Jul 15
"I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."
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"I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."
The Widow And The First Lady
Prompt: President’s daughter x bodyguard Natasha
Wanrings: Smut ahead. Minors and men dni.
G!P Natasha Romanoff, unprotected sex, p in v, subtle fingering, dirty talking, spitting. Tension, kind of angst, pining. Age gap (N is 37, r is 20)
Word count: 9K words
Part 2
Being the presidents daughter isn't as glamorous and fantastic as people make it to be. In fact, it was beyond horrible. You were expected to be a lady who was poised, perfect, untouchable and well, the president's daughter. You have to hold the reputation that your mother unfortunately placed onto you. And let me tell you, it was more than exhausting.
For years it's been like this. You don't even remember having a childhood at all. No friends, no sleepovers, no parties, no drunken mistakes, no kisses and all of that. Well, maybe all of that was a stretch. You'd done all of that in secret without your mother knowing. Which is probably the reason why you have Romanoff following you around now and watching you like a hawk.
In retrospect, you were still young and naive. You were seventeen at the time so it was pretty much inevitable for something like that to happen. For you to get into trouble. You didn't think you kissing some pastors daughter would land up all over newspapers, gossip columns, magazines and pretty much all of social media. And you sure as hell didn't think a picture of you dancing on a table with a dress that was short and quite revealing would land up on the media too.
Okay, maybe you did expect it and maybe you did it because you wanted to rebel against this unwanted persona you were given. But clearly that didn't work well because two weeks after the unforgettable incident, you had some weird emails and letters from potential stalkers coming in. You thought it was funny but your mother didn't think that, in fact she was far from amused. And at that time she was still running for president, so pretty much everything and anything could have jeopardize her career, which unsurprisingly didn't happen.
But the letters, the emails and the stalker behavior became consistent and disgusting, graphic even and your mother worried about your safety. She worried that one day, you'd end up in some trouble and she wouldn't be able to get you back. So one evening, she spent all night trying to find the best bodyguard for you. Someone firm, strict and who stuck to protocol. Someone who could relate to you and would protect you. Someone trustworthy and someone who would manage to put you in place when you stepped out of line. Someone who wasn't a potential danger to you but would literally kill to keep you safe.
And in comes Natasha Romanoff. Or Agent killjoy as you called her. You remember the first day you met her. Black suit, Valentino sunglasses, red hair tied up in a bun and the straightest posture you'd ever seen in your life. She stood next to your mother, conversating about something important until her head turned upwards to look at you. Your mother's attention followed suite.
"Oh, perfect. Y/n, I want you to meet your new bodyguard. Natasha Romanoff."
"Bodyguard?" It came out harsher than you'd intended but honest to god, what was your mother thinking.
"Yes. She will be with you all day, every day."
"I don't think that's necessary, really I-"
"If you want to speak to me, you'll come closer to me." She commands leaving no room for disagreements and you mumble something incoherent while walking down the rest of the stairs.
"Now, what were you saying?"
"I was trying to tell you that I don't need a babysitter mother."
"I'm not a babysitter y/n. I've been hired for your safety." Natasha explains, and her voice is so enticing. You want to hear it again.
"Same thing." You cut her off and the woman simply arches a brow before taking her sunglasses off.
Your stomach does a summersalt when you get a proper look at her. She was beyond good looking.
"Y/n, there are people out there who see you as bait, stalkers who want to harm you. In fact, they see you as something that not even I want to address."
"A whore?" You tilt your head and you see the corner of Natasha’s lips twitch.
"Y/n!" Your mother chastises and you shrug.
"What mother, it's true. I've read TMZ, they weren't exactly sugarcoating anything."
"Please, excuse my daughter's language. She gets very vulgar sometimes, but we're still working on it." The glare you get afterwards has you rolling your eyes.
"No need for apologies ma'am." Natasha explains with a simple hand gesture.
"So what I'm gathering from this is, I now have a new bodyguard who will follow me around and basically my entire social life is over? Great. Thanks mom, you win the best mother of the year award once again." You turn on your heels before walking up the stairs of this ridiculously large house.
Downstairs, Natasha’s eyebrows are still arched. She found you to be quite amusing actually, almost like a feisty kitten.
"Well, that was an introduction." Your mother huffs out before stepping into the house.
"Do follow me so I can give you a tour." That's the last thing Natasha hears before following your mother.
___
Now you wouldn't say you hated Natasha or anything like that. In fact, you liked her. A bit too much. Sure, she was annoying as hell in the beginning. Like whenever she was everywhere you went, or when she would meddle in your business or when she pulled you away from people who so happened to bat an eye at you because she was worried about your safety. Her presence made you feel caged, watched even. So you basically hated her for doing her job.
But then you grew up. Two and a half years later and you finally got over your supposed hatred for the woman. Instead, that hatred boiled over into a crush. Yes, you harbored feelings for the woman who was your so called "protector". But really it was inevitable. Having Natasha around you at all times was like leaving food around a hungry kitten. You're gonna want to eat it at some point.
Maybe that analogy was a bad one but god the woman was so good looking. Everything about her drew you in. Her attitude, that stoic yet dominant attitude of hers that always managed to put you in your place. How she would whisper "behave" in public whenever you were about to act out, her voice coaxing you into something you didn't want to name at that time.
Her appearance. Well, there was no need to even say anything about that because her appearance spoke for itself. You were certain the woman was sculpted by Greek gods themselves. And you, nineteen, and still very much rebellious just so happened to be crushing on the redhead.
___
The ballroom glittered the way it always did on nights your mother wanted the country to believe everything was perfect. Crystal chandeliers bled gold over polished floors, senators laughed way too loudly, and the string quartet in the corner never missed a beat. You had spent the last hour practicing your best presidential-daughter smile which was polite, warm, and exactly the right amount of approachable.
Somewhere on the edge of the crowd stood Natasha. You could feel her before you saw her, a steady orbit just outside your own. She never wore the same dress uniform twice, never drank the champagne waiters kept offering, never let her hand stray far from the comm in her ear. You used to hate that constant shadow. But now, at nineteen, you told yourself you’d gotten used to it.
But the truth was you noticed everything about her. Everything.
How she scanned the room in slow, economical sweeps. How the light caught the faint red in her hair. How she never seemed to breathe wrong, even in heels and a tailored suit.
And when her gaze swept across you from the other side of the ballroom, you looked away quickly, pretending to admire the floral arrangements on the table. Even though the thump of your heart was louder than the awful classical music playing in the background. You continued to play the role of the dutiful presidents daughter, nodding politely at people you didn't care about, until one sharp sound rang across the ballroom, a metallic pop, sharp and wrong. Your ears caught it just as the second sound cracked, louder and closer. Gasps swept through the room. Before you could react, a hand pressed firmly against your back, guiding you off the floor.
"Move." Natasha ordered, her voice low and commanding. Your stomach dropped as you realized that she wasn’t joking at all. You stumbled forward, heels clacking against the polished marble, one hand trying to lift your dress higher so you could walk faster while her body just ahead, angled to shield you from view. The hall erupted into chaos behind you. Shouts, alarms, screams. Cameras flashed, and waiters scattered like frightened birds.
Her pace was clipped and controlled. You had to jog to keep up, every step you took sending adrenaline through your veins. She didn’t look back, didn't even need to slow down, her presence was a shield, her movement a promise that she would get you out of here alive.
The main exit was blocked. Natasha’s eyes scanned the room, taking in every pillar, every table, every cluster of frightened guests. She yanked you toward a narrow service corridor that you hadn’t noticed before.
"This way!" she snapped, and you almost tripped over your own feet as she propelled you through the door.
Inside, the corridor was dimly lit and narrow. Shadows stretched along the walls, distorted and menacing. Natasha’s hand stayed on your back, firm but not harsh, guiding you past janitorial carts and maintenance doors. The alarm’s blaring was muffled here, but every footstep and every muffled shout from the ballroom, kept your senses taut. Your ragged breaths didn't seem to make the situation any better. Fuck, you really needed to work out more.
"What, what’s happening?" you asked breathlessly.
"Unknown threat." she replied, voice rid of any emotion.
"Unbeknownst threat? What the hell is an unbeknownst threat, I deserve to know what's happening if it involves me dying and-" Natasha covered your mouth with her palm.
"I said, unbeknownst threat. That means I don't know but you'll listen to me and do as I say. Stay close." Furiously and a little (really) turned on, you bit her palm with your teeth and she retracted it with a glare.
"Did you just bite me?"
"Where's my mother?! She could still be in the ballroom and-"
"Listen y/n, your mother is safe wherever she is. But my job is you. I am here for you. Not her but you. And the last thing I'll let happen is for you to be carried out of here, in a body bag. So I'll say this one last time, you do what I say, when I say it if you want to make it out alive. Now stay close. "
Natasha’s tone left no room for any argument. You kept your shoulder pressed against hers, feeling her body move in precise and controlled steps. Your pulse thundered in your chest. The air smelled faintly of polished floors and something metallic, fear or maybe even adrenaline.
A sudden shout echoed down the hall. Natasha pivoted, pressing you against the wall in one fluid motion, gun raised. You pressed your back to the cool plaster, heart hammering. Her hand lingered near your shoulder, steadying you, and you realized how close you were, her body almost brushing yours, the warmth of her side grounding you against your fear.
Seconds stretched like hours. Every shadow seemed to come alive. You could hear her breathing now, slow, controlled, and practiced, yet kind of steady. It was almost comforting you in this moment of panic. But the faint tremor in your own hands reminded you that you were far less composed.
The footsteps passed. Natasha didn’t move until she was sure the threat had moved on. Then she exhaled softly, lowering the weapon, though her gaze never wavered from the hallway.
"Stay here for a moment. "she said, voice low, almost gentle.
"Y-you can't be serious. You can't leave me here." Natasha gave you a pointed look that shut you up. She left you alone but came back minutes later. You could barely think, your chest still racing.
"Why do you always look so calm?" you asked, voice trembling.
She glanced at you, her eyes briefly softened in the dim light.
"Experience." she said.
"And focus. Very vital in this line of work." The silence after that was heavy, thick with unspoken words. You realized, with a shock, how much you were beginning to notice her. The tension in her shoulders, the glint of her eyes in the shadows, the way her breath barely shifted as she moved. You had never seen her like this, in danger, and the thought made something coil tight in your chest.
"Ready?" she asked finally, taking a careful step back. You nodded although the hesitation could be seen on your face.
"Yeah, ready." She led the way back to another service exit, moving with the same lethal precision. The closer you got to the safe zone, the more chaos bled through the suffocating walls. Alarms, shouts, the sharp edge of panic in everyone’s voice. Yet with Natasha, you felt… something like calm. Controlled calm. Like she would never let anything happen to you. And indeed, she wouldn't.
When you finally stepped into the stairwell leading outside, her hand dropped from your back, but the electricity of proximity lingered. Your chest still raced, but your thoughts weren’t just about fear anymore. They were about her. How easily she had moved, how certain she was, how impossible it was to stop noticing her. Her eyes, her hand on your back, her voice.
By the time you were ushered into the armored vehicle waiting in the rain-slick driveway, you couldn’t deny it. You had felt it in the press of her hand, the closeness, the calm in the storm. Something inside you had shifted. The walls you’d built against her had crumbled, almost imperceptibly, leaving behind… curiosity. Infatuation. Something that scared you as much as the gala had.
She took her seat next to the driver, eyes forward, expression unreadable. But you caught the way she glanced at you once, sharp, assessing, like she knew you’d felt it too. And for the first time, you weren’t sure whether that was comforting or borderline dangerous.
___
That same night you didn’t sleep. In fact, you couldn't really sleep. You lay there for an hour, replaying the nights events in your head. The alarm, the sound of her voice cutting through the chaos, the solid weight of her hand between your shoulder blades when the world spun sideways. The AC in your room hummed softly, and beyond the balcony doors, Washington dripped furiously with midnight rain. You turned on your side, buried your face in the pillow, and told yourself you were imagining the way her voice still echoed under your skin. That maybe you were being delusional.
Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock. It was quiet, polite, but a firm three taps, the way only Natasha would knock on your door. You sat up fast, your heartbeat already kicking.
"Yeah?"
"I'm just checking in." she said through the door.
"Protocol after a breach." You hesitated but grabbed to put your silk robe back on, then crossed the room to open it.
Natasha stood there, still in her black tactical suit, rain-damp at the shoulders with hair pulled back in a rough twist like she'd done in just to keep her hair out of her face. She looked like she hadn’t left the perimeter once. Her eyes swept over you automatically, not in the way older men at the galas did, not appraising, just scanning. Making sure you were real. Safe. And still breathing.
"You okay?" She asked and you nodded.
"I’m fine." It wasn't a lie but neither was it the exact truth.
"You sure? Your hands are still shaking." You looked down and she was right. Your fingers trembled slightly, the adrenaline refusing to fade.
"Guess I’m not used to all the excitement." you said, trying to joke although the chuckle you let out was dry. For a second she almost smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"It wasn’t supposed to get that close." There was something in her tone, frustration, maybe even guilt and that tugged at you. You leaned against the doorframe before crossing your arms.
"You can’t control everything, Romanoff."
"Doesn’t mean I don’t try." You didn’t know what made you say it. Could've been the exhaustion, the leftover fear, the way her voice dropped when she was serious, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.
You saved me tonight Nat." Her eyes flicked up to yours. The corridor lights behind her were dim, washing everything around you two in amber.
“That’s my job, to keep you safe.”
“I know. But still.” For the first time since you’d met her which was almost three years ago, she looked unsure what to do with that kind of gratitude. She shifted her weight, one hand flexing at her side like she didn’t trust herself to keep it still.
“Try to get some sleep,” she finally mumbled, but it was softer now. You could’ve ended it there, probably should have just thanked her, closed the door and taken your ass back to bed. But something about the way she lingered, the faint shadow under her eyes, made you stop.
“You haven’t slept either, have you?” She didn’t answer and quite frankly you didn't need one because it was already obvious. You stepped back, opening the door a little wider.
“Five minutes.” you said.
“You can at least sit down right?”
She looked like she wanted to refuse on instinct, but after a beat, she finally stepped inside. Her presence filled the space immediately which was quiet, composed, but comfortable. She didn’t remove the holster or the earpiece, just crossed the room to stand near the window.
“It's still raining,” she murmured, glancing outside.
“Yeah well, Washington’s dramatic like that.” You murmured while shrugging and it earned a small chuckle, low and genuine, the kind you’d never heard from her before. It caught you off guard, and you smiled before you could hide it.
For a moment, everything stilled. The hum of the city below, the faint rumble of thunder far off, the muted light against her silhouette, it all folded into the kind of silence that feels alive. And it made you feel alive too.
She turned back toward you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.
“You handled yourself well tonight."Natasha murmured. She turned back toward you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them before.
“I handled myself because you told me what to do.”
“That’s still handling yourself.”
"Yeah well I guess I work better when I'm told what to do." The words tumble out of your mouth before you could think about them. Your mouth parts in attempt to take your words back but what would you even say. Why the fuck did I even say that?
"Sorry, that came out wrong." Natasha hums but her expression is unreadable. You held her gaze. It should’ve been easy to look away, but you didn’t. The air between you felt different now, less like command and obedience, instead more like recognition.
“Thank you though.” you said quietly. She gave a small nod, but something flickered behind her calm expression, something like hesitation, or maybe the same awareness that you felt. The comm in her ear buzzed, a faint reminder of duty. She reached up, turned the volume down.
“I should-”
“Go?”
“Yeah.” But she didn’t move. Not right away. Instead, she looked at you, really looked, and for one dizzy second you thought she might say something more. Instead, she sucked in a slow breath, steadied herself, and stood up.
“Goodnight, kid.”
That word, kid, hit differently now. You smiled faintly.
“I told you not to call me that Nat.”
“I remember.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?” She met your eyes again, her expression still unreadable.
“Maybe it reminds me that I’m supposed to keep my distance.”
The honesty in it made your chest ache. You wanted to say something, anything, to keep her there a little longer. But she turned before you could even build up the courage to respond. She walked back to the door, pausing just long enough to glance over her shoulder.
“You need to get some sleep. Rest your body. ” she said again, softer this time and then she was gone. Out of your sight but still in your mind.
The room felt heavier without her.
You stood by the window, watching the faint reflection of the city lights shimmer through the rain, and realized there was no use pretending anymore. Whatever you’d thought was resentment, irritation, rebellion, it had all shifted into something else entirely.
Something that made your pulse quicken every time she looked at you.
Something that felt dangerous in all the right and wrong ways. You pressed your palm to the cool glass and whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“Yeah… this is going to be a fucking problem.”
__
A knock came just as the sky outside your window slipped from orange hues to a pitch black sky. You almost didn’t hear it at first, too lost in the quiet of your room. The world had calmed after the chaos of the gala, but your mind hadn’t. You still saw flashes of light, heard the echo of the alarm, felt the steady pressure of Natasha’s hand guiding you through it all. And her words... Maybe it reminds me that I need to keep my distance.
“Come in.” you called, pretending as if you weren’t just a little bit startled. The door opened, and there stood Natasha. Her hair was tied back tonight, a loose braid that brushed against her shoulder. The fitted black shirt she wore rolled neatly to her elbows, revealing the strong line of her forearms, and you were able to catch a glimpse of her tattoo that you only got to see once in a blue moon. Her movements were effortless, quiet, controlled, like someone who never needed to announce her presence to be noticed.
She didn’t speak right away. Just stepped inside and closed the door softly behind her.
“You busy?” she asked.
“No, not really. ” you said, sitting up a little straighter.
“What’s up?” Her gaze flicked over the room once before landing on you. Then she reached into her jacket and pulled something small and rectangular from an inside pocket. A dark case, smooth and compact, with no label. She set it on your desk with a soft click.
“I wanted to give you something.” she said and you blinked.
“You… got me a gift?” Her lips curved just slightly, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Something like that.” You crossed the room, curiosity tugging at you, and opened the case. Nestled inside the foam was a folding knife, black and sleek, simple but precise. It was the kind of object that demanded respect. You finally looked up at her.
“You’re giving me a weapon?”
“It’s not a weapon if you use it right.” she replied.
“It’s protection.” You laughed under your breath, unsure what else to do. “You really think I’m the kind of girl who needs to carry a knife around?” Her gaze held yours, unflinching.
“I need to know that you'll have something to protect yourself with whenever I'm not near."
"But you're always there."
"Yes, but not always near. So I need to know that you'll be able to defend yourself."
Something in her tone made your chest tighten. There was no trace of mockery there, no patronizing calm. Just quiet sincerity. You turned the knife over in your hand, studying the weight of it.
“It’s heavier than I thought.”
“Good.” she said.
“It should feel like something that matters.” You watched her as she spoke, the faint scar near her temple catching the lamplight, the sharpness of her expression softened only by the way she seemed to hold herself back. Always composed. Always in control.
“Show me?” you asked after a moment. Her brow lifted.
“Show you what?”
“How to use it.” Natasha hesitated, and for a second, you could see the debate flicker across her face. Then she nodded and stepped closer.
“All right. Give me your hand.” So you did. Her palm brushed yours as she adjusted your grip around the handle.
Her skin was warm, her touch firm but careful, like she was always aware of exactly how much pressure to use.
“Keep your thumb here.” she murmured, sliding her hand over yours to guide your movements.
“You want control, not power. Because the goal is to get away, not to fight.” Your breath hitched slightly as she continued to guide you. You swallowed hard, trying to focus on her words, but the closeness made it impossible to think. Her breath touched your shoulder as she leaned in, her voice low and even which made you shiver.
“Don’t let anyone take it from you. Always keep your center steady.”
She reached around you to correct your stance, her hand resting lightly against your side. The warmth of it bled through your shirt. For a second, your breath caught.
“Like this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. She nodded slowly. “Better. Now, if you have to strike-”
Her words faltered, just barely. You both noticed it. The air between you changed, heavier now, charged with something that didn’t belong to lessons about safety. You turned your head slightly, enough to meet her eyes. Her expression didn’t shift, but her voice softened.
“You’re trembling.” You laughed weakly.
“Maybe because you’re standing right behind me like you’re about to teach me how to kill someone.” That earned a small smile.
“That’s not what I’m teaching you.”
“Then what are you teaching me?” Her silence said everything that she couldn’t.
When she finally stepped back, the loss of her warmth felt too sharp, too sudden. She folded the knife closed and placed it gently in your hand. “Keep it close.” she said. You looked down at the small object resting in your palm, the metal cool against your skin.
“You didn’t have to do this.” You whispered softly.
“I know.” You lifted your eyes to her.
“So why did you?” Her gaze flicked away, just for a moment.
“Because I don’t like the idea of anyone getting close enough to hurt you.”
The words hit deeper than they should have. You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t. You just stood there, heart in your throat, while she adjusted her jacket and turned toward the door.
“Try not to lose it.” she said quietly. You smiled faintly.
“You’re really giving me a knife and expecting me not to.” For the first time all night, her composure cracked into something almost human.
“Then I’ll have to come find you.” she said. And with that, she left, leaving only silence and the faint scent of her cologne lingering in the air accompanied with the sound of your heart beating rapidly.
You stared down at the knife again, your reflection rippling across the dark surface. It was supposed to be a tool. A precaution. But all you could think about was the way her hand had guided yours, the way her voice had sounded when she said she didn’t like the thought of someone hurting you. Maybe it wasn’t just protection anymore. Maybe it was infatuation.
___
"It's just some party dude. You can't let that nanny of yours stop you from having fun." Your friend, Layla, had spent almost ten minutes on the phone with you trying to convince you to come to her college party.
"I can't Lay."
"For fucks sake, you're nineteen and you're taking online classes for college, the least you can do is have some fun by sneaking out." You huffed and your friend only wiggled her brow.
"I know that look, you're considering it. And it's gonna be great." You're still uncertain about going but she gives you a pleading look.
"Okay okay okay fine. I'll see what I can do."
"Yay! Okay, wear something hot. And I'll handle the rest."
"The rest?"
"Booze, weed, duh."
"Right." You continue to talk with her for a while until she eventually has to end the call. Then you're left to cultivate a good plan.
It's not like sneaking out was difficult. Your mother barely batted an eyelash at your whereabouts especially after Natasha came into your life because at the end of the day, wherever you went, Natasha was there. That's the problem though, Natasha was everywhere. Hell she may have even been listening to your conversation and you wouldn't even know. But that was a risk you'd just have to take. Because for once in your life, you just wanted to have fun. Especially before your mother's rallies began. Then you'd be touring almost the entire country with her, just to hear her talk and talk and talk. Going out just once with drunk kids who weren't aware of their surroundings wouldn't hurt anyone.
So that's how you found yourself late at night at some frat house dressed in a white corset accompanied with a white miniskirt, thigh high socks, heels and of course the angel wings. Your collarbone practically sparkled from glitter, your makeup was left minimal and you topped the look off with your favorite scent. As per usual, you looked good.
Getting out was relatively easy. Especially when Natasha had taught you how to decode and hack systems at seventeen so that was pretty much child's play. The only problem was when she'd catch on to it because the woman was smart and alert. You figured you'd at least have two hours of unsupervised fun before she dragged you back home.
Your friend tugged onto your wrists, pulling you further in the house before you reached the makeshift bar area.
"Okay, what are we drinking?"
"I don't wanna drink." She scoffed and poured you whatever concoction was made in the bowl.
"Drink. Now." You took a slow sip then another before putting g the cup down.
"I'd rather we do something else." She gave you a look of excitement before pulling you outside, where you spotted a crowd gathered on couches. There were different things laying in front of them on the table, some which you didn't even want to name but what caught your attention was the already rolled up joints.
"Here." Layla hands you one before pulling out her pink lighter. And let's just say after a few drags, everything becomes so much better.
On the other side, Natasha knew within ten minutes that you were gone. She’d been at the residence, reading a report, when one of the other agents mentioned casually that you hadn’t checked in since dinner. That you weren’t in your room.
Her pen stilled.The moment she finally realized that the house had been oddly quiet, her jaw tightens. A quick glance at the monitors confirms it, your room was in fact empty. Your phone hasn’t pinged in a while and you had obviously managed to hack into the tracking system to not be traced.
"Chertov ad." She mumbles, already pulling out her device to find you.
"Run the trackers." She barks almost immediately. Agents follow her command without another word.
And although Natasha is livid that you snuck out, she is kind of impressed that you mastered it. But as they say, you can never outdo the master. It takes her ten minutes tops to track you. And the moment she does find your location she grabs her jacket and keys before leaving the house.
She doesn't say anything on the drive to the frat house. Instead her knuckles turn white from how hard she's gripping the steering wheel while her mind runs wild with many curse words she'd rather keep in. When she arrives, sits in the car for a few minutes to calm herself down, then she grabs her shades, slips them on and walks into the packed house.
By now the party is in full blast. Bodies swing and grind into one another and it's quite a hassle to get through but Natasha manages to push a few people aside. She scoffs as a few girls willingly throw themselves at her. One even tries to grab her arm, ready to throw some flirtatious comment her way but she pulls her hand away before walking. The smell of alcohol, sweat and cheap perfume invades her nostrils and it annoys her even further but her main focus is on finding you before you get killed, so that she can definitely kill you herself. Natasha finally spots you and though your back is turned she knows it's you.
You're dancing with a girl, one hand carrying a red cup while the other waves carelessly in the air. Natasha watches the scene, her insides boiling with anger and something she doesn't want to name just yet. She moves forward, ready to drag you out of this party.
You're still oblivious though. Your mind is quiet for once and for the first time in a while, you're relaxed. No pressure, no press, no pictures, just fun. So when you turn around after taking a drag from your friends vape, the last thing you expect to see is Natasha. You cough once, which sends the strawberry vapor her way. She doesn't do anything neither does she say anything and that's when you've registered the fact that you're fucked.
Finally she takes off her jacket and wraps it around you before pulling your arm.
"Outside. Now."
"But-" She gives you one of her looks and you drop your shoulders before walking out of the party. No one really cares about what's happening, instead they're focused on their own spontaneous activities. Assholes.
When you step outside, the cold hits you full force, and it's literally like taking a breath of fresh air. Nothing has been said yet, and you don't want to say anything because Natasha is still mumbling incoherent curse words in Russian. She opens the door for you, you get in and then she's on her side starting the ignition but she isn't driving yet. Five minutes go by until you finally talk.
"I didn't do anything wrong."
"Really?" She laughs.
"It was just a party Nat."
"One that you didn't tell me about."
"I don't have to tell you about my whereabouts all the time."
"I'm your bodyguard, that's exactly what you're supposed to do. Jesus y/n how could you be so stupid?!
"I'm not drunk."
"But you're high."
"Still not drunk." She shakes her head in frustration before grabbing the almost empty red cup in your hand and throwing it out the car window.
"Chertovski glupo."
The next ten minutes are spent in silence, her jaw is clenched and you could see the vein under her eye bulging. Yeah she was definitely keeping a lot of words in. When you finally get home, she switches off the ignition and then exhales. Neither of you speaks yet, it's just the sound of rain tapping against the car and your breathing.
"I'm sorry." You mumble softly, pulling the jacket, her jacket, around you. The scent wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
"I just wanted to have fun."
"Fun can get you killed y/n. Do you know how badly things could've went?"
"I know, and I'm sorry I almost cost you your job and-"
"My job!? This isn't about my job y/n it's about your safety. Do you understand what could have happened to you? Fuck y/n you could've gotten kidnapped, killed, drugged, assaulted?! Then what?" Her words finally sink in and the guilt gnaws at you.
"You tell me when you want to go somewhere. You tell me not for the sake of my job but because I care about you. You don't just disappear without telling me."
"I know." She let's out a sigh. You finally turn to look at her, chest still glistening, but heaving slightly, and Natasha looks away because she cannot trust herself to look where she shouldn't be looking in the first place.
"I just wanted space. Besides it's not like I was falling over."
"Yes but the president's daughter drinking underage is a good caption no?"
"Twenty, twenty-one, it's the same thing to me." She shakes her head but there's a small smile tugging her lips.
"I'm sorry though, and if it makes things better I did have my pocket knife." She sighs.
"I probably will sneak out again.
"I know." You smile before opening the car door.
"And y/n..." You turn around to look to her.
"Yeah?"
"Maybe leave the hacking to professionals." She teases and you flip her off before walking away with a subtle sway of your hips that she definitely does notice.
And that the moment where the redhead realizes that she was ready to risk it all.
___
Los Angeles had its own kind of heat, the kind that stuck to your skin no matter how high the AC hummed. Your mother was halfway across the city, shaking hands, giving speeches, being everything the cameras needed her to be. You were just the background, the president’s daughter tucked into a hotel suite with gold fixtures and no real privacy. The suite next door belonged to Natasha...
"For security reasons" your mother said, although you suspected it was more about control than safety.
"See to it that my daughter is dressed appropriately and shows up on time please. I'll be visiting a few other facilities today, so I'll just meet the both of you at the gala."
"No problem ma'am." Natasha gave a curt nod before your mother left her suite to attend some meeting.
A knock came just as you were scrolling through your phone, half-draped across the couch in your silk pajama set, pink, soft and expensive. You didn’t bother to fix the loose strap when you opened the door.
Natasha stood there, posture perfect, one hand holding a tablet while the other was tucked behind her, and as usual, she was dressed in all black. The hallway light caught the sharp line of her jaw and the faint glint in her green eyes. She didn’t say anything for a beat. Her gaze flickered once, down, then back up. Controlled. Professional. Barely. Because you could see the way her eyes shone with something else.
"Your mother asked me to remind you to dress appropriately for tonight’s gala." she said finally, voice even, clipped, a faint trace of her accent threading through.
“You’re expected downstairs at six. Don’t be late.” You leaned against the doorframe, studying her.
"That all?" Her eyes didn’t move.
"Yes, that’s all."
But she hesitated, just half a second too long. And in that silence, you felt something shift, subtle but real. The kind of tension that wasn’t supposed to exist between a bodyguard and the girl she was hired to protect. Natasha cleared her throat then left you alone. This game between the two of you was getting heated and it seemed like you weren't the only one enjoying it.
___
The gala was well a gala. Sleek, expensive, polished in gold and silver accents. Rich white men boasting about anything and everything while some even tried to get your attention by touching your shoulder. You played your role well though. You pose for the cameras, nod at small talk about universities and policies you don’t care about. Smile and laugh if need be.
Natasha is never far, she's like a shadow at the edge of the crowd, black suit, hair tied back, eyes scanning every single movement. You catch her gaze once, across the room, and for a heartbeat, it anchors you. But then someone laughs too loudly, another hand tugs you into another conversation, and she disappears behind a line of photographers.
You last thirty minutes before slipping outside to get some air. Your moment alone doesn't last long though because soon someone else walks out. You don't look at them but they move closer.
"Not your scene huh?" You finally look up to see a girl your age, maybe a little older than you.
"Nope."
"Me neither." She takes a sip from the flute before setting it aside.
"Never really liked feeling so caged." She murmurs softly.
"I feel that."
"It must be worse for you, being the president's daughter and all." You hum softly.
"It does. Especially when the whole world is watching you, waiting for you to make a mistake." She tilts her head, studying you further.
"I like you."
"Bold thing to say to someone you've just met." You mumble with a small grin and she chuckles before moving closer to you. You spend almost thirty minutes talking to her about anything. Music, movies, books even about university degrees. Somewhere along the line she gets even closer, so close you can see the freckles on her skin or feel the way her shoulder brushes along your own.
It sends a shiver down your spine. Not because you like her or anything but because you have a feeling that you were being watched. And you were. You turn your head to find Natasha standing not so far from the two of you. And when you look closely, you see the way her jaw clenches while her fingers twitch slightly. It makes you grin in triumph.
"Problem Nat?"
"No. I've been requested to come look for you. Take you back to the suite."
"There's no need to, I don't mind staying here with my new friend." The girl looks between the two of you before clearing her throat.
"Call me." She says before slipping away from the two of you. You're still leaning against the balcony, the straps of your dress falling from your shoulder. You don't rush to fix them.
Natasha’s face is void of any emotion. She cocks her head to the side and you laugh slightly before walking towards the door with a sway of your hips.
___
The water clings to your skin as you emerge from the shower. You wrap yourself in a towel while tending to your face. Natasha is still inside your suite. She could have retreated to her own but something tells you that she wasn't in the rush to.
You've now replaced the towel with a silk robe, and you glance at yourself in the mirror one last time. Good. Once you leave the room you find Natasha staring out at the window.
"You're still here." She doesn't say anything after that so you place yourself on the couch, just a few feet away from her.
"Tell me Nat, what game are we playing here?" You're direct and it takes her by surprise.
"What game?"
"You tell me."
"I don't know what you're talking about." She finally turns around.
"Really? But we've been at this for a while now. To me, it seems like you want me." Natasha scoffs but it's far from convincing.
"Stay in your lane y/n."
"Or what Natty? Tell me, does your job include watching me shower?" You push further. She clenches both of her fists.
"It's my job to protect you."
"Protect me from what exactly? The suds of soap dripping down my body? Or slipping in that big shower?" The smirk on your face is cruel and she wants nothing more than to wipe it off of you.
This cannot be happening. She tries to tell herself that. That she cannot be thinking about you the way she was. That she shouldn't be entertaining the idea of you. At all. Not only because she was your bodyguard and older than you but because your mother, the president, would kill her. Even though that was impossible given her status but that's a risk she didn't want to take.
"I'm warning you. Stay in your lane." You stand up before reaching for your robe. She watches you intently but her hands stop you from tugging it off, the warmth of her palm on your skin makes you dizzy.
"I don't feel that way about you." She retorts and you laugh.
"Oh? So if I called that girl from earlier on and told her to fuck me, you'd let me?" Her jaw clenches.
"I don't care what you do in your own time."
"Really? Huh." Deciding to push Natasha further, you grab your phone before punching in her number.
Natasha freezes, and for a moment, you see it. The green flash in her eyes, the flush that tugs at her neck, the rigid line of her shoulders. She grabs your phone before you can move, holding it tight in one hand.
"Ne smey." She says sharply, simple words that are clipped, dangerous. Don’t.
She steps closer, every movement taut with unspoken warning. Her body is tight, coiled, like she wants to say more but won’t.
"Don’t push me." she says, voice low, clipped, the edges of it shaking slightly. Not her usual calm. Not this time. The jealousy is there. Barely contained but it's there and you can feel it. You fucking love it.
"If you don't want me then why are you still holding my phone?"
The silence between the two of you is deafening. And just when you think she'll give up and hand you the phone, she takes another step closer. Her unoccupied hand moves to your chin.
"You don't know how much restraint is keeping me away from you. Holding me back." The phone is carelessly thrown onto the couch, your hand bringing her own back to your robe.
"Then stop fighting it." You can see the gears running in her head, like she's still contemplating whether she should bolt or stay. You want her to stay.
"Take me. I promise, I won't tell a soul Natty." You whisper, your hand still guiding hers to pull the robe off. You feel her lips brush against your own before she finally, finally kisses you. Your heart practically soars as her lips move with yours, her hands untying the robe. Natasha sucks in a breath once you guide her hand to place it on a soft mound.
The sigh that you let out afterwards makes her squeeze the mound, to feel it against her palm. You slip your robe off almost immediately and now you're bare in front of Natasha. She swallows, cock already hardening underneath her slacks. She wasn't expecting that at all.
"O bozhe." The uncertainty finally leaves her mind and Natasha has to restrain herself from pouncing on you.
Rough calloused hands pick you up, and you squeal in surprise. She guides you to the bed, just a few feet from where the couch was. She throws you onto the bed, a soft squeal escaping your lips. Her hands move down your calves to spread your legs apart. You're completely bare, at her mercy too, and it sends a thrill down her spine. You may have been her boss out there but now in here, she would be taking all the control.
Natasha’s hands move back up to your face, and thighs quiver from her absence.
"You want this?" She asks and you nod.
"Tell me."
"I want you." You confirm with another nod of your head. Natasha’s lips are on yours once again, her knee pressing against your core which makes you gasp.
"A-again, do that again." You plead and she smirks before pulling away.
Natasha throws her jacket onto the side table. Your gaze falls down, watching her fingers unbutton the white button up. Once it falls down, you're left to ogle at her covered chest. The tattoo you'd once seen in passing now on full display, toned abs that you can't help but touch and-
Natasha’s finger presses against your clit which makes you let out an unexpected moan.
"So distracted." Her thumb rolls around the sensitive nub, testing to see what you like. You drag her hand closer to your core, moaning when her finger slides around your slit.
"Jesus detka, so fucking wet." Her finger slips into your hole and you let out a choked gasp.
"Fuck, another."
"Another? Fucking greedy." But she adds another finger inside of you, your walls hugging both fingers.
Your lips part, a breathless wine escaping your lips while she fingers your pussy. Her thump swipes over your clit again and you moan even louder.
"Look at me." She commands and you're met with blown green eyes looking down at you. So fucking beautiful. Natasha thinks to herself while she watches your eyes flutter or when her eyes trail down to where you're connected.
Natasha becomes obsessed with the way your pussy sucks her in. How your wetness oozes out of your pussy, or how her fingers shine with your arousal as she pulls them in and out. Your hips slowly begin to move on their own accord but she presses down onto your hips.
Natasha pulls her fingers out just as you're about to peak and you whine.
"Why?"
"If you're gonna cum, you're gonna do it on my cock." She rasps, hands fumbling with the belt of her slacks. You wait impatiently, pussy clenching around nothing, nipples hardening at the thought of being filled up by her.
She slips out of her pants and underwear, cock slapping against her stomach, red, flushed, dripping with pre-cum. She was big. Length and girth. Your hand strokes her shaft and she hisses, head thrown back in ecstasy. You want to wrap your lips around your tip, but you can't because she pushes you down then lines herself up with your entrance.
"You sure no condom?"
"N-no, I want you in me, raw." She groans, cock throbbing. You're wet and needy so it's easy for her to slide right in.
Your breath stutters, legs wrapping around her waist to pull her closer. She thrusts inside of you a couple of times, her cock rubbing against your velvety walls. Her strokes start of fast and shallow before they slow down. Deep, hard strokes that make you lose breath, that make you choke.
"C'mon baby, breath for me huh, you're not breathing." She teases, pulling out before slamming back inside of you. That makes you moan out loud.
Your hands fist the sheets, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Natashas brows furrow, her hand placing your own on your pussy.
"Play with yourself." The command makes you clench around her. Your fingers rub your clit eagerly while she fucks you, you lift your head slightly, to watch the way her cock glides in and out of you. You throw your head back again, eyes closing in pure bliss, especially after a particularly hard thrust.
"Fuck!" You cry out, lips forming into a small pout.
"Open your eyes and look at me." Your eyes open, staring directly at the redhead, mouth hung open. Face to face. It's too intimate for Natasha's liking so she trails her eyes down to where you two are connected.
"So fucking wet, so warm and tight." You'd stopped rubbing your clit a while ago, once she'd lifted your leg and placed it above her shoulder.
With the new angle, you felt her digging your pussy, everywhere.
"Y-you're so big." You mumbled incoherently, it made her smirk.
"Yeah, can you feel me?" You nod your head vigorously.
"Say it."
"I c-can feel you." She spits directly onto your pussy, thumb rubbing your clit in fast circles. Your orgasm comes unexpectedly, crashing over you.
You have to bite your palm to keep yourself quiet. Your pussy gushes, a wetness coming out of you that you'd never felt before. Your eyes widen in shock, the redhead pulls out, more wetness just gushing out of your pussy. She'd just make you squirt for the first time.
"Fucking hell." She murmurs, sliding right back into you.
"Didn't think you had that in you. Is my dick that good baby?" Had she not have been fucking you into oblivion, you'd probably retort something back. Something sarcastic, something snarky .
All you do is nod, god you just nod. Her pace fastens, she's chasing her own orgasm, and you're chasing your second one. After one final thrust the both of you cum together, her seed filling your pussy up. Minutes later, she pulls out of you. Her cum mixed with yours just oozing out of you. She fucks it back in and you whimper.
Your leg is placed back down onto the bed. Your thighs ache in the best way possible. Your body hums from the pleasure, pussy still aching around nothing. You're content.
However the redhead isn't. Post nut clarity hits her.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What the fuck was she thinking? Why the fuck wasn't she thinking?
"Iisus Khristos." She mumbles quietly, to herself. She gets off of you, and gets dressed almsot immediately. Why the fuck did she just fuck you? Is what runs through her head while she makes herself presentable. You sit up with shaky hands.
"Nat what are you-"
"This was a mistake." She murmurs, fixing the collar of her shirt.
She turns around, and avoids your gaze like she wasn't inside of you minutes ago. Like her cum isn't still dripping onto your thigh.
"Jesus, no one finds out about this." There's no room left to argue. She leaves immediately, but you don't hear the door to her own suite shut.
You lay back down, staring at the ceiling with tears already forming in your eyes.
"Fuck."
After months of convincing from my friend and reading so many books, I finally had the courage to post my first fic. So with that said, hi!? I got inspired by the amazing writers on here and I said fuck it, why not post my own. I hope this fic meets the standard of Tumblr lmao. I hope you lovelies enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this. Can't wait to write more. Feedback is appreciated 🫶
⧗ natasha romanoff p-links
note: you need to sign/log-in in order to view the links. mature videos below ! ctto:D
scissoring tw: scissoring, praising kink, rough sex, wlw
"we're just friends" fwb! nat tw: scissoring, wlw
riding her fingers tw: fingering, wlw
this what happens to brats tw: fingering, overstimulation, wlw
taking her anger out on you tw: strap-on, p in v, rough sex, overstimulation, y/n creams, wlw
"i'll be good, i swear!" tw: strap-on, p in v, rough sex, wlw
sending her a video of you humping & creaming for her tw: masturbation, dry humping, creaming
missing each other so much tw: scissoring, rough sex, moaning, wlw
on the gym tw: tribbing, rough sex, wlw
riding on her strap tw: strap-on, p in v, riding, wlw
slow morning sex tw: tribbing, wlw
"ride me, baby" tw: riding (y/n), tribbing, wlw
your birthday present tw: birthday sex, strap-on, p in v, spanking, wlw
"wanna feel you, nat" tw: scissoring, moaning, wlw
you're only hers. jealous!nat tw: fingering, overstimulation, loud moaning, crying, wlw
making a mess tw: fingering, creaming, squirting (y/n), wlw
stress relief tw: fingering, moaning, wlw
nat sucking you tw: tit sucking, wlw
"feels.. good, nat-" tw: riding, nipple play, wlw
sending a video of you for nat tw: masturbation, pillow humping, overstimulation
Lawfully Acquired Spouse - Natasha Romanoff
pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader
summary: one drink turns into several. you accuse a very patient stranger of kidnapping you. unfortunately, she’s your wife.
tags/warnings: established relationship, married couple, drunk reader, funny drunk, chaos night out, protective Nat, Wanda is TIRED, accidental flirting, domestic fluff,reader has no survival instincts.
author's note: hi 🤍 i’m supposed to be studying for my exam on thursday (as i said, supposed), but somehow this turned into me projecting my inability to drink responsibly onto reader. that one’s on me. Wanda being done with everyone and Natasha having infinite patience felt inevitable.
english isn’t my first language, so please be kind. i’d love to hear what you think, comments always make my day.
You’re halfway through putting on your jacket when Natasha looks up from the couch.
“You’re not wearing heels.” she notes.
You freeze mid-zip. Slowly turn. “Why does that sound like an accusation?”
“It’s an observation,” she says calmly. Too calmly. “When you don’t wear heels, you drink more.”
“That is fake data.”
Natasha smiles like she has spreadsheets.
You narrow your eyes. “You cannot possibly have—”
“I have charts,” she says. “Trends. A very upsetting bar graph.”
You laugh, walking back toward her. “I am going out for one drink.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Two,” you amend. “Max.”
Nat stands, steps into your space, and fixes your collar with unnecessary precision. “Text me when you’re done,” she says. “I’ll pick you up.”
“I can Uber.”
“Absolutely not,” she says. “I’m picking you up.”
You grin. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“You're my wife, so yes.” she agrees easily.
You lean in, kiss her—soft at first, familiar, then deeper because she hums against your mouth and her hand slides to your waist like it belongs there. Because it does.
She pulls back just enough to murmur, “Behave.”
You smile sweetly. “Never.”
Two hours later, the bar is loud, sticky, and absolutely not designed for the amount of chaos currently occurring inside it.
Everyone said just one round.
Everyone lied.
One drink becomes two. Two becomes celebratory. Wanda is sipping slower than everyone else, Maria is already laughing too loud, and Carol has decided tonight is a physical challenge night.
“Carol,” Wanda says, blinking slowly. “Why are you on the floor?”
“For pride…” Carol says, already lowering herself.
“I can do twenty push-ups!” Carol announces.
A group of random men at the next table perk up immediately.
“I’ll do thirty.” one of them says.
Carol cracks her knuckles. “Count me in.”
You’re half-slouched on the couch, cheering with full confidence and zero balance.
You clap weakly from the couch. “GO MUSCLE LADY!”
“FIVE—” Carol shouts.
Wanda? absolutely done.
She’s seated at the table, nursing the same drink she’s had for an hour, eyes glazed with the resigned patience of someone babysitting a disaster.
You’re on your third—fourth?—drink, perched dramatically on a barstool, telling a bartender a very emotional story about how your wife once reorganized the entire spice rack alphabetically and you’ve never recovered.
“And she smiled,” you whisper, hand over heart. “Like it was normal.”
The bartender nods solemnly. “That’s terrifying.”
“It was hot.” you correct. “But terrifying.”
Then, across the room, Wanda watches you stand on a chair to cheer Carol on.
“Ten! Eleven! Twelve! CAROL YOU’RE A NATIONAL TREASURE—”
Carol collapses onto the floor, laughing. The men look like they might pass out.
Wanda sighs, pulls out her phone.
Natasha is halfway through paperwork when her phone rings.
She answers immediately. “Is she okay?”
Wanda doesn’t bother with greetings. “Well…she’s not hurt.”
“Wanda...”
“She is, however, extremely drunk.”
Nat exhales through her nose. “Where are you?”
She gives the address.
“I’m on my way.”
“She says she’s married,” Wanda adds.
Nat pauses. “…Yes.”
“And that she’s waiting for her wife.”
Nat closes her eyes. “I’ll be there in ten.”
You’re mid-sentence—something about proposing to your wife again because she deserves it—when Wanda touches your arm.
“She’s coming.”
You blink. “Who?”
“Wife.” Wanda says flatly.
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “My wife.”
“Yes,” Wanda replies. “That one.”
You frown. “You’re confusing me.”
“I know.”
Wanda glances at the door, then at you.
“Okay. Show’s over.”
Natasha walks in.
Nat laughs the second she sees you.
“Oh, you’re funny drunk,” she murmurs. “I forgot about this version.”
You spot her immediately. You always do.
Your face lights up like she personally invented electricity.
“Ooooh,” you breathe. “She’s pretty.”
Nat steps closer. “Hey, baby. Ready to go home?”
You recoil like she’s crossed a line.
“Absolutely not,” you say. “I’m married.”
“Yes,” Nat replies patiently. “To me.”
You gasp.
“Nonono,” you say, shaking your head. “My wife is hot.”
Nat smirks. “Correct.”
“And intimidating,” you add. “And she would never approach me like this.”
Wanda points at Nat. “That’s literally her.”
You shake your head. “Nonono. Don’t confuse me. She’s blonde.”
Nat’s smile turns wicked. “You’re married to a redhead.”
You lean closer, squinting harder. “That is exactly what a stranger would say.”
She sighs fondly. “You’re impossible.” “I will scream.” you warn.
Before you can react, she grabs you—efficient, practiced—and hoists you over her shoulder like you weigh nothing.
Maria chokes on her drink. Wanda laughs so hard she has to grab the counter. Someone whistles.
“HEY—” you protest, dangling upside down. “Put me DOWN. I don’t KNOW you.”
Nat pats your leg. “Relax.”
“I’M BEING KIDNAPPED.” you announce to the room. “BY A… VERY ATTRACTIVE WOMAN.”
“Your wife.” Wanda says.
“I will be reporting this,” you insist. “To my wife!”
Nat starts walking toward the door, unfazed.
You squeal.
“HEY—” you smack her back weakly. “Wanda! WANDA I’M BEING TAKEN.”
Nat gives your ass a firm pat. “Behave.”
You gasp. Loudly. “SHE TOUCHED ME.”
“That's my ass,” Nat says calmly. “I’m allowed.”
“She’s gonna be so mad,” you continue. “She doesn’t like strangers touching me like that.”
Nat adjusts you higher on her shoulder. “She’ll survive.”
“I don’t know that.” you argue, upside down.
Carol waves happily from the floor. “Bye!”
The car ride home is… a lot.
You’re slouched in the passenger seat, gazing at Natasha like she hung the moon.
“You drive so well,” you say.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very strong.”
“I know.”
Five minutes pass.
Then you turn your head.
“…You’re very pretty,” you say thoughtfully.
Nat smiles without looking over. “Drink your water.”
“And your arms,” you continue. “They’re… disrespectful.”
She laughs softly. “Careful.”
You lean close, lowering your voice like it’s confidential.
“If I wasn’t married,” you say, “I would absolutely flirt with you.”
“Oh?” Nat glances at you.
“Yes. But I’m a faithful woman.”
“Good to know.”
You lean closer. “Are you single.”
She laughs. “No.”
“That’s a shame,” you say sadly. “My wife would hate you.”
Nat glances at you. “Why?”
“Because I’m flirting with you.”
You suddenly freeze. Eyes widening.
“Oh my God.”
Nat raises an eyebrow. “What.”
“I cheated,” you whisper.
She blinks. “You did not.”
“I emotionally cheated,” you insist. “With… you.”
Nat bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Baby…”
You clutch your chest. “She’s going to be devastated.”
“I think she’ll survive.”
“No,” you say solemnly. “She loves me.”
Nat reaches over, laces her fingers with yours. “I love you.”
You stare at her hand. At her face.
“…Wait.”
The realization hits you like a freight train.
“Oh.”
She smiles gently. “Hi.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Yes.”
“I flirted with you.”
“Yes.”
You think for a moment. “That’s okay then.”
Nat laughs so hard she has to pull over.
At home, she changes you into comfy clothes while you narrate everything.
“These are my pants,” you inform her. “They are very soft.”
“I know,” she says. “I bought them.”
You pause. “…You’re incredible.”
She tucks you into bed.
You immediately sit up. “Wait...”
“What?”
“You still haven’t proven you’re my wife.”
Nat arches an eyebrow. “How would you like me to do that?”
You think hard. Way too hard.
“…Show me your scar.”
She lifts her shirt just enough to reveal it.
You gasp. “MY WIFE.”
She smiles. “Sleep.”
Morning comes with consequences.
Your head is pounding. The light is offensive. Your mouth tastes like regret.
Nat is already awake, sipping coffee, watching you with entirely too much amusement.
You groan. “Why are you smiling?”
“You told a stranger you’d report me to your wife.”
You bury your face in the pillow. “Did you… did you carry me.”
“Yes.”
“And then?...”
She smirks. “I patted your ass.”
Your eyes fly open.
“You did WHAT??????”
She leans down, kisses you slow and smug. “You didn’t complain.”
You groan again. “Next time I’m wearing heels.”
Nat smiles. “I’ll update the chart.”
Mush | WandaNat x Reader
Smut: candle wax, restraints, creampie, hair pulling, spanking, choking, blowjob, overstimulated, double penetration, dumbification (kinda?), biting, literally porn with no plot
Wanda and Natasha had you stripped and bound to the bed within minutes, wrists and ankles secured by soft leather cuffs that kept your limbs spread wide.
Natasha knelt between your thighs first, her mouth descending without warning. She licked a long stripe up your pussy before sucking your clit hard, two fingers thrusting deep inside you at the same time.
Wanda watched from the side, already wearing her strap, the thick silicone cock glistening with lube as she stroked it.
Natasha added a third finger, curling them against your front wall while her tongue flicked rapidly. Your hips jerked, but the restraints held you down.
She pulled back only to slap your pussy lightly, then dove in again, tongue fucking you while her fingers pumped faster. Wanda leaned over and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so she could shove her strap into your mouth.
"Suck," Wanda ordered. You opened wide and took the cock down your throat, gagging as she thrust shallowly.
Natasha kept licking your pretty pussy, adding pressure with her thumb on your clit until your legs shook. She pulled away just long enough to spank your inner thigh, the sting making you moan around Wanda's strap.
A lit candle appeared in Wanda's hand. She tilted it, letting hot wax drip onto your breasts in slow trails. The heat made you gasp around Wanda's strap and arch, but Natasha's cock kept pounding into you, never letting up.
More wax landed on your stomach, then lower, right above your clit. Natasha leaned down and bit your nipple, sucking hard while she fucked you, making sure to leave space for Wanda. Wanda poured another line of wax across your ribs.
Natasha's hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head swim. She didn't stop thrusting, her strap driving into you with wet sounds.
Wanda climbed onto the bed and straddled your face, lowering her strap into your mouth again. You sucked greedily while Natasha held you by your throat and fucked you harder.
Wanda pulled out of your mouth and moved to your side. She spanked your ass hard, the slap echoing. Natasha released your throat only to grab your hair instead, pulling your head up so you could watch her cock slide in and out of your sopping cunt. Wanda poured more hot wax over your spread thighs, the sensation mixing with the relentless pounding.
They switched. Wanda took over fucking you with her strap while Natasha moved to your head. You sucked Natasha's strap clean, tasting yourself on it.
Wanda fucked you faster, her hips slapping against you. She reached down and rubbed your clit in tight circles. Natasha pulled your hair again, allowing you to take more of her strap down your throat.
Wanda's pace grew erratic. She slammed deep and came, the strap pulsing as it pumped thick cum inside you. The moment the warm flood filled your pussy, your thoughts scattered.
Everything went soft and hazy. The sting from the wax, the spanking, the choking—all of it faded into a pleasant fog. You kept your legs spread, ready for more, brain too mushy to register anything but the need to take whatever they gave you. Like a perfect hole for them to use and take turns with.
Natasha pulled her strap from your mouth and took Wanda's place between your legs. She thrust in without hesitation, fucking Wanda's cum deeper into your waiting pussy. Wanda straddled your chest this time, pouring more wax across your nipples while Natasha fucked you.
The hot drips made you whimper, but your mind stayed blissfully blank. Natasha fucked you hard, gripping your hips to keep you still—not like you would move away anyway.
All of a sudden, all actions ceased and you we rolled onto your side. In the blink of an eye, suddenly Wanda was between your legs the same way Natasha was, pressing the head of her strap against your already filled pussy. With Natasha still inside you, Wanda pushed in too, stretching you wide.
Both straps moved together, filling you completely. You moaned brokenly, but the cum already inside you kept your brain in that mushy state. They fucked you like that for what felt like an everlasting bursts of pleasure.
Natasha came next, burying herself deep and flooding you again. More cum pumped into you, mixing with Wanda's. Your mind went even blanker, thoughts dissolving completely.
The overstimulation never registered. You just lay there, restraints holding you open, back arching, drool teetering on the corner of your lips, eyes hazy and rolling back, hair mussed up and absorbing the smell of your sex, body accepting every thrust, every spank, every drop of wax and cum they gave you.
Wanda took over once more, fucking you through the mess while Natasha held your hair and made you suck her strap again.
They kept you like that for what felt like hours—fingers, mouths, and straps working you over while hot wax cooled on your skin and cum leaked out around their cocks. Each time one of them came inside you, your brain reset, letting you keep taking everything without resistance.
Natasha pulled her strap free with a wet sound, watching thick strands of cum stretch between the head and your stretched pussy. "Look at the mess you made around my cock, pretty girl," she murmured, voice low and approving.
"Such a greedy little hole, swallowing everything we give you." She dragged two fingers through the slick mess and pushed them back inside you, pumping slowly while Wanda leaned in to press kisses along your jaw.
Wanda tilted the candle again, letting another slow trail of hot wax drip across your stomach. "You take it so well," she cooed, her free hand stroking your cheek. "Even when it stings a little bit, yeah? You just open up wider for us. Our perfect girl."
The wax hit sensitive skin and you twitched, but Natasha's fingers kept working inside you, curling against that spot that made your thighs quiver.
Natasha withdrew her fingers and lined her strap up again, thrusting in deep without warning. "Fuck, you're still so tight," she grunted, hips snapping forward. "Even after everything we've pumped into you, huh? Just such a perfect pussy, baby."
Wanda climbed higher, straddling your chest so she could feed her strap into your mouth once more. "Suck it clean, sweetheart," she encouraged, voice soft. "Show us how much you love tasting yourself on us."
You obeyed without thought, lips wrapping around the silicone as Wanda rocked shallowly. Natasha fucked you harder, one hand gripping your hip while the other reached up to pinch your nipple through the cooling wax. "That's it, take it," Natasha praised, voice rough. "You're doing so good, letting us use you like this."
Wanda pulled her strap from your mouth and shifted down, pressing the head against your already filled entrance. "You alright over there, pretty? Can you keep going?" she asked, pausing to check your face.
You nodded dumbly, eyes glassy, and both women smiled. "Atta girl," Natasha said, voice warm with satisfaction. "Knew you could handle more."
Wanda pushed in alongside Natasha's strap, stretching you wide. They moved together, filling you completely while Wanda poured another line of wax across your ribs.
"So perfect," she whispered, watching your face. "Taking both of us like you were made for it."
Natasha's hand found your throat again, squeezing lightly as she thrust. "Look at you, all fucked out and still begging for more with that empty little head of yours."
They kept the pace steady, alternating between deep thrusts and shallow grinding while their hands roamed—spanking your thighs, tugging your hair, even going as far as pressing the hot glass container of the burning candle to your skin.
Natasha came first this time, burying deep and flooding you again. The warm rush made your thoughts scatter completely. "That's our girl," she groaned, hips jerking as the strap pulsed. "Taking every drop like the perfect cumdump you are."
Wanda followed soon after, adding to the mess inside you. "So full," she praised, voice thick. "You're dripping everywhere, baby. Such a messy little thing, but you love it, don't you?"
They pulled out slowly, watching cum leak from your used pussy onto the sheets. Natasha leaned down to kiss your forehead, then your lips. "Still with us, hm?" she checked softly. You nodded again, mind too blank to form words.
Wanda stroked your hair while Natasha ran gentle fingers over the wax trails on your chest. "Beautiful," Wanda murmured. "Covered in our marks, leaking our cum. Couldn't ask for anything better."
They left you bound and full, occasionally reaching down to push stray cum back inside you with their fingers, cooing praise the whole time. "Such a good toy," Natasha whispered against your ear. "Letting us play with you for hours. We're so proud of you, pretty."
Your mind stayed hazy and empty, accepting every touch, every word, every slow thrust they gave you. They took turns fucking you in lazy strokes, filling you whenever they wanted, praising you for staying open and willing.
"That's it," Wanda encouraged each time you took another load. "Just like that. Perfect."
--------
aye
can i request a nat x r where they are already dating , R is a civilian who lives alone. Nat overthinks why R hasnt given her a key to her apartment but since nat always breaks in, R didnt think it was that important. just so fluff moments thank you. i hope you enjoyed your holidays.
Breaking and Entering
Natasha Romanoff x Reader [A/N] Cute request!! ❤️ Thank you my lovely, hope you enjoy 😘
You blink awake as you feel the weight shifting in your bed. In your half-asleep state you panic and bolt upright only to feel a strong arm wrap around you, pulling you back down. Natasha. It shouldn’t shock you so much; she always finds her way into your apartment. You’d made it more challenging for her, installing security systems and making sure every door and window was locked but Natasha always found a way in without tripping the systems.
“I was sleeping,” You complain.
“Well, I was lonely,” Natasha replies grumpily.
Natasha pulls you closer, resting your head against her chest as she kisses the top of your head. You huff but you’re not really irritated, even if you were fast asleep. You’ve been dating Natasha Romanoff for just over a year now and you find it incredibly difficult to stay mad at her. Especially when she’s holding you in her arms like this. Natasha kisses the top of her head, her hand running up and down your back soothingly.
“Did something happen?”
“Long day. Every day’s a long day lately, there’s always something.” Natasha’s other hand goes to your hair, running her fingers through it and you practically purr under her touch. “I’m sorry I woke you up. Just… Needed to see you. Needed to hold you.”
“Hmm you can make me breakfast in the morning.”
“Fine but I’m not much of a cook.”
“I want breakfast in bed.”
“So demanding. Anything else that you want?”
“For you to keep stroking my hair like that. Feels so good.”
Natasha kisses the top of your head “I think I can manage that.”
You hum happily, nuzzling your face into her neck and Natasha keeps gently stroking her fingers through your hair. There’s silence for a while before you break it by asking quietly “Seriously though, did something in particular happen today?”
“Just… Got into my own head a little bit. Needed to be here with you.”
Natasha buries her face in your hair, closing her eyes. You press a kiss to her neck “Work or something?”
Natasha doesn’t reply immediately. Being in a relationship was new to her, something she never thought she’d have. She can still remember teasing Steve on one of their missions, trying to set him up with someone. She’d never expected for him to turn around and set her up, especially with someone as amazing as you. You were everything she could’ve hoped for and she’s never taken you for granted.
Earlier today she’d met her younger sister Yelena for a drink and had asked about Yelena’s relationship with a girl named Kate Bishop. They’d begun dating a few months after you two had “It’s going really well,” Yelena had told her. “We said we loved each other a couple of weeks ago. She said it first and I said it back.”
“That’s awesome,” Natasha had said with a pleased smile. Yelena deserved happiness and from the little she knew about Kate she knew she was a good person. Just the kind of person that Yelena needed.
“Last week she gave me a key to her apartment,” Yelena had told her, trying to hide the excitement in her voice. “Now I can visit her whenever I want, I can just let myself in. She said even if I’m not there I can go in and chill. It feels like she really trusts me.”
Natasha saw the way Yelena’s eyes had lit up when she’d said that. Trust meant a lot to both of them. When they were growing up they’d been taught to never trust anyone, so no one had trusted them in return. Becoming an Avenger had taught Natasha so much about trust and now it was something she valued. Someone telling her they trusted her was the highest compliment to receive in Natasha’s opinion.
She’d been happy for Yelena but it had got her wondering why you hadn’t given her a key to your apartment. You’d been dating even longer and although you probably weren’t ready to move in together yet the key to your apartment would be a sign of your trust in her. It wasn’t even something Natasha had realised she wanted until Yelena had told her about it.
For the rest of the day she’d spiralled, worrying that you don’t trust her, that you don’t love her, that your relationship isn’t as tight knit as her little sister’s. She’d text you back and forth but eventually it hadn’t been enough and despite the fact it was late she had to see you. Had to feel you in her arms, had to hold you tight. It has calmed her racing thoughts but she can still feel that paranoia, just beneath the surface.
“I love you,” Natasha whispers.
“Love you too,” You murmur back against her neck.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, of course you can.”
The words get caught in Natasha’s throat and she closes her eyes again as she leans her head against yours, asking in the tiniest voice that you’ve ever heard “Do you trust me?”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“No, I mean it. Do you really trust me?”
“Yeah, of course. You know I do.”
“I don’t know that,” Natasha mumbles.
You turn onto your stomach to sit up a little and look down at her “What do you mean by that?”
Natasha looks away, hating how vulnerable she feels right now. Being around you has shown her a side of herself she didn’t even know existed and sometimes she doesn’t always like it. She meets your gaze and sees that you look genuinely confused and worried about her which doesn’t help. Finally she bursts “Why don’t I have a key to your apartment?”
Your eye-brows furrow “What?”
“If I had a key to your apartment I could come in whenever I wanted-”
“You do come in whenever you want. You’ve been coming in whenever you want for months. I can’t remember the last time you pressed the buzzer. It hadn’t crossed my mind to offer you a key; you have your own way of getting in.”
Natasha pauses, her arms going around your waist as she pulls you flush against her so you’re lying on top of her “I… I didn’t think about that.”
“You can have a key if you really want one; you know you’re always welcome here. As far as I’m concerned my home is your home too.” That statement makes Natasha’s eyes water and you press a kiss to her lips. “Why are you crying baby?”
“I’m not, I don’t cry,” Natasha mumbles. “I just… I haven’t been bothering you, have I? Letting myself in whenever?”
“It’s made me very worried about the security of the building but no, it never bothers me when you turn up. I love having you around. I thought you knew and that’s why you kept turning up, if I’d realised… I’m sorry baby.”
“You really trust me enough to give me my own key?”
“Yeah, of course! I wish I’d known, I would’ve given you one ages ago. I’ll get one cut for you tomorrow.” You nuzzle your face back into her neck. “I love you Nat. You’re my girl; of course you can have your own key.”
Natasha is grateful you’re not looking at her anymore so you can’t see the tears slipping down her cheeks. Words fail her so she just holds you tighter, pressing a shaky kiss to the top of your head. Knowing that you trust her unconditionally makes her feel a mixture of emotions. She hadn’t even thought about the fact she’d been climbing into your home uninvited for months now and you’d never complained. There was always a moment of surprise, where you were shocked to find Natasha in your space unexpectedly and sometimes you gave a little scream – that always made Natasha smile because you were so cute. But then your face would always morph into happiness. Happy to see her.
As she stares up at the ceiling Natasha realises she’ll miss sneaking into your apartment in her own little way but she’s looking forward to using the key you’re going to give her. The symbol of trust that you’re placing in her. And she won’t let you regret it. Natasha would never risk your trust in her. It’s too important to her. You’re too important to her. And she’ll always remember that.
Them Widows 🕷️💥
(also as stickers and other merch)
❛❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 ❛❛ — part 1
꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: being a single parent isn't easy, especially finding a partner that would love you AND your child. will natasha romanoff be different than the ones you sought out before? (i hate this summary pls someone help me change it 😞)
꩜ ۫ . PAIRING :: natasha romanoff x female reader.
꩜ ۫ . WARNINGS/TAGS :: fluff. no use of yn. reader playing hard to get. natasha being kind of pushy in the beginning. reader has a child from a previous relationship. mention of rejection. this is a slow-burn. (or kind of).
꩜ ۫ . WORDS COUNT :: 9k
AUTHOR'S NOTE ; this was supposed to be out on february 14th, but anyways, procrastinating is my middle name :)
and yes, no smut 🫶🏽 as much as it's our guilty pleasure, i think i wanted to portray this dynamic (and nat) differently here —considering they're weeks only into this relationship and a shy of one/two months of knowing each other!
and i haven't mentioned it into the fic but i think it's obvious that constant rejection leads to (self) doubt and trust issues so natasha will wait until reader initiates.
The bar was alive with its usual symphony of clinking glasses, low laughter, and soft music humming in the background.
It wasn't the busiest night you'd seen since the place opened, but there was enough movement to keep your hands busy and your focus sharp.
You'd been behind the counter for hours now, sleeves rolled up and hair tied half up out of your face, the glow of the neon lights overhead reflecting off rows of polished bottles.
You were covering for a co-worker—Charlie, who was practically a friend now—tonight, which meant an unusual extension of your shift. Normally, you'd be home by now, tired but satisfied, while the night crowd swelled in and another bartender took over.
You'd been here long enough to know the routine, to recognize most of the regulars, and to brush off the flirtations that came with the territory.
Pretty faces, charming lines, casual compliments — you'd heard them all.
You'd grown used to the attention; it came with the territory. A new, trendy club with a sleek design, good drinks, and—if the reviews online were to be believed—"a ridiculously attractive staff."
Most meant you.
People came for the cocktails and stayed to flirt, hoping for something more than a smile. You never gave it.
Not because you weren't tempted — some of your regulars were downright gorgeous, even nice — but because you simply didn't have the time or the energy to let your mind wander from work. You'd built your reputation here, and the bar's reputation too, on professionalism.
And so, you didn't notice her at first.
Natasha Romanoff slipped into the bar the way shadows slip through an alley : quiet, smooth, and with a presence that pulled attention whether she wanted it or not.
She didn't come often, and when she did, it was always late, long after your shift was over. She liked it that way — fewer people, fewer eyes. She'd sit in the corner, order a drink or two, and leave without fanfare.
But tonight, fate had nudged the two of you into the same space.
She watched you for a long moment from the end of the bar, her sharp green eyes tracing the easy way you moved, the relaxed confidence in every gesture. You were laughing with a customer as you poured a drink, shoulders loose, dimly lit by the warm glow above.
Natasha wasn't used to seeing you, and she found herself... intrigued.
“Evening,” she said when you finally came over, her voice smooth and low.
You glanced up, not giving much away. “Evening,” you echoed, polite but neutral.
“What do you recommend?”
“Depends.” Your lips curved into a practiced smile. “Do you want something strong enough to forget your troubles, or light enough to keep you company while you think about them?”
That earned a quiet chuckle from her, and for a second, Natasha thought she had your attention. But you were already reaching for a glass, unfazed by the striking redhead in front of you, treating her like just any other customer.
And that? That was new.
Natasha Romanoff was used to attention —commanding it, deflecting it, using it. She wasn't used to being... ignored. She watched you pour her drink, her curiosity deepening. “You work here often?” she asked casually.
“Every night,” you said, sliding the glass across the bar without missing a beat. “But not usually this late. I'm covering for a friend tonight.”
“Lucky me, then.”
You gave her a polite smile again, the kind you'd given a hundred customers before her, and went to take another order without lingering. Natasha raised a brow, watching you turn away. So that's how it was going to be.
The Russian swirled the drink in her glass, elbows resting casually on the polished wood of the bar. Her sharp green eyes tracked you as you moved, the way you navigated between customers with practiced ease, as if you owned the space. She was impressed—not that she'd say it outright yet.
When you came back to check on her, she smirked.
“Strong,” she quipped, nodding at the drink. “You got a heavy hand..” she trailed off, her forest green orbs lowering just a few seconds to check you name tag before quickly returning to your eyes as she ended her sentence by saying your name.
You gave her the faintest smile. “You asked for a surprise.”
“I do like surprises,” Natasha murmured, leaning forward slightly, her voice smooth. “Especially when they're as good as this one.”
Your brows raised, but you didn't bite, just moved to wipe down the counter near her. “Glad you like it.
“So,” Natasha tilted her head, amused by your calm. “Are you always this focused?”
“Usually.”
“I take it you don't get distracted easily, do you?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully, swirling her drink again. “So if I told you that I'll be coming here for weeks, hoping to see you, that wouldn't distract you either?”
You paused briefly, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. “Probably not.”
Natasha grinned, resting her chin on her palm. “You're either very good at this job or completely immune to flirting.”
“Maybe both,” you answered again, moving to refill a customer's water glass.
The redhead chuckled softly, clearly entertained. “You're not even going to ask my name?”
“I assume you're not here to make friends,” you replied coolly. “Just like I'm not here to socialize.”
That only made her grin wider. “I like that about you.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “But for the record, it's Natasha.”
“Nice to meet you, Natasha,” you said in the same calm, polite tone you'd use for anyone else.
Her smirk deepened. “You're hard to impress, huh?”
You finally met her gaze, deadpan. “I'm working.”
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. Natasha wasn't used to this—being brushed off so easily—but it only fueled her interest.
“Alright,” she said, standing to leave after finishing her drink. “But I'm coming back tomorrow night. Maybe I'll finally get you to look at me the way everyone else does.”
You shrugged, already reaching for the empty glass. “Good luck with that.”
Natasha chuckled as she slipped a bill under the glass, far more than the cost of the drink, and slid her jacket over her shoulders. She paused at the door, glancing back at you one more time, smirk firmly in place.
“See you soon, hotshot.”
You barely spared her a glance as you cleaned the counter. “Have a good night.”
Natasha walked out into the cool night air, grinning to herself. She'd definitely be back.
. . . . . . . .
It had been nearly a week now, and Natasha had made herself a fixture at the club.
She didn't even wait until your shift was almost over anymore. She started coming in early, right when you clocked in, sliding into her usual seat with that same lazy smirk, effectively scaring off anyone else who even thought about trying their luck with you.
Not that you minded much. It was quiet when she was there. Even if her sharp gaze followed your every movement, even if she asked for your attention in ways no one else had the nerve to. Natasha Romanoff didn't beg. She didn't push. She just... showed up and asked.
Every. Single. Night.
“A date,” she'd say, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Just one.”
Tonight was no different.
You were wiping down the counter after a rush, finally catching a breath. Natasha, of course, was right where she always was, chin resting in her hand, looking at you like she was cataloging every detail.
“You're very persistent, aren't you?” you stated, exhaling a soft sigh, your hand pausing mid-motion.
The Russian's lips curled into that dangerous little smirk. “So I've been told.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make it sound like a secret. “Can I at least get your number, pretty girl?”
You blinked, the corner of your mouth oh so slightly twitching at the nickname. “You really don't give up easily.”
“Not when I see someone I want.” She propped her chin on her hand, completely at ease, but her gaze was sharp, unwavering. “And right now, that's you.”
You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “You don't even know me.”
Natasha's smirk softened into something warmer. “Then let me fix that.”
You turned to grab a glass to polish, pretending to busy yourself. “Don't you get tired of hearing 'no'?”
“Nope,” she said simply. “Every 'no' just means I get to come back and ask again.”
You gave her a look over your shoulder, deadpan. “That's... not exactly how that works.”
“It is tonight.”
You huffed out a laugh despite yourself, quickly masking it. Natasha caught it though—of course she did—and her smile deepened.
“I'm good company, you know,” she spoke again, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “You'd have fun.”
You glanced at her, meeting those sharp green eyes for just a moment too long. “You sound confident.”
“I am confident,” The redhead murmured, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "But I'm also patient." She pushed her empty glass toward you. “Another one of those, hotshot.”
You rolled your eyes but reached for the shaker, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. Natasha wasn't like the others — she didn't try cheesy lines or offer tips that doubled as propositions. She just showed up, looked at you like she meant it, and asked.
And for the first time, you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to keep saying no.
Natasha watched you with that usual, infuriatingly calm confidence, swirling the drink you'd just set in front of her. The bar had quieted down, most of the late crowd trickling out, and it was nearing the end of your shift. She'd been here for hours again, her presence steady and unwavering, always asking for the same thing: a date.
She hadn't expected tonight to be any different.
You leaned on the counter slightly, wiping it down one last time as Natasha nursed her drink. She'd asked for your number earlier, throwing in a casual “pretty girl” with that smirk that had made a few other patrons flush over the week. You'd brushed it off like you always did, and Natasha had resigned herself to yet another night of polite rejection.
But then you slid something across the polished wood toward her. A small folded piece of paper.
Natasha blinked, her brows arching as she picked it up, unfolding it slowly.
A phone number—your phone number.
Her lips parted slightly, surprised for the first time in days of this back-and-forth. "You're serious?"
You smirked faintly, drying your hands on a towel. “Not many people get that so easily.” You tilted your head, locking eyes with her. “Make good use of it, Red.”
It was the first time you'd ever given her a nickname and it hit her like a shot of whiskey, making Natasha's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, I will.” She slipped the paper carefully into her jacket pocket like it was something precious. “You have no idea.”
You shrugged like it was nothing, though the smallest smile tugged at your lips as you turned to grab an empty glass. “Goodnight, Natasha.”
She stood, sliding on her jacket, her eyes never leaving you. “Goodnight, pretty girl.”
As she walked toward the door, the redhead felt a rare thrill settle in her chest. She'd been persistent, sure, but she hadn't expected this today.
And if you thought Natasha Romanoff was persistent before, well... you had no idea what you'd just invited into your life.
. . . . . . . .
Half an hour later, the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you.
The quiet of your space was a relief after the buzz of the bar, and you kicked off your shoes, shaking out the day from your shoulders.
Usually, not long after you'd pull the door open, the familiar ound of feet thunding on the floor would be a heard and a tiny set of arms would be wrapped around your waist in greetings from your daughter but it was winter break, and she was over at her other parent's place.
You were the primary caretaker. You had her during school days while your ex would get her on weekends and during the holidays—of course there could be exceptions.
You were thankful that your ex was not an asshole and that whatever had happened between you wasn't going to be projected on your child. They were mature enough not to make you stress or fight with them just to see your own child.
(now, let's pretend it's cold out and that we don't need a cold shower to wash out the sweat from us — because for my defense, this had been written around dec/jan)
The shower ran hot, steaming up the small bathroom as you let the water wash off the residue of the night. By the time you stepped out, towel wrapped around you, your hair damp, you felt the tension in your shoulders start to ease.
You were halfway through applying lotion—arms, legs, and the soft curve of your neck—when your phone buzzed on the dresser.
<Unknown number>
You froze for a moment, then a small smirk tugged at your lips. Of course you picked up.
“Hello?” Your voice was casual, but you couldn't keep the smile from your tone and—from some yet-to-be-known reasons—off your face.
“Hi, pretty girl,” Natasha's voice purred on the other end : deep, smooth, and deliberately teasing. “I hope you're not too tired after your shift.”
You lowered the device from your ear, placing it on your vanity before putting her on speaker so you wouldn't have any trouble applying lotion while talking to her at the same time.
“No, not too tired,” you replied, letting your voice stay light though your pulse had picked up. “Just... winding down.”
“Good,” she said, a chuckle in her tone. “Because I was hoping to hear from you. I wanted to make sure that number I got tonight actually belonged to you, and not some random bartender with a pretty smile.”
You rolled your eyes, though it was playful, with a grin on your lips—Your left hand going to grab the bottle to add some more of the oil onto your right palm then rubbing both palms together. You propped your leg up on the chair, your hands automatically applying the lotion on it as you answered. “Aren't you a persistant one.”
“I prefer the term 'determined',” she replied. “Besides, it's hard to resist someone who works the bar the way you do. You've got a rhythm, a... presence.”
You paused momentarily, careful to keep your composure. “You really won't quit, will you?”
Natasha's laugh was low, teasing. “With someone like you? Absolutely not.” She let the words hang, deliberate, making sure they reached you in all the right ways. “So, tell me, pretty girl... when can I take you out? Or are you planning on keeping me on the hook forever?”
Bitting back a smile, you also finish moisturizing your skin. You close the lotion and deactivate the speaker mode and put your phone back to your ear. “Don't flatter yourself too much, Red. But... maybe I could pencil you in.”
“Hmm,” The Russian purred, clearly amused. “I like the sound of that. You don't say yes easily, and that just makes me want it more.”
You rolled your eyes again at her antics, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You make it very difficult to act professional.”
“That's my specialty,” she said, voice dipping low, teasing, almost intimate. “I've been practicing for weeks.”
That made you utter a soft laugh. Unconsciously, you shook your head, but there was a flutter of excitement in your chest. “Alright, Red. Just... don't get used to this.”
Natasha's voice on the other end was smooth, low, and deliberately teasing.
“I'm already planning my victory speech,” she had said, and you chuckled softly.
“Victory speech for what?” you questioned, playing along, though your pulse betrayed the flutter her words caused.
“For convincing you to finally go on a date with me,” she responded, her tone sly, deliberate. “I mean, how many people get a chance like that and actually resist me?”
You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn't see you. “You really think you're that special, Red?”
“I know I am,” she replied with a laugh. “But I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. I want to hear you say yes, not just hand it to me.”
You smirked, brushing a hand through your damp hair. “Persistent. Determined. Arrogant. Pick one.”
“I'm all three,” The redhead stated—unbothered, confident, arrogant—maybe all three, but honestly, at this point you didn't know anymore. “But there's one more you should know—charming.“
That made you snort softly. “Oh, I'm glad you're self-aware.”
“And you,” she leaned into the words, though you couldn't see her, “you're still refusing to give me a proper chance. So I'll ask again—just to make sure it's not because you can't say yes.”
You froze for the briefest second, just long enough for her to notice. "A date," she added simply, her voice lowering, sultry and deliberate. “One night. Dinner, drinks, whatever else you want. Just me and you. I promise to make it... memorable.”
You chuckled softly, shaking your head again, but the edge of amusement in your voice was unmistakable. “You're not gonna give this up.. "
"I already told you," she answered. Then, softer, teasing: "So... dinner? Saturday night?"
You bit your lip, pretending to think.
“Fine. Saturday. But only because you finally asked nicely.”
Natasha's laugh was low, satisfied, and utterly triumphant. “Oh, pretty girl... you won't regret it.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I better not.”
“Good,” Natsha stated, her voice softening just a touch. “I'll pick you up. Be ready to have your mind blown.”
“Sure... I'll try to be prepared.”
“Don't try. Just be you," she said, a subtle smirk in her voice. “That's enough to keep me coming back, night after night.”
You exhaled, already knowing she was right. Even over the phone, Natasha Romanoff had found a way to unsettle you, charm you, and get you smiling at the exact right moments.
“Alright, Red. Night,”
“Goodnight, pretty girl,” she whispered, the final words lingering in your ear like a promise.
. . . . . . . .
The next few days passed in a blur of shifts, orders, and polished counters, but no matter how much you tried to focus on work, your thoughts kept drifting to one person.
Natasha.
You caught yourself smiling at the sound of your phone, imagining her low, teasing voice again. Her persistence, her smirk, that subtle way she made even a simple question feel loaded with intent. You told yourself it was just harmless fun. She was flirtatious, yes, but so what? You were busy, independent, and focused. Right?
Still, you found your mind replaying the call.
"One night. Dinner, drinks... just me and you."
You rolled your eyes at yourself. Who even talks like that? Who makes you laugh and bite your lip at the same time just over the phone?
At the bar, she kept coming back — though not too often, careful not to overstep — but the thought of Saturday lingered like a secret thrill. You caught yourself checking the clock, imagining her sliding into her usual spot, that smirk in place, ready to tease you mercilessly.
You told yourself you were being careful, unbothered, professional. And yet...
You found excuses to linger near the phone. You caught yourself drafting what you'd wear, imagining the little smirk she'd give if you picked that dress over another. You even practiced your "I'm calm and collected" demeanor in the mirror, knowing full well she'd be able to see through it.
The more you thought about her, the more impossible it became to act like it was just another night. Your pulse quickened at the memory of her voice, her words, the way she'd laughed when she got what she wanted: your attention.
By Thursday, you were already anticipating Saturday like a secret thrill — half nervous, half excited, and entirely aware that Natasha Romanoff had somehow wormed her way into your careful, professional world without even showing up yet.
And as much as you swore you weren't letting yourself fall for it... a small, stubborn part of you couldn't wait.
Saturday night wasn't just a date. It was a test.
And you had a sneaking suspicion Natasha Romanoff would make sure you didn't walk away unscathed.
. . . . . . . .
Saturday night.
Your apartment smelled faintly of your favorite perfume, the soft scent mixing with the clean crispness of freshly washed sheets and candle wax. You'd been pacing for the last ten minutes, pretending you weren't nervous, pretending this was just... dinner. Just a casual outing with a customer who happened to be ridiculously attractive, ridiculously confident, and ridiculously good at making your heart skip.
You adjusted your outfit in the mirror one last time, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of your clothes. It wasn't overly fancy, but you'd put thought into it — just enough to look good without seeming like you'd spent an hour planning it. (You absolutely had.)
Then came the knock.
Three soft, deliberate raps at your door that made your stomach flip. You took a steadying breath, smoothing your hair back before opening the door and there she was.
Natasha Romanoff stood in your doorstep like she owned the place, dressed in black slacks and a perfectly tailored jacket over a black blouse that shimmered faintly under the hallway light. Her hair was loose, soft curls framing her face, and those sharp green eyes immediately flicked over you in one slow, approving sweep.
You'd have to admit, she looks ridiculously gorgeous in a silk blouse, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins on her forearms.
“Well,” she murmured, her smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I was expecting you to look good, but you really outdid yourself, pretty girl.”
You raised an eyebrow, fighting the heat creeping up your neck. “You clean up alright yourself, Red.”
The Russian chuckled low in her throat, pushing off the doorframe. “Just alright?” She stepped closer, her voice dipping into that smooth, teasing tone. “You wound me.”
You amusingly rolled your eyes, stepping up to walk past her after locking your door. “Come on. We're gonna be late if you keep fishing for compliments.”
. . . . . . . .
The car ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Natasha drove, one hand casually on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. She glanced at you every so often, that amused glint in her eye, like she was trying to read every detail about you without you noticing.
“So,” she said finally, her tone easy. “I've been asking for this date for a week. Was it worth the chase?”
You crossed your legs, looking out the window with a faint smirk. “We'll see.”
Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Playing hard to get. I like that.”
“I'm not playing anything,” You tell her, glancing at her side profile. “I just don't hand my number out to everyone and afterwards, allow them to take me out.”
“Mm, I noticed,” The Russian answered, her voice dipping lower. “Makes me feel special.”
A soft snort slipped past your lips. “You're impossible.”
“And you,” she shot back smoothly, “are stunning. So, I'd say we're even.”
You turned your head toward the window to hide the small smile tugging at your lips, but Natasha caught it anyway.
The car pulled up in front of an intimate, softly lit restaurant — small, classy, with warm light spilling from the windows. Natasha was out of the car before you could finish unbuckling, opening your door like a perfect gentlewoman.
You raised an eyebrow as she offered her hand. “Wow. Someone's really trying to impress me.”
Natasha smirked, her eyes glinting. “Oh, sweetheart... I haven't even started yet.”
You slipped your hand into hers, warmth sparking at the contact, and tried to ignore the way your pulse skipped when her fingers brushed yours just a little too deliberately.
Something told you tonight was going to be... dangerous.
In the best way.
Inside, the restaurant is dimly lit, all flickering candles and soft jazz humming in the background. The host leads you to a table tucked away in a corner, the kind of table meant for secrets and Natasha slides in across from you with the kind of casual confidence that makes your stomach flip.
She leans back, green eyes glinting. “I'm glad you said yes.”
You scoff lightly, settling your napkin on your lap. “I didn't really get much of a choice, did I? You were practically stalking my bar shifts.”
The redhead chuckles, low and warm. “What can I say? I like a challenge.“ She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “And you, sweetheart, are very worth chasing.”
Your breath hitches at the pet name, but you hide it by picking up the menu. “You know, I'm starting to think you're just this confident with everyone.”
“Not true.” Natasha's voice softens slightly, but her smirk remains. “You make me want to be confident. It's not every day I meet someone who makes me wait almost a week just to get their number.”
You glance up over the top of your menu, catching her staring at you like she's memorizing your every movement. Heat curls low in your stomach, and you shift in your seat.
The waiter shows up with appetizers, wine and water—courtesy of the restaurant, indicating that you are in no rush to order—and for a moment, the tension breaks as you focus on the amuse bouche. But even then, Natasha's gaze lingers on you like a caress, making it very clear that this date is only the beginning.
"So..." The Russian begins, swirling her glass of wine. "Do I get to learn more about the mysterious bartender who's had me wrapped around her finger all these weeks?"
You chuckle, shaking your head. “You make it sound like I've been playing hard to get on purpose.”
“Haven't you?” A hint of tease is heard in her tone, accompanied with a raised eyebrow.
You meet her gaze, steady this time. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd actually stop trying”
“You know,” Her smirk softens into something a little more sincere, voice dropping lower, “I didn't expect you to give me your number that night. I was ready to walk out of that bar empty-handed. Thought you'd send me home with nothing but a bruised ego.”
“Hmm. Maybe I like keeping you on your toes,” you say, smirking as you take a sip of your wine—your eyes not leaving her green ones.
Her eyes narrow playfully, and she leans in, her voice a soft purr. “Careful there, pretty girl. I'm already thinking about how I can return the favor.”
The waiter comes, but Natasha had barely glanced at the menu. She smoothly orders the simple dish, then waves you off. “Get whatever you want. I didn't bring you here to worry about the bill.”
You can't help the scoff that slips. “Is this your usual date tactic? Throwing money around to impress girls?”
Nat grins, leaning forward on her elbows so the dim light catches her smirk. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to impress you, I'd be telling you how beautiful you look in that dress, not the price of the wine. Which, by the way...” Her eyes slowly drag down, then back up, and the deliberate once-over makes your breath hitch. “...is criminally short.”
You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, doing your best to keep your composure. “Bold.”
“I told you I wanted to take you out. I meant it. I want your time. Your attention.” She tilts her head, that predator's smirk curving her mouth. “And maybe your lips. Eventually.”
Your fork nearly slips from your hand, your gaze faltering but you make a show of recomposure by clearing your throat — although, your mind had started to slip back to the reason why you always push away in the first place. “You don't waste time.”
“Why should I?” She shrugs, eyes locked on you. “You've been making me come to that bar every night, watching you brush off every guy who thinks they have a shot. I'm just cutting the line, detka.”
The Russian endearment rolls off her tongue like velvet, and you feel your pulse spike.
You try for calm, raising an eyebrow. “And what makes you so sure you're not wasting your time too?”
The redhead leans closer, elbows resting on the table, her voice dropping just enough that it makes the hair on your neck stand. “Because you wouldn't be here if you didn't want me to try. ”
The flicker of candlelight made Nat's eyes glow in a way that made your heart twist. She leaned in slightly, the usual chin-resting-on-her-hand pose as she studied you like you were a puzzle she desperately wanted to solve. The conversation had been easy so far—flirty banter, teasing remarks, and the occasional smirk that made your pulse quicken. But now... now it was getting too real. She was serious.
You cleared your throat softly and dropped your gaze to your glass, fingers tightening around the stem. “Natasha, I think I should.. probably tell you something.”
Her brows furrowed faintly, her teasing smirk softening into something gentler. “Sounds serious,” she murmured, voice low but encouraging.
The quiet hum of the restaurant wrapped around you both, soft jazz playing in the background while candlelight flickered between each of your wine glasses. Natasha was halfway through cutting into her steak, perfectly at ease, when you finally spoke, yout voice hesitant but firm.
“I have a child.”
Natasha's hand didn't even pause mid-slice. She looked up, expression calm, maybe even curious. “Oh, really?” she asked casually, like you had just told her you liked her steak medium rare. “How old are they?”
“Yes, I know it's sudden but—” You blinked, stunned by her reaction. “Wait.. didn't you hear what I said? I have a child, Natasha. A daughter.”
“Yeah,” Natasha replied evenly, green eyes flicking up to meet your before she took a bite of the piece of steak. She was casual about this. Way too casual and damn, you were not used to this. "And I asked how old she is."
Guess you never thought Natsha Romanoff would've surprised you in more ways than one.
After a few minutes of silence, You let out a sharp, sarcastic chuckle, leaning back in your chair, your chest tightening as old memories clawed up. “Really? That's what you're asking? You're not gonna... I don't know, make a whole scene or suddenly get a phone call, maybe excuse yourself to the bathroom, and disappear from my life forever?”
Natasha's fork paused midair this time, her green eyes locking onto your face again with an intensity that made her heart stutter.
“Now,” Natasha said softly, voice low but razor-sharp with conviction, “why would I do that?”
The question hung heavy between you.
You froze, caught between defensiveness and disbelief, because that damned Russian was looking at you like you'd just said something tragic, not shameful. Like you were the one who deserved an apology for being made to feel this way.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. “You thought I was here for... what? A fling?” Her tone wasn't mocking, but it carried weight—like she needed the truth.
Your lips twitched as you tried to keep your cool. You tightened your jaw then let it relax. “Well... most people, when they find out about her, they just—" you exhaled shakily, cutting yourself off.
“Disappear," Natasha gently finished the sentence for you as she started to understand. “Because they're cowards.”
You chewed on the inner part of your lower lip, stunned silent by the simplicity of her answer.
The redhead tilted her head, eyes softening. She could tell it wasn't quite easy for you to process this, since you had seemingly been going through the same pattern of rejection for God knows how long. So, as the sympatetic person she is, she didn't try to show pity but went on with the conversation. “So, how old is she?” she asked again, this time quieter, gentler.
You finally whispered, “...She's four.”
Natasha's lips curled into a faint smile. “That's a fun age.” She reached for her glass of wine like nothing about this conversation scared her. “You'll have to tell me her name.”
That cracked something deep inside you, a shaky laugh slipping out. “You're really.. not running away, huh?”
Natasha smirked, leaning back in her chair, confidence radiating off her in waves. “Sweetheart,” she said with a slow smile, “if I wanted to run, I wouldn't have asked you out in the first place.”
You blinked at her, startled and she continued to speak. “If anything, I'm impressed. You've been out here looking like that”—her gaze swept over you slowly, deliberately—"and raising a kid on your own? That's badass.”
Your lips parted in surprise. “You don't care that—?”
“Of course I care,” Nat said softly, her tone shifting again, grounding. “It matters. She matters. But if you're asking if it makes me want to leave? No. Not even a little.” She tilted her head. “Actually, I like that you told me. Shows me you trust me enough to be honest.”
The tightness in your chest loosened all at once, and you didn't realize you'd been holding your breath until you exhaled shakily.
The Russian's hand slid across the table, palm up, silently asking for yours. Hesitant but desperate for that grounding warmth, you placed your hand in hers, and she immediately laced your fingers together.
Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You're gorgeous, you're smart, and now I know you're a devoted mom too? You're kind of raising the bar, detka.”
You couldn't help it — you laughed, half from relief, half because of how serious and sincere she looked while saying it.
Then Natasha leaned in just a bit more, voice dropping lower, her lips curling into a wicked smirk. “And now I definitely need that second date.”
You just stared at her, stunned, heart pounding because Natasha wasn't just staying—she was all in.
. . . . . . . .
The night air was crisp, soft against your skin as the redhead led the way down the quiet street, her hand lightly brushing yours. Not holding, not yet—but that subtle contact made your pulse spike every time.
“Thanks for walking me back,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice casual even though your stomach was a riot of nerves.
Natasha glanced at you, that smirk tugging at her lips. “You're welcome. I don't let pretty girls wander home alone, detka.”
You chuckled, but your laughter was nervous. “You don't know how used I am to people disappearing the second they find out anything about my life.”
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I mean... no one ever reacts like you did tonight. Every date I've had just look at me like they've seen a ghost when they find out I have a child. They stutter, they make excuses, and then they leave. Forever. I... I wasn't expecting you to be any different.”
The street was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic. Her eyes were steady, warm, and full of that rare softness that made your chest ache.
“And yet,“ you continued, voice trembling slightly, “you were. And I...” You trailed off, letting out a heartfelt chuckle. “I'm happy you were. I'm happy you're here.”
Her lips curled into a small, tender smile. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
There was a long pause, just the two of you in the glow of a nearby streetlight. Natasha's hand finally reached for yours, intertwining her fingers with yours in a gentle grip.
“I should say goodnight,” she murmured, though her voice betrayed the hesitation in her own chest.
“Or...” you started, heart hammering, “maybe not.”
Before Natasha could respond, you leaned in, brushing your lips against hers in a deliberate, confident kiss. To her surprise, you were the one initiating it. Her eyes widened for the briefest moment, then slowly closed as she deepened the kiss, one hand moving to cradle your face while the other stayed entwined with yours.
When you finally pulled back slightly, breathless, Natasha rested her forehead against yours. “Well,” she murmured, a teasing smirk returning, “you've got quite the initiative, hotshot.”
You chuckled, chewing on your lower lop while your thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you knew you're not the only bold one here.”
Nat's laugh was low, warm, and full of admiration. “Oh, trust me... I know. And I'm really glad you are.”
For a long moment, you stayed like that, foreheads together, hands intertwined, letting the quiet of the night wrap around you both, knowing that something—dangerous, thrilling, real—had just begun.
. . . . . . . .
Its Thursday morning when your phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand as sunlight streamed in, catching dust in golden beams. You groaned, pulling the phone toward you, and saw Natasha's name lighting up the screen.
Of course it was her.
After that Saturday night date, a second, a third and a fourth one took place. Obviously not followed up, since you were both busy with your own lives and jobs.
The second date was on Tuesday afternoon and Natasha wanted to do something of your choice, since she had chosen the spot for the first date. It was after work for her while you had an evening shift. That was a way to get to know you better so, you both went to explore an art gallery and discuss each of your favorite pieces—that's how she discovered your subtle appreciation for art.
The third date took place on Thursday and you both decided it would be fun to try an escape room together. There were other people there as well : three teenagers, another couple—friends,maybe—at last, a father with his teen son. Out of the four teams, you and Nat solved the mystery first and that's how you discovered how incredibly smart she was since she'd found most of the enigma's answers on her own. Then you walked to a nearby ice cream shop afterward to talk about the funniest moments, the clues you had missed, and what you'd try differently next time.
And finally the fourth date happened last night, on Saturday. You attended a drive-in theater, then went out for bowling.
Her company was certainly enjoyable and she was quite funny. She also beat you multiple times at bowling and the only three times you scored : first one was out of luck. second, she'd let you win since you kept missing and as much as she enjoyed your pouty face, she preferred your smile and thank God you hadn't noticed her purposefully missing the shot so you'd get a score instead. the third was when she eventually taught you how to aim for a perfect strike
You can recall the fluttering feeling of her chest pressed against your back, her hands hovering yours as you both held the ball—and oh, the rasp of your voice at your ear.
You were also convinced that she actually wanted you for you—not because she simply saw a pretty face that made her look twice and a nice body—because she never pushed for sex.
Those days that you didn't spend together—last Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday—you both fulfilled them with phonecalls instead. either to talk about her day at work, yours or any other topic. Between all that, she never asked, initiated or even hinted for sex. Not even once.
And yes, one might say, 'it had only been a week', but not you. Not when you'd been asked for it at two day's time of getting to know the person or even right in the middle of the first date.
She wasn't driven by lust, she actually liked you unlike many others who simply saw you for your body.
“Morning,” you said, voice still hoarse from last night.
“Good morning, pretty girl,” Natasha purred on the other end. That low, teasing tone made your stomach clench in the best way. “Slept well?”
You tilted your head, biting back a smile. “Better than I probably should have. You?”
“Like a kid in a candy store,” she said smoothly. “Though some candy is much more... distracting than others.” Her grin practically radiated through the phone.
You chuckled, leaning back against the pillows, a hint of sleep tugging at your eyes. But it's not like you would fall asleep again anyway. It's been four years since you've woken up early but that didn't mean you were going to let her sweet talk you as an apology for waking you up. “It's early, Romanoff, why'd you call. And don't say it was to «hear that beautiful voice of yours».”
"No, really," she said seriously now, though that mischievous edge never left. “I want to see you again. Soon. I can't stop thinking about you. About last night."
You felt your pulse spike. "Nat..."
She cut in before you could get shy, bold and playful. “I know, detka. Just... when can I see you again? Dinner? Or maybe breakfast this time?”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Breakfast, huh? You're really pushing it, Red.”
“And you,” she countered, voice dropping low and teasing, “are going to let me. Because last night? I know you liked it. Admit it.”
You blinked, caught off guard by her confidence. “...Maybe I did,” you whispered, voice soft.
"Good," she murmured, a satisfied smirk in her tone. "Then it's settled. I'll come for breakfast. And maybe after that, you can teach me some of your bartender tricks."
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I think you'll just be more of a distraction than a student.”
“Perfect,” she said, almost triumphantly. “I like being a distraction. Especially for you.”
You rolled your eyes again, heart hammering, but couldn't help the wide smile spreading across your face. Natasha Romanoff had just proven she was not leaving—and somehow, you didn't want her to.
. . . . . . . .
You weren't expecting Natasha to actually follow through with the "I'm coming over with breakfast" text. Yet, there she was at your door at eight fifty in the morning, hair in a loose bun, the usual leather jacket swapped for a hoodie, and a paper bag in one hand.
You were in your pajamas. Not the cute, matching kind. Just a soft pair of linen short and a slightly oversized shirt. Your hair was messy, and you were pretty sure you still had pillow lines on your cheek.
And Natasha Romanoff was standing there looking like sin in a leather jacket.
“You're...early,” you said, blinking as she stepped into your apartment without hesitation.
“I said breakfast,” she teased, shrugging as she placed the bag on your kitchen counter. “That usually happens in the morning, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes, trying not to feel flustered. “Yeah, well, I didn't think you meant actual morning. You could've at least given me a warning.”
She gave you a slow, amused once-over. “What, you don't like surprises?”
“Not this early. And definitely not when I look like this.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow, leaning on your counter. “You look perfect. Now sit down. I got coffee, too.”
You squinted at her but obeyed, climbing onto one of your kitchen stools. "Mm—coffee first, compliments later."
She smirked and handed you a cup. “Bossy.”
You took a grateful sip and hummed. “God, that's good.”
“Of course it is. I got the same thing as last night—vanilla latte with oat milk. You're easy to please. ”
You raised a brow. “Or maybe you're just paying too much attention.”
The Russian smirked, clearly not denying it. She pulled out bagels, pastries, and a little container of fruit, arranging everything on your counter like she was setting up a feast.
“You know, for a first date aftermath, you're setting the bar really high.”
“Good,” she said simply, settling on the stool next to you, close enough that her knee brushed yours. “I like high bars.”
You took a bite of your bagel, smiling around it. “You're very confident for someone who barged into my apartment at nine a.m.”
Natasha tilted her head, “You let me in.”
“Because I was too tired to say no.”
She laughed softly, that low, warm sound that made your stomach flutter.
“Don't tell me you're shy now,” Natasha teased, leaning a little closer.
Swallowing and trying to match her energy, you raised your chin. “I'm not shy. I just wasn't expecting.. this.”
“What, breakfast?”
“No,” you said, smiling faintly. “You.”
That seemed to throw her for a second, her smirk softening into something very much more genuine.
Your heart fluttered, and before you could allow yourself overthink it, you leaned forward and kissed her.
It was soft at first, just a brush of lips, but Natasha was quick to deepen it, her hand coming up to cup your jaw. The taste of coffee lingered between you, and you couldn't help but sigh into her mouth, feeling her smirk against your lips.
When you finally pulled away, Natasha was grinning, eyes glinting with amusement as she used your words against you. “Bold.”
“Well..” You shrugged, trying to play it off even though your heart was racing. “You like bold.”
“I do,” Her voice was a gentle murmur, her thumb brushing your cheek. “And you,” she countered, voice dropping low and teasing, “are exactly the kind of chaos I've been trying to chase all week.”
You perched on the counter edge, swinging your legs. “You might get addicted to my chaos,” you said, leaning forward and pressing your lips against hers once more—a soft, teasing kiss this time before pulling away. “Consider yourself warned.”
Natasha laughed—a low, warm sound—capturing your wrist in her hand and pulling you back gently toward her. “Addicted already, hotshot. I'll need more than one warning.”
Before you could respond, she leaned in, brushing her lips lightly against yours in a feather-light kiss. “See? Bold doesn't always have to come from you,” she whispered against your lips.
You smirked, tipping your head forward and daring her. “Oh? You want to play that game?”
Natasha grinned, low and wolfish. “I always play that game, pretty girl.” She leaned in again, longer this time, and your lips met hers with more insistence. Her hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you close, and you let yourself relax fully against her, running your hands lightly along her arms.
When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, the Russian's green eyes glinted with mischief. “You're terrible,” she murmured.
Then she reached for a piece of your bagel without asking, and the moment dissolved into playful bickering about food theft.
By the time breakfast was over, you were laughing in your kitchen, still barefoot as you cleaned around, Natasha stealing kisses every time she got the chance—on your cheek, your jaw, and once, scandalously, on your just to see you shiver.
. . . . . . .
With a belly full, you're now curled up on the couch with Natasha, the two of you in a perfect cocoon of warmth. She's got an arm draped around you, fingers lazily tracing patterns over your arm as if she's memorizing every inch of you. The faint scent of coffee lingers in the air, and the sunlight filtering through the curtains makes the whole moment feel unreal—like time slowed down just for you two.
The redhead murmurs, her voice low and husky, lips brushing the crown of your head. “I could get used to this.”
You tilt your head back to look at her, playful. “Lounging around in pyjamas while you bring me breakfast? Yeah, I could get used to this too.”
That earns you a soft smirk. She leans closer, her nose brushing yours. “I'd spoil you like this every day if you'd let me.”
Natasha presses her lips to your temple in a lingering kiss that makes your heart skip. “You're... really something, you know that?”
You smile at the gesture and the sincerity in her voice. “Something good, I hope,” you tease, though there's a vulnerability under your words.
“The best,” The way she looks at you makes you shift, suddenly aware of how close you are. Her hand slips from the couch to rest lightly against your back, coaxing you closer. Your heart stutters at how effortlessly she says it, no hesitation, no shield. Natasha Romanoff doesn't say things she doesn't mean. She hums softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I don't do and I won't do this with or for anyone else,” she says gently, her hand sliding to cup your jaw. “You are... different. Safer, refreshing. Like I can actually breathe when I'm around you.”
The vulnerability in her tone makes your chest ache in the best of ways so you shift closer, curling into her side, and she lets out a quiet sigh like she's been waiting for this.
“I like you a lot, Y/N,” Nat admits finally, her fingers brushing along your arm. Her lips twitch into the ghost of a smile before her expression softens. “I want this. You. Not just as some... temporary thing.”
You can feel her heartbeat against your side, steady and strong. For a while, there's silence, just her fingers combing gently through your hair. Then she speaks, her voice quieter now. Her hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin with the lightest touch.
“I want to get to know you even more. All of you.” There's a pause before she keeps talking. “And one day, when you're ready... I'd love to meet Maeve too.”
Your breath catches a little at her words, not because you're scared, but because of how genuine she sounds. Natasha Romanoff, this confident, cocky but over-all gorgeous woman who had spent weeks chasing after you, and proved to be different than any other people you had tried to date, was now sitting on your couch talking about wanting to meet your daughter.
“If I'm sticking around, I need to know the tiny human that's part of you.”
You laughed softly, surprised at how warm the words felt coming from her. “Yeah... soon,” you murmured, already anticipating the chaos, laughter, and warmth she was bringing into your life. “But fair warning—she's a handful one.”
The Russian grinned, that wolfish spark in her eyes returning. “Well, I think I can handle that.”
You smile softly, leaning into her touch. “That means a lot, Nat... Really.”
Her eyes flicker with something tender, almost vulnerable. “She's part of you. How could I not want to know her?”
You blink rapidly, fighting the unexpected sting in your eyes. Natasha notices, of course she does, and she leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, slow and careful like she's afraid of pushing too far.
You kiss her back without hesitation, and when she pulls back, she's smiling softly.
You let out a quiet laugh, tucking yourself closer to her side, and she wraps her arms around you like it's the most natural thing in the world. The rest of the morning passes in this cocoon of warmth : her heartbeat, her quiet humming, her thumb stroking lazy circles on your arm. You keep cuddling on your couch, the TV on—playing a show as a background noise— as you keep making out and sharing each other's warmth.
It feels safe, like home.
Noon rolled by, and it was time for Nat to leave. As much as she would enjoy spending the entire day with you, she couldn't and you understood that.
You made a task of walking her up to the door while kissing her. You weren't usually clingy but the lack of genuine care and warmth (aside from the one you received from your daughter) and the fact that she was actually here for a long time, not just a good time, not to leave right the moment she got what she seeked from you, made you never want to let her go.
She let out a soft, low moan as you bit down her lower lip—making you grin slightly, then she pulled out.
“I'll miss you.” you admit, still glued to her as your hands had slipped past the hem of her hoodie, resting at her waist. “Don't get all cocky when I say this but.. I wish you didn't have to leave. I want to keep kissing you.”
A soft laugh erupted from her throat, accompanied by a smile. She cupped your cheeks “I wish that too, sweetheart, and I'll miss you even more.” She leaned in, brushing her lips lightly against yours—a promise of more to come. “I'll see you soon, pretty girl,” she whispered.
. . . . . . . .
author's note ; longest one i've put together so far! i was planning on making this a one shot (with the rest of the fic) but it was going up to 19k words count and that ... is a lot in one go 😀
anyways, thank you for your time :) i hope i didn't disappoint! soft nat will forever be cherished <3
part 2 out soon!
(ps : inbox is open if you have any suggestions for how the meeting with Maeve should go or anything about this au, if it is even one atp)