xxnaiaxx

[xxnaiaxx]

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

Part 2

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 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.

[xxnaiaxx]

I'll Keep You Warm - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

summary: During a mission, Wanda needs to keep warm, and there's no one better suited for the job than a demigod with fire powers.

words: 2.701k | warnings: this is not explicit at all but there's undressing and some innuendos, actually super fluff, friends (rivals) with mutual pining, attempt at humor (sometimes I think I'm funny), takes place after civil war, reader actually have the same personality as johnny storm because he's the only fire powered character I could think of while writing.

A/N-> Honestly, this was entirely based on the scene of Jacob warming up Bella in Twilight. It was requested as a challenge by @abimess about three years ago, and it's finally here. Never stop believing your request will see the light of the day guys (does this expression exist in English as well?)

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

-&-

Stake out missions are always a pain, but there's a code among the Avengers, and that's why instead of relaxing on some paradise island, you're in Siberia, collecting evidence for Natasha Romanoff.

To be fair, this was more of a favor to Nat than an Avengers duty, since the team was currently on a political tightrope, with half the people here and half somewhere else, with government contracts between them and councils all over the world. In the midst of all this mess, Natasha had discovered that the Red Room was not only operational, but also had a hundred thousand widows out there. The operation to locate and rescue these women was understaffed, and well, that's how you ended up in the Siberian winter with a grumpy witch and a synthezoid.

It turns out that the revelation that the Red Room was still operating was the exact kind of argument that the Avengers could use to exist, only super spies like Nat or Clint could find the widows, and well, only people like you, and the other Avengers could deal with that kind of power and influence. So while Natasha took care of the bureaucratic part, you and the others helped with everything else.

Stark and Cap were somewhere in Peru, and you envied a little the reconnaissance pictures that Tony sent to the group that contained the most beautiful tourist landscapes he visited with the justification of 'you never know where a black widow might be hiding' while you froze your ass with the people who liked you the least on the team.

Well, Vision didn't like you. In the same quantity as you hated him.

Wanda is a special case. You like to annoy her because she's really cute when she's mad, and she, although she's probably the most powerful person on the team and has full capacity to do so, has never put a definitive end to any of your torments towards her.

It was more of a game of teasing and friendly rivalry than mutual hatred.

The only thing you really disagreed on was the strange relationship she had with Vision, which always made you cross some line and say something stupid that would make her angry for weeks.

And it was also the reason you had offered to keep watch in the snow outside the hideout, while the two of them were safe and warm inside.

But only a few hours into the mission - Steve had already confirmed his status, as had Sam, who was in France, also having a great time as a tourist - when your slumber was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Vision, making you jump a little from the wooden chair.

"I wasn't sleeping!" You exclaimed immediately, to which the robot only sighed in reprimand, without comment. As you adjusted your posture and forced the sleep away, he stepped away from the canvas of the tent he had just crossed and cleared his throat.

"I require your assistance, Miss L/N." He begins, making you look at him in surprise.

The formal way Vision speaks always seems strange to you. You laugh shortly, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Do you now, huh?"

That damn proud robot doesn't lose his composure under your irony. 

"As you may have noticed, the temperature has dropped considerably." 

You hum at his words, shrugging.  "I didn't, actually. Perks of being a demigod, I guess."

Vision sighs impatiently. "Well, the human in the group is cold." He explains grumpily, and you laugh in confusion.

"Sorry, I thought you were the one taking care of that, microwave." You retort, remembering well how Wanda, who must have been wearing three different coats the last time you two talked, grumbled the whole way about the snow, and how Vision seemed so pleased with himself when he offered to keep her warm with the heating function of his metal body.

So it was strange to see him standing there, begrudgingly asking for help.

"I was." He grumbles. "But my body... well, it overheated. I can't keep it that high heat for too long without damaging myself. Unlike you, of course. So I thought-"

"That I would save the day?" You interrupt, feigning some disinterest and then sighing. "Well, I don't know, I don't feel like a hero tonight." You sigh again, glazing him through the corner of your eye. "Maybe if you say please."

He chuckles incredulously. "You want me to beg you to save a teammate's life?" He retorts indignantly. "Maybe I should just report on your attitude. I'm sure Miss Romanoff will be happy to know what we've been wasting our energy on instead of the mission. Ridiculous arguments and-"

You burst out laughing, gesturing. "Dude, you need to lighten up. I'm obviously joking." You cut him off, standing up. "Take my watch. I'll keep your girlfriend warm."

If Vision could blush with anger, he probably would. He huffs, giving you room to get inside the tent.

"Just so you know, Miss Maximoff and I don't have that kind of relationship," he grudgingly clarifies, and you almost get the impression that this is something Wanda has asked him to do whenever someone - you - assumes differently.

You laugh, irony dripping onto your tongue as you retort, "I'm so sorry to hear that." And you imitate the sounds of fireworks and cheering, escaping a push from Vision to slip into the tent.

Even with your powers, it was easy to see how cold and damp it was in there. The tent, while spacious, didn't have much ability to accumulate heat from the fire pit outside or the small wood heater in the corner of the room, and almost all of your attitude disappeared when you caught a glimpse of the shivering figure on the camping mat.

Almost.

"Fear no more, Maximoff, your knight in shining armor is here." You teased, earning a small laugh from her.

Wanda adjusted herself to make room for you on the mattress. "Shut up, and get over here already."

Despite moving immediately, you retort, “Bossy,” which only makes her hide a smile against the pillow.

It should have been awkward, cuddling with a teammate, but as you adjusted and hugged her, it was only hard to ignore how Wanda seemed to have been molded for you. She fit perfectly against your body, and you tried not to blush at the sigh of relief she let out as she snuggled into your warmth.

“Thank you.” She sighed, eyes closed, hands moving inside your jacket. 

Your arms were around her, legs intertwined beneath the blanket that was no longer needed, and you didn’t trust your voice much to say more than a hoarse:  “Don’t mention it.”

A moment of silence passes, and then another. Your thoughts wander between Wanda, the Avengers, and what Natasha would say about how you’ve chosen to spend your time. Maybe Vis is right, and you’ve wasted enough moments that being used as a human heater is your only way to keep Wanda close. Maybe it’s too late to be anything else.

The silence stretches longer, and you almost think Wanda has fallen asleep, and you’re almost considering doing the same, when she groans.

“You’re being loud.”

Opening your mouth to defend yourself because you’re sure you haven’t said a word in the last few minutes, you shut yourself up before you do, as you realize the telepath snuggled against your chest was surely talking about another kind of noise. You snort lightly, folding your arms behind your head. The lack, even a little, of the warmth of one of them on her shoulders makes her groan in protest.

“If you weren’t nosy, you wouldn’t hear a thing.”

You snap back rudely, but Wanda chuckles, quite comfortable moving one of her hands inside your shirt. Your skin is considerably warmer without a fabric between you two, and it makes her hum in satisfaction.

"Yes, that's better." She whispers sleepily, hiding her face in the crook of your neck. The position becomes less and less platonic with each adjustment Wanda makes, but you would never complain.

You try to relax with so much contact - it's especially difficult now that you can smell Wanda's shampoo so directly, almost intoxicating all your senses with it. - And you're almost getting used to the sensation, when she grumbles dissatisfied.

"Why am I still cold?" There's a soft scratch of her nails against your lower back that makes you clear your throat and think of anything other than the sensation, in scenarios very different from this one.

You consider mumbling something about it being too cold outside for her to warm up in five minutes, and telling her to stop moving and wait a bit, but Wanda tries to repeat the skin-to-skin idea from before by adjusting herself so that she's practically all over you, both hands under your shirt. And that makes you jump in fright.

"Wow, slow down there, tigress." You scoff, really embarrassed now, and Wanda raises an eyebrow at the color in your cheeks - which increases considerably when she sits against your hips, hovering over you.

She looks at you with some curiosity, a smile playing on her lips. You have the impression that her eyes glow red for a second before she retorts:

"Don't act like this isn't your dream come true." She teases, half-joking and half-serious, you can only swallow hard as you stare into her eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You retort, well aware that a quick peek into your mind would tell Wanda that you know exactly what she's talking about.

But despite her skills, she's either too tired or too cold to do nothing more than let out a short laugh and roll her eyes.

"Can you stop thinking about dirty things for a second and help me out?" She grumbles, and you'll probably agree with anything this woman says while she's on top of you. She starts to take off her sweatshirt, and you forget how to breathe. Your expression brings a blush to her cheeks, but she doesn't lose her composure. "Stop it."

Yep, she can definitely hear your thoughts.

You clear your throat, adjusting yourself to cover your face with your arm, and block that sinful image before you.

"You stop." Is your answering grunt, to which Wanda gives a tense chuckle. "What the hell is this now? Undressing on my lap."

Wanda, who has already discarded all her sweaters on the floor, rolls her eyes. You're not looking, but she seems to be having a great time.

"You don't pay attention to anything, do you?" She retorts, and sighs to herself when she realizes that with all the movement, she now can see part of your abs exposed by the shirt. The anatomy of the gods was something really unfair and hard to ignore and Wanda is grateful that you are covering your eyes, because she can hide her own reaction from you.

"I pay attention to too many things if you ask me." You mumble, but Wanda ignores your answer, busy removing her shirt. With a sports bra being the only thing covering her torso now, she moves her hands to the edge of your jacket. With the gentle tug, you startle again, and stare at her in shock when you realize her lack of clothes. "F-for Odin, what the hell-"

"I need skin-to-skin warmth, you perv." She retorts firmly, even though her face is burning. You stammer in amazement, unable to look away from the cleavage in front of you—which is too close when Wanda pushes your jacket off. “You didn’t pay attention in any of those survival classes they organized for us, did you?” She insists on making conversation, but you’re mumbling sincerely:

“I don’t think I’d know my name right now if you asked me.” Wanda chuckles, rolling her eyes. Your jacket falls down your back, and she reaches for the hem of your shirt. 

“Take it off.” 

“Won't even take me to dinner first, Maximoff?” You scoff, even though you’re complying. Wanda loses a bit of confidence at your exposure, clearing her throat when she realizes she’s staring.

She ignores her own reaction, looking away as she explains; “You probably don’t understand this because you’re not entirely human, but it’s really cold right now. I just need a little more warmth.” 

You smile at her, moving your hands to her hips, making Wanda sigh as you start to play with the knot of her sweatpants. “Are you really going to take it all off, Maximoff? I knew you were hardcore, but damn…” 

She groans in embarrassment, for the first time that night. Covering her face with her hands, you laugh at the sight. “This would be so much easier if you didn’t keep thinking the things you’re thinking.” She mutters. “It’s so annoying.” 

You laugh, tugging at the knot so it comes loose. The slight slack in her sweatpants that allows you to see more of her hips makes you sigh. “Well, I’m still fifty percent human. No one is ironclad against a pretty girl on their lap. Oh, wait, your boyfriend is.”

Wanda takes her hands away from her face to hold your wrists away from her hips but still in your lap. "Vision isn't my boyfriend." 

You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously. "But he's something." She hesitates, letting go of your wrists. 

"Yeah, just like you are." She murmurs, taking you by surprise. She sighs then, adjusting her hair. "Friends, roommates, teammates. It doesn't matter what you call it."

You smile. "How about... personal heater?"

She laughs, shaking her head. "Shut up and take off your pants."

Despite the raised eyebrow, you don't say anything else. There's a pull apart, so that the two of you can strip down to your underwear. You do that fairly quickly, because even with your powers, you can feel how cold Wanda's skin is now.

But once you're settled under the covers again, Wanda can breathe a sigh of relief. She resists the urge to dig her nails into your back, feeling your body covering hers, and now skin to skin, the temperature rises much more quickly.

You’re also kind enough to emit more heat, and Wanda can’t resist hiding her face against your neck when your arms wrap around her completely. 

It’s a very tender moment between you. Wanda doesn’t want to think about how vulnerable she is, trusting you completely to keep her alive. And she also doesn’t want to think about how much better this feels than anything she’s ever felt. The safety inside your arms leaves her breathless. Suddenly, she finds herself asking; “Did you really mean all the things you were thinking?” 

You laugh shortly, your fingers moving to caress her hair and Wanda can’t help the gasp that escapes her lips at the sensation. “I don’t want to have this conversation while you’re having a hypothermia episode, Maximoff.” 

“I’m not—” 

“I paid attention in survival classes.” You interrupt her. "One of the most common signs of hypothermia is confusion, and one of the desperate actions people tend to have is to remove all clothing. You're lucky I can warm you up so quickly."  She says nothing to that, finally realizing that she's stopped shivering, and her thoughts are much clearer than before. She's no longer desperate to get warm, because she's not cold at all now. Wanda is ready to thank you, when you add, "Of course, there are still ways to warm you up even more..."

You move your head, and playfully bite her cheek, making her squirm with laughter before pinching you on the corners. You're still laughing when she turns inside your embrace, pouting but not pulling away from you.

With your arms firmly around her, you adjust your mouth to her ear.

“Go to sleep, you need to.” You whisper, smiling at the way she tries to hide her body’s reactions from you. “I’ll keep you warm through the night.”

She reaches out to intertwine her hand with yours, and rest it on top of her stomach. When you two finally fall asleep, you have matching smiles on your faces.

[xxnaiaxx]

Wanna sit on a pretty dom’s lap as they slowly guide me onto their strap. Arms around their neck, sloppy kisses, boobs pressed together as they mercilessly fuck me until I can’t feel my legs

[xxnaiaxx]

the striped bathrobe II a.putellas

i have not written anything in a hot minute so please be kind <3 the striped bathrobe II a.putellas

"-no no i should be home over the next break in november, i'm not up for selection this time. i just need to book flights back home and clear it with the club to take a few days to myself among training." you tucked your phone between your ear and shoulder, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist to try and get the clasp open.

"yes, by my own choice mum. because i just want a break and they've already cleared it, sarina is a very patient and sane woman." you chuckled, squealing as a hand wrapped around your free wrist, tugging you out of the hallway and into one of the storage rooms.

"mum? i have to go, yeah yeah i'll let you know i love you too bye!" you rushed out practically all in one breath and hung up right as lips pressed to yours, just managing to grab your phone before it fell and hit the floor.

"well hi." you laughed into the kiss, strong hands pressed flat against the small of your back as she drew your body impossibly close into her own. "hola." the taller girl smiled, pecking your lips a few more times.

"kissing in a storage room? capitana..." you tutted with a frown and a sarcastic shake of your head, the catalan woman chuckling and flicking your ear playfully. "i missed you." she professed softly and you melted both at the admission and the lightly accented english.

"i saw you last night ale." you teased, thumb tracing the curvature of her jaw with a smile. "sí, too long." alexia hummed, pulling you in for another kiss and swallowing the joking remark on the tip of your tongue as her own snaked its way into your mouth.

"okay enough! don't you have a big important meeting to get to? that is why you rushed away this morning." you pulled away with a chuckle as you felt her hands start to move down a little lower on your body, grabbing them and moving them to rest on your hips instead.

alexia only sighed dramatically, head falling to your shoulder as her taller form slumped into yours and you snuck a hand up the back of her shirt, nails gently scratching at her back.

but you were right, she had a meeting and as much as she'd love nothing more than to kiss you forever alexia had professional responsibilities to attend to.

though she'd be lying if she didn't admit her priorities were a little...askew lately.

"i wish i could kiss you all the time amor." your girlfriend confessed quietly, voice a little muffled against your neck as you smiled. "i know, i'm just not there yet." you whispered apologetically, your shared relationship a complete secret much to the blondes poorly hidden distaste.

it wasn't that she wanted things between you both directly in the public eye, alexia valued her own privacy very much despite how seldom she was given it, but not even being able to talk about you to her family or closest most trusted friends, wasn't the easiest.

but as always, your girlfriend assured you it was fine and you kissed her again to shut up the apology you knew was coming for her comment, drowning her in assurances of your own that you knew she wasn't pressuring you in the slightest.

even if you knew deep down there was likely a part of her that wished things were different.

it wasn't that you were ashamed, anything but.

it was more you knew the girl tucking her nose into your neck had quite the social profile, known not just to barcelona but the greater world as one of the best there was, infamous la reina.

you weren't exactly unknown, having wracked up quite a few caps both for england and for arsenal before you'd made the move away from the uk and landed in spain.

but you'd also seen yourself be ripped to shreds enough on social media after an own goal in the last world cup and the big move team to team to have deleted most of your social media bar your instagram, which these days was near exclusively ran by your agency team.

but occasionally the insecurity and curiosity decided to hold hands and pull you along, which would lead you down rather toxic rabbit holes of searching your own name and consuming yourself in whatever sorts of headlines and articles that popped up in response.

that was sometimes how alexia found you when you'd made an excuse you needed to use the bathroom at her apartment and disappeared for just a little too long for that to be true, seen to be instead sat on the edge of the bathtub doom scrolling with a frown etched into your normally relaxed features.

your phone would be snatched from your hand, protests dying in your throat as your gaze locked with the pools of hazel that glanced down with a tenderness and an understanding you never really thought you deserved from her.

shortly after both of your phones would then sit dormant on her counter as she'd tell you firmly not to listen to anyone that didn’t truly know you and that what other people thought of you wasn’t your business anyway. 

then your hand in hers she’d pull you back to the sofa, drowning you in validation, skin ablaze with her touch on yours, loving and soft yet still so filled with passion you'd never found in any other lover before alexia.

you didn't think you really knew what it was like to be treasured before you met alexia. the girl treated you like a precious jewel, hanging off your every word and looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

and for her? you'd do it without a moments hesitation.

to play for barcelona was one of your biggest achievements and you were incredibly proud, however it came at a cost of being put under a microscope, and you couldn't even imagine what might come up if people found out you and alexia were seeing one another.

to your girlfriends credit she'd never put pressure on making anything with the pair of you public, you'd been seeing one another for a little over a month now and you knew she was eager for you to meet her family with how much they meant to her, and you'd been working yourself up to that.

which is how it had come to dinner tonight, both alexias sister and mother going to be in attendance and your stomach had been in knots for days now leading up to it, but you knew this was important and with alexia in your corner you knew you'd be okay.

but it didn't stop the doubts creeping in that you wouldn't be good enough to gain their approval, that once they found out you were wanting to keep your relationship with alexia private they'd be in her ear about it, maybe helping her to realise for good that she deserved better than to be kept in the dark.

"mi amor." you came back to with a hum as a calloused hand stroked your cheek, instantly de-tensing as you met her concerned gaze, a quick smile flashed her way to try and assure you weren't just free falling in your own head.

"you will come over for dinner tonight. sí?" your girlfriend asked with a curious look, a quick glance down to her watch showing she only had a few short moments to get to her meeting.

“yes. dinner and a sleep over!" you agreed with a grin causing your girlfriend to let out a puff of amusement. "i like the sleep overs." the blonde hummed, pulling your body back into hers and wasting no time enveloping your lips with her own.

"i like the mornings after too, like this morning..." alexias teeth grazed at your ear making you laugh quietly, the two of you having woken before your alarms and 'fooled around' before being interrupted by the realities of your schedules.

"mm this morning, you left me hanging." you clicked your tongue at her with a playful glare, repeating the phrase back to her in spanish as her eyes lit up. "alexia! that was not a green light to get in my pants in a closet." you smacked away her wandering hands and grabbed her neck, shutting up her protests that was not what she was doing with your mouth pressed to hers.

the two of you sharing a few more sweet kisses before forcing yourselves apart, alexia letting slip that both her sister and mother were quite eager to meet you.

"i am too amor, i promise." you melted into one anothers touch again, arms wrapped around each other, one last hug before you practically had to force yourselves out of one anothers hold.

"alexia!" you whispered as you opened the door and peeked out, the first to step out from the storage room, a small smack sounding as her hand made contact with your ass, a toothy grin all you got in response as you bit your lip to hide your smile and hurried off to the physio.

~

alexia tapped her knee anxiously as for the fifth time in a minute she tapped her phone screen, but no notification from you popped up. after training had finished you’d promised to let her know once you were ready this evening, alexia offering to drive so you could arrive and leave together to quell some of your nerves about meeting her family.

but you’d agreed to leave no later than five and it was now nearing five twenty and alexia was yet to hear a peep from you. of course she’d sent messages of her own, called a few times, even checked your location which sure enough showed you to be at your apartment.

maybe you were asleep? you did have quite the admirable skill of being able to take a nap just about anywhere, having dozed off on many of your teammates shoulders on bus or plane trips between games much to the their amusement and ongoing teasing.

she would just go to your apartment and check on you, at least then if you were asleep she could get you up and ready, already having sent her mami a message advising you were both running a little late to which she assured there wasn’t any rush.

though right as the midfielder grabbed her car keys from the counter her phone chimed in her pocket, alexia unable to pull it out fast enough as sure enough this time it was finally a notification from you.

but as she read the words on the screen, her smile dimmed and her lips slowly turned downward into a frown, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as she read the message over a few times to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

unfortunately though the words she was processing weren’t an explanation for your absence, well i suppose they were, though certainly not the one alexia was expecting.

you weren’t sleeping, or busy getting ready, you hadn’t lost track of time, in fact alexia allowed herself to wonder for a moment if you’d just waited up until the very last minute so she couldn’t do much about it. 

but the second those thoughts broke loose from the cage of her mind alexia scolded herself for them, assuring you weren’t like that and she shouldn’t think of you as such.

you’d let her know you were unwell and had come down with a stomach bug of sorts, apologising profusely but explaining you weren’t feeling up to dinner, and that you didn’t wish for your first time meeting her family to be under these circumstances.

on one hand your girlfriend could understand that, you’d been nervous enough about making a good impression let alone that impression being you running to the bathroom every few minutes as you’d so eloquently worded it in the message you’d sent her.

but on the other hand there were doubts that crept in, tiny little snake like feelings that slithered and hissed and wedged themselves into the miniscule gaps of the parts of alexias brain where logic ruled over worry.

little snakes that had her wondering if maybe your nerves had gotten the better of you and this was simply a thinly veiled excuse to get out of something that pushed you beyond your comfort zone, that zone being someone else knowing about the two of you being in a relationship and having to come at that head on.

of course when alexia had organised dinner she’d needed to tell her mother and sister who it was she was bringing, and you were hardly a stranger considering they were at almost every single match, so to some degree this was a tiny step forward you having been okay with that.

but now those horrid little snakes had alexia wondering if you were having doubts of your own, and if your doubts had caused you to retract within yourself and make the excuse to get out of having to confront this face on.

now as much as alexia was a logical person, or so she liked to think so, she was still a human being. so as she sat in the drivers seat of her car, fingers tapping anxiously against the wheel and your message, unanswered but read, sat open on her knee, the blonde was struggling to not let doubt overrule her logic.

you wouldn’t lie to her, you wouldn’t, you couldn’t, you just weren’t that sort of girl.

so with a grunt and a shake of her head alexia quickly messaged you back asking if you needed anything and offering to stop by after dinner, slid her keys in the ignition and her phone into her bag and flicked the radio on much louder than normal to try and drown out those awful little snakes of doubt.

~

alexia enjoyed her evening as much as she could, she could sense alba didn’t quite buy into your sudden illness as much but she was grateful her sister didn’t pick too much at it, though she supposed given the small but hardly secretive chat her mother and sister had not long after she arrived alone and explained the situation, might have something to do with it.

you’d messaged back a little while into dinner assuring you didn’t want alexia getting sick and that you’d ran down the street to the chemist to get what you needed, but again that you were sorry and promising to make it up to her and reschedule.

though when alexia had later asked if the weekend after the game worked, those little snakes had crept back in when you didn’t reply, but the logic overruled this time, assuring that you were unwell and likely had fallen asleep earlier than normal, and that she would see you at training anyway.

only alexia was still yet to hear back from you as she brushed her teeth and glared at her phone on the counter as if trying to mentally will a message from you come in, her messages from last night and this morning all unread and unanswered as you’d seemingly disappeared.

alexia would like to say she wasn’t surprised not to see you at training given you were unwell, but what did catch her off guard was that you must have called ahead this morning to let them know that since nobody seemed surprised you hadn’t arrived, and yet hadn’t managed to find a second to at least let her know you were okay.

so with that hanging above her head all session alexia threw herself into training, ignoring everyones attempts at conversations, only grunting or humming as needed as her teammates and friends seemed to catch on she wasn’t in a talkative mood and for the most part left her be.

but sensing that might not continue once training was actually over alexia was fast to grab her belongings and zoom out of the change rooms before anyone else had even really come off the pitch yet, deciding to shower at home and when your phone appeared switched off as she called it asl she made on her way to her car, that she’d stop in to see you on the way home just to make sure everything was fine.

you weren’t ignoring her, you weren’t, you were obviously still very unwell and as your girlfriend alexia wanted to let you know she was there for you. you’d always struggled to ask for help and feel like you deserved it when something was bothering you, you’d been very open about that with the blonde.

but with alexia from the moment the two of you had drifted into ‘more than friends’ territory you’d always gone above and beyond to communicate clearly with her how you were thinking and feeling.

you also had always made moves to validate and assure alexia that wanting to keep your relationship strictly between the two of you wasn’t anything to do with her, and despite the fact it was private you were an attentive, kind and passionate partner.

so for this wall of silence to suddenly spring up and coincide with the first time that things weren’t so private and weren’t so secret, all these little doubts and worries and nerves alexia had buried deep down, were pushing to break though, and it was beginning to feel downright suffocating.

but alexia knew seeing you would lift all that, that without you even having to do anything else but smile at her, all of those little snakes would be washed away and she could relax and silence all these nasty feelings trying to consume her an eat away at her usual logic.

when you didn’t answer alexias knock at your door the midfielder tried calling you again but your phone still seemed to be off which had her feeling a little uneasy. especially considering how much alexia teased you for your insistence that the pair of you couldn’t leave to go somewhere unless it was charged to 100%.

so with that unease alexia called out through the door that she was coming in and fumbled around in her bag for the spare key you’d given her just a couple of weeks ago so she could come and go as she pleased.

at first alexia was thrilled and of course did the same, though one night when she was laying in bed and you were asleep curled up next to her she did indulge a little into the darker corners of her mind that screamed the key was just a smokescreen.

a small pretty token to cover up the fact that you didn’t want anyone to know about the two of you, a dirty little secret where the sweet words and lingering kisses shared were hidden away from the outside world, something for just the pair of you to savour.

but as you’d stirred next to her and rolled a little closer, warm limbs wrapping around her like a python and pressing a lazy half asleep kiss to the underside of her jaw as you tucked into the familiar safety of your girlfriends hold, all of those nasty little thoughts melted away and her mind fell silent once more.

alexia of course never shared these murkier innermost thoughts with you, of course if she had you’d had gone above and beyond to quell her doubts, over explaining again that you wanted things between you kept private not from a place of shame or for a lack of adoration for the blonde.

but alexia just kept them all to herself, bottled up and festering, refusing to acknowledge that she was letting them eat away at her sanity piece by piece, when her defences slipped and her guard was down.

because no matter what, she still had you, even if it was just to herself. 

really she should consider it luck that she didn’t have to share you with anyone, you were adored among the team and with your witty remarks and cheeky sense of humour had slotted in quite perfectly when you transferred to barcelona.

but still there was a side of you that nobody else but alexia got to see, that alexia got to kiss and touch and worship all for her own, and she needed to remind herself of that maybe a little too often.

none the less the girl found her key and slotted it into the lock, turning the handle with a click and stepping inside, softly closing it behind her and slipping off her shoes before she took another step further just as she knew you liked.

alexia immediately frowned at the state of your kitchen, sink piled with dishes and all sorts of half consumed snacks and protein bars scattered across the counter, none of which were things she’d ever seen stocked up in your cupboards before, both of you with the same nutritionist who prepped nearly most of your meals for the week.

alexia grimaced but quickly began to rinse the dishes out of habit, if you were this unwell to leave your house in such a state then surely you’d appreciate the helping hand of the dishwasher at least stacked and ready to go, this easily had to be most of the dishware you owned considering you lived alone.

and you did live alone, which is what made what happened next all the more bizarre as alexia crouched down to rearrange a few large plates in the bottom of the washer, a frustrated huff leaving her lips as they wouldn’t sit as she wanted, knocking into one another with a clatter that made her jump.

that clatter seemed to attract something, or well someone, else to the source of the new noise.

as alexia finally deemed the washer stacked suitably to her standards she popped back up, only a near blood curdling scream left her lips as she came face to face with a stranger stood across from her, hands curled around one of your football trophies from when you were much younger, that alexia knew lived with the rest of your memorabilia in your spare room.

“¿quién eres? ¿por qué estás aquí?” alexia snapped right out of her shock and into defense mode, grabbing the object nearest to her which happened to be an empty wine bottle and brandishing it over her head threatningly as the mans eyes widened.

“uh uh-shit what did you say?” the man stuttered back, knuckles white with the grip he had on the trophy which he held up as his own makeshift weapon. “¿quién eres? ¿Por qué estás en casa de mi novia?” alexia spat again, advancing around the counter as the mans eyes almost popped out of his head and he stumbled backwards.

“shit um no espoy? no thats not it. shit, uh, no spanish! english english!” he managed to get out, pointing to himself with a nod of his head as eyes eyes narrowed. “who are you? why are you in my girlfriends home?” alexia gave in and spoke a little slower, this time in english which she sensed was the only way she would get to the bottom of this.

“girlfriend? she doesn’t have a girlfriend! who are you?” the man seemed to swell with a small boost of confidence, pointing at her with the trophy and narrowed eyes of his own as the adrenaline of the initial shock began to wear off and alexias mind started to spin.

and then thats when alexia noticed, how she hadn’t before she assumed was due to her fight or flight instinct kicking in, that this strange english man was wearing your bathrobe. alexia would recognise the bright pink and yellow stripes just about anywhere, you’d practically begged her to let you get the pair of you matching ones but alexia had refused.

so why was this stranger, in your home, in your bathrobe, and as alexia looked him up and down, wearing your lucky socks, and judging by the way he was strutting about, seemingly quite comfortable to do all of the above.

but before either alexia or the intruder could say another word, there was the sound of a door opening and footsteps coming down the hall, and then you appeared. you were wearing an old faded england hoodie which was two sizes too large and looked more like a dress, hair disheveled and sleep crusting at the corner of your eyes.

“what the hell is going on?” you yawned, seemingly quite unfazed by this weird man wearing your robe and your girlfriend stood toe to toe with him, rubbing your eyes and trying to wake yourself up a little, squinting as alexia slowly lowered the wine bottle.

this weird man wearing your clothes, stood comfortably in your home, the morning after you’d cancelled dinner with her family at the last minute. you wanting to keep the relationship as one big secret, never even posting anything that would so much as hint you were with someone, alexia knowing next to nothing about your own family and your friends bar what you told her.

this man, the bathrobe, the secret relationship. 

“you are cheating on me. with him.” alexia managed out as the wine bottle was placed back on the counter with a sudden clink that seemed to shock you awake as your once half lidded eyes bolted open.

“alexia. no no please let me-” you started toward her, shoving the man out of the way who looked on with a frown as alexia suddenly felt the room start to spin, a hand coming to rest on her stomach which churned uncomfortably at the reality of the situation.

the room seemed to get smaller and smaller as alexia watched your mouth move furiously but it was as if someone had put you on mute, no sound to be heard as the blondes skin itched uncomfortably and she had a sudden urge to peel it all off of herself like wrapping paper.

“no. no no, no.” was all alexia could manage out, holding up a hand and taking a few more steps back as you continued to try and step closer to her, stopping in your tracks and face falling at the hurt so clearly plastered on the taller girls face.

“ale. please mi amor-” you begged, but before you could even get another word out, the front door was slamming and she was gone.

alexia let out small choking gasps as she stumbled and sprinted her way out of your building, almost tripping down the stairs in her haste to put as much distance between you and her and that horrible awful ugly man you’d apparently chosen over her.

not in a million years or for all the money in the world did alexia ever think you were capable of making her feel this way. rejected, disgusted, angry, hurt, insecure, hollow, the emotions came in hard and fast and drowned her, pulling her down deeper and deeper while she kicked and fought to get a breath in.

finally at her car alexia had a sudden realisation when her hand slipped into her pocket, only touching the soft material inside as she’d left both her keys and phone on the counter of your apartment after she’d let herself in. 

cursing in spanish and kicking the wheel of her car alexia spat and swore and paced back and forth for a moment, desperately trying to figure a way out of this which didn’t involve going back inside.

only it seemed that problem was due to fix itself without her even having a single say in the matter.

“uh, excuse me? um…hola.”

alexia squeezed her eyes shut at the voice behind her, willing it to be just a figment of her imagination as the gravel and dry leaves crunched beneath his footsteps, and since he was not a hallucination alexia had no choice but to spin around with a steely glare.

it did the trick as the man, still clad in your ridiculously bright pink bathrobe, halted in his tracks and froze.

“you uh, you left these inside.” he held up alexias keys and phone, only he took a step back as alexia advanced to snatch them off him. “please. can you just let me explain before you take off? all of this is my fault, not hers.” the man moved his arm backwards as alexia scoffed.

“no no no oh my god please don’t hit me!” the man cowered as alexia lunged, tucking into himself and holding her keys and phone to his chest. “eres patético.” alexia spat, turning on heel and starting off down the street, she’d figure this all out later, for now she just needed to get as far away as possible.

“no please! please don’t run off before i explain everything.” the man begged behind her, starting to follow as alexia glanced over her shoulder and saw him hurrying after her, quickening her pace and readying to run if need be as he almost tripped over himself.

“i’m her brother! i’m not her boyfriend i’m her brother!” 

at that alexia suddenly stopped, the man exhaling a sigh of relief as he slowed to a jog, still keeping a healthy amount of distance between them as he caught his breath and gave an awkward smile to a couple who passed, snickering with amusement at his outfit choice.

“harry. my name is harry. i’m her brother and i’d rather gouge my eyes out with these than ever have anyone think i’m her boyfriend!” the man grimaced with disgust, jingling alexias keys as the footballer crossed her arms over her chest, eyes still narrowed with distrust.

“look i can prove it. see? same last name.” the man grabbed his wallet from somewhere on his person, hand slipping in and out of the robe as he fingered through the cards, pulling out an english drivers license.

hesitating for a moment he bent over and tossed it toward alexia, still not feeling safe enough to take any steps closer as the blonde paused for a moment before bending down to pick it up, inspecting the writing which sure enough did have the last name as yours.

“she got the brains and the uh sporting skills. i’m the good looking one, obviously!” the man smiled nervously clearly attempting to break the thick tension as alexia only hummed curtly, giving the card another look over before throwing it back toward him. 

“i did not know she had a brother.” alexia spoke quietly but bluntly. “i did not know she had a girlfriend here.” harry retorted with a small shrug of his shoulders.

you’d mentioned siblings briefly but your personal life wasn’t something you brought up much and alexia respected that for the most part, not even a whiff of your family to be found on your social media accounts which were strictly professional.

“all of this is my fault. i’ll give you back your keys and your phone, and if you want to leave you can, but please at least give me five minutes to explain all of this. if i go back in there, she might just stab me, she had the knife out ready and everything!” the man exhaled shakily with a shake of his head and alexia fought the temptation to crack a small smile at the mental image that brought on,

“five minutes.” was all alexia agreed to, even if it was just for the sake of getting some answers to try and quell the bitter fist which punched sporadically at her stomach every few seconds as the thought of you cheating was rooted firmly in her mind.

harry attempted conversation as alexia slowly followed him back toward your building but given the withering side eye it earned him to speak he fell silent as the pair of them walked in silence, her phone and keys safely returned and in her pocket, promising a quick getaway if needed.

two short knocks and the door was flung open, alexia quickly stepping back as you appeared and she watched your face fall but a small flicker of understanding spark in your eyes as you moved aside to let them in.

“this is all your fault you stupid little dickhead!” you hissed at your brother, smacking him repeatedly as he shrieked and cowered behind his hands, alexia watching on with an odd frown before the three of you took a seat in the living room, harry quick to stand up as alexia made sure to sit in the armchair closest to the exit.

you wanted to get on your knees and beg alexias forgiveness but really all of this had one person to blame, and he was stood awkwardly clad in your bathrobe which you made a mental note to burn as soon as this was all cleared up.

“explain yourself, now!” you ordered with a fierce glare alexia had only seen a few times after your teammates had been wrongly fouled, hardly an angry or tense person off the pitch you were quite the opposite, known to be the one to lift spirits in the locker room or on the sidelines.

“uh, can you translate?” harry asked dumbly as you smacked your forehead with your palm. “she speaks english harry!” you groaned, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as your brother cleared his throat with a nod.

“uh well as i explained, i’m her brother, not her boyfriend-yuck!” the man pulled a face as you fixed him with another glare and he straightened up with an awkward cough. “right. well, basically all of this hugs misunderstanding is my fault. you see this all started when my girlfriend emily broke up with me last week, we-” you exhaled shakily and squeezed your eyes closed, counting to three.

“right! thats it, you had your chance, sit down and shut up.” you ordered pointing to the corner of the lounge as the man scowled and grumbled but did so none the less, alexia growing impatient now which you could sense as you turned your body to face her.

“ale, amor i know how this looks but i would never ever cheat on you. not in a million years-” “its true, our dad cheated on our mum like twenty five times and-” “harry!” “sorry, shutting up.”

“harry called me after i got home from training yesterday and told me he was ‘surprising me with a visit’. but what he didn’t say that he was already here, at the airport, waiting to be picked up, without any plan of how to get to my apartment, and without speaking a word of spanish.” you growled shooting daggers to your brother who sagged in his chair with a huff.

“so then i had to go and pick him up from the airport and get him food and quite frankly i don’t trust him here alone not to burn down my apartment-” you paused to shoot him another sharp look as his eyes rolled but he knew better than to argue.

“so then i had to cancel dinner last minute and i didn’t know how to explain what happened and i was panicking, but then i felt so awful lying to you about being sick that i avoided talking to you for most of the night.” you admitted with a troubled sigh, dragging a hand down your face with a shake of your head.

“so then i was going to come over and explain everything after training this morning but like i said i don’t trust harry here alone and i had to promise my mum not to let her precious baby die in spain so last night i sent a message i was unwell and wouldn’t be in this morning.” you managed out all in one breath, pausing before continuing.

“so i would have called you or messaged back but someone unplugged my phone last night and stole my charger because he didn’t bring one and my phone died. so my alarm didn’t go off and i slept in because someone kept me up until three in the morning drunkenly crying about his ex girlfriend of…three weeks!” you snarled pointedly.

“emily was very special to me, she could have been the one!” harry argued with another huff as you paused to take a deep inhale.”the one of what? june? july? you fall in love every two weeks harry you’re toxic!” you flung your arms about as the pair of you started to bicker and alexia cleared her throat, sending you both to silence.

“anyway. so i know this is all a lot and probably slightly unbelievable but this is why i hadn’t told you much about my family, they are a lot.” you finished quietly, hands rubbing against your knees as you always did when you were uncomfortable.

“yeah its true we’re a bit fucked up. but you could have told me you had a girlfriend!” harry scoffed as your eyes narrowed in warning and he motioned to zip his lip and throw away the key. 

“i’m so incredibly sorry, really. i understand if you’re mad ale and i hate that i lied to you, but i would never cheat and i really do want to meet your family. i just…i didn’t expect this is how you’d meet part of mine.” you winced with a small smile.

“please don’t be mad at her, all of this is my fault. i’ll even let you hit me if you want? i’ll try not to squeal like a girl.” harry offered with a shrug as you sighed and buried your face in your hands but alexia cracked the smallest of smiles. “no thank you.” the girl declined with a quiet chuckle.

“but if you go out again in that…someone else may hit you.” alexia semi joked, nodding to the bright pink and yellow striped robe which your brother had still not taken off. “i’m burning that.” you stated bluntly as harry hurried off to change, yelling out that he saw why you liked it as it really was comfortable.

“alexia really i am so so sor-” you stood and began to apologise again as the blonde rose from her own chair, shaking her head and holding up a hand to stop you. “i wish you had told me the truth, i would have understood, helped even.” your girlfriend started as you nodded.

“i know. but if you think harry is weird…he’s the most normal member of my family besides me. its embarrassing, lots of baggage.” you forced a smile as alexia frowned though this time it didn’t hold any sign of malice. “ven aquí.” the girl murmured opening her arms and you couldn’t have stumbled into them sooner.

your repeated apologies were met with assurances she wasn’t mad as you melted into her touch, kissing her cheek a few times in appreciation. “you missed.” the girl retorted with a grin, tapping her lips and making you laugh, the line one you often used on her near daily.

you wasted no time pressing your lips to hers, hand cupping the back of her neck as her own gripped your hips and you poured every inch of your feelings for her into the kiss. “get a room!” the two of you broke quickly apart as your brother returned, pulling a face and opening your fridge.

“and before you go on with your usual feminist shit that is not homophobic, i would say the same thing if you were kissing a man!” harry snapped his fingers at you and buried his head back in the fridge as you exhaled, alexia hugging you from behind with a chuckle and a kiss to your cheek.

“cariño, how long did you say he was going to be here for?”

[xxnaiaxx]

set fire to the rain II Alexia Putellas x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | previous fanfic I word count: 1200

summary: After the loss in El Clásico, Reader decides to teach Alexia how to make her own bowl, offering her a much-needed distraction.

author's note: hi everyone, we were inspired by Alba Putella's instagram post and hope you enjoy how the story turned out. 🤍🤍

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

You loved the feeling of clay under your hands. There was something meditative about the way it moulded and bend with every motion, the smooth texture a welcome distraction from everything else going on in your life.

Just sitting there and creating something felt soothing. That was one of the reasons why you loved pottery so much, it gave you time and space to sit with your thoughts.

You had hoped that your girlfriend would enjoy it just as much. She clearly needed a distraction from Barcelonas first ever loss to Real Madrid.

But now, she sat in front of the pottery wheel, arms crossed and glaring at a fresh slab of clay as if she could shape it with her thoughts if she tried only hard enough.

With your own hands already slick from working with your own clay, you shot her a questioning look.

“What if I do something wrong?”, Alexia asked quietly into the silence of the room, her eyes still fixated on the clay in front of her.

You suppressed a chuckle. Always the perfectionist.

“Amor, we talked about this before.”, you reminded her patiently.

“I want this to be good.”

Abandoning your project, you strode across the empty studio and pulled up a stool up right behind Alexias. You sat down, ready to guide her hands.

“Okay, just sit and try to relax.”

“Fine.”, she muttered and shifted on her seat. You watched as she exhaled deeply, letting her shoulders drop slightly. That was as relaxed as Alexia ever got.

You reached around her and wrapped your hands around hers, directing them towards the clay. You let her touch it, play with it so she could get a feel for the material.

“So what do you want to make?”, you asked softly. Your body was so close to hers that a whisper was enough.

“I want to make a bowl. But not just a tiny boring one.”, she said determinedly.

You smirked slightly. Of course she even had high standards for her first pottery project.

You nodded: “Okay, we can do that.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll show you how to do it.”

You guided her fingers, showing her how to hold her hands so the clay would mould the way she wanted. A small indent formed in the middle while the walls of her bowl started to slowly rise.

“Your hands are actually perfect for that.”, you murmured into her ear.

For a moment, Alexia tore her eyes from the bowl and turned towards you. Her eyebrows knit together in a frown: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

"It was a compliment, Ale.," you clarified, smirking.

An understanding expression crossed her face, her eyes shifting between green and brown. In the room, filled with beige tones, they appeared more hazel: "Oh."

"Watch me.", you told her warmly. It was a shift in roles for your girlfriend. Normally, she was the one under everyone's gaze—yourself, the football fans, the opponents, and her teammates alike.

Her full attention was focused on the movements of your hands, and she muttered: "Okay."

There was something intimate about the way Alexia watched you work. The midfielder did her best to absorb every detail.

"Good.”, you nodded in approval, feeling satisfied.

After a moment, she said: "Let me try."

"Alright.”, you responded, happy to let her take over.

Grumpily, Alexia crossed her arms over her chest: "I don't know how you do it. Mine is so uneven."

There it was—her perfectionism. The same drive that made her world-class on the pitch, propelling her to the highest achievements in football, now stood in the way of her enjoying the process of creating the bowl.

"It's not bad for a first try.”, you reassured her, offering an encouraging smile before placing your fingers over hers to smooth out the piece.

Visibly impressed, she began: „That’s..."

"Yes?”, you prompted, waiting for her to finish.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your girlfriend's mouth: “Much better."

"You need to think less and be more in the moment." You paused for a moment before adding with a sigh: "Your thoughts were on the last game, weren't they?"

"Maybe.”, Alexia admitted, biting her lip guiltily.

A soft whisper escaped your lips. "That's a yes, then. Try to focus on what's in front of you."

"So, next time...", she grinned sheepishly at you.

You rolled your eyes playfully: "No, on the clay."

A childish joy filled Alexia as she placed her hands on your breasts, leaving handprints behind.

"That’s not what I meant.”, you laughed in disbelief.

Innocently, Alexia shrugged: "I was focused on the clay on my hands."

"You’re lucky we’re alone here, Putellas Segura.”, you teased.

Quickly, your girlfriend assured you: "I wouldn’t have done that in front of other people."

"Of course not."

"That’s just for me.”, she said proudly.

You tilted your head and observed her: "During your private lesson?"

"I’m having fun.”, Alexia remarked, pulling you closer toward her.

"Oh, I can tell.”, you chuckled amusedly, now sitting on her lap with her arms wrapped around your waist, your foreheads touching.

She gave you an apologetic look: "Sorry."

 "Don't apologize. I'm enjoying myself here too.”, you replied sincerely.

Alexia gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear: "I can tell that you do."

“Oh really?”, you smirked, your eyebrows quirking up.

Alexia nodded, biting back a smile: “Oh yes.”

“You taught me about football. Now it’s my turn to teach you something.”

“Then help me finish this bowl.”, Alexia grinned, nodding towards the forgotten clay piece on the pottery wheel.

“I will.”, you smiled and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before slipping off her lap. You again took the seat behind her, your hands moving hers, finalising her bowl.

“Thanks.”, Alexia murmured, seemingly satisfied with how her creation had come together.

“You’re welcome.”, you whispered into her ear from behind.

Her fingers traced the smooth surface on their own, as if appreciating her work: “It’s pretty nice.”

“Agreed.”, you said, unable to keep the pride from your voice.

She turned to you with a small smile: “I’m happy with it.”

“You should be.”

“But now I have to be patient until I can take it home?”, she asked, impatience creeping into her voice.

You nodded. “Yes.”

“I hate that.”, Alexia said jokingly, but you knew there was some truth to it.

“It has to be fired first. We can pick it up together and I can bring it home for you.”, you explained patiently to her.

The corner of Alexias mouth quirking up mischievously: “Whatever. I know exactly what I’m going to do in the meantime.”

You leaned in, sitting on the edge of your stool: “Tell me.”

“You.”

Before you could react, Alexia grabbed you and lifted you onto an empty table.

You giggled: “Wait, I need to-”

“Need to what?”, she dared you to continue.

“Clean up.”

“We can clean up later.”, she said, already sliding the straps of your overall off your shoulders.

You shrugged, only too eager to feel Alexias hands on your body: “Fair enough.”

“After I am done with you.”, she murmured with a wolfish grin before pressing kisses along your collarbones.

image sources: https://www.instagram.com/albaps9/p/DHivI0qI0iG/?hl=de&img_index=7, pinterest

[xxnaiaxx]

messages; b. eilish

peak into the unseen world of billies phones. keep updated on all the juicy details of all the hidden aspects of her love life, family/friend drama, and much more.

sour gummy worms

stay with me, please

[xxnaiaxx]

wanda maximoff.

TEN TIMES UNTIL SHE REALIZES — sometimes it takes time to realize feelings.

TEENAGE DREAM — you managed to live out your teenage dream with wanda maximoff.

ENDURE — you met wanda when you were trying to retrieve loki's scepter. years later, you end up together, and then the blip happens. and then you lose her.

THE DRUKEN DANCER — at a party with the avengers, wanda sees you drunk for the first time.

REPUTATION — taylor swift is your favorite singer, and wanda finds that adorable, even if sometimes you're a bit too much of a fan.

BRAZILIAN CHAOTIC — wanda watches a video that shows a chaotic and different side of you.

STRANGE — you saw slowly you and wanda go from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again.

BREAK UP — wanda arrives home after a tiring mission and finds you looking miserable. it turns out it's just your hormones during pms making you convinced that your girlfriend is going to break up with you.

CHASING DESTINY — billy and tommy want to know your story with wanda, and you navigate through memories from years ago as you share every little detail possible and allowed with them.

ONLY YOURS — you’re a famous singer who has been in a secret relationship with wanda maximoff for almost a year. as a surprise for your anniversary, you decide to reveal your relationship to the world in the best way possible.

BEHIND CLOSE DOORS — after nearly six years together, your relationship with wanda is the longest-lasting one in your friend group. but to everyone else, you two don’t look like the typical couple. you don’t snuggle at movie nights, you sleep facing opposite directions at group sleepovers, and your friends quietly assume your spark is gone. little do they know, you and wanda are simply a lowkey couple—comfortable and deeply in love when the world isn’t looking. but when your friends accidentally stumble upon one of your private, clingy moments, they realize just how wrong they’ve been.

BETWEEN LOVE AND WAR — rivals since wanda left without explanation, you love each other as much as you hate each other. when you're locked in together, buried feelings resurface. between stolen kisses, jealousy, and secrets, you must decide—keep fighting or finally surrender to love.

BETWEEN LOVE AND DISTANCE — wanda returns home late from a mission, exhausted and unaware she missed your anniversary. the distance between you grows, and she desperately tries to fix what she broke.

[xxnaiaxx]

Redline. pt 1 | N.R

You swore you’d never race again after the crash that nearly killed you. For years, you stayed in the shadows, avoiding the world you once ruled. Then Natasha Romanoff came looking for a driver, and she chose you. You fought her. You refused. But Natasha doesn’t take no for an answer. But coming back means facing everything you ran from: the fame, the pressure, the past. And with the world watching, one question remains: Are you still the driver you once were, or will the past catch up before you can prove it?

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Crash Trauma, Car racing

Word count: 7k

A/N: Helloo, I really love this dynamic and hope you will too, so I can continue the story..🙆🏻‍♀️

At the moment Natasha saw the contract, she knew exactly how this would end.

She had years of experience in this business, long enough to see through every trick, every tactic, every maneuver. She had seen drivers come and go, talent wasted, careers ruined by greed. She had watched men with potential destroy themselves before they even had the chance to prove themselves. And Jake? He was about to become one of them.

She sat in the dimly lit conference room, the only light coming from her tablet screen as she scrolled through the details of his betrayal. The agency’s report had been sent to her earlier that day, and now, as she skimmed through the contract details, she pressed her lips into a thin line.

Jake wasn’t leaving the team for a better one. He wasn’t making a strategic decision to secure his position. No, he was leaving for money. A weaker team had offered him a higher salary, and that alone was enough to make him walk away. To leave Romanoff Racing. To leave the team that had made him relevant in the first place.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, rolled her shoulders, and let out a slow breath. If he had left for a real opportunity, for something better, she would have understood. She wouldn’t have liked it, but she would have respected it. But this? This was pathetic.

A quiet rustling on the other side of the room pulled her from her thoughts. Yelena sat lazily in one of the chairs, skimming the same documents Natasha had just read. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and chewed absentmindedly as she turned the page. “So.” Yelena murmured without looking up, “Walker is an idiot.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Yelena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she tossed the folder onto the table. “Seriously, what was he thinking? That you wouldn’t find out?” She tilted her head slightly, studying her sister. “Or did he really think he could outsmart you?”

Natasha tapped her fingers on the table once before picking up the folder and snapping it shut with a sharp click. Slowly, she stood up, tucking the documents under her arm and adjusting her jacket. Yelena watched her, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

Natasha didn’t even look at her as she walked toward the door. “Yes.”

The garage was too quiet when Jake Walker walked in. It wasn’t the usual silence after a race, the kind that settled in after a long day on the track. It wasn’t the hum of cooling engines or the distant murmurs of the pit crew. No. This silence meant something was wrong. He slowed his steps, scanning the empty space. Normally, there would be a few mechanics analyzing data, prepping the cars. But tonight?

Only she was there. Natasha stood at the workbench, arms crossed over her chest, waiting. She wasn’t in a suit, not in formal attire. She was still in her racing gear, the sleeves of her fireproof suit tied around her waist, the black tank top hugging her toned frame. This wasn’t business. This was personal. A cold feeling settled in Jake’s stomach, but he forced himself to stay relaxed as he stepped closer. ���Hey.” he greeted, his voice calm, controlled. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she opened the folder in her hand with practiced ease and then, with a precise flick of her wrist, tossed it onto the table in front of him. Jake frowned and looked down. The moment he saw the contents, his stomach clenched. His contract negotiations. His meetings. His plans. Plans Natasha wasn’t supposed to know about. His mouth went dry. “Listen, I can explai-”

“You thought you could outsmart me.” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that was more dangerous than shouting. Jake clenched his jaw. “It’s not what you think-”

Natasha finally looked at him. Really looked at him. And for the first time in his career, Jake felt fear. “You could have left for a better team.” she said calmly, tilting her head slightly, her voice devoid of emotion. “I would have understood.”

A pause. A suffocating pause. “But you didn’t.” Jake swallowed, straightening his posture. “It was just negotiations!” he began. “This is standard practice-”

Natasha stepped closer. Not aggressively. Controlled. Calculated. “Do you think I don’t know how this business works?” Her voice was almost mocking. “I’ve been in this world longer than you’ve been relevant. I know the game. And this?” She gestured toward the folder. “This isn’t a smart move. It’s not strategy.”

Another step. “This is greed.” Jake’s hands twitched at his sides, frustration bubbling up. “It’s money!” he snapped. “And in case you forgot, that’s what keeps this whole place running..”

Natasha actually smiled. A small, cold, deadly smile. “No.” she said simply. “I keep this running.”

Jake’s breath hitched for a moment, but he held his ground. “This is a big mistake..” he growled. “You fire me, and I lose everything. My sponsors, my place in the season- you know damn well no one will sign me now! You’re destroying me!”

Natasha tilted her head, as if considering it. Then she shrugged. “Yes.” Jake’s fists clenched, his frustration shifting into pure, bitter anger. “Do you really think you can just replace me?”

Natasha’s smile widened. “I don’t need to replace you.” she said softly, razor-sharp. “I need someone better.” Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth ached. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to hit something, do something.

But he didn’t. Because even he wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he stepped back. His chest rose and fell heavily, his career crumbling before his eyes. And Natasha? She didn’t care. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose, straightened his posture, and forced his face into a neutral expression. “You’ll regret this.” he muttered.

Natasha smiled. “No, Walker.” she said quietly. “I won’t.” Jake’s jaw clenched. Then he turned and stormed out. The door slammed behind him. Yelena let out a low whistle. “Well..” she murmured, still chewing her gum, “that was dramatic.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, shaking off the last traces of irritation before turning back to the workbench. Yelena stretched and tilted her head. “You do realize you just fired your only driver, right? The championship is in three months, and we now have exactly zero people for that seat.” She popped her gum. “Even for you, that’s a bold move.”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached for her gloves and pulled them on with a quiet certainty. “I don’t need just anyone.” she finally said. “I need someone who’s willing to risk everything.”

Yelena chuckled softly. “Right. And where exactly do you plan on finding someone that crazy?” Natasha’s lips barely twitched. “Where no one else is looking.”

——

You were crouched beside the open hood of a sleek, jet-black race car, your fingers gliding gently along the edge of the exposed engine. The scent of oil and gasoline clung to your skin, mixing with the fabric of your grease-stained overalls.

“You’re stubborn today..” you murmured, tightening a bolt with a practiced twist of your wrist. A quiet laugh sounded behind you. “She’s talking to them again?”

“Like they’re her children.” another mechanic chuckled. You didn’t look up. “First of all..” You called back, your voice playful but firm, “He prefers to be addressed with respect. And second unlike you idiots, he actually listens to me.”

More laughter. Because that was the thing about you. Everyone here liked you. You weren’t just any mechanic. You weren’t just someone who knew these cars inside and out, someone who could tell what was wrong just by the sound of an engine.

You were one of them.. A racer, a mechanic, an engineer, everyone in the garage respected you. You pulled the final bolt tight, exhaled, and slid out from under the car. “Hey..” a voice called. You turned. One of the engineers, a burly man with a permanent oil stain on his shirt, waved you over.

“She’s ready for a test run.” he said, nodding toward the car you’d been working on. “You up for it?” You hesitated. You always hesitated. One lap. Just to check the steering, the brakes, the feel of the engine. It wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t about pushing limits. It never felt like just a test. “Yeah.” you said firmly. “I’ll do it.”

The grandstands were full. A restless sea of bodies leaning forward, voices rising in a chaotic mix of cheers and curses as the race unfolded before them. But Natasha didn’t see the race like they did. She studied it. Arms crossed, weight balanced perfectly, she stood at the edge of the pit lane, eyes locked onto the track as the cars tore through the corners like bullets.

The floodlights cast sharp shadows over her face, making her expression even colder. Beside her, Yelena leaned casually against the railing, popping a piece of gum into her mouth, watching the race with far less intensity. “This is a waste of time..” Yelena muttered, chewing. “Same game, different track. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for here.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Because for the past few weeks, Yelena had been right. Driver after driver. Race after race. And nothing. No fire. No hunger. No one who understood the difference between fast and fearless. She inhaled slowly, concealing her frustration. She didn’t need an arrogant, hot-headed rookie. She didn’t need someone who thought they were great.

And then..she saw something. A blue car. It moved differently. Not with the reckless aggression of the others, not with the desperate hunger to overtake. No..it was precise. Every corner was a conversation, a fine-tuned balance between speed and control. The driver wasn’t fighting the car. They were one with it.

But something was wrong. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. The movements were too careful, too calculated. Held back, as if the driver was testing the limits, but refusing to cross them. She had seen this before. This wasn’t a driver racing for the win. This was someone racing against ghosts. Yelena noticed the shift in Natasha’s posture and followed her gaze. “Huh..” she murmured. “That’s..different.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the track. “Who is that?” Yelena waved over an official, a man who looked both honored and terrified to be standing so close to the Romanoff sisters. “The blue car!” Yelena said, nodding toward the track. “Who’s behind the wheel?”

The official hesitated. “That’s..Y/n Y/l/n.” Natasha’s jaw tightened slightly. She knew that name. Yelena let out a low whistle, her usual amusement fading into something more serious. “Damn..” she muttered. She turned to Natasha. “You remember her, don’t you?”

Natasha didn’t answer. Of course, she remembered. For years, you had been untouchable. A legend before you had even reached your prime. You raced like you had nothing to lose, like fear was a concept you had never learned. Till you crashed. Not just any crash. A nightmare. An accident so brutal, so catastrophic, that no one thought you would survive.

For weeks, the footage had played on every sports channel. The final lap of the championship race. You were in the lead, seconds from victory, until it happened. A clipped rear wing. A high-speed spin at 320 km/h. The impact was monstrous. Metal crumpled like paper, the car flipping multiple times, sent flying across the track, disintegrating in a cascade of sparks and fire. When the wreck finally came to a stop, it was nothing more than a charred, mangled cage of steel.

And inside? You. Broken, bleeding and unconscious. Two minutes. No pulse. Natasha pieced the details together in her head, the puzzle clicking into place. She knew what an accident like that did to a driver. It rooted itself deep inside them. It changed instincts. It turned the greatest passion into the greatest fear.

Yet despite everything, despite the hesitation in your movements, there was still something in your driving. A familiarity. A certainty in your instincts that no one ever truly lost. Yelena watched the race with new intensity. “This isn’t just a clean lap..” she murmured. “This is art.”

Natasha gave the smallest nod, never taking her eyes off the track. This wasn’t just a test run. This was someone who wasn’t just testing a car. This was someone who understood it. A corner. One that any test driver would take cautiously, just to gather data. But you? You took it like you were still a racer.

Perfectly timed. Perfectly felt. For the briefest second, for a heartbeat you forgot yourself. Natasha saw it in real-time. The moment you drove on instinct alone. The moment you let go. Natasha recognized the exact moment it happened. The way the car suddenly slowed down, the way the caution returned to your movements.

You stopped yourself. Natasha exhaled slowly. “She’s not just testing.” she murmured. “She’s driving like the car still belongs to her.” The man standing beside her sighed heavily. “Yeah,..” he said quietly. “She still does.”

Yelena frowned, watching as you pulled into the pit lane. “That’s not a driver who doesn’t want to race.” Natasha already knew that. She just didn’t say it out loud. Because she had already figured it out. That hesitation, the moment you held yourself back, told her everything she needed to know.

You weren’t here to test cars. You were here because you couldn’t stay away. And yet, the moment you stepped out of the car, the moment your feet hit the asphalt, you buried it again. The helmet stayed on. Your posture remained closed off, controlled. You handed over the keys, exchanged barely a word, and walked straight back into the garage.

Natasha moved. But before she could take another step, she felt a firm hand on her arm. Slowly, she turned her head and met the calm, knowing gaze of the man beside her. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was definitive. The kind that said: Don’t do it. He knew exactly what she was about to do. And he knew it wouldn’t work.

“She’s not looking for a comeback, Romanoff.” he said. His voice was quiet, but heavy. Natasha didn’t pull away, but she didn’t back down either. “She’s already back.” she countered softly. “She’s on the track.”

The man exhaled slowly through his nose. “Not the way you think.” Yelena folded her arms, glancing toward the garage. “Then why is she here?” The man was silent for a long time. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Because this is the only place that still makes sense to her.”

Natasha remained still. That was an answer she understood all too well. “She disappeared after the crash..” the man continued. “Not just from racing. From everything. No press. No statements. No farewell speech. She just…vanished. And you know what? I think she really wanted to. I think she wanted to convince herself she was done.”

Yelena let out a quiet scoff. “I remember the crash.” she muttered. “Everyone does.” Yeah. Everyone did. Before the accident, your name had been spoken with reverence. A rising legend. A driver who had seemed untouchable. Then, in a single moment. The fall.

Not just any loss. A wreck so violent people had looked away from their screens. A crash that had silenced entire stadiums. “She was dead.” Yelena murmured. “Two minutes, right?”

The old man nodded slowly. “Two minutes. No pulse. The medics pulled her from the wreck thinking they were recovering a body, not saving a life.” Natasha turned to Yelena. “I want to meet her.”

Yelena grinned. “Are you sure? She doesn’t look like she wants to be found.” Natasha’s gaze hardened. “She’s already been to hell,” she murmured. “She can handle me.” And with that, the decision was made.

She moved through it all with quiet precision, out of place but completely in control. She wasn’t dressed for the chaos of the garage, no oil-stained coveralls, no smudges of grease, no heavy gloves. She didn’t belong here, and yet, every step she took demanded the kind of presence that made people move out of her way without a word.

She spotted you immediately, half under a car, legs stretched out, one hand buried deep in the engine bay. The way you worked wasn’t just methodical, it was intimate. The way your fingers moved, the way you tested a part, listened to the engine hum, made minute adjustments you weren’t just fixing a machine. You understood it.

Natasha stopped a few feet away, tilting her head slightly as she watched. “You drive like someone who doesn’t belong here.” You froze. It was small, barely noticeable, the slight hesitation of your wrist before you finished tightening whatever part you had been working on. But Natasha caught it.

Because she was always watching. A slow, measured breath left your lips before you rolled out from under the car, sitting up with your arms resting against your knees. There was grease smeared across your cheek, a few loose strands of hair sticking to your temple from the heat, but none of that mattered.

Because the second your eyes met Natasha’s, you knew. Your posture shifted. Not in shock, not in surprise. In recognition. And then, just as quickly, in rejection. “No.”

Natasha arched a brow, unfazed. “I didn’t ask anything yet.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands with slow, deliberate movements before standing up. “You didn’t have to.” Natasha smirked slightly, though there was no humor in it. “You know who I am.”

You exhaled, shaking your head as you grabbed a bottle of water from the nearby workbench. “Everyone in this business knows who you are.” You twisted the cap off, took a sip, and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before turning your gaze back to Natasha. “And I already know why you’re here.”

Natasha studied you, taking in the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers flexed slightly before stilling. You weren’t just expecting this conversation, you had already decided against it.

“You need a driver.” you continued before Natasha could even open her mouth. “And you think I should be it.” Natasha didn’t confirm or deny it. She didn’t have to. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Not happening.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “You didn’t even hear my offer.”

“Don’t need to.” You tossed the rag onto the workbench, your movements final. “I don’t race.”

Natasha stepped forward. “You don’t compete.” You turned away, picking up another tool and adjusting something in the car. “Same thing.”

The silence that stretched between you wasn’t tense, it was a battle. Natasha wasn’t used to people walking away from her. She wasn’t used to people ignoring her. But you? You didn’t hesitate to turn your back.

Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly. “I watched you on the track.” You kept working. “Good for you.”

“You’re not just testing the cars.” Natasha’s voice was quieter now, but sharper, cutting through the noise of the garage like a blade. “You’re still racing.”

Your hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, you kept moving. Natasha pressed forward. “I saw the way you took that turn. The way you adjusted, the way you let the car move with you instead of fighting it.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “A test driver wouldn’t drive like that.”

You exhaled, slamming the hood of the car shut harder than necessary. “Whatever you think you saw.” you muttered, voice tight, “it doesn’t matter.”

Natasha didn’t move. She stood her ground, unwavering. “You belong on the track.” You laughed. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was sharp, bitter, the kind of laugh that had too much weight behind it.

You finally turned, your expression unreadable, but your voice was cold when you spoke. “I belonged there. Past tense.”

Natasha held your gaze. “That’s not what I saw.” You wiped your hands again, slower this time, more deliberate. “Then you weren’t looking hard enough.”

Silence. Natasha exhaled through her nose, rolling her shoulders back slightly. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but I know a racer when I see one. And you?” She smirked faintly. “You’re still racing. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Your jaw ticked. For a moment, Natasha thought she had you. Thought she had struck the nerve she needed to. But then, you simply shook your head and grabbed a wrench. “Go find someone else, Romanoff.” You turned back to the car, your shoulders set, your posture final.

This conversation was over. Natasha studied you for a long moment, weighing her options. She could push. She could demand, argue, try to break through the wall you had built.

But she knew better. She knew when to walk away. At least, for now. She exhaled slowly, stepping back. “You know where to find me.”

You didn’t respond. Natasha didn’t expect you to. She turned, walking out of the garage, her steps slow, controlled. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t giving up. Because no matter how much you tried to deny it, Natasha had already seen the truth. You were still a racer. And Natasha Romanoff always got what she wanted.

As she stepped outside, the night air cooler than the thick heat of the garage, Yelena fell into step beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket. She had been watching from a distance, leaning against the wall near the entrance, casually observing the entire exchange.

After a few seconds of silence, she let out a low whistle, smirking. “That might be the first time I’ve seen someone tell you to go to hell and actually get away with it.” Natasha didn’t slow her stride. “She didn’t tell me to go to hell.”

Yelena popped her gum. “No, but she might as well have.” She studied her sister’s expression, intrigued. “So, what’s the plan now? You actually gonna let that be the end of it?”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “No.” Yelena chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

Days went by and you were again on the track. The first laps were smooth. You drove with focus, feeling the car’s balance, analyzing every movement, every response. No risks. No unnecessary speed. It wasn’t a race. Just a test run.

And then you saw it. In the rearview mirror. Another car, at the end of the straight, right in the middle of the track. You blinked. That couldn’t be. No other car was supposed to be here. But it was.

Then your radio crackled. “You’re driving like a damn rookie.” Your heart stopped. That voice. You gritted your teeth. “What the hell are you doing here?” She didn’t answer immediately. Her silence was almost worse than her words. “Drive.”

You shook your head, pressing the radio button harder than necessary. “I’m working. Get off the track.”

“Make me.”

Your fingers tightened around the wheel. The red car moved. Slowly, controlled. It slid into your line, blocking your path, positioning itself exactly where you needed to go. “Romanoff..” you growled.

“You think you can ignore me?” Her voice was sharp. “That I’ll just stand by and disappear?”

“I’m not here for a damn game.”

“Oh, but you are. You just don’t know it yet.”

Her car kept moving, staying exactly in your line. No gap. No escape.

“I don’t have time for this shit.”

Natasha laughed, a dark, mocking sound. “Oh, you have time. You’ve wasted years hiding. Not today.”

Your pulse was racing now. A fine tremor ran through your hands, your chest rising and falling faster than it should.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“Make. Me.”

Her voice was calm. Almost amused.

“This isn’t a damn negotiation!”

“No. It’s a race.” And then she took off. Suddenly, the red car wasn’t just an obstacle. It was a shadow, shooting past you, positioning itself ahead, dominating every damn turn.

She gave you no choice. You felt your grip on the wheel tighten, your jaw clenching. “You think you can just challenge me?”

“I know you want it.”

Your heart pounded. “Shut up.”

“Drive.”

She pushed you. Drove more aggressively, more recklessly, cutting you off, giving you no damn room to breathe.

“You’ve gotten weak.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Shut. Up.”

“You used to be someone I respected.”

“I will shove you off this track if you don’t-”

“Then do it.” She knew damn well you wouldn’t. Your hands were shaking. Your breath was shallow.

“You’re not yourself anymore, are you?” Those words dug under your skin, a pain deeper than any physical wound. You hated her in that moment. Hated her for her arrogance. Hated her for knowing you. Hated her because she was right.

“Do you know what disappoints me most about you?” she continued, as if this was some damn therapy session. “It’s not the crash. It’s not that you fell. It’s that you don’t even try to get back up.”

And that was the moment. The moment something inside you snapped. A break. A damn fire you had suffocated for so long that you had almost forgotten it was ever there. Your foot slammed onto the gas. “Fuck you.”

The engine roared. The car responded instantly, as if it had been waiting for this moment. Suddenly, there was no hesitation. No fear. No voices from the past. Just speed. And a damn red shadow ahead of you, one you would finally chase. The engine roared under your control as you pushed the gas pedal down. Your car shot forward, vibrating with an intensity that traveled through your bones, but Natasha was there.

Like a damn predator. The red car moved with terrifying precision, cutting you off again and again, blocking your best lines, forcing you into her trap. She gave you no room to breathe, no moment of control. This wasn’t a challenge. It was a show of dominance. Every turn, every straight-line maneuver was a damn game. But not just any game. It was her game. And she made sure you lost.

The next corner approached with brutal speed. A sharp right turn, one that would demand everything. Your fingers clenched around the steering wheel, your body was ready, but your mind wasn’t. You were supposed to brake. A fraction of a second earlier than usual to maintain control. But then Natasha moved over. Hard. Aggressive. Too soon. Way too soon.

Your breath caught. What the hell is she doing? Her line was a disaster, too tight, too risky. She forced you to the outer edge, pushing you into a damn dead end. “Brake.” Her voice cut through the radio. Ice-cold. “Brake or crash.”

Your heart pounded. Your instincts screamed, she had you exactly where she wanted. But your body… your damn body wouldn’t listen. Your leg twitched, your foot wanted to press the brake. Just like back then. Just like on the day you last really raced. A flash shot through your mind, the impact, the screeching metal, the blood. The silence afterward. Your hands trembled. Natasha knew. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Do it.” her voice came through again. “Do it or stop calling yourself a driver.” Your rage exploded. “Romanoff!!!” You yanked the steering wheel, forcing the car into an impossibly tight line, feeling the tires fight for every inch of traction. Your body tensed, everything in you screamed that you wouldn’t make it.

But you did. Your car flew through the corner, just a hair’s breadth from Natasha’s, so close you could swear her gaze burned through the helmet straight into your soul. But she didn’t brake. She stayed with you. She dragged you with her. “Yeah..” you heard her growl as your cars raced side by side down the straight. “That’s it.”

Your whole body burned. Your muscles locked under the tension. This wasn’t a damn race anymore. This was war. And you hated her. Hated that she had brought you here. Hated that you needed it. Hated that you had missed it. The final turn approached. Fast, treacherous. The kind of turn where drivers either proved themselves, or failed. Natasha went in first. Her line was perfect. Almost too perfect.

You could have let her go. Could have let her take the lead. But you didn’t. No. Not today. Not anymore. The anger boiled over, your head screamed against all the voices that had held you back for years. You want me to take risks? Then fine, here you go. You ripped the car into the turn harder than ever before, deeper than anyone would have dared, taking an impossible line, one that couldn’t work.

It didn’t have to work. It just had to prove you weren’t afraid anymore. The tires screamed under the pressure, your car shook, the chassis vibrated as if it would fall apart, but you held the line. And for the first time in this whole damn race, you heard nothing from Natasha. No command. No taunt. Just silence. The finish line came into sight, you and Natasha racing towards it, but you didn’t care.

You had surprised her. For the first time, you had turned the tables. Adrenaline rushed through your blood, your body electric as your cars crossed the line. For a moment, the world was nothing but white noise. Then silence. You tore the helmet off your head before the car even stopped. Your hands were shaking..but not from fear. From anger. Anger at Natasha. Anger that she had dared. That she had pushed you this far.

That she…That she had done it. You jumped out of the car, your pulse pounding as you stormed past her. “See? I-”

“Fuck you, Romanoff.” you spat, your voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. You didn’t look back. Not at her. Not at the car. Not at the damn monster she had awakened in you.

——

You lay on your bed, arms folded behind your head, staring at the ceiling. Since you had come home, you hadn’t spoken to anyone. Not because there was nothing to say. But because you couldn’t. Your head was full. Full of her laughter. Full of the screeching tires, of the way your heart had pounded when you almost lost control. Full of that damn fire Natasha had reignited in you.

You hated her. Hated her because she knew exactly what she was doing. Hated her because she had brought you back to a place you swore you’d never return to. Hated her because it had felt..damn it..alive.

You gritted your teeth and rubbed your face, exhausted. Your whole body was still tense, as if you were about to get back into the car. The tension just wouldn’t fade. For years, you had held back. For years, you had done everything to bury that part of yourself. And then she came along.

Romanoff. And within minutes, she had torn it all down. A knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. “Y/n, dinner’s ready!” Your mother’s voice. Warm, kind, the kind that usually calmed you. But not today. You didn’t want to go downstairs. Didn’t want to pretend everything was normal, as if yesterday hadn’t happened. But if you didn’t, there would be questions. And questions were the last thing you needed.

So you forced yourself out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt, and shuffled down the stairs. The kitchen was warm, the smell of food lingering in the air. Your mother was still at the stove, your father already sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, while your little brother sat next to him, tapping his fork against his plate.

You sat down silently, grabbed a bowl of food, and started eating without looking at anyone. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe tonight would just be a normal evening. “Y/n were driving again yesterday!” The fork in your hand froze. A cold shiver ran down your spine. Slowly, painfully slowly, you lifted your gaze.

Your little brother grinned at you, completely unaware of what he had just done. “Yeah, she was on the track! I saw it! Her car was really fast!”Silence. A different kind of silence. The kind that comes before a storm. Slowly, your father put his phone down. Your mother turned away from the stove, still holding the spoon in her hand, her eyes wide with shock.

“What?” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“It was just a test run..” you tried to keep your voice calm. “Nothing serious.”

“A test run?” Your father leaned back, his brow furrowed deeply. “Since when are you driving again?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh yes, you are!” your brother chimed in cheerfully. “And you’re really good! I even saw videos!”

“Jacob, shut up!!” You snapped. Your mother looked at you like she didn’t recognize you. “We talked about this.”

“I know!”

“No, apparently, you don’t!” Her voice was sharper now. “I thought you wanted to leave it behind. I thought you were done with all of this.” Your jaw tightened. “I am.”

“You were driving.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was something..” your father cut in now, his tone cool, controlled, but you could hear the underlying frustration.

“After everything that happened? After the accident?” Your mother’s voice was rising now. “And now you’re telling us it was nothing?”

Your hands curled into fists under the table. “I didn’t want to, okay?” you finally said, your voice lower. “She…she pushed me into it.”

“She?” Your father frowned. “Who?”

You swallowed hard. You could have lied. Could have made something up. But what would have been the point? “Natasha Romanoff.” The name dropped into the room like a weight. Your father took in a sharp breath. Your mother froze for a moment, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “Natasha Romanoff?” Her tone wavered somewhere between disbelief and concern.

“Yes.” Your father slowly shook his head, like he couldn’t believe it. “That woman is…Y/n, she’s dangerous.”

“She’s a damn legend..!” your brother chimed in excitedly, as if you had just spoken about a hero. “Jacob, you stay out of this!” your father snapped, shooting him a quick glance before his focus returned to you. “And she’s the one who got you back in a car?”

You felt the anger rising inside you, but it wasn’t the explosive, loud kind. It was deeper. Simmering. Because they made it sound like you had no choice. But you did. And you made it. “I did it myself..” you murmured.

“Against her?” Your mother stared at you in disbelief. You nodded. Her face paled. Your father let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s fantastic. First, she races you, then she pushes you to keep going? What the hell does this woman want from you?”

“I don’t know.” The lie came too easily. But you did know. Natasha had told you. She wanted to bring you back. And the worst part of it all, the part that made your stomach turn, was that some part of you wanted it too.

Your mother rubbed a hand over her face, exhaustion clear in her posture. “I don’t understand…after everything that happened, why would you even let her get to you?” Because she cornered me. Because she pushed me. Because she saw what I couldn’t admit. But you didn’t say it. “It was a mistake.”

Your own voice sounded hollow. Your father studied you for a long moment, as if he were searching for something between the lines. But then your mother slowly shook her head. “If you drive again…” Her voice was firm. “If you really go back…then that’s it.” The words cut through you like a blade.

“What?”

“Then you’re on your own. You’re completely on your own.”

You looked at her in shock. “That’s not fair-”

“It is.” She said, her gaze steady, sharp. “Because we’re not doing this again. We almost lost you once. Almost buried you. I will not sit back and watch you put yourself in danger again.”

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. You knew they were worried. You knew, to them, this was never just a sport, it was the thing that almost took their child from them. But this? This was an ultimatum.

“This isn’t fair!” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “Life isn’t fair.” your father said simply. And that was the end of the discussion. Silence settled over the table, thick and suffocating. Your food tasted like nothing. Slowly, you stood up, pushing your chair back. “I’m tired.”

“Y/n-”

“Good night.” You left them at the table, feeling their stares on your back as you climbed the stairs. As soon as your door closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. Damn it. You had never been this angry before. Not just at them. At yourself. Because a part of you knew your mother was right. But another part…Another part knew it was too late.

Days passed, but you couldn’t shut it off. Every time you were on the track, she was in your head. When you walked through your front door, you thought you’d finally get a quiet afternoon. No cars. No Natasha. Just you. “Do you really think she’s happy?”

You froze in the doorway. Your fingers tightened around your keys. Slowly, almost unwillingly, you stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind you. The voices were coming from the living room. You could hear your mother, upset, almost pleading. Your father? Silent. And then..Natasha. She was here. Oh, hell.

You forced your legs to move, following the sounds into the living room. And when you turned the corner, you saw the scene before you. Your mother sat on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Your father stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense.

And in the middle of the room, completely relaxed, as if she belonged there, sat Natasha. She had one leg crossed over the other, hands resting loosely on the armrests. Her posture was calm, controlled..but her eyes? Her eyes were ice. She knew she wasn’t welcome here. But she sat there like it didn’t matter. Your mother shot her a withering glare. “My daughter is happy! She chose to leave this madness behind.”

Natasha blinked slowly. Then she looked at your father. “And you? Do you believe that?” Your stomach twisted. Your father said nothing. He had been silent the entire time. Your mother had been the one who stayed at your bedside after the crash. The one who held your hand when the doctors said you might never walk again. The one who swore you’d never sit in a cockpit again.

But your father? He had accepted it. Never questioned your decision. Supported you, but never really talked about it. Now, he looked at you. Not at Natasha. You. And in his eyes, you saw something you didn’t expect. He was searching for an answer. Your throat felt dry.

“Dad..” you murmured. “Tell her to leave.” But he didn’t. Natasha studied him carefully. Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You know, don’t you? You see it.”

His brow furrowed. “See what?”

“That she’s lying to herself.”

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. “Look at her.” Natasha continued, still watching him. “You say she’s moved on. That she’s chosen to stop racing. But do you really believe that? Or is that just the story you tell yourself so you don’t have to worry anymore?”

“Stop this..” your mother snapped. “She made her decision. You act like you know her better than her own family!”

Natasha slowly turned her head. Her gaze was hard, but not angry. Just cold. Precise. “I don’t know her better.” she said. “But I know what I saw yesterday. And that was not someone who quit.”

Your hands curled into fists. “It was a mistake.”

“Then why are you still thinking about it?”

Silence. You could hear your mother take a deep breath, her fingers clenched around the glass on the coffee table. “I don’t understand you..” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just leave her alone?”

“Because she can’t.” Natasha said simply. Your breath caught. “People like her don’t just stop.” Natasha continued, her voice now quiet, intense. “They can try. They can tell themselves it’s over, that they can live a different life. But deep down, they know better.”

Her gaze shifted back to you. “You know better.” Your heart pounded. Your nails dug into your palms. “No.”

Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Yes.” She reached into the inside of her bag, pulled out a folder, and placed it slowly on the coffee table. “This.” she said calmly, “is a contract.” You stared at it as if it were a weapon. “A seat. A team. A new chance.” Natasha continued. “You don’t have to take it. I won’t force you.”

Your mother sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t seriously expect-”

“No.” Natasha interrupted her. “I don’t expect anything, Mrs. Y/l/n.” Her eyes were back on you. “But I know what’s going to happen. You’ll ignore it. You’ll pretend you don’t want it. But every night, this damn thing will be in your head. You’ll think about it. About the race. About the feeling. And one day, you won’t be able to deny it anymore.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. Your mother shook her head vehemently. “Please leave now..” Your father still said nothing. He was looking at you. And you knew that he knew. That he had always known. You didn’t want it. You really didn’t. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And Natasha knew it. “Take the contract.” Natasha said quietly. “Or tear it up. But if you do, do it because you’re sure. Not because you’re afraid.” You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the folder. But you didn’t open it. You turned away. And without another word, you left the room. The contract felt heavy in your hand. Behind you, complete silence.

Then, you heard Natasha stand up. “I won’t try to convince you again.” she said calmly. “But I promise you one thing. If you tear it up, it won’t go away. This feeling. It will never leave you alone.”

You exhaled shakily. Heard the front door open. Heard it close again. And then Natasha was gone. You stood in the darkness of the hallway, the paper still in your fingers. You wanted to get rid of it. You wanted to ignore it. But your hands wouldn’t move. Because you knew Natasha was right.

-

-

-

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Part 2

[xxnaiaxx]

hi!! natasha romanoff x fem!reader 13 trope pls? thank you!💗

SWAPPED

⤷ NATASHA A. ROMANOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Natasha A. Romanoff x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ From: MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: during a mission you and Natasha get body swapped by an artifact so, until Bruce and Tony find a way to get you back in your own body, you two are blocked. The already disastrous situation only worsens if you think that you are inside the body of the woman you have a crush on

ᯓ★MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ TW(s): some innuendos and tony's jokes

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The rhythmic hum of the Quinjet fills the space between you and Natasha. It’s one of those comfortable silences, the kind that only comes from spending years side by side in life-or-death situations. You sit across from her, legs slightly spread, fingers playing with the frayed edges of your gloves. She's leaned back, arms crossed, her head tilted against the wall, the soft overhead light catching the reddish strands of her hair.

You shouldn’t be staring. But you are.

Her eyes are closed, lashes dark against her pale skin, and for a moment you let yourself have this—watching her like this, peaceful, completely unaware of the way your heart hammers against your ribs just from being near her. You tell yourself it’s harmless. She doesn’t know. She’ll never know.

It’s been like this for a while now. Years, actually. You’re friends—good friends—and that’s all it’s supposed to be. That’s what you keep telling yourself. But there are nights, in the quiet of your own room, when you replay moments between you two, when the air feels heavier, charged, and wonder if maybe she ever thought about you the way you think about her.

But then you remember every sly smirk she’s thrown at a cute waiter, every flirtatious comment she’s batted toward some attractive guy during missions, and you push it all back down. Natasha Romanoff doesn’t like women, and she definitely doesn’t like you. At least, not like that.

“Earth to Y/N,” Natasha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and your heart stutters painfully.

You blink, realizing too late that her eyes are open now, green and sharp, staring right at you. Caught.

“Zoned out there for a second,” you say, forcing a small smile, hoping your face isn’t betraying you.

Natasha quirks a brow, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Thinking about the mission?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Of course.”

She hums, clearly not buying it but letting you off the hook. “You’re cute when you lie.”

The words hit you square in the chest, even though you know they’re nothing more than a tease. She always does this—throws out little comments that make your head spin, but never with any real weight behind them. Still, your stomach flutters embarrassingly.

You scoff, trying to play it cool. “You’d know. You’re the queen of lies.”

She grins, sharp and amused. “Touché.”

The comms crackle, and you’re grateful for the distraction. “Approaching the target,” comes Sam’s voice through the speakers. “We’re two minutes out.”

You pull yourself together, focusing on the mission. It’s supposed to be simple: in and out, retrieve some weird artifact that SHIELD flagged as dangerous. But nothing ever really goes according to plan.

The Quinjet dips lower, and you and Natasha both rise, moving in sync like you always do. Her presence is grounding, even when your heart is a mess. She gives you a look, the one that says we’ve got this, and you nod.

The building is dark, abandoned, with only the occasional flicker of a broken light illuminating the dust-filled air. You and Natasha slip through the corridors with ease, your footsteps nearly silent. It’s like this every time—the two of you moving together like a well-rehearsed dance. But still, you feel the tension in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it’s the mission. Maybe it’s just her.

You find the artifact in a room that looks more like an ancient temple than part of a crumbling office building. It sits on a pedestal, glowing faintly—a sphere of dark glass with strange runes etched along its surface.

“Looks easy enough,” you whisper, inching closer.

“Famous last words,” Natasha murmurs beside you.

You shoot her a look. “You jinxed it.”

She smirks, but there’s caution in her eyes now. “Let me take a look first.”

You step aside as she approaches the pedestal, fingers hovering over the orb but not touching it. There’s a beat of silence, and then—because of course—something shifts in the air. A pulse radiates out from the sphere, like a ripple through water, and you barely have time to react before it hits both of you.

You feel it deep in your chest, like your whole body is being stretched and compressed all at once. There’s a sharp, blinding light, and your vision blacks out.

When you come to, everything feels... off.

You’re lying on the cold floor, but your body feels strange—heavier in places, lighter in others. There’s a weird disconnect, like your brain isn’t entirely synced with your limbs. You groan, pushing yourself up, but even your voice sounds different.

And then you see yourself.

Or rather, your body. Across the room, sitting up just like you, wearing that same expression of confusion and dawning horror.

“Y/N?” Natasha’s voice comes out of your mouth. Her eyes—your eyes—are wide.

You look down at yourself—except it’s not yourself. It’s Natasha’s body. Her black tactical suit, her gloves, her—

“Oh my god,” you breathe, hands flying to your chest where, yes, you can feel everything that makes Natasha Natasha. “This can’t be happening.”

Natasha scrambles to her feet—well, your feet. “We swapped,” she says flatly, already more composed than you feel.

“No shit,” you snap, but your voice—her voice—makes it sound more seductive than pissed.

There’s a beat of silence before Natasha quirks an eyebrow, still in your body. “I sound hot.”

You glare at her, but it’s hard to focus when your body is standing there, hands on hips, looking at you with your face. It’s beyond weird. And then there’s the fact that you’re inside Natasha’s body right now, every inch of it hyper-aware.

You try not to think about it. About how many times you’ve imagined touching her, being close to her, and now—now you are her.

“This is bad,” you mutter.

Natasha crosses her arms—your arms. “Could be worse.”

You blink at her. “How?”

She smirks. “At least I don’t have to do my own makeup tomorrow.”

Despite yourself, you snort, but the sound that comes out is so soft and melodic that it makes you self-conscious all over again.

“Okay,” you say, trying to focus. “We need to fix this. Get back to the Quinjet, call for backup—something.”

But as you move, you realize that walking in her body feels different—more balanced, stronger. Your limbs respond, but there’s an elegance to it that you never noticed before, at least not from the inside. You can’t help but glance down, and immediately regret it.

Natasha catches you staring.

“Enjoying the view?” she teases, a wicked glint in your—her—eyes.

You flush, but it’s hidden behind her perfect features. “Shut up.”

“Hey, if I were you—” she gestures to herself, “—I’d take advantage of the situation.”

You want to die.

But the thing is, she has no idea. No idea that inside your head, the thoughts are spiraling. Being in her body is like standing too close to the sun—intense, blinding, dangerous. Your brain is a mess of don’t think about it and holy shit, I’m her right now.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you say, voice tight.

You make your way back through the building, trying your best to focus on walking normally, not gawking at the way her body moves, how natural it feels, how strong. But you can’t help the intrusive thoughts—the ones that creep in despite your best efforts.

I wonder what it feels like to fight like her. To stretch, to—

You shake your head, forcing your mind away from the edge.

Natasha, meanwhile, seems to be having a great time. She whistles at one point, and you glare at her.

“Really?”

“What? I’ve never had your legs before. They’re nice.”

You want to scream. Or melt into the floor.

When you finally get back to the Quinjet, you both sit down hard, exhausted and overwhelmed. The artifact is in a containment box now, but there’s no telling how to reverse whatever the hell it did.

“We’ll figure it out,” Natasha says, running a hand through your hair.

You nod, but your mind is still racing. This body swap—being in her skin—it’s like every buried feeling you’ve ever had is now screaming at you. And the worst part is, you’re terrified that you’ll slip. That you’ll say something, or do something, that gives it all away.

Because if there’s one thing you know, it’s that you can’t let Natasha find out how you really feel.

But sitting here, in her body, with her teasing you like it’s all just a game—it’s going to be harder than you ever thought.

The Quinjet touches down at the compound just as the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the tarmac. You’re gripping the edge of the seat so hard that your knuckles—Natasha’s knuckles—turn white. Beside you, Natasha flexes your hands, examining them with curiosity, like she’s still amused by the whole body swap disaster.

“This is so weird,” you mutter under your breath, adjusting your posture. Every tiny movement feels strange, foreign. The suit that usually fits Natasha like a second skin now molds to you, and the weight of her body, the strength in her muscles, is something you’re still not used to. Every step feels like you’re walking in a too-real dream.

Natasha glances at you with your face and shrugs. “I think I’m handling it pretty well.”

You shoot her a glare but it doesn’t have the same impact when it’s coming from her eyes.

Sam’s waiting at the hangar, leaning against a crate, his arms crossed, but the moment he spots the two of you descending the ramp, he frowns. “Everything go okay? You guys look… off.”

You try to open your mouth to explain, but Natasha beats you to it, stepping forward in your body with her usual swagger. “Define okay,” she says, your voice sounding way too confident.

Sam blinks, glancing between the two of you. “Wait—what?”

“Yeah,” you say, gesturing to yourself. “We, uh, swapped.”

“Swapped,” Sam repeats slowly, like he’s trying to process whether you’re joking.

Natasha gives him a grin. Your grin. “Body swapped.”

Sam’s jaw drops open, and then he bursts out laughing, his voice echoing through the hangar. “No. No way.”

You groan. “It’s not funny!”

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Sam counters, wiping a tear from his eye. “I mean, look at you two.”

“Can we just get inside?” you snap, not really in the mood for jokes—not when you’re wearing Natasha’s body like some awkward cosplay.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam waves you through, still chuckling. “This is gonna be good.”

The three of you head into the compound, and you can already feel the tension building in your chest—or, well, Natasha’s chest—as you try to figure out how the hell you’re going to explain this to the rest of the team.

Of course, you don’t have to wait long.

The moment you step into the common area, Tony Stark is there, lounging on the couch with a drink in hand. Bruce is at the table, reading through something on his tablet, but both of them glance up as you and Natasha enter.

“Hey, Red, Y/N,” Tony greets, lifting his glass. “You’re back early. What’d you do, set off a self-destruct sequence to save time?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples, which feels even weirder when it’s not your head. “Tony—”

Natasha cuts in, crossing your arms over her chest. “We had a bit of an incident.”

Tony narrows his eyes, noticing the odd dynamic, the way you’re both standing, the uncomfortable distance between you. “What kind of incident?”

“Body swap,” you blurt out.

Tony stares. “Body swap? Like Freaky Friday body swap?”

You nod grimly.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tony starts laughing so hard he nearly spills his drink. “This is perfect. Oh my god, I wish I had cameras on that mission.”

Bruce lowers his tablet, blinking in mild confusion but already looking concerned. “Wait, seriously? You two swapped bodies?”

You and Natasha both nod.

Tony, still cackling, leans back further on the couch. “This is like the greatest sitcom episode I never knew I needed. Please tell me you at least tried to do each other’s voices.”

Natasha, still in your body, smirks. “I think I nailed hers. Don’t you think?” she asks, and it’s unsettling hearing your voice laced with her sarcastic edge.

Tony snaps his fingers. “Spot on. Ten out of ten.”

“Can you just help us?” you interject, crossing Natasha’s arms tightly, feeling the tension coil in your muscles. Her muscles. “This isn’t exactly fun for me.”

Tony waves his hand dismissively, though there’s still a grin on his face. “Fine, fine. We’ll fix you. Right, Brucie?”

Bruce sighs, already getting up and walking towards his lab. “I’ll start running some tests. Come on.”

You and Natasha follow him through the compound, Tony trailing behind, still muttering about the comedy gold of this entire situation.

In the lab, Bruce starts scanning you both, asking all kinds of questions about the artifact, while Tony pokes at the readings, throwing out occasional jokes that you’re trying really hard to ignore.

“So, Y/N,” Tony says, tapping on a screen, “how does it feel to be the Black Widow for a day? Got that spy mojo flowing yet? Maybe try one of her signature flips?”

You shoot him a glare. “Not the time, Tony.”

He holds up his hands in mock defense. “Hey, I’m just saying—if I were you, I’d make the most of it. Stretch a little. Test out the flexibility.”

Natasha snorts, still in your body, clearly enjoying this more than she should.

Bruce, thankfully, clears his throat, cutting through the banter. “This isn’t going to be an easy fix,” he says, his brows furrowing as he studies the readings. “Whatever that artifact was, it didn’t just swap your consciousness—it rewrote certain biological signals. I’m going to need time to figure out how to reverse it.”

You feel your stomach sink—or Natasha’s stomach, whatever. “How long are we talking?”

Bruce hesitates. “Could be a day. Could be a week.”

You groan, leaning against the counter. “Great.”

Tony claps his hands together. “Well, in the meantime, you two get to live each other’s lives. This is going to be so entertaining.”

Natasha crosses your arms and smirks. “I think I’ll enjoy this.”

You glare at her. “Glad one of us will.”

After Bruce gives you both a few more instructions, you and Natasha head out of the lab, the weight of the situation sinking in. It hits you harder when you realize you can’t just sit around in her body without taking care of… basic things.

“So,” Natasha says casually, as you both walk towards the living quarters, “I guess we should talk about the elephant in the room.”

You glance at her. “Which one? The fact that I’m stuck in your body or the fact that Tony thinks this is hilarious?”

“No,” she says, stopping in front of her room—your room, for now. “The fact that we’re going to have to deal with… hygiene.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Hygiene?”

She gives you a pointed look. “We’re going to have to shower at some point.”

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Showering. In her body.

You can already feel the heat rising to your face, and you scramble to find words. “I—I can just, you know… avoid looking.”

Natasha chuckles, leaning against the doorframe. “Good luck with that.”

You glare at her, trying to seem unbothered, but your heart is racing. “You’re way too chill about this.”

She shrugs, still wearing your body with an ease that’s almost infuriating. “I’ve been through worse.”

You groan, running your hand through her red hair. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

“Or an adventure,” she says, smirking.

You try to ignore the way that makes your stomach flutter.

Hours pass, and after a painfully awkward attempt at dinner—where Tony made more jokes about the swap and Sam nearly choked laughing—you find yourself back in Natasha’s room. It’s neat, sparse, just like you expected. Her gear is lined up meticulously, and there’s a faint trace of her perfume in the air.

You’re standing in front of her mirror, still wearing her tactical suit, trying to muster the courage to actually take it off. You need to wash up. You can’t exactly avoid it forever. But the idea of seeing… everything… it’s almost too much.

“This is fine,” you mutter to yourself, tugging at the zipper.

The suit peels away, and you force yourself to keep your eyes on the wall, on the ceiling—anywhere but the mirror. But your curiosity gets the better of you, and you glance.

It’s surreal. You’ve seen Natasha in her suit a million times, in training, on missions, but seeing her body like this—knowing it’s you in there—it makes something twist painfully in your chest. You try to ignore the intrusive thoughts, the ones that creep in despite your best efforts.

Don’t look. Don’t think about it.

But you can’t help it.

You take the quickest shower of your life, eyes squeezed shut most of the time, and when you’re finally done, you throw on a set of Natasha’s pajamas, which are soft and simple but still somehow make you feel like an imposter.

You flop down on her bed, groaning into the pillow. “This is hell.”

A knock sounds at the door.

You sit up quickly. “Yeah?”

Natasha steps in—in your body—wearing one of your old T-shirts and sweatpants, looking way too comfortable. She grins. “So. How was the shower?”

You scowl. “Don’t.”

She raises her hands. “Hey, just checking.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

She shrugs, then flops onto the bed next to you, stretching out her arms—your arms—and sighs. “It could be worse.”

You turn your head to look at her, feeling the heaviness in your chest again. “Yeah? How?”

She grins. “We could’ve swapped with Tony.”

You both burst out laughing, the tension breaking, at least for a moment. But as the laughter dies down, you realize that being stuck like this, stuck with her, is going to be harder than you thought. Because every second in her body, every teasing joke, every lingering glance—it’s pushing you closer to a line you’ve been avoiding for years.

And you’re not sure how much longer you can keep pretending.

You lie there on Natasha’s bed, still in her body, staring up at the ceiling while Natasha lounges beside you in your body like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’s got your legs crossed at the ankles, one arm draped over her stomach, and she looks almost too comfortable. You wonder if it’s that easy for her, adapting to being someone else.

But it’s not.

What you don’t realize is that behind her smirks and sarcastic comments, she’s struggling just as much as you are—maybe even more.

She glances over at you, watching herself—well, you—stare at the ceiling, your jaw tight, eyes heavy with everything you’re trying not to say. From where she’s lying, seeing her own face from the outside, it’s strange. Surreal. But what throws her off the most isn’t the swap—it’s you.

You’ve always been the reason she’s held back.

Natasha has spent years convincing herself that it’s fine—more than fine—that the friendship you two share is enough. She never let it go further, never allowed herself to say anything, because she was sure you didn’t feel the same. Every time you talked about past relationships—guys—it reinforced the wall she built around her feelings. You’d talk about dates that didn’t work out, about exes who weren’t worth the time, and even when you were clearly frustrated with how they treated you, you never mentioned anything about girls. Never once hinted.

So she buried it.

She became your closest friend, your mission partner, the person you trusted when things went to hell. She told herself that was enough. That it had to be.

But being in your body now? It’s like standing too close to a window she was never supposed to look through. She feels everything—your heartbeat, the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your hands fidget when you’re anxious. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t prepared for.

And it’s killing her.

You shift beside her, still oblivious to what’s running through her head, and groan into the pillow. “This is the worst.”

Natasha props herself up on her elbow—your elbow—and studies you. “It’s not that bad,” she teases, though her chest feels tight.

You turn your head to look at her, your—her—red hair spilling across the pillow. “You’re handling this way too well. I’m over here having an identity crisis, and you’re… what? Just chilling?”

She forces a smirk. “I’m adaptable.”

But inside, she’s far from chill.

Being in your body, it’s different from anything she’s experienced. She thought it’d be awkward, and yeah, it is, but there’s more to it. She can feel your strength in the way your muscles shift under the surface, the subtle scars from past missions that she traces absentmindedly while sitting in front of the mirror. She knows every inch of you now—every part of you that she never thought she’d be allowed to see.

And it terrifies her.

She didn’t expect this—didn’t expect that being you, even temporarily, would make her feelings harder to ignore.

Earlier, after you both left Bruce and Tony’s lab, she’d gone straight to your room. It felt weird, standing there in the doorway, in your skin, staring at your bed, your shelves, the mess of clothes in the corner. It was so you. She’d hesitated before going in, feeling like she was intruding on something personal.

But curiosity got the better of her.

She walked around the room, running her—your—fingers over your books, photos, little trinkets you’d collected. Things she recognized, things she didn’t. She sat on your bed for a moment, bouncing lightly on the mattress, wondering if you ever thought about her here, in this space, when no one was around.

The thought made her stomach twist.

And then came the harder part—the shower.

It wasn’t until she stood in front of your bathroom mirror, the water running in the background, that she realized how complicated this was. She pulled your shirt over your head, carefully, like if she rushed it would be wrong. She avoided looking too closely at first, focusing on the tiles behind her, but her eyes eventually drifted to her reflection—your reflection.

It was strange, but also… beautiful.

She knew you were gorgeous—she wasn’t blind—but seeing you this way, with nothing to hide behind, made her heart race. It wasn’t about attraction in a superficial way. It was deeper than that. It was seeing the person she cared about, vulnerable, open, even if you didn’t know it.

She felt like she was breaking some unspoken rule.

The shower itself was quick. She kept her eyes closed most of the time, focusing on the mechanics, but even that was a challenge. Feeling your body move, the way your hands—her hands—ran through your hair, it was too much. Every second in there felt like she was toeing a dangerous line.

And now, lying next to you on her bed, still in your body, it’s all she can think about.

You sigh beside her, breaking the silence. “Do you think Bruce will actually fix this?”

She shrugs. “Eventually.”

You roll onto your side to face her, propping yourself up on one elbow. It’s a surreal sight—her own face looking at her like that, soft and tired. “This is so weird,” you say. “Like… I’m talking to myself, but I’m not.”

She smiles, but there’s a tightness to it that you don’t notice.

“You’re really good at this,” you add. “The whole… hiding how weirded out you are.”

She hesitates, then says, “I’m used to pretending.”

The words come out softer than she intended, and for a second, something shifts in your expression, like you’re about to ask her what she means. But then you stop yourself, and the moment passes.

Another beat of silence stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You break it with a nervous laugh. “God, I can’t believe we’re in this mess.”

Natasha chuckles, though her mind is racing. She wants to say something—anything—to bridge the gap that’s been growing between what she feels and what she shows. But she can’t. Not when she’s convinced that if she does, she’ll lose you.

So she stays quiet, even though every part of her is screaming.

But then you say something that catches her off guard.

“You know,” you start, your voice hesitant, “when we first swapped, I was… kinda panicking. I thought you’d be pissed. I didn’t think you’d take it so well.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Why would I be pissed?”

You shrug, looking at the bedspread. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought… I don’t know. That you’d hate being stuck in my body.”

There’s something vulnerable in your voice that tugs at her chest.

She sits up slightly, looking at you more seriously. “Why would I hate it?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Because… I’m not you. I’m not the Black Widow. I don’t have your skills, your… confidence.”

Her heart aches. She never realized you felt that way.

“Y/N,” she says gently, “you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious.” She shifts so she’s fully facing you, her legs crossed beneath her. “You think I don’t notice how much you do? How hard you train, how much you care about everyone on this team?”

You look at her—at yourself—with wide eyes, surprised by the intensity in her voice.

“I’m not in your body right now just wearing it like a suit,” she continues. “I feel it. I feel your strength. Your resilience. It’s all there.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, the tension between you almost palpable.

Then you smile, shy but genuine. “Thanks, Nat.”

She swallows hard, her throat tight. “Anytime.”

You lie back down, staring up at the ceiling again, but Natasha remains sitting, watching you. She wants to say it—the thing that’s been burning in her chest for years. But she doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she whispers, almost too softly for you to hear, “You have no idea.”

And maybe that’s the problem.

Because while you lie there, in her body, wondering if this swap is going to break you, Natasha sits in yours, wondering if it’s the only chance she’ll ever get to be this close to you.

The next few days in each other’s bodies are, unsurprisingly, absolute chaos. The compound, usually buzzing with energy and the hum of advanced technology, now feels like a stage for the most awkward reality show ever made, starring you and Natasha as the unwilling leads.

Tony, of course, is having the time of his life.

“Alright, Y/N—” he grins one morning, leaning against the kitchen counter with a coffee in hand, “—or should I say, Natasha? How’s the super-spy life treating you? Mastered the seductive stare yet?”

You narrow Natasha’s green eyes at him, but the effect is ruined when you accidentally bump the edge of the counter with her hip. Natasha’s body is a powerhouse—every movement feels amplified, and you’re still adjusting to the strength in her limbs.

Tony smirks. “Careful, Widow. You’ll dent my kitchen before you dent my heart.”

“Tony,” you say through gritted teeth, crossing Natasha’s arms over her chest. “This is already hard enough without your commentary.”

“Hard enough?” He raises an eyebrow. “Was that an innuendo? Damn, Y/N, didn’t know you had it in you.”

You groan and glance at Natasha—who’s leaning casually against the fridge in your body, sipping coffee like none of this bothers her. She catches your look and raises your eyebrow in amusement.

“Tell him to shut up,” you mutter.

Natasha takes another sip of coffee, licking your lips—her lips?—before responding. “Why? He’s right. You’re terrible at hiding your thoughts. I can practically feel the awkwardness radiating off you.”

Tony cackles. “Oh, this is golden.”

Bruce walks into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He freezes when he sees the three of you—Tony grinning like a maniac, Natasha lounging in your body, and you trying not to break the counter with Natasha’s super strength.

“Are we still like this?” he sighs, pouring himself coffee.

“Yup,” you and Natasha answer in unison.

“I’m working on it,” Bruce mumbles, taking his mug and retreating to the lab before Tony can rope him into more banter.

But of course, Tony isn’t done.

He spends most of the day following you and Natasha around, making jokes and taking mental notes for what he calls his “future blockbuster screenplay” about two spies who swap bodies and fall in love.

“You know,” he says at lunch, spinning a fork between his fingers, “this situation would make a killer rom-com. Two partners, forced into each other’s bodies, learning deep secrets—maybe even… forbidden feelings?”

You almost choke on your food. Natasha, meanwhile, chews calmly, though you notice the slight twitch at the corner of your mouth—her tell when something gets to her.

“I’m serious,” Tony continues, pointing between you two. “You know you’re gonna come out of this with some kind of emotional breakthrough. It’s, like, body-swap 101.”

“Tony,” Natasha says dryly—your voice coming out smooth and unimpressed, “you’ve been watching too many movies.”

“And yet, I’m still right,” he replies, grinning.

You glare at him. “Just let Bruce fix this already.”

But Bruce is struggling. Despite his genius, the body swap isn’t something easily reversed. Every time he calls you into the lab for scans or bloodwork, he looks more stressed, muttering about neurological pathways and “molecular consciousness displacement” like the world’s worst bedtime story.

“We’re talking about reprogramming the body’s natural biological signals,” he explains one afternoon, running a scanner over Natasha’s body—you in Natasha’s body—again. “It’s not just swapping your consciousness. Your physical forms are literally rejecting each other.”

“Cool,” Tony says, lounging on a lab stool, “so we’re one step away from Y/N growing red hair and Nat turning into a Starbucks-loving civilian?”

Bruce gives him a withering look.

You shift uncomfortably on the exam table. “How long, Bruce? Seriously.”

He sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe a few more days? Maybe a week? I don’t want to rush this and make it worse.”

The idea of being stuck in Natasha’s body that long sends your thoughts spiraling. Not because you hate it—but because you’re terrified of slipping up. Of showing too much. You already catch yourself staring at Natasha—your own body—when she’s not looking. She wears your skin like it’s nothing, moving through the compound with her usual confidence. And it drives you insane.

But the worst part? She seems completely unaffected. Like this is just another mission to get through.

Except… it’s not.

What you don’t see is how hard Natasha’s working to hide her own cracks.

Being in your body isn’t as simple as she makes it look. The first few days, she plays it cool—leaning into the teasing, pretending she’s fine—but inside, it’s chaos. She feels everything—your racing heartbeat when she stands too close, the way your stomach flips when Tony makes an offhand comment about the two of you being too comfortable.

The worst part is your scent.

She didn’t expect it to affect her, but it does. Being in your body means being surrounded by your warmth, your softness, the little details she’s tried to ignore for years. When she lies in your bed at night, staring at the ceiling, she wonders if this is what it would feel like—if things were different.

If you wanted her.

But she doesn’t let it show.

Instead, she focuses on small things—testing your strength at the gym, running drills with Sam, even sneaking in sparring sessions with Clint. It’s weird using your body in combat—your movements are less refined than hers, but there’s a power in you she’s always noticed.

“You hit harder than you think,” Clint comments one afternoon after she knocks him to the mat in the gym.

“Thanks,” she says, wiping sweat from your brow, though it feels strange to take credit for your strength.

“You’re adjusting fast.”

She shrugs, grabbing a towel. “I adapt.”

Clint watches her for a beat, then smirks. “You know, Y/N’s been asking about extra combat training for weeks now. Maybe when this is all over, you should be the one to help her out.”

The idea makes something twist in her chest.

“Yeah,” she mutters, “maybe.”

But adapting gets harder at night.

The quiet moments, when she’s alone in your room, lying in your bed, wearing your oversized T-shirts—those are the ones that crack her armor. She’ll catch herself staring at the ceiling, running your hands over your arms, wondering how you’d react if you knew. If you felt what she was feeling now.

And there are moments—small ones—when she thinks maybe you do know.

Like when you catch her reflection in a window, watching you when you think no one’s looking. Or when your gaze lingers too long on her—your own body—during training.

It builds, slowly, over the days.

The tension. The unspoken.

And Tony doesn’t help.

One evening, after another failed attempt at reversing the swap, he corners you both in the kitchen with two glasses of wine.

“Alright,” he says, sliding the glasses across the counter. “We’re officially past the ‘this is hilarious’ stage. Now we’re in the ‘let’s get deep and vulnerable’ stage.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tony—”

“Nope,” he cuts you off, raising a finger. “You’ve both been weirdly quiet about this, and I know—” he points between you—“that there’s more going on than just a body swap.”

Natasha, in your body, leans against the counter and sips her wine. “Like what?”

He grins. “Like, say, hidden feelings? Deep-seated emotional repression? Classic spy stuff.”

You almost spit out your drink. “Tony!”

He laughs. “I’m serious! You two have been dancing around each other for years. Now you’re literally in each other’s skin, and you’re telling me there’s nothing happening? Come on.”

You glare at him. “You’re reading into this way too much.”

But Natasha stays quiet.

Tony notices and smirks. “Or maybe I’m right.”

She finally speaks, her voice low. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But even you can hear the edge in her tone.

Tony backs off—barely—but his words linger.

That night, after everyone’s gone to bed, you find yourself wandering to the balcony, staring out at the stars. It’s quiet, peaceful, and for once, your thoughts settle.

Until you hear footsteps behind you.

Natasha.

In your body, wearing one of your hoodies, her hands stuffed into the pockets. She stands next to you, leaning on the railing.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words.

“Y/N,” she starts, her voice softer than usual, “do you ever wonder… if things could be different?”

You glance at her, surprised. “Different how?”

She hesitates, then sighs. “If we weren’t always on missions. If we didn’t have to… hide things.”

The question makes your heart race. Because yes. You’ve wondered. More times than you can count.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

The words hang between you, fragile and heavy.

And for the first time since the swap, you see it—the crack in her armor. The way she looks at you, like she’s been holding something back for years.

“Y/N,” she says again, her voice barely audible, “if we never get this fixed… I need you to know—”

But before she can finish, there’s a loud bang from the lab, followed by Bruce shouting, “I think I found something!”

You both jump, the tension snapping instantly.

But even as you rush toward the lab, Natasha’s unfinished words echo in your mind.

I need you to know…

And suddenly, the thought of going back to normal doesn’t feel so simple anymore.

The lab is a mess of wires, glowing monitors, and a haze of smoke from whatever Bruce just accidentally exploded. You and Natasha rush inside—her still in your body, you in hers—hearts pounding, the echo of her almost-confession still lingering between you.

Tony’s leaning against the wall, grinning like the proud inventor he is. Bruce, flustered but hopeful, gestures wildly at a console that’s beeping erratically.

“I did it,” Bruce says breathlessly. “I think I actually did it.”

“You’re sure?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, even as your hands—Natasha’s hands—tremble slightly.

Bruce adjusts his glasses. “Ninety-five percent sure. That’s pretty good, right?”

Tony claps him on the back. “Close enough. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You swap with a dog? Or each other’s subconscious fears? That would be fun.”

You glare at him, but Natasha—still in your body—smirks. “If we end up in Tony’s body, I’m quitting.”

Tony gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Romanoff. Truly.”

But you barely register the banter. Your mind is spinning with the weight of what Natasha almost said out on the balcony. The thought that she was going to confess something—and that you might never have known if Bruce hadn’t found a solution—sits heavy in your chest.

“Alright,” Bruce says, flipping a few switches. “This should reverse the swap. You’ll stand here—” he points to two glowing platforms, side by side, “—and when I activate the sequence, it’ll realign your consciousness with your original body.”

You glance at Natasha. She’s watching you, expression unreadable in your face, which makes it even harder to guess what she’s thinking.

You swallow hard. “Ready?”

She holds your gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then nods. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You step onto the platforms, heart racing. There’s a low hum as the machine powers up, energy swirling around you both.

Tony’s voice cuts through the noise. “Alright, lovebirds. If you swap brains with a toaster or something, I call dibs on the patent.”

You roll your—Natasha’s—eyes, but then everything blurs.

There’s a blinding flash, like lightning in your veins, and suddenly, everything feels… right.

You stumble forward, catching yourself with your own hands. Your own hands.

You blink, the world spinning for a second, then look up to see Natasha standing across from you—in her own body—rubbing her temples.

“Nat?” you ask, your voice—your real voice—cracking slightly.

She lifts her head, and when her green eyes meet yours, there’s a beat of silence that stretches and expands, until the buzzing in your ears fades completely.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’m me again.”

The sheer relief makes you laugh, breathless and shaky, and Natasha’s lips twitch upward.

“We did it!” Bruce exclaims, but his voice is distant, muffled against the roaring in your head.

Because all you can focus on is Natasha.

Tony is still yammering, probably making jokes about you two now being able to “safely kiss without existential dread,” but his words blur as the lab becomes a peripheral hum.

Natasha steps closer.

The tension is palpable—electric.

She hesitates, then grabs your wrist gently, fingers curling around your skin like she’s grounding herself.

“Y/N,” she starts, her voice low, almost trembling. “We need to talk.”

Your heart skips. “Yeah. Okay.”

Without waiting, she pulls you out of the lab, past Bruce’s triumphant cheers and Tony’s relentless teasing. Neither of you say anything as you navigate through the compound, weaving past empty hallways until you find yourself standing outside your room.

She pauses at your door, biting her lip. “Can we—?”

You nod, opening it.

The room is exactly as you left it, but it feels different now—charged with an energy you can’t ignore.

Natasha walks in first, stopping in the middle of the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her usual calm is gone—replaced by something raw, vulnerable.

You close the door behind you, heart pounding. “Natasha, what—”

She cuts you off. “I found your diary.”

The words hit you like a freight train.

Your face heats up instantly. “What?”

She swallows, her hands flexing at her sides. “When I was in your body. In your room. I—I wasn’t trying to snoop, I swear. But I couldn’t sleep, and I was looking around, and I saw it on your nightstand.”

You cover your face with your hands. “Oh my God.”

“Y/N,” she says quickly, stepping closer, “I didn’t mean to read it. But when I opened it… I saw what you wrote. About me.”

Your heart is now definitely trying to claw its way out of your chest.

“I—” You struggle to form words. “Natasha, I—”

She takes your hands, pulling them away from your face so you’re forced to meet her eyes. They’re soft, filled with something you can’t quite name—hope, fear, longing.

“You like me,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.

You nod, defeated. “Yeah. I do.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, but instead of tension, there’s relief.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” you rush on, “because I thought—you know—I thought you only liked guys. And I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

Natasha lets out a shaky breath, then laughs—soft, incredulous. “You’re an idiot.”

You blink. “What?”

She smiles now, full and real. “I like you, too. I have for a long time.”

You stare at her, stunned. “You do?”

She nods, her hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t say anything because I thought you weren’t into girls. You’ve only ever talked about guys, and I didn’t want to cross a line.”

Your head is spinning. “So all this time…?”

“All this time,” she confirms.

There’s a beat of silence, then you both laugh—nervous, breathless, but filled with something else now.

Natasha’s eyes darken slightly as she steps even closer, her hand now cupping your cheek. “I didn’t want to tell you while I was still in your body,” she admits. “It didn’t feel right. I wanted this—” she leans in, her breath ghosting over your lips, “—to happen with us. The real us.”

Your breath catches. “So… what happens now?”

Her lips curl into a smirk. “I think this.”

And then she kisses you.

It’s soft at first—tentative, as if both of you are testing the waters. But then you melt into it, your hands tangling in her hair, her fingers digging into your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens, and everything else—the awkwardness, the fear, the weeks of body-swapped chaos—fades away.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and grinning like idiots, Natasha leans her forehead against yours.

“That was worth waiting for,” she murmurs.

You laugh, your heart so full it hurts. “Definitely.”

But then there’s a loud knock at your door, followed by Tony’s unmistakable voice.

“Hey! I’m gonna assume the awkward confessions are done and the kissing has commenced?”

You and Natasha groan in unison, but neither of you can stop smiling.

Because for once, Tony’s actually right.

okay so, writing this was actually more confusing than I thought lol

[xxnaiaxx]

can you write about paige and yn are on holiday tg but they aren’t fully together just teasing each her but when paige sees her in a bikini tanning for the first time she starts acting up leading to smut

Vacation — p.b x fem!reader

pairing: paige buckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: you and some of the team go on a week long vacation together to start off the first week of summer, and finally the tension between you and paige couldn’t get any thicker.

‎ ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

by the time you arrived at the rental house, everyone was extremely agitated with each other. it wasn't on purpose though, the traveling had just made you all annoyed with everyone and everything. you all just needed a moment to relax from the travel and then you could come back together and socialize.

thankfully when you were finalizing the plans of the trip and confirming the rental house, you all looked at the pictures to determine your bedrooms. it was a great idea, to pick the rooms beforehand, and everyone had settled on a room except you and paige. it was down to the last two rooms and you had laid claim on the room you liked more, the only problem was that paige liked that room better as well.

you both argued over the room for nearly 30 minutes and yet you still didn’t come to an agreement. so, now that you’re finally at the house you had no choice but to come to an agreement.

“paige! i called dibs on that room first and you know it!” you yelled at her, your hands balling into fists at your sides. even though you had called the room first and you should’ve been able to just walk in and put your things away like you planned, paige still wasn’t letting up on getting that room.

“i don’t care. im taking that room.” she shrugged her shoulders. the only reason she wanted that room was because the view was good, and maybe because you wanted it and she loved fucking with you.

sarah, jana, azzi, and morgan had all filed away to their rooms, ice and kk stood in the kitchen watching you and paige argue. they leaned on the marble counter eating a bag of tru fru they picked up on the way.

“i don’t know why they’re even arguing,” kk snickered, shaking her head and snatching the bag of tru fru away from ice.

“right, they’re just going to end up in the same room anyway.” ice smiled and nudged kk when she noticed how close you and paige were standing. you were toe to toe, looking each other up and down as if you were sizing each other up.

there was no real heat behind your eyes though, just lots of unspoken words and admiration. you and paige never fully acknowledged it. yeah there had been a few times you almost kissed and times you’d gotten drunk and couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, but other than that you both tried to keep things team friendly. anyone could see the feelings between you two, it was so obvious with out you looked at each other. when you and paige were in the same room anyone that was there could feel the tension between you.

you weren’t sure what was stopping you and paige from being more, you were both two adults that clearly had feelings for each other. you thought maybe it would throw off the team dynamic, things might be weird with everyone else, neither of you realized it but the whole team was rooting on you two being together.

kk and ice left the kitchen, kk cleared her throat as they walked past you two. paige took her eyes off of you and watched the two girls leave, she had been so engrossed by you that she hadn’t realized they were still around.

“i want the room, p.” you said, keeping your voice stern and holding your ground. you raised your eyebrows and crossed your arms, waiting for her argument. paige bit her bottom lip, her hand making contact with your waist for a solid second before she pulled it away.

“fine, take the room. you know where ima be at the end of the night.” at with that she picked her bags up and headed to find her room. you turned on your heels and stared at her until she disappeared behind a wall. you couldn’t understand why her words had your body heating up. you and paige sleep together all the time as best friends, some nights when you’re not together you find it hard to sleep. so why did it feel like her words had a different meaning?

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

after you all relaxed from the travel angst you decided it was time to go out. you all had different things you wanted to do and since none of you could actually decide on what to do, you decided you’d go down to the boardwalk where there were plenty of things to do. it kept the peace between you all if you could all go do your own thing while also having the beach as a common area to meet back up.

you were all standing in a small circle at the beach going over where you would be, which of course you demanded you do so you knew where everyone was. they all called you the mom of the group, next to azzi. you just wanted to make sure no one got lost, especially the freshies.

“make sure you check in, please. don’t make me come hunt you down.” you looked at all of them with a very serious expression, you had already made a groupchat with all of them so you could send a check in text every thirty minutes. they all rolled their eyes but there was no real annoyance behind it, well only a little. “oh! before you go come put sunscreen on.”

paige was already standing behind you with the sunscreen in her hand, knowing that would be your next demand.

“okay, mom.” sarah said, grabbing the sunscreen from paige. she passed it along to jana. the bottle had made it around the entire group and back to you. soon enough everyone left and it was just you and paige left on the beach, you had told her to go and do something but she insisted on staying with you. the sun was shining bright and it was perfect for you to tan and that’s what you planned on doing for a while.

paige sat down on the towel she had spread out and watched as you took off your bathing suit cover and discarded it on top of your bag. she couldn't take her eyes off your body, the light pink bikini looked perfect on you. her eyes roamed up and down your body, taking in all your beauty, and she could almost drool.

yes, she knew you were absolutely breathtakingly beautiful and she knew she had some feeling for you that were behind friendly but this just sealed it. she wanted you and she didn't know how, but she was going to have you at some point.

being to absorbed in staring at you, she didn't hear you calling her name, not until you bend down and waved your hand in her face. she met your eyes and cleared her throat. "what?"

"i need you to put sunscreen on my back, i can't reach." you handed her the sunscreen and laid stomach down on your towel. you noticed her face had turned a bit red which made you scrunch up your face. paige squirted a bit in her hand and rubbed it together before spreading it across your skin, trying to keep herself from staring at your ass. "did you put any on? you're red."

"no im not." paige scoffed and looked away, she definitely was red but it wasn't because she hadn't put on any sunscreen. not that she was willing to tell you that. she sat back on her heels when she finished rubbing it into your skin.

"you definitely are." you laughed and sat up, reaching for the bottle. "now lay down so i can get your back."

she did as you said and laid on her stomach, you moved to straddle her back. you did just as she did but as soon as your hands landed on her, you could feel her tense up. as you ran your hands across her skin she tensed up more and suddenly it clicked it your head. the tensing, the blushing, and the staring all made sense now, seeing you in your bikini had her all worked up. you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t egg her on.

“relax, paige.”

“fuck- i’m trying.” she groaned, moving her head so her forehead rested on her crossed arms under her head. she wasn’t sure why she was acting like this, you were still the same as always and you were still just her best friend, so why was she acting like she’d never seen a girl in a bikini before?

you snickered as you retracted your hands and slid off her body. paige let out a sigh of relief when she felt your body leave hers.

“stop laughing, it’s not my fault you’re so heavy.” she flipped the conversation to teasing to distract you from what you already knew. paige lifted herself up on her forearms and turned her head to look at you.

you let out a gasp and placed your hand on your chest, your mouth dropping open in shock. “no you didn’t!”

paige shrugged her shoulders with a smirk on her face. you let out a scoff and reached into the sand, grabbing a handful of sand and throwing it at her back. now it was her turn for her jaw to drop, she looked between you hand-- that still had remains of the sand-- and your face that held a proud smile.

"you're gonna regret that." she shook her head, starting to sit up. your smile faded and it only took a second before you were jumping up and running away from her. paige jumped up and started to chase you, calling your name the whole time. you laughed and kept running. a ball got kicked in front of you, causing you to come to a halt so you didn't trip. paige caught up with you and grabbed you from behind.

"paige!" you laughed as she lifted you off the ground, her arms tight around you and holding you against her so you couldn't wiggle out. paige turned you around and started walking straight to the ocean. "wait! wait! no, paige- you better not throw me in there!"

"i told you i'd get you back, ma." she laughed, walking further into the water. she was about knee deep but she still had a tight grip on your body, she wasn't going to let you go just yet. you were still kicking your feet and yelling at her to take you back. "hmm, beg me not to throw you in."

"why would i-" you started but quickly stopped when you felt her loosen her grip. "okay! okay! please, paige! i don't want to get wet! please, i'll give you what ever you want, just take me back to the beach!"

paige hummed in content and turned around, walking out of the water and setting you down on the sand. she ignored the icky feeling of sand sticking to her feet. you turned to face her with a scowl on your face and your arms crossed over your chest.

though you acted like you were upset with her, you knew you weren’t. you loved those moments with her, the moments where you could see a glimpse into the window of a relationship. you loved how playful she could get but how she also knew when to stop before going too far.

you didn’t have to beg for her not to throw you in the water—not really— if you expressed to her that you really didn’t want to be thrown into the water she would’ve taken you back immediately. you could trust her with your life, she would never intentionally do anything to hurt you and you knew it was mutual.

“that was so not funny.” you shook your head at her. paige laughed and shrugged her shoulders, reaching out for your hand to walk you back to your things so you could finally relax and tan like you initially intended.

paige had been watching you tan for nearly an hour. well, not the whole hour, she had looked away to watch people and read a book. for the most part, though, her eyes had been trained on you. she looked over your body, biting her lip at how perfect you looked. you had rotated onto your back a few minutes prior and she had a clear view of your face.

she thought you looked perfect, your skin sunkissed, lips pouty and perfect. all she could think about was leaning over and pressing her lips against yours. it had become such an overwhelming thought in her head to the point she couldn’t even pick up her book and read anymore.

she wanted to reach out and run her hand over your exposed stomach. she wanted to decorate your body with hickeys to show everyone that you were hers, not that they didn’t already know. she wanted you, all of you, and she had finally made up her mind that she was done pretending she didn’t.

“you’re staring again.” paige nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard your voice, her eyes immediately moving away from your thighs and up to meet yours. she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out but a choked noise, she shook her head and looked away. you folded your sunglasses and set them aside. “i’ve been watching you stare at me for the past hour.”

“you’ve been awake this whole time.” she looked back at you, her cheeks getting red knowing that she had been caught. she tried to deflect but she was still just as embarrassed. “that’s creepy.”

“says the one that got staring.” you laughed, sitting up and reaching for your phone. you quite enjoyed the fact that she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you, it made you feel good knowing that she liked what she saw. you tossed your phone to the side after checking the time and crawled forward to lay yourself over paige’s lap. “i’m getting hungry, p.”

“we have reservations at 7:30.” she looked down at you and pushed your hair out of your face. it was only 4pm so you still had hours to go before your dinner plans, you weren’t sure you could wait that long.

“i’m hungry now.” you pouted, batting your lashes at her. paige’s eyes were drawn to your lips as you pushed them out into a pout, her thumb twitched as she taught the urge to trace it over them.

“c’mon, i’m sure we can find something in the meantime.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“oh my gosh! tomorrow can we do absolutely nothing.” jana groaned when you all walked through the door of the house. you all had just gotten back from having dinner and the day was finally over, you could all go to your beds and relax for the rest of the night.

“i agree, everything was fun but im ready to sleep.” morgan shook her head, falling down onto the couch dramatically.

“well, you are all free to do whatever. i’m about to shower and head to bed, i love you all and goodnight.” you closed the front door behind you and locked up. you didn’t give anyone any time to ask you anything and went straight to your room. once you made it to your bedroom, you immediately starting to undress. you kicked your heels off to the side haphazardly and went to stand in front of your dresser so you could look in the mirror.

you ran your hands down your sides as you rotated slightly to look at your body. you thought you looked pretty good tonight, the black dress you had on adorned your body and accentuated your curves perfectly. just as you reached back to try and unzip your dress there was a knock on the door.

you let out a exhausted sigh and gave whoever was there permission to enter. you turned around to watch the door open and paige walked in, the annoyance in your body washed away as soon as she walked in. you should've known it would be her and you didn't mind that it was her. you always wanted to be around her, no matter how socially drained you were.

paige sauntered in and fell down on her back onto your bed, she stretched her arms out beside her and spread her legs. you stared at her for a minute, your eyes glued to the slip of skin that showed under her shirt when she raised her arms. you found herself wishing you could see more than just that bit, your skin starting to get hot at the thought. you forced yourself to turn around and busy yourself, deciding that taking off your jewelry would work.

paige sat up in the bed and leaned forward, resting her head in her hands on her knees. her eyes roamed up and down your body, taking in the backside of you and trying to memorize all your curves. she wished she could be the one to unzip your dress, she wished she could run her hands over your body and feel you for herself... she wished she could do more than just stare.

of course, you caught her staring at you and you figured you might not have been the only one to think you looked good tonight. you watched her watch you for a minute or two, you wanted to enjoy the way you could see the lust in her eyes.

just as you opened your mouth to speak her eyes met yours in the mirror. it was like the air in the room got 10x thicker the longer you stared at each other. in that moment you knew you couldn't deny what was happening between you two. you both knew that there was no point in denying it anymore, not when you looked at each other the way you did.

paige decided that she was tired of the distance between you and she finally stood up. she held eye contact with you the entire time she walked up behind you. you placed your hands flat on the dresser and took a deep breath as she invaded your space.

she hesitated for a second, mentally battling herself, before she reached up and slid her hands around your waist. she kept a small space between you just incase but she had a feeling you wouldn't pull away, and she was right. it was quiet, the only sound you heard was your heart thumping in your chest.

"you looked good tonight. so damn good." she broke the silence between you. paige ran her hand up your back and pushed your hair all to one side, exposing the right side of your neck to her.

"thank you, paige." your voice was merely a whisper. you almost didn't want to speak at all, scared she would be able to hear the shake in your voice. paige ran her fingertips over your warm skin, causing a shiver to run through your body and goosebumps to erupt on your skin. "you looked good too."

she only hummed in response. it went quiet again and suddenly her hands weren't on you anymore, your body went cold from the absence of her. she took a step back but she was still in your reach. you turned around to face her, your eyes scanning her face to find some type of answer to what was happening.

you weren't sure what had came over you but before you knew it you were reaching out and grabbing her by her shirt, pulling her into you and cupping her face. her hands immediately fell to your hips, lowering her head to you as she pulled you flush against her body.

you leaned into her and let your lips brush against hers, your eyes closed as you both breathed against each others lips. it was like all the times you had imagined this moment happening were playing out in your head. when it happened, it happened. you finally connected your lips fully and kissed her hard, paige returned it with more force. her hands grasped at your waist and tightly.

you both let all the built up emotions you had for each other out in that very moment. you kissed and grabbed at each other life you were each others oxygen. the kiss was messy and perfect all at the same time. paige ran her hands around your body and cupped your ass, she pushed you back until you were pressed against the dresser.

"can i take this off, please?" she pulled away from your lips to look at you, her hand moving up your back to grab the zipper of your dress. you wouldn’t say no to her, not when you’ve been wanting this for the longest. you weren’t even sure you could say no to her, not when her voice was so breathy and desperate.

you turned around and presented your backside to her, slightly leaning over the dresser and pressing your ass into her. paige bit her lip to suppress the moan wanting to leave her. she took her time with tugging the zipper down, her eyes being drawn to every inch of your skin that was being exposed.

if it weren’t for the excitement running through your body keeping you warm you would have shivered at the cool air on your back. once she got the zipper all the way down she gently pulled the dress down and let it fall to a pool around your feet. paige leaned down and pressed her lips to your back, her hands wandering on your body, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to touch so she touched everything.

“paige,” you whimpered, your head tilting to the side as she started to kiss your neck. she let out a hum of acknowledgment as she cupped your tits through the lacy black bra you were wearing. “is this- is this just the alcohol? are we gonna regret it?”

paige paused, she stood up straight and turned you around to face her. “we didn’t even have much to drink. i want you, y/n, i’ve wanted you for a while and i know you want me too.”

“i do. i’ve wanted this for a long time, wanted you.” you expressed. paige scanned your face, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were telling the truth. there was a moment of quiet between you as you both stared into each others eyes. you couldn’t take it anymore, now that you knew for sure the feeling was mutual you didn’t want to waste anymore time.

you fisted her shirt and started to pull it over her head. paige stood there and let you take her clothes off until she was only in her sports bra and boxers. once you had tossed the clothes aside she was back on you, lips crashing into yours and her hands grabbing at your body. you did the same, you took the chance to run your hands up and down her abs, like you’ve wanted to do for a while now.

paige nudged your legs with her knee until you got the hint to spread them. she slotted her knee between your thighs and used her hold on your hips to start grinding you down on her tensed thigh. the friction between your legs had you gasping against her lips and eventually you started to move on your own, grinding your clothed cunt against her.

you could feel your slick drenching your panties and you knew you were probably leaving a trail on her thigh, not that she minded anyway. you pulled away from her lips and laid your forehead against her shoulder. “paige, i need more.” you whined, grinding down on her harder.

“fuck,” she let out a breath as she looked down at your body rocking on her thigh, her fingernails dug into the plush of your hips before she swiftly lifted you up in her arms.

“m’gonna make you feel so good, baby. don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for this.” she mumbled as she turned around and walked you to the bed, she gently laid you down and hovered over you. “can i do that? can i make you feel you good?” she spoke against your lips.

“yes-yes please, paige.” you exhaled, your lashes fluttering slightly. she softly kissed your lips before she started to kiss further down your body. while she kissed your neck she reached under you to unhook your bra, you arched your back a bit to help her.

once she got your bra off she immediately attached herself to your tits, her mouth closed around one of your harden nipples and her fingers gently toying with the other. after a few seconds she switched to give the other the same attention. you ran your fingers through her hair, grabbing a fist full and slightly tugging at it.

you’re eyes shot open at the sound of the low moan that came from her, you looked down at her to see her already looking up at you. paige bueckers liked getting her hair pulled and that fact made your stomach flutter. “didn’t know you were into that.”

“i’m into a lot.” she admitted, descending down your body. once she got to your hips she sat up and hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down you legs and tossing them to the side. she cursed under her breath and bit her bottom lip when she saw how wet you were. you whimpered at the cool air you were exposed to when she ran her hands up the back of your thighs and push your legs up and apart.

she was spreading you out for her to see and you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t like the almost predatory expression on her face. she looked like she wanted to eat you alive and you weren’t sure you would stop her if she tried. eventually she leaned down and pressed a few kisses to each of your thighs before diving straight into running her tongue through your folds, humming and closing her eyes at the taste of you.

under any other circumstances she would have teased you and kissed your body more before jumping straight into eating you but she had been wanting this for so long and now that she had it she didn’t want to waste any time.

your hips bucked into her face when she wrapped her lips around your clit and gently sucked. you tried to keep your moans to a minimum since there were other people in the house. so you bit down on your lips in efforts to keep quiet.

you could tell when she really started to get into it, she switched between flicking her tongue on your swollen clit to gently sucking to running her tongue through your slit. she eventually added her fingers into the mix, pumping two long fingers into your sopping cunt. the sound your pussy was making combine with the sound of your moans was music to her hears.

your back arched from the bed and you brought your hands up to pinch your nipples. paige was eating your out like she was starved and your cunt would give her the nutrients she needed, she loved the way you tasted better than she had imagined.

“fuck paige! mmph— shit, you’re so good at this. don’t stop please—“ your moans weren’t the only ones sounding out in the room, paige was moaning just as much as you. you reached down and gripped her hair again, tugging at it harder than she did before.

you were starting to thrash around as you felt yourself getting closer and closer, your hips stuttered trying to pull away and get closer at the same time. paige wrapped her arms around your thighs and pulled you into her, using her strength to keep you flush against her.

“m’gonna cum- fuck, m’cumming paige” you couldn’t help how your moans got way louder, you were sure everyone had heard you by know but you couldn’t care less in that moment. your body tensed up as your orgasm crashed down on you. paige worked you through it, still working her mouth and fingers, and she didn’t slow down either. eventually you were starting to get overstimulated and started to push her head away. “okay, okay! that’s enough for now.”

paige pulled away from your cunt with your juices dripping down her chin and fingers. she looked up at you and smiled teasingly, tilting her head to go along with it. “is it though?”

“yes it is.” you rolled your eyes with a laugh, falling back into the pillows with a sigh. you were loving the post orgasm bliss, eyes glazed over and low. you thought that it had to be the best you ever had, or maybe it was because it had been awhile since you last came at the hand of someone else. paige kissed her way up your body until she was level with your face, she held herself up by her fist and stared into your eyes. you reached up and cupped her face, wiping your mess off her face. “i can’t believe we did that.”

“me neither. i’m glad we did, though.” she leaned down and pressed her lips on yours, slipping her tongue into your mouth so you could taste yourself on her tongue. you wrapped your arms around her neck to hold her against you as you deepened the kiss.

you were finally ready to go again but the sound and feeling of paige’s phone sounding off over and over made you both break away from the moment. paige groaned and sat up, looking behind her and grabbing her phone she had left on the bed when she first came in.

you watched as she unlocked her phone and looked at the text. she she snorted and shook her head, her eyes locking onto yours and you gave her a curious look. she turned her phone around to show you the string of messages from the group chat you made.

sarah

okay well that was disgusting

🤮🤮

kk

omg!! my poor virgin ears!!!

y’all are NASTY

azzi

i think it’s nice they finally realized they’re practically in love with each other

sarah

azzi please…

you shut your eyes and pushed the phone back to paige, sinking into the pillows and letting out a long groan as the embarrassment started to sink in.

“oh. my. gosh.”

‎ ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

a/n: so this actually took way longer than i expected and im not a fan of it tbh.

taglist: @jnkbueckers

[xxnaiaxx]

dirty cash- w. maximoff

pairing: rich!wanda x r

summary: what if money can’t buy the girl?

1. boulevardier

2. pas de deux

3. prerequisites

4. valerie

5. cabernet sauvignon

6. homesick

extra:

rich!simp!wanda

soft launch

headcanons

(in progress)

[xxnaiaxx]

Felis

summary: Wanda Maximoff had a well-known reputation for barely tolerating humanity— well, except for you. That much was obvious. What wasn’t so obvious was the Wanda only you got, the Wanda who took you to secret late-night dates spent under the stars, where it was just You, her and the constellations. But now, meeting face to face with the misfortune of having to share you, will Wanda be able to survive nosy adults - known as the World's mighty heroes- that want to "take her girlfriend away"?

warnings: Established but new relationship, late night car drives, make outs, Slight alcohol consumption, Wanda being an emo black cat and cute, Jealousy and Possessiveness (W to R), otherwise I think there's none, but please let me know!

not proofread

author's note: to the anon who requested this, I hope this is what you were thinking about❤️ (I'm sorry it took sooooo long, i hope it was worth the wait)

words count: 7.905

The room buzzed with a relaxed, lively energy, the kind that paired perfectly with the faint chill creeping in from the late hour. Unfortunately for Wanda, your animated conversation with Yelena seemed destined to stretch into eternity—or at least until the yawning hours of the morning. And, according to Wanda’s resolve, it was already late enough for her to contemplate the sweet relief of her bed.  

You threw your head back in laughter, your carefree joy radiating through the room as you sipped your drink. Every now and then, your gaze flicked toward Wanda, scanning for her familiar figure. When you spotted her lingering at the edge of a small demilune table, you gestured for her to come closer. But she just pointed toward the couch where the rest of your friends were perched, and you nodded, giving her a quiet, reassuring smile.  

Your friends had practically staged an intervention to convince you to bring Wanda to your group’s monthly reunion. Sure, she’d bumped into some of them before—an impromptu chat here, an accidental coffee shop encounter there, maybe a party or two—but being submerged in the full, unfiltered chaos of your entire friend group was a whole different beast.

 It wasn’t that Wanda didn’t like them or that they didn’t like her. They got along quite well, and to Wanda’s surprise, they actually had some interesting things to talk about and fun stories to share. The problem was just… people.  

Even if your group was as friendly and easygoing as they came, they were still people. And that didn’t make them any less exhausting.  

Wanda handled it all as the night stretched on. Polite conversations, a few strategically timed smiles, more small talk than she could ever count. She kept her drink alcohol-free, making sure to stay in condition to drive both of you back. But a woman can only handle so much. She quickly found her brief moments of relief by sneaking off to the bathroom, where she’d check her phone—just long enough to catch her breath before re-entering the chaos. When that didn’t suffice, she’d quietly gravitate toward you, slipping her hand gently around your waist. It wasn’t to draw attention or interrupt; just a quiet connection, a grounding touch that offered her comfort without taking too much of your focus, letting her steal a few moments of peace before braving the crowd again.  

At some point, she even got roped into a game with two boys named Billy and Tommy, her competitive streak sparking a few rare grins. But soon enough, the buzz of social interaction began to drain her reserves. By the time you and Yelena’s gossiping marathon was winding down, Wanda had settled into her default role as the quiet observer, her emerald eyes trailing you across the room like a moth drawn to its flame.  

When you finally made your way back to her, you leaned in to press a kiss just behind her ear, instantly switching her attention to a more interesting subject: you.

Wanda’s focus shifted instantly, her gaze snapping to you as quickly as her hand placement now, a possessive grip on your thigh. She had long stopped pretending to listen to Kate Bishop’s rambling. The words coming from Kate’s mouth were nothing compared to the sight of you. Your skirt, the way it clung to your skin despite the cold, was far more interesting than… well, she really had no idea what that girl was saying.  

It didn’t take one with powers to be able to read your girlfriend. Wanda’s forest-green eyes, though soft and subtle, practically screamed, Please, let’s go home. Her social battery was drained down to fumes, and the longing for the quiet solitude of her own space was undeniable.  

When you leaned closer and murmured, “You’re ready to go. Aren’t you?” your words were laced with humor, teasing her indirectly for her lack of love for people. The spark in her eyes flared to life, a silent but emphatic yes. With a quiet chuckle, you nodded, rising from your seat and signaling the end of the night.  

Both of you offered your goodbyes to the group, earning a chorus of exaggerated complaints about how the night was still young—even though the clock had struck 2 AM half an hour ago. You smiled apologetically, tossing out an excuse about needing to get up early, even if everyone knew it was only half true. Wanda appeared beside you just in time, draping her leather jacket over your shoulders—because, naturally, you hadn’t thought to bring one yourself.  

A few quick waves later, you were stepping out into the crisp night air, Wanda’s hand finding its place on your lower back, gently steering you toward the car. You glanced up at her, smiling softly, and her lips curved into a smirk before she leaned in, stealing a quick kiss. Your surprised giggle encouraged her, and she peppered your lips with more playful pecks all the way to the car. Once there, she opened the door for you, her touch lingering as you settled into the passenger seat.  

The drive home was nothing unusual for Wanda, though her mind wandered. If it were up to her, you’d be spending the night at the tower, wrapped up in her until morning. But she knew better—your schedule was packed, and persuasion, no matter how charming, wouldn’t change your mind. Believe her, she’d tried before, and you were infuriatingly stubborn.  

“I’ll pick you up at 7 PM then,” she said as you unbuckle your seatbelt, her tone firm with a touch of affection.  

“Okay, but text me when you’re leaving the tower,” you replied, grabbing your purse.  

Wanda hummed her agreement, though her focus had already shifted. Her fingers trailed teasingly along your thigh, drawing your attention back to her. You tilted your head, leaning slightly against the seat as you flushed under her gaze. Without hesitation, Wanda’s hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that was far more intense than you’d expected. A quiet moan escaped you, caught off guard by the heat of it.  

That sound was all it took for Wanda to tug you into her lap, her hands firm on your hips, drawing you closer with every second. One hand wandered upward, settling confidently on your neck as the kiss deepened. When you finally broke apart, breathless and grinning, you murmured, “I need to go hooome.”  

Wanda’s response was a low murmur against your neck, followed by a series of distracting kisses. “And?” her tone lazy and unbothered, her lips never straying far from your skin created goosebumps all over your body. The sheer audacity of it made you groan, tilting your head back. You knew what she was doing.  

You giggled softly, shaking your head at her antics, the warmth of the moment lingering between you. Placing your hands gently on her shoulders, you immediately drew Wanda’s attention. Before she could dive back toward your neck, you leaned in, pressing a light peck to her lips, halting her progress.  

“As much as I love this, and as much as I love you. I really, really need to go.”  

Well, that wasn’t what she was expecting at all. Her expression softened as she let her hand wander, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate strokes along your hip. Brushing her other thumb against your skin with an affectionate rhythm as her eyes met yours.  

“But you’ll stay tomorrow at the tower,” she said, and you knew better than to take that as anything other than an affirmation.  

Either way, you nodded, a faint smile curving your lips at her certainty. The two of you lingered in each other’s arms for a while longer, chatting about silly, inconsequential things, along with Wanda’s now-and-then complaints about people, in general.  

Maybe it was because Wanda grew up with only her brother by her side, her world small and quiet, that adjusting to life with far more people than she’d ever anticipated felt like stepping into chaos. It explained a lot about her demeanor—your girlfriend was, without a doubt, the definition of a black cat. From her emo wardrobe to her piercingly observant nature, right down to that deadly tilt of her head, she carried an air of mystery and quiet defiance that was entirely her own.  

A mystery that she was letting you slowly resolve.  

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Wanda walked you to your door, her hand resting snugly against your lower back, and stole one last kiss for the night. Alright, she stole three kisses… maybe four before she said goodbye.  

--- 07:13 PM, Saturday.

Wanda knew countless ways to show you love. She absolutely hated those five love language quizzes. But took every possible quiz known to mankind, because it made you happy. To her, there was no point in defining her love when her goal was simple: to love you in every imaginable way known to humanity.  

Take words of affirmation—Wanda had mastered them. Sometimes she’d leave you anonymous notes tucked in unexpected places, filled with songs, poems, or plain “I love yous” scribbled all over the paper. Of course, those notes often came paired with flowers, seamlessly tying into her “gift-giving” love language.

 Or she would whisper sweet things in your ear, maybe after fucking you into the mattress to a point that your legs simply decided against working; or during a cozy cuddle session, that she was so overwhelmed to the thought of loving you that expressing what her heart felt was the only way to breathe.

But Wanda had her personal ranking system, and in her imaginary list, the “best love language of all time” title went to a combination of three: acts of service, quality time, and physical touch. It might seem odd if you thought about it. Because as much as she loved her brother and cherished the company of the team, Wanda Maximoff was known as the ultimate lone wolf; who cherished her independence and had always preferred her space. But who now, lived for your presence.  

The once-solitary soul found herself missing you in your absence, casually touching you whenever you were close, and pouting—yes, pouting—when you weren’t. She’d found herself wanting to do anything and everything for you, from tying your shoelaces to painting your nails, actions that spoke volumes without a single word.  

And tonight, you realized she’d be using all three in full force the moment you shut your front door. Wanda leaned against her car casually, exuding an effortless confidence that made it look like she owned the world. Her combat boots gave her a slightly taller stance, her short black skirt was just enough to drive you insane, and her crimson lace corset hugged her waist with a perfection that could make statues weep.  

Topping it all off was her signature leather jacket, the one both of you knew would end up draped over your shoulders by the end of the night, as it always did.

She greeted you with a sweet pet name, her tone soft as she guided you to the passenger seat. Then, as soon as she got in, she kissed you—a teasing, gentle press of her lips that left your lipstick intact but made your heart flutter in the way only Wanda could.  

Too wonderstruck by Wanda’s presence to notice at first, it wasn’t until you glanced around the car that something seemed off. A frown slowly crept onto your face as you noticed the unfamiliar vehicle: a pickup truck you were certain Wanda didn’t own.  

“This is not your car,” you stated, turning to her with a puzzled look, silently asking for an explanation.  

“It’s Clint’s. And I’ll say no more because it’s part of your surprise,” she replied with a sly smirk, clearly enjoying your confusion.  

She tried to steer your attention elsewhere, initiating a conversation about anything but cars or dates. Soon enough, the two of you were caught up in the comfort of your usual rhythm. Wanda shared new stories about the team and Pietro that you hadn’t heard before, and you found yourself revealing snippets of your life before her, the kind of details you didn’t usually think to share but felt natural with her.  

Of course, curiosity got the best of you, as it always did. You tried again, your tone playfully insistent. “Where are we going?” But Wanda wasn’t budging.  

“I’m not saying. You’ll just have to sit there and look pretty,” her smile only making you more curious.  

Resigning to the mystery for now, you shifted your focus to the little comforts inside the car. You picked the music—your shared playlist, the one you’d made together late at night before you’d even started dating—and absentmindedly played with the rings on Wanda’s right hand, the same hand that rested comfortably on your thigh.  

The conversation, once again, changed to random facts, half-formed ideas, and musings stories that hadn’t come up before. But neither of you cared; every small discovery about each other felt like another thread tying you closer together.  

Then the car slowed. Wanda stopped near a gate, grabbing a set of keys and tapping your leg as she stepped out. It wasn’t until she walked toward the gate—a sophisticated, intricately designed one—that your curiosity turned into full-blown amusement.  

When she returned, you tilted your head at her with a half-smile, your curiosity now brimming. “Wanda… what is that?”  

She giggled, looking up dramatically as if in thought, before you poked her side, your need to know finally winning out.  

“I was talking to Clint about taking you on a date, like that movie we watched. But I didn’t have a place, and the park just wasn’t it. So, welcome to Anthony Stark’s country house,” she said casually.  

Your eyes widened in disbelief, a startled laugh escaping you as you processed her words. “Stark?! How?”  

If it had been Clint offering, it would’ve made more sense. He was practically Wanda’s surrogate father figure, even if she refused to admit it. But Tony? That was a different story.  

“He offered,” she said with a shrug. “Said it’s a family property he barely uses. I wasn’t going to take him up on it, but Barton called me out. And, well… it’s for you.”  

Her voice softened on the last words, and she looked away, parking the car near a tree. Even in the dim light, you could see the faint blush dusting her cheeks, a blush too strong to go unnoticed.  

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you reached out to her, feeling overwhelmed by the gesture. Wanda Maximoff, the girl who claimed she didn’t need anyone, had gone through all this trouble just to give you something special.  

“You’re too good,” you murmured, the words spilling out unfiltered, your heart feeling fuller than ever.

Wanda’s smile was a perfect blend of shyness and confidence, like she knew exactly what she was doing but still couldn’t quite believe she was pulling it off. She parked the car under the shelter of a sprawling tree, its branches reaching out like they were trying to touch the stars. And oh, the stars—countless, glittering, and impossibly bright against the deep blue canvas of the night sky.

You stepped out of the car, immediately captivated by the celestial display, your head tilting back, trying to watch it closely. You turned, ready to gush to Wanda about how breathtaking it all was, but your words caught in your throat. She wasn’t there.

Your eyes darted around, and there she was—Wanda, already moving with purpose, shutting the backseat door and making her way to the truck bed. Curiosity piqued, you followed, your footsteps crunching softly on the gravel.

What was she up to now? Your mind raced, but nothing could have prepared you for what you saw next.

The truck bed looked like a scene straight from a rom-com, but this was real, and it was all yours. Blankets and pillows were spread out neatly, candles flickered softly, and a few containers sat nearby, hinting at snacks waiting to be discovered. There was also a wooden board, though you didn’t know what it was for yet. 

And then, of course, there was Wanda. She sat on the edge of the truck bed, her dark brown hair catching the soft candlelight, her eyes shining with a mix of mischief and warmth. She stood there, effortlessly magnetic and, but her smile? always sweet.

Suddenly, the constellations above you felt insignificant, obsolete.

Why gaze at distant stars when the most radiant being in the universe was standing right in front of you? And then, like a quiet ripple in your memory, you thought back to the first time you saw Wanda.

It was a Friday night, and you were out with your friends after a long week. The local club was packed, as it always was on weekends, but the drinks were good enough to make the crowd bearable. You weren’t there for anything in particular—just to unwind, sip on a drink, and enjoy the company of your closest friends. The music pulsed through the room, and you found yourself laughing, dancing, and letting the night carry you along. That’s when you noticed her, in the middle of it all. 

Her hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a sleek black short skirt and tall boots that added an air of elegance to her presence. There was something about her—the way she carried herself, the way she seemed to glow even in the dim light of the club—that made it impossible to look away. Your first thought was that she reminded you of a constellation. Hard to find, but impossible not to search for it.

Astronomers might say that constellations are only hard to find if you don't know what you're searching for; you didn’t know much about stars—you could barely find the three stars of the Orion Belt—but spotting her in that crowded room felt as natural as finding the constellation Cassiopeia.

But as far as looking goes, you didn’t approach her. You wanted to, but the moment never felt right. By the time you gathered the courage, she was gone, disappearing into the night like the stars fading at dawn. And there goes your North Star…

Later, after you’d been talking for a couple of weeks, Wanda confessed something that surprised you. She had noticed you that night too. In fact, she had stared at you the whole night. To the point where Pietro - her twin brother, who practically forced her out of her room that night - teased her about the intense and long stares she was giving you, saying you would soo call the cops on her ass if she continued to look like a creep.

 But she didn’t care. She was drawn to you, too busy admiring you. 

That is, until she saw Kate - your overly affectionate, completely wasted friend - throw her arms around your shoulders and drag you onto the dance floor. Wanda spent the rest of the night pouting like a child, downing a few more shots, and probably plotting Kate’s demise. 

Now, standing here with her, the stars above seem dim in comparison. Wanda is luminous, magnetic, and real—not some distant, untouchable light in the sky. And in this moment, no constellation could ever come close to her.

There was once a constellation named Felis. Created by a French astronomer in 1799 who felt sorry that there wasn’t a cat among the constellations (though that was not entirely true, because the constellation Lynx was formed by another astronomer in 1687). The constellation could be found between the constellations of Antlia and Hydra, a small cluster of stars meant to honor the elegance and mystery of a feline.

You chuckled at the cat-loving astronomer, amused by their dedication to carving out a place for a cat in the vast night sky. But at the same time, you couldn’t blame him when you, yourself, would create a constellation for Wanda. A cat, as well, because she more than half of the time took pride in her black cat personality. 

When finding yourself sad on the news that the Felis constellation has become obsolete, you decided that Wanda Maximoff would be your new Felis. Something you never got the courage to mention to her, but a silly nickname that found its way into your diary every single time you wrote about her

So as you stared at the woman in front you, your brain short-circuited. Though it always did when “Wanda Maximoff” was involved. The first thought that popped into your head was, “I’ll never get over her if we ever break up.” Because how could you? Who else would go to such lengths to make you feel like the center of the universe?

You pouted at her, your face a mix of disbelief and awe. No words came out—just a soft, overwhelmed exhale. The kind of exhale that comes when you realize just how loved you are. 

“Wands…” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda’s smile widened, and she patted the space beside her, a silent invitation. “You’re just going to stand there like a dork or will you join your girlfriend?” she teased, her tone light but her eyes full of affection.

Girlfriend. That word never fails to make your heart skip a beat. You giggled, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, and quickly climbed into the truck bed. You settled onto the blanket, draping another one over your legs as Wanda handed it to you. 

“This is… wow,” you said, still taking it all in—the stars, the candles, the tree, her. “I mean… you are wow.” Wanda chuckled, the sound warm and low, and leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek before pulling you closer.

The night unfolded in the most perfect way. You lay there together, staring up at the stars, trying to spot the Orion’s Belt as Wanda tried to explain to you how easy it was to find it - you called her crazy right after. The sound of a nearby river added a soothing soundtrack to the moment, its gentle babble mingling with the occasional rustle of leaves. At one point, you gasped, noticing the strings of light bulbs hanging from the tree above. They cast a soft, golden glow, and you realized that’s where the light had been coming from all along. 

After a while, Wanda’s gaze shifted from the stars to you. She had this habit of staring, and while it used to make you blush furiously, you’d grown to find it endearing. You stared back, holding her gaze as long as you could, until the intensity became too much and you had to look away, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

“Are you hungry?” Wanda asked, breaking the silence out of sudden, another habit she had.

“Right now? Hmm, not really,” you replied, though your stomach might have disagreed if it weren’t so busy being distracted by the romance of it all.

Wanda nodded, but then, she quickly slid off the truck bed and disappeared toward the backseat. You frowned, curious, and watched as she reappeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses; the wooden board now serving as a perfectly sized table for two. She balanced it between you two, one leg on your side and the other on hers, and then, like some kind of romantic magician, produced two drawing books and a set of crayons.

“What is happening right now?” you asked, half-laughing, as she handed you a half-glass of wine. She poured herself a glass of water, explaining that she’d be the designated driver tonight, as it usually happened. After all, someone had to sneak you both back into the tower and find the way to her room without raising suspicion.

You took a sip of the wine, the rich flavor warming you from the inside out, and glanced at the drawing book in your lap. “So… are we having an art night under the stars?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

And it was exactly that. Wanda had planned a cozy little coloring and drawing session just for the two of you. You leaned partially against her, finding the most comfortable position possible, and your cheeks warmed up when she casually draped her leather jacket over your shoulders. She made sure to tuck the blanket snugly around your waist, making sure that you stayed warm and cozy. You silently thanked her with a shower of soft kisses, making her giggle as she playfully tried to wiggle away—though you both knew she wasn’t actually trying to escape.

Just when you thought she couldn't possibly outdo herself, she hit you with the ultimate surprise: a container of your favorite cookies. Yes, your favorite cookies. Freshly baked. Homemade. You stared at her, eyes practically glistening, and the look you gave her in that moment was so full of love that Wanda was convinced she could die happy, right then and there.

And so, the two of you stayed like that for hours—though it felt like mere minutes. Coloring, talking, kissing, eating, just loving

At some point in the night, when your wine glass had been emptied, with not a single drop to be found and the cookies had long since disappeared, you noticed Wanda giving you a look. That look. You couldn’t pinpoint what was happening inside her head at that moment: after all, you haven't yet got the time to figure out the meaning behind Wanda Maximoff’s indecipherable gazes. And that woman had an entire collection of unreadable expressions.

You weren’t the only one who noticed, though. A lot of people thought Wanda was “cold” or “distant” because of the way she carried herself—her infamous resting bitch face and her preference for not engaging in unnecessary small talk. But you knew better.

You wished people could see Wanda through your eyes. See how thoughtful she was, how much effort she put into the things and people she loved. But at the same time, there was a selfish part of you that liked keeping this version of Wanda all to yourself. You liked having this Wanda just for you. For your eyes to see, your heart to hold, and yours to have..

Especially now, when she was looking at you like that - a “that” that you didn’t even know what it meant or how you could begin to describe it -, her fingers idly tracing up and down your neck, a habit she had picked up a few weeks ago.

“I have another thing for you,” she murmured, her voice so quiet it felt like speaking any louder would disturb the peaceful bubble you had built around yourselves.

“Wanda…” You groaned, though the smile stretching across your face completely betrayed your attempt at scolding her. “You’re spoiling me too much.”

She just shook her head, a smirk playing at the edge of her lips; the red lipstick now smeared on her glass.

You giggled as she helped you hop off the truck bed, steadying you with a firm but gentle grip. But when she led you to the car and opened the backseat door for you, you couldn’t help but frown in confusion.

Settling into the seat, you looked up at her, curiosity swimming in your eyes. Wanda simply closed the door behind her, a small smirk playing on her lips. You didn’t have much time to admire her, though, because in the next moment, you realized you were trapped. Wanda had you against the door, your back somehow comfortably resting against it as she crawled closer and closer to you, until she was hovering over you, her body caging you in.

You turned your head to the side, blushing under the weight of her full and undivided attention. But Wanda wasn’t having any of that. She reached out and gently grabbed your chin, supporting herself with her other arm as she leaned in closer. 

“What? You’re too shy to look at me?” she teased, her face carrying a curious expression, though her voice betrayed her with a mock tone. “You didn’t even drink that much wine.”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. “I had enough,” you replied, your voice soft but playful, an intense blush quickly growing on your cheeks. Wanda’s smirk grew wider, and she raised her eyebrows at you, humming in acknowledgment. 

Her thumb traced a slow, deliberate path from your chin to your jaw, then down your neck, before returning to where it began. Finally, she moved her thumb to your lips, tracing your bottom lip gently. The touch was feather-light, sending a shiver down your spine.

As she leaned down, it became clear that Wanda just wanted to kiss you right there in the back seat - that’s what she had stored for you there. You smiled up at her, your cheeks burning with a scarlet red shade as you looped your arms around her shoulders, gently pulling her closer. Wanda smiled back, her lips brushing against yours in a way that was soft and teasing, her quiet laugh escaping as she playfully poked your sides.

You kissed her lightly, quick little pecks that made her grin, but Wanda wasn’t satisfied with just that. She cupped your cheek, her touch warm and steady, and paused for a moment, her eyes holding yours - you could lose yourself in her eyes, the soft green piercing into yours with a tenderness so profound it felt almost unbearable, an intensity that seemed to pull at the very core of your being, leaving you breathless and exposed.

She leaned in, and the kiss started slow—gentle, almost hesitant, like she was savoring the feel of your lips against hers. It was sweet, unhurried, and you felt yourself melting into her, your fingers lightly threading through her hair. But the pace changed, the kiss growing more urgent, more intense. Wanda’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled you closer. Her other arm tightened around your waist, holding you firmly against her. The softness gave way to something hotter, hungrier, her lips parting as the kiss turned breathless, consuming. 

You stayed there, kissing, for what felt like an eternity—minutes, hours, it didn’t matter as long as Wanda was with you. You could only focus on the way her lips moved against yours, soft and sure at first, then growing deeper, more insistent. Her tongue brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine as she reached down to grab your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your fingers tangled in her hair, gripping lightly as if to anchor yourself, but it only seemed to spur her on.

Every now and then, the kiss would break, just for a moment, as one of you pressed a wandering kiss to the corner of the other’s mouth, or along their jaw, or to the soft spot just below their ear, or just a playful bite at their bottom lip. 

Her lips trailed down your neck, her teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp, and you could feel her smile against you before she returned to your lips, hungry and demanding, exploring and claiming, as if she couldn’t get enough of you. And you couldn’t get enough of her. 

You stayed like that, kissing, touching, completely lost in each other. The world outside the car seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was her—the way her hands held you like you were something precious, the way her lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity that made your heart race.

The night stretched on, neither of you noticing the passage of time, too wrapped up in each other’s embrace to give the rest of the world a second thought. But the moment was interrupted when Wanda’s phone slipped from the seat and hit the car floor with a loud thud. The sound startled you both, and you broke the kiss, laughing as you craned your necks to see where the phone had landed.

When Wanda picked it up, you gasped at the screen—3:45 AM glared back at you. “Oh my god… I had no idea it was that late,” you said, hiding your face in the crook of her neck. 

Wanda chuckled softly, the vibration of her laughter against your skin making you smile. Her free hand found its way to your hair, fingers casually twirling a strand or scratching gently at your scalp in a way that made you melt.

After a few minutes like that, you reluctantly pulled away, insisting that the two of you should pack up and head home. Wanda groaned, complaining about how she never wanted to leave, but she eventually caved, giving in to your logic. 

Soon enough, everything was packed and ready to go.

The drive back to the tower was peaceful in a way you hadn’t expected. You never knew a a relationship could be so intense and sweet at the same time. Wanda’s hand rested on your thigh most of the time, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns just for the comfort that the action offered. The shared playlist playing softly in the background once again, filling the occasional silences that didn’t really need to be filled.

Sleep was already tugging at both of you, soft yawns escaping more frequently as Wanda drove. But maybe it was the music—one of your favorite songs had come on—or the way her fingers were laced with yours, your index finger idly playing with the rings on her hand, that kept you from drifting off completely.

You sighed, the idea of finally getting the sleep you so desperately graved feeling just out of reach.

“What was that for, sweet girl?” Wanda asked gently, her hand already resting on your thigh giving it a light poke.

“I was so sleepy, but now I don’t think I can sleep at all,” you complained, pouting up at her. Wanda chuckled at your dramatics, reaching over to grab the garage remote from the car door.

“We’ll find your sleep, my love. Don’t worry,” she reassured you, her voice soft and teasing. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, nodding along to her words even though you weren’t entirely convinced.

Now, here’s where things started to get a little tricky. It was well past 4 AM, and the two of you were trying to sneak into the tower as quietly as possible. But there were two problems: 1) some of the Avengers, like Steve Rogers, were known to be up before the sun, and 2) others, like Natasha Romanoff and Bucky Barnes, seemed to have a sixth sense for every single movement in the tower, even when they were supposedly asleep.

As much as Wanda loved her teammates—her ugh, she’d have to admit it—found family, she wasn’t exactly in the mood for a full interrogation about why she was coming back so late, why she looked like she’d been “attacked by a bear” (messy clothes, wild hair, and all), or why her girlfriend looked equally disheveled. So, she did her best to walk as lightly as possible, her footsteps barely making a sound.

But, for some reason, the absurdity of the situation had both of you stifling laughter. 

It all went downhill when her jacket, which was still lazily draped over your shoulders, slipped off. The zipper hit the floor with a loud clink, echoing through the quiet hallway like a gong. You promised yourself you wouldn’t laugh. You really did. But the sight of your usually cool, collected, and slightly emo girlfriend tiptoeing through the tower like a spy on a mission just to get away from nosy adults was too much. The contrast between her usual nonchalant demeanor and the sheer ridiculousness of the moment had you biting your lip to keep from bursting out laughing.

Wanda shot you a look, half exasperated, half amused, as she quickly scooped up the jacket. “You’re not helping,” she whispered, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“I’m trying!” you whispered back, your shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Wanda rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face gave her away. She held your hand tightly, quietly dragging you down the hallway as if you were on some top-secret mission. 

When a door near her room clicked open, Wanda quickened her pace, pulling you along with her. You couldn’t help but giggle at her exaggerated urgency, even though you knew it was completely unnecessary.

She practically yanked you into her room, instantly closing the door behind you. You immediately threw yourself onto her bed, burying your face in the pillows to muffle your laughter. Wanda stood there, arms crossed, looking completely unamused—though she was trying so hard not to laugh.

Once the laughter finally died down, you rummaged through her drawer and pulled out one of her oversized shirts to wear as pajamas. The familiar comfort of her clothes wrapped around you, and you felt the pull of sleep creeping back in. You and Wanda stood side by side in the bathroom, lazily brushing your teeth, the quiet hum of the tower settling around you.

Wanda finished first, and before you could even ask her to stay with you, she hugged you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. She let out a long, dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted off her shoulders. You couldn’t help but smile, leaning back into her for a moment before finishing up. You kissed the side of her face as you set your toothbrush next to hers—a small but meaningful gesture that made your heart swell. 

It was your turn to sigh when you finally curled up in Wanda’s arms, her soft blankets draped over you both. Your arms wrapped around each other, and for a moment, you just lay there, breathing in the quiet comfort of being together.

You shared a conversation that might’ve lasted three minutes—less maybe. As one of you  finally dozed off, and the other followed soon after, finally giving in to the exhaustion of the night. You smiled in your sleep, somewhat feeling the steady rise and fall of Wanda’s chest and the warmth of her arms around you, pulling you into the deepest, most peaceful sleep you’d had in a while.

Before you started dating, Wanda had quickly noticed your insatiable curiosity. You were always asking her questions—about her life, her thoughts, her experiences—and she found it endearing. You’d dive into every little detail she shared, researching things she mentioned just so you could come back with more to talk about. It was cute, the way you were so eager to know every part of her.

So, it wasn’t a surprise to Wanda when she woke up to find you standing in the middle of her room, intently studying the little photo mural she had near her study table. She watched you for a moment, shifting on the bed to get more comfortable as you analyzed every corner of her space.

You’d been in her room a few times before, but most of those visits had been in the dark—escaping from a party she’d convinced you to attend, too caught up in  kissing and taking each other’s clothes to notice the little details. Now, in the soft morning light, you were finally taking it all in: the guitar leaning against the wall, the painting supplies tucked neatly next to her wardrobe, the little trinkets scattered across her shelves.

“You’re very nosy, you know,” Wanda said, her voice soft but teasing, breaking the silence.

“Hm?” You turned to face her, a smile spreading across your face despite the faint pink tinting your cheeks. You hadn’t expected her to be awake.

Wanda grinned at your slightly embarrassed expression, propping herself up on one elbow as she watched you. “You’re being nosy,” she repeated, her tone playful.

“That’s a love language, you know,” you shot back, walking over to the bed with a smirk.

“What? Stalking?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow to tease you further. You nodded, climbing onto the bed beside her. “Yes. It means I like you.”

She let out a fake, dramatic gasp, clutching her chest as if wounded. “Like me?! And here I was thinking you loved me.”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss her cheek, then her nose—which made her scrunch it up in that adorable way you absolutely adored—before finally pressing a soft peck to her lips. Wanda smiled, her hands instinctively finding your waist as you settled into her lap.

“So, you’re nosy, a stalker, and a thief?” she teased, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was checking you out, her gaze lingering on the way her gray sweatpants and black tank top hung loosely on your frame. Even your damp hair smelled like her shampoo.

“You knew all of that before you started dating me,” you fired back, grinning sweetly at her

Wanda chuckled, her hands moving to your hips as she gently swayed you from side to side, her touch playful and affectionate.

“I can’t run away now, hm?” Wanda teased, arching her eyebrows at you with that playful smirk you loved so much.

You quickly shook your head, grinning from ear to ear. “Nooo, no! You can’t,” you replied, leaning in to kiss her again, as if to seal the deal.

Before Wanda could fire back with another quip, a slightly robotic voice interrupted the moment. It was Jarvis, the ever-helpful A.I. that seemed to know everything happening in the Avengers Tower.

“Miss Maximoff, you have been requested in the kitchen for breakfast. Miss Y/L/N as well,” 

You blinked, surprised. “They know I’m here?” you asked, turning to Wanda with wide eyes. Wanda shrugged, her expression a mix of amusement and nonchalance. 

It didn’t take long before the two of you were heading to the kitchen—after Wanda’s whole morning routine, of course, and a few (okay, maybe more than a few) kisses in between. 

You were kind of used to walking around the tower by now—not enough to feel completely at ease wandering alone in the massive building, but enough to find your way to Wanda’s room, the gym, and the garden without getting lost.

But here’s the thing: even though you were somewhat familiar with the place, you’d never been in a room with all of the Avengers at once. Sure, after Wanda dragged you to one of Stark’s infamous parties, you’d met a few of them. There was Clint, who somehow always gave off “cool dad” vibes. Natasha, who you still couldn’t figure out—did she hate you, or was she just like that with everyone? (Wanda assured you it was the latter.) And, of course, Tony Stark himself, the party host. You’d exchanged polite smiles with a few others, but that was about it.

Being in a room with all of them, casually having breakfast? That was an entirely different beast.

You expressed your nerves to Wanda as the two of you walked down the hallway, your fingers tightening around hers. “What if I say something stupid? Or, I don’t know, spill coffee on Captain America?” you whispered, only half-joking.

Wanda chuckled, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “You’ll be fine,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “They’re just people. And besides, you’ve already survived a Stark party. This is nothing.”

You weren’t entirely convinced, but the way Wanda laced her fingers with yours and gave you that soft, encouraging smile made it a little easier to breathe. Still, as you approached the kitchen, you couldn’t help but feel like you were walking into a lion’s den.

But right now, as you sat at the table with a cup of coffee poured by Tony Stark himself, a stack of pancakes offered by Bruce Banner, and an excessive amount of chocolate syrup drizzled over your plate by none other than the God of Thunder, Wanda found herself feeling increasingly uneasy. 

Everything was about you. They wanted to monopolize your time, your attention, your breakfast. They bombarded you with questions: about your life before Wanda, your life with Wanda, your thoughts on global warming, and even your theories on what lies beyond a rainbow. They wanted to know every single little thing about you, it was like they’d collectively decided you were the most fascinating person in the world, and Wanda couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

She tried, though. Oh, she tried. She crossed her arms, pouting like a child, and reached for you every chance she got—your thigh, your arm, your waist, your hands—but every time she managed to steal even the tiniest bit of your attention, someone else would jump in with a question or a story or a joke.

For heaven’s sake, you were her girlfriend. You were in the tower because of her, to have breakfast with her. And now it was all about them.

Even Natasha, who had always been hard to read, seemed to have taken a sudden liking to you. She poured you more coffee, for crying out loud! And Bucky—ugh, don’t even get Wanda started on Bucky—the man who had been silent all breakfasts until the present day, suddenly became way too curious about your life. Wanda made a mental note to hide his fake arm later.

When Sam teased Wanda about “losing her girlfriend to the team,” her eyes flickered red, jealousy flaring up like a wildfire. Sam laughed, clearly getting the reaction he wanted, but he quickly assured her he was just joking. It didn’t help. Wanda gave up on her nearly finished breakfast and decided to keep both hands firmly on your upper arm, as if claiming you back.

But even that wasn’t enough. After a few more minutes of watching you laugh and chat with everyone, Wanda had had it. She stood up abruptly, sighing heavily.

“The questionnaire time is over,” she announced, her voice loud and clear. “If you’ll excuse me, she’ll spend her time alone with me now. Because she’s my girlfriend.”

Her jealous tone made you chuckle, but you didn’t argue. You waved goodbye to the table as Wanda dragged you down the hallway, her grip firm but not unkind. Before you even made it to her room, Wanda had you pinned against the wall in a dimly lit hallway—somewhere you were pretty sure you’d never been before.

She kissed you like her life depended on it, her hands gripping your waist as if to remind you who you belonged to. You smiled into the kiss, knowing full well this was her way of reclaiming you.

“I can’t believe they took all of my breakfast time,” she complained between sweet, lingering pecks on your lips.

“You know I’m all yours,” you smirked, trying not to laugh at the adorable jealousy she couldn’t quite hide.

She nodded, burying her face in your neck, her arms tightening around you. “Mine,” she muttered, her voice muffled but firm.

But as possessive as she was, Wanda couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness underneath it all. She hadn’t planned on introducing you to her found family like this—not so early in your relationship—but seeing how easily you fit in, how naturally you charmed everyone, made her heart swell. You had a way of making her feel comfortable, of making her feel like she belonged, even in her own chaotic world.

As she’d watched you at the table, your lips smudged with chocolate syrup and your hand lazily wrapped around your coffee cup, she realized something: she could never, ever let you go. 

How could she, when you made her feel like a perfect, solved puzzle—like everything in her life finally made sense?

Because when she was with you, she didn't care if things made sense, they always did if she had you by her side.

✄╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it💌

[xxnaiaxx]

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WHAT IT’S ABOUT

Halla has unexpectedly inherited the estate of a wealthy uncle. Unfortunately, she is also saddled with money-hungry relatives full of devious plans for how to wrest the inheritance away from her.

While locked in her bedroom, Halla inspects the ancient sword that's been collecting dust on the wall since before she moved in. Out of desperation, she unsheathes it—and suddenly a man appears. His name is Sarkis, and he is an immortal warrior trapped in a prison of enchanted steel.

Sarkis is sworn to protect whoever wields the sword, and for Halla—a most unusual wielder—he finds himself fending off not grand armies and deadly assassins but instead everything from kindly-seeming bandits to roving inquisitors to her own in-laws. But as Halla and Sarkis grow closer, they overlook the biggest threat of all—the sword itself.

[xxnaiaxx]

three little words II a.russo

three little words II a.russo

you smiled down contentedly at the blonde whose head rested in your lap, your fingers raking gently through her hair as you laid together watching a movie, as was your newfound monday night tradition.

you'd met alessia in a coffee shop not far from your apartment a few months ago. the girl so caught up in her own thoughts she'd failed to see you coming through the door as she was on her way out, leading to her coffee no longer being in her hand but rather all over you.

she'd of course almost fainted with humiliation, especially when her first instinct had been to try to blot it out as she rambled out a million and one apologies.

however when she'd quickly realized she was unintentionally fondling a strangers chest as she tried desperately to wipe away the muddy brown coffee stains on your shirt she'd darted backward as if you were charged up with electricity.

that in turn then lead to her losing her footing and tumbling backwards, hurtling to the ground and knocking both her head against the door frame, and one of the servers down to the ground with her.

you'd meant to help her up, really you had. but the entire series of unfortunate events was so sudden and strange that you couldn't help but laugh, covering your mouth as alessia looked up horrified and thoroughly embarrassed.

but as its been said, laughter is infectious.

so despite the way her stomach churned uncomfortably and her cheeks burned red with shame she found herself laughing along with you, as if the two of you were old friends and this was a completely normal occurrence.

however coming to your senses and remembering your manners you'd surged forward to offer her a hand up which she'd profusely denied, awkwardly getting to her feet of her own accord and turning to utter another round of apologies to the young girl who'd already helped herself up.

the blonde immediately offered to pay for the coffee you'd arrived to buy as an apology, refusing to take no for an answer but the only catch being she'd begged you both go to literally anywhere else, as she was sure she could never ever step foot in this place again.

with a laugh you'd agreed, and then one coffee turned into two, and then a walk around a park nearby so you could continue talking about everything and nothing. then dinner, and gelato, and with hours having flown by like minutes the striker had eventually insisted on seeing you home safe.

then almost four months later here you were striding around her home like it was your own, making the blonde a tea exactly the way you knew she liked it and curling up together to watch a film alessia had been waiting to for days now.

"babe do you want to go out for dinner tomorrow? i know you have wednesdays off so you could stay over afterwards?" you were pulled out of your thoughts as alessia sat up and paused the movie, stretching as you hummed, only half having heard her.

"dinner. tomorrow, maybe japanese? there's that new place with all the pretty lights inside and the little red bridge we keep saying we'll try." alessia repeated with a soft smile of amusement at your daydreaming. "yeah that sounds nice baby." you agreed as the striker cracked her neck and you winced at the obnoxious popping noise which followed the action.

"i'll call and make a reservation in the morning then." your girlfriend promised, leaning in to press her lips softly to yours. "perfect." you mumbled against them, her hand slipping up the oversized shirt which belonged to her, but you'd claimed as your own.

"your hands are freezing russo!" you whined trying to push them away as they only creeped up higher. "well then let me warm them up." she grinned, ducking and pressing her lips back to yours before you could respond.

you weren't quite sure what it was, maybe just the swelling of emotions you felt as the blonde pulled away and smiled down at you like you hung the moon and stars.

or the shiny bubble of comfortable domesticity around the pair of you as she settled again and rested her head on your shoulder, arm still draped protectively across your midsection as you leaned your body further into hers.

maybe it was the way your senses were overridden with the intoxicating combination of her body wash and the lavender face masks the pair of you had done earlier.

or the way she grabbed your free hand in hers, lacing your fingers together and pressing a feather light kiss to your knuckles, but you felt a surge of something wash over you as your girlfriend clicked play on the movie again.

"i love you." you spoke suddenly with a confidence, eyes raking over your girlfriend burning with adoration, alessia's head shooting up off your shoulder and her gaze wide with surprise at the words neither of you had said yet, until now.

"i love you less." you repeated a little softer now, hand letting go of hers and moving to settle on her cheek as you leaned across to sweetly peck her lips, a slight frown creasing your eyebrows at the way she was rigidly frozen in place.

"i-thank you." alessia blurted out awkwardly, and at that response it was like all the air was sucked from the room, and you felt an awful sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, instant regret bubbling up in your throat like bile.

the two of you sat in the uncomfortable silence for a beat too long, staring at one another as alessia looked like a deer caught in headlights and you like you wanted the ground to swallow you up whole.

"should we keep watching the movie?" "i need to use the toilet."

the differences in the sentences spoke volumes as did the tones of your voices as alessia opened her mouth to say something and you darted off the sofa, legs unable to get you away from her fast enough before the door slammed shut and you could finally breathe.

alessia winced hearing it, knowing her reaction was quite literally the worst one it could have been, but in the moment it was all she could get out, even if that was far from how she actually felt.

you were in the bathroom for long enough your girlfriend knew you weren't actually using it for anything other than probably hiding from her, until finally the toilet flushed and the lock clicked open.

any sort of apology she planned to make was futile as you awkwardly shuffled back into the living room, looking anywhere but directly at the blonde whom a few moments ago you'd been unable to take your eyes off of.

"uh its late, i should go." you grabbed your car keys off the kitchen counter as alessia immediately frowned. "wait but i thought you were staying over?" she questioned confused as you moved to put your shoes on where they sat dormant by the front door.

"my boss called, they need me to cover someone tomorrow so i should probably head home." you lied quietly, which alessia knew given your phone had sat beside her on the sofa the entire time you were in the bathroom.

"oh, okay. well did you want to at least finish the movie?" your girlfriend quickly jumped to her feet with a glimmer of hope as you shook your head. "no its fine, watch without me." you flashed a clearly forced smile and withheld a wince as you accepted your phone she held out to you.

"well do you want me to come stay with you tonight instead then? i can just grab my stuff for training and-" alessia moved as if to go pack a bag as you shook your head and grabbed her hand, stilling her.

"no no, i know you have your routine. i'll uh, i'll talk to you tomorrow." you paused for a second as you let her hand go, fully ready to lean forward and kiss her goodbye as you normally would.

but not feeling that at all you instead settled for a tight lipped smile and turned to leave, alessia left a little shell shocked before you felt her grab your wrist as you opened the front door.

"baby no wait just let me-"

"don't less, please." you shook your head quickly, pain evident in your eyes which had alessias stomach lurching knowing she was quite clearly the cause of it.

"i'll call you tomorrow." you forced out, gently tugging your wrist free from her grip, then faster than alessia could even blink the front door was closed and you were gone.

but she couldn't help but worry that when you did call tomorrow, if you did, it wouldn't be to organise what time she was picking you up for dinner.

~

and sure enough it wasn't a call that came for alessia that next day, it was a simple text.

a text that cancelled your dinner plans all together, an excuse she saw right through that you'd double booked and forgot you had plans already with your parents.

but she didn't feel like she had much room to say anything about it, until a few days of awkward unresolved tension and profound lack of you in her life, and someone else pushed her to it.

"alright alessia. out with it!" the blonde looked up shocked, snapped out of her daydreaming to find leah stood in front of her, hands on hips and prominent scowl on her face as she looked down at her.

"sorry?" the striker questioned, confused where this was coming from and more than ready to go home and sulk after you'd made yet another excuse not to see her tonight.

"you've been moping around here like a sad sack for the last two days less, you're pleasant but you're not your usual bubbly lovely self. so whats happened then?" leah raised an eyebrow in questioning as alessia sighed.

"nothing leah, i'm fine. just tired!" alessia forced a smile as leah scoffed, seeing right thorough it, though before she could call her out on it someone beat her to it. "liar." kyra chimed in, appearing seemingly out of nowhere as alessia shot her a look.

"kyra don't-" "right! you, out with it." leah ordered shifting her glare to the young australian now.

"her girlfriend told her she loved her and less just said thank you and didn't say it back and now her girlfriends avoiding her like a bad smell." kyra let the truth come tumbling out as alessia groaned and leahs eyes widened.

"you've got a girlfriend?" leah near gasped as kyra suddenly paled beneath alessias near murderous glare. "that was private, kyra." the english girl grumbled as the australian mumbled an apology and took off back to her own locker.

"okay less? breathe. how about you come over for dinner? i think we have some catching up to do." "is this just so i'll cook for you?" "no! but if you want it to be edible..."

~

"so. this wonderful girl tells you she loves you, twice, and you say..." leah baited wait a raised eyebrow, empty plates sat on the table in front of them.

"-thank you." alessia admitted as leah visibly cringed, whistling under her breath. "no wonder she's avoiding you. the poor girl probablys died of embarrassment less!" leah warned as the younger blonde groaned. "i know that! she shouldn't be embarrassed though."

"shouldn't she?" leah urged for the girl to continue as alessia dragged her hands tiredly down her face. "i've just-this is all very new for me." the striker started, leah nodding on encouragingly.

"its not that its because shes the first girl i've dated. its just that...well the feelings i have for her are different than what i've felt before." alessia seemed to struggle to explain as leahs eyebrows creased together in mild confusion.

"different how?" "its hard to explain." "well at least give it a try less."

"i just-i've never worried this much about someone i've been seeing before. like when she's not with me i'm always wondering what shes doing and hoping shes okay, when she goes on trips for work i always worry something will happen to her, which is ridiculous because she sells coffee beans!" alessia scoffed with a roll of her eyes as leah hid a small smile with her hand.

"then whenever i'm waiting for her to message me back i check my phone more, because i want to talk to her, i want to hear her every thought and know what shes up to, even if shes just spent the last three days with me and i already know what shes been doing." alessia admitted, throwing her hands up with a huff.

"we try to keep a healthy balance of time with one another and apart, but whenever we don't spend the night together i don't sleep as well because i wish she was with me. we watch movies together on facetime for hours even when she lives five blocks away!" alessia rolled her eyes and leah snickered quietly.

"and i just-i've never cared so much for someone leah. and caring so much means if anything were to happen, it would hurt, a lot, and that terrifies me! it terrifies me how much-" alessia began but the older girl finished her sentence for her.

"-how much you love her." the defender spoke with a knowing smile as alessia gave in with a deeply troubled sigh and a nod of her head.

"but did i tell her any of that? no! i just said 'thank you' like she'd just made me tea not as if she'd just confessed her love for me!" alessia groaned again dropping her head into her hands as leah reached over to rub her back.

"well. then go and tell her how you feel less! before she thinks you don't love her, or that she's made a mistake by telling you she does." leah warned gently as alessia sat up properly and nodded.

she knew what she had to do.

~

"no i won't i'll just have to-" you paused hearing your doorbell go, a quick check of the ring camera your brother had insisted you have installed showing the very topic of your current conversation.

"hey liv? i'll call you back later." you cut your friend off and ignored her questions as to what was happening as you pressed end call, cautiously making your way over to the front door as the bell went again.

unlocking it you pulled the front door half open, mostly because it was freezing and you weren't too keen on letting the hot air out or the cold air in, but maybe a little because you were worried the blonde was here to break up with you for moving too fast.

"alessia? is everything alright? its late." you questioned with a frown of concern as the striker rocked back and forth on her feet, hands shoved deep into the thin grey adidas jacket wrapped around her.

"come on, you're gonna freeze wearing that!" you decided before she could speak, already seeing the hints of red creeping up onto her nose and cheeks as you opened the door wider and waved her inside.

"thank you." your girlfriend exhaled shakily as you closed and re-locked the door behind her. "theres been a lot of those going around." you didn't mean to say it out loud, but when the realisation that you had dawned on you your own face flushed red.

"i didn't mean to-" "no no, i deserved that."

you both shared an awkward smile as you cleared your throat. "do you want a tea? you're still shaking." you noticed the slight tremble in her shoulders and before she could even answer you were off to the kitchen as alessia scrambled to follow you.

"have you eaten?" you asked once you'd flicked the kettle on to boil, alessia nodding quickly as she stood hovering on the edge of the room shifting on the balls of her feet.

"you can sit down." you cracked a small but seemingly sincere smile, nodding to the stools by the bench as alessia did just that. "yeah i was round leahs for dinner." she answered your previous question as you gave her a look.

"isn't that the one you said can't cook?" you quizzed as now alessia cracked a tiny smile. "yeah well, i was round there for dinner but i cooked." she admitted as you both exchanged a shy glance and another small smile, not really having met too many of one anothers friends just yet.

a somewhat tense silence followed as the kettle boiled and you turned your back to the striker while you made the pair of you a tea, alessia caught up rehearsing what she'd come here to say in her head while you did.

"than-cheers." alessia quickly diverted making you hide a smile as you placed down the cup of tea in front of her and she exhaled in relief as her freezing cold palms met the warm ceramic of the mug.

"this is...perfect." alessia managed out after she'd taken a few mouthfuls. "i bought that sugar replacement you like, and i pinched a few tea bags from your place, and its got oat milk." you confessed quietly as alessia just stared at you.

"but you hate oat milk." "well yeah, but you like it."

those words left hanging in the air you began to worry once again you may have overwhelmed or scared off the footballer but before you could even begin to think about apologizing she was up and out of her seat.

then without even a beat of hesitation her lips were pressed against yours, stomach tensing as cold fingertips held either side of your face and just like every single time alessia kissed you, you melted.

"i love you." the blonde pulled away and confessed suddenly, bright blue eyes piercing into yours which were wide with shock at those three little words.

"you don't have to-" you began to backpedal, afraid she'd only said them out of obligation but she was quick to shut you up with another kiss that had your head spinning and your lips tingling.

"i'm not. please, i promise i'm not." alessia shook her head quickly as all you could do was nod, the taller girls hands gently letting go of your cheeks as they shifted to place themselves on your hips instead.

"i love that you know how i take my tea perfectly. i love that you always come over with my favorite snacks. i love that even if i say i'm not hungry you know to order extra because i'll eat yours." alessia started, a soft smile curling into your features at her words.

"i love that our days are so different because it means we don't run out of things to talk about. i love the way your nose twitches whenever you're trying not to laugh, and i love the way you sound when you do." alessia continued, squeezing your hips gently.

"i love that whenever you buy flowers at the markets you take like half an hour choosing which bunch is best. i love that you always fall asleep during movies even when its your turn to pick. i love that you hate cooking but love to clean up because i love cooking and i hate cleaning up!" alessia grinned as you let a small laugh escape.

"i love when you wear my clothes or my kits with my name on the back, i love when we fall asleep on facetime and i still get to wake up with you. i love when you get those little frown lines after pouting about something ridiculous." alessias voice softened as she stepped even more into your space, her face a hairs breadth away from yours.

"i love that you've shown me what it feels like to be loved for exactly who i am, how i am and in a way i never even thought i could have. i love that i want to be the best possible person i can for you and make you feel just as loved and as seen as i do. i love you, all of you, and i'm so so sorry i didn't say it back." alessia practically whispered the last few words, a deep frown of remorse present in her features as you reached up to smooth out her eyebrows gently with your thumbs.

"i'm sorry ive been avoiding you and cancelling plans, i was just worried i came on too strong and i'd scare you off." you admitted, hands resting either side of her face which shook rapidly from side to side.

"never. i promise, i just-all of this, you, the thought of ever losing any of it, scared me and i got overwhelmed and weird and i-" now it was your turn to shut her ramblings up with a kiss, tracing shapes softly against her cheekbones.

"its okay less, really." you promised, the striker visibly sagging with relief and you couldn't help but laugh as her taller form came tumbling into yours, arms wrapped tightly around one another as she pressed her face into your neck.

"thank god." you felt her grumble as you smiled, sneaking a hand up her jumper and rubbing up and down her back as her own hands mirrrored the motion on your sides.

"less?" "mm?" "this is very cute but you're sort of squashing me into the counter top." you admitted with a slight wince as the edge of it rammed into your back further with each passing second.

"sorry!" the blonde leapt away from you with wide eyes as you pushed off and assured her it was fine, a few more pecks and sweet words exchanged before you nodded for her to finish her tea before it went cold, the pair of you migrating to the living room.

"where are you going?" her hand clutched at your top as you didn't join her on the sofa. "to get a blanket, your hands are still like ice russo." you laughed, her grip never loosening.

"no need." the striker shook her head, pulling you down practically on top of her, empty mug sat on the coffee table as she wiggled and wriggled until she seemed to find a comfortable enough position with you laid half on top of her and half between her legs.

"alright then?" you snickered at the manhandling as your girlfriend nodded happily, gesturing for you to grab the remote. "is this your way of asking to stay over?" you teased, leaning forward to grab it and settling yourself against her again.

"maybe." alessia grinned, ducking down to steal a kiss which you were more than happy to give her, flicking on the television and leaning your head on her shoulder, her hands messing about with your hair.

"i love you." alessia spoke once you'd both agreed on a film, one hand moving to tilt your head back to properly look at her, a face filled with adoration staring right back down at you.

"thank you baby." you reached up to gently pat her cheek, turning back to the opening credits as alessia scoffed. "fine, guess i deserved that." the striker mumbled, though as seconds passed you could almost feel her stroppy look burn through the top of your head.

"i love you too." you eventually gave in, alessia sighing dramatically with relief, not clocking you now had your mug of tea in your hands as she jerked her body a little too fast to pepper your face with kisses.

"oh less!" you moaned as the hot liquid sloshed all over you and you sat up, almost headbutting the poor girl whose face flushed red with embarrassment.

getting up to change your top you were stopped as her hand grabbed your wrist and you raised an eyebrow curiously. "well since i'm so cold and you're now all wet..." alessia nodded with a suggestive smile in the direction of the bathroom as you met her with a grin.

"last one there gets the left side of the bed and the extra pillow!" your girlfriend announced, already on her feet and racing off as you gasped and sprinted after her.

"alessia thats not fair thats my side and my pillow!"

[xxnaiaxx]

. ⏾ ⋆ dusk til dawn ⋆☼.

MASTERLIST

synopsis: after being invited to the met gala, you and billie are caught in between the spotlight and quiet intimacy of your growing relationship.

genre: fluff

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 6.05k

warnings: slight cussing, light alcohol consumption

authors note: so sad she’s not attending the met this year😓

moonlight streams through the open curtains, bathing the living room in a soft, silvery glow. the faint hum of a late-night talk show drifts through the air—it’s billie’s most recent appearance on jimmy fallon. your body sinks deeper into the couch, the plush cushions cradling you as your tired eyes follow the screen. the black throw blanket draped over you clings like a second skin, its soft, fuzzy fur wrapping you in a tender embrace. a candle flickers on the coffee table, its warm light spilling over the scattered remnants of your quiet evening alone—a half-empty mug of tea sits nearby, the once-hot liquid cooled to room temperature and forgotten on a coaster. next to it lies your book, a slender bookmark jutting out to hold your place. your phone, nestled beneath the blanket by your thigh, vibrates every few minutes with notifications you can’t bring yourself to check, the faint buzz a whisper against your skin.

the faint jangle of keys interrupts the silence, their metallic clink scraping softly against the door before the handle turns. the quiet, familiar click of the latch releasing echoes through the room, followed by the groan of the door as it swings open. the wind rushes in briefly, carrying the cool night air with it before the door closes, the hinges squeaking faintly as they settle back into place.

you glance over your shoulder, catching sight of billie as she steps inside. she pauses near the door, bending to kick off her shoes with a soft thud against the floor. her brown hair is gathered in a loose, low ponytail, strands framing her face in lazy curls. the oversized hoodie and baggy sweats she wears seem impossibly cozy, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of her day—errands, hours spent in her brother’s studio, and the residual energy of the spotlight still clinging faintly to her.

you turn your gaze back to the tv, watching her animated hands flit across the screen as she answers questions, the familiar cadence of her voice filling the room. the deep red roots of her hair peek through in the interview, a reminder of a look you dearly miss. behind you, the sound of her keys clattering onto the kitchen island mingles with the shuffle of papers, followed by her light footsteps as she crosses the room.

billie leans over the back of the couch, her presence warm and grounding. she presses a kiss to your temple, her lips soft and lingering, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the touch.

“you look nice and snug,” she murmurs, her voice low and comforting, like a melody meant only for you.

you nod, offering a soft “mhm” in response, the sound more exhale than word. the top of your head brushes against her face as she hovers near you, her warmth wrapping around you like an invisible blanket. leaning back slightly, you catch her lips in a gentle kiss, her skin soft and familiar against your own. the faint taste of mint from her gum cools your lips, the sensation spreading like a whisper of winter across your tongue.

when she pulls away, there’s a quiet, velvety pop, the delicate sound of connection breaking. her lips curve into a smile, the diamonds on her teeth catching the flicker of the candlelight, gleaming like scattered stars.

you reach up, cupping her face in your palm. your thumb brushes tender strokes along her cheek, the simple touch enough to make her nose wrinkle slightly. the sight draws a soft smile from you.

“hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as though the words are meant to wrap around her soul and nowhere else.

“hi, mama,” she replies, the nickname slipping from her lips with practiced ease, her voice as smooth as silk. her breath fans lightly across your face, carrying a warmth that lingers.

your fingers drift upward, tangling softly in the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck. her eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch, her lips parting slightly as a quiet sigh escapes her.

“long day?” you ask, your gaze tracing her face, taking in the freckles scattered across her skin like constellations.

“you have no idea,” she replies, her brows lifting briefly before relaxing again. “i feel like i just aged up twenty years.” her eyelids open slowly, revealing the piercing blue of her eyes, oceans of emotion that meet your own.

her attention shifts suddenly as something on the tv catches her ear—a sound or phrase that makes her stiffen slightly.

“ no, it never feels like that ever. no, i never am like, ‘yeah! got it.’ ”

she groans softly, her face scrunching in mild disgust as she catches sight of her past self on the screen. her body tenses briefly before she glances back at you, her lips forming a pout as she casts you a dramatic side-eye.

“why are you watching this?” she whines, her voice laced with playful exasperation.

“because i can,” you tease, raising your voice just enough to mimic her tone, your words dripping with faux defiance.

“whatever,” she mutters, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair.

you take the hand that rests on the back of her neck, pulling her down toward you. your lips meet hers in a flurry of light, playful pecks, the wet sound of smooches filling the space between laughter. her pout melts away, replaced by a grin that spreads slowly across her face, her joy as warm and luminous as the candlelight that dances across the room.

breaking the kiss, she moves toward the kitchen, collecting the stack of mail and packages piled near the edge of the counter. sliding onto the floor, she tucks her legs beneath the coffee table, her back resting against the couch as her head finds a place on your knee. the rug beneath her feet feels soft, a textured contrast to the cool air that lingers in the room. with a low sigh, she reaches back, loosening her ponytail, letting waves of chestnut brown cascade past her shoulders, strands curling softly down her back like ribbons unraveling. her fingers sift through the scattered envelopes, sorting the mundane from the meaningful, her nails lightly tapping on paper as she works.

“bills,” she mutters, sliding a pile toward you. her lips quirk in mock irritation as she meets your gaze.

you give her a pointed look, eyebrows arching. “oh, so now i handle all of these?”

she shrugs dramatically, the ghost of a grin tugging at her mouth. “you’re better at it.” her voice drips with faux innocence as she tosses her hair over her shoulder, sending you a playful, teasing glance.

you shake your head, suppressing a smile, and turn back to the tv. the faint hum of voices fills the room as youtube automatically queues another video. billie releases a quiet, relieved sigh as her face disappears from the screen, her shoulders visibly relaxing. still, her fingers work through the mail, opening envelopes, flipping through glossy magazines, and tossing aside collaboration offers. the rhythm of her movements is interrupted when her hands still over one particular envelope.

“what the hell…” she murmurs under her breath, her tone curious and tinged with intrigue. the envelope in her hands feels different—thicker, sturdier. its texture is slightly rough beneath her fingertips, like pressed parchment, its edges precise and clean. her name is written across the front in an elegant, flowing calligraphy, the ink embossed and raised just enough to be felt as her thumb brushes over it. flipping it over, her eyes fall to the wax seal on the back, a shimmering gold stamp pressed into intricate details, cool and smooth against her skin.

your attention shifts at the sudden change in her demeanor. leaning forward slightly, you watch as she carefully breaks the seal, the faint crackle of wax filling the silence. she pulls out a sheet of cardstock, cream-colored and sophisticated, the same delicate script flowing across its surface. her lips move as she reads, some words slipping into the air while others fall silent, her voice alternating between muted murmurs and audible whispers. the faintest smile spreads across her lips as her eyes trace the contents of the letter.

“what is it?” you ask, leaning toward her, curiosity blooming as you try to peer over her shoulder.

she tilts the letter slightly in your direction, her grin widening. “an invite to the met gala. they want me back this year.” her voice is soft, but there’s an edge of excitement to it as she hands you the envelope. “and they said i could bring a plus one.”

your fingers skim the paper, taking in the luxurious feel of it as your eyes scan the invitation. her words echo in your mind, but they blur momentarily as you try to read and process everything at once. once you lower the letter, you find her watching you, her expression open, hopeful, and maybe a little nervous.

“do you want me to come with you?” you ask, your voice matching the softness of hers.

her smile falters, only slightly, as she considers her words. “do you want me to want you to? i mean… this would be our first time going public, you know, as a couple. not just friends.”

the word couple lingers between you, warm and affirming, wrapping around the two of you like a quiet promise. it’s been nearly two years since your friendship evolved into something deeper, something sacred and tender. in that time, your relationship has become a sanctuary—a bubble free of prying eyes and the unrelenting pressure of public opinion. billie’s fame has always been a double-edged sword, and while the world knows you as her close friend, they’ve never suspected the truth of what lies between you. it’s been intentional, this secrecy, a deliberate choice to protect what you’ve built.

but now, the possibility of stepping into the spotlight together tugs at both of you—tempting, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. the thought of shedding the secrecy, of calling each other “mine” without hesitation, feels like freedom. but so does the safety of what you already have.

billie’s shoulders slump slightly, her head dipping as she releases a soft breath. she picks at the fibers of the rug, a nervous habit you’ve noticed over the years, her fingers working absentmindedly as her thoughts whirl.

you reach down, brushing her hair behind her ear, your thumb grazing the edge of her temple. “i’ll go,” you whisper, your voice gentle but resolute.

her head snaps up at your words, her eyes wide with surprise and glistening with the beginnings of joy. “really?”

“yes, really. i’d love to be your date to the gala.” your fingers trail along her jaw, resting on her neck as your thumb rubs slow, soothing circles over her pulse point. her face lights up with a smile, the kind that makes her whole expression glow, and she leans into your touch, her earlier tension melting away like ice under the warmth of a flame.

“you have no idea how much that means to me,” she says softly, her voice carrying the weight of her gratitude and affection.

“oh, i think i do,” you reply, your lips curving into a smile as your hand drifts to her shoulder, grounding her. and as the candlelight flickers around the room, casting both of you in its golden glow, you feel the quiet anticipation of what’s to come—a new chapter, written together, with the world finally watching.

a flush of pink rises to her stardusted cheeks at the mere thought of it. you as her date and her as yours, stepping into a night draped in elegance and glittering possibility. she glances back down at the rug, her fingers idly twisting the threads as if anchoring herself, trying to play off the sheepish smile threatening to bloom across her face. “okay, cool,” she murmurs, the words slipping out like a secret.

and for the rest of the night, that’s all you two talk about, voices overlapping in excitement as you discuss the theme, the gowns, the energy of it all. you call up her network of famous friends, voices warm and lively through the receiver as they share their plans and hesitations, making the whole thing feel more real.

the months pass in a whirl, time unspooling like a ribbon caught in the wind. the living room becomes an evolving mosaic of fabric swatches, discarded sketches, tea-stained mugs, and the occasional half-eaten granola bar. laughter fills the air, bouncing off the walls like music as the two of you brainstorm designs late into the night. the chaos is oddly comforting, each small step pulling you closer to the vision.

planning starts the day billie opens the envelope, the seed of an idea taking root and sprouting almost instantly. you both dive headfirst into research, poring over past themes and iconic looks, your phones cluttered with saved images and bookmarked articles. you sketch your initial concepts with hesitant strokes, unsure at first but growing more confident as the vision sharpens. trial after trial leaves the floor littered with crumpled paper, but finally, after weeks of adjustments, you settle on a design that feels like you.

finding a designer is the next step, a meticulous search through portfolios until one name stands out: erdem moralıoğlu. his work feels like poetry stitched into fabric—textured, vibrant, and alive. you reach out, sending over your sketches and descriptions, and before long, you’re in contact.

the process is intense but rewarding—zoom calls where the two of you gesture wildly, emails where the fine details are ironed out, and even trips to london to stand in his atelier. the space feels sacred, each corner bursting with creativity. mannequins draped in shimmering silks and bold prints stand like statues, their presence almost reverent. fittings are delicate rituals, the fabric cool against your skin as billie sits nearby, watching you with a soft smile. the dresses, when finished, leave you breathless—dreams made tangible, their beauty spilling into the room like sunlight through stained glass.

as april folds into may, the days quicken their pace, each one disappearing as quickly as it arrives. in between fittings and final touches, billie navigates the chaos of awards season, her shelves filling with trophies that glitter in the evening light. you handle the rest—flights, hotels, stylists—ensuring every piece of the puzzle fits seamlessly into place.

then, suddenly, it’s may fifth, and the met gala is no longer a distant vision but an imminent reality.

the morning breaks softly, sunlight spilling through the hotel windows in golden streaks. you wake to the faint sound of the city outside, cars and footsteps blending into a gentle hum. billie stands by the window, her silhouette bathed in light, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. the scent of jasmine and hibiscus mingles with the crisp air. she turns when she hears you stir, her face soft and open, her eyes catching the light. “mornin’, gorgeous,” she says, her voice low and warm as she crosses the room to press a kiss to your forehead.

the day feels suspended in a surreal haze, a quiet thrill thrumming beneath every moment. the suite becomes a hive of activity as your stylist teams arrive, carrying racks of shoes, trays of jewelry, and endless brushes. curling irons hiss, the air fills with the faint aroma of hairspray and perfume, and the room vibrates with quiet focus. billie sits beside you, uncharacteristically still, her gaze flicking between her reflection and yours.

music hums softly in the background, a calming undercurrent to the chaos. your voice drifts above it, low and unhurried, as you hum along to the melody. the nail technician works with careful precision, the faint vibrations of the drill traveling through your fingertips, grounding you in the moment. billie glances over occasionally, a half-smile tugging at her lips as she watches you, her expression tinged with something tender.

outside, the city roars on, oblivious to the quiet symphony unfolding within the suite. for now, the world feels distant, and all that exists is this—the two of you, side by side, preparing to step into something new, something shared.

“nervous?” billie’s voice dances through the air, light and teasing, pulling your eyes from your nails to meet hers in the mirror. the softness in her voice is familiar, grounding, and her blue eyes hold a spark—like she can read you, even in this fleeting moment.

you turn instinctively, but before you can respond, her hand—warm, soft—cups your jaw, fingertips grazing your skin as she gently turns your head back toward the mirror. the contact is so gentle, so intimate, it catches you off guard. a soft ‘sorry’ spills from your lips, almost forgetting the makeup artist’s quiet presence. billie chuckles softly, her laugh the kind that stays with you, echoing in your chest.

“but no, not really,” you admit, the excitement more prominent now than any trace of nerves. “i’m just… excited. tonight is big, that’s all.”

billie nods in agreement, her touch warm against your knee, nails painted dark and mysterious, reflecting the quiet light of the room. “it’s huge,” she says, her words firm and certain. “and it’s ours. nobody can take that from us.” she gives your knee a reassuring squeeze, and you feel the weight of her promise in it.

as the final zippers are pulled and gowns settled into place, there’s a brief, timeless pause. standing before the mirror, you both take in the sight of each other—striking, elegant, everything you’ve worked for reflected back at you. billie steps behind you, wrapping her arm around your waist with a fluid motion, her fingertips brushing the curve of your side as she takes out her phone. soft clicks of the camera, the flash blinking briefly in the mirror, marking this moment in time.

you let your gaze linger on her for just a second—her eyes, a constellation of thoughts, her smile, quiet but knowing. “you look perfect,” you murmur, the words tasting like something real.

“so do you,” billie responds, her voice thick with something unspoken.

she hands you the overcoat—golden and rich—and you slip it on, the soft fabric flowing as you stand, both of you ready for the world to see. the black fabric envelops billie, hiding the brilliance beneath.

as you make your way to the car, your heart beats faster. the ride is silent, save for the hum of the limousine, a soft prelude to the storm of attention waiting for you both.

when the car stops at the metropolitan museum, the atmosphere shifts—like air before a thunderstorm. the doors open, and a flood of lights hits you both.

stepping out first, you feel the world pause. your gold overcoat sweeps behind you, the fabric an extension of the anticipation. billie follows close behind, her black coat almost a shadow, contrasting with the glint of her eyes.

hand in hand, you both walk the carpet, your steps synchronized as the crowd holds its breath. midway, you stop, the moment stretching out before you. you both unclip your coats in perfect harmony, the fabric falling away like a revelation.

the crowd erupts—camera flashes, whispers, gasps. billie’s gown, dark and starlit, catches the light, the midnight blue fabric swirling around her like it’s alive, and the detachable cape, embroidered with golden constellations, billows like the night sky itself. her hair is a wild thing, dark and free, but the diamond crescent moon above her brow gives her an ethereal edge.

your gown is sunlight personified. gold and soft as liquid dawn, the train fanning out like the rays of the morning sun. delicate metallic threads trace the path of light, and your gown seems to shimmer with the warmth of the sun. your overcoat falls away to reveal the intricate embroidery, the story of the night and the day meeting each other—your own private metaphor in the form of fabric.

the cameras can’t seem to capture it fast enough.

you and billie stand together, posing, your fingers brushing in the stillness. there’s a softness to the way she gazes at you, like she’s seeing something just for her, something the world can’t touch.

a photographer calls your names, desperate to immortalize the scene, and then the whispers start.

“is that her girlfriend?”

“they’ve been friends for years—are they… are they confirming it?”

“best looks of the night, no competition.”

billie reaches for you then, her hand slipping into yours as she places a soft kiss on the back of your knuckles. the warmth spreads through you, a smile curling at the corners of your mouth. her lips find the inside of your elbow next, the lightest of touches, just enough to send a thrill through you.

as you ascend the stairs to the museum, you’re stopped every few steps—interviews, compliments, requests for more photos. the whole night a whirlwind of attention. finally, billie grabs your hand, her fingers intertwined with yours, and leads you inside.

it’s like stepping into another world.

the museum is transformed, a mythical landscape of flowers and sculptures, the lighting soft and surreal. it’s dreamlike, this world you’ve entered, a place where time seems to stretch, where anything feels possible. you move through the space, sidestepping whispers and smiles, navigating conversations with designers, artists, and celebrities, all the while the eyes of the room on you.

someone pulls you aside—a fashion editor, wide-eyed. “you two didn’t just follow the theme,” she says, breathless. “you are the theme.”

through the exhibits, billie keeps a steady hand on your back. the painting of the sun and moon, its gold and blue hues so reminiscent of your gowns, catches her eye. “look, baby. that’s us,” she says, her voice warm and playful.

“oh, it most certainly is,” you reply, your hand sliding back to cup her chin. you pull her toward you, capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

the sound of a string quartet fills the air—dreamy, aching. billie takes your hand, her touch firm yet gentle, and leads you to the dance floor.

billie places your champagne flutes down onto a passing tray without a second thought. her fingers pull you closer, her eyes never leaving yours. and then, in the silence between the notes, she asks, her voice quiet, “may i have this dance?”

turning back around towards her, billie grabs your hand and pulls you closer, her fingers warm against yours. you glance around briefly, taking in the fluid movements of the other dancers—how their bodies seem to move as one, a seamless blur of grace and harmony. their steps are effortless, in sync with the music, and you find yourself questioning whether you’ll be able to match their elegance.

swiveling your head toward billie, you raise an eyebrow, uncertainty flickering in your gaze. “i’m not even going to lie… babe, i don’t know how to dance like this.” you sigh, the words coming out in a soft, unsure laugh.

rubbing the back of your hands with her thumbs, billie gives you a gentle smile, the kind that makes your chest feel lighter. “that’s okay, baby, just put your hands here.” she guides your arms around her neck, her touch soft but confident. her hands find your waist, steady and reassuring. “and follow my lead.”

she moves into a simple box step, her body light and fluid, as if dancing is second nature to her. you watch your feet, trying to stay in rhythm, afraid of stepping on her toes. you don’t, but you do misstep, your heel catching the floor awkwardly.

billie’s thumb brushes against your jawline, sending a spark of warmth through you. her index finger tilts your chin up, gently guiding your eyes back to hers. “just keep your eyes on me and let the music guide you,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing, like a whispered secret meant only for you. “you got this, babe.” her smile is soft, knowing, and it melts any lingering nerves away.

you both glide across the floor, your movements synchronized, as if you’ve waltzed together countless times before. sure, there have been moments when you danced in the kitchen, but never like this—never this close, this connected, with the weight of her touch grounding you.

your fingers brush the soft hair at the nape of her neck, the small strands delicate beneath your touch. you try not to disrupt the neat style, but the temptation to run your fingers through it is too strong. your skirts brush against each other with every turn, the fabric whispering against the air, adding to the quiet symphony of the moment. the warmth between you both is undeniable, charged with an electric connection that doesn’t need words. billie’s gaze is all adoration, her eyes so full of it, it’s almost too much to bear. the intensity of her attention has you shyly glancing away, the heat of her stare igniting a flush on your cheeks.

billie draws you closer, pressing your bodies flush together, closing the distance until there’s no space left between you. “are you blushing?” she asks, her voice low and teasing, the words brushing against the shell of your ear. her breath sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps rising in its wake.

“shut up, please and thank you.” you whisper, a playful retort slipping from your lips as you bite the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to suppress the smile that’s already tugging at the corners of your mouth. billie laughs—a soft, steady chuckle—and you feel it deep in your chest. she presses a gentle kiss to your temple, the warmth of it lingering long after.

but before you can respond, a figure approaches—sharp black suit, a man who billie seems to recognize. he taps her shoulder, his voice cutting through the quiet rhythm of the dance. “so sorry to interrupt,” he says, his tone apologetic but firm. “billie, could i borrow you for a moment? it’s about the exhibit’s partnership.”

billie glances at you, her brow furrowing slightly, a trace of reluctance crossing her features. “i’ll be right back, okay?” she says, her voice soft but tinged with something almost apologetic.

you nod, giving her a reassuring smile, though there’s a flicker of disappointment that you try to hide. “go. i’ll be fine, promise.”

her lips brush against yours in one last chaste kiss, tender and lingering. her hand hovers for a moment on your right cheek, the warmth of her touch searing even through the space that begins to grow between you. then, she’s pulled away, disappearing into the sea of guests, her silhouette swallowed by the crowd. you step back, the connection between you suddenly lost, and the vastness of the room feels overwhelming. the music, once so close, now seems distant, and the energy in the air feels too heavy. the laughter, the chatter—it all blends together into a distant hum. you need a moment of solitude, a space to breathe, to recalibrate.

you slip away from the center of the floor, seeking out a quiet corner, where the noise fades into a soft blur. the weight of the evening settles on your shoulders, and for the first time tonight, you feel untethered.

grabbing another slender flute of champagne from a wandering waiter’s tray, you lift it to your lips, hoping the cool liquid might ease the heat that’s been bubbling inside you since you stepped into the room. the soft murmur of chatter and the rhythmic clink of glasses fade into the background, as if the world around you has softened and quieted, leaving only the sensation of the glass in your hand. you tilt it back, letting the golden liquid slip over your tongue, the bubbles dancing lightly against your taste buds before you tilt your head further, draining the glass in one smooth motion.

the bubbles sting your throat as they travel down, sharp and fleeting, but you don’t flinch. you welcome the coolness, feeling it settle in your chest, a brief reprieve from the heat radiating from your cheeks and the warmth that still lingers in the pit of your stomach. you lower the empty flute with a soft clink against the table, your fingers lingering on the stem for a moment, as if to steady yourself. exhaling sharply, you glance around the room, your eyes skimming the crowd, deliberately avoiding the spot where billie stands. your heart beats faster, a flutter of nerves taking over, and you fight the shy grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

after a moment, you slip away, retreating from the crowded space, the noise and clamor of the gala fading as you wander through the museum. you pass beneath gilded archways and quiet galleries, the sharp contrast between the noise of the event and the hush of the galleries almost surreal. you find yourself outside in the garden, the night air welcoming in its stillness.

the difference is immediate—the hum of the gala swallowed by the soft chorus of crickets and the gentle murmur of the night breeze. you step onto the balcony, your gaze lifting to the sky. the moon hangs high above, its silvery glow casting everything in its path with an almost ethereal, dreamlike light. you place your hands on the cool stone of the banister, fingers trailing over its smooth surface as you tilt your head back, letting the crisp night air wash over you, calming the frantic thoughts swirling in your mind.

you descend the steps, the gentle rustle of your skirts against the stone floor barely audible. the garden sprawls before you, an oasis of serenity in the midst of the city’s heartbeat. you walk slowly, brushing your fingers against the lush greenery, feeling the varying textures beneath your fingertips—soft petals, the sharp edge of leaves, the smoothness of bark. the mingling scents of flowers and the faint trace of city air surround you, a comforting blend that grounds you in the moment, offering a strange sense of peace you didn’t know you needed.

you finally take a seat on a stone bench, the cool surface beneath you a contrast to the heat still lingering in your skin. you close your eyes, letting the quiet settle over you, and the weight of the evening fall away. the night is still and gentle, and for a moment, it feels like the world has paused just for you.

then, you hear it—the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. it’s familiar, a sound you know without needing to look. you turn to see billie standing at the edge of the garden, her silhouette framed by the soft moonlight. her hands are tucked into the pockets of her gown, and the light catches the shimmer of her dress, making her appear almost otherworldly, like she belongs to this tranquil, ethereal setting.

“thought i’d find you here,” she says, her voice a smooth blend of warmth and curiosity.

you offer her a small smile as she steps closer, the cool air between you giving way to the quiet intimacy of the moment. her gaze locks with yours, and she continues, her words soft but laced with a tenderness that makes your heart skip. “you looked lost,” she says, her voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. “or maybe i was the one who felt lost without you.”

the distance between you closes, and for a moment, the world feels still again. it’s just you and billie, the moonlight, and the quiet hum of the night. everything else seems so far away.

you smile, patting the spot beside you on the bench. “come join me, moonchild,” you joke, your voice light and playful, the warmth of the moment settling around you both.

billie chuckles softly, her eyes flickering to the bench before she gracefully takes a seat. she doesn’t speak at first, just tilts her head back, letting the moonlight bathe her face as she admires the sky alongside you. the silence stretches out between you, but it’s comfortable, enveloping you in a shared quiet that feels as natural as breathing.

“they don’t tell you how overwhelming it all is, do they?” you murmur, breaking the stillness, your voice soft and contemplative.

“not really,” billie admits, her gaze drifting from the stars back to you. “i mean, i’ve been to big events before, but this… tonight felt different.”

“oh? why?”

“because of you,” she says, turning to meet your eyes. her gaze is steady and soft, and there’s a vulnerability in her expression, as if she’s revealing a piece of herself she doesn’t show often. “i’ve been to a million carpets, smiled for a million cameras. but having you by my side tonight… it made it feel real. like i wasn’t just performing for the world. i was sharing something real with them—for once.”

her words hang in the air, catching you off guard, and you look down at your hands, the shyness that had briefly faded creeping back into your chest. “i didn’t know if i was ready for all this,” you admit, the vulnerability in your voice almost as raw as her confession. “but walking into that room with you… i don’t think i’ve ever felt more sure of anything in my life.”

billie reaches for your hand, her gloves now off, and her fingers are cool against yours, the simple touch grounding you in the moment. “i never want you to doubt this—us. whether we’re in front of the world or hiding out on your couch, i’m all in.”

you lean your head against her shoulder, feeling the weight of her words settle in your chest like a promise. “me too,” you whisper, the sincerity in your voice matching the tenderness in her touch.

for a while, you sit like that, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment, the world outside seeming distant and irrelevant. the moon watches over you, casting its silver light across the two of you, a silent witness to the love you’ve nurtured in private and are now ready to share with the world. in its glow, everything else feels secondary, as if this space—this garden—is the only place that matters.

eventually, billie speaks, her voice low and teasing, breaking the spell. “you know, this might be my favorite part of the night. sorry to the met gala.”

you laugh softly, the sound light and free. “mine too. but don’t let anna wintour hear you say that.”

billie grins, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering for a moment. “our secret.”

the garden remains quiet, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the museum’s walls. billie’s hand is warm in yours, a steady comfort as you sit together on the stone bench. the night air wraps around you both like a blanket, the cool breeze carrying the faintest scent of jasmine and earth. the moonlight catches in billie’s blue eyes, making them shimmer like stars, and she watches you with an intensity that feels both familiar and new.

after a moment, she breaks the silence, her voice soft but carrying a note of mischief. “do you want to leave?”

you blink, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “leave? the met?”

billie shrugs, a small, playful smile curling at her lips. “yeah. i mean, we’ve already done the whole thing—walked the carpet, mingled, got our pictures taken. we even danced. i think we’ve hit all the marks.” she pauses, her thumb gently brushing against your hand, her touch sending a shiver through you. “but honestly? i’d rather just be with you. away from all… this.”

the suggestion lingers in the air, heavy with possibility, and you don’t have to think twice. “god, yes,” you say with a laugh, turning to her fully, your eyes bright. “let’s get out of here.”

billie’s grin widens, and she stands, her hand reaching for yours as she pulls you up with her. “best decision we’ve made all night.”

hand in hand, you walk back toward the museum’s exit, leaving the lights, the glamour, and the cameras behind. the night feels different now—more yours than ever before. the world can wait.

astrc’s tags: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns @47lake @vijaxx @natbelovasblog ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[xxnaiaxx]

b.e. masterlist // retrobutterflies

Billie Eilish ✩

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