cjjohansson

[cjjohansson]

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

or: natasha not acting like herself at all when it comes to anything pregnancy-related

part of the short n’ sweet universe

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: the header is atrocious. the pictures don’t match at all. also, this one’s more of a quick oneshot than a full, detailed story (mainly because there’s like no plot lol). hope you’ll enjoy reading, anyway :)

fair warning—this entire thing makes sns nat seem like the biggest idiot alive. i promise that’s not the case, these are just some of her worst moments lol 😭

summary: natasha being deep in the pregnancy/newborn trenches; based on following prompt: nat being freaked out about pregnancy things in short n sweet au

warnings: gagging/spitting, smut (brief, part of the plot ig?), childbirth, mentions of blood and bodily fluids

word count: 5.6k

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Eyes wide open, Natasha stares at the creation on the plate you just carried into the living room.

She lowers the PlayStation controller and clears her throat. Oblivious, you shift on the couch and stretch out your legs. She pokes your thigh.

"Yeah?", you ask, looking away from the tv screen. She raises her eyebrows pointedly.

"What the fuck is that."

"Oh." You tilt the plate a little to show it to her. She immediately grimaces. "Pickles in fruit roll-ups with some whipped cream on the side!"

"Dear god", she mumbles, trying her hardest not to judge. You're pregnant, after all, but those pregnancy cravings aren't for the weak. "You sound excited, too. Jesus Christ."

You hum, already grabbing one of the rolls and taking a bite. Pickle juice leaks, dripping down your finger and onto the big dollop of whipped cream. Natasha gags quietly.

"You're exaggerating", you say through a mouthful of the sour-sweet-fatty concoction. "Try it!"

"Over my dead body", she says, jumping up from the couch and abandoning her video game. You raise your eyebrows, wiggling a pickle-roll. "Quit that."

"Just one bite", you say. "I'm literally carrying your kid. May as well see what they like."

Natasha points a finger at you. "Don't blame this on them. This is on you."

You frown, taking another deliberately slow bite and savoring it. The oh-so-tough athlete almost loses it.

"It's good", you insist. You get up — a difficult task, thanks to the basketball-sized bump you're carrying around. Yes, Natasha measured it. It's basketball-sized.

She jumps backwards and bumps into a potted plant. You hear your mom's voice from upstairs.

"What are you kids doing?"

"Nothing", you call. You hold out your newest craving and tilt your head, plush glossy lips forming a pout. "One little bite. Just a tiny one."

Natasha stares at it, hesitating. The Red 40 roll-up. The pickle, still oozing juice. The poor whipped cream, now dissolving into a white puddle.

Forget any basketball-injury she's ever had. She's pretty sure this might be the thing that ends her career.

Your eyes light up when she leans in. Teeth first bite down on something soft yet firm. Then, something crunchy. It's sweet and sour and rich and so absolutely vile she reaches for the potted plant.

"Not in there!"

Natasha shakes her head and gags, almost spitting everything out. "You trying to kill me?!"

You scrunch up your nose when a mixture of pickle juice, drool and whipped cream runs down her chin. You grab a napkin and hand it to her, and she spits into it.

"You've literally helped me with a clogged milk duct. I think you'll be fine."

Natasha shoots you a glare. Her eyes are teary, and she's still letting out little coughs and sniffles. "You're bringing that up now?"

"You didn’t seem to mind it, so I think it's worth mentioning", you say, grabbing a new pickle roll and taking a bite. She whines quietly.

"This is worse than your sardines and onions-phase, you know."

You tilt your head. Right, that one. It took you about two weeks until you lost the appeal there. Good thing fatty fish is actually beneficial for the baby, or Natasha would've banned it.

She grabs her water bottle and chugs until it's almost gone. Then she rubs her face and nods at your plate.

"Could you, uh..."

You frown. "Could I what?"

She shifts uncomfortably. "Maybe eat that...somewhere else...?"

You stare at her. Oh, wow. You're the pregnant one, the one who went through morning sickness and swollen feet, the one who can barely sleep at night ever since your belly has gotten this big, but some pickles and roll-ups are too much for her?

Apparently, Natasha didn't consider the fact you're currently visiting your family.

..."Mom!"

Her eyes widen in an instant. She shakes her head, jumping forward and grabbing you. Your mom likes her, sure, but she feels like something like this wouldn't be tolerated anyway.

"I was kidding!"

Muscular arms hold you against her body. You squirm and try to make your way out of her embrace, but she's strong and stubborn (and a little afraid of possible maternal rage), so she plops down onto the couch and keeps you in her lap.

Pregnant and exhausted, you slump into her.

"Screw you."

"I wasn't being serious, babe."

"Sure."

"I promise", she adds. After a beat of hesitation, she tightens her grip on you. "But no more pickles in roll-ups."

You stare at her, battling the urge to call for backup again. Natasha knows you well by now — too well. She leans in and kisses you, ignoring the lingering taste of pickle brine and artificial fruit. You make a noise of protest, but she deepens the kiss, and your resistance softens and turns into acceptance.

Thanks to your heightened sensitivity, it takes about two minutes until you're both flushed and on your way to the privacy of your old bedroom. No matter what, Natasha's won. She's about to get laid and the stupid pickles lay forgotten.

. . .

Naked and skin slick with sweat, you lie tangled in the sheets of Natasha's bed.

It's quiet in her dorm, and cold as well. You're tucked against her side, your belly resting against her hip. She cups it, rubbing gently, and her eyes drift downward. Suddenly, she pauses.

You're far too spent and comfortable to question her reaction, so you just hum. When she pokes your belly button, though, your eyes flit to her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Are you...okay?"

You frown, still not understanding what's wrong. You look at your belly button and huff when you see how it's popped out. Your breath being released so rapidly even makes it billow a little more, and when you inhale, it gets smaller again.

Natasha stares at it, her hand frozen in place. From sprained ankles to busted lips, broken noses to actual bloodshed — she's seen just about everything. But your belly button doing this weird thing? Being popped out? This...growing and contracting? It might be too much.

"You're a pussy", you say, rolling your eyes. "How do you plan on seeing your kid actually be born?"

"You want the honest answer?"

You ram your elbow into her side, knocking all the air from her lungs. A quiet 'oof' sound escapes her, and she reaches between your bodies to get ahold of your arm.

"Did pregnancy make you lose your sense of humor as well?", she asks. You huff again, and your belly button does the thing again, and Natasha visibly recoils. You glare at her. "I'm sorry, it's just-"

"Gross?", you snap. She shakes her head, hoping you're not about to kick her out of her own dorm.

"No, just...unusual?" She swallows. "I thought it stays inside."

"Are you stupid? Genuinely."

This time, it's her turn to look offended. Though, she doesn't have much of a reason for that. She's the one who started this, after all. She could've grabbed a blanket and covered you with it, using the coldness of the room as an excuse. But no.

"You're the one who let 'stupid' knock you up", she shoots back, sinking into the mattress again. You scoff, but don't say anything.

Silence, at least for a few minutes. Then, she sees a little bulge form on the side of your belly. Just like that, she's sitting up straight again.

"Their foot?", she asks, touching the spot. The look you give her answers the question. "Alright, alright. Should've been obvious."

You hum, adjusting your position and resting your back against a couple pillows. It's the only way you don't get out of breath when doing anything even remotely physically demanding.

Natasha's forgotten about the belly button. Her focus is entirely on the baby now, or to be more exact, the baby's kicks against your stomach. Her palm presses against your skin, her breath being held. You tap your fingers against the other side, hoping to coax out another kick.

It works. Her face lights up, and suddenly, you've forgotten about the belly button-fiasco.

More kicks. Against her palm, mostly, and some against the top of your bump. Then, the baby starts turning and shifting. What was once cute and enthralling quickly turns horrifying. Natasha has no idea how a living being this tiny can achieve that, but your stomach is moving like there's an alien inside. Or maybe she just watched a few horror movies too many.

It's shifting, morphing, rolling under your skin. An exorcism suddenly seems like a reasonable option.

She pulls back her hand, eyes nervously flickering toward you. You're fighting to keep your eyes open, though. You're not exactly comfortable like this.

"You're joking."

She gestures at your stomach. "Does that not hurt?"

"It's not nice", you agree, adjusting your position once more. Natasha quickly reaches out to steady you. "But it's not too bad."

"It looks painful", she mumbles, blinking in disbelief. The baby stops for a moment, then continues with the water gymnastics. She rubs her forehead. "No one told me pregnancy could be this..."

"Creepy?"

"Yeah."

You snort tiredly. "Honestly, just give me the damn blanket. I'm done with you for tonight."

"No, no", she suddenly says, shaking her head. She feels bad. Never did she intend to make you want to cover up because of her. "Don't. I'm being an idiot. Ignore me."

You tilt your head and lift your hand to cup her jaw. Natasha looks at you, softening entirely. "Is it really that bad?"

"No", she assures you, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "It's a me-issue. I'm the only one stupid enough to get freaked out by it."

You want to roll your eyes, but she's all over you again. Kissing your cheek, your nose, your lips, touching everywhere and anywhere. Whether she's smothering you in love or distracting you from her stupidity — it's working, unfortunately. She's a charmer and always will be. An expert at smooth-talking herself out of situations she got herself into.

. . .

It's no secret that, when your water breaks, amniotic fluid leaves your body.

Natasha knew that. She'd prepared herself for it. So when she sees it drip down your legs on the way to the hospital, she isn't too fazed. She doesn't even care it's getting on her car's seat. She'll just have it cleaned. Honestly, she's just glad you've made it to the hospital in time.

"Help", you say, one leg awkwardly hanging out the car, tiptoes touching the ground.

"Huh?" Natasha, who's been in the digging through the trunk to get everything you packed, glances at you. She quickly straightens up. "Oh! Fuck, sorry love."

"No, no", Daisy says, returning with a wheelchair. "Get those bags, Romanoff. I'll help her."

"But-"

"Shush", Wanda insists, backing her up. You let her help you into the wheelchair and sigh once you're seated. "All good?"

"Well, I guess."

Natasha, apparently benched from helping her own girlfriend, lets out a sigh and follows behind you. Right as you enter the hospital, she swoops in and steals the wheelchair from Daisy.

You notice how the ride suddenly becomes shaky, if only for a second. There's not much time to focus on that, though. Another contraction hits, and though the pain is still relatively mild, it's enough to make you shut your mouth.

"I'll handle this now", Natasha says. You're waiting in line for the maternity unit admissions desk, and Daisy and Wanda are still hanging around. Daisy frowns. "No, don't give me that look. We don't need a crammed delivery room."

Daisy lifts her eyebrows. Natasha gives her a challenging look in return. You roll your eyes.

"For fuck's sake, just leave", you finally say, making them snap out of it. "Go, go. I'll keep you updated."

"You better", Wanda says, then nods at Daisy. They kiss you goodbye and head out.

You shift in the wheelchair, trying to find a way to make this entire experience more comfortable. But that's not the point of labor, and no matter how much you wiggle around, it's doomed to get way worse before it can get better.

Natasha glances at you, and that's when the realization finally hits her. None of this is a joke. It's not a dream she's about to wake up from. Suddenly, she kinda wishes she hadn't sent your friends away.

"You okay?", she asks, leaning over your shoulder. You shoot her a weak glare. "Alright, got it."

"Just fill out the form."

She nods and does as told. You wait, arms crossed and head leaned back, and look up when she stops writing.

"You're done?"

"I may need a new form."

"What?" You sit up, grabbing the clipboard from her. "Oh my god. How did you manage that?"

Natasha gestures helplessly. Somehow, despite the fact you aren't even engaged, she managed to put 'Romanoff' as your last name.

"I think they call that manifesting."

"I swear to god, I will-" You exhale sharply and put your hand on your belly. "Fix that now."

A while later, you make it into the delivery room. You're about to get on the bed, Natasha helping you, when a fluid literally gushes out of you. She stops in her tracks.

"Please tell me you didn't pee. I'm begging you."

You glare at her, now both miserable and embarrassed. "My water broke, idiot."

"But it already-"

"Yes, yes, I know. It can happen twice."

Natasha raises her eyebrows, but thankfully doesn't say anything. She sits down next to you and kisses your cheek. Her arm wraps around you but you pull away. She frowns, clearly offended. Sure, you're in labor, but you're not one to reject her like that.

You notice the look on her face and roll your eyes. You gesture at her basketball jersey. "You're still sweaty."

She huffs. "Not that sweaty."

"Sweaty enough."

She wants to say 'fuck you', she really does. But you're having her baby, and she'd rather be found dead than cursing out the mother of her child.

Neither of you have gone through labor before, obviously. You have seen videos of it during childbirth class — women screaming in agony, blood, wailing babies — but seeing it on video and actively going through it are two completely different things.

You spend the first few hours doing fine. You talk, watch tv, even manage to take a small nap. Right as Natasha presses her lips to your belly, though (for good luck), you almost shoot off the bed.

"Oh fuck."

She stares at you, alarmed. "What?"

You shake your head and bite back a cry. It's too early to scream, it's too early to scream — you keep repeating that same sentence like a mantra, but lord, is it hard.

Natasha curses when you grip her hand. You're not exactly the strongest person she's met, so this has no business being that painful.

"You're crushing my bones!"

"You did this to me", you mutter through gritted teeth. "Your stupid bones will be fine."

Fair enough. Still, she shifts in pain until your grip finally loosens. She shakes her hand and inspects it. She was wrong: if anything ends her career, it'll be you.

More contractions. More screaming. Natasha, slowly losing her mind because she's worried to death about both you and the baby. Blood, tons of it. Natasha feeling faint. A nurse splashing her with cold water.

Labor seems to take forever until it suddenly goes really fast. The nurses scramble, the midwife says something Natasha doesn't hear. Then, a scream. Tiny but powerful, coming out of a pair of lungs that'll continue to grow for a while. Someone announcing that it's a boy.

Natasha sobs and glances at your baby — and suddenly, she understands why some people say newborns look funny.

It's not like she doesn't love him. All it took was seeing him on a grainy screen months ago, and she was smitten. But he's swollen, and pink, and covered in some weird substance that makes him look icky.

She looks at you when you nudge her. You're exhausted, dark circles under your eyes and your face pale. Baby hairs are sticking to your sweaty temples.

"How is he?"

"Beautiful", she assures you, kissing your cheek. No way is she going to be honest. You've gone through enough — you don't need to hear your girlfriend say your son looks like a shriveled up potato. "He's gorgeous."

You lift your head a little, but immediately let it drop back into the pillow. "Are you blind?"

"Oh, come on."

"He looks like a tiny old man."

"Careful", she mumbles, watching the nurse pat the baby dry and carry him to you, "they're about to put the 'tiny old man' on your chest."

Up close and a quick cleanse with a towel later, he doesn't actually look that much like an old man anymore. Or maybe that's your hormones kicking in. Whatever — you're both in love, feeling like you're floating. You both ignore what's happening around you and instead focus on the little life squirming in your arms.

That is, until you start to feel pain again. Natasha looks at your midwife and frowns, about to interrupt, when she casually holds up the placenta. A bumpy tissue, covered in blood vessels, dark and disgusting.

"What the fuck is that?"

"The placenta!" Your midwife looks way too proud. Seeing the look on Natasha's face, she wiggles the afterbirth a little. That's her favorite part of labor — poking fun at squirmy partners. You give her an unimpressed look when she gags. "Some people eat it."

She stares at her. "You're kidding."

"I'm not! You can also turn it into pills, or tinctures-"

"Tell her to stop talking", she pleads, looking at you. All she gets is a brief glance, though. You're way too focused on the newborn you're holding. "Babe."

"Anna?", you say, absently rubbing the baby's back. "Show it to her up close."

"NO."

"Oh dear." Anna tuts and puts the placenta aside. She takes off her gloves and washes her hands. "Go, focus on your baby. I'll get rid of the afterbirth."

You nod, adjusting the baby a little. Natasha exhales in relief.

Focusing on a tiny baby is much nicer than a bloody, alien-looking organ, after all.

. . .

"There you go", she says, helping you sit down. "Does it hurt bad?"

"I'm fine", you grit. It's embarrassing enough that she has to help you go to the bathroom now. You're not going to describe the pain you feel in detail. "Check on Niko for me?"

Natasha nods. It's been a week since he was born, and you've been home for a few days. It's going fine, mostly. You're healing and adjusting well. Niko is an easy baby too, so far, and you feel lucky. The only issue is that you tore while giving birth, which meant a couple stitches and at least three weeks of pain.

"Call me if you need me", she says, brushing some hair out of your face. She steps out the bathroom and closes the door to give you some privacy, then she makes her way into the living room.

Niko's in his crib, slowly waking up from his nap. He stretches and grunts quietly, his lips briefly pulling into a pout. The moment she takes one look at him, it's over. She's entranced, watching him like he's the most fascinating little human in the entire world. Which he probably is, at least in her eyes.

She scoops him up and places him against her chest. He squeaks, as babies tend to — it scared the crap out of her at first, because he sounded like a damn chew toy. But now, it's almost cute enough to make her tear up.

"Oh, it's so stuffy in here, huh?", she mumbles, bouncing him gently. She walks around the room with him, and when her eyes land on the stroller next to the front door, she's already forgotten about a certain someone who's stuck on the toilet. "You want to go on a walk, bud? Hm? I wouldn't mind getting my steps in for today."

It's not surprising that Niko doesn't react to her suggestion. She kisses the top of his head and carefully carries him to the stroller. Once she's bundled him up in a fleece suit and a couple other warm clothes and blankets, she shrugs on a jacket and steps into the hallway with him.

The door falls shut. You, still sitting in the bathroom, hear the muffled sound.

"No way. Nat?"

Nothing. Silence. You try again, but no response comes. You stare at the door and the finality of it all sinks in.

You, on the toilet, pants down and abandoned. No way to get up. Natasha, gone, taking your infant son on a walk. Mother first, girlfriend second — that's how it's going to be, apparently.

You wouldn't mind it that much if she hadn't left you in this vulnerable position. Walking is difficult enough already. The stitches burn, everything down there burns. Peeing is like a punishment right now. At least you had Natasha to help you.

And now? Now you're stuck on the toilet, helpless and betrayed, silently plotting her murder.

Dumb and poetic is what Daisy had called her right after you'd started putting on the PDA during spring break. Back then, you'd defended her. Said that Natasha isn't dumb, actually defended her. You're not so sure now, though.

Natasha, in the meantime, is unbothered. She's just rounded the corner of the building, Niko still wide awake in his stroller and staring at nothing in particular. She remembers reading that it takes a while for babies' eyesight to develop, so he's probably only seeing blurry shapes.

"You know what sounds good?", she mumbles, suppressing a yawn. He's an easy baby, yes, but that doesn't mean he sleeps through the night. "Coffee. Mhm. Some caffeine."

They enter a coffee shop. You stare at the floor, silently debating whether trying to get up by yourself would be worth it. Maybe you'd make it to your phone, so you could call her. Or you'd get straight to business and deflate every single basketball in her collection. Maybe smash her PlayStation, too.

Natasha orders a coffee for herself and, out of habit, a decaf vanilla iced coffee for you. As soon as she's grabbed both, she freezes. She's had the feeling that she forgot something ever since she left the apartment, and now she finally remembers.

"Crap", she curses, putting one coffee into the cup holder attached to the stroller and holding the other. She starts pushing with one hand, but it's not nearly fast enough. She can't risk spilling coffee all over the baby, after all. "Shit! What did we do?!"

Niko's slowly dozing off again. Screw 'we' — this is not the baby's fault. He's not an accomplice. She can't blame anyone but herself. Who in their right mind would think that a one week old wants to go on a spontaneous walk, after all? He would've been fine at home, maybe with an opened window and a snuggle session in the rocking chair.

She's sprinting now. The coffee is literally one wrong step away from spilling, but whatever. It's iced coffee, and Niko's all bundled up, and it'd probably do less damage than whatever you plan on doing to her.

As the doors of the building's elevator close, she gets a text. You somehow made it to your phone.

You: you're fucking kidding — 11.32am

You: 20 MINUTES — 11.32am

She's sweating, staring at the screen. Six more floors. The messages keep coming.

You: are you aware that I need to pump?? — 11.32am

You: do you know how PAINFUL THIS IS YOU MORON — 11.33am

You: you're sleeping on the fucking couch — 11.33am

Natasha: sorry :( — 11.34am

You did, in fact, make her sleep on the couch.

. . .

There was no doubt Natasha would be a great mom. You knew it from the beginning. Despite the initial shock, despite the dumb comments, despite her sometimes being absolutely clueless — she was trying her best, always.

She picked out baby clothes. She assembled furniture. She made sure to find the best apartment for your little family. And when Niko finally arrived, safe and sound and perfect, you only became more certain that she'd do just fine.

A few weeks later, you're still convinced. Having a newborn is hard. Late night feedings, changing diapers, worrying constantly. Trying to learn the baby's cues, catching up on sleep, needing time for each other but knowing that won't be possible for a while.

It's hard, but Natasha's doing excellent so far. She's balancing school, basketball and parenthood. She cooks lunch and cleans the apartment. She holds you at night, when you're too tired to function, and carries Niko around when he won't sleep. It's exactly why you can't really blame her when she struggles to do one thing.

Diapers. They've been her kryptonite since the very first day. She changes them — but she complains.

"God", she mutters, scooping Niko up and carrying him to the changing table. You decided to put it into the bedroom for now, since you spend a majority of your time here anyway. "Why me?"

"I'm not supposed to get up too much", you say, snuggling into the blankets. "Besides, you've got to change a few of the poopy ones, too."

"Yeah, yeah." She huffs, gently putting him down. "That smell, though. What the fuck does he eat? Taco Bell?"

"He basically eats what I eat, just...in the form of breast milk."

"That doesn't seem right."

You grin, shoving your hand into a bag of Cheetos. "Yeah, I don't think it is."

Natasha hums and slowly opens his onesie. He's still small and fragile, and her hands look huge compared to his body, so changing him feels similar to defusing a bomb. As soon as she's opened his diaper, though, she recoils and gags.

You look at her, frowning. "What?"

"Do you smell that?"

"I'm literally right next to you. Yes, I do. Just change it."

Another attempt leads to another gag. She's tearing up now, her eyes red. "Fucking hell. Buddy, what did you do?"

Niko's merely a month old, so he can't do much more than exist. He makes one of those baby noises that usually melt Natasha's heart, but right now, not even that comforts her.

"He didn't do anything." You give her a lazy glance. "Let me tell you something. Stop complaining and maybe you'll score tonight."

"What?" Her head whips around. "Babe, it's only been a month. You can't yet, you-"

"Yes, but I'm creative." You gesture at the tv, which usually means 'shut up, I'm watching my show.'

Natasha sighs, but something about your promise seems to have worked. She's fighting for her life, but she does it, and realizing she managed to put him into a fresh diaper feels like a victory in itself. You hum in acknowledgment, giving her a quick wink, and she couldn't be prouder as she scoops the baby into her arms again.

. . .

"You're sure?"

"Love, it's been almost three months." You shift underneath her, hands gripping the front of her jersey.

The moment she walked into the apartment this evening, you were all over her. You're not sure what exactly provoked it. Maybe seeing her in her jersey, all sweaty and rugged. Or not being with her like this ever since Niko was born. Whatever it was — it made you grab her and slam your lips against hers.

Natasha hesitates. Again, you haven't done this since you gave birth. Not because you didn't want to, but because it's recommended to wait. If it were up to you, you would've waited a month at most. But Natasha? Natasha's terrified. She's been blue balled for months, sure, and she gets hard at the tiniest of touches. She still prefers that over accidentally hurting you, though.

"Babe, I know, but..." She sighs, burying her face against your neck. You smell sweet, different. Like milk and sugar instead of perfume and bubblegum. "I don't know."

"Can you stop being stubborn and just fuck me?"

She huffs against your skin. Truth be told, she didn't expect you to be this assertive right away — but maybe she should've. Niko is finally asleep, after all. You've got the living room to yourselves. Tomorrow is a Sunday, which means that even if you lose sleep in order to have sex, it won't matter as much.

"Lord", she mutters, sitting up to take off her jersey. You sigh when you see her abs, still defined from exercising all evening. "I'll be gentle."

"Don't you dare", you say, sitting up and taking off your shirt as well. Natasha's eyes zero in on your breasts, softer and fuller, little wet patches on your bra. You roll your eyes and hook your finger into the waistband of her boxers, only to make it snap back.

"Hey!"

"Can you focus?"

Natasha hums, leaning in to press a kiss to your collarbone. Just like that, you forget complaining was ever an option and lay back down. She crawls on top of you, lips trailing kisses all over your neck, and dips her hand into her boxers. There's no need to touch herself, as she's already so hard it's almost painful.

Her free hand tugs at your sweatpants, silently telling you to get rid of them. You respond immediately, wiggling out of them and removing your underwear at the same time. Natasha makes an appreciative noise, her eyes trail down your body — and she stops in her tracks.

There's never an ideal moment to get labor-flashbacks. The arguably worst one, though, is getting one right as you're about to sleep with your girlfriend.

You give her a confused look, and she swallows. All she can think about now is the nightmare that is childbirth, what being fully dilated looks like, how the baby's head-

"Nat?"

"Huh?"

You raise your eyebrows. "What is it now?"

She quickly shakes her head and leans in, plush lips landing on yours. You exhale softly, cupping her face and kissing her back. Her hand dips between your legs, working you open, and you moan.

Don't look down, she thinks, adjusting herself. She grabs her cock and aligns it with your cunt. Don't look down, don't...fuck.

You give her a deadpan look. She bites her lip, looking a little like a dog who knows it's screwed up.

"Tell me."

"No", she insists, trying to kiss you again. You press your index finger against her lips and push her away. "Baby."

"I want to know", you protest. "Come on."

Natasha sighs and shifts uncomfortably. She rubs your side — you're not sure whether she's trying to calm down you or herself — and looks at the tv next to you. Some old movie is playing, but you muted it. The colors flicker on her face.

"It's just...hard to forget that a baby came out of there."

You stare at her, blinking slowly. Out of all the things she could've said, it's probably the least offensive but also most ridiculous.

"Uh, yes", you say, frowning. "I know that. I pushed that 9 pound baby out of there. Thank you for that, by the way."

"How is that my fault??"

"Are you kidding? You're..." You gesture at her entire existence. "You're a giant! And so is he!"

It's her turn to look offended now. "I don't think it's him being big that was the issue, you know."

You narrow your eyes at her. Oh, you know what she's implying. That you had trouble getting him out of there because you're tiny, and not because he's a 90th percentile baby. That she's completely innocent here, even though she put that baby inside you.

Fine, that baby being put inside you was mostly your fault. But that's not something that needs to be brought up now.

"You're saying it was my fault."

Natasha blinks. If she wasn't in trouble before, she definitely is now. You're not pregnant anymore, thank god, and that cocktail of hormones you'd been high on for weeks after you had Niko seems to have mostly worn off. That doesn't mean you can't absolutely kick her ass, though.

"I didn't-"

"You implied it!"

"Well, you are tiny! Which means that naturally, you have a harder time birthing...bigger babies."

Speaking of bigger babies — right as she says that, you hear yours fuss on the baby monitor. Your head drops into the pillow and you curse quietly. You're annoyed, yes, but you're also wet and needy.

Natasha goes completely still, staring at the little screen. He fusses one more time, then he seems to calm down again. For the moment being, at least. She exhales.

"Alright", she says, parting your thighs and kissing the little scowl off your face. "Let me make you feel good."

"Fuck you."

She smiles and kisses your cheek. "I love you."

"Whatever", you mutter, but moan when she thrusts into you. She feels good, so much better than you remember, filling you up and easing that ache a little. Her hips roll against yours, making the couch creak quietly.

Swollen lips, slick thighs, hands roaming each other's bodies. She's nestled deep inside you, bottoming out with every lazy thrust, and tingles make their way up your spine. You barely notice when she pauses.

"We forgot the condom, didn't we."

[cjjohansson]

natasha and y/n texting -

y/n: you know i respect you, right?

nat: yeah…why?

y/n: cos when i get there it’s gonna look like i don’t for a little while, not until im done with you

[cjjohansson]

𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 & 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜

prequel to juno

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: someone asked about this and honestly thank you so much for doing that, i love the idea and have been obsessing over it for weeks now. hope this does the first part justice (also i couldn’t figure out which filter i used on the first fic’s header and now this one pisses me off bc it looks different 😔)

also, i’m totally in love with this dynamic. i might keep writing oneshots about these two specifically because damn 😭 i can’t let them go

summary: college!au, fuckboy!nat and reader trying to get her to commit

warnings: smut, tipsy sex, implied dubcon (very brief, not between reader and nat), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, cheating but not really, vomiting (mentioned)—not sure if there’s anything else, but lmk if you find something so i can add it

word count: 18.5k (ik it’s long and i apologize for that but i promise it’s worth it if i may say so myself)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The basketball hits you in the back of your head.

It's not the most painful thing to ever happen to you, but the impact is enough to make you stumble. A dull ache shoots through your skull and you turn around, glaring at whoever the offender is.

Red hair, basketball jersey, hands lifted in silent apology before you can even say anything. Natasha's been walking behind you for about five minutes now and, unbeknownst to you, she's been staring a little too much. Staring hard.

Short white skirt, baby pink lacy top, high heels — it's enough to make her lose her train of thought. Paired with the sun framing your body, the sight is lethal.

It's also enough to make her forget about Clint. Once he'd realized she's staring, he knocked the ball out of her hands and sent it flying.

All she wanted to do was check out whoever's walking in front of her. Suddenly, she has to deal with an angry, no less gorgeous girl staring her down.

Her thoughts falter. Her witty self is gone. All that remains is a mushy brain and the urge to somehow turn things around.

"Say something", you demand, rubbing the sore spot on the back of your head.

"...His fault, not mine."

You tilt your head, briefly glancing at her jersey. Natasha Romanoff — you know her. Not intimately, just in passing. You exchanged names once, during Welcome Week. You’ve seen her in bars, been to some of her basketball games. Usually, she's tangled up with some other girl.

Natasha picks up the ball again. She holds it out to you, almost like a peace offering. Your lips twitch and you lower your hand from your head.

"You ever play?", she asks.

You snort. "I don't think my high heels are gym approved."

"High heels or not, I think you'd look pretty good on the court." She leans in, voice dropping to a murmur. "Or against the lockers. Pick your poison."

Next to her, Clint rolls his eyes. He's seen her do this way too many times before. Find a girl, flirt with her, take her home. Then, complain about a hangover and a phone that's getting blown up with messages and voicemails. All it leads to is another girl who got ghosted by Natasha Romanoff.

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. You're familiar enough with her reputation and, truthfully, you like to protect your peace. No need for more drama, right?

But the sweat glistens on her biceps — she must've finished basketball practice not too long ago. Loose strands of red hair curl in the moist heat. Green eyes twinkle. You look away, at the parking lot stretching out next to you. Painfully uninteresting, but you're trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory.

"You're going to the cafeteria?", you ask, finally glancing at her again. Pull yourself together.

"Mhm", she says, tossing the ball into the air and catching it with one hand. "You, too?"

"No." You tilt your head, smiling sweetly. You step back and lift your hand, waving. "Have fun!"

You turn and walk towards the main entrance, skirt swishing and heels clicking against the pavement.

All Natasha can do is stare, eyebrows raised. The basketball drops and rolls away, causing Clint to curse and chase after it, but she's still staring. Only when he returns and punches her arm does she turn around.

"What?"

"You’re not serious."

"Oh, come on. That was harmless."

"That?" He wheezes, tucking the ball under his arm. "With you, it's never harmless."

Natasha lets out a dismissive sound, but her eyes have tracked you again. She's used to girls falling into her lap, not them walking away without so much as glancing back at her.

Nothing about this is, or will be, harmless.

. . .

Natasha's not the type to spend her Fridays studying, but she has no choice. That is, if the prospect of studying includes running into someone who seems to be avoiding her.

The lighting inside the library is dim. Pages rustle, keyboards click, people murmur softly. It smells like old books and the coffee you brought along in your thermos.

On the table in front of you, you've got a real setup — laptop, books, some notes, a few pens. You're distracted, which is good. You don't notice the people entering the library, don't notice the students making a little too much noise. This way, you can study more efficiently.

You also don't notice when Natasha walks in, but she notices you. All it takes is one glance in your direction, and suddenly, she's on her way to your table.

She slides into the seat across from you and stretches out. Her legs bump into yours. When you look up, she grins faintly and crosses her arms behind her head.

"You lost?", you mumble, directing your attention toward the laptop in front of you again.

"I'm right where I want to be."

"Doubt that."

Natasha steals one of your pens and twirls it between her fingers. She stays quiet for a moment, watching you, taking you in. Oversized sweater, off-shoulder. Lacy bralette peeking out from underneath. Hair half-up, slightly messy, and a delicate necklace around your neck.

You look up and your eyes meet. You tilt your head.

"Looks like you're staying."

"Am I not allowed to?"

"As long as you left your basketball at home", you say, reaching for a marker, "it's fine."

"I told you that wasn't me", she points out, stealing the marker from you. She flicks off the cap and draws a crescent on one of your notes. You look up, eyebrows raised and lips pressed together to keep them from twitching. She shrugs. "Matches your necklace."

"I almost got a concussion", you say, grabbing the marker again. "And you were right behind me. So I'll assume it was you."

"That's odd", she says. "Girls usually don't get concussions when I'm behind them."

You scoff, tucking some hair behind your ear. Natasha hums and leans in, arms crossed on top of the table. Her eyes are a deeper green now, courtesy of the dimmer light inside the library, but they shimmer just as much.

You shake your head and shift in your chair, fingers tapping against the book in front of you. "You're here to study or piss me off?"

"A bit of both. Multitasking, you know." She tilts her chair slightly, balancing it on its back two legs, making herself comfortable.

You're still not sure what she wants from you, but you have your assumptions. You know who she is. Everyone does. Star athlete, newest captain of the university's basketball team, current record holder of hooking up with the most girls. At least that's what everyone says about her.

You're certain they have a point, though. You're witnessing it with your own eyes. Natasha Romanoff is a flirt, a fuckboy, and you're her latest victim.

"I'm here to study", you point out.

"I can see that."

"And you...?"

"Keeping you company."

"Who's saying I want company?"

Natasha shrugs. "You haven't made me leave yet."

You sigh, conceding, then lower your eyes again. You skim the vocabulary list of French in front of you. If you'd paid more attention last semester, you maybe wouldn't be struggling as much now.

Natasha leans in, glancing at the vocabulary as well. Se doucher, s'habiller, être d'accord — she glances at you, at the slightly bored look on your face, and taps your arm with a pen. You look at her.

"Ton français est déjà pas mal", she whispers, "mais j'aimerais bien entendre comment tu gémis dans cette langue."

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks before you can stop it.

There's no way she just asked you to moan in French.

"You're way too fucking bold for your own good."

"Yeah?" She hums, getting up from her chair. She walks around the table and you turn your head to keep her eyes on her, but suddenly, her mouth is right next to your ear. "I've found that it works."

You look up, slowly, until your eyes are boring into hers. Her mouth is inches away from yours, heat radiating from her plush lips. Then, your eyes dart lower. You stare at them.

She notices. Of course she does.

A smirk forms on her face. Small, barely noticeable, but irresistible. It convinces you that maybe two can play this game.

"Alors", you mumble, "fais-moi gémir."

Natasha pauses, surprise crossing her features. But then you're packing up — stacking books and papers, putting your laptop into your backpack — and she almost puts her hand on your arm.

"You were being serious?"

"Hm?" You look up, head tilted and glossy lips shimmering. You shake your head. "Oh, no. I'm going home."

"This is the second time you're doing this."

You sling the backpack over your shoulder and glance at her. "Pretty sure it's not the last time, either."

She shifts on her feet, jaw clenched and hands tucked into the pockets of her sweatpants. Before you can leave, she quickly steps in front of you.

"There's this party", she says. "Next week. Pietro's place. Perfect spot for you to reject me a third time."

"Pietro?", you ask, raising your eyebrows.

"One of the Maximoff twins."

"Right." You nod. "Sounds lame."

"It won't be", she insists. "Just...come by. Have a beer. Maybe you know a few French party tricks?"

You exhale, trying to stop yourself from smiling. It's a lost cause, though, and the way your face seems to soften gives Natasha whiplash.

"We'll see", you say, brushing past her. "Guess you'll just have to keep an eye out for me."

"Okay", she mumbles.

You pause, arms wrapped around the books you're holding to your chest. You look at her one last time, then you step out of the library.

. . .

A steep staircase and dim lighting don't pair well.

One hand sliding along the railing attached to the wall to keep yourself from falling, you're slowly making your way down the stairs and into the basement. As soon as you've stepped inside, the stench hits you.

Air thick with smoke, smelling like vodka and sweat. Weed and cheap perfumes, pizza and something not unlike the sourness of vomit. You scrunch up your nose and glance at your friends.

Everything is exactly how you expected it would be. Neon LED strips, worn couches, a dying potted plant in the corner. The bass from the speakers is rattling the walls. Someone's rolling a joint on the coffee table.

In your tiny corset top and silk skirt, you definitely feel a little out of place. Then, you spot her.

Grey hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, basketball shorts, a bottle of beer in her hand. She laughs at something Clint says, then tips back her head to take a sip. As she's moving her lips from the bottle's mouth, she quirks her eyes in your direction.

What comes next seems to be the longest hour of your life.

60 minutes of tiptoeing around each other, of glancing across the room, of trying to distract yourself. You're tense, you both are, you're tipsy, and every time you try to focus on something else it fails horribly — which is exactly why a game of 'spin the bottle' is both a blessing and a curse. Looking at the expression on Carol's face, though, you feel like Natasha may have meddled in this.

You gather on the couches. You sit on the armrest, one leg crossed over the other, and watch Natasha as she sits down on the floor right across from you.

The bottle spins a few times, but you barely pay any attention. That is, until it's your turn.

You spin the bottle. You watch it almost land on Natasha, but then it stops too soon. Before you know it, you're kissing one of Clint's friends.

You're tipsy enough to not care too much, but Natasha's lips form a thin line. She lifts her bottle to her mouth and takes a swig.

The game continues. More kisses, some resembling pecks and others turning into full make out-sessions.

Suddenly, it's your turn again. You spin the bottle, watch it closely — and it lands on Natasha.

First, there's a beat of silence. Someone whistles. Heart racing, you clear your throat and put aside your drink. You get up, approach her, and end up in her lap. Her hands come up to rest on your waist.

"Not rejecting me this time?", she murmurs, looking at your mouth. Your lipgloss has been tempting her all night.

"Third time's a charm", you reply, running your hands along her jaw and up into her hair. Silky red locks, smooth between your fingers.

Natasha exhales quietly. She leans in, closing the distance and pressing her lips to yours.

It's controlled at first. Nothing but a firm press of lips. Beer and weed, lipgloss and strawberries.

Bass that's making the floor thrum. Warm hands and plush lips. You feel her heat against you. Natasha, dazed and undone, pulls you closer until your body is flush with hers.

Her hands sneak higher, fingertips grazing the hem of your top. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her hoodie. Your lips part, and so do hers, and her grip on your sides tightens.

Your thighs are snug around her middle. Her hands move lower, to the part beneath your ass, and grasp at the soft flesh there.

Suddenly, it's desperate. You're tipsy enough to be bold, so you deepen the kiss further and further. Natasha goes along with it, because why shouldn't she? — This is what's she's been wanting for weeks at this point.

At some point, you're forced to remember you aren't alone. You pull away, breathless and flushed, need growing inside your buzzing body. Natasha stares back at you, breathing heavily, her shorts uncomfortably tight. You see a muscle in her jaw tick.

Swollen lips tingle, kiss bitten and slick with her taste. Her fingers twitch against your sides, the suppressed urge to get up and drag you away apparent.

There's no need to say it out loud. You both know you're getting out of there, and you're doing it together.

You get off her lap and sit back down in your spot. She keeps looking at you, her knees tucked against her chest to hide the issue the kiss left her with.

You last five minutes. You shift, glance at her, let your eyes sweep over your friends. Having decided you're done waiting, you get up and disappear in the hallway. Natasha's eyes track you down, then she scrambles off the floor and shoves her beer into Clint's hands.

"Don't wait up", she says, already chasing after your retreating figure.

You glance over your shoulder as you're going up the stairs. Sure enough, Natasha's following close behind.

You start pushing open doors. Bathroom? Occupied. Living room? No way. Anyone could walk in on you.

One of the bedrooms is empty. Judging by the looks of it, it belongs to Pietro. Messy desk, unmade bed, empty bottles on the nightstand. At this point, though, you really don't care.

You hear the door close and turn around. A few seconds later, you're tangled up with her. Hands roam your body impatiently, lips move in sync with yours. You try to walk her backwards, maybe push her against the wall, but she hoists you up by your thighs and carries you to the bed.

You're too tipsy to consider whether this can end well, but you're also horny enough that you wouldn't worry even if you were sober.

Natasha is almost sober — two bottles of beer don't have much of an impact on her at this point —, but she doesn't care, either. You've been on her mind for weeks. You've been that dirty little fantasy she jerked off to, that one girl that somehow managed to catch her attention in a room full of others. This is something she needs.

She spins around and sits down with you in her lap. You pull away for a second, only to tug at her hoodie. She peels it off, revealing a fitted tank underneath. Muscles taut, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands reach for your corset top, fumbling with the stubborn fabric.

"Fucking- how do you get this off?"

"Try being less rough", you mumble, smiling, and use your finger to tip her chin up. You kiss her. Her tongue sweeps past your lips.

The corset top comes off, and Natasha moves you onto your back. She tugs down her shorts just enough to get what she wants.

All it takes is one look at her, and you instantly realize this will hurt. You knew she's big — you felt it sitting on her lap. But looking at her now, hard as a rock and flushed and pulsing, your tipsy brain starts to grasp that making her fit will be a challenge.

"You'll be fine", she promises, having noticed you staring. She rolls on a condom and crawls on top of you. Her lips meet yours and she guides herself into place.

You moan into her mouth. Her hips roll against yours, easing it into you inch by inch. It stretches you out. You're soaked, but getting her fully inside you still proves to be difficult.

She keeps her eyes glued to your face, watching every little reaction as she buries herself in your swollen cunt. Your thighs wrap around her waist, trembling, and she bottoms out.

"Doing so good", she pants. She pulls away to bury her face against your neck. She starts moving her hips, fucking her throbbing cock into you. You mewl and whine, manicured nails raking down her muscular back. "Wanted this for so long."

"Yeah?" You moan, nails digging into her skin. Your hips rock against hers. The bed shakes underneath you.

Gripping your waist tightly, she pulls out and thrusts back into you. It's enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

"Yeah", she grunts, placing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Wanted you so bad."

Your eyes flutter shut. You lift your hips, meeting each of her thrusts. The orgasm builds up, and you come around her cock.

In the morning, you're up first. Sunlight is filtering through the curtains, the air smells like sex and sweat.

You roll over and see Natasha, still asleep and one arm behind her head. The other is tucked under your body. Once the fog in your head has cleared up, you realize you've just added yourself to her list of disposable one night stands.

'Not that serious.' That's the words she says whenever she's questioned about her hookup habits. Now you're part of that, as well.

You sit up slightly and pause. When she stays asleep, you slip out from underneath the covers and pad through the room. You grab your skirt, your underwear, and put your clothes on.

"Y/N?", she mutters, rubbing her eyes. You look at her as you stand there, slipping your high heel on. "You leaving?"

"It's not that serious, right?", you say.

You grab your purse and Natasha leans on her elbow, studying you. In the early morning light, with your hair messy and your lipstick smudged, you look even more tempting. If she was different, she'd beg you to stay. She'd try to make more mornings like this one happen. Maybe she'd even see if there could be more than sex to this.

But that's not who she is, or at least that's what she tells herself. Still, she clears her throat and shrugs, almost awkwardly.

"Not staying for breakfast?"

"Not today", you say, hand on the doorknob. "See you around?"

"Sure", she mumbles. The door falls shut behind you. Any chance at getting you back into bed with her is gone — for now, at least.

Natasha exhales slowly and sinks into the mattress again. She stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched and one hand fisting the bedsheets. She doesn't know why she's so frustrated. You said it yourself: 'not that serious'. Nothing is ever serious with Natasha.

After a few minutes of silent sulking, she decides it's the lack of sleep that's got her acting like this.

. . .

Natasha doesn't chase.

She tells herself that multiple times — usually when you make fun of her for getting clingy, or soft. When she asks for your number, when she starts texting you late at night. When the hookups become more frequent.

It's still just sex, but something more begins to build. Friendship, affection. Something that feels like love but can't be — or that's what you both tell yourselves.

When you get a text one evening, you expect it to be another booty call. You've been hooking up for a while now, and not a day goes by where you don't see each other.

It's not an invitation to come have sex, though. You look at your phone and raise your eyebrows.

Natasha: please tell me you

know how to take

care of a kitten — 8.37 pm

Natasha: Y/N im

begging you — 8.38 pm

*image attached*

You: what the fuck — 8.40 pm

Natasha: COME OVER — 8.40 pm

The sight you get when walking into her dorm is ridiculous in the best way possible. Natasha — all muscles and basketball shorts — and a little kitten clawing at her hoodie.

It turns out that Natasha, leaving the court after practice, heard something meow pathetically. At first, she wanted to leave — it was pouring rain, and she was tired, and truthfully, she can't take in every stray she runs into.

Then, she saw the kitten. Tiny, partially hidden in a bush, its fur soaked. It meowed again.

She tried to walk away. A few minutes later, she was stuffing the tiny thing into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.

"Aw, so cute", you coo, sitting down next to her. "I guess the kitten's cute, too."

She shoots you a glare, but the effect is destroyed by the little feline trying to catch one of her drawstrings. "You could try helping."

"No fun in that." You reach for Natasha's hands and start adjusting them. That little bit of contact is enough to send heat into her cheeks. "It's still wet. You need to dry it."

"I tried! It bit me."

"Yes, yes", you mumble, grabbing a random towel and silently praying it isn't full of sweat or other gnarly bodily fluids. "It fits in your palm, but it's so scary."

"It has knives for hands."

You dry the kitten off together. Once that's done, you show her how to hold it. But then, it knocks.

"Randy here", someone calls. Your resident advisor.

"Wait, let me-"

"No!" Natasha, panicking, grabs the kitten. All you can do is stare, stunned, as she yanks down her hoodie to stuff it inside. The poor creature lets out a pitiful mew, and your eyes widen in horror.

"Natasha!", you hiss.

"Shut up!" She grips the front of her hoodie when the kitten meows again, as if she can physically will it into silence.

You give her a bewildered look. Then, you remember.

Randy hates cats for multiple reasons. Mild allergies, bad encounters when he was a kid, general lack of fondness toward other living beings. Pets aren't allowed in the dorms, either way — but he'll even shoo the strays away. He's awkward, but he's not a pushover. If he finds out about this, he'll rat you out.

Another knock. More impatient this time.

"Uh, guys? It's Randy! Open up?"

"A minute", you call back, smoothing down your hair. Natasha is wrestling with the kitten inside her hoodie. She winces when it buries its claws in her chest.

Cheeks flushed and expression somewhat schooled, you make it to the door and open it. Randy stares at you. Clearly, he expected someone else.

"You", he says.

"Me."

"This is Romanoff's dorm, though."

You step aside just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her. You glance over your shoulder as well. When you see her flushed face and the wiggling hoodie prison, you quickly block his view again.

"What do you need?"

Behind you, you hear a muffled mew.

"Just wanted to pop by", he says, looking over your shoulder again. You cross your arms and lean against the doorframe, chin lifted in silent defiance.

"We're studying", you lie. "So please leave?"

Another mew. Natasha is fidgeting, trying to keep the kitten and her hoodie in place. She could swear she's never sweated this much in her entire life. Her fingers shake as she gently adjusts the kitten.

This is the first time everything between you begins to feel different. You're not sure what it is — the absurdity of hiding a kitten? The panicked looks she keeps shooting at you? Her softer side, so unlike what she's shown you so far? —, but you feel yourself slipping into a dangerous situation.

Falling in love with Natasha can't end well.

Randy frowns and shifts, his head tilting. You scoot to the side, silently cursing his nosiness.

"I got a test tomorrow, Randy."

"Yes, just-"

"No", you say firmly, heart thundering with a mix of anxiety and thrill. He sighs. "Whatever it is, just come by tomorrow. I'm sure we'll run into each other again."

He gives you one last skeptical look, then steps back. You shut the door and turn around only to see Natasha barely holding back laughter. She's still shaking, the kitten finally pushing its head through the neckline of her hoodie. A tiny paw presses against her collarbone and your stomach flips.

Not the cocky athlete. Not the shameless flirt. Just a girl in her dorm, a girl you're starting to like more and more, freaking out over a kitten.

You cross the room before you know it. Hands cupping her face, heart rabbiting with exhilaration, you cup her face and kiss her deeply.

It's the first crack that appears in your just friends-facade.

. . .

Most people expect the casual stuff to be less complicated than actual relationships.

In many cases, that's true. In others, it absolutely isn't.

The emotional intimacy is there, but there's no commitment. Neither of you has the right to get jealous, but it happens anyway. There are expectations, but there are no labels. Either of you could walk out at any given moment.

It's thrilling. It's terrifying. It makes every hookup, every kiss, feel like something worth chasing.

Then, you fight. Usually, it's nothing serious, but it sucks anyway. It creates this odd push-and-pull, this combination of cursing each other out only to end up in bed together. It leads to jealousy plays and spikes of irritation, sleepless nights and desperate text messages resulting from being lonely and horny.

This time, it started when Natasha flirted with someone at a bar. You were there with a couple of friends, and when you turned around to order another cocktail, a girl had approached her. Suddenly, you caught her flirting shamelessly.

It wasn't what made you fly off the handle, though. The nudes in her phone, hours after you'd had sex in her dorm, were.

Not that serious, she said. We're just hooking up. Casual, you know. I wasn't even interested in her.

You kept yelling, anyway. She glared at you, but it wasn't too intimidating. You know she's scared of you, for some reason, so you kept bawling her out. The night ended with you blocking her.

Almost a week later, you're still ignoring her. You're pissed, and it'll stay like that until she apologizes, so you keep her number blocked and your bed empty.

Wanda is the one who drags you to a sorority party. Mainly because she likes one of the girls there, but also because she thinks you need to get out of your dorm and find a rebound. Plus, the theme is 'movie characters', and she can't miss that.

The word rebound makes you frown, though.

"It wouldn't be a rebound", you tell her. "We never dated. No wounds I need to distract myself from."

"Y/N, honey, that girl always leaves a wound."

Maybe she has a point. Trusting her judgment, you end up going to that party. You step into the room, and the first person who looks at you is none other than Natasha.

She sees your costume and forgets how to function. A green, short dress, shimmering wings on your back, makeup flawless. Ballet flats with pompons on the toes.

Tinkerbell. Short and sweet — very on point.

Her thoughts are a mess. No way. She did this on purpose. To ruin my night. What if I ruin her, instead?

Fuck, I need to sit down.

Her hand tightens around the beer bottle. Her jaw clenches as she grinds her molars.

But you? You're barely paying attention to her. You're smiling already, talking to Wanda about everything and anything — some concert, the kitten she took in — while Natasha is losing her mind. You're sipping drinks, chatting with people, laughing.

You step closer to some guy in a Joker-costume. He leans in, mumbling, and you giggle. He reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

It's barely something, but Natasha feels like she's witnessing a war crime.

She downs one more shot, her brain fuzzy, and then gets up. You feel her hand on your back, pushing you away from the guy. You're too surprised to react properly.

"She's not interested", she snaps when he tries to stop her.

"Since when do you speak for me?"

"Shut up", she mutters, wrapping her arm around your waist.

You stare at her, frowning. Is she drunk?

Maybe. Not necessarily. She could be completely sober and still act like an idiot.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk to you tonight, you know."

"Sure", she grunts. "That's why you're dressed like this. To piss me off."

You stop and tear yourself away from her embrace. She pauses, blinking.

"Not everything I do is for you!", you snap. "And I'm tired of you acting like it is!"

"Then why are you dressed like that?", she barks.

You glare at her, your back against the wall. She's walked you into some hallway — secluded, dark, but close enough to the party so you can still hear the music. The ground is vibrating, shaking beneath Natasha's feet, and her head spins with a mixture of anger and want.

Your costume isn't helping. The short dress, the sparkling material, the smooth skin of your thighs. Now she's not only drunk and pissed, but can also feel herself harden and twitch in her camo pants.

"Are you kidding? I'm dressed like this because I look good!"

"Obviously", she retorts, stepping forward. The dog tag around her neck dangles in front of you, her alcohol-warm breath fanning your mouth. "You always do."

Her hand comes up to press against the wall beside your head. You look up at her, expression forcibly blank. She leans in closer, breathing heavily. Her lips almost touch yours, but you push your hand against her chest.

"You're drunk", you say.

"I'd want you even if I was sober."

"You don't get to say that", you hiss. "Not after what you did."

"And what did you do?", she says, fingers curling and fist pressing harder against the wall. "I saw you, you know. With that clown over there. What do you even want from him?"

You stare at her, both of you out of breath. Something about this situation is turning you on — how close she is, how she smells like that one cologne you love on her. How you're alone, bodies inches apart. How her hips twitch, and her eyes both search and avoid yours. How, despite it all, she's actually jealous.

"It's just casual, right?", you murmur.

Natasha furrows her eyebrows. Her lips curl into a faint smirk. "That's something you worry about?"

"No."

"Liar."

You shove her. She stumbles closer anyway, grabbing your face and kissing you.

Teeth clash, bodies intertwine against the wall. Your hands grasp at the material of her tank top. Your back hits the wall, again and again, and her hands move to fumble with your dress. She bunches it up around your hips, her fingers quickly finding the front of your lace panties. She groans when she feels how wet you are.

"Who'd you wear these for?", she pants against your neck.

Your hips buckle into her touch, chasing friction. She rubs against you through the thin fabric. You moan and Natasha sees stars.

"Fuck- fuck, Nat-"

"Stop talking", she gasps, pulling you into another kiss. Her fingers nudge past the fabric and slide against slick heat. She works you open, filling the hallway with quiet squelching sounds.

Her fingers fuck into you. You moan, back arching, and reach between you to fumble with the zipper of her pants. You yank the fabric down enough to let her cock spring free. Pink-tipped and veins throbbing, oozing precum.

Natasha's breathing stutters when she feels your hand around her cock. You stroke her, slowly at first, and her head drops against your shoulders. Her fingers are still inside of you, but the movements become more irregular.

"Shit", she whines, burying her face against your neck. You smear precum down her length, lubricating it. Her fingers curl inside you and you almost let go.

She pulls away and tears her pants down. Not willing to waste any time, she squeezes your thighs together and pushes her cock between them. She fucks herself with your plush thighs, the shaft just barely grazing your clit, precum making your skin slick.

Beads of sweat roll down her temple. You stare at her, equally lightheaded and mesmerized.

Finally, she hikes up your thigh and aligns herself with you. She thrusts in, deep, and both of you moan.

Wet, hot, tight. Natasha's losing her mind.

"Tinkerbell, huh?", she pants, snapping her hips forward.

"Yeah", you moan, meeting each of her thrusts. She laughs roughly, pressing her lips to your neck. "Bet you've never fucked a fairy before."

"Can't say I've had the pleasure." She grunts against your neck, then lifts her mouth to your ear. The coil in your stomach tightens. "Wanna cum inside you."

Not thinking straight, you nod frantically. You grab the chain around her neck, keeping her close. Her cock throbs hotly inside you, and your clit is so swollen that it hurts each time her skin rubs against it.

She couldn't stop if she wanted to. She's so deep, so close, chasing it, and your soft moans and whines aren't making it any easier for her, either. Hot spurts of cum shoot into you, your own orgasm milking out every drop as your walls tighten around her.

Natasha sags against you, spent. Her cock twitches inside of you, a white and sticky fluid dripping down your thighs, and you exhale shakily. The noises from the party — muffled music, voices, the bass — takes you back to reality. Back to the dark hallway, the fight, the fact you just had sex without even considering you could be walked in on.

You're sticky, overstimulated. Dizziness is setting in. The music thumps, but it's nothing compared to your pounding heart. Natasha breathes against your neck, her arms still keeping you trapped against the wall, and you finally push her away.

"You still need to apologize."

"I just made you come", she says.

"You really think that's a smart answer right now?"

"No, but-", she says, but you shove her off and the words die on her tongue. She frowns, opening her mouth again, but then it shuts when she sees her cum drip down your thighs. She stares, her half-erect cock twitching once more.

"Don't even think about it", you say, glaring and straighten your dress. "Apologize, or I'm leaving."

"There's nothing to apologize for", she says after a few seconds of silence. She pulls up her boxers and cargo pants and zips up again. "We're not official."

Just like that, you regret everything that happened in the past ten minutes. You regret ever getting to know the feeling of her finishing inside you, of ever thinking things could change. You regret thinking you could be the odd one out, the one who makes her change.

You don't say anything. You step back, using your hands to remove most of the cum sticking to your thighs, and walk away.

Natasha's heart races as she watches your figure disappear. She doesn't chase. And yet, she runs after you.

She catches your wrist just as you're about to leave the house. She spins you around and pulls you into her arms, kissing you.

You want to shove her away. You want to let this go. You should let it go.

An hour later, you unblock her number.

. . .

Popcorn, soda and a horror movie at a flashback cinema.

It was Natasha's idea. She was the one who came up with it, thinking it'd be nice to see you squirm. Maybe you'd clutch her arm, hide your face against her shoulder, make her feel needed. Though, she obviously couldn't tell you that.

You couldn't say no, even if a part of your brain kept telling you to. Two hours, spent in a dark room, hearts racing and bodies too close to ignore the heat burning between you.

You were right. It is dark, and intimate, and you notice her stretch and put her arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes. Way too cliche.

Her breath fans your ear. Her thumb slips under the shoulder strap of your top. She teases the skin there, listening closely to see if you'll react in any way.

You don't. But then, her free hand pushes up the hem of your top to touch your stomach. Fingers travel higher, graze the lacy bra, and then dip underneath the fabric.

In front of you, you watch Krueger kill Glen. A Nightmare on Elm Street — a classic, one that'd probably leave you with at least a week worth of sleepless nights, but you're barely able to focus.

Natasha cups your breast. Her thumb rolls over the nipple, flicking it, tugging at it, until it's pebbled against her touch.

Then, you feel her mouth on your neck. Her tongue darts out and licks a stripe over your throat.

Your thighs press together in a hopeless attempt at keeping the wetness at bay, but it's no use. You shift in your seat, hoping no one will notice.

On-screen, it's a bloodbath. Between your legs, it's like a dam broke.

"Scared yet?", she mumbles, twisting and rolling the bud until it's raw and almost painfully sensitive.

"Watch the damn movie", you hiss through gritted teeth.

"I've watched it twice", she says dismissively.

You'd ask why she picked it. You don't have to, though. It's obvious — she did it so she could feel you up under the cover of darkness.

You don't fully understand why. You could do this in either of your dorms. You'd have more privacy, more time. You wouldn't risk being caught and getting banned from this cinema.

It's a nice cinema, though. The speakers are loud enough to cover up the moans that escape you.

Your hands grasp the armrests, nails digging into soft fabric. Natasha keeps trailing kisses all over your neck, wet and open-mouthed, and your hips shift desperately.

Fingers curl. You're trying to keep yourself from grabbing her stupid hand and pushing it between your legs yourself.

In the end, you don't have to do that. Her hand comes up from underneath your shirt again. You feel it inside your panties.

Your thighs spread just a little bit. Just enough to allow her fingers to gather wetness before thrusting into you. Your hips nearly jerk off the seat.

She thumbs your clit. Her fingers piston into you, setting a fast, relentless pace.

"Got plans for spring break?", she mumbles, like she isn't fucking you stupid inside a movie theater right now. Like her fingers aren't drenched with your slick. Like she isn't about to rip through her own sweatpants.

You almost laugh, but then her fingers curl just right. You whine, hand jerking and knocking over your popcorn. Natasha gives a breathless chuckle against your neck.

"Taking that as a 'no'", she muses, voice a whisper, and pulls out only to thrust back in. Your hips buckle. "How's Miami sound, baby?"

"Fuck."

"You a fan?", she mumbles. "All our friends are going. Tony said he'd get us a surprise."

Your vision blurs. Your lower belly tightens, heat shooting into it. The pleasure builds up, relentless and overwhelming, and your hips wiggle in the seat.

People are being murdered brutally on-screen. Blood, screams, booming speakers.

The real horror? She pulls out.

The emptiness hits you suddenly. You gasp quietly, feeling the pleasure shift into an aching, throbbing sensation. For a moment, you consider shoving your hand between your legs just to get it over with.

"I'll fucking kill you", you hiss, grabbing her slick hand. "Finish that."

"I'm not a fan of exhibitionism."

"Want to end up like that guy on the screen?"

She snorts quietly and sinks back into her seat, not making a move to help you out.

You shift, again and again, the movement giving you some much needed friction. But it's not nearly enough, and before you know it, your hand is pushing past your underwear.

Natasha watches, wide-eyed, as your hand starts to move. Something about it makes blood shoot into her lower half.

"Jesus Christ", she practically moans, her hand flying down to press against the bulge in her sweatpants.

She watches you squirm in your seat, soaking your own fingers because she left you desperate. Your hips roll up into your hand, chasing that high, and when it finally comes, the noises that escape you are enough to make thick ropes of milky cum shoot into Natasha's boxers.

She wasn't even touched properly. Watching you was enough.

The aftermath is a mess. Both of you wrecked, panting, her boxers drenched and your thighs sticky.

You feel her warm breath against your ear.

"So, Miami?"

. . .

The entire campus — no, the entire city — knows Tony Stark is extra.

Still, you don't expect him to pull up with an entire bus the day you're going to Miami for spring break.

"It's like The Magic School Bus", you say.

Natasha's got her arm around your shoulders. You're both leaning against the wall in front of your dorms, the early morning sun blinding you. You lift your hand to protect your eyes.

The people around you, groggy from waking up at 6am, are rubbing their faces. Oversized hoodies and disposable coffee cups galore, none of you too sure whether this is worth it. It feels more like a school trip than spring break.

"Would love to see him in a Mrs. Frizzle getup", she mumbles.

Clint, standing in front of you, snickers. He's got his arms around his girlfriend. You eye his outfit, which consists of a Hawaii shirt and khaki shorts, and are silently glad Natasha decided to go with something less obnoxious.

Steve grunts as he closes the luggage compartment. A total of 15 people are going to Miami, and he had to haul every suitcase and duffel bag into the bus.

"Done? Took you long enough", Tony says, arms crossed. He nods at the bus. "Come on."

"20 hours", Natasha mutters, walking into the bus with you. You find two seats in the middle and sit down. "I'm going to lose it."

"They're taking turns driving. You can literally sleep the whole way there. You'll be fine."

She grunts and plops into the space next to the window. You sit down and she pulls you closer, hand slipping under your top and resting on your stomach. Smooth, warm skin, her fingers drawing circles.

Your friends are staring. You know they are. It's not everyday that they see Natasha cozying up with someone like this.

A 20-hour bus ride is long enough already, but time really starts to drag when you're spending it next to the person you can never quite figure out.

Hour 1. You talk, quietly, and share earbuds.

Hour 2. Tony apparently managed to find one of the few buses nearby that have a/c. You shiver, Natasha notices, and suddenly, you're wearing her hoodie. You breathe in her scent.

Hour 4. Bored and tired, you both stretch out your legs and accidentally nudge each other. She doesn't pull back, it turns into a mindless little game of footsies, and your feet tangle.

Hour 5. You fall asleep. You didn't mean for that to happen — but she's warm against you, and her hoodie's soft, and a sip of the vodka she brought along knocked you right out.

Hour 7. You wake up, slowly, to find out the seat next to yours is empty.

"Where's Nat?", you ask sleepily.

"Taking a leak", Clint calls from the driver's seat. Wanda turns toward you, a knowing look on her face. You roll your eyes.

A minute later, she's back. She slides into the seat next to you, arm immediately resting over the backrests of the seats, and hands you a little flower. You twirl it between your fingers, studying it, and Natasha gets that dreaded warm feeling in her stomach again.

"Hope this didn't hurt your credit score."

"Be grateful."

"I am."

Her lips press against your cheek before she can stop herself. Everyone stares, and Natasha mutters something about you 'just having fun.' Her words sting.

Hour 9. Golden hour. The playlist is slower, the bus quieter. Her fingers tap an absentminded rhythm against your thigh.

Hour 14. Sleep-deprived and travel-weary, the idiocy is hitting you at full force.

Natasha pulls you into her lap, hands roaming your middle. You curl into her, grinning stupidly. She smiles against your neck and drags her lips higher up, kissing your earlobe. Her tongue darts out, just barely touching the shell of your ear. You laugh, and the others stir in their sleep.

You both freeze for a moment. When everyone stays quiet, she shifts you in her lap until her mouth can press against yours.

Hour 19. You're two hours away from your destination. You're way too honest and tired to keep the walls up. Hands intertwine, breaths mingle. You're sprawled out on the seats, squished together, but you don't mind.

"You ever think about leaving?"

"Leaving?", you murmur.

"Yeah. Just leaving. No plans, no destination. No...bullshit."

You're not sure why she's asking you, of all people.

Hour 21. You finally arrive at the hotel. You each have separate rooms, but it's 5am, and you're exhausted and needy, and Natasha ends up in your bed. Head on her chest, you fall asleep.

. . .

Just friends, you've told the others. Just having fun, you know.

Friends — but you're not kidding anyone.

You spent the first day in Miami sleeping. In your hotel room, on the balcony, and now, on the beach. You're on a lounger, a beach umbrella protecting you from the UV rays. Her face is planted between your boobs, her hand resting on your ass with her fingers under the fabric of your bikini.

You're not alone. Your friends are everywhere around you, either napping or suntanning, drinking cocktails or swimming. You're not sure whether this is what spring break is supposed to be like, but it's nice. Peaceful, slow, quiet.

Natasha grunts in her sleep, nodding her head to push her face further into the plush heat of your body. Your arms wrap around her head.

So much to do, so many things to see — yet it still feels like she'd rather be wrapped around you than anything else.

You see Tony return with a bag of food. Your hand trails down her spine, an attempt to gently coax her into wakefulness.

"What?", she mutters, fingers curling.

"Stark brought cheeseburgers."

"Don't care. Let me sleep."

"I'm hungry."

Natasha looks up, eyes bleary. You smile faintly when you notice the light sunburn on her cheeks.

"I want food", you add.

She stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Then she sighs and sits up, raking one hand through her hair. It's curled at the ends from the saltwater, with little grains of sand in it. She gets up like going to grab you some food is the most obvious thing to do.

You lean back, watching her. You're so lost in thoughts that you almost don't notice Daisy poking your side. Your head turns.

"What?"

"Her? Really?"

You shift, looking away again. "What about her?"

She shrugs, but silently, she immediately comes up with an entire list of reasons. At the top — the fact that Natasha's slept with basically every girl on campus and hasn't had a relationship last longer than a week so far. It's happened to her as well, but there's no way she'll tell you that.

"Nothing", she says evasively. "She's just got this whole...dumb and poetic-thing going on. Like, she has no clue what the fuck she's saying, but it sounds good anyway."

Natasha, crouched down in front of the greasy paper bag, grabs two burgers. Your head lolls to the side and you almost sigh when she looks up and puts her jawline on full display. It's too easy to want her, even if you maybe shouldn't.

"She's not dumb", you say, glancing at Daisy again. You hesitate. "But she's not poetic either. I mean, that sex joke she made yesterday?"

"You laughed, though."

"Huh?"

"You laughed", she repeats. You give her a deadpan look. "Seriously. You laugh at all her jokes."

You scoff, shaking your head. Internally, though, you're wondering whether she's right.

You watch Natasha return, two burgers and a soda in her hands. You scoot forward and she plops down behind you, letting you sit between her legs. Daisy doesn't say anything, but the look on her face is telling enough.

. . .

Logs and branches in various stages of burning, smoke curling into the air, sparks drifting upward. Embers glow, stars sparkle mirthfully, tequila burns your throat.

You're sitting on blankets, feet buried in the sand, and watch the bonfire. Natasha's next to you, roasting marshmallows and sipping tequila. You nudge her when she puts the bottle a little too close to the fire.

"Careful there."

"I am", she mumbles, looking at you. Her eyes roam all over your face, drinking in every feature. She has no idea how mesmerized she looks. She has no idea how helpless she looks. She's tipsy, and she's warm, and she's in love. The thought would scare her, but her brain isn't capable of much more than staring at you and keeping her awake.

If she had to choose between the two, she'd pick the former.

People are dancing, swaying around the bonfire. Music is playing on portable speakers. Her hand finds yours. Suddenly, you're stumbling through the sand.

"Hey, my marshmallow!"

"Screw that", she says, turning to pull you in close. There's that stupid little smile on her face, the one that makes you gravitate towards her. She leans in, hot breath fanning your lips. You tilt your head.

Hands smooth down your sides, the fabric of your bodycon dress silky under her palms. She leans in, nose almost touching yours.

"Bet you wanna", she mumbles, drunk and testing her limits. You roll your eyes, but don't pull away. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like this is funny."

"It is funny", you say. Her hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. "You're ridiculous."

She scoffs, hands sliding down your sides. Hooking her thumbs under the hem of your dress, she starts bunching it up around your thighs. You swat at her hand.

"Not here", you say, glancing at your friends. Another knowing look from Wanda. You flip her off.

Natasha doesn't respond. Her head dips into the crook of your neck, peppering the perfumed skin with kisses. Wet, warm, worshipping. She's smitten and drunk and hard, and the ocean is right nearby, and if she tries enough...

"No."

She groans, her fingertips digging into your thighs. She presses against you, already straining against the fabric of her shorts.

"They're not even watching."

"They are", you insist. "You're the one who keeps telling them we're friends, anyway. So let's not go overboard."

Another noise of disapproval. She's drunk, and you're soft and warm, and she'd probably fuck you right here in the sand if given the opportunity.

Also, enough guys have been staring at you all night. She wants to give them something to stare.

You pull back and cup her face. You look right into her eyes. Her heart skips a beat. She's a goner.

Now everyone is staring. This time, neither of you notices.

(Because even drunk, she knows it's you.)

. . .

It's rare that you and Natasha part during that week in Miami, but it does happen.

She's at the bar, you're in your hotel room. She's ordering drinks, you're making sure your hair looks nice. She's chatting up some girl, you're twisting and turning in front of the mirror to see every angle of your body.

Natasha doesn't even know how it started. All she remembers is waking up alone, the memories of last night fresh in her mind.

A beach concert. You, in front of her, complaining about not being able to see. In hindsight, she knows you must've been exaggerating; in that moment, however, she didn't care. She grabbed you and hoisted you onto her shoulders.

People stared. Her shoulders felt like the top of the world. When you slid down, she didn't let go.

A few hours later, at 4 in the morning. You, tipsy, in her lap. Strong arms wrapped around your middle. A heart that beat a little too fast.

It's overcompensation. She's desperate to prove to herself that what she has with you still isn't anything serious, but she knows that's ridiculous. Looking at the girl in front of her — tiny bikini, full lips, messy eyebrows — she feels nothing. Just months ago, she would've done everything in her power to get her to sleep with her.

Now? Static. Boredom. Emptiness. It's frustrating and it's terrifying.

The girl leans in. She brushes her fingers along Natasha's bicep, down to her forearm and to her wrist.

Natasha swallows, trying to focus. Much to her dismay, she can't remember a single trick. She feels like she doesn't even know how to flirt anymore.

Then, you walk past. Black strapless bikini, a net wrap around your waist, tan lines on your shoulders. You walk past, barely noticing them, but Natasha jumps up and pretty much dumps the girl she was talking to.

You don't pay her any attention. It only makes things worse.

You round a corner, and Natasha puts her hands on your waist. You turn your head to look at her.

"I thought you had somewhere else to be."

Her thoughts falter. Then, she shakes her head.

"Nowhere else", she promises, kissing the back of your neck. "Where you going?"

"The pool", you say, adjusting the tote bag you've got slung over your shoulder. You weave through the crowds of half-naked people.

An hour later, you're both in the water. You haven't forgotten about her flirting at the bar, but she has. The second you walked by, that other girl was off her mind.

You're in the water, a drink in your hand and Natasha standing behind you with one arm circled around your waist. Her fingers slip under the strap of your bikini top, and she pulls at it to let it snap back. You glare at her, but she just smirks.

You're surrounded by your friends. Wanda is sitting on the edge of the saltwater pool, a cocktail in hand. Clint is snoring on one of the loungers. Sam jumps in headfirst, making Wanda squeal when she gets splashed with water.

Natasha leans in, lips against your wet shoulder. Water glistens on your skin. Hours pass, and the sun dips lower. Everything is washed in orange and gold. You're facing her now, arms wrapped around her middle. She runs her hand up your back and gently tugs at the clasp of your bikini, but this time, she doesn't let it snap. She just holds it.

You're staring. You both are. She's in way too deep.

The group asks whether you want to go to some club. You agree and go back to the hotel the change.

It's just the two of you now, hands brushing and skin sun-kissed, barely clothed. You both prefer this, but neither of you says it out loud. You step into the elevator, only in swimwear and with your hair damp and smelling like saltwater. Natasha so close, skin still damp from the pool.

The numbers on the panel tick. She watches your reflection in the elevator's mirror. You catch her eye and tilt your head. She pushes her hands into the pockets of her swimming trunks and looks away.

"You okay?"

"Fine", she mumbles. She's not one to get scared easily, but she's terrified.

You hum, unconvinced, but don't press further. It dings, the elevator doors slide open, and you step out. Natasha trails after you, noticing way too much. The strap of your tote bag sliding off your shoulder shouldn't be important. The water drops rolling down your spine shouldn't be important.

You shouldn't be important. This started as a fantasy, a hookup. Nothing that should've lasted more than a night or two. And yet, here she is. Not walking past your hotel room to get to her own, but stepping in right after you.

Inside, it's cool from the air-conditioning. Natasha plops down on your bed, hands tucked under her head and legs stretched out. She watches you as you dry your hair with a towel, and your eyes meet. It's quiet, way too quiet, and you clear your throat.

"We're leaving in ten", you remind her.

"We have to?", she asks. You glance at her, already in front of the mirror and changing into a dress. She swallows.

"You told them we'd go."

"Changed my mind."

"Well, I didn't." You adjust the straps of your bra. "What, you want to miss out on a night in Miami?"

"We have other nights."

You slip into a dress, but internally, you've slammed your foot down on the brakes. Natasha shifts on the bed, turning her head to look at the ceiling instead. You watch her through the mirror, something inside you twisting. You're not sure you want to leave, either.

"You okay?", you ask quietly.

Her head lolls to the side. "I'm good."

You hesitate. "We don't have to go, you know."

"It's fine. We said we would."

"I mean it." You pad to the bed and sit down beside her. She rolls onto her side, her hand trailing over crisp white bedsheets and coming up to rest on your thigh. "We'll order room service."

"No more cheeseburgers", she says.

You smile faintly. Tony has been in charge of getting everyone food a few times too many.

"No", you say, brushing some hair away from her face. "Anything else."

She hums. She glances at your face, then averts her eyes. Her head tips forward and her lips press against your knee. You reach out absentmindedly, running your fingers through her damp hair.

"Don't tell me you're tired", you mumble, smiling.

"Not tired enough", she says. She tugs at the hem of your dress. "So we're not going?"

You sigh. "Apparently not. Why?"

"May as well take this off."

You laugh, swatting at her hand. It's no use, though — she grabs you, pulls you down with her, keeps you trapped with her arms. You squirm.

"That's the real reason, huh?!"

"Maybe", she concedes, grinning. She kisses you, her hands moving to bunch up the fabric of your dress around your thighs. Hands roam bare skin, slowly, memorizing it. She pulls away and presses her lips to your shoulder, then her eyes drift.

For a moment, she just stares.

You nudge her.

"Natasha."

She blinks, meeting your eyes. Right — keep moving.

You're not used to her being this slow. Hands seem to move in slow motion. Lips drag across skin. Her nose brushes against yours.

The dress comes off and is tossed aside. You roll on top of her, feeling how warm and damp from the pool she still is.

"I should've gotten you a towel", you mumble, cupping her face. "You'll get a cold, with the a/c on."

Natasha just smiles. She tucks you against her body, forehead leaning against yours, and reaches into her swimming trunks. Hand around her length, she lazily palms herself before starting to pump herself to full mast. Not that much is missing, anyway.

"I'll be fine", she replies.

Her lips brush against your forehead. She keeps her hand around herself, but doesn't rush it. Her movements are lazy, unhurried. For the first time ever, you feel like your time isn't limited. It's a nice feeling. Maybe you'll let yourself get used to it.

She tugs off the swimming trunks, the fabric clinging to her skin. Finally, she rolls on a condom. Nudges your thighs apart, moves one to rest over her hip.

"Come here", she mumbles, one hand cupping the back of your head. "Let me feel you."

The head of her cock taps against your entrance, teasing you. You do have all the time in the world.

A breathless little moan escapes you. Her skin is cool from the a/c, with an undercurrent of heat beneath it. You press closer, making her strokes deeper. Her hips roll into yours, her arm stays wrapped around your waist. You meet every thrust, eyes slipping closed.

"Fuck", you breathe.

"You're good, baby."

Defined abs flex with every roll of her hips. You tug her closer, even deeper, and she grips your hip in an effort to stop herself from rutting into you mindlessly.

Your hand slips between your bodies. Your thumb finds your clit, swollen already, and circles it. Breathless little sounds escape you.

Natasha moans. She kisses you, traces your spine with her thumb, gently presses you down into the mattress. It's lazy, soft, and you've found a steady rhythm that works for you.

You're slick with arousal, but pulling out and rocking back in is still a challenge for her. Natasha grabs your thigh and pushes your knee to your chest, opening you up more. You whine and break the kiss, mouths inches away as you both breathe heavily.

"Not gonna last long at this rate."

"We got all night", she pants, thrusting her throbbing tip against something deep — so deep it makes it your hips stutter. "You got plenty of time to last long."

She's in so deep she barely has to pull back. She just grinds in deeper, cursing under her breath whenever you clench around her. Her cock is swollen, aching and twitching, and she can feel herself get closer to the edge as well.

Your hips jerk off the mattress when she rotates them with her hands. She laugh, voice rough, and kisses your throat.

"Yeah?"

You nod, clutching her biceps. "Right there-"

"You got it, baby. You got me."

Another roll of her hips. The pleasure builds, making all your nerve endings tingle with the approaching orgasm.

Breathy pants against your neck. A hand maps out your side, your thigh. Groans in response to whimpers, the sun outside disappearing from the horizon. A hotel room, darkened by the lack of sun and cold from the air conditioning.

The heat increases. She starts pounding into you, her nose nuzzling your neck. More kisses.

"I'm close."

"Me too."

"Wanna cum in you."

Your mind jumps back to the first time you did that. Back at the sorority party, after you'd had that fight. You remember the feeling, and a part of you craves it, but you also know you got incredibly lucky back then.

"Don't want to be a mom yet", you say, words punctured by little grunts.

Natasha whines at the mere thought. She loses rhythm before you do, her thrusts becoming sloppy and desperate.

She comes first — hard. You feel the way the condom swells when she spills into it. You feel her throb, feel the continuous twitching against your walls. It pushes you over the edge as well.

Thighs trembling and hips rutting, you moan. Natasha catches your mouth, swallowing every sound, and keeps rolling her hips until you stop.

Her hips twitch. She's wrecked, but there's no way she's pulling out. She kisses your collarbone instead, dazed and spent.

"Nat", you mumble, aftershocks coursing through you. "I'm full."

"Fuck", she pants. Her head drops forward and her forehead comes to rest on your shoulder. "Feel so good."

"Better than the club."

"Agreed."

You spend hours like this. Intertwined on your bed, in the shower, over the table. When you finally decide to call it a day, Natasha's too tired to think properly.

Her face is tucked against your side. Her hand is on the inside of your thigh. She nudges your ribs with her nose.

Two words make everything better and worse.

"You're different."

. . .

Things go both up- and downhill. Sometimes, everything seems perfect. She kisses you in front of others, tipsy and clingy. She sleeps in your bed. She washes the salt out of your hair and kisses the underside of your thighs.

Red lipstick on her shirt colors, her nails painted with your favorite nail polish. Risky snaps and smelling like your perfume. Secretive kisses, messy kisses that end in spit-slicked lips, smiling into kisses before pulling away just to hear you whine.

She loves every second. Every second of it terrifies her, but she loves it.

She doesn't know why she ends up ruining it.

There's something that feels way too serious about waking up under you every morning. About how defensive she gets. How she uses sunscreen to draw shapes on your back. Your friends teasing her isn't helping, either.

It's harmless at first. It hurts, but it's harmless.

She disappears at a party. You have no idea where she goes, or what she's doing. When she returns, she doesn't tell you anything.

She's always been touchy, and that hasn't changed. Her hand ends up on someone's thigh. Her arm rests over someone's shoulder. You try your best to ignore it.

Then, the text messages. They light up her screen at night, flashing names you don't recognize. Natasha grabs her phone and flips it over. You scoot away from her.

She ignores the people who text her, but she doesn't tell them to stop, and she doesn't block them, either.

During another party, she's without you. It's rare that this happens, and she knows it. But the others know it, too.

"Single again?", Tony asks, handing her a vodka shot. She rolls her eyes but doesn't respond, instead knocking back the shot. "Where's your girl?"

She rubs her eyes. They're tearing up from the alcohol. "Seriously, shut up."

"No, I mean it. Where's Y/N?"

"Maybe they broke up", someone adds unhelpfully.

"Can't break up if you were never dating in the first place."

"Were you dating? I mean, with your track record..."

Natasha averts her eyes, jaw tense. She leans against the wall and starts counting the cigarette butts on the ground. But she's panicking, and she doesn't get far.

"Come on", Clint says, nudging her. He has no idea just how much damage his words are about to cause. "You can tell us, you know. We'd love to know if someone finally got you to dip your toes in the monogamy-pond."

She has two options.

One: admit she's all in with you.

(Not happening. She hasn't even been able to admit that to you, or herself.)

Two: prove that nothing's changed.

(How the fuck is she supposed to manage that?)

Natasha drags a hand down her face. She feels hot all over, her cheeks tingling, her fingers numb. She steps away. They all start talking at the same time, a chorus of we weren't being serious and come on and take a joke, man.

She edges past a small group of men and bumps into some girl. Natasha barely pays her any attention, but the girl's eyes linger. She watches her slide onto a barstool and order a shot from the bartender.

She downs a shot, then another. The girl watches her for a while, then she sits down next to her. Natasha glances at her, barely reacting.

Sun-kissed skin, glowing. Wavy blonde hair. Red dress, barely-there and accenting every curve. Exactly the kind of girl she used to go for.

Glossy lips tug into a smile. She touches her bicep and runs her fingers down to her forearm.

"Alone here?", she asks quietly. Her head tilts. Natasha curses silently when the simple mannerism reminds her of you.

"Nobody else around me, is there?"

"I suppose not." The girl leans in. Her breath is sweet and fruity, with notes of alcohol woven into it. "Oh. But now there is."

Natasha smiles reluctantly. The girl is flirting, and she's about to let it happen. This is her opportunity to prove she's still herself, prove that nothing's too serious yet.

Too many shots. Too much alcohol, even for Natasha. She's not someone who likes to feed into stereotypes, but she's Russian, and she's been drinking for way too long. She can hold her alcohol — still, she ends up drunk and with some girl in her lap.

Natasha doesn't even know her name. She comes up with the genius idea to call her Blondie.

More alcohol. Suddenly, she feels unfamiliar lips press against hers. Ignoring the nauseating feeling of guilt in her stomach, she kisses her back harder. Her tongue gets sucked into the girl's mouth, hands squeeze and roam her biceps.

"Wanna get out of here?"

Natasha, drunk but still able to think, hesitates. Blondie cups her jaw.

"Getting shy on me?", she teases. That hits her right where it shouldn't.

They get up. They stumble to the hotel. They burst into the room.

Lips clash, hands unbuckle a belt. She hardens slightly, but it's nowhere close to what you manage to do to her. Blondie starts peppering her jaw with kisses, and her hand dips under the waistband of her boxers. Natasha's head is spinning, drowning in panic and vodka.

She wants to tell herself this doesn't mean anything. That this just proves she's still herself. But she knows the truth.

She feels her hand around her half-erect cock. She grabs her wrist.

"Wait", she says, swallowing. "I don't-"

The girl pouts. "I thought you wanted this."

Natasha shakes her head. Does she want this? No. Does she know what she wants, though? She's not sure.

She looks away. The girl starts moving her hand inside her boxers. Natasha's stomach turns.

The door clicks open.

For a moment, all you can do is stare. You don't even process it at first. It's too surreal. Natasha wouldn't do this. She's known for sleeping around, but those last few months couldn't have been in vain.

And yet, the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Natasha and some girl are half-naked, and they're clearly in the middle of something you don't want to know about. Hand still in her boxers, wrapped around her, touching what you had in your mouth just hours ago.

Your heart stops, then slams against your ribs. First, you feel nothing — then it's just pure anger. The other girl glances at you, lazily, and you'd love to do some serious damage with that chair to your right.

Natasha, immediately sobering up, curses and pushes the girl away. You're out of the door already, storming down the hallway. You hear footsteps behind you, and you change your mind about taking the elevator. Instead, you take a turn and rush down the stairs.

"Y/N, wait! Fuck-"

You shake your head, running faster. She's close behind.

You make it into the lobby. Natasha's running, shoving people aside. Her heart is racing, and for the first time ever, she feels like she truly fucked up.

She's done similar stuff before. Slept with girls only to ignore them literal hours after, ghost people, lie and cheat and hurt the ones around her. It feels different now. Worse.

Finally, she makes it. She reaches for your wrist, fingertips grazing your skin, but you whip around and pull away.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"Please, please just listen-"

"Listen? I'm supposed to listen? Go on then, explain!"

Natasha stops in her tracks. She starts babbling, face flushed and hands shaking. You're still in the lobby, and people are looking at you weird, but you block them out. You block everything out, everything except the hot, boiling feeling of disappointment in your veins.

You knew it from the beginning — falling in love with Natasha can't end well. Here you are now, four months later, and you realize just how right you were.

"Look, I- I regret this, okay?", she says, desperately, pathetically. "I didn't want it to happen. I just- I drank, I drank too much, and she was right there, and I was terrified-"

You let out a bitter, hurt laugh. "Oh, you regret it? Well, that changes things. I'm sorry for assuming."

"No, baby, I mean it", she says, eyes pleading, and grabs your hand. You draw back as if singed by her touch. "Please."

"No", you say. You can feel the moisture forming in your eyes, the tears way too close. "No. Seriously. Fuck you."

"Y/N..."

"You're so full of yourself", you spit, stepping back. She steps forward again, but you rebuff her attempt once more. "You really think you're worth any of this? That any sane person will keep playing this game for you?"

Her face falls. She shakes her head, trying to pretend like your words didn't cut to the bone.

"You're not worth it", you say. "You're not worth any of it."

Natasha has to agree. All she can do is watch as you leave.

. . .

You ignore her. You block her. You stay away from her.

And still, somehow, she's everywhere.

On campus, at parties, outside the library. In basketball shorts and hoodies, an iced tea or black coffee in hand. Apologies lay on her tongue, ready and waiting to be served to you, but you're not in the mood to listen to any of them.

Natasha knows she's being pathetic. She's gone from 'the girl who doesn't chase' to 'the girl who's sadder to look at than a blind puppy'. She used to get any girl she wanted, no matter who, but now, the one girl she likes can't even bear to look at her.

She's aware you don't want to hear it, but she keeps trying, anyway. In the hallways, when you're on the way to class (you start regretting ever telling her where your seminars take place), in the cafeteria (which you start to avoid going to), in the parking lot.

"Can we talk?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care."

"Y/N, please."

You whip around. "Can you quit that?!"

Natasha freezes, hands lifted. Your chest twists at the sight — almost half a year ago, not too far away from where you're standing right now. A basketball and a girl that was a little too cocky. If you'd known, would you've still taken that same route? Or would you have taken a detour?

"I'm sorry", she repeats, more quietly. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to make it better. But I miss you, and I'm sorry, and..."

And what?, she thinks. And please take me back? And I've never been this miserable over anyone before? And I love you?

She still can't say any of it out loud. She just rubs the back of her neck and shifts on her feet.

You stare at her, waiting, not saying a word. You're letting her sweat because she deserves it. You're letting her hope that you might forgive her.

Then, you turn around. You leave abruptly, not even bothering to give her the satisfaction of a response. Natasha stands there, staring, before finally reacting.

"It wasn't that serious, anyway!"

You flinch. Just barely, but she notices anyway, and her blood runs cold. She can't fathom why she'd even say that — all of this is her fault.

You leave. Again.

. . .

It's midnight when something hits your window.

You're in bed, not doing much. Staring at the ceiling, scrolling through whatever social media app your finger clicks on first, trying to somehow fall asleep.

It's quiet, aside from the rain outside. It's been storming for hours at this point, but the heavy downpour has turned into a slightly gentler hissing.

Then, a thump against your window disrupts the near-silence.

You sit up with a start to look at it. Faint cracks have appeared in the glass, forming a suspiciously circular shape. You hesitate for a second — god knows who's throwing shit at your dorm window in the middle of the night. This is New York, after all. Tons of crazy people running around, even on campus. Maybe it'd be safer not to check.

Then, it hits you. You blink, slowly, before getting up and padding to the window. You open it and look down only to find out it's Natasha. She's standing there, basketball in hand and bottom lip briefly tugged between her teeth, her clothes and hair soaked from the rain.

"Can we talk?", she pleads.

You stare at her. You step back and close the window.

The second you're back on your bed, Natasha exhales in frustration. She's panicking, rubbing her face and clenching her jaw. She has to do this, though. She has to get you to talk to her.

She lifts her hands and aims again. The ball flies through the air and slams against the window again — this time, too hard.

Glass shatters, a basketball shooting straight into your room. You stare at it in disbelief, too shocked to react, before finally jumping up. You grab the first thing you find, which is a half-empty vodka bottle, and step in front of the window to hurl it at her.

Her eyes widen and she barely dodges it. It shatters on the pavement, clear liquid spraying.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!", you yell, grabbing the next object. Another bottle, this time a plastic one. She curses when it hits her shoulder.

"Y/N, please-"

"No!" You search your desk frantically. You grab one of your old French books. Natasha jumps aside.

"Jesus Christ! Can we not make this a pattern?"

"Oh, you're sick of patterns?", you yell. You see a pair of scissors and immediately know what to do. You return to the window, basketball and scissors in hand, and her jaw slackens. "That's funny!"

"Wait", she says, scrubbing her hand down her face. "That thing's damn expensive."

You glare at her, breathing heavily. "That's your priority right now?"

"I'm not saying that, but I do care about it-"

The blade stabs into the rubber. Air hisses. The ball deflates in your hands, and you toss it in front of her feet. Natasha winces.

"That was a limited edition, babe."

"I don't fucking care!"

Natasha looks up. For the first time all night, you feel something close to guilt. She's drenched, defeated, water dripping from her hair and down her face. Her hoodie is completely soaked, and her expression is absolutely wrecked. She's so unlike the cocky girl that hit on you not too long ago that she's almost unrecognizable.

In that moment, you hate her. Still, she's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.

"Tell me how to fix it", she pleads. "Just tell me what to do."

You glare at her, still out of breath. The anger is making your blood boil, hotly and thickly.

"Get your ass upstairs", you hiss. "NOW."

Natasha looks like she just short-circuited. She's frozen in place, blinking up at you through the rain, water drops catching in her eyelashes. Slowly, she grabs her deflated basketball and starts moving to the front door of the building.

Wet sneakers squeak, her steps heavy. She walks up the stairs and finds your dorm — stickers on the door, ranging from Strawberry Shortcake and Tinkerbell to a lipstick kiss print and a heart with the words 'try me' inside. She hesitates before knocking.

The door opens. She slips into your room, clutching that stupid shell of a ball like it'll save her. You slam the door shut.

Your room is too you. She used to love it, in a way. Pink blankets, vanilla candles, lipstick marks left on your desk from that time she had you bent over it.

She turns around and her thoughts falter. A flimsy blue babydoll dress, lacy and short. Your thighs are on full display, distracting her a little too much.

Why did you have to wear this? How is she going to focus?

"And?", you prompt.

"Uh...", she says dumbly. She's staring, and she's not able to stop. "I, uhm..."

Natasha's soaking wet, freezing and humiliated. She came here to patch things up with you. And now, her biggest problem is that she wants to bury her face between your thighs.

It's too late when she drags her gaze back up. You've caught her staring.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! You're still thinking with your dick?!"

"No, I-"

Her back thuds against the wall and she winces, but no complaints come from her. She's aware that she deserves this, so she doesn't fight back.

You shove her, again and again, letting her body hit the wall. She's bigger than you, towering over you, strong enough to grab you and haul you across the room. Yet, you've got the upper hand.

"Say something, you coward!"

You need her to react at this point. You need the silence to stop, need her to do anything else but stand there and take your rage like a kicked puppy.

Silence. Barely a reaction. You fist the front of her soaked hoodie and shake her. Your heart is thumping against your chest.

"You had a ton to say when you were hitting on me!", you shout. "Now you'll just stand there?"

She nods weakly. It's enough to make your chest burn as the desperation flares again. She can't be that indifferent.

Tears burn in your eyes, hot and stinging. You continue to shove her, keeping this one-sided fight alive. Because that's what it is — one-sided. It has to be when your counterpart is acting like a damn vegetable.

"Fucking fight me, Natasha!"

An order, or a plea. You're not sure.

She stares at you, gaze trailing to your lips. She shouldn't be thinking about kissing you, or about taking off your dress and keeping it slip to the floor. She should stay rational. If she does something dumb, she's done for. She—

"So we're not hooking up, I guess."

Oh.

Eyes wide, heart stopping for just a split second. Oh, she's dead.

If you were mad before, you're livid now. You slam her against the wall, making her let out an 'oof' for the first time since this started. It's not just a spat, it's a full blown fight. The worst one you'd ever have, if you think about it.

Your fists thunder against her chest, then you grip her hoodie again.

"I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!"

The back of her head hits the wall. She grunts, finally grabbing your wrists. But her grip is as gentle as possible, considering you immediately try to break free from her grasp.

"Hey", she says, out of breath and pleading. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Seems to be a common theme with you!", you hiss, tears gathering in your eyes. "Fuck- let go!"

"Only if we talk!"

"Let go!"

She shakes her head. You struggle against her grip, twisting your wrists and kicking and fighting, then the tears break free. You sob, the noises tainted with frustration, and thrash against her.

"I hate you", you sob out. The words hit her right in the chest, like gunshots and needles all at once. "You led me on for half a year, and for what?"

"I wasn't leading you on", she promises, desperate to fix things. But god, it's hard to fix something you think has already shattered. "Please believe me. I just- fuck, I'm bad at this."

You shake your head, breathless and sobbing and furious, and slam your arms against her. "Stop talking! Fuck, just- just-"

Natasha's heart is beating so fast she thinks it'll jump right through her chest. Not a good idea. She's pretty positive that if that happened, you'd grab and squish it until it bursts like a balloon.

"Please hear me out", she begs. "Just for a moment. Fuck, Y/N, I- I-"

You sob, fists managing to hit her chest once more.

"You what?"

"I love you."

You freeze. There aren't many things you're certain of when it comes to her. Everything feels like an illusion, like something that could change tomorrow.

What you are sure of, though, is that she's never said these three words to anyone.

The question now, though, is whether this is an illusion as well. Whether she's trying to find a way out of this by telling you another lie.

"You think I believe anything you say?", you sob, the tears coming harder.

"I mean it", she says, squeezing your wrists and rubbing her thumb across your skin. Her eyes search your face frantically, trying to see if you'll listen for at least a second. "I love you, and it's fucking terrifying, but I do, I love you, and- fuck, I'm not used to this."

You shake your head, unwilling to let her words cut too deep. But they do, they cut, and not only to the bone but through the bone.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have done that. You wouldn't have slept with someone else, you- you wouldn't have made me stay just friends."

She decides not to comment that, technically, she was about to sleep with someone but didn't go through with it. You're not hitting her anymore, but if she dared voicing that thought, you'd probably straight-up murder her just like you did her poor basketball.

"Because I'm not used to any of this", she says, voice quieter. "I've never been in an actual relationship, Y/N. I don't do that. I sleep with girls and move on. I don't- I don't just fall in love. But I fell in love with you, and I'm too fucking stupid to act right."

You stare at her, breathing heavily and swallowing. She sounds sincere. You feel like an idiot for thinking that, but fuck, she sounds like she means it. And that is the worst part.

You're certain this might end up killing you eventually. But your lips press against hers just as suddenly as she appeared in your life.

You kiss her. Hard, desperate, furious. Natasha, stunned, hesitates before putting her hands on your waist. You cup her face, grabbing it, and tug her closer.

Your lips slam against hers, again and again. You walk backwards. Natasha, confused and hardening amid all of this chaos, follows obediently.

You suck on her tongue. She exhales, shuddering against you. Her hands tighten around your waist.

You push your hand into her shorts. She pauses, startled.

"Fuck me", you say. "Do something right."

"Y/N, you-" Natasha cuts herself off, breathing heavily. Then she's all over you, pushing you down on the bed, kissing and sucking on your neck, teeth scraping against skin. Hands under her damp hoodie, nails raking down her back and drawing blood. Her breath stutters, her face is pressed against your neck.

She wants to fix this, fix whatever's left of you. Return to what you had and make it better this time.

She kisses down your throat and reaches your chest. Latching onto your breast through the thin fabric of your dress, her hands push your legs apart.

Lacy underwear comes off. Her fingers are cold against your slick heat, making them slide in easily. She sucks on your boob, leaving a wet stain on the delicate fabric. Your back arches.

You grind against her, head thrown back. "Not like this", you pant. "Get on the bed."

"What?"

"You heard me." You sit up, grabbing the front of her hoodie. "Come on, asshole."

Natasha doesn't let anyone boss her around. But it's you, and she's done enough damage, so she scoots off you and lays down. You lean over her, your hair creating a curtain around your faces, and kiss her. Your hands trail down her front, right to her shorts. You pull them down just enough to be able to straddle her cock, easing it into you and stretching you out.

You roll your hips against hers, the tears having dried on your cheeks. You stare down at her, both of you out of breath, and fist the damp fabric of her hoodie.

The bed creaks beneath you. Cold gusts of wind enter the room through the broken window. She feels the same — throbbing, filling you entirely, her hips thrusting off the bed — but something's off.

You push the feeling aside and bob up and down, moaning quietly, your breasts bouncing with every movement. Natasha watches you, both mesmerized and worried. The fight was intense. You were sobbing, thrashing — for good reason. But now, you're riding her like a you've forgotten about everything.

She opens her mouth, wanting to say something. You grip her hoodie tighter.

"Don't."

"Y/N, are you-"

"Don't make it worse."

She keeps her mouth shut. She grips your waist instead, fucks up into you, letting you take what you need.

Is this what you need?

It used to be. You're not sure anymore.

A few more thrusts. Natasha thumbs your clit. Watches you fall apart for a second time that night. Comes when you do. You ride it out, pulsing around her, feeling her hot seed spill into you. Three, four spurts, heavy and filling you up.

You shudder, thighs sticky, and lift your hips to make her pull out. Coldness surrounds what was once enveloped in tight heat. Natasha wishes she could make you sit back down, but she's not in the position to ask for anything anymore.

You roll off her and lay down on your back. Shoulder to shoulder, your feet right next to the middle of her calves. You're right next to each other, but there may has well have been hundreds of miles between you.

She hesitates before glancing at you. Your eyes are staring up at the ceiling, face blank, distant.

Her fingers brush your hand. You don't pull away. She intertwines them with yours.

"Nat?"

Your voice startles her, makes her breath hitch. She closes her eyes. "Yeah?"

"You should go."

Despite having anticipated this, her heart drops. It takes her a bit to get out of her frozen state and sit up. Part of her thinks like she'll never feel this again, so she just sits there for a moment.

The various shades of lipstick on your nightstand. The high heels next to your closet. The fucking shards on the floor.

You, in bed, refusing to look at her.

She gets to her feet and falters. This can't be it, but this is it. At least that's what it feels like.

Natasha leaves her deflated basketball where she left it, right near the door. She puts her hand on the doorknob, twists it, and steps out.

This isn't it. It can't be. She'll make sure of that. But for now, all she can do is leave you alone for once.

You look up when you feel her linger. She's watching you, her body already half-concealed by the door. Then, her mouth opens.

"It was serious", she mumbles. "It never wasn't."

The door shuts.

. . .

You and Natasha ending up in the same place is a coincidence.

You were just trying to distract yourself, and Natasha got dragged here by Stark. Clint would kill him if he knew — he's been trying to keep her away from basically every girl in existence. Tony, on the other hand, believes she just needs to get laid.

She's told him that that's the last thing she needs. That that's what got her into this mess. But he doesn't listen. He's very convinced she just needs to 'act like herself again.'

"That one."

"No."

He turns, then points the mouth of his beer bottle at a girl with blue hair. "That one. Dyed hair, meaning she's probably unstable, meaning-"

She kicks his ankle. "Stop being a pig."

He whips around, looking offended. It's a show, though. It always is. "Excuse me? May I remind you of that girl in sophomore year? When you made up that story because she-"

"Okay, okay. Got it, I'm a hypocrite. Now stop trying to hook me up!"

He smiles, eyes sweeping across the room as he tries to find another victim. "You're sure? Give me five and I'll find someone with daddy issues."

Natasha sighs, knocking back a tequila shot. It burns, but not in a pleasant way. Whatever bar Tony dragged her into — the alcohol they serve is cheap, the lights flicker, and it smells like something rotten. But, according to him, it's the least pricey one in the area. Which shouldn't be an issue, considering he's rich and likes to splurge, but for some reason, he enjoys the low quality booze more.

He keeps pointing out various girls. 'Insecure. I can tell by the way she adjusts her dress.' 'Got dumped. Look how she keeps checking her phone.' 'Hey, a slut. Your soulmate!'

She almost rams her elbow into his side. Then, she spots you.

It's been almost two weeks since that night in your dorm. Two weeks of little to no sleep, of resisting the urge to apologize again, of regretting every tiny thing that happened since that night in Miami.

You haven't been doing better. You've been trying to move on, but it's hard. Moving on from someone who feels like home is like trying to move mountains.

There you are now, sipping cocktails and listening to some guy go on and on about something. He's been buying you drink after drink, and truthfully, you've been going along. Getting drunk isn't the worst thing you can think of in that moment.

Natasha blinks and rubs her eyes. Her heart is beating faster, rabbiting in her chest like it's trying to escape and run toward you.

"Oh. Oh, no. Not again."

She turns, frowning. "What?"

Tony gestures in your direction. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Okay, man."

"Seriously. Better find a new heart to rip apart."

She grits her teeth, clutching the shot glass in her hand. You're still oblivious about her being in the same room as you. Although, you seem to be oblivious about pretty much everything else, too.

She's seen the look on your face a bunch of times before. Too many times to not realize. You're drunk.

And the guy next to you? Still talking, still flirting, still pushing drinks in your direction. Still hovering.

You sway. He touches your side, right where your ribcage is, and tries to pull you aside. Natasha snaps.

Shoving her way through the crowd, she's by your side before Tony can tear away his eyes from some strawberry blonde girl. She moves next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and essentially nudging the guy's hand off.

"What the fuck, dude?"

"Take a hike", she barks. "Can't you see she's drunk?"

He scoffs. "She's only had, like, a couple drinks."

"She looks like she's about to pass out!"

"Nat?"

She glances at you, startled and worried. "Hey, baby. You good?"

You look at her lazily, eyes squinted and head spinning. "You're here."

"Yeah", she murmurs, softening.

Whoever that guy was — it takes one look at the two of you to realize that his little plan won't work out. He clenches his jaw and walks off, fuming silently. He'd fight her if he didn't recognize her face. Of course it's Romanoff.

"I'm dizzy."

"Let me get you out of here", she says, looking for your jacket. It's not even May yet, and the nights are cold. She finds it and tries to get you to put it on. When that doesn't work, she wraps it around your shoulders. "Still can't hold your alcohol, I see."

"Fuck you", you mutter. But you're drunk and safe and warm, and for once, you don't mean what you said.

Natasha rolls her eyes and helps you up. She turns around, and thats all it takes — you trip and crash into the bar, knocking over a glass of wine.

"Hey!"

"Oh, hush", Natasha says, shooting a glare at the upset girl and steadying you. "That shit's cheap as hell, anyway."

"Burns, too", you add, grasping the front of her letter jacket.

She smiles faintly, your arm over her shoulders, and leads you outside. She has to bend over a little since she's taller, but she doesn't really care.

The night is cold, and the way to your dorm is longer than it should be. When she's on her own, it takes two minutes. With a drunk you by her side, however, it takes fifteen.

You stumble. You curse her out. You throw up into a hedge.

Going up the stairs is easy. Getting you into your dorm, however, is not. You're on the floor, one hand grasping the metal rods of the railing behind you, and ignore Natasha's attempts to coax you into your room.

"Get inside."

"No."

"Y/N."

"I'm tired."

"Your bed is right there."

Eventually, she just grabs you and hoists you over her shoulder.

Pajamas, water, bed. She sits down, hesitates before tucking you in. You stare at her, still not sobered up.

Wet eyelashes — did you cry? She didn't see you cry —, oversized shirt, smudged lipstick. A mess if she's ever seen one, and you're usually so put together.

"You should sleep", she starts. Your eyes flutter shut. "You need anything, before I leave?"

"You know damn well", you mumble, face half-buried in your pillow. She swallows.

"Painkillers?", she asks, ignoring what you said. "For the hangover. A bucket, maybe?"

"Don't do that."

Natasha exhales, slowly. She rubs the back of her neck and glances at your window. At least that's fixed now. Everything else still seems to be in shambles. Even if she tried to pick the shards up, they'd cut delicate skin and draw blood.

"What?", she asks reluctantly. Absolutely no part of her wants to know the answer, yet she can't help but ask.

"Don't act like you care."

She opens her mouth, but you've passed out already. Guilt churns in her stomach, but there's no way to get rid of it. She can't apologize — you're asleep. And even if you weren't, you probably wouldn't listen.

No apologies, then. Instead, she cleans up after you. Puts aside your dress, your high heels. Orders coconut water and bananas from some local convenience store that delivers this late at night (good for hangovers, apparently, at least according to the internet) and tucks you in.

. . .

There's no trace from her when you wake up. Just a note next to some groceries, saying: good for your hangover.

It takes you a moment to remember last night. You're disoriented, hungover, and the entire room seems to be spinning. Once the memories have fought their way through the mess in your head, you freeze. Everything seems to go silent, even the birds and cars outside.

A guy, putting his hands on you. Alcohol. Natasha. At the bar, in the street, in your dorm. Touching you without actually touching you.

Now, she's gone. No trace from her, except for a random stalk of bananas and a bottle of coconut water.

You stare at it, unsure. You unscrew the bottle and take a sip. Not bad.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you grab your phone to check it. No message from her, but Daisy sent you a picture of a flyer for the basketball game later that night.

Daisy: you coming? — 8.21am

You: forget it — 8.59am

Daisy: not a question anymore.

you're coming to the game — 9.00am

You: im really not — 9.00am

Daisy: school spirit or something

like that. you can't avoid her for the

rest of the semester — 9.01am

Unfortunately, she has a point. You fight it at first, but you know you have to go. Not for Natasha. Not so you can fix what's broken (though 'broken' is one hell of an understatement at this point).

You'll go. You'll watch. You'll leave. Maybe that'll help you leave things behind.

When you enter the university's gymnasium, you feel her friends' eyes on you. Not too long ago, your friend groups had mixed and mingled — Carol and Wanda, Sam and Daisy, Tony and Bruce. Now, they barely talk. Neither of you made them take sides, but it happened anyway. Everyone else seemed to split when you broke up, too. Though, it wasn't really a breakup.

You slip through small crowds of people, following Wanda and Daisy to a row of empty seats. It's loud already, with some pre-game playlist playing and everyone talking loudly. People throw popcorn, yell, laugh. It's rare that you feel out of place, but this time, you do.

"You really dolled yourself up", Daisy says, handing you a coke. "Is that lace?"

You glance down, realizing the neckline of your top is a little too low. You quickly adjust it. "I threw on the first thing I saw."

"Uh-huh."

"I can still leave", you hiss. She smiles and nudges you.

"Not yet", she mumbles, right as the teams walk onto the court. You follow her gaze and feel your heart speed up. "There we go."

Natasha. In her jersey, hair pulled back into a low bun, green eyes flickering across the stands nervously. It doesn't take long until she spots you. You both freeze, and the entire gymnasium may as well have noticed.

Nobody noticed, of course, except for Daisy and Wanda. They're all caught up in themselves. To you, it still feels like they did, because nobody else matters in that moment. It's you and her, and everything else is a blur.

Daisy doesn't dare say anything. She saw the look on your face, and she's not risking anything. Because even if she knows your relationship with Natasha was a whirlwind — it was still the most genuine thing she'd seen you get involved in.

Natasha averts her eyes. Knowing you still came here is both the worst and best thing in the world.

Carol, also on the team, noticed this little moment between you. She pats her back and tells her to come warm up.

The game starts. Natasha's team wins possession.

You stay in your seat, watching her. She's playing aggressive today, you can see that. Scoring hoops, pushing past defenders, blocking shots.

She's on top of her game today, and you refuse to acknowledge why.

Then, she runs across the court. She gets fouled, hard, and slips. You jump up right when she slams onto the court, a low thud echoing through the suddenly silent hall. But she bounces up like it's nothing.

"You looked worried there."

"She fell", you mumble, arms crossed over your chest. Daisy raises her eyebrows, but says nothing.

Halftime. Natasha's team is slightly behind, with the other team leading at 30-32. She makes her way to the bench and grabs her water bottle. She looks distracted at first, absentminded, but then she finds your face in the stands and you realize what exactly is distracting her.

Maybe it should've been obvious. Maybe part of you doesn't want to believe it, though.

You hold her gaze for longer than necessary. Daisy goes silent next to you, Wanda tilts her head curiously. You finally lower your eyes and fidget with the seam of your skirt.

The second half begins, and Natasha's team catches up as quickly as it loses the lead again.

You're actually frustrated for her. You watch the way her jaw tightens, how she briefly rubs her eyebrows, how she rolls her shoulders. It's a tough game, and even worse?: something's at stake. She's got something to prove.

She's getting more aggressive as the seconds pass, even forces a foul. When someone throws a cheap elbow while she's guarding someone and the referee doesn't call it, she loses it.

Your eyes widen as she gets in the referees face, snapping at him and gesturing with one hand. He tries to calm her down, but it seems futile. There are multiple things stressing her out, and there's only so much she can take. Your stomach twists at the sight, because despite everything that happened, her frustration still seems to be yours.

Eventually, she backs off and jogs back onto the court. Looking up, she searches for you. You nod, tentatively and your heart pounding, and she lowers her head and exhales.

One minute left before the game ends. The score is tied.

It's electric now — the players are sprinting, the ball is a blur. Natasha runs, dribbles, hesitates. She finds your face in the crowd, glancing at you for just a fraction of a second, and then jumps and swishes it through the net.

The gym erupts, the buzzer sounds. She doesn't hear any of it.

Her team is celebrating, and so are the people in the stands. Someone shakes and opens a bottle of beer to spray others with it, everyone is yelling, the cheers are so loud you feel like your eardrums are in genuine danger.

Natasha isn't celebrating. She's walking towards the stands, nervously wiping her hands on her shorts.

Whether this is a good idea or not, she doesn't know. But it's too late now. She's right there, right in front of you, only a row of people separating you from her. Out of breath, sweaty, adrenaline crashing. You stare at her, unsure, and watch her grab the bottom of her jersey.

She pulls it over her head and tosses it in your direction. You don't catch it — it hits your chest and falls into your lap.

You look at her, hesitating. Is she being serious?

She is. She stands there, staring at you, still trying to catch her breath. It's an impossible task, with the way you're looking at her.

Swallowing, she turns around. Daisy nudges you, and you finally grip the stupid jersey. It's still warm, smelling like sweat and cologne.

Natasha walks away, soles squeaking quietly on vinyl ground. She glances at you over her shoulder, briefly, but it's enough.

She looks away. You jump up.

You shove people aside and hop down the rows in front of you, reaching the court. You're practically sprinting at this point, desperate to reach her before she gets to the locker room.

You grab her, spin her around, kiss her so hard she almost stumbles. She groans, but it shifts into a soft whimper. She drops the bottle she was holding and grips your waist.

Around you, people are still cheering, still celebrating. But this is the real victory.

You deepen the kiss, drag your fingers through the damp baby hairs at the back of her neck. Her lips are salty, addictive, her body thrumming against yours.

Natasha tastes something sweet, fizzy, matching the way her stomach tingles. You're here, choosing her in front of everyone, and god, it feels good.

Time slows down. She inhales against your lips, sharply, her fingers digging into your skin. You get on your tiptoes, allowing her to stand a bit straighter. You pull away just enough to take a breath, and she makes a quiet noise of protest.

By the time you part, your lips are swollen and slick. Natasha's looking at you like you hung the damn moon, like you're the reason her heart is slamming against her ribs. Which you kind of are.

"You- I-"

You manage a smile, your fingers still playing with her baby hairs. How often does she get nervous? Once in a blue moon.

"You did good", you mumble, studying her. She swallows thickly. "Finally."

"I'm so sorry", she mumbles, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you against her. Your feet leave the ground. "I'm so fucking sorry. Fuck. It was all a mistake. I..."

You don't let her finish. You kiss her, again and again, until the tension slowly disappears from her shoulders. She pulls away and buries her face in your neck. It's not the basketball game that's leaving her shaking — it's you.

"You're a moron."

"Mhm." Her lips press against your shoulder.

"An idiot. An absolute buffoon."

"That's fair."

You pull away again, still clutching her jersey in your hand. Natasha gives it a quick little nod, and it looks so ridiculously shy you can't help but laugh.

"Say it", you tease, cupping her cheek. She frowns. "Come on. You're a big girl, aren't you?"

A deep breath in, then out. Her eyes sweep across your surroundings, making sure no one's listening.

"Put that on", she finally mumbles. "It's yours now. I'm yours."

You press another kiss to her cheek, then step away and put on her jersey. Your jersey, actually. Sweaty and damp, smelling like her.

Natasha smiles softly. She fidgets, shifts, then grabs your hand.

"We never had an actual first date, you know."

You hum. She's right. You hooked up, and then continued hooking up. There was never anything that even resembled an official date.

"What're you saying?"

"You, me." She squeezes your hand. "Maybe a nice restaurant? Or takeout? We can have a picnic. I don't know, I don't usually do this."

You want to say no at first. Not because you don't want to, but because the after game-celebration is in full swing. The entire team is talking about going to a bar.

But then you realize that Natasha hasn't spared them a single glance since the buzzer announced the end of the game. She's been here, with you, looking at you, asking you out on a date.

The fuckboy athlete who keeps everyone at an arm's length, now actually taking something seriously.

You kiss her, already leading her out of the gym.

"Yes. But no cheeseburgers."

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @esposadejoyhuerta

[cjjohansson]

worth it tho🤷🏻‍♀️😂

- dirty girl -

natasha romanoff x reader - 18+ - smut - reader has a penis - 1.7k

“This is the best idea you’ve had…” You moan as Natasha pulls you into her bedroom, pushing you up against the door and pressing hard kisses into your neck. Your hands comb through her hair to get a firm hold of her, pushing her harder into you, her hands moving to unbutton your shirt. 

“Don’t know how your ex-girlfriend would feel about it though…” You groan after she scratches her nails down your chest towards your trousers.

“How about we don’t talk about my ex while we do this? Huh?” Natasha mumbles back against your lips her hands finally undoing your trousers and pulling them off of your hips, watching them fall to the ground. 

“Now, you either fuck me or you can go back to the party, your choice. I know which one I’d prefer…” Natasha says as she takes a step back, pulling her dress off of herself and leaving her standing in white lacy lingerie. 

You don't bother answering, you simply take a step forward, your hands falling on her waist as you pull her into yourself and meet her lips.

Both of your hands roam each other's bodies, your hands squeezing her breasts while hers go for your crotch. 

“Fuck, you're so beautiful.” You moan as you start moving your hands south, the wetness already clinging to her panties. Your underwear becomes tighter having to accommodate your length. 

Natasha makes quick work pulling your boxers down, your member standing at attention as she takes off her lingerie at record speed. Pulling you down onto the bed leaving you to lay on top of her, her legs instantly surrounding your waist as your member rubs against her wet, slick folds. You both can't stop the moans falling from your lips.

“Now fuck me…” Natasha smirks, her legs tightening around you as you waste no time entering her.

“Shit!” You practically shout, her wet walls tightly contracting around you to accommodate your length. You press your hips slowly against her own, letting her get used to your size before she whimpers and nods her head for you to finally move. 

Natasha’s moans drown out your own, pure pornographic screams falling from her lips as your hips move at an animalistic pace. You’ve wanted this since the moment you laid eyes on her but she had been taken, but now your time is finally here after her breakup only two weeks ago. You should feel guilty, but with the moans falling from her lips, her nails scratching down your back and the way she clenches around you so hard that you can hardly pull out, the guilt leaves you as you completely become focused on her. 

“FUCK-ing hell, you feel so good!” Natasha screams, her body stilling before she falls over the edge, her body then convulsing as she lets go. You slow your thrusts letting her ride her high before you pull out and sit on your heels, watching her cum drip down herself. 

Your member throbs, begging for release. You need to cum. 

Natasha’s eyes meet yours before she smirks, rolling over onto her stomach, and moving to arch her back while on her knees and turning her head to you. 

“What are you waiting for?” She husks, arousal swirling in her eyes as she wiggles her ass towards you. You jump on her instantly. Filling her whole while grabbing her hips and pulling her down hard onto yourself over and over to meet your thrusts. You won't last long, not with this view. Not with your hands gripping her hips so tightly you're sure that you're going to leave bruises. Her curves perfect as you get lost in them. 

One of your hands leaves her hip, grabbing her hair to pull her back flush against your chest. Your hand moves to her neck to hold her against you securely. Her head leans against your neck, her mouth right next to your ear, moans and gasps leaving her lips only driving you crazy. 

“Natasha?” Someone speaks through the door, your thrusts stopping for a second before you recognize the voice. Her ex. 

“Answer her.” You whisper to her, your hips starting to move again as she shakes her head no.

“Answer her, or I stop.” Your hand tightens around her neck, her eyes bore into yours as she clenches around you over the threat. 

“Yeah?” Natasha says shakily, her mouth opening in a silent moan as your hips start moving again. 

“Good girl.” You whisper. Her eyes roll into the back of her head in response.

“Can we talk? Please?” Natasha's head lulls to the side, her teeth biting into your neck to hide another moan from a hard thrust she is given. 

“Now isn’t a good time!” She shouts back. A moan slips through as she speaks. 

“Natasha, are you okay?” Her ex says again, but Natasha can’t respond, too lost in the pleasure she is receiving when your hand leaves her neck and moves to her clit, rubbing hard circles onto her as you finally near your own orgasm, wanting her to fall apart with you. 

“Ugh, Fuckkkk, I’m-I’m fine!” Natasha moans, no longer caring about being heard through the door. 

“You dirty fucking girl. You want her to know someone else is in here fucking you, don't you? I bet she never made you feel like this, huh? Couldn't fuck you as well as I am?” You moan against her neck, letting your teeth sink into her and sucking, making sure to leave your mark.

“No, she didn’t! Shit! I’m gonna cum!” Natasha breathes into the room, your thumb speeding up on her clit as you somehow get your thrusts to speed up even more as you near the edge yourself.

“Natasha! I’m coming in!” The door bursts open. 

Natasha’s head turns towards the door, her body convulsing as you meet her hips a final time, your own orgasm flashing through you as you paint her walls white, your cock throbbing inside her, her cunt squeezing you for every last drop as her ex stands at the door staring at Natasha falling apart for you. 

You blink and her ex is gone, door wide open as your body falls back against your heels, Natasha's body moving with yours as she sits comfortably on your cock as she continues to squeeze you tightly, making your dick hard all over again. A groan falls from both of your lips as you pant into the room. 

“Well, that was…HA, well.” You mumble. Your breathing all over the place over what just happened. 

“That, that was…wow…” Natasha whispers against your neck.

You go to move her off you, worried about how she might be feeling over everything that has just happened. But you stop when Natasha turns her head, her mouth moving over yours as she slips her tongue into your mouth, one of her hands resting on the back of your head to hold you against her, while her hips slowly start to grind down on you.

“Oh, no, no, no. I’m definitely not done with you yet.”

[cjjohansson]

- dirty girl -

natasha romanoff x reader - 18+ - smut - reader has a penis - 1.7k

“This is the best idea you’ve had…” You moan as Natasha pulls you into her bedroom, pushing you up against the door and pressing hard kisses into your neck. Your hands comb through her hair to get a firm hold of her, pushing her harder into you, her hands moving to unbutton your shirt. 

“Don’t know how your ex-girlfriend would feel about it though…” You groan after she scratches her nails down your chest towards your trousers.

“How about we don’t talk about my ex while we do this? Huh?” Natasha mumbles back against your lips her hands finally undoing your trousers and pulling them off of your hips, watching them fall to the ground. 

“Now, you either fuck me or you can go back to the party, your choice. I know which one I’d prefer…” Natasha says as she takes a step back, pulling her dress off of herself and leaving her standing in white lacy lingerie. 

You don't bother answering, you simply take a step forward, your hands falling on her waist as you pull her into yourself and meet her lips.

Both of your hands roam each other's bodies, your hands squeezing her breasts while hers go for your crotch. 

“Fuck, you're so beautiful.” You moan as you start moving your hands south, the wetness already clinging to her panties. Your underwear becomes tighter having to accommodate your length. 

Natasha makes quick work pulling your boxers down, your member standing at attention as she takes off her lingerie at record speed. Pulling you down onto the bed leaving you to lay on top of her, her legs instantly surrounding your waist as your member rubs against her wet, slick folds. You both can't stop the moans falling from your lips.

“Now fuck me…” Natasha smirks, her legs tightening around you as you waste no time entering her.

“Shit!” You practically shout, her wet walls tightly contracting around you to accommodate your length. You press your hips slowly against her own, letting her get used to your size before she whimpers and nods her head for you to finally move. 

Natasha’s moans drown out your own, pure pornographic screams falling from her lips as your hips move at an animalistic pace. You’ve wanted this since the moment you laid eyes on her but she had been taken, but now your time is finally here after her breakup only two weeks ago. You should feel guilty, but with the moans falling from her lips, her nails scratching down your back and the way she clenches around you so hard that you can hardly pull out, the guilt leaves you as you completely become focused on her. 

“FUCK-ing hell, you feel so good!” Natasha screams, her body stilling before she falls over the edge, her body then convulsing as she lets go. You slow your thrusts letting her ride her high before you pull out and sit on your heels, watching her cum drip down herself. 

Your member throbs, begging for release. You need to cum. 

Natasha’s eyes meet yours before she smirks, rolling over onto her stomach, and moving to arch her back while on her knees and turning her head to you. 

“What are you waiting for?” She husks, arousal swirling in her eyes as she wiggles her ass towards you. You jump on her instantly. Filling her whole while grabbing her hips and pulling her down hard onto yourself over and over to meet your thrusts. You won't last long, not with this view. Not with your hands gripping her hips so tightly you're sure that you're going to leave bruises. Her curves perfect as you get lost in them. 

One of your hands leaves her hip, grabbing her hair to pull her back flush against your chest. Your hand moves to her neck to hold her against you securely. Her head leans against your neck, her mouth right next to your ear, moans and gasps leaving her lips only driving you crazy. 

“Natasha?” Someone speaks through the door, your thrusts stopping for a second before you recognize the voice. Her ex. 

“Answer her.” You whisper to her, your hips starting to move again as she shakes her head no.

“Answer her, or I stop.” Your hand tightens around her neck, her eyes bore into yours as she clenches around you over the threat. 

“Yeah?” Natasha says shakily, her mouth opening in a silent moan as your hips start moving again. 

“Good girl.” You whisper. Her eyes roll into the back of her head in response.

“Can we talk? Please?” Natasha's head lulls to the side, her teeth biting into your neck to hide another moan from a hard thrust she is given. 

“Now isn’t a good time!” She shouts back. A moan slips through as she speaks. 

“Natasha, are you okay?” Her ex says again, but Natasha can’t respond, too lost in the pleasure she is receiving when your hand leaves her neck and moves to her clit, rubbing hard circles onto her as you finally near your own orgasm, wanting her to fall apart with you. 

“Ugh, Fuckkkk, I’m-I’m fine!” Natasha moans, no longer caring about being heard through the door. 

“You dirty fucking girl. You want her to know someone else is in here fucking you, don't you? I bet she never made you feel like this, huh? Couldn't fuck you as well as I am?” You moan against her neck, letting your teeth sink into her and sucking, making sure to leave your mark.

“No, she didn’t! Shit! I’m gonna cum!” Natasha breathes into the room, your thumb speeding up on her clit as you somehow get your thrusts to speed up even more as you near the edge yourself.

“Natasha! I’m coming in!” The door bursts open. 

Natasha’s head turns towards the door, her body convulsing as you meet her hips a final time, your own orgasm flashing through you as you paint her walls white, your cock throbbing inside her, her cunt squeezing you for every last drop as her ex stands at the door staring at Natasha falling apart for you. 

You blink and her ex is gone, door wide open as your body falls back against your heels, Natasha's body moving with yours as she sits comfortably on your cock as she continues to squeeze you tightly, making your dick hard all over again. A groan falls from both of your lips as you pant into the room. 

“Well, that was…HA, well.” You mumble. Your breathing all over the place over what just happened. 

“That, that was…wow…” Natasha whispers against your neck.

You go to move her off you, worried about how she might be feeling over everything that has just happened. But you stop when Natasha turns her head, her mouth moving over yours as she slips her tongue into your mouth, one of her hands resting on the back of your head to hold you against her, while her hips slowly start to grind down on you.

“Oh, no, no, no. I’m definitely not done with you yet.”

[cjjohansson]

Code Red. | N.R

older!Surgeon!Natasha x Younger!Intern!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N=35, R=24), Sexual tension, mention of sex, blood, hospital atmosphere

word count:

A/n: READ!! There’s way too much we could add to The Phantom, so I’m not even starting a series, because it would go on until I’m dead.

So, I’ll start with this chapter and add more whenever I have ideas or just want a Grey’s Anatomy episode with Natasha. AND I’m definitely waiting on my knees for your input, anything! Smut, fluff, hospital shooting…? 🧍🏻‍♀️

AND, dear Anon 🧸, please don’t point out any mistakes in this. Thank you 🙂‍↕️ I’m not nervous at all about having a real doctor on my profile.

The first thing you felt was warmth. Not the comfortable, wrapped in your own blankets kind of warmth. No..this was different. Too warm and too solid.

A slow, creeping dread settled in your stomach before your brain even caught up. Something was wrong. Your bed wasn’t this soft. Your sheets weren’t this silky. And..oh God, your room didn’t smell like this. Clean, crisp linen. A faint trace of something expensive. Something dangerous.

Your breath hitched as the weight beside you shifted, a slow, unconscious movement. Someone was next to you. Your entire body locked up. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

Your pulse skyrocketed as your fingers clutched the edge of the covers. Your entire life flashed before your eyes. Because you weren’t just in a stranger’s bed. You were in a stranger’s bed naked.

A slow, excruciating turn of your head confirmed your worst nightmare. There, draped across the pillow like a goddamn work of art, lay the most devastatingly attractive woman you had ever seen in your life. Red hair, tousled from sleep. A sharp, elegant jawline. Bare shoulders, toned arms, and, oh.

You whipped your gaze away, biting down on your lip to keep from making an undignified noise. You were going to die.

Memories flashed, fragments of last night slamming into you like a truck. The bar. The teasing smirk. A hand at the small of your back. A whisper at your ear. Your legs shaking as you stumbled through a door. The sheer heat of a body pressing you into the mattress. Oh my God!!

You bolted upright, panic exploding through your chest as you threw the covers off, eyes scanning the room for your clothes. There, jeans by the nightstand. Your shirt, hanging from the damn lamp.

“Fuck..” you whimpered, scrambling out of bed as quietly as possible. Your hands trembled as you shoved one leg into your jeans, your movements frantic. What did I do? What the hell did I do?! You had never done something like this. Never!!

A one-night stand? With a woman who was clearly older, clearly experienced, and clearly too damn attractive for your own good? No. Absolutely not. No. This wasn’t your life-

“Leaving so soon?”

Your soul left your body. You froze, every nerve ending screaming at the sound of that voice, low, smooth, amused as hell. Slowly, so slowly, you turned. And immediately wished you hadn’t.

The woman was awake now. And stretching. Naked. Completely, unapologetically, naked. You made a sound that could only be described as a dying animal. You whipped your gaze away so fast you nearly snapped your own neck. “Sorry..”

A low chuckle. “Cute.”

Your entire body locked up, heat rushing to your face. “You’re- you’re naked..”

“Mmm.” The woman sounded smug. “So were you, if I remember correctly.”

You clutched your jeans tighter, swallowing a scream. “I-I was drunk!”

“I was too.” she mused. “But didn’t seem to bother you when you were on your knees for me.”

Your knees buckled. “I-I have to go!” you blurted, tripping over yourself in your desperate attempt to shove your foot into your jeans.

The sheets rustled. And then, bare feet on the floor. Your stomach dropped. Your body locked as a presence closed in behind you. Overwhelming and too close. You sucked in a breath, hands trembling as you reached for your shirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” The voice was lower now, teasing, dangerous. You felt it before you saw it, a ghost of warmth at your exposed shoulder. A deliberate, torturously slow touch that never quite landed.

Your stomach flipped. “You were so eager last night..” she murmured, voice mocking, sinful. “Kept saying my name over and over again. Clutching my hair like your life depended on it-”

“S-Stop!! I don’t remember that!” you squeaked, your face burning.

A smirk. “Shame.”

You whimpered. You needed to leave. Before you did something stupid, like look at her again. “I- I have work!” you blurted, nearly falling over yourself as you shoved your arms through your shirt. “I- I have my first day-”

“Oh?” The amusement in her voice was undeniable. “First day?”

Your blood ran cold. You had said too much. But before you could backtrack, before you could even process the absolute disaster you had just walked into, she moved. Closer.

A single finger ghosted down your spine. Barely there. Not touching. Not quite. But enough. Enough to shatter every last coherent thought in your brain.

Your knees buckled, a firm grip caught your waist, steadying you. “Careful, sweetheart.” the redhead purred, lips dangerously close to your ear now. “Wouldn’t want you falling apart before your shift even starts.”

You made a noise you would never admit to. That was it. You were leaving. “I-I gotta go!” you sputtered, yanking yourself free and bolting toward the door, nearly tripping over your own shoes.

You didn’t look back.

You stumbled into the hospital lobby, heart still racing, legs still weak, body still on fire from this morning’s disaster. There was no time to process, before you could even take a breath, you were swept into a sea of white coats and nervous chatter. The new interns, all buzzing with a mix of excitement and terror.

You needed to get it together. You needed to forget. You needed to pretend you hadn’t just woken up in some impossibly sexy, dangerously confident woman’s bed.

“Are you okay?”

Your head snapped up, startled. A guy, tall, dark hair, sharp eyes, watched you curiously. “Yeah.” you lied instantly, gripping your bag’s strap like a lifeline. “Totally fine. First-day jitters, y’know?”

He smirked. “Oh yeah, we’re all on the verge of puking, don’t worry. I’m Levi, by the way.”

“Y/n.” you replied, shaking his hand, “are way too calm about this.”

He chuckled, and soon, more introductions followed, Taryn, Helm, DeLuca names and faces blurring together in your already-frazzled mind.

Then, a clap cut through the chaos. “Alright, listen up!”

A senior resident had arrived, scanning the group with a sharp, assessing gaze. “Welcome to hell. You’re the new interns, which means you’re at the bottom of the food chain. You don’t speak unless spoken to, you don’t slow us down, and most importantly, you don’t kill anyone. Got it?”

A chorus of nervous “Yes, doctor.”

Between navigating the endless white hallways, trying (and failing) to keep up with the nonstop stream of medical jargon, and the sheer terror of knowing you were now responsible for actual patients, you were barely holding it together.

But finally, finally, you felt like you were catching your breath. Until you slammed straight into someone. The impact sent you stumbling back, clipboard slipping from your grasp, papers flying everywhere.

“Crap, sorry-” you started, already bending down to grab your things. Then you looked up. And your blood turned to ice.

Your heart sank, breath caught in your throat, the entire hospital suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating, too cruel.

Because standing before you, in full scrubs, arms crossed, an obnoxiously amused smirk plastered across her face, was your one-night stand. The woman whose bed you had fled from like your life depended on it.

The woman you had spent the entire morning trying to erase from your memory. Pure delight flickered in her emerald eyes, her smirk widening as she took you in.

“Well, well.” she drawled, clearly entertained. “Look what the hospital dragged in.”

You wanted to die. “You..!” The word stuck in your throat, barely making it out as you gripped the edges of your coat. “You work here?!”

Natasha’s smirk deepened, her arms folding across her chest like this was the funniest thing she’d seen all day. “I do now.” Her gaze flicked to your intern badge, amusement curling at her lips. “And you, Dr. Y/l/n… are probably my new intern.”

You stopped breathing. Your stomach plummeted. Your jaw tightened, heat crawling up your neck, not from embarrassment, not from flustered panic, but from pure, burning frustration.

This couldn’t be happening. No, this was actually a nightmare. You clenched your fists, forcing your voice to stay professional, even. “No.” you said flatly. “No! You are not my attending!”

Natasha arched a brow, that damn smirk never fading. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

You gritted your teeth. “Don’t call me that.”

She chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

You flinched. Hands curling into fists. Jaw locking. Blood boiling. You had worked your ass off to get here. You had sacrificed everything to stand among the best, to become a damn surgeon. And now? Now you had to work under the woman you had made the worst mistake of your life with? Absolutely not.

“This is unprofessional!” you snapped. “I don’t care what happened last night, but here? In this hospital? You are my boss. Nothing more.”

Natasha’s grin widened, far too entertained. “Boss?” she echoed, feigning innocence as she took a step closer. “That’s funny. Didn’t seem like you minded me being in charge last night.”

Your blood boiled. Your body tensed, face burning, not in embarrassment, but in sheer, unfiltered frustration. “I don’t want to work under you.” you bit out.

Natasha’s eyes gleamed, her smirk turning downright wicked. “Oh, sweetheart.” she murmured, voice low, teasing, dangerous. “You already did.”

You nearly exploded. Heat rushed to your face. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to say something, to argue, to shut her down, to tell her exactly where she could shove her insufferable smirk.

But you couldn’t afford this. This was your career. Your future. So instead, you forced yourself to breathe, forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, forced yourself to be the bigger person.

“This is a professional environment.” you said stiffly, snatching your clipboard off the ground. “I don’t care what happened. It’s done. It’s over. I’ll switch teams if I have to, but I refuse to let this interfere with my job.”

Natasha hummed, mockingly considering your words. “You do that..” she mused. “But until then, Dr. Y/l/n…you’re stuck with me.”

Your jaw clenched, nails digging into your palm as you swallowed the thousand curses sitting at the tip of your tongue. You straightened your spine, lifted your chin, and without another word, stormed past her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

——

The ER was chaotic, but in a way that was almost comforting. Here, surrounded by the hum of beeping monitors, the shuffle of rushing nurses, the sharp calls of orders being thrown across the room, you could breathe again.

Here, you could focus. You could forget. Forget the fact that you had woken up in Natasha Romanoff’s bed. Forget the way you had slammed straight into her in the hallway like some kind of rom-com protagonist in a fever dream. Forget the way she had smirked, amused as hell, like she hadn’t just wrecked your entire existence with one night.

Because right now? There was a patient to save. And that was all that mattered. A nurse shoved a chart into your hands as you jogged toward the trauma bay. “27-year-old male, motor vehicle accident. Multiple lacerations, blunt abdominal trauma, and a closed femur fracture. BP’s dropping, and he’s tachycardic. He’s all yours.”

Your first real patient. Your heart leapt into your throat, but you didn’t hesitate. “Got it.”

Pushing through the curtain, you snapped on gloves, immediately assessing the scene. The man on the stretcher was ashen, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Blood soaked through his torn shirt, pooling from a deep gash across his abdomen. His leg, bent at an unnatural angle, lay immobilized.

Internal bleeding. Hemorrhagic shock. “Sir, can you hear me?” you asked, pressing a hand against his shoulder.

The man groaned, eyelids fluttering. “Hurts…”

“I know, we’re going to help you.” you assured him, eyes flicking to the monitors.

He was crashing. “We need two large-bore IVs.” you said, voice steady. “Hang a liter of lactated Ringer’s. Crossmatch for blood.”

“Already on it.” a nurse confirmed.

Grabbing trauma shears, you cut through his bloodied shirt. The wound was deep, gaping. Bad. Focus.

You reached for the ultrasound probe, pressing it against his abdomen, and there it was. Dark, pooling black on the screen. Blood. Internal hemorrhage. Your stomach clenched.

“Scan is positive.” you reported quickly. “He’s bleeding into his abdomen.”

“We need imaging.” a nurse said, already prepping the portable X-ray for his leg.

You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ll get an abdominal CT after he’s stabilized-”

Then the monitor alarm blared. BP dropping. Heart rate spiking. “Pressure’s tanking!” a nurse shouted.

Your pulse skyrocketed. You knew what to do. You knew, but suddenly, everything felt too fast. Your mind whited out. Your hands shook as you grabbed the saline bag, fumbling with the IV.

“We- we need to push more fluids, get blood down here-”

“Move.”

The voice was sharp. Cold. Unyielding. Before you could process, Natasha swept past you, taking control of the situation without hesitation. Gone was the amused, smug woman from earlier. Gone was the flirty, teasing tone.

This was Dr. Romanoff. And she was all business. “Push a unit of O-negative now.” she ordered, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “I want a second line in, 18 gauge. Keep the fluids running. Prep for an emergency laparotomy.”

The room snapped into motion. No hesitation. No wasted time. Natasha’s hands moved expertly, assessing the injury with calculated precision. “He’s peritoneal. This isn’t something we wait on.” she said briskly. “He’s going up to the OR.”

The OR. You stared, blindsided, mind short-circuiting. You had expected Natasha to take over. To push you aside and tell you to go chart it like a good little intern.

But the OR? That meant surgery. That meant you were going with her. “He’s going up?” you repeated stupidly, voice higher than it should’ve been.

Natasha shot you a look. “That’s what I just said. Unless you want to stand here and watch him bleed out?”

You snapped out of it. “N-No, I- right, OR. Got it.”

“Then move.”

She didn’t wait, already calling ahead to the surgical team as the gurney rolled forward. You hesitated for only a second before grabbing the other side, helping push the stretcher toward the elevator. Your heart hammered, adrenaline surging through your veins.

This was happening. You were going into the OR. On your first day. As the elevator doors slid shut, Natasha finally looked at you. Not with amusement. Not with the teasing glint she had worn this morning. This was different. This was real.

“Do not freeze up in there.” she said, her tone cool, firm. “If I let you assist, you stay focused. If you panic again, I’m kicking you off the table. Understood?”

You swallowed. You nodded. “Understood.”

She studied you for a beat, then nodded. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open to the bright, sterile lights of the operating room. And just like that, you were in it. Bright overhead lights glared down on the open abdomen of the man on the table, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air, mixing with the sterile burn of antiseptics. The beeping monitors echoed through the room, a steady, nerve-wracking reminder of how little time they had.

Your hands shook as you stepped up to the table, gloved fingers hovering over the surgical field. “Y/l/n, you are assisting me, not standing there like an idiot.” Natasha snapped, not even glancing up. “Hands on the field. Now.”

You snapped into motion, placing your hands on the edges of the incision, breath uneven as you took in the damage. Blood. So much blood. The patient’s abdomen was a mess of pooling crimson, dark and slick, spilling out with every passing second. Too much blood.

“He’s still bleeding out.” Natasha said briskly, already moving, hands precise, unforgiving, unstoppable. “I need a better view. Retract.”

Scrambling for the retractor, you adjusted your grip, unsteady fingers pulling back the edges of the incision, exposing the ruptured spleen beneath.

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “The splenic artery’s still hemorrhaging..” she growled. “Suction, NOW.”

You fumbled with the suction catheter, pressing it into the cavity, watching as more blood gushed out, fast and relentless.

“Another clamp.” she ordered, hand outstretched, not even looking up as the instrument was placed into her palm. “Suction here. I need a clearer field.”

The nurse complied instantly, moving in sync with her. Natasha was in control, the chaos of the OR bending to her will, her focus so absolute that for a moment, you were just trying to keep up. You had never seen someone move like that, so sure of every decision, so damn precise. And you had certainly never seen this version of Natasha before.

Gone was the teasing smirk, the smug amusement, this was nothing like the woman who had toyed with you in the hallway, nothing like the one who had made you feel like the punchline of some inside joke. This Natasha was something else entirely.

“Y/l/n, I need you to assist.”

The words snapped you back into focus. You moved to the other side of the table, the weight of the moment slamming into you. This was real. This was happening. Your heart pounded, but you nodded, swallowing the nerves that threatened to choke you.

You were ready. Or at least, you thought you were. Then it all went wrong. The blood flow surged again, faster than expected. The clamp slipped from its position. A sudden gush of dark, arterial blood flooded the cavity, spilling over the sterile drapes, soaking everything in red.

The room changed instantly. A beat of silence, then voices overlapping“BP dropping-” “He’s losing pressure-” “Get another unit of blood down here-”

Your vision blurred. The sounds around you became distant, muffled like they were coming from underwater. The instruments in your hands felt foreign, too heavy, too light at the same time. You could feel the eyes on you, the other surgeons, the nurses, the interns watching from the observation deck above, staring down at you like a lab experiment about to fail.

Your breath caught in your throat. You were freezing. Natasha’s hands had stopped. She wasn’t fixing it. She was waiting. The realization hit like a slap. She wasn’t saving you. She was letting it happen. Letting you drown in the moment. Because if you couldn’t handle this, if you couldn’t keep it together when things got bad, you had no business being in this OR.

Your lungs burned. Your pulse thundered in your ears. You couldn’t breathe- A touch. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a single gloved hand pressing against the back of yours, steady, deliberate.

Not taking over. Not fixing it for you. Just grounding you. “Look at me.”

The words weren’t sharp this time. They weren’t barked over the chaos. They were quiet. Firm. Your eyes flickered up, locking onto green. Natasha was looking at you. Not the patient. Not the monitors. You.

Not mocking. Not amused. Just watching. Your chest tightened, but then, something clicked. You had trained for this. You knew what to do.

The blood obscured the view, but the clamp had only slipped, it wasn’t lost. You forced your hands to steady, gripping the instrument properly this time. Found the artery beneath the pooling blood. Slid the clamp into place, securing it with the exact pressure needed to stop the hemorrhaging without crushing the tissue.

The bleeding slowed. The monitors stabilized. For a second, the entire OR seemed to pause. Then Natasha nodded, expression unreadable, and went back to work. “Good.” she said simply. “Now keep up.”

And just like that, you were back in it. The panic didn’t disappear completely, but it shifted, settling into something you could control. Your breath steadied. Your hands followed Natasha’s instructions, each movement more sure than the last.

By the time they were ready to close, you could barely believe it. You had almost fallen apart, but you had done it. And Natasha had let you break just enough to prove you could put yourself back together.

As you placed the last suture, Natasha watched you for a moment, then simply pulled off her gloves and tossed them onto the tray. Without looking at you, she said, “You won’t forget that moment.”

The hallway outside the OR was quieter than it should have been, considering how loud your heart was pounding. The rush of the surgery still coursed through your veins, but it wasn’t just the adrenaline anymore.

It was her. Natasha. The woman who had pushed you to the edge in that OR. The woman who had watched you struggle. The woman who had let you drown just enough before forcing you to swim. And now, she was standing against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like she already owned the world.

Or worse..like she owned you. “Not bad.” she mused, tilting her head slightly, watching you with undeniable interest. “For an intern.”

You swallowed, fingers curling into your scrub top as you forced yourself to breathe. You should walk away. You should thank her, say Goodnight, Dr. Romanoff, and pretend your legs weren’t seconds from giving out.

But something was gnawing at you. Had been since you stepped into that OR. Natasha had picked you. But why?

The question stuck in your throat, creeping under your skin until you couldn’t ignore it. You forced yourself to ask. “Did you..Did you pick me because we-”

God, you wished you could swallow the words back down. But Natasha was already on you. She stepped forward, slow, predatory, her smirk deepening as she leaned in just enough to make your body lock up.

“Because we fucked?”

Your breath caught. Your face burned. The heat of her body, her presence, too overwhelming, too much. And then, just for a second..That teasing flickered. Just for a second, Natasha’s smirk softened. And when she spoke again, her voice was lower.

“I picked you because you were the best.” she said, her eyes locking onto yours like she was pinning you in place. “Because you had the highest scores. Because your recommendations spoke for themselves. Because I wanted to see if you could handle real pressure.”

Your chest tightened. And somehow, that made everything so much worse. Because you had been afraid of the answer. Afraid that this morning had been a mistake you would never outrun, a stain that would follow your career before it had even started.

But it wasn’t. Natasha had picked you because you were good. And somehow, that made everything so much worse. You barely had time to process it before someone else entered the hallway.

“Dr. Romanoff.”

You turned just as another surgeon approached, her stride purposeful, her eyes locked onto Natasha like she knew exactly what she wanted. She didn’t even glance at you. Instead, she stepped in close, fingers grazing Natasha’s arm with easy familiarity, her touch dragging just enough to linger.

“I’m waiting for you..” she murmured, voice low. Suggestive. “Sleeping room.”

Your stomach twisted. And Natasha? Natasha just smiled. Not her usual smirk. Not teasing. Not mocking. Something pleased. Something interested. She turned back to you, her smirk curling just enough to be infuriating.

“I’ve got business to do.” she said smoothly. “See you around, Dr. Y/l/n.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t move. You just stood there, watching as Natasha turned, as she let that other woman lead her away, as she disappeared down the hall like none of this even mattered.

Like you weren’t still standing there, pulse still racing, skin still burning from where she had touched you. And maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe this was exactly what you should have expected.

Maybe Natasha had only been proving a point, showing you that you had nothing to prove. That you had been chosen for your talent, not for a night you barely remembered. But the sick feeling in your stomach said otherwise. The way your skin still tingled said otherwise. And the fact that Natasha hadn’t looked back?

That said everything.

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[cjjohansson]

this is my favourite series ever. I love every chapter. And I continuously reread. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH😭😭😭😭😭

Avenger Lane: Chapter 17: Heartbeats

Summary: You and your wife Quinn move your family outside of New York City to Avenger Lane; a small private suburbia. There you face your toughest obstacle of your marriage. Will your marriage with Quinn be strong enough when a certain redheaded beauty captures your attention? 

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Warnings: Smut and, Reader has a Penis

Previous Chapter

Quinn watched as you walked downstairs with your last box in hand.

“I think that’s it… I took my things out of the garage. I’ll figure out how to move the shed. We’ll have to go to the tax office and fix our titles but that’s about it.”

“You can keep it there.” She nodded, biting the inside of her lip to keep herself from crying. Truthfully she’s been crying for weeks. She lost you for good, and though you may say it wasn’t because of another woman. She can’t help but feel that way. How could she not? For months you said she wasn’t anything but a friend, and maybe you were telling the truth, but at some point, you lied. Right? You had to have lied? Feelings don't just come out over a week. At least she feels that way. It doesn’t matter much now. You got your divorce. You packed up your things, and now you’re leaving for the woman next door. 

“Really?” 

“It’s not a big deal.” Quinn nods. 

“I guess I’ll see you at the custody hearing?”

She inhales blinking away a tear. “Yup.”

“Quinn, you know I’m not taking them away… Right?”

“I know you’re not.” She nods again looking down at your feet waiting a beat before changing the subject. “Y/N, we still need to talk about Beth.”

“I know.” You whisper, looking at her photo on the mantel.

“She’s still very upset. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she just locks herself in her room. Her grades are dropping  and she’s always starting arguments with me.” Quinn sniffled.

“I- I don’t know what to do with her she won’t even look my way.” You stuttered.

“Be her parent, Y/N.” Quinn glared.

“She won’t even give me the time of day. Don’t get me wrong I’ll keep trying you know I will, I just…” you sighed. “I’m at a loss here. I can only do so much she has to meet me halfway just a little. I won’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”

“I get that I do, but she needs us right now. She’s hurt, angry, and confused. She doesn’t know how to navigate her feelings at all. We have to figure it out together. By doing that I’m going to request she stay with you every other week.”

“She’s the one that gets to choose.” You sigh.

“Not when I’m the one she chooses. It’s important that you are in both of their lives.”

“I didn’t think you would.” You say in surprise.

“As much of a hard time I gave you about the divorce I won’t about our children. They love you so very much, and it would kill them if I took them away from you. I don’t want them to resent me the way I resent my parents.”

You walked over pulling her in a hug. You felt the way your ex-wife tensed and slowly relaxed hugging you back before crying in your arms.

“Everything will be okay just one day at a time. We will work with Beth together, and when you’re ready you can work on things with Rachel.”

Quinn nodded, pulling back as she wiped her tears.

“I’ll see you soon, and I’ll get Beth from school today. Maybe take her to that arcade she likes and we can talk about everything.”

“Okay.” Quinn nodded.

“We are all going to get through this Quinn, I promise.”

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You stood by the passenger side door of your truck as Beth got out of school.

You waved only to see her roll her eyes and walk past you with her friends. The only one who looked back concerned was Lila.

“Beth your-“ The Barton child began only for Beth to stop her.

“I know and I don’t care.” Beth huffed

You sighed as she kept walking.

“Mx. Y/L/N?” 

“Agatha, you can just call me Y/N.” You nod.

“I’ve been hearing Beth is starting to show signs that she’s struggling. Have you thought about maybe bringing her to my office for some one-on-one time?”

“I don’t think we’re there yet. I’m still trying.”

“Court for custody is tomorrow right?”

“Yes, I spoke with Quinn about it earlier she wants me to have equal time with the girls.”

“That’s good, I’m glad the two of you were able to work that out for the kids.” Agatha nodded.

“I was surprised but grateful.”

Agatha nodded watching as Beth looked back as she continued her trek with friends. “Just remember I’m here for her when you’re ready to bring her.” 

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You step into your new home you share with Natasha setting the box aside as you watch her cooking dinner. You walk over holding her from behind as she stirs.

“This smells delicious.” You sigh in her neck.

“I figured I’d make your favorite since you’re all moved in.” She turned her head, capturing your lips.

“Hmm, my favorite is you.” You smirk letting your hands roam her freshly showered body.

“Baby.” She sighed, as you suckled on her sweet spot.

“Hmm.” You hum drying humping into her from behind feeling yourself growing in need.

“Malysh, dinner.” She smirks pushing back into you.

“My dinner is right here.” You say placing a firm hand on her pussy that is currently growing wet beneath her shorts. Natasha lets out a moan pushing into you further. “So I guess you better lie down on the table so I can eat, or bend over the counter. Whichever you prefer.” You smirk as she brings you into a sloppy kiss.

“Daddy, I’m so wet for you already.” 

“That’s good, princess 'cause I’m salivating.”

You quickly bent her over the counter. Rocking against her letting your staff have some relief. 

“Fuck baby you’re so hard.” She moans, rolling her body with yours.

You tug down her shorts and lift one of her legs on the edge of the counter before inhaling her scent.

“Fuck you’re making my mouth water.” You open her cheeks a bit more before eating her ass.

“Oh, my-“ she moans loudly, one hand gripping the counter and the other the cabinet. 

You let your fingers feel how slick she was before turning around beneath her, licking her pussy clean. You can’t help but crave the way she tastes. The way she quivers when your tongue runs up her slick folds right against her little bundle of nerves. She moans with every swipe of the tip of your tongue.

Natasha is slowly feeling the coil in her loins wanting to spring but she needs more.

“Oh God, data more, please! More!”

You smirk looking at how frustrated she is. “More?”

“More Daddy please!” She begs and that’s enough for you. You’ll have mercy on her needs.

You coat your fingers in her wetness before sliding them down her clit inside her sweet pussy.

“Ohh yes!” She groans and grinds down your fingers as your tongue goes back to her taste. Natasha whimpers scratching your scalp with her nails.

“You taste soooo good babe.” You mutter between her thighs. 

“I need you inside me.”

“I am inside you.” You smirk.

“You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you?” She glared pushing you away.

“Yup.”

“I need your cock daddy.”

You stand up behind her and rub yourself against her before pushing inside.

“Y/N!” She moans, turning to bring your lips against hers.

“You always feel so good, baby.” You gripped her ass roughly as you continued your thrusts.

“You’re so thick and long.” She whimpered.

“And you take me perfectly every time.” You say feeling yourself ready to unleash your load.

“Oh my-! Faster!” She groaned and you obliged.

“I’m about to cum baby, where do you want it?”

“Inside of me.” She husked bringing you in a kiss.

You felt her pussy constricting around you when you thrust inside of her one final time before cuming deep inside of her.

“Fuck.” You sigh against her shoulder as she arches into you letting her continue her waves of pleasure.

You both kissed softly as you felt your cum rolling down your shaft. You both whimper as you pull out slowly and gather your cum on the tip of your cock before pushing back inside of her.

She hummed as you massaged her back.

“Why is it that we have made love so many times, and once is still not enough? I could go on for as long as you’d let me.” You smirked against her cheek.

“I hope you always feel that way about me.” She whispered with a hint of a smirk.

“I know I will.” You replied. “You’re my soulmate, Natasha.”

She smiled, kissing your lips. “As you are mine. Now as much as we wanna keep going, I worked hard on this dinner so how about you let me feed you?”

You pull out slowly and she picks up her shorts and panties before heading to the restroom.

“Clean the counter and wash your hands!” She shouts from the restroom.

You smirk bending over to grab the cleaner and paper towel before smelling your fingers. “Fuck that’s good.” You chuckle, sucking on them once more before doing as you were told.

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You watched afar as your fiancé finished up her nightly routine. You can’t help but notice how some of your favorite parts of hers have grown. Her breasts and bottom have grown a bit thicker. She actually has a small hint of a tummy now and you can’t help but bite your lip at how sexy she looks. You remember that’s what happened with Quinn when she got- Neh that can’t be it. You shake the thought out of your mind.

“You okay?” Natasha asks as she walks back into your shared bedroom.

You nod, giving her a tired smile. She lays next to you, turning you by the chin.

“What’s wrong?”

“Quinn, wants me to try harder with Beth.” 

“She’s right.”

“I just don’t know how… I feel like every time I try she ignores me. Earlier today I went to pick her up from school, and she just walked past me. Her grades are struggling, and she’s giving Quinn a hard time. Agatha wants me to let her have a session with Beth.”

“Maybe that’s the best thing for her?”

You shake your head. “That means I’ve failed as a parent. I just need some more time.”

“You haven’t failed. That’s not what that means, but if you want more time to try and mend it yourself then okay.”

“I love you. I’ll fix this, I promise.” You say bringing her against you cuddling into her. 

“It’s just going to take some time.” Natasha reminds you.

You kissed her chest letting your fingers graze her thighs. Natasha brushes your hair back.

“Sometimes this doesn’t feel real.” She chuckles with a shake of her head.

“What doesn’t?” You stop your motions looking down at her.

“That we’re finally here together. You moved in with me,  and now we’re going to plan a wedding soon. It almost feels like a fairytale. Almost. It probably would be if you hadn’t been married, or I could have had children.” She sighs.

You kiss her nose not knowing what to say to that. You were married and you know how much it kills her to not be able to carry her own child.

“Did you tell Quinn?”

You cringed and shook your head.

“Y/N.” Natasha sighed, pushing you off of her.

“It’s too soon, but I will tell her.

“I don't know what I’m more upset about. You taking off your ring or not telling her.”  Natasha sighed sadly. 

“Nat, I will tell her. I just thought if I told her earlier she’d explode so I decided to wait.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

“I’m sorry, I took off my ring for her. I’ll tell her soon I promise.”

Natasha nodded stiffly.

“One good thing though! She wants us to have the girls every other week. She said she won’t let Beth choose one place. Which hopefully will help.”

“We have to finish fixing up their rooms.” Natasha mentioned.

“Maybe tomorrow? I’m off anyway for the hearing. We can go to the store after?”

“Okay.” Natasha nodded.

“We still get to plan our wedding.” You grin. “Have you given it any thought?”

Natasha beams, unable to contain her excitement she jumps up. “Wait here!”

You chuckle sitting when she runs back in bed carrying a large binder. ”Whoa!” You raise your brows seeing a picture of you proposing on the cover.

“I have ideas!”

“That’s great baby. Show me.” You grin as she cuddles against you opening the binder.

“So, I always wanted an outdoor wedding. Preferably Spring or Fall. It has the perfect temperatures. Plus the trees and flowers are beautiful.”

“That sounds perfect.” You grin seeing a picture of what you suspect is the wedding from Twilight. “Are you walking down the aisle to Flightless Bird or A Thousand Years?”

“Don’t make fun of me.” She frowned, biting your arm.

“Ahhh, I wasn’t! You vampire.” You laugh.

“I was actually thinking maybe Can’t Help Falling In Love but the Kina cover.”

“She does a great cover.” You nod.

“Do you have one?” She asks, creating a wedding playlist and sharing it with you on her phone.

“Uhh yeah actually.” You reach over on the nightstand for your phone before quickly adding the song to the playlist. 

“Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez. I don’t think I’ve heard of this.” Natasha smiled while playing.

“It’s a cover as well.” You add as you hear those familiar strums. “He’s one of my favorite artists.”

“It’s beautiful.” She whispers.

“The original is great too but it’s more fast-paced. What other songs were on your mind?”

“First Day of My Life.” She smiles, kissing your cheek as it plays.

“Ooo such a great song.”

She flips the page showing you the colors she was thinking of having. “You could be my something blue.” She smiled pointing at the blue tux.

“I love it!” You grinned. 

“Yeah?” She smiled.

“Nat, I want you to have the wedding of your dreams. Anything you want, I will make it happen.”

“I don’t think you should give me that much power.” The Russian woman smirks.

“You have all the power, Princess.” You say softly near her ear. Natasha shivers before bringing you in a kiss. “Now what about the honeymoon?” You smirk.

“I’m thinking somewhere private and very tropical. Bikinis or maybe no bikinis.”

“Sexy.”

“Maybe Bali?”

“Beautiful.”

“Belize, Costa Rica, or maybe Seychelles?”

“Any of them as long as we have endless sex, sunbathe with nonstop drinks, and great food.”

Natasha giggles, kissing you once more. “Yes to all of those ideas.” 

You attempted to flip the page but Natasha stopped your hand. 

“Those pages are dress ideas.” She smirked, gathering the pages by her fingernail and turning them as one.

“Ooooh food!” You grinned letting your eyes pour over the steak and chicken options. “Oh man, I love steak! Oooh is that a fajita plate? I love tacos!”

“Yeah, I even found an option for a pizza theme and a Sunday bar.”

“A Sunday bar?!” You gasped.

“Hmhm.” She hummed happily.

“Is that a chicken fried steak?” You grinned looking up.

“Yeah, I found one place that does more of a family-style dinner.”

“Fuck, I’m hungry now…” you look up at your fiancé.

“Baby, we just had dinner.”

“Yeahhh I know.” You sighed.

Natasha turned opening her nightstand handing you some mini chocolate bars.

“Ooooh!” You ripped into it taking a bite before offering the other half to your girl.

“Thanks, baby.” She took the last bite as you turned the page.

“Oooh flowers.”

Natasha yawned.

“Here we can look again tomorrow, let's get some sleep.” You smiled, shutting the binder and placing it on your nightstand. 

You both lay down intertwining your legs and facing one another.

“I love you Detka and I can’t wait to marry you.” Natasha kissed your cheek and stroked your hair.

“I love you too darling.”

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You were awoken in the early morning hours to Natasha jumping out of bed and running to the toilet.

You quickly lifted the sheets off running to your fiancé.

“No Y/N it’s so gross!“ Natasha groaned before throwing up into the bowl.

You held Natasha’s hair back as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

She groaned, leaning against the tub as you grabbed a small hand towel. She watched as you ringed out the water, placing it on her forehead.

“I’ll be right back.”

You rushed downstairs grabbing a cup of water, ginger ale, and some saltines before running back upstairs. You set it on the dresser before opening it and grabbing a fresh set of clothes.

If she weren’t feeling like absolute garbage she’d comment on how sweet and doting you are with her. You had helped her change into a fresh set of clothes and even got her toothbrush and mouthwash ready.

“Nat, are you sure you can’t get pregnant?” You found yourself asking as you wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“Yes… well. That’s what the doctor said.”

“It’s just that Quinn went through this twice. I know morning sickness when I see it. Also, that woman from our trip said she could tell you were pregnant, and I’m not being mean baby, but your moods have been swinging lately. Again not being mean but your body is-

“My body is what?” Natasha quirked her brow. “Tread lightly Y/L/N.

“You’re slightly thicker in a great way if I may add. I just would feel better if we got you checked out.” 

Natasha smiled at your concern and agreed. She knew in her heart she wasn’t pregnant, but if you were this worried about her. Then she’d do it just to ease your worries. Even when the eventual negative test hurts her heart.

“Okay.” She nodded.

“I’ll see if they have an opening after the hearing.”

“Babe?” Natasha kinked her brow with an amused smile on her face.

“Huh?”

“I can call my gyno.” She chuckled.

“Right.” You nodded, hitting your head.

“Get ready for court and I’ll call.” She smiled.

You leaned in to peck her lips only for her to turn her head.

“Wha-“

“Y/N, I just puked my guts out.” She glared.

“You brushed your teeth and had mouthwash.”

“Hnhn.” She shook her head negatively.

You chuckled and pecked her temple instead.

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“You both agree to equal custody of the children?”

“Yes.” You and Quinn spoke in unison.

Soon you were both signing an agreement and walking out of the courthouse.

“That was easier than I thought it would be.” You sighed.

Quinn nodded quietly.

“Quinn?”

The blonde looked up holding back her tears. 

“Thank you for not fighting me on this.”

“I couldn’t do that to you.” She replied.

You nodded looking down at the court documents.

“It’s all real now.” She said softly looking down at your ring-less finger.

“It’s better this way. You and I lost our way years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered as your eyes softened. “I’m sorry, I hurt you. I’m sorry I took your career away.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“For what? I’m the one who ruined us.” She scoffed, wiping her tears.

“I fell for Natasha while being married to you. Even after all our fighting I still feel guilty for being with her while we were married. Separated but still.” You say.

“Can I ask you something?” Quinn’s eyes were a soft hazel.

“Of course.”

“When did you start falling for her?” 

“Well, I know, I was attracted to her on my birthday and it just grew into love.”

Quinn nodded, she knew it would hurt to ask but she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m sorry.” You cringed.

“Don’t be.” The blonde shook her head.

Quinn hugs you and you hug her. 

“I’m gonna go pick up, Fin, and have lunch with my sister,” Quinn said.

“I’m gonna go get things for their rooms.” You reply.

“You know they can bring some stuff from home too.”

“Yeah, but it sounds bad to have them lug things back and forth.”

She nodded, crossing her arms.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” She agrees.

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“Hey, baby.” You smile as Natasha hops in the truck.

“Hi.” She smiles leaning in to kiss you only for you to lean back.

“Eh, I don’t know, you threw up earlier.” You joked.

Natasha slapped your shoulder. 

“Kidding.” You chuckled.

“Kiss your fiancé hello.”

“My pregnant fiancé.” You grinned, kissing her softly.

“Y/N, don’t get your hopes up please.” She says softly, buckling in.

“I don’t know, Nat, the signs don’t lie. Plus, I didn’t tell you this but I had a dream. It just seemed too real.” 

“What did you dream about?” She asks as you start driving.

“Well before you got sick this morning I dreamt I was holding our son in my arms. He had your eyes.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You grinned.

Natasha bit her lip looking out the window. She was so afraid you would not want to be with her when the negative test inevitably appeared.

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You both hardly had to wait long. Soon Natasha was on the bed feet in the stirrups with lubricant being rubbed on her belly.

It wasn’t until a heartbeat echoed in the room.

“Looks like you’re in your first trimester. Everything is normal for 9 weeks.”

“Wait… did you say- Is that a baby?“ Natasha sputtered.

“You’re 9 weeks pregnant.” The doctor smiled widely. 

You both looked at one another. It had been 9 weeks since the first time you had sex. You knocked her up on the first try. You wanted some time with her before you even thought about kids. To be honest, you have 2 girls and you always wanted more, but you wanted just some time with Natasha to yourself.

You briefly remember a vasectomy pamphlet Santana snuck in one of your stockings for Christmas one year.

“Congratulations Mrs and Mx. Y/L/N. You’re going to be parents in about 7-8 months. Just start taking prenatal vitamins. I’ll have a few copies of the ultrasound made for you, and schedule you this time next month in 3 weeks; for a checkup.”

“Wait, I have so many questions!” Natasha huffed.

Her doctor chuckled and nodded. “Of course go on.”

“First off how?! I tried years ago through insemination. They told me after testing that my eggs and my uterus just weren’t fertile. Second, I have been drinking. Not a lot, but I have. How bad will that affect our baby?”

“Well for the first question, there’s a small chance the tests could have been inconclusive, swapped, or maybe you weren’t fertile at the time due to stress. There’s a multitude of reasons that could have happened. As for your second question, it happens more than you think as long as you stop now, and begin your vitamins. Your baby should be just fine. Any more questions?”

“No, that’s all, thank you.” Natasha shook her head.

“Well if you do feel free to send me a message through the medical app, and I will get back to you right away. Have a great day and congratulations to you both again.” With that the doctor left you and Natasha alone together.

“Wow.” You said looking at the video image of your baby. 

“I’m pregnant.” Natasha smiled, feeling tears prick her eyes. Her hands cupped her stomach.

“You’re pregnant.” You chuckled, covering her hand with yours.

“We’re having a baby Y/N.” Natasha whispered a beautiful smile on her face.

You both let out a soft chuckle thinking of a future with a baby in your life.

You both blatantly ignore the fact that you both only got together 9 weeks ago, and you were very much still married at the time.

“You owe that woman from our trip an apology.”

Natasha laughed as you both walked out hand in hand. Soon you were helping her in the truck. 

“I’m only 9 weeks pregnant,” Natasha smirked, biting her lip as you retracted your hand to help her in.

“Right.” You chuckled, backing off, you distinctly remember Quinn slapping your arm every time you tried to help her in the car.

“It’s okay детка.” She chuckled, bringing you back down. She kissed your lips softly. “You’re just taking care of me.”

“I’ll always take care of you and our kids.” You whispered against her plump lips.

“Hmm, thank you malysh.”

“Come on Mommy, let's get your vitamins and check out the new baby fads.” You smirked before closing the door.

“Mommy.” Natasha whispered a ghost of a smile appearing as she touched her stomach. Everything was finally happening for her all at once. She has her soulmate, you’re both engaged and now she’s pregnant. Something she always wanted but never thought she’d get.

You were both at the local pharmacy picking up the vitamins when you walked into an infant store a few doors down.

“детка look at this!” Natasha gasped, lifting a tiny onesie that said ‘Gingersnap Fresh Out The Oven’. You were desperately hoping your baby would come out looking like Natasha.

“That’s perfect.” You chuckled subtly, taking one of the onesies and setting it near the cashier with a wink. You walked away to keep looking.

“Whoa, this has gotta be the Cadillac of pumps!” You chuckled while lifting the product. “It’s a wireless breast pump!”

“Makes pumping so much easier!” The woman at the cash register gushed. “I haven’t seen you two in here before. I’m going to assume you’re expecting. If you haven’t done your baby shower yet we do have a registry so whenever you’re about ready maybe keep us in mind.” She smiled.

“Of course.” Natasha smiled back, taking your hand. Oh my God, I get a baby shower. She internally squealed.

Natasha was currently looking at all the pregnancy books. She wanted all of them.

“I still have a few books if you want them.” You say softly remembering where you put them in the attic. 

“Okay only if Quinn doesn’t want them.” She nodded. “Do you have this one?” ‘What to expect when you’re expecting.’

“I had no idea there were editions.” You chuckled gulping, taking the book from her hand.

After buying your fiancé nearly every book in the store. You stopped at a restaurant knowing she needed to eat. You slyly slid a small bag across the table.

“детка you're the sweetest.” She smiled, taking your hand.

“You haven’t even opened it yet.” You laugh.

“Everything you give me is special.” She winked subconsciously, setting her hand over her stomach before bringing it up to open her gift. She gasped seeing the onesie she was in love with. “I thought you said no clothes or gadgets until our next appointment.” She smirked.

“Come on, you know I couldn’t leave the store without getting a ginger onesie.” You smirked, kissing the back of her hand.

“I love you.” She stood leaning down to kiss you.

“I love you too.” You smiled in the kiss before she sat back down.

“Now let’s get the girls things for their rooms.”

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You were both cuddling after a long day of exciting news and getting the rooms ready for the girls.

“I was thinking.” She spoke softly into your chest.

“Hm?” You hummed trying not to fall asleep.

“I think it’s time for me to meet your parents as your fiancé. I wanna meet them before I start expanding like a balloon.”

“Really?” You inhale looking down at her.

“Yeah! I wanna see where you grew up, and get to know your parents!” She smiled, kissing your shoulder.

“That’s awesome! Maybe we can spend Christmas with them?!”

“That’s a great idea, detka.” Natasha smiled, kissing your cheek. “We can tell them they're going to be grandparents again on Christmas!”

“Alright.” You chuckled. “I’ll call up my parents, and buy the tickets. “Does this mean I finally get to meet the infamous Alexei and Melina?” You grinned.

“You want to go to Russia?” She grinned.

“Well, I thought maybe we can pull the trigger and bring them down here for good.” You shrugged. 

“Really?” She beamed.

“Yeah, maybe we can get them down here next month. We just need to talk to Thor about a job and I’ll talk to Tony about Melina to see what he thinks. Plus we can get them an apartment for now until they figure out another place to live. Our place is gonna be pretty packed now with our little one coming.”

“Okay.” She sighed contently, laying her forehead against yours.

“Everything is happening so fast.” You chuckle.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Natasha asked hesitantly.

“God no! I just can’t believe how quickly everything is coming together. First, us getting together, my divorce going through quickly, us getting engaged, and then moving in together. Now you’re carrying our first child, and soon your parents will finally be getting their green card. Everything is slowly falling into place.”

“You’re going to be a daddy again.” Natasha smiles, pecking your lips and scratching your abs.

“Hmm, I got you on the first try.” You chuckled squeezing her ass.

 “Hmm yeah, you did daddy.” Natasha husks kissing your lips before straddling you rubbing herself against you feeling you growing beneath her.

“Fuck, baby. You wanna ride daddy now?” You smirk squeezing her hips as she arches her back.

“Hmm you’d like that wouldn’t you daddy? Mommy riding this thick long dick?”

“Fuck yes, I would.” You groan. 

“Hmm, then I guess you better tell Quinn you’re engaged to a pregnant woman. Because until then you won’t be enjoying this ride.” 

Suddenly she is up and lying beside you.

“Wait what?!” You sit up.

“You heard me.”

“Babe, seriously? You get me hot and bothered, and now you're withholding?!” 

“Guess you better tell her soon, I know you can’t go long without being inside me.” She smirked.

“That’s so unfair! Babe?” You chuckled in disbelief. “Come on Nat you know I’ll tell her.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow I’ll tell her tomorrow. I promise. Come on baby we’re gonna have the girls for the weekend and the week. We may not get to have sex again.” 

Natasha contemplates her decision as she purses her lips.

“Come on baby, please? I love you so much and I just wanna show you how much tonight. We heard amazing news today and Daddy wants to celebrate with mommy so badly.” You coo, kissing her hand and up her arm.

Natasha giggles she wants to hold her ground and deny you, but you’re too irresistible.

“I’ll tell you what.” She smirks. “I’ll give you what you want but Y/N, I’m warning you now if you don’t tell her tomorrow. I will nut punch you the way you did Scott.” 

“Yes ma’am.” You nod in agreement. “Wait, I'm only telling her we’re engaged. Mom always said it’s bad luck to tell people you're pregnant until after the first trimester.”

“That’s fine. It kind of sucks though. I’m finally pregnant and I have to wait another 3 weeks to tell people?”

“i mean… you can if you really want to. The reason most people wait is to make sure the risk is down by the first trimester.”

Natasha nodded, taking your hand.

“I can’t wait to tell Yelena, my parents, and our friends.”

“You’re going to be an amazing mother.” You say softly brushing her hair back, kissing her tenderly.

“Thank you, baby.” She muttered nibbling your neck. “I still can’t believe you got me pregnant on our first time together.” She smirked.

“Hmm, I remember every detail of that day.”

“You fucked me right all day and night.”

“You were in those little shorts and my cock was rock hard for you. I still remember how wet you were for me.“

“I was always soaked for you just like I am now.”

You groaned, tearing off each other's clothes. Natasha laid you down before lifting your member. She kissed you sloppily as her hand slowly pumped you. Soon Natasha left your lips and kissed her way down your taut body. Her tongue darted out as she licked your cock up and down and all around before opening her mouth. You hissed, holding her hair as she gagged you down. 

“Fuuuck!” You groaned looking at her in her sultry eyes as she bobbed her head. “That’s so good.” You sigh.

Natasha hummed feeling you throb inside of her mouth. Feeling you this way makes her gush. She sucks on you harder and harder, making you moan. 

Soon she feels the way you buck into her mouth gripping her head with both hands. You’re getting closer she can feel the way your abs twitch against her hand.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck I’m gonna-“

Natasha bobbed her head faster as she sucked you harder.

You groan as your dick cocked and unleashed your seed right on her tongue.

She pumped you slowly as you bucked and groaned in appreciation.

Natasha stuck her tongue out showing you your cum. Your cock twitched in the air still hard for her. She lathered your cum on your staff hearing you moan before straddling you.

”Wait baby, let me taste you first.” You hummed as she rubbed her slick sticky pussy against your cum ridden meat.

“You know how hot and bothered I get giving you a blow job. I need you inside me now.” She whined grinding down on you.

“As much as I wanna taste you I wanna please you more. Use me then babe.”

Natasha moaned, pushing you inside as she rocked back. “Oh my God, yes! Ugh, you fill me up so well baby!”

“Shhhhhhhiiiiiit Natasha!” You groaned, leaning against the headboard as she slid down your member.

“Hmm.” She hummed, arching her back as she flung her hair behind her shoulders.

You reach for her nipples letting your thumbs play with them before bringing your mouth around them. 

“Oh Y/N. Daddy.” Natasha wiggled around you. “I love you. You fill me up so good. I want you all the time, especially now that you’re mine.” She moaned loudly, picking up speed.

“You can have me anytime for the rest of our lives baby. I love you and the way you take all of me every time.” You wrapped your arms around her, kissing her with passion. 

“I love you. Fuck, Y/N! I love you so much!” She moaned as she began lifting a bit higher to stroke your cock.

“I love you too. I’m getting close.”

Natasha moaned loudly as she continued stroking you faster and faster.

“Hm, that's it, baby move with me.” You say against her lips helping her lift up and down.

Soon she cried out as she paused her motions constructing around you.

“Ohhh fuck.” You groaned feeling your seed shoot inside of her.

You both panted and shook in the aftershocks of pure bliss. She lifted up and down riding it out. You also pumped inside of her a bit more before she lifted off you.

“Ahhh.” You hissed feeling your spunk land on your cock. You looked down gathering it all on your dick. “Oh baby, this is one of my favorite parts.” You bit your lip as you watched your fiancé take your cum ridden member and taking you back inside of her.

“Oooohh fuuuuuuck that’s it, fuuuuck that’s it.” You groaned feeling your toes curl.

“I want your cum deep inside me. I wanna have all of your babies.”

“If I could toss an extra bun in the oven I would baby. Fuck you feel so good.” You say pushing up and laying her down.

“Yessss!” Natasha began groaning as you thrust inside of her. “Fuck you’re so sexy daddy!” She moaned rubbing your flexing abs.

”That’s alllll you love.” You smirk letting your hands rub her hourglass of a body. “You’re gonna look so fucking good when your belly gets bigger.” You pant.

“Yeah?” She moaned.

“Fuck yes! Your boobs and ass are gonna be so fucking thick. Not to mention your pussy is gonna feel soooooo fucking good. I can’t wait.”

Natasha smirked, bringing you down with her legs.

Your moans grew louder and the sound of the bed creaking spurred you both on. 

“Shit, shit, shit, baby I’m gonna-“ Natasha let out a porn-worthy moan as she shook in your arms.

You hissed pulling out as she squirted against your abs. “Fuuuck that’s it, baby.” You smirked as she jolted feeling your cock against her little bundle of nerves.

“One more time baby for daddy?”

“Hmm yes, daddy.” She whined.

Your pussy monster is holding back. It wants to become a cave person and celebrate breeding your fiancé. They want nothing more than to flip her over and fuck her silly, but she seems so tired from her last orgasm. You have to tame the pussy monster inside of you.

“Don't worry baby girl daddy will go nice and slow.” You say getting into the missionary position entering her once more.

“Ohhhhhh daddy.” She groaned as you suckled on her sweet spot.

“Daddy’s got you sweetheart.” You grunt thrusting deep inside of her.

“Ugh, Daddy I already feel so full.” She whined.

“Daddy’s getting closer. Just a few more strokes inside this magnificent pussy you have. It’s so fucking perfect.”

“Keep going daddy make me cum again.”

You kiss her lips keeping a steady pace as she begins to meet your thrusts.

“Fuck I’m about to cum already.” You huff.

“Rub my clit daddy I’m getting there.”

You reach below rubbing against her clit with her hand on yours.

“Ohhhh! Ohhhhhhhh! Yesssss Y/N fuck yes! Ohhhh daddy!”

“Oh, baby!” You moan with her feeling your cock sputter inside of her. You hiss, thrusting little by little until your high lightens up.

You both kiss softly. “I love you so much.” You whisper.

“I love you so much.” She replies sleepily.

“I’ll clean up love.”

She hums in response.

You leave to grab a damp towel wiping her body clean before grabbing a fresh set of sheets.

You lift her up, placing her on the chair with some panties and your shirt before changing the bedding.

“You're so sweet Y/N.” She yawns as you lay her back down.

“I love you, baby mama.” You chuckle seeing her smile sleepily. You lean down kissing her stomach before circling around her.

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“Mommy where we goin’?” Fin asked as Quinn finished packing some clothes and toys in her pack pack.

“You’re gonna go stay with papa for a week.”

“Papa?” Fin furrowed her brows. “You're not coming?”

“No baby, but I will be right here if you need me. Beth and Ollie are going with you too.

“Otay.” The toddler replied in confusion seeing Ollie with his leash and all his things.

Quinn looked over at her phone seeing you knocking on the door. 

“Come on, your papa is here.” The blonde placed the Bluey backpack on her back and lifted her up. “Beth, come on.”

“This is stupid.” Beth groaned.

“Beth. Don’t start.” Quinn muttered, walking them down the stairs, and opening the door.

“Hi, girls.”

“Papa!” Finley beamed.

“Hi, Finny!” You littered her face with kisses before stepping inside.

“Hi, Beth.” You see her sitting on the last stair.

She looked up from her book to briefly roll her eyes at you.

“Lovely.” You sighed, before turning to your ex-wife. “You cut your hair. It looks great!” 

“Thank you.” Quinn had chopped off most of her blonde locks leaving her with a bob. She always kept it shoulder length or longer because she knew you loved it that way. “I know you said you got their rooms ready, but I still packed them with some clothes and toiletries.”

“Thank you.” You nod.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn muttered leaning against the sofa.

“Nothing is wrong, I just… can we talk?”

“Uh, sure.” She nodded.

You put on Bluey for Fin sitting her on the sofa with some goldfish. Beth begrudgingly sat next to her before you took Quinn aside to the kitchen.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” You say not wanting to ruin the new vibe between you and your ex-wife.

“That doesn’t sound too good.” She chuckled while sitting at the table. “If it’s about you two being engaged I already know.”

“It’s not about- wait you know?”

“I think you forget that people post things on social media.”

“I was going to tell you-“

“I’m sure you were… wait you said that wasn’t what you were going to talk to me about.”

“I wanted to ask you if I could have the kids for Christmas and New Year's. I wanted to go back home to Lima to see my parents.”

Quinn’s eyebrows raised. “Uhh sure that’s okay.”

“Do you want to join us?”

“God no.” Quinn chuckled. “It’s funny that you brought that up, Rachel asked if I wanted to spend Christmas with her dads in Saint Martin.”

“Oh. That’s nice, really nice actually. You always wanted a tropical Christmas.” You chuckled.

“Yeah?” Quinn furrowed her brows.

“Yeah, it sounds relaxing and luxurious.” You grin.

“So you don’t mind?” She asks looking up at you.

“Of course not, I want you to be happy.” You smile.

Quinn nodded and after a beat said: “Thank you, I’ll have an early Christmas with them.”

“Great.” You nodded. “Well, we should get going.” 

Quinn nodded and watched you walk towards the girls.”

“Alright let’s go Fin, Beth.” 

Beth ran to her mother hugging her tightly.

“It’s okay Beth go.” Quinn nodded, caressing her cheek.

The young blonde nodded reluctantly following you out the door.

“No papa Bluey!” Fin whined. 

“We can watch it again soon I promise. Beth, let's go grab Ollie.” You say again opening the door.

As you were all walking next door Finley spoke up.

“We go to Nattys?” Fin wrinkled her brow.

“Yeah, bub we live there now.”

“But I also live with mommy?”

“Yes, you also live with mommy. You have two homes now. One with mommy and one with papa.”

“Two?” Fin tilted her head as you walked up the steps.

“Yes, bub.”

The toddler was silent for a moment almost as if the young gears in her mind were spinning.

“Hmm smells good!” You say stepping inside.

Natasha took a deep breath smoothing out her clothes before stepping into the living room.

“Natty!” Fin beamed, wiggling in your arms. You set her down and she dropped her backpack. 

“Hi, Finny!” Natasha catches your toddler in her arms lifting her up.

You bent down picking up the backpack to see Beth looking down at her feet. You reach over gently, taking her hand. “I know this is a lot. I know you’re still upset, but thank you for being here. We can work through this together.”

Natasha watched as Beth nodded letting a couple tears fall on her sneakers.

“Nat and I just want to be here for you one step at a time.” You whisper, wiping her tears away. “Let’s put away your things and come back down for dinner.”

You lead Beth to her new room as Natasha follows with Fin in her arms.

Natasha smiled to herself seeing Beth’s eyes widen at her new room.

She had a nice bed with a cute comforter set and a bookshelf you built and painted for her. As well as a nice pc setup. 

“Bethy look!” Fin giggled pointing to your neon sign on the wall.

“Beth, I know you have another room right next door, but we want this to feel like home too.”

The young blonde nodded, lifting a photo frame of her and her friends at soccer practice. Another of her and your parents, and one with the three of you in the pool.

“Thank you,” Beth spoke softly.

Before you or Natasha could speak, Fin spoke up.

“My room now?”

“Sure.” Natasha chuckled.

Beth set her duffle bag down and followed the three of you to the next room. 

Natasha set the toddler down. 

“Bluey!” She squealed, pointing to the stuffies on her bed. “Look Bethy! Big Lego!” Fin gasped, seeing a Lightning McQueen track set and a small toy box. Fin quickly grabbed Lightning and placed him on the track. She giggled and squealed as she raced to the end.

“You both have a conjoined bathroom as well.” Natasha added.

Beth looked in, nodding at the cute colors Natasha picked out.

“Alright, bubs let’s go eat.”

“Awww.” Fin frowned. 

“We can play again later, Finny. Let’s eat first.” Natasha spoke lifting the toddler up in her arms

“Aw, Natty nooo.” Fin whined.

“No dinner, no dessert.” You say.

“Desert?” Fin perked up as you all made your way downstairs.

“I thought that we could all make our own pizza.” Natasha smiled, shrugging. “I made the base sauce and I laid out all the toppings.”

You set Finley in her high chair with her dough. She squealed when she squeezed the dough.

The hint of a smile on Beth’s face did not go unnoticed by Natasha.

“For dessert, I made us a cheesecake.”

“Hmmmmm.” Fin, looked like a cartoon looking at the cheesecake. She even had a little drool on her lip. 

Beth giggled, wiping her face. Natasha took that as a win.

“After dinner, I thought we could have a Mario Kart championship. The winner gets an extra slice of cheesecake.”

“Ohhh you are all going down!” You bellowed.

“Please I’ll hit you with the blue shell.” Beth scoffed.

“I’ll just do a spin move.” You shrugged.

“You mean on the banana peel?” Beth smirked.

“No, I win, I win!” Fin giggled.

Natasha smiled seeing the three of you laugh as you roll out your dough.

“Beth you gotta do the spinny thing.” You said tossing your dough in the air.

Beth laughed and threw hers in the air as well.

“Me too, me too!” Fin giggled only for hers to end up on her head.

“That’s just too cute.” Natasha smiled as all three of you snapped a photo.

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“Hmm, tasty.” Fin nodded, as Natasha helped feed her. “I do it now Natty, I do it.”

“Ohh okay, you’re such a big girl.”

“Yes.” Fin nodded watching you eat yours from the side of the crust and took a bite.

You reached under the table taking Natasha’s hand and giving it a light squeeze. You had both decided to keep the PDA in front of the kids at a very low state. It kinda killed you both a bit as neither of you can keep your hands off the other. Especially right now when you just want to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you. For all of this. It’s pretty awesome.” You grin.

“Tank you, Natty.”

“Thank you.” Beth said softly.

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“Alright, this is it.” You grin nudging Beth. 

Natasha looked down at her phone and picked it up.

“It’s Yelena.” She said to you.

You nodded and looked back at the game.

“Hey.” Natasha answered.

“Hi Cestra, how’d your first night as stepmother go?”

“It’s still going but it’s been great so far.”

“That’s great! Has Beth talked to you?”

“Not really but she seems to be having a good time.” Natasha smiles seeing you both laughing and playing the game as Finley plays with Ollie. It was killing her not to tell her sister about the baby.

“She just needs more time just don’t be all over Y/N, and she won’t murder you in your sleep.”

“Lena.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“I’ll let you go. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

With that Natasha walked over to the sofa sitting down to watch the two of you play.

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“Natty I not deepy.” She shook her head playing with her stuffies.

“You’re not?”

“Hmhm, I stay up late.”

“Ohh okay, well how about I read this to you for a bit then you can keep playing.”

“Oooo okay.” She nodded seeing the book she loved.

You pecked Finley’s temple and kissed Natasha’s cheek before moving on to Beth.

You leaned against the panel seeing her messing with her computer. “Gonna keep playing? Was the win not enough?” You chuckled seeing her smirk.

“Just getting everything set up.” Beth replied, not looking up from the computer.

“Well I’m going to bed but if you need anything feel free to wake me up. I’m just down the hall.” You nodded.

“Goodnight.” Beth replied looking over.

“Night, sweetheart.” You pecked her cheek and walked down the hall seeing Finley asleep and Natasha tucking her in. You grinned at your fiancé and took her hand.

You both started your nightly routines.

After brushing your teeth and doing some flossing, you held Natasha from behind.

“Thank you for tonight, it was perfect.”

“It really was.” Natasha smiled, through the mirror before she washed her face.

You bit your lip looking down between your bodies. You gripped her hips and ever so lightly rolled yours. You hiked up her nightgown a bit and kissed her exposed back. She chuckled as she dried her face and applied night cream.

She turned her chin kissing your lips which you took as an opportunity to wrap your arms around her and really let yourself dig into her.

“Hmm, not tonight baby. I don’t want to traumatize them on their first night here.” She smirked patting your shoulder as she walked away but you grabbed her and pinned her against the wall.

“Daddy can be quiet.” You say nibbling on her neck.

“Hmm, but mommy can’t.” She smirked hearing you groan. “When they leave back to their mother's house you and I can have a marathon of our own.”

“Aww, but that’s a week from now.” You groaned.

“Just think of every way you want me.” She husked.

“Oh wow.” You shuttered against her. She pecked your lips once more before sliding out from under you and sliding under the covers.

Natasha giggled at your frozen state seeing the tent you were pitching. “Babe come on cuddle me to sleep.”

“I just need a minute.” You squeaked.

Natasha chuckled as she watched you shuffle over to the toilet letting out a grunt and a long sigh.

You washed your hands and lotioned up before lying next to her.

“That was way too fast.”

“The image you gave me was enough.” You smirked bringing her over to you.

“No funny business.” She smirked.

“No funny business. Just cuddles.” You nodded, pecking her lips.

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You woke up to a poke on your cheek. “Hmm?” You hummed before opening your eyes seeing Fin and Ollie.

“Papa, I hungy.” Fin sang. 

“You don’t wanna snooze a bit more with papa?” You ask sleepily lifting her up in bed.

“No! I wanna watch Bluey now pwease.” She giggled, waking up Natasha. “Morning Natty!”

“Morning Finny.” Natasha yawned.

“It’s alright babe go back to sleep.” You yawned sitting up to stretch.

“It’s okay, I can start on her breakfast while you change her diaper.”

“Natty, I no wear diapers no mores! I’m a big girl!” She huffed glaring at her.

“Oh excuse me! I had no idea.” She chuckled.

“What do you want for breakfast bubs? Pancakes, eggys, or cereal?”

“Hmmm, cereal!” She jumped. “Bluey O’s!”

“Okay come on toots.” You picked her up heading downstairs Ollie hot on your heels.

You quickly let him out back while you make your toddler a bowl of cereal. You set the bowl on the coffee table and turn Bluey on.

You chuckle watching Fin jump and dance to the intro song when Natasha walks downstairs.

“Hey, baby.” You smile sleepily. Natasha smiles still sleepy as she brings Ollie back inside, and crawls into your lap with a blanket. 

You both watch TV with Fin as she eats her cereal. It wasn’t until the end when she turned around looking at you both snuggling.

“Done?” You smile.

“Um, why you both snuggly?” She tilts her head. “Why live here and not with mommy?”

“Fin, do you remember when Mommy and I sat you down and explained what divorce meant?”

“Hmm maybe.”

“Okay well.” You sit up and so does Natasha. “Even though Mommy and I live side by side we aren’t married anymore.”

Fin furrowed her brows once more.

“Daddy is with Natty now.” You gesture.

“Natty?”

You nod.

“Natty is mommy now?”

“Uh well…” you stammered.

“Your mommy is still Quinn. Technically I’m your step-mother.” Natasha added.

“Like cinder ellie?”

“Uh yeah, except she’s not evil or mean.” You chuckle.

“Okay.” Fin nodded before asking. “… can I get some of my toys?”

“Of course.”

Fin beamed before running upstairs and bringing down her Lego and plushy.

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The weeks went by quickly and soon you were planning on letting the people in your lives know about the bun in the oven.

“Where’s Beth and Fin?” Yelena asked as you all sat down in the living room.

“They’re with their mom.” You say.

“Oh okay I guess we’re drinking tonight then.” She smirked.

“Uhh about that-“ you chuckled.

“Y/N and I asked you over for dinner to let you know our holiday plans.”

“Okay?” Yelena chuckled.

“We’re going to be with my family down in Ohio, and of course, you are more than welcome to join us.” You say.

“We really want you to join us.” Natasha smiled.

“What’s up with you two?” Yelena smirked.

“Three.” Natasha smiled.

“Wait what?” Yelena furrowed her brows in confusion.

“What’s up with you three?” Natasha reiterated.

“What the hell are you-“ like a bulb going off Yelena jumped up realizing what her sister was trying to say. “No way?! You’re pregnant?!”

You and Natasha nod excitedly.

“Oh my gosh!” Yelena cheered jumping with her sister. 

You chuckled while taking a video Of them.

“I’m gonna be an aunt!”

“You’re gonna be an aunt!” Natasha cried, nodding.

“Oh my God!” Yelena and Natasha laughed joyfully as they hugged one another. 

“So now will you come with us?” Natasha asked

“Of course, I’ll come.” Yelena smiled, wiping her eyes.

“I just really want to meet Y/N’s parents again as an engaged couple, and of course let them know we’re having a baby.” Natasha couldn’t stop smiling as she held her tiny bump.

“I’m sure they’re going to be thrilled.”

“Oh for sure.” You chuckled.

“Have you told your ex-wife yet?” Yelena cringed.

“No.” You sighed. “I’m gonna have to tell her and then the girls.”

“Well, I’ll be here in case she wants to fight my sister.”

“She wouldn’t do that, but I don’t know how Beth will take it.”

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You invited Quinn out for lunch; you had both been making decent conversation until you finally told her as you both made your way to your truck.

“Quinn, Natasha is pregnant.”

Quinn’s smile slowly faded. It was silent and her stare went from your eyes to her ringless finger.

“That’s why you brought me here.” She whispered brokenly.

“Not the only reason.” You reach over taking her hands. “Quinn, I'll always have love for you, and I do miss our talks like this. Maybe we could do this more often and talk about our lives and the girls.”

Quinn squeezed your hand.

“Y/N, I love you too, always have, and I always will, but I need more time. We had been together since we were 15. You have no idea how much I miss you.” She said laying her hands on your abdomen. “I think about you all the time. When I’m cooking, when I’m putting the girls to bed, when I’m putting myself to bed.” She smirked, husking out the last part.

You cleared your throat with a light chuckle. Normally that would send you into a frenzy. The kind where you would have her mounted on your cock in no time.

“I’m sorry but I need more time. I love you Y/N. I love you enough to let you go. Can’t you love me enough to support me moving on too?” 

“Of course.” You smiled, taking her hand and kissing it softly. 

“So she’s pregnant huh?” She smirked as you two began walking once more.

“Hmhm.”

“Yeah, you probably should have warned her that you have magic sperm.” She chuckled. “You got me on the first try twice!”

You laughed nudging her shoulder.

“She’s really excited. She always wanted to have kids, but she honestly thought she couldn’t.” You explain.

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah… Fuck Quinn how do I tell the girls? How do I tell Beth?”

Quinn sighed knowing too much was happening to fast for the girls to understand.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t really know.”

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Quinn takes a deep breath as she knocks on the Russian’s door. 

“Oh hi, Quinn.” Natasha smiled; opening the door.

“I um… well I went through the attic this morning and thought these might help.” The blonde set the box on the side table.

“Y/N told you.” Natasha smiled in surprise before looking in the box. It was nothing but pregnancy books, and some old gadgets to baby-proof the house.

“They did, congratulations Natasha.”

“Thank you, Quinn.” She replied softly.

“Just a heads up, Y/N’s sperm is literally magic. Gets you on the first try every time.” They both chuckled. 

“How do you think the girls will take the news about the pregnancy?” Natasha asked hesitantly.

“I think Finley will be okay. She might not fully comprehend the situation, but she’ll be excited to be the bigger sister now. Beth… I’m not sure she’s a teen now. She’s constantly wanting to argue with me nowadays. Y/N and I are on unfamiliar ground with her lately.”

“Y/N was telling me.” Natasha nodded.

“I’m just so scared she’ll end up like me in high school.” Quinn sighed.

“Beth is a smart young lady. She has the best of both you and Y/N. There’s not much you two can do except trust her to remember what you’ve taught her.”

“Oh hey.” You smiled seeing your ex-wife and newly dubbed baby mama speaking.

“Hi.” They smiled at you. 

“Well, I hope the box helps, I should get going.” Quinn spoke.

“You sure? I brought Chinese.” You grinned holding up the bag of food.

“Carbs Y/N.” She grimaced, shaking her head. She turned back to Natasha gesturing towards the box.  “Oh, by the way, the cream in the box, I would start using it now.” She gave you a side hug before walking out the door. 

God that felt great and weird at the same time. You don’t realize you’re staring at your ex until she waves again entering your old home.

“It’s for stretch marks.” Natasha smirked, lifting the cream and gaining your attention.

“Oh yeah, that stuff really works. Quinn used to make me put it on her every night.”

You make your way to the kitchen when Natasha speaks up.

“I know we have been thinking of how to tell the girls I thought maybe we could tell them after your parents? Maybe closer to our flight home? That way if she needs space Quinn will be back home.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” You nod, sighing. You just have a feeling Beth is not going to take this well.

[cjjohansson]

𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

a/n: another request! wasn’t sure if i should tag this as 18+ since it doesn’t contain any smut, but i’d advise you read this with caution. contains a few sensitive topics (see warnings below)

summary: based on the song by justin bieber

warnings: blood, trauma, situational alcohol abuse, forms of self-harm

word count: 6.6k

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A smell of alcohol and something metallic lingers in the air, sharp and unescapable.

It's pitch black in the living room of your apartment. A whiskey tumbler sits on the coffee table, bloodied bandages and cotton balls scattered around it. The whiskey bottle is open, half empty, and the cap is nowhere to be found.

The suit on the floor is torn and soaked with blood. Combat boots, dirty and wet, have toppled over next to it.

Natasha's on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. Only dressed in boxers and a sports bra now, every scar and bruise is on full display. Her eyes are closed, her hand clenching and flexing on her thigh. Nails rake over skin, draw blood, but she doesn't register it through the haze in her head.

The mission didn't go as planned. In the beginning, everything seemed fine — they made it to the location, disarmed a few guards, managed to get into the building. Her assignment was to go and free a few hostages, which she managed quite well, considering she had to fight two guards in the process.

She doesn't remember much else. Just a cell that they somehow got her into. Rusty metal and leaky pipes on the ceiling, blood on the walls.

Pressure around her wrists, her throat. It was brief, but it left its mark. Memories resurfaced — memories that never fully sank to the bottom of her mind's ocean. It felt like grappling with the ghosts of her past, being pulled underwater, drowning, fighting for her life. She could feel the water in her lungs and the blood thrumming in her ears. Salt burned her nose.

Her limbs grew heavy from the kicking and wrestling. She wanted to let go, surrender to the heavy weight of the water, but she couldn't allow herself to. Survival is something that the Red Room ingrained into her.

If there's one thing she can't do, it's die.

Death means giving up.

Four hours later, Natasha still feels like, sometimes, death may be the better option. With the way her head is pounding and her scars are burning, anything to get rid of the pain is welcome. It's why her eyes tracked the liquor shelf first when she got home.

You enter the living room not too long after. Keeping your eyes on her, you turn on the small light before blindly closing the door and locking it.

What you're seeing is not entirely unfamiliar, but it always manages to leave you startled and speechless for at least a minute or two.

"Nat?", you say quietly. No response. "Nat, love."

She opens her eyes. They look empty when they meet yours.

Not a word. Again.

You step closer and bend over to pick up her suit. You fold it, tentatively, unsure how to act. How to make this better, fix it, help her.

You can't. You've tried to before, but it keeps happening.

You sit down and put the folded suit aside. Natasha turns her head away, blank eyes fixed on the ceiling. Whatever happened earlier sucked the life out of her, leaving her completely exhausted. She doesn't want to talk, which you understand — but it feels important to you, anyway.

"Love", you say, touching her hand. She's been carving deep lines into her thigh for a while now, leaving her skin raw and burning. Dark blood is stuck under her fingernails. "Talk to me."

"Get out."

"Nat-"

"I said get out."

You stare at her, eyebrows furrowed in silent concern. You can't tell whether she needs space or support, and that frustrates you.

Shouldn't you be able to read her like an open book by now? Shouldn't you know exactly what she needs, exactly when she needs it? It's been years, after all. You've been talking about marriage, for god's sake.

However, that's not how relationships work, and it's especially not how a relationship with Natasha works. Either you accept that you'll never be fully let in, or you'll be fighting worries and insecurities your entire life.

"Hey", you say firmly, peeling her hand off her thigh. "No. We're not doing this. Not tonight."

She struggles against your grasp, but then her arm slackens. Her eyes close, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Frustration and alcohol — not a good mix.

"Fuck you", she spits. She's slurring, so you know better than to take this personally. It's anger, pain, self-loathing, exhaustion, but it's not directed at you. It never is.

You glance at the whiskey bottle on the coffee table and chew on your lip. It was full just hours ago, when you left for your shift. Now, it's nearly gone.

"Hold still", you mumble, reaching for the pack of cotton balls she discarded on the floor. You soak it in an antiseptic solution and start dabbing the deep scratches on her thigh.

"Stings."

You almost wince at how resigned she sounds, but you keep rubbing off blood and cleaning the self-inflicted wounds.

"I'm not going to ask what happened", you say, speaking carefully. You're treading on dangerous territory. One wrong word could make her snap right back into that same state of mind that got her like this. "I just need you to take a few breaths, okay? Nice and deep, love."

She shakes her head. You put your free hand on her knee.

"Please", you add. She squeezes her eyes shut and, with a movement too quick for you to see coming, pulls away. She gets up from the couch, but you catch her wrist. Her head whips around, anger and desperation raging behind those vacant eyes.

"Don't touch me!"

"Nat-"

"You have no idea", she hisses, "what this feels like. So leave me alone."

You stare at her as she tugs herself free from your light grip. Down the hallway and into your bedroom, you hear the door slam shut. It's rapid and loud, so much so that you're sure she just woke your neighbors.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself. Running your hand down your face, you exhale, then get up and start tidying the mess Natasha left behind.

You make sure to hide the whiskey bottle. The rest of the alcohol too, while you're at it.

. . .

The morning after, Natasha remembers bits. Pieces, fragments of what really happened.

She recalls blood. And yelling. Alcohol, way too much of it. You, in the middle of it all.

Guilt, heavy and hot, sits in her abdomen. No way to make it disappear.

She rolls over and finds you asleep. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, soft and golden, but it's not what she focuses on. She doesn't focus on the tired expression on your unconscious face, either. Instead, something else catches her attention.

Something dark red and dried sticks to your wrist, right where the skin is folded due to the angled position your hand is resting in. She reaches over and brushes it away. Blood. Her blood.

"Y/N?", she mumbles, voice raspy with sleep and exhaustion. "Baby. You awake?"

A sleepy sigh. When your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, she pulls away. Definitely asleep.

Natasha sits up and immediately regrets it. She forgot about the mission yesterday, but her body didn't. Bruises and scars ache, a dull throbbing pain that spreads through her limbs. She remains in an unmoving position for a few seconds to let the pain fade, then she scoots out of bed.

The mirror in the bathroom confirms it. From head to toe, she's littered in visual evidence of yesterday's events. She didn't shower, either, so she's still full of dried blood and dirt.

She splashes her face with cold water. When she looks up, she finally sees herself clearly.

Red-rimmed eyes, puffy and tired, and a face that doesn't look like her own.

She steps away from the mirror and takes her hair out of the messy bun that's almost come loose. Water runs, steam fills the bathroom. She enters the shower and pulls the shower curtain fully closed. There are ways to let you know she wants you to join, and there are ways she lets you know the opposite.

You woke up minutes after she got out of bed. Once you heard the shower run, you were able to relax. She's at home, with you, safe and sound. If she's showering, it means she at least felt well enough to get out of bed.

You get up, put on a hoodie over your pajamas and make your way into the kitchen. As soon as you've poured some oats into a pot of milk, you hear footsteps. For a moment, you're not sure whether you should acknowledge her presence in any way — turn around, say good morning, maybe ask if she's hungry. But then you feel a pair of arms around your waist, strong and safe and hesitant, and a weight drops from your shoulders.

Natasha doesn't say anything. Neither do you.

But you aren't pushing her away, so she kisses your cheek. Her hand rubs your stomach before she makes the space between you bigger again.

You wait for an apology, some kind of confirmation she remembers anything from last night, but nothing comes. It wouldn't surprise you if she really doesn't remember — she had alcohol, lots of it, and intoxication has made her forget things before.

You drum your fingers against the counter, staring at the pot next to you, before you finally break the silence.

"About last night..."

Her shoulders tense up.

"Yeah", she says bitterly. "I drank too much."

"I'm aware", you say slowly, stirring the oatmeal and turning off the stove. What else are you supposed to say? That she should stop? God knows she's tried. God also knows it isn't easy. When everything becomes too much, even focusing on one single thing can become the hardest obstacle to overcome.

And when it comes to alcohol, it's pretty much impossible.

What might be the most confusing thing, though, is that this isn't a constant. It's not full-on alcoholism. She doesn't need it to function. But when everything becomes too much, it's what she turns to as a coping mechanism. It's dangerous and reckless and you feel like you're out of solutions.

"I put the whiskey away", you say, turning around. Her face is stoic as you lock eyes. "The rest of it, too. Don't even try to look for it. You won't find it."

"You're aware I'm a spy, right?", she says. Your lips twitch into a humorless smile. You know what she means — not that she's going to intentionally defy you using her skillset, but rather that her brain, no matter what kind of state it is in, will use said skills anyway. "You'll marry me. If you don't know about my past, then-"

"Alright", you cut her off. "Yes, I know. I'm aware. I tried my best, so let's just hope it'll be enough."

"It never is."

"Nat."

"I mean it. They have a bar at the compound, too."

"Well", you say, fidgeting, "I told Tony to put everything away."

Her eyebrows furrow. Before she can voice the feeling of betrayal you're seeing in her eyes, you lift your hand and stop her.

"I told him I'm trying to go sober."

Natasha goes silent. She stares at you, chewing her lip, then gets up and walks up to you. You know she isn't sure whether she's allowed to touch you (which, to you, is ridiculous), so you cup her face and kiss her and pull her into a hug. One hand on her nape and the other on her back, you hold her close.

"Just promise me one thing?"

She hums, her nose brushing against your neck. "Yeah?"

"No drinking alone. Please. I need to know you're safe."

Some promises she can't keep.

. . .

You get the call at 3am.

Natasha had been on a mission — one that was supposed to last at least another day, but apparently ended early. You had no idea.

Sleepy and worried, you scramble out of bed. Your phone is tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you hop through the apartment, one leg in your jeans and the other foot trying to find the hole. On the other end of the line is the owner of a bar in Queens.

You're not awake enough to fully understand everything. All you hear is something about a fight, shattered glass, blood. Not bad enough for a trip in the ambulance, thankfully, but the damage is done.

You sit in the car, buckle up, and break down. Tears flow, the frustration making them hot as they run down your cheeks. Your vision blurs, so you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. A car crash is the last thing you need right now.

The streets are as dark and empty as they can be, considering you're in New York. But most people are asleep, in their beds, not worried to death yet another time. Most people don't have to actively keep themselves from causing a car crash. When you realize you feel something akin to envy, you slam your foot on the gas pedal and tear off down the street.

You find the bar easily, mostly because a small group of people has gathered in front of it. Natasha's on the sidewalk, holding a napkin to her nose, her eyes drooping shut. You see her bleeding knuckles and the tears get heavier.

By the time you're out of the car, a man is approaching you. You barely pay him any mind, already looking at Natasha — but she's so out of it she doesn't even realize you've arrived.

"Wait", the guy says when you try to walk past him, "you're the lady I called?"

"Yeah", you say, glancing at Natasha every so often. "Her fiancée. Girlfriend, actually. What..."

He sighs and runs a hand over his thinning hair. "Had a little too much to drink. There was an argument with another customer. It, uh, escalated. Broke one of my mirrors, you know. The other guy's at the hospital."

"He's what?"

"She slammed him into the mirror face first. Chap broke his nose."

You stare at him with wide eyes. He shakes his head and lightly taps your upper arm, leading you in Natasha's direction.

"No idea if he'll sue", the man says. "He did provoke that fight. But you'll have to pay for my mirror, though."

"Sure", you say vacantly. Natasha doesn't look up when you reach her side. You crouch next to her and brush your fingers over the back of her hand. Her hand jerks the slightest bit, but she doesn't look at you. "Come on, love. Let's get you home. Can you walk?"

"She walked just fine earlier", some other guy pipes up.

You glare daggers at him before resting your hand on her shoulder. It's cold, too cold, and you notice her jacket is missing. You squeeze it, hoping it'll be enough to coax her into getting up — or, at the very least, looking at you —, but no. She stays unmoving, silent, eyes shut and the lower half of her face covered with a napkin.

She reeks of blood and alcohol. You get up and look at the guy who owns the bar. He raises his eyebrows, tatted arms crossed over his chest.

"Her jacket", you say. "Where's her jacket? It's cold out."

"Forget about it, Y/N."

You glance at her, taken aback. "Nat. Why didn't you-"

"Forget about it", she mumbles, slurring again. God, you're tired of this. "Go home."

Your glance turns into a stare. There's no way she's asking you to leave. She looks like she's moments away from passing out.

"Are you kidding?"

"No. Gome. I mean, go- go home."

"You can't be serious. You can barely talk!"

You see her shiver and decide you officially have had enough. It takes some effort, but you manage to pull her off the ground and make her sit in the car. After giving the bar owner a check for the mirror she broke, you drive home.

. . .

Natasha gasps and coughs out water. You splash her with more, and more, until you feel like she's sober enough to think somewhat straight.

"Fuck", she curses, water flowing down her face and her hair sticking to her head. "Y/N!"

"Feeling better?"

"I feel cold!"

You give her a skeptical look and splash another handful of water into her face. She's sitting in the shower, only in underwear to keep her clothes from getting wet. She shakes her head and pushes away the shower head you're holding.

"It helps", you insist. She shoots a desperate look your way and you sigh. "You okay?"

"I need clothes", she mumbles, wiping water away from her eyes. "And a blanket."

"I know", you say, grabbing her hand and helping her up. She's still wobbly on her feet, so you have to make sure she doesn't slip. "Come on."

Some fresh clothes and a quick session with the blowdryer later, she's on the couch. A blanket is draped over her shoulders. Now that she's back to reality, all the memories of what happened in the bar come rushing back.

It was stupid. A stupid comment from a guy drinking beer. A comment about her.

Natasha isn't considered a violent person, despite her being an Avenger or her past as an assassin. She lashed out, anyway. It makes you wonder what the hell was said to her.

She rubs her face. You sit down next to her.

"Go to bed", she says weakly. "It's late."

"And you?", you probe.

"I'm staying here."

"Alone. On the couch."

"Yes."

You shake your head. No matter what, you don't want her to have to be alone. Not even after what happened tonight — especially not after that. But she's tired, and stubborn, and she's hurt you enough tonight. She can't get that look on your face out of her head, when you were kneeling next to her on the sidewalk. How wet your cheeks were from tears and how they glistened in the light of the street lamps.

Yet you're still here, at not even 5 in the morning, still trying to make her feel better. At this point, she should try to make you feel better. Part of her is scared that she'll never be able to do that.

Natasha wants you to stay. It's the only thing that brings her peace. But she can't ruin your peace by asking you to help with hers.

"Go to bed", she repeats. "Sleep."

"No", you say, frowning. "No, absolutely not. You're not leaving my side tonight, and that's final."

She stares at you, jaw clenching. "And why the hell not?", she asks, her voice carrying bitterness and exhaustion. You raise your eyebrows in mild surprise, but remain undeterred. "Don't trust me with myself anymore?"

"Of course I do! But it's clear you weren't doing well, and-"

"And that's why I need a babysitter?!" She laughs, but there's no humor to it. Covering her face with her hands, she slumps into the couch. "God, you must be so sick of me."

There it is. That little piece of vulnerability she doesn't show, that one fear she keeps hidden like a dirty secret. Your shoulders slump and you sigh, touching her knuckles. Raw and busted open, blood still leaking from some parts of her skin.

She doesn't react. You scoot and sit on her lap, facing her, and grab her wrists. You pull her hands down, revealing the face you fell in love with, the one you still love. No matter how many issues there may be — you love her. If you have to, you'll keep driving to bars in the middle of the night for the rest of your life. You'll bandage knuckles and wipe blood away. All you need is for her to stay.

"Hey", you mumble. She shakes her head. You lean in and kiss her forehead. "Nat, please. I'm not sick of you."

No reply. You let go of her wrists to cup her face, pressing your lips to every feature, every tiny scar. She lets out a sob-like sound, but you see no tears. Your lips move from her forehead to her closed eyelid, from her cheek to the corner of her mouth.

"We'll get through this", you say, rubbing her cheeks. "You will get through this."

"It's not getting better. Y/N, it never gets better."

"That's not true", you say firmly. "It does get better. It will. Stuff like this takes time."

She looks up, tired and guilty and full of self-loathing. She'll never understand why you're in her lap instead of trying to save yourself from the bullshit she's putting you through.

"It's been years."

"It'll probably take a few more, too", you say, brushing your thumb along her lower lip. "But that's okay."

A small pause. Natasha studies you, her chest tightening with both panic and realization.

She's dragging you down with her. If she doesn't put a stop to it now, it'll only get worse for you.

"And you?", she says, challenging you. "What about you? Am I supposed to sit here and watch you go down with me?"

"What?" You shake your head. Everything inside of you is begging for your sudden suspicions to not be true. But she's saying something, and you think you know what it is. "Nat, don't. Seriously."

"Don't what? Are you really that blind?"

"I know what you're doing", you say, trying to sound calm. But you're panicking, just like she is, and it's getting hard not to hyperventilate. You're tired, sleep-deprived even, and all you want is to get her to bed and cuddle. Feel her next to you, know she's safe — at least for the time being. "It's not going to work. I'm going to bed now, and you're coming with. We'll talk in the morning."

"No." She shakes her head. "No. You'll call your parents, Y/N, and you'll get out of here. Do you know how much this shit hurts? Seeing you suffer because of me?"

You frown, searching for the right words. The words that'll make her calm down. You're not sure they exist.

"Do you know how much it hurts?", you retort. Her hands grab yours, try to gently pry them off her face, but you're relentless. "Stop!"

"You don't get it, do you? Get out of the fucking apartment!"

The more she tries to push you away, the firmer your grasp becomes. She wrestles with you, and although she may still be gentle enough with it to not hurt you, it's not that same, playful thing it used to be. She's serious about this.

"Nat!" You let out a sob and struggle, but somehow manage to pin her down. Let's not be fooled — you're still not nearly as strong as she is. But given how exhausted she is, and how the alcohol is still numbing her, you have somewhat of an upper hand. "Stop that!"

Her body goes limp beneath you, all fight draining out of her within a split second. The look on her face is defeated, so much so you almost feel bad about forcing her down like this.

"Don't be stubborn", you plead. "Not about this."

Natasha closes her eyes, forcing the tears away. Sometimes, she wishes giving up was an option for her. But it isn't, not right now, and if it were, she still wouldn't be able to do it to you.

"I'm so tired."

"I know", you mumble, all choked up, and brush some hair out of her face. "I know, baby."

"I'll lose you one way or another", she says, voice cracking mid-sentence. "I'd rather it's on my terms."

You shake your head, your grip on her wrist loosening. You bring both hands to her face and cup it. "That's the silliest thing I've ever heard you say, you know. And you say a lot of dumb stuff, love."

She laughs, but it's not that sweet sound that usually makes you melt. In a moment like this, you don't expect it to be, though.

The silence lingers. She looks up at you, tired but loving, and her hands cover yours. "You should've left me there, you know. On the curb. You don't sleep enough as it is, and you still got up to get my drunk ass home."

"For good reason", you reply, taking her hand to bring it to your mouth and kiss her bandaged knuckles. "It's not the same without you. Nothing is. Now let's go and catch up on some sleep together, yeah?"

She hesitates. "Look, I..."

"I'm serious. I'm not calling my parents, I'm not leaving. I'm staying right here, even if that means you'll keep bitching."

Natasha tilts her head. A flash of something familiar flickers across her features. It makes your heart ache.

Sometimes, you miss the before. It's not fully gone, but grasping it can be difficult. Like catching a greasy little fish in water, it keeps slipping away.

"Bitching", she echoes. A tentative smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "I love you, you know."

. . .

"I'm not sure I want to go."

You look at her, arms crossed and head tilted, a little frown on your face.

Over a year has passed since that incident at the bar. Things haven't fixed themselves magically, of course not. But it's been going uphill almost constantly, apart from a few stumbles and breaks. Which is okay — everyone needs a breather every now and then. The important part is that it hasn't gotten worse.

Something else has changed. You're wearing matching engagement rings now. You're getting married in a few weeks. You've picked out your dress, and a nice venue, and made sure the flowers match the place cards. You've moved into a new apartment, too, one that's in a calmer area of Manhattan.

Your upcoming wedding is currently the most exciting thing in your life. Which is the reason why tonight is Natasha's bachelorette party. It was Tony's idea, and although she had her doubts, you were thrilled. It's been months since she went out on her own.

"You'll have fun", you say, stepping closer to smooth out the front of her shirt. "Stark planned it. There's no way you'll get bored."

"I'm not sure you know me as well as you think", she mumbles, smiling faintly. She studies you. "It's Atlantic City. I don't want to drink too much."

You pause. But then you shake your head and adjust her jacket. "Don't worry about that. Clint will be there. Sam, Steve. You'll feel like you got trapped in a retirement home. Also, you'll get about a hundred phone calls from me if I even sense that you're being an idiot."

She exhales through her nose, lips twitching. "So a couple bodyguards, and a parole officer. I see."

"Exactly." Your hands run back down to her chest. Her heartbeat feels steady beneath your palms. "Don't drink if you don't feel good about it. But circumstances are different, and you're not alone, and I'm just a phone call away."

"I know."

You cup her face and lean in, kissing her. Her hands hold onto your upper arms, trying to keep you close. You still pull away.

"I know you want to go", you say, convinced. Natasha gives you a deadpan look. "You're just scared."

"I'm not scared", she argues. "I just...don't want to mess up. I've made progress."

"Yeah", you mumble softly. She's right. Nobody's made as much progress as she has, at least that's what you believe. Her mind still goes to bad places, but her coping mechanisms have gotten healthier. There's no way you'll give the credit to yourself, but she feels like she wouldn't have made it this far without you. She doesn't tell you that to your face, but she has her ways in which she lets you know.

"You'll have fun", you say again. "It's, like, your last night of freedom. Enjoy it while it lasts, because girl, you'll be stuck."

"Oh no, the horrors", she mumbles, smiling. She pulls you closer by wrapping her arms around your waist. Her lips press against your forehead. "Stuck with you. However will I survive."

"You're joking about it now, but in a few weeks, you'll only be able to go out with me. You'll get sick so fast."

"I won't." Natasha raises her eyebrows and squeezes your waist. "Actually, why don't you join us today, too? I'm sure it'd be more fun."

"Absolutely not." You peck her lips and step back. You wave your hand to coax her out the door. She opens it and steps out, but stops on the doormat. "I'm serious! We agreed to have separate bachelorette parties."

She rolls her eyes. "You better pray you don't have to scrape me off some boardwalk tonight."

You sigh and furrow your eyebrows, arms crossed over the Looney Tunes shirt you wear to sleep. Natasha raises her hands.

"Don't look at me like that", she says, sounding both defensive and sheepish. "I'll be good."

"I don't need you to be 'good'", you say. "Come home to me after. That's all I ask."

Natasha softens. Before you can say anything, she's back inside the hallway, hands running over your body and lips pressed to yours. You want to protest — Clint has pulled up in front of the house — but then you melt into her.

She doesn't have to tell you she'll be back. From this very moment, she always will be.

. . .

When your phone buzzes at 5am, you nearly jump out of your own skin. You don't even glance at the screen before answering the call.

"Y/N?", you hear Natasha's voice, sleepy and probably a little drunk.

"Hey", you say, sitting up and blinking away remainders of sleep. "You okay?"

"I'm fine", she mumbles. Yes, definitely drunk, but not enough for her to be slurring her words. "Just missing you."

"Oh." You rub your eyes, smiling to yourself. "I miss you too. Having fun?"

"I got dragged to a strip club."

"I'll take that as a yes", you tease.

You hear bedsheets rustle, then a thump. A groan.

"Dropped my phone", she says, voice so muffled you can barely hear her. She picks it up from the floor and puts it back to her ear. "You want to come pick me up?"

"What, now?"

"Look, I loved seeing a dozen half-naked strangers and Steve throwing up during a lap dance, but I want to come home."

You go quiet, mulling it over. Truthfully, you're feeling a little like a mom that's being called to pick up her child early because it's too scared to sleep someplace else than home — but it's almost been a day since she left, and she sounds needier than usual, and you kind of want her back with you as well.

"You're still at that hotel you told me about?", you ask, already getting up to grab some clothes.

"Yes, we-" She pauses. You stop, trying to see if the phone call ended, but then her voice cuts through the unnerving silence. "I'm wearing a ring."

"Yes, baby, we're engaged."

"Oh. Okay, that's good. I thought, uhm..."

You bite back a laugh, wiggling into a pair of sweatpants. "Didn't marry a hooker, I hope?"

"What?! Don't be ridiculous."

"I was kidding. You'll wait in the lobby?"

"Fine", she says, letting out a yawn. "Hurry."

. . .

Despite the fact you agreed on picking her up in the lobby, Natasha's on the curb when you pull up. Her face seems to light up when she sees you, and she quickly grabs her duffel bag to approach the car. The door opens and she sinks into the passenger seat.

"Hey", you say, already starting the car. "Show me your ring. Just to be safe."

"Here." She holds out her left hand. The ring on her finger is definitely one you're familiar with, so you nod and give her hand a squeeze. She looks at you, head leaning against the headrest, and hums. "You're so beautiful, you know."

"And you're drunk", you reply, starting the car. Still, a tiny smile tugs at your lips.

Natasha shakes her head. She pulls your hand into her lap and holds it tight. She's not usually this openly clingy, but she's tipsy enough to turn into this touchy-feely mess you secretly adore.

"Beautiful", she repeats. "I'm gonna marry you. You wanna marry me?"

"We're engaged", you remind her. "Don't remember?"

"Of course I do." She lets out a scoff. "Just...checking. Making sure you didn't change your mind."

"Change my mind? What, and miss out on all the late night drives?" You shoot her a smile and feel her play with your fingers. "Seriously though, you had fun?"

"It wasn't bad", she admits, closing her eyes. "Bit boring."

"Boring, you say? Well, then you definitely didn't see one of those washed-up magicians", you say absently, taking a left turn. Natasha reaches out to poke your cheek — once, twice —, then you turn your head and lightly bite her fingertip.

She retracts her hand, looking offended.

"You started it", you quickly say. "With all that poking."

Natasha rolls her eyes and leans back.

"You're sensitive", she mumbles, wiping her finger on your sleeve. You bat her hand away. "Violent, too. Jesus."

"We'll be home soon", you say. You couldn't love Natasha more, but she's right at that point of being drunk where she's simply an idiot. Clingy, needy, and a little prone to biting. "Think you can make it about two hours without throwing up?"

She waves her hand dismissively, already curling up against the car door. Head against the window and breath fogging up the glass, she dozes off.

Getting her out of the car is proven to be more difficult than anticipated.

It turns out that getting into the car to be driven around and sleep is way more enjoyable than getting out of it again. Natasha sighs and protests, but eventually, you manage to pull her to her feet. She stumbles out and grips your shoulders, then smiles crookedly.

"Hey", she mumbles. "Wanna help me pick that up? 'Cause you made my jaw drop."

"Dear god."

"Didn't like that one? I got more."

"Absolutely not", you say, dragging her toward the door. She leans on you heavily, her head resting against yours. You eye the chunky brown mass clinging to the soles of her boots. "Shoes off. What the hell is that?"

"Refried beans", she mumbles, toeing off her boots and kicking them aside. "Clint dropped his Chipotle."

"And it was all beans...?"

Natasha shrugs and walks inside, flopping onto the couch face-first. You sigh and peel off your jacket, watching her for a moment. You expect her to get up again, maybe change into fresh clothes, but no — she seems asleep.

You feel bad about waking her, but you do it anyway.

"Ass off the couch", you hum, patting her backside. A muffled groan comes from the cushion. "Let's go."

"Tired."

"The couch isn't big enough for both of us", you argue, giving her a firm pinch just below the buttcheek. "Come on, bed."

"Stop nagging me", she mumbles, but sits up. You lead her away from the couch before she can change her mind.

Clothes off and pajamas on, comforters pulled aside. Natasha collapses again, one leg angled and the other stretched out. She sighs and burrows her face right in between the two pillows on your bed.

"Drank too much", she mutters. You hum, studying her with your eyebrows slightly furrowed. "Head hurts."

"Get some sleep."

"C'mere."

"In a minute", you promise, taking off your hoodie. "You know, I actually got a little scared when you called. I thought god knows what happened."

She snorts into the pillows. "Gotta trust me more."

"I do trust you." You sit next to her, tugging her top back down where it had ridden up. "I got scared, anyway. You, a bunch of irresponsible people, Atlantic City — not the best mix."

Natasha rolls over and looks at you through sleep-hazy eyes. You smile and tap her nose. She shakes her head.

"This was your idea."

"And you had fun", you insist. She curls into you, her face pressed against your chest. "Right?"

"If I say yes, you'll shut up?"

You roll your eyes and kiss her forehead. She's warm, warmer than you, and tonight is no exception. You can feel her heat seep into you, but it's a nice feeling. You might end up overheating, but it's nice. Anything is nice when you know she's safe.

"You're comfy", Natasha mutters, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and twisting it.

"You're still drunk."

"And in love."

You run your hand down her back, a smile forming on your lips. Before you can say anything, she's fallen asleep.

. . .

The light pressure of lips against your temple wakes you up. Sunlight is filtering through the curtains, brightening up the room and warming your bed. You hum sleepily, but make no move to actually wake up.

Another kiss, more insistent this time. A glance at the clock tells you it's almost noon. You turn your head and see Natasha, half asleep and mildly hungover.

"Thank you", she mumbles, nose nuzzling your cheek.

"For what?"

"Picking me up. Loving me. All of it, I guess."

"Aw", you hum, pulling her closer. "Don't thank me for that. But thank me for not kicking you out of bed. My god, you're a furnace."

"You're being dramatic", she mutters, her tightening arms telling you she definitely doesn't care about you burning up.

"Seriously! I almost had to sleep in the fridge."

She looks up, hair mussed and eyes bleary, and you bite back a grin.

"'Til death do us part", she replies, pinching your side. "Or something like that."

Your body jerks, but there's a smile on your face. You wrap your arms around her neck and roll over, trapping her beneath your body. She grunts, limbs slackening.

"Working on your vows, I see?", you tease.

"Been working on them since the day I met you", she says, making it sound like she's teasing as well, but you know there's a hidden layer of truth to her words. You kiss her, deep and firm, then pull away. She gazes up at you, her expression giving nothing away.

Her eyes, however, say a lot.

"My personal angel", she adds, murmuring. "No idea where I'd be without you."

"Good god", you say and scrunch up your face. "You're getting soft."

"Okay, that's not-"

You grin, knowing you've got her. Calling Natasha out on her feelings doesn't end well for most, but you have the privilege of getting away with just about anything. You stuck with her through more than she’d ever expect anyone to — you get free passes for just about anything.

"You are soft!"

“Seriously, enough.”

A laugh and a quick kiss on the lips. She rolls over, getting on top again and pressing you down into the mattress. Her eyes study yours and the sun makes her red hair shine and oh, you’re suddenly convinced you’ve made it through everything you thought you wouldn’t survive.

Natasha still isn’t an open book, not even to you, but you feel like you get to read more pages with every day that goes by.

[cjjohansson]

My Soul Aches For Your Touch

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with a spouse can be challenging, especially when children and mundane tasks take up so much of the day. Sometimes you have to do something drastic in order to shake things up.

warnings: 18+, minor DNI, Reader has a penis, smut.

A/N: This one is a labor of love, nervous to release it into the world but happy it's complete. First time writing anything like this. I tried my best.

Natasha stared at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had softened quite significantly with the domestic life she has been leading. Long gone were the days of powerful thighs and toned arms from countless hours spent in the training room. She knows she still looks beautiful, shapely even but she can’t help scrutinizing the ways in which she has changed. Not just physical changes but the emotional ones as well. The once unphased Black Widow now a mother and wife who wears her heart on her sleeve. She was barely on the cusp of 35 yet she sometimes felt like a has-been stuck in the same boring routine; having traded in saving the world for morning school drop offs. 

Don’t get her wrong, she loves her life. She has everything she had ever dreamed of and never truly dared to hope for. The most amazing spouse and two children who mean the absolute world to her. The changes that have been made to her mind and body over time are a testament to them. And the prolonged feeling of being loved and safe; they have instilled within her. But there was something missing in this wonderful life that left her feeling unfulfilled. A silent yearning to feel desirable again.

She needed a change of pace, desperately. Nothing too drastic, just something to knock her out of the rut she’s been in. If she is honest with herself, she wants to feel like her younger self used to; powerful and untouchable. A world renowned spy with a sexual prowess that rivaled none; making men and women alike beg for a chance to warm her bed.

Which is why despite her nerves she has decided to go through with this tonight. 

She finishes styling her signature auburn curls, the soft waves cascade down her back and shoulders, framing her face in a way that brings attention to supple lips coated in a subtle pink lipstick. She went a bit lighter on the mascara and eyeliner as well, wanting her natural features to shine through, and the green of her eyes had definitely become the star of the show. She smirks, trying to emulate the confidence that used to be second nature to her. 

Before the feelings of embarrassment could take root and she lost the will to continue this facade, she turned on her heels and strode into her closet, determined to find an outfit that would turn heads tonight. She wanted something that showed off her sex appeal; which she knew she still possessed. It just wasn’t something she flaunted anymore. 

She wanted something that was sexy yet sophisticated, settling on an understated black dress and a pair of matching pumps. The light pink lingerie set she had underneath would be quite the surprise for whoever would be finding themselves in her bed. She hopes the discovery makes their heart race. 

She felt a flicker of guilt twist in her stomach at the sensual thought, or perhaps just her nerves continuing to act up. Natasha compartmentalizes those thoughts away as she dresses quickly. It was sister’s night this evening and Yelena’s girlfriend’s family was hosting a bit of a soiree. And her goal for the evening was quite different to her baby sisters.

She took one last glance at herself, making sure she looked put together. She smirked again, this time she truly felt like her old self. For the first time in a long time she felt sexy and emboldened; it was a nice feeling. She turned to leave the walk-in closet, pausing at the entryway, her eyes briefly catching sight of her spouse's dirty boxers haphazardly thrown into their laundry basket. They’re covered in crocodiles with little sunglasses on them. The sight makes her heart pang with sorrow as she fiddles with her wedding ring, taking a deep breath she wiggles the ring until it slides off her finger, before placing it in her jewelry box.   

The front gate alarm pings, signaling that Yelena and Kate have arrived. She shakes the anxious thoughts from her mind not wanting to think about this any longer; steeling her resolve she makes her way out to her ride.

xXx  

You were in desperate need of a thrill. The life you had was one you coveted but the mundane activities that were expected of you everyday had grown rather dull. You knew that doing the same old things wouldn’t get you the results you wanted so you decided to shake things up. Instead of heading straight home after a long day of work, you decided to take up your client's invitation to her fancy soiree. 

After greeting Eleanor Bishop with a warm hello, you head straight toward the bar, asking for an old fashioned with an orange twist. You take a slow deep drink, enjoying the first initial burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. Gently, leaning against the bar you allow the alcohol to settle into your system and just bask in the ease at which it puts your mind. 

You let your eyes sweep across the room looking for a woman that peaks your interest. You knew you weren’t going home alone tonight; a beautiful woman warming your bed may just be the key to shaking up the monotony. You take note of several gorgeous women, some twirling around the dance floor and some chatting amongst peers, when a shimmering waterfall of red caught your eye. 

Your eyes zero in on her, she’s mingling with a group of socialites, an heiress in her own right perhaps. Not an outlandish guess with how she carries herself and the beauty that radiates from her. She’s made to be the center of attention and you can tell she revels in it. It’s not long before the belle of the ball is asked to dance. Some tall aristocrat; he’s handsome you suppose if you're into that sort of thing.  

You take another swig of your drink, allowing yourself to watch her move across the ballroom. The embodiment of grace as she dances.

You were mesmerized by the woman, and there was no way that pretentious asshole was going to be the one taking her home. Her fiery mane shimmered underneath the ballroom lights, the soft curls bouncing with every graceful movement. The black dress she was wearing had your mouth watering; every movement allowed you to see delicious amounts of ivory skin. Her curves were on full display; the thought of sinking your teeth into that voluptuous backside had you weak in the knees. And that damn smirk she’s wearing almost does you in; you swear she’s taunting you.

You want to worship every inch of her. It’s what she deserves being that damn fine. And you know for a fact that this yuppie won’t get on his knees for her.

You shoot back the rest of your drink, before setting down the empty glass, and making your way towards them.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, would you mind if I cut in?” You say almost breathless.

She’s even more gorgeous up close. 

xXx

She had seen you walk in a while ago, the warm greetings exchanged with Eleanor Bishop and the casual way you were leaning against the bar aroused her curiosity. And the form fitted black suit you were wearing aroused more than that. You looked dashing to say the least. 

She felt your gaze linger on her as she socialized, it exhilarated her to be watched in such a shameless manner. You did nothing to hide the desire, lighting up your eyes, your intentions quite clear. 

She smirked before accepting an invitation to dance from a rather stiff businessman, wondering just how far she would have to push you for you to be the one asking. Never taking into account that you would interrupt them. It was bold of you and she was pleased with your actions. 

With your offer accepted the nameless man left without making a scene; just slight disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t even feel a hint of remorse as you took her in your arms. 

She felt a shiver run up her spine as you took command of the dance. Leading her around the ballroom with a finesse that comes with years of practice. 

The two of you moved through the dance with a sensual grace, your bodies flowing together seamlessly, the passionate embrace amplifying the flirtatious atmosphere.

The warmth of your body, the smell of your cologne, and your hungry gaze had Natasha burning with desire. She hadn’t been this turned on in quite some time. 

As the dance was coming to a close she decided she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of your company any longer. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

You nodded without hesitation, grabbing her hand with tenderness as you led her out of the ballroom. She waved to Yelena before they got too far away, letting her sister know where she was headed. The blonde was grinning ear to ear. 

xXx

The car ride to their final destination was taking entirely too long. She was enchanted by the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips and the subtle bouncing of your left leg. It was one of the only indications she had that you were just as impatient as she was. The other clue she had to go off of was the generous outline of a semi-erect penis making itself visible in those deliciously tight pants of yours. She needed the fire burning between her legs to be satiated this instant. The hand caressing Natasha’s inner thigh was not helping matters.

“Pull over.”

“Sweetheart, we’re almost there.”

She didn’t care. All she cared about was the deep ache she knew could only be satisfied by your cock. As need and lust consumed her; every rational thought left her mind. 

She grabbed the hand resting on her thigh, slowly dragging it up to stroke against soft pink panties, the groan you released let her know you could feel how wet she was. 

“Pull the damn car over, now”

“Fucking hell, you’re already so worked up babe.” You husk, as you pull over onto the side of the road, safely parking. 

Natasha slides into your lap in a hast, “You have no idea.” 

xXx

You situate the seat so she’s comfortable, before pulling that tantalizing mouth of hers into an earth shattering kiss. She whimpers as your assault on her mouth turns frantic; wanting nothing more than to consume her. Delicate hands weave their fingers through your hair, as you work to undo the zipper on the back of her dress. You break away from the kiss briefly to peel it down Natasha’s arms, and to pull the black material down her body to pool around her waist. Fuck, the lacey pink bra covering her breasts makes your cock throb with need. 

Your eyes watch goosebumps erupt on Natasha’s heaving chest; as her flushed skin adjusts to the cool air. She tilts your head up, kissing you hard and desperate. Your tongues massaging one anothers in tandem, every once in a while pausing to suck and swirl your tongues into the caverns of each other's mouths.  

Your arms slip around her sides, fingers caressing the smooth skin of Natasha’s back before unclasping her bra and shimming it down her arms. Discarding it without care as your lips leave that additive mouth of hers to kiss along her jaw. She squirms in your lap, as you nip and lick your way down the line of her throat, leaving a trail of red marks in your wake. 

You pull back and admire the intoxicating woman before you. Those gorgeous emerald eyes that bewitched you from across the ballroom are now blown black with a carnal hunger and her lips are kiss swollen. That lovely shade of pink lipstick is smeared down her chin. And her neck is painted in your love-bites and saliva. She looks wrecked. You could come at the sight alone. 

“Are you going to stare at me all night or are you finally going to touch me?” 

She looks pleased by your admiration, despite what her words may otherwise imply.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been touching you but I promise you’re going to be able to feel me everywhere in a second.”

The pair of soft full breasts attached to this divine being are too tempting to ignore any longer. Your lips descend on her right breast with utter devotion, your tongue flicking over a pretty pink peak; coaxing it taut. Before pulling her nipple into your mouth and suckling. 

She arches into you with a breathless moan, offering more of herself up to you with fervor. As you show equal amounts of attention to each breast your hands caress Natasha’s sides, slowly making their way to her backside. You drag the dress up her hips and expose her center, sliding her panties to the side, your fingers slip through damp curls with ease to massage her clit. 

Natasha shudders from the contact, intuitively grinding her hips into your fingers. She revels in the friction for a little while, feeling the pressure begin to build, and knowing that she needs you inside of her right now. Her hands slide down to your belt buckle, yanking it open, you lift your hips up allowing her to drag your slacks and boxers down in one foul swoop. Her fingers wrap around your thickness with enthusiasm; her hand stroking in a firm but gentle caress.

“Hmm, fuck. I need you so bad.” You groan, thrusting into her hand. 

“Me too, baby. I need you inside me.” Natasha mewls.

Natasha slows her movements, grabbing your tie pulling you into a passionate kiss, her hips lifting up and with your guidance sinks down onto your cock. 

Her back grows taut, needing to take a minute to adjust to the feeling of being so full, before she starts rolling her hips. You grip her backside and begin to thrust up into her. She chants your name as you pick up the pace. Natasha matches your rhythm with vigor, her breath labored as she slams down onto you.

Natasha’s hands find purchase on your shoulders, her fingers crumpling the fabric of your suit jacket as she slides up and down against you. You can’t believe you bothered to get it pressed when this is the only way it should be worn; rumpled and covered in her slick. She rests her forehead against yours, panting into your mouth as your lower halves move in tandem. 

She is so tight and so incredibly warm. You continue to pump into her, her slick wet heat engulfing you as you feel the walls of her core beginning to flutter. With determination, you shove your hand between your gyrating bodies, your thumb sliding through soaked folds to massage her clit. 

You feel her inner walls clamp around you before she lets out a cry of your name, her nails sink into the back of your head and neck as she comes hard against you. The intense stimulation is too much for you to bear as you follow her over the edge with a grunt. 

She continues to keep you close as her breathing begins to mellow out, you sprinkle every inch of bare skin available to you with kisses as she begins to untangle herself from you. Natasha chuckles as she takes in your appearance, your expensive suit is wrinkled beyond repair and your skin is coated in a sheen of sweat. It fills her with a deep sense of satisfaction to have done such a number on you. 

Her eyes flick down between her legs, catching sight of the barely visible waistband of your black boxers, straining against your muscular thighs. They are too dull for her taste. 

“You know the suit was so sexy on you but I have to say I am not a fan of these underwear.” Natasha says, gaze returning to you and it’s full of mischief. 

You look up at her and grin, “Well the next time we fulfill one of our fantasies I promise I’ll buy a new pair of quirky animal boxers. Maybe some polar bears or something.”

She laughed and bit her lip, “Oh, I appreciate the consideration, Detka…” she trails off, lost in thought for a second, “Now tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”

You reach down grasping her left arm, pulling her hand up landing a playful nip to the tip of her fingers. “Oh sweetheart, I’ve got so many fantasies revolving around you. Some new ones involving that damn lingerie set. You look so fucking sexy in pink.”

You note the subtle mood shift, the sadness and vulnerability now in Natasha’s eyes, it makes your heart weep.

“Yeah?” She asks tone so hopeful

You knew that the two of you had been stuck in a rut as of late, the monotony of family life not leaving much room for the two of you to nurture your relationship; emotional or sexual. There was a strict schedule for everything concerning the kids and with the long hours you worked, it left a lot of your marriage up in the air. Only really having time for quickies in the shower or watching a movie together at the end of the day. That is if your kids didn’t interrupt the two of you. 

When you were young the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and you know that love changes over time. This however was different and unacceptable to you. Natasha was the love of your life, the sexiest woman in the world in your eyes and the fact that she no longer knew that was gut wrenching. As you look up into her eyes, seeing all the love, hope and desire for you there, you know from this moment on you would do anything to make her feel like the strong, sexy and courageous woman you know her to be.

And after tonight, you know that the fire that burns between you two is still there. All it needs is a little coaxing to ignite it and you were damn sure going to keep that fire fed from now on.

You lift your hand up to caress her cheek, “Natasha, I know our relationship has fallen to the wayside a bit since the kids were born but sweetheart you are still so damn sexy to me. I love you so fucking much. And I am so sorry for letting it get this bad.” 

“I love you too, baby. Please don’t put all of this on you. I know I haven’t been making our marriage a priority either…I’m sorry for that.” Natasha kisses the corner of your mouth. “It’s a relief that after all this time you still think I’m sexy.” She chuckles, gesturing to herself with contempt. “I know I don’t look like I used too.”

“The fact that you don’t believe that your fucking gorgeous and that I crave you like a person in hell craves ice water is on me.” You implore her to see the truth in your words. “I am going to do everything I can to make us a priority again. I'm done always putting the kids first. You deserve to be loved and fucked to your hearts content.” Your voice holds conviction. 

Natasha yanks on your tie pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “Well in that case…maybe we can take advantage of the kids staying with your mom tonight. You can show me just how much you crave me, baby.” 

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.” You help Natasha slide back over into the passenger seat, and get your clothes in order. “That being said, when we get home Mrs. Y/L you're putting your wedding ring back on.” You send her a playful glare, as you restart the car. “If I ever see that finger bare again…there will be consequences.”

Natasha giggles, “Consequences huh?...mhmm.. I’d like to experience that but…” She winks at you. “It was definitely a bit of a risk I took, I'll admit. I won’t be taking it again. Now drive, baby.”

It was an exhilarating night for the both of you. And as you head down the road toward your shared home, it feels like the beginning of a brand new adventure. 

[cjjohansson]

Vacation Days

Natasha Romanoff xFem!Reader

The Loud House Universe

Natasha and the strap

Note: My next contribution to my version of kinktober

Warnings: strap on use (penetration), light breeding kink

Moments like this were some of your favorites. It's simple and sexy—the two of you in bed together, giving in to your desires after spending time with the family. It started as innocent cuddling, both of you succumbing to the day's exhaustion. This hotel room offered you the slightest bit of privacy. The kids are in the connecting room. You were under the covers, nestled between her legs, using the strap to stroke along her clit. You were pressed for time, knowing one of the kids would want to come and sleep with you soon, but there was no stopping now. You breathed harshly, holding your t-shirt under your chin, as you maneuvered your hips to get the tip of the cock to slide against her clit.

"Baby," Natasha mewled as she gripped your hips. Neither of you could truly see save for the dim light of the television in the room. She tried to keep her moans and cries to a minimum, knowing how paper-thin the walls were.

You kept going, feeling the sweat collect at the back of your neck. Her grip on you tightened, her legs wrapped around you, and pulled you close. She could feel it, the tightness and the build-up, and all she could do was bite down on her bottom lip. You reached down, directing the seven-inch phallus to her hole, collecting her wetness. You pressed the tip against her, slowly moving to ease the way.

"Fuck," Natasha hissed, throwing her head back. "Oh, god, fuck me, baby."

You leaned forward, pressing your torso to hers. You rocked your hips, thrusting into her tight heat. She clenched down around the toy, holding you in place. She touched your back, digging her nails into your skin.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," Natasha begged.

Your eyes were shut tight as you focused on the sounds. There was a slight slapping noise that echoed every time your thighs hit hers. You're almost positive she's been pushed a few inches up the bed with the force of your thrusts. You could tell she was nearing her climax, feeling her legs shake, and you sped up, eager to push her over the edge.

"You're going to make me cum, baby," she moaned.

"So soon?" You questioned.

She whined, "I've been so worked up all night, thinking about this, thinking about you inside me."

"Yeah? You like it when I fuck you?"

"Yes, baby, please, don't stop, don't stop," she said.

You felt her tremble and her walls squeezed down, nearly pushing you out. You moved your hips faster, feeling the sweat trickle down your neck. The sound of the sheets rustling beneath you filled the room. There wasn't much to be said after that. You could only focus on the pleasure coursing through your own body as you thrust. You buried your face in her neck, breathing harshly as you pushed her legs further apart, fucking her harder.

"That's it, baby," she whimpered.

You knew the signs, having made her cum so many times. Your eyes were closed, and you listened, focusing on her moans. She reached down, stroking her clit in tight circles.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered.

Your hips were getting tired, but you had no intentions of stopping until she begged. You placed sloppy kisses along her neck, daring to peek down between the two of you, as you felt her shiver.

There was a gasp from her and you placed another kiss on her chin this time.

"Fuck," You groaned as you closed your eyes again. Natasha's pussy took everything you had, almost as if you were made for her. As if this was made for her. You could feel the warmth in the pit of your stomach, and your heart was hammering away, threatening to break free from your chest. You knew the signs of Natasha coming well. There were always moments before when she would hold her breath, unintentionally, the pleasure becoming too much for her to bear. She dug her nails into your shoulder blades and you could feel the tension in her limbs as she tried to hold on for as long as possible. "Breathe..." You whispered to her, gripping her hips to pin her, as you thrust harder. It caught her attention immediately. Another gasp. There it was.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, please, please, don't stop," she mumbled, almost delirious from the pleasure. You could tell by the way her toes were curling and the way her fingers dug deeper into your skin. You reached under you, squeezing the balls of the strap, and she nearly screamed. "Shit! Fuck!"

Her voice echoed off the walls and you hoped it wasn't loud enough for the kids to hear. It was too late. There was no stopping now, you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. The fake cum dripped from the strap, filling her, the sudden slickness causing the toy to glide easier.

"I'm cumming, baby, oh my god, I'm cumming, oh, fuck," Natasha cried, her entire body trembling.

"Fuck," You growled, still fucking into her, even as she shook from her orgasm. You kept going, wanting her to feel nothing but pleasure. The bed was shaking, and the headboard was tapping against the wall, and neither of you could bring yourself to care. You hadn't realized how close you were to coming yourself until it hit you.

"Oh, shit," Natasha cursed, as the sticky liquid dripped out of her. You couldn't stop your hips. You couldn't stop, no matter how exhausted your hips felt. "You're so good at fucking me," she praised.

"Jesus Christ," you whimpered, feeling yourself reach your peak.

"Come on, baby," Natasha encouraged, "Cum in me, please, cum in me."

And just like that, you let go. A shuddering groan escaped you and you stilled your hips, letting her pussy take everything the toy had to offer. You remained like that, your hips pressed tightly against her, holding her in place. Neither of you said anything for a while, listening as the television droned on in the background. You rested your head against her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

"I want to ride," She whispered. She stroked your back, slightly lullng you into a state of pure bliss. You smiled lazily, feeling her hand slip under the waistband of the strap. "You look so good," she complimented. "Fucking me."

You hummed, "I know." You rolled over onto your bike, eyeing the mess between you, finding it hot. "Go on then."

She sat up, the strap slipping out. She crawled over you, placing a hand on either side of your head. "I want you to watch me." She reached between her legs, guiding the cock back inside. Natasha bit her lip, and you had to take a breath, watching her sink down the entire length.

"God, you're gorgeous." You couldn't keep your hands to yourself, not when she looked like this.

"Mm," Natasha sighed, as her eyes closed. She rolled her hips, taking in all seven inches. You ran your hands along her body, starting at her hips, running along her stomach, and cupping her breasts. The piercings, your favorite piercings, dangled just above your face.

"So beautiful."

"Yeah?" Natasha questioned, looking down at you. "You like it when I fuck you, baby? When I sit on your big cock?"

You groaned, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Fuck, Nat," you whispered.

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay," she breathed, as she rocked her hips faster. She had one hand planted on the bed, the other on her clit, rubbing tight circles. "It feels so good," she moaned, tossing her head back.

"Keep going," You encouraged, running your hands down her body. You grabbed her ass, digging your nails into the skin, helping her move. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking into your eye, letting you see all of the pleasure on her face.

"Yes, yes, oh god, I'm going to cum," she whined.

"Yeah? You think I'll fill you again?"

"Fuck!" She cursed.

You were mesmerized, watching her hips move, the way the strap slid in and out. The white ring around the base of the cock became more prominent as she bounced and ground.

"Come on, baby, cum in me again," she panted. "Please."

You couldn't say no, not with the way she begged. She was a sight to behold, one you were grateful to witness. The pleasure was coursing through her body. She had her eyes closed, her mouth hanging open, her hair wild and frizzy. You reached up, gripping her hips tightly, thrusting upward, meeting her halfway.

"Oh, yes, yes, fuck," she chanted. "Fill me, fill me, please, please, oh, fuck."

You were panting, sweat dripping down your temple, watching the cum ooze out of her with every movement. You thrust, and thrust, and thrust, watching her lose her mind.

"I'm going to cum, fuck, fuck," Natasha hissed.

You didn't stop, watching as she threw her head back. You squeezed the balls again, releasing what was left, filling her.

"Shit, shit, shit, oh my god," she mewled.

You slowed down, easing the two of you through your orgasm. The room fell quiet, save for the sounds of the two of you trying to catch your breath. The cock slipped out of her, nestled in the cleft of her ass, as she rested against your chest. She could feel the warmth seeping out of her, pooling onto your pelvis, and it turned her on.

"That was..."

"Good," you finished. "It was good. You know you talk a good game."

"You liked it when I talked dirty to you?"

You rolled your eyes, "No, I hated it."

"You did," she agreed, smiling against your skin. She could feel the way the cum had seeped out and she shivered.

"You looked so good with my cum inside you," You said aloud. "Dripping from you."

Natasha chuckled, "So that purchase is still paying off?"

"Mhm, you know it. You're so sexy, Natasha, and you're so good for me."

"Yeah?" She asked, biting her lip.

"So, so good," you said.

Natasha smiled, sitting up. The cum dripped out, and she moaned, reaching down to gather some. She brought her fingers to her lips, sucking on them. "I'm going to clean up, and then we should sleep. I have a feeling we won't get much of a chance when we get home."

"Are you sure we didn't make a baby?" You teased.

"Very funny."

"We might as well keep practicing," You said.

"You're such a pervert."

"Hey," you exclaimed, "You're the one who begged me to come inside you."

"Well, you know," she shrugged. "It's just a fantasy."

"Yeah," you hummed, eyeing her.

"I'll be right back," she said, leaning forward. You gripped her arms, keeping her pressed into you. She gasped when the cock slipped against her sensitive clit again.

"Stay here," You begged. "I want to wake up and fuck you again."

"What about the kids?"

"I'll wake up extra early," you promised.

"Okay," she agreed.

"I love you," you said.

"I love you, too," she said, pressing her lips to yours.

[cjjohansson]

The Maid - Part 3

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 3973

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: I am so glad everyone is enjoying this fic! Now we get to see who's guesses from Part 2 were correct...

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Things with Wanda have become increasingly difficult lately. Your temper inches shorter and shorter with every argument the two of you have, which seem to be almost every conversation now. After your night out with Natasha, which felt dangerously normal, you realized what you were missing with your own wife. But the two of you had been together for nearly a decade–surely there were bound to be rough patches, right?

“I have to work late tomorrow night,” you say as the two of you get ready for bed, and as soon as the words come out of your mouth you regret it.

“Late again? Really, Y/N?” Wanda shoots back. “I already made the reservation for our dinner. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Reschedule it?” you suggest, trying to hide your frustration. How many dozens of dinners (and anniversaries) had she stood you up?

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not doing that,” Wanda says, angrily climbing into bed and turning away from you. “If you can’t put the effort in to remember when we have dinner dates, then we’re not going to one.”

“You literally forgot our anniversary,” you respond, finally losing control of your temper.

“I did not forget,” she argues. “I had other plans that you forgot. And don’t use that tone with me. You’re not the one who should be annoyed right now.” Anger flares up inside you, but you hold your tongue. Arguing further with her would be pointless. You crawl onto your side of the bed and look over at your wife, balled up and small-looking under the covers.

You loved her. That was never a lie. But sometimes you wonder why you allowed her to cause you so much pain. Was it just to further prove your love to her? And how much more of it could you take?

***********************************************************************

After Natasha returns from picking up Wanda’s dry cleaning, she neatly hangs up the half-dozen dresses in the closet and begins dusting the house from top to bottom. It’s not an exciting chore, but due to the vastness of your home and the few people living in it, a lot of dust has accumulated and even she knows Wanda’s not exaggerating when she complains about her allergies acting up.

Natasha starts in your bedroom, carrying around a small stool to help her reach high places. She gently pats the dust off a plush teddy bear sitting on your dresser. She gets on her knees to brush the floorboards running along the perimeter of the room. Although the work is painfully dull, she finds satisfaction in the way her duster fibers turn grayer and grayer. She cleans the glass doors of the china cabinet with a special wipe, smiling at a little ceramic turtle perched on a shelf at eye level. She waltzes through the kitchen, which needs the least cleaning because she spends the most time there, but pauses to give special care to the rainbow-colored plastic cow looking out the window.

In the living room is a massive bookshelf that takes up an entire wall’s worth of space.Natasha doesn’t even know where to start, but she hops onto her stool and begins dusting the spines in every row. When she gets to the end of the fourth row, a title catches her eye: Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. She had read the book for the first time in its native Russian, and while it may not have been a child-friendly novel, it did bring back more fondful memories of her childhood.

She takes it off the shelf, surprised at its weight. It’s over 500 pages, but much heavier than she remembers. The front cover swings open and something big and metal falls out, nearly landing on her foot. Natasha gasps in surprise as she pulls her leg back, her eyes widening as she stares at the revolver on the floor.

She opens the book, finding a huge rectangle cut out of the center of the pages to house the weapon. Whose gun was this? Neither you nor Wanda struck her as physically violent people. Maybe it was for protection? 

The garage door rumbles open.

Natasha scoops up the gun with shaking hands and puts it back in the book, shoving it onto the shelf again. She grabs her duster and continues to dust the shelf.

“Natasha? Are you here?” Wanda’s voice rings out.

“In the living room! Good afternoon, Mrs. L/N!” Natasha responds, not turning around and staring at Crime and Punishment as if the gun will go off on its own.

“Why are you dusting our bookshelf?” Wanda asks. 

“I’m dusting the whole house,” Natasha answers. “Just want to make sure every area is clean–”

“You read?” Wanda interrupts.

“I can, yes.” Natasha has no idea where the conversation is going and her stomach twists in knots.

“I mean, do you read for fun?”

“Yes,” Natasha lies.

“You ever read Crime and Punishment?” 

Natasha just wants Wanda to leave her alone. “Yes.”

“A little advanced for you, don’t you think?” she says, and Natasha doesn’t even feel the need to defend herself from the cruel comment. She still hasn’t faced Wanda and wonders if she’s holding another revolver pointed at her back.

But Wanda is still waiting for an answer, so Natasha draws herself taller and says, “I’m Russian. I read it in high school.”

“Of course.” Wanda shifts her weight and the floor creaks. Natasha tenses and closes her eyes. “Well, I pay you to clean my house, not read my books. So keep your hands off my copy. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Footsteps indicate Wanda is going to another room.

Natasha has never been genuinely scared of Wanda until now.

***********************************************************************

It’s laundry day in your household, another chore Natasha completely despises due to the sheer amount of bedding you and Wanda seem to accumulate. Wanda insists that she wash the sheets in every guest room, despite the fact that you and her only sleep in the master bedroom. While Natasha is certain she knows the real reason, she overheard her telling you it was to prevent bed bugs. 

Still, Natasha knows better than to question your wife and falls into the routine of stripping every bed, washing one load at a time, and redoing all the beds. The laundry machine is so noisy, she doesn’t hear the garage door open, nor the footsteps down the foyer. She doesn’t listen to music while she works, afraid Wanda will accuse her of being distracted, so she hums the soundtrack to Mamma Mia. 

When the next load finishes, Natasha gathers up the bedding in her arms, almost smothered by the heat from its tumble in the dryer. She precariously walks up the stairs, trying to remember which bedroom the sheets are from, when she hears a thump from the master bedroom.

Natasha freezes. She thought she was alone in the house. Maybe you had snuck by while she was in the laundry room, and clearly she didn’t learn her lesson from the last time she walked in on you and Wanda to stay away. Heart pounding against her chest in anticipation, Natasha inches towards the door and peers through the crack.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me,” Wanda moans, followed by the repetitive banging of the headboard against the wall. Natasha shifts around to get a better view of the room, straining to see what’s going on. She catches a glimpse of Wanda on her knees, moving in and out of her view, someone holding onto her waist from behind. 

“I want you to put a baby in me,” Wanda pants, and her partner grunts in response.

While the two of you had no children that Natasha was aware of, she wonders if that was an intentional decision or perhaps you two were waiting for a better moment. Kids would certainly give you a reason to stay with Wanda, and maybe that was exactly what she was planning. 

Natasha hates the way she keeps watching, wanting more material to fuel her never-ending fantasy of being betrothed to you.    

“Honey? Are you here? I’m home!”

“I’m upstairs!” Natasha calls. She hears you tramp up the steps as she patiently waits for you in the bedroom. You poke your head through the door first, the top few buttons of your shirt undone, and although the exhaustion from work is evident on your face, you perk up when you see her.

Especially with what she’s wearing, or lack of it.

“I hope you had a good day at work, baby,” Natasha says, turning around to face you. She’s wearing the red lingerie set you bought her for her birthday. It hardly leaves her assets to the imagination and she can feel your gaze lingering on her body. She’s never felt so appreciated or wanted before.

“It was a good day that’s only getting better.” You step into the bedroom, hastening to take off your clothes. Natasha comes over to help you and you easily scoop her up in your strong arms, and she wraps her legs tightly around your hips. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you whisper, your mouth hot on her neck as you nip at her skin.  

You walk forward until Natasha feels her back bump into the vanity. You rest her on the edge and spread your legs to jerk yourself to full hardness. Natasha struggles against the impatience in her core, wanting nothing more than for you to fill her to the brim. She watches the veins in your muscular arm pop out as you move your hand back and forth faster, your cock swelling to its large size.

Finally, Natasha cannot wait any longer. “I need you,” she begs, swatting your hand away and sliding forward, ready to practically fall on your dick. 

“Careful, baby,” you warn with a chuckle, gripping onto her thighs and stepping forward to find the right angle to insert yourself. 

Natasha sighs in relief when you enter her, holding onto your shoulders in case you get any ideas of pulling out too far. Her walls clench around you tightly, drawing a moan from you and you press your hips forward until your whole cock stretches her out. Natasha loves how much you fill her, how you soothe the empty throbbing in her. She must be the luckiest woman in the world to have you like this.

The vanity bumps against the wall with every thrust. Natasha squeezes her thighs tighter around your waist, trying to hold you in as long as possible. She runs her hands up and down your broad back, digging her nails into your shoulder blades when your thighs meet hers.

“When are you gonna put a baby in me?” she asks, her lips crashing heatedly onto yours.

You grunt with another deep thrust.

“You would look so beautiful carrying my child.”

Natasha’s blood goes cold when she hears Wanda’s partner. Because it’s not your voice.

It’s Vision’s.

She angles herself to see better and feels sick to see her stomach when she sees your wife and Vision tangled on the bed together. She can’t bear to watch another second and flees down the stairs, the bedsheets still in her arms, not even caring if they hear her. 

She has to find a way to tell you. That was the least you deserved.

***********************************************************************

You stand in the dim hallway, watching as Wanda whips around, grabbing her coat and Louis Vuitton purse. “Where do you think you’re going?” you ask.

“I’m not allowed to leave the house now?” she bites back, not even looking at you.

“It’s Friday night,” you point out.

“So?” 

“Friday nights are our nights,” you stress, and Wanda finally looks at you when you raise your voice. “It’s been that way for years, unless you’ve been so bored of me you haven’t noticed.”

“You can survive without me for one night,” she shoots back. “I have a dinner night with the girls–”

“Don’t go,” you say, your tone changing from anger to pleading. “Please. We hardly spend any time together since I started the new job here and–”

“That’s not my fault,” Wanda clips. “That was your decision. Moving here was also your decision, in case you forgot.” You don’t miss the way she stresses the blame on you. “You thought it would be better for your business, and you’re still in the red. I gave up my old friends and relationships to be here with you, and then you have the audacity to act like this is my fault.”

“I asked if you wanted to stay, and you said you were fine with moving,” you remind her, although you are uncomfortable at the truth of her words.

“I said I was fine moving because I thought it’d make you happy,” Wanda says. “But it looks like out of the two of us, I’m the only happy one here.”

You know it’s wrong, but you can’t help but be frustratingly jealous of your wife. Even waking up every day is now a struggle for you. You’re buckling under the pressure of work, unable to meet the deadlines or find the capital to pay your mounting debts. The only person you have to support you is Wanda, but she’s always off partying with her new friends or going to some made-up meeting meant to give her a false sense of significance. You’ve never felt lonelier, and it scares you that the only person you have may be slipping away.

“I’ll be back tonight.” Wanda whips out to the garage and clearly doesn’t want to hear any more protest from you. You stagger back and collapse onto a sofa, holding your head in your hands and feeling a burning sensation in your eyes.

Natasha peeks around the corner of the kitchen, wondering if you remember that she’s still here. “Y/N? Is everything okay?” she asks.

“No,” you say, forcing yourself to laugh. “I’m sorry if you heard any of that. That was very unprofessional of us.”

“It’s okay.” Natasha inches out so you can see her. You’re rubbing your eyes and she’s startled to realize you’re crying. Not knowing what to do, she retreats into the kitchen, grabbing a handful of rambutans from the bottom drawer of the fridge and a box of tissues and brings them to you.

You laugh when you see her offerings. You pat the sofa cushion next to her to indicate she is welcome to join you. “Have you had one of these before? I can show you how to eat them.” You peel off the furry red exterior, revealing a pearl-colored center. “You just eat this part. It tastes like a grape.”

Natasha takes one and follows your example. When she bites into the center, the taste is not as exotic as she expected but quite mild, reminding her of an oversized, fleshy grape. “It’s pretty good,” she says.

“My favorite.” You peel open another one, leaving the exterior on a pile on the table.

Natasha has another one and anxiously looks around the room, as if Wanda is still in the house. “Y/N, I need to tell you something,” she finally has the courage to say, heart pounding in her chest.

“Yes?” There’s a soft crunch as you bite through your rambutan. 

“Wanda’s cheating on you with Vision,” Natasha blurts out, with no build-up whatsoever.

You are completely silent, chewing the fruit as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever eat. 

“I saw them together in bed yesterday.” Natasha now realizes how foolish she sounds. What if you didn’t believe her? What if you thought she was lying in order to get you for herself? She could’ve taken a picture (as weird as that would’ve been) to provide actual proof. 

“I know,” you say, to Natasha’s shock. “I know she’s cheating on me with Vision.”

“You do?” Natasha is stunned. She wonders how long you’ve known, and why you’ve never acted out on it.

“She’s cheating on me with half the fucking neighborhood.”

***********************************************************************

One month earlier…

“Need a hand?”

“No, I think I’m good, thanks!” You roll out from under your car, your arms and face covered in grease and oil. A skinny man stands on the sidewalk, surveying your propped-up car on the driveway.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“Not sure,” you respond, reaching for a rag in your tool bag and wiping off your face. “It won’t start though, so I’ll probably have to get it towed to the shop.” 

“Need a lift?”

“Uh…” You glance back at your empty house. Wanda was out until nightfall, although you wouldn’t put it past her to be gone until tomorrow. Despite the brand-new house the two of you had just moved into, she didn’t seem to want to spend much time in it.

“It’s no trouble,” the man insists. “I live over at the end of the street. You can call me Vision.” He comes forward to shake your hand. 

“Y/N,” you introduce. “Well, I’d really appreciate it. We just moved here and my wife’s out of town right now, so I don’t have many friends I can call on here yet.”

Vision waves off your comment. “You have neighbors! That’s what we’re for, right?”

You call a tow truck and join Vision in his purple Camaro with a yellow racing stripe along the center of its hood to tail your vehicle to the shop.

“What do you do for work?” you ask, genuinely impressed with his sports car. He didn’t seem like the type to own one.

“Oh, I’m retired,” he says, effortlessly shifting the gears and the vehicle purrs in response.

“Really?” He hardly looked a few years older than you.

“Corporate life just wasn’t for me,” he says. “It paid very well though, so I retired early and bought the house out here. It’s just me though, never found the right person to settle down with.”

“It’s not for everyone,” you admit, because sometimes you wonder if you even found the right person.

***********************************************************************

After the mechanics determine your car needs an overnight stay to repair, Vision drives you back home. He drops you off and speeds down the street to his own. You find him to be a little quirky, but harmless. You head inside for a much-needed shower. When you’re done, you wrap a towel around your waist and step into the bedroom to find some clothes. You pause when the front door creaks open. 

Excited to greet your wife, you rush out to say hello from the top of the stairs, but stop in your tracks when you realize she’s brought someone in.

“Oh, Y/N isn’t home,” Wanda says, her voice carrying through the foyer.

“This house is huge!” It’s Steve. Your heart bangs against your chest and you retreat to the bedroom, unsure where to hide. The closet seems like a decent spot, and you nestle in between your hanging jackets as you hear Wanda and Steve stomp up the stairs together. You peek out through the crack in the door.

“Ours was built first, but it looks like this one has a lot of improvements that we could’ve used,” Steve goes on.

“Yes, yes, it’s very nice,” Wanda says. They walk into your bedroom, Wanda behind him with a mischievous glint in her eye you recognize all too well. “I wish Y/N could be around more,” she continues, and you fight the urge to burst out of the closet. “Like you said, it’s such a big house and it feels so lonely in it without another body to keep it warm.”

You see Steve’s gaze travel along the walls and over your furniture. To his credit, he does seem genuinely impressed with your home. He always struck you as a simple man, maybe even a little bit ignorant at times. But now you were about to see if his ignorance was true or an act.

Wanda approaches him so closely you’re sure her body is rubbing against his. 

“Y/N isn’t here, but maybe you can keep me company for a while?”

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve jerks away from Wanda when she puts her hands on his hips. 

“We can be quick,” Wanda insists, taking off her jacket. “No one has to know–”

“Wanda, stop it,” Steve says, sounding angry. “I have a wife and kids at home and you’re married to Y/N–”

“So?” Wanda replies, and it makes your stomach clench with how dismissive she is. “I’ve been married to Y/N for four years and I’ve been cheating since day one.” She shrugs. “Honestly, the only reason I settled down is for the thrill of it.” She holds her hand up, the wedding ring you gifted her with three months’ salary glinting in the light. “It’s much more exciting to get what you’re not supposed to have, right?”

“You’re disgusting,” Steve says. “Stay away from me and my family.”

He hurries out of the bedroom, but Wanda doesn’t go after him at first. She puts her jacket back on and admires her reflection in the mirror, clearly a little frazzled by Steve’s rejection. How many people hadn’t rejected her? You always had a hunch, but had never heard Wanda admit it outloud before. How could you be so stupid this whole time?

Your body starts to vibrate with rage and you accidentally knock a jacket off its hook. While the jacket falls soundlessly to the floor, you can’t see well enough to catch the hanger and it lands with a quiet thump on the carpet. You look through the crack, holding your breath as Wanda’s head whips towards the closet. 

The next few seconds are so tense you want to vomit.

But then Wanda turns back to her reflection, fluffing out her hair, and leaves the bedroom.

***********************************************************************

Your paranoia kicks in like a drug that won’t let you rest. You buy cameras and sprinkle them all around the house, in the trinkets and knick knacks Wanda insisted on showcasing in every room. The teddy bear on your dresser in the bedroom. The ceramic turtle in the china cabinet in the living room. The plastic cow on the windowsill of the kitchen window. You monitor them religiously, but it doesn’t take long for more evidence to show up.

Vision is the most frequent offender, visiting during your long nights at work or sometimes in the middle of the day. Steve never sets foot on your property again, although sometimes the camera in the potted plant by the front door picks up the conversation of Wanda trying to convince him to come over. As nice as Steve was to turn down your wife’s advances, he never came to tell you what she had tried to do with him either.

There are some visitors you don’t even recognize. And Wanda isn’t a stranger to women either. She brings over Agatha, her supposed HOA nemesis, and many of the ladies who would greet you so kindly and fawn over you every time they saw you working in the front yard. You would bet money that she was also fucking some of her girlfriends on their trips away.

And now you have it all on camera, your wife fucking multiple strangers in your own home. The proof didn’t make you feel better; in fact, it made you feel worse. All that time, effort, and money you had spent trying to cultivate the perfect relationship with her when she would turn around and fuck the first thing that looked at her. 

It made you so angry you couldn’t see straight. But you knew you couldn’t act hastily. You would formulate the perfect plan to get out of the marriage and leave Wanda behind, even if it meant leaving her for dead.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Whomp whomp. So...was it who you expected? Or worse? 🤭And I think we collectively owe Steve an apology.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[cjjohansson]

Falling Into It

Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

.

Sometimes, people get confused between embarrassment and shame.

Embarrassment is a reddened cheeks, eyes to the floor and a faltering laugh kind of feeling. It’s when you walk past Natasha and feel her eyes on you. It’s losing your train of thought whenever she enters the room.

Shame is the permanent lump in your throat. It is the worry that someone else will notice the way you look at her. It is knowing that you might only be welcome in your home because you are pretending.

-

You first visited the Avengers Compound because you had become friends with Wanda. You’d been hesitant to accept her invite, only saying yes when you noticed how nervous she was to ask.

That evening, you’d found yourself sharing takeout with the whole team in the living room, accidentally encroaching on a post-mission celebration. You’d never settled into a group of friends so seamlessly. It was like walking into a world upside down. The boring, everyday details of your life filled the others with fascination.

Steve asked follow up questions to every story you shared. 

Tony told you jokes about the other Avengers, like you were an old friend. 

Wanda looked at you like she was so glad to have brought you.

Clint asked if you had a boyfriend and you avoided the question.

Then Natasha had walked in, delayed by her mission debrief, and it had physically hurt to see someone so beautiful. You tried to push the feeling down. Natasha looked over at you, the obvious newcomer, and her eyes darted meaningfully to your lips. You felt the immediate stain of want for her. She marked your skin before her lips ever touched you. 

-

But, her lips did touch you.

The second time you visited, Natasha found you alone in the hallway. Her eyes met yours with a look that invited challenge. You gulped involuntarily. Then, she moved towards you and you stopped in your tracks. Natasha’s hand touched your chest and you felt compelled to her like a magnet.

Natasha pressed you against the wall. She kissed you so hard that it felt like a tidal wave. A million little particles hitting you at once and somehow you stayed standing. Your hands held the soft curve of her waist and you felt an ache run through you. Her tongue was in your mouth and she tasted like warm things that you couldn’t name. You felt your own moan reach the back of her throat. Lost parts of you pieced themselves back together. You fell into the feeling.

-

When she pulled away, Natasha brushed your cheek with her thumb and you realised you were crying.

‘Don’t worry.’ She promised. ‘We don’t have to tell anyone.’

It was the kindest thing she could have done. But it also hurt the most.

-

Soon, what you were and who you wanted began to bleed through the cracks that Natasha had made in you. You caught moments with her like catching leaves in the wind. Her hand brushed yours when you passed each other in the kitchen. You kissed her in the shadows when she met you by your car. Her hands roamed your body whenever you found yourselves alone.

After two months they offered you a room at the Compound. The gesture meant everything. You’d never fit in easily before and now the superheroes wanted you around.

‘No mixed sleepovers.’ Tony teased and suddenly, you felt like a liar.

-

When you walked to your new room that night, Natasha opened her door and pulled you into hers instead. You fell into the feeling all over again.

You touched her skin, silky with soap suds, in the shower. You let your hands move over her breasts, watched the way she bit her lip and heard the low moan that slipped out too. It felt more right than you ever thought it could.

Then, Natasha’s finger stroked along you and you pressed yourself into her palm. You felt a need build in you, raw and desperate.

When Natasha unwound you with a slow finger curl, you made a sound and a shudder that you couldn’t control. 

-

You crawled into Natasha’s bed after. She held you close and you let her arms keep you for the night. Head on Natasha’s shoulder, you watched her breasts rise with every breath and, all in a rush, you felt that you were whole.

You could see now that there was no stopping it. Still, you didn’t accept it. 

It is impossible to embrace shame. It doesn’t free you like anger can, it just settles like a weight on your heart.

-

Time passed and the Compound became your second home. The team became the people you saw everyday, the people you trusted. Sometimes, they still asked you about boys. Your throat closed up every time. They thought you were shy.

You thought that if you told them, they’d forget all the other parts of you. They’d just see the lump in your throat that you couldn’t get rid of.

You saw all the goodness in Wanda, she made you smile everyday. You kept her secrets and she respected the privacy of your own thoughts. You watched her brighten a little more with every day that passed. She was your best friend.

Natasha kept her distance from you in front of the others.

‘She’s just being Natasha.’ Steve assured you more than once, worried you were taking it to heart.

You knew that.

You knew Natasha. You slept in her bed. 

You felt stuck, dreading change and longing for it too. Each time Natasha made your heart skip a beat, it felt more dangerous.

You were falling into the feeling and you couldn't even say the words to her.

-

You knew the vague answers that you gave the team had slowly turned into a false identity. You told yourself that you were the same person underneath, but the lines felt blurred. The guilt was worse with Wanda. She told you sometimes about trying to come to terms with herself, with the things she couldn’t control and the things she could. You felt so ashamed of your secret. You tried to pour it into your support of her. 

Wanda told you once, sitting in her room together, that you were like her sister. You knew how brave she was to claim you as family. She didn’t truly know you and that was your fault.

-

One night, you sat with several of the team watching a movie. They’d spent a mission using the comms to decide that it was criminal that Steve and Bucky hadn’t ever seen Jurassic Park. When Wanda admitted she hadn’t either, you’d all found yourself roped into the evening. 

Natasha sat on the opposite sofa from you, legs resting across Clint’s lap. You shared a bowl of popcorn with Wanda, who couldn’t keep her eyes off the screen.

The movie was halfway through when Natasha came over. The stillness in the room came from collective surprise; Natasha rarely directly interacted with you. You felt nerves bubble up, at her and at the audience. She took off her sweater and gave it to you.

‘Here.’ Natasha murmured, like no one was watching. ‘You look cold.’

The team shared smiles at the building of bridges between you. You pulled on the sweater. You revelled in its warmth, in the unexpected kindness. You met Natasha's eyes across the room and knew it was meant to be the hug that she couldn’t give you. You inhaled her scent and your mind filled with her. You fell into the feeling.

Wanda stiffened next to you. In the half second where your eyes met, you saw the alarm in hers. You hadn’t been careful with your thoughts and she hadn’t been trying not to listen. Shame burned through you and you ripped yourself away.

‘Too scary.’ You muttered at the Velociraptors on screen and fled to your room.

-

You lay on your bed and let loud music play, keeping everyone out. Only once did you recognise Wanda’s footsteps.

Don’t come in here. You thought desperately. You listened before, so listen now.

Later, you heard Tony and Clint’s muttered conversation in the corridor.

‘It must be about a boy.’

You let yourself cry.

-

Wanda woke you up in the morning. She opened the door and walked to the end of your bed. You only had time to feel a stab of apprehension.

‘I’m sorry for listening.’ She told you directly.

‘I’m so ashamed.’ You said, voice small.

‘There’s nothing wrong with you (Y/N). You’re still my sister.’

You didn’t realise it was what you needed to hear until Wanda said it.

-

Sometimes, you still get that gnawing feeling that you are not quite right. 

Except now, Natasha kisses you as soon as she gets back from her mission. Now, Wanda sends you photos of when you fall asleep with Natasha during a movie. Now, you make one your lock screen. 

-

Wanda texts you a website link for the local Pride event. 

Clint tells you that he’ll paint rainbows on your faces.

‘I’m going to claim the face paint as a work expense.’ He tells you, but he looks over at Natasha like he owes her an apology that he doesn’t know how to say. ‘What do you think Fury’s going to say about that?’ 

Now, Natasha wakes up with a coffee mug that says ‘Love is Love’ and Clint sends her photos of the pair of you too.

.

Natasha holds your hand and kisses you in the sunshine, the crowd around you hums into background noise. Her eyes watch you when you break apart. When you smile at her, she smiles right back.

Maybe, most people aren’t like you, but that’s not so bad.

Most people aren’t like Natasha either.

[cjjohansson]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐨

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: listened to juno in the car and had this idea 😋

summary: based on the song by sabrina carpenter (you babytrap nat); g!p nat, college!au, natasha's kind of a fuckboy

warnings: contains quite a bit of smut (hence the 18+ tag), babytrapping (= mildly toxic relationship?), buff athlete nat because that’s a warning in itself

word count: 11k (i fear it’s gotten impossible for me to write anything under 5k words lol)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Initiating public sex in front of your friends should never be a good idea.

When you're as bored as you are right now, though, that opinion quickly begins to waver.

Hand under your shirt, your head on her shoulder. The movie you're watching is one you haven't seen before. Teen pregnancy, Michael Cera, indie soundtracks, yawn. You sigh, first quietly, then a little louder.

Natasha's nose brushes against your temple. Her hand travels higher up, fingers grazing your bra.

"Not a fan?", she mumbles. You lean into her, feeling her bicep against your shoulder. "We can ditch them."

"No." It's been a while since you last had time to spend with your friends. It's also been a while since you didn't sneak off early to fuck each other brainless. "Let's stay", you say, turning your head. "At least so we can see whether they actually fall for each other."

"No offense, but who would fall for that guy? Even I would look better in those shorts."

"Don't disrespect Michael", you mumble, smiling. "Also, you'd need bigger ones to fit everything, babe."

In front of you, Clint rolls his eyes. He lets out the longest sigh known to man and turns his head, his expression lacking any amusement whatsoever. He should be used to this kind of behavior, but to be fair, he just wants one night where your shameless PDA doesn't ruin everything.

"Alright", he says. "One more comment like that and-"

"God, you're a prude." She throws her empty red solo cup at him and he jumps up. "Chill."

He directs one last warning glare at you both, then he plops back down onto the floor. As soon as he's distracted again — drinking beer, talking to his girlfriend — she pulls you closer. Your hand finds her lower stomach, gently pressing against it.

Her breath hits your ear when she exhales, hot and slow. Your hand moves a little lower. Not too far, just enough to flirt with the limit. Her fingers curl into the soft skin of your stomach.

She doesn't say anything, though. Your fingertips dance over the fabric of her sweatpants. They graze the bulge there, prominent even when she's not hard, before finally cupping it. A sharp breath escapes her.

Still, she doesn't stop you. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, where Juno is currently giving birth. The way she's staring makes it seem like she's actually invested in what's happening, but you know the truth. One wrong move, and she'll either embarrass herself — or ruin her pants.

Or both. Most likely both.

You already look irresistible enough, wearing that sinfully short skirt. With your legs tucked under your butt and your vanilla perfume clouding her senses, your hand on her cock can only lead to a disaster.

"Y/N", she whispers through gritted teeth. You palm her crotch and feel her harden.

"Mhm?" You lean in and press your lips to her jaw. Red lipstick stains her skin. It's a sight so satisfying that you keep trailing kisses across her cheek.

Natasha closes her eyes. A noise, muffled and quiet, gets stuck in her throat. You scoff and move your hand to wrap your fingers around her length, only the fabric of her clothes separating you.

"What is it?", you ask, giving a few testing strokes. She shakes her head and you finally hear that soft whimper you'd been waiting for. "Aw, poor baby. All worked up."

In front of you, Steve mumbles something. He gets up, but before he can turn around and catch Natasha and you in this compromising situation, you move and quickly sit on her lap.

Bad idea. This might be worse than the almost-handjob you were about to give her.

Steve doesn't notice anything, but you do. Her head falls forward to lean against your shoulder, her hands grip your waist. You shift and grind against her boner, feeling her tip rub against the wet patch on your panties. At least your skirt hides everything.

You rub against her with more insistence, eyes closing. Her cock, though still clothed, fits perfectly between your folds. If you try hard enough, you can pretend she's inside of you.

"Fuck", she moans. You reach behind you to squeeze her, squeeze any part of her you can reach. "Fuck, I'll come."

Clint pauses, then slowly turns his head. You go completely still, eyes fixed on the tv and your hands folded in your lap. He knows you better than to believe this little act you're putting on, though.

You're surprised he doesn't drag you out by your collars, but you get sent back to your dorms anyway.

"Idiot", you say, grabbing the front of her letter jacket. You pull her into a deep kiss, her hands roaming your body. Salt and butter, sugar and green apple. The snacks of the evening created an addictive taste, and you silently thank Clint for not getting garlic knots again.

"You started it", she pants, trailing her lips down your neck. Your back hits the wall of the dormitory, her hard-on pressing against your hip. Her hand disappears under your skirt and palms your crotch, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties. You're dripping down your thighs. "And I'll end it. Fuck."

You moan, the sound a little too obvious. It's quiet outside, apart from the occasional hum of car engines in the distance. Due to it being a Tuesday night, there are no parties. Most people are either in their dorms or pulling an all-nighter in the library. If anyone's got their window open, they'll hear you.

Natasha sinks her teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, a little louder, and she shushes you by nudging your panties aside with her fingers.

"Quiet", she mumbles, voice gentle like a praise. "Quiet for me, baby."

You writhe when she pushes two fingers into you. They slip in easily, your folds slick with wet heat, and immediately begin thrusting into you. You buck your hips to meet her movements, but she pulls out before you can even get started.

"Hey", you protest, ignoring the fact that she's already got her arm wrapped around you. Fingers in her mouth to lick off excess moisture, she pulls you toward the entrance. "Nat, I'm horny."

"Where's your roommate again?"

"Huh?" You frown, then lightly slap her chest. "Right! Good call."

She laughs quietly, the sound rough and strained, and walks up the stairs. Her hand moves to dip under your skirt. She gropes your ass, kneading the flesh. "I seriously don't know how you got into college, baby."

"Wow. Here I was, considering head tonight, and you made me change my mind."

"Oh, please." She pushes open the door and walks you to the bed. As soon as she's seated, you straddle her and wrap your arms around her neck. Her hands are under your shirt before you can even kiss her. Her tongue brushes against the seam of your lips and you open your mouth.

You grind against her boner, which only makes the ache between your legs worse. Natasha breaks the kiss to tug off your top. Her eyes dart a little lower, zeroing in on your chest. Full breasts, spilling out of a lacy bra with tiny hearts embroidered in it.

Her face sinks to bury itself between your boobs. You feel wet kisses on your skin.

"Taste so good."

"Nat."

"So soft."

"Nat."

She huffs, but doesn't look up. Her hands move your hips, making you rub against her cock. The crotch of her sweatpants is stained with a little wet patch. "What?"

"I want you to fuck me, not make out with my breasts all night long."

You feel the heat of her cheeks. Smirking faintly, you run your hand into her hair.

"Screw you."

"I'm trying." You twist a strand of her hair around your finger and tug. "Come on. I thought of a new position we could try."

That manages to make her look up, though she seems skeptic. It's almost like a game you've been playing — who can come up with the wildest position? Anything counts, as long as it leads to at least one of you having an orgasm.

"You better not disappoint this time", she says and kisses your jaw. Her hands splay out on your ass, fingertips brushing under the fabric of your panties. "That last one was a letdown."

You hum. You have to agree with her here — sidesaddle riding doesn't work no matter how you interpret it, apparently.

"This one's good", you say, getting off her lap. She groans.

"We could pause the game", she pleads, making puppy dog eyes at you. It's a fun game, sure, but sometimes, she wants to see your face while she fucks you. "Just tonight."

You tilt your head at her, eyebrows raised in silent approval for her to keep going.

"I'll let you top", Natasha adds. That's enough for you to be sold.

. . .

When you wake up, it's because of someone knocking on the door.

At first, you don't notice it. Too tight is sleep's grip on you, too warm is your bed. You're curled into Natasha, her arms wrapped around you and holding you close. But then they knock again, more insistently this time, and you sigh.

You squint to block out the sun and get up, stepping over the empty ramen cups you discarded on the floor after a late-night craving. Behind you, Natasha mutters something and rolls over. You slip into a loose shirt and open the door.

Randy, your resident advisor, pauses when he sees you. Messy hair, a thin shirt that barely reaches your thighs, your neck littered with marks. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Yes?", you drawl. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His freckled face flushes pink and he coughs. "Come on, I don't have all morning."

"There, uhm- there was a noise complaint", he says, fingers drumming against the clipboard he for some reason always carries around. "From one of the other students."

You give him a blank stare. "Okay?"

"No, not okay. Look, I don't care what you do in your free time, but maybe keep it down? The walls are quite thin, and the excessive noise, uh..." He sighs, eyes flitting down your body again. He shifts awkwardly, clipboard angled a bit, and you realize that he's trying to conceal a certain problem he's run into.

If the situation was different, you'd be irritated. But watching Randy, the 30-something guy who started working here two years ago, stumble over his own words and stutter like a nervous first grader, is too amusing to genuinely get pissed.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Deep breaths, honey. Don't faint on me."

He tries to glare at you, but fails miserably. "Y/N, I'm being serious. Others want to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave your hand dismissively. "I'll tell Nat."

Behind you, Natasha groans into your pillow. "Tell them to mind their own business", she mutters, voice rough with sleep. "Or move the fuck out."

He briefly peeks into the room, then directs his attention toward you again. You give him a challenging look.

"Nat", he repeats. The way he says her name does manage to irritate you now. You know what others think of her. You also know they're not entirely wrong. "Oh, yeah, fine. Good."

"Good", you repeat, stepping back with one hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and Randy? I know you've been getting, like, zero action lately, but I just woke up. Not even you can be that desperate. Maybe touch some grass?"

He lets out a choked sound. Before he can say anything, you wave two fingers at him and close the door.

"Buh-bye!", you call, just before the door snaps in. You twirl around and spot Natasha, still half asleep and sprawled out on your bed. Her red hair is loose for once, messy and soft, and you ignore the urge to get back into bed with her.

She hums, stretching like a cat, all lazy smiles and toned arms. An admittedly enticing sight. "Got rid of him?"

"Oh yeah." You run your hand along her arm. "I kinda feel bad for the guy."

"Don't. He's a creep." She puts her hand on the back of your thigh, tugging on it. If you didn't know better, you'd think she's scared you'll just slip away. "Feel bad for me. The abandoned girlfriend."

You huff, not budging. You'd love to go back to bed, but you have other things to do.

"Classes", you remind her, turning away. You take off your shirt and she groans. "Shower, too." Your panties follow. This time, she lets out a full blown moan.

You turn around and give her an unimpressed (albeit slightly amused) look. "And that is why we got a noise complaint."

"Come on", she whines. "Not even professors like their own classes. You can afford ten more minutes, baby. I won't even make you put on your clothes again."

"You say that like it's supposed to benefit me."

"It benefits both of us." Natasha grunts and finally sits up, slouching. Her arms are crossed over her lap as her eyes travel up and down your body. It takes you a second to realize why.

She tilts her head, cheeks pink. The expression on her face is both guilty and hopeful, like she's weighing her odds. A productive day or a few more minutes — maybe hours, if she plays her cards right — in bed with her?

Her chances aren't looking too bad.

"You can't be serious", you deadpan. Of course, she is.

"I'll be quick."

"You're never quick!"

"You can't blame me for that", she retorts. "God, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you for the next few hours?"

"Next few 'hours'? Babe, you have practice today. Plus, I wanted to go shopping."

Natasha flops onto her back dramatically. It gives you a full view of her body, head to toe, with her not-so-little problem included. You bite the inside of your cheek frustratedly as you realize she's chipping away at your resolve.

"Practice isn't that important", she mutters, her forearms covering her eyes.

"Babe, you're team captain", you say, turning around. Focus on something else, anything else. If you cave, you will definitely be late. Or, worst case scenario, you won't leave your dorm before lunchtime — again. "Just...take a cold shower. I'll see you tonight."

She mutters something about 'showers being a scam' under her breath, then finally gets up. You watch her gather her stuff and get dressed, but you keep her letter jacket clutched to your chest. She raises her eyebrows and reaches out her hand.

"No."

"That's mine."

"Nope."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but ultimately just kisses you before slipping into her shoes. She can't help it — she's weak for you.

"I'll get you back for this", she says, then the door falls shut behind her.

. . .

The basketball circles the hoop once, twice, leaving everyone on the edge of their seats.

One leg crossed over the other, you lean forward. Red lips part slightly, manicured nails dig into the thin skin of your knee. All eyes are on the ball, which wobbles — but then it slips off and bounces away. You groan and toss your head back.

"Come on, Romanoff!", someone next to you shouts.

"Damn it", you curse. You go to her games all the time, and usually, you enjoy it. Watching her miss a shot, however, is not the most pleasant part of the experience.

Natasha runs her hand over her hair, clearly frustrated. She's been off her shooting game today, and she doesn't know why. She's not doing anything different.

You watch her trail backwards, bouncing on her heels and her eyes locked on the hoop. When she hears her team's complaints, she turns around. She yells at a teammate, then at a player from the opposite team, before the coach calls for a timeout.

She jogs to the bench, snatches her water bottle, and tips her head back to take a swig. Baby hairs stick to her sweaty temples, the veins on her arms popping. You lean forward.

"Nat!"

She looks up, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched. Then she realizes it's you and, just like that, her scowl softens. She glances at her team to check if anyone's watching her before approaching you. You're in the first row, right next to the home team's bench, so all she has to do is lean on the barrier separating the seats from the court.

"Hey", she says.

"'Hey'? Are you kidding me? What the hell was up with that shot?"

Natasha frowns and huffs. "Alright, I don't need a lecture right now. So unless you want to kiss me for good luck-"

A girl from her team — one you don't know too well — nudges her. Natasha barely glances at her, but it's enough for you to lean forward and tug at her ear.

"What the fuck!"

"I'm serious! You missed by, like, half a mile."

The glare she gives you is deadly, but you deserve it. You are being a little unfair. For good reason, though: whenever you're there to berate her, she suddenly starts playing much better. It's like magic. She needs a healthy dose of bullying from you for her performance to be at its peak.

"Alright", she snaps. "Be my guest. Suit up and try, if you think you'll do better."

"Oh, no." You reach up and brush your fingers along her jaw before resting them under her chin. "You're the best, aren't you? So show me that's true, and I'll reward you. But losers don't get a reward."

"You drive a hard bargain", she mutters. You smile innocently and tap her bottom lip. "Fine. Fine, I'll...do better, I guess."

"That's my girl", you purr and, with a light push against her mouth, send her back to her team.

The game continues.

Before halftime, Natasha's team was trailing 34-37, but after some strong defense and a layup, the score is tied again. That is, until the opposing team hits a couple of shots.

You're agitated, but confident. At least you're pretty sure you are.

Most of her games are like this. Her team needs to be slightly behind for her to be able to give it her all. You convince yourself it won't be different this time, either.

Eyes zeroed in on Natasha, you watch her every move. How she dribbles the ball, weaves through the defenders, loses the ball again. The game is a close one. They're playing against one of the better teams this time, and it shows.

It's a back and forth between the teams. The opposing team gets a small lead, which is quickly lost thanks to another shot. During the last minute, they're tied again. Teams are trading baskets, but you don't know whether you should stay positive.

For a while, it looks bad. Time is running out. Then, in a split second, Natasha is open at the top of the arc. The pass is fast, almost too high, but she catches it. Your breathing stops for a moment and you barely manage to restrain yourself from jumping up from your seat.

Five seconds left. The team's are neck-and-neck. Natasha has the ball.

Three seconds left. She makes her move, stepping back for a three-pointer. She rises, muscles coiled, and lets the ball fly.

One second left. After cutting through the air and briefly hitting the hoop, the ball swishes through the net.

66-64. The buzzer sounds. Her team has won.

You're on your feet before you realize it, yelling along with the audience. Natasha's team crashes into her the second she's back on the ground, but she only lets them slap her back and punch her arms for a few seconds before she weaves through the small crowd.

You hop over the barricade and into her arms, not caring about the fact she's all sweaty. Her lips press against your neck, her hand rubs up and down your back. She spins you around.

"You did it!"

"Because of you."

"That shot was amazing. More of that, please."

Natasha laughs, low and rough and exhausted, and tips her head back to look up at you. You smile and kiss her. She tastes like salt and Gatorade.

"Still the best?", she teases after pulling away. The soles of your sneakers make a quiet thudding sound against the vinyl floor.

"Always", you promise, pecking her lips once more. Natasha smirks and tugs off her jersey to hand it to you. With the fabric gone, she's almost naked. Only a sports bra and shorts cover her body. You earn a few stares from the opposing team, who isn't used to your little ritual, but you don't notice. It's a nice view, so you'd be an idiot to look at anyone but her.

You put on the jersey and let her pull you into her side again. She kisses you, slow and unhurried, while leading you back toward her team.

It's a last minute decision from the team to go to a bar together. Natasha takes a quick shower before you leave, now wearing something more comfortable. Getting her to dress up is a losing battle, so you don't even try this time. Plus, there's something distinctly attractive about the grey sweatpants she's sporting (or rather, what she's sporting inside the grey sweatpants).

You stay glued to her side pretty much all night. You're in her lap, her arm firmly holding you in place. The bass makes the ground vibrate and the alcohol is clouding your senses, but it's still early enough for you to be somewhat aware of reality.

You lean your cheek against her temple, then turn your head to brush your lips against her skin. She hums and squeezes your thigh, but her attention wavers. Two girls approach her, both of them around your age and probably fellow students.

Natasha glances at them, eyebrows raised. You cup her nape and brush your thumb against her hairline.

The girls smile, a little too brightly, and start talking about the basketball game. They're shameless — even with you, wearing Natasha's jersey and sitting on her lap, they're still going on and on about the game and the shots she made.

With every word that leaves their glossy pink lips, Natasha's focus on you slips more and more. Her hand on your thigh loosens. Her gaze, first flickering between you and the others, starts to linger on them. Her lips curve into that confident little smile you know too well.

You roll your eyes and scoot off her lap. If she has to do this, you don't want to be present. You excuse yourself and go to the restroom, where you freshen up. More lipstick, more perfume. You lift the front of Natasha's jersey and take a whiff to see whether it smells. It's not horrible, but noticeable enough, so you decide to change into the top you brought.

When you return to the bar, Natasha has leaned over to the girls. Arms crossed on the bar's counter, a lazy smirk on her face. The post-game glow is on full display. She tilts her head and mumbles something. It takes you a moment to realize she's flirting.

The girls are delighted. Giggling, shrugging, leaning forward as well. Their expressions indicate they clearly believe at least one of them has a shot. You understand why — Natasha, even after getting into a relationship with you, never quite got rid of her fuckboy-image —, but that doesn't mean you're not furious.

You want to compose yourself, you really do. You're pretty sure this isn't what it looks like, anyway. Fingernails digging into your palms, you watch them for another moment. Then, Natasha subtly bites her lip in that way that first drew you to her, and you've had enough.

You're next to her within seconds, your hand wrapping around her wrist. She lets out a grunt as you drag her away, leaving the two girls speechless and mildly annoyed.

"Have you lost your mind?", she complains, finally finding her voice again. You're already halfway into a bathroom stall.

"Have you?", you snap, pushing her inside and slamming the door shut. Natasha pauses, her eyes traveling up and down your body. The top, almost translucent and leaving little to the imagination, has her more than a little distracted. "My face is up here, you bastard."

"What? Hey!" She frowns. "What happened? What'd I do?"

There's a significant height difference between her and you, but it's not like that ever bothered you. You shove her against the wall, your eyes blazing. Her first instinct is to step forward — she's taller, all shoulders and muscle —, but she can tell you're pissed. Once she realizes she's fucked up, she lifts her hands and almost shrinks under your glare.

"Are you playing dumb? Don't play dumb!"

"What are you even- I was talking to them! They asked about the game!"

"You were flirting!"

Natasha scoffs, her cheeks a nervous-rosy pink. It'd look cute if you weren't about to slam her head through the plastic wall of the stall.

"I wasn't 'flirting'", she argues. "I was talking to them."

"No", you retort. "You were flirting. I could tell. They had that glittery look in their eyes stupid bitches get when you're close to them."

She blinks, caught off-guard, and her head tilts. The word you used is one you usually stay away from. The second you start cussing out other girls? Okay, now she knows you're mad mad.

"Baby", she says slowly, "I swear we were just talking. Nothing else. I don't give a fuck about anyone but you, and you know it."

"Right." You let out a bitter laugh. The sound makes her stomach tighten. "That's good to hear. Maybe it'd be believable if you hadn't tried to-"

The door of the bathroom stall next to yours opening cuts you off. You pause and turn when you hear the quiet pattering sound. Toilet paper rips. The person flushes. Then, shuffling of feet. It takes unbelievably long, and you let out a long sigh.

"Can you hurry?", you finally bark, and the person drops their purse. Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry!", they say, their voice a squeak, and leave the stall. Water runs, more paper towels, then the door falls shut. You turn to Natasha again, whose ears are as pink as her cheeks.

You raise your eyebrows, as if daring her to say something. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she rubs the back of her neck.

"Okay", she says. "Maybe it was flirting, in a way. I didn't mean to, though."

Your fingers tighten on the front of her zip hoodie. Her eyes widen in silent panic.

"You can't flirt without meaning to flirt!"

"You totally can", she says, her back thudding against the wall once more. "Can you stop that?! Jesus, you're scary."

That last bit is mumbled, but you hear it anyway. It's enough to make you laugh — a sound that slips out unintentionally — but you quickly shake your head.

"I can be way scarier, you know. This is nothing."

"I totally believe that", she says, frowning petulantly. "You're turning into a tiny terror."

Despite your anger, your lips twitch again. Your grasp on her hoodie loosens, your scowl softens the tiniest bit. It's enough for Natasha, who first tried to gauge your mood for a few seconds, to take a leap of faith.

"The sexiest tiny terror", she adds, pulling you closer. You sigh. "My tiny terror. Why would I want anyone else when I have you?"

"This feels like manipulation, babe."

Her eyes light up — babe. She's getting somewhere.

"It's not", she promises, kissing your forehead. Her hands roam your sides, your hips, and slip under your top. "I'm being serious. Scout's honor."

"You're so full of shit."

Natasha grins and keeps kissing your face. Your cheeks, your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth. Unfortunately, each press of her lips against your skin softens you further. You'll probably just have to accept she's an expert at buttering you up.

"Come on now", she mumbles, her mouth against your ear. You giggle quietly when her tongue briefly flicks against your earlobe. "You know you love me."

"I must've done something terrible in my past life to deserve this."

She hums, her hands palming your sides. You exhale and lean into her, willing yourself to not give in — and failing. Her lips brush against your neck, sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin, and a shiver rolls up your spine.

Without really noticing, you press closer. Natasha's fingers find the clasp of your bra and swiftly unhook it.

"Hey", you protest, trying to bat her hand away. She buries her face against your neck, but doesn't budge. Her hand slides around to your front. "I can't believe I put up with you."

"Me neither", she mumbles, smirking faintly. "I'm a lucky idiot."

"Well, that's true."

Natasha kisses your neck, then your shoulder. Her hands push up your top and reveal your skin inch by inch. Your breath stutters when, suddenly, the roles are reversed and you feel your back against the wall.

Your hands come up to tangle in her hair. She grips your thighs and mouths at your neck.

"You're not forgiven, you know."

"Sure."

Her teeth sink into your neck. You barely manage to speak.

"I mean it."

Underwear around your ankles, you help her tug her sweatpants down. She struggles with the condom, but once the piece of plastic is wrapped around her cock snugly, she holds your hips in place and buries herself inside you. No time to adjust — she sets a fast pace.

The back of your head hits the wall and you let out a moan. Natasha keeps rutting into you, moaning breathily, your hands in her hair and her hands gripping your ass. She stuffs you up to the brim, cock pulsing and twitching, and pounds into you relentlessly.

Right as you're just about to tumble over the edge, the bathroom door opens again. You feel a moan rise up in your throat and quickly slap your own hand over your mouth, stifling the sound. Natasha laughs breathlessly, but then whines against your neck.

Whoever entered seems oblivious. They're on the phone, talking rapidly, while water flows in the background. You hear the clinking of stilettos on tiles and then smell a faint waft of some overly sweet perfume.

This whole situation usually wouldn't pose much of an issue. You're close enough, and you know from experience that you can keep quiet when needed. But Natasha, being who she is, slows down. Her grip on you loosens, her movements are drawn-out. Your thighs tremble and you groan against your own palm.

"I'll kill you."

"Ssh, baby", she mumbles, dragging her lips along your jaw. Her hips meet yours, again and again and again, but she's going too slow to really achieve anything. "Don't get us caught."

Every deliberate roll of her hips sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You whimper and bite down on your palm harder, meeting her movements with your hips. The pressure increases, and so does the need to push Natasha to go faster. Your thighs clench around her, but all she does is smile against your neck. You rock against her hips, desperate for more.

"Fuck you", you hiss, but the words die on your tongue when she picks up the pace. She ruts into you, urging you closer to the edge while you wrestle with the impulse to shout her name.

"I love you", she says, each word punctuated by a soft grunt. The bathroom door falls shut, and you finally get coaxed into that sweet high of mindless oblivion.

. . .

The sun is long gone, replaced by the milky light of the moon that's seeping into the library.

Natasha called it a 'study-session', hoping it'd turn into something else entirely. But exams are coming up, and as much as you'd like to hide in the encyclopedia aisle and hook up again, you'd rather she passes.

You're sitting on the table in front of her, with her head in your lap, as you test her knowledge on the subject. Sports Law — something you've only gotten familiar with since dating her.

"That's wrong", you say, running your fingers through her hair. "It's title IX of the education amendments of 1972. You should know that, babe."

She groans and turns her head, burying her face between your thighs. You smile faintly and drum your fingers against her scalp.

"Who cares? I'll pass, anyway. I always do."

"I want you to ace this one, though."

"Pipe dream."

"Nat."

Another groan. She pushes up the fabric of your shirt and shifts, her lips brushing against your lower abdomen. You bite back a soft sound of pleasure.

Not now. You have other things to focus on. But god, her hands start massaging your thighs, and her lips feel warm and plush, and the library seems empty enough. Heat pools in your lower belly and you quickly shove her off you.

"No", say, voice strained. "Study. Now."

"You're boring", Natasha mutters, grabbing the book and skimming the pages. "I know all of this. It's easy."

"You got four questions wrong", you counter, glancing at the screen of her phone when it buzzes. Her wallpaper flashes on the screen — a picture of you, only wrapped into silky bedsheets, with kiss marks on your shoulders and your hair a mess. But that's not what catches your attention. It's the message that just popped up.

A girl named Tara.

Natasha lifts her head and peeks at her phone. You snatch it before she can reach for it.

"Who's that?", you prompt.

"A girl from Sports Economics", she says, sitting up. She tries to grab the phone, but you hold it out of her reach. "Babe."

"Why's she texting you at midnight?"

"Not sure", she replies, irritated, and tries to grab it again. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the phone. "I could tell you if you'd let me read the damn text."

"She always texts you this late?", you ask, glancing up at the phone.

A simple message — hey, you awake? :) — but still unexpected enough to annoy you. You squint and try to look at her profile picture.

"Hold on, is that the girl who said hi to you in the cafeteria the other day? The one with the pink eyeshadow?"

"Yeah", she says, her arm dropping in defeat. "Tara. Like I said, I know her from Econ."

"It's midnight", you mutter, bringing the phone back down. Before Natasha can protest, you've used her face to unlock the phone and opened the chat. Natasha rolls her eyes and huffs, so you pinch her bottom lip. "You should tell her to find some new makeup. I thought she was fighting for her life against allergies."

"You're mean."

"Her makeup sucks."

"Doesn't make it any less mean", she argues, resting her head on your lap again. She sighs, eyes closing, and waits for you to finish whatever you're doing. "Still scrolling?"

"It's a long chat", you mutter, thumb swiping over the screen. Luckily, the messages seem innocent enough. At least Natasha's do. "She wants you."

"I'm pretty sure she's straight."

"Nat", you say, putting her phone aside. "Straight girls want you, too."

She looks up, smirking. You flick her forehead.

"Ow!"

You narrow your eyes at her, watching her rub the spot you flicked. "You're enjoying this."

"I am", she says bluntly. "You're going on and on about some girl I really don't care about."

"She cares about you", you argue. "In the past, that seemed to be enough."

Natasha scoffs and sits up, leaning back in her chair. She studies you for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, then sighs. Her legs stretch out under the table.

"Exactly", she finally says. "In the past. Not now, not last week, but when it didn't matter."

"I feel like some things don't stop mattering."

"Like my love for you", she flirts. You kick her side and she lets out a quiet 'oof'. "What'd I do to deserve that, huh?!"

"You can't flirt your way out of everything, you know!"

"I'm not flirting my way out", she protests, looping her arms around your waist and tugging you closer. You sigh, thighs snugly wrapped around her torso. "I love you. Nothing can change that."

"No?" You give her a skeptical look. She just shakes her head and leans in, pressing a few kisses to your chest.

"No", she mumbles. "I love you. Period. Now stop worrying."

You stare at her as she nuzzles and kisses your chest, slowly moving upwards. Her thoughts are somewhere else already, whereas you're still stuck. Tara, the girls at the bar, the stares Natasha gets all day long. Your worries, fears, and how easily she can dismiss them. How, when you're mad, she manages to worm her way out of just about everything.

Smooth words and soft touches are her specialty. She uses them like a tool, which can be hot, but also incredibly frustrating. You know why it's so easy for her — because she knows you'll stay. You won't leave. She claims that the same thing is true for her, but maybe she'll need to prove that.

The thought creeps in slowly, dangerously. It's nothing more than a small, fleeting idea at first, but the longer you watch her, the more drawn to it you become.

Natasha says she's yours. She says there's nothing to worry about. You'd love to know whether she actually means that.

She loves you, after all. Logically, she'd love a tiny version of you just as much.

"Hey", you mumble, eyes focused on her. She pauses, lips pressed to your jaw. "You seem distracted."

"Can't help it. I'll need a different study-buddy to be able to concentrate on anything but you."

"Oh yeah?" You glance at the clock hanging on the wall across from you. Almost 1am. "It's late, you know. We might as well leave."

She hums against your skin and looks up. "Your dorm's still empty?"

"Mhm", you say before you're able to reconsider this whole plan. "We got the whole room to ourselves."

"Well then", she says, getting up and pecking your lips, "what are we waiting for? Let's go."

The hallway is as empty as the library was. Natasha presses you against the wall, caging you in between a corner and her body, and kisses you. Hands bunch up your shirt, feel heated skin. You wrap your arms around her neck and hum into the kiss.

Her hand dips into the back pocket of your jeans. She fishes out the key to your dorm, then leads you down the hallway. One arm wrapped around your waist, she unlocks the door using her free hand.

Bodies tumble onto the mattress together. Breathy laughter, stripping of clothes, bare skin on bare skin. Natasha turns, opens the drawer of the nightstand next to you to look for condoms, but you tug her on top you again. She doesn't resist and kisses you, lips moving and messing up your makeup.

You feel her nestled inside of you, every vein and throb noticeable. She grabs and angles your thigh for deeper access, her moans mingling with yours. Lipstick marks smudged on her cheek, hickeys on your chest. The bed frame hits the wall with every thrust, muffled thuds filling the air.

Her hand finds your lower belly, pressing down on it. Natasha feels her own outline through the soft skin and groans quietly. Teeth nip at your neck, her hips meeting yours a few more times. Then, the anticipated release and the relief that comes with it.

Warmth pools deep inside of you. It drips down your thighs, staining the bedsheets, but all you manage to do is turn your head and bury your face in her neck. Your fingers brush against your stomach, and the full acceptance of what might happen starts to set in.

. . .

Weeks have passed. Late spring has turned into something resembling an early summer.

A little '+' confirms it.

You're alone when you take it. It's quite early, not even 6am, but you got woken up by someone yelling in the hallway. The test was right next to you, lying on your nightstand like a bad omen, then you finally grabbed it and got up.

Taking it wasn't hard, but checking the result is. You stare at the test in your hand, your brain too tired and sleepy to process everything. Leaning against the wall of your dorm's bathroom, you try to let reality sink in. It doesn't feel real. Not yet, at least.

Knowing it is real helps, though. You put the test aside and exhale, fingers drumming against the tiled wall behind you. Your thoughts are more of a mess than you thought they'd be.

It was a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive decision. It was also incredibly stupid. Yet you're here, eyes glued to the ceiling, and find yourself regretting nothing at all. At this point, not even the thought of her reaction scares you.

She said she loved you. All you're doing is putting that love to the test. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Bullshit. You know you've fucked up.

You meet her after class, as you agreed on earlier that morning. She seems calm, happy, completely oblivious to what secret you're (literally) carrying with you. Hands on your waist, she pecks your lips, then she grabs your backpack and slings it over her shoulder.

It's a warm afternoon, so you head to the mall. You grab a few things you need — new pajamas, some shampoo, a water bottle to replace the one you lost. Natasha tosses a pack of condoms into the shopping cart and you barely stop yourself from reacting too obviously.

On your way out, you pass a store that exclusively sells baby-related items. Strollers, onesies, highchairs. You avert your eyes and stay close to Natasha's side.

Late evening. You're back on Clint's couch, passing around pizza and trying to decide on a movie. Clint complains about Laura's last pick — Juno — which, apparently, most of you didn't like too much.

Natasha pulls your legs over her lap, lightly massaging your shin. She's only in a white tank top that leaves her shoulders and arms on full display. You'd be distracted if you weren't worrying about other things already.

"I wasn't a fan, either", she says, glancing at Clint. "But I did like what it led to."

"Right. I swear to everything that's holy, if you start something like that again-"

"Seriously, calm down." She raises her eyebrows. "Keep ranting like that and poor Laura will think you're going celibate."

He rolls his eyes and slumps into the couch, one hand swatting at her. She laughs and bats him away. When she glances at you, she notices how quiet you are, and nudges you.

"You're unusually non-hyper verbal, baby."

"I'm good", you say, stretching. "Just...bored."

You're not bored. You're far from bored. But you needed an excuse. However, Natasha takes it the wrong way, and a tiny smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah?", she says, running her hand higher. First it touches your knee, then it brushes under the hem of your dress. "Bathroom's empty. Maybe we'll even make it into the bedroom. I heard Mr. Prude over there got a new mattress."

"Romanoff, I will-"

"Shush." She raises her eyebrows at him before leaning closer to you. Her breath fans your cheek, her voice is a raspy murmur. "If you want us to ditch them, just tell me. I'll get us outta here."

"I'm fine", you assure her. "Just get me a beer."

Natasha nods and turns, grabbing a can from the ice bucket they prepared. She cracks it open right as you realize you probably shouldn't drink it.

"Actually", you stammer, "I'm good. None for me. Thank you."

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't comment on it. Shrugging, she takes a sip.

"Sure", she says. "I can get you a coke?"

"No, thanks." You shake your head and sink into the cushions, trying to keep the heat from your face. It's difficult, though, and it only gets worse when a character in whatever movie you're watching (truthfully, you aren't paying much attention) is revealed to be pregnant.

You rub your neck, throwing glances at Natasha every now and then. She's still oblivious. Then, she catches you staring, and her head tilts in silent question. You pause before getting up and dragging her along.

"What...?"

"Not in my bed!", Clint shouts.

"We're not having sex!", you yell back, slamming the door to his bedroom shut.

"We're not?"

You turn toward Natasha. "No", you say, awkwardly crossing your arms. "We're not."

"Shame", she says, smirking, and pushes her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She studies you for a moment and her smirk softens. "You alright?"

"I'm fine", you lie. "We need to talk, though."

Her smirk disappears entirely. She frowns, her gaze steady and attentive. Alright, you think. You're mine now. Have fun finding out about it.

"Talk?", she says, leaning against the closet. "About what, baby? Did you do something?"

"Uhm..."

"You did?" She grins faintly. "Wow. Didn't expect that to ever happen. How bad is it?"

"It's not funny", you say, plucking at the strap of your dress. "You won't be grinning like that once I tell you."

"Don't underestimate me", she teases, hands slipping out of her pockets to rest on your arms. "Anything can be funny, if you're looking at it the right way."

"Oh yeah?" You pause. "How funny is us being in this for the long haul?"

"Not very funny, honestly. I wouldn't mind, though."

"Mhm." You tilt your head. Your heart beats faster and faster, but at this point, you have to say it. "Good to know."

"It is?" Natasha hums and pulls you closer, her lips brushing against your nose. "Want to make it official, or why's that?"

"I mean, having a baby is pretty official."

The second those words leave your lips, Natasha freezes. First, she just stares at you. Her hands drop to her sides. She takes a step back, then another, her eyebrows furrowed and confusion etched into her face.

The gears in her head start turning. She tries recalling whether you've been using protection, but then her brain fails her, and she exhales sharply. Silence lingers, heavy and uncomfortable, before she finally blurts out.

"We're what?"

"I'm pregnant", you say. "Took a test. It's positive."

"You...I..." She rakes her hand through her hair, her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another step backwards, and her back collides with the wall. "We were careful."

"Oh, no." You watch her, growing more worried. "We weren't. Not that night after the library."

Natasha looks at you. Her brain eventually catches up.

"Oh, fuck", she curses. "Fuck. Y/N!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?!"

"Can you calm down?" You tilt your head. "You said you're in it for the long haul, no?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Uhh, guys?"

You whip around. The door is still shut, but Clint is standing behind it.

"What?", you call, irritated.

"Look, no idea what the hell is going on in there, but if you need help..."

"No help. We're fine."

"Are we?", Natasha hisses. You look at her.

"Oh, relax", you say, rolling your eyes. "You'll live."

She lets out a panicked wheeze and scrubs her hand down her face. You're being too calm, too nonchalant, whereas she feels like she's about to have a dozen panic attacks at once. She's not one to let herself get tied down. At least, that's what she always told herself. You may have changed that belief, but old habits die hard.

"I can't have a kid now! I- I have practice, I have games!" Then, as if the thought just hit her: "This is like a teen pregnancy."

"You're in college."

"Same thing!"

"Absolutely not the same thing", you argue, stepping closer. "Look, it won't be easy, but it could be worse. I mean, you love me — now imagine how much you'll love a tinier, cuter version of me."

She shoots you a glare, her breathing still uneven and rapid. "Don't think you can get much tinier."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Absolutely not", she mutters. "Pretty sure that's what got me into this mess."

"You're saying I should've gotten railed by someone else?"

Another glare. This one shuts you up. Natasha turns, looks out the mirror, glances at the striped bedsheets and the painting on the wall. Finally, she looks at you.

"I shouldn't even ask, since you seem perfectly fine", she mutters, crossing her arms. "But what about you? You okay? I mean..."

"I'm fine", you say, more quietly now. She nods and looks away again. You step closer and cup her face, standing on your tiptoes to litter small kisses across her cheeks and forehead. With every touch, her panic softens into mild anxiety. Then, at last, her arms wrap around your waist.

You look at her. Natasha exhales sharply, like she's trying to make peace with it all. She doesn't smile, but her fingertips graze your lower belly.

"If we're doing this", she mumbles stubbornly, "I get to teach them basketball."

"Fine."

"They get a jersey. A tiny one. With my number on it."

You sigh. "Sure."

"Also, no more junk food. The baby eats what you eat."

You scoff, squishing her face. She gives you another halfhearted glare.

"I will end you", you say, squeezing again. She shakes her head and tries to pull away from your grasp. "I mean it! What's life without fries?"

"Depressing", she says, hands sliding to your front and then back to your waist. "But healthier for whatever is growing inside you."

Your expression turns deadpan. "It's a baby."

"Show me an ultrasound first."

"You know what, maybe I did make this up."

..."Excuse me?!"

"I'm kidding!"

"No", she protests. "Now I want to see a doctor's note."

You let out a long exhale and pull her closer, your face against her neck. You press a kiss to her pulse point to keep yourself from slapping her. Sometimes, you wonder whether she's annoying intentionally.

But then, she softens. Her arms wrap around you, muscles enveloping you in safety and warmth, and her lips press kisses to your hair. Her heartbeat against your ear, her scent everywhere around you, you feel yourself melt a little.

"If this is real", she says, shushing you before you can interfere, "I'll do my best, alright? I'm not good at sticking around. I know that. But you have made me stick around, and I'm sure the baby will only make me stick around longer."

"'Longer'", you mumble, voice muffled, "better mean forever in this case."

"I said what I said."

"Romanoff."

She laughs, still shaking a little, and tightens her hold on you. Her nose is buried in your hair.

"We're also finding an apartment", she murmurs. "The dorm's too small. Can't fit a crib in there."

"Obviously."

"And we're not telling the others. Not yet."

You hum, hands sliding under her top and feeling the muscles on her back. Her skin is warm and smooth, making you press closer to her. She groans softly.

"No?", you ask, drawing shapes on her lower back.

"No. Not until I don't feel like passing out just thinking about it."

You laugh, fingertips pressing into her skin. You look up at her and smile. The smile you get in return is a bit strained, but her hands come up to cup your face. You lean in and kiss her.

First, it's soft and slow. Her thumbs brush over your cheeks. A quiet hum comes from her throat.

Then, you're walking backwards. You feel the mattress against your legs. You pull away and raise your eyebrows.

"Now?"

"Cut me some slack. I need to relieve stress."

You huff, but she's got you on your back before you can say anything else. Your hands fumble with her hair, releasing it from the loose bun, and watch the red strands come free. She hums and kisses your shoulder.

Her hand dips under your dress, traveling upwards until her fingers reach your stomach. She touches it, tentatively, before fumbling with your underwear. You let out a sound of approval, head dropping onto the mattress.

"This baby better not change anything", Natasha says, bunching up your dress around your waist.

"Change what?", you ask lazily.

"This. Us." She leans down and kisses your thigh. "You know what I mean."

"I truly don't."

She palms herself through her sweatpants, her eyes shooting you an unimpressed look. "You can't be that dense. Jesus Christ, my child is going to be a moron."

You scoff and flick her shoulder, but there's a faint smirk on your face. This is good. This is safe, familiar. "Can't believe I let you knock me up."

Natasha smiles. For a split second, her fingers twitch against your lower stomach before she focuses on pulling your underwear down. As if on instinct, she reaches for the condom in the pocket of her sweatpants, but then pauses. She glances at you. A look is exchanged, and you both start laughing.

It's slow, this time. Slow and lazy, unhurried. Your earlier 'fight' scared Clint off, so he doesn't even interrupt you. Neither of you is sure what's coming next, but in that moment, it doesn't matter.

. . .

By the way Natasha is staring at the screen, you'd think she's seeing an alien.

Truthfully, it might be one. You're not sure. All you know is that the white blob does not resemble a human in the slightest.

You glance at the ob-gyn, who seems unfazed. She keeps moving the transducer over your gel-slicked stomach, making the image on the screen waver. Finally, she stops and hits a button. The image freezes.

You squint at the screen. A blob. A vaguely human-shaped blob, maybe, but still a blob.

"There's the baby."

You look at Natasha. She raises her eyebrows, seeming helpless. Where?, she mouths.

The doctor is used to this. She doesn't even need to ask you anything to zoom in and point again, but it only helps minimally.

"Oh, yeah", Natasha finally lies. "I see it."

"Yeah", you add, trying to avoid the ob-gyn's eyes. "It's cute."

The woman sees right through you. She smiles faintly and prints the picture for you, then she wipes your stomach down with a few paper towels. "It's fine if you don't see it", she says, throwing the towels away. "Most parents don't. Babies do look a bit deformed in the beginning."

"But it's healthy?", Natasha asks.

"Completely healthy. Don't you worry." She smiles and tugs off her nitrile gloves. "I'll be back in a minute, alright? Feel free to look at the image and play 'Where's Waldo.'"

You hum noncommittally and glance at the ultrasound picture. Still a blob.

Natasha's fingers twitch against her knee and she shifts. All of this is becoming way too real way too soon.

"It's gonna come out looking like a real person, right?", she mumbles, frowning.

"You're kidding."

"Sorry, but it looks like something you'd see under a microscope."

You grab the first thing you find — your cardigan, bunched into a ball — and toss it at her. She catches it and spreads it out over your legs.

"Nice one", she says drily. "Come on, you can't tell me that looks like a baby."

You roll your eyes and glance at the picture again, fingers brushing over the glossy surface. She's right. It doesn't even resemble something supposedly alive, let alone a human being. But it is a human being, according to the doctor, and that's all you need to know.

"Maybe it's taking its time getting cute."

"That'll take a while."

"I hate you."

. . .

Nobody knows. Not yet. But hiding it is getting harder with every day.

Basketballs bounce, shoes squeak, the air smells of sweat and gym air. You watch the ball be thrown in your direction and you catch it, then toss it aside.

It was a flirty text that led you here. You were in bed, drunk on sunlight and half-asleep, when your phone buzzed. The picture you got was one you couldn't complain about — Natasha, in front of a mirror, only wearing boxers (just slightly tugged down to reveal an additional sliver of skin) and a bra. A picture taken in the locker room of the gym, right before practice. It was enough to get you semi-conscious and shoo you out of bed.

Practice is over now, so you walk onto the court. Natasha wraps her arms around you and kisses your cheek, her hand sneakily moving to your stomach — still pretty flat, but your shirt hides the tiniest of bumps.

"You did good", you say, smiling, and cup her face. The heat is making the ends of her hair curl, and strands of baby hair stick to her sweaty temples. You scrunch your nose, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. "Really good. But that last shot was...meh."

"Criticizing me?" She scoffs and presses her lips to yours. Around you, her teammates talk and grab their stuff before heading to the showers. "A little more support would be appreciated, you know."

"This is me supporting you", you point out, walking her out of the gym. "What else do you want me to do, huh? Cheer? Fetch some water?"

"I wouldn't say no to seeing you in a cheerleading uniform."

You scoff, your hands wrapping around her lower arm as you lead her across campus. Only a handful of students passes you — it's summer, and most people are either visiting their families or vacationing. Not you and Natasha, though. You're spending your free time looking for an apartment.

"You'll have to wait around 6 more months for that." You pause, quickly re-calculating. "I think. My brain isn't working the way it's supposed to."

"Nothing new", she mumbles, shooting you a smirk when you jab your elbow into her side. "Kidding, kidding."

She squeezes your waist and leads you to the campus parking lot. She's still in her jersey, all sweaty from practice, but you have an appointment for an apartment viewing soon. Actually, you've got a whole list of apartments you want to look at. Natasha is taking apartment-hunting very seriously.

Too seriously, you're starting to think. Suddenly, not only the size of the apartment and the neighborhood where it's located are important, but also a bunch of things that are, in your humble opinion, simply not relevant.

"This next one has a basketball court nearby", she says, adjusting your seatbelt for you. "Good for early practice, you know. For the kid."

You raise your eyebrows. "For our fetus?"

"Hey, never too early."

You keep your thoughts on that matter to yourself.

At the apartment, the landlord shows you around. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, two bedrooms. Everything seems to be going fine. Despite still being in a sweaty jersey, Natasha manages to make a good impression. Then, he dares ask about your current family situation. That's when the usually so composed woman starts stuttering.

"Well, engaged. I guess. I mean, not yet, but in a way. Uh...fuck. Y/N?"

You glance at her, frowning. "Engaged? Where's the ring, then?"

Natasha looks at you. The panic in her eyes almost makes you laugh.

"Are you engaged or are you not?", the landlord asks. "It's fine if you aren't. Not that important, really."

"We're not", you say. "One day, though. Or so I hope."

"Yeah, yeah", Natasha says, still stressing. "One day."

A few more apartments you look at are enough to wear you out. You collapse onto the bed in your dorm, face buried in your pillow and one leg hanging over the edge. Natasha sits next to you and squeezes your butt, smiling.

"Hey", you mutter, voice muffled.

"Hey yourself", she teases. Her hand travels lower, tickling the inner part of your thighs. You squirm and she laughs quietly. "Tired?"

"Exhausted."

"Can't blame you for that, baby." She leans in, pressing a kiss to the sliver of skin between your shirt and shorts. "Want me to order dinner?"

You glance at her, eyes lighting up with hope. "Pizza?"

"We said no junk food."

"You said no junk food."

"Think about the baby", she says, tugging at your shorts. "Mhm, you could take these off."

You snort and kick at her blindly. You manage to hit her in the ribs. She lets out a grunt and pinches your butt cheek. You roll over, one cheek reddened from the pillow, and give her a challenging look. "Ouch! Come on, I'm growing your kid. Least you can do is get me a pizza."

Her fingers trail up your spine. Before you know it, she's lying behind you with her front against your back. Pressed together from head to toe, not an inch of space separates you.

She kisses the back of your neck. Her hand rests on your stomach, rubbing gently. "You're right", she mumbles. "You've trapped me. Pizza it is."

The words trapped me make your cheeks go warm. You snuggle into her and ignore the guilt and satisfaction warring inside you. This is something she'll find out about one day. Maybe. But right now, you're too happy in your little bubble to make it pop.

"I want garlic bread, too."

"So demanding." She hums and dips her hand into the front of your shorts. Her bulge presses against your butt. "How hungry are you, exactly?"

You whine softly. With the pregnancy making your body overly sensitive, every little touch sends sparks of want through you. Heat pools in your lower belly and you shift, grinding against her. She hums, her fingers tugging at the waistband of your shorts. White lace is revealed, and she moans.

"Really hungry, actually", you mumble, squirming. "But I'm willing to wait."

"Thank god", she says, peppering your shoulder with kisses. "I was considering jerking off in the bathroom otherwise."

"Gross."

"Love you too."

Natasha somehow manages to place the order. It's difficult, though, especially when you roll over. One leg hooked over her waist, she whines and rocks her hips against yours pathetically. You laugh and then moan, feeling her hard-on nudge all the right spots.

You bury your face in her neck and place kisses until her entire neck is covered in lipstick. Finally, she tosses her phone aside. You both ignore the sound of your roommate's lamp crashing to the ground and instead focus on each other.

. . .

Natasha was never one to get easily distracted by an audience.

Now that there's a tiny viewer in the stands, though, that has changed.

Niko is barely old enough to stay awake for longer than two hours, but that doesn't mean he can't go to his mom's basketball games and watch. One hand wrapped around your finger and earmuffs that look way too big on him, he's undeniably the star of the stands.

You thought he'd be a tiny you. As it turned out, Natasha's genes are a little too stubborn for that. His eyes are still baby-blue, but the redness of his hair is unmistakable. Paired with the matching jersey he's sporting, you feel like you're carrying a much smaller version of her around.

You ignore the looks and the delighted whispers. As always, your focus is on Natasha. That's something that, even now that you have a baby, never changed. It's her game. She's the important one here.

You watch her dribble the ball as she scans the court. Focus unwavering, she dodges a defender and leaves them stunned. With one leap, she soars into the air and lets the ball swish through the net.

Not too long ago, you would've jumped up and cheered. But you don't want to jostle the baby too much, so you settle for clapping awkwardly while holding Niko in one arm.

Natasha turns, eyes glistening, and spots you in the crowd. You take Niko's hand and make him wave at her. Her smile only widens.

Minutes later, the buzzer sounds. Another victory.

Natasha comes rushing to the stands before anyone can even attempt to congratulate her. She helps you over the barricade, then takes off her jersey to hand it to you. The piece of fabric is swapped for the baby, who clings to her like a little koala.

"Did you see that?", she asks, breathless, and pats Niko's back when he starts fussing. "What a shot!"

You nod, laughing, and kiss her cheek. Sweaty as always. And, also as always, you don't find it in you to care.

"I did", you say, putting on her jersey. "Much better than in that first halftime, babe."

"Yeah?" She looks at the baby. He's still fussy, one hand grasping at her shoulder. "What about you, bud? You like it?"

"Didn't even cry once", you say, brushing your fingers over his tuft of hair. "Which is a miracle."

"It definitely is."

You linger by the barricade, talking and smiling, exchanging quick kisses. Natasha's teammates approach you to ask whether you want to go out and celebrate, but you decline. They leave, buzzing with joy, only for a few girls to introduce themselves to Natasha.

This time, all they get is a brief smile. She kisses Niko's cheek and leads you away from the court, away from the crowds, away from the noise.

"Not gonna stay and talk a bit more?", you tease. It's surprising, how much has changed. Her habit to flirt excessively seems to be gone. It's something you're thankful for — having to fight her about that was tiring.

Natasha shakes her head. You walk through a hallway, sneakers squeaking on the floor, and turn a corner. The locker room is empty when you enter it.

"Nah", she says, sitting down on a bench. She gently takes the earmuffs off Niko's head and watches him yawn. "I'd rather get home. He looks tired."

"He is, yeah."

"You're tired, too", she points out. You tilt your head and smile faintly.

"And here I thought I applied enough makeup."

"Don't worry, you're gorgeous. But you also look tired."

No point in denying that. Niko is merely four months old, and he's far from sleeping through the night. In addition, Natasha is unable to get up most nights, since practice and the games are demanding. She tries her best to juggle college, basketball, and an infant.

"Fine", you admit. "He kept me up all night. But I'm okay, I swear."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'd look more put together, but you try applying lipstick while holding a squirming baby."

Natasha laughs and reaches up to take your hand. You're on her lap before you know it, nestled against Niko. She kisses your shoulder.

"You look put together", she assures you. "Tired, but put together."

You smile and lean into her. Her arm is strong around your waist, biceps swollen and veins popping, and you turn your head to kiss her cheek.

"All for you", you mumble. Then, you tap Niko's nose. "This' all for you, too."

"Oh, I know." Natasha nuzzles her face against your shoulder. "Lucky me. Lucky you. We're all lucky."

Lucky you, indeed.

[cjjohansson]

Undercover

Summary: Natasha and you play a happy couple for an undercover mission.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

-----

It’s mortifying.

As you lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, the moment replays in your head over and over and over again. How you wish you had an off switch for your brain.

This is supposed to be an undercover mission, and yet you can’t keep your true feelings hidden from Natasha.

Undercover as a married couple, no less.

Today, while you were sitting in the living room of your “newlywed home”, reading a book, Natasha approached you. Her hand rested on your shoulder.

“I’m going out for a run” she had said. You nodded absentmindedly, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

“I’ll start dinner now”

And it wasn’t until you heard the door shut, that you snapped out of it.

You didn’t have to pretend inside the house. There was absolutely no reason for you to kiss any part of her like that, no one was watching.

Your cheeks flushed and your palms began to sweat. Feeling stupid and exposed, you tried to cook dinner, finding it hard to focus on what to do.

If Natasha noticed the slightly burned meatloaf, she didn’t comment on it. Even as you downed your wine quickly and poured yourself more, she remained stoic and acted as usual.

The night went by in a blurr and now you’re staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Natasha is in the study, doing surveillance and thank God, because sharing a bed after what you did today?

Impossible.

How do I get myself in these situations?

—

“The Maggia” Fury said, looking around the room. There were only five people there, which told you this was an important mission. “What do you know about it?”

“Family of criminals, from Europe, mostly Italy. Loose alliance at that, each family just stays out of the other’s way” you casually said. Hell, you could go on and on about them for much longer.

“Someone does their homework” Fury nodded.

“Show off” Natasha leaned forward, whispering in your ear. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, but you tried your best to hide it.

You feared your best wasn’t very good.

“Their operations consist mostly of loan sharking, narcotics and prostituion” Maria continued. “But, we recently recieved intel that the family in New Jersey is playing something more dangerous”

“Potentially, HYDRA and the smuggling of Trinium”

“What’s Trinium?” Rogers, who had been following in silenece, finally intervened.

“Incredibly rare element and highly explosive if exposed to a special charge”

Of course, it was always about blowing something up.

“We’ve located the leaders of the Jersey family. You two will be sent immediately to start the undercover mission, as the timeline indicates that the purchase will happen in less than three months. Sorry for not getting you a gift, but your wedding was done in such a rush” Fury slid down the files towards you and Natasha.

You took it and were about to hand it to Steve, since he was sitting behind you, but Fury just chuckled, shaking his head no.

Maria had to bite the inside of her cheek to not laugh at your shocked expression, while you turned to look at Natasha with wide eyes.

“Oh, darling, I’ll make you so very happy!”

—

Just your luck, Natasha decides to stay and work from home on Friday. Your plans of eating junk food and wasting away watching reality tv to feel better after your slip up are down the drain.

Instead, you are out gardening. It’s part of the cover, you insisted since you moved. What kind of person would not make an effort to improve their house? One they were planning on living in for years to come.

And truly, you had outdone yourself. In the month you’d spent here, the grass went from dry to green, all kinds of flowers blooming thanks to your hard work and the knowledge provided by years of helping your mother.

It doesn’t matter if the sun is burning your skin or sweat is dripping down your back, you absolutely cannot spend the morning inside the house with the woman who you have a crush on, and who probably knows your true feelings now, thanks to that stupid, stupid…

“Hey” her voice snaps you back to reality, looking up to meet her green eyes, soft and gentle.

“Hi” you reply from your place in the ground, wiping your forehead. “What’s up?”

“You’ve been at it for hours now, and it’s getting too hot. Come get some rest”

“It’s fine, I just need to…”

She calls your name, more of a plea than a warning not to argue with her and you sigh, standing up. As you go up the porch, she hands over a glass of cold lemonade and you take it, realising that you were very much in need of some refreshments.

“What are you doing?” you mutter when you put the glass down, and she takes her hands in yours.

“You’ve been acting strange since yesterday”

“Natasha”

“Did you act on instinct?” she asks, her lips inches from yours.

“Y-yes”

“That’s what a good agent does. You act natural. It’s not something you put any effort in. You don’t drop the cover under any circumstance”

She is throwing you a life line, a gracious way to salvage some of your dignity -if you have any left, that is- because you both know, you are not that good of an agent.

“She’s walking towards the house” Natasha warns, your back to the street. You don’t look behind you, allowing the redhead to pull you into a heated kiss that steals your breath.

“Hey, neighbors”

You turn around, Natasha’s hand falling to your lower back. Waving at Beatrice Costa, the both of you fake smiles. It’s still hard to believe this regular looking woman is leading a criminal organization next to her husband.

“Your garden is looking spectacular!” she admires.

“Thank you, Beatrice. I’ll stop by to give you some flowers when the hydrengeas bloom”

“As long as your wife doesn’t get jealous” the woman jokes, and you feel Natasha’s hand snaking around your middle, pulling you flush against her front.

“She does” the redhead says in a teasing manner, making your neighbor/suspect laugh.

“Anyways, I came to invite you two over for dinner tomorrow. To thank you for last week”

“Oh, it was no bother, really” you say, smiling.

“I insist. Eight o’clock?”

“Sounds great” you nod, and once she says her goodbyes, Natasha turns you around in her arms, still not letting go of your waist.

“See? It’s working. You’re doing great. Nobody questions us” she eases your nerves over what happened yesterday.

Nobody questions you because you are really in love with her, that’s the truth.

“What are you doing?” you say, your breath hitching when she leans over, about to kiss you.

“She’s still around” Natasha says, letting you close the distance to meet her lips.

By the time she drags you back inside, so you can have lunch, the only thought in your head is the feel of her lips in yours.

—

It had been a simple ruse, so simple that it was a wonder it worked.

Natasha made sure Beatrice’s car would malfunction. She always parked outside, and you made sure to be Natasha’s lookout as she drained the battery.

Morning came, and true to her routine, the woman was ready to leave home when the luxurious Mercedes Benz refused to turn on. It just so happened that you were running by, and as any good neighbor would do, offered to help.

What a coincidence, your wife knew enough about cars to fix the issue and send the woman on her merry way.

Beatrice was too polite and too rich to waste the opportunity to thank you -and flaunt her wealth- so next morning she stopped by with a tiramisu from the most expensive bakery in town, to thank you both.

And fuck, it was good tiramisu.

Now, she would greet you and Natasha when either one of you would run past her house (part of your intelligence operations).

Four weeks after the start of the mission, and it had finally paid off, as you received an invitation into the lion’s den.

“So, what’s our game plan here?” you say, looking over yourself in the vanity mirror.

“Enjoy the evening” Natasha says, smiling at your reflection.

“What?” you turn to look at her, confused. “We’re gonna be inside their house. We could bug it”

“Their phones are tapped. That’s all we need. And the man’s computer. But maybe I’ll excuse myself and break into his study”

“That’s too dangerous” you protest. Even if they act like normal people, they’re life long criminals with an extensive network. And you don’t feel prepared to take over anything if Natasha’s compromised. “Could you not?”

“If you have any idea on how to hack into their financial system, sure”

You huff, annoyed at her bored tone. As if she’s not risking herself over something that can be done a million other ways.

“Nat, I don’t want anything bad happening to you. We’ll find another way, ok?” you insist, putting on your heels.

“Ok, darling” she nods, as a spouse would do to calm their crazy wife and you glare, but take your win.

Without another word, you prepare to leave the room, when you feel her arms around your middle.

“What are you…?”

“Clothing tag was out” she says, fixing your sweater. “There. Perfect”

Her words, accompanied by a squeeze to your stomach make your head fuzzy. Clearing your throat, you nod and go down the stairs, picking up a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter.

“Trust me” you say when Natasha gives you an inquiring look. “Ready to go?”

“After you, sweetheart”

As you walk down the street to the Costa residence, Natasha takes your hand, running her thumb over the back of it. She might sense your nerves, or is apologizing for before. Either way, you keep a light conversation until she knocks on your suspect’s door, her arm firmly around your waist.

“Welcome!” Beatrice says, ushering you into her home. It’s elegant and big, but not too flashy or pretentious. “And what do we have here?”

“Just a little gift. It’s actually one of the bottles we got from our honeymoon” you take the lead, your hand in Natasha’s as you navigate the luxurious home all the way to the dining room.

“Oh, this is close to the place where my family is from originally”

Oh, what a shock. It’s not like you know everything there is about the Maggia, along with the history of the Gulf of Naples.

While Beatrice goes to the kitchen to check on the food -made by their staff, of course- Natasha looks around the room. You know that inquiring look, as she evaluates every threat and possible complication should you be compromised.

To help her ease into the environment, you take her hand in yours, feeling less exposed because you’re in front of other people who should believe your relationship is real. The mission is the only way you can justify your desire to feel Natasha’s touch.

By the time Beatrice comes back, Alessandro is right behind her and he introduces himself. His clothes scream old money, and the watch on his wrist screams fucking loaded of ilegal money as well.

“This wine is magnificent” he comments when you sit down and begin to eat.

“Le Lune del Vesuvio” you say, looking at Natasha across the table. “We spent our honeymoon in Italy and I just had to drag Nat to Pompeii for a tour”

“Are you familiar with the region?” Alessandro asks and you nod, having practiced everything.

“Yes, I did my dissertation on cultural identity in Pompeii”

“She’s a genius, my wife” Natasha says with a smile, impressed at how much detail you’re putting on everything to keep them engaged.

“Well, Beatrice’s family, the Fortunatos are from the same area. The Costas are from Sicily. So we are very happy to hear that you know it so well”

“How did you two meet?” Beatrice pivots, and Natasha is happy to answer.

“I was working on a client’s divorce settlement and needed an art expert. Y/N was the only one with the knowledge to help our lawfirm. A divorce brought us together” she says, looking at you with a smile.

Such a romantic.

“Oh, that’s lovely. Well, not for the divorced couple. But not everyone can get a happy ending, I suppose” Beatrice says.

It’s your turn to ask the usual questions and Natasha acts surpirsed, following up the way any normal person would, as if you don’t know every single detail about their lives and criminal record already.

When the conversation pivots to Alessandro, you perk up. This has proven to be the hardest part of the mission, as he keeps a tight leash on all their financial records through obscure third parties.

“You know, I also teach some finance classes. Would you be open to giving a lecture on art appraising? I think it’s an interesting market” he turns to you.

“That would be interesting” you say, groaning internally. Now you’re gonna have to actually work on a presentation, for fuck’s sake. Nobody told you you were gonna be quizzed to this extent during the mission.

Natasha hides her smile with the glass of wine, and you kick her under the table. Her smile fades just a little, but you can still see the teasing in her eyes.

She’s having too much fun with this.

—

The next morning you wake up to a note from Natasha. She’s picking up a “special” package, which means she’s coordinating with Maria the next stage of the mission.

You’re surprised to find a bouquet of flowers adorning the dining table.

Natasha is doing her share of the mission and you have to focus on yours, which is the fucking presentation. There better not be a Q&A session or you’ll lose your damn mind.

Moving to the study that also works as a surveillance room, you pull out your computer and begin to work. To be fair, you enjoy art enough to know more about it than the regular person. You had also been in contact with appraisers and auction houses back in your Interpol days, as you tracked ilegal art dealers.

For obvious reasons, you can’t mention that bit.

You’ve been working for a couple of hours when you hear the front door open, Natasha hurrying up the steps.

“Hey” she says with a frown.

“Everything ok?”

“You didn’t answer my text. Have you even taken a break to eat?” she puts down a heavy box in front of you.

“Sorry, I was preparing for the lecture”

“I got you your favorite food for lunch. And did you see the bouquet?” Natasha insists.

“Uh, I did… but is there a reason for…?”

“You seriously don��t remember?”

“Is it our fake first date anniversary, baby?” you tease, leaning forward. Natasha’s so worked up it's almost comical.

“Y/N, it’s your birthday”

“What?!” you turn to look at the calendar. “Holy crap, how could I have forgotten my own birthday?”

You are so focused on the mission, this completely slipped your mind. What were you supposed to do any way? Being undercover meant cutting off contact with the rest of the world. The timing sucks, but work is your priority right now.

“Work on that thing tomorrow. You should be resting and having a special day”

“Nat, it’s fine. It won’t be the first or last birthday that I’m stuck at work” you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

“Please?” she reaches for your hand, and the gesture is so gentle that your heart skips a beat. Natasha is very serious about taking the day off.

“Ok” you nod, and the hint of a smile can be seen on her face as you take her hand. She gets plates for the both of you and even agrees to watch Project Runway, which she loathes and you love. Without either one of you noticing, you end up across the couch, your legs on her lap.

“Our dinner reservation is at seven” she says, her hand going up and down your thigh.

“Dinner?”

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t take you to dinner?” Natasha smiles, making you blush.

“Well, no one really knows it’s my birthday, so…”

You leave out the most obvious part of how her logic is flawed: you are not even married.

“I know it’s your birthday. Come on. Just let me spoil you once?”

You clear your throat and nod, afraid that if you speak, your voice will give away how much those words affect you. Natasha telling you she wants to spoil you?

That alone is the best birthday gift you’ve ever gotten.

—

It’s honestly a lot more than you could have asked for. The restaurant is beautiful, the food is amazing, and Natasha is looking at you in that special way that makes you feel so happy and confused at the same time.

If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn you saw love in her beautiful emerald eyes.

“How’s your food?”

“Here” you take a forkful of your pasta and offer it to her.

“Really good. Almost as good as the one we had in… where was it? Naples?” Natasha teases, and you smile.

“That’s the city. The whole region is actually really beautiful… maybe I should take some of that time off and travel again” you ponder, thinking about how life has been all about work for the past years.

“Where would you go? Aside from Naples?”

“Sorrento, Lecce, maybe Positano. I don’t know, I guess I’d spend it around the south, just because the food is that good” you sigh, dreamily.

“How come you know so much about it?” Natasha inquires, smiling softly.

“My parents owned a house, because my grandparents were from Salerno. So we’d all spent every summer there, until they sold the property” you explain, letting the waiter take your empty plate. The memory of hot days, cold water and delicious food comes back to you, coupled with the places you’d visit, driving everywhere with your family.

“So, maybe you were destined to be on this mission” Natasha says, smiling.

“I don’t know if destined or it was Fury messing with me” you slip up, hurrying to take a sip of your wine. He had teased you endlessly about your crush on Natasha, and he was probably laughing his ass off as he prepared your identities.

“Whatever it was, I’m happy we’re in this together” Natasha admits, smiling to you.

“Me too” you agree in a low voice. Then, you look at her and smile mischeviously. “So, since it’s my birthday, can we get a nice dessert?”

“I’m already on it” Natasha raises her hand, the man bringing a plate with a slice of chocolate cake and a candle. “Make a wish”

What could you possibly wish for? You wanted to spend time with Natasha, get to know her, have her look at you the way she was doing right now.

Your wish was granted already. Still, you smile, and lean forward to blow out the candle.

—

“Maybe this is a bad idea”

Natasha is hovering. Hovering and following you and asking all kinds of questions while you prepare your bag.

“It’s gonna be fine” you say, again.

“It’s too risky”

“All I have to do is place this phone next to his computer” you lift the device that Maria sent. “And we’ll have access to his files”

“What if he notices?”

“I better run fast then” you joke, but Natasha doesn’t laugh. “I’m a SHIELD agent, not a history nerd with no fighting skills”

“Except you are a history nerd” she mutters and you turn to glare at her.

“You know what, Romanoff”

“Can I at least drive you there?”

There’s a moment of hesitation on your side. Does she think you’ll screw up the mission? Or is she actually worried about you? Either way, she looks conflicted and there’s no reason to not give her some peace of mind.

“Alright”

On the way to the lecture, you review your notes, missing the way Natasha smiles at the things you’re saying about the subjective value of art and how it has changed throughout history.

Such a nerd.

“I’ll be in a cafe monitoring everything. Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up”

“Yes, darling wife” you say with a slightly mocking tone, the same way you always call her your wife in public, but with no one else around.

As you exit the car and walk towards the university, Natasha calls for you.

“I didn’t get to wish you good luck” she explains, pulling you close and kissing you softly. “Good luck”

“T-thanks” you say, out of breath.

Natasha nods, letting you walk as if she didn’t just do the sweetest thing in the world.

You try not to think about how much you’ll miss this when the mission’s over.

But now you have to stay focused.

Alessandro waves his hand in the air, and you walk towards him with a smile.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this”

“It’s not a problem, really”

It totally is, you criminal motherfucker.

“Oh, I forgot my laptop, could I use yours? I have the deck on a flash drive”

Alessandro hesitates for a second, but his mask slips back to place instantly. If you really were a regular person, you never would have noticed his concern.

It means he keeps everything hidden there.

“Sure. Let me just…” he quickly types his password, and you look around the classroom, pulling out the phone and placing it on the table next to his computer. “All set”

“Thank you”

As the slideshow is projected in the auditorium, you look around the room, feeling more confident.

“So, how much would you guys pay for a banana taped to a wall?”

—

“I’m telling you, he keeps everything there” you say to Natasha, browsing through the device. “There’s some encryption, though”

“My expertise”

“Show off”

“Let’s get something to eat” she changes the subject.

“You don’t wanna go back home and check if it’s working?”

“I think a few hours won’t make a difference. We won’t be long, detka”

You think Fury would disagree, but she’s calling you detka and your gayness outweights your sense of duty.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything you want”

“Pizza”

“Anything but pizza” she says, making a face and you laugh.

“Natasha!”

“Sushi” she proposes.

“Fine, sushi it is”

The evening is spent talking about everything but the mission, and by the time you’re driving back home, all you want to do is get in bed and sleep.

“Where are you going?” you ask when Natasha walks to the study.

“You did your part, now I have to work” she explains with a smile.

“Fine” you close the door to the bedroom, joining her in the study. “Either way you’re gonna wake me up when you come back to bed. Might as well help you now”

“Sure” she says, even though you know next to nothing about code and hacking.

While she works on the computer, you look at the window, yawning and stretching in the couch.

Natasha finds out that Pluto is the banking organization they use for their covert operations. To access the accounts she needs a code-string of numbers.

“How many numbers?” you ask, half asleep.

“Six”

“Not coordinates. Could be dates. Most of them like to write down the dates of their oldest founders' tombstones anywhere they can, like a fucking tramp stamp” you joke, falling asleep. “Get into the database and try those”

“Maybe…” Natasha begins to say, but when she turns around you’re snoring.

And what does she know, you are right, the key to the algorithm is based on tombstones’ dates. Talk about morbid.

“Nerd” Natasha says affectionately. Deciding it is enough work for the day, she closes the laptop, helping you up to your shared bedroom.

Truth is, she’s not ready to finish this mission.

—

The end is near, you both can tell. With the encryption finished and the communications that you have intercepted, SHIELD has enough to arrest them.

According to the conversations you recorded, the exchange is set to happen two weeks from today. So you have two more weeks of fake domestic bliss. And then back to being just colleagues.

“I’ll be home as soon as I have a response” Natasha says.

“See you later” you say from your spot in the couch.

“No good luck kiss?” she jokes, referring to the time she said goodbye to you before the lecture.

But you’re not messing around when you stand up and place a chaste kiss on her cheek. If these are the last two weeks you get to do this without being questioned, you’ll make the most of them.

“Be safe”

“You too” she smiles, squeezing your hand.

The sun is setting, but you don’t feel like cooking anything or watching television. Instead, you decide to go out for a run, passing by the Costa mansion out of curiosity.

“Hey, neighbor” Beatrice greets with her signature wave. She often looks like royalty waving at the commoners. “Want some refreshments?”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m just out for a short run”

“Come on, you could use some rest! I’d love to hear how the presentation went”

Feeling cornered, you nod, stepping foot inside her mansion. Beatrice has a glass of lemonade ready, which surprises you, but you take it and sip slowly.

Damn, even her lemonade tastes amazing.

“Heard those students were fascinated by your presentation” she encourages you to speak, and you nod, the movement making you a bit fuzzy.

“It was fun… yeah”

“Everything ok?” Beatrice comes close to inspect your face, and you try to step back. Your leg gives in, so you end up on the floor.

“I’m not sure…”

It isn’t until the very last second you understand the woman drugged you.

—

Everything is upside down or so you feel as you struggle to open your eyes.

“See? I told you she’d be fine”

“Oh, shut it. We’ve been waiting for hours” a man says and you blink several times. Their names come back to you slowly.

The mission.

Was your cover blown?

“Y/N, dear, I do apologize. My wife may have overdone it with the clonazepam” Alessandro says. You try to move, but your hands are tied behind your back. “Yes, about that. Don’t worry, we won’t keep you here for long. We just really need to use your connections in the art world to smuggle a tiny, tiny thing”

Good news (for you). The cover is safe.

Bad news (for them). Natasha is gonna kill them.

It looks like you’re in an abandoned warehouse, and judging by the sound, it’s close to the river.

“Yeah, uh… look. I don’t know how to say this, but you’d be better off crossing the border, whichever one. South, north”

“I’m not following” Beatrice says.

“Well, I’m afraid Natasha’s gonna kill you when she finds you two” you grimace, almost feeling sorry for them. They truly don’t know what’s coming.

“No offense, but I think a Maggia family will be more than safe from…”

“The Black Widow?” you say, with a smug smile.

“Bullshit” Beatrice snaps, pulling you by the hair. “Stop the nonesense and help us out. Or we’ll send you home to your loving wife in a body bag”

There’s a loud crash outside of the warehouse, and a widow bite is shot close to Beatrice’s foot as a warning.

“Hands off my girl” Natasha says, gun raised and pointing at Alessandro. “You ok, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Sorry for missing dinner”

“It’s fine. We’ll heat it up when we get home” Natasha jokes. With a nod, you throw yourself to the floor, shattering the chair. Beatrice throws a couple of punches, and she’s quite the fighter.

While Natasha is engaged in battle with Alessandro, the woman escapes and you’re following close behind. The drug is still in your system, and you can tell by the way your steps are a little clumsy.

Beatrice leads you to the edge of the river and you catch up to her out of breath.

“It’s over” you say, hearing Natasha step right behind you.

“Cap’s got the other one. Let’s bring this one in” she says, walking past you. She fails to see the gun that Beatrice is hiding, and you push Natasha out of the way. The bullet passes between you both and you launch your body against Beatrice, knocking her down.

Still, your diziness makes you lose your footing and you fall to the river.

“Rogers, Hill!” Natasha calls over comms, borderline hysterical. “Someone come in”

“I’m here, Romanoff” Tony says, flying over the redhead.

“What the hell took you so long?”

Tony’s suit scans the river and finds you.

“She’s ok, I’m getting her out now. Handcuff our suspect there”

Natasha turns to glare at Beatrice, punching her so hard she’s knocked out.

“Bitch” Natasha says, handcuffing her.

Maria approaches to make sure Natasha doesn’t kill Beatrice, while the redhead sprints towards the spot where Tony drops you off.

“Are you ok? What hurts?”

“J-just cold” you mutter, holding on to her hands.

“Let’s take her to the Medbay. Romanoff, stay so you can lead the rest of the mission” Steve says.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Natasha screams so loud that every agent on the scene turns to look at her. “I’m going with her to the hospital, I don’t give a crap about your mission, Rogers”

“Tasha, I’m fine” you insist, but enjoy the way she pulls you against her, her hands on your lower back. Natasha kisses the top of your head, leading you to a car that will drive you to SHIELD’s medical facility.

Fury turns to look at Hill, amused.

“Remember our little bet?”

Maria rolls her eyes, annoyed. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill and reluctantly hands it to her boss.

“So not fair”

—

Bruised ribs, a potential cold from your night swim and a minor concussion. All things considered, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

Natasha seems to disagree, which is why she pushes to postpone the mission debriefing.

“You need to rest” is all she says.

Back in your old room, you shower, enjoying the hot water and clean clothes. Natasha is still sitting on your bed when you walk out of the bathroom.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep without you” she confesses shyly, which makes you smile.

“Me neither”

“I thought I lost you”

“I got lucky. Those two idiots actually thought I was an art dealer” you chuckle.

“You’re a very convincing art nerd” Natasha teases, and you want to pull back but she grabs you by the waist. “I wish I still had two more weeks”

“It doesn’t have to be just two weeks” you say, running your hand through her hair. “I don’t want to pretend to be with you, Natasha. I want to be with you, for real”

“Yeah?” she looks up at you, a guarded expression on her face.

Instead of answering, you lean forward, kissing her softly until she pulls you to straddle her lap.

“You know, we never consumated our marriage”

“Seems like we should get on with it” you laugh as she flips you over, making you lie on your back.

“Just as long as you don’t fake an orgasm” she jokes, kissing every inch of your body.

“Promise I won’t”

Your reality turns out better than any undercover mission could ever be.

[cjjohansson]

Run, baby, run

Summary: Natasha is very competitive, and that includes your daughter.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Based on some real life events lol

Natasha was a lot of different things for many people. Depending on who you ask -friends, foes, family- she could be stubborn, deadly, relentless. To you she was kind, loving and supportive, in a way that no one else knew.

You would all agree on one thing, though.

Natasha was too competitive.

Being married for three years, you’d grown used to it. As a matter of fact, it could be entertaining especially if she was playing pool or darts against the boys.

But this morning, when she shows you the flyer, you actually have to look twice, sure that Natasha lost her mind.

“Baby crawl race?”

“Yeah, only for babies under one year. You know, they set a track and time them…”

“I mean, I figured. I just… why would we want Anya to do that?”

Your daughter perks up when she hears her name being called and you both smile.

Anya is ten months old, but she’s way advanced for her age. It must be Natasha’s genes, because you’re sure that before she turns one, she will be walking or even running after her other mother.

“It sounds fun”

“And winning has nothing to do with it?” you press, reading about the prizes. “Everything listed here are things we already have. A stroller, a crib… ooh, a formula machine, fancy”

“We can still register if we leave now” Natasha picks up Anya from her playpen, and the sight of their matching red hair melts your heart as usual.

“Fine. We better get going”

—

To your surprise, there are over a dozen babies registered to compete. Natasha takes care of everything as you walk around the store where they’re hosting the event.

She comes back with a smile and a little paper with the number 17 on it.

“Your lucky number” she smiles at you, taking Anya in her arms.

You both watch as other kinds play and stumble around the mat. Most of them seem younger than your daughter, and only a few look close to being one year.

“That one’s gonna be easy to beat” Natasha muses, looking at a small kid that can barely sit.

“Natalia” you slap her arm. “He’s a baby”

“No. They are all competition. And we have no mercy, right, detka?” Natasha insists, bouncing your daughter in her arms.

“Alright, I’m changing her diaper before everything gets crazier” you decide, noticing how there’s a crowd forming around the place where the kids will crawl.

You make small talk with some of the clerks, who seem excited at the prospect of a silly race that will entertain them in the middle of their shift.

By the time you return, Natasha’s quiet, looking at the parents and their children.

“Everything ok?”

“Perfect” she nods, taking Anya in her arms. “Now, kiddo, listen to me, we are Romanoffs. We are fighters and more importantly, winners. So go and make us proud”

Anya responds by giggling and pulling a strand of her mother’s hair. Natasha smiles, saying something in Russian and kissing Anya’s cheek.

The mat is split in half so only two kids can compete at the same time, a screen with a timer behind them.

As expected, some of the kids get distracted by their race mate or crawl around instead of going in a straight line.

“What did I tell you? We’re gonna crush the opponents” Natasha whispers and you slap her arm.

She’s taking this way too seriously.

As you stand next to some parents, Natasha sniffs around, speaking into Anya’s back.

“Baby, did you go potty?”

“I don’t think so” you know Anya frowns and makes a little grunt when she does number two and she’s been pretty quiet this whole time.

“Oh, never mind” she turns to the parents standing next to you. “Not ours, detka”

The parents hurry to the bathroom. There’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind when you notice how quiet Natasha is. It increases when the parents miss the race because they were stuck chaning a diaper.

Your wife tries to hide her smile, but there’s no way she planned this. Just a coincidence.

Right?

“Babies 10 and 11” the organizer calls. You noticed the girl is older than the other kids, standing out because she can close the distance faster.

“Best time has been 55 seconds. This should be interesting” Natasha comments.

Sure enough, the kid is about to finish when a bright blue ball crosses her path, getting her distracted and making her return to the start line.

The parents try to guide her back but it doesn’t work at all.

“Oh, well”

“Try not to look so happy about it” you whisper, but Natasha just chuckles and places a kiss in your temple.

After a few more minutes, it’s Anya’s turn. You carry her to the start line and Natasha kneels at the end of the mat, keeping her eyes focused on your daughter.

“Three, two, one. Go!”

All Natasha has to do is place her open palm on the mat. Anya’s seen her do it so many times and knows it means one thing: as soon as she touches her mama’s hand, she’ll throw her in the air the way she loves to.

It takes Anya 15 seconds to get to Natasha. Your wife rewards her with her favorite thing, and if it were anyone less graceful and quick, you’d be unnerved by the sight of your daughter kicking her feet while being lifted off the ground.

“Nicely done, pumpkin” you join them, smiling as Anya jumps to your arms.

“A worthy adversary, at last” a man comments as he takes his son to the race. “Let’s see if we can do it better than you”

“Doubt it” Natasha glares but you elbow her, smiling at the man.

“She meant to say, good luck. You’ll do great, sweetheart” you smile at his son, who waves back at you with wide eyes. He’s incredibly cute.

“Fraternizing with the enemy” Natasha tsks.

“He’s a baby, Nat”

“I didn’t like the way the father was looking at you either” Natasha grumbles, leaning forward to kiss you.

Definitely not complaining about her competitive streak now.

As your declared enemy gets ready to race, the father frantically looks around for something lost on their backpack.

“Did you bring it?” his wife insists.

“Yes! The purple elephant! We were playing with it a second ago!”

Apparently, that was their only resource, because the timer starts and their kid is focusing on everything but them.

They manage to finish after two minutes.

“Better luck next time” Natasha comments as they leave, her hand going around your waist.

She’s being so ridiculous but somehow you love it.

The winners are announced, and you cheer when the first place goes to none other than Anya Romanoff.

“Yes, baby. We are the champions” Natasha sings, bouncing her around. Anya has no idea what’s happening, but she’s enjoying the moment.

“Very nice” you comment when the organizers hand you the prize. “Good work, Anya. Keep it up and maybe we won’t have to pay for college”

“Of course she’ll get a scholarship. Or become a professional athlete. Or become president” Natasha says, walking back to the car.

“Oh, those are a lot of things. Maybe she’ll want to focus on just one”

“Nah, she’s got it. She’ll do it all” Natasha kisses Anya’s head and you can’t help but melt.

“Best thing you ever won?” you ask Natasha as you drive back home.

“No, that would be you” she says. “Of course, I mean the bet I made with Tony that I’d get you to date me over him”

“Ugh, you’re so ridiculous” you roll your eyes.

—

The excitement of the race exhausts your daughter, and she’s fast asleep by the time you get home.

You know this won’t last long, so you prepare her clothes to run a bath once she’s up.

As you’re going through her bag, you pull out a toy that’s definitely not Anya’s.

A purple elephant.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova!” you shout, looking for her.

“Oh-oh” Natasha mutters and clears her throat. “Yes, dear?”

“You took that baby’s toy!”

“I did not! Ok, I did. But look, I timed him when they were practising and Anya’s time was still better. I just really didn’t like the way he was staring at your boobs”

“Mhm, right. Winning was just a plus”

“See? You get me”

“That ball that distracted the other kid was not a mistake either, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean, darling”

“And the parents that missed the race for changing the diaper?”

“Now, that was just a happy coincidence. The rest, yeah. Totally me”

“Evil! Stealing a toy from a toddler” you wave the purple elephant in her face. Natasha takes it and throws it over her shoulder, wrapping your legs around her waist in a swift motion. “What are you doing?”

“I got you that fancy formula machine, didn’t I? Where’s my prize?”

You laugh against her lips, but it soon turns into a moan, as you feel Natasha’s hands slide down your back to cup your ass.

“Anya's gonna wake up in thirty minutes or less. Can you handle that?”

“I do enjoy a good challenge” Natasha says against your lips, showing you how much she loves to win.

And honestly? After a mind blowing orgasm, you love it too.

[cjjohansson]

scarlett johansson behind the scenes of jurassic world: rebirth

[cjjohansson]

i cant believe we're getting beefy and sweaty scarlett johansson in jurassic world this year 😵