Reblog If You’re A Writer Who Feels Guilt Whenever They’re Not Writing And Being Productive, So I

reblog if you’re a writer who feels guilt whenever they’re not writing and being productive, so I know I’m not the only one lol

Detecting Love

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A person with the power to detect lies meets the spy who has been trained to lie her entire life.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 6169

You have the power to detect lies.

Now, it’s not exactly strong enough to be a hero, but you can honestly say that it has been useful in your life.

Sure, it gets annoying at times, but one of the many lessons you’ve learned is to ignore minor instances of dishonesty — white lies or small things like that — since it helps reduce unnecessary confusion or chaos with others.

People lie. That is an undeniable fact of life.

And while one may believe that being able to detect such things is great, the truth is there are times when you find yourself resenting your power.

Because, of course, everyone experiences moments when they wish that someone important to them isn't lying.

Like when your fiancée tells you she loves you.

There wasn’t really a malicious reason behind why a usually affectionate statement suddenly became so hurtful.

There was no cheating.

There was no fighting.

It was just another one of the many lessons you’ve learned in life.

That sometimes…a truth can also become a lie.

It’s just unfortunate that this lesson happened to you in such a way.

These kinds of moments make you wonder if maybe it’s better that people shouldn’t always know when someone is lying to them.

Then they don’t end up alone, drinking at a bar late into the night, trying to numb the pain of a broken heart.

You let out a heavy sigh as you stare at the pair of rings resting on the bar top, remembering the conversation that ended with one of them being returned to you.

It was a heart-wrenching discussion where your fiancée confessed her steadily changed feelings for you, leading to the resolution to remain friends.

And while neither of you is completely at fault for why things ended, you can’t help but blame your stupid power for putting you in the situation in the first place.

You sigh heavily once more before swiftly downing the glass the bartender had set in front of you.

At least your current attempt to drown your sorrow is going well, judging by how the rings start to blur in your vision.

With a sad sigh, you reach for the rings to put them away, but in your clumsy state, one slips from your grasp and tumbles to the floor.

Just as you move to retrieve it, a hand beats you to it.

Looking up, you find a red-haired stranger standing before you, offering the ring to you with a charming smile.

She looks familiar but the drunken haze in your brain makes it hard for you to remember where you’ve seen her before.

“Here, you dropped this,” she says, her voice low and smooth.

She’s beautiful and her voice sounds perfect. You think to yourself as you take the ring from her.

She chuckles lightly, “Thanks.”

Oh, did you say that out loud? You must be more drunk than you thought.

The woman offers her hand to you in greeting, and with a confident smirk, she introduces herself.

“My name’s Natalie. Natalie Rushman.”

Immediately, a red aura surrounds her, causing you to roll your eyes and return your attention back to the bar.

“Liar,” you mutter tiredly as you gesture to the bartender to close your tab, not really in the mood to deal with any more lies tonight.

At the corner of your eyes, you see the stranger give you a slightly impressed look.

Ready to leave, you stand up quickly from your seat.

However, the action makes the room suddenly spin in your vision, causing you to stagger backward.

A hand steadies you, resting gently on your back, and you unconsciously lean back against her surprisingly strong frame for support.

There’s a soft chuckle near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Let me try again,” she whispers smoothly, guiding you upright and turning you around to face her.

Offering her hand once more, she reintroduces herself.

“My name’s Natasha Romanoff. I’m here to recruit you to work for the Avengers.”

You blink slowly, trying to comprehend her words through your drunken haze. You wonder if the alcohol is affecting you more than you thought when no red aura appears this time at her words.

Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head in disbelief, unfortunately worsening the pounding in your skull.

Work for the Avengers? That has to be a lie.

Before you can think about it any further, you feel yourself falling once more, unable to remain upright.

Strong arms catch you, and as your consciousness fades, you see a blurry glimpse of her striking green eyes before succumbing to darkness.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You wake to the pounding in your head and the bright sunlight streaming through your window. Turning away, you groan into your pillow, remembering that your fiancée – your ex-fiancée – would typically close the curtains before leaving for work.

Now that she’s gone, you’re going to have to adjust to living alone once again.

A cup being placed on the nightstand startles you into sitting up, as you turn in surprise to find the beautiful red-haired stranger beside your bed.

“For your headache,” she explains, placing some medicine next to the cup.

Your mouth hangs open as you struggle to remember the events of last night, some of which are honestly a blur.

You examine yourself, checking your clothes and finding them unchanged from the previous night, and then you scan your surroundings again and realize in relief that nothing was out of place.

Well, except for the presence of this stranger in your home, who’s patiently waiting for you to gather yourself.

Searching through your drunken memories, you think you vaguely remember meeting her last night. She had mentioned her name was — Nata…?

“Natalie?” you ask with uncertainty.

At her raised brow, you quickly apologize, feeling bad for not remembering correctly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember, but did we…did something happen between us last night?” you ask hesitantly.

Her face twists in genuine sadness and disappointment, causing a panic to run through you as you struggle to recall what could’ve possibly happened between the two of you for her to have such an expression.

“I’m hurt,” she finally says, placing a hand on her chest, “And after you even said that it was the best night of your life.”

Seeing the familiar red aura appear around her at her words, you let out a brief sigh of relief before realization sets in, and you give her a hard glare.

“You’re lying.”

Her hurt expression quickly morphs into an impressed look, and you are slightly startled at how effortlessly she was able to shift her emotions.

The woman straightens her posture and crosses her arms, adopting a commanding stance that seems more likely her typical demeanor.

“So it’s not just luck,” she remarks, studying you curiously.

At her words, you quickly rise from your bed in confusion.

However, the action causes you to wince in pain at the pounding in your head.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you hold your head in comfort and lean lightly on the nightstand for support.

As you do, your hand brushes against yesterday’s newspaper that you had been reading moments before your ex said those fateful three words that led to the heartbreaking conversation between the two of you.

When the pain subsides, you slowly open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the front page before doing a double take.

The front features an article about the opening of the new Avenger Compound, including a photo capturing the Avenger members posed in front of the completed building.

What catches you off guard is the uncanny resemblance between one of the Avengers in the picture and the woman standing before you.

Pointing at her in disbelief, you stammer.

“You’re…,” then, gesturing at the newspaper, you continue, “…her?”

She doesn’t respond to your question but instead nods toward your other room, inviting you to follow.

“Let’s talk,” she says, heading toward your door, then gestures at the medicine on your nightstand. “But drink those first.”

After freshening up in your bathroom, you take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the remnants of last night’s tears in your slightly puffy, red eyes.

Sighing, you brush away the depressing thoughts of your failed relationship before taking the medicine and exiting your room.

You are greeted by the sight of your unexpected guest comfortably seated at your kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine with casual disinterest.

“You’re Black Widow,” you say confidently this time, positioning yourself on the opposite side of her.

She closes the magazine with a snap, placing it on the table before clasping her hands atop of it and meeting your gaze.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects you, before nodding at you. “And you’re Y/n L/n.”

“How did you…?”

She holds up a wedding invitation draft, displaying you and your fiancée’s names printed in fine lettering.

Realizing that she must have been snooping around your things, you give her a disapproving glare, snatching the card from her hand and hastily stuffing it into a drawer.

Feeling a mixture of emotions—irritated, sad, hungover—you turn to the fridge, deciding to make breakfast to give yourself some focus.

After you retrieve the eggs and other ingredients, you heat the stove before glancing at Natasha briefly, asking, “So, what does an Avenger want from me?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her resting her head against her hand, watching you with interest.

“I told you yesterday,” she replies.

You roll your eyes, giving her a deadpan look, knowing she’s aware that you don’t remember.

“Remind me again.”

Natasha gives you an amused smirk, straightening up in her seat.

“Alright, I’m here to recruit you, more specifically for a sort of managerial position at the new Avenger Compound.”

Furrowing your brows, you question, “Why me? I don't have experience with that sort of thing.”

“But you can tell when someone is lying, can’t you?”

Pausing briefly in your cooking, you contemplate her words and its possible implications. Not many people know about your ability, and you don’t think you did anything to reveal it to the spy who’s currently staring expectantly at you.

So, in response, you shrug, replying as casually as possible.

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people…psychology degree and all.”

A silence ensues, broken only by the sizzling of your cooking, until Natasha finally nods, seemingly accepting your explanation.

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, returning your attention to your current task.

But then she pulls out a folder filled with documents and places it on the counter, causing your nerves to rise again.

“Well, you’ve helped solve hundreds of cases with your interviews of the suspects,” she remarks casually, flipping through the folder before glancing up at you through her lashes.

“100% accuracy rate in the information that you provided to the detectives,” she continues, nodding at you in acknowledgment. “For a part-time profiler, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” you respond with a polite smile, but beneath the surface, a hint of suspicion creeps in as you begin plating the meal you made.

Natasha closes the folder with a definitive snap, making you look at her.

“You could say it’s almost impossible,” she muses, before a confident smirk forms on her face, and she tilts her head at you with a raised brow in challenge.

“Unless there’s some way you can guarantee that they’re telling the truth.”

Honestly, you should’ve known better than to think that the experienced spy hadn’t already completed thorough research and investigations into you and your powers before meeting with you.

If anything, this was likely just a test for her to confirm what she already knows about your abilities.

Sliding a plate across the counter to Natasha with a pointed glare, you relent, deciding there’s no point in denying it anymore.

“Fine, what do you know?”

Instead of responding, Natasha’s gaze lingers on the plate before her, a hint of confusion in her expression.

Her plate holds a fluffy omelette accompanied by a side of crispy bacon and a slice of golden-brown toasted bread.

As she glances back up at you with a questioning look in her eyes, you take a seat across from her, setting down a similar plate in front of you before also placing a stack of fluffy pancakes at the center.

“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the meal.

“Breakfast,” you reply bluntly, taking a bite from your plate.

Natasha raises a brow at you, remarking plainly, “It’s noon.”

“Brunch then,” you correct with a roll of your eyes.

Natasha's lips quirk up in amusement, and she shakes her head.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

The red aura appears around her, and with your mouth full of food, you give her a pointed glare.

“Right,” Natasha says in realization, remembering what you can do. She pulls the plate closer to her with a soft thanks.

The atmosphere that followed was unusual but surprisingly not awkward. Despite being practically strangers, you find yourself slightly comforted by Natasha’s presence.

If she wasn’t here, you probably wouldn’t have dragged yourself out of bed today after what happened yesterday.

After a moment of eating, Natasha breaks the silence.

“So, how can you tell when someone’s lying?”

Pausing to contemplate your answer, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before responding.

“Well, when someone lies, there’s always this rush of chemicals that happens in their bodies,” you explain. “It ends up causing the typical indicators — things like fidgeting, sweating, or tone changes in their voice.”

“I didn’t do any of that, yet you still knew I was lying,” Natasha points out.

“No, you're right,” you admit, nodding. “You’re a perfect liar.”

From what you have seen so far, every expression and comment of hers appears genuine and honest, and if it was anyone else, they’d probably believe anything she says.

However, thanks to your ability, you know better.

Gesturing at her, you clarify, “You still give off the same chemical reactions though, and I have the ability to see that.”

Natasha leans back in her seat, crossing her arms as she processes your explanation.

“It’s mainly visual then,” she concludes before asking curiously. “You don’t even need to hear what they said to know that they’re lying?”

You nod, ruefully adding, “Yep, my world’s just filled with people glowing red at random.”

“And how long does this ‘glow’ stay around them?”

“Depends,” you reply with a shrug. “Usually not long, maybe a few seconds.”

Natasha hums in interest, tapping her chin, her brows pinching lightly in thought.

You can’t help but smile amusedly at the sight.

For a person who has such an intimidating reputation, the spy in front of you right now looks kind of cute rather than scary.

After a moment, you break the silence this time.

“So, what’s the job?”

Natasha’s eyes focus back on you at your question.

“Nothing too complicated,” she assures. “You’ll be in charge of interviewing the new employee candidates and conducting continuous reviews of the current ones.”

“You mean like screening them?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion, already aware of the rigorous and difficult process required to work at the Avengers buildings.

“Don’t you guys already do extensive background checks before hiring people? Why do you suddenly need me?”

At your question, a charming smile appears on her face, effortlessly shifting her expression like before, though now you understand she’s just hiding her true feelings about the situation.

“That’s confidential.”

You scoff in disbelief and cross your arms.

“You do know that just makes it harder to trust you, right?”

Natasha mirrors your posture, her pretty grin still in place, masking any other emotions.

“Fair point,” she admits. “But to be honest, you should never put your trust in people like me anyway.”

“People like you?”

“Spies,” Natasha clarifies as she begins to gather her empty plate and utensils. “Which is one of the types of people you’d be looking out for in this position. Their deception skills would be on a similar level to mine.”

You chuckle at that, causing Natasha to pause in her actions, raising a brow at you in question.

“Sorry, but everyone lies, whether you’re a spy or not,” you tell her, standing and taking the empty plate from her with a small smirk. “You’re just slightly better at it.”

A tiny offended look slips through Natasha’s expression at your little jab, her brow furrowing for a brief second.

Your grin widens at the sight of seeing a glimpse of her real self as you turn to place the dirty dishes in the sink.

Natasha quickly regains her composure, moving around the counter to lean back against the table next to you.

“In any case, the decision is still yours. I’ve already confirmed your abilities. It’s up to you to decide if you want to accept.”

At her words, you pause to consider your options.

A new job working with the Avengers is a great opportunity, but it would be a significant change in your life.

Then again, you’re already facing a huge change.

Your eyes unconsciously drift to the drawer next to where Natasha is leaning, where the wedding invitation draft remains, and your face twists in sadness at the memory.

You guess it wouldn’t hurt to add a career change alongside your new relationship status.

At least this way you can still earn a salary while also distracting yourself from the depressing thoughts of your failed engagement.

“Okay,” you decide, meeting Natasha’s gaze with a sigh, “I’ll take the job.”

“Great, I knew you would be agreeable,” Natasha remarks, extending her hand to you.

A red aura appears around her, causing you to huff and roll your eyes.

You take her hand in yours, giving her a tiny glare.

“Liar.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

You say that as you dodge another swing from Natasha, ducking under her arm to get behind her, only for her to twist her body around and deliver a kick that you narrowly block with your arms.

Still, the impact has you stumbling back.

“Really?” Natasha asks with an innocent tone as she circles you. “I thought I mentioned to you that training was a part of your employment.”

A red aura begins to appear around her, but you don’t have time to comment before she swings her leg at you again.

You catch it against your side with a small grunt of pain.

Having been a profiler for criminal cases before, you do have basic defense training, and you always believed that you could hold your own against most aggressors.

At least you used to.

This current fight is making you reconsider your skills.

With her off-balance position, you attempt to throw her to the ground, but Natasha swiftly regains her footing, catching herself on her hands and executing a fluid movement to flip upright. She then bends low, sweeping your legs out from under you.

You land on the mat with a groan, feeling the impact reverberate through your body. Another pained breath escapes you as Natasha expertly pins you down.

You catch the faint red aura fading from her before throwing your head back against the mat with an exhausted sigh.

“You’re such a liar,” you breathe out, your voice tinged with both exhaustion and playful accusation. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to catch your breath.

Natasha's laughter fills the air, resonating above you, her amusement infectious and drawing a small grin from you. You peek open your eyes, watching as she disengages from atop you and heads over to her water bottle at the side.

“I’m a spy. It comes with the job,” she says casually, taking a sip.

“Okay, and I’m basically just HR,” you counter, pulling yourself upright into a sitting position. “So how does combat training fit into that?”

Natasha gestures towards you with a sweep of her hand.

“You need to be prepared to defend yourself if you ever expose someone dangerous and find yourself without backup,” she explains.

“That’s unlikely considering I haven’t even encountered anyone suspicious since I started,” you remark with a sigh.

It's been a month already, and you're starting to question if your presence here is even necessary.

Before you can dwell further on your thoughts, the cold touch of a metal water bottle against your cheek startles you.

Recoiling, you look up to see Natasha holding it out to you.

Raising a brow, Natasha waves the bottle lightly in offer.

You snatch the bottle from her with a tiny glare, but she only smirks in response.

Apart from the new job, the other surprising addition to your life is your budding friendship with the Avenger.

After the whole recruiting ordeal, you honestly expected to only have passing encounters with her at the compound.

However, to your surprise, on your first day here, Natasha was the one who volunteered to give you a tour of the place, and in the days that followed, the two of you would often share coffee and chat before you had to head off to your respective jobs.

Those regular interactions with her also earned you a fearsome reputation among the other workers, which actually works out in your favor since they’re already nervous by the time you call them in for a review. This way they are more likely to slip up and reveal anything they may be hiding.

But, like you said, you haven’t found anything substantial yet.

With a heavy sigh, you pull your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, feeling the weight of failure bearing down on you.

Then you hear Natasha plop down beside you.

“Back when we met, you asked me why we needed you,” she begins.

Curious at her words, you turn your head slightly to glance at her, waiting for her explanation.

Natasha leans back on her hands, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she continues to speak.

“A couple of months ago, our surveillance revealed that someone within the compound staff was plotting an attack during the opening ceremony of the new building. However, we couldn’t confirm who it was without risking exposing that we knew of their plan."

Your eyes widen in confusion at the revelation. From what you remember, the opening ceremony was a success. There hadn’t been any news of an attack that day.

“But you caught them, right?” you inquire.

“No,” Natasha responds, shaking her head before meeting your gaze. “You did.”

Surprised, you straighten up, giving her a questioning look.

Natasha offers a small smile, elaborating, “You had recently interviewed him as a suspect for another case, and in your notes, you labeled him as dangerous and untrustworthy, despite everything about him proving otherwise.”

“And you believed me?” you ask incredulously.

Natasha shrugs, “Well, I had no other leads at the time anyway.”

You scoff in exasperation at her teasing, playfully pushing her away.

She chuckles softly before adopting a more serious expression.

“Trust in your abilities, Y/n,” Natasha says with a genuine tone. “If it’s you, not finding anyone suspicious is a good thing.”

You watch her closely, waiting for the red aura to appear.

But as a couple of seconds pass and nothing changes, you tuck your forehead back against your knees, this time to hide the smile threatening to spread across your face.

“Alright, break’s over,” Natasha announces, giving your back an encouraging pat. “Let’s go again.”

You groan in reluctance, remaining in your curled-up position.

“Come on,” Natasha urges, her tone coaxing. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”

You don’t even need to look up to know the red aura is surrounding her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“What’s this?”

Natasha's voice draws your attention away from the task of pouring cooked popcorn into a bowl.

She's sitting on your sofa, examining a small, elegant card that you had accidentally left on the table.

Widening your eyes in realization of what she’s found, you hurry over to her, but her narrowed eyes tell you that she has already read the names on the card.

“She’s inviting you to her wedding?” Natasha exclaims, disbelief coloring her tone. “It’s only been a year since your breakup, and now she’s already getting married?!”

Sighing in disappointment, you had hoped to keep this information from Natasha, who developed a strong dislike for your ex after you shared the details of your breakup during one of your girls' nights.

Placing the bowl of popcorn on the table, you take the invitation from her hand and head to the kitchen, intending to tuck it away in a drawer.

As you slide it open, you catch the sight of the old wedding draft buried at the bottom, which causes a tiny pang of sadness in your chest at the memory of that time, of how everything changed so suddenly.

You can't help but wonder how your life might have unfolded if your engagement hadn't ended.

Would you still have accepted Natasha's offer if you hadn't been seeking a distraction from your failed relationship?

“You’re not thinking about going, are you?” Natasha's voice interrupts your thoughts.

Glancing up, you notice a peculiar look in her eyes, though it quickly shifts to a neutral expression at your gaze.

After a whole year of spending time together, you could tell underneath her impassive expression that she was upset about something; though, you figured it was just outrage at the situation.

Tossing the invitation into the drawer and shutting it, you offer her a small reassuring smile before returning to your seat beside her to start the movie.

“No, of course not,” you tell her.

As the opening scenes play, you maintain a normal, nonchalant expression, aware of Natasha's gaze still lingering on you even as the red aura fades from around your body.

After a while, Natasha huffs in disbelief before finally settling into the sofa, pulling the bowl of popcorn into her lap.

“You better be sharing that, Romanoff,” you tease, your eyes fixed on the screen.

Natasha scoffs before tossing a piece of popcorn at you.

“Of course, I will.”

Just as you're about to turn your head to look at her and confirm her honesty, she swiftly shoves a cushion pillow to the side of your face, blocking your view.

After a few seconds, she releases it, fluffing the cushion casually before leaning her head against your shoulder and tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

You chuckle at her antics, amused by her playful behavior, before returning your attention to the screen.

A few days later, you find yourself standing on the outskirts of the wedding area, observing as servers and workers hustle to complete the finishing touches.

A sad, bittersweet expression tugs at your lips as you recognize familiar details chosen by your ex, mingled with hints of a stranger’s preferences in the decorations.

To be honest, you don’t intend to stay for the wedding. You're just here to confirm something for yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, conjuring your ex’s face in your mind, and whisper to yourself.

“I’m in love with her…”

Opening your eyes, you exhale slowly, a content smile on your lips as you notice the red aura surrounding your skin. It's a relief to be able to find closure regarding your feelings for your ex.

“You know, I don’t need powers to know you were lying,” a voice remarks from behind.

Startled, you turn to find Natasha approaching.

She stops beside you, her gaze fixed at the scene ahead as she accuses, “Saying that you weren’t going to come here.”

You look at her briefly before returning your attention to the field.

“I got curious about something,” you admit. “Figured that this was one way to confirm it.”

Excited and happy chatter fills the air as your ex appears, surrounded by friends and family.

Suddenly, thoughts of what-ifs from the other night resurface, prompting you to ask out loud unconsciously before you can stop yourself.

“Do you think I should’ve just pretended that she was telling the truth at that time — when she said she loved me?” you ask Natasha. “Maybe it might’ve worked out between us if I just kept my mouth shut.”

There’s a beat of silence before Natasha finally responds, her tone tinged with wistfulness.

“From my experience,” she begins, “I can tell you that living a lie would not make you happy…no matter how much you wish for it to be true.”

You chuckle lightly, “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am,” Natasha says confidently.

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both observe the preparations from a distance.

“She is a fool for letting you go, though,” Natasha suddenly adds, her tone casual.

You laugh softly, gently chiding her, “You can’t call the bride that on her wedding day.”

“Alright then,” Natasha concedes, turning to you. “You’re an even bigger fool for coming here by yourself.”

She returns her gaze to the field, muttering under her breath with a hint of irritation, “…still visiting the one who broke your heart.”

Amused, you tilt your head to catch her eyes, chuckling at her words, as you tease, “You know, it almost sounds like you’re jealous.”

When Natasha doesn’t respond or look at you, you raise a brow in surprise and poke her side.

“Wait, seriously, are you jealous?”

She swats your hand away.

“Stop that,” Natasha reprimands, before gritting out, “I’m not jealous!”

A small grin forms on your face as you notice the red aura appear, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and walk away.

“I’m leaving,” she declares firmly.

“Aww, come on, Natasha,” you call as you trail behind her.

Glancing back at you and seeing your pleased expression, she points at you in warning.

“That smile better be off your face by the time I pull up, or else you’re walking home,” she states before continuing on her way.

Watching her go with a fond smile, you find yourself softly repeating the words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Looking down, your smile widens when you don’t see the red aura appear, confirming what you already knew about your feelings for the red-haired spy.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As you sit in your office at the Avenger compound, you feel a sense of fatigue wash over you at your busy schedule of back-to-back interviews.

Across from you, the final candidate squirms in her seat, clearly nervous under your scrutinizing gaze.

A chill sweeps through the room, courtesy of the cold blast of air from the AC, and you can't help but regret your decision to have it set so cold, a choice originally intended to maintain an intimidating atmosphere during interviews.

With a sigh, you reluctantly pull your hands from the cozy warmth of your hoodie pocket and turn to the next page of questions.

"Let's talk about handling confidential information," you begin, your voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Can you share a time when you had to ensure the secure handling of sensitive data?"

The candidate responds with some slight hesitation, but you sense it’s more from her nerves than any dishonesty, so you continue, moving on to the remaining questions.

Luckily, the rest of the interview goes by quickly and smoothly with her answering the other questions without any problems.

However, now comes the final question of the interview.

“Among the Avengers, who do you consider to be the hottest?”

Clearly caught off-guard, she stumbles over her words, “W-what?”

Maintaining your serious demeanor, you repeat the question.

“Who do you believe is the hottest Avenger?”

After a moment's pause, she softly answers, “Black Widow..."

Setting your clipboard down, you extend your hand.

"Thank you for coming. It was nice meeting you," you say, signaling the end of the interview.

As she thanks you and leaves, you flip to the last paper on your clipboard, revealing a sheet with tick marks beside the names of your Avenger friends.

With an amused smile, you add another mark at the end of Natasha’s already leading line.

“I don’t think that last question was approved by Steve,” a voice accuses from the doorway.

Glancing up, you see Natasha leaning against the frame, her arms folded.

You shrug in response, “Makes it more interesting though.”

Natasha hums curiously before moving to your side, perching on the edge of your desk. Her narrowed eyes fix on you.

“Is that my hoodie?” she asks in suspicion as she tugs at your sleeve.

“Maybe,” you reply, hastily pulling the hood over your head to conceal your guilty eyes.

Natasha had left the piece of clothing at your place after her last visit, and given the chilly room, borrowing it seemed harmless enough.

“Don’t you have a briefing to get to?” you deflect, attempting to change the subject.

Natasha huffs knowingly before responding, "I had some spare time, so I came to bother you."

"I’m honored," you quip sarcastically, though inwardly your heart warmed at the fact that she thought of you.

Natasha chuckles lightly, then gestures towards your clipboard.

"Ask me some questions," she prompts, her tone playful yet eager.

Deciding to indulge her, you reach for your clipboard and adopt a serious demeanor.

“Name?” you begin.

Natasha shoots you a deadpan look, prompting you to show her the document with the question written on it.

“If they lie about their name, then that’s a red flag already,” you defend, giving her a pointed look.

“Natalie,” you mock.

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head at the memory before extending her hand.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects, playing along.

Skipping past the other general questions, you delve into more targeted inquiries related to threat assessment.

“Have you ever been associated with any extremist or radical groups or organizations?” you ask.

“If you consider working undercover to gain intel on them, then yes,” Natasha responds without hesitation.

“Have you ever participated or been involved in any violent behavior where someone was hurt?”

This one makes her pause for a moment before she finally admits softly, "…yes."

As the questioning continues, Natasha's playful demeanor gradually fades, replaced by a rueful tone.

By the time you reach the final question, she places her hand on your clipboard, gently setting it down on the desk.

"Maybe these questions aren’t meant for people like me," she says sadly, her tone filled with regret.

Observing her disappointed expression, you scoot closer and rest your hand on hers to draw her attention.

“Do you still want to hear my final assessment?” you ask gently.

After a contemplative pause, Natasha nods, curiosity evident in her eyes as she gestures for you to continue.

“Well, based on your answers,” you say with a dramatic pause, flipping through the papers before shaking your head firmly.

“Absolutely not. Extremely dangerous. Definitely a high-risk candidate.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your teasing and gives you a playful push. As your laughter subsides, you soften your tone, meeting her gaze sincerely.

“But…I’d trust you,” you admit genuinely.

Natasha's eyes widen slightly before she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. Her fingers toy with the clipboard, flipping to the last page and seeing the score sheet, before chuckling in amusement.

Turning back to you, she tilts her head with a raised brow.

“I don’t get the special question?” she asks.

You take the clipboard from her, offering a knowing look as you begin to organize the documents on your desk.

“I think we both already know your answer to that question,” you reply.

“Then ask me another,” Natasha insists.

Her request makes you pause as you ponder what to ask. Only one thing comes to mind, the question you’ve been hesitating to ask her for a long time.

Meeting her expectant gaze, you find yourself wanting to know the answer, despite the fear in your mind at the possibility of causing another big change in your life again.

Summoning your courage, you face her directly.

“Would you…,” you start, faltering momentarily before gathering yourself with a deep breath.

“...would you say ‘yes’ if I asked you out on a date tonight?”

There's a moment of silence, and just as you consider retracting the question, Natasha reaches out and adjusts the hood atop your head.

Perplexed by her action, you watch her suspiciously. Then, in one swift motion, she pulls the hood down over your eyes, obscuring your vision.

“No,” her voice responds to your question.

Hearing her stand, you quickly remove the hood to see Natasha already making her way out of the door, but before she disappears from your view, you catch the red aura surrounding her slowly fading away.

As an excited smile spreads across your face at the revelation of her true answer, your phone on the desk pings with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you see a text from Natasha.

I’ll pick you up tonight.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 2

a/n: Thank you for reading! I know I said I was going to take a little break, but I had some time so I ended up finishing this and decided to post it now instead of later.

3K notes View Post

kaywa25

4 months ago

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: vi has crept up into your mind and is keeping put so to try to relieve some of that bubbling crush energy, you bake her some protein muffins. after delivering them to her, she invites you to isha’s birthday party. meeting her entire family is nerve wracking but you’re welcome with open arms.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, reader is an actual sweetheart, MY family (vander, isha, ekko, jinx, & sevika mentions), fluff and flirty tension, kind of slowburn but not really.

word count: 5.5K

a/n: what do y’all think of my new pfp?😝 i’m so glad everyone has enjoyed that first part of this little series. the overwhelming amount of support has touched my heart, i’m so sorry this took two weeks to come out i will try and be faster with the next part <3 & would 3 parts be too short? lmk in the replies!

— TWO

Making protein muffins was harder than you thought.

You had tried out multiple recipes with different flavors within the span of two days and it was driving your grandmother and your sister up the wall. Her kitchen now smelled like a mixture of all the different scents that were giving her a headache.

They were either dry, not enough flavor, too dense, not fluffy, too strong, etc. The list went on. But finally, on the third day of anxiously cooking, you perfected a beautiful and delicious batch of pumpkin muffins with a few blots of chocolate chips.

Ever since you found out that Vi worked at a kickboxing studio, it sparked an idea in your brain. You could bake some protein muffins to give her. Worried she wouldn’t like them, you double checked with her. You open your text thread with Vi, grinning at the last message she had sent you of the actual address of the studio so that you wouldn’t get lost.

Anxiously tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, you stare at the sign above the studio with hesitation. You had done yourself up a bit; just a tad. Okay, a little more than a tad.

This was Vi’s first time seeing you outside of work and you wanted to make a better impression than messily tossed up hair and bundled up layered outfits. You sported a mini black skirt with a pair of opaque tights with an over the shoulder cherry red sweater, your hair left in its natural state. You stare at the black marker writing of Vi’s name on the box in the passenger's seat of your car.

Would she think you were trying too hard?

No, no, no overthinking, you scold yourself. You tug down your sun visor on your driver’s side to double check your makeup before grabbing your purse and the box of muffins for Vi. You open your driver's side to step out onto the gravel parking lot, sucking in a deep breath to calm your nerves as you tug on the cold handle to the door of the studio.

The moment you stepped into the dim lit area, you spotted Vi almost immediately. A black compression athletic tank hugged her upper body, showing off her muscular upper body. Her bandaged hands were landing blows to a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. The sound of her soft grunts and the clinking of the chain holding it up the heavy vinyl bag echoed within the space.

You stand at the edge of the large mat covering the area, unknowingly frozen in place at the sight of Vi’s veins popping out of her biceps with each punch she was throwing. You snap out of it when you realize how long you might’ve been standing there for, clearing your throat and shaking your head at how embarrassing that was.

“Vi, hi!” You wave from across the rubber gym tiles at her panting figure, a bright smile on your face.

Vi lowers her balled up wrapped fists that had been previously punching the bag to wave back at you, a smile creeping onto her lips at the sight of you holding the little tray of homemade treats. You looked like a doll out of place in this sweat-ridden studio in your adorably cozy outfit.

Vi made her way over to where you stood at the edge of the mat, eyes panning up and down as subtly as possible. Seeing her outfit up close caused a heat to tickle the tips of your ears. You swore you could see her abs through the material.

“Hey, cupcake. Those for me?”

“Yep! Thought I’d drop them off before I… head out.” You cleared your throat, nervously smiling at her as you fiddled with the cardboard of the box you had bought for this.

Vi grabs a small towel from a foldable chair where parents would sit through classes to wipe over the back of her sweat-ridden neck. She was so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating from her skin. You couldn’t tell if you were staring at her as obviously as you thought. Worried you were going to seem like an absolute creep, your eyes blink as they focus on her face.

“Yeah? You have plans today?” Vi hangs the towel around her neck, crossing her arms over her chest.

The movement caused your eyes to flicker down to the protruding muscle. You were sure this time you were staring as her dark tattoos were glistening underneath the thin layer of moisture from her workout. God, you could hear your grandma now teasing you for getting distracted by muscles of all things.

“I mean I’m just going to the grocery store. Need a few more things for Isha’s cake.” You nod to confirm, flickering your eyes back up to hers.

They were somehow even more captivating than her biceps. Her lips twitch into a small grin, nodding slowly.

“The people at the store are very lucky.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto your lips.

“Shut up,” you look around at the equipment and trophies around the room to try and hide the heat that was undoubtedly forming on your cheeks. “Were you just working out here? Or did you have a class?”

“Yeah, I had a class earlier but it was for mostly 6 to 8 year olds so they didn’t beat me up too bad this time,” Vi jokes as she reminds you of her injuries from the last time you saw her.

You chuckle as you can only imagine seeing Vi with a whole group of children, gently encouraging them to take hits at her. Oh, your heart skipped at the thought.

“Yeah, I mean you look good now.” You blurt out without thinking.

Taking way too long to realize what had stumbled out of your mouth, Vi’s brows raise at your words as the faintest of smirks forms on her lips.

“Yeah?”

Your eyes flicker up to hers, self-consciousness washing over you once that realization sets in. Your mouth opens as you grip the box as some sort of comfort to ease the humiliation creeping up your neck.

“Not that you don’t look good all the time because you–you do! I mean, I don’t see you everyday but I’m sure you do,” you try and recover, voice becoming softer as you trail off.

Vi unfolded her arms from her chest to reach forward to rest them on your shoulders, faintly chuckling at your panic. “Cupcake, relax. I knew what you meant.”

You suck in a deep breath at her touch but you mask it as attempting to calm down from your frantic words.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll just leave these with you now,” you pat the top of the box, looking into her eyes. “I’ll see you soon so you can pick up the cake at the shop?”

Vi nodded in agreement with the set plan, taking the box of muffins from your hands. You nearly frown at the loss of touch that was somehow burning onto your skin even though you were wearing a thicker sweater.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon but,” she clears her throat, moving the box to rest on one of her forearms as she brushes her front pieces of hair to the side. “Did you want to come to Isha’s birthday party?”

“Seriously?” Your smile widens.

Vi nods, eyes crinkling a bit from her smile matching your own.

“Are you sure?” You question, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. “It won’t be awkward not being family or anything?”

“No, I mean. It’s a small party but I think you’d have fun,” Vi shrugs her shoulders, suddenly becoming more sheepish. “Isha wants you there. Couldn’t stop talking about the nice bakery lady.”

“Just Isha?” You tilt your head, hopeful that she would give you the answer that you craved.

Vi taps on the box with a small smile. “I want you there, too.”

Oh, your gram would be jumping with glee seeing this interaction. Your face ignites a flame at her honesty, nodding with a beaming smile.

“I’ll be there. I’ll just bring the cake then.” You nod, pushing back flyways from your hair.

“Okay, good. I’ll text you the address, cupcake.”

You nod for what felt like the millionth time at the pink haired girl, taking a step back to try to force yourself to leave her warm presence.

“Okay and if you like those, uh, muffins, let me know if you want any other protein snacks. I like a good baking challenge.” You motion to the muffins.

Please say yes, you internally begged.

“I will. Though, I doubt I won’t like them if you’re the one baking them,” Vi assures your frantic mind.

You grin at her awkwardly, not knowing how to take these little flirty gestures she would throw at you. At least, you thought they were supposed to be flirty.

“Okay, okay,” you wave your hands, chuckling sheepishly to yourself as you realize you’ve probably overstayed your welcome. “I’ll leave you to… your boxing stuff.”

Vi chuckles at your wording, pointing to the clear door.

“Have fun shopping. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you, Vi.”

You felt like throwing up from your nerves.

You had texted Vi later that day after dropping off the muffins what you should wear so that you wouldn’t be either too overdressed or underdressed. It was a child's birthday party, for God’s sake but you still didn’t want to be too out of place especially around her family.

from vi ♥︎ | Do you have any options?

to vi ♥︎ | kind of? i have ideas of what i could wear but i’m stuck :/

from vi ♥︎ | Let me see and I’ll tell you what looks best!

You nearly dropped your phone on your face at the message. Standing up from your bed, you scurried to your closet to pick out two options as you didn’t want to bombard her with photos of yourself. You quickly change in your planned outfits minus the shoes, sending both of them to her. You were panting from how you switched from one to the next.

from vi ♥︎ | Fuck, you look good in both

from vi ♥︎ | I was expecting this to be an easier decision but you really just look good in either.

to vi ♥︎ | violet :(

Could she tell how flustered you were from behind the screen?

from vi ♥︎| I’m serious

from vi ♥︎ | But if you want me to choose, I’ll say the first one!

to vi ♥︎ | thank youuu! i was stressed about that lol

from vi ♥︎ | You’re going to be fine. I promise :)

to vi ♥︎ | really?

from vi ♥︎ | Yes. You’re the lady bringing the cake. No one can hate the lady bringing the cake, duh.

to vi ♥︎ | yeah, yeah, okay. i’ll relax now.

Now you were standing at the front door of the small suburban home in that very outfit that Vi had chosen; a white tee with an espresso brown cardigan over it and a pair of your favorite baggy dark wash jeans. Your hair was half-up, half-down and your cleanest pair of Docs. You rang the doorbell just a few seconds ago, patiently waiting for someone to answer the door.

If you held your breath, you could hear muffled footsteps approaching the wooden door. The sound of the locks unlatching signals you to straighten your back, preparing yourself for whoever was going to answer the door. The hinges creak as it swings open to reveal Vi, sporting a welcoming smile.

Similar to you, she was wearing a brown cut off sleeve top, a white tank top underneath the open torso portion and a pair of black jeans. You try not to read into the matching colors too much.

“Hi! I was so scared I got the wrong house,” you chuckle as you stare into her eyes.

“Nope, you got it. Everyone is in the back. Come on,” Vi reaches for your hand, tugging you through the small house halls.

You nearly drop the cake as you urge her to slow down, releasing soft chuckles at her eagerness. You glance around at the cozy walls of the home, catching a few glances at a few family photos hanging and set up on shelfs. You made a mental note to try and sneak inside to get a closer look at those.

You step through a white chipping back door, Vi guiding you to the birthday party set-up for the precious child. Green streamers hung on the wooden fence to appear as vines as a photo op and a foldable table that was filled with wrapped and bagged presents with Isha’s name in balloons with a few animal print ones surrounding the inflatable letters as music played from a speaker. It wasn’t the coldest day as it was nearing the end of November but there was a slight breeze and the sun was shining beautifully to really wrap up the sight of this unknown family.

You hold up the cake underneath the white box, subconsciously gripping onto Vi’s hand due to the anxiety swimming through your veins.

“Come on. I want you to meet everyone,” Vi insists, a charming smile on her face as she walks up to a group of people that were sitting at a round table that had a jungle leaf tablecloth over it.

The whole table had cups of drinks in front of them, talking amongst each other with animated features.

“Hey guys,” Vi speaks up, her hand still holding yours gently.

A chorus of greetings overwhelms you in a good way as she goes around the table to name them off one by one.

“Okay, this is Jinx, my other sister,” she points to a pale skinned girl with two electric blue hip length braids, a few strands coming from the front to frame her face.

The girl smiles at you with kindness, eyes widening as she seems to realize who you are.

“You’re the bakery girl? That donut was delicious. I have full trust that the cake will be amazing,” Jinx nodded with a wink, leaning into the darker skinned boy next to her.

“That’s Ekko,” Vi chuckles as she points at white haired boy.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” he grins at you, nodding his head at you to show his acknowledgement of you.

“Hi!” You reciprocate the gesture, looking at the more broad woman on the other side of him.

“And Sevika. Don’t let that mean face scare you. Just wait until Isha comes down from the bouncy house.” Vi gave your hand a squeeze, a teasing grin on her face.

Sevika huffs at the pink haired girl's words but manages to press a semi-warm smile on her face in your direction. You nod with a more timid ‘hi’ leaving your lips. You didn’t want to say it out loud but she scared you a bit.

Okay, she scared you a lot.

“I think my dad’s inside but I’ll go let Isha know you’re here. Be right back.” Vi, after what felt like ages, released your hand to walk over to the bouncy house that was filled with a few more kids around Isha’s age.

The second her warm palm left your own, a wave of alarm washed over your features now being left alone with people that were closest to her. You turn to the group with the calmest expression you could muster to attempt to hide how nerve-wracking this was for you.

“You can relax, you know,” Jinx was the first to speak, tilting her head at your tense figure. “Here. I can take the cake. I’ll put it in the fridge.”

She stood up, reaching her pale hands out to you to take the cardboard box from you. You thank her quietly as you allow her to relieve you of that worry, leaving you alone with Ekko and Sevika.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be awkward,” you shake your head, taking the seat opposite to Sevika to leave Jinx’s spot still open.

“Vi told us how nervous you were so we were kind of expecting it,” Ekko admits which makes you wince a bit. “But, hey, we could do some ice breakers? Tell us something that’ll ease the tension.”

You nod at Ekko’s offer, pondering for a moment as you pick out a random fact from the depths of your brain’s memory log.

“Oh, I went to the hospital when I was 7 because I swallowed my Polly Pocket’s purse because my grandma said I had ‘wanted to know what it tasted like’.” You offer, glancing between the two strangers in front of you.

Sevika raised one of her palms to cover her mouth like she was trying to hide her amusement from your sentence. Ekko’s eyes widened as he snorted back a laugh, causing you to proudly smile at yourself on succeeding on breaking the ice just a bit.

“Jinx nearly burned my hair off when we were kids. She was obsessed with making homemade bombs,” Ekko shared with you, pointing to a mark in his eyebrows. “I still can’t grow hair in this spot on my eyebrow because of it.”

“I got this scar from her kicking me in the face when she wouldn’t go to the dentist when she was 9,” Sevika pointed at her half an inch scar on her top lip with a shake of her head.

“Okay so what I’m hearing is to stay clear of Jinx,” you joke.

This seemed to ease the tension between you and the two completely, them nodding to confirm. Slowly but surely, everyone started sharing stories of their childhood as did you. You learned alot about Vi and her little family through these two, feeling more connected to them already. As you shared what your jobs were like, you feel a smaller frame tackle you from the side. You look down to see a head of wild bronze waves cling onto your arm.

It was undoubtedly Isha. Vi stood behind her with a sweet smile, folding her arms over her chest before she pats Ekko on the back as she sits herself down on the other side of you. You send her a quick glance, her brows raising as if to check up on you and you nod to assure her.

“Hey birthday girl,” you look down at her, golden eyes staring into yours.

She makes a delighted sound, snuggling more into you. You rub a hand over her back for a moment before raising your hands to sign that she looked cute, motioning to her adorable birthday sash and bunny ears over her black and white striped tee.

Signing right back to you with an elated smile, she says; ‘you look beautiful.’

Your heart tightens at her kind words, signing a ‘thank you’ before tugging her into a gentle embrace. Her back was a bit damp from what you assume is the sweat from jumping around in the bouncy castle.

“She’s excited for her cake,” Vi hums as she stares down at her sister with a teasing grin.

Isha nods enthusiastically at her words to confirm said excitement, looking over to Ekko and Sevika and signing something that you didn’t pick up due to her turning away from you. They both nod, eyes following over to Vi’s figure next to you with raised brows. You turn to look at Vi in confusion at the silent communication but choose to mind your own business as Vi’s cheeks seem to match her hair now. You didn’t want to embarrass her further.

“Alright, who’s hungry? The pizza’s here!” A deep English accent comes from behind the group, a burly yet kind looking man comes from the back door which you came from carrying five pizza boxes.

Jinx trails behind him with two bags of ice stacked on her own arms.

“You hungry, cupcake?” Vi places a hand on your shoulder, jerking her head over to the man.

You suck in a deep breath at her words, feeling Isha’s fingers wrap around your own that were resting in your lap. You were unbelievably hungry but knowing that this was going to be your first impression of Vi's father made your stomach churn, attempting to suppress your hunger.

But you push through.

“Yeah, I could eat,” you nod to confirm, turning your head to the side to give her a composed smile.

Sevika and Ekko followed you and Vi’s lead as you both stood up from your seats again to walk across the slightly overgrown grass, nearly tripping as a few more children passed by your hips and legs to run towards the table full of cardboard boxes of pizza.

“Hey, hey, slow down. One at a time,” the man told the group of kids, pointing at them to grab the disposable plates.

“Dad,” Vi called, taking your right hand once again while Isha still clung to your other.

“And who is this, Violet?” He questions his daughter as he places a slice on a child's plate in the line they formed.

“Hi!” You speak up before Vi could as you introduce yourself.

The man nods at your introduction, a friendly smile on his face as he plates another child’s plate. His eyes flicker to his eldest daughter with a raise of his brows before focusing his attention on you.

“Vander. Vi’s told me alot about you,” he states as he points to the pink haired girl standing next to you. “You’re the sweet lady who made Isha’s birthday cake. Got to say, I saw it in the fridge and it’s absolutely perfect. Thank you for doing that for her.”

You felt overwhelmed by the compliments from the man, strangely having the urge to hug him but only tighten your grip on Vi and Isha’s hands.

“Oh, it really was so much fun to make too. I don’t get a lot of cake orders so I was excited to test myself, I guess,” you assure the man of your adoration with the job.

“You work up an appetite baking? We’ve got some fine cuisine here,” his voice was playful as he motions to the greasy boxes.

You nod to confirm which resulted in a strong Dad-like laugh to leave Vanders’ throat before he raised a hand to clap on your shoulder, tugging you towards the boxes now that all of the children had gotten their own pizza slices. You release the two sister’s hands before looking up at the man.

The entirety of the birthday party quickly became a party game frenzy after everyone hounded down their greasy food. There was cup stacking; Vi won that one, pin the tail on the donkey; Isha won that, limbo; you almost broke your back trying to do that, etc. You saw a more eccentric and playful side of Vi, cursing her for being such a bright person around her family.

It made her all the more attractive.

When you ended up being her partner for the wheelbarrow race, you felt like a freak for those good few seconds where you were holding her legs up by her ankles so she could use her hands to ‘run’ across the grass. You kept your eyes straight forward for as long as possible.

They lingered a bit downward because why the hell did her ass look good in black jeans? You nearly won but Isha and one of their little cousins who had come to the party won that round due to you being… well, distracted for a moment. She stuck the middle finger up and stuck her tongue out at Vi quickly before Vander could see, causing you and Vi to gasp before she celebrated with her cousin again with a cheeky grin.

Your real enemy ended up being the three legged race. You and Vi’s hips were touching, arms interlocked as a bandana was being tied around your thighs to keep you from separating. You suck in a deep breath as Sevika tightens the fabric, patting the area to tell you two it was good.

“Good luck,” Sevika tells the two of you, standing back up to move on to Ekko and Jinx who were next in the lineup.

Vi grins at the elder, looking over at you as she brushes her hair out of face.

“Who do you think is going to win, huh?”

“I know you want me to say us but I have high hopes for Ekko and Jinx. She’s very scrappy,” you admit with a soft laugh, your hand twiddling with a loose fabric on your cardigan.

Vi nods slowly in agreement at your words.

“And Ekko?” She hums.

“He matches that,” you lean in closer before pulling back as the wind blows your hair a bit.

This Vi chuckles at, not denying that accusation. Vander moves to the front very end of the fence of the backyard, cupping his large hands around his mouth to shout the countdown.

“On your marks,” he yells, “get set.”

He pauses dramatically before raising his left hand upwards to mimic a flag and slam it back down before yelling out: “Go!”

You and Vi immediately start to move yourselves forward, Jinx whining that you two were cheating already. Vi’s hard bicep tug into your own as she tried to keep you two from tripping.

Isha and one of her cousins were catching up to you quickly, their little legs beating you. Some force was on your side that day as you had stepped forward with your free leg and rolled your ankle a bit on what felt like a toy.

It happened too fast for you to comprehend but you fell to the ground. You turned to your back side without thinking and nearly twisted your ankle doing so.

Vi’s hand attempts to grab your forearm but in doing so, falls over with you. Her body covers your own, her weight laying on top of your own. You groan at the impact hitting your stomach and chest, looking down at your legs to see that the fabric of the bandana had ripped which was what caused Vi’s body to be on you and not next. Her body shifts to lift her upper body up to relieve that ache in your chest.

Vi lifts her head to stare down at you with a concerned expression, hands on either side of your head.

“Shit, are you okay?”

You tilt your head down to how Vi’s hips were pressed into yours and look back up to stare into her twisted expression.

“Yeah, I’m… good,” you lied through your teeth as the back of your head was now throbbing.

Vi’s eyes were searching your own for any sort of discomfort. Your chests were centimeters apart as you breathed heavily to try and catch your breath, eyes boring into one another's. Suddenly, your head and backache were forgotten about. You swore for just a moment Vi’s eyes flickered down to your lips before pushing up off of you, grunting as she stood to her feet.

She brushed off her jeans before leaning forward to wrap her hand around your forearm to help you up and off the grass. You allow her to tug you upwards to your feet, avoiding her glaze like the plague.

“Ekko and Jinx take the cake!” You hear Vander start to clap, wincing out loud. “You two alright? Kind of got caught up in the competition for a moment there.”

“Fine, Dad,” Vi replies as she watches you brush off your own legs, sucking in a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“A little headache but I’ll survive, Vi.” You shake your head, brushing your hair out of your face with a lighthearted chuckle.

You two sadly couldn’t speak for longer as Vander announced it was time for cake. Vi’s hand lingered on your arm as she ushered the two of you to the set-up, watching as Jinx carefully came out with the lit birthday cake. Your eyes round with admiration at Isha scrambling to sit still in her chair as her big golden eyes widen as everyone starts to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her.

Watching the scene unfold sent a bittersweet sense of comfort, remembering how you were once that small with a family like this. You hoped Isha could have this forever, security and love wrapped into one. If a tear left your eye, you’d disguise it as it being from the impact just a few moments ago.

The party died down slowly as adults and other family members came to pick up the other children that were at the function, getting pieces of the cake shoved into their palms that Vi had been praising since she took her first bite. Feeling like you had overstayed your welcome as the family was now gathered in the kitchen area to clean up, you quietly tell Vi that you should probably head home.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll walk you out,” Vi holds her finger up to Jinx, Ekko, Sevika, and Vander who were in the middle of a conversation.

“Aw, what? You have to go home already?” Jinx furrows her brows, huffing out a breath. “I didn’t even get to embarrass Vi in front of you yet.”

You chuckle at her words while Vi grumbles a sound of annoyance at her sister.

“I’m sure you’ll do it soon enough. And yeah, I got baking duties to tend to.”

“Well, I hope we get to see you more often and not just so you can bring us cake,” Jinx stepped forward to give you a quick hug.

You pat her back with a new sense of welcoming into Vi’s family, nodding in agreement with that statement. You say goodbye to everyone, making sure to sign Isha one more ‘Happy Birthday’ to which she signs back what you think is ‘Bye, pretty cake lady.’

As you walk down the halls to the front door, Vi questions: “What are you baking next?”

Catching you off guard, you ponder for a moment.

“Well, I’ve been dying to make some cinnamon rolls but kneading the dough can be tiring.” You huff as you watch Vi open the door for you, allowing you to step onto the gray concrete walkway that leads to the driveway. “Why?”

“Just… wondering.”

Then an idea sparks in your head as you lean against your car, turning to face Vi with a hesitant smile.

“Did you want to come over to mine to help me bake them?” You offer quickly before you could fumble and retract the statement.

Vi’s dark brows raise into her hairline at your invitation.

“You just want me to knead the dough, don’t you?” She teases.

You blow out a breath of air as you shrug your shoulders as if it wasn’t the first thing you thought of. “I mean, if you really want to. I wouldn’t mind it.”

Vi purses her lips as she nods, trying to repress her beaming smile. “Yes, I do want to.”

A sense of accomplishment washes over you at how you successfully made it through today without having any major screw-ups.

“I really had a good time today. I forgot how much fun birthday parties can be,” you grin sheepishly as you stand by your car, the sunset lighting up the side of your face beautifully.

Vi’s smile only grew at how stunning you looked.

“I told you that you would. You should come over more,” Vi shrugged her shoulders, tilting her head at you.

You hum with a playful smile as you bump your shoulder with hers. “So I can get multiple concussions? I don’t think so.”

“Well, I can promise I can try to prevent as many of those as possible.”

You chuckle out an ‘okay’ at her words, fiddling with your cardigan sleeve. There was a beat of silence between the two of you, the soft breeze sending shivers down your spine. Your bad habit of admiring her silently; nearly creepily hit you when you made eye contact with her, her brows raising at you challengingly.

“Right, yeah, so I’ll let you know when I have everything to make the cinnamon rolls,” you stated as your hand hovered your driver's side door handle, snapping out of your temporary trance.

Vi’s arms folded over the front of her chest, scuffing her shoes on the concrete of their driveway as she rocked her on her heels.

You find her eyes once again, taking in a confidence wielding breath as taking a step forward to wrap your arms around her neck. Vi was taken aback for half a second, breath hitching before she let her arms drop from their spot to hold you up your torso with one arm as the other raised to cradle the back of your head with her hand. You bury your head into her neck to cling onto the warmth for as long as you could.

“Thank you again for coming, cupcake. I’ll see you soon, alright?” Vi says gently into your temple, sliding her hand off of your head.

“Yeah,” you suck in a deep breath, “I’ll see you.”

Achingly doing so, you detach yourself from her embrace to finally get into your car. Vi stood in the driveway as you reversed and drive off, waving at you until you were down the road.

previous part -> next part

Tags

lesbian wlw vi arcane sapphic arcane vi vi x reader vi fanfic vi x you arcane vi x reader vi fluff

1K notes View Post

kaywa25

4 months ago

college roomate!vi x classical musician!reader

part one

men/minors dni!

pairing: vi x fem!reader

2.5k words

contains: brief mention of hockey player!vi, fluff, friends to lovers, reader’s instrument is described as being in a case, or for percussionists a stick bag (sorry pianists), reader plays in a symphony orchestra, reader is briefly described to wear a long skirt

note: I've been working on this for about a week now! I am a violinist and ex percussionist who wrote this. I tried to make it as inclusive as i could for other instruments, but alas I will never truly understand what every single instrument goes through. there are a few words or phrases that aren't universal, so feel free to ask what they mean! I'd love to explain. 😚

College Roomate!vi X Classical Musician!reader

college roommate!vi who isn’t exactly well versed in classical music before she meets you. the best she knows is the songs played in commercials and at stores; beethoven 5, can-can, maybe even a couple of pieces from the nutcracker. she spends her time listening to rock music, because that’s all she’s ever known.

when the two of you first met, you made proper introductions, and violet--no vi, as she insisted, looked down at your case/stick bag. curious, she asked you what instrument you played. she nodded at your answer and said, "cool," in fake understanding.

for people who play an instrument that isn’t well known: vi asks you to explain to her what it is, and you show her, then she pulls the “oh so it’s like a _____?” you smile tightly at her and say, “sure, something like that.”

college roommate!vi when you leave your dorm to find a practice room for the first time.

"where ya goin'?" she asks.

“to go practice,” you say, pointing to what you were carrying with you.

“you don’t want me to hear you or something?” she said teasingly.

you rolled your eyes and said, “no, the campus here has rooms for people to practice their instruments in.”

she stared at you for a second. “huh, i had no idea we had those here. well have fun,” she said, ending the sentence with your name.

“I'll try," you chuckle.

one day, when there are no practice rooms open, you get fed up and go back to your dorm. vi is there, laying on the couch in a cropped black tee and grey sweatpants. she nods in acknowledgement toward you.

“hey vi,” you smile, trying hard not to stare at her abs on display, “is it alright with you if i practice in here? there are no practice rooms open.”

“yeah sure, knock yourself out sweetheart,” she replies, laying her head back down lazily.

you try not to show a reaction to the pet name, but the thumping in your chest makes it a little harder. you turn and walk into your room, letting the door close behind you. you stand in silence for a moment before letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

you situate yourself and set up your instrument, palms suddenly a little sweaty. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about vi hearing you play.

vi listened through the wall as you practiced a particularly slow and sweet piece. she felt a calmness wash over her. about 10 minutes in, her eyelids became heavier. your playing was quite literally lulling her to sleep. the only thing keeping vi awake was when you'd stop playing, and she'd realize that she wasn't listening to a recording of music, but to you, shaping every note that reached her ears.

when you finished practicing, vi found herself longing to hear more of your playing instead of the silence that followed. it was something different from the genre she typically listened to, but she definitely didn't hate it. she was definitely asking you later for some song recommendations.

you walked out of your room, immediately heading toward the fridge for a snack. vi looked at you from her spot on the couch, wondering how you could look so normal after gracing her ears with the most gentle sound she's ever heard.

vi sat up, grabbing your attention.

"damn, I've never heard anything like that before, it was--," she paused, trying to find the right word, "beautiful."

you look up at her, and find yourself looking at those bright eyes of hers with the most sincere smile on her face.

you felt something churn in your stomach, and a heat rise up to your cheeks that you tried to brush off as being flustered by the praise.

"thanks," you said, trying not to melt.

college roommate!vi who is up in the middle of the night scrolling on her phone when she hears you practicing for your rhythm dictation midterm. she hears a metronome going off in your room, and your voice carrying strings of "do-ta-da-ta-di-ta" through the wall. your mantra being occasionally broken by you slamming your hands on your desk and groaning out a frustrated, "fuck." your actions earning a chuckle from her.

college roommate!hockey player!vi who would periodically leave for practice at the same time you would leave for a rehearsal, and who was rather pleased when she found that the music building was not very far from the ice rink.

let's see...I have my music, my instrument, a pencil, and water. perfect, you thought. looking at the clock, it was 5:25 pm, 35 minutes before rehearsal started, and it was about a 5 minute walk to the music building from your dorm, give or take.

you walked out of your room and looked to the door, to see vi turning the door handle, on her way out.

"oh hey, leaving now too?" you say, looking down at her stuffed duffle bag.

she turned to look at you with a smile, and nodded. "let's walk together?"

you felt your stomach flip in excitement at the invitation. "sure," you said, in the most casual tone you could muster.

vi held the door open for you as you left the dorm building, following close after you, finding her spot beside you.

the sun was setting, and the orange light it cast on your face combined with the slight breeze blowing your hair as you walked made vi draw in a breath.

"so I've been thinking..." she started, her pause lasting longer than she meant for it to when you looked at her so intently with your big round eyes, "I want to get out of my comfort zone in terms of music. right now I only listen to rock, and you seem like you know all about classical music..."

you gasped, your face lighting up. "oh my god are you really asking me to put you on classical music?"

god, she's adorable, vi thought.

“yeah, hard to believe, i know,” she snickered.

"okay, so what do you think you'd be into? something more hardcore like Shostakovich?" you started.

"what do you mean by hardcore?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

you began to explain different periods of classical music to her, pulling out your playlist on your phone and showing things to her. listening to you talk, she realizes that your knowledge matches your skill. you talk for a while, asking her "does that make sense?" here and there. all the while she watches you with eyes that sparkle with adoration.

once you reach the music building, you say your goodbyes, and vi is left alone as she watches you through the glass door, waving at her one last time before walking down the hallway and greeting a friend.

she turns and continues walking, the space next to her feeling awfully empty.

college roommate!vi on a cold winter day, who is painfully bored and has nothing to do, so she nags you to let her go grocery shopping with you. you let her tag along, her presence not at all unwelcome.

when you pull in to the shopping center, you see somebody in the parking lot playing the same instrument as you. they have a speaker set up next to them, seemingly projecting the sound they were producing.

"playing in the cold must be rough," vi commented.

you took a few glances at the performer before saying, "it probably helps that they're not actually playing."

"they're faking it?" she said in surprise.

"yeah, look at their hands. it doesn't match up with what the speaker is playing."

vi leans forward in her seat, further examining the person. she leans back in realization once she sees your point.

"rent must be that high I guess."

you laugh at her joke, and the sound fills vi's chest and blooms onto her face with a smile that she turns away to hide from you.

you turn the car into a parking spot, oblivious to her reaction.

college roommate!vi during the nutcracker season, who gets so excited when you have to practice in your dorm again, and she recognizes one of the pieces you play (it was in the classical music playlist you gave her).

the moment you leave your room after practicing, vi approaches you and asks, "that was a piece from the nutcracker, right? russian dance?"

your face lights up in surprise. "yeah it was!" you grin. "look at you, you're a pro now, you even called it a piece," you joke, lightly bumping her arm with your elbow.

vi laughs and gets this feeling she has whenever she's around you, the one that makes her heart race, and her face spike with a flush of heat.

college roommate!vi randomly asking you if you want food (image below)

college roommate!vi who can't remember when the two of you got so close. since when did it become normal for the two of you to start listening to classical music together? to laugh and talk late into the night? or for vi to have been in your room so many times that she's memorized all of your stuffed animals' names?

college roommate!vi who is worried sick when you come back to the dorm after a long rehearsal, slumping face down into the couch with a groan.

"what's wrong sweet cheeks?" she asks, taking a seat beside you, rubbing your back with her hand comfortingly.

you chuckle at the nickname, feeling a bit of your worry leave with your laugh. you turn over to look at her.

"the conductor gave me a solo, and I'm honestly terrified. when I play, no one else is playing. it's dead silent. the only sound the audience is going to hear will be me."

vi's expression softens, and she lets out a little chuckle. "and that's a bad thing?"

"of course it is, what if I bomb the whole thing?"

"then you carry on. you're going to do the best with what you have in the moment, and whatever happens will happen," she shrugs. "at the end of the day, that moment will not have changed the trajectory of your life."

you prop yourself up and stare at her. it's dark out, but thankfully the living room window always lets in the moonlight, casting the room with a soft blue glow. vi is beautiful in this light, her eyes looking into yours.

silence lingers between the two of you, but vi doesn't seem bothered by it, and neither are you.

"violet," you say. the use of her full name catches her off guard, but the way it leaves your mouth leaves her wishing you would say it again.

"yes," she whispers. it's so quiet that she wonders if you can hear her heartbeat.

she didn't know what you were going to do, but she didn't expect you to wrap your arms around her in a hug. she felt you sigh into her shoulder, the breath of air rushing down her back.

vi wrapped her arms around you, returning the gesture. she settled her hands at either side of your waist. she felt your soft hair brushing against the side of her face, the scent of your shampoo entering her nose.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you tell her, arms tightening around her toned muscles.

"so am I," she smiles, and you feel her relax into you.

college roommate!vi who since that night, cannot stop replaying the moment in her head. something inside gnaws at her to find out if the hug you two shared meant anything more than gratitude.

college roommate!vi immediately saying yes when you invite her to one of your symphony orchestra concerts. you tell her what you'll be playing, and she adds the pieces to her playlist. she listens to them all day long leading up to the concert.

college roommate!vi who sees you dressed in concert black right before you leave for your dress rehearsal, and she swears she's never seen anyone look so good in a black long sleeve and a long skirt.

vi's eyes travel across your body, lingering on the way the skirt hugs the curve of your waist before dropping down into a long flowy curtain.

you catch her staring. "how do I look?" you smirk, twirling to show off your skirt.

vi stares at you, forcing herself to tear her gaze away to meet your eyes. "you look...stunning," she says breathlessly.

you don't want to assume anything, but the way that she's looking at you as if you were an oil painting of an angel makes you think that she would get on her knees and worship you right then and there.

"I'm gonna get going now," you say, slinging your music bag over your shoulder. You turn towards the door and open it, standing in the doorway. "I'll see you at the hall, yeah? 7:00 sharp!" you smile over your shoulder.

vi clears her throat and stammers out, "y-yeah, see ya there."

the door closes with a click, and vi slumps down, holding her face in her hands. she replays the image of your face cast in the golden sunset light.

she lets out a low "fuck" at the realization that she is madly in love with you, and the chance that you might love her back drives her insane.

ending note for my musicians: I know it may seem like I was over exaggerating the way that vi reacts to reader playing for the first time, but I'm really not! people who have never listened to classical music before have nothing to compare you to, especially when all they're used to hearing is some pop song with guitar and drums, accented on beats 2 and 4 (not that pop music is bad, it's just not the same as classical). I've performed many concerts in my life, and even when I was in high school, playing with my mediocre symphony orchestra, people who had never heard such music were always amazed and loved our playing. don't think that you need to be a professional to be a good musician. music is all about conveying emotions that cannot expressed with words, so as long as you are able to put your heart and soul into a piece, and just go out on stage and feel something, you are an amazing musician.

sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger, I'll make the next part worth it. 😏

comment if you want to be in the taglist for part 2!

Tags

wlw arcane arcane fanfic vi x reader vi fanfic

96 notes View Post

kaywa25

7 months ago

You don't need anyone's approval for the stories you write and the art you create. But it's also absolutely valid to want some approval from your audience. Kudos and likes don't determine your creation's worth. But it just feels amazing to receive them.

17K notes View Post

kaywa25

4 months ago

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: a week after isha’s birthday party, you tell vi it’s time to take the night on to make some blueberry cinnamon rolls. the two of you open up to one another in the midst of your baking session; your feelings for her somehow festering even more but maybe those feelings aren’t as one sided as you believe.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, mila & jinx side-plot (that’s barely touched on), awkward and adorable tension, pining, fluff, talks of parental deaths on vi and reader’s end, possible incorrect depictions of baking (i love baking but im not an expert </3)

word count: 4.5K

a/n: i think i got one more part for you guys and i can’t wait for it :) i love love all of the overwhelming support for this little series; i cannot express it enough!! the reblogs & comments really help me keep going. i hope you guys enjoy this part!!

— THREE

“What are you doing?”

You hear from behind you as you were frantically wiping down the stone top island in the kitchen, making sure it was squeaky clean for Vi’s arrival.

After attending Isha’s birthday party, another week had flown by before you were able to have everything prepared. Okay, you had most of the materials at home already.

You felt you needed to mentally prepare to have Vi here in your childhood home; a place you go to for comfort at the end of a restless day. You had sent her messages with your address and what time she should make her way over to yours.

You hold back the eye-roll threatening your eyes at Mila’s judgemental tone. You were as ready as you could be, wearing a simple pair of striped sleeping pants and a dark gray sweatshirt that hung slightly off your shoulder with a back tank underneath. You were home so you wanted to be cozy yet cute. Your hair was up in a simple ponytail, a few flyaways escaping from your vigorous cleaning.

“Cleaning. What does it look like I’m doing?” You sarcastically respond to your sister, sucking in a deep breath as you move to another spot.

“I can see that but I mean, why are you scrubbing so damn hard? You’re going to carve the stone, dude.”

You close your eyes as you try not to snap at your sister. Your grandma had given you the day off so that you could spend as much time with Vi as you could. Even after insisting to her that it wasn’t necessary, she made sure you weren’t on the schedule and to not leave the house unless it was with Vi.

‘I need a daughter-in-law,’ were her words as she left the house to go to the bakery. She was very hopeful for you.

“I’m… a little anxious, okay?” You admit, ready to hear your sisters mocking.

She snorts at your words as she rounds the island to look at you. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Okay can you keep that to yourself, please? I-I don’t need this right now,” you wipe back some of the flyaways as you put the rag in the sink.

You wash your hands in silence, hearing your sister shifting behind you.

“Look, what I was going to say was that you are going to be fine. Clearly, she already likes you or else she wouldn’t have agreed to come over to help you,” Mila quietly tells you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “I know this doesn’t happen often for you but I don’t want you to screw it up.”

You take that in, ignoring the dig at your antisocial skills and lack of dating experience. You knew this was your sister's way of trying to comfort your scattered mind.

“Thanks… I think,” you squint your eyes at her, drying off your hands.

You hear your phone ding on the countertop, leaning over to check to see who it was. To your demise, it was Vi telling you that she had arrived at your house. You mutter a curse as you turn to your sister getting ready to tell her to go somewhere that wasn’t here. You hadn’t even heard the car rolling up the dirt driveway.

“You’re welcome. Now, I’ll be doing you a favor and leaving so you can have the house to yourselves.”

Your brows furrow at her words, questioning your sister’s whereabouts.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Mila grins at you before shrugging one of her shoulders, seeming sheepish. “Hanging out with a friend. I’ll see you. Have fun with Violet.”

She drags out Vi’s full name to tease you as she throws her brown suede purse over her shoulder. You practically shove her out of the house as you peek out the window once she shuts the front door. You knew your sister didn’t have a car, and she was not using yours, so you wanted to see who the hell was picking her up. Your eyes squint to see a streak of light blue hair in the driver’s seat and Vi walking up to your front door.

Vi passes your sister and gives her a slight nod and wave, telling her something that you couldn’t quite hear due to the fact that she was outside still. It took you way too long to realize that the head in the driver's seat was Jinx. Mila and Jinx were friends? And she just forgot to tell you?

Absolutely shocked by this news, you tug open your front to reveal Vi with her hand raising to knock but eyes widening at your confused expression as you look behind her at the car reversing and leaving the dirt driveway.

“Hey, uh,” Vi shoved her hands into the pockets of her zip-up, tilting her head at you, “is everything okay?”

You blink as your attention switches to Vi’s awaiting expression. You shake your head, an embarrassed chuckle leaving your lips.

“I’m sorry. Hi, Vi,” you grin at her before opening the door wider for her to step in.

“You’re okay. It’s Jinx and Mila, right?” Vi questions, an amused smile forms on her lips.

You nod slowly as you allow her to step further in, asking her to take off her shoes before nodding with a shocked expression as you shut the door and lock it.

“Yeah. They’re… friends?” You press, wanting to know your sister's business.

Vi pries off her shoes near the door and places them next to the small line-up of you, your sisters and your grandmother’s shoes.

“Yeah, I guess Jinx went to the bakery on her own and your sister was there and they started talking after that,” she breathed out a laugh.

“That’s crazy. I love my sister but she is cranky as hell at work,” you chuckle.

Vi shrugs her shoulders, her laughter fading to a small grin. Vi’s bright eyes dart around the interior of your grandmother's home, curiously examining every inch of the house you grew up in. You linger behind her as you try to compose yourself over the fact that she was here. You fiddle with your rings in an attempt to ease your bouncing mind.

“It’s so… cozy here,” she voices her thoughts as she smiles at a photo of you, your sister and your grandma when you were younger that was sitting on a shelf underneath the living room TV.

Her light gray zip up was slightly falling off her shoulders to reveal the inch strap of her black wife pleaser underneath. The sight distracts you for a moment before you cringe at your younger portrait but Vi merely admires how much you’ve grown yet somehow look the same.

Beautiful, nonetheless.

“Everyone says that when they come over. My grandpa actually helped build this place with his friends when they were younger. He really loved my grandma.” You explain softly, looking at the back of Vi’s head.

Vi turned her head to look at you, nodding as she glanced around the room wondering how long it must’ve taken to do this.

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you accept the compliment on your grandmother and grandfather's behalf. “Oh, and I did make the dough last night because it needs to rise overnight so it can be all light and fluffy.”

Vi slowly nods at your words, furrowing her brows as she motioned towards the kitchen area that was adjacent to the living room.

“So what more do we have to do other than, you know, assembling them?” Vi questions as she waits for your response.

You hold your hands behind your back as you tilt your head towards the fridge, an eager smile spreading onto your face.

“Do you want to listen to music while we bake?” You question.

Vi’s eyes flicker to your elated gaze and she can’t help but smile at your question. When you look at her like that, she thinks she would do anything for you. She watches your movements as you scurry over to a side table that was next to the living room couch to undo the clasp of a vinyl player that was disguised as a leather brown suitcase.

You kneel down to tug out a crate that held around 50 records, humming to yourself as you pick up a record that satisfied you. Vi couldn’t see from where she was standing but was hesitant to move forward. You carefully remove the vinyl from its paper shell to place on the spindle, moving the tonearm to rest it on the song of your desire.

“This is just a bunch of different blues and R&B songs,” you inform Vi, your back still turned to her. “I thought it was fitting.”

Vi nods in understanding even though you weren’t able to see her. You stand back up to your feet once adjusting the volume, walking back over to Vi’s awaiting figure. You take her hand in yours and motion for her to follow you into the kitchen.

“Is this going to be messy?” Vi asks, distracting herself from how much she loved feeling your hand in hers.

“Mmm, I would be lying if I said no so you either roll up your sleeves or take off your jacket so you don’t get it covered in anything,” you suggest as you release her hand to tug open the fridge to retrieve what you needed for the filling.

Vi, to your wonderful surprise, zips down her jacket and lets the cotton roll over her toned shoulders. You stand frozen near the fridge for a moment at the sight of her back nearly covered in ink. You had to thank whatever or whoever sent her to your grandma’s shop because how the hell is she real?

Standing here in your kitchen looking like that?

Vi sets her jacket aside on one of the chairs that was pulled up to the island, her hands finding their place on her hips as she awaits further instruction.

“Okay so, what you’re going to do is sprinkle a bit of flour onto the island. Just all over it,” you motion to the bag of flour and use one of your to make a spreading motion to the lengthy surface.

Vi nods in understanding at your instruction, clearing her throat as she reaches carefully into the paper bag to grab a good handful as does exactly as instructed. You hold back your glee as you watch her lean over a bit to even out the flour. She glances at you through her peripheral to make sure you seemed satisfied with how that looks.

“How’s it look?” She hums, dusting off her hands over the spread.

“Perfect. Now, take the dough and just give it a few kneads to press out the air bubbles.” You point to the metal bowl full of dough, stepping to the side to move out of her way.

Following your words once again, Vi takes the malleable tan dough into her palms to plop it down onto the surface. You turn your head to cough at the gust of powdery air that blew upwards. She, too, waves a hand in front of her face to brush the puff away from her nostrils.

When Vi had said you only wanted her there so she could do all the kneading, you didn’t expect to actually be gawking over her doing it. She digs her palms and fingers into the dough, leaning her chest forward to press it into the flour. Her triceps tightened at the motion, readjusting the blob to spread the flour evenly throughout. You swore you heard a grunt of struggle leave her lips as the dough was a bit thicker than she was expecting.

You raise a hand to your mouth to push back the infatuated smile that was tickling your lips, just watching her knead the dough.

“Is this good?” Vi asks through another press into the surface, another light grunt leaving her mouth.

“Yeah,” you say without thinking, lost in your lust-driven daze.

Vi looks up at you from her kneading as she stops with her hands still buried into the dough, no longer sticking to it as it was covered in flour. You dart your gaze away from her as you shake your head, chuckling and muttering ‘right’ to yourself.

“I’ll get the, uh, rolling pin so you can flatten it out.”

You suck in a deep breath as you turn your back to her, shutting your eyes as you internally scold yourself to pull it together. Had she noticed your lingering almost creepy stare at her arms?

If she did, she hid it very well.

“Do I need to wash my hands?” Vi questions from behind your back as you kneel down to retrieve the rolling pin from the cabinet.

“No, not yet. After rolling them, you can. I’ll put the filling and roll them if you want,” you offer from over your shoulder as you grab the wooden object.

“Okay. You’re the boss,” Vi chuckles.

You stand back up on your feet, blinking harshly from the sudden rush to your head. Change the subject, you begged internally as you handed her the rolling pin. As you flicker on the stove and try to think of something else to talk about, you can hear Vi humming along to the song currently playing as she rolled the dough as instructed.

You smile to yourself as you begin to make the filling as quickly as possible.

“You know this song?” You question the red-haired woman, turning to her slightly as you watch the filling simmer in the small pot.

Vi seems to be caught off guard at the fact that you could hear her humming to herself along with the song's lyrics, pausing her movements for a second.

“Uh, yeah,” she clears her throat as she takes one glance at you before looking away flustered. “My… mom would sing it all the time. She was obsessed with it.”

“You know, you’ve never talked about your mom,” you state carefully. “Not that you have to. It just hit me.”

Vi shook her head, muttering a ‘no, it’s okay.’

“I guess I never really had a reason to but I don’t mind,” she reassures you to glance at you once again with a small smile.

You send her one back as you stir the filling slowly, watching the ingredients dissolve over the heat.

“What was she like?” You question.

“She was… loving. She, uh, passed when I was 11 and Jinx was 6. She gave us home hair cuts that were just so terrible,” Vi shook her head with a chuckle as she recollected on her childhood. “I mean, seriously. I mean, it looked like we had cut them ourselves but my dad claimed that we loved the look. I think it was because it was the fact that it was her cutting our hair instead of some stranger.”

You can’t help but smile at her words. Her voice had softened the second she had brought up her mom, signaling to you that her mom was a gentle soul. You could feel how much that transpired within Vi.

“Were her and your dad together for a while before they had you and Jinx?” You hum.

“They were never together. They were actually friends but my mom got knocked up by some random guy twice that they never knew about and my dad kind of took that position of being, well, a dad.”

Vi explains as she sucks in a deep breath, seeming as though she was composing herself. You furrow your brows as you are afraid that you’ve pushed it too far with the questions.

“Well, when did Isha come in?” You ask in hopes to distract her.

This Vi freezes at, releasing the rolling pin to turn to you with a soft sigh.

“She came out of nowhere. My dad told us one day coming home from school that someone had left a baby on our doorstep. We thought that kind of stuff only happened in the movies so we thought it was a joke,” she leaned her back up against the counter top, folding her muscular arms across her chest. “But then we came into the living room and there she was wrapped up in a little blanket in a bassinet. Jinx was more excited than I was because she got her own little sister.”

“You have a very loving family. It’s obvious, honestly. I can tell you have a good heart, Vi,” you tilt your head to make eye contact with her to show the sincerity behind your words.

Vi’s eyes hold contact with your own, pupils dilating to the point where the blue of her eyes was a mere ring. She exhales a soft breath as she just stares at you.

“What about your parents? Are they…?” Vi blinks and reroutes the attention to you now.

“Uh, no. My mom and dad died when I was 6 or 7 and Mila was just 1. They weren’t the best parents from what my grandma has told me. They tried but they were… angry and overworked,” you shook your head as you turn down the heat on the stove lower before looking at Vi with a shrug to your shoulders. “I guess they thought having kids would bring them closer but it only seemed to push them further apart. They had dropped Mila and I here one day and just never came back. My grandparents found out a week later that they had gotten into a car accident and died on the way to the hospital.”

You wince to yourself at the silence that had fallen over the two of you. The soft crackle of the record switching songs and the soft bubbling of the blueberry filling in the pot were the only sounds in the house.

“But I’m okay. My grandparents raised me and my sister and I can guarantee it was the better choice,” you attempt to make a joke but Vi simply looks at you with a genuine expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry too.”

You clear your throat, a strained chuckle leaving your lips as you clasp your hands together.

“Sorry, the filling’s ready. I didn’t mean to get all– Well, to bring that subject up.”

Vi shakes her head to reassure your frantic mind, reaching for your hand. You allow her to do so, heart leaping into your throat when her thumb wipes over the back of your hand.

“I said it was okay. I meant that,” she persists.

You look at her with a hesitant expression, opening your mouth about to apologize but she gives you a pointed look as if she was testing you to try it.

“Okay, okay, let’s roll these.”

Vi seems content with that and releases your hand to let you bring over the pot to the counter of rolled out dough. You ignore the bothersome want to grab her hand right back as carry it over and rest it on a crocheted pot holder so it wouldn’t burn the surface. You two stay in a comfortable silence as you take a wooden baking spoon to scoop it and carefully spread the blueberry-cinnamon filling across the flat dough. Once everything was properly rolled up and placed onto the baking sheet, you popped it in the oven for its designated time period.

About 20 minutes passed of sharing soft words to one another in the kitchen, the timer on your phone went off. With the rolls fresh out of the oven, you started to make the cream cheese frosting to wrap it all together. You could see Vi lingering over the delectable smelling pastries out of the corner of your eye, seeming to be examining them.

“You really do have a knack for this, cupcake. These look incredible,” Vi praises you as you plop the ingredients into the bowl.

You tuck a flyway piece of hair behind your ear as you bashfully smile in her direction.

“Well, you did all the kneading. They wouldn’t been made without your help,” you switch it around to the pink-haired girl.

“I knew you were staring,” she teased as she took a few steps forward so her shoulders were a few inches apart from your own.

The close proximity made your stomach flip but you simply continued to whisk in the bowl. You gradually add the milk, careful not to add too much or else it wouldn’t be thick enough.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through your teeth. “I was making sure your technique was good. I’m the baker here.”

“If you say so,” Vi held her palms up in defense, that annoyingly attractive grin on her face.

You shake your head before vigorously whisking the frosting, watching it turn into the perfect texture. You sigh as you dip your finger into soft white glaze and hold it up to Vi’s mouth, wiping it on her bottom lip without thinking.

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve done, watching Vi’s eyes match yours. She licks her lips to taste the frosting regardless, raising her fingers to her lips when yours just was.

“I’m so sorry. I—When I bake at home with my grandma or my sister, we usually just do, well, that because we’re the only ones eating it,” you cover your mouth with both of your palms, shaking your head. “I’m sor-I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Vi raises her hand to wave you off, a weird chuckle leaving her lips. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You sigh, the embarrassment still clinging to your skin as you replayed in your mind how easily you did that.

“It’s good, though,” Vi adds through the silence.

You can’t help but let out an amused laugh at the way she immediately tries to assure you that what you did was in fact very normal. You knew it wasn’t… by any means but she attempts to make you feel better regardless.

“What?” Vi asks through her own soft laughter.

You shake your head as you motion to the fresh cinnamon rolls.

“Can we frost these, please? I’m trying to save myself from embarrassment.”

Vi simply grins at you as she reaches two fingers into the glaze to gather a bit on her pointer and middle before sticking it in her mouth. You stare at her, unable to utter a word. What the hell is wrong with her?

“See? It’s good.”

Instead of humiliating yourself further, you shove her back with one arm as you scold: “Did you even wash your hands?”

“I did, actually.”

“Then get to it,” you point to the cinnamon rolls and hand her a spatula.

Vi glances down at the bowl of frosting and the wooden spatula with a soft blue rubber before taking it from her hands to do as you had asked. You watch her step around you to take a good scoop of the glaze to spread it over the warm treats. You spoke quietly to one another, asking her random questions to pick at her mind a bit more; to get to know her better.

“You think you could teach me how to kick box?” You question as you are now sitting in your living room.

Two small ceramic plates that were in the style of pool balls on the coffee table in front of you; Vi’s being the 6 green ball and yours being the 8. Cinnamon rolls sat on either one; yours being less eaten than Vi’s. She had mere crumbs left as she nodded into her last bite.

“Oh yeah. You can let me know and I’ll clear out some space for you.” Vi grins as she licks her lips to be rid of the cinnamon from her lips.

“I will definitely,” you chuckle as you take another bite.

“Hey, uh, speaking of that, I have this kickboxing tournament coming up in a few days. I… want you to be there,” Vi looks at you with an awaiting expression; hope glimmering over her eyes.

Your eyes meet hers as you chew your food, a hand hovering over your mouth so you don’t drop crumbs. I want you to be there, her voice rang through your mind.

“You’ll be competing?” You wonder.

“Yeah and a few of my older students,” she confirms.

You’d be an idiot to say no. A stupidly giddy smile spreads onto your face as you set the last quarter of your cinnamon roll back on the plate.

“I’d love to be there. I’ll cheer you on from a distance.”

Vi tilts her head from next to you, bumping her shoulder with yours.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’ll embarrass you with a huge sign that says ‘Go Vi’ in rainbow glitter,” you lean closer to her face as you tease her.

Vi eyes flicker down to your lips for a split-second as you lean in. You notice the action but brush it off as the closer proximity.

“You’ll be my cheerleader?” She questions, a smirk forming.

“Always,” you whisper, sucking in a deep breath as you shift yourself so that your body is facing hers.

Your answer sends a shiver down Vi’s spine, her heart leaping into her throat. She lifts her hand to take one of yours before she opens her mouth to say something. A loud knock fills the house causing the both of you to jump.

You mutter a curse to yourself as you excuse yourself to Vi to walk over to the door to unlock it to see your sister and Jinx standing on the welcome mat. They both held cheeky, suspicious grins.

“Hey guys,” you furrow your brows at the two. “Back so early?”

“Early? It’s been three hours,” Mila states with raised brows, stepping into the house.

Vi must’ve heard Mila’s voice and appeared behind you at the door, cursing to herself as she did not realize how much time had passed. She checked her own phone before looking at her sister.

“Shit, I gotta go. I promised I would take Isha to the park before it gets too dark,” Vi runs to grab her zip-up, sadly shielding her toned arms once again. When she walks back over to you, Mila and Jinx, she wraps her arms around you to give you a warm hug. “I’ll text you all the details, I promise. Thank you for letting me come over. I had a good time.”

You hold onto her tightly, discreetly inhaling the cinnamon-blueberry scent that was clinging to her skin.

“Yeah, me too. Let me know everything, Vi,” you pull away to see your sister and Jinx giving each other weird looks.

Okay, their friendship was going to drive you up the wall.

“See you, cupcake. Bye, Mila,” Vi grins at you and waves at your sister.

“Bye, Vi. Bye Jinx. Text me!” Mila calls after Jinx as they both walk away to the running car.

Jinx turns her head to send your sister a knowing smile, calling back: “I will, Mils!”

You and your sister watch the two open their designated sides of the car, leaning against the door with a long sigh.

“God, could you act like you’re not in love with her?” Mila teases before walking over to the kitchen to probably devour the pastries you had baked.

You shake your head to yourself as you think that no, you really can’t.

previous part -> next part

TAG-LIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @loserbaby66 @eddiesdrummergf @jokermoonie @ranxiaolong @morphids @gayandcurious @oatmatchalatte @iamastar @saviourcomplexgf @vihxh7 @jinxjinxjinx12 @krilara @unear7hly @magical-rush @winchestergirlspn @naponiac @alex-thegiraffeboyy @fallingstarsburn @nombreuxx @16novvs @laviannasfanfics @kitty-kei

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kaywa25

4 months ago

Flustered Crushes

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: The Black Widow does not get flustered. So why is it that Natasha can’t seem to stop embarrassing herself in front of you?

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2795

At the edge of the bustling hangar bay, Natasha leans against the cold, metallic wall, her arms folded tightly, a faint frown etched across her brow as her sharp gaze observes the scene unfolding before her.

Near the base of the Quinjet’s ramp, you are engaged in animated conversation with Carol Danvers, who happened to arrive at the compound for a quick visit precisely when you returned from your mission.

You've been with the Avengers for a few months now, a former SHIELD agent seamlessly adjusting to the team dynamics.

Over time, you've connected with everyone—including her.

So, Natasha’s made an extra effort to help you feel welcome.

Clint often teases her about her behavior, insisting her attentiveness borders on something more personal, something like a…crush.

Natasha dismisses his comments each time with a roll of her eyes.

She’s just being nice.

After all, it's only natural to want a solid, dependable relationship with a new teammate, especially someone she'll be working closely with.

That’s the only reason why she came to greet you when you return from your mission.

At least, that’s what she tells herself as she stands there, alone, on the sidelines…not with you.

Natasha watches Carol say something that makes you laugh, causing her faint frown to deepen.

The flash of amusement in your eyes as Carol grins back makes Natasha roll her eyes and look away, unable to take the sight anymore as a pang of irritation tightens in her chest.

She tries to shake it off, but it doesn’t disappear.

After all, it’s not like she got here an hour before your scheduled return and waited to see you…just to end up watching as the blonde space beauty swoop in, effortlessly captivating your attention.

Deciding she’s had enough, Natasha pushes herself off the wall, preparing to leave.

However, her abrupt movement catches others around her off guard, and she ends up bumping into a passing cart loaded with tools and equipment.

A clattering sound echoes across the hangar as wrenches and bolts spill onto the floor.

Natasha curses softly under her breath, a mix of pain and embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she drops to gather the scattered items, apologizing hastily to the technician she collided with before quickly exiting the area.

In her haste, she doesn’t notice your gaze, the subtle smile tugging at your lips as you follow her with amused eyes, tracking her every flustered move across the hangar bay, even as she slips away without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“So, how’s it going with your crush?” Clint asks, a playful glint in his eyes as he watches Natasha.

Natasha shoots him a warning look that would strike fear into the most fearsome of villains.

Without a word, she grabs the coffee pot, filling his mug before pouring some for herself. She replaces the pot with a decisive click.

“There is no crush,” she states firmly, taking a sip as though punctuating her denial.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint asks skeptically before continuing, “Whenever Y/n’s around, it’s like you lose all of your charm and coolness.”

Natasha gives him an unimpressed glare.

“Really? Coolness? That’s the best you’ve got?”

Clint smirks, raising his mug in mock salute.

“Ask me again after I finish this coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, holding her mug close, feeling the warm comfort seep into her hands.

Just as she brings it to her lips, the doors swing open, and Tony strolls into the kitchen, spotting them with their drinks.

“Oh, coffee! Pour me a cup, Romanoff.”

“Pour your own,” Natasha mutters, savoring her next sip.

Tony feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock.

“FRIDAY, remind me, who owns this building?”

“You do, sir,” the AI replies smoothly.

Tony gestures upward triumphantly at her before pointing towards the kitchen.

“So, technically, that machine is mine, the beans are mine, and...oh, right, that pot of coffee is also mine.”

Natasha rolls her eyes but eventually reaches for the pot, lifting it begrudgingly.

Tony holds out his mug with a victorious grin.

But just as she hovers the pot above his cup, she stops short.

“A ‘please’ once in a while wouldn’t hurt.”

Tony’s eyes widen, and he gasps in exaggerated disbelief as Natasha raises a brow in expectation.

Huffing, he mutters, “Can I have some coffee, please?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Natasha quips with a smirk, preparing to pour him his coffee.

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal you, fresh from your morning workout, dressed in your training gear.

You walk by the kitchen, spotting the other Avengers gathered around.

A delighted smile spreads across your face.

“Ooh, coffee! Can I have some, too?”

Natasha’s response is instant.

“Sure, I’ll make you a new pot.”

Her tone is warmer than usual, surprising even herself.

You beam at her, and Natasha feels herself pause, momentarily captivated by the sight. Distracted, she almost misses your following words.

“Thanks, Natasha! Let me change, and I’ll be right back.”

You slip through the doors, leaving Natasha blinking, still trying to regain her composure.

Tony watches with raised eyebrows.

“Wait a second—she didn’t even say ‘please,’ and you’re making her a whole new pot?”

Natasha’s eyes narrow as she holds the pot just out of reach of Tony’s mug.

“Do you want coffee or not?”

Tony grumbles before muttering a grudging “Yes, please.”

Satisfied, Natasha pours the coffee, keeping her focus steady.

“Natasha?” your voice catches her off guard, and she glances up to see you poking your head back into the room.

“Yes?” she replies a little too quickly, immediately focusing on you.

Both Clint and Tony fall silent, watching the two of you with curious eyes.

“Steve’s got a mission tomorrow,” you explain. “Would you mind if I train with you in the meantime?”

Natasha’s mind races for a moment before she steadies herself to answer.

“Uh—yeah, sure. Anytime you want.”

“Great!” you say enthusiastically before glancing worriedly at the counter. “I think that’s enough coffee.”

Natasha follows your gaze, eyes widening as she realizes Tony’s cup is overflowing, dark liquid pooling across the counter. She yanks the pot away with a muttered curse.

“Oh sh—!”

Tony steps back just in time, glaring down at his soaked countertop.

“Really, Romanoff? This is a new suit!”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grabs paper towels, unruffled by his dramatics.

“Calm down, it barely even touched you.”

You let out a small laugh.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, shooting her a smile as you exit.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, her attention lingering on the door.

Clint chuckles as he takes another sip, eyeing her knowingly.

“You’re right, Nat. It’s not a crush,” he says, leaning back with a smirk. “It’s way worse.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha flashes one of her most charming smiles, leaning just slightly forward as the receptionist fumbles through her files, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue under Natasha’s intense gaze.

“Here you go!” the receptionist says, her voice soft as she hands over a key card. “I’m sorry again for the mix-up.”

Natasha’s fingers rest lightly over the receptionist’s hand as she accepts the card, her eyes warm and a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“No problem at all,” she replies, her tone smooth. “I don’t mind the delay with such lovely company.”

The receptionist blushes deeply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and giving Natasha a flustered smile.

Natasha’s confident smirk grows as she watches her charms take effect.

Quick and efficient, she slips the USB drive from the computer, seamlessly hiding it under her palm as it rests over the key card. For a moment, she feels pleased with herself, effortlessly pulling off her usual charisma.

See, she thinks to herself, Clint has no idea what he’s talking about—she’s got plenty of charm.

“Nice job, Natasha,” your voice suddenly crackles in her earpiece, startling her.

Her hand slips in surprise, almost knocking over the items on the counter. She turns it into a casual adjustment, but not before the receptionist gives her a curious look.

Natasha quickly smiles, grabbing the key card and offering a polite nod before walking away toward a secluded corner of the lobby.

Pressing a finger to her comms, she mutters, “Y/n? Where’s Clint?”

“He had to step out for a minute,” you answer. “He asked me to take over. Is that okay?”

“No–I mean—yes, of course,” Natasha says, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly.

She straightens, running a hand through her hair as she tries to regain her composure. It’s not like she hadn’t expected you to assist with missions, but the thought of you watching her…

She tamps down the sudden flutter in her chest and forces herself to stay focused.

“Your next target is on the same floor as the key card you just picked up,” you continue, your voice warm and steady in her ear.

“Got it.”

“I’ll explain what you’re looking for.”

Natasha nods and begins striding toward the elevators, hoping her sudden focus will drown out the distraction of your voice in her head.

She tells herself it’s just a mission—professional, routine.

But now, with you guiding her through the next steps, each word falling from your lips makes it harder for her to maintain her usually calm, steady demeanor.

Her heart beats a little faster, and her cheeks feel a bit warmer than they should. She brushes off the thoughts and keeps walking, determined to stay cool and collected.

“Um…Natasha?”

She stops mid-step. “Hmm?”

“You’re…going the wrong way.”

Natasha freezes, blinking in surprise. She glances around, realizing she’s heading in the opposite direction from the elevators.

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over her as she lets out a quiet curse under her breath.

“Right,” Natasha says, turning with as much dignity as she can muster, her face heating as she finally heads in the correct direction.

Oh, she thinks to herself, she’s definitely going to kill Clint.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha steps out of her room, her leather jacket slung over one arm as she adjusts the zipper.

Your voice calls her name from down the hall, catching her off guard and making her slam the door shut in a startled motion. She spins to face you, only to be tugged back by an unexpected resistance.

Natasha looks down with a sigh, spotting her jacket sleeve caught in the door. Tugging at it proves ineffective, as it stays firmly wedged in place.

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Natasha hastily shoves the jacket behind her back, trying to appear composed. She leans casually against the door, hoping the awkward moment has gone unnoticed.

“Hey,” you greet with a warm smile as you reach her.

“Hey, Y/n,” Natasha replies, attempting a relaxed tone.

You eye her with a hint of curiosity. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” Natasha says quickly, forcing a casual smile. “Just, um, examining the door. Thought it could use a closer look.”

Your brows raise in amused surprise at her peculiar explanation, but you let it go.

“Well, once you’re done with that,” you say, playing along, “I made a reservation at that new place downtown. I was wondering if you’d like to join me?”

“Just the two of us?” The words slip out before Natasha can stop herself.

A flicker of excitement and amusement crosses your face as you nod.

“Yeah, just us,” you say softly.

Natasha’s heart gives a small flutter, but she maintains her composure.

“I’d love to,” she says, a smile slipping through despite her best efforts to stay calm.

“Great, it’s a date,” you say, grinning. “I’ll meet you in the garage.” With a playful smirk, you add, “After you finish your ‘inspection,’ of course.”

As you walk toward the elevator, Natasha watches you with a lingering smile.

Once you’re out of sight, she finally frees her jacket and heads to the garage a few minutes later, finding you waiting by her motorcycle.

You hop on behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist in a snug embrace.

The warmth of your presence makes her feel a fluttering sensation in her chest she can’t shake. Distracted, Natasha blindly reaches for her helmet and slips it on—only to be met with complete darkness.

With a soft sigh, Natasha’s head drops to her chest, realizing she put it on backward.

The chuckle that escapes your lips behind her is quickly muffled as you clear your throat, your hands reaching to help her.

You gently remove the helmet, your fingers brushing her cheek as you pull it off.

When Natasha glances back, she catches the playful look in your eyes as you bite back a grin.

Seeing this, Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Can we just pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen and start over? I swear, this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

You laugh, unable to hold back anymore.

“Oh, I know all about the smooth and charming Black Widow,” you say, your gaze warm and teasing. “But I think this side of you is pretty cute too.”

A faint blush spreads across her cheeks at your words, and Natasha takes the helmet, this time slipping it on correctly, with a soft smile she can’t quite hide anymore.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

It’s another one of Tony’s famous parties, where glittering lights reflect off polished floors and music pulses softly through the spacious hall.

In the middle of the dance floor, beneath the warm glow, Natasha sways with you, her hands resting gently on your waist as you move together to the rhythm of the soft melody.

You wrap your arms around her neck, leaning in and drawing her closer until your lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss.

Natasha smiles softly against your lips, and as you pull back, she rests her forehead gently against yours, eyes half-closed in a moment of quiet contentment.

Even as the music fades into the background, her hands remain firm on your waist, as if she has no intention of letting go.

“Why don’t we get something to drink?” you suggest, glancing over at the bar lined with sparkling glasses.

Natasha only pulls you closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the small of your back as she murmurs, “Or…we could stay right here and have another dance.”

Her voice is a soft suggestion, and she leans in slightly, her green eyes filled with warmth and alluring charm.

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across your lips.

“It’s cute how you’re trying to be smooth.”

Natasha’s expression shifts, feigning innocence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, though the faintest blush colors her cheeks.

With a playful glint in your eye, you tilt your head at her in challenge.

“How long has your bracelet been stuck to my dress?” you ask, giving her a teasing look.

Natasha glances away, the blush deepening as she realizes she’s been caught. She’s spent the past few moments subtly trying to free her wrist from your dress, but to no avail.

“In my defense,” she murmurs, attempting to deflect, “you distracted me with how beautiful you look tonight.”

You chuckle softly at her excuse, reaching up to pull her even closer. With a playful grin, you press a gentle kiss to her lips before leaning in to whisper against her ear.

“Think of the bright side—if you can’t get it loose, I’m sure you could just rip this dress off me.”

Natasha’s breath catches, and for a split second, she’s utterly still, her mind stalling at the suggestion.

You pull back just enough to watch her expression, and a delighted smile grows on your face as she stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered, clearly caught off guard.

It only takes her a moment to catch on, her eyes narrowing in realization as she shakes her head with a playful huff.

“You’re trying to embarrass me on purpose,” she accuses, a hint of a smile breaking through.

Unashamed, you bite back a laugh and nod.

“It’s nice to see the calm and collected Black Widow all flustered for once.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a smirk as she pulls you flush against her, her free hand sliding up your back, fingers grazing along your spine. She leans in, her lips just a breath away from yours, the warmth of her gaze intense.

“Only for you,” she murmurs, her voice a hushed promise before closing the distance, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that makes you forget the world around you, the room fading away as you melt into each other’s embrace.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a short fluff with a soft Natasha that I had finished some time ago. after everything that has happened yesterday and today, I wanted to give some kind of happier distraction, even if it may be only a temporary escape from everything. I’m still going between disbelief, sadness, and anger myself about the situation while also trying to be prepared to continue on. But hopefully, this was able to bring some of you some sort of break from everything else.

2K notes View Post

kaywa25

7 months ago

literally me rn 😭😭

*appears bruised and bloody like video game character*

the next chapter *pant* WILL be out *pant* by next week

*goes to walk away and trips, collapsing limply*

Tags

fanfic writing

6 notes View Post

kaywa25

2 months ago

Pirouette

Summary : Steve and Sam set Natasha up with a professional ballerina, but they already know each other.

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x ballerina!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : mentions of Nat’s past, sex is referenced, cursing, set sometime between AoU and CACW

Word count : 4.1k

Note : Hi all! This is supposed to be posted last week but my schedule’s currently all over the place, so I won't have a posting schedule this month but will still try to post regularly! I do have Joaquin Torres x reader in my drafts and a possible endurance racer!Bucky x rival driver!reader (24 of Hours of Le Mans au) coming out this month! Series will still be regularly updated! Anyways, enjoy!

Moving to this city had been a calculated decision. The ballet company you’d signed with was one of the most prestigious on the continent, and luckily, you’d found an apartment just a short walk from the studio. This city was different from Paris, from Moscow, from anywhere else your career had taken you, but different wasn’t necessarily bad.

Your new neighbour introduced himself within minutes of spotting you hauling boxes up the stairs.

Of course, you recognised him instantly.

Sam Wilson. A very public hero.

He knocked on your open door just as you were unpacking your duffel bag, his eyes immediately catching on the worn pointe shoes slung over the side.

“A ballerina, huh?” he said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “That explains the posture.”

You laughed, setting the bag down. “That obvious?”

“I know discipline when I see it,” Sam grinned. “So, what brings you here?”

“The company just brought me in for the new season.”

“Well, welcome to the building. Let me know if you need anything,” he offered, voice smooth as silk. Then, with a flash of that signature charm, he added, “Or if you just want a tour—dinner included, of course.”

You smiled. “That’s sweet, but no, thank you.”

Sam blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You could tell it took him a second to process the rejection.

“I’m flattered,” you said, realising this was the Sam Wilson—Avenger, national hero—and that turning him down probably wasn’t something that happened often. “I bet any straight woman would be helpless against your charm.”

His mouth parted slightly in understanding before he grinned. “Ah. Gotcha.” He nodded. “Well, let me tell you, we’re gonna be good friends. Maybe we could go out tonight and help each other get girls?”

You laughed. “Sounds fun.”

And just like that, Sam became not just your friendly neighbour, but also your friend.

At some point, he mentioned you in passing to Steve.

"She just moved in last month?" Steve asked over beers, taking a casual sip.

"Yeah, right down the hall from me," Sam said, leaning back against the bar. "She’s a ballerina, very disciplined.."

Steve nodded, intrigued. Sam was already the next part of his story. "We’ve been out for drinks a couple times— real good wingmen for each other. I mean, I think I’m good, but she’s got a whole system. We’re an elite team at the bar."

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?"

"Oh, yeah." Sam shook his head, chuckling. "One time, we spent half the night arguing over who got to flirt with this girl, only to realise she was the bouncer’s girlfriend. Thought we were gonna get kicked out for a second."

Steve chuckled. "Who backed down first?"

"Technically, her. But only because she said she liked my odds better in a bar fight." Sam took a sip of his beer, then pointed a finger at Steve. "Which I take as a huge compliment."

Steve laughed, shaking his head. He thought for a moment, then something seemed to click. "Natasha would like her."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"Yeah. Nat did ballet when she was younger. Still does sometimes."

That caught Sam’s attention. "No way."

Steve nodded. "Trained in Russia, back when she was a kid. She doesn’t talk about it much, but she’s still got it."

Sam shrugged. "Guess I gotta introduce them, then."

“Or,” Steve considered, “We could set them up on a blind date…”

—

Natasha Romanoff does not go on blind dates.

She didn’t even do dates in general, let alone ones orchestrated by well-meaning but clueless super soldiers who think she needs to “get out more.”

But Steve had been relentless— It was damn near impossible to brush him off entirely. You’ll like this one, he had promised. She’s Sam’s friend, he explained. Just one dinner. And, well—she had been looking for an excuse to wear the new black dress hanging in her closet, so she thought, why the hell not?

So, there she was, stepping into an upscale Brooklyn restaurant, already bracing herself for a dull evening filled with polite conversation and forced small talk with someone who would inevitably bore her.

And then she saw… you.

A ghost from her past.

For a moment, she just stood frozen, her eyes unreadable, but she didn’t hesitate for long. She approached and slid into the seat across from you, crossing one leg over the other.

"Hi again," she said with a raised eyebrow.

You didn’t look nearly as caught off guard. If anything, there was amusement in your eyes as you studied her posture— she still hadn’t fully relaxed.

"When Sam Wilson said he was setting me up on a blind date with someone who knew a thing or two about ballet," you said, lips curling into a wicked smile, "I thought it might be you."

Natasha let out a brief nervous laugh. "That so?"

You hummed and nodded, taking a sip from your glass before placing it carefully down on the table, eyes never leaving her. "I figured it was either you or some government plant making sure I wasn’t secretly a spy. But then again..." You trailed off as your foot slid forward beneath the table, your heel gently brushing beneath the fabric of her dress. "That would still be you, wouldn’t it?" you murmured, your voice low, teasing.

For a good five seconds, Natasha didn’t move. She just stared at you, as if measuring you and weighing her response. She shifted her leg slightly, the barest hint of tension in her body, before leaning back just a little— inviting the touch of your heels on her calves. Her breath caught for a second as your foot stayed there, pressing just a little further.

It was strange— this was not how you imagined this meeting going when Sam insisted on setting you up on a blind date.

She sighed almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. "I never thought you’d be the blind-date type," she said, her voice husky.

You raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping your lips. "Funny," you replied, your foot inching a little higher, this time the toe of your heel grazing her knee. "I could say the same for you."

You had met her years ago in Paris, before she was a public hero, long before the Battle of New York. Back then, she was a SHIELD spy sent to investigate a corruption case in a prestigious theatre. She had played the role of Natalie— a ballerina in your company, the woman who had torn your heart apart without even meaning to. The woman who disappeared without a trace, leaving you with nothing but a broken promise and more questions that you had room for in your mind.

You had moved on. Or at least, you thought you had.

When the Battle of New York happened and you saw her on the screen as Black Widow, you finally understood why she left— she had never been a professional ballerina in the first place.

But now, with the faint pressure of your heel against her skin, all of it had come rushing back. The way she had looked at you in that studio in Paris, the way her breath had hitched when you touched her, the way your body had melted into hers, the way you talked and talked for hours on end after rehearsal.

And now that she was here, it felt like she was a breath away from walking out of your life again.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned forward just a little, her lips parting as if considering saying something—anything—until her breath caught again. A flush of red spread across her cheeks, and your foot, still pressing against her, slid a little higher— to her thighs.

"Nervous?" You asked.

"Not when I already know what you taste like."

And then, you brushed your heels under the curve of her calf one last time before slowly pulling it back.

The movement left both of you feeling... unsettled.

You cleared your throat, forcing a breath, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“So,” you said, leaning back just slightly, trying to sound casual. “Tell me, Natalie... do you still dance?”

Her lips slightly frowned at the name, but she held her composure. “Not really,” she said smoothly. “But sometimes I miss it.”

Her forehead softened, and for a moment, you wondered if she was thinking about you. About those nights in Paris, about all the filthy things you let her do to you in the studio full of mirrors.

“I always thought you had a pretty good pirouette,” you murmured, a sad smile playing at your lips. “Maybe I could help you improve it. I’ve gotten better with my technique over the years.”

“Oh?” She chuckled, “You’re offering dance lessons now?”

You leaned forward. “If you’re up for it.”

“I’m always up for learning new things,” she welcomed you, her tone a quiet challenge.

And there it was again—that suffocating tension. You hated the way she said it, like she knew exactly what was running through your mind, and maybe—just maybe—she was daring you to act on it.

Your fingers tapped against your glass. Natasha just watched you, the way she always had, like she was waiting to see what you would do next. Like she was testing you.

You leaned in. Just a little.

“Don’t think I forgot about you,” you said, “Or what happened in that studio.”

Her breath hitched.

“You think about that often?” she asked, testing the waters.

“Sometimes.” It was the truth. Perhaps dare of your own.

“Me too,” she admitted, almost shyly— well, as shy as Natasha could get.

Maybe this was a game. Maybe you were both feeling out the old heat, seeing if it still burned the same way.

Soon, the waiter approached, and you ordered without a second thought. As he walked away, you leaned in slightly.

The conversation began, almost reseted. You approached her, with an open mind this time. It started with light small talk, but soon enough, you both caught up on lost years. Old memories started to come up, touches lingered between shared laughs and reflective pauses.

When the check arrived and you paid, You hesitated for a moment, before asking, “Want to get out of here?”

Nat looked surprised… but also content. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Outside, the air was cool, but she was warm beside you. Her shoulders brushed against yours as she moved closer. It wasn’t an accident. It never was with her.

By the time you reached your place, you turned to her at the door, feeling your resolve fraying at the edges inside you.

“I don’t know how you keep doing this to me,” you murmured with a voice quiet enough only she could hear.

Natasha’s lips formed a knowing smile—the one that had haunted you for years. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the world outside. She stood there, close but not touching, her getflickering over you, as if deciding how far she was willing to let this go. But you both knew it had already gone too far.

You didn’t wait.

The tension had been building for years, and now, it finally snapped. Your hand found her waist, pulling her closer, and for a second, she just let herself fall into you.

“Been a long time, huh?” you asked.

She laughed. “You have no idea.”

Neither you nor Nat barely had time to settle before your mouth was on hers. The kiss was urgent, the kind that stole air from your lungs. She tasted like something red wine and trouble— something you should have let go of years ago— but never did.

Her hands were tugging at your shirt, pulling you in, nails scraping lightly over your skins. The years apart hadn’t dulled this. If anything, it had amplified it.

Your fingers found the zipper of her dress, and when it fell away, she was standing there in nothing but lace and skin. And fuck—she was everything you remembered. Everything and more.

She worked at the zipper of your own dress, and then it was gone, discarded along with whatever suffocating distance had been between you.

The next kiss was hungrier, her hands sliding over your breasts, pushing you back until you stumbled back toward the couch. She followed, her lips hot against your jaw, your throat, lower—

You moaned, as your hands found the curve of her waist, fingers digging in. “You sure?” you muttered against her skin.

Natasha just leaned in, her voice a whisper against your ear. “You’re the one who asked me to dance.”

Then she kissed you again, and the rest of the night blurred into the feeling of finally, finally having her in your arms again.

—

Morning light filtered through the curtains, the heat of the sun over your bare skin, but it wasn’t what woke you. It was the woman shifted beside you.

Natasha was already awake.

She laid beside you, propped on one elbow, fiery red hair spilling over her shoulder. Her green eyes studied you, but her irises were softer than you were used to. Alone, she felt different. She was no longerot the Avenger, not the ghost who slipped away without a trace. She looked more like the woman who had once whispered poetry in foreign languages against your collarbone, the woman who had slid into your arms after a long day at the studio.

You couldn’t help but stare for a moment, struggling to reconcile this version of her with the one you had known—the one who left without warning, without even a goodbye.

You sighed, staring at the ceiling before murmuring, “You’re leaving again?” Your voice was still groggy with sleep, but the words landed heavily. You thought you might be okay with her leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time. But Natasha was never easy to read.

“Would you rather I stay?”

"Natasha, you’re an Avenger." You laughed cynically, and it didn’t reach your eyes. "I can’t imagine this—what we’re doing—being anything more than what it was before."

She tilted her head, considering your words. “You wanted me to stay before.”

That stung more than it should have. It was true.

Once, you had wanted that more than anything. But time had turned longing into resentment, and now… you didn’t know what you even felt anymore.

“I didn’t know you were a spy,” you said instead, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Natasha only shrugged. “But you’re more than happy to sleep with me again?”

“I thought…” You ran a hand through your hair. You could feel frustration creeping in. “I thought I just wanted closure,” you admitted, quieter this time.

She leaned a bit closer. “What if we try?”

A breath hitched in your throat. “Try?”

Try? With her? After everything?

She shrugged casually, almost too casually. “Why not?”

You could think of and wanted to tell her a hundred reasons why not, but none of them made it past your lips. Instead, you rubbed at your temple. “Come to one of my shows first.”

“That’s your condition?”

“That’s a start.”

She stared at you for a second, then nodded. “I’ll be there.”

You studied her face for any sign of hesitation, expecting the same old pattern—empty promises, some semblance to the spy she was— but this time, something felt different.

“Sure you will,” you shook your head, half a laugh, half a challenge.

Her eyes held yours, stubborn as always. “I will.”

You wondered if you should make the mistake of believing her again.

—

Later, Natasha stepped out of your apartment, pulling her leather jacket tighter around her shoulders. As luck would have it, she ran straight into Sam Wilson.

He took one look at her—at the slight smudge of lipstick at the corner of her mouth, the tousled waves of red hair—and grinned like it was his birthday.

“Well, well, well,” he started

Natasha sighed, already regretting every thing she’d done that had led her to this moment— well, maybe except for you. “Not a word, Wilson.”

Sam held up his hands, though the mischief in his eyes gave him away. “Who, me? I didn’t say anything.” He stopped for a second before continuing, smug as ever: “Just… guessing it went well?”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head just enough to remind him who he was teasing. Sam, wisely, took a half-step back.

Natasha shook her head and pulled out her phone, her thumb scrolling through the ballet company’s rehearsal schedule.

You wanted to give conditions?

Fine.

But Natasha Romanoff had never been one to back down from a challenge.

—

The week after, Natasha sat in the velvet seat of the hall, her green eyes locked onto the stage. She had seen you dance before—up close, when she was dancing too. But this?

This was different.

The moment you stepped into the light, the theater ceased to exist, at least it did for Nat.

There was only you.

The lights draped over your skin like a second skin, outlining the lines of your body, the precision of every movement.

You were grace.

You were untouchable.

And Natasha was utterly ruined.

"You’re staring,” Steve snapped her out of her thoughts.

She ignored him. She regretted bringing him at all, really. But when she’d told him everything, he had insisted on coming with her for emotional support.

"If you’re serious about this, Romanoff, bring flowers,” he said yesterday, “No one says no to flowers."

So she had brought a carefully selected bouquet, now sitting awkwardly in her lap.

She probably should have brought Sam or Clint instead. But Sam would have teased you both mercilessly, and Clint— Clint would have just been Clint, and she didn’t think she could handle that tonight. Steve, at least, was nice.

She might have been wrong about that, too.

The final note triggered applause. It sounded like waves crashing through the theater.

Natasha was the first on her feet, flowers pressed against her chest, cheerkng for you.

Now, she had to face you.

—

Backstage was chaos—a flurry of dancers slipping out of their costumes, instructors giving feedback, and stagehands rearranging the props post-performance.

But Natasha only saw you.

You were still breathless from the performance, your skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat. Strands of hair had come loose from your bun, framing your face in untamed wisps. You looked otherworldly, untouchable— until your eyes landed on her. for the way your gaze softened the moment it landed on her.

Oh.

She could tell you were surprised by the way your lips parted.

"You actually came,” you said.

She smiled, the bouquet in her hands feeling heavier than it should. “Told you I would.”

You glanced down at the flowers— deep red and bright pink roses, full and vibrant in the dim backstage lighting. When you looked back up, you looked amused.

"And you brought roses?” You teased, “Natasha Romanoff, are you courting me?"

Natasha let out a small, breathy laugh, glancing away for just a second before meeting your eyes again.

"I didn’t do it right last time, did I?" She was quieter now, more vulnerable than you had ever seen her before.

You stared her for a moment, fingers tracing the petals absently. Then, with the softest smile, you stepped closer. "No," you murmured. "But you’re getting there."

The space between you felt small. Too small.

Natasha had faced impossible odds. She had stood in the shadows of gods, stared down aliens that would send most running for their lives—and never once had she faltered.

But here, she felt close to.

You tilted your head, looking at her like you were peeling back layers she hadn’t meant to show, like you already knew what lay beneath.

Then you lifted the bouquet to your face, inhaling the scent of the roses.

When you lowered them, your smile only gotten gentler.

"Come with me." You didn’t wait for her answer. You simply turned, weaving effortlessly through the crowded backstage, and Natasha had no choice but to follow.

She ignored Steve’s stare from across the room. She ignored the scattered congratulations, the noise of post-performance chatte. None of it mattered.

Her entire world had narrowed down to the space between your shoulder as you led her toward your dressing room.

The door clicked shut behind you.

It was quieter here. More intimate. She saw costumes hung neatly along one wall, makeup brushes and scattered notes lay on the vanity, a half-empty water bottle sat beside a discarded pair of pointe shoes.

You set the roses down with careful hands, then turned to face her, arms crossing over your chest.

Natasha swallowed.?"You were incredible.”

You shrugged. "I know."

She huffed a small laugh, shifting in her feet. "Your pirouettes are getting even better—"

"Cut the shit, Nat." The teasing edge was gone. Your voice was smaller than it should have been, but it didn’t miss its mark.

Natasha froze.

You took a slow step forward, tilting your chin to meet her gaze head-on.

"You want me back?" you asked. "Then let’s talk about it."

Natasha let out a deep breath she didn’t realise she was even holding. She had walked into this moment prepared for a fight. She had expected distance, maybe even anger.

But this threw her off.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She had trained her body to be still, to hide tension, but standing here—under your scrutiny—she felt exposed in a way she wasn’t sure she was even trained how to handle.

"I never wanted to leave." The words slipped out before before doubt could creep in and steal them away.

Your brow lifted, waiting. "But your job..."

"My job," she echoed, almost regretfully. She shook her head. "I'm sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have—"

"I don’t care about your job, Nat." You uncrossed your arms. "I care that you want to stay. I care that you’re here. That you’re making the effort—" Your eyes flicked down to the roses still sitting between you. It was undeniable proof of her presence, of the time she had carved out of a life you once thought had no room for you. "And you are now."

She swallowed hard. "I am."

"Will that change?"

She didn’t hesitate this time. "No."

"Prove it."

For the first time since she walked into the theater, Natasha hesitated.

Prove it.

You weren’t asking for promises. You weren’t asking for empty words.

You were asking for proof.

She could do a lot of things. She could lie. She could manipulate most people. She could break a man’s ribs with her bare hands and disappear before he even hit the ground.

But she want trained for this.

Finally, she took a deep breath. “Tell me how.” The words came out desperatez.

You put the roses down and stepped forward, closing the space between you until she could smell the faint traces of sweat and perfume still clinging to your skin.

"Stay," you murmured.

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a request.

It was an invitation.

And this time, Natasha wasn’t going to walk away.

The moment your lips met hers, Natasha forgot how to breathe.

There was no second-guessing—just the heat of your mouth against hers, the scent of roses and sweat filling the air. She didn’t think. Didn’t analyse like she was used to. She just moved, her hands finding your waist, your back, the delicate fabric of your tutu brushing against her fingers.

You were still breathless from the performance, but you kissed her like you had all the time in the world. Like you had been waiting for this just as long as she had.

And then—

"Ahem."

Natasha nearly broke your nose when she turned around.

Steve stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too amused. "Just checking in." He held up his phone. "Clint and Sam are taking bets on whether you'd actually go through with this, so I figured I'd get confirmation."

Your lips were still kiss-bruised when you turned to him. "Captain Rogers," you said, not the least bit flustered. "Sam’s talked a lot about you. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Steve blinked. "Likewise."

Natasha groaned, pointing at her friend. "Steve. Get out."

He didn’t budge. "You sure? Because Clint bet ten bucks you’d chicken out, and I’d really like to send him a smug text."

Natasha leveled him with a glare sharp enough to cut vibranium. "Steve—"

He held up his hands, backing toward the door. "Alright, alright, I’m leaving. Don’t do anything I wouldn't do."

He barely made it two steps before Natasha called after him, "If you don’t leave right now, I swear to God, I will break something you—"

The door clicked shut.

Then, you huffed out a laugh. "So… your friends are betting on us?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, dropping her forehead against your shoulder. "They’re never going to let this go."

You grinned, fingers still tangled in her hair. "Good thing I don’t scare easy."

Natasha lifted her head again.

Then, with the smallest smirk—

"Prove it."

—End.

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kaywa25

4 months ago

Hotel California | Track 14 : Between the Stars

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 5.7k

Chapter 14/18

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: This is a span of a couple days in their lives.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

You're sitting in the hair and makeup chair with Cece, your stylist, and a lifelong friend, and you’re kind of nervous. You thought you could handle things like this. After all, you’ve been around Hollywood’s elite for most of your life. You’re a decent performer, a great publicist, and you’ve always been good at working a room. Public speaking? No problem. Memorizing a script or delivering a speech? Easy. You’d probably do well at the whole celebrity thing. So, why does this have you on edge?

This press run has been something out of a dream—an opportunity for which you’re genuinely grateful. But still, your nerves buzz under your skin. You’d had a taste of fame before, back when you won that Grammy for songwriting, but this? This feels different. Your frontal lobe’s fully developed now. You’re painfully aware of every word, every glance, every judgment. And this time, the spotlight isn’t on your work. It’s on you—and something as personal as your relationship.

You try to focus as Cece chats about some new trend on a social media app you’re not even on. Her hands move precisely, sectioning your hair while Cole, your makeup artist, preps your skin. The two of them work in sync, and you feel utterly pampered. Every brushstroke and spritz is meant to make you shine. But even under their care, the knot in your stomach doesn’t unravel.

You smile at Cece’s story, pretending to keep up, but your mind wanders. You remind yourself you’re here for a reason.

Promote the single. Promote Velvet Rebellion's new album.

******

The softly lit studio is quiet and intimate. The setup is personal— a solid background, two chairs angled toward each other, and a table between them. Natasha is already sitting, effortlessly poised. She leaned back in her chair, the picture of laid-back confidence. Her faded red Rolling Stones shirt peeked out from under a well-loved leather jacket, paired with black jeans that clung just right and boots that had seen some stories. Everything about her was effortless, cool, and completely her. You couldn't hide your approval of the outfit as you complimented her.

"You look so good, baby," you cooed. "I love the leather."

She smiled at the compliment and watched as you sat down.

"Thank you," she said. "And you," she continued, "You look like a fucking dream. As always."

You wore a fitted button-down with rolled sleeves and wide-leg pants. There was just enough cleavage to be tempting, but it was the way the shirt hugged your curves and the pants draped around your ass that had her eyes glued to you.

"You know, we need to go shopping together more often," you said, "If you're going to show up looking this good."

"Well, it's not like you don't look good in everything." She paused for a moment.

"You're such a charmer," You laughed. "Shall we get into this whole interview thing?"

Natasha smirked, "Let's. Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

"Oh, you should start." You said. "Since you're the famous one."

Natasha let out a laugh, "Alright, famous one it is. " She shuffled her cards around. "Can your partner cook? What's their favorite dish?"

"Hmm, it's a little debatable whether or not you can cook yet," you answered. "You have some potential, but I don't think you've mastered anything."

"I'm getting there."

"Well, you've gotten a lot better. Anyway, your favorite is mac and cheese. Kraft, to be specific."

"It's comfort food."

"Yes, yes. I know," You looked at the camera. "She's lectured me on it a few times since I don't consider it a meal."

"And she's wrong," Nat said.

"Let's move on," You grinned. "What's their favorite TV show?" You took a moment to think. "Hmm, I think Natasha loves The Nanny. That's a classic, and we watch it together some nights. Right now, she's binging Sons of Anarchy."

"And what's yours?"

"Ooh, I'm a little embarrassed to say it. Mine's Pretty Little Liars. I know, I know. It's a bit juvenile, but there's no shame in guilty pleasure shows."

Natasha smiled, "I've seen an episode or two. Not my thing, but I can appreciate a good plot line."

"I guess the next question is," Nat continued. "Who's more likely to be late?"

"Natasha is."

"And Y/n is." She countered.

"Okay, okay. Maybe we're both a little late sometimes," You said. "Ohh, this is a deep one. How's your partner's relationship with their siblings? I guess we can answer for each other."

"You talk to your brother at least once a week, and I know you miss him," She tilted her head. "Your sister, you're quite close to her, too. I haven't met either of them yet, as they're both on opposite ends of the world."

"Yes, Chandra is in New York being her hot fashion model self," you nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Michael is somewhere in Europe right now with his wife and kids. They're travelers. Natasha's pretty close to her little sister, too. I think we both have pretty solid family units."

"Next question," Natasha said, glancing down at her cue card with a playful smirk. "Favorite quality about your partner. This one's easy for me. Y/n is incredibly supportive and nurturing. She's also a little badass. It's a sexy combination. I love that she can go from a power suit and killer heels to leggings and a messy bun in minutes and still be the same beautiful, confident, and powerful person. When we got together, I was attracted to her confidence and brains. She's still the same person she was when we first met—no Hollywood surprises with her."

"Wow, Tash," you said with a smile that softened your entire face. "You're too sweet. I don’t know how you do it, but somehow, you always make me melt." You paused, glancing at Natasha with a quiet reverence. "For me, Natasha is kind. And I don’t just mean she’s a nice person. There are perceptions you have when dating someone of status—whether they're a musician, athlete, or executive. Natasha is not only kind and considerate, but she’s humble. She’s real. What I love most about her is how she makes me feel safe. Not just physically safe but emotionally. I know I can tell her anything, and she won’t judge me or hurt me. She’ll always be honest with me. I think that’s why her music resonates so much. Especially our single, Obvious."

The perfect tie-in to the song—a natural choice and one that felt authentic coming from you. It left Natasha glowing, her smile stretching just a little wider.

"You're making me blush," She teased.

"I'm not even done yet," You smiled. "Natasha is smart. She is not just book-smart; she has a way of reading people that I find fascinating. And she's thoughtful. She thinks about the little things—like getting me a drink or bringing me my favorite candy after a long day at work. Or leave me a little note with my coffee in the morning."

Natasha looked bashful for a moment.

"You're one to talk," she said. "Y/n is... she's everything."

She reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing gently.

"I can't believe I'm so lucky to call her mine."

You gave her a wistful smile. "This whole interview is going to be a love fest."

"I don't mind," Nat grinned. “I’m sure the fans won’t either.”

"Me neither." You shuffled your cards. "I don't remember whose turn it is. What are your significant other's vices?"

"Oh boy," Natasha said. "She has a lot."

"I do not!"

"Okay, you don't. But let's see if we're talking about the good ones. She'll eat any sweets. Any. I'm surprised her teeth aren't rotten by now. And she can drink anyone under the table, no matter how hard they try."

"I've seen her get through an entire bottle of vodka and still sing the entirety of 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' perfectly," you said.

"Y/n doesn't have many bad habits. But, if I had to pick one, I'd say she likes to sleep in."

"I'd argue with that, but that's not a vice," You said. "My biggest vice is staying up too late. And sleeping in," You admitted, earning a laugh from Natasha.

"It's a miracle we get any sleep together," Natasha quipped.

"Alright, alright," You chuckled. "Favorite feature about your partner?"

"Oh, this is the one that made me pick these cards," She grinned.

"Is that so?"

"It is," Nat confirmed. "I don't know if I can pick a favorite. But if I had to choose, I'd say her smile. It lights up the room."

You were smiling, but not as wide as when she'd answered the question.

"That's sweet," You sighed. "I thought you were going to say my ass."

"I can't not say it, babe," Natasha said. "Your ass is... wow. It's a work of art."

"Well, I'll take that," You laughed.

"What's mine?" She asked.

"Easy," You replied. "Your eyes."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. They're so expressive. Like, I can tell how you're feeling without even hearing you. And they're so green."

"That's the second time today you've made me blush," Natasha said with a small, sheepish smile, brushing a thumb over the edge of her cue card.

"Oh, there's a lot more where that came from," you teased, grinning as you shifted slightly in your seat. "We're only halfway through this interview."

"I'm not complaining," Natasha replied, the corners of her lips quirking up. She glanced down at the next question. "Next question. What is something your partner does that drives you crazy?"

"You know, it's funny," you started, tilting your head as you thought about it. "Natasha is so quiet at home. She's like a little cat that sneaks up on you. In another life, she could be a spy or something."

Natasha's laugh was warm and unguarded. "You know I've had a few offers."

"No kidding."

"No, seriously," she said, leaning forward slightly, her tone suddenly playful but sincere. "A few of my friends in the business have suggested it. But that's not something I'd do."

"Why not?" you asked, curiosity lighting up your face.

"Because I wouldn’t want to keep secrets," Natasha explained, her voice softening. "From you. From my family. Friends. I'm a pretty open book."

"Yeah, that's understandable."

The rest of the interview went smoothly, with questions and answers flowing easily. It was fun, and it was comfortable. By the time you finished, you felt more confident and at ease.

When the cameras stopped rolling and the lights were turned off, you stood, smoothing your shirt before contacting Natasha.

"Good job, babe," You said.

"You, too."

She hugged you, wrapping her arms around you and pressing her lips against your temple.

"Thank you," she murmured.

You closed your eyes and breathed in her scent, letting it wash over you, calming the butterflies in your stomach.

"What do you think?"

"I think we did well," Natasha replied.

"So, I did okay? My public speaking skills haven't gone completely out the window?"

"I was worried about nothing," Natasha said, a gentle chuckle escaping her.

"Oh, shut up," You rolled your eyes.

"I mean it. You did great."

"Thanks, Tash."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss you. You responded immediately, your lips parting slightly, letting her taste their sweetness.

"Hey," she murmured. "Let's get out of here. I want to spend some alone time with my girl."

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, and you squeezed her hand.

"That sounds perfect."

"Not so fast, you two," Mitch stopped the both of you. "I still have a few TikTok posts that our social media manager wants to do."

"Seriously?"

"Sorry, it's not that bad," Mitch said. "You know the drill, Natasha. Let's get this over with. Then, you can go home and enjoy the rest of your night."

"Alright," Natasha agreed. "I'm going to have a drink after this," She said, pulling out her phone. "Let's do this."

Back in the dressing room is where the magic began.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely, as Natasha rolled her eyes with good-natured exasperation. Mitch handed her the phone, already queued up with the latest TikTok trend featuring one of the songs from Velvet Rebellion's album.

"This one’s easy," Ellisa, the social media manager for Velvet Rebellion, said, demonstrating a quick series of gestures. Natasha raised a skeptical brow at Mitch, watching the screen like she was analyzing a mission briefing.

"I feel like I’m too old for this," she muttered, passing the phone back to Elissa.

"You’re not old, Tash," you teased. "You’re seasoned. There’s a difference."

She shot you a mock glare, but the slight smirk on her lips gave her away. "Careful, or you’ll be joining me in this dance."

You laughed and held up your hands. "No way. I’m just here for moral support—and to thoroughly enjoy watching you do this."

Natasha sighed dramatically but started moving, mimicking the dance as best she could. Her moves were precise but slightly stiff, her usual grace overshadowed by the awkward rhythm of trying to keep up with a trend meant for teenagers.

"Is this even right?" she asked, glancing at Mitch.

"Close enough," Mitch replied, barely holding back a laugh.

You couldn’t help it; you started giggling; the sight of Natasha—usually so calm and composed—fumbling through exaggerated arm movements and head bobs was pure gold.

"Stop laughing!" she said, her voice laced with amusement as she paused mid-dance to point at you.

"I can’t help it! You’re just… too serious about it."

She cracked then, laughing along with you. "I’m serious because I don’t want this to haunt me on the internet forever."

"Trust me, no one’s going to be laughing at you," you said, still smiling. "Except maybe me. Forever."

Natasha finally finished the dance, breathing a relieved "Thank God" as Mitch nodded in approval.

"Perfect. That’s a wrap," Mitch said, pocketing the phone.

Natasha walked over to you, shaking her head. "You enjoyed that way too much."

"Every second of it," you admitted, still grinning. "But you looked adorable."

"Adorable wasn’t the vibe I was going for," she said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Well, too bad. It suits you."

*********

A simple coffee run wasn’t simple. Not when you were Natasha Romanoff. Even something as mundane as picking up her favorite drink from the shop down the street turned into an event. Cameras clicked. Voices called out. There was no privacy, no room for messy buns or sweatpants. Not when every step outside was under public scrutiny.

Natasha walked out of the little café with a drink carrier in one hand; her leather jacket pulled snugly against the chill. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes, but you could tell by the slight furrow in her brow that the swarm of paparazzi wasn’t something she could just shrug off today.

You stayed close, matching her pace, your hands tucked into your jacket pockets. Talking wasn’t an option. Not with the cameras so close, their lenses hovering like vultures. Still, the brush of her shoulder against yours was enough.

"Natasha! Over here!" One of them shouted, their voice cutting through the air. She didn’t turn.

Another chimed in, louder, more deliberate. "Natasha, how do you feel about Carol being out of rehab? Are you going to visit her?"

Natasha's jaw ticked, and you immediately knew it was a sore subject. You lead her over to her car, opening the door for her letting her duck inside while you tossed her things into the back seat.

You ignored them, keeping your focus on Natasha.

"They really can't help themselves, can they?" She muttered as you slid into the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the window.

"No," You replied. "But you don't have to talk to them."

She let out a dry laugh, the sound hollow and bitter.

"Yeah, I know."

She took a long sip of her iced coffee to calm her nerves. Natasha shifted into drive, her jaw tightening slightly as she carefully maneuvered out of the café parking lot, avoiding one particularly bold photographer who refused to move out of the way.

You watched her grip the wheel a little tighter than necessary. "Tash," you said gently, glancing at the phone lighting up on the console. "Your phone’s ringing. It’s your mom."

She sighed, hitting the button to connect the call through the car’s speakers. Melina Vostokoff's familiar voice filled the car almost immediately.

"Too busy for your mother, I see," Melina teased.

"No, of course not, Ma," Natasha replied, shaking her head even though Melina couldn’t see her. "My schedule’s pretty clear for the next couple of days. We just have a couple more rehearsals later this week."

"Good, good," Melina said, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind. "I’m calling because I wanted to ask about your new girlfriend. You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!"

Natasha visibly stiffened, her eyes flicking to you for a split second before returning to the road. Meanwhile, you tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh, biting your lip as Melina’s voice continued, full of motherly curiosity.

"So, what does she do? Is she nice? Where did you meet her? Does she like borscht?" Melina fired off the questions with practiced ease, leaving no room for Natasha to respond.

You raised an eyebrow at Natasha, silently daring her to answer. Natasha sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Ma, slow down," she said, exasperation laced with affection. "She’s—"

"Does she cook? Does she get along with you-know-who? Does she have any bad habits I should know about? Natasha, you know I need to approve!"

That did it. You couldn’t hold back the laugh bubbling up in your chest, which slipped out before you could stop it. Melina, of course, didn’t miss it.

"Who’s laughing? Natasha, are you with her right now?"

Natasha sighed again, with a resigned smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, Ma," she admitted, glancing at you as you tried to compose yourself. "She’s right here. Sitting next to me."

Melina paused for half a beat before exclaiming, "Natasha! Why didn’t you say so sooner? Let me talk to her!"

Natasha groaned, leaning her head back against the seat for a moment. "Here we go," she muttered under her breath, shooting you an amused yet apologetic look.

You grinned, leaning closer to the speaker. "Hi, Melina. It’s nice to meet you... well, kind of."

"Ah, so this is the mysterious girlfriend," Melina said, her tone instantly warmer. "I have so many questions for you!"

"Okay, Ma, go easy on her," Natasha warned.

"Nonsense," Melina scoffed. "If I have questions, I want answers. Now, Y/n, tell me, where are you from?"

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the interrogation. "I was born and raised in Sherman Oaks, Los Angeles. Though I lived in Paris for a few years in middle school."

"Oh, wow, Paris," Melina said, sounding impressed. "How lovely. Did you live in the city, or were you more in the suburbs?"

"The city," you replied. "It was quite a change from L.A."

"And your family? Where did they go to school?"

"My parents both attended UCLA," You answered. "And my sister and I graduated from USC."

"Ah, a Bruin," Melina hummed, clearly pleased. "Very impressive."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please, call me Melina," she insisted. "Or Ma, like my daughter does. Do you have any children?"

"Yes, I do, one she recently turned 10," you replied.

"Ten years old?" Melina mused. "So, she's probably in school now, yes?"

"Yeah, she is."

"I've done some research on you," Melina said. "So I've known most of those answers."

"Really, Ma?"

"You'd be surprised by the things I can find out about people, Natasha," Melina replied, a hint of a smirk in her voice.

"I don't doubt that," You chuckled.

"Natasha has a tour stop where I'm living currently," Melina said excitedly. "Hopefully, you will be over soon. And you will bring the child, yes?"

"If my schedule allows," you promised.

"You’ll make it work," Melina said with certainty. "I’ll even cook. Natasha can tell you I make the best borscht."

Natasha groaned softly, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "Ma, don’t scare her off."

"Oh, please," Melina replied. "She doesn’t seem easily scared. I like her already."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest as Melina’s approval seemed to settle between the three of you. Natasha glanced at you, her gaze softening momentarily before she refocused on the road.

"Well, it’s settled then," Melina added. "You’ll come, and we’ll have a proper family dinner."

"I’ll hold you to that," you replied with a grin.

******

Watching a movie in the middle of the day started harmless enough.

After a morning full of errands and lunch with your friends, you had returned home and decided to spend the rest of the day curled up on the couch. It was supposed to be a quiet, relaxing afternoon, but having Natasha so close did things to you. This time, you were the big spoon, lying behind her with your hand on her belly. The shared body heat made her warm, and it wasn't long before she'd pressed her ass into you. She could probably later say it was innocent. She was only trying to get settled. Your breasts pressed into her back was also an accident. She wasn't trying to rub her ass all over you. But the little sighs that were coming from her mouth were unmistakable.

"You okay?" You murmured in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

"Hmmmm," Natasha hummed, leaning back into you.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked, sliding your hand underneath her shirt, your fingers drawing patterns across the skin of her belly.

"Nothing, just nice having you here," She said. "We never spend time at my apartment."

"You're right," You agreed, pressing your lips against her temple. "It's nice."

Natasha tilted her head back, seeking your mouth. She sighed, the sound muffled as you kissed her, your hand traveling up her ribs. You were so tempted to slide your fingers higher, cup her breast in your hand, and feel the weight of her, but you knew that if you did, it would escalate quickly. And you didn't want to be caught up in the throes of passion, naked and writhing against each other on the couch with no warning.

"I like this," You whispered, your fingers tracing the underside of her breast.

"Me, too," She murmured. She seemed to not play into your games, only offering you a bit of leverage to lift her bra underneath her hoodie. Her eyes closed, and her breathing became heavier, her nipple hardening under your touch.

"You're so responsive," You mused, tweaking her nipple. "It's like you're just waiting for someone to touch you."

"Not someone," She replied, her voice low and thick with desire. "Just you."

Her hips moved again, a slow grind as she sought more friction. This felt like the perfect moment to get her hot and bothered. Both of you were fully clothed, and there was no pressure to have sex—just a bit of fun.

"You're such a tease," You chided, twisting her nipple. She bit back a moan, her eyes opening for a moment.

"So are you," She countered.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked again, sliding your fingers to her other breast.

"About what you're doing to me."

"And what am I doing to you?"

"You're getting me all worked up and then not going to do anything about it."

"Oh, I plan to do something about it," You nodded. Your hands trailed down from her belly, and you pressed your knee between her thighs to give you space. You could feel her wetness seeping through her leggings, and it was enough to make your core clench.

"Is that so?" She gasped, arching her back. You kissed whatever part of her body you could find as you rubbed her through her pants.

"Do you like when I do this?" You asked, pushing harder into her.

"Yessss," She hissed, her hips rising.

"Does this turn you on, Tash? Having me fingerfuck you while fully clothed?"

"Shit," She breathed out. "Yes."

"Yeah, me, too."

The material was thick, but you could still feel her body heat, her arousal seeping through. You found a steady rhythm, rocking against her as your fingers pressed against her clit.

"Fuck, that's good," She sighed.

"You're so wet," You marveled. "All from this."

"God, you have no idea," She whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as you kept going, her hips rolling with your movements. "It's so fucking hot." For the next few minutes, there was silence from both of you—the occasional moan from Natasha and groaning on the couch with your movements.

"I want to see how wet you are," You finally spoke, moving the elastic of her leggings. She didn't protest as you pushed them down, leaving her underwear in place. Her legs parted just enough for you to dip your fingers underneath the cotton and into her slick folds.

"Jesus, Tash," You breathed out.

"Don't stop," She begged. "Please."

"I've got you, baby," You promised, finding her clit. You stroked her, keeping her on edge, the wetness coating your fingers. She was practically dripping now.

"I want you to come," You whispered. "Come on my fingers, Tash."

Your words were her undoing. Her body shuddered, her mouth falling open as her orgasm rushed through her.

"Holy shit," She breathed, her voice hoarse and shaky.

"Was it good?" You asked, kissing her jaw.

"So fucking good," She nodded. "God, you're amazing."

"Glad I could help."

She smiled and turned her head to kiss you. "I think I need to repay the favor."

"I would love that," You said. Her kiss was slow and deep, her tongue sliding against yours as her hand snaked behind your head. "I can't believe I get to call you mine." You whispered against her lips.

"Me either," She grinned.

You were about to tell her how lucky you were when the sound of a door opening caused both of you to jump.

"Hey, guys," Wanda called out, strolling into the room with a teasing grin.

You scrambled to help Natasha tug her leggings up, your hands moving as quickly as possible. "Hi," you answered, trying your best to look innocent, even though the heat in your cheeks said otherwise.

"Sorry," Wanda said, holding up a couple of grocery bags as if to explain her presence. "I'm leaving again. Just stopped by to drop these off."

"Okay," Natasha replied, her voice a little too casual as she fought to keep her expression neutral. "Have a good time."

"I will," Wanda said with a smirk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced between the two of you.

"We're not doing anything," you blurted, raising your hands to prove your innocence.

Wanda’s smirk widened. "Right. Well, don't have too much fun while I'm gone." She gave a knowing look over her shoulder as she left the room.

"Shut up, Wanda," Natasha called after her, rolling her eyes as the door closing signaled her exit. Natasha exhaled heavily, leaning back against the couch. "I really need to think about getting my place soon."

"Or," you countered, raising an eyebrow at her, "you could possibly think about spending more time at my house."

Natasha tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Are you trying to tell me something, or is this just a clever way to avoid interruptions?"

"Maybe both," you teased, leaning in closer. "Think about it. We could have lots of privacy. Lots of time alone."

Natasha hummed thoughtfully, her lips hovering mere centimeters from yours. "I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah?" You grinned, your heart fluttering in your chest.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Though, how would Isabella feel? Or even Sam. With me being there so much."

"You're worried about how my ex-husband would feel with you moving into my house?" You raised a brow.

"Not necessarily," Natasha shrugged. "But I did mention Isabella coming on tour with us, and he wasn't open to the idea."

"You told him about that?"

"At her party," Natasha said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Of course you did," you groaned, leaning back against the couch. "Nat, I love that you feel comfortable with him, but don’t tell him things before I’m ready."

"I thought you had, honestly," Natasha admitted, sitting up straighter.

"No, I hadn’t," you said firmly. "I wanted to talk to him about it first. Regarding Bella, we have a great agreement—50/50 custody, as you know. It works for us, but Sam can play hardball too."

"I know, baby," Natasha said softly, her hand reaching for yours. "I’m sorry."

"It’s fine," you exhaled deeply, the tension easing. "It’s just...a lot is changing. He hasn’t mentioned it to me yet, so at least he’s not against it, which is good. He’s chill. It’ll be a great conversation. And honestly, it’s football season—he’ll be working a lot. That’ll give me more time with her anyway."

Natasha squeezed your hand gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You’re right. And if it makes it easier for you, I’ll stay out of it. You take the lead with Sam."

"Thank you," you said, offering her a small smile. "I know you meant well. We’ll figure it out."

"We always do," Natasha replied, kissing your temple. "And hey, I promise to run things by you first from now on."

"Good," you teased, your smile widening. "Now, let’s talk about how you’ll make up for it."

Natasha grinned, leaning closer. "I’ve got a few ideas..."

********

The small bistro was quiet, the kind of place with soft jazz playing overhead and just enough tables to feel intimate. When you walked in, the faint clinking of silverware and the smell of fresh herbs greeted you. You scanned the room, noting how empty it was—a relief. This was the kind of conversation you didn’t want to be overheard.

Your eyes landed on Sam, seated near the window. He leaned back in his chair, an easy grin on his face as he chatted with a waitress. She laughed at something he said, her cheeks slightly pink as she poured more water into his glass. If you looked closely, she resembled you. Sam had a type.

You sighed and walked over, the heels of your shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor.

"Sam," you said, your voice cutting through their conversation.

He looked up, startled for a moment before his signature smile returned. "Hey! There she is."

The waitress stepped back, offering a polite nod. "Let me know if you need anything else," she said before disappearing behind the counter.

"Flirting already?" you teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

He shrugged, unbothered. "What can I say? She’s cute. Plus, it’s not like I’m the married one here anymore."

"You never could stop the wandering eye," you quipped, leaning back in your chair.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I wasn’t the one with the side piece, though, was I—"

"No," You rolled your eyes. "you never had problems watching either.'

He held up his hands in surrender, clearly enjoying himself. "Fair point."

"I can't believe you're the one who picked this place," you mused, glancing around the small cafe. "A little too romantic, don't you think?"

"What?" Sam chuckled. "You know I like good food."

"Of course," you replied dryly. "I want to talk about bringing Isabella on tour with me for a few weeks."

His smirk faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly, leaning back in his chair. "Bringing her on tour? For a couple of weeks? Yeah, your girlfriend told me about it."

"Yes," you nodded, watching him closely. "I think it could be good for her. She’s curious about what I do, and it’d be a great opportunity for us to spend more time together. Plus, she’d get to experience something different."

Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "It’s not that I’m against it, but are you sure it’s the best environment for her? I mean, all that traveling, the schedule, being around... well, Natasha."

You crossed your arms, not missing the way he hesitated. "Natasha is part of my life now, Sam. You know that."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "It's just when you fall in love with women, you fall pretty hard."

"And you don't think this is something different?"

"Honestly, I don't know," He said. "It's not my place to judge. My only worry is that Isabella won't be influenced by being with adults the entire time."

"That's why she'll be there, with me, her mother, for support," You argued. "I understand your hesitance, but I'm asking as a courtesy."

"A courtesy to me?" He frowned. "This isn't just about her coming along. This is about bringing people into her life with a reputation for being party animals. You can't blame me for questioning that. I'm not questioning your judgment. I'm judging theirs."

"If I had any sliver of doubt that she'd be exposed to anything we don't want her to, I will bring her home," You promised.

Sam sighed, toying with the gold ring on his finger. He seemed to consider your words momentarily, his gaze flitting over your shoulder. Then, his expression softened, and he leaned forward. "I can see how important this is to you," he said.

"It is," you confirmed, meeting his eye.

"You're a great mom," he went on. "The best, honestly. You're a great person. I trust your judgment."

"Thanks, Sam," you smiled, a weight lifting from your chest.

"But," he added, "if she's exposed to any of the bad shit, you'll bring her home. No questions asked."

"Deal," you agreed, holding out your hand.

Sam shook your hand, his grip firm and warm. "Alright then. We'll see what we can work out."

"You're the best," you grinned, relieved.

"I know," he said, his smirk returning.

You shook your head, biting back a laugh.

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