with kisses?”
“I can try.” she pressed another to your jawline. “Is it working?”
Her hands settled on the top of your thighs, and you became suddenly hyperaware of how close she was standing. The argument had distracted you from it before, but now there was nothing else to focus on other than her.
She pulled back to look at you, and your gaze dropped to her hand placement for a second before meeting hers again.
“You know,” she said softly. “You’re really cute when you’re pretending you’re still mad at me.”
You scoffed immediately. “You’re not completely off the hook yet. You’re still in trouble.”
“Yeah?”
“Very serious trouble.”
She breathed out a sigh. “I guess that just means I’m gonna have to make it up to you.” her hands glided higher as her mouth returned to your neck.
You fought to keep your eyes open at the feeling of her soft lips on you. Your head tilted to give her more room against your better judgement. As much as this is how you wanted your night to go—you were still pissed at her.
“Hm?” she murmured, her mouth trailing further down. “Are you gonna let me make it up to you, babygirl?”
A gasp caught in your throat when her teeth grazed your skin. She paused at your pulse point, focusing on that spot for a moment as she nipped gently before soothing the bite with an opened mouthed kiss.
Her lips then captured yours.
The way she kissed you so deeply honestly caught you off guard. It was different from the quick, brief pecks she’d given you earlier before the game. Like she wanted you to feel how sorry she really was instead of just saying it.
You soon pulled back just enough to get some air, your lips barely brushing hers. “Better get on with it before I change my mind.”
Cassie chuckled and she didn’t give you time to respond before she hauled you off the counter. A startled gasp escaped you and you clung to her instinctively, legs tightening around her middle and arms wrapping around her shoulders as she carried you towards the bedroom.
The door clicked shut with a nudge of her foot, and the mattress dipped under your weight as Cassie laid you down, crawling to hover over you. Your hands tugged at her jersey and she instantly pulled it over her head, tossing it somewhere on the floor. You always loved the feeling of her skin on yours.
Her mouth found yours once more. Cassie’s hands wasted no time in gliding up your sides, the usual coldness of her hands a sharp contrast to the warmth of your freshly washed skin. Your shirt was soon bunched up above your chest, and a shiver ran down your spine when her thumb brushed over your sensitive nipple.
You gasped lightly into the kiss, and Cassie smiled victoriously. She parted from your lips, trailing kisses down your throat until she reached your breasts. She focused on the left one first, her mouth closing around the areola as her tongue swirled around your nipple.
Heat shot straight to your core, soft whimpers falling from your lips at the stimulation. Her hand cupped the right one, giving it a firm squeeze before her fingers began toying with the hardened bud.
She pulled, twisted, rubbed—you could feel your panties getting embarrassingly soaked by the second from the way they were sticking to you.
Cassie switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention. Her tongue circled around your nipple before latching back on. Only when your hips began bucking up into her did she chuckle, taking the hint.
Her hand traveled lower until they reached the waistband of your shorts, slipping beneath the fabric. She was instantly met with dampness, your slick generously coating her fingers. Your breath hitched at the feeling of her touch exactly where you needed it.
She pulled off your breast with a grin. “Jesus, baby.” she teased, her fingers sliding under your panties to run along your slit. “This wet for me already?”
You wanted to roll your eyes at the comment, but a moan was forced out of you at the sudden intrusion of her two fingers. She chuckled at the look of pleasure that settled on your face. Your eyes had fallen shut and your head rested back into the pillows.
“Fuck—Cassie,”
“Yeah, baby? That feel good?” she drew back before pushing in again, curling her fingers once she was knuckle deep. “God, you’re so beautiful.”
The spot she was hitting so accurately made your walls clench around her fingers, eager to keep them inside. A soft moan fell from your lips as she fucked you slowly, and you thought she was finally going to give you what you’d been waiting for, but all of a sudden—she pulled out.
Your eyelids flew open. “Cassie,” you groaned, staring at her in annoyance.
She was walking a fine line from earlier and you still weren’t particularly happy with her, so this was in no way helping her case, but she paid no mind to your scolding.
“Relax, baby.” she said, sitting up to pull your underwear and shorts down your legs. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”
Cassie ran her hands soothingly along your calves as she returned to her position between your thighs. She laid flat on her stomach and let your legs drape over her shoulders, now staring directly at your dripping cunt.
You had expected to be met with more teasing—Cassie loved to make you wait and get you all riled up before giving you what you wanted. You’d anticipated maybe another finger that she would refuse to sink in deep enough to satisfy you, or maybe a stroke of her tongue that she wouldn’t let you feel long enough to actually be pleasurable.
That’s why your breath caught so roughly in your throat when she dove in like a woman starved. You weren’t prepared for the way her tongue glided through your folds with a delicious pressure that made your eyes roll back into your head. When she reached your clit she sucked hard, moaning into you at the taste she never got tired of.
The vibrations made you cry out and your legs tried to involuntarily shut around her head, but her hands wrapped around your thighs to keep them open.
“Oh, fuck—Cass—”
Cassie ate you out desperately, her mouth working wonders on your cunt—like all she wanted was to make you feel good after a night of making you feel like shit.
She traced her tongue around the sensitive bud before closing her lips on it and sucking firmly in a way that had you keening and your hips bucked on their own accord.
Her tongue ran along your slit, probing at your aching hole for a moment before pushing all the way in. Your hands grabbed at her, looking for anything to hold as her tongue fucked deep into you.
You made the mistake of looking down at her at that moment, because her gaze was already locked on you.
The sight of your girlfriend—who you were thoroughly pissed off at not even a half hour ago—lying between your legs with your arousal glistening on her face as she fucked you with her tongue could have made you cum on the spot if you weren’t deliberately holding yourself back.
Her eye contact remained unwavering, and the attention would have been overwhelming if it wasn’t exactly what you had been wishing for all night. You were the first to break it, your eyes closing as keeping them open proved to be impossible with the pure ecstasy running through your body from her ministrations.
Your hand tangled in her hair and she groaned when you tugged, but she didn’t stop you. You were getting close, and she knew it from the way your walls were tightening around her tongue. Her thumb began to rub circles into your clit. Your other hand finally released its grip on the sheets to find her.
“Fuck, please—Cass, please—”
It was too much and not enough all at once, you couldn’t decide whenever to push her away or pull her closer. She used her free hand to lace her fingers with yours, offering a grounding touch as she doubled down on her efforts.
Her tongue curled, finding that angle that made you cry out for her. A few more perfectly timed thrusts and a particularly hard rub at your clit, and you were falling over the edge.
Your back arched as you went silent, and Cassie had to pry your clamped thighs open so she could fuck you through it properly. It washed over you in waves, and when you eventually came down you had to push her away to get her to stop.
She gave in to your protests and sat up, gently guiding your legs back down to the bed. Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your air, and the fucked out expression on your face made her smile.
Cassie probably didn’t look any better.
Her hair was disheveled, and she wiped her face that was most definitely covered in your slick with the back of her hand. She moved to hover over you, her forearms resting on either side of your head. She brushed your hair back from your forehead as she peppered kisses across your cheek.
“My sweet girl,” she murmured. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You hummed lightly, your eyes still shut as you allowed your body to come down from your high. She connected her lips with yours, and you moaned quietly at the taste of yourself still evident in her mouth.
Cassie pulled away, pecking your lips once before sitting up. She unzipped her pants that were somehow still on and kicked them to the floor before sliding back into bed beside you. She tugged the blanket over your naked body and gathered you into her arms.
The apartment had gone quiet again, but this one was comfortable. Not the tense silence that had followed your earlier argument.
“You okay?” she asked gently.
“Mhm,” you responded. “Can we just stay like this for a bit?”
Cassie pressed her lips to your hairline. “Yeah, of course, baby.”
You laid against Cassie for a while, basking in that post-sex bliss. You traced absentminded circles against the back of her hand where she intertwined your fingers, and neither of you seemed particularly ready to move.
Cassie was the first to break the silence.
“I really am sorry.”
You smiled faintly. “I know, Cass. It’s okay.”
“No.” she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “No it’s not okay.”
That made you turn your head, and she was already looking at you.
“I don’t ever want to be the reason you have a bad day.” she let out a quiet breath. “You’re supposed to enjoy being with me and I just hate knowing I made you feel alone while you were sitting right next to me.”
You watched her for a moment before reaching up to smooth down her bangs on her forehead.
“You did.” you said, and her eyes visibly saddened. “But…” you smiled a little. “You made up for it and I forgive you.”
Cassie chuckled lightly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
You laughed before focusing in on her hand again. After a moment, you spoke up. “You know…I never told you this.”
“What?”
“I still have no idea what an inning is.”
Cassie stared at you in disbelief for exactly one second before she broke out into a grin. “You sat through that whole game,”
“Mhm.”
“And you still don’t know?”
“Nope.”
She shook her head, laughing. “I must be a pretty shit teacher then.”
You smiled to yourself and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’d do it again, though.”
Cassie looked up in shock. “You would?”
“Yeah.” you said. “It was nice at first. You know, before the game started.”
Her expression softened as she looked at you, and she leaned in to kiss you softly. “You have no clue how much I love you.” she murmured against your lips. “Next time I’ll make sure it’s actually worth it.”
“I know you will, and I love you too.”
She would definitely be calling out of work next weekend to take you on a proper date.
thank you thank you thank you for the kara fics my lesbian ass fell in love after watching supergirl and i've been on the hunt for fics ever since 😭 THANK YEWWWW
i am so painfully in love with her and am so happy to see so many people loving her too!!!💞 thank you for the support 💖 definitely more to come for all of our gayness
saturday softness | kara zor-el
wait….. like, more to come later, not now.
why is there a moodboard??
summary: kara takes in your relationship as it is
tags: fluff, sort of suggestive? kara grabs your boobs, slice of life, established relationship, kara calls you pretty
word count: 1.2k
why am i still typing?? what's happening??
· ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ ·
Kara realizes… this is it. This is the life that Clark insists is entirely obtainable. A life, actually, she had obtained nearly a year ago.
She could waste your time saying that she isn't deserving of it, throwing herself at your feet while crying out praises of your acceptance of her flaws. Or… she could allow herself to just be. She knew what he cousin would encourage. And, honestly, you were making it impossible for her to anything but absorb you.
This is everything. Lying in bed while she watches the woman she loves get ready for her day. Even with half of Kara's face buried in her pillow, her head tracks each of your steps. To the dresser, digging out your favorite comfy shirt. To the vanity, poking around your jewelry like you'll wear a new combination. And, yes, she tracks you snagging one of her rings as well. It makes her smile.
Seeing you go about your day with such casualty while she gets to watch? She never could've imagined this. Not only has she settled, but she enjoys it.
"We going to that farmer's market?" Kara's tired voice finely speaks up as she rolls over in bed, knowing that next you'd be going into the bathroom so she'd need a better view.
In the reflection of a mirror, she sees your lips curl into that excited smile you get each week. Kara's head tilts to see just a bit more of it.
"Yeah, I thought we could maybe get a few things from that new produce stand?" You continue your path, snagging your bra from where it hung before heading to the bathroom. "Not everything, obviously. I can't cheat on Betsy, but the new stand had some stuff Betsy doesn't. Seems like a win win for supporting them both."
Kara chuckles, shaking her head at your concern for supporting both stands. It's kind of refreshing to worry over something so small. Kara finds herself worrying over these things too nowadays.
Leaving the bathroom door open you begin to change, and Kara starts up the next part of her own morning. She slowly inhales, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms as she wakes herself up just a little bit more. You're quicker to wake than she is.
"Maybe we could get mushrooms again? You could show me how to make that one pasta." She throws out the idea as she rolls out of bed. "I'm not trying to steal your cooking thunder or anything, but it'd be nice to add to my limited list of recipes."
"Yeah!" Your happy chirp makes her heart skip. "It's always fun when we cook together, we could do it for dinner."
The excitement reflects on to Kara too. To just be around you now, at the market, for dinner. It's secure. Though, a question nags at her, why hasn't she ran from it?
It's not that she wants to, she absolutely doesn't. Her brain just has a hard time accepting this as her life now. A big change from planet hopping just to stay wasted, to padding into a shared bathroom so she can get dressed with her girlfriend.
But it's you. Fully dressed, but hair still askew. Pressed into the edge of the counter, wetting your toothbrush just like everyday, allowing her to share this space with you. She doesn't have to make a show to get this, and she never had to make a show for you. You simply opened the space for her and she walked in.
Her eyes scan over you, in a way that probably had you wondering if she was putting that x-ray vision to use again. You do give her the benefit of the doubt, being it's so early in the morning. That's your mistake, though.
Kara comes up behind you, kissing your cheek as you brush your teeth and then resting her chin on your shoulder. "You look pretty, baby."
You giggle in her hold, her hands lightly gripping your hips. It's easy to lean into her, and even easier for her to take you in. Always has been.
You hum a thanks, other hand holding on the countertop still. Kara watches your reflections, noting every reaction you have to offer. The corner of your lips turning upward as much as they could with a toothbrush in your mouth. Your eyes turning brighter as you watch her come in. The feeling of your back brushing against her torso as you lean into her.
Her eyes trail down your reflection, wanting to take in your outfit from the front as much as she had the back. Predictably, her eyes land at your chest. You aren't the only one with a routine, y'know?
"You look like… really fucking good." Her lips curl into that insatiable grin she gets, you see it in the mirror.
You laugh, feeling your cheeks burn with her compliment. Her eyes immediately go back to your face, needing to take in your joy. Hands are now moving over your stomach, tracing their way up the front of your body.
"Why're you laughing?" She has a taunting air, voice rolling quietly to your ear. "You know how pretty you look in this shirt. I'm just stating the facts."
She couldn't be more pleased with herself as she presses another kiss to your cheek, eyes still attached to your reflection. The palms of her hands finally meet the destination, pressing into the mounds of your breasts and welcoming her fingers to curl into the hold.
She feels the lace texture of your bra through the shirt and, even though she already knew what bra you had put on, she makes a mental note to praise you for this outfit choice too. She'd be thinking about it all day.
Your hand rests on her forearm as you lean down to spit out the foamy paste and rinse off your toothbrush. "I'm laughing because you kinda had me cornered, there."
You're all smiles, just like she knew you'd be. Her fingers gently squeeze, your breasts pushing into her hands as you inhale. Scolding her is a non-option when she's like this, and you didn't want to drive her away anyway. It feels good to just have her with you.
"Just appreciating you, that's all." She hums, her hands sliding down to hold your waist as her body moves around yours to give the corner of your lips a quick kiss. Her tongue wets her lips, tasting a hint of that toothpaste that must've lingered.
You hum, chasing her with a quick kiss to the cheek before trading places at the sink so she could brush her teeth. "I know what your appreciation turns into, so you'd better hold it until we're back from the farmer's market. I won't disappoint Betsy and be a no show."
Kara grins, voice muffled as she brushes. "Yes ma'am. Won't get hot until we get back."
She does a little salute to you in the mirror, winking before letting her hand fall to the counter. Thankfully, this earns another quiet laugh from you that Kara gets to hold onto. And, cherry on top, it earns her a playful swat on her butt as you roll your eyes and leave to finish your routine.
summary: it’s sunday, which means it’s baran’s day off. it’s sunday, which also means it’s your day to test out new recipes.
word count: 1.5k
tags: domestic fluff; slice of life; baker!reader; baran’s son
a/n: there’s a bakery near me that did these halo-halo inspired croissant buns. they had ube cream with red bean, jackfruit and coconut jelly topped with meringue. so so good
Rolling over, Baran frowned when her hand met cold sheets. It was Sunday, her day off, and all she wanted to do was sneak in a couple extra minutes of sleep snuggled next to you. Reluctantly, she peeled her eyes open, squinting slightly against the rays of summer sun.
Before Baran could call out to you, she heard the faint sound of dishes clinking together along with the soft hum of your voice coming from the kitchen. Then she remembered. It was Sunday—not only her day off, but also recipe day.
Slipping out of bed and into her pair of slippers, Baran followed the smell of butter and sugar wafting from the oven. The house was still cool, goosebumps forming next to the freckles on her shoulders, but the sight of you holding out a spoon for her son to sample whatever you were making was enough to warm her up.
Kaveh spotted her first. “Maman!” His eyes lit up as Baran approached the island. “You have to try this!”
“Good morning, azizam.” Baran kissed his temple, letting her fingers run through his curls. “You’re up early.”
“It’s Sunday,” he said as if it were obvious, and when Baran looked at you with a raised brow, you could only shrug, amusement pulling on your lips.
Rounding the counter, Baran hooked her finger into the front pocket of your apron and pulled you in for a kiss.
“Good morning, eshgham,” she mumbled, sighing when she tasted a hint of cardamom lingering on your lips.
“Morning.” You pecked her lips once more before lifting the spoon to her mouth. “Taste?”
Never one to refuse you, Baran leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the wooden spoon. The flavors of cardamom and cinnamon danced on her tongue, and she let out a satisfied hum.
“Delicious.”
“Yeah?” Your eyes widened at the praise. Ever since you and Baran had started dating, you wanted to incorporate more Persian and Iranian flavors into your recipes. It took some experimenting, but luckily you had two samplers at hand to give you feedback.
“Tastes just like home,” Baran confirmed with a soft smile, which you mirrored. “What are you making?”
She slid past you to grab a mug from the cabinet, and you turned back to tend to whatever was steaming on the stove.
“Cardamom cinnamon rolls,” you answered, stirring a small pot, “with brown butter cream cheese frosting.”
“And there’s ham and cheese croissants in the oven,” Kaveh chimed in, clearly excited about his favorite pastry.
Baran frowned slightly as she poured herself a cup of hot water. “How long have you been up?” she asked you, walking over to take a seat in the stool next to her son.
“Only like an hour,” you replied as you clicked off the burner. Turning around, you leaned back against the stove and took a sip of your coffee. “I prepped the croissants and the dough for the rolls last night.”
“Was that before or after you made us homemade pizza?” Baran wore an easy smirk, but the slight edge in her voice told you she was chiding you for overworking yourself.
“It’s fine, darling. Food is my love language.”
Before Baran could push the issue further and remind you of the time she found you fast asleep with your head buried in a pile of flour, the oven timer beeped.
“Saved by bell,” she quipped under her breath, and by the look she gave you, you knew you were probably only getting to two of the four other recipes you’d had lined up for this afternoon.
As you pulled the tray of croissants from out of the oven, Kaveh hopped off his stool and scurried over to your side.
“Can I have one?” He stood on his tippy toes trying to get a peek of the flaky pastry.
“Maybe in a couple minutes. We have to let the cool first,” you explained patiently. Noticing the way his shoulders deflated slightly as he fell back onto his heels, you quickly added, “How about you help me with these cinnamon rolls?”
Like a switch, Kaveh’s face lit up again, and you laughed.
“Go grab the stool.”
Quickly, he hurried over to the pantry and returned with the step stool in hand, climbing up the two steps so his head was now at your shoulder level. As you spread the cardamom-cinnamon-butter mixture across the sheet of dough, you spelled out the next steps to him.
“After I spread the filling, I’ll cut the dough into strips.” You picked up the pizza slicer to do just that. “Then we’ll roll each strip up into a little bun.”
You used your two fingers to gently roll a strip of dough, picking it up to show him the spiral. “Like this. See?”
Kaveh nodded eagerly. “Cool!”
As the two of you assembled the rolls, Baran sipped her tea, a tender smile forming on her face. The smell of freshly baked pastry, the glowing morning sun, the easy banter between you and her son mixed with the faint music you’d put on— she never felt more at home.
“Maman, come try one.” Kaveh wore a wide smile as he proudly held up one of his rolls for his mother to see.
Before Baran could protest, or even explain that she’d made dozens of cinnamon rolls before herself, you chuckled and took the roll from his hand.
“Let your mother rest, kiddo,” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “She had a long day yesterday.”
Now it was your turn to give her a knowing look, your eyes telling her that you’d noticed the way her shift seemed to weigh heavier on her last night. Baran couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from twitching up, as she remembered how much detail with which you cared for her.
“Besides—” you shrugged casually— “she’s going to help me later with the halo-halo buns.”
“I am?” “Halo-halo?” Baran and her son spoke at the same time, their confused expressions comically identical.
“They’re for Perlah’s birthday,” you clarified before turning to the young boy. “Halo-halo is a Filipino dessert with shaved ice and fruit. It’s sort of similar to a sundae.”
“Can you save one for me?” he asked, bouncing his knees.
“Of course.” You ruffled his curls before playfully pinching his cheek. “Why don’t you go wash up and get dressed? Then a croissant will be waiting for you when you get back.”
Kaveh didn’t need to be told twice, and without another word, he was off the stool and running down the hall back to his bedroom. Shaking your head with amusement, you plucked his unfinished roll off the counter and dropped it next to the rest of the batch before moving the pan over to the stove.
“How do you know when Perlah’s birthday is?” Baran asked as you rounded the kitchen island. She swiveled the stool to face you, and you moved to stand in between her legs.
“She mentioned it last week when I brought in those sandwiches for you guys,” you replied nonchalantly, leaning in so your lips were hovering over hers. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she whispered, eyes flitting down to your mouth, as she finally realized the two of you were now alone.
Closing the gap, she kissed you slowly and softly, cherishing the taste of you on her tongue.
“I missed you,” you hummed against her lips as you started to pull away, your hands still resting on her thighs.
“I missed you too, eshgham.” Baran lightly brushed a loose hair out of your face, her eyes tracing every detail of your face, almost as if she were scared she was going to lose this moment.
You could sense her thoughts were drifting so you gently squeezed her leg. “You with me?”
“Always,” she murmured.
Nodding, you smiled, a faint twinge of concern still flickering in your eye. “How about after I put these rolls in, you help me with the Halo buns then we go picnic in the park?”
Baran furrowed her brows and frowned slightly. “Don’t you have some other recipes you want to try?”
She knew you usually spent all day Sunday in the kitchen, pouring over new techniques and flavor combinations.
Shrugging, you made a noncommittal sound as you twirled the end of one of her curls in between your fingers. “You’re more important. You and Kaveh.”
The ease and finality with which you said this made Baran’s throat tighten, and in that moment, there were a million things she wanted to say.
She wanted to say ‘thank you for integrating my son so seamlessly into your life, for knowing what to say at all the right moments, for knowing me so well.’ She wanted to tell you much your words meant to her, how your actions meant even more. She wanted to say ‘I love how you always make me feel appreciated and seen, how you’ve made this love for us and turned it into a home.’
Opening her mouth, Baran wanted to say all of that, but the words died on the tip of her tongue.
As if you could read her thoughts, your eyes softened. “I love you.”
Baran nodded with a smile, her own eyes glistening as she swallowed the knot in her throat.
summary - after a celebration at dana's house, you're the only two people left. what else were you supposed to do?
cw - spice, making out, lesbian behavior (yum), wine (they are buzzed but not inebriated), senior resident!reader
a/n - ok ok okkkkk no smut but a little spice, i'm dipping my toes in, please be nice this is the dirtiest thing i've ever written and it's not even that dirty lol. pride month is the best. pls keep requesting wlw!!!
—
You had thought, rather foolishly, that your fourth year of residency would be a time of celebration. Hooray, you survived almost half a decade of being over worked and underpaid! As a reward, you get to add the stress of job hunting, rigorous interviews, and three AM panics about possibly having to move!
You shouldn’t have been surprised, because that was how life as a doctor was. No breaks. You barely got to celebrate graduation from med school, busy worrying about residency. Nonstop, every day, a barrage of stress, anxiety sweats, and minimal sleep.
You hadn’t always known you wanted to be a doctor. You’d actually gotten a degree in marketing, something you’d thought was a safe bet, before you realized how depressed desk jobs made you. You spent your mid twenties jumping from mediocre job to mediocre job, sure that you just hadn’t found the right one. It was your volunteer work at a trauma center not dissimilar to this one that showed you the light.
Running around, solving problems, keeping your mind busy? That was what you were meant to do. So, you’d scrambled to get your prereqs together and applied to medical school. Your parents thought you were crazy, especially when your residency brought you so far from home, but before long they were texting you symptoms, and pictures of moles, asking for advice.
Perhaps it was the space from your family, the states between you, that made this transition seem even more difficult than the last one. You were in your thirties now, but felt remarkably childish when you cried to your mom about interview outfits. You were drowning. Really, though, it was just the busywork, signatures and business casual pants and 401K talks that had you feeling so stifled. Never the job itself. No, your work in the ER each day was all that kept you going.
And after a sleepless night like the one you’d had, you weren’t just glad to be back, you were hungry for it. You drank it all in as you walked through the door; the yelled orders, the open cases piled high, the squeak of the rusty wheel on the sandwich cart. It was chaos, yes. But you wanted nothing more.
“Good morning,” said Jack gruffly, eyeing you and your smile. “Why are you doing that?”
“Smiling?”
“Yeah, stop it,” he said, clicking into one of the computers. “It’s freaking me out. Are you on something?”
“Just excited to get to work today,” you shrugged.
“Well, have fun,” he said. “I’ve got a toothache and two stomach pains who’ve been here since eleven last night, stable for now but getting a bit restless, and we only just sent the last victim of an MVA up for imaging, so expect most of them to be sticking around for a while.”
“Excellent,” you said.
“Wait a minute, it’s five in the morning,” said Jack suspiciously.
“Couldn’t sleep,” you said innocently. “I’ll take chest pain in three.”
Jack grumbled something as you dumped your bag right at the hub and ran to work, desperate. Was it a bit sad that work was your biggest sense of joy and livelihood? Maybe, if you wanted to listen to society and its breeding, heteronormative forward ideals. To you though, life was okay. Or it would be just as soon as you figured out where you were going to work next year.
And, sure, maybe you were a little lonely, and okay, yeah, like super pent up, but by the time you reached home at the end of your day, you were too exhausted to worry about such things. Not the healthiest approach, but it was just temporary.
You bounced from room to room, picking up slack and running errands just to have something to do until handover. When Jack finally called you back to the hub, it was to find most of the day shift already assembled.
“When did you get in?” asked Robby, looking worse for wear with his eye bags and worryingly large cup of coffee.
“Couple hours ago,” you said. “Wanted to get a head start. Clearly you had other ideas. Rough night, chief?”
“Oh, you know how he gets when he has to work back to back,” said another voice behind you.
You turned. Dana was smirking at you, sunglasses resting on her head. She had two bags in her hands, one of them yours.
“Should have known it was you cluttering up my station before the shift even started,” she said, tossing your bag to you. “Don’t let it happen again.”
“Good morning to you too, gorgeous!” you trilled, smiling back. “You, of course, look lovely as always. With that complexion I’d guess a full eight hours.”
She snorted. No one in the pitt had gotten more than six hours of sleep as long as they’d worked there, as you very well knew. But this was your game. You flirted hopelessly with your beloved charge nurse, she quipped back, and it worked. You lived for the banter the two of you could stir up at a moment’s notice, over empty boards to the middle of hectic traumas, like instinct.
She was an odd bird, to you. You liked to flirt a little, even with the guys if you thought it could get their faces to heat up enough to make you laugh. You were a menace when Whitaker first joined the team, even caught Jack off guard once or twice. But with Dana, it was different.
There was this fire between you, simmering, lighting you up each time you got going. Those rarer occasions when she flirted back made your heart turn. You scanned every room you entered hoping she’d be there. And yet, after almost four years, you hadn’t cracked her.
She had three daughters, two in college, one in her final year of high school. She was divorced but on good terms with her ex husband. You knew her favorite color, her preferred brand of cigarettes, her birthday, and you loved knowing those things. Getting to know her was a joy.
But there were some more pressing questions on your mind.
You’d never known her to have a relationship besides the amicably ended marriage. She was a little older than you, maybe older enough to raise a brow or two, but nothing gross. But if she thought that was an issue, surely she wouldn’t flirt with you? Then again, she might not be gay. Everyone knew you were. Maybe Dana assumed everyone knew she wasn’t?
You had even gone as far in the past as to ask Princess and Perlah for intel, at the risk of having your little crush exposed, but they had little more information. She married young, before either of the gossipy nurses had started at PTMC, and they hadn’t heard any dating rumors since the split.
You had been tempted, when you first became acquainted, to dig for more. It was in your nature after all to take problems head on, get your hands dirty, and find a solution. But something held you back. Maybe it was the fact that you were colleagues, that she had kids, that you liked the way things were too much to push it. You moved on, allowing yourself to appreciate her beauty, passion, and wit from the sidelines without crossing any boundaries.
But when Dana stopped you at the end of the shift and proposed a wine night, to celebrate, she said, you’d readily accepted.
That was how you found yourself in her living room in the first place, surrounded by Samira, Cassie, Perlah, and Princess. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, gathering for some drinks, though it was the first time you’d been in Dana’s house.
“It’s a great place,” you said, glancing around while everyone poured themselves some wine from Dana’s special stash. Cassie and Perlah said they were fine with just pomegranate juice and seltzer.
“Yeah, I got it in the divorce,” said Dana, handing you a glass. “Otherwise I’d never be able to afford it alone.”
You took a sip of your wine and hummed. You were nothing close to a connoisseur, most of your wine having been drunk in absence of anything stronger, or on the side of a meal someone else paid for. Still, you could tell this one was nice, rich and smoky. You weren’t surprised Dana had great taste.
“What are we celebrating, by the way?” asked Princess after a deep draw from her cup.
“Our best fourth year residents over here, of course,” said Dana, gesturing to you and Samira, who smiled sheepishly. “Soon to be attendings at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!”
Everyone let out some whoops, and you just shook your head.
“Samira’s the only one who’s got a confirmed position,” you said seriously. “Who knows where I’ll end up.”
“Oh, relax, Robby practically told me himself that you’re in,” Dana waved away.
“Really?”
“Everyone knows you’re his favorite,” said Cassie, and the others tittered agreements, but you shushed them and turned back to Dana.
“Wait — what exactly did Robby say?”
“He said you worked wonderfully with the team, and your prospects were good,” she said.
You scoffed.
“He was just being nice,” you said gloomily, taking another hearty sip.
“Nah, he had that look,” she said. You shook your head in confusion. “Trust me, that ‘I can’t say it but I’ve made up my mind’ look. It was actually nice, usually that look means bad news.”
It was hard to explain how you were feeling. There was an initial rush of relief, followed by several pangs of doubt. It was a big hospital, with lots of applicants.
“Maybe,” was all you said.
You and the others spent the next several hours playing drunk jeopardy, a fun idea in theory ruined by the fact that two of your number weren’t even buzzed. Perlah and Cassie obliterated the competition, much to Princess’s chagrin. In all the chatter, another bottle or two of wine got drained, and you found yourself feeling warm and comfortable in the corner of Dana’s lush couch.
“This is a great lamp,” you said, while the others argued over points.
“Isn’t it?” said Dana. “I just got it, fiftieth birthday present from my girls.”
“It’s beautiful,” you said, eyes roving the side of her face.
She smiled at you.
“Ya know, you don’t need to worry as much as you do,” she said quietly. “You’re a great doctor, and you’re gonna end up where you’re meant to be. Don’t stress it.”
“Easier said than done,” you laughed.
“That’s always true,” she said. “Just wait. You’ll get the call any day now, sweetheart.”
Normally the pet name rolled right off your back, but the slight haze from the one set your face ablaze with heat. You smiled wider and leaned into her, knee to knee, hip to hip, your arm curling under your head against the back of the couch.
“You grew up around here, didn’t you?” you asked.
“Born and raised,” she said.
“How’d you stand it,” you asked. “I mean, by the time I left my hometown, I was dying to get away.”
She shrugged.
“Cities are always changing,” she said. “Just enough to keep it interesting, I guess. Besides, it’s much easier to expand the world you already have than to make a whole new one somewhere else.”
“That’s definitely true,” you chuckled. “You have to take me on a tour sometime, though.”
“You’ve lived here for four years.”
“Ya, not the generic tourist tour, the Dana Evans tour,” you said, grinning. “Deep cuts. Embarrassing high school stories. The shitty restaurants you’re loyal to.”
Her lip quirked in that familiar way.
“Those are stories for another day,” she said. “I’d better go wrangle the troops before things get violent.”
And she pulled away to round up the others. Disappointed, but not deterred, you and your wine decided to go for a little walk. It was like every dormant desire and curiosity for the woman you spent almost every day with was back at full force. You craved knowledge, like you were a dying man and the cure to your ailments lay in the life of that mystery.
You strolled around the house while the others were distracted, taking in the vases filled with slightly drooping flowers, the piles of mail, and the pictures hung all along the walls. There was no doubt Dana was a proud mom. Her daughters’ faces smiled down at you from almost every surface, recitals, graduations, vacations, sports games.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you glanced around. You told yourself as you ascended them that it was harmless snooping, so why did you check no one was looking?
You padded along the hallway, glancing into the open doorways. There were four open doors, one bathroom, and three bedrooms. At the very end of the hall, a fifth door was closed. You approached it, thinking.
You definitely shouldn’t. A closed door is a clear sign. You weren’t about to go barging into someone’s personal space like that.
Right?
Again, the wine, or so you told yourself, was just the touch of careless energy you needed to push yourself over the edge. The door creaked as you opened it, but after a pause raised no alarms from downstairs, you tiptoed into the room.
It was nice, exactly what you’d expected it to be. Ornate rug, king sized bed, glossy, embroidered curtains over blackout blinds. A shiny wooden dresser stood against the wall, brass handles shining as you flicked on a lamp. Dana’s room was different from the rest of the house. Only one family photo, from when her daughters were much younger, rested on her nightstand. On the walls were beautifully framed pieces of art you’d never seen before. Across the dresser were more photos, but not of chubby babies or trips to Disneyland.
It took you no time to identify Dana, some twenty-five years younger. Longer hair, less smile lines, but this laughing girl was undoubtedly the same woman you knew so well. The smile, the eyes, they screamed Dana.
The biggest difference was not her appearance, but her activities. These photos on the dresser depicted her out at bars with friends, singing her heart out at karaoke, going on what you could only imagine was spring break at sandy, tropical beaches.
“What are you up to, trouble?”
You jumped at Dana’s sudden presence. You should have left, apologized profusely and gone downstairs to get your coat. Instead, you smirked.
“Snooping,” you said. “Didn’t know you were a wild party girl, Dana.”
She didn’t look mad, just amused, so you thought she’d probably had about as much wine as you. She sidled up next to you, taking a frame from your hand and examining the picture inside it.
“These are my college days,” she said fondly. “Did a lot of partying back then. I’d go out almost every weekend. No idea how I even managed to graduate.”
“Wouldn’t have guessed,” you said, walking backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed.
You flopped down, somewhat rudely, probably, onto someone else’s bed without permission. Dana joined you, still clutching the photograph.
“Are you still friends with those girls?” you asked.
“Sure,” she said. “I mean, we all got pretty busy. Still talk from time to time. The redhead is Sarah, and that’s Marsha in the skirt.”
You nodded absently, setting down what was left of your wine. Before you could say another word, they were zapped from your mind by Dana’s next sentence.
“That’s Caroline. We used to hook up.”
It took several seconds for you to remember how to breathe. It was good you had already put your drink down, because you surely would have dropped it.
“You dated a woman?” you asked, in a hushed voice.
“Dated might not be the right word,” she said. “We were fooling around. It never turned into anything real.”
You leaned closer, watching her face.
“Did you want it to turn into something real?”
Her eyes lifted at last, locking onto yours. She looked thoughtful.
“That’s hard to say,” she said. “At first, we only did it when we were drunk. Then it was whenever we were ‘bored’. She was a year ahead of me, though. I started dating Benji after she graduated, and not much later, we were married.”
Suddenly, it struck you that there was no noise, either up or downstairs. You knew her youngest was at her dad’s. The only sound in the room was heavy breathing. When did it become heavy?
“Where are the others?” you asked.
“Gone home,” said Dana, and her eyes flickered down to your lips.
“You ever wonder about… what would have happened if you and Caroline never lost touch?” you muttered.
In lieu of a response, Dana brushed her nose against yours. That was all you needed to close the gap. Her lips were warm, and soft. She tasted like wine, but behind it you could just barely pick out the nicotine gum she popped like candy.
Your teeth clashed slightly as the kiss turned needy. Your hands explored her back, one slipping under her sweater. Hers were fisted around your belt loops, pulling you closer. Consciously or not, you responded in time.
When you broke apart for air, you used the heated second to remove your top. Then your fingers teased the hem of hers, asking for permission.
“This is a bad idea,” she panted, but her dilated pupils and swollen lips told another story.
“Maybe,” you said, in between the kisses you pressed against her neck. “Maybe it’s a great one.”
Her hand fisted momentarily in your hair as you sucked a spot just under your chin. You smirked, tucking that one in your back pocket, just in case there was ever a next time.
“We work together,” she sighed.
“So do Robby and Abbot, and everyone knows they’re together,” you said. “And I guarantee we could do a better job at hiding this than they do.”
Dana let a cackle slip, and you couldn’t hold in your giggles as you tugged her sweater. This time, she raised her arms above her head, allowing you to easily slip the fabric off. You tossed it aside, gently pushing her back against the bed. Then you swung one leg over her hips.
“I think you made the right choice, gorgeous,” you whispered, kissing down her chest. “I’m not some drunk kid going through a phase.”
Dana let out a contented moan, wiggling her hips around. You rolled yours once, twice, against hers, allowing yourself the juvenile zip of pleasure you got from the friction. You leaned down to press your lips against hers, soft tongues tangling messily.
“You’re too pretty,” you mewled. “To work as hard as you do. Let me take care of you.”
“Just this one time,” she said, hands clasped desperately over your hips, urging movement.
You smirked, playing with her waistband.
“Sure,” you said. “Just this one time.”
If you were really getting a job offer at PTMC, maybe you’d turn it down. If it meant more of this, you’d turn down every offer you got. Just as long as it wasn’t really just one time.
; baran al-hashimi x f!reader . w/c 2.4k established relationship, smut, mdni, oral (b!receiving), fingering (b!receiving), overstimulation (b!receiving)
summary; you feel bad for denying baran her orgasm earlier in the day and decide to alleviate her growing ache
an; i’m a bottom al-hashimi truther what can i say also haven't proofread this so ignore any mistakes
Baran was irritated.
No, she was infuriated.
As a matter of fact she despised you right now.
The two of you had woken up relatively early that morning, limbs tangled with each others and your slow breath against Baran's neck.
It had started harmlessly. You had walked out of the bathroom to Baran in her scrub bottoms and singlet, sorting her hair. She had looked irresistible in the morning light. You approached from behind, hands settling on her waist while your lips brushed her jaw.
You couldn't even remember how Baran ended up laying back on your shared bed with your hand between her thighs and lips connected to her neck.
She had gotten so close. Hands gripping the sheets tight, the coil in her mid-section about to snap when you pulled your fingers out suddenly. She had whined and in turn you cocked an eyebrow.
"We should probably get going" you mused nonchalantly. Baran sat up and watched in bewilderment as you just straightened out your scrub top and exited the room.
The drive to the hospital was just as excruciating for Baran. You insisted on driving like you usually do, scooping up your keys and opening the passenger door for her. Once you started the car your hand found her thigh, giving her knee a quick squeeze. It wasn't exactly a long drive to your shared work but you made it hell for her.
Your hand would inch up ever so slowly until your fingers were resting right next to where you knew Baran needed you. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing heavy when you looked over at her.
"You okay baby?"
Your voice was unnaturally sweet as you feigned obliviousness. She just hummed, eyes remaining forward which drew a smirk from you at her uncharacteristic quietness. You fingers began moving in slow circles on the inside of her upper thigh. Baran made a low noise which she masked by clearing her throat. You hadn't missed it though.
The two of you went your separate ways upon arriving to the hospital. You left Baran with a quick kiss and lingering hand on her lower back, the heat of it remaining long after you left.
She was thankful the two of you worked on different floors. She knew she wouldn't be able to handle seeing you work in the condition she was in. Your toned arms and stern but warm demeanour when dealing with patients and staff alike. She had been going fine until you came down for a surgical consult, something you rarely if ever did.
The knowing smirk playing on your lips as you entered and found her eyes was enough to let her know you were doing this on purpose.
"What's up everybody, doctor Al-Hashimi" you nodded in her direction. She gave you a brief glance, cheeks flushed before one of the residents gave you a run down. You had looked over the patient, confirming the diagnosis before arranging for an OR to be freed.
You caught Baran leaving the trauma room from the corner of your eye and you were quick to excuse yourself and follow her.
"How's your day beautiful" you murmured, shoulder brushing hers. "Good, you?" She didn't look at you once. Her jaw was tight and you huffed a laugh. "It's fine. I'll see you later?" She nodded and you had pressed a chaste kiss to her cheekbone before disappearing back upstairs.
Now Baran is laid back in bed, hand shoved down the front of her pants. She had received an apology text from you saying you were going to be stuck in surgery.
That was a couple hours ago now.
She had tried to busy herself with house work, reading, online shopping, literally anything to keep her mind off the growing ache between her legs but she was fighting a losing battle.
The house is quiet when you enter. The lights are off and Baran's presence is missing. You drop your bag and kick your shoes off, placing them neatly onto the shoe rack next to Baran's. You wander down the hallway when you hear noises coming from your bedroom. The door is pulled closed which is unusual. You push it open cautiously to see Baran layed out in bed, whining as she pumps her fingers in and out of her soaked heat.
Your eyes widen, a shiver running straight down your spine as your body heats up at the sight. You take a moment to collect yourself before announcing your presence.
"Need a hand?" Her eyes shoot open and she looks over at you, nodding meekly. That's all you need before closing the distance and tugging her pants and underwear down in one swift motion.
The sight you're met with makes your mouth water. Her glistening cunt all swollen from the time she's spent trying to make herself cum to no avail. Your hands find her thighs as she lifts her legs up, running up and down the exposed skin. You drop a kiss to her knee.
"You just couldn't wait for me to get home, huh?"
"No. Not after this morning" she grumbles, clearly still resentful. "I'm sorry baby, I'll make it up to you".
You push her legs apart and level your mouth with her core, meeting her gaze before licking a stripe up her folds. Baran lets out a shaky sigh, her hand coming to the back of your head to grip your hair.
"Shit azizam" she mutters. You only mess with her for a moment before giving her what she needs, your tongue pushing past her folds. The taste of her makes your stomach flip as the familiar heady scent clouds your mind. Her fingers tighten in your hair and you moan in response, the sound vibrating into her. She attempts to tighten her thighs around your head but you hold her legs apart by her hips as you practically devour her pussy.
Her hips begin to rock against your face, her other hand grasping at the sheets as her body begins shaking.
"Fuck— eshgham" she gasps, hips writhing against your jaw. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh of her waist, pulling her impossibly closer as your tongue works inside her.
You free a hand to slip under the thin material of her singlet to grope her breast. "Ey Khodā" she groans, hand abandoning the bed sheet to reach up and cover your hand with her own. Baran glances down at you, the sight pushing her closer to her climax. Your head buried between her thighs, eyes shut and completely focused on her.
Baran can feel her body humming with pleasure as she throws her head back, soft breaths falling from her lips. You pull a gasp from her when your fingers comes in contact with her sensitive clit, rubbing in firm circles.
"So good baby, 'm so close" she stammers.
She comes quick, likely from all the pent up frustration of the day. Her back arches off the bed while her legs convulse around your head and her hand pulls at your hair. Your mouth stays on her, eagerly receiving her pleasure as her vision goes static momentarily.
After cleaning her up with your mouth you trail your lips up her body before finding her lips in a sweet kiss. Baran pushes you back, dark eyes fixated on her slick that still coats your mouth. Her tongue darts out to lick it away and your fingers brush her midsection.
"That was—".
She gasps when you push three fingers into her, her walls clenching around the sudden intrusion. She grips your shoulders, breath hot against your swollen mouth as you lean down to kiss her. Your tongue swipes her bottom lip and she's quick to open her mouth, allowing your tongue free range to tangle with hers.
"Is this okay?" you ask softly after leaning back. Baran nods and you kiss her cheek. "I want to hear you say it" you mumble against her skin. "This is okay—" she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. "Fuck it's okay". Her voice is hoarse and it makes your stomach flip as you start moving your fingers slowly.
She's warm against your fingers. The wetness from moments ago allowing her to take your digits easier. "You’re so perfect" you murmur before kissing her cheek and burying your face in her neck, tasting the skin there.
She arches into you, eyes squeezed shut. "Shit" she breathes out.
Her arms slide down from your shoulders to your neck and bicep. Baran guides your head out of her neck to kiss you. It's messy when your lips meet, a mixture of saliva and cum. It makes you shiver.
You know she's close when she starts huffing against your lips, almost whining when you quicken your ministrations. Soon enough you're pulling another orgasm from her. Baran's body twitches beneath you as you slow your movements. You proceed to do this two more times, alternating between using your mouth and fingers until Baran is a whining mess.
Baran's eyes flutter closed and her chest is rising and falling rather quickly as you retreat from the bed. She barely registers the sound of you shuffling around the room while grabbing your harness and a rather modest strap for your wife. You carefully step into the harness and adjust the strap before approaching her, kneeling at the end of the bed.
You slowly position yourself so the dildo is lined up with her entrance and you watch as her eyes shoot open once she feels it brush against her. Her eyes land on it between her legs before she looks to your face.
"Azizam I don't think I can" she practically whispers, her voice completely spent. You bring a hand up to caress her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "I think you've got one more in you, don't you?" You watch her eyes, clearly mulling over the decision before nodding.
You press a soft kiss to her jaw, hand absentmindedly stroking her side as you push in slowly, allowing her to get used to the toy. Baran moans low against your ear as you bottom out inside her. You wait for a second, eyes watching her face closely. Tears gather in her eyes and a pang of guilt shoots through your chest. You lift up your hand to brush an escaped tear with the pad of your thumb.
"Are you okay?" "Yes" she breathes out quietly with a barely noticable nod.
You begin to move after a moment and she whines beneath you, fingers digging into the skin on your shoulder.
"Tell me if you want me to stop". She shakes her head.
"Don't stop" she husks.
That spurs you on as you begin to find a steady rhythm and stick to it, the sound of Baran's wet cunt as you thrust in and out of her filling the room. Each sweet noise that leaves Baran's mouth gives you more motivation to make her feel good.
"Harder" she groans as you hit a certain spot inside her.
You obey and allow your movements to match the intensity of earlier, her body jolting as you pound into her.
"Is that good my love?"
"Yes— so good. You feel so good in me azizam" Baran chokes out and you smirk, head dipping down to suck at the soft skin of her neck. She's too distracted by the overwhelming feeling inside her to tell you not to leave any marks. Oh well.
You're sure she's broken the skin on your shoulders as her head falls back to let out a moan. You drag your tongue over the darkened marks on her neck, feeling Baran shudder beneath you. You look down at where the silicone is sliding in and out of her cunt with ease and a throaty sound leaves you.
"Taking it so well baby, my beautiful girl" you utter against her neck.
Your words seem to push her over the edge as a spasm wracks its way through her body, toes curling as it dies down.
You drop down next to her, dildo still buried inside her as your hand finds her waist where her singlet has ridden up. You run your fingers up and down her side, waiting for her breathing to slow as you place gentle kisses to her jaw.
"Water?"
"No... just stay" she mutters and you nod. Your hand finds its way under her singlet, splaying out against her warm skin and Baran holds onto your forearm. You utter quiet affirmations against her skin, Baran sighing contentedly.
After a moment Baran shifts and whimpers at the feeling of you still inside of her. You adjust yourself and slowly pull out, Baran's mewls tugging at your heartstrings. You remove yourself from her embrace, pushing her whimpers to the side.
"I'm sorry baby, I'll be right back" you murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. You rush into the bathroom, chucking the used dildo to the side to clean later before grabbing a cloth and wetting it with warm water.
You walk back into the bedroom, hand landing on Baran's leg to let her know you're there. "This might be uncomfortable" you say softly as you nudge her legs open and gently clean up the mess. Baran's breathing changes momentarily at the sensation around her sensitive core.
You leave once more to the bathroom to put the cloth into a hamper before returning to your wife, kneeling next to her.
"What can I do?"
"I just want to feel you".
You nod at her words, already pulling your top off and aiding her in slipping out of her singlet. You lay back against the pillows and allow Baran to nestle into your side, welcoming the feeling of your skin on her own. Her hand lands on your chest, firm and grounding and your fingers move lazily up and down her back. Your legs tangle with hers instinctually like they've done a million times before. Her forehead is rested against your chin and you tilt your head to leave a quick kiss there.
"You okay?" "More than" she confirms.
A moment of comfortable silence passes before Baran takes a deep breath. "Don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow though" she mumbles which earns a laugh from you, Baran chuckling along with you.
"I promised I'd make it up to you didn't I?"
"Hm, that's true. You'll have to do that again sometime".
You raise an eyebrow. "Will do".
Baran shifts closer to you and soon enough the two of you drift off into a hazy post-sex sleep.
butch4butch cassie x reader where they try to out-gentleman each other lol <333
❝ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐂𝐊𝐀𝐘
𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝟒𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.. ❞
𝗯𝘂𝘁𝗰𝗵!𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗲 𝘅 𝗯𝘂𝘁𝗰𝗵!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
➞ I hope I did this justice my super polite anon, I'm one of the furthest things from butch ive ever met sooo hopefully I didn't butcher it
butch4butch with cassie where she lives to dick you down, telling you how good you feel around her strap, telling you how she's gonna fill you with her babies, and groaning into your mouth like she can feel you clench down around the silicone length
butch4butch with cassie where she tries to race you to see who can open the others car door first
butch4butch with cassie where she's such a service top during sex, always trying to make sure you're entirely blissed out the entire time, whilst you try to be a service bottom to her; both of you solely intent on making the other feel good, well past just overstim, until you're both just laying there together dragging in fucked out breaths too tired to move
butch4butch with cassie where you love buying old vintage cars and she loves fixing them
butch4butch with cassie where she walks around in just her boxers and a sports bra, the lights trail of hair traveling down her lower stomach to below her underwear driving you insane every time you look at it
butch4butch with cassie where despite your clipped nails she still ends up with claw marks down her spine, and you end up covered in her hickeys up and down your thighs, across your breasts, and trailing across your neck; anywhere her lips can find there is already a darkening purple bruise
butch4butch with cassie where she lets you worship her tattoos, especially the one on her hipbone (cannon trust me)
butch4butch with cassie where she has to pause during sex to take all of her rings off, before plunging her thick finger back into your aching heat
butch4butch with cassie where she makes you suck on her tits as she rides your strap, back arching above you as one hand grips onto the headboard, the other holding your head in place as your tongue swirls around her hardened nipples
butch4butch with cassie where she starts pointless 'arguements' over who's butchest
butch4butch with cassie where she has you spit on her hand to lube up the strap before she fucks you (+ makes you beg for it, "please daddy.. need it so bad..")
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
areudirty
yousharknotpass
origamiaround
discoholicmusic
