ᥫ᭡summary: Wanda’s never been tempted by a married woman before, but there’s a first time for everything.
ᥫ᭡content: SMUT ‼️; slowburn?; petnames; an extramarital affair; reader’s spouse’s gender is unspecified; yearning; both romantic & sexual tension; drinking/mild inebriation; mild angst + comfort; kitchen sex; cunnilingus (reader receiving); fingering (wanda receiving); grinding; MEN AND MINORS DNI; 7k words
ᥫ᭡a/n: my hand slipped. i did NOT mean to make this 7k words, but oh well. you’re gonna need your tea for this one 👀 enjoy! <3
ᥫ᭡masterlist
Wanda wasn’t sure what it was about you that she found so captivating. Your beauty or your charming smile, maybe. God knew she loved those dimples. Maybe it was your contagious laugh, or your energy as a whole. But all she knew was that whenever you were near, she couldn’t resist ogling. Couldn’t resist turning her head at the sound of your voice.
And yes, Wanda felt downright insane about her little crush. You were a married woman, after all. Happily, even. Because Wanda could admit that to herself. You and your spouse seemed happy from the outside looking in. It wasn’t like there were signs that a divorce was in the cards. But that didn’t stop her eyes from wandering, or her thoughts for that matter.
She knew what it boiled down to. Or at least she knew what she’d convinced herself of. You were simply a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman whom she could appreciate the presence of. And she’d wanted to be your friend. That’s why she always gravitated toward you the way that she did. In this town, there were a startling lack of genuine female friendships. Everyone seemed to always be making catty comments about everyone else, and Wanda never knew who she could trust.
But you? You were like that first gulp of water after a marathon. A pie cooling on the windowsill after a long day. You were a breath of fresh air, and by proxy, nothing but danger.
“Taking a breather, huh?” Your voice makes Wanda startle, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s been lost in thought at her kitchen island for the last ten minutes. After saying she’d only be in here to get more snacks for everyone.
There was a baseball game on today, and Wanda, who loved to host, had agreed to throw a party for the occasion; complete with snacks, beers, and non-alcoholic drinks for people like herself who knew they’d lose their heads if alcohol touched their lips. She still did love a good martini every now and again though.
Wanda turns to face you, and is immediately thrown by your outfit. She hadn’t had a chance to get a good look at you before now. But now, she was drinking it all in—the red bandana-patterned crop top that stopped right above your belly button, paired with light-washed denim shorts and sandals that matched the top. A baseball cap sits on your head, masking those pretty eyes in shadow. Wanda can’t place the fragrance you’re wearing, but it smells expensive and divine.
You look at her expectantly and Wanda finally manages to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “What? Oh, sorry. Hon, my mind is somewhere else entirely today. Yes, I was gonna get more snacks for our little ragtag bunch, but then I got distracted, and my mind started runnin’, and…you know how it is,”
What she didn’t say was ‘you know how it is when you have an inappropriate crush on a married friend’
“Well hey,” you scoop up two bowls of snacks that Wanda had just refilled. “Two pairs of hands are better than one, right? Why don’t I help,”
Wanda would’ve liked, needed just a few more extra seconds to stay inside her head, but she disregards it, smiling her thanks at you, and grabbing as many cold beers as she could hold in two hands. She follows you out of the kitchen and back into the living room just as a shout goes over the room.
Wanda sets down the drinks and you the snacks, just as your spouse cheers. “You should’ve seen it, baby! A home run! Didn’t I tell you our team is on a winning streak this season?”
You giggle, dropping a kiss on the crown of your spouse’s head. “That, you did,”
Wanda quickly turns away, but not before a spiteful demon grabs hold of her heart, upends it and shakes out its contents. Wanda shouldn’t have been feeling this way. She shouldn’t have been holding a grudge over the affection you and your spouse clearly held for each other. She was happy for you. She knew deep down a part of her was genuinely happy for the two of you. Maybe she was just put off because, well, she herself had never been married.
Not that it was at the top of her list of priorities at the moment. She actually quite liked living alone. But sometimes, it would be nice to have a better half, right? Someone to bounce ideas off of. A safe person to come home to after a long day. If that was what your spouse was to you, did Wanda have any right to keep pining?
Wanda didn’t really care about baseball, so while everyone else was enthralled in the game, she only pretended to follow what was going on. She mainly just sipped on mocktails and pretended she wasn’t staring at you; pretended she wasn’t counting up every single time your eyes met hers and every single time you shot her a smile.
Later that evening, as the party wraps up, Wanda finds herself stood at the door chatting with you and another neighbor from four houses down who, for the life of her, Wanda could never remember the poor girl’s name. Dana? Dahlia? Delilah? At this point, it would be rude to ask, so Wanda had just simply fallen on her southern crutch and resorted to calling the girl darlin’ to get around it.
Somehow, the conversation had steered to that new fancy boutique named Quinlan’s that just opened up outside of town.
“Oh, you should go!” Dana-Dahlia-Delilah is telling you, eyes lit with excitement. “They’ve got everything and it’s sooo spacious! It doesn’t look like it’ll be from the outside, but it’s actually much bigger than I thought it would be. And reasonably priced! I got my good jeans from there a couple weeks ago,”
“I’ve been meaning to check it out. I want to so badly,” you sigh. “But my car is on the fritz at the moment, and I just haven’t had the time. My partner actually promised they’d take me, but then they keep pushing it back because things will come up at work and…you know how these things go,” you shrug, dejected, and something squeezes in Wanda’s chest.
“I’ve had to keep moving my schedule around,” you continue. “My partner and I actually talked about going together, but…”
Wanda knows she should probably leave it alone, but she can’t. And before she can even think it through, she’s blurting out, “I can take you!”
You glance up at Wanda, eyes wide. “Oh, Wanda, no. It’s forty-five minutes outside of town. I can’t ask you to do that—“
“Nonsense,” Wanda waves her hand. “I don’t mind one bit. Plus, I’d been meaning to get my tail out there to go see what Quinlan’s has too.”
Your eyes are still wide, vulnerable, like maybe you want to try to talk Wanda out of it again. To tell her that this is too kind and you don’t want to inconvenience her. But Wanda pulls the thought right out of your head and addresses it.
“I don’t mind, y/n, really,” she says, resting a hand on your shoulder.
“You promise? I’m not gonna like, owe you gas money or anything?” you ask.
Wanda chuckles. “No, honey, you won’t owe me a thing. Except maybe a little bit of quality time. We can make a whole day out of it. How does next weekend work for you?”
A broad smile replaces the worried look from before. “Next Saturday is great. 12 o’clock?”
“12 o’clock,” Wanda agrees.
***
The night before the trip to Quinlan’s, Wanda barely catches a wink of sleep. Which is why she’s already halfway through her third coffee by the time she pulls up outside your house on Saturday afternoon. But then, she pauses. She didn’t know what was proper etiquette here. Should she text you? Give the horn a quick honk? Meet you at the door? She doesn’t have time to make a decision for herself before you come storming out of your house, a to-go thermos in your hand.
Wanda unlocks the doors once you’re close enough and you wordlessly climb into her passenger seat. Again, Wanda isn’t sure what to do here. But she can’t very well drive off until she knows you’re okay.
“Is everything alright?” she asks tentatively.
You sigh, depositing your thermos in one of Wanda’s cup holders and running a hand through your hair. You looked pretty today. It was warm outside today and you’d chosen a floral sundress, one of the top buttons undone. Wanda pointedly looks at your face, so she won’t be tempted to look at your clavicle instead.
“Sorry, just…we got into an argument this morning, my partner and I,” you say.
Wanda’s stomach lurches. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m okay, really,” you drop your head back against the headrest. “We’ve just been having more spats recently. And always about their job. It’s like they’re always cancelling on me to make room for work, but never putting off work to make room for me, you know? But I dunno, maybe I just sound bratty,”
“Not at all,” Wanda disagrees. “If anything, you sound frustrated. Which it sounds like you have the right to be,”
You smile sadly. “I am frustrated. I’ve been looking forward to going to the lake for weeks, and now that we’re less than a week away from when we were supposed to go, my partner says they can’t do that weekend because they’ve got a business trip. Now I’ll have to see if I can get the deposit back that I already put towards the Airbnb,”
Wanda chews her lip in thought. Then: “Maybe you don’t.”
“Hm?” You glance over at her.
“Why waste a lake getaway?” Wanda asks. “I’d be happy to go with you, and you know, I’m sure the little darlin’ from four doors down would like to go too. We could make it a girls’ trip,” Wanda wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, or she was simply digging herself a deeper hole. But you seem enchanted by the idea, sitting up straighter in the passenger seat now.
“You know what? You’re right! Why should I have to sit home and have no fun just because my spouse is going to Nevada for a few days? Wanda, you’re a genius! I’ll text Denise and ask her about it when we get back to town this evening,”
So Denise was her name. Wanda would have to remember that for next time. Though, she feared she’d be sticking to darlin’.
You’re noticeably happier, brighter when Wanda pulls away from your house and gets on the road. There’s a Shania Twain song playing on a low volume through the car speakers, but it can barely be heard over the easy flow of conversation. You and Wanda discuss everything that comes to mind. Work, past parties, plans for the upcoming lake trip. There’s never a lull, never an awkward silence, and Wanda can’t get over how nice it feels to just…talk to someone like this. And she definitely ignores the little zing that goes up her spine when she realizes that it’s you she’s alone with.
About thirty minutes into the car ride, the rain starts to hit, and Wanda seems to drive right into it. What starts as a small drizzle quickly graduates, fat drops beginning to pound against Wanda’s SUV. It doesn’t let up, even as Wanda pulls into the parking lot of Quinlan’s fifteen minutes later.
You wait out the rain as long as you can, and when the downpour diminishes to a soft pelt, you and Wanda sprint into the boutique.
“Oh, you poor things,” A blonde woman greets the two of you as you step into the boutique. Her southern drawl might even be deeper than Wanda’s. “Let me grab you some towels so you can dry off,”
You and Wanda stand in the foyer, exchanging shy smiles while shivering off the effects of the rain. While waiting for the associate to return, Wanda takes in her surroundings. The place is cozy, all powder pink walls and floral carpeting. There’s a faint apricot smell that permeates the entire boutique, and the central heating is a godsend, warming Wanda from head to toe.
After drying off to the best of your ability with the towels provided by the associate, Wanda feels obligated to buy some clothes; partly as a courtesy, but also just to have something drier to wear. She also does her due diligence to convince you that every item you pick up would look great in you, despite your fuss that you couldn’t pull the clothes off.
“Don’t even give me that!” Wanda says, when you say the same spiel about a beautiful peach-colored top that you’d just placed back on the rack. “Y/n, that would look perfect on you! You’re not even gonna try it on?”
You shrug, fingering the price tag on the shirt. “I wouldn’t have anywhere to wear it,”
Wanda raises a brow. “What about the lake trip we were talking about earlier?”
Your eyes suddenly seem to brighten, like you’d just remembered the altered plans you and Wanda had made. With a renewed spark in your eyes, you pluck the top right back off the shelf and make a break for one of the curtained fitting rooms. Wanda smiles, trailing behind.
“Well? What’s the verdict?” Wanda asks five minutes later, stood outside your curtain.
“Uhhh…I dunno,” your uncertain voice replies. “Feels like my entire bakery is on display in this shirt. Don’t even need a push-up bra,”
Wanda has to snort at that. “Well then, it’s a good thing I’m not a prude, now isn’t it? Come on out, I wanna see!”
The velvet curtain shifts and you step out into the walkway. And the second you do, Wanda’s breath seems to get punched out of her lungs.
The tank top is actually closer to a pastel pink than it is to peach, but god, does it look good on you. That’s the only thought in Wanda’s head. Every other thought has vacated the premises. You were right. The cups of the top did give you that push-up effect, though Wanda would’ve liked to point out that you were already blessed without it. There’s a tied lace in the front, and the tank top stops at your abdomen, which means that all that skin above your navel is on tantalizing display. And Wanda can’t stop looking.
“Well,” she begins, when she finally locates her voice and puts her eyeballs back in her head. “I think you look divine in that, but it matters more what you think,” she indicates the mirror and you turn to face yourself.
You quirk your lips to the side, turning to the left and then the right. Then, you smile, seemingly having made up your mind. Your turn that smile on Wanda, and it’s so dazzlingly bright, it makes her blush. “I love it. It’s definitely coming home with me!”
“That’s the spirit! Now get back in there. I feel like we’re overstaying our welcome,” That much wasn’t necessarily true. Wanda had looked up the boutique’s hours before the drive. They were open every day except Sunday, though their hours were sparse—only open between 10 AM and 5 PM six days a week. It had been awhile since Wanda looked at her phone, but she knew it couldn’t be any later than one or two by now. The two of you still had hours. Maybe it was just that the combination of the central heating and the way you were making her feel, had Wanda feeling like she needed to flee.
Another couple minutes goes by and you haven’t re-emerged. But before Wanda can ask you if everything is alright, you speak up. “Um…Wanda?”
“Yeah?” she answers cautiously.
“I think I’m stuck.”
“What? Honey, what are you stuck on?” Wanda asks, her hand automatically going to the curtain. But she wouldn’t draw it back before she got the okay to do so.
“No, I mean the top is stuck. On me. I can’t get it off,” you reply. “Can you come help? Please? I feel ridiculous,”
Without another word, Wanda pushes the curtain aside, sliding it back into place behind her. “Oh honey,” she coos.
There you stood, arms outstretched awkwardly, perpendicular at your sides with the top halfway over your head.
“The tie in the front was easy, but there’s also a weird strappy situation in the back that I almost couldn’t figure out the first time,” you explain. “I thought I’d be able to just yank it over my head, but obviously not.”
Wanda clicks her tongue. “Okay, well hold still,” She reaches for the knot at your back, her fingers working carefully against the stubborn fabric. She works quickly to free you from the satin prison you’re in, trying not to think about the enclosed space or the fact that she can smell your perfume—that same wholly addicting fragrance you’d been wearing the night of the watch party.
“Okay, I think I’ve loosened it enough. Lift your arms,” Wanda instructs.
When you do, Wanda grips the hem and carefully lifts it upward. Wanda can hear your cry of relief as the material clears your face. And then, the fabric hangs loose in Wanda’s hand as she looks up at you. Your eyes lock for one heart-stopping moment. And yet again, Wanda’s eyes betray her. Stood in nothing but a lacy white bra and jeans, you’re a temptation on two legs. And something hot flares in Wanda’s gut.
You don’t even try to cover yourself, to shy away from Wanda’s eye contact. In fact, you step closer. The air is suddenly thick. Charged. Want hums in Wanda’s veins. Desire pools in her gut. It’s the same desire she’d been trying to tamper down for weeks now. And for one reckless moment, Wanda considers closing the distance; letting her hand cup the hairs at the nape of your neck to pull you in for a slow, sweet kiss. A kiss that would start slow, but would escalate the moment Wanda heard that sweet sigh pass your lips. She imagined backing you against the mirror, imagined your hands fisting in her sweatshirt as she tasted your mouth—
And that’s what finally jerks her back to the present moment. What the hell was her problem? You were a married woman. Married. Married, married, married. As in off the market. Why couldn’t she ever get that through her thick skull?
She takes a step back so quickly, she bumps into the same mirror she’d just fantasized about pushing you up against. She clears her throat before speaking again. “I should…let you get decent. I’ll be just out in the waiting area,”
“Right. Yeah,” you say. Wanda knows she’s not insane in noticing the breathlessness in your voice. It makes her feel better about her own current state of fluster. And also altogether confused. What were you thinking right now? She wished she could see into your mind.
“Right.” Wanda parrots, reaching behind her to fumble with the curtain. “So…I’ll be just out here,” she winds up getting tangled up in the curtain in her effort to leave, but once she makes it to the other side of it (not without you giggling at her first), she places a hand over her racing heart.
Get it together, Wanda. She thinks to herself. You are absolutely playing with fire. You will absolutely get burned. Only that’s what Wanda was afraid of. That she’d like that burn.
***
The weekend of the lake getaway doesn’t go quite the way Wanda expects.
For one thing, there’s a slight change of plans. Denise apparently can’t make it. Something about having to fly out last minute to see a sick relative. Which was fine by Wanda. But that also meant that now it would just be the two of you. At an Airbnb by a lake two hours away from home. Alone together.
“I hope that’s okay,” you’d said earnestly when breaking the news about Denise’s cancellation.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course. Totally fine. It’ll be just as much fun, just the two of us,” Wanda had replied breezily, paying no mind to the roaring in her ears or the spin cycle state of her stomach.
Now Wanda watches from the curb as you walk out of your house carrying what looks like a week’s worth of gear. And your smile only brightens when you catch Wanda staring.
“Are you prepared for a lake getaway or the end of the world?” Wanda quips as she opens up her trunk to help you stow all your things inside.
You smile. “Most of it is essentials. But you know how it is packing for a trip, even if it’s just a few days. You never know if you’re gonna need jumper cables or a tire iron or a rhinestone cowgirl hat,”
“Okay, while I definitely don’t think we’ll need jumper cables or a tire iron, I do hope you’re not kiddin’ around about the cowgirl hat,”
You give her an incredulous look. “You’d wear a rhinestone cowgirl hat?”
Wanda looks offended. “Well, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno!” You chuckle. “You just seem so…put together!”
“Oh, what? A put-together woman can’t also enjoy bedazzled hats?” She waves her hand dismissively. “Well, I was plannin’ on being a little bad this weekend and having some alcohol. Get me enough of it and I’d probably live in your little cowgirl hat,”
“Oh, I’m gonna hold you to that,” you say. “It’s about time I see you let loose,”
It’s about time I see you let loose. Those words are spoken innocently, but they still make Wanda’s body hum. Because she would. Oh, she absolutely would like to let loose for you.
It’s been a full week since the fitting room incident at Quinlan’s, and neither of you have brought it up. Maybe you were intent to keep it that way, and Wanda would have to be too. It would be for the best. Something had to pacify her. To reign in her horny mind, which seemed to only be getting hornier by the day. She’d thought about packing a vibrator, getting herself off at least so she could curb that want. But well, she wasn’t sure just how big the Airbnb was. How much privacy she’d have.
As it turned out, though, Wanda didn’t even have to worry about that. As she pulled up to the Airbnb that you’d rented, it looked big enough for at least five people to live there comfortably and never run into each other.
“The first place we rented was actually smaller,” you say. “Since it was originally just supposed to house me and my partner,” Wanda bristles at this, but tries not to show it. “But then when you had that brilliant girls’ trip idea, I upgraded. This one, I think, has three bedrooms. Obviously we’ll only need two of them though, since Denise isn’t here,”
“Could probably use that third bedroom to store all of your life’s belongings,” Wanda quips.
“Oh, shut up!” You laugh, squeezing Wanda’s shoulder before climbing out of the passenger seat. Her skin is warm where you touched her.
Inside, the place smells faintly of pine-scented cleaner and honeysuckle. Sunlight spills across the floor in golden strips. You seem to be in a rush to get down to the lake, so Wanda doesn’t bother unpacking her things. She simply changes into a bikini and meets you downstairs. Then, the two of you pile into her car and drive down to the docks.
Two hours later, Wanda can’t stop smiling. Maybe because she’s two hard ciders in. Maybe because she’d forgotten how much of a hard reset just being in water was for her. Maybe it was the way you looked in your bikini. No, scratch that, it was definitely the way you looked in that bikini. Like a beautiful mango, good enough to eat. And Wanda says just that, or slurs slightly, more like, “You look like a mango,”
“A mango?” You’d laughed.
“Yes,” Wanda had replied. “A big beautiful mango,” and you’d laughed again. That was becoming Wanda’s favorite sound. Or maybe it already was.
Eventually, the two of you retired to the dock. You sit side by side, glass bottles sweating beside you as you watch the setting sun in silence. Wanda basks in it, the quiet. And you’re the first one to speak.
“I think this is the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time.”
Wanda glances up at you. “Yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah.” You pick up your bottle, running your fingernails around the lip of it. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course,” Wanda answers immediately. “You can tell me anything,”
“My marriage…it hasn’t been great lately,” you admit.
Wanda stills. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn’t that. Your gaze remains trained on the gleaming water in front of you. “That’s why I was so excited about this trip,” you continue. “A break, even if just for a weekend,”
Wanda swallows, her chest suddenly tight. She’d blame that on the alcohol currently circulating her bloodstream.
You exhale softly. “It’s just been...sort of strained for a while, you know? We don’t really talk much anymore unless we have to. Sometimes, I even sleep in our guest room just to…avoid all of it.”
Wanda’s hand tightens around her own bottle. “But at the watch party, you two seemed—“
You let out a small, humorless breath. “Happy and content?”
Wanda nods once. You finally look at her, and there’s something in your expression now that wasn’t there before. “I know,” you say. “We’ve gotten really good at faking it.” Then, you lean back on your hands, looking out at the lake again. “And honestly, I don’t think they were ever gonna give me this trip. I think something was always gonna come up. Because when it’s just us…” you pause, then glance up at Wanda again, softer now. “We’re just awkward. Quiet. And not in a cute way, like shy teenagers who like each other but neither know how to make the first move. No, it’s like we don’t know what to do with each other. How to act around each other.”
You exhale heavily, as if expelling those negative thoughts, eyes closed. Then, you reopen them, a small smile crossing your face as you turn to look at Wanda again. “But with you, I never feel like I have to fill the silence. I’m just comfortable. Just…being. You know?”
Wanda doesn’t respond immediately, which gives you time to try to deflect. “God, sorry,” you try to laugh it off with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Remind me to never again drink more than half a bottle of hard cider—“
“Hey.” Wanda’s hand lands on your knee, bringing an abrupt stop to whatever self-deprecating comment was ready on your lips. You look from Wanda’s hand to her.
“You don’t have to downplay it, baby love,” Wanda says gently. “I know exactly what you mean. Trust me, I get it. I mean, not the marriage bit, because you know I’m not married, but…you’ve been a great friend to me. One of the truest ones I have right now, in fact.”
You study Wanda’s face. She’s not sure what you’re looking for—a wrinkle? A sign that she’s being dishonest? But then a grin splits your face and you place your hand on top of Wanda’s, your skin warm against hers.
“You’re one of my truest friends too, Wanda,” you say softly. “I’m so glad I have you,”
Wanda’s hand shifts slightly beneath yours, which seems to prompt you to run your thumb over her knuckles. It sends a tingly sensation over her entire hand. Your gaze tracks between your joined hands and Wanda’s face, and Wanda sees it again. That look. It’s the same one you’d given her, just for a moment, in the fitting room. Want. She knows that look very well, because it’s the same way she’s been looking at you for weeks.
Wanda’s mouth suddenly feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Her stomach turns over. She has to break the spell and fast. If she didn’t, she’d kiss you. Right here on the dock.
So Wanda tears her gaze away from you, looking out at the horizon, which lit up now in shades of pink and orange. “It’ll be gettin’ dark soon,” she says. “We should start headin’ back,”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you agree.
The two of you stand, though you don’t immediately drop hands. When you do, it’s a slow pull. And Wanda has to busy herself with collecting the discarded glass bottles so that she doesn’t fixate on it.
The drive back to the Airbnb is quiet, peaceful, an old Hootie and the Blowfish song the only thing filling the silence.
“Hungry?” Wanda asks once the two of you have made it back inside. For some reason, it was the first thing she could think of saying. Even though she herself didn’t have much an appetite, stomach still in knots from whatever tension just happened on the docks. Because that’s what that was, right? Tension? It had to be.
“A little bit, honestly,” you answer. “But then getting tipsy always makes me hungry,”
“Well, do you know what I love when I’m a little bit tipsy? Good ol’ breakfast for dinner,” Wanda’s eyes light up as she says it. Even though her appetite was nonexistent, she’d be more than happy to cook for you. “What do you say to some flapjacks and eggs?”
“I say I think I’m in love with you!” you respond.
Wanda tries for a genuine laugh at that. It’s a joke. Damn it, she knows that. But god, does it hit too close to home.
Wanda busies herself with cooking while you watch from your seat on a kitchen stool. And soon, the mouthwatering smell of flapjacks and scrambled eggs fill the kitchen. Wanda sets the food down in front of you with a little flourish. Not wanting you to feel self-conscious about being the only one eating, she grabs a protein bar for herself and joins you at the breakfast bar. She’s not at all prepared for the adorable way your eyes light up on your first bite.
Once you’ve finished eating, Wanda clears your plate away, stowing all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. The whole scene feels oddly domestic, and Wanda can’t help thinking that in another universe, another timeline, she’d be cooking meals for you like this every night. She’d always be on the hunt for new recipes, striving to impress you, wanting to see your eyes light up with every new taste.
“That was perfect, Wanda, really,” you say. “I wish you could cook for me all the time,”
Wanda snickers as she closes the dishwasher. “So, I’d be your servant?”
“No, god, no. Not servant!” You protest.
Wanda turns and raises a brow at you. “Your maid, then? I’d look good in the little outfits.”
Wanda regrets it the second the words are out of her mouth. Immediately, her mind is taking it out of context, and by the look on your face, so was yours. Wanda feels her cheeks blush, and she quickly changes the subject. “Speaking of outfits, I think I was promised a cowgirl hat?”
Your eyes light up. “Oh yeah! I actually did bring one. Hang tight, I’ll go grab it!”
As you disappear from the kitchen, Wanda takes the opportunity for a deep inhale, even deeper exhale. She closes her eyes and massages her temples. She couldn’t remember the last time her heart had been beating this hard. Pull it together, she tells herself. You can do this. You can get through this weekend and be normal. Just be normal.
You soon return, humming happily, and…yeah, that’s definitely a rhinestone cowgirl hat if Wanda’s ever seen one. The base of the hat is pink and dotted with the rhinestones in question. Beads hang all around the brim, jingling faintly even when you’re just holding it.
“Oh, that is loud,” Wanda says immediately. “In looks and in sound. People would hear me jinglin’ all the way in in South America if I put that on,”
“I know. I expected to be closer to blackout drunk when I actually put it on this weekend,” you laugh. “But come on, you at least have to try it on once. Please? For me?” Wanda would’ve given in any way, but then, you had to go and flash her those puppy eyes, and she definitely couldn’t say no.
With a sigh, Wanda gingerly takes the hat from your hands and settles it onto her head. And immediately, she has to blink a bead out of her eye.
“You look cute!” You chirp.
“I look like the personification of those hanging beads on that one Britney Spears album cover,” Wanda counters.
“Well, you’re not really helping your case here, because everyone loves Oops!… I Did It Again.”
Wanda huffs a laugh despite herself. You step closer, still smiling as you reach up to fix it for her. “But the beads are a bit much, I can admit,” your fingers brush lightly against the side of the hat as you try to separate the beads from Wanda’s face. But Wanda isn’t worried about the beads or the hat anymore. As her vision becomes unobstructed, all she can see is you.
You seem to catch her stare, and rather than looking away, you stare back. Your smile has faded slightly, but not completely. It’s just gone soft. And you keep staring. Like the answer to every question you could ever have is in Wanda’s eyes. Or maybe she’s just projecting because that’s exactly how she’s looking at you. And that’s exactly how she felt.
Her whole world was in your eyes. Because you were her whole world.
Wanda steps back a little, and you let her. She doesn’t break eye contact as she slowly removes the cowgirl hat and sets it on the counter. It’s a silent standoff for one heartbeat, two. Then, Wanda closes the gap and crushes her lips against yours.
She expects you to freeze, even for a second. But you don’t. Instead, your hands immediately come up to tangle in her hair and you work your lips back against hers. Wanda can’t help it. She groans into your mouth. Next, she spins, backing you against the countertop. You gasp into her mouth and Wanda slides her tongue through, flattening it against yours.
Her hands begin to wander down to your hips and yours tug harder in her hair. Wanda lets out another groan. Who knew she’d be a big fan of hair pulling?
Finally, Wanda breaks the kiss, pressing her forehead gently to yours, eyes closed. “Tell me…” she pants softly into the shared air between you. “…tell me to stop,”
You shake your head, licking your lips. “I don’t want you to stop,”
So Wanda doesn’t, capturing your lips in another kiss that’s just as, if not more bruising than the first. She sucks your upper lip, nips your bottom lip, then alternates. And each time she does, it pulls another moan from your pretty mouth, and god, she wants to bottle that sound, keep it for years to come.
Her thigh wedges between your legs, and you’re quick to grind down against it for more friction. Wanda curses, ripping her mouth away from yours and starting a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your neck to your throat. Then, thinking better of it, she pulls away.
You look up at her, a question in your eyes, but she merely shakes her head. If she was gonna leave marks, they’d have to be well-hidden. At least until you could figure out if you were leaving your spouse. But that was a big conversation, one that felt worlds away, and Wanda didn’t wanna think about it right now. All she wanted to think about was living in this temporary bubble with you.
So her hands go to your hips and she gently lifts you up until the counter top. “I wanna make you feel good,” Wanda purrs against your neck before kissing it again. “Between your legs. Can I make you feel good?”
You nod rapidly. “Yes, yeah. Please. Please, Wanda,”
With that, Wanda’s hands go to the hem of your swim coverup, pushing it up your thighs as she kneels on the kitchen floor between your legs. Your chest rises and falls quickly and beautifully as you gaze down at Wanda. She smiles as her hands go to the string ties either side of your hips, freeing the knots simultaneously.
Your bikini bottom falls to the floor, leaving you open for Wanda and she can’t help it. She bites her lip to conceal a curse. “Beautiful,” she murmurs, and then again, making sure she meets your eyes when she says it, “You’re so beautiful, honey,”
“Thank you,” you breathe.
“Don’t have to thank me for the truth,” Wanda replies, then smiles against your warm thigh as she kisses it. She kisses higher and higher until she finally reaches the heat in the center of your thighs.
One thing about Wanda, she knew how to please. She knew how to devour, to dismantle. She alternated between insistent sucks and gentle, teasing licks, chasing every place that made you moan and gasp the loudest. And all she could think about was how perfect you were. How warm and wet, and that addicting salty-sweet taste. She moans into you, which makes your thighs clench around her.
Wanda had a singular focus: making you feel good. And judging by the way your head falls back against the cabinet behind you, eyes rolling back almost to the whites, Wanda was doing just that.
Her hands massage your thighs as she works, whispering sweet nothings into your heat. Each word of praise—“You’re so sweet,” “You like that, honey? Like when I suck here?” “I love the sounds you’re makin’ for me,” —brought you closer and closer to that coveted release. And when you finally do come, losing yourself completely to ecstasy, your thighs close around Wanda’s head.
Wanda keeps you steady, even as you cry out for her, even as you white-knuckle the knob of the cabinet behind you. She eases you back down to earth, working you through your orgasm with gentle kisses and licks.
She waits until you’ve stopped writhing and then she pulls back, mouth wet as she rises to her feet. You gaze up at her, eyes lidded as she helps you down to the floor. Wanda is just about to ask if you need anything when you drag her mouth back to yours, tasting yourself on her lips. “Your turn,” you mumble against her mouth. And Wanda smiles.
You spin her so that her back is to you and Wanda braces her palms on the countertop. She’d opted to wear a one-piece bikini to the lake, so there wasn’t exactly ease of access when it came to undressing her completely. But Wanda quickly learned that that wasn’t what you had in mind, your fingers reaching down to simply slide away the fabric covering her center.
“Can I?” You murmur against Wanda’s shoulder.
“Please,” she gasps.
You drag one finger through her folds first, teasing her. And it’s not until she pushes her hips into the touch, searching for more friction, that you put her out of her misery, pressing a finger in deeper, whilst tracing her clit with your thumb.
“Oh dear god,” Wanda gasps, followed by a strangled moan as you add another finger, curling them upward just right.
“Oh y/n,” Wanda moans again, rocking against your hand with effort now. “Oh my god, yes!”
You muffle your own moans into Wanda’s shoulder, nipping at her skin as your hips begin to rock against her ass.
Wanda’s head falls back against your shoulder, her heart pounding from the dual sensations, and you take full advantage, your mouth on her throat. “You feel so good,” you whisper into her skin. “Feel so damn good for me,”
You both rock even harder; Wanda writhing against your skilled fingers, you grinding against her ass. And by some miracle, you both come at the same time, though you’d like to think it was Wanda’s orgasm that triggered a second one for you.
For a minute, neither of you can move, sweaty bodies pressed together as you school your labored breathing. After what feels like hours, you step back from Wanda, searching the kitchen floor for your abandoned bikini bottoms.
It’s a struggle for Wanda to stand up straight at first. She can still feel your phantom fingers inside her. Finally, she turns to face you, to find you already looking at her.
Neither of you speak at first, another stare down in the aftermath. You both know a line was crossed tonight, one you can’t come back from. You both know you’d just opened up a can of worms and now action plans needed to be made. But somehow, when Wanda looks in your eyes, she’s not worried about any of it. Love and lust and want all stirred together inside her to create an affinity for you like nothing she’d ever felt for anyone in the past. She’d make it work. Whatever she had to do.
“Wanda…” you start softly.
But she shakes her head. “I know,” she says.
“I…” you try again, and again, you get tongue-tied.
“I know,” Wanda says again. She brings you in close by the waist and kisses your temple. “But at least for tonight, for this weekend, let’s just pretend. Okay?”
You nod, and Wanda kisses your other temple. Then, the skin by your eyelid, then your cheek, and finally, your lips. You kissed her back, murmuring against her lips, “I like that idea,”
5 times you almost said the three big words to Natasha and the 1 time you finally did.
Warning : mention of violence, smut at some point...
Happy Pride Month!! <3
Still working on a long fic that's kicking my ass but had to write a little something that would not leave my mind otherwise, so... Enjoy :)
⧗ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑
The room felt too big without her in it.
It was not really something you noticed right away, it was more gradual. The kind of thing that creeped in around the edges until suddenly you were hyper-aware of every empty space around you, every untouched surface, every silence that should not feel this loud.
You were lying on her bed, staring at her ceiling, one arm tucked behind your head and resting on her pillow.
You told yourself you would not do this.
You would not get used to the way it felt to be surrounded by her and her things - one of her leather jackets slung over the chair, a pair of her boots by the door, the faint scent of her shampoo still clinging stubbornly to the pillows around you.
And yet... here you were anyway.
Pathetically laying in her bed... Curled up beneath her blankets, your head buried in her pillow, surrounded by traces of her that made the absence somehow worse.
Missing her.
The thing was, you had spent years learning how to be alone. It had never bothered you before. You liked your own company. Liked the quiet, liked having your own space.
Then Natasha had happened.
And somewhere between late-night takeout, stolen hours between missions, and waking up tangled together more often than not, your definition of normal had shifted without asking permission.
"You’re such a traitor." You murmured quietly as Liho, her black cat, shifted slightly against the side of your head and let out the biggest sigh known to catkind.
Her tail flicked in response, unimpressed, before settling more comfortably against you, warm and solid and very clearly thinking the same as you.
You sighed as well, letting your head tilt to the side as you glanced down at her.
"You're supposed to make this less pathetic, you know?"
Liho blinked at you slowly, greenish eyes looking at you as if she were waiting for something.
You reached down absently, gently scratching behind her ears. She leaned into it immediately, purring, and you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips even if you tried. She always seemed to have that power over you. And her owner too.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," you mumbled, pursing your lips. "You miss her."
Because that was the thing, it was not just you. Perhaps the situation would be easier if it had been the case.
The whole room felt like it was waiting. Like it was holding its breath until Natasha walked back through the door and everything clicked back into place.
You let your gaze drift towards the nightstand - everything exactly where she left it, like she will be back any second.
Except she will not.
Not tonight.
Not for a few days, at least.
Solo missions would do that.
Liho shifted again, stretching this time, one of her paws pressing lightly against your ear.
You exhaled slowly, staring back up at the ceiling.
This was stupid.
You were being stupid. And you knew it, but apparently reason had no play in your feelings.
She was fine, after all. She was always fine.
You did not need to...
But your hand moved before you fully decided to, reaching for your phone where it rested on the mattress beside you. You stared at the screen for a second, the background picture greeting you not helping to talk yourself out of doing what you wanted to. Still, you paused for a second, teeth grazing your lower lip as you forced yourself to think rationally about this.
She was on a mission, after all. She did not need distractions.
She definitely did not need you calling in the middle of the night because you... Well, because you what? Missed her? Wanted to see her? Heard her voice? Make sure she was okay?
That felt... dangerously close to something neither of you were ready to unpack right now. Liho let out a small, impatient sound, nudging your hand with her head.
You glanced down at her, eyebrows raised.
"...You’re not helping." You grunted, closing your eyes before letting out yet another sigh.
God, you were so pathetic.
Liho was still staring at you when you opened back your eyes, you rolled them before hitting the call button.
It rang once... Twice... You almost talked yourself out of it and hung up but by the third ring, the line clicked.
"Yeah?" Natasha's voice answered, slightly hoarse, a little quieter than usual.
Relief hit you so fast it almost made you dizzy and angry at yourself. One word, one raspy, sleep-roughened word, and suddenly the knot that had been sitting beneath your ribs for days loosened.
Were you this desperate and gone for this woman? You hated that, hated how immediate it was - as if some part of you had been waiting for proof that she was still there. Still breathing. Still okay.
The realization hit a second later and made you want to throw your phone across the room. Because, God, you really were gone for this woman. You needed to get a grip on yourself, and that as soon as possible. And preferably before she found out as well.
"Hey, you..." You replied, smiling at the ceiling, scrunching your nose as Liho's snout nudged your chin.
There was a faint rustle on the other end - movement, maybe. Fabric shifting. The soft, distant hum of a foreign location you could not quite place.
"You okay?" Natasha asked immediately, worry lacing into her voice.
Of course she did.
You huffed a small breath, glancing down at Liho as she curled tighter against your shoulder, ears shifting at the voice coming out of your phone.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."
There was a beat of silence where you could practically hear Natasha thinking.
"Then why are you calling?" Straight to the point, not hitting around the bush with her - you always liked that. Usually.
You hesitated, because you did not actually really have a good answer.
"Can't I just call m-" You stopped yourself just in time, clearing your throat. Logically you knew she was your girlfriend. You had been on too many dates together if that was not the case. But you never said the actual word. There was actually more than one word you had not said yet. "Can't I just call you? It's been almost a week, I wanted to hear your voice."
Natasha let out a faint exhale on the other end, almost a huff.
"Of course you can call me, I just thought something was wrong at first," she grumbled, stopping as she heard you shift. "You're in my room."
It was not a question, it made you blink, caught off guard by her words.
"Wha-how did you even know?"
"Background noise," she replied, a smile in her voice. "And... you just confirmed it."
You shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up a little higher as you rolled your eyes at her smug tone.
"Well, for the record, I’m here for a very important reason."
There was a soft, amused sound from Natasha on the other end.
"Huh uh, sure."
"It's true. You said Liho needed supervision and she doesn't wanna leave your room, so... here I am." You replied, chuckling when the cat let out a soft chirp, shifting closer to the voice.
"Alright, turn the camera on." Natasha asked, waiting.
You smiled, turning on your side and putting the phone on the other pillow to make sure she had a good view of Liho too.
Natasha's face appeared on the screen seconds later, her hair pulled back in a neat braid.
"There are my girls," she smirked, the corner of her mouth softening as she took in Liho's curled up position next to you. Her gaze flicked briefly to the side - like she was taking in the angle, the background, the way you were positioned. "You're on my side." She hummed, one eyebrow raising knowingly.
You narrowed your eyes, biting down the inside of your cheek.
"What?"
Natasha's smirk deepened, slow and knowing.
"The bed... you're on my side." She repeated, voice dropping just slightly as she raised both eyebrows this time.
You froze, because... you were. Without even thinking about it.
"It's... more comfortable." You said quickly.
Natasha did not respond right away, just looked at you like she knew that was not the real reason. Or to the very least, not the only one.
Your pulse picked up slightly at the look on her face so you quickly cleared your throat, looking down at the cat.
"Liho chose it first." You added, gesturing vaguely to the cat as backup. But of course, the traitor that she was, barely even reacted, simply staring at the screen while licking her paw absently.
Natasha chuckled, low and warm.
"Of course she did." She looked at the cat with playful suspicion before her eyes slid back to you.
You huffed out a quiet laugh, nodding.
"Yeah, she’s been complaining. A lot. I think she misses you."
Natasha pressed her lips together, taking in the sight in front of her.
"How is the roommate's situation going?"
"...She knocked over a glass earlier." You glanced down at the cat again, making a face.
Natasha sighed, glaring at Liho through the screen.
"I chose her name so well." She shook her head, but there was unmistakable affection in it.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
And she saw it.
Of course she did.
Her gaze lingered on your face for a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes.
"Why did you call?" And there it was, the question you knew was coming again at some point.
You hesitated, because the real answer was sitting right there, obvious and inconvenient and a little too honest for comfort.
Because you wanted to see her.
Because you missed her.
Because her room felt too empty and wrong without her in it.
Because ever since you met her, she was always in a corner of your mind and these last couple of days you went back to that place more times than you would have liked - and actually needed to hear from the real her before turning completely crazy.
You shifted slightly, picking at a loose thread on the blanket.
"Just checking in, you know..."
Natasha’s expression did not change but you could tell she did not buy it.
"Okay, and now the truth?"
"Hey, that's mean. I am checking in too." You grumbled, frowning at her.
She leaned closer to the camera, her face taking up more of the screen. The way she called your name always got you, and this time was no exception.
"You would check in if you knew I could actually talk about the mission. Which I can't. Which you already know. So...?"
"Wow. Okay. Read me like a book, why don’t you..." You huffed a small breath, rolling your eyes.
Natasha gave a small, smug shrug.
"I am."
You glanced back up at her. And unfortunately, she was still watching you like that. Too focused, too attentive, like she was waiting patiently for you to find the words.
Your chest tightened.
"...Couldn’t sleep." You admitted instead, softer this time.
It was not the whole truth but it was not a lie either.
Natasha's face softened.
"Yeah? Even if you're in my bed, surrounded by all my things... And wearing my shirt?" She sounded almost amused.
You glared at her, frowning.
"Stop being mean, I'll hang up."
"Okay, okay." Natasha held up one hand in mock surrender.
She looked genuinely amused for a minute though. But then silence settled again, not the same as before. It felt heavier now. Charged with something you could not quite name, only feel.
You watched her for a second. The way her eyes scanned the area behind the camera. The way her shoulders stayed just a little too tense, even when she was standing still.
She was working.
Even now.
Always.
"But I will anyway, you should get back to it..." You added quietly, offering her a gentle smile.
Natasha exhaled, and for a moment you thought she might actually protest.
"Yeah, probably." But she did not move, did not end the call, neither did you.
Your heart was beating a little too fast. There was something sitting in your chest again - that familiar pressure, that weight that had been building for weeks now, threading itself through every moment like this.
You swallowed.
"I-" You started, breaths burning your lungs.
Natasha stilled, eyebrows raising as you suddenly stopped talking.
"Yeah?" She prompted.
Your fingers tightened around the phone as you brought it closer. God.
This was stupid.
It was just words.
Just three words.
You could say them.
Right now.
She was right there. Looking at you like that. Like... like she was waiting. Like she could see the battle happening behind your eyes, like she was standing at the edge of the same cliff.
"I... I l-" The words caught, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you drew in a breath before panic slammed into you. You saw it then, so clearly, the possibility of silence. Of surprise. Of not hearing it back... And suddenly every survival instinct you possessed grabbed the wheel. "I mean I... You know,Liho is being very well taken care of. And I'll keep on doing that," you finished abruptly, the words coming out too fast. "Just so you know. Don't have to worry. About anything." You added with a smile.
Natasha blinked, then her face did something complicated, and suddenly she looked like she was the one whose air had been punched out of her chest even though you were the one actually out of breath.
"Yeah... I can see that."
"Good," you murmured, nodding a few times, hesitating again before clearing your throat. "Stay safe, okay?"
Natasha nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing.
"...I will," she said finally, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than it should. As if she were suspicious. "I’ll call you when I’m done."
You smiled, even though the motion felt rushed and out of place.
"Yeah. Okay."
Neither of you hung up immediately.
You just sit there for a second, looking at each other through the screen, waiting for more. Like there was something else to say.
Something just out of reach.
But then the screen went dark.
And the room felt just a little too big again, leaving you with words too big to deal with.
⧗
The plan had been simple on paper.
It always was.
In reality, however, it had dissolved into noise, smoke, and the kind of chaos that made your ears ring and all your carefully constructed thoughts scatter like startled birds.
Somewhere above you, something heavy collapsed with a metallic shriek, sending vibrations through the whole floor. The lights flickered twice before settling into a dim, unreliable pulse that painted everything in uneven shadows as dust fell from the ceiling like dirty snowflakes.
You pressed your back against the cold concrete pillar behind you, forcing yourself to breathe through the adrenaline clawing up your throat after taking down five other men. Your comm crackled with overlapping voices - Sam swearing, Tony complaining about power surges, someone yelling coordinates that immediately got drowned out by static.
Your earpiece buzzed again after another slow breath, and this time Natasha's voice came through clearly: "Status?"
Her voice was calm and grounded. Far too calm for the situation.
You exhaled sharply, something in your chest loosening just from hearing her - the sound of her voice hit you with embarrassing force. The building was still trying its absolute best to collapse on top of you. Your ears were ringing and your shoulder hurt and there were armed men somewhere in the vicinity actively trying to kill you. And yet the moment Natasha spoke, something inside your chest loosened.
You actually hated that she could do that, like some part of your brain had quietly filed her under safe, under trust, under the person you wanted beside you when everything else went to hell.
"Took down most of them but pinned on the lower level, door won't fucking open," you muttered, glancing around the corner before quickly ducking back as a burst of gunfire shredded the wall where your head had been a second ago. "Shit, three hostiles, maybe more. You?" There was a brief pause when you could practically hear her calculating.
"On my way." Natasha replied, voice steady despite the gunfire echoing faintly in the background of her comm.
You huffed a breath that was half relief, half exasperation, dragging the hand that was not holding your gun through your damp hair as dust still rained down from above. You perked by the wall, shooting one of the three guards.
"Nat, you’re not exactly in a position to be detouri-"
"I said I'm on my way." She cut in sharply before you could get another word out.
That tone meant she was not taking anything for an answer besides what she had already decided.
You rolled your eyes - even though she could not see you - before dodging another bullet as you ducked into another corner, firing two more back and hearing a groan as one bullet touched a shoulder.
"Yeah, okay, Romanoff. Because this mission hasn’t gone off the rails enough already, let’s just add 'reckless heroics' to the list."
"Shut up and hold your fire," Natasha scoffed, appearing on the other end of the hallways and taking down the two men before quickly jogging back to your side. "Well, you're welcome." She breathed out, bruised lips forming a small smile.
Before you could fire back, another explosion rocked the building, way too close this time. The wall at your back shuddered violently, cracks splintering up its side. You stumbled as the floor shook, catching yourself just in time, heart slamming hard enough to make your vision blur as the ceiling above the three guards lying on the floor suddenly collapsed on them.
"Fuck-" You gasped, pushing off and moving quickly to a slightly less terrible piece of cover with the redhead following. "Okay, that was... not ideal. Like at all." You added, one arm extended in front of Natasha - even though no one was coming your way as she stopped at your side.
"No shit." She grunted, scanning the area before tugging on your wrist to urge you to follow her.
"Took the long detour to come to me, huh." You joked as you carefully climbed back the stairs to find yet another issue.
"Traffic." She replied dryly, already peeking around the corner, assessing, calculating. Always working.
And God, even now, even like this, even with alarms screaming overhead and dust coating the back of your throat, even while your heart was trying to punch its way through your ribs - your eyes kept finding her.
The steady set of her shoulders. The quick, efficient movements of her hands. The way she assessed every angle, every exit, every threat in a matter of seconds.
Natasha always looked like she belonged in chaos, like she had made peace with it years ago and simply learned how to move through the storm, or perhaps had made a pact with it and already knew nothing would happen to her.
It should have been terrifying, instead it made something warm and painful unfurl beneath your ribs. Because every impossible situation somehow became more manageable when she was standing beside you. Because she had come for you.
The mission had gone sideways and the building was falling apart. And somehow Natasha had still heard you were trapped and immediately changed course. No hesitation, no discussion.
Your chest tightened - not from fear this time, but something sharper, heavier. Something that had been building for weeks, months, quietly threading itself through moments each more inadequate than the last.
You swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the situation at hand.
"Hey, Nat," you said slowly, glancing up at the ceiling that was definitely not supposed to be doing that. "Tell me you have a backup plan."
Natasha glanced at you, lips pressed together.
"I do..." She grumbled, forcing a door open with her shoulder before quickly climbing up the next stack of emergency stairs. "Not sure you’ll like it, though."
"Natasha, I already don't like that we're going up right now..." You grunted, running to catch up with her.
She did not answer, just kept moving. The stairs were narrow and creaky underfoot.
"Sam or Tony’s gonna catch us on the rooftop." She replied, frowning at the door that refused to open. She kicked the combination lock, hissing as she grabbed a bunch of wires, ignoring the look you gave her.
Another tremor rippled through the building, stronger this time. A section of the ceiling caved in somewhere nearby with a deafening crash, the sound echoing through the corridors like a warning bell.
Your pulse spiked.
This was bad.
This was really bad.
Not because of the collapsing building, not because Tony's voice had disappeared from the comms three minutes ago, not because every instinct you possessed was screaming that the situation was deteriorating faster than anyone could fix. But because, for one horrible second, you genuinely thought this might be it.
And suddenly, all the things that normally seemed important vanished.
And suddenly, all you could focus on was Natasha. Natasha, crouched beside a broken security panel. Natasha, covered in sweat, soot and bruises.
And suddenly, the words were there.
Right there.
Sitting at the back of your throat, heavy and insistent and impossible to ignore anymore - because the thought of leaving this world without telling her hit you harder than any fear you might have felt all night.
You took in another shaky breath, your eyes tracking the smudge of soot along her jaw, the way a strand of red hair had come loose and was sticking to her cheek, the dried blood on her chin, the sharp focus in her eyes even as the world quite literally fell apart around you.
God.
If there was ever a moment... If the building came down right now, if this was the last conversation you ever had, you might actually not bear the idea of her never knowing.
"Nat," you started, your voice coming out tighter than you intended, almost swallowed by the distant sound of collapsing concrete. "If we, you know, don’t make it-"
"We will." She cut you off, the response immediate, like she had not even needed to think about it.
You blinked, lips parted as you observed her work on the colorful wires carefully.
"I... well, yeah, but like, if we don’t-"
"But we will," Natasha repeated, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. There was something in her eyes now - something stubborn, unyielding and fierce. "I won’t accept otherwise."
You stared at her for a second, incredulous, adrenaline and frustration tangling together in your chest.
"Oh my god, I know," you shot back, gesturing vaguely at the crumbling building around you. "I’m just trying to tell y-"
"Dekta," she cut in, her voice dropping just slightly, softer but no less firm. "It’s me. I won’t let anything bad happen to us... If you let me work on those fucking wires."
And there it was.
That certainty.
That absolute, unwavering belief that she could hold the entire world together through sheer willpower alone if it meant keeping you safe.
Your chest ached.
Because you knew her.
You knew where that came from.
And you knew how dangerous it was.
You let out a breath that turned into a frustrated half-laugh, dragging a hand down your face.
"Fuck, you’re so stubborn," you muttered, shaking your head at this impossible woman. "Whatever."
But the words did not go away.
They just settled deeper, heavier, waiting.
And the building gave another violent shudder, as if reminding you that time was running out.
⧗
It started as nothing.
At least, that was what you told yourself.
Just another debrief after another mission successfully wrapped. So, naturally, another cluster of agents and Avengers lingering a little too long in the common area with glasses in hands and loud music all around.
You noticed her by accident.
At least, that was what you told yourself later.
The truth was that your eyes had developed a bad habit over the past several months.
No matter how crowded the room was or who you were talking to, no matter how hard you tried to focus on literally anything else - they always found Natasha eventually.
Like a compass needle snapping north.
You could be in the middle of a conversation, could be laughing at something Tony said, could be halfway through a story - and somehow your gaze would drift across the room searching for red hair and green eyes before you even realized what you were doing.
Tonight was no different.
One second you were pretending to listen to Sam rant about government paperwork, leaning back against the counter with a drink you had half-drowned already, the next your eyes had wandered.
And there she was...
Beautiful.
Effortlessly, unfairly beautiful.
Standing a few feet away and talking to... someone.
You would not have thought twice about it, except... Well, she was smiling.
Not the polite, diplomatic curve of her lips she used when she was playing a role. Not the sharp, amused smirk she gave when she was teasing.
A real smile. Soft and easy and unrestricted.
Your stomach flipped, and not the pleasant kind of movements it usually did when it involved her.
You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to focus past the noise in the room to get a better look at who she was talking to. Some agent, you recognized the face vaguely, newer, maybe. You did not really know. What you could decipher however was the confident stance, way too relaxed to be speaking with Natasha, and leaning just a little too close.
And you realized with anger seeping into your veins that your girlfriend was not stepping away.
In fact, she tilted her head slightly, listening carefully before saying something back. And God, the agent had the fucking audacity to laugh.
Your grip tightened around the glass in your hand.
It was nothing.
Right?
It had to be nothing. Natasha knew plenty of people. People you did not know yourself. It was part of her job, after all. And it was not fair, she was not doing anything wrong. It was fine, not a big deal. But your slightly inebriated brain was set on convincing yourself it was a very big deal.
You forced your shoulders to relax, dragging your gaze away.
She was allowed to talk to people, a completely normal activity that human beings engaged in every day.
She was allowed to smile, too. Hell, you loved her smile.
This was normal.
This was-
You glanced back before you could stop yourself, and they were still talking. God, how long was this discussion going to be?
Your eyes kept on tracking every movement for the following minutes while the rest of your face was still pretending to listen to Sam’s story.
Every smile, every second she remained standing there. The worst part was that you trusted Natasha completely. This was not about trust, it was somehow more embarrassing than that, it was wanting.
Wanting her attention.
Wanting that smile.
Wanting to be the person she looked at like that.
And watching someone else get it felt like tiny little paper cuts somewhere beneath your ribs.
Death by a thousand stupid insecurities.
You took another drink.
An excellent decision, clearly.
Natasha said something else, her expression shifted - something amused flickering in her eyes - and the agent reached out briefly, brushing her dirty, unworthy fingers against her arm as she responded.
Something in your chest twisted.
Okay.
No.
Nope.
That was not happening.
You pushed off the counter before you could think better of it, crossing the room with the purpose you intended. You told yourself it was casual. That you were just... joining the conversation. Gathering information before actually stepping in.
Not interrupting.
Definitely not interrupting.
Natasha noticed you coming the moment your footstep hit a particularly creaky floorboard two steps to her right. Her gaze lifted, locking onto yours - sharp, assessing and aware like she always knew exactly where you were in a room.
The... woman - whoever she was or thought she was - beside her was still speaking, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere.
"Hey," you said, a little too quickly, stopping beside the redhead and leaning into her side more heavily than you intended, blinking a few times to stop the world from moving too much - perhaps you should have stopped at two drinks like Sam suggested earlier.
The agent turned to you and offered an easy smile, probably delighted to have two Avengers speaking to her.
You nodded stiffly, barely acknowledging her before your attention snapped back to the person who actually mattered to you.
"Didn’t know you were still in debrief mode."
Natasha's lips twitched at the contact, subtle but there, her hand spreading on the small of your back to steady you.
"We’re not." She replied, her voice calm and even as always.
"Right," you said, glancing between them. "Just... chatting then."
"Yes." Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly.
There was a beat.
An awkward one, if you could say so yourself.
You did not like it.
"So," you added, forcing something casual into your tone that did not quite land the way you wanted it to. "What’d I miss?"
The unknown woman chuckled nervously.
"Not much. Just telling Miss Romanoff about my upgrade ideas for her bites."
"Her bites?" You replied, eyebrows raised, ignoring the way Natasha's hand tightened on your back in warning.
"Yeah, you know... widow bites. They're impressive already but Mister Stark wanted my help to upgrade them and Miss Romanoff had some very good suggestions," she continued, praising your girlfriend like you were not standing right the fuck there. "Didn’t expect that kind of knowledge, actually. You know a lot about... well, a lot." The young woman giggled.
Something about the way she said it, like it was new, like she was just discovering something you had known for so long... it grated.
"Yeah," you said again, tighter this time. "She does tend to know a lot about a lot." You let out a snort, giving the young woman a look.
Natasha’s gaze flicked to you again, sharper now. Assessing.
The woman glanced between the two of you, clearly picking up on something. Finally. Tony had not picked the brightest one, it seemed.
"Well," she said, clearing her throat slightly. "I should, uh, let you t-"
"Yep," you cut in quickly. "Perhaps you should."
Natasha shot you a look at that, but the woman just nodded awkwardly and stepped away, muttering something about other projects.
You did not even watch her go, your focus was entirely on Natasha now.
The second she was out of earshot, the silence shifted.
Your redhead turned to you fully, arms crossing as she let go of you.
"Okay," she said, eyebrows raised. "What the hell was that?"
Your jaw clenched as you leaned against the wall for support, making a face of confusion.
"What was what?"
Natasha exhaled through her nose.
"That," she repeated, gesturing vaguely in the direction the agent disappeared. "Just now."
You let out a short breath, shaking your head.
"Nothing, just... talked to your new friend, that's all."
Natasha's expression flattened, her eyes flashing with something that was both arousing and thrilling. God, whatever was in your drink really fucked you up.
"What is your problem?"
"My problem?" You echoed, incredulous. "I don’t have a problem."
Natasha stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"Really," she said flatly, unimpressed. "Because you just interrupted a conversation for no reason and then acted li-"
"For no reason?" You cut in, the words coming out sharper than you intended. "Seriously?"
Natasha's jaw tightened, irritation flashing across her face.
"Yes. Seriously." She hissed back, keeping her voice low but making sure to send her point across.
You stared at her, incredulous.
"Wow," you muttered, running a hand through your hair. "Okay. Good to know then."
"Good to know what?" Natasha frowned.
"That you’re just... completely fucking oblivious." You grumbled.
"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows raised higher.
You hesitated. Because saying it out loud felt... actually ridiculous.
And petty.
And yet...
"You guys were flirting." You said finally.
The words hung in the air for a moment, then Natasha let out a sigh, leaned back against the wall, and turned to face you.
"I really wasn't."
You let out a disbelieving huff.
"Na-"
"I wasn't," Natasha repeated, firmer now, her gaze steady. "And if she thought I was, she's sorely mistaken."
You shrugged, the alcohol not helping you think clearly.
"Well, you were smiling."
"I smile," she replied, voice cooling as something you could not quite understand shifted in her expression, her shoulders dropping. "Sometimes."
"I don't know, not like that..." You grumbled lamely.
Natasha stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled through her nose as her eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, like what?"
"Like-" You stopped, frustrated, gesturing vaguely because you did not even have the right words for it. "Like you meant it or something."
"And that's a problem?" Natasha huffed out a laugh.
You opened your mouth before closing it again.
Because no. It should not be.
She was allowed to smile. Allowed to talk to people. Allowed to-
"Let’s just forget it..." You muttered, shaking your head.
Natasha reached out, gripping your chin gently and forcing you to look at her.
"Nuh uh," she said immediately, lips twitching. "Don’t do that. You started this, now finish it. Even if you're drunk."
You let out a sharp breath, throwing her a dirty look at her last words.
"Well, it’s just..." You cut yourself off again, jaw tightening. "It’s nothing, can we drop it?"
"It clearly isn't nothing."
"It is," you insisted, even though your chest felt tight, your thoughts a mess. "I just didn’t expect you to be so... friendly."
Natasha studied you, letting go of your chin to rest her palm on your sternum, thumb brushing the collar of your shirt.
"I'm friendly when I choose to be." She hummed.
"Yeah, I noticed." You chuckled, the words coming out more bitter than you intended this time. You reached for her hand with one of yours, keeping it on you - the touch grounding in a tilting world.
Natasha laced her fingers through yours, squeezing slightly.
"So what? I can't talk to someone now?"
"That’s not what I said."
"It’s what you’re implying."
"I’m not implying anything-"
Natasha sighed, cutting you off.
"You walked over there and shut down a conversation because you didn’t like it," she replied, voice sharpening. "So tell me, what exactly is the issue here?"
You stared at her.
Because the issue was obvious.
At least, it was to you.
But saying it out loud? That was different.
"That woman was clearly into you." You said instead.
Natasha blinked at you before snorting.
"Yeah, and?"
"And?" You stopped, frustrated, running a hand through your hair again. "And nothing. It’s just, like, obvious."
Her gaze locked onto yours, amusement flickering there.
"Yeah? Should I have?"
"I don’t know," you snapped, frowning at her, not understanding the funny aspect of this discussion like she seemed to. "Maybe... Probably."
Natasha leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath.
"Why?"
The question landed heavier than it should, the hair at the back of your neck standing up in alarm.
You hesitated.
Because the answer was sitting right there, at the front of your mind, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore.
Because you did not like seeing someone else look at her like that.
Because you did not like the idea of her wanting that from someone else.
Because you-
"Because I-" The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice cracking. "I just don’t like it, okay?"
Natasha hummed, lips curling into a satisfied smile, thumb brushing your hand.
You swallowed hard.
Your heart was pounding, she could probably feel it.
"I-I don't like seeing you like that. Imagining you with someone else." You grumbled, the words rough, pulled straight out of your chest.
Natasha pursed her lips, eyes on your frowning face.
"You think I’m 'with' someone else?" She asked, amused.
"No," you said quickly. "No, that’s not what I-just-" you shook your head, frustrated with yourself now. "Forget it. You can't understand."
Natsha hummed, looking at you with that familiar mixture of amusement and fondness, as if you were the most entertaining thing she had encountered all evening.
"Then explain it to me," she challenged, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you got jealous over a conversation."
"I didn’t," you stopped yourself again, exhaling sharply. "You're enjoying this too much," you grunted, giving her a look. "Okay, maybe I did. A little."
Natasha smirked, really smirked, the kind that made your stomach flip.
"Good of you to keep up, I've been enjoying it for five minutes," she chuckled, tilting her head to give you a knowing look. "A little?" She repeated.
"Fine. More than a little." You grumbled.
Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer, almost fond. Her eyes flicked downward, kissing you before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole than you were already, lips smiling against yours as she tasted the remeanant of the alcohol there.
You closed your eyes, trying to keep your mouth shut too. Because the truth was right there.
Because you loved her.
It sat at the back of your throat, heavy, burning, ready. Pulsing in time with the organ in your chest.
This would be so easy, too easy, to whisper it against her lips and blame it on the liquid courage coursing through you. To gasp it into her mouth, letting her swallow the words and sealing them with your insistent lips on hers.
You were already here, already halfway there, already saying things you probably should not be saying.
What were three more words?
Your pulse pounded as she stepped away, deep green eyes opening to stare at you.
"Wait..." Your voice faltered, breath catching as everything crashed together at once. "You're, like... very... important," you frowned, confused about where you were going with that, the words coming out of your mouth not necessarily the ones you expected. "I mean, like... I love... that you're interested in me. Only me." You finished, weaker than what you almost said.
Safer.
Natasha's eyes searched your face, like she was trying to find something you were not saying.
She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around your neck.
"Well, I thought that was pretty clear already, but I'm very much only interested in you, silly." She breathed out against your lips.
The words were steady and certain, making the hair at your nape raise again. But they did not quite settle the storm in your chest, even as your hands settled on her waist, heavy eyelids blinking to look at her.
Natasha kissed you again, softer this time, lingering.
Her hands came up to cup your face, thumbs slowly brushing over the apples of your cheeks like she was memorizing them.
"Next time," she whispered, smiling softly. "Maybe try using words a little better before jumping to conclusions."
You huffed a small, humorless laugh.
"Yeah. I’ll work on that, kinda hard after those insane drinks Clint wanted me to try, though..." You grumbled, staring into her green pools that lulled you closer, limbs melting into her.
And somehow you still wanted more.
Greedy and pathetic and hopelessly in love. The realization hit so hard it nearly stole your breath - well, that and her tongue tracing over your lips.
If only she knew the truth, though...
If only you could actually do that.
Said the words, the right ones, the real ones.
But instead, they stayed where they had been for weeks now, caught in your throat.
Unsaid.
⧗
Natasha woke you with a sound that did not belong in her bedroom.
Not a scream - Natasha Romanoff did not scream - but something very close to it. It sounded like a strangled inhale, like she surfaced too fast from underwater and forgot how lungs worked.
Your eyes snapped open instantly.
The room was dark except for the thin blue glow of the digital clock on the nightstand showing 3:13 AM.
Beside you, Natasha was rigid. Not sitting up, not moving, not one arm above her head like you caught her doing before. Just frozen flat on her back, chest heaving in shallow and uncontrolled breaths that were trying very hard not to become panicked.
"Nat?"
You pushed yourself up on one elbow when no response came from her, sleep dissolving immediately from your brain. The sheets were tangled around her legs, a sheen of sweat glinted across the exposed skin of her throat. Her hands were fisted at her sides so tight you could see the tendons straining.
"Natasha." You murmured, a little softer this time as you shifted closer, still careful, because you had learned to be careful with her.
Her eyelids finally fluttered open at the movemnt, eyes cutting toward you, green and glassy in the dark - but they did not really see you yet. They were still trapped somewhere else entirely, something years away from this room. The Red Room. A mission gone wrong. Or some memory she will never tell you about. There were ghosts living behind Natasha’s eyes sometimes. You knew that much.
And tonight they followed her into bed.
Your chest ached immediately - not because she looked broken, Natasha never looked broken, she looked exhausted like she had spent the last several hours fighting ghosts no one else could see.
"Oh, honey." The endearment slipped out before you could stop it and something in her expression cracked.
Not dramatically, because Natasha never broke dramatically either. But you saw it, that tiny flicker of exhaustion beneath the mask she was trying to pull back into place - tonight she was not fast enough. Tonight you caught the crack before the mask could close.
"’m fine..." She murmured automatically, her voice rough.
You almost scoffed at the lie, except there was nothing funny about the way her breathing still stuttered every few seconds.
"Yeah," you murmured instead, giving her a look. "Clearly."
Normally she would smirk at that. Throw something sarcastic back. Deflect. Tonight she just closed her eyes briefly like she was too worn out to actually pretend and let out a low sigh.
You hesitated for only half a second before reaching for her. That hesitation did not exist before. In the beginning, you touched Natasha carefully because you did not know if she wanted it. Now you hesitated because sometimes nightmares left her halfway feral with adrenaline and instinct. Once, months ago, she woke up swinging.
She cried afterward.
Not visibly, but her hands shook while she checked your jaw for bruising, and she refused to look at you for the rest of the night and following day so you would not be able to see her glassy eyes.
You remembered holding her face and saying, "Nat, hey, it’s okay, it was an accident." You remembered her whispering, horrified, "I could’ve hurt you." As if she had not spent every day since trying to make up for it with hands gentler than ever before.
Tonight, though, the second your fingers brushed her wrist, she grabbed you. Hard.
Never enough to hurt, just enough to reveal how desperately she needed the contact.
Your breath caught.
Natasha turned into you so quickly, almost hopelessly, and pressed into you like she could not get close enough fast enough. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other hooked under your shoulder, and then she was burying her face against your neck with a shuddering exhale.
Natasha never clinged before.
Your heart practically fractured on the spot.
"Okay," you whispered immediately, wrapping both arms around her. "Okay, I’ve got you."
She said nothing, not that you expected her to talk right now, but her grip tightened.
You could feel the aftermath of the nightmare in the tension running through her body. Every muscle pulled taut. Every breath measured too carefully.
You started rubbing slow circles against her back, carefully laying back against the mattress, thumbs pressing gently into her sides. It took a while before she melted even a little.
"You wanna talk about it?" You asked quietly, lips brushing her hairline.
You only received a tiny shake of her head against your throat in answer.
"Okay. That’s okay too."
Another few minutes passed in silence. Outside the compound windows, rain tapped very softly against the glass - a reminder that the world kept on moving in small, ordinary ways while you held one of the deadliest women on the planet together with your bare hands.
The thought would almost be funny if it did not feel so devastatingly tender.
Natasha shifted closer even though you did not think that was physically possible. One of her legs slid between yours, anchoring herself there. Her fingers curled into the back of your sleep shirt like she was afraid you would disappear if she let go.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly, lips pursing. Most people only knew the polished version of Natasha Romanoff. The smirks. The sharp edges. The glares. The dry humor. The controlled, untouchable elegance.
The Avenger.
The spy.
The weapon.
But you knew this version too.
The one who woke up shaking. The one who hoarded affection like she did not know when it would be taken away again. The one who pretended she was not tired right up until she fell asleep on your shoulder. The one who quietly moved closer whenever a room became too crowded. The one who checked that you got home safely even when she was halfway across the world. The one currently curled against your chest as if your heartbeat was the only thing keeping the nightmares away.
The one who pretended she did not need anyone while silently gravitating toward you over and over and over.
You planted a kiss onto her head, nose resting there as your lips stayed pressed on her temple. Immediately, impossibly, she softened further like that single gesture undid another knot inside her.
Your chest hurt so badly with it that you almost said it right then.
The three words rose so fast it scared you.
You stopped yourself so abruptly your breath almost caught audibly.
Natasha did not notice. Or if she did, she did not question it.
She was still tucked against you, eyes closed now, breathing gradually evening out while your heart absolutely lost its mind inside your ribcage.
Because holy shit.
Holy shit. You nearly blurred it out.
Again.
Panic bloomed instantly.
Not because it was not true.
God, that was part of the problem. It was too true. Because loving Natasha was not a choice you made anymore - it had never been your choice. It had become instinct. As natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. You loved all of her. The legend. The weapon. The woman.
Especially the woman.
You stared at the ceiling, fingers still moving gently through her hair while your thoughts spiraled violently out of control.
This was not the moment.
Actually, this would be the worst possible moment, if you thought about it.
She just had a nightmare. She was vulnerable and exhausted and clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world right now. Saying it now would be... unfair.
The realization landed heavy in your stomach - it would be unfair to put that on her now.
Natasha had spent her whole life with people taking advantage of vulnerability. Twisting soft moments into leverage. Making affection transactional.
You knew that.
You knew her.
The last thing you ever wanted was for her to think your comfort came with strings attached. Like she owed you something because she let herself need you tonight.
Your eyes stung suddenly.
God. And what if she panicked?
Not because she did not care about you - you knew she did by now, even if neither of you said it out loud - but because love was different.
Love was permanence.
Love was trust.
Love was something Natasha approached like a wounded animal approached an open hand: cautiously, suspiciously, waiting for the trap.
You could still hear her voice from months ago, quiet and strangely raw after a mission in God knew where left both of you bleeding in a safehouse bathroom.
"I’m not good at this."
You had looked up from where she was bandaging your ribs, eyebrows pulling together.
"Stichting me up? Could have told me before I let you put your hands on me, huh."
"No, just... this," she had muttered with a roll of her eyes, making a gesture with her free hand between the two of you. "All of it."
Relationships, she had meant.
Feelings.
You remembered smiling softly.
"Well, good thing you don’t have to be good at it, then."
Natasha had stared at you for a long moment like that answer genuinely confused her.
Sometimes you thought she was waiting for you to realize she was impossible to love.
The horrifying thing was that loving her was the easiest thing you had ever done.
You looked down at her now, at the red hair spilling across your shoulder. At the tiny crease still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Her plump lips partially parted, puffing air on your shirt.
At the way she unconsciously seeked your warmth even while asleep, fingers twitching against your back every few seconds just to make sure you were still there.
Your entire body ached with affection.
You wanted to say it so badly.
You wanted to whisper it into her hair and hold her until she believed it.
You wanted to tell her she was loved so fiercely and gently and without condition that it even terrified you sometimes.
But fear curled sharp beneath the longing.
Because what if she was not ready?
What if hearing it made her... retreat?
What if it changed this - whatever beautiful fragile thing the two of you had built together for months - into something frightened and uncertain?
Natasha did not do love.
Or at least she thought she did not, or to the very least act like she could not.
You had seen evidence of that belief everywhere: in the way she - most of the time - deflected sincerity with humor, in the way she usually went still when someone cared too openly, in the way she looked almost startled every time you chose her again.
As if she was still waiting for the moment you would not.
You could survive not saying it. You would rather swallow these feelings for another year than risk making her think she owed you an answer tonight, an answer given at three in the morning with tears still trapped behind her eyes would not really be an answer at all. However, you were not sure you could survive watching her pull away from you. Not over something like that. Not over timing. Not over words. So you swallowed the words down hard enough it hurt. And instead tightened your arms around her slightly and pressed another kiss into her red hair. Natasha made a small sound low in her throat. Contentment? Trust?
"You’re okay..." You whispered carefully.
Not I love you.
Even though every inch of you meant it.
"You’re safe. I’ve got you."
Her breathing evened out completely after a few minutes.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged at your own eyes again, but sleep came slowly. You mostly just laid there holding her, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.
You stayed. That was all. Stayed through the nightmares. Stayed through the sharp edges. Stayed through the parts of her she thought were too damaged to be loved.
You buried your face briefly in her hair, eyes burning.
"I’m here." You whispered.
Always, you almost added. But that was dangerously close to the other thing.
So instead you held her tighter and let the words live silently inside your chest a little longer.
⧗
You smiled against her insistent lips, blindly reaching for the handle of the door that was digging into your back, your other arm lazily draped around her shoulders.
Natasha chuckled into the kiss, breaking away just enough to push the door open with her hip.
She stepped inside first, pulling you along by your shirt collar before reconnecting your lips together the second the door of her quarters was closed behind you.
"Someone's eager." You mumbled between kisses, both arms wrapping fully around her neck now, back arching as you felt her warm hands on your hips.
Natasha bit your lower lip gently, hands sliding under the fabric of your shirt to press her burning palms against the shivering and bare skin of your back.
"Almost like it's been weeks or something." She breathed out, giving you a heated, amused look.
You shook your head, fingertips brushing along the loose curls of her braid. You tilted your face enough to look down at her cat who circled your ankles, purring at the contact. Liho meowed loudly at the lack of acknowledgement from both your parts, rubbing against Natasha's legs next.
The redhead ignored her, too busy nipping at your jaw instead, one of her hands tugging on the loop of your pants to bring you closer to her.
"She might be hungry..." You hummed, tilting your face back to give her more room, eyelids fluttering as you let your feet follow her wherever she was taking you.
Natasha grunted against your skin at your words, ignoring Liho entirely.
"She's always hungry," she muttered before pulling you in another heated kiss, hands gripping your hips as she walked backwards toward the door of her bedroom. "Plus, she already ate. Now's my turn." She smirked as she pulled you inside the room instead, closing the door before the black cat could enter.
"You’re so rude," you chuckled, leaning against the door, your hands feeling up her arms that quickly wrapped around you, refusing to let you go too far. "Slamming the door right into her face like that..."
Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes as she resumed her kisses along your jaw.
"Trust me you're not gonna want an audience," she said, lips hot on the hollow of your throat. "Know what else's rude?" Natasha asked, teeth grazing your skin, her eyes sparkling as goosebumps followed.
"Mhm, what?" You panted, already feeling yourself worked up, thighs pressed together for a semblance of relief, hands finding purchase at her toned shoulders.
Natasha smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your collarbone before biting down lightly, then soothing it with her tongue.
"You," she whispered against your skin, hands sliding lower. "You got no idea what you've been doing to me all day, huh? I couldn't stop thinking about you. During that meeting too," she grunted, nose nudging the collar of your shirt as far as possible. "Imagine that? Me? Distracted?"
"Well, I didn't do anything." You grinned, fingers slipping into her braid, purposely messing it up as you brought her lips back to yours.
Natasha groaned as you ruined her carefully braided hair - she hated when you did that. But she kissed you back anyway, hands fumbling and pushing fabric off your shoulders in a hurry.
"Liar," she accused between breaths. "You wore those clothes on purpose."
"My clothes? What about them?" You breathed out, helping her out of her own top.
Natasha kicked her shirt to the side, pressing flush against you, skin on skin now.
"That shirt," she said, voice rough as her fingers traced the waistband of your pants. "That clings like that? Your chest looked heavenly. Called my name." Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose before claiming your mouth again with a low whine of frustration as she tried to push your pants as far as she could.
You could not help but let out a shaky moan, kicking your shoes and jeans off to finish the job, fingers curling in her hair.
"I think you're losing your mind if you hear my tits talking to you." You chuckled against her lips, walking her to her bed, mouths still sharing the same oxygen.
Natasha fell onto the bed with you, laughing into your kiss - actually laughing, something rare and light that made your inside flutter so violently your lips parted against hers.
"Oh, your tits definitely talk," she teased back against your mouth before letting her mouth trail lower once you were fully straddling her lap. "They say 'touch me, Natasha' all day. Can hear them through all these walls and layers."
One of her hands slid up to cup your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra, her other one pressing down your lower back to make you arch it.
"You're such a dork." You grunted, hips rolling on her lap, your hand not in her hair working on her bra, letting it pool between you like a final motion. Natasha let out a small laugh, but the sound turned into a breathy moan she tried to immediately swallow as your hips rolled against her lap again.
Her hands immediately reached behind you to take off the last piece of fabric hiding your silky skin from her gaze, eyes sparkling as the sight of your bare chest finally greeting her.
"Well hello, ladies. Missed you too." Natasha smirked, ignoring both the amused and bewildered look you sent her as she leaned down to press a light kiss on your sternum, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts until your back arched against her on its own this time.
You let out a chuckle, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you gripped her toned arm, your fingers still tangled in her head guiding her face lower. Natasha did not need guiding, she was already moving down - her lips trailing fire over your sternum, nipping gently at the soft skin of your chest before her teeth grazed the swell of your breast. Her hands trailed lower, feeling your soft sides and committing it all back to memories.
"Sorry, I might be delirious," she murmured, voice muffled against your skin as she pressed warm kisses over your chest. "Like I said, s'been weeks."
"Yeah..." You breathed out, eyelids heavy as you stared down at her. "...acting like you’ve been through withdrawal or something." You teased, though your chuckle died in your throat as her teeth grazed your sensitive skin in clear retaliation, piercing green irises looking up at you.
Natasha smirked against your skin before finally taking one of your nipples into her mouth, tongue swirling around it, slowly at first, teasingly. She could feel the way you tensed beneath her, how your breath hitched and fingers curled tighter in her hair. She hummed approvingly around the peak before sucking gently. Your hips jerked into her lap involuntarily as a reaction to her ministrations. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, breaths turning heavy as you tried to contain yourself even though her actions along with the faint friction happening between your thighs was making you dizzy with want for more.
Natasha immediately noticed the way you moved against her - subtle, involuntary, but so telling. She quickly switched to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while one of her hands slid down your stomach and over your hipbone, tugging down the last fabric clinging to your body.
You let her roll you over and watched as she dragged your panties off your legs, her burning fingertips grazing your skin. You shifted on your elbows, giving her a heated look as you stopped her from laying back with a firm foot on her toned stomach.
The redhead frowned, confusion clouding her gaze for a second.
"Nuh uh, you're wearing far too many clothes." You smirked, licking your suddenly dry lips.
Natasha arched a brow, but the smirk on her lips grew as she understood your demand. Without hesitation, she took a step back. Her buttons popped open in record time as she kicked off the remnants of her clothes. She grabbed your extended leg with one hand, squeezing your calf as she drew closer.
"Better now?" She drawled in a hoarse tone that groped at your belly with a small smile on her face, her lips trailing over the inside of your leg, eyes never leaving your face.
You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving her mouth as you tried your hardest not to melt too visibly under her ministrations. But it was harder said than done when your whole being filled with anticipation, your breath coming in faster before you could take the reins over it.
Natasha took her sweet time - kissing up your inner thigh, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth of her mouth linger on your skin. She kept going until her nose bumped the apex of your thigh before finally reaching her destination, the first contact making every touch she did before small compared to the way her tongue eagerly seeked you out. Her eyelids fluttered for a second, a small sound escaping her parted lips as your grip in her hair resumed before tightening.
"Fuck-" You gasped, thighs already starting to tremble on either side of her head. "I almost forgot..." You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as her eyes snapped back to yours, her lips wrapping around your clit as she shot you a quick wink. "...how good you were at that." You finished in another gasp, letting the back of your head hit the mattress as you tried to keep the sounds in.
Natasha smirked - actually smirked, you could feel it against your folds - before diving back in with renewed focus. She alternated between slow, teasing licks and firm suction, like she had all the time in the world to relearn you - her tongue swirling expertly while one hand gripped your hip to keep you from bucking too much. The other slid up your stomach to pinch a nipple - multitasking like the terrifyingly efficient woman that she was.
"Inside-" You panted, back slightly arching off the bed while the hand not in her hair gripped the one that she rested on your chest for dear life, eyebrows furrowing as you focused on the pleasure she was making you feel. "Need you inside, Nat."
The redhead, your redhead, did not hesitate or drawled it longer than you thought she would - perhaps she did miss you as much as she claimed to - and slipped two fingers into you without warning, curling them just right on the first try like she knew your body better than her own. You rewarded her with a shaky gasp, unforgiving warmth spreading through you like wildfire.
Her tongue kept working your clit in perfect rhythm with her thrusting fingers, adding pressure exactly where it mattered. The wet sounds were loud in the quiet room, mixing with your gasps and Natasha's soft hums of approval against you as she stared at your body that chased the feeling she was giving you. And suddenly it was too much. Too many feelings. Natasha was all around you, everywhere - outside and inside. Her insistent hands, her heavy gaze fixed on you that you could not see but felt all the same, the scent surrounding the two of you. It was too much and you were right there, with the words ready to claw themselves out your chest and throat to finally slip past your parted lips.
You let go of her hair immediately as a semblance of dangerous clarity reached you, your hand pressing flat against your parted mouth. And what if you stopped yourself from breathing that way? At least the words were going down with you, and you would not blur them out of the blue, in the middle of sex, mind you.
You let out a trembling moan, thighs starting to shake as you bit down the inside of your fingers.
Natasha felt the exact moment you tensed, the way your body coiled like a spring ready to snap. She doubled down with eyebrows furrowed in focus, keeping the pace of her fingers and curling them while her tongue pressed hard against your clit. Your muffled moan only spurred her on, she always loved making you fall apart beneath her. Loved being the reason for that desperate grip on yourself, for those half bitten-off sounds she could practically taste in the air between you two. And then here you were, your thigh jerking up by reflex as your walls spasmed around her fingers, sucking them in.
She pulled back and took a deep, ragged breath, eyes traveling languidly over the faint sheen of sweat over your curves.
You opened your eyes again, face tilted to the side as you lazily reached for her with your hand, pushing the babyhair off her forehead with a faint, delirious smile on your face.
Natasha leaned into your touch, her damp lips curling as she kissed the palm of your hand. Her fingers, still glistening, brushed over your stomach as she crawled up to hover above you, arms caging either side of your head. She pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth first, then finally claimed it properly - slow and deep and so tender compared to what had just happened moments ago.
It made your toes curl.
"I love-" You stopped yourself just in time, gulping down, teeth grazing your lips as you tried to find something else to say. Something else than what you really wanted. Something that you might actually not regret saying. "I love, love when you do that." You finished in a lower tone, heavy eyes searching her face.
Natasha studied you, those green eyes always seeing too much, like she could read the hesitation in your chest, the words that did not make it out.
But she just kissed you again, slower this time, letting you taste the proof of your arousal clinging to her. Her hand came up to cradle your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheekbone gently, affectionate and warm.
"Yeah, I gathered as much." She grinned smugly against your lips.
You chuckled, pushing her away with one firm hand on her sternum before suddenly flipping both of you over, your body pinning her down on the mattress. You tried not to react too visibly as her hands immediately grabbed your hips by pure reflex.
"You know I don't like when you look too smug." You grunted, playfully rolling your pelvis into her lap, one eyebrow raised pointedly.
Natasha blinked up at you, almost surprised for once, her usually controlled expression flickering with something unreadable as your weight settled over her. A slow smirk curled on her lips, her hands traveling lower until she was cupping your buttcheeks.
"Well hello," she breathed out, tilting her chin to press a kiss to your jaw. "Missed those too." She smirked, her hands squeezing the flesh, a small chuckle escaping her as the involuntary movement it caused you to make.
"Oh, shut up." You laughed, your hands cupping her face to pull her into a firm kiss.
Because if there was one thing you were good at, it was distracting you from telling too much. And what could be a better distraction than those plump lips, stealing all possible breath from you until you could not speak anymore.
⧗
It was quiet in the compound.
Not the half-expected, tense, waiting kind of quiet that came after a mission or before one, but something softer, lived-in... And an atmosphere that could only prevail in the late hours of the day, one that only night owls could understand.
Most of the lights were off, the common areas were empty. And you were sitting on one of the couches, half-curled into the corner, a blanket draped over your legs more out of habit than actual need. There was a book open in your lap, but you had not turned the page in... well, a while now.
You were not reading. You had not been for the past twenty minutes. Or maybe even longer. Your gaze kept drifting.
To the doorway. To the window. To the hallway.
You did not know exactly when she got back.
You just knew she did.
You heard the faint echo of a quinjet followed by footsteps earlier. The soft click of a door. The almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere that always seemed to follow her presence - like something settled into place because she was back in your orbit.
You did not go to her. Not immediately. You had an unspoken agreement whenever one of you would return from solo missions, you would not go looking for the one who had just come back. It was up to her to come find the other if felt the need. Otherwise, you had to give the other time and space - enough to take a shower and put herself together while wiping away all the blood that stained the skin - before either of you could face the world again as an acceptable person.
So, you told yourself you would give her time, like always. Let her decompress. Shower, change, whatever she needed.
Totally normal.
Totally reasonable.
And it definitely did not end up with you pacing your own thoughts into the ground for what had to be the past half hour.
You exhaled slowly, dragging your eyes back down to the book you grabbed again.
You froze in the middle of a mess of words you surely must have tried to read before as soft footsteps echoed in the hallway. They were quiet - of course they were - but you recognize them anyway. Measured and controlled in the way that let you know she was letting you hear her approach.
Your heart picked up instantly.
Which was very stupid. It was just her.
Just Natasha.
The footsteps stopped right behind you.
You did not turn around right away, but you did not even know why. Maybe because if you did, this became real - that aching missing feeling whenever she was not near you. The words that had been sitting in your chest for weeks now, building and building and building until it felt like they were going to spill out whether you wanted it to or not.
"Your book’s upside down."
You blinked, looking down with a frown.
It was.
"...I knew that." You mutter, flipping it to the side quickly.
There was a soft sound behind you, something between a breath and the ghost of a laugh. You finally turned. And there she was. Clean now, changed too, her hair still slightly damp, falling loose around her shoulders. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, like she had already shed the mission and stepped back into something more... normal.
Her eyes were on you before they flicked to the empty mugs sprawled on the small table in front of you, eyebrows raising faintly.
"You’ve been sitting here for a while." She noted.
You shrugged, aiming for casualness to buy yourself more time on your emotions.
"Yeah. It’s a couch. That’s kind of what they’re for."
"Mhm." Natasha did not move closer, did not sit down next to you despite the empty place, she simply stood there, watching you. Like she was trying to figure something out.
You shifted slightly under the weight of it.
"What?"
"You’re weird again." Natasha tilted her head just a fraction.
Your eyebrows shot up.
"What!? Me? I’m not weird. What do you mean?"
"Yeah, you are," she replied simply with a scoff, like it was painfully obvious. "You keep almost saying something for weeks now."
Your stomach dropped, colors draining from your face.
Oh.
Oh, God, no.
You let out a short, awkward laugh, shaking your head.
"I don’t... what are you talking about?"
Natasha did not seem to buy it, not even a little, as she arched an unimpressed eyebrow in your direction.
"I’ve seen you do it," she continued, stepping a little closer now, her voice quieter but more certain. "You can’t lie to me, you know?"
You looked away, suddenly very interested in a nonexistent wrinkle in the blanket.
"I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re imagining things."
"I’m not."
"You might be."
"I’m not." She repeated, a little firmer this time.
You huffed a breath, rubbing the back of your book that laid on your side, upside down.
"Okay, even if I were, hypothetically, almost saying something... it’s probably not even important."
Natasha stepped closer, close enough now that you could feel the shift in the air between you as she leaned into your space.
"It is, though." She said, lips twitching.
You shook your head, letting out a chuckle.
"Nat-"
"Come on, just say it." The words landed softly, like a request. But solid with no room to dodge, no room to deflect anymore.
You swallowed hard, your pulse picking up again.
"This is a bad idea." You muttered, mostly to yourself, looking up at her with almost pleading eyes.
"Why?" She frowned.
Because you might ruin everything.
Because she might not say it back.
Because what you have right now is good and safe and enough-
"Because..." You started, before stopping. You held your breath, expecting... something. But Natasha did not move. She did not push. She just waited. And somehow, that was worse.
"You’re not gonna let this go, are you?" You let out a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair in a nervous movement.
"No."
Of course not.
You glanced up at her, she was closer than you realized. Her expression was not guarded, not like it usually would be with... anyone else. Anyone else but you. There was something open there, she let you see it, decipher it like it was yours to. She was curious. Maybe even a little cautious. Like she knew this mattered.
Your chest tightened.
God.
This was it then. This was the moment you had been avoiding for weeks.
You were sure you could still back out. Say something else, make a joke, deflect, kiss her until you were both too distracted to remember the discussion at hand. You had done it before. You could do it again.
But you looked at her now.
At the way she was standing there, waiting. At the way she was clearly not letting it go this time. At the way she came to you without any mask on.
The faint dampness still lingering in her hair, the patience in her eyes, the way she had not pushed you once - just waited, as if she trusted you to get there eventually.
And God.
Maybe that was what finally did it, because something in your chest just settled.
You exhaled slowly. Because the truth was the truth. The truth was painful to hold in. The truth was choking you alive. Perhaps it was killing you more to keep it in than scream it at her. Because the truth was the truth and it was inevitable - even though you tried to run away from it. It would always come back to here and now, it would always come back to her.
"I love you." The words left your mouth in an exhale before you could stop them, like they almost did too many times to count before.
You froze immediately as your brain caught up, your heart slamming hard against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to take it back, to say something else. Anything.
But Natasha just... looked at you.
And for a split second, panic spiked, until a faint breath escaped her.
"Oh."
You blinked, your entire body went tense. The sound was not disappointed, it did not sound uncertain either. If anything, it sounded fond. Almost helpless.
And you were fucking lost.
"Oh?" You echoed, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were right now despite the blanket covering your clothes. "That’s-well, okay. Cool. Good. Great response. I-I actually really love that for me," you started to ramble, because of course you were - already half-turning away like maybe you could just physically remove yourself from the situation. "I mean, not that you have to say anything back, because you don’t. I just, well, clearly picked a great time to-"
"No, no, I just... was expecting something else," Natasha replied, lips twitching. "I mean, I already knew that."
You stopped before fully turning back now, elbows planted on the back of the couch as you caught up with her words.
"...What?"
Natasha smirked, something softer in her eyes now.
"I know." She repeated, like she knew you needed to hear the words again.
"You know, what? You knew? Since when?"
"A while." She shrugged slightly, pinching her lips together to hold the laugh in.
"A while?" You repeated, incredulous. "Natasha, I’ve been internally losing my fucking mind over this for weeks, actual weeks-"
"Yeah, I noticed." She scoffed, reaching for one of your hands.
"-and you just knew!?"
"Well, yes. I knew you loved me."
You stared at her.
Because that was... That was so unbelievably her.
"Oh my God, you are actually unbelievable." You muttered, dragging your free hand down your face.
There was a faint flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth as she stepped closer, fingers brushing hair away from your eyes so she could look into them.
"I love you too, by the way," she shrugged, lips twitching into a smirk. "In case you didn’t know."
You stared up at her, breath half caught in your throat. She loved you.
Of course she did.
The evidence had been everywhere.
You had just been too terrified to trust it.
"...You do?" You asked, because apparently your brain had fully stopped functioning as needed to hear things more than one time.
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
"I just said that, didn’t I?"
"Yeah, I know, I just-" You let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking your head. "You could’ve, I don’t know, mentioned that before I spent months spiraling over it."
She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes.
"Well, you could’ve said it sooner.”
You stared at her, lips parted.
"...You’re really turning this around on me right now?"
"Mhm hm."
You huffed out another laugh, softer this time, something in your chest finally loosening after weeks of tension as she leaned in enough to press her smile against yours.
changing the locks on your heart ‘cause you’re bored
ᥫ᭡natasha romanoff x fem!reader
ᥫ᭡summary: You worry that your situation with Natasha has become one-sided, but she’s quick to reassure you of the opposite
ᥫ᭡content: fluff + a dash of comfort; legal age gap; technically stark!reader; gay panic because obviously; soft!nat allegations; a lot of exposition cause i couldn’t help myself; not proofread;
ᥫ᭡a/n: HAPPY PRIDE! 🏳️🌈 even though i cancelled my fic girl summer event, this was a draft for it that i’d already finished, so i believe it deserves to be out in the world! i’m still just trying to take my time off writing right now, but i hope you enjoy this fic in the meantime! i hope to be back in the swing of things soon
The summer heat wrapped around the compound like a blanket, sunlight glaring off of the massive pool outside the Avengers Tower. Music drifted faintly from the outdoor speakers set up, Cap and Clint took turns on the grill. You sat curled up in one of the lounge chairs in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, trying very hard to focus on the book in your hands. Trying and failing. Because Natasha lay in the chair beside yours. And Natasha in the summer was unfair.
She wore a black bikini and dark sunglasses, stretched out beneath the sunlight. One arm rested behind her head while the other draped lazily across her stomach. Relaxed Natasha was rare enough. Relaxed Natasha inviting you to spend the day with her? Was like a diamond in the rough.
Earlier that morning, she’d knocked lightly on your bedroom door before leaning against the frame. “Come sit by the pool with me today,” Simple, casual. But your heart had started racing immediately anyway.
Your pull to Natasha, and her pull right back to you, in a word had been miraculous. You’d been a young friend of Tony’s, something of a little sister to the man. You’d come from a troubled, orphaned past and he’d given you a place to stay. Now, you lived at the compound. You helped where you could, with research, mission support, communications, the less flashy stuff. Something else you’d gotten and you weren’t exactly sure how, was Natasha Romanoff’s attention.
You noticed a stark (no pun intended) difference from the looks she gave her other comrades and the looks she gave you. Soft looks were reserved from you, soft tones even more so. And you can’t remember having ever seen Natasha hug the other Avengers, or squeeze their hand, running her thumb along their knuckles. But that was the treatment that you got.
You’d spent your late nights together when neither of you could sleep, just you and Natasha in the kitchen with decaf coffee and deep conversations. Then came the touches. Natasha’s hand on the small of your back. Her knee bumping hours beneath conference tables. Natasha taking and squeezing your hand when she could sense you were overwhelmed with something.
You weren’t sure when it had shifted into something else. Maybe it was when Natasha started kissing you on the cheek when you ended the night. Maybe things had shifted the night she showed up at your room after a nightmare, and you’d held her close, snuggling up until sunrise. More than likely, it was the tennis court incident. God, the tennis court.
You still thought about it constantly. It happened last month after one of Tony’s parties. Too many people, too much noise. You’d barely gotten two words in with Natasha all evening.
Then suddenly, she’d appeared at your side and muttered, “Come with me,”
No explanation. Just Natasha leading you through the compound at midnight, fingers hooked loosely around your wrist. You’d ended up at the outdoor tennis courts under dim floodlights, warm summer air thick around you.
The second that gate clicked shut behind you, Natasha kissed you. Hard. Like she’d been holding herself back all night. You remembered stumbling backward until your spine hit the fence, Natasha crowding impossibly close while her hands framed your face.
You’d laughed breathlessly against her mouth at one point and whispered, “Nat—“
“I know,” she’d murmured before kissing you again. Like she couldn’t stop. Like she didn’t want to. You remembered hoping the moment never ended. And the way Natasha had rested her forehead against yours afterward, your breaths mingling, made you think she felt the same exact way.
So why did you still feel insane about it half the time? Why did every unanswered text make your stomach twist? Why did every mission leave you wondering if Natasha would come back distant again? Why did you feel so deeply while Natasha remained impossible to read? The thoughts followed you everywhere, even now. Especially now. Here you were, spiraling quietly beside her.
Sure, Natasha had been affectionate today. Softer, seeking you out more often. But your brain kept insisting that it was temporary. That eventually Natasha would realize you cared too much.
You turned another page in your book without processing a single word. A moment later, Natasha shifts beside you. You felt her looking before you actually glanced over. Sure enough, her sunglasses had dipped slightly down her nose so she could peer over the frames. Her smile was sleepy and fond and it made your chest squeeze.
“What?” you ask softly.
“Do you know you furrow your brows when you’re trying really hard to concentrate?” Natasha says.
Heat crawls into your face immediately. “I’m not straining myself or anything. I’m just reading. But it’s hot, so yeah, it’s a little hard to focus.”
Natasha snickers and settles back again. You try again to focus on your book, and fail a second time. Because every few minutes, Natasha would glance over at you. And sometimes she’d smile, and sometimes, she’d just look. Like she was just taking you in, admiring your presence. Which somehow made everything worse. Because if Natasha cared, really cared, wouldn’t things feel more certain than this? Wouldn’t you know what you were to her?
You were so lost in your own thoughts that you almost startled when a shadow suddenly crossed your book.
You look up, and Natasha is stood above your chair now, sunlight outlining her hair in coppery gold. God, she was beautiful.
“Wanna get in the water with me?” Natasha asks.
The answer escapes before you can think too hard about sounding eager. “I’d love to.”
Natasha smiles and holds out her hand. Your pulse skips as you take it. Her fingers curl around yours with familiar ease, and she gently tugs you to your feet. The walk to the pool was short, but Natasha never let go.
The concrete heats the soles of your feet while distant laughter echoes around the yard. Natasha stops at the water’s edge beside you. Blue water gleams beneath the afternoon sun.
For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, Natasha quietly asks, “What’s going on?”
Your stomach drops, but you attempt a smile. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been in your head all day, I can tell.”
Of course she noticed. Natasha noticed everything about you.
“It’s nothing.” You deflect.
Natasha turns fully toward you then. “Hey.” She squeezes your hand once. “Talk to me.”
And maybe it was the heat of the sunlight, or the way she’d looked at you all morning, but suddenly the words were pushing at your throat, too hard to keep inside.
“You ever worry,” you started quietly, staring at the pool water instead of her face, “that maybe you made something bigger in your head than it actually is?”
Your question is met with silence and you immediately regret speaking. Your laugh is nervous and you go for another deflection. “Forget it. That sounds dramatic.”
“Don’t do that.” Natasha says coolly.
You swallow hard. Natasha steps close enough for you to feel her body heat, smell the intoxicating musk of her perfume. “What makes you think this isn’t real to me?”
The question catches you so off guard that you finally look at her. Natasha’s expression had gone soft in that way she only allowed around you. It made your heart stuttered.
“You’re hard to read sometimes,” you admitted.
A flicker of guilt flashes across Natasha’s face and it surprises you. Then, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The gesture was unbearably tender.
“You know why I brought you to the tennis court that night?” she asks quietly.
Heat floods your face once again. You shake your head.
“Because I’d just spent four hours wanting to kiss you,” Natasha murmurs. “And I couldn’t stand pretending otherwise anymore.”
Your breath caught. Natasha’s thumb traces lightly across your cheekbone. “I invite you into my space constantly,” she continues softly. “You’re the first person I look for when I come home from missions. I sleep better with you beside me,” A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “You’ve somehow convinced the world’s greatest spy to willingly talk about her feelings.”
A startled laugh escapes you through the emotion clogging your chest. Natasha steps even closer.
“This isn’t one-sided,” she said firmly. “I’m so incredibly fond of you, y/n,”
Every spiraling thought in your brain seemed to stop in that moment. Natasha looked genuinely offended by the thought of you doubting her feelings for you. And suddenly all those tiny moments over the past few months rearranged themselves differently in your head.
Natasha bringing you coffee exactly how you liked without asking. Her hand finding yours beneath blankets during movie nights. The way she always drifted toward you in crowded rooms. The tennis court. This pool.
You look up at her, searching her eyes. “I’m fond of you too, Natasha,” you reply. “So goddamn fond.”
Natasha’s hands cup your face again and she drags your mouth against hers. You hum at the taste, at the feel of her, your hands wrapping around her waist. Your heart is a ticking metronome in your chest, and in that moment, you know you’re exactly where you need to be. And you’d never doubt Natasha’s feelings for you ever again, even for a minute.
Summary: Being told not to fall in love with someone is difficult, especially when that someone is Natasha Romanoff—and especially when the warning comes far too late.
Warnings: fluff, angst, implied sexual themes
Words: 8244
The music pulses through the floor of the club like a second, louder heartbeat, trying to drown out your own.
Lights fracture across the room in restless bursts of color, slicing everything into shifting pieces. Faces appear and disappear, hands are thrown into the air, and bodies collide and reform in rhythm.
Everything blurs into noise, into heat, into something wild and uncontained.
It's chaos.
And you sit just outside of it.
Tucked into the corner of a booth, you exist in a pocket of stillness that doesn't quite belong in a place like this.
One arm drapes lazily across the table, your fingers idly tracing random patterns as you wait. Your gaze drifts over the crowds, not really focused or searching for anything, just passing over the movements like background scenery in a place you're not really part of.
A figure stumbles into your peripheral vision, breaking the rhythm of your detachment. Before you can shift away or pretend not to notice, he's already there, leaning heavily against the back of your booth, far too close, and invading your space with the unmistakable scent of cheap alcohol and poor decisions.
"Hey, sweetheart," he slurs, words sticking together as he flashes a crooked, overconfident grin. "You want some—"
"Nope."
You don't even turn fully toward him. The word comes out flat and immediate, cutting him off mid-sentence without hesitation.
"Keep walking."
He pauses, blinking in confusion when the response didn't match the script in his head. His grin falters, twisting into something sour as his ego scrambles to recover.
"Bitch," he mutters under his breath, not quite brave enough to say it louder.
You don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
He barely makes it two steps before the universe corrects itself.
A solid collision sends him stumbling backward, his balance giving out as he catches himself awkwardly on the floor.
"Hey—!" His protest starts on instinct, but it dies just as quickly as it began.
Because she's there.
Natasha stands over him, her posture loose, almost casual, but there's nothing soft about the look in her eyes.
"Watch where you're going," she says, her tone low, edged just enough to make the warning unmistakable.
The man swallows hard, whatever bravado he had dissolving instantly. He scrambles to his feet without another word, disappearing into the crowd like he was never there to begin with.
You don't react right away, choosing to examine her quietly instead.
There's something about the way she holds herself that captures your attention a second longer. Since you met her, Natasha has always been poised and self-assured, unshakable, as if she knows she's entirely in control.
Slowly, you lean your chin into your palm and sigh with exaggerated drama.
"My hero," you coo, your voice dripping with mock admiration.
Natasha huffs, unimpressed, and slides into the booth beside you with the ease of someone who belongs wherever she decides to be. Two drinks land on the table soon after.
"Shut up."
You grin, reaching for one of the glasses and lifting it to your lips.
"That took a while," you comment casually.
Natasha shrugs, already taking a sip of her own.
"Line was long."
"Mmhmm," you hum, unconvinced.
You don't need an explanation. You've known her long enough to read between the lines and figure out what really took up her time.
"Let me guess…new number?"
A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. Without answering, she reaches beneath the neckline of her top. She pulls out a small, folded slip of paper and flicks it across the table toward you.
"Two, actually. Stopped me on my way back."
You catch it easily, unfolding it with a raised brow. Messy handwriting with the message to 'call me' followed by a phone number. To top it off, in one corner is a lipstick mark stamped like a signature.
"And she got it into your bra?" you tease, glancing up at her. "That's dedication. Sounds like someone's going to have a very busy night."
Natasha relaxes back into the seat, giving a faint, noncommittal shrug.
"We'll see if I feel like it."
You smile faintly into your drink.
That's always her answer.
And you already know how it ends.
By the end of the night, she'll choose someone. She'll give them just enough of everything—attention, charm, pleasure. Something that feels dangerously close to real. Enough to make them think they've been chosen for something more.
And in the morning?
She'll be gone.
Another almost. Another story someone else will tell about her.
Your fingers trace the rim of your glass as your gaze flicks back to her.
"Do you ever think about taking one of them seriously?" you ask, quieter now.
"No," she deadpans.
You laugh at her immediate response, your smile turning fond as you tilt your head at her expression, which has now shifted to an unamused glare at you.
"I mean it, Natasha," you press, softer. "Maybe consider the possibility of falling in love with someone for once."
Natasha scoffs, shaking her head like the idea itself is ridiculous.
"Nobody who's handing out numbers to someone they spent ten seconds talking to is looking for love," she replies, matter-of-factly, raising the glass to her lip, before adding. "And neither am I."
The corner of your smile falters slightly, and you quickly look down at your drink before she can catch the shift in your expression.
It's one of the clearest differences between you and her. Where she dismisses it, you still believe in finding the one—a love so certain there's no question, no doubt.
Meanwhile, Natasha Romanoff doesn't fall in love. Not really. Not in any way that lasts. Her walls aren't just high. They're reinforced, locked tight, and designed to keep everything out.
Even you.
And you're the closest thing she has to a best friend, aside from those she saves the world with.
You exhale slowly, pushing the thought down and steering the conversation toward something safer.
"So what's your secret, then?" you ask, letting the teasing edge return. You tap the paper. "How do you keep collecting these like trophies?"
Natasha raises a brow over the rim of her glass before giving a slight shrug.
"I know what people want to hear."
You make a face.
"That's such a cop-out answer."
Her smirk deepens, sharpening at the edges like she's already entertained by an idea.
"What?" she challenges. "You want a demonstration?"
You pause, but it's not really out of hesitation, not in the way it should be. It's curiosity. It's the pull of wanting to see what she does with that effortless charm she carries around like a second skin.
And maybe, if you're being honest, it's something else, too.
"Sure," you say finally, with a casual shrug that doesn't quite match the interest in your eyes.
You shift closer, turning fully toward her, and then you lean in with exaggerated confidence, deliberately overdoing it. Your voice drops, dripping with mock seduction, every word intentionally theatrical.
"Hey, beautiful," you murmur, laying it on thick. "Wanna come home with me tonight?"
For a split second, there's silence.
Then Natasha laughs.
It's not the quiet, amused huff she usually gives you. It's fuller, something real enough that it catches you off guard.
Her head tilts back slightly as the sound leaves her, her shoulders loosening and her guard dropping in a way you don't see often.
And for that brief second, you're not thinking about the bit anymore.
You're just watching her.
Watching the way her eyes crinkle faintly at the corners, the way her lips curve without calculation, the way the sound of her laugh settles somewhere in your chest and lingers there longer than it should.
"That's not even remotely close to what happens," Natasha says, shaking her head as she looks back at you, amusement still lingering in her expression.
You blink, pulled out of the moment, and then you laugh too. It's lighter, a little self-aware now as you lean back from her space.
"Yeah, alright," you admit, grinning as you shake your head at yourself. "That was too much."
You glance at her again, more thoughtful this time.
It has always amazed you how she holds herself and how her attention works. Natasha doesn't chase, but somehow, she still pulls people in.
Your grin fades into a more contemplative expression. You shift again, slower this time, closing the distance without the exaggerated movement from before.
"Alright," you say, quieter now, your tone losing the performative edge. "Let me try again."
You take a slow breath, letting the noise of the club fade just enough to sharpen your focus.
This time, when you look at her, you don't rush it. You let your gaze linger, unhurried, as it traces over her, catching the relaxed confidence in the way she sits, the subtle teasing curve of her lips, the way the shifting lights catch in her red hair and set it briefly aglow before slipping away again.
Only then do you meet her eyes.
"Hey," you say, your voice quieter now, steadier. "Mind if I join you?"
Something changes. It's subtle, so slight it could almost be imagined, but the air between you shifts, tightening just a fraction.
Natasha tilts her head, the corner of her mouth lifting into a small, amused smile.
There's a flicker of intrigue there, something sharper beneath the surface, before she gestures casually to the space beside her.
"Go ahead."
With her permission, you slide closer, easing into her space. Your knee accidentally bumps against hers beneath the table. Instead of pulling away, you stay, letting the contact linger just long enough to be noticed.
Then, sliding your arm along the back of the booth behind her, your fingers brush absentmindedly through a loose strand of her hair, catching it for just a second before letting it fall.
"So," you ask, your tone light but measured, "are you here alone?"
Natasha holds your gaze. For a moment, her eyes don't move, steady as she assesses you, but then in one second, they dip…to your lips.
It's brief, almost nothing, before she meets your eyes again.
But you still catch it. And the awareness of the action lands somewhere low in your chest, tightening unexpectedly at the way her attention feels.
"No," she says smoothly, as if nothing at all just happened. "I'm here with a friend."
There's a faint hint of amusement in her tone, like she's making a joke that you can't participate in.
Her fingers tap lightly against the side of her glass, a soft, rhythmic motion, before she tilts her head again, studying you with a look that feels far more intentional than casual.
"But," she continues, her voice dipping lower, slipping beneath the noise of the club so that you feel it more than you hear it, "I wouldn't be opposed to some better company."
Your brow lifts in exaggerated offense.
"Oh?" you hum, leaning in just enough to close the distance by a fraction, your knee pressing more firmly against hers beneath the table. "That so?"
Natasha's lips curve into that slow, knowing smirk she wears when she knows she's already ahead, when she's already decided how something is going to go.
"Mhm."
Her gaze drifts again, this time with no attempt at subtlety. It moves from your eyes, lingering at your mouth, down the line of your jaw and neck, and then to your collarbone before lifting back up again, like she's mapping something out in her mind.
It shouldn't affect you.
She hasn't even touched you.
And yet, heat rises anyway, creeping up your neck, settling across your cheeks before you can stop it. You swallow, steadying yourself before continuing.
"And what exactly qualifies as 'better company'?" you ask, keeping your tone teasing, though the curiosity underneath it is real and unguarded.
Natasha leans in closer. Not enough to erase the space between you. Just enough that it matters. Just enough that your focus narrows, sharpening until she's the only thing that feels clear.
"Someone interesting," she says.
Her fingers shift, sliding lazily across the table, near your hand. They're close enough that you're aware of the distance between them, of how little it would take to close it.
"Someone who knows how to hold their own," she adds, her eyes lifting to meet yours again, something like a challenge buried in the words.
There's a pause as she lets her words linger.
"And," she finishes, softer now, her voice lowering just enough to settle under your skin, "someone who knows how to keep my attention."
Your lips twitch, amusement flickering through your facade briefly.
"Oh, is that all?" you tease.
Natasha huffs out a quiet laugh, but her gaze doesn't waver. It stays locked on yours, steady and expectant.
"Think you can manage it?"
The way she says it, not quite cocky, but not entirely fake either. It feels like an invitation. Like she's waiting to see what you'll do with it.
So without thinking, you lean in—just a little.
"I don't know," you answer, tilting your head as if you're considering her instead. "You seem like you get bored easily."
"I do," she admits without hesitation.
You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing at her blunt honesty. Instead, you let your fingers tap idly against the back of the booth just behind her shoulder, grounding yourself in the motion.
"Then I guess I'll have to make sure I'm not easy to forget," you tease.
Her response isn't what you expect.
There's no immediate smirk, no counter-teasing remark. Instead, there's a brief flicker of something warmer in her expression, gone before it fully forms.
It catches you off guard as her amused grin returns on her face.
Natasha's fingers slide closer to yours on the table, brushing against yours lightly, as if she's offering you a glimpse of what her touch feels like without fully giving it.
"Careful," she murmurs, her voice low, threaded with quiet amusement. "That almost sounded like you're promising me a good time."
You grin, unable to help it now, caught up in the rhythm of it all, in the ease of this back-and-forth.
"Maybe I am."
For a moment, Natasha doesn't respond. She relaxes back in her seat, watching you thoughtfully.
Her gaze holds yours with that familiar spark of challenge resting just beneath the surface. It doesn't push. It doesn't press.
It just…stays.
Like she's waiting.
Like there's something unfinished hanging between you, and she's content to let it linger there as long as it takes.
And somewhere in that quiet, the space between you shifts.
Not all at once. Not in any way you could point to.
Just enough to stop it from feeling quite as defined.
And then everything shifts.
Natasha's lips curve slowly into that unmistakable, confident smirk, her brows lifting slightly, like she's just claimed victory without needing to say it out loud.
That's what breaks the trance.
You blink, the moment snapping apart as your awareness rushes back all at once.
And suddenly, you're very aware of how close you are to her.
Your hand is now braced against the seat behind her. Your body angled more toward hers. One knee pressed into the booth, and the other shifted forward between her legs.
Like you were about to climb into her lap without ever realizing so.
Your breath catches.
When did you—
For a second, you don't move. You just look at her, then at the tiny space between you, then back again—trying to trace it back, to find the point where things shifted.
But there isn't one.
Just the quiet realization that it already has.
A soft, disbelieving laugh slips out.
"That—" you start, shaking your head slightly, still hovering there. "That shouldn't have worked."
Natasha's lips curve again, slower this time. There's satisfaction there, unmistakable, but beneath it, something softer flickers briefly.
"Mm," she hums, her voice low. Her gaze dips once to your mouth before returning to your eyes. "And yet…here you are."
Something in your chest tightens at that, sharp and familiar. You don't let yourself examine it too closely. Instead, you exhale and push yourself back, creating space, though not nearly as much as you probably should.
"Okay," you mutter, half to steady yourself. "That was—"
"Convincing?" she offers lightly.
You glance at her, narrowing your eyes, though a reluctant smile tugs at your lips.
"Dangerous," you correct.
She leans back, finally giving you some room, but not before her fingers brush briefly against your wrist as you pull away.
Just enough for her touch to linger, to stay with you.
"I did warn you," Natasha says, her tone light again. "If you're not careful, you might fall in love."
You scoff, settling back into your side of the booth, though your heart hasn't quite caught up with you yet.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Natasha. It's not that easy to make me fall in love."
"Good."
The word lands differently.
You glance at her.
She's looking at you with a serious expression now, not teasing, not amused.
"Don't fall in love with me," Natasha says quietly.
It's soft. Nearly lost beneath the music, beneath the noise, beneath everything else.
But you hear it anyway.
It settles somewhere deep, somewhere uncomfortable, tightening your chest in a way you don't have time to process, because just as quickly as it appears, it's gone.
Her smirk slides back into place like armor.
"Unless, of course," she adds casually, lifting her drink, "you want a full demonstration."
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you reach for the folded paper. Without thinking too much about it, you tuck it back into the front of her top, your fingers lingering just a second longer on her skin before pulling away.
"Save it," you say lightly. "For your numbers."
And then you lean back. Back into your space. Back into the role you've always had in her life.
The best friend.
The one who is never supposed to cross that line.
The one who already did anyway.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
You drag your spoon slowly through the soup, barely registering the motion as it disturbs the surface. The liquid folds in on itself, ripples spreading outward before settling again, only for you to repeat the same absent-minded movement.
It's rhythmic, almost hypnotic, just something to keep your hands occupied while your thoughts drift somewhere else entirely.
"Not that good?"
The voice cuts cleanly through the fog.
Your head lifts, blinking as the restaurant comes rushing back into focus all at once—the soft amber lighting, the low murmur of conversations overlapping, the occasional clink of silverware against plates.
Across from you, your date is watching with a small, curious smile, her expression gentle but searching, like she's trying to read what you won't say.
"Hm? Oh—no, it's great," you answer quickly, setting your spoon down with a soft clatter. Your hands retreat to your lap, fingers lacing together as if that might steady you. "I'm just…"
You falter, the excuse dissolving before it forms. Your gaze dips briefly, and you shake your head with a quiet exhale.
"Sorry," you add, softer this time, a note of sincerity threading through the awkwardness. "Would you excuse me for a minute?"
You're already pushing your chair back, offering her an apologetic smile, the kind you've perfected over time that hides more than it reveals.
She nods easily, gracious in a way that only makes the guilt twist tighter in your chest.
"Of course," she says. "Take your time."
That almost makes it worse.
You weave through the restaurant, past tables filled with people who seem entirely present in their own evenings, their laughter and conversations grounded in a way you can't quite access.
The restroom door swings shut behind you, cutting off the noise abruptly, leaving you in a quiet that feels almost oppressive.
You exhale, long and unsteady, bracing your hands against the edge of the sink.
For a moment, you just stare down at the porcelain, your reflection hovering faintly in your peripheral vision. You try to gather yourself, to reconstruct the version of you that walked into this place with the intention of trying—really trying.
Because this should be working.
She's kind. She listens. She laughs easily, asks thoughtful questions, and remembers details you mention in passing. There's nothing forced about her, nothing sharp or complicated.
By every reasonable standard, this date is going well.
And it is.
So why does it feel like you're somewhere else entirely?
Your gaze lifts slowly, meeting your own reflection in the mirror. You look…distracted. Distant in a way you can't quite hide, no matter how hard you try.
Because no matter how much you focus, your mind keeps slipping.
Back to her.
Natasha lingers at the edges of everything, like a shadow you can't quite shake.
When your date smiles, warm and open across the table, your mind instantly replaces it with something else. A familiar smirk that builds at one corner first, like it knows exactly what it's doing to you.
When the light catches your date's hair, soft and golden, your thoughts betray you with flashes of red instead. How those scarlet strands fall just slightly out of place, like it refuses to be tamed, like it's part of her in a way that feels intentional.
And when your date's fingers brushed yours earlier, it should have meant something.
But all you could think about was the difference.
The way Natasha's touch never feels accidental. The way it always lingers just a fraction too long, like she's leaving something behind on purpose. Like she knows exactly how to stay with you, even after she pulls away.
You squeeze your eyes shut, your hands coming up to press against your cheeks.
"Stop," you murmur under your breath, sharper this time.
This is ridiculous. You're on a date—with someone real, someone present, someone who is actually trying to meet you halfway.
And instead, you're stuck on someone who has made it very clear that she doesn't want this kind of relationship. Not with you. Not with anyone.
You let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down your face before reaching into your pocket for your phone.
This is a bad idea. You know it is. Your thumb moves anyway. Because, despite everything, despite the logic, despite the self-awareness, she's still the person you want to talk to.
The line rings once.
"Hey, what's up?" Natasha's voice slips through the speaker, low and familiar, and something in your chest loosens instantly, like tension you didn't realize you were carrying finally gives way.
It annoys you. How easy that is. How immediate.
You press your lips together, pushing that thought aside.
"Hiding in the restroom," you say, leaning back against the counter, your tone dry but lighter than you feel. "While my date is probably wondering if I've escaped out the window."
There's a soft pause, and then a low chuckle that feels entirely too warm through the phone.
"That bad?" she asks, amusement curling through her words.
You huff quietly, your gaze drifting back to your reflection.
"No," you admit, and this time it's honest. "She's great. Really great, actually."
You hesitate, your fingers tightening slightly around your phone.
"It's just…" you trail off, your brow furrowing as you try to find the words. "I don't know."
There's a quiet hum on the other end, thoughtful and measured.
"Mm," Natasha murmurs. "You're distracted."
It's not a question.
Your lips press together in a small pout because, of course, she can hear it. Of course, she can pick you apart without even trying.
"Maybe," you concede.
A beat passes.
"Need a rescue?" she asks, her tone shifting, still teasing, but there's an undercurrent there. Something just shy of serious.
And that's the problem.
Because you know she means it.
She would show up. Or give you an excuse convincing enough to leave. She would use all of her resources to pull you out of this moment without any hesitation.
The thought makes your chest tighten, not with relief, but something more complicated.
Your lips curve faintly, despite yourself.
"You offering?" you ask, letting a bit of that familiar back-and-forth slip in, something easier, something safer.
"Always," Natasha replies smoothly.
You can practically hear the smirk in her voice. Before you can call her out on it, her voice continues, softer this time.
"Do you want me to?"
It hits you hard how quickly she is to say that. Because it's effortless for her. This dynamic. This closeness that never quite crosses the line, but never steps back either.
Her offer hangs in the air, tempting you with the promise of her presence.
You open your mouth to respond, something half-teasing yet also honest already forming.
"I–"
"Where did you say your wine glasses are?" The voice in the background cuts cleanly through the moment.
Your smile falters, the warmth from earlier cooling as the realization that she isn't alone settles in.
There's a faint rustle on the other end, a subtle shift of movement. Natasha mutters something, her voice lower now, directed away from the phone. You can't make out the words, only the tone, easy and unbothered.
Truthfully, the revelation is not surprising.
Natasha moves through people and spaces like she belongs anywhere she chooses to be. There's always someone, something, some orbit she exists within.
So why does it feel like something just dropped in your chest? Why does it feel like you've been caught off guard by something you already understood?
You swallow, your grip tightening slightly on your phone as you force your expression to smooth out.
By the time she comes back, you've already started building the walls back up.
"…sorry," Natasha says, her voice slipping back into place like nothing happened.
You lean more against the counter for some support, letting the teasing edge return to your tone.
"Felt like some company tonight?" you ask.
It's a casual question. Harmless in the way you say it.
And yet a long pause fills the conversation as Natasha considers your tone.
"Something like that," she finally replies.
You nod faintly to yourself, your lips curving into something that almost feels like a smile.
"Good," you say. "Wouldn't want you getting bored."
The words come out easy, but underneath them, something twists, sharp and unwelcome.
You wonder if this is what Natasha meant. Why she doesn't ever want anything more with anyone. Maybe, if you learn to do the same, you wouldn't have this ache in your chest anymore.
"I should get back," you add, your tone shifting just slightly enough to signal an ending.
There's a pause on the other end again, this one longer.
"What were you about to say?" Natasha asks, referring to earlier before you were interrupted.
You glance at your reflection once more. At the truth sitting just behind your eyes. At the words you almost let slip, the ones that would've changed something, even if only for a moment.
You straighten, pushing off the counter.
"It's nothing," you say, softer now, but steady. "I'll manage."
Another beat.
"…right," she replies, quieter this time.
You hesitate for half a second before adding softly.
"Enjoy your night, Natasha."
You hang up before she can respond. Before she can pull you back into that orbit again.
The silence that follows feels heavier than before.
For a moment, you just stand there, staring at your reflection, at the version of yourself that almost said something you can't take back.
Your chest feels tight. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming.
Just…heavy.
Like something quietly settling into place.
You exhale slowly, smoothing your expression, pushing everything down into something manageable.
Because out there, someone is waiting for you. Someone who chose to be here with you.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
By the time you step out into the cool night air with your date, something inside you has undeniably shifted.
The careful distance you maintained earlier has softened, dissolving into something far more natural and unforced. It becomes easier when you stop trying to define what this moment is supposed to mean, when you let go of the need to measure it against expectations or outcomes. Without that pressure, everything settles.
The conversation begins to flow with ease. There's no second-guessing, no pauses filled with overthinking. Your words come naturally, and so do hers.
At one point, she nudges her shoulder lightly against yours, teasing you about something you said earlier in the night. The gesture is small and playful, but it feels significant in its simplicity.
This time, you don't hesitate.
You respond instantly, matching her tone, letting yourself lean into the moment instead of analyzing it.
And it feels good.
There's no weight pressing against your chest, no lingering tension pulling at your thoughts. For once, your mind is quiet.
It's just two people enjoying each other's company without any expectations for more.
You hold onto that feeling as you continue walking. When you finally reach the front door of your apartment, your steps slow.
There's a brief pause as you stand there, your hand lingering on your keys. The small, familiar weight suddenly feels heavier, your pulse just slightly uneven as you turn back to face your date.
She's standing close, her expression open and soft. Still, there's an expectancy there too, not demanding or pressuring, but present enough that you can feel it.
You know this moment. You've been here before.
You could stop now, just like you always do. You could keep things simple. Say goodnight, thank her for the evening, and let this end the way so many others have—pleasant, harmless, and ultimately forgettable.
Just another attempt at love that eventually fades quietly into the background.
But then your thoughts drift.
You think of Natasha.
You think of the way she moves through moments like this. She never hesitates, never allows doubt to creep in and complicate something that could simply be. She doesn't overanalyze or assign meaning where none is needed.
She just acts.
And for once, you decide to do the same.
You lean in first.
The kiss begins softly, almost cautiously, as if both of you are testing the space between you. There's a moment of uncertainty, a quiet question in the way your lips meet.
But it doesn't stay that way.
She responds immediately, stepping closer to you as if there was never any doubt. Her hand finds your arm, then slides to your waist, grounding you in the moment. The warmth of her touch is undeniable, real in a way that pulls you further in.
You feel it, the closeness, the simple, human pull of proximity.
It isn't empty.
It isn't meaningless.
But it isn't her, either.
And maybe…it doesn't have to be.
Maybe this can be enough to let you forget, even for a moment.
You deepen the kiss, allowing yourself to get lost in it. You focus on the immediacy of the sensation, on something tangible and present, something that doesn't ask you to wait, to question, or to ache for something more.
Your hands curl lightly at her collar, pulling her closer.
For a brief moment, it almost works.
It almost quiets everything else.
You just need a little more time, a little more distraction.
When you pull back, your breath is uneven.
Your forehead hovers close to hers, the space between you charged but fragile. The words that come next feel uncertain in a way you hadn't planned for.
"Do you…" you start, your voice quieter now. You hesitate, then push through it. "Do you want to come in?"
There's a flicker of surprise in her expression, but then she nods, a small smile forming as she prepares to answer.
"Guess you didn't need saving, after all."
The voice cuts cleanly through the moment.
Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Your shoulders tense, and your breath catches sharply as something cold settles beneath your skin.
Slowly, you turn your head.
Natasha stands a few steps away.
One hand is tucked casually into her jacket pocket, the other loosely holding a pack of beer at her side. Her posture is relaxed, but her expression doesn't match it.
There's something else there, something that immediately fills you with a sense of guilt.
Your date glances between the two of you, confusion quickly replacing the warmth that had been there moments ago.
"What is she talking about?" she asks, uncertain.
"No, it's not what you think—she's my friend. I called her earlier but—," you say quickly. Your words come out rushed and defensive, and without thinking, your body instinctively creates some space between you and her.
And just like that, the moment collapses.
"I think…" your date begins, then falters. Her gaze lingers on you, searching for something that isn't there anymore. "I think I should go."
You don't stop her. You don't even try.
"Yeah," you say quietly. "That's probably…a good idea."
She nods, offering you a polite smile that no longer carries the same warmth.
"Goodnight," she says, her hand brushing your arm one last time before she turns away.
Natasha doesn't acknowledge her at all as she walks past. Her attention is fixed entirely on you.
The elevator doors close with a soft ding, and silence fills the space she left behind.
You don't look at Natasha, your gaze fixed on the ground in front of you. But in reality, you don't have to. Not when you can feel her presence, pressing into the air around you.
"What are you doing here, Natasha?" you ask finally, your voice tight.
"Checking on you," she replies, as if it's the most natural response in the world.
You let out a short, humorless laugh and turn to face her fully.
"Checking on me," you repeat. "Right."
Her gaze flicks briefly toward where your date disappeared, then returns to you.
"That didn't seem like you," she says.
Something in your chest snaps.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
She steps closer, her expression tightening with confusion.
"What were you thinking?" she says more firmly. "Inviting someone you barely know to stay the night."
You scoff, shaking your head.
"Are you seriously judging me right now?" you shoot back. "Because that's exactly how you do things."
Her jaw tightens, just slightly.
"That's different."
"Why?" you challenge, stepping closer now. The frustration you've been holding back begins to surface, sharp and unfiltered. "Because it's you?"
"Because you don't—" she cuts herself off, exhaling sharply. "You don't see people like that. As a passing moment. You actually care."
"Well, you don't get to decide who I am, Natasha," you fire back, your voice rising. "Or what I'm allowed to do just because it doesn't fit whatever version of me you have in your head."
"That's not what this is," she says, her voice lower now, strained in a way you're not used to hearing.
"Then what is it?" you press.
Natasha doesn't answer.
And that silence is what pushes you over the edge.
"You always know exactly what to say," you continue, your voice sharper now, cutting through the space between you. "So what's wrong now, Natasha?"
"Stop," she warns, her tone low.
But you can't.
You're already too far in. You step closer before you can think better of it, crowding into her space, forcing her to look at you. She holds her ground for half a second, jaw tightening, until you shove at her shoulder with the next word out of your mouth.
"Come on," you push, bitterness creeping into your words. "Where's the charm? The part where you make this all make sense?"
At each push, she stumbles back without resistance. Again and again. Until her back hits the wall.
Your hand fists in the fabric of her jacket before you realize what you're doing, gripping tight, anchoring her there.
Natasha's breath hitches, so quiet it almost isn't there, but you feel it. That tiny fracture in her control. Her eyes flick down to your lips for half a second, then back up to your face, so quick that you might've imagined it.
But you know what you saw. You see it in her face. Time and time again.
The hesitation. The truth sitting just beneath the surface.
Your chest tightens, anger unraveling into something far more fragile.
"Say it," you demand, your voice faltering despite your effort to keep it steady. "Just—say it."
For a moment, neither of you moves.
You can feel the heat of her through the jacket, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the tension coiled in her like a spring ready to snap. Close enough to see every flicker in her expression, every guarded thought trying to stay hidden.
And suddenly, you're exhausted.
Exhausted of the almosts. Of the half-answers. Of the way she looks at you like she's holding something back—something you're not allowed to hear.
Your grip loosens, and the energy to stand strong against her slowly drains.
"You've known for a while," you say more quietly now. "I know you do."
For the first time, Natasha can't meet your eyes.
You let out a hollow laugh, dragging a hand across your face, wiping at the tear forming there.
"God, Natasha, just break my heart already so I can stop—"
"I love you."
For a moment, you're not even sure you heard the words correctly. Your eyes lock onto hers, searching in disbelief.
"What?"
Natasha stands in front of you without any trace of her usual composure. The charm she relies on is gone, along with the practiced deflection, leaving only something unguarded and terrifyingly real.
"I love you," she says again, her voice softer now.
Everything around you seems to fall silent, yet your heartbeat grows louder and faster, as if it cannot keep pace with what is happening.
This isn't how things were supposed to unfold.
You release a breath that nearly turns into a laugh of disbelief, your head shaking faintly.
"That is…" you begin, but the rest of the sentence never comes.
Nothing makes sense.
"You told me not to fall in love with you," you manage instead, your voice unsteady.
"I meant it."
"Then what the hell is this?"
Natasha exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her hair.
"It is exactly why I said it," she replies, her tone edged with frustration. "Because this is what happens."
She gestures between the two of you.
"It becomes complicated. It becomes messy. It…” She cuts herself off, her jaw tightening.
You watch her, your chest aching with the weight of it all.
"So what do you do?" you ask. "Pretend it's not there?"
Her silence is answer enough.
You step closer, slower this time, until there is barely any space left between you.
Your hands rise hesitantly, hovering for a brief moment before you gently cup her cheeks, tilting her face so she can't avoid your gaze.
"Why can't I love you, Natasha?" you ask, your voice quiet.
She swallows, and you see the exact instant her control slips before she surges forward and presses her lips to yours.
Somewhere nearby, the box of glass bottles hits the floor with a sharp sound, but neither of you reacts. Natasha's hands grip you firmly, pulling you closer until there is no distance left.
A soft sound escapes you, and she catches it, reversing your positions and pressing you back against the door instead. She holds you there, her body anchoring you in place, and kissing you again with a breathless urgency.
Her lips move along your jaw and then down to your neck, finding the exact place that draws a sharp intake of breath from you as she presses against the pulse there.
Your fingers are tangled in her hair now, keeping her close while you struggle to steady yourself.
Then just as suddenly, she stops. Natasha's head lowers, resting against you as she breathes heavily against your collarbone.
"Everything…" she murmurs. "Everyone I have ever cared about…"
She lifts her head, and the steadiness in her eyes is gone, replaced by something fragile and afraid. Her hand comes up to your face, her thumb brushing gently across your cheek.
"I always lose them," she says.
Your brows furrow as you take in her words before softening in understanding. Your hands slide to the back of her neck, fingers moving in slow, soothing circles against her skin.
"Natasha, I…" You hesitate, knowing there are promises you cannot make. Still, there is one truth you can offer. "I will always love you, Natasha."
No matter what happens after this moment, no matter if everything returns to what it was before, that will not change.
The conflict remains in her eyes over whether this is the correct choice.
You offer a small, reassuring smile and lift your hand to smooth the tension from her expression before cupping her face again.
"Hey, beautiful," you say gently. "Do you want to come home with me tonight?"
Natasha closes her eyes for a brief moment and rests her forehead against yours. A quiet, breathless laugh escapes her.
"That should not have worked," she mimics your comment from the other night, her gaze soft with fondness when she looks at you again.
Your eyes flick briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze, a playful grin forming.
"And yet, here you are."
She lets out a quiet, affectionate huff before kissing you again, opening the door behind you, and guiding you inside.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
You are not surprised when you wake and find the space beside you empty, even though you had fallen asleep wrapped in her arms. The sheets are cold now, the warmth of her body gone long enough for the emptiness to settle in completely.
Just like you said. Another almost. Another story that someone else will someday tell about Natasha Romanoff.
The difference is that you know what existed between the two of you was real. Natasha feels it too. You are certain of that much. She cares about you in a way that goes beyond fleeting affection or temporary comfort.
The problem is not whether she loves you. The problem is that she cannot bring herself to choose a life where she allows herself to keep that love.
With a quiet sigh, you push yourself out of bed and find your phone. Despite everything, concern still lingers heavily in your chest. You want to make sure she made it home safely, wherever "home" is for her.
You wander into the living room, staring at the empty message screen while trying to decide how to begin.
"Hey."
"God—Natasha!"
You jolt violently at the sound of her voice, clutching your phone tightly against your chest as your head snaps upward.
"Say something next time!" you blurt out, still breathless from the scare.
Natasha sits on your couch, though she looks nothing like the composed woman she usually is. Instead of lounging comfortably, she perches awkwardly on the very edge of the cushion, her posture tense, as though she expects to leave at any second.
A faint smile touches her lips as she watches your reaction with quiet amusement.
"I did say something."
You glare at her in silent reprimand before taking a slow breath in an attempt to steady your racing heartbeat. It does little to help. The panic fades quickly, replaced by something far warmer as Natasha's gaze drifts slowly over you as she waits. Her eyes move with deliberate attention, almost as though she is retracing every touch from the night before.
Heat creeps up the back of your neck, and you clear your throat softly.
"I thought you left," you admit.
Natasha shifts slightly where she sits, and her attention flickers toward the front door instead of you.
"I was going to," she says quietly. After a brief pause, she continues in an even softer voice. "But after nights like that…this is usually where I end up coming."
The confession carries an unfamiliar uncertainty, something small and vulnerable hidden beneath her usual composure. Like she's not sure if she's still allowed to do this.
Realization spreads through you slowly, and before you can stop it, warmth blooms in your chest. Out of every place Natasha could have chosen to run to, the place where she felt safest was here. With you.
You lean against the doorway for a moment, studying her quietly.
In the daylight, after everything that happened between you, she somehow looks younger like this. Not softer exactly. Just tired in a way that strips some of the sharpness from her edges.
Like she's waiting for the moment things become too real.
You move slowly toward the couch, giving her every opportunity to pull away if she wants to. But she doesn't.
When you sit beside her, there's still space between you, just enough to give the other some room to decide what to do next.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
The silence isn't uncomfortable exactly. Just heavy with too many things finally sitting out in the open between you.
Natasha exhales quietly, her gaze fixed somewhere ahead instead of on you.
"You should know," she says at last, voice low, "I'm not good at this."
You glance toward her.
"That's a first. Natasha Romanoff, not being good at something?" you tease lightly.
A humorless smile flickers briefly across her mouth as she gives you a sideways glance. Her eyes linger on your face before her smile falls.
"I leave," she says plainly. "Sometimes for days. Sometimes longer." Her jaw tightens faintly. "Sometimes I can't explain where I've been. Sometimes I won't want to talk about it even when I can."
There's frustration buried beneath the words. Not at you.
At herself.
You stay quiet, letting her continue at her own pace.
Natasha leans forward slightly, forearms braced against her knees now.
"I don't…" She pauses, searching for words she clearly hates having to say aloud. "I don't know how to let someone depend on me like that."
There it is.
Not I don't want you.
Not I don't love you.
Just:
I don't know how to survive being loved.
Her hands clasp together tightly.
"And when things start feeling…" She stops again, exhales sharply through her nose. "Too important, my instinct is to run before I can lose it."
She turns to look at you. There's no charm in her expression now. No teasing smirk to hide behind.
Just honesty. Raw and uncomfortable.
"I meant what I said," Natasha says quietly. "About not falling in love with me."
Your chest aches a little hearing it now, not because it hurts, but because you finally understand what she was trying to do.
Protect you. Protect herself.
You lean back slightly into the couch, your eyes lowering for a moment as you gather your thoughts carefully.
"I know," you say softly.
Natasha's brows pull together slightly, almost like she expected resistance instead. Expected you to fight her on it.
You turn your head toward her again.
"I'm not going to sit here and tell you your fears aren't real, Natasha."
That gets her attention fully.
Because she's probably spent most of her life hearing some version of:
"Just trust me."
"It'll be different."
"You have to let people in."
As though fear is solved through persuasion.
But you don't try to take hers away.
"You've lost people," you say quietly. "You've spent your whole life surviving things most people can't even imagine." Your gaze softens. "Of course, loving someone feels terrifying to you."
Natasha stares at you silently. Almost startled.
You offer her a faint smile.
"I can't promise you that fear ever goes away," you admit. "And I can't promise I'll never get hurt either."
Her expression tightens slightly at that.
"But I can promise something else."
You shift a little closer now, slowly enough that she can move away if she needs to.
She doesn't.
Your voice lowers softly.
"You never have to earn a place with me."
The words land hard. You can see it immediately in the way Natasha stills.
"I mean it," you continue. "If all you can give me some days is showing up on my couch at three in the morning and sitting there in silence?" You shrug lightly. "Okay."
A shaky breath leaves her quietly.
"If you need space, I'll give it to you. If you come back, I'll still open the door."
Natasha's eyes drop briefly, emotions moving across her face too quickly to fully hide.
"And if one day you decide this is too much," you add carefully, "then we'll survive that too."
That one almost breaks her.
Because what you're offering isn't pressure.
It isn't an obligation.
It isn't forever demanded upfront.
It's safety.
A place where she doesn't have to perform usefulness or perfection in order to stay.
Your hand lifts hesitantly before resting lightly over hers.
"No matter what this becomes," you say quietly, "you will always have a place with me. As my best friend, as…" You smile faintly. "Something more complicated than that."
A soft laugh escapes Natasha then. Small and breathless and painfully fond all at once.
Her fingers tighten around yours before she finally looks at you again.
And for the first time, Natasha looks less afraid of being loved. Not unafraid.
Just less alone inside of your love.
~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~
a/n: this one got longer than I expected 😅, one day I won't chicken out on writing the sex scene like I originally planned (though it didn't felt like it needed it in the end). Again thank you for reading and now I disappear into my WIPs once more 😂
warnings: 18+, stripper!reader (23), rich business lady! wanda (32), lap dance, yearning, praising, smut, cunnilingus, dirty talk, mommy kink, fluff, humping. minors DNI.
words: 3.3k
a/n: happy weekend to everyone! I had so much fun with this chapter :). enjoy <3 if you haven’t already, read the first three chapters linked above - xo saph.
slow erotic music continued to play from the speaker, and with a side-to-side shake of your hips, your ass bounces, pulling a groan from wanda as she watches you move in front of her. in the mirror you face, you see her watch you like a hawk; her eyes trained on you, hypnotised and enchanted by the swell of your ass, and the smooth movement of your hips.
you knew you were good at what you do, despite brushing off agatha’s compliments of “this one… she’s the best of the best.” but the way wanda’s eyes burn into you was something you’d never seen before. the woman was enamoured by your talent of dancing, and like you were the only person to exist right now.
she was respectful in all the right ways, yet still eye-fucked you regardless. you relished it; you really enjoyed the attention coming from the redhead.
It made you feel good.
you turn around to face the older woman, “so, miss maximoff,” you husk out, and as she looks up at you, she smiles a surprisingly sheepish grin at the name. the effect makes a smirk twitch at the corner of your lips, and you lean downwards slightly, your bra-clad breasts sitting close to her face. “what will i be drinking with my meal?”
wanda’s silent for a moment, her eyes focused on your cleavage. you linger for a moment, letting her appreciate the sight before moving your torso higher until your stomach faces her, and you let your body roll fluidly to the music.
“wine.” wanda replies lowly as she continues to stare.
“hmhm,” you hum agreeingly. “what kind?” it was certainly entertaining to see her mind struggle to focus.
“white, and there is lemonade to top it up with… if you’d like.”
“an attentive mommy, i see,” you purr in response, your left hand resting on her shoulder.
you felt a tingling sensation beneath the confines of your underwear when wanda moaned softly, and her hands that still rested on the edge of the seat gripped harshly, the faux leather stretching at her fingertips.
“such a good girl,” the redhead husks out, her hot breath hitting the skin of your stomach as you continue to move. “so talented.”
a spike of heat rises to your already flushed cheeks, and before you could utter a reply, the timer on your phone sounds in the booth, cutting your music off. you immediately raise your head, your motions coming to a stop as you reach to turn off the timer.
once you did, you paused the music that tried to continue after its interruption and leaned down to face wanda, “worth the extra time?” you asked, though from wandas heaving chest and parted lips, you knew your answer already.
“absolutely, i can’t believe that was only ten minutes.” the redhead uttered.
the words made you smile proudly. “time certainly flies when you are having fun.” you quipped.
you took a step back, your heels digging into the carpet below as you created space between you, even as you resented the loss of her warm body close to you. you bent at the hips and lowered your head until your lips were against the shell of wanda’s left ear, “i’ll see you shortly,” you whispered before leaving a soft, brief kiss on her cheek.
wanda’s eyelids faltered, closing momentarily at the action. she looked captivated by you, and when hooded eyes gazed up at you, the yearning for the woman to take you to her home again amplified.
“see you shortly, darling.” the older woman responded, her grip on the seat loosening as she shifted in the seat and rose from it, her hands now moving to smooth out the lengthy skirt that she looked oh so gorgeous in.
with a grin, you head out of the booth, through to the main floor, and into the changing room to get dressed and cash out. your mind was filled with nothing but wanda, and for once in your time working here, you didn’t focus on how much you had earned.
ᗢ
the sound of chardonnay glugged as wanda poured single portions into two large wine glasses. “this,” she spoke, now clipping a silver bottle stopper on the neck of the bottle. “will pair very nicely with dinner.”
god you really were being wined and dined by the woman, and as you sat in your seat at a prepared table in her open living room, you watched her intently, your hands slightly clammy at the desire for her that settled deep in your stomach.
“where did you learn all of this?” you asked with a breathy laugh. from the smell radiating from her kitchen to the knowledge she spewed about cooking, you were certainly impressed. “if you don’t mind me asking.”
wanda smiled at you and then, with the bottle in hand, she strode over to her seat, residing there. “my mother,” she spoke, her gaze focusing on the bottle as she placed it on the table. “despite my father running the business, i can say she taught me everything i know.”
it didn’t take a scientist to read from wanda’s low tone that this was a sore subject for her. but you wouldn’t prod, so instead you shifted in your seat, crossing your jean-clad legs before responding. “mothers and their teachings… though mine didn’t show me how to dance.”
wanda’s neural face raised to look at yours, her lips widening in a smile as she laughed. “i should hope not,” she snorted softly, and the sound made you grin and your stomach to leap. “that’s just all you, darling. born to be a dancer.”
“flattery will get you everywhere,” you blushed, along with a spike of nervousness that you weren’t used to feeling. “so,” you started, holding her gaze, “does the miss maximoff have moves of her own?”
wanda raised her eyebrows and thought for a moment, “i’m not the smooth dancer you are, but i would have a few tricks up my sleeve if i were in your industry.”
your curiosity piqued at that, and not only did the thought of wanda wearing lingerie make your head spin, but the thought of her doing anything like swaying her hips, bending over, or grinding on your lap made your clit throb against the tightness of your pants.
you hummed in delight, “i bet you would,” you mused. “you’re the type to excel at anything.”
“oh?” wanda shoots you a surprised look, “you seem very certain about that.”
you were absolutely certain. the redhead oozed power and ability, and with it, you imagine she commands attention wherever she goes.
the thought almost made you shiver. her demeanour was overwhelmingly sexy, and god if it wasn’t for the smell of the delicious food she had spent time making for you, you’d be on your knees and ridding her of the skirt she wore.
“i am.” you replied simply, your mind straying as you held eye contact with the woman opposite you. “now about this meal,” you say, trying to will your filthy thoughts away and focus on the matter at hand. “should i do anything to help?”
wanda grinned at the question and rose from her seat. “no,” she replied with a shake of her head, thick ginger hair swaying as she did. “you just stay there and look pretty.”
ᗢ
after you had both finished eating, you and wanda spoke over the rest of the chardonnay, and with the time that passed, you felt the wine spread a gentle flush of heat throughout your body as you grew tipsy.
“i’m curious,” wanda voices after a brief moment of silence. “lady harkness, as she calls herself, is she your… how do i put this?”
“if the word you’re trying not to say is pimp,” you reply with a laugh before taking another sip from your glass. “then no, agatha is not. she’s more like… the mother of the house.”
wanda quirks an eyebrow at that. “so there’s nothing,” she gestures with a hand, “sexual?”
“oh god no,” you say as you place your glass on the table, “agatha has many rules in the club. two being, dancers don’t fraternise with the guests, and she doesn’t fraternise with the dancers.”
the redhead hummed, her gaze faltering to her lap briefly, and when you regained eye contact with her, you knew what she was thinking.
“what would she say if she found out you were here right now?” wanda asked, her voice unexpectedly timid. a tone you hadn’t heard since the first day you met her. nervous, restricted, and doubtful to ask for a dance.
you thought for a moment. considering the longevity of your relationship with agatha, you weren’t entirely certain. “i guess one of two things: i won’t be able to work there anymore, or she’ll just scold me, say this is asinine, and...”
“and?” wanda murmured, her eyebrows furrowed.
“forbid it.”
“mother of the house, indeed,” wanda retorted as she stood from her chair, and to your surprise, walked over to you, her heels clicking against the floor as she took those few steps.
you eye the woman as she stands before you, and then, with a bend of her hips, she sits sideways on your lap, her arms resting loosely on your shoulders. before you knew it, your right hand instinctively snaked around her back to land on her hip, and your other hand rested on her outer thigh.
wow. is all you can think of. she was a sight to see, regardless, but having her in your lap like this made your hands flex against the expensive material of her skirt. she looked divine, and you needed to voice it. “you are heartachingly beautiful, you know?”
the pale skin of wanda’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink, and she bashfully turned away, hiding what you knew was a beaming smile. when she turned to face you again, wanda remained poised, even if her blushing complexion gave it away. “you’re such a sweet girl, y/n.”
you raised the hand that rested on her outer thigh and placed it against the warmth of her cheek, and your head moved forward slightly.
her breath ghosted your lips; the smell of citrus hit your senses, and with that, you couldn’t hold it back anymore.
wanda hummed when you kissed her, and your hand moved from her hip to the small of her back. you felt her hands shift on your shoulders to thread through your hair, and your heart rate spiked as she deepened the kiss.
you moaned into her mouth when her tongue swirled against yours. the sensation was something that had been on your mind since you’d both parted to work, and as you hungrily kissed each other, your mind reeled; the club’s policy and agatha’s potential fury at this situation washing away, and all that remained was the woman on your lap.
when wanda pulled away, you panted for needed breath. and watching as she did the same, you focused on her swollen, kissed lips that shone with your saliva. “come with me,” she breathed out, her thighs flexing against yours as she stood up.
one of your hands fell to rest by your side, and your other was grasped by one of wanda’s. you instantly rose from your seat and let yourself be led by her as she walked you both to her bedroom.
upon entering the dark space, wanda closed her door after you. the click of it made you face her, and as she turned to you again, you almost staggered slightly as she surged forward and reconnected your lips, her arms linking around your head and back to your hair. this time, she grasped softly at your strands, and you moaned at the desperation as she pressed herself flush against your body and deepened the kiss again. wanda was hungry for you, and it made your stomach do backflips.
“the bed,” she panted out between kisses.
you slowly shuffled backwards, not wanting her lips to leave yours, and blindly aimed for her bed. your hands moved to wanda’s hips, and at the sense of her shape, you grasped at her curvature, then snaked your hands to the swell of her ass.
another grasp made wanda moan, and as the blissful sound filled your ears, you felt wanda’s bed hit the back of your knees.
wanda pulled away, “lie down, baby,” she reached for the bedside lamp close to her, and after flicking it on, the dim light radiated as far as it could in the room, and you were greeted with wanda gazing at you, a smile on her face as she breathed heavily.
standing upright, wanda began to unbutton her cinched blazer, and it didn’t take long before she revealed a black bra. she draped the piece of clothing to her right, letting it gently rest on the floor, and when you moved to lie down, your elbows propping you up, wanda’s hands moved to her skirt.
the zipper of it sounded in the room, and when she pulled it over her hips, she let it fall into a pool around her heels, and full, pale thighs were now on display.
you bit your lip softly at the sight before you, “mommy…” you purred, and the word pulled her attention from the item around her.
“fuck,” wanda uttered with a groan, and as she stepped out of the ring of her skirt, she moved towards you, her knees dipping into the mattress as she shifted to straddle your waist.
“keep the heels on, please.” you beg, remembering how she liked manners. “you look so hot like that.”
wanda smiled and hands threaded through her hair and away from her face as she began a slow grind on your lap. your mouth fell open at the feeling, and your hands moved to her hips again, gripping the soft flesh in your palms. you guided her against your jeans, and although you wished you were rid of them, wanda panted at the friction. “that feels good, y/n.”
you continued to listen and watch in awe as wanda humped and grinded against you, and you felt an ache between your thighs and wetness coating your underwear. “you’re so sexy, mommy. shit…” you gasp, her pace increasing as well as her volume in moans.
you let your head hit the mattress as you raised your hands to her breasts, your hands palming them once through her bra before unclasping it and letting it fall from her shoulders and arms and into your hands.
tossing it to your left, your hands returned to her now bare chest. you hummed at the feeling, and when wanda’s hard nipples pressed against your palm, you bit your lip and let your index fingers and thumbs pinch them. the redhead moaned and continued to hump and chase the friction that was teetering her closer and closer, “fuck, y/n..” her eyes bore into you, and as you pinched and twisted her nipples more, her knees tightened around your hips. “i’m gonna-”
your jaw slackened as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, watching in awe as wanda began to twitch above you. “cum for me mommy,” you coaxed, and with another hard pinch to her nipples, wanda began to rut against you, mouth agape with her hands flying down to your shoulders, pressing you into the mattress.
you gazed at the sight of her cumming, feeling nothing but desire and a strong sensation of pride at the way in which she did. on your lap. desperately grinding against you. hungry for your touch.
“wow,” wanda gasped out, her chest heaving against your hands as her eyes briefly fluttered closed. “that was…”
“the hottest thing i have witnessed in a long time,” you finish her sentence for her, completely enamoured by the sight before you. your thumbs graze softly over her hard nipples before moving to rest your hands on her thighs.
“i’ll say,” wanda huffed out, and with an attempt to shift her weight, you feel her thighs vibrate and twitch. “but i think the view between your legs will be even better.”
“oh please, mommy,” you whine, your eyebrows furrowing as you bite your bottom lip. the thought of it was too exciting, and you felt overwhelmingly turned on. you ached, throbbed and lay trapped in the mess you had made in your underwear. “i want your tongue on me.”
without speaking further, wanda shuffled down your body, ignoring the wet patch she had left on your jeans, and moved to unbutton them and rid you of the confines. from the edge of the bed, her eyes raked over your legs as you re-situated yourself, them now bent at the knees.
“you look so good spread out for me, baby,” wanda husked out, positioning herself on propped elbows between your legs, “so good.”
one of her hands raised the hem of your shirt, and her mouth immediately went to the skin of your stomach. she left open-mouthed kisses on the space she created, her tongue swirling in a way that caused your eyes to roll backwards. you relished in the sensation as she worked her way down your stomach until she reached your underwear.
two fingers suddenly touched your aching cunt over the fabric of your underwear, and you gasped, your back arching slightly. “mommy…”
you almost spoke and begged her not to tease you, but wanda fortunatley beat you to the punch, because then you felt those two fingers push your underwear to the side, and her hot breath hit your bare pussy.
“you are so wet, y/n,” wanda mused, staring in amazement whilst she slid two fingers between your folds, feeling the wetness coat her fingertips, “such a good girl for me.”
wanda replaced her two slender fingers with her warm tongue, and you gasped at the sensation. the redhead hummed at the taste of you, and her hands moved to grip your waist, her tongue swirling up and down from your pulsing hole to your clit that throbbed just as hard. “you are so good at that mommy.” you praise.
wanda moans into you, the sound of it vibrating against your clit, and déjà vu flashes in your mind as your hands grip her silk sheets.
your hips tried to grind against her mouth as you felt that familiar knot forming low in your stomach, but the older woman held you in place and continued to lap and suck at your clit.
“just like that.” you gasp out, your right hand moving from the sheets to ginger locks, and your nails scratch lightly against her scalp. “just like that.”
wanda listened to your chant, and her tongue’s pace against your swollen clit stayed the same, eager to make you cum as hard as she did.
the build-up of tension from the lap dance to now had you closer than you could have anticipated, and as she continued her talented work, you felt your walls contract around nothing, and your toes curled.
“I’m-” your eyebrows furrowed, and your mouth hung open as you choked out a moan, “mommy!” your body tensed as your orgasm crashed into you, and the inside of your thighs began to squeeze wanda’s shoulders. she held you down as you convulsed, her tongue still busy on your clit, focusing on your pants and moans.
when your body came down from the high, and all that remained was a buzz of pure bliss, your body relaxed in her hold, and the redhead’s tongue grew lazy against you, then ceasing before you became overstimulated.
“you are-” you gasp out, a hand falling to your forehead, the back of it greeted with sweat that coated your hairline. “that mouth of yours…” you prop yourself up on shaky elbows and gaze down at wanda, and with ginger ruffled hair and your cum glazing her lips, you groan at the sight. “so, so good.”
wanda giggled, placing wet kisses on the inside of your thighs, “that was amazing, y/n,” she hums against the skin. “will you be staying over again?”
gazing back at green eyes, you smile widely, feeling your stomach flutter at the question. “without a doubt.”
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