cjjohansson

[cjjohansson]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

Sumary: When Natasha finds herself missing your presence, she realizes just how much her life has changed. What once felt like an afterthought now feels essential. She never imagined how much she’d come to need you, and how much better life is with you by her side.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Platonic!Avengers

Word count: 7410

Warnings: A very soft Natasha, bad Mood, Dry jokes, saudades. +18 content.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Author’s Notes: Part three is finally out!! Thanks for all the love you guys are sending to this work. Feel free to send me an ask so we can talk about our mini family—please do, I’m dying for this 😭😭😭

゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᥫ᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༝ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨♡୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᡣ𐭩 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꩜　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　⸝⸝⸝♡　　⁺　　୨୧　　　₊　 　 ˚₊

There were worse things than waking up happy. Natasha just wasn’t used to this version of it—the soft kind. The kind that came in slowly, quietly, like sunlight slipping through half-drawn curtains. It didn’t blaze or demand. It settled.

You’d already come and gone that morning—something about Stark needing a schematic review—but you’d left behind your usual trail of affection: still-warm coffee in the red mug she always pretended wasn’t hers, a brown paper bag with her favorite pastry, and the faintest trace of your perfume clinging to the pillow beside hers. She didn’t need any of it. She wasn’t the kind of woman who needed. But damn if it didn’t make her want more.

Ana was still asleep in her little bed across the room, curled under the corner of Natasha’s old hoodie, breathing soft and even. Natasha sat at the table barefoot, coffee in hand, half-smiling to herself without realizing it. This wasn’t a fairytale. It was better. It was real.

You hadn’t said anything official, neither had she. But somewhere between the flowers once a week and the lazy mornings on her couch with your head in her lap, something had clicked into place. A silent agreement. You were hers. She was yours. And neither of you were going anywhere.

You were at her apartment almost every day now. Sometimes just to nap. Sometimes just to exist in the same space. But most nights, after Ana was asleep, it turned into something more—long, drawn-out kisses on the couch, tangled limbs in the low glow of the TV, your mouth on her skin like you were trying to learn her by heart. Natasha didn’t let many people get close. But you didn’t try to break her walls down. You just made her feel safe enough to lower them on her own.

There were still moments when it hit her hard. When she’d glance across the room and see you with Ana—sharing snacks, playing with puzzle pieces, carrying her on your hip like she belonged there—and Natasha’s chest would tighten in a way that almost hurt. Because this wasn’t a dream. This was real. And somehow, it was hers.

She’d never imagined she’d get this. Not the child. Not the quiet mornings. Not you. And yet, here she was. Drinking her favorite coffee, in her apartment that didn’t feel lonely anymore, with the sound of her daughter breathing peacefully in the background and the ghost of your kiss still lingering on her lips.

Natasha Romanoff, international spy, ex-assassin, former Avenger… was in love.

And for once in her life, it wasn’t complicated. It was just right.

Natasha had never planned on falling in love. Especially not with someone younger. Much younger.

She told herself that in the beginning. Repeated it like a prayer, like a defense: you were twenty-three. Brilliant. Reckless. Overflowing with the kind of fire she thought only existed in people who hadn’t been broken yet. And yet—you chose her. You chose them.

You stayed. Through all the chaos. Through Ana’s tantrums and midnight wake-ups. Through Natasha’s silences, her scars, her tendency to shut down instead of open up. You brought flowers when she was having a bad week and didn’t want to say it out loud. You brought chocolate when Ana was teething and neither of them had slept in two days. You brought yourself—unapologetically, completely.

The first time you left, Natasha barely flinched.

Three days. That was the length of your mission. A simple extraction, routine enough that even Fury hadn’t been concerned. She hadn’t made a big deal of it—kissed your temple before you left and made some half-hearted joke about bringing her back something interesting. And that was it. She’d spent the first evening watching cartoons with Ana curled up on her chest, the second one organizing files in the quiet of her room, and by the third morning, you were back, carrying pastries and that tired grin you always wore when you pushed yourself too far.

She remembered thinking it was fine. She didn’t miss you. Not really. Not in any way that was abnormal.

But then it happened again.

A month later, another three-day mission. Longer distance this time. Minimal contact. She told herself it wasn’t a big deal again. She’d survived years without attachment—three days without you shouldn’t even register. And yet…

This time, there was a shift.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing worth naming. But the silence felt heavier at night. She lingered longer by her phone, her thumb hovering over your name more often. She still had Ana—her anchor in everything—but there was an odd, persistent restlessness underneath her skin. She snapped at the coffee machine one morning when it jammed. She cursed a little louder when she stubbed her toe. Nothing big. Not enough to call it anything.

She didn’t realize it for what it was. Not then.

She thought she was just tired. She told herself she’d been too used to sharing space with you, that maybe you’d spoiled her by being around so much. That was all. Nothing serious.

But then came the third time.

Present day. And this time?

It was bad.

You were gone. Again. And everything felt off. Off-kilter. Wrong. The apartment felt colder, and Ana—sweet Ana—was crankier than usual, refusing naps, pushing her food around on her plate, clearly missing you in her own small way. Natasha tried to hold it together, but this time it wasn’t just silence—it was absence. It was the absence of your coffee cup in the sink. The lack of your music humming from the bathroom. No sarcastic quip about her black ops hoodie or shared glances over Ana’s head when she did something ridiculous.

Natasha was fraying. Worse—she knew it.

And she hated that awareness.

She tried to channel the frustration into something useful. Clint had agreed to run combat drills with a new batch of recruits, and Natasha threw herself into it with the kind of sharp, violent precision she hadn’t leaned on in years.

She didn’t hold back.

The gym floor was already slick with sweat, and the sound of fists hitting pads echoed like thunder between the high ceilings. The new recruits—bright-eyed, fully trained, and supposedly ready for fieldwork—were scattered across the mats like a massacre had just taken place. Natasha paced in front of them like a wolf in black leggings, half-sane from too many hours of sleep deprivation and too few texts from you.

“Again,” she ordered flatly, and a collective groan rose from the group.

One of the girls—Elena, maybe? Or Eliza? Natasha didn’t bother remembering—wobbled to her feet and tried to correct her stance.

“You’re favoring your left. You do that on a mission, you’ll lose a kneecap.”

“I—uh—okay, Agent Romanoff.”

“‘Okay’ isn’t gonna regrow your kneecap, sweetheart.”

Clint snorted from the corner, arms crossed, chewing on a protein bar like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

“You know,” he said casually, “some people call this mentoring.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow, looking entirely unimpressed. “Some people have standards.”

Clint raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, no judgment. I just don’t think Stark’s daughter would’ve survived your version of boot camp.”

“She wouldn’t have whined this much,” Natasha shot back, already circling the next recruit—tall, cocky, abs for days, too much gel in his hair. She jabbed at his shoulder with two fingers. “You flinch like that again, and I’m gonna have Steve run you through shield drills until you cry.”

“I—I’m not flinching.”

Natasha stared him down. “You blinked when I said ‘Steve.’ That counts.”

Clint laughed outright now, leaning against the wall. “You’ve been extra scary lately, Nat. Should I be worried?”

“Just bored,” she muttered, even though they both knew that wasn’t the truth.

“Bored?” Clint raised a brow. “This is your version of bored? I can’t wait to see what happens when you’re in a bad mood.”

She shot him a dark look that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Keep talking and I’ll put you on the mat.”

“Oh no, anything but that,” he said, hand on his heart, mock-fear in his voice. “Whatever will I do if my bestie breaks my spine in front of Gen Z?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barton. I’d let one of them do it.”

One of the recruits whispered, “We can hear you,” and Natasha turned just enough to give them a slow, feral grin.

“Good. Maybe it’ll motivate you.”

They looked like they wanted to cry, She didn’t care.

Because if she stopped moving, stopped teasing, stopped being this barely tethered version of herself—then maybe the ache in her chest would start catching up.

And she couldn’t afford that.

Not yet, You were still gone.

Natasha Romanoff was a force in the training room. Everyone knew that. But even she had her rhythms — the way she sized someone up, tested their footing, let them learn through a bruise or two without destroying what little confidence they had. But not today. Today, she was sharp. Clinical. Unforgiving. Every correction came with a hit, every mistake was pointed out with the flick of her staff or the slam of a mat.

By the end of the session, half the recruits were limping and the other half were trying not to look like they were on the verge of crying. They weren’t rookies. All of them were somewhere in their early twenties, eager and just green enough to think they had something to prove. Normally, Natasha would break them down with precision, then build them back up.

Today, she left them scattered across the floor like discarded chess pieces.

“Alright, go,” she finally said after a bit more of torture, waving a hand like she was shooing pigeons instead of a group of elite S.H.I.E.L.D. trainees. “You’re all free to cry in the showers. Debrief’s in two hours. Don’t be late or I’ll actually try.”

The room cleared out faster than a fire drill.

Clint, who’d spent most of the session leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his mouth shut, finally raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” he said. “That was brutal.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “They’re fine. They signed up for this.”

“They signed up for basic tactical sparring, not full-contact therapy.”

She gave him a look, but there was no venom behind it.

Clint stepped forward and offered her a bottle of water, which she took without a word.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on or should I wait until you start decapitating punching bags?”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’re always tired. This is different.”

She stayed quiet. Long enough that Clint didn’t think she was going to answer. Then—

“I’m not used to being alone anymore.”

That surprised him. Not the words, maybe, but the way she said them. Flat. Matter-of-fact. Like it was a diagnosis she didn’t quite know what to do with.

“I mean, I can do it,” she added quickly, like that mattered more. “I’ve done it most of my life. I know how to keep Ana on routine, I know how to make sure the bills are paid, I know how to function—”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

Natasha glanced at him.

“I know that look,” Clint said. “You’ve got it under control on the outside, but inside you’re counting every creak in the apartment.”

She didn’t answer, which meant he was right.

He softened his tone a little. “This the third time?”

Natasha nodded. “First time was fine. Just a three-day recon. Ana missed her, I missed her, but I kept busy. Second time was about a month later. Same length. But it hit differently. I was irritated all the time, couldn’t explain why.”

“And now?”

“I’m snapping at everyone,” she muttered. “I haven’t been able to fall asleep without checking the door three times. I wake up every hour thinking I heard something. My body feels like it’s stuck in defense mode.”

Clint tilted his head. “She make you feel safe?”

Natasha let out a dry laugh. “Isn’t that ironic?”

Clint smiled gently. “Maybe. But not surprising. You’ve spent your whole life being the safe one. The one with backup plans and exit routes and eyes on every angle. No one ever stuck around long enough for you to want safety.”

She didn’t deny it.

“I didn’t even notice,” she said after a moment. “That it was happening. I just… slept better. I rested. When she was around, I wasn’t bracing all the time. I started drinking my coffee while it was still hot. I didn’t flinch every time Ana made a noise in the middle of the night.”

“Must be weird.”

“It’s terrifying,” Natasha said, but there was a hint of a smile there now. “Because I didn’t think I was missing anything. I wasn’t unhappy. I had Ana. I had work. Everything was fine.”

Clint didn’t interrupt. He could see the thoughts still arranging themselves behind her eyes.

“She’s young,” Natasha said eventually. “Bright, loud, stubborn. She walks into a room and everything wakes up. And then… when she leaves, it’s like the apartment forgets how to breathe.”

Clint grinned. “Wow. You’re really down bad.”

She smacked his arm.

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “That sounds like someone who’s trying real hard not to use the word love.”

“I’m not saying it to you.”

“But you’re saying it.”

Natasha looked away, then back, then sighed.

“She’s only been gone for a week” she muttered. “And I already feel like my skin’s too tight.”

“Yeah,” Clint said softly. “That’s love, Nat.”

She didn’t reply. Just stood there with her arms crossed, jaw tight, like she was trying to keep the storm in her chest from spilling out across the floor.

And Clint didn’t push her.

Because he knew her. And she’d say it when she was ready. But until then, he’d be there. And maybe, if the world played fair for once, she would be back soon too.

She just left without saying a word to him and wandered to the kitchen, chasing the illusion of calm in a cup of coffee. A desperate attempt to reset, to claw her way back to something that resembled her usual mindset. Useless? Absolutely. But still a valid attempt.

She used what little spare time she had to chip away at the paperwork piling up on her desk, going through the motions while her brain begged for a break, but she couldn't bring herself to stop

When the clock finally pushed her toward the inevitable, she made her way to the meeting room. It was still quiet—mercifully so—and she let herself enjoy the silence for what it was: the last moment of peace before the incoming storm of idiocy.

Clint arrived not long after.

“Ready to deal with them again?” she sighed, barely turning her head to look at him. “It can’t get worse, right?”

It did.

After snapping through training drills and watching half the recruits nearly cry from a simple sparring critique, Natasha thought she’d reached the peak of her frustration. She thought the fire had burned out enough that she could sit through something as low-stakes as a mission planning session without needing a punching bag. She was wrong.

They were in the meeting room, a stack of files spread across the table, and the only thing more painful than their blank stares was their awful strategy logic. It wasn’t even an actual op—they were just meant to propose a plan, something clean and professional, basic protocol. But somehow they managed to turn it into the most chaotic, disjointed mess she had seen since Clint tried to microwave a steak.

One of them suggested a twelve-person infiltration team for a two-man job. Another thought a decoy explosion in a civilian area was a “good distraction.” Natasha stared at that one for a long time. Said nothing. Just let the silence hang until he cleared his throat and tried to backpedal.

It was hell.

They were hell.

And the worst part was, she couldn’t even find the energy to get mad anymore. She just wanted to be anywhere else.

She found herself thinking about your hands.

How they moved when you spread files across her table. How you always started a plan from the middle and worked backwards like it made more sense that way. How your theories were messy, but your execution was precise. How your dumb croissants always left flakes on her floor, but your coffee? Always perfect.

God, she missed you.

These newbies were making her feel ancient.

And somehow… you never did.

Which, in that moment, made her realize something even worse, She wasn’t just used to your presence. She had started to rely on it.

And now? With your chair empty across the room and a dozen voices talking over each other like toddlers playing spy?

She’d never wanted to quit a debrief so badly in her life.

She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, lips pressed in a flat line as she watched one of the recruits confidently draw a completely backwards tactical map on the whiteboard. The entrance and exit points were the same. The safe zone was placed inside the potential combat perimeter. And their plan to extract intel involved “grabbing the briefcase and hoping for the best.”

Natasha blinked. Slowly.

She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t laugh.

She just watched. With the dead-eyed stare of someone whose soul had left her body approximately five minutes ago.

Clint was sitting to her right, trying—and failing—to stifle his amusement. She caught the edge of his grin in her periphery and didn’t bother to hide the glare she shot back.

“You’re enjoying this,” she muttered under her breath.

“Immensely,” Clint whispered, taking a casual sip of his water. “This is the most fun I’ve had all week.”

She let her head fall back against the chair with a quiet groan. “I’ve trained toddlers with better tactical awareness.”

Clint chuckled. “You did train a toddler. Yours has better instincts than these guys.”

She exhaled sharply, the corner of her mouth twitching despite the ache behind her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

They watched another recruit stand up to add on to the plan, immediately contradicting the first half of it. Natasha let her eyes close, counted to ten, reopened them, and still nothing made sense. The files were sitting right there, everything they needed laid out in plain detail—but they weren’t reading, they weren’t thinking, they weren’t you.

You would’ve solved this in five minutes flat. Coffee in one hand, smug grin on your lips, and a completely insane but functional plan in front of her before she could even finish skimming the brief. You made chaos look elegant.

And you were so damn good at what you did.

Not just in the field. But with Ana. With her. With everything.

She missed the way you filled the space beside her. Missed the balance of it. The peace of knowing you were close enough to lean on, even when she pretended not to. She hadn’t realized how much calmer she’d become until you left—and now every breath felt too loud. Every second dragged.

You made things quiet. Inside her head. Inside her chest.

And without you there, she felt like her entire body was clenching around silence. Like she couldn’t relax. Couldn’t trust the stillness.

The room buzzed with voices again, someone suggesting parachutes in a low-rise recon op. Natasha stood up sharply, scraping her chair back.

“All of you,” she said flatly, “out.”

A beat of silence. Then chairs shifting, people scrambling, a few mumbled apologies.

Clint didn’t even try to hide his laugh now.

“You’re brutal.”

“They were parachuting into a building with three floors, Barton.”

“Bold,” he agreed, nodding.

Natasha rubbed her temple, tiredness dragging across her features like the weight of three sleepless nights. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at the table, at your empty seat, at the untouched coffee cup across from her that she’d placed there without thinking.

And Clint watched her. Quiet now.

“You okay?”

She let out a breath. “No.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he waited.

“I’m tired,” she said, not looking at him. “Not physically. Not really. Just—on edge. All the time. Like I’m waiting for something to go wrong and I don’t even know what it is.”

Clint watched her carefully, but she didn’t return the look. Her fingers tapped against the file in front of her, slow and bitter. She wasn’t trying to sound dramatic. She was trying not to sound like she was one sleepless night away from losing it.

“And don’t start with the maybe-you-just-need-a-break crap,” she added, her voice dry as dust. “I swear to God, Barton, if one more person tells me to go meditate or do yoga, I’ll throw someone off the balcony just to feel something.”

Clint raised his hands, surrendering with a little whistle. “Wasn’t gonna say a word.”

“Good.” She closed the file with a hard snap. “Because the only thing I’m doing is going back to my apartment, taking a damn hot shower, and snuggling with my daughter until the tension in my spine lets go or I pass out trying.”

“You sure you don’t want to join the rookies for round two?” Clint teased, watching her sling her bag over her shoulder with the kind of aggression that suggested something—or someone—was about to be strangled.

Natasha shot him a look that could peel paint. “Those idiots wouldn’t know a mission plan if it hit them in the face with a blueprint and a crayon.”

“Sounds like a no.”

“It’s a hell no.”

She pushed the chair in with a sharp movement and started toward the door. She was already picturing it—Ana’s small body curled under her arm, the smell of baby shampoo still lingering in her hair, the weight of something real and safe grounding her. The apartment would be warm. Familiar. You wouldn’t be there, but Ana would. And maybe that would be enough to stop her from unraveling further.

“I’m going to go cuddle my toddler,” she muttered as she walked away, mostly to herself. “In an attempt to soothe my fucking nerves before I kill someone.”

“Love that for you,” Clint called after her, smirking. “Tell Ana I said hi.”

But she didn’t answer. She just kept walking—jaw clenched, back stiff, heart pounding louder than it should.

And maybe that was the part that scared her the most.

It was getting harder to calm down without you.

She should’ve gone to her own apartment. She meant to. But in the elevator, her finger pressed your floor instead of hers. She stared at the button, thought about fixing it—and didn’t.

It wasn’t on purpose. Just muscle memory, maybe. Or something quieter. Something she wasn’t ready to name.

She ignored the unspoken rules of social decency—the ones about personal space, about waiting until you’re invited, about not letting yourself into someone else’s apartment when they’re not home. But rules had never done much for her. Not when her chest felt like it was pulled too tight, not when every inch of her skin ached to be somewhere that felt less.

So she walked in like she belonged. Because maybe she did.

The scent hit her first. Your perfume, soft and clean, still lingering in the air like you’d left only minutes ago. Her shoulders relaxed before she even realized it. The knot in her back didn’t go away, but it loosened, just enough for her to breathe. She scoffed under her breath, irritated with herself. This is ridiculous.

She wasn’t supposed to be the kind of woman who felt safe just because of a smell. That was something for romance novels and bad TV dramas. And yet here she was, sinking into it like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Pathetic.

But she didn’t leave.

Instead, she walked to your bathroom, peeled off her clothes, and stepped into your shower. The water pressure was—of course—better than hers. Much better. The kind of steaming hot that instantly blanketed her skin, wrapped around her ribs, and made the world feel like it could fade for a few minutes. She let her forehead press to the tile and made a mental note: Have her install one of these in my apartment. Perks of being your… something.

Natasha let herself fold. The heat hit her hard, softening the edges of her muscle, but not the ache underneath. That, only you could reach.

She braced a hand against the tile, eyes shut, water cascading over her back. Her other hand moved across her body, every touch of her own hands washing away the grime taking deep sighs and low whines come out of her mouth... she is a needy mess. the week, the endless static of a life too sharp lately. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t you.

Her fingers stilled at her collarbone, and all she could think about was your hands—gentler than she expected, steady, unhurried. The way you touched her like you had all the time in the world. The way your thumb had traced her hipbone once without even noticing, and it had made her breath catch like a damn teenager.

She wanted that.

God, she wanted you.

Not just your mouth or your body or the heat of your skin against hers—though she wanted that too, badly—but the presence. That anchoring calm you carried, the ease in your laugh, the way you never flinched when Ana clung to your chest or Natasha woke up gasping in the middle of the night. You were steady. You were safe.

And she missed you like hell.

The water rushed down her back as her palm curled against the tile. Her breath hitched—not from the steam, but from the ache in her chest. This wasn’t just about the day. Or the week. This was you, absent in a way she hadn’t let herself admit she wasn’t handling well.

She needed your hands. Your weight behind her. Your mouth pressed to her shoulder whispering sweet things on her ear... bringing her to a lazy orgasm, your fingers trusting inside her exactly how she likes it, that type of orgasm that made her bones melt. She needed to feel claimed—wanted—in the way only you managed to make her feel.

She let the water run until her skin turned pink and her legs felt a little less steady. But not weak. Just—softer.

She wrapped herself in your towel, tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked at her reflection. She felt ridiculous—needy in a way that made her wince. Two years spent living something close to celibate, and now she couldn’t make it through a week without you.

“Pathetic,” she muttered under her breath. And yet, she didn’t leave.

She wasn’t ready to leave.

Not when everything in this apartment smelled like you.

Not when your presence lingered in the sheets and the steam and the air she breathed like a promise.

Not when her skin still craved you more than the water could soothe.

Wrapped in your robe—still warm from where it had hung by the bathroom—Natasha felt like she was wearing a secret. The collar smelled like you. The sleeves hung past her wrists just enough to feel wrong on her body and right in every other way. The plush fabric swallowed her frame, soft where her skin was still pink from the shower, grounding her like only you managed to do.

She padded barefoot into your bedroom, towel-drying her hair lazily as she reached for your phone. You weren’t home, but she didn’t need permission. Not anymore. Not after the way you’d held her the last time she’d fallen apart. Not after the way your hands had memorized her.

She dialed the tower’s daycare.

It rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello—Avengers Tower Child Services, this is—”

“I need Ana.”

There was a pause, just long enough to signal the woman on the other end had recognized her voice. “Oh—are you coming down to pick her up?”

“No,” Natasha cut in, her voice low and dry. “Have someone bring her to Ms. Stark’s apartment.”

Another pause. Sharper this time.

Natasha didn’t usually pull rank. She didn’t like making people uncomfortable if she could help it, didn’t like reminding people of who she was unless she had to. But today? Today she didn’t give a fuck.

The silence on the other end of the line cracked into a gasp—the kind someone makes when they choke on air but try to hide it. “Ms. Stark’s apartment?” the woman repeated, barely managing to keep her voice steady. “But she’s—uh—she’s currently away on mission—”

“Exactly,” Natasha replied, cool and calm as ice. “I’m in her apartment.”

She hung up before the woman could recover, before she could come up with something else polite to say. The truth was already in the air. No taking it back now.

And maybe Natasha liked that a little more than she should.

Still barefoot, she wandered into your kitchen and opened the cabinet where she knew you kept the coffee mugs—second shelf, left side, tucked behind that one chipped one you never threw away. She picked your favorite, poured the last of the hot brew into it, and cradled it between her palms like it might warm her deeper than the robe already had.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a pair of your pajama bottoms—soft, a little too big, cinched at the waist with a lazy knot. your robe, draped over it. She smelled like your shampoo. She moved like someone who belonged in your space.

When the elevator dinged, she didn’t rush to meet it.

She walked slowly, casually, letting the scent of your coffee cling to her like another layer of you. She opened the door just as the delivery woman was adjusting Ana on her hip.

And the look on her face?

Priceless.

Natasha didn’t smile. Not really. But her mouth did twitch in a way that let the woman know she’d seen it. That she understood exactly what this looked like. And that she wasn’t about to explain herself.

She reached for Ana, who immediately threw her arms around her mother’s neck, cheek pressed into her shoulder with a tired little sigh.

“Thank you,” Natasha said, expression unreadable but voice polite.

The woman mumbled something in return, eyes flicking once more to Natasha’s clothes—your clothes—before she stepped back into the elevator.

And that was that.

Natasha smiled to herself, something smug curling in her chest, her mood instantly lighter—as if claiming you, even in a silent, indirect way, had flipped a switch in her head. The robe still smelled like you. The coffee was yours. The space was yours. And now, so were they.

She looked down at Ana, who was content and warm in her arms, still sleep-dazed with her cheek pressed to her shoulder. “Mama made it pretty clear,” Natasha murmured, voice full of dry satisfaction. “She’s ours.”

Ana made a little sound—a soft gag, half-laugh, half-yawn—like she agreed in her toddler way, and Natasha huffed out a quiet chuckle. “Exactly,” she said, brushing her lips over the crown of Ana’s head. “I didn’t even have to say it out loud. That poor woman nearly fainted.”

Ana mumbled something incoherent and tucked herself in tighter, her small fingers wrapping into the edge of Natasha’s robe.

Natasha carried her toward the bedroom, her hand cupping Ana’s back instinctively. She still had her coffee in the other hand, warm and familiar. “You know,” she said softly, talking more to fill the quiet than anything else, “you and I—we make a good team. I don’t even have to say what I want, and you go ahead and make me look all possessive.”

Another little sleepy gag came in response, and Natasha smirked.

They reached the bed.

It was still unmade from your morning rush—covers half thrown back, your pillow slightly indented. Natasha settled in like muscle memory, stretching out with a soft sigh as she adjusted the blankets over them both. She took one last sip of coffee before setting the mug on your nightstand.

Ana curled on her chest, tiny limbs draped naturally over her like she belonged there. Natasha’s hand moved up and down her daughter’s back in a rhythm she didn’t think about.

Everything smelled like you.

Everything felt like you.

And wrapped in your robe, in your bed, with Ana’s heartbeat against hers, Natasha let herself close her eyes for the first time that day and just breathe.

This—this was hers. And she wasn’t sharing.

Ana fell asleep fast—unfairly fast, in Natasha’s opinion. One minute she was blinking slow against her chest, the next, completely knocked out, tiny fingers still curled in the fabric of Natasha’s borrowed robe.

Natasha looked down at the peaceful little traitor and sighed through her nose. “Such a simp,” she muttered, mock-scolding, brushing her knuckles gently against Ana’s red hair. “You know that, right? One whiff of her and you’re out like a light. No standards.”

Ana didn’t respond, of course. Just let out a soft snore, drooling slightly onto Natasha’s chest.

“Gross,” Natasha added affectionately, then shifted with a little grunt of effort, sliding out from under her daughter with the practiced ease of a mother who’d done this dance too many times. She tugged the robe off her shoulders, tossing it to the chair by your desk, then pulled the duvet up to cover them both. It smelled heavenly. Like you. Of course it did.

She rolled her eyes—at you, at herself, at this whole situation she never thought she’d be in.

“Great,” she muttered as she settled in beside Ana again, tugging the duvet tighter around them. “She has turned both Romanoffs into complete idiots. Well done.”

The bed was warm. The room was quiet. Ana’s breath was slow and steady, pressed into her side now. Natasha tucked her arm around her daughter and let herself relax.

It didn’t take long before she was out too.

Simp, indeed.

It was, without a doubt, the best sleep she’d had all week. No tossing, no restless half-wakes at every small noise. Just warmth. The kind that wrapped around her bones, settled into her skin. The kind that whispered safety without needing to say a word.

Natasha was sleeping like a log, dead to the world. But even as she stirred, something felt different. Not wrong—no, not at all—but new. Or rather… familiar in a way she was beginning to crave.

There was an extra weight draped over her waist. Not heavy, but grounding. And then the scent—yours—undeniable, curling around her like a second blanket. It was the only reason she didn’t jolt upright like usual, the only reason her muscles stayed loose instead of tensing on instinct. She blinked, adjusting to the low light filtering through the room, and looked down.

Your hand.

Delicate, sure. But firm in its claim, wrapped around her as if she were something fragile and rare, something to be protected. Treasured. As if you knew what she tried to hide and wanted to shield her from it anyway.

She didn’t know how to breathe for a second.

She didn’t feel weak. She didn’t feel small. She felt… like yours.

Carefully, quietly, she rolled onto her side, slow enough not to disturb Ana, still asleep by her side. Her eyes met yours. Warm. Soft. Tired in the same way hers were.

You leaned in first. Or maybe she did. It didn’t matter.

Your lips brushed hers in a slow, unhurried kiss—lingering just a second too long to be casual, just deep enough to say I missed you without either of you needing to say a word. There was something sacred in the silence. Something steady in the pull between your mouths.

Longing and relief, tangled together in the stillness.

The kiss faded slowly, not because either of you wanted it to, but because the moment demanded breath—words. Familiar rhythm. Something to tether the weight of the morning to something more manageable. You stayed close, noses brushing, your hand still resting over her waist.

“God, you look terrible,” you whispered, the corners of your mouth tugging into a sleepy grin.

Natasha let out a soft huff of amusement, half-heartedly rolling her eyes. “Thanks, printsessa. Nothing like brutal honesty to start the day.”

You blinked at her, incredulous. “Day? Darling, it’s fucking 22:00. How did you manage to destroy your biological clock like this?”

You brushed a strand of her messy red hair off her cheek, your fingers deliberately slow, teasing. “No, really. Hair like a bird nest. Dark circles. You look like someone tried to cosplay insomnia.”

She smirked, biting back a laugh that might wake Ana. “I’ve been busy not murdering anyone this week, thanks to someone disappearing again.”

“I was working,” you said, mock-defensive, shifting just a little so your leg hooked around hers. “Some of us have very important things to do, you know.”

Natasha scoffed. “Right. And I’m sure the fate of the world depended entirely on your ability to drink five espressos and ignore my texts.”

You grinned, nose brushing her temple. “Six espressos, actually. And I wasn’t ignoring. I was… emotionally unavailable.”

That earned a soft laugh from her—real and unguarded. She tilted her head back just enough to meet your gaze fully, her expression still dry, but touched with affection. “You’re insufferable.”

You grinned wider. “And yet here you are. Wrapped in my sheets. Wearing my clothes. Sleeping in my bed.”

She pressed a quick kiss to your chin, her voice lower now, almost fond despite her teasing. “Yeah. Must be losing my edge.”

You pulled her closer again, arms snug around her waist. “Nah. You just found better edges to soften against.”

She didn’t say anything. Just let herself melt into you, breathing easier than she had in days.

She was quiet at first, her body still heavy with sleep as you brushed your fingers lazily down the slope of her waist. Her hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions, eyes half-lidded and unfocused as they slowly adjusted to the light.

You let your hand slide up, resting it on her ribs. “A little bird told me you weren’t exactly… thriving this week.”

She stilled slightly. “Clint?”

“Mmhmm. Said you almost impaled a trainee for calling you ma’am.”

“They earned it.”

You grinned. “You told one of the analysts she had the tactical sense of a door.”

Natasha grunted.

You snorted softly. “You’ve been stomping around the tower like a sleep-deprived dragon.”

There was a long pause before she finally sighed, low and quiet. “I don’t sleep well without you.”

You didn’t tease her for that one. Not this time.

Instead, you shifted closer, curling around her a little more, letting her breathe you in. Her shoulders softened. Just a little.

“I mean, if this is you at thirty-three, I can’t imagine the chaos when you’re sixty,” you said gently, your lips brushing her hair. “You’ll be throwing people out of windows for breathing too loud.”

Natasha let out a tired, amused sound. “That’s optimistic. I’ll be worse.”

You kissed her jaw. “Cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“You’re so cute when you’re cranky and secretly in love with me.”

She turned her face into your neck, mumbling something unintelligible, but you could feel the smile there.

Natasha was still tangled in the last traces of sleep, Ana’s little body sprawled by her side, her scent mingling with the faint sweetness of your perfume that lingered on the pillows. The calm wouldn’t last, she knew that. It never did. But for now, she allowed herself to rest in it—until you stirred beside her and she felt your fingers brushing her side softly.

“I have some news,” you said, voice low and close to her ear, carrying the weight of something important, but softened with warmth.

Natasha’s body tensed the smallest bit. It was instinctive, like a defense mechanism. That tone—it meant change. She shifted, careful not to wake Ana, and met your eyes. “What kind of news?”

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on your elbow, and smiled. “Good news, I swear.”

Still, she didn’t smile back. Not yet. She just waited, studying your expression. She’d learned to read people deeply, and you—God, you were the only person who ever made her forget how.

You reached up, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “Fury said I’m not necessary here in the Avengers anymore, so I can go back to England.”

Natasha blinked, just once—but it was enough. That word again.

England.

It was always there—hovering like a shadow behind your name, your work, your laughter. The place that could take you back. The place that wasn’t here.

Her throat tightened just a bit. “So… you’re leaving?”

You heard it. You always did. The tension behind her words. The shift in her breathing.

You leaned closer, your forehead nearly touching hers. “But I’m also not necessary in England either. So I chose to stay here.”

Natasha blinked, unsure. “Wait, what?”

“I said I had good news,” you cut her off gently, your thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “You’re looking at the newest member of the Avengers. Apparently one Stark wasn’t enough, so now they get to deal with two.”

That earned you a blink of surprise—and then, slowly, a breath of relief. Natasha didn’t smile, not quite. But the way her shoulders eased, the way her fingers curled slightly tighter around Ana, spoke volumes.

Still, you could tell her mind was spinning.

“So… you’re staying here?” she asked quietly, as if she didn’t quite trust the answer yet.

You nodded. “Fury said I could go back if I wanted. But I don’t. I want this. I’ll be living here. In the Tower. With you. With Ana.”

And that was the moment everything shifted.

You weren’t just dropping in and out of her life anymore. You weren’t a fleeting miracle or a reprieve between the chaos. You were staying. Permanently. Part of the team. Part of them.

A breath she didn’t know she’d been holding left her lungs all at once, and she couldn’t help the way her hand slid up to cup your cheek, holding you close as if anchoring herself to reality.

“You’re serious?” she asked.

You grinned. “Completely. They’re stuck with me now.”

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Poor bastards.”

You tilted your head. “That wasn’t very supportive, Romanoff.”

“Oh, I’m supportive,” she said, leaning forward to kiss your jaw. “I’m just also a realist.”

You chuckled, but even you couldn’t hide how full your chest felt—because you knew. You knew what this meant to her. To all of you.

“I missed you too, you know,” you added after a moment, a little softer now. “Don’t think you were the only one close to losing your shit. They paired me with this guy in his thirties—had more field experience than me but didn’t even know how to operate an advanced interface system. Almost blew up the whole thing trying to sync it.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “At one point I had to take over and told him to step back before I sent him to basic training again. I’m pretty sure I growled.”

She smirked, drawing circles against Ana’s back absentmindedly. “Sounds like you were channeling me.”

You smiled and leaned down, resting your forehead against hers. “I think I just missed home.”

That word hit. Home.

And somehow, this—you, her, Ana, this bed—had become exactly that.

Natasha sighed, curling her fingers in the hem of your shirt. “Well… I hope you like shared showers and stolen hoodies.”

You chuckled. “It’s part of the contract.”

She smiled against your mouth. Finally. And maybe this wasn’t perfect. Maybe the world would keep throwing chaos their way. But at least for now, there was one solid truth Natasha could finally hold onto:

You were home. And you weren’t going anywhere

[cjjohansson]

absolutely beautiful

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

Sumary: Natasha didn’t mean to open up. But something in the way you listened—quiet, unflinching—made it impossible to keep the walls up. And as the smoke curled between you, and old wounds bled softly into the night air, she realized: this wasn’t about being fixed. It was about being understood. And maybe, for once, not being alone in it.

paring: Natasha Romanoff x reader

word count: 5364

warnings: age gap, grief and legacy, daddy issues, abandonment issues, torture, trauma, red room, smoking.

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⋆｡˚ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓇢𓆸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☾⋆ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✦ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　 　 ☁︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𖦹 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

Natasha sat curled in the corner of the balcony, her back pressed against the cool iron railing, a half-read copy of Crime and Punishment resting on her knee. The cover was weathered, pages curled slightly at the edges from time and use—like her, in a way. Frayed, but still holding together. She stared down at the words, letting her eyes drag over the same sentence again and again without registering its meaning. Raskolnikov’s spiral felt like an echo of her own. Not the crime. Not the punishment. But the unbearable weight of being misunderstood.

Her breath came slow and shallow, barely visible in the cold air that clung to the evening. The city lights flickered below, painting her face in shades of orange and white, but her expression remained unreadable. Natasha was used to hiding, even from herself. But tonight, her armor felt thinner. More brittle. The wind brushed against her cheek like a question she didn’t know how to answer. She tucked a loose strand of red hair behind her ear, fingers pausing there a second too long—like maybe if she stayed still enough, the ache inside her chest might finally quiet.

It wasn’t just heartbreak that haunted her. It was the realization that she had never been truly seen. Not by Steve. Not by Bruce. Steve had looked at her like she was already redeemed. Like her past could be forgiven if she just smiled enough, fought hard enough, kept pretending she wasn’t exhausted. And Bruce… he had wanted the tragedy. The pain. The cracks. But not the mess of it all, not the woman who still woke up sweating in the middle of the night, unsure if she had ever been real. They had loved versions of her—constructs. Not the woman curled on this balcony, with her ragged breath and weary eyes, trying to hold herself together.

Her fingers clenched slightly around the spine of the book. She hadn’t wanted to feel like this again. But here it was—loneliness, not like an empty room but like a crowded space where no one saw her. Natasha didn’t know what she needed. She just knew it wasn’t another lie in the shape of love.

And then—soft footsteps. A sound that was gentle, hesitant, familiar. She didn’t look up right away, but something in her posture shifted. Her breath caught, her spine straightened just a little, and her eyes blinked slowly, once. There was a presence nearby. Not a threat. Not a memory. Something real. Someone who hadn’t come to fix her or mold her. Maybe—just maybe—someone who could sit with her in the quiet and not ask her to be anything but herself.

The air shifted before the sound even reached her. A soft tremor in the atmosphere, a ripple through the stillness that Natasha felt before she heard the quiet pad of bare feet against the concrete floor. She didn’t move at first. Didn’t even lift her eyes from the pages she still wasn’t reading. But something inside her stirred—an awareness, an instinct, maybe something older and deeper than either of those. She inhaled slowly, steadying her breath, waiting. Not for danger. For presence.

Then, you appeared at the edge of her vision. Leaning against the iron railing of the balcony with a kind of casual elegance that made the night feel warmer somehow, even in its sadness. The curve of your hip, the subtle sway of your body as you adjusted your weight—there was grace in your exhaustion, in the way you carried the fog in your mind like a velvet cloak draped across your shoulders. And when you reached into your pocket for the cigarette, Natasha finally lifted her gaze.

Her eyes found yours, and in that brief second, something flickered across her face—not surprise, not exactly. Recognition. You didn’t need to speak for her to understand that you were here for the same reason she was: not to escape, but to endure.

You struck the match with one clean motion, your fingers steady despite the weight in your chest. The flame danced briefly, warm and golden against your skin. Natasha watched the way your lips parted, the way the cigarette caught the fire and curled with that first deep inhale. You exhaled slowly, smoke curling like a whisper into the night air, and your eyes met hers again—calm, but burning underneath. You didn’t smile. You didn’t need to.

For a second, the sight of her startled you—not because she was frightening, but because you hadn’t expected anyone else to be here, and especially not her. The silence between you was soft, not sharp. Like two ghosts meeting in the same forgotten place, both unsure who died first.

You stepped closer, your voice low and unsure. “Can I sit?” It was barely a whisper. As though asking too loudly might make the moment break apart.

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She simply moved the book slightly, making room on the weathered old stretcher beside her. The kind of military issue thing that had probably been dragged up here and forgotten long ago. Now, it served as a resting place for weary minds.

When you sat beside her, neither of you touched, but the warmth of your presence felt like a balm she hadn’t known she needed. The cigarette glowed faintly in your hand, casting shadows across your face, catching in the glint of your eyes as you looked at the book resting on her lap.

“That one’s heavy,” you murmured, nodding toward it. “But I like it.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, the corner of her mouth lifting in something that was almost—but not quite—a smile. “Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice lower than usual, the sharp edge worn down by the weight she carried. “It’s not about the crime. It’s about the way guilt rots you from the inside. Slowly. Quietly.”

You nodded, taking another slow drag from your cigarette, and she watched the way your lips parted again, the way you let the smoke roll out like a secret. “And how the punishment doesn’t always come from outside,” you added. “Sometimes it’s just waking up and remembering who you are.”

She looked at you then—really looked. The curve of your neck, the faint shimmer of sweat at your temple, the way your hands moved like you had stories buried in your fingertips. There was pain behind your eyes, but it was honest pain. Pain that didn’t dress itself up in heroic ideals or self-pity. Natasha felt her chest tighten, not in fear, but in recognition.

“Raskolnikov thinks redemption is earned by suffering,” she said, her voice barely audible over the wind. “But I think… sometimes it just comes from being seen. And still being allowed to stay.”

Your breath caught for just a moment. And then you nodded again, like you understood something she hadn’t dared to say out loud before.

The city buzzed below, but here on the balcony, time slowed. Two people, wrapped in smoke and old paper and silence. Talking about guilt and books like they weren’t talking about themselves. There was no promise in the air, no fix, no future plan. Just company. Just presence.

You held the cigarette between your fingers like it was the only thing tethering you to the ground. Smoke danced upward in lazy coils, catching the light from the city below, framing your face in that fleeting, cinematic way that made Natasha ache just a little to look at you too long. The way you inhaled was slow, deliberate, like you were trying to savor the quiet, make it stretch. And when you exhaled, it wasn’t just smoke leaving your lungs—it was everything else, too. The expectations. The weight. The ache that never found the right words.

Natasha could feel it radiating off you, the pressure like static in the air, and she didn’t look away when you finally spoke.

“Being seen…” you said quietly, your voice low, husky with something raw, “…it’s never easy.”

She glanced sideways at you, the book now forgotten on her lap. The wind toyed with the ends of your hair as you lifted the cigarette to your lips again, fingers steady despite the storm behind your eyes. The ember flared, catching firelight across your cheekbones. And even in your exhaustion, even in your ache, you looked beautiful—tragically, breathlessly beautiful. Not because of the pain, but because of the honesty in it. The unmasked, unguarded kind of beauty that came when someone had nothing left to hide.

You didn’t wait for a response. The words were still gathering in your throat, spilling now in pieces, low and uneven.

“People think I’m just like him,” you said, not needing to clarify who. “That I’ll make the same mistakes. That I’ll crash the same way he did, just louder. Faster. With more fire.” Your voice faltered, just slightly, and you pressed the cigarette back between your lips, breathing in like it might steady your hands.

Natasha didn’t interrupt. She let the words bloom in the silence, like smoke curling through the cold air. She knew the kind of grief that came with legacy. Not just the loss of a person, but the crushing burden of being what they left behind.

“They look at me like I’m a bomb with a timer,” you said, exhaling again. “And they want me to be perfect. To be brilliant and funny and strong and impossible and kind and all the things he was when they chose to love him. But I’m not him. I never was. And some days I wonder if that’s why they’re always waiting for me to fail.”

Your thumb rolled over the edge of the cigarette, flicking ash down onto the breeze. Natasha watched your profile, every word digging a little deeper into something she recognized—something unspoken in herself.

“You don’t get to belong,” you added, voice quieter now, “unless you fit the version they’ve already made up in their heads.”

The night felt heavier around those words. Natasha didn’t speak right away. She leaned her elbows on her knees, her fingers brushing the book absently as her mind sifted through the past like ashes. Everything you were saying—it echoed her own story. The versions of herself that had been loved. Feared. Rewritten. Broken.

She turned her head slowly, her gaze softening when it met yours again. “And even then,” she murmured, “they only love the version they understand.”

You nodded, jaw clenched just slightly. The cigarette had burned halfway now, and you tapped it gently over the balcony edge, watching the ash fall like snow into the dark.

Natasha breathed in deeply, then exhaled through her nose. “It’s easier to be a story than a person,” she said. “Stories don’t talk back. They don’t break.”

The silence after that wasn’t cold. It wasn’t awkward. It felt… sacred, somehow. Like two people sitting in a cathedral built from smoke and shared grief. The buzz of traffic far below became background music, distant and unimportant. All that mattered was the way your shoulders eased just slightly. The way you turned toward her a little more. The way you were still here.

You didn’t have to say thank you. She wouldn’t have accepted it anyway.

And Natasha didn’t tell you she understood. She simply stayed beside you, her presence steady, quiet, unwavering. She didn’t try to fix it. She didn’t try to tell you who you should be. She just saw you.

The book sat open between you, the lines of Dostoevsky waiting in silence. And somewhere beyond the grief and expectations, there was still room for the comfort of company. Of not being alone on a night that felt like it could swallow you whole.

Natasha leaned back against the railing, just enough to glance at you again—not analyzing, not reading, just… seeing.

“You have a favorite line in it?” she asked softly, nodding toward the book. A simple question. A door left open.

Because she wanted you to stay. She was almost afraid of losing that sparkle of connection that she have been craving for years.

The words slipped from your mouth like they’d been waiting there—resting just behind your lips for years, maybe. Natasha turned her head, watching the way your eyes flicked down to the book, not to find the line, but to remember it. You didn’t say it like someone quoting literature. You said it like someone bleeding.

“Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.”

The air hung still around it. That one sentence rang with too much truth, too much ache, too much you. It wasn’t just a favorite line. It was a mirror.

You took another drag from your cigarette, slower this time. Your fingers trembled just a little—so subtly no one else would’ve noticed—but Natasha did. You exhaled with a quiet, tight breath, letting the smoke roll out like a confession, your eyes not quite meeting hers as you said it. And yet, she could feel you there with her. Honest. Unarmored. Exposed.

And still trying to hold yourself together.

Natasha let the silence answer first. A long beat, the wind whispering against the railing, the distant hum of the city below like a memory that wouldn’t leave. Then she spoke—low and even, the way she always did when something mattered too much.

“I used to think I had reasons,” she murmured. “Reasons for all the damage. That it was survival. Necessary. Justified.” Her fingers slid over the spine of the book, her gaze drifting into the dark horizon. “But the truth is… some of it wasn’t. Some of it was just me being afraid of being seen. Of being chosen for the wrong reasons. Or not being chosen at all.”

She looked at you again, something unbearably soft in her eyes. Not pity. Not concern. Something else. Something far more dangerous. Recognition.

“You didn’t destroy yourself for nothing,” she said, her voice quieter now, raw and bare. “You destroyed yourself because no one ever told you that you didn’t have to earn your place. That you were already enough.”

The cigarette burned closer to your fingers, and you glanced at it briefly, eyes glassy in the light, before bringing it to your lips one more time. Natasha watched every motion like it mattered. The way you breathed, the way your shoulders tensed and released, the way your mouth moved slightly when you held the smoke in just a second longer than necessary.

You weren’t dramatic. You weren’t asking for sympathy. That’s what made it feel so damn real.

“I hate that line,” you said after a long pause, your voice just above a whisper. “Because it’s me.”

And Natasha nodded slowly, the kind of nod that said me too without needing to say a word.

The book rested quietly between you both again. The world still turning below. But here, in this high place above the chaos, it was just two people with matching scars, breathing the same cold night air. No heroism. No masks. Just this.

And it wasn’t healing, not yet.

But maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of it.

The cigarette was nearly gone. The smoke had begun to thin. And Natasha, without really thinking, tilted her head slightly, her shoulder brushing just faintly against yours. Not to comfort. Not to claim. Just to be near.

She didn’t need to fix you.

She just wanted to know more.

Still watching the shadows across your face, she asked gently, “When did you first feel it—that pressure to be perfect?” A simple question. The story could go on.

You scoffed, not bitterly—but like someone who’d long outgrown the need to soften your truths for other people’s comfort. Your voice came low, taut with exhaustion and something deeper that never quite let go.

“Since I joined this shitty team and SHIELD,” you muttered, eyes fixed somewhere past the skyline. “That’s when it started. When people looked at me and saw him. And started expecting the impossible.”

You paused to take one last slow drag from your cigarette, like you needed it to keep the walls up just a little longer. Your fingers were steady, but your breath wavered on the exhale. The glow dimmed, the ember fading, and then you flicked the filter away with care—watching it vanish into the dark like a secret.

The air shifted slightly as you leaned back, shoulder brushing the canvas edge of the stretcher, your gaze still heavy with questions. Then, softer this time, you turned your head and looked at her.

“What about you?” you asked. “What’s your line, Natasha? Which one is you?”

The question hung in the air with the weight of quiet trust. Natasha didn’t answer right away.

Her eyes dropped to the book still resting on her lap, fingers trailing the page like they were reading something written in invisible ink—something she already knew by heart. The silence wasn’t hesitation. It was memory.

She exhaled through her nose, and when she finally spoke, her voice was even, but laced with a sadness so well worn it had settled into the fabric of her.

“There is immeasurably more left inside than what comes out in words.”

The line came gently. But it hit like a confession.

She didn’t look at you right away. Her eyes stayed on the words in front of her, as if she still wasn’t sure she was allowed to speak them out loud. As if saying them would open a door she’d spent years keeping locked.

“I used to think… with him, that maybe it could be different,” she said, and there was no need to say Bruce’s name. It was there—in the pause, in the soft way her voice lowered. “That someone so quiet, so kind, might know how to see the things I never said.”

Her thumb pressed into the corner of the page, and she finally glanced at you, not searching for understanding—just… sharing it.

“But even then,” she added, barely audible, “he only ever wanted the part of me that hurt the least.”

The wind passed between you both like a sigh, brushing through her hair, rustling the page. The line she chose was no longer just about intelligence or suffering or truth—it was about the quiet devastation of being loved for the version of you that didn’t ask for too much. The version that stayed small and survivable.

And now, sitting beside you in the low hum of night, Natasha wasn’t small. She wasn’t quiet. She was just there—solid, scarred, seen.

The book stayed open between you both, untouched now. The silence wasn’t empty anymore—it was full of all the things no one else had made room for.

You turned toward her a little more now, elbow resting against the back of the stretcher, one leg pulled up beneath you. The night was colder, or maybe it just felt colder after the weight of what she’d said. You were still quiet, but your eyes searched her face carefully—like you were trying to read something there beyond what she’d given.

Your voice came softly, low and careful, like you didn’t want to step on something fragile. But it needed to be said.

“…What did he do to you?”

Natasha didn’t flinch. Not exactly. But something in her shifted. Her posture didn’t change, her hands didn’t tremble—but there was a tightening behind her eyes, a sudden stillness in her breath that only someone who understood would notice.

She didn’t answer right away. The words hovered, threatening to rot before they reached the air. Her gaze slipped down to the book again, like the page might offer her shelter. But after a long, brittle silence, she finally spoke.

“We were in that damn safehouse. After that mission in Sokovia,” she said slowly, like each memory was being pulled from somewhere rusted shut. “Everything was quiet. And it should’ve been a moment… a breath.”

You watched her closely, the gentle sway of her red hair in the breeze, the way her voice tried to stay flat but couldn’t quite hold it.

“I told him something I’d never told anyone,” she continued. “About the Red Room. About what they did to us. The graduation ceremony.”

Your brows furrowed gently, lips parting as the weight of her words began to register. She didn’t need to explain. You knew what she meant. But she did anyway.

“They sterilized us,” she said, voice steady now—deadly calm, like a blade across silk. “Cut out everything. No choice. No anesthetic. Just… silence, and pain, and the idea that it would make us easier to control.”

Your breath caught, and Natasha glanced at you for a second—just a second—to make sure you were still with her. That you heard her.

“I told him,” she said, quieter now, “because I thought he’d understand. Because he said he couldn’t have a future. That he was a monster.”

You felt your stomach twist, like something was clawing at the inside of your ribs. The way her voice cracked ever so slightly on the word monster was more painful than any scream.

“And I thought—I thought we were meeting halfway. That he’d see me for what I was too. That maybe we were both broken in different ways, and that was okay.”

Natasha finally looked up. Right at you. And there was no anger in her face—only devastation so long buried it had started to look like acceptance.

“But he didn’t see me,” she said. “Not really. He flinched. Shut down. Changed the subject. Pulled away.”

You felt your fingers tighten into your palm. Your chest was tight.

“He didn’t ask what it meant to me. He didn’t want to hold it. He didn’t even look at me the same after that,” she added, voice thinning to a whisper. “Like I was too much. Too dark. Too real.”

And there it was. The wound. Not from what had been done to her in the Red Room—but from what followed. From trying to be vulnerable with someone who only ever wanted the safe version of her pain. The digestible version.

Natasha stared down at her hands like she was ashamed of them. But her jaw held firm, like she was done apologizing.

She looked up again, slower this time. Her voice was quieter now, but her gaze never wavered.

“He wanted someone tragic,” she said. “Not someone ruined.”

The wind moved gently through the balcony, brushing against both of you like a sigh neither of you had the strength to breathe.

And the silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full of everything she’d never been allowed to say—until now.

And you stayed. You didn’t speak yet. You didn’t move. You just stayed.Because for once, she wasn’t too much. And maybe, neither were you.

You didn’t speak right away. You let the quiet hold her—let the truth she had just given you exist in the air without rushing to fix it or soften it. But something inside you tightened, curled up like a fist in your chest. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t sadness. It was fury. Cold and quiet and sharp, because she hadn’t deserved any of that.

Not the sterilization. Not the silence. Not the way Bruce had turned his back the moment she handed him the most delicate piece of herself.

And it came out slowly—your voice low, but sure. No hesitation. No softness in the truth.

“You’re not ruined.”

She blinked. A small shift. Just enough to let you know she’d heard you.

“You’re not a monster either,” you said, firmer this time, your eyes locked on hers, unwavering. “I don’t care what they did to you. What they made you believe. That doesn’t define you.”

The wind swept her hair across her face, but she didn’t brush it away. She just sat there, still and listening, like maybe—just maybe—she needed to hear this more than she wanted to admit.

You leaned forward a little, elbows resting on your knees now, voice roughened with emotion you weren’t bothering to hide.

“Bruce wanted you to carry his pain,” you said. “But he never wanted to carry yours. He just wanted someone who’d feel bad for him. Someone who’d look at him and say ‘you’re not the monster.’”

Natasha’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. Your words were slicing close, but she didn’t pull back. She didn’t look away.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing with heat. “But when you needed to be seen… when you needed someone to hold space for everything you’d survived? He flinched.”

The disgust in your voice was quiet, but unmistakable. And it wasn’t performative. It wasn’t about proving a point. It was for her. For the girl who had sat in that safehouse, trying to be soft in a world that only saw her as a weapon.

“He didn’t deserve to know your story,” you said. “Not if he couldn’t handle the truth of it.”

Natasha stared at you now, and her face didn’t move much—but her eyes… her eyes were glassy. Not from tears. From recognition. From the shock of hearing the thing no one else had ever had the courage—or the care—to say out loud.

You reached for your pack, fingers brushing another cigarette from the box, slow and casual. But the motion didn’t steal from the weight of your words. If anything, the way you lit it, the soft flick of the lighter in your palm, the way the flame kissed the end before you inhaled—it made it feel more intimate. Like this was just how you shared truths. Smoke and silence and raw, unfiltered honesty.

You exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting up in lazy spirals toward the stars. And when you turned your head again to look at her, your voice dropped into something softer.

“You didn’t deserve to be met with fear when all you offered was trust.”

You let that settle between you both.

And then, because the night wasn’t done yet—because maybe this was only the beginning of something real—you said, “If you want to tell me more, I’ll listen. Not because I think you need to. But because I think you’ve been carrying all of it alone for too long.”

You tapped ash over the edge of the balcony. The cigarette burned steady in your hand.

And you waited. Not to rescue her. Not to solve her.

You let the silence linger for a moment—long enough for the wind to pass between you both again, brushing your hair back from your face as you stared at her. And something bloomed in your chest—warm, aching, undeniable. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t admiration. It was deeper than that. Something closer to reverence.

You took another drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing between your fingers like a tiny, defiant star. The smoke curled around your lips as you exhaled slowly, and then, with your voice low and steady, you turned your body slightly toward her. Looked her in the eye.

“You know,” you said, almost like a secret, “you’re probably the gentlest person I’ve ever met.”

Her brows twitched, surprised. Like she didn’t quite believe it. Like no one had ever called her that before.

But you weren’t finished.

“You hold everyone’s pain like it’s nothing. You never ask for credit. You just do it—you carry people, even when no one sees the weight it puts on you. You protect people who’d never survive a day in your shoes. You fight for people who’d never fight for you.”

You looked away for a second, staring at the skyline, breath catching a little.

“And then they call you a monster?” you scoffed. “They don’t see you at all.”

You turned back to her, and this time, you didn’t blink.

“You’re not a monster, Natasha. You’re everything but. You’re the reason half of us didn’t fall apart a long time ago. You’re the one we look to. Even when we don’t say it.”

Her eyes were glassy again, jaw tight. But she didn’t look away. She took it in. All of it. Like it was the first time someone had really seen her.

And then she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees the same way you had a moment ago, her voice soft and low.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” she asked.

You blinked. A little caught off guard.

“I see someone who’s been carrying a name that never belonged to her,” she said. “Someone who’s constantly being measured against a man she never asked to become. Against mistakes she never made.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“You’re not your father,” she said plainly, but her voice held something fierce. “You’re not arrogant, you’re not selfish, and you’re not reckless. You care more than anyone I’ve ever met. You feel more. You take responsibility for everything, even things that aren’t yours to fix. And you still show up.”

Her voice didn’t waver. Not once.

“And if they can’t see the difference, that’s on them.”

You stared at her, cigarette burning slow between your fingers now, your breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“You are not in his shadow,” she said, softer now. “You’re standing in your own light. Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”

The wind brushed between you both again, but it was different now. Softer. Like something had shifted, opened, made room.

And she looked at you—not like she was offering comfort, or sympathy. But like she understood. Completely.

Like maybe—for once—you didn’t have to carry that shadow alone.

The city below murmured in its endless rhythm.

And above, the stars didn’t judge. They just kept burning.

You looked at her for a long moment, your smile slow and small—like something blooming through ash. The cigarette still burned between your fingers, smoke curling lazily in the air, but your gaze never left hers. Not anymore.

There was a tenderness behind your eyes now. The kind that came only after everything else had fallen away—after the armor, the sharpness, the weight. And with a voice barely above the hush of the wind, you let it slip out, almost like a joke, but not really.

“Two halves… can make a whole?”

You tilted your head just a little, the edge of a smirk pulling at your lips—not arrogant, not cocky. Just soft. Curious. Hopeful.

And Natasha—

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t roll her eyes. She looked at you. Like something in her stilled.

Like maybe she hadn’t known it before, but she did now.

The idea of wholeness had always felt foreign to her, like something people made up to survive the loneliness. But with you? Sitting here, night folded gently around you both, your pain laid bare in mirrored pieces?

It made a strange kind of sense.

You were like her in all the quiet ways. In the ways that mattered.

Her lips parted slightly, no words yet—just breath. And then, slowly, her mouth curved into the smallest, realest smile you’d ever seen from her. Not the polite one. Not the warrior’s grin. This one was just… hers.

“Maybe,” she murmured, almost to herself, eyes still on you like you’d just said something she’d been waiting years to hear. “Maybe we were never meant to be understood by them.”

A beat passed. Her fingers brushed lightly over the corner of the open book still sitting between you both—Crime and Punishment, forgotten, yet somehow the quiet thread tying you together.

“Maybe we were meant to find each other instead.”

Her voice was barely there, but you felt every syllable like gravity pulling you closer.

She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Not because anything was funny—but because the moment was too strange and tender and alive not to.

“Forget SHIELD,” she added softly, “Forget fate. Dostoevsky did what no mission could.”

You both smiled now.

Not because everything was fixed. Not because either of you had finally found peace.

But because for once, there was someone sitting next to you who didn’t just see the wreckage—but wanted to build something beautiful from it.

And neither of you moved.

You didn’t have to.

The whole world had already shifted.

[cjjohansson]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

sumary: Natasha didn’t expect anyone to notice she was barely holding it together—let alone you. But when a simple playdate turns into days of fevers, exhaustion, and quiet overwhelm, you’re the one who shows up. No questions. No expectations. Just soup in hand, arms open, and eyes that see right through her

word count: 4905

warnings: flu, stomach bug, natasha being vulnerable, age gap and a huge amount of cuteness.

Part 1

author notes: Thank you all sooo much for the love you’ve sent over this mini fanfic — seriously, my heart’s full! I’m beyond excited to say that yes, a little series about our chaotic (but adorable) family is officially happening <3

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Time had a funny way of folding in on itself when you weren’t paying attention.

One moment, you were a reluctant presence on the fringes of her and Ana’s quiet world, and the next… you were everywhere. Slowly. Naturally. Not because you forced your way in, but because Ana wouldn’t let you be anywhere else. Because Natasha hadn’t known she was waiting for you until you started showing up.

With each passing week, you had become more a part of them—tangled in the fabric of small, ordinary things. Breakfast crumbs. Quiet laughter. The gentle thud of little feet running to find you the moment she entered a room. Natasha had told herself it was nothing. Just temporary. Just the way Ana gravitated to you.

But it was more than that. You weren’t just a presence. You were constant. Steady. You were becoming a part of them in ways Natasha hadn’t prepared for.

And that terrified her.

Because she’d started loving you.

More than she meant to.

And not just emotionally—her body had begun responding to you like it remembered something ancient, like it knew what it wanted before her mind had a chance to catch up. It wasn’t just attraction—it was primal. Deep. Dangerous. Her womb would ache in ways she hadn’t felt since before Ana. Ovulation, hormones, cravings… not just for you, but for the idea of you beside her, in her, with her. You, with Ana. You, in their future.

And you made it worse by being exactly who you were. By showing up when she least expected it. Like now.

Natasha was wrecked. Exhausted beyond measure. It had started with one stupid playdate. She should’ve known better—one of the other mothers had been coughing in that vaguely suspicious “I’m fine, really” way, and now Natasha was paying the price. First came the fever. Then the stomach bug. First for her, then for Ana. And now they were both half-alive, curled into a blanket cocoon on Natasha’s couch, in the dim light of her apartment.

Ana was burning up and clingy in the way toddlers get when they don’t understand why they feel so awful. She wouldn’t let go of Natasha, not for a second—not even to sleep. And Natasha herself was barely staying upright, her limbs heavy, her head pounding, her body still trying to fight off the virus she’d caught. Her shirt was damp with sweat, and Ana had been crying for the last thirty minutes with no real reason other than pure discomfort.

She was drowning. Alone, exhausted, and on the edge of breaking.

And then the door opened.

No warning. No knock. Just the sound of your voice, soft but firm.

“Hey.”

Natasha didn’t have the strength to lift her head fully. But you were there. Jacket already half-off, eyes scanning the mess in a heartbeat. You didn’t need an explanation. You didn’t ask questions. You just moved.

You took Ana from her arms with practiced ease—Ana went willingly, burying her flushed face into your shoulder like it was the only place she’d ever belonged. You murmured something soft, bouncing her lightly, hand rubbing circles on her back. Natasha watched you lower onto the couch beside her, Ana now pressed between you both, content in a way she hadn’t been all day.

And just like that… the panic faded. Natasha breathed again.

Your hand brushed against hers when you reached for the thermometer on the table. You glanced at her sideways. “You look like hell.”

Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I brought soup.”

“You’re a menace.”

But you were her menace. She leaned her head against your shoulder without meaning to, eyelids fluttering closed for just a moment.

And you let her.

There weren’t any declarations. No promises. Just the warmth of your body beside hers, Ana dozing between you both, and the quiet understanding that, somehow, this wasn’t temporary anymore.

It had never been temporary.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—not really. Just close her eyes for a moment. But something about your presence always disarmed her, made her forget how long she’d been holding everything together. And now, with Ana tucked warm and feverish against your chest, with the tension in her own body finally starting to loosen, she let herself lean into it.

Only for a few seconds.

When she stirred, it was to the smell of something warm and simple. Soup. Real food. She blinked blearily and found you in her kitchen, moving with lazy familiarity. You were pouring the soup into a bowl, spoon already in hand, as if this was your place to do that. As if you belonged here.

You did.

You handed her the plate without a word, just gave her that look—eyebrow lifted, smirk tugging at the edge of your lips, the one you always wore when you were pretending not to care. She took it with both hands like it was a gift from the gods and didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

“Okay,” she rasped, already taking a spoonful. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You gave a faux bow, already shaking up a bottle for Ana with one hand while she watched you from the curve of your hip, dazed and blinking.

“It’s literally canned soup, Romanoff.”

She took another spoonful and closed her eyes, groaning. “You heated it like a pro.”

“Oh, I’m very skilled with microwaves. A real domestic goddess.”

“You’re lucky I’m too weak to throw this at you.”

“You’re welcome.” You smirked, adjusting Ana gently in your arms as you rocked side to side, absently bouncing her. It was natural now. So seamless it made something in Natasha’s chest ache.

She watched the two of you for a moment, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. Ana had gone still, her eyes fluttering closed, hands curled loosely against your chest. She looked content. Safe. Natasha swallowed past the knot in her throat.

“How did you know?” she asked, voice quieter now, worn at the edges. “That I was sick?”

You didn’t look away from Ana, just smiled lightly and said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. noticed your vitals were way out of range for a few hours. High cortisol, spiked temp. She told me you weren’t doing great. I figured something was up.”

Natasha blinked. “You figured?”

You finally looked at her, that teasing glint still there, but softened. “I’m not gonna let you fall apart on your own, Romanoff. You and Ana… you’re mine too. My family.”

She didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The warmth in her chest wasn’t fever—it was you. The way you said it so simply, like it wasn’t something enormous. Like it didn’t undo her piece by piece.

She looked down at her bowl and took another bite of soup, mostly to keep from crying. “Well,” she murmured after a moment, “you might’ve just earned another microwave session.”

You raised an eyebrow, adjusting Ana as she finally slipped into deeper sleep. “I’ll take that as a declaration of love.”

She smirked, eyes still on her bowl. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And in the quiet that followed, with Ana asleep between the two of you and the warmth of soup lingering in her hands, Natasha let herself believe it was real. That maybe this wasn’t just a moment, but the beginning of something she never dared to imagine.

The soup was almost gone by the time Ana stilled completely in your arms, her little hand twitching once, then going limp against your collarbone. You stayed swaying, even as your legs must’ve grown tired, and Natasha didn’t miss the way your fingers moved gently across Ana’s back, steady and rhythmic, like it was instinct.

The kind of instinct that made her want things she had no right to want. The kind of instinct that made her heart ache.

“She loves you,” Natasha said, voice softer now, almost inaudible. She wasn’t even sure why she said it—maybe to test the sound of it in the air. Maybe to see if it shook you the way it shook her.

You didn’t look up. “I know.”

The answer was simple. Certain. It wasn’t arrogance—it was truth. You knew. And Natasha realized then that maybe you’d known for longer than she had. Maybe you’d been letting Ana pull you into their orbit from the start, quietly, without resistance. Maybe you’d been falling too.

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” she said after a beat, not teasing this time.

You finally looked over, the weight of Ana sleeping across your body anchoring you both to the moment. “I don’t,” you said lightly. Then added, “But she’s not a kid. She’s Ana.”

And Natasha smiled.

God help her, she smiled.

You glanced at her empty bowl. “Do you want me to warm up the rest?”

Natasha shook her head slowly. “No, if I eat more, I’ll owe you even more declarations of love, and I’m not sure your ego can handle that.”

“Oh, I can handle a lot,” you said, setting Ana down on the couch between you both with infinite care, your hands lingering on her curls as she whimpered, then settled again. “I’ve got range.”

She gave a tired laugh, her body sagging sideways, finally letting herself rest now that the worst of it had passed. Now that you were here.

She glanced at you through her lashes, quieter this time. “You didn’t have to come.”

You looked at her for a long second. “Yes, I did.”

There wasn’t anything more to say after that. Not really. The silence between you both wasn’t empty—it was full of unspoken things. Full of what was building day by day, moment by moment, croissant crumbs and emergency soup and the soft thump of Ana’s head against your chest.

Natasha watched Ana’s little face in sleep. Then she turned to you.

“You know,” she said lightly, “I think she’s just trying to get herself a stepmom.”

Your mouth twitched. “Well. She’s doing a damn good job.”

Natasha leaned her head back against the couch, eyes half-closing again, lips curved with something half-smile, half-surrender. “This is your fault, you know.”

You raised a brow. “Mine?”

She nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You were supposed to hate kids. I was supposed to keep my life quiet. Ana was supposed to be enough.”

“She is enough.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Then softer, “But now there’s you.”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at her like you already belonged there. Like you’d stay. Like maybe you were already home.

And Natasha—tired, sick, warm, and full of something she hadn’t felt in years—didn’t say it either.

She just smiled.

And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.

“Go take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch, Ana tucked easily against your shoulder like she belonged there. “You look disgusting.”

Natasha scoffed, too tired to argue. “Charming as ever.”

You shot her a smirk. “I’m just saying, it might not be the flu. It could be self-inflicted. Maybe try soap.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her mouth curved betrayed her. That ridiculous, easy charm of yours—that’s what made it dangerous. Not just because you were funny or disarming or beautiful in that sharp, effortless way. But because you made it feel like loving you would be so… simple.

She watched as you disappeared into the hallway with Ana, cradling her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. And despite the biting jokes and your performative annoyance, you moved like you were born for it. Like Ana was safest in your arms.

Natasha sat still for a moment. Her muscles were aching, her skin hot from fever and sleep, but her thoughts didn’t drift toward rest. They drifted toward you.

You, humming something softly under your breath while you ran warm water for Ana. You, scooping bubbles with your hand and making her giggle, even feverish and worn out as she was. You, being gentle. Thoughtful. Patient.

You, who weren’t supposed to want any of this.

But you did. Maybe not in the way you’d admit out loud—not yet. Still, it was there in every wordless offering. In the croissant you split without blinking. In the soup you served before she could even ask. In the way you told her, so casually, that they were yours too. That this—her and Ana—was home.

What are we even becoming? she thought, rubbing a hand over her eyes. The question made her heart beat harder than it should have.

She leaned her head back against the couch and sighed. For so long, her future had been a blank space—no risks, no attachments, just the weightless quiet of a life lived in retreat. Ana had changed that. She’d started painting the outlines of something new: slow mornings, comfort food, the kind of chaos that wasn’t dangerous but deeply, beautifully human.

But you… You filled the rest in.

And it terrified her, how easily she could see it now.

The three of you. A home that wasn’t just a safehouse. A life that wasn’t just survival. She could almost feel it like a memory that hadn’t happened yet.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought, dragging herself to her feet. It’s just soup. Just a bath. Just you.

But she smiled anyway.

When you returned, Ana was clean and dressed in fresh pajamas, her damp curls already drying against your shoulder. She was fast asleep again, breath soft and steady against your neck. You were barefoot, shirt wrinkled, and your hair damp from whatever splash damage Ana had managed in the bath—but you looked so at ease. Like this had been your life forever.

“Your turn,” you murmured, keeping your voice low not to wake the baby. “Go. Before your skin peels off.”

Natasha huffed, but moved toward the bathroom without protest. She stopped in the doorway, turning back once more to glance at you. You were pacing slightly, patting Ana’s back, rocking her with barely a thought.

You didn’t see her watching you.

You didn’t have to.

Because the truth had already rooted itself deep in Natasha’s chest, undeniable and warm and terrifying.

This was never part of the plan, she thought, fingers curled lightly on the doorframe. But maybe it should’ve been.

And with that, she disappeared into the steam of the shower, letting herself wash off everything but the thoughts of you that clung stubbornly to her skin.

“You should take a shower,” you said, rising from the couch with Ana limp and quiet in your arms. “You look… borderline contagious.”

Natasha blinked at you, deadpan. “Wow. That’s romantic.”

You smirked, shifting Ana carefully to your other side. “Just thinking of your well-being. And mine. Mostly mine.”

She was too tired to quip back. Too tired to do anything, really, except let herself sink deeper into the couch cushions and close her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

She heard the bathroom door creak open. The faucet run. Then the quiet echo of your voice—lower, softer, like you only ever used that tone for Ana. Words she couldn’t quite catch, but the cadence was gentle, soothing. A rhythm built for trust.

Natasha opened her eyes.

She didn’t get up, not yet. She sat there and listened. To the occasional splash. To the stillness in between. To the silence when Ana didn’t fuss or cry or fight. No complaints. Just the warm hush of water and care.

Eventually, curiosity pulled her from the couch.

She padded slowly to the bathroom doorway and leaned against it, too exhausted to announce herself, too captivated to interrupt.

You were on the tiled floor, legs crossed, sleeves rolled up. The tub was only half-full, steam curling into the air like a dream. And there she was—Ana—leaned back against your chest, damp and drowsy, eyes fluttering closed even as you gently ran water over her curls.

She was asleep. In the bath.

Completely, utterly at peace.

And so were you.

Not smiling. Not speaking. Just there, holding her with the kind of quiet reverence Natasha didn’t even know you were capable of. Your chin rested lightly on her head. One hand supporting her chest, the other tracing idle shapes on her arm, slow and repetitive. Calming.

It should’ve been startling—how natural it looked.

But all Natasha could think was: Of course it’s you.

Of course you’re the one who could lull her daughter to sleep in the middle of a fever, in the middle of a bath, in the middle of a chaotic day that had nearly brought her to her knees.

You didn’t notice her watching, not at first. You were too focused on the moment. Focused on Ana.

And then, quietly, you spoke. “You’re staring.”

Natasha blinked. “I am not.”

You didn’t turn around, but your smirk was audible. “You’re allowed to be impressed, you know. I’m amazing.”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s asleep. You didn’t solve world hunger.”

“Not yet. But I did make her smell like lavender and peace.”

You shifted slightly, moving with impossible care as you adjusted her position, resting Ana more securely against you. Her cheek smooshed softly against your shoulder, mouth parted in sleep. She didn’t stir. She trusted you. Completely.

“She’s out,” you said, glancing back. “Want to grab me a towel?”

Natasha hesitated for a second. Then turned around and came back with the softest one she had, warm from the dryer. You took it without fanfare, and in one practiced motion, you scooped Ana from the water and wrapped her up in it, holding her as if she were something precious.

She was.

And Natasha wasn’t sure who she was talking about anymore.

You passed her gently in the hallway on your way back to the living room, whispering something into Ana’s ear even though she was fast asleep. Natasha just stood there for a moment, hand still resting on the towel rack.

Then, finally, she stepped into the bathroom.

The tub was still steaming. The scent of soap and baby shampoo clung to the air. And she stared at it—the water, the stillness, the ghost of a moment that wasn’t hers alone anymore—and for the first time in days, she smiled without exhaustion in her bones.

You were supposed to be a complication.

Instead, you were comfort.

She turned the water back on and stepped out of her clothes slowly, heart still a little full in her chest. As the shower rained down around her, Natasha let her thoughts wander—just a little.

To quiet nights and lavender baths.

To soft smiles and someone else cooking soup.

To a world where she wasn’t carrying everything alone anymore.

Maybe not just someone.

Maybe you.

The water had helped.

Not in any dramatic, life-changing way, but enough. Enough to strip away the fog in her mind, the heat on her skin, the ache in her muscles that had been screaming for rest. She toweled off slowly, her movements heavy but less desperate now. Steam clung to the mirror as she stepped out into her room, wrapped in one of her fluffiest towels, hair damp and curling against her neck.

And paused.

You were there. Bent over her bed, sleeves pushed up, changing the sheets like it was the most natural thing in the world. You had already stripped the sick-sweat-drenched set and tossed them in the hamper. Now you were laying down clean ones—fresh, cool cotton with the faint scent of lavender detergent. Probably the same kind you used for Ana’s things.

“You organizing my closet next?” she said, arms crossing loosely over her chest, voice drier than the towel wrapped around her.

You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “Already color-coded your knives, too.”

Natasha snorted, dragging her hand through her damp hair. “This part of the rescue mission, or are you just nesting?”

“Someone had to make your bed not smell like death,” you replied. “I drew the short straw.”

“Really? I think you’re just obsessed with me.”

You paused for half a second. Just enough for her to notice.

Then you looked at her with a smirk that was half-deflection, half-something warmer. “Keep telling yourself that, Romanoff.”

She hummed and moved slowly toward the bed as you smoothed out the comforter. You were almost done, and her limbs were already sagging with the pull of sleep again. Still, she didn’t want to rush this part. This version of you—quietly caring, effortlessly present, always pretending it meant less than it did—it made her want to look twice.

You finished tucking the corners in and stepped back, giving the space a satisfied nod.

“I know,” you said. “Perfect. You’re welcome.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but sat down, slowly sinking into the clean sheets like they were heaven itself. They felt crisp and cool against her overheated skin, and she let out a sigh she didn’t mean to.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, watching her with something closer to pride than smugness. “Say it. I’m incredible.”

She didn’t say it. But she smiled.

And when her head hit the pillow, she felt the familiar haze of exhaustion crawling back. Her eyes fluttered shut—but only for a second, because then you spoke again, voice lower now, less teasing.

“I can stay.”

Natasha blinked up at you.

You were standing beside her, looking down, and for once you weren’t hiding behind a joke. “I mean. If you want,” you continued, scratching lightly at the back of your neck. “I can sit with Ana tonight. Keep an eye on her so you can actually sleep.”

It wasn’t the offer itself that made her heart stutter—it was the way you made it sound like breathing. Like of course you would. Like this was your home too.

She opened her mouth to say thank you. To tell you that was kind. That you didn’t have to.

But what came out instead was, “Lie down.”

Your brows lifted. “What, here?”

She patted the empty space beside her. “You already changed the sheets. Might as well test them.”

You hesitated for a breath. Maybe two. Then you moved without a word, toeing off your shoes and sliding in beside her. There was still space between you—barely—but it felt charged. Intentional.

Ana’s soft breathing came from the baby monitor on the nightstand, and for the first time in two long, fever-drenched days, the room felt calm.

You turned your head on the pillow to face her.

“You sure about this?”

Natasha looked at you. At the girl who didn’t like kids. The one who made her soup and changed her sheets and rocked her daughter to sleep in the bath.

“I think I’ve been sure for a while,” she said softly.

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled—small and a little dazed—and reached over, letting your pinky brush hers between the sheets. Not taking. Not pushing. Just offering.

And Natasha, ex-spy, assassin, mother—she curled her finger around yours and held on.

The room had gone quiet.

Not the kind of silence that weighed heavy or pressed against your chest—but a hush that wrapped around them gently. Like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for them to notice it.

Ana’s breathing was soft through the monitor. The hum of the city outside filtered in faintly through the curtains. But here, in this bed, there was only warmth. And you.

You didn’t speak for a while. Neither of you did.

You stayed lying beside her, not touching, not rushing. The kind of nearness that said more than closeness ever could. And Natasha—who had known how to kill a man in a dozen ways before she ever learned how to ask for help—just let herself exist in the moment.

Eventually, your voice broke through the dark.

“Do you miss it?”

She turned her head slightly, eyes finding you in the half-light. “Miss what?”

“The life before this.” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Before Ana. Before… quiet mornings and lavender soap and someone needing you all the time.”

Natasha took a long breath. Then shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I was good at it. But I never wanted to go back to that.”

You nodded, slow. Processing.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Everyone talks about you like you were unstoppable. Like you were this myth in red.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “I was a myth. But it wasn’t peace. It was noise. Constant noise. I didn’t realize how tired I was until she was born.”

You looked over at her. “And now?”

She met your eyes. “Now it’s like… I finally exhaled. Like I didn’t even know I was holding my breath until I saw her.”

There was a pause. You shifted slightly, the sheets rustling just a little. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” Natasha corrected gently. And then, after a beat, her voice softer: “And I think I’m starting to feel the same way about you.”

You blinked. Slowly. As if the words had knocked the air out of you without even touching you.

“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, eyes flickering down. “Just because I’ve been showing up. I mean… anyone would, right?”

“No,” Natasha said simply.

She reached out then—not boldly, but with certainty—and let her hand rest on your arm, grounding, warm. “Not anyone. You.”

You swallowed hard, and for a second, she thought you might pull away. Instead, you turned toward her a little more, eyes clearer than she’d seen them all night.

“I didn’t think I had room for this,” you said, and the way your voice cracked a little almost broke her. “Not just the kid thing. Any of it. I have lived on my own since I was seventeen. I wasn’t built for this kind of… closeness. I thought it would break me.”

“It’s not breaking you,” Natasha whispered. “It’s softening you. That’s different.”

You let out a shaky breath. Then, tentatively, like you were still surprised it was allowed, you reached for her hand and held it fully this time.

“Sometimes I think she knew before I did,” you said.

“Who?” Natasha asked.

“Ana.” Your voice turned fond. “She just… decided. I walked into that briefing room and it was over. She picked me. I never stood a chance.”

Natasha smiled again—tired, wrecked, but so full of feeling it ached.

“She does have good taste.”

“Yeah,” you said, thumb brushing over hers. “She really does.”

Another pause. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full—of something new, something forming in the quiet between you.

“I can stay,” you said again, softer. “Not just tonight. If you’ll let me.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

She looked at you, fully and openly, and saw the way you looked back—unguarded, raw, still scared, but trying.

Trying for them.

So she gave you the simplest answer she could.

“You already are.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, eyes barely open, red hair a damp halo on her pillow, face soft in a way the world rarely got to see. That expression—the quiet, raw one that didn’t come from war zones or missions or victory, but from something quieter. Something safe.

You shifted, slow and careful, until your body was turned fully toward her. And then, without asking, without needing to, you reached out and wrapped your arm around her waist. Gently, but without hesitation.

Natasha didn’t tense. Didn’t joke or protest or pretend to be made of stone.

She just let you do it.

And when you pulled her against you—when you guided her into your space like she belonged there—she went easily. Folded into you like she’d been waiting for it all along. Her back settled against your chest, her breath hitched just once, and then her whole body melted.

You held her close. Not like she might disappear, but like you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to. Like holding her was the most natural conclusion to every shared moment before this.

Your arm tucked snugly around her waist. Your nose brushed the back of her hair. She smelled like clean skin, steam, and something faintly herbal—maybe Ana’s baby shampoo, clinging to her like a memory. She was warm and exhausted and completely real.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The world could’ve fallen apart around you and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Is this okay?” you murmured against her shoulder, voice almost lost in the dark.

She nodded, a slow movement against your pillow. “It’s more than okay.”

You felt her fingers brush yours where they rested on her stomach, weaving through them with deliberate care. Not asking. Not rushing. Just saying I’m here.

And she didn’t speak again. Didn’t need to. She let out a shaky sigh—half relief, half something deeper—and her muscles softened further in your arms. She nestled closer, fitting her body more tightly to yours until you could feel every small breath, every quiet shift, every wordless surrender.

You held her tighter. Pressed your forehead lightly to the back of her neck. Whispered her name once, like a promise.

And when she finally fell asleep like that—safe, held, loved—you stayed awake just a little longer. Listening to her breathing even out. Feeling the weight of her against you.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love like this.

But she made it feel like you were finally home.

[cjjohansson]

me favourite couple EVA

knew beth would be like that, makes sense but hopefully she comes around

Finley is just ADORABLE

Avenger Lane: Chapter 18: Hands Down

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

“It’s going to go great my love.” You say squeezing Natasha’s hand as you wait for your bags.

“I’m just nervous and also the morning sickness.” She mutters, touching her belly as she watches Yelena walking Ollie to a nearby tree.

“They’re going to be so fucking happy. I promise you my parents will welcome you both with open arms.” You smile lovingly.

You lead everyone outside when you see your dad waving to you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Y/N!” He shouted as you hugged him tightly.

“It’s good to see ya Dad.” You smiled.

“Popo!!!!!!!” Finley squealed, getting out of Yelena's hold.

“Oh, babycakes!”

“Hi, Grandpa!” Beth smiled, hugging him with Finley.

“Oh, my beautiful granddaughters. Your grandma is going to cry over how much you both have grown over these last few months.” Your dad chuckled.

“Dad, you remember Natasha.” You say gesturing to your fiancé.

“Oh of course I do! Come here, Nat!” Your dad chuckles, hugging Natasha.

“It’s great to see you again Frankie thank you for picking us up.” Natasha smiles.

“Oh no worries at all, and who is this lovely young lady?”

“This is my sister Yelena.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, sir.” Yelena smiles.

“Oh wow, you have a lovely accent.”

“Thank you.” Yelena chuckled.

“I’ve got the bags in the trunk pop.” You grin.

“Well then let’s get you home to Mom.” He grinned.

Natasha sits in the back with the girls. Ollie is in the very back laying his head on Yelena’s shoulder. You chuckled while taking the front seat.

You were going through an old town called Hamilton.

“Natalia… this is it.” Yelena whispered in awe, taking her sister's hand.

“You ladies know this town?” Your dad asks looking through the rearview mirror.

“We… grew up here,” Natasha replies

“Well, sort of.” Yelena’s tone is sad as she recalls memories of going to get ice cream from the creamery they’re passing.

“No way you were so close to us.” Frankie laughs in disbelief. “If only your paths crossed earlier.” Your father smiles at the redhead. “Did you know?” He asks you.

“I did, yes.” You nod.

“Do your parents live out here? I can stop if you’d like.” Frankie smiles.

“Uh no that’s okay they’re in Russia.”

“Oh.” Your dad furrows his brows but doesn’t push again.

“When we were younger. I came home to find my family gone.” Natasha whispered.

“We were deported.” Yelena added, squeezing her sister's hand.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you guys. It’s frustrating that we never got to cross paths earlier.” He sighs sadly. “We would have taken you in, Natasha. I hate knowing you were by yourself.”

“My best friend's parents were also deported so it was just us for a long time, but don’t feel that way. Y/N is helping us get them back Into the States.”

Your dad looked over at you in surprise.

You shrugged.

Your dad reached over squeezing your hand.

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“GG!” Finley squealed, running to your mom who lifted her up and hugged her tightly. “Oh sweetheart you’ve grown a bit since I last saw you please stop.”

“Hi GG.” Beth smiled.

Your mom set Fin down to hug your daughter as tight as she could. “Oh Beth you’re sprouting too! Oh honey, you're so beautiful. Just like your mom.” She smiled rubbing her cheeks.

“Thanks GG.” Beth blushed; she was always told how she looks just like her mother. She knows her mom is striking and secretly hopes to be just as if not more striking.

“Mom.” You smiled, sighing in her hug.

“Oh, my baby.” She chuckled.

You stepped aside. “You remember Natasha.”

“Oh of course I do.” Your mom smiled lovingly before hugging her.

“It’s good to see you again. Thank you for letting me and my sister come to your home for Christmas.”

“Oh honey no thanks needed.”

“This is my little sister Yelena.”

“Hi Mrs. Y/L/N it’s nice to meet you, thanks for letting me tag along.” Yelena smiled.

“Oh sweets, just call me Sophia.” Your mom smiled welcoming them into your childhood home.

Ollie barked as ran to your mother.

“Yes, my good boy we’ve got treats for you too!” Sophia laughs petting Ollie.

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“This is your room?” Natasha smirked, stepping inside.

You blushed rubbing the back of your neck as she looked over your trophies.

“Such a jock.” She smirked seeing you with Finn and Mike in your uniforms. ”You were even a looker back then.”

You clear your throat before saying. “I still have that uniform.”

She turned, raising her brow with a slight smirk.

“I will definitely be taking it back home.” You nod.

Natasha giggled, turning around and looking back at the photos on your nightstand.

“This is baby Beth?” She smiled seeing Quinn holding her in the hospital bed with you right next to them.

“Yeah, 20 inches and 5 pounds 8 ounces.” You smile.

“She was a long baby.” She chuckled.

“That she was.”

“A lot of photos of Quinn.” Natasha smirked.

“Yeahhhh.” You cleared your throat.

“Is that a poster of Quinn?” Natasha furrowed her brow.

“Oh my God.” You rushed trying to take it down off the back of your door. “I originally had something else here and she made me put this up instead.” You huff finally taking it down.

“Oh? And what was it?”

“A poster of the Victoria's Secret angels.” You muttered.

Natasha chuckled lowly walking over to you. She took the poster, setting it in the trash before laying her hands on your chest. “I take it you only ever had Quinn in this room?”

You nod leaning down, capturing her lips, and letting your hands grip her waist. “You wanna know what I’ve been craving?” You ask as you nibble on her neck.

“What’s that?” She sighs holding in a moan as you bite down on her sweet spot.

“Your taste.” You husk.

“Oh fuck.” She bites her lip feeling the way you palm her ass.

In one swift motion, you lift her up on your dresser only to be interrupted by a knock on your door.

You sigh against her forehead.

“Natalia!” Yelena sings her name.

“Natttty!” Fin giggles as she mimics Yelena.

Natasha smiles, kissing your lips promising you that tonight you can taste her.

You step away as she hops off and you open the door.

“Yessss?” You chuckle.

“Just wanted to see your room.” Yelena smirks.

You chuckle watching Fin hop on your desk chair spinning in circles.

“Oh my gosh, is this little Y/N?” Yelena smirked, lifting a photo of you Finn, and Mike through the years for Halloween.

Natasha squealed looking over the photos.

“Awww baby you were, let's see… The Power Rangers, Jedi, ninjas, GhostBusters, and are you Superman here?“

“Yes.” You mutter with a roll of your eyes.

“Awww!” Natasha fawned over baby you.

“You know I have many more photos downstairs I can show you all while the food is cooking.” Your mom beamed.

“Aw no mom please-“

“It’s too late Y/L/N.” Yelena cackled following your mom with Finley in tow.

“Come on, I wanna see them.” Natasha smirks, taking your hand.

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Throughout dinner you were completely enamored with the way Natasha held an engaging and fun conversation with your parents. She was so freaking charming! Even Yelena!

Something you always knew about your parents is that they were a great judge of character when it came to people outside of the family. Take Mike and Finn for example. Your parents have known them since they were kids. They proudly watched all of you grow and mourned for months when Finn lost his life.

Then came other friends like the Glee club. Your parents liked most of the club, but there were a few they didn’t like very much like Rachel, Noah Puckerman, and even Quinn when you first started dating. It took them a long time to tolerate her.

Now here are two new people who will be in your life for good, and your parents are loving them.

“That was so good Sophia thank you.” Natasha placed her fork down wiping her mouth.

“It was delicious Mom.” You say standing up to collect the empty plates.

“Soooo good.” Yelena nodded.

“Thanks GG.” Beth smiled.

“Tasty.” Fin nodded as your mom wiped her mouth.

“It was my pleasure.” Sophia smiled.

“Thanks, hun, I’ll grab the desert.” Frankie smiled.

“Oh and a-“

“Coffee you got it, hun.” Frankie winked. “Any other takers?”

“I’ll take a cup.” Yelena smiled.

“Yes please.”

“Alrighty then I will brew a pot.”

“Me too popo!” Finley giggled.

“You got it!” Your dad laughed pecking her cheek.

You rinsed the dishes, setting them in the dishwasher as your father began brewing a pot of coffee and two hot cocoas.

You lean against the sink as the pot drips.

“How have things been dad?” You ask.

“Your mom and I are doing great. Just keeping busy at the house. Thinking about retirement.”

“Oh yeah?” You grin.

“Yeah but you know me, I love my work and I’m happy to continue it.”

“And mom?”

“She wants me to retire.” He chuckles along with you. “Wants to get a home in Mexico, but- I don’t know.” Your dad sighs.

“You don’t want to leave me huh?” You smirk.

“That and I know the minute we make it to Mexico your mother would be a wreck. She won’t admit it but she wants to be closer to you and the girls. I would like that too really. To watch you grow and watch the girls grow.” Your dad smiles as he imagines you nearby.

“Well you know I’d support whatever you both choose, but I would love it if you both lived closer. I can’t lie.” You laugh.

“I mean we could and still travel around every now and then.” Your dad mutters with a shrug deep in thought. “Anyway, how did it go with Quinn?”

“Oddly she’s been very calm.”

“Well maybe without her mother in her ear, she found some peace.” Your dad speaks as he pours the coffee.

You step up making Natasha’s and yours as he makes his and your moms. You both load up the tray with mugs and cookies before your dad grabs it and you both make your way to the table.

“Oooh, we’re playing Loteria?” You grinned.

“Just one game.” Your mom looks at Finley who is giggling as she sips her hot cocoa with the help of her popo. “Also because these two young ladies have never played before.”

“You two are going to love it.” You grinned.

“Who doesn’t love Mexican bingo.” Yelena chuckled as you carefully picked out your play card.

“Can I call them out GG?” Beth asked.

“Of course mi hija!”

“Okay is everyone ready?” Your dad asked.

Once Beth received the ’okay’ she began calling out the shuffled deck.

“La Dama, La Dama.”

“Great pernucation sweetheart.” your mom praises Beth.

“Oooh me too, me too, Bethy!” Fin smiled.

“Okay say this one with me Fin.” Beth showed the next card to her little sister before saying. “La Bandera.”

“La Bandera,” Finley repeated.

“That means the flag Fin.” Beth nodded with Finley.

“¿Has estado enseñando español a los niños?” Your mother asks you if you’ve been teaching the kids Spanish.

“I know it but Fin doesn’t.” Beth replied, smirking at you. “La Maceta, La Maceta.”

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, you know how important it is to teach Fin, Spanish before she gets older.”

“I know I’ll start teaching her I promise.”

“Ooooh can we play some Selena while we play?” Beth asks excitedly.

“Sure!” Your dad nods.

“Anything for Selenas!” You and your family quote.

”Okay, I need to watch this movie.” Yelena chuckles.

“Oh my gosh, I’ll totally show it to you!” Beth grins.

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As soon as the girls fell asleep you made your parents some hot cocoa and sat them down letting them know you still had one more gift for them.

“Merry Christmas.” You and Natasha smile, handing off a small box to your parents.

Your mom furrowed her brows as she began ripping the paper.

Your mom gasped seeing the small photo of Natasha’s ultrasound.

“You’re pregnant?” Your dad asks in shock.

“I am.” Natasha smiles squeezing your hand.

“Oh, my-“ your mom stands pulling Natasha in a hug. “Congratulations!”

“Congratulations!” Your dad laughs pulling you in a hug.

Natasha cries tears of joy as your mother talks about how she’ll be there for Natasha every step of the way.

“The girls don’t know yet. Figured we’d tell them when we’re back home.” You explain.

“We won’t say a word.” Your parents nod.

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You and Natasha finally laid down in bed she immediately snuggled into you. You looked down kissing her lips letting your hand roam down her body to her bottom.

“Hmm… hmhm.” She hummed, shaking her head.

“Aww come on baby we can be quiet.” You move to her neck nibbling her weak spot. She sighs and you say “Let’s mark my room with you.”

“As much as I want to wipe your ex-wife away from this room, I just can’t do it. Your parents are down the hall and the girls plus my sister-“

“Okay yeah, when you put it that way.” You mutter.

“I love that you can’t get enough of me.” She chuckles, booping your nose.

“I’ll never get enough of you.” You say pecking her temple.

“Your mom asked me about our wedding.”

“Did you show her your binder?”

“I did.” Natasha chuckled.

“What’d she say?”

“She said I have great taste, and she and your dad want to help us with the wedding.”

“Oh, wow, yeah, I’ll have to talk to them about that. We don’t need it.”

“I know that but they’re your parents, they're going to want to help. Just like mine will want to as well.”

You nod as you yawn.

“I’ve been thinking maybe we could have our wedding in the next two years. I want time to lose the baby weight and of course to have time with our baby before we have our honeymoon.”

“We could always hire a nanny to go with us. That way we have time for ourselves and still see our kids.”

“Maybe I can convince Yelena and her friend Kate.”

“That is a wonderful idea.” You sigh pulling her close. “Goodnight my love.”

“Goodnight mi amor.” Natasha smirks as you chuckle sleepily.

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“Hi, Nat!” Mike smiled, hugging her before turning towards you. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hey bud, hi Tina.” You grin, hugging them. “You remember Natasha.”

“Hi, Nat.” Tina nodded hugging her as well.

“It’s been a while we’ll all have to meet up more.” Mike chuckled.

“Oooh yeah, double date!” Tina grinned.

“Yeah and a third wheel.” You chuckled along with Natasha.

“Wha-“ Mike and Tina furrowed their brows.

“Whose the third wheel?” Mike asked before noticing your and Natasha’s hand.

Mike gasps loudly startling Tina causing her to look at his line of sight.

“Oh my God you’re pregnant?!” Tina gasped.

You and Nat looked at one another smiling lovingly before nodding at them.

“Congratulations!” Tina beamed giving Nat and you another hug.

“Damn, Y/N, you’ve got some magic beans.” He snickered.

You laughed seeing the rest of the club trickle in.

“Natasha!” Kurt squealed, rushing towards her.

“Kurt hi!” She giggled as he hugged her

“Easy honey.” Blaine chuckled before saying hello.

“I'm so glad you two could make it.” Kurt smiled.

“Us three.” You grin.

“Wha-“ Kurt furrowed his brow.

“Us three.” Natasha giggled holding her stomach with your hand.

“Oh! Ohhhh! You’re pregnant!” Kurt squealed, jumping up and down.

“Shut the fuck up are you serious?!” Santana laughed.

“I totally called it.” Brittany nodded.

“Oh damn, you got two baby mamas now.” Artie raised his brows.

“Boy shut up.” Mercedes huffed at him.

“Congratulations you two that’s awesome.” Sam Evans smiled, giving you both a hug.

“So is the wedding before you blow up like a whale or after you lose the baby weight?”

Everyone turned back to see Coach Sue Sylvester leaning against the door panel.

“Coach Sylvester?” Brittany furrowed her brows.

“Is this hell?” Santana asked, looking around.

Sylvester walked in and the crowd parted instantly, everyone still afraid of her wrath.

“Hmm, I heard you left Fabray.” She stared you down. “She was always my top Star. Never had another great like her. So Quinn, giving you two kids is not enough for you?”

“Uh, that’s not-“

“You knocked her up in her prime, and now what? You do the same to this-“

“Alright, that’s enough. I don’t know who you are, and quite frankly, I don’t care to know. Your ’great leader’ is the one who ruined her own relationship. By not only destroying Y/N’s chance at MIT, and lying about another pregnancy, but sneaking around with Rachel Berry! Those are just three things. Is that not enough for you?” Natasha challenged the old Cheerios coach, raising her brow.

It was silent as the glee members' jaws dropped.

Sue studied the redhead intently before smirking. “I like you.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

“I can only imagine what it would have been like to have you as a cheerio.”

“Me too.” You mutter biting your lip.

“We would have been unstoppable in at least 3 counties.” Brittany grinned.

“Oh my God could you imagine the bloodshed that would have happened over this dummy?” Santana snickered, gesturing towards you.

“Hey.” You huffed.

“Ooh ooh, I know what would have happened!” Kurt grinned. “Quinn would have found out about Nat’s crush on Y/N, and would have totally stolen Y/N before Natasha could let them know how she feels. Then Y/N would have gotten closer to Nat cause come on. Then Quinn would have done something stupid like cheat on Y/N with Puckerman. Which would have pushed Nat and Y/N together. Then Quinn would try to get Y/N back over, and over again until she inevitably gets with Berry. All the while Avery attempts to even hold a conversation with Y/N.”

You and Natasha look towards Kurt with raised eyebrows.

“What?!” Kurt huffed as everyone stared at him.

“Sorry, but who is Avery?” You furrowed your brows.

“Gabrielle Avery dumbass.” Santana groaned.

“Ohhhh yeah!” You chuckled remembering the blue-eyed brunette.

Natasha furrowed her brows at you.

“I mean I don’t even know who that is.” You shrug.

“Annnnnyway who's down for some drinks? I’ve got Schuester’s credit card.” Sue smirked.

“Nice.” Brittany chuckled.

“That whole back-and-forth thing is still going on huh?” You ask the cheer coach.

“As God is my witness, he will never win.” Sue grit. “Anywho Lopez’s let’s go grab some booze.”

“Oh.” Santana raised her brow in surprise. “Yeah okay.”

“Oh, we’re drinking here?” Blaine asked in confusion.

“I’m the principal… I can do whatever I want.” Sue laughed before walking out with her favorite Cheerios in tow.

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Once Sue returned all of you were taking shots and mixing cocktails. You were currently watching your fiancé with your best friend singing her heart out to Say You’ll Be There by the Spice Girls.

”I'm giving you everything (I'll give you everything)

All that joy can bring (all that joy can bring)

This I swear (yes, I swear)

And (and) all that I want from you (all I want from you)

Is a promise you'll be there (is a promise you)

Yeah, I want you

Any fool can see they're falling

I gotta make you understand

I'll give you everything, on this I swear

Just promise you'll always be there

I'm giving you everything (I'm giving you everything)

All that joy can bring (all that joy can bring)

This I swear (yes, I swear)

And all that I want from you (all that I want from you)

Is a promise you (I want you to promise to)

Will be there (I'll be there)!”

You clapped and cheered along with the others.

“Hot damn Lopez you still got it with those pipes!” Sue clapped.

“Hell yeah, I do!” She grinned high-fiving Mercedes.

“You sang too.” You smiled, pecking Natasha’s forehead.

“It was fun.” She grinned. “You want a water Detka?”

You nod as she takes your solo cup, setting it on the table as she opens a water bottle For you.

“Thank you.” You smile, kissing her cheek.

“You’re welcome.” She grins sitting down.

“Y/LN! We’re up!” Sam grinned.

You give him a lazy thumbs up.

You line up with Sam, Artie, and Mike.

”It's tearin' up my heart when I'm with you

But when we are apart, I feel it, too

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you! Hey!”

“Oh wow!” Natasha giggles next to Santana. As they watch the 4 of you dance.

“Oh, it gets dorkier.” She cackles.

Mike slides to the center singing to Tina.

”Baby, I don't understand

Just why we can't be lovers

Things are getting out of hand

Tryin' too much, but baby, we can win

Let it go

If you want me, girl, let me know

I am down on my knees

I can't take it anymore!”

“It's tearin' up my heart when I'm with you

But when we are apart, I feel it, too

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you!”

Oh, alright

You slide up to the middle.

“Baby, don't misunderstand (Don't misunderstand)

What I'm tryin' to tell ya

In the corner of my mind (Corner of my mind)

Baby, it feels like we're runnin' out of time

Let it go

If you want me, girl, let me know

I am down on my knees

I can't take it anymore!”

“It's tearin' up my heart when I'm with you

But when we are apart, I feel it, too

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you!”

“Tearin' up my heart and soul

We're apart, I feel it, too

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you

Tearin' up my heart and soul (Alright)

We're apart, I feel it too (I feel it, too)

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you

It's tearin' up my heart when I'm with you

(Tearin' up my heart and soul)

But when we are apart, I feel it, too

(We're apart, I feel it, too)

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you.”

“Good lord.” Sue laughed.

“Thank you thank youuuu!” Artie nodded, grinning lazily.

You hiccuped sitting next to Natasha and smiling at her. “Was the song too dorky?” You snickered.

“Just a bit but you were super cute singing it.” She smiled brushing your hair back. “Sometimes I forget how well you and Mike dance.”

Artie rolled over to you offering you a shot.

“No thanks.” You smile, shaking your head.

“Suit yourself.” He smirked, taking it for himself.

“You having fun?” You furrowed your brows. You felt a little guilty feeling a bit drunk when she can’t drink at all. This would have sent Quinn into a rage.

“I am actually! It’s cool that I get to see where you grew up and get to know your friends more.”

“You’re not mad that you can’t drink?”

“No!” Natasha huffed with a loving chuckle. “I’m pregnant. This is something I’ve always wanted and feared I couldn’t have. Not only that but I’m having a baby with you. My fiancé that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Plus it’s fun getting to see you sloshed. You're a little needy and I love it.” Natasha smirked, kissing your frown away.

“I’m not needy.”

“Baby, earlier you got sad because I had to leave you to go and pee.”

“Oh yeah.” You chuckled.

Your attention was diverted hearing Mercedes yelling at Artie.

“Artie put it down.”

“I’m g-giving Finn a shot.” He huffed.

“Come on Artie.” You sighed, taking the framed picture of Finn.

“He wanted- a drink too.” Artie hiccups.

You grabbed a napkin and some water and wiped the alcohol off the picture frame.

Natasha walked over towards you looking down at the photo of your lost friend.

“You okay baby?” She asked softly as she took the frame and placed it back on the wall.

“Hmhm.” You nod, taking her hand.

“Y/N, play us a song.” Blaine smiled as Kurt snuggled into his side.

“Yeah!” Mike clapped.

“Oooh do Adele!” Kurt slurred half asleep on his husband’s shoulder. “Wait! No! Celine!”

“I’m not tryin’ to cry.” Mercedes shook her head.

“I think I’ll do a song from one of Finn’s favorite bands.” You say lifting the guitar.

Everyone sat down, some with drinks others snuggled into their partners' side.

Your fingers began picking the strings of the guitar as you began the intro.

“Aww, I haven’t heard this in so long.” Sam smiled while taking a sip of his drink.

“Shut up trouty the song is starting!” Santana hissed.

Natasha chuckled looking around as your friends began singing along with you.

”Breathe in for luck, breathe in so deep. This air is blessed, you share with me. This night is wild, so calm and dull. These hearts, they race, from self-control. Your legs are smooth as they graze mine. We're doing fine, we're doing nothing at all.

My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me!

So won't you kill me, so I die happy? My heart is yours to fill or burst to break or bury! Or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer.

The words are hushed, let's not get busted. Just lay entwined here, undiscovered. Safe in here from all the stupid questions. ‘Hey, did you get some?’ Man, that is so dumb.

Stay quiet, stay near, stay close, they can't hear. So we can get some…”

Natasha smirked as you sang to her. She really doesn’t even know this song, but its quickly becoming her favorite.

“My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me! So won't you kill me, so I die happy?! My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury! Or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer.

Hands down, this is the best day I can Ever remember, I'll always remember the sound Of the stereo, the dim of the soft lights! The scent of your hair that you twirled in your fingers! And the time on the clock when we realized it's so late! And this walk that we shared together!

The streets were wet, and the gate was locked. So I jumped it and I let you in. And you stood at your door with your hands on my waist. And you kissed me like you meant it! And I knew that you meant it, that you meant it, that you meant it! And I knew that you meant it, that you meant it…”

The glee club cheered and laughed as Natasha ran into your arms.

“I love you.” She sighed against your lips.

“I love you too, Nat.”

“Know a good spot where you can show me just how much?” Natasha smirked.

“Oh wo- You wanna-?“

Natasha giggled, nodding.

“Yes. Yup. Let’s go.” You both slip out unnoticed.

You take her to the old Cheerios locker room.

“Are these massage tables?” Natasha furrowed her brow.

“The Cheerios have a masseur on retainer.” You explain as you lift her up.

“Hmmm,” Natasha sighed against your lips. “Seeing you singing and playing guitar… it’s just- fuck it’s so sexy!” Your fiancé made a move to unbuckle your belt but stopped abruptly.

“Uh oh, what’s wrong?”

“I feel sick… wait no I’m horny… wait no I’m hungry. Ugh! I’m all three how is that possible?!” Natasha was so frustrated she began to cry.

“Whoa hey, it’s okay love. Let’s get you some food. I’m hungry too actually could go for a-“

“A burger! No pizza! Wait no… a burger.” She nodded.

“Come on, let's go see if the boozers wanna come.”

You both walk back to the choir room when you see them counting down.

“Just in time.” Santana smirked as she handed you a cup of champagne.

“Here Nat it’s just ginger ale.” Brittany grinned.

“Ball drops at 10!”

“I’m sorry detka I really wanted us to be- you know right about now.” She cringed; she really did want to give you a special happy new year.

“Don’t worry about love.” You chuckle as everyone begins counting down.

“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! Happy New Year!!!!!!”

You turned to Natasha kissing her softly.

“Happy New Year.” You both smile against one another before pulling away.

“Happy New Year guys!” Mike grinned hugging you both.

Soon everyone was hugging and laughing.

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“Hmmmmm, oh my God!”

Your eyes widen watching your fiancé eating her burger.

“Damn Y/N does she moan more with the burger or with you?” Santana smirked, elbowing your side.

“Fuck you, Lopez.” You laughed

“Detka, can I have another milkshake?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

“How’s the wedding planning going?” Kurt asked as he ate his husband's fries.

“It’s kind of taken a hit. We’re having a baby now so I wanna be able to lose the baby weight before the wedding, but I can show you what I have in mind.”

“I would love to design your dress and maybe even the bridesmaid dresses. I know I’m not Vera or Vivienne-“

“Oh Kurt, I would love that.”

“I’ll come by soon and bring some samples and you can show me your wedding ideas.” Kurt smiled.

“Don’t be afraid to tell him no.” Blaine chuckled pecking Kurt’s temple who punched him lightly.

“I will obviously also be designing Y/N’s tux and the groomsmen’s suits.”

You sat down with two milkshakes.

“Thanks, malysh.” Natasha smiled sweetly pecking your cheek.

“If I could give you any tips on the wedding it would be to remember that it’s about you two not about the guests.” Mercedes chimed in.

“Yeah, don’t get stressed out it’s your day and that’s all that matters.” Sam nodded.

“Take mental pictures and remember deep breaths.” Blaine added.

“Remember deep breaths.” Kurt chuckled.

“I have no advice… oh wait no! I do! Scan everything you want for the registry!”

“I second that.” Brittany giggles.

“Dude you can-“

“Already ahead of you.” You cackled, showing Mike the new Lego set that dropped that you have been wanting.

“Y/N, we are so not getting Lego on the registry.”

“This is for the whole family.” You defend.

“Hmhm.” Natasha rolled her eyes playfully.

Once all of you finished eating you all said your goodbyes and see you laters. Everyone wishes you both the best of luck and a healthy pregnancy.

You were halfway home when Natasha told you to pull over. You stopped in an empty secluded parking lot.

“You okay? Do you need-“

Natasha interrupted you, kissing your lips sensually before moving to the back seat. She smirked at you as she slowly began removing the straps of her dress.

“Oh wow.” You immediately followed her to the back, hitting your knee on the way, but you couldn't care less.

You moaned against her lips as she straddled you kissing you with as much passion as she could muster. Her lips moved against yours in a perfect dance. The faint taste of chocolate and strawberry against your tongue.

You both break slightly apart panting puffs of air fogging the windows of the car. You lean down a bit licking her nipples as she rocks against you before pulling you back in a kiss.

You sigh against her lips feeling her grinding against you. “I love you so much, Natalia.” You say softly as you push her hair back.

The red-haired siren let her fingers dig through your hair

“I love you so very much… Now show me 'cause I’m incredibly wet for you and I don’t feel sick.” She smirked diving back into you.

You unbuckle your belt before shoving your pants down when you notice Natasha on your side bent over on her knees. Her dress pushed up over her bottom and her thing pushed over to the side.

She looked back at you biting her lip as she sees the vein leading down to your cock.

“I can’t taste you first?” You smirk.

“Next time, right now I’m so wet and my pussy is throbbing for you.”

You frown a bit, you love tasting her.

“Come here.” She husks.

You feel her mouth around you in seconds. “Fuck so good but so unfair.”

“No biting.” You hiss slapping her ass.

“I can’t help it.” She smirks as you get behind her.

“That’s okay baby you can make it up to me.” You smirk slapping her cheek once more before letting your member run against her clit.

Natasha huffed in frustration before taking you in her hand and pushing you inside her throbbing cunt.

“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to me.” You groan as Natasha rides you slowly making sure to take every last inch of you.

“You like this baby?” She smirks looking back at you as she rides your staff.

“Fuck so much.” You husk letting your hands roam her backside.

You lean down, capturing her lips making sure to bite down on her bottom lip.

“Hmm, detka, you feel so good inside me.” She sighs as you grab her hair with one hand and grasp her hip with the other.

“You better hold on to something.” You grunt as you begin hammering your hips. You smirk as she slaps a hand on the window and the other on the passenger seat headrest.

“Ooooh fuuuuuck! Yesss right there malysh!” Natasha groaned, meeting your every thrust.

Her body rises keeping you deep inside her as she rotates her hips against your skin.

You both moan against one another as you piston your movements together.

“Fuuuuuck!” You groan letting your hands run against her stomach and tits. Your fingers playing with her nipples. You move one hand to her throat and the other wrapped around her midsection.

“I’m so close, keep going!” Natasha moans.

You roughly turn her neck to kiss you as you continue your rhythm. You grunt hearing her moans rise in octaves.

She twitches against you groaning as her pussy grips your member vibrating around you.

“Oh Y/N… Oh, daddy!” She whimpers, still feeling high.

“Such a good girl you’ll give daddy another right?” You husk in her ear.

“Yes, daddy.” She nods.

You push her down and grip her hips as you thrust hard and fast.

Natasha let out a guttural moan as you hit her spot over and over.

“Ohhh fuuuuuck!” You groaned feeling your cum shoot deep inside her pussy.

You panted heavily feeling your dick twitch seeing her pussy drenched in cum. “Look at that.” You sigh seeing your cum seeping from her pussy. You slowly gather your combined juices on your staff before dumping it on her pussy before sliding back in.

“I love when you fill me up.” She moans.

“Me too baby.” You hum feeling her clench around you.

You pull her against you, sitting you both down. She turns her neck kissing you once more.

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You quietly entered the house to find Yelena FaceTiming Kate with Beth and Fin passed out around her.

“Well, well, well look who just walked in.” She smirked, noticing how disheveled the two of you looked.

“Happy New Year to you too.” Natasha grinned.

“Happy New Year Nat! Oh, and you too Y/N! Congratulations by the way.“ Kate waved.

“Happy New Year afterthought.” Yelena cackled.

“You flipped her off as you lifted Beth.”

“Damn it, Lena.” Natasha grit.

“It’s just Kate she won’t tell anyone.”

“Lips are sealed.”

Natasha lifted Fin.

“Babe no I’ll get Fin in a minute.”

“Y/N, I can lift Fin I promise.

“Cestra let me.”

“Zip it both of you. I'm not a whale yet I can do it.”

You sighed making your way up the staircase as your daughter snored away.

“Natty?” Fin yawned.

“It’s okay malysh go back to sleep.”

“I made it to midnight with Lena, GG, and Popo.”

“You’re such a big girl.” Natasha pecked her cheek.

“I missed you and Papa.”

“We missed you too bug.”

“Next year will you stay with me?”

“Yes, bug you me, and Papa.”

“And Bethy.”

“And Beth.” She nodded.

“And Lena.” Fin added.

“And Yelena.”

“And Niko.”

“Whose Niko?” Natasha asked, laying her down and looking up at you as you struggled tucking Beth in who continued to snore away. Just like her mother, she’s a deep sleeper.

“My baby broder. He’s not here yet but he will be.”

“How- Fin what do you mean your baby brother?” You press kneeling next to Natasha.

“My baby broder Niko he’s in Nattys tumtum.” Fin smiled sleepily.

“Fin how do you know that? Did someone tell you something?”

“I’ve been dreaming of him.” Fin yawned. “He says he’s cited to meet you and Papa. Niko says he chose Natty because he saw how much she wanted a baby too. Kisses pwease.”

Stunned you lean over pecking her forehead and Natasha leans down pecking her cheek.

“G‘night.” Fin yawned, turning over to snuggle her big sister.

You stand dimming the lamp before helping Natasha up.

You both quietly make your way to your room sitting on the bed still stunned by what Fin said.

“Holy shit.” You mutter rubbing your face. “That was weird.”

“A little but I’ve heard of toddlers like Fin who have this kind of… gift? I don’t know what you would call it… foresight? I mean Y/N you said you saw him in your dream.”

“I did.” You nod.

“I don’t want to freak you out but Nikolai is the name I wanted if we have a boy.”

“Nikolai. Niko is totally what I would call him too.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

You both quickly brush your teeth and wash your faces before lying down.

You lower yourself down toward Natasha’s stomach.

“Hi, Niko. We can’t wait to meet you too.” You say softly before kissing her stomach and moving back up to hold her.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Natasha smiles snuggling against you.

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You say your goodbyes to your parents who tell you they’ve decided to move closer to you and Natasha. The flight home was fast and the drive back home was good. Everything was going great until your daughters began arguing right when they got home.

“Natty where will Niko sleep?”

“Fin stop it! There is no Niko! Stop being weird.” Beth snapped.

“Beth-“

“Niko is real! He’s our brother!”

“Girls-“

“Stop it! There is no-“

“Beth.” You say again getting her attention by the tone of your voice. You weren’t angry, you weren’t even frustrated. “Let’s talk.”

You sit your children down sitting across from them on the coffee table along with Natasha.

“Beth, Fin is right Natasha and I are having a baby. You're going to have another sibling. Not anytime soon but you will, come August.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Beth, watch your mouth!” You say in shock.

“Ooo Bethy said a baaaaad woooord.”

“First you cheated on Mom and left us for her, and now you’re telling me you’re having a baby with her?!” Beth huffed standing up in anger.

“Beth it wasn’t like that. I didn’t leave-“

“You did leave! You left us to start another family! You think you can fool me but you can’t! You think you can buy me new shit and a pc and everything will be okay, but it’s not! She will never be mom.” Beth had tears in her eyes from how angry she was. She looked just like Quinn when she was upset. She snapped her head to Natasha giving her a look that would kill. “You will never be my Mom.”

“Beth.” You took a deep breath. “I know you’re angry, but first please stop cursing at me, and do not look at her like that. I am your parent and Natasha is your stepmother; show a little more respect. Second, I got you those things not to make things okay, but to help you feel more at home. I know things are different and they’re moving so fast, but I love you so much. I could never replace you, Fin, or even your mother for that matter. The is your mom and I were not working together anymore. We tried for a couple of years, and it just wasn’t good for us anymore. She was unhappy with me and I her. We would have split up even if Natasha was not in the picture.“

“Beth, I’m not trying to replace your mom. Quinn loves you and Fin very much. I just want your mom to feel at ease knowing that I will always treat you and Fin as my own as well.”

“You aren’t my stepmother yet and that is not my brother.” Beth huffed pointing to Natasha before lifting her bag.

“Where are you going?” You ask. “Let’s talk this out, Beth.”

“I’m going home. Fin come on let’s go.”

Fin looked at you and Natasha unsure of what to do.

“Fin, come on it’s moms week anyways. Let’s go.”

“It’s okay bug I’ll walk you.” You sigh it is Quinn’s week and you're sure she misses the girls.

Beth all but ran out the door.

“Bye Natty.” Fin hugged Natasha tightly and whispered to her stomach. “It’s okay Niko, she didn’t mean it.”

Natasha kissed her cheek as you lifted her up.

“I’ll be back.”

Natasha nodded wiping her tears.

“You okay?”

“Hmhm.” Natasha nodded.

“Fin is right Beth didn’t mean it. She’s just angry and doesn’t know what to do about it. She’ll come around.” You say softly pecking her temple before walking out the door. As soon as you walked to your old home Quinn met you in the living room.

“What happened?”

“We told her about the baby.” You say setting Finley down who ran to Quinn. “She’s not taking it very well.”

“Mommy! I missed you!��� She beamed, kissing Quinn’s cheek.

“I missed you too, Finley.” She smiled, holding her little girl tightly.

“You look great.” You chuckled, taking in her appearance. She was tan and looked more relaxed than she had in years.

”Thank you.” She smiled.

“How was the trip?”

“It was so relaxing. I loved it but I did miss the girls.” She smiled with a shrug.

“Mommy, I made it to midnight!”

“I remember you called and talked to me, remember we Facetimed.”

“Oh yeah!” Finley giggled.

“Wanna help me make dinner.”

“No.” Finley giggled.

“How rude!” Quinn tickled her. “Beth will come around.” Quinn looked over at you.

“I don’t know, she is your daughter.” You chuckled.

“Ha ha…Give her time. I’ll talk to her after she cools down.

You nod and kiss Finley before leaving them and returning to your fiancé.

“She just needs time.” Natasha spoke as she ran her fingers through your hair.

You wanna believe that you desperately do, but at the end of the day she is Quinn’s mini me.

[cjjohansson]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

sumary: The last thing Natasha expected was for her one-and-Half-year-old daughter to fall head over heels for the one person on the team who didn’t like kids.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader. Natasha Romanoff x platonic!avengers

Word count: 5075

warnings: age gap, light mommy issues if you squirm your eyes, fluffly content, Natasha being the best mom ever, light humor and jokes

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓂃𓈒𓏸 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᥫ᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ༝ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨♡୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᡣ𐭩 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꩜　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　⸝⸝⸝♡　　⁺　　୨୧　　　₊　 　 ˚₊

Natasha had never been the type to hope for softness.

Not for herself, at least.

She’d made her peace with that years ago—on the rooftops of Budapest, in the sterile hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D., in the long silences between missions where guilt and memory left no room for sentiment. And then came Ana. Not by accident. Not by surprise. By choice. Hers. A deliberate, defiant, I want this, spoken with all the clarity of a life finally claimed.

She never regretted a moment of it. Not the injections. Not the procedures. Not the days spent alone, watching her body change, knowing no one was coming but not needing anyone to. Ana was the best thing she’d ever done. Her softness, her quiet, her stubborn spark—that was Natasha’s legacy now. Not blood. Not missions. Her. Anasthasia Irina Romanoff. She’d chosen Irina long before Ana was even born. It wasn’t a family name, or a tribute to anyone in her past—it was a hope. Irina meant peace, and that’s what Ana was. Her stillness after decades of running. Her soft beginning after a life of sharp edges. Natasha had spent so many years living on instinct, choosing danger over safety, solitude over softness. But Ana was different. Ana meant slow mornings. Shared breakfasts. Laughter in the middle of the day for no reason at all. She gave her the name Irina because, for the first time, Natasha wasn’t surviving anymore. She was living. And Ana was the reason why.And maybe that’s why she was so protective of it—why she kept the world at arm’s length and Ana even closer. This calm, this rhythm she’d built, it was fragile in the way that mattered most. So when new variables appeared—new people, new energies—Natasha never let them close enough to shift the balance.

So she didn’t expect anything to come from your arrival.

Not in the way that mattered.

You were Tony’s daughter, and Natasha had always paid attention to the way people spoke about you—with a mixture of respect and restraint, like they weren’t quite sure what to do with someone who carried the Stark name but none of his chaos. She knew you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were barely old enough to be called an adult, that you’d carved your space without leaning on legacy, and that you’d been stationed in England for the last few years—low profile, high results.

She also knew something more personal. Something quieter.

You didn’t like children.

Not in a cold, heartless way. You weren’t cruel. You were respectful—always. Natasha remembered the way you helped Lila Barton when she scraped her knee during a holiday visit, how you’d stayed still and calm while the girl sobbed against your shoulder. But the moment she calmed, you’d set her down gently and disappeared from the room like your presence had been an accident. You didn’t mock them, or treat them like they were less-than. You just… didn’t want them near. Didn’t invite them close. Natasha understood that. Some people didn’t crave the chaos, the unpredictability, the weight of something small depending on you.

That was fine.

That was expected.

Which is why she didn’t even flinch when she brought Ana to the morning briefing.

The meeting was scheduled in one of the larger lounge rooms—bright windows, low coffee tables, plenty of space for Ana to exist without needing constant wrangling. Natasha had done this dozens of times. Her daughter came with her everywhere now. She didn’t leave Ana behind unless she absolutely had to. The team had long since adapted.

You, however, were new.

She entered the room with Ana tucked against her side, one arm looped around the child’s waist with practiced ease. You were already seated—coffee in hand, face unreadable, posture casual but distant. Natasha didn’t expect more than a polite nod, maybe a glance. And that’s what she got. You didn’t tense. You didn’t retreat. You simply acknowledged her presence and turned your eyes back to the screen.

But Ana didn’t.

Ana saw you. And for the first time since Natasha could remember, her daughter paused.

Not in fear. Not in confusion. In recognition.

It started as a slow shift—her little body repositioning against Natasha’s ribs, eyes locked in your direction, curious and alert. Then the squirming began. Not impatient, not fussy—focused. Ana leaned out of her arms, little hand pointing downward.

Natasha frowned. “What’s going on, kotyonok?” she murmured, brushing her lips lightly across Ana’s hair.

“Down,” Ana whispered.

Natasha blinked.

Ana rarely asked to leave her arms during meetings. And never in unfamiliar rooms. She’d been clingy the last few days—teething, off her sleep schedule, adjusting to so many new faces around the compound again. But now, her little legs were kicking softly, hands gripping at Natasha’s shirt in earnest.

“Down,” she repeated.

Natasha hesitated—glanced at you.

You weren’t watching Ana anymore. You were watching her. Confused. Curious. But not annoyed. Not disapproving.

Natasha could read people down to the smallest twitch of a muscle, and in that moment, she read one thing clearly: you didn’t know what was happening either.

So she shifted forward and lowered Ana gently to the carpeted floor.

Ana’s sneakers touched down. She took one look back—brief, instinctive—then turned toward you like she already knew the path.

Natasha’s chest tightened.

One step. Then another.

You looked up.

There was a breath, the room shrinking around it.

Ana stopped at your knees. Her curls were mussed from her mother’s shoulder, her little fox plush dangling from one hand. She tilted her head to look at you properly. She didn’t blink.

And then she lifted both arms toward you.

“Lap.”

You froze.

Not in fear. Not rejection. Natasha saw it—something break quietly across your expression, the way your eyebrows lifted just slightly, like your own body didn’t understand how it was reacting before your brain caught up. There was no mask now. No calm Stark logic, no precise detachment. Just you—and the shock of being chosen by someone so small, so unrelenting, and so certain.

Natasha didn’t move.

She stood where she was, heart pounding quietly behind her ribs, not from fear or worry—but something more intimate. Something that reached the parts of her still holding every shattered version of family she’d ever known. She watched as you stared down at the child who had never, not once, walked into a stranger’s arms. And she waited. Because whatever happened next… would matter.

You didn’t reach for Ana immediately.

Natasha noticed the exact moment your eyes lifted—not to the child now reaching for you with unwavering certainty, but to her. And it wasn’t a question. Not quite. There was no panic in your expression, no discomfort. Just a pause. A stillness that asked without words: Is this alright?

And Natasha, who rarely let anyone past the perimeter of her trust, gave you the smallest, most intentional nod.

You moved like someone reaching into deep water—carefully, gently, aware of the weight of what you were about to hold. Your hands met Ana’s sides, small and secure, and you lifted her with practiced ease, as though this wasn’t the first time, as though her body already knew how to fold against yours. She settled into your lap like it belonged to her.

Like she had always meant to end up there.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat.

Ana laid her head lightly against your chest, little cheek pressing into the dark fabric of your jacket. One of her hands tucked the fox between your arm and her belly; the other—small, dimpled fingers—reached up to your collarbone and found your hand.

And then she started to play.

Not with toys, not with distractions. Just your hand. Your fingers. One by one she explored them, pressing her thumb into your palm, curling your pinky against her own, dragging the tips along her forehead in idle motion. Her eyes drifted half-closed, calm and curious, while you stayed perfectly still—watching her with that same look Natasha couldn’t read.

It was almost unbearable, the quiet of the moment.

The meeting had technically begun, but Natasha hadn’t registered a single word Steve said. She hadn’t even sat down. She just stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes on the impossible softness blooming in front of her.

Because that’s what it was. Impossible.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated. You hadn’t done what most people did—smile politely, hand Ana back, or distract her with something shiny so they could pass her off. You were just… there. Entirely present. Letting her settle. Letting her explore. Letting her choose.

And she had chosen you.

The worst part—if she could call it that—was that Natasha wasn’t angry. She wasn’t suspicious. She wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Because looking at you now—back straight, eyes lowered, completely surrendered to the tiny storm nestled in your lap—something made sense in her chest that hadn’t before.

Ana had found something.

Or maybe, someone.

And Natasha wasn’t sure what that meant yet, or how far she would allow it to grow—but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she didn’t feel the need to pull away. She walked slowly to her seat across from you, quiet as a shadow, never breaking the spell. And when she sat down, she didn’t take her eyes off you. The briefing wrapped without fanfare.

Steve’s voice faded into background noise, Bruce gathered his notes, and the others filtered out one by one with practiced efficiency. No one commented on Ana—no one dared. Maybe because they saw the weight of the moment. Maybe because it wasn’t theirs to touch.

The room was almost too quiet now.

Ana had slipped fully into sleep, her tiny hand still curled lazily around your finger, her head rising and falling against your chest like she’d found the safest place in the universe. You hadn’t moved. Not really. Just shifted to make her more comfortable—let her sink deeper into you without hesitation, like her weight belonged there.

Natasha couldn’t look away.

You hadn’t noticed—at least, she thought you hadn’t. You never were one to fidget under attention. But there was something different about you now. Something unguarded beneath all that calm.

“I have to admit,” she said, voice low, “this wasn’t how I pictured our first real conversation going.”

You glanced at her, brow arching just a little. “And how did you picture it?”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Not with my daughter wrapped around you like a vine.”

You leaned back slightly, careful not to disturb Ana, and gave her that expression—dry, sharp, quietly amused. “You sound jealous.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Should I be?”

You made a show of glancing down at Ana, then shrugged one shoulder—so subtle it barely moved her. “She’s got good taste.”

The laugh caught in Natasha’s throat before she could stop it. Soft, surprised. God, you were so damn composed, and yet there was something underneath that surface—a spark of something warmer, something playful. She hadn’t expected that. And she was rarely caught off guard.

“I should warn you,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “If you let her get used to that lap, you’re going to regret it.”

“I don’t regret much.”

“She’s one and a half. You’ll regret it the next time you try to drink a coffee without someone demanding half of it.”

You smiled—not a smirk, not your usual reserved grin. An actual smile. And Natasha had to look away, just for a moment, because something in her chest pulled taut at the sight.

“And here I thought you brought her to meetings as a distraction tactic,” you said.

She looked back at you with narrowed eyes, playful. “You think I’d use my daughter to throw someone off their game?”

“I think,” you said, gaze darkening just a little, “that if anyone could weaponize a toddler, it’d be you.”

Natasha laughed, this time all the way—low and warm in her chest, real in a way she didn’t usually allow to slip out. She shook her head, leaning back in her chair.

“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.

You tilted your head. “Me? You’re the trained assassin.”

“Exactly.” Her eyes dropped to the sleeping girl between you. “And you’re the one she asked for.”

The silence curled again. Not cold. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed.

You looked down at Ana once more, brushing a thumb lightly over her curls where they stuck up against your collar. “Don’t get used to this,” you said, not looking at Natasha. “I’m still not a fan of kids.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she replied, watching the way you softened around the edges without realizing it.Natasha didn’t argue—she didn’t have to. The proof was already wrapped around your side in cookie-stained pajamas. She just watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth, the kind that stayed long after you’d left the room.

She knew this wouldn't be a one- time thing. 

A few days later, the morning unfolded differently, slower. Late morning sunlight filtered lazily into the kitchen, warm and indifferent. It fell across the countertops, gleamed off metal handles, and lit the soft chaos that was breakfast—or rather, the battle of breakfast.

Ana was seated in her high chair like a tiny queen in revolt, arms crossed firmly, lips pursed in open rebellion. The oatmeal had gone cold fifteen minutes ago. Natasha had tried coaxing, bribing, even threatening to call Bruce if she didn’t eat. Nothing worked. The spoon sat abandoned in the bowl like a white flag.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Natasha muttered, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Other people’s kids don’t get away with this.”

Ana remained unimpressed. She glared past Natasha’s shoulder as if expecting reinforcements.

The door creaked open behind them.

Natasha didn’t turn around right away—she was too focused on pretending she wasn’t about to lose a diplomatic war with a toddler. But she didn’t need to look. She could hear it: the shuffle of slow, dragging footsteps, the soft grunt of someone whose soul was not yet awake. Then came the familiar hiss of the espresso machine, followed by the rustling of a bakery bag.

You’d arrived.

She turned.

You looked… awful.

Delightfully awful.

Hair wild from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, mismatched socks peeking out under flannel pants. You were cradling your coffee mug like a lifeline, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in a petulant line that said you’d only been conscious for five minutes and deeply regretted that fact.

In your other hand: a cheese croissant, still warm, still flaking. You tore off a corner and bit into it like someone performing life-saving triage.

Ana stared, Hard. So damn hard.

Not at Natasha. Not at the bowl of oatmeal she’d rejected like poison. But at you.

You took another bite, chewed, then finally glanced up—and blinked, slow and heavy.

Your gaze drifted to the high chair. To Ana’s unrelenting eyes. Then to Natasha.

“I take it we’re in the starvation phase of child rearing?”

“She’s being dramatic,” Natasha said.

Ana made a noise like a whimper and kicked her feet, You squinted at her. Then reached forward, broke off a soft piece of croissant, and held it out between your fingers.

Ana took it like it was sacred.

“Traitor,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

You made a sound between a hum and a sigh and dropped into a chair with all the weight of someone being punished by existence itself. “I’ve been up for six minutes,” you mumbled. “I haven’t even looked at another human being yet.”

Ana reached again, You fed her another bite.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s not helping, right?”

“She was clearly starving.”

“I told you—she’s not.”

“She’s got the same face I do when I haven’t eaten,” you said, deadpan. “We understand each other.”

Natasha studied you, the way you slouched, bleary-eyed and nonverbal, croissant in one hand, coffee in the other. She looked at Ana—mirroring your expression almost perfectly, down to the pout and the silent demand for carbs.

She huffed a laugh.

“My God. You’re the same person.”

You gave her a tired glare. “Keep talking. See if I share.”

“You’re both insufferable when hungry.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “Of what? Your shared standoffish breakfast cult?”

You sipped your coffee slowly, eyes flicking to Ana and back.

“She chose me,” you said, tone flat but triumphant. “I don’t make the rules.”

Ana squeaked with joy, flailing her hands toward the croissant again.

“She betrayed me,” Natasha replied, pointing to the untouched oatmeal. “I gave her life. You gave her cheese.”

You shrugged, already handing Ana another piece. “She’s got good taste.”

Natasha shook her head, lips twitching as she turned away to clean up the bowl of oatmeal. “You’re both ridiculous.”

You yawned, eyes half-lidded as Ana leaned her head dramatically on the edge of the tray, already chewing the last bite like it was a reward for surviving the morning. You were still half-asleep, leaning into your chair like gravity was trying to reclaim you, clinging to that coffee as if it were the only thing standing between you and the grave. You were cranky, antisocial before noon, and notoriously stubborn about food—especially when it was yours.

Which is why Natasha watched with mild astonishment as you rolled your eyes in a perfectly theatrical arc, sighed like a martyr, and wordlessly handed the rest of your croissant to Ana.

She squeaked with joy and took it like treasure, immediately stuffing the larger half into her mouth with both hands.

“Unbelievable,” Natasha muttered, not even bothering to hide her smile.

You ignored her, sipping your coffee in silence like you regretted every decision that had led to this exact moment. Your eyes were dark and tired, but there was no real irritation behind them. Just that quiet resignation you always wore when you knew you were losing a battle you never meant to fight in the first place.

You took another sip, then looked at her across the kitchen—eyes still half-lidded, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Give me the oatmeal.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward the abandoned bowl. “She doesn’t want it. And I’m starving.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, without a word, Natasha reached for the bowl and walked it over, setting it in front of you with a raised eyebrow. You didn’t meet her gaze. You just set your coffee aside and picked up the spoon like someone about to make peace with their fate.

Ana was already chewing noisily beside you, bits of pastry stuck to her cheek.

Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the counter again. “So let me get this straight,” she said, lips twitching. “You won’t share food with me, but she gets the last of your croissant and your breakfast?”

“She didn’t ask for it,” you said without looking up. “She demanded it with her eyes.”

“Right. So toddler mind control. That’s the explanation we’re going with.”

“She’s persuasive.”

“She’s one and a half.”

You glanced up then, finally, spoon midair. Your expression was blank, deadpan, and yet something in your eyes sparked with mischief.

“So am I,” you said.

And Natasha felt it—that little flicker again. The warmth that was growing far too easily in the quiet spaces between these moments. It settled somewhere under her ribs, soft and persistent.

You looked back down and took a bite of the oatmeal without flinching.

Ana, satisfied and full of croissant, leaned against the side of your arm and let out a sigh so deep it could only have come from the depths of her soul.

Natasha didn’t say anything else.

She just stood there, watching the two of you—both stubborn, both sleepy, both impossible—and thought, this isn’t going to stay simple, is it?

But she didn’t say that either.

She just smiled.And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.Days passed like that—quiet, unspoken things folding themselves into the rhythm of the compound. You didn’t come looking for Ana, but she kept finding you anyway. And Natasha… well, she kept watching. Kept noticing the way your edges softened more each time.

Then came the briefing.

It had started as a simple mission briefing. Nothing classified, nothing urgent—just a routine strategy session with the new intel team that Natasha absolutely couldn’t reschedule. One hour, tops. Ana would barely notice she was gone.

She was so wrong.

Clint had been her first call. Obvious choice. He knew how to juggle five kids and a mission report without blinking. But the moment Natasha handed Ana over, the girl went stiff in his arms like a statue, then started wailing as if he’d personally betrayed her.

Wanda tried next. Ana let her hold her for a full five seconds before twisting away like a feral cat and screeching “NO!” in a tone that made two agents duck for cover.

Steve, bless him, had approached with his most diplomatic smile and a stuffed bear in hand, only to be met with the full force of toddler disdain. Ana didn’t scream that time—just buried her face in Natasha’s neck and growled.

And Natasha… Natasha was five minutes late to her briefing and dangerously close to losing her mind.

Which is why, when you happened to pass by—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, clearly heading for the lab and not remotely interested in babysitting—Natasha didn’t think.

She acted.

“Ana, sweetheart?” she whispered, shifting the toddler to her hip. “Do you want to go see her?”

Ana lifted her head.

Wide green eyes blinked once. Then a slow, devilish smile curled across her face.

That was all Natasha needed.

“Catch,” she said dryly.

You turned just in time to fumble and catch the small human now squirming gleefully into your arms like she belonged there.

“Wait—what the—”

“Thanks!” Natasha called over her shoulder, already halfway down the corridor before you could protest.

Ana squealed in delight.

Natasha didn’t look back.

She made it to the meeting just in time. And to her own surprise, she didn’t spend the whole thing worried. Something about knowing Ana was with you—despite the fact you hated children (or said you did)—had her oddly at ease.

By the time she wrapped up and returned to the common floor, it had been almost ninety minutes. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and cleaning supplies. Bruce’s voice echoed from the open lab door, calm and methodical, talking through some kind of energy recalibration.

And there you were.

One hip leaned against the table, the other supporting Ana, who looked perfectly at home in the crook of your arm.

Your hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, your shirt was half-untucked and absolutely covered in cookie crumbs. Ana’s fingers were dusted with sugar. You were talking to Bruce about vibrational decay patterns in multi-core reactors, as if the weight of a toddler on your hip was completely natural. Your other hand gestured midair, precise, animated, still clutching a small whiteboard marker.

Ana watched your mouth move as if following every word.

Then she gagged—loudly and dramatically.

Not because of anything serious. Just… toddler flair.

You paused mid-sentence, looked down, and sighed. “Rude.”

Bruce snorted. “She takes after you.”

“She has better fashion sense.”

Ana giggled, then burrowed her face into your shoulder.

Natasha stood in the doorway, unnoticed for a second longer, just… watching. The way your body shifted automatically to balance Ana’s weight. The way you wiped her mouth with the edge of your sleeve without looking. The way you didn’t rush to give her back, or seem particularly bothered by the crumbs now stuck to your pants.

She cleared her throat.

You looked up, brows raised. “Hey.”

Natasha raised one eyebrow. “So… is this your new lab assistant?”

You looked at Ana, who blinked at her mother and clung just a little tighter.

“She works for cookies,” you said. “And occasionally heckles my equations.”

Natasha bit back a smile, folding her arms. “Well, she’s my daughter.”

“She’s very opinionated,” you said dryly, adjusting her on your hip. “She gagged at my thesis. I’m considering it a peer review.”

Ana giggled again, tucking her head against your collarbone.

Natasha stared at the two of you for another second, then finally stepped forward, brushing a few crumbs off your shoulder. Her fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to.

“You’re a mess,” she murmured.

You smirked. “I could be Your mess.”

She looked at you. And the words stuck somewhere behind her teeth, She didn’t say them.

Not yet.

Instead, she stepped forward, reaching her arms out gently. “Alright, peanut,” she said softly. “Come here.”

Ana blinked up at her mother, expression unreadable for a split second… then, without protest, reached out. You transferred her easily, and the little girl immediately curled into Natasha’s hold like she’d been waiting for it all along—her thumb going straight to her mouth, her head resting against the curve of her mother’s neck.

Warm.

Quiet.

Home.

Natasha’s hand rubbed small circles against her daughter’s back, and for a second, she just breathed her in. The scent of cookies, and your cologne, and a hint of vanilla shampoo clinging to soft hair.

“She’s full of sugar and attitude,” you said, brushing a crumb off your shirt.

Natasha glanced at you over Ana’s curls. “She’s exactly where she gets it from.”

You tilted your head, already sipping the coffee you’d left to cool. “You sure about that?”

Her smile curved lazily. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then she walked away—Ana heavy and content in her arms, safe, sleepy, and smiling like someone who had everything she wanted in one place. Natasha had gone to her apartment at the Tower —just late enough for the city to fall into a quieter rhythm, just early enough that Natasha hadn’t had time to put up her usual walls.

Ana was half-asleep on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone, and Natasha held her like she was made of something finer than glass. There was oatmeal in her hair. Cookie crumbs on her onesie. A smudge of ink on her tiny palm, and no one knew how it got there.

But Natasha had seen it.

She had seen it.

She’d walked into that lab expecting chaos—Bruce hunched over a console, a loose wire sparking somewhere, maybe you arguing with JARVIS about protocols. But instead she found you standing still in the middle of it all, with Ana on your hip and your shirt covered in evidence of breakfast bribery.

You didn’t even pause the conversation with Bruce. You just kept talking about cellular decay patterns, as if you hadn’t realized Ana was happily gnawing on a pencil and gagging every time you used the word “neurotransmitter.”

And that sound you made—that little laugh when she fake-gagged for the third time?

It rewired something in Natasha.

Now she sat at the edge of Ana’s bed, staring down at the little culprit like she’d committed an unforgivable act of treason.

“You traitor,” she whispered.

Ana, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of her crimes, blinked lazily at her mother, thumb already in her mouth.

Natasha sighed, brushing a loose curl from her daughter’s cheek.

“You did this on purpose.”

Ana made a content hum and reached for her blanket.

“Don’t play innocent now,” Natasha murmured, tucking the soft fabric under her chin. “I was fine. You hear me? I had balance. I had boundaries. I had one thing—one tiny, simple rule that I lived by.”

Ana blinked again. Unbothered.

“Don’t fall for anyone.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, quiet and helpless.

“You were supposed to be the only love of my life, peanut. You. I planned for you. I fought for you. You were the only thing I ever let myself want.”

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ana’s hair.

“I walked into that room today and you were hers. Just—completely and shamelessly hers. You were giving her orders like a little general and she was just taking it. And smiling. She never smiles like that.”

Ana giggled softly, maybe in her sleep. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“Is this part of your long con? Huh? Were you trying to get yourself a stepmama? Because listen—if that’s your endgame, we need to have a serious strategy talk.”

Ana rolled a little, settling deeper into the mattress. Her small hand rested against her chest, and Natasha just… stared.

“She doesn’t even like kids, you know,” she continued, as if trying to justify this to someone who hadn’t been there. “She’s the one who leaves birthday parties early. She practically hisses when Clint brings his brood around. You sneeze near her with a juice box and she’s gone.”

She paused.

“But not with you.”

A slow breath pushed from Natasha’s lungs.

“She picks you up like you weigh nothing. She lets you shove half your breakfast into her mouth and doesn’t even blink. And I saw her yesterday—reading with one hand while you chewed on the other. I don’t even think she noticed.”

Ana’s breathing started to slow again, thumb slipping lazily from her mouth.

“And the worst part?” Natasha whispered. “She makes it look easy. Like maybe… maybe this whole thing isn’t a fluke. Like maybe she could actually stay.”

The confession hung in the dark like a sigh caught midair.

Natasha leaned down, resting her forehead against Ana’s tiny one.

“I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t want to see it coming. But you… You threw her right into the center of our orbit like it was nothing.”

She kissed her daughter again, voice teasing even as her chest ached.

“You couldn’t have picked someone older? Someone predictable? Someone who’s not Tony Stark’s daughter, for god’s sake?”

Ana didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Natasha ran a slow hand down her back, feeling the weight of love settle over her like a soft storm.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured. “But the best kind.”

Then she stood, brushing her fingers one last time across Ana’s cheek.

“You really couldn’t wait for me to fall first, huh?”

She flicked off the light.

Behind her, Ana slept soundly.

And Natasha stayed frozen in the doorway for just a moment longer… shaking her head to herself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered, her voice low and wry—aimed at the girl down the hall who had no idea what she’d just done.

[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

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

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.