₍^. .^₎⟆ doctors orders (the woes of a pregnant wife)
ft. shoko ieri x pregnant!reader
cw, pregnancy / girls can impregnate, light profanity, injury & wifey attracts danger ⋆ all ages can interact!
🏷️ @yorikae @lotuscy @sugusplaything @thceseus @cnavyblue @spookyreviewluminary
shoko can't believe you right now.
you've never been the brightest. now it’s all amplified from the emotions and hormones, leaving you feel like your brain is melting down into mush.
as the tip of your perfectly pedicured toe skims the surface level in the tub, she stands in the doorway. “babe— what is this?” shoko tuts and crosses her arms. she’s in a tiny sleep tank top and lounge pants, hair pulled up in a bun. she had just finished up a smoke session outside as she was trying to cut back on smoking at all. shoko crosses the bathroom quickly to inspect your crime scene, at least that’s what it feels like nowadays.
you had candles lit, your meticulously crafted playlist on, and your bubble bath drawn so full it was close to sloshing over the edge of the tub. it’s humid in the bathroom. shoko can already tell you forgot.
her fingers dip into your water, “no.” shoko pulls her hand back quickly, yanking the drain plug out while you blink in disbelief. “no?” you ask. “it’s too hot!” she frowns. “it isn’t. it’s just a little warm.” you retort. shoko shakes her head.
“it’s hot enough to boil an egg.” she starts fixing your bath for you, checking the temperature before you can get into it. shoko snickers as she glances over and you’re wrapped in your towel with a big frown. “it’s cold..”
“warm. and safe.” shoko interjects. you visibly melt at her words, slipped off your towel and sinking into the tub. not the best bath, but… it’ll do. “let’s make it quick— so i can warm you up in bed.”
next thing shoko knows, she’s haunched over the tub and you’re practically purring with her fingers scratching at your scalp, washing your hair. “you’re such a biiig baby.” shoko teases. you suddenly shift and try to cast a glare at her and her hands steady you back into place so she can finish. you are too sleepy to argue. “there won’t be enough space for two of you…” she trails off, noticing you’ve dozed off. shoko pokes your cheek and your eyes fly open. “hm!” your belly fully rises out of the water.
she giggles, covering her mouth. “you’ll cook them before they get here. warm is fine, no more boiling.” she’s staring at your perfectly rounded belly.
months ago you begged her for this.
“sho! we should have a baby.” you pressed up against her while she was busy at the kitchen counter, trying to cook dinner. shoko raised a brow. “not today.” your body froze up, hands dropping from her waist. “why not? our babies would be cute!”
she shakes her head, “cute in pictures, not when it’s living in your home!” you sigh. “make sure you’re tracking your fertile cycle app. did you take your birth control?” shoko starts simmering the pot and turning around. you shuffle around, looking nervous. “i take that as a no then.” this is the usual thing— you don’t track your cycle and you forget your pills frequently, thinking taking it a day later is fine.
boom— sex ban.
you’ll show her the tiniest baby outfits. wave at the cutest babies in shopping carts and strollers with a big smile. you had a fullblown case of baby fever. thus, shoko never heard the end of it. you did have serious talks about children and of course, you took the pill as did shoko watch her cycle to make sure no babies were getting made.
one night you laid back, fullying accepting and like putty in her hands. “let’s make a baby,” you sighed, “you, me, and a little us.” you peck her lips. shoko is actually the weak one when it comes to this. it doesn’t sound so bad— maybe it would be best if she tells you that later, you both could try as soon as your cycles were compatible. everything seems safe. sometimes, she’ll finish inside of you and make sure you have what you need for extra prevention. you two have been together for years and yeah, you’re right— a little one sounds good.
“they’re soo heavy.” you grimace, both hands pressing on the top of your bump. shoko realized pretty soon that you had forgotten your pill when you started getting nauseous and sleepier. one test later and you blubbered on about not knowing this would happen, shoko reminded you that you have to be punctual with your pill once again and spent the night with you in her arms. you’ll handle it all together and make the best decisions, she swore to you.
nowadays she’s the sole brain here.
the apartment is completely quiet, except for the soft sounds of white noises that shoko has been turning on for you. it's 4:35 am, everyone is asleep here and you are very much not asleep.
a thought hit you. wouldn't your wedding photo be a good touch to the nursery? the walls were pretty bare, your baby needs to be surrounded by love. so you decide that the only thing you need to be doing right now is finding the picture and putting it in the nursery.
you sit up slowly, struggling from lack of sleep and the pressure of this baby. measuring well above average, your baby shifts under your sleep shirt, gasping. "you think so too?" they shift again with a light stretch. "okay well, pee first." your nose scrunches and you're waddling as quick as possible to the bathroom.
after your quick bathroom break, you flick on the hallway light. you slowly open up the hallway closet door, trying not to make any noise as shoko has to wake up for work soon and told you how meticulous and delicate her surgery is. you don't want to interrupt her sleep.
there's the storage box; top shelf and junk stacked on top of the lid. you drag over a stool— noisy— but you don't think you're noisy at all. you climb up halfway before you pause to decide the best course of action before continuing to climb and latch onto the corner, decorations and whatnot rustling around, moving them so they don’t fall off.
"what are you doing?" a groggy voice comes from behind you, making you freeze and slowly turn to the voice. shoko stands at the end of the hall and crosses her arms over her chest with messy hair and half-lidded eyes. she scans over your figure, assessing the clear risk.
you smile sheepishly, “…uh, nothing?” shoko glances at the stool, your belly, the heavy box— then you. “get down.”
“i almost have it!”
she sighs, “get down from there.” you let out a little whine as you think you have it, not wanting to stop in the middle and give up. “it’s rea-ally important, sho!” she frowns, her expression worried. she doesn’t want you falling or to get faint while climbing high. “what on earth could possibly be so important at four— that you’re climbing on stools to get into storage?”
you point upwards. “us!”
shoko pauses, a bit confused. “…what?” she stares at the top shelf. “our wedding photo,” you said earnestly, “for the nursery… the baby should have it in the nursery.” she goes silent, arms falling to rest at her sides, shifting her weight onto her other side.
you reach up again to get a better grip, the box shifting, far too heavy for your loose grip. your balance wobbles— shoko moving fast, one hand bracing your hip and her other hand on your back. “hey— no.”
“i’ve got this sho!” she stands there unconvinced, before her hands grip your hips firmly. “come down.” ooh… shoko sounds serious! she guides you down from the stool, acting as if she was handling something fragile. which, you were, a little bit. you huffed. “i could’ve got it myself.”
shoko snorts, “sure you could’ve babe.” she pulls the box off of the top shelf with a huff. “i just don’t want you falling or getting lightheaded. anything could happen, i don’t want to see that.” she explains. oh— she’s got you. you wander to the sofa with her so you can find your picture frames.
there’s the two of you on your wedding day, holding onto a small cake plate, pressing a fork to your lips. you’re clearly distracted by something else and white cream is stuck to your lip. “you look like a cupcake.” she murmurs, staring at the wedding gown you begged for. full of rhinestones, lace, flowers, and very big— it made her heart skip and jaw drop to see you in your dress.
“you looked so good…” you lean into her side, “now we are gonna have a baby. thankfully you kept me around?” shoko rolls her eyes, smiling at the picture. it’d been a bit over six years since and your relationship is stronger than ever. “of course i am.” she kisses you, standing to take the photo to the nursery. you’re already asleep and drooling slightly.
when you wake up in the morning, the picture’s hung up on the wall above the dresser. you’re awake to get ready to go to lunch with some friends in a few hours. shoko is so pretty in the picture, tight bodice and rhinestones all over. she had never been in the habit of getting into a dress with you. she preferred her skirts. well, more for you!
she’s already home by the time you return, picking up some books and left behind dishes on the coffee table. your front door flings open, shoko already hearing noises from you as you were unlocking the door.
cheeks pink from laughing, hair windblown, your sundress wrinkled from sitting too long, with a hand supporting the underside of your belly like a treasured melon. you waddle in, “hiiii, baby!” you sing from the doorway. shoko looks up from her book on the sofa, instantly softer hearing you.
there you are. her very cute, very pregnant, very hungry, and very distractable wife.
“how was your lunch?” shoko asks, eyes following you as you circle around the sofa. “amaziiing!!” you kick off your sparkly sandles and waddle over dramatically. you cuddle into her side instinctively and she can’t help but drape her arm over your side, thumb kneading your thigh.
you inhale her perfume, exhaling deeply. “i was starving! like, real bad. i almost ate the menu while waiting.” shoko laughs, shaking her head with a soft smile. “that bad?” you pout, nodding. “yes! the baby wanted lunch now.” shoko turns to face you more when you pull out your phone and begin to scroll through photos to show her.
you’d taken pictures of everything. the drinks, your friends and you at every store, insane desserts, you. then— shoko narrows her eyes at one. in one photo, clearly you were so hungry you only took a single picture, sits a massive deli sandwich in front of you.
stacked with a copious amount of bacon, a dab of lettuce, lots of tomato, and a mountain of turkey on soft bread. she looked at you slowly. “what’d you eat?” you kiss her neck, smiling proudly.
“a sandwich and fries!” ooh, you should take her out to eat there on her day off. maybe a roast beef would be good for next time! awh, the baby would be there… maybe they can recognize the sandwich scent? you need to pick the best lunch spot for your first lunch as mommies.
“what kind of sandwich?” shoko stares at you.
your smile dims, mind going totally blank.
“…turkey?” shoko exhales through her nose. you freeze up at her serious look. “what.” you really don’t remember! she can’t help but think of why she’s so in love with you again.
you sit up, resting back against the sofa. “was it hot?” she asks.
“no…” your eyes widen up in stages, every fact and every pamphlet shoko gave you for your diet coming back. “oh my god.” she can visibly see the gears in your brain turning as you recall them. “it’s okay—” she tries. “oh my god.” you repeat. “baby—”
“I ATE IT.” you clutch your sides before flailing your hands around, “i fed our baby POISON!” you had been so good at not eating things like certain cheeses or raw fish— you had forgot about deli meat. shoko catches your wrists gently to stop you from panicking, “hey. look at me.” she’s calm and steady toned, meeting your eyes.
your eyes are glossy and stinging with fresh tears. “i didn’t know.” you whisper, voice cracking at the end. shoko sighs, exhausted and so painfully in love with you. “i know.” shoko frowns.
“what do i do? i ate it!” you still can’t believe you did it after all the reminders. your wife is a doctor after all… she advises you on everything, your personal medical encyclopedia and especially now, she teaches you things constantly. “you do nothing— just breathe.” she sighs.
“but it’s inside me!” shoko giggles, shaking her head. “yes,” she says dryly, “that is how eating works.” a watery laugh escapes you, followed by immediate tears. you really don’t want to mess this up. you’re so worried that you’re behind in everything and you’ll never catch up. there’s only a few weeks left.
“i’m such a bad mom already.” that sentence makes a pit form in her stomach, feeling awful for you. shoko pulls you closer, nearly in her lap, making you lean into her side. she tucks you against her shoulder and slides a hand over your bump, rubbing slow circles against the side. “no,” she says quietly. “you’re not.”
you’re quiet, unlike yourself. “but i should’ve known…”
shoko shakes her head. “you’re learning. there’s a million and then some little rules no one memorizes overnight. it’s basically impossible.”
you sniffle sadly, “there’s too many.” shoko’s thumb traces along your ribcage back and forth automatically. she loves the warm weight of you, the sensation of kicks, your body that holds her two favorite people. you are amazing to her.
“a single sandwich won’t hurt you two. the concern is about reducing risk. you’ve ate there before and have never been sick from their food— so, you should be fine.” she explains to you, making sure you understand.
despite her explanation, you still blink through tears and hiccup pitifully. “so… the baby’s okay?” you asks, needing that extra confirmation from her. “very much okay.” shoko confirms. “promise?” you hold out your pinky finger for her and stare at her with sad eyes. “i’m a doctor.” she retorts.
you wrap your arms around her, burrowing your face into her neck. “my wife first.” you murmur possessively. shoko can’t help but smile at that. “then as your wife, i promise.”
shoko kisses the top of your head, making you melt into a puddle in her arms. “okay…” everything’s settled and your concerns have been answered— she always want you to be in the know, especially now. almost everyday, you ask her if certain things are okay for health and shoko always replies, even if she’s at work. “next time, if you want deli meat, we heat it first. or pick a hot sandwich. a panini, melt, toasted sandwich, whatever you want.” she offers.
you brighten up instantly, thinking of all the options there are for hot foods.
despite her warnings— it doesn’t stop shoko from coming home the next day to you sipping on a massive chocolate chip frappuccino with a cake pop in your other hand. cake crumbs dot your lips, grinning at your wife. caffeine was the first thing your doctor had told you about.
“oh my god!” your hands fly to your mouth, gasping. “oh my god! sho!” you realize again, shoko face palming with a big smile. your venti sized, sugar and caffeine loaded beverage is nearly gone. your lip wobbles. “i did it again!!!” she sighs.
best friend sevika teaching us how to kiss? 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭
⋆★⋆ inexperienced ⋆★⋆
Bsf!sevika x reader
Part II here
“No, too short” Sevika grumbled from the bed, already bored of helping you pick out an outfit for your first date.
Throwing the black mini dress into the bed, you flop next to it defeated.
“Maybe I just shouldn’t go..”
Sevika perked up at your statement, you didn’t notice.
“Yeah, I agree”
Quickly turning your head up to face her “You’re supposed to encourage me to go out and do new things! You know, best friend duties!”
“Well-“
You cut her off
“Wait what if he goes in for a kiss? I don’t know how to kiss someone!”
Your voiced shrieked at a decibel Sevika didn’t know existed.
“Can’t believe eighteen years of your life and you have never had a kiss”
She chuckles from her spot on your bed, which is covered in pink sheets and blankets.
“Ugh, it’s just scary”
A beat passes.
“I could teach you?”
Your eyes snap to her face, trying to see if she was joking, though her face remained more serious than ever.
“Wait you’d do that for me?”
“Of course, is it not considered ‘best friend duties’?”
She sits up against your headboard, motioning with two fingers for you to move up to her.
Moving yourself onto your hands and knees you crawl over to her.
“Fuck me..” she murmurs under her breath
so quietly that you can’t hear.
Sitting back on your legs with your hands resting on your thighs, her body heat radiates off of you.
“I- I don’t know what to do”
Rolling her eyes with a smirk, she brings her hand to your cheek.
“Just follow my lead, yeah?”
You look up at her through your lashes and nod your head, nervous as fuck. The thought alone that you were about to kiss your very hot best friend makes you want to curl in on yourself, but the fact that she is so blatantly rubbing her thighs together through her sweatpants makes it even more difficult.
Sevika leans forward slightly, maintaining eye contact just in case you’re uncomfortable.
Your breath hitches when your noses brush against each other, you pull backwards just a little out of reflex. You’ve never gotten past this point, it always ended in an interruption or you chicken out.
“Hey hey, you’re okay I’ve got you” her words soothing your nerves ever so slightly, which gives you enough courage to break the gap between you two.
She kisses you like you two have done this a thousand times, like this is just a normal thing you do with her.
It feels so natural and right.
Unfortunately, the moment only lasts a second and she gently pulls away.
“Did I do okay?”
Your voice is small and soft, it makes her heart flip.
“Yes angel, you did amazing”
Your heart fluttering at her praise
The name she calls you all the time sounds different now, like it has a whole new meaning.
“Can… I try again, just to make sure?”
A small chuckle escapes her mouth
“Yes, just to make sure” she teases
Lips closing in on each other, a little bit more rough than last time, but still soft.
Her hands lands on your back, slowly trailing down to your waist and tugging you to sit on her lap.
If your panties weren’t soaked before, then they definitely are now.
A involuntary whimper leaves your mouth against her lips. You can feel her grin against you as she starts to introduce her tongue to yours.
You cling to the neckline of her shirt, dizzy from the growing pleasure in your stomach.
She releases a disappointed sigh when you part mouths.
“Is this still just you teaching me?”
“Do you want it to be just me teaching you?”
You shake your head
“Text your date and tell them you’re busy”
She laughs at how fast you reach over and grab your phone.
AN: sigh I love Sevika so much my heart hurts bruh 😔 send reqs‼️
# sum : You’re 20 and still haven’t lost your virginity, you weren’t relly the type of person to go to parties and make out with random strangers before hooking up with them. Afraid or random std’s and infections. You never really seaked out a relationship as you were more interested in helping injured animals. But what happens when your friends hire a popular person in the adult content creation for your 21st birthday?
# paring : daniela avanzini x ( masc ) fem ! reader
꩜ ۫ . 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)
Summary: you’re wanda’s most loyal customer in her coffee shop. today, she finds out why, i.e. you give her your phone number on a napkin.
Pairing(s): barista!wanda maximoff x customer!reader
Warnings: cute all around, no smut but alludes to wanda being more dominant, not proofread.
Word Count: ~1.7k
a/n: few notes, reader is in her 3rd year of undergrad so it's like a transfer year or smth. And ik internships usually start in the second year of uni but for plot purposes, it doesn’t. Finance courses usually last abt 4 years, but reader is on an accelerated year-round schedule so it only takes 3. also, she plans on moving to new york after college so thats why she transferred there.
---
The first week of your internship was rough. Not only the work aspect, but your transfer to New York, setting up your apartment, and getting your bike stolen definitely contributed to the constant migraine you’ve had on the right side of your head ever since you started. Your apartment was too bare to look at, wallpaper peeling off the edges, the murky blue–muted green color scheme, and the lack of comfortable furniture made you want to spend a majority of your time away from the confines of your studio.
Luckily, you stumbled across a cute little cafe while you were wandering the city, lost on your way to campus. It’s situated in the corner, right where two roads meet. The ambience is nice and the yellow lighting is cozy, but what really draws you in is the pretty barista working the register. She’s got gorgeous, auburn hair and a beautiful smile that follows with a scrunch of her nose when she’s really happy. You gathered this knowledge from the many, many times you walked past the cafe, without ever going in. Too scared, maybe. You can’t even begin to think about how to talk to a woman like that, not that you’ve had much experience.
You spent most of your free time in a bookstore down the street from your apartment. The place had a rustic vibe that you adorned. It also had a reading nook in the corner, decorated in warm yellow—bordering towards orange—fairy lights. You decided to stop by the shop after a long day of listening to your supervisor mansplain how stock works. You didn’t finish the first 2 years of your finance undergraduate to be jaded by an egotistical man thinking that knowing something any highschooler did was impressive. You had just bought a new novel you’d been meaning to start, but free time had been scarce lately. Walking over to your usual spot near the corner, you noticed someone sitting on the sofa by the window. It’s her.
She was out of her usual work apron covered in coffee stains. Instead she wore an oversized brown blazer hung loosely from her shoulders, its soft wool draping past her hips and swallowing her frame just enough to look intentional rather than careless. Beneath it, a fitted ivory turtleneck traced the line of her neck, the bright fabric standing in quiet contrast to the rich, earthy brown of the jacket. The winter cold must be getting to her. You thought about sitting next to her, saying hi, but that’s just wishful thinking. You must’ve been staring because she looked at you—she probably felt you staring holes at her—and gave you a warm smile. You’re not sure what to do, but the polite thing was to smile back. So you did.
You looked away, trying to mind your own business, but you could still feel her eyes on you, studying you, almost. You tried to avoid her gaze, but when your eyes met hers again, just for a second, she closed her book, carrying it tucked between her arm and torso and walked towards you. Up close, she’s somehow even prettier.
Just as you’re mentally preparing for the awkward conversation you’re about to have, she walked next to you, then right past you. She left a trail of fragrance behind, something floral, memorable, and definitely pricey. Gardenia, maybe? It’s lush, intoxicating with a creamy, almost coconut-like sweetness to it.
The next day, after a morning full of lectures, you walked past the cafe again, or you tried to. After seeing her up close, you craved another glimpse of her vibrant green eyes. You eventually walked in after a brief moment of contemplation, the bell at the top of the door chimed. A loud indicator that you have entered. Upon hearing the sound, the woman at the register lifted her head up, almost automatic. She greeted you with a smile, but you figured that that was just customer service 101. Seeing her in her uniform, your eyes landed on the plastic nameplate attached on the upper right side of her work apron.
Wanda.
The name suits her. It’s cozy, but could be elegant. Warm, but carries a rustic charm. She speaks up before you do.
“Hi darling, what can I get for you today?”
“Hi,” you say, voice lower than it would’ve been if you were slightly more confident. “I’ll just take an americano please, but could you add another shot in that?” you ask. You were actually planning to finish your essay on corporate finance, so you needed the extra caffeine.
“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t drink too much coffee. You’ll get jittery,” she teases, nose scrunching like you’ve noticed from all those times you’ve seen her through the window. You wanted to reply, but all you could get out was a small chuckle, head tilting down as you blush when she called you a “pretty thing.”
The rest of the interaction went as expected. Your drink only took a few minutes before it made its way to your hands, warming them in the cool air of the cafe. You carried it to the corner of the room by the window. You’ve always enjoyed working in front of a view, that way when you get bored, you can just look in front of you. You took your laptop out of your shoulder bag, silencing your phone so you had no distractions.Though it doesn't protect you from the most obvious distraction, Wanda.
You were brought out of your trance-like concentration by a soft voice on your left.
“You like corners, huh?” Wanda chuckled out while wiping down the table beside you.
“Sorry?” you replied, taking an earbud out of the ear closest to her to hear better.
“No, it’s just you were in the corner yesterday as well. In the bookstore.” So she did remember you. You weren’t sure how to respond.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess. It’s comfy.” You never really noticed your affinity to corners, but Wanda did. She reached over, leaning her body forward to wipe the surface of the table furthest from her. You would’ve thought she was paying no mind to you if it were not for the hum she made, a sound of acknowledgement.
Wanda doesn’t talk to you the rest of your stay. She probably assumed you were busy, though she did spare you the occasional glance. She took in your focused expression, eyebrows furrowed slightly and nimble fingers typing away. Of course, you didn’t realize, too caught up in your analysis.
You finished up as the sky was turning vermillion, casting an orange light through the windows of the shop. The cafe had gotten quieter since you first entered. You packed up ready to leave, yet your eyes scanned the room, wanting to at least nod a polite goodbye to Wanda before you left. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed when she was nowhere to be seen.
Working at the coffee house was quite nice, so the next day, you returned. Same order, same seat, different project. This time, you were simply drafting a couple emails to professors, mostly about upcoming assignments. You were hoping to be approached by Wanda again today, yet the time never comes. You return for the regular coffee most days of the week. Most days played out the same, you see Wanda, or another barista if she was off, though it was rarely. You order an americano, extra shot, and spend the rest of the time studying for your upcoming midterms.
Today was different. Instead of the regular black coffee, you ordered a maple latte. It was approaching the end of fall, and you deserved a break. The change shocked Wanda a little, but it was obvious that she was glad you were taking a break from the extraneous study schedule.
Business was slow today, and you had barely anything to do so you spent the time slowly sipping your latte and watching the pedestrians walk past. Wanda takes a seat beside you.
“No work today?” she asked, her head turned to face you.
“No work today,” you repeated. You felt less nervous talking to her now, maybe it’s the lack of stress plaguing your mind, or maybe it was her comforting presence. “Hence, the fun drink,” you joked, a small chuckle leaving your lips following suit after you spoke.
Wanda offered you a small smile, the rest of the muscles in her face relaxing. “Good, you were working yourself to the bone nearly everyday. I was thinking of banning you from extra espresso shots.”
She opened her mouth again, as if wanting to say more, unfortunately she was interrupted by the chime of the bell. She stood up to assist the customer. You wanted to ask her out, really, really bad. Knowing you, you probably would’ve stuttered yourself into death by embarrassment before you could utter the words “Will you go out with me?”
So you did what you could. You wrote your phone number with sharpie on a napkin and left it on your table. When Wanda picks it up to clean, she’d see it. You kept the note simple with a “Call me?” right below your number. You left the shop feeling anxious, though a little giddy. All there was left was to wait for her call.
It came sooner than you expected. A sultry voice cut through the line.
“I was wondering when you would ask me out. Was taking so long, I was about to do it myself.” she started. “How about dinner on Thursday?”
“Uhm, yeah. Thursday’s great. Where are we going?” you asked.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. Send me your address, I’ll pick you up,” she said, with an assertive tone that you hadn’t heard before. You felt a sudden warmth in your chest at that. If she said that to you in person, she might have seen a sharp rush of blood appearing as a pink hue on your cheeks.
Sevika’s crush on you starts quiet — like a spark caught in her chest that she doesn’t know what to do with. You’re from the Lanes too, always hanging around the same scrapyard she does, scavenging for bits to trade. She likes watching how careful your hands are when you pick through the junk, the way you hum when you find something good. It’s stupid, she tells herself. You’re just some girl with a pretty smile. But she can’t stop staring.
She doesn’t know how to talk to you, so she doesn’t. Not directly. Instead, she starts showing up wherever you are. If you’re fixing something? She’s there, pretending to need parts too. If you’re talking to someone? She lingers nearby, pretending to be busy while glaring at anyone who gets too close. She thinks she’s being subtle. Everyone else knows she’s not.
The first time you actually talk to her, it’s because she helps you carry something heavy — an engine core twice your size. You smile at her and say, "You’re stronger than you look." Sevika swears her brain short-circuits. She mumbles something like, "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta help the weak ones," trying to sound cool. You laugh. She spends the rest of the night lying awake, replaying that laugh over and over like a fool.
Sevika’s not good with feelings. So she channels them into stupid acts — punching guys who tease you, fixing things you leave half-broken, leaving gifts on your doorstep and pretending it wasn’t her. A wrench. A chunk of shimmer ore. A small knife she sharpened herself. You always somehow know it’s her, even when she denies it.
The day she hears someone else flirt with you, she sees red. She’s halfway through decking the guy before she even realizes it. You pull her back, scolding her, telling her it wasn’t a big deal. She just grumbles something about "he had it coming." But when you look at her with those soft eyes and say, "You don’t have to fight for me, Sevika," she doesn’t know how to tell you that she already would — a hundred times over.
She starts training harder after that. Fights in the underground rings, takes hits just to prove she can handle them. When you patch her up after one of those fights, scolding her for being reckless, she feels something heavy in her chest. You’re touching her — gentle, careful — and for a second, she wishes she could just stay in that moment forever.
Sevika’s friends tease her constantly. "That’s your girl, huh?" they’d joke, nudging her when you pass by. She always denies it, rough voice snapping "Shut up, she ain’t mine." But when you turn around and wave at her, her whole posture changes — shoulders dropping, expression softening. She waves back awkwardly. And yeah, they all see it.
Once, she walks you home after curfew. Zaun’s streets are darker than usual, filled with shimmer mist and danger, but you’re laughing the whole way — telling her some dumb story about your day. She doesn’t even listen to the words; she just watches your face glow in the flickering neon lights. When you thank her for walking you, she says, "Anytime." And she means it.
One night, she finally blurts it out. Not a confession — not quite. Just a half-mumbled, "I like… being around you.” You grin and say, “I like being around you too, big girl." Sevika turns scarlet. You don’t see her for three days after that. When she finally shows up again, she’s grumpier than usual, but her eyes find yours across the room, and that tiny, secret smile gives her away.
Years later, when she thinks back to her youth — to the mess, the fights, the hunger, the shimmer haze — she’ll remember one thing clearly: you. The girl who laughed too loud in a city that ate softness alive. The one who made Sevika feel something before the world hardened her. And if she ever catches herself smiling for no reason, it’s probably because she remembered that feeling again — the way her heart used to beat faster when you said her name.
Summary : Baran and her wife both get jobs at the PTMC. Keeping their relationship secret to stay professional proves a little harder than they thought it would be when Princess and Perlah see the two of you leaving together.
Warnings / tags : tooth rotting fluff, minor sexual references, pet names (azizam, my love)
Notes : THIS REQUEST WAS SOOOO CUTE i had so much fun writing this after getting back from break lmao
The alarm clock rings beside your bed, immediately causing you to groan and slowly open your eyes. The first thing you see; Baran Al-Hashimi, smiling down at you. Clearly, your wife had already been awake for hours. As per usual.
“Good morning, azizam.” She says softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, gently brushing your hair to the side. “Work in an hour, okay?”
You and Baran have been working at the PTMC for a week and a half now. Neither of you were sure about the job when you were offered the position of interim Chief of Surgery—filling in for a Dr. Allan, who is now out on maternity leave—until Baran was offered her position as the new attending for the hospital’s ED. It was like the stars had aligned. You two started together that same week.
No one at work knew about the two of you. You’d agreed to keep your marriage quiet just to avoid the gossip you two knew would come with a relationship as coworkers. It had been working. Mostly. Well, other than with two of the doctors from the ED. Dr. Mohan and Dr. King. Samira knew the second you came down to The Pitt to help with a case. She recognized you from some photos Baran had shown her when they worked together, of you with her son. Samira, being Samira, was just happy to see you. She pretty much figured your relationship was a given after her work with Baran in the past. You hadn’t been coworkers back then, but, still, Samira was nothing but supportive. Dr. King figured it out… a little differently, having never actually met or seen any photos of Baran’s wife in the time they worked together. When you were leaving the ED after coming to “check on a patient” (Baran’s son was sick and you had to tell her before leaving to go pick him up) Mel spotted the two of you. Mid kiss. Then watched you pull away, staring at Baran with lovesick eyes, hands slid into her hair, holding her close. She actually let out an audible “awww” at the sight. When you both had turned to look at her, she just smiled, gave an awkward thumbs up, mouthed a quiet “sorry” and headed out to go catch her bus. Similarly to Samira, Mel just assumed your relationship was a given. A really cute given.
After the two women were in the loop, work was even easier. Baran had already been close with Samira, but now found herself checking in on both her and Mel more than the other doctors. Almost… maternally. With such trust and care that the two women always thought of Baran first for advice—in and outside of work. And with you? They actually got a little gossip about Baran. Well, not necessarily gossip. More like… stories about dates, about your family trips with your son, all the sickeningly romantic insights into Baran’s personal life that she usually kept far from her work life. Plus, you obviously weren’t too bad at giving medical advice. You and Baran showed up as support like water in a desert for two young doctors who both desperately needed something of a loving mother figure in their lives.
“There you are.”
Baran’s voice comes out softly from behind you in the hospital locker room. The day had gone by fast—only a few major surgeries today along with some smaller cases—and, of course, Baran found you as soon as she could slip away from her shift after night shift handoffs.
“Ready to go, my love?” She asks as she comes up behind you, arm sliding around your waist, lips pressing to the side of your neck.
“Ready.” You nod back, tilting your head to catch her lips in a kiss. Baran responds immediately, smiling against your mouth, curls—messy from her shift—brushing your neck as she leans in.
“Alright.” She mumbles as she pulls away for just a moment. “Kaveh is waiting at home with the babysitter. I told him we’d read him his book tonight for his reading journal for school.” Baran leans back in for another chaste, soft kiss between every word, even when she’s trying to be serious about planning her son’s nightly routine. “And I'm confident most of the ED staff has already left. So I'm sure we’re good to go.”
Baran finally pulls away after one last lingering kiss. She’s got a soft smile on her lips. The kind she always has when she looks at you with those big, loving eyes. Especially when she catches you like this, practically melting into her touches.
“Perfect.” As you sling your bag over your shoulder, you take Baran’s hand, leaning in for one quick kiss as you walk off towards the staff parking lot.
The sun is already almost fully set as you step outside. Baran is telling you about a case as you walk hand in hand towards the car. It’s quiet. Just the two of you, walking together, debriefing the day like usual.
Except it’s not like usual. Not exactly. Because, across the parking lot, leaning against her car is Princess. Sharing a bag of fruit snacks with Perlah, both gossiping in low voices as they watch the city. And then Perlah looks up. The first thing she sees is her attending… hand in hand with the chief of surgery. Her eyes go wide. She nudges Princess immediately, snapping her out of the story she was telling about Dr. Robby and Whitaker. Princess lets out an audible gasp at the sight. No one in the ED knew anything much about Baran’s personal life. And now she’s here, sliding into her car with her coworker in tow. They come to their conclusion in a matter of seconds:
Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi is fucking the chief of surgery.
For the next week, Princess and Perlah really try to keep it quiet. Dana is the first to hear. Just because of a little slip up! And then Trinity. That one… well, that was on purpose. Their gossip circle doesn’t keep any secrets. Especially not ones this juicy. And then, like dominoes falling into line, Dennis figures out. And Javadi.
Yeah, it actually only takes 6 days for half the ED to think that their attending is sleeping with their chief of surgery. Not even an entire week. It’s a shock that by the time two weeks pass of everyone on the staff trying to catch you and Baran together, no one’s let anything slip in front of Baran.
But of course that dam had to break eventually.
When you’re leaving after coming down to help with a case—some idiot teenager having fallen off a skateboard—Trinity finally asks what everyone has been thinking.
“Okay, are you two…” She gives Baran a look, raising her eyebrows. It’s pretty fucking clear what she means. “…or do you just give goo-goo eyes to every new chief of surgery?”
The room goes quiet. Samira, who is just taking off her gloves, looks totally confused. Everyone else is watching Baran.
“We are sleeping together, if that’s what you’re asking, Dr. Santos.” Baran says it so casually. With an almost smug smile on her face. And without any kind of further explanation, she tosses her gloves into the disposal bin and heads for the door. “I’m going to go check in on that asthma case.”
Trinity’s eyes are wide as she watches Baran leave the room. She turns to Samira with her jaw slack. “Dr. Al is fucking the chief of surgery. No fucking way.”
Samira just blinks. “Well, yeah.”
“Yeah?” Trinity scoffs. “Come on, this is big news for Robo-doc.”
“But, I mean… they’ve been married for 16 years. It’s not that surprising that they’re still… active.” Samira looks around the room, brows furrowing when she sees the shock on Trinity, Cassie and Dana’s faces. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“16 years.” Dana’s the one who perks up next. “Dr. Al’s been married for 16 years? And didn’t think to mention that to anyone?” She shakes her head, a real smile on her lips. “I’ll be damned.”
“You mean you guys didn’t know?” Clearly, Samira had been a little out of the loop with the circulating gossip.
In the following weeks, you practically become a member of the ED staff. Every time anyone passes you in the hall, they give a warm smile and a quick hello. Trinity even goes as far as to stop you and ask if Baran’s been keeping any other major secrets she can tell Princess and Perlah. Baran stays professional, as always, at work… but gets a little less careful once her shifts end. She kisses you outside the doors to The Pitt before leaving, long and slow after rough shifts, not caring who sees anymore. Robby even sees Baran playfully slap your ass one time as you’re leaving the department. He chooses to say nothing.
Samira and Mel even end up closer to you. Sometimes, they go as far as to make up excuses just to visit the surgery unit to ask you for advice on… anything, really. Whenever Baran sees you talking to one of the two of them, she softens just a bit. The same way she does when she sees you playing with Kaveh—that maternal, guiding instinct she always loves seeing shining through like warm sunlight through the blinds of your bedroom. It’s those moments when she always falls just a bit more in love with you.
