─── Ⅵ CHAPTER SIX: SIX

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

reminders for today:

if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.

if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.

if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.

mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.

if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.

if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.

if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.

your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.

did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.

in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.

we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.

My Soul Aches For Your Touch

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with a spouse can be challenging, especially when children and mundane tasks take up so much of the day. Sometimes you have to do something drastic in order to shake things up.

warnings: 18+, minor DNI, Reader has a penis, smut.

A/N: This one is a labor of love, nervous to release it into the world but happy it's complete. First time writing anything like this. I tried my best.

Natasha stared at herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had softened quite significantly with the domestic life she has been leading. Long gone were the days of powerful thighs and toned arms from countless hours spent in the training room. She knows she still looks beautiful, shapely even but she can’t help scrutinizing the ways in which she has changed. Not just physical changes but the emotional ones as well. The once unphased Black Widow now a mother and wife who wears her heart on her sleeve. She was barely on the cusp of 35 yet she sometimes felt like a has-been stuck in the same boring routine; having traded in saving the world for morning school drop offs. 

Don’t get her wrong, she loves her life. She has everything she had ever dreamed of and never truly dared to hope for. The most amazing spouse and two children who mean the absolute world to her. The changes that have been made to her mind and body over time are a testament to them. And the prolonged feeling of being loved and safe; they have instilled within her. But there was something missing in this wonderful life that left her feeling unfulfilled. A silent yearning to feel desirable again.

She needed a change of pace, desperately. Nothing too drastic, just something to knock her out of the rut she’s been in. If she is honest with herself, she wants to feel like her younger self used to; powerful and untouchable. A world renowned spy with a sexual prowess that rivaled none; making men and women alike beg for a chance to warm her bed.

Which is why despite her nerves she has decided to go through with this tonight. 

She finishes styling her signature auburn curls, the soft waves cascade down her back and shoulders, framing her face in a way that brings attention to supple lips coated in a subtle pink lipstick. She went a bit lighter on the mascara and eyeliner as well, wanting her natural features to shine through, and the green of her eyes had definitely become the star of the show. She smirks, trying to emulate the confidence that used to be second nature to her. 

Before the feelings of embarrassment could take root and she lost the will to continue this facade, she turned on her heels and strode into her closet, determined to find an outfit that would turn heads tonight. She wanted something that showed off her sex appeal; which she knew she still possessed. It just wasn’t something she flaunted anymore. 

She wanted something that was sexy yet sophisticated, settling on an understated black dress and a pair of matching pumps. The light pink lingerie set she had underneath would be quite the surprise for whoever would be finding themselves in her bed. She hopes the discovery makes their heart race. 

She felt a flicker of guilt twist in her stomach at the sensual thought, or perhaps just her nerves continuing to act up. Natasha compartmentalizes those thoughts away as she dresses quickly. It was sister’s night this evening and Yelena’s girlfriend’s family was hosting a bit of a soiree. And her goal for the evening was quite different to her baby sisters.

She took one last glance at herself, making sure she looked put together. She smirked again, this time she truly felt like her old self. For the first time in a long time she felt sexy and emboldened; it was a nice feeling. She turned to leave the walk-in closet, pausing at the entryway, her eyes briefly catching sight of her spouse's dirty boxers haphazardly thrown into their laundry basket. They’re covered in crocodiles with little sunglasses on them. The sight makes her heart pang with sorrow as she fiddles with her wedding ring, taking a deep breath she wiggles the ring until it slides off her finger, before placing it in her jewelry box.   

The front gate alarm pings, signaling that Yelena and Kate have arrived. She shakes the anxious thoughts from her mind not wanting to think about this any longer; steeling her resolve she makes her way out to her ride.

xXx  

You were in desperate need of a thrill. The life you had was one you coveted but the mundane activities that were expected of you everyday had grown rather dull. You knew that doing the same old things wouldn’t get you the results you wanted so you decided to shake things up. Instead of heading straight home after a long day of work, you decided to take up your client's invitation to her fancy soiree. 

After greeting Eleanor Bishop with a warm hello, you head straight toward the bar, asking for an old fashioned with an orange twist. You take a slow deep drink, enjoying the first initial burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. Gently, leaning against the bar you allow the alcohol to settle into your system and just bask in the ease at which it puts your mind. 

You let your eyes sweep across the room looking for a woman that peaks your interest. You knew you weren’t going home alone tonight; a beautiful woman warming your bed may just be the key to shaking up the monotony. You take note of several gorgeous women, some twirling around the dance floor and some chatting amongst peers, when a shimmering waterfall of red caught your eye. 

Your eyes zero in on her, she’s mingling with a group of socialites, an heiress in her own right perhaps. Not an outlandish guess with how she carries herself and the beauty that radiates from her. She’s made to be the center of attention and you can tell she revels in it. It’s not long before the belle of the ball is asked to dance. Some tall aristocrat; he’s handsome you suppose if you're into that sort of thing.  

You take another swig of your drink, allowing yourself to watch her move across the ballroom. The embodiment of grace as she dances.

You were mesmerized by the woman, and there was no way that pretentious asshole was going to be the one taking her home. Her fiery mane shimmered underneath the ballroom lights, the soft curls bouncing with every graceful movement. The black dress she was wearing had your mouth watering; every movement allowed you to see delicious amounts of ivory skin. Her curves were on full display; the thought of sinking your teeth into that voluptuous backside had you weak in the knees. And that damn smirk she’s wearing almost does you in; you swear she’s taunting you.

You want to worship every inch of her. It’s what she deserves being that damn fine. And you know for a fact that this yuppie won’t get on his knees for her.

You shoot back the rest of your drink, before setting down the empty glass, and making your way towards them.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, would you mind if I cut in?” You say almost breathless.

She’s even more gorgeous up close. 

xXx

She had seen you walk in a while ago, the warm greetings exchanged with Eleanor Bishop and the casual way you were leaning against the bar aroused her curiosity. And the form fitted black suit you were wearing aroused more than that. You looked dashing to say the least. 

She felt your gaze linger on her as she socialized, it exhilarated her to be watched in such a shameless manner. You did nothing to hide the desire, lighting up your eyes, your intentions quite clear. 

She smirked before accepting an invitation to dance from a rather stiff businessman, wondering just how far she would have to push you for you to be the one asking. Never taking into account that you would interrupt them. It was bold of you and she was pleased with your actions. 

With your offer accepted the nameless man left without making a scene; just slight disappointment in his eyes. She didn’t even feel a hint of remorse as you took her in your arms. 

She felt a shiver run up her spine as you took command of the dance. Leading her around the ballroom with a finesse that comes with years of practice. 

The two of you moved through the dance with a sensual grace, your bodies flowing together seamlessly, the passionate embrace amplifying the flirtatious atmosphere.

The warmth of your body, the smell of your cologne, and your hungry gaze had Natasha burning with desire. She hadn’t been this turned on in quite some time. 

As the dance was coming to a close she decided she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of your company any longer. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

You nodded without hesitation, grabbing her hand with tenderness as you led her out of the ballroom. She waved to Yelena before they got too far away, letting her sister know where she was headed. The blonde was grinning ear to ear. 

xXx

The car ride to their final destination was taking entirely too long. She was enchanted by the way your tongue darted out to lick your lips and the subtle bouncing of your left leg. It was one of the only indications she had that you were just as impatient as she was. The other clue she had to go off of was the generous outline of a semi-erect penis making itself visible in those deliciously tight pants of yours. She needed the fire burning between her legs to be satiated this instant. The hand caressing Natasha’s inner thigh was not helping matters.

“Pull over.”

“Sweetheart, we’re almost there.”

She didn’t care. All she cared about was the deep ache she knew could only be satisfied by your cock. As need and lust consumed her; every rational thought left her mind. 

She grabbed the hand resting on her thigh, slowly dragging it up to stroke against soft pink panties, the groan you released let her know you could feel how wet she was. 

“Pull the damn car over, now”

“Fucking hell, you’re already so worked up babe.” You husk, as you pull over onto the side of the road, safely parking. 

Natasha slides into your lap in a hast, “You have no idea.” 

xXx

You situate the seat so she’s comfortable, before pulling that tantalizing mouth of hers into an earth shattering kiss. She whimpers as your assault on her mouth turns frantic; wanting nothing more than to consume her. Delicate hands weave their fingers through your hair, as you work to undo the zipper on the back of her dress. You break away from the kiss briefly to peel it down Natasha’s arms, and to pull the black material down her body to pool around her waist. Fuck, the lacey pink bra covering her breasts makes your cock throb with need. 

Your eyes watch goosebumps erupt on Natasha’s heaving chest; as her flushed skin adjusts to the cool air. She tilts your head up, kissing you hard and desperate. Your tongues massaging one anothers in tandem, every once in a while pausing to suck and swirl your tongues into the caverns of each other's mouths.  

Your arms slip around her sides, fingers caressing the smooth skin of Natasha’s back before unclasping her bra and shimming it down her arms. Discarding it without care as your lips leave that additive mouth of hers to kiss along her jaw. She squirms in your lap, as you nip and lick your way down the line of her throat, leaving a trail of red marks in your wake. 

You pull back and admire the intoxicating woman before you. Those gorgeous emerald eyes that bewitched you from across the ballroom are now blown black with a carnal hunger and her lips are kiss swollen. That lovely shade of pink lipstick is smeared down her chin. And her neck is painted in your love-bites and saliva. She looks wrecked. You could come at the sight alone. 

“Are you going to stare at me all night or are you finally going to touch me?” 

She looks pleased by your admiration, despite what her words may otherwise imply.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been touching you but I promise you’re going to be able to feel me everywhere in a second.”

The pair of soft full breasts attached to this divine being are too tempting to ignore any longer. Your lips descend on her right breast with utter devotion, your tongue flicking over a pretty pink peak; coaxing it taut. Before pulling her nipple into your mouth and suckling. 

She arches into you with a breathless moan, offering more of herself up to you with fervor. As you show equal amounts of attention to each breast your hands caress Natasha’s sides, slowly making their way to her backside. You drag the dress up her hips and expose her center, sliding her panties to the side, your fingers slip through damp curls with ease to massage her clit. 

Natasha shudders from the contact, intuitively grinding her hips into your fingers. She revels in the friction for a little while, feeling the pressure begin to build, and knowing that she needs you inside of her right now. Her hands slide down to your belt buckle, yanking it open, you lift your hips up allowing her to drag your slacks and boxers down in one foul swoop. Her fingers wrap around your thickness with enthusiasm; her hand stroking in a firm but gentle caress.

“Hmm, fuck. I need you so bad.” You groan, thrusting into her hand. 

“Me too, baby. I need you inside me.” Natasha mewls.

Natasha slows her movements, grabbing your tie pulling you into a passionate kiss, her hips lifting up and with your guidance sinks down onto your cock. 

Her back grows taut, needing to take a minute to adjust to the feeling of being so full, before she starts rolling her hips. You grip her backside and begin to thrust up into her. She chants your name as you pick up the pace. Natasha matches your rhythm with vigor, her breath labored as she slams down onto you.

Natasha’s hands find purchase on your shoulders, her fingers crumpling the fabric of your suit jacket as she slides up and down against you. You can’t believe you bothered to get it pressed when this is the only way it should be worn; rumpled and covered in her slick. She rests her forehead against yours, panting into your mouth as your lower halves move in tandem. 

She is so tight and so incredibly warm. You continue to pump into her, her slick wet heat engulfing you as you feel the walls of her core beginning to flutter. With determination, you shove your hand between your gyrating bodies, your thumb sliding through soaked folds to massage her clit. 

You feel her inner walls clamp around you before she lets out a cry of your name, her nails sink into the back of your head and neck as she comes hard against you. The intense stimulation is too much for you to bear as you follow her over the edge with a grunt. 

She continues to keep you close as her breathing begins to mellow out, you sprinkle every inch of bare skin available to you with kisses as she begins to untangle herself from you. Natasha chuckles as she takes in your appearance, your expensive suit is wrinkled beyond repair and your skin is coated in a sheen of sweat. It fills her with a deep sense of satisfaction to have done such a number on you. 

Her eyes flick down between her legs, catching sight of the barely visible waistband of your black boxers, straining against your muscular thighs. They are too dull for her taste. 

“You know the suit was so sexy on you but I have to say I am not a fan of these underwear.” Natasha says, gaze returning to you and it’s full of mischief. 

You look up at her and grin, “Well the next time we fulfill one of our fantasies I promise I’ll buy a new pair of quirky animal boxers. Maybe some polar bears or something.”

She laughed and bit her lip, “Oh, I appreciate the consideration, Detka…” she trails off, lost in thought for a second, “Now tell me more about these fantasies of yours.”

You reach down grasping her left arm, pulling her hand up landing playful nips to the tips of her fingers. “Oh sweetheart, I’ve got so many fantasies revolving around you. Some new ones involving that damn lingerie set. You look so fucking sexy in pink.”

You note the subtle mood shift, the sadness and vulnerability now in Natasha’s eyes, it makes your heart weep.

“Yeah?” She asks tone so hopeful

You knew that the two of you had been stuck in a rut as of late, the monotony of family life not leaving much room for the two of you to nurture your relationship; emotional or sexual. There was a strict schedule for everything concerning the kids and with the long hours you worked, it left a lot of your marriage up in the air. Only really having time for quickies in the shower or watching a movie together at the end of the day. That is if your kids didn’t interrupt the two of you. 

When you were young the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and you know that love changes over time. This however was different and unacceptable to you. Natasha was the love of your life, the sexiest woman in the world in your eyes and the fact that she no longer knew that was gut wrenching. As you look up into her eyes, seeing all the love, hope and desire for you there, you know from this moment on you would do anything to make her feel like the strong, sexy and courageous woman you know her to be.

And after tonight, you know that the fire that burns between you two is still there. All it needs is a little coaxing to ignite it and you were damn sure going to keep that fire fed from now on.

You lift your hand up to caress her cheek, “Natasha, I know our relationship has fallen to the wayside a bit since the kids were born but sweetheart you are still so damn sexy to me. I love you so fucking much. And I am so sorry for letting it get this bad.” 

“I love you too, baby. Please don’t put all of this on you. I know I haven’t been making our marriage a priority either…I’m sorry for that.” Natasha kisses the corner of your mouth. “It’s a relief that after all this time you still think I’m sexy.” She chuckles, gesturing to herself with contempt. “I know I don’t look like I used too.”

“The fact that you don’t believe that your fucking gorgeous and that I crave you like a person in hell craves ice water is on me.” You implore her to see the truth in your words. “I am going to do everything I can to make us a priority again. I'm done always putting the kids first. You deserve to be loved and fucked to your hearts content.” Your voice holds conviction. 

Natasha yanks on your tie pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “Well in that case…maybe we can take advantage of the kids staying with your mom tonight. You can show me just how much you crave me, baby.” 

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.” You help Natasha slide back over into the passenger seat, and get your clothes in order. “That being said, when we get home Mrs. Y/L you're putting your wedding ring back on.” You send her a playful glare, as you restart the car. “If I ever see that finger bare again…there will be consequences.”

Natasha giggles, “Consequences huh?...mhmm.. I’d like to experience that but…” She winks at you. “It was definitely a bit of a risk I took, I'll admit. I won’t be taking it again. Now drive, baby.”

It was an exhilarating night for the both of you. And as you head down the road toward your shared home, it feels like the beginning of a brand new adventure. 

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

sumary: The last thing Natasha expected was for her one-and-Half-year-old daughter to fall head over heels for the one person on the team who didn’t like kids.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader. Natasha Romanoff x platonic!avengers

Word count: 5075

warnings: age gap, light mommy issues if you squirm your eyes, fluffly content, Natasha being the best mom ever, light humor and jokes

Part 2

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

Natasha had never been the type to hope for softness.

Not for herself, at least.

She’d made her peace with that years ago—on the rooftops of Budapest, in the sterile hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D., in the long silences between missions where guilt and memory left no room for sentiment. And then came Ana. Not by accident. Not by surprise. By choice. Hers. A deliberate, defiant, I want this, spoken with all the clarity of a life finally claimed.

She never regretted a moment of it. Not the injections. Not the procedures. Not the days spent alone, watching her body change, knowing no one was coming but not needing anyone to. Ana was the best thing she’d ever done. Her softness, her quiet, her stubborn spark—that was Natasha’s legacy now. Not blood. Not missions. Her. Anasthasia Irina Romanoff. She’d chosen Irina long before Ana was even born. It wasn’t a family name, or a tribute to anyone in her past—it was a hope. Irina meant peace, and that’s what Ana was. Her stillness after decades of running. Her soft beginning after a life of sharp edges. Natasha had spent so many years living on instinct, choosing danger over safety, solitude over softness. But Ana was different. Ana meant slow mornings. Shared breakfasts. Laughter in the middle of the day for no reason at all. She gave her the name Irina because, for the first time, Natasha wasn’t surviving anymore. She was living. And Ana was the reason why.And maybe that’s why she was so protective of it—why she kept the world at arm’s length and Ana even closer. This calm, this rhythm she’d built, it was fragile in the way that mattered most. So when new variables appeared—new people, new energies—Natasha never let them close enough to shift the balance.

So she didn’t expect anything to come from your arrival.

Not in the way that mattered.

You were Tony’s daughter, and Natasha had always paid attention to the way people spoke about you—with a mixture of respect and restraint, like they weren’t quite sure what to do with someone who carried the Stark name but none of his chaos. She knew you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. when you were barely old enough to be called an adult, that you’d carved your space without leaning on legacy, and that you’d been stationed in England for the last few years—low profile, high results.

She also knew something more personal. Something quieter.

You didn’t like children.

Not in a cold, heartless way. You weren’t cruel. You were respectful—always. Natasha remembered the way you helped Lila Barton when she scraped her knee during a holiday visit, how you’d stayed still and calm while the girl sobbed against your shoulder. But the moment she calmed, you’d set her down gently and disappeared from the room like your presence had been an accident. You didn’t mock them, or treat them like they were less-than. You just… didn’t want them near. Didn’t invite them close. Natasha understood that. Some people didn’t crave the chaos, the unpredictability, the weight of something small depending on you.

That was fine.

That was expected.

Which is why she didn’t even flinch when she brought Ana to the morning briefing.

The meeting was scheduled in one of the larger lounge rooms—bright windows, low coffee tables, plenty of space for Ana to exist without needing constant wrangling. Natasha had done this dozens of times. Her daughter came with her everywhere now. She didn’t leave Ana behind unless she absolutely had to. The team had long since adapted.

You, however, were new.

She entered the room with Ana tucked against her side, one arm looped around the child’s waist with practiced ease. You were already seated—coffee in hand, face unreadable, posture casual but distant. Natasha didn’t expect more than a polite nod, maybe a glance. And that’s what she got. You didn’t tense. You didn’t retreat. You simply acknowledged her presence and turned your eyes back to the screen.

But Ana didn’t.

Ana saw you. And for the first time since Natasha could remember, her daughter paused.

Not in fear. Not in confusion. In recognition.

It started as a slow shift—her little body repositioning against Natasha’s ribs, eyes locked in your direction, curious and alert. Then the squirming began. Not impatient, not fussy—focused. Ana leaned out of her arms, little hand pointing downward.

Natasha frowned. “What’s going on, kotyonok?” she murmured, brushing her lips lightly across Ana’s hair.

“Down,” Ana whispered.

Natasha blinked.

Ana rarely asked to leave her arms during meetings. And never in unfamiliar rooms. She’d been clingy the last few days—teething, off her sleep schedule, adjusting to so many new faces around the compound again. But now, her little legs were kicking softly, hands gripping at Natasha’s shirt in earnest.

“Down,” she repeated.

Natasha hesitated—glanced at you.

You weren’t watching Ana anymore. You were watching her. Confused. Curious. But not annoyed. Not disapproving.

Natasha could read people down to the smallest twitch of a muscle, and in that moment, she read one thing clearly: you didn’t know what was happening either.

So she shifted forward and lowered Ana gently to the carpeted floor.

Ana’s sneakers touched down. She took one look back—brief, instinctive—then turned toward you like she already knew the path.

Natasha’s chest tightened.

One step. Then another.

You looked up.

There was a breath, the room shrinking around it.

Ana stopped at your knees. Her curls were mussed from her mother’s shoulder, her little fox plush dangling from one hand. She tilted her head to look at you properly. She didn’t blink.

And then she lifted both arms toward you.

“Lap.”

You froze.

Not in fear. Not rejection. Natasha saw it—something break quietly across your expression, the way your eyebrows lifted just slightly, like your own body didn’t understand how it was reacting before your brain caught up. There was no mask now. No calm Stark logic, no precise detachment. Just you—and the shock of being chosen by someone so small, so unrelenting, and so certain.

Natasha didn’t move.

She stood where she was, heart pounding quietly behind her ribs, not from fear or worry—but something more intimate. Something that reached the parts of her still holding every shattered version of family she’d ever known. She watched as you stared down at the child who had never, not once, walked into a stranger’s arms. And she waited. Because whatever happened next… would matter.

You didn’t reach for Ana immediately.

Natasha noticed the exact moment your eyes lifted—not to the child now reaching for you with unwavering certainty, but to her. And it wasn’t a question. Not quite. There was no panic in your expression, no discomfort. Just a pause. A stillness that asked without words: Is this alright?

And Natasha, who rarely let anyone past the perimeter of her trust, gave you the smallest, most intentional nod.

You moved like someone reaching into deep water—carefully, gently, aware of the weight of what you were about to hold. Your hands met Ana’s sides, small and secure, and you lifted her with practiced ease, as though this wasn’t the first time, as though her body already knew how to fold against yours. She settled into your lap like it belonged to her.

Like she had always meant to end up there.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat.

Ana laid her head lightly against your chest, little cheek pressing into the dark fabric of your jacket. One of her hands tucked the fox between your arm and her belly; the other—small, dimpled fingers—reached up to your collarbone and found your hand.

And then she started to play.

Not with toys, not with distractions. Just your hand. Your fingers. One by one she explored them, pressing her thumb into your palm, curling your pinky against her own, dragging the tips along her forehead in idle motion. Her eyes drifted half-closed, calm and curious, while you stayed perfectly still—watching her with that same look Natasha couldn’t read.

It was almost unbearable, the quiet of the moment.

The meeting had technically begun, but Natasha hadn’t registered a single word Steve said. She hadn’t even sat down. She just stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes on the impossible softness blooming in front of her.

Because that’s what it was. Impossible.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated. You hadn’t done what most people did—smile politely, hand Ana back, or distract her with something shiny so they could pass her off. You were just… there. Entirely present. Letting her settle. Letting her explore. Letting her choose.

And she had chosen you.

The worst part—if she could call it that—was that Natasha wasn’t angry. She wasn’t suspicious. She wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Because looking at you now—back straight, eyes lowered, completely surrendered to the tiny storm nestled in your lap—something made sense in her chest that hadn’t before.

Ana had found something.

Or maybe, someone.

And Natasha wasn’t sure what that meant yet, or how far she would allow it to grow—but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she didn’t feel the need to pull away. She walked slowly to her seat across from you, quiet as a shadow, never breaking the spell. And when she sat down, she didn’t take her eyes off you. The briefing wrapped without fanfare.

Steve’s voice faded into background noise, Bruce gathered his notes, and the others filtered out one by one with practiced efficiency. No one commented on Ana—no one dared. Maybe because they saw the weight of the moment. Maybe because it wasn’t theirs to touch.

The room was almost too quiet now.

Ana had slipped fully into sleep, her tiny hand still curled lazily around your finger, her head rising and falling against your chest like she’d found the safest place in the universe. You hadn’t moved. Not really. Just shifted to make her more comfortable—let her sink deeper into you without hesitation, like her weight belonged there.

Natasha couldn’t look away.

You hadn’t noticed—at least, she thought you hadn’t. You never were one to fidget under attention. But there was something different about you now. Something unguarded beneath all that calm.

“I have to admit,” she said, voice low, “this wasn’t how I pictured our first real conversation going.”

You glanced at her, brow arching just a little. “And how did you picture it?”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Not with my daughter wrapped around you like a vine.”

You leaned back slightly, careful not to disturb Ana, and gave her that expression—dry, sharp, quietly amused. “You sound jealous.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Should I be?”

You made a show of glancing down at Ana, then shrugged one shoulder—so subtle it barely moved her. “She’s got good taste.”

The laugh caught in Natasha’s throat before she could stop it. Soft, surprised. God, you were so damn composed, and yet there was something underneath that surface—a spark of something warmer, something playful. She hadn’t expected that. And she was rarely caught off guard.

“I should warn you,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “If you let her get used to that lap, you’re going to regret it.”

“I don’t regret much.”

“She’s one and a half. You’ll regret it the next time you try to drink a coffee without someone demanding half of it.”

You smiled—not a smirk, not your usual reserved grin. An actual smile. And Natasha had to look away, just for a moment, because something in her chest pulled taut at the sight.

“And here I thought you brought her to meetings as a distraction tactic,” you said.

She looked back at you with narrowed eyes, playful. “You think I’d use my daughter to throw someone off their game?”

“I think,” you said, gaze darkening just a little, “that if anyone could weaponize a toddler, it’d be you.”

Natasha laughed, this time all the way—low and warm in her chest, real in a way she didn’t usually allow to slip out. She shook her head, leaning back in her chair.

“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.

You tilted your head. “Me? You’re the trained assassin.”

“Exactly.” Her eyes dropped to the sleeping girl between you. “And you’re the one she asked for.”

The silence curled again. Not cold. Not awkward. Just thick with something unnamed.

You looked down at Ana once more, brushing a thumb lightly over her curls where they stuck up against your collar. “Don’t get used to this,” you said, not looking at Natasha. “I’m still not a fan of kids.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she replied, watching the way you softened around the edges without realizing it.Natasha didn’t argue—she didn’t have to. The proof was already wrapped around your side in cookie-stained pajamas. She just watched you go, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth, the kind that stayed long after you’d left the room.

She knew this wouldn't be a one- time thing. 

A few days later, the morning unfolded differently, slower. Late morning sunlight filtered lazily into the kitchen, warm and indifferent. It fell across the countertops, gleamed off metal handles, and lit the soft chaos that was breakfast—or rather, the battle of breakfast.

Ana was seated in her high chair like a tiny queen in revolt, arms crossed firmly, lips pursed in open rebellion. The oatmeal had gone cold fifteen minutes ago. Natasha had tried coaxing, bribing, even threatening to call Bruce if she didn’t eat. Nothing worked. The spoon sat abandoned in the bowl like a white flag.

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” Natasha muttered, scrubbing a hand down her face. “Other people’s kids don’t get away with this.”

Ana remained unimpressed. She glared past Natasha’s shoulder as if expecting reinforcements.

The door creaked open behind them.

Natasha didn’t turn around right away—she was too focused on pretending she wasn’t about to lose a diplomatic war with a toddler. But she didn’t need to look. She could hear it: the shuffle of slow, dragging footsteps, the soft grunt of someone whose soul was not yet awake. Then came the familiar hiss of the espresso machine, followed by the rustling of a bakery bag.

You’d arrived.

She turned.

You looked… awful.

Delightfully awful.

Hair wild from sleep, hoodie half-zipped, mismatched socks peeking out under flannel pants. You were cradling your coffee mug like a lifeline, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in a petulant line that said you’d only been conscious for five minutes and deeply regretted that fact.

In your other hand: a cheese croissant, still warm, still flaking. You tore off a corner and bit into it like someone performing life-saving triage.

Ana stared, Hard. So damn hard.

Not at Natasha. Not at the bowl of oatmeal she’d rejected like poison. But at you.

You took another bite, chewed, then finally glanced up—and blinked, slow and heavy.

Your gaze drifted to the high chair. To Ana’s unrelenting eyes. Then to Natasha.

“I take it we’re in the starvation phase of child rearing?”

“She’s being dramatic,” Natasha said.

Ana made a noise like a whimper and kicked her feet, You squinted at her. Then reached forward, broke off a soft piece of croissant, and held it out between your fingers.

Ana took it like it was sacred.

“Traitor,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

You made a sound between a hum and a sigh and dropped into a chair with all the weight of someone being punished by existence itself. “I’ve been up for six minutes,” you mumbled. “I haven’t even looked at another human being yet.”

Ana reached again, You fed her another bite.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You know that’s not helping, right?”

“She was clearly starving.”

“I told you—she’s not.”

“She’s got the same face I do when I haven’t eaten,” you said, deadpan. “We understand each other.”

Natasha studied you, the way you slouched, bleary-eyed and nonverbal, croissant in one hand, coffee in the other. She looked at Ana—mirroring your expression almost perfectly, down to the pout and the silent demand for carbs.

She huffed a laugh.

“My God. You’re the same person.”

You gave her a tired glare. “Keep talking. See if I share.”

“You’re both insufferable when hungry.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Natasha crossed her arms. “Of what? Your shared standoffish breakfast cult?”

You sipped your coffee slowly, eyes flicking to Ana and back.

“She chose me,” you said, tone flat but triumphant. “I don’t make the rules.”

Ana squeaked with joy, flailing her hands toward the croissant again.

“She betrayed me,” Natasha replied, pointing to the untouched oatmeal. “I gave her life. You gave her cheese.”

You shrugged, already handing Ana another piece. “She’s got good taste.”

Natasha shook her head, lips twitching as she turned away to clean up the bowl of oatmeal. “You’re both ridiculous.”

You yawned, eyes half-lidded as Ana leaned her head dramatically on the edge of the tray, already chewing the last bite like it was a reward for surviving the morning. You were still half-asleep, leaning into your chair like gravity was trying to reclaim you, clinging to that coffee as if it were the only thing standing between you and the grave. You were cranky, antisocial before noon, and notoriously stubborn about food—especially when it was yours.

Which is why Natasha watched with mild astonishment as you rolled your eyes in a perfectly theatrical arc, sighed like a martyr, and wordlessly handed the rest of your croissant to Ana.

She squeaked with joy and took it like treasure, immediately stuffing the larger half into her mouth with both hands.

“Unbelievable,” Natasha muttered, not even bothering to hide her smile.

You ignored her, sipping your coffee in silence like you regretted every decision that had led to this exact moment. Your eyes were dark and tired, but there was no real irritation behind them. Just that quiet resignation you always wore when you knew you were losing a battle you never meant to fight in the first place.

You took another sip, then looked at her across the kitchen—eyes still half-lidded, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Give me the oatmeal.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward the abandoned bowl. “She doesn’t want it. And I’m starving.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, without a word, Natasha reached for the bowl and walked it over, setting it in front of you with a raised eyebrow. You didn’t meet her gaze. You just set your coffee aside and picked up the spoon like someone about to make peace with their fate.

Ana was already chewing noisily beside you, bits of pastry stuck to her cheek.

Natasha crossed her arms, leaning against the counter again. “So let me get this straight,” she said, lips twitching. “You won’t share food with me, but she gets the last of your croissant and your breakfast?”

“She didn’t ask for it,” you said without looking up. “She demanded it with her eyes.”

“Right. So toddler mind control. That’s the explanation we’re going with.”

“She’s persuasive.”

“She’s one and a half.”

You glanced up then, finally, spoon midair. Your expression was blank, deadpan, and yet something in your eyes sparked with mischief.

“So am I,” you said.

And Natasha felt it—that little flicker again. The warmth that was growing far too easily in the quiet spaces between these moments. It settled somewhere under her ribs, soft and persistent.

You looked back down and took a bite of the oatmeal without flinching.

Ana, satisfied and full of croissant, leaned against the side of your arm and let out a sigh so deep it could only have come from the depths of her soul.

Natasha didn’t say anything else.

She just stood there, watching the two of you—both stubborn, both sleepy, both impossible—and thought, this isn’t going to stay simple, is it?

But she didn’t say that either.

She just smiled.And watched you keep pretending like you weren’t already halfway hers.Days passed like that—quiet, unspoken things folding themselves into the rhythm of the compound. You didn’t come looking for Ana, but she kept finding you anyway. And Natasha… well, she kept watching. Kept noticing the way your edges softened more each time.

Then came the briefing.

It had started as a simple mission briefing. Nothing classified, nothing urgent—just a routine strategy session with the new intel team that Natasha absolutely couldn’t reschedule. One hour, tops. Ana would barely notice she was gone.

She was so wrong.

Clint had been her first call. Obvious choice. He knew how to juggle five kids and a mission report without blinking. But the moment Natasha handed Ana over, the girl went stiff in his arms like a statue, then started wailing as if he’d personally betrayed her.

Wanda tried next. Ana let her hold her for a full five seconds before twisting away like a feral cat and screeching “NO!” in a tone that made two agents duck for cover.

Steve, bless him, had approached with his most diplomatic smile and a stuffed bear in hand, only to be met with the full force of toddler disdain. Ana didn’t scream that time—just buried her face in Natasha’s neck and growled.

And Natasha… Natasha was five minutes late to her briefing and dangerously close to losing her mind.

Which is why, when you happened to pass by—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, clearly heading for the lab and not remotely interested in babysitting—Natasha didn’t think.

She acted.

“Ana, sweetheart?” she whispered, shifting the toddler to her hip. “Do you want to go see her?”

Ana lifted her head.

Wide green eyes blinked once. Then a slow, devilish smile curled across her face.

That was all Natasha needed.

“Catch,” she said dryly.

You turned just in time to fumble and catch the small human now squirming gleefully into your arms like she belonged there.

“Wait—what the—”

“Thanks!” Natasha called over her shoulder, already halfway down the corridor before you could protest.

Ana squealed in delight.

Natasha didn’t look back.

She made it to the meeting just in time. And to her own surprise, she didn’t spend the whole thing worried. Something about knowing Ana was with you—despite the fact you hated children (or said you did)—had her oddly at ease.

By the time she wrapped up and returned to the common floor, it had been almost ninety minutes. The hallway smelled faintly of coffee and cleaning supplies. Bruce’s voice echoed from the open lab door, calm and methodical, talking through some kind of energy recalibration.

And there you were.

One hip leaned against the table, the other supporting Ana, who looked perfectly at home in the crook of your arm.

Your hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, your shirt was half-untucked and absolutely covered in cookie crumbs. Ana’s fingers were dusted with sugar. You were talking to Bruce about vibrational decay patterns in multi-core reactors, as if the weight of a toddler on your hip was completely natural. Your other hand gestured midair, precise, animated, still clutching a small whiteboard marker.

Ana watched your mouth move as if following every word.

Then she gagged—loudly and dramatically.

Not because of anything serious. Just… toddler flair.

You paused mid-sentence, looked down, and sighed. “Rude.”

Bruce snorted. “She takes after you.”

“She has better fashion sense.”

Ana giggled, then burrowed her face into your shoulder.

Natasha stood in the doorway, unnoticed for a second longer, just… watching. The way your body shifted automatically to balance Ana’s weight. The way you wiped her mouth with the edge of your sleeve without looking. The way you didn’t rush to give her back, or seem particularly bothered by the crumbs now stuck to your pants.

She cleared her throat.

You looked up, brows raised. “Hey.”

Natasha raised one eyebrow. “So… is this your new lab assistant?”

You looked at Ana, who blinked at her mother and clung just a little tighter.

“She works for cookies,” you said. “And occasionally heckles my equations.”

Natasha bit back a smile, folding her arms. “Well, she’s my daughter.”

“She’s very opinionated,” you said dryly, adjusting her on your hip. “She gagged at my thesis. I’m considering it a peer review.”

Ana giggled again, tucking her head against your collarbone.

Natasha stared at the two of you for another second, then finally stepped forward, brushing a few crumbs off your shoulder. Her fingers lingered a little longer than they needed to.

“You’re a mess,” she murmured.

You smirked. “I could be Your mess.”

She looked at you. And the words stuck somewhere behind her teeth, She didn’t say them.

Not yet.

Instead, she stepped forward, reaching her arms out gently. “Alright, peanut,” she said softly. “Come here.”

Ana blinked up at her mother, expression unreadable for a split second… then, without protest, reached out. You transferred her easily, and the little girl immediately curled into Natasha’s hold like she’d been waiting for it all along—her thumb going straight to her mouth, her head resting against the curve of her mother’s neck.

Warm.

Quiet.

Home.

Natasha’s hand rubbed small circles against her daughter’s back, and for a second, she just breathed her in. The scent of cookies, and your cologne, and a hint of vanilla shampoo clinging to soft hair.

“She’s full of sugar and attitude,” you said, brushing a crumb off your shirt.

Natasha glanced at you over Ana’s curls. “She’s exactly where she gets it from.”

You tilted your head, already sipping the coffee you’d left to cool. “You sure about that?”

Her smile curved lazily. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Then she walked away—Ana heavy and content in her arms, safe, sleepy, and smiling like someone who had everything she wanted in one place. Natasha had gone to her apartment at the Tower —just late enough for the city to fall into a quieter rhythm, just early enough that Natasha hadn’t had time to put up her usual walls.

Ana was half-asleep on her shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone, and Natasha held her like she was made of something finer than glass. There was oatmeal in her hair. Cookie crumbs on her onesie. A smudge of ink on her tiny palm, and no one knew how it got there.

But Natasha had seen it.

She had seen it.

She’d walked into that lab expecting chaos—Bruce hunched over a console, a loose wire sparking somewhere, maybe you arguing with JARVIS about protocols. But instead she found you standing still in the middle of it all, with Ana on your hip and your shirt covered in evidence of breakfast bribery.

You didn’t even pause the conversation with Bruce. You just kept talking about cellular decay patterns, as if you hadn’t realized Ana was happily gnawing on a pencil and gagging every time you used the word “neurotransmitter.”

And that sound you made—that little laugh when she fake-gagged for the third time?

It rewired something in Natasha.

Now she sat at the edge of Ana’s bed, staring down at the little culprit like she’d committed an unforgivable act of treason.

“You traitor,” she whispered.

Ana, half-asleep and blissfully unaware of her crimes, blinked lazily at her mother, thumb already in her mouth.

Natasha sighed, brushing a loose curl from her daughter’s cheek.

“You did this on purpose.”

Ana made a content hum and reached for her blanket.

“Don’t play innocent now,” Natasha murmured, tucking the soft fabric under her chin. “I was fine. You hear me? I had balance. I had boundaries. I had one thing—one tiny, simple rule that I lived by.”

Ana blinked again. Unbothered.

“Don’t fall for anyone.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, quiet and helpless.

“You were supposed to be the only love of my life, peanut. You. I planned for you. I fought for you. You were the only thing I ever let myself want.”

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ana’s hair.

“I walked into that room today and you were hers. Just—completely and shamelessly hers. You were giving her orders like a little general and she was just taking it. And smiling. She never smiles like that.”

Ana giggled softly, maybe in her sleep. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“Is this part of your long con? Huh? Were you trying to get yourself a stepmama? Because listen—if that’s your endgame, we need to have a serious strategy talk.”

Ana rolled a little, settling deeper into the mattress. Her small hand rested against her chest, and Natasha just… stared.

“She doesn’t even like kids, you know,” she continued, as if trying to justify this to someone who hadn’t been there. “She’s the one who leaves birthday parties early. She practically hisses when Clint brings his brood around. You sneeze near her with a juice box and she’s gone.”

She paused.

“But not with you.”

A slow breath pushed from Natasha’s lungs.

“She picks you up like you weigh nothing. She lets you shove half your breakfast into her mouth and doesn’t even blink. And I saw her yesterday—reading with one hand while you chewed on the other. I don’t even think she noticed.”

Ana’s breathing started to slow again, thumb slipping lazily from her mouth.

“And the worst part?” Natasha whispered. “She makes it look easy. Like maybe… maybe this whole thing isn’t a fluke. Like maybe she could actually stay.”

The confession hung in the dark like a sigh caught midair.

Natasha leaned down, resting her forehead against Ana’s tiny one.

“I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t want to see it coming. But you… You threw her right into the center of our orbit like it was nothing.”

She kissed her daughter again, voice teasing even as her chest ached.

“You couldn’t have picked someone older? Someone predictable? Someone who’s not Tony Stark’s daughter, for god’s sake?”

Ana didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Natasha ran a slow hand down her back, feeling the weight of love settle over her like a soft storm.

“You’re trouble,” she murmured. “But the best kind.”

Then she stood, brushing her fingers one last time across Ana’s cheek.

“You really couldn’t wait for me to fall first, huh?”

She flicked off the light.

Behind her, Ana slept soundly.

And Natasha stayed frozen in the doorway for just a moment longer… shaking her head to herself.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered, her voice low and wry—aimed at the girl down the hall who had no idea what she’d just done.

For everyone who comments on fanfics, thank you!

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Patience, darling (pt. 1)

vi x reader, 18+ themes!!

Semi-famous Vi who has you on a live with her for the first time and... isn't very good at waiting

Vi sort of assumed that once the rush of getting together had calmed down, her yearning for you would lessen a little. That you wouldn't always be all over each other. But the longer she's with you, she's starting to think maybe... that won't be the case.

You've been going out for some years now, and still even the briefest peck sends heat prickling down Vi's spine.

Normally she'll just pull you close without a second thought. She discovers it's worse—much worse—when she has to wait...

Mechanic Vi who has a super dedicated following for doing little "how to fix this in your car" videos for girls, and also for the photos she posts of her on her motorbike, which always go viral. She often does lives where she just chats to whoever's watching as she works, or cooks dinner or cleans up her workspace.

Her fans all know about your relationship, as she'll use any excuse to gush about you. Because you often work late, she's on live a lot as she's making dinner for when you get back, and her followers are always asking about you. It's gotten to the point where her followers collectivly refer to you as "Cupcake," a nickname she jokingly called you one time.

But... they've never seen you in any of her lives. Although she talks about you all the time, you're pretty private about your personal life, and so there's never anything identifying in her posts. Sometimes a photo that cuts off at the shoulders of a mystery girl leant up against her bike, Vi's hands wrapped snugly around your waist. You're also never in her "how to" videos, apart from an occasional quiet laugh or comment off camera, and you don't have any socials of your own.

Her fans are always begging to see you, and Vi always just smiles a little, saying coyly, 'Well, we'll see...'

One time she's reading through the comments, saying some out loud. It's a casual live today, she's just eating and chilling out, waiting for you to finish work.

'When's Cupcake coming home...' Vi reads aloud. She checks her watch. 'Any minute now,' she tells the chat, standing to take her plate to the sink then returning to the table where her phone's propped up against a jug of flowers—you love flowers, there are always some in the flat.

'Oh, you wanna meet her?' she asks, reading another question. Smiling a bit, she lifts a shoulder. 'Well, maybe I'll ask her when she gets back.' She gives the camera a wink. 'We'll see.'

A few minutes later there's the sound of the front door, then your heels clicking down the hall.

'Hey,' Vi turns to you with a smile as you enter the living room, a shopping bag over one arm and all your work bags over the other. You're still dressed for the office, a neat blouse and skirt.

'You on live?' you ask, toeing off your shoes and dropping your bags on a chair.

'Uh-huh.' Vi's looking at you in a way that tells you instantly she wants a kiss, but if she's on live you're not going to disturb her now. She holds out a hand to you. 'Wanna come say hi?'

'Say hi?'

Vi nods, hand still outstretched. She raises a questioning eyebrow, giving you the option of saying no if you're not comfortable with the idea. When you lift a shoulder in a little shrug, showing you're not fussed, a small smile tugs at Vi's lips. The chat is going crazy, comments coming in one after the other, as Vi turns back to the camera to say cheekily, 'She's a little shy.'

You roll your eyes, walking over to her. Standing beside her, the camera is angled so that your torso is cut off, and the chat can't properly see you yet. Vi looks up at you, her hand settling on your waist. For a moment you forget about the camera and everyone watching, reaching out to brush her hair back.

'Work okay?' Vi asks softly. It's been a long day and she's missed you, and it takes everything in her not to wrap her arms tight around your waist and tug you close.

'Mhmm.'

Vi smiles a little. 'Mhm?'

You hum again, unable to help smiling back. 'You?'

'Mhm,' Vi echoes. The way you're looking at her, teasing and playful, is enough to get her heart racing, and her eyes stray to your lips. She's about to tug you down before suddenly remembering the camera and turns back, clearing her throat, cheeks slightly red. The chat is rioting.

We're third wheeling so bad

HELP

kiSSKISSKISS

crying in single

IS THE TENSION IN THE ROOM WITH US

The comments make her snort with laughter, and she tugs gently on your waist, encouraging you to lean down.

'Budge up,' you say, nudging her knees for her to move a little and allow you to squeeze into the chair with her, but Vi only grins broadly, spreading her legs wider.

Rolling your eyes fondly, you lean down so the camera can see your face.

'I say move and she spreads her legs,' you tell everyone, before reaching out for another chair to drag it next to Vi. You've barely stretched out your hand when she makes a wounded noise.

'What are you doing?'

Turning, you find her staring up at you, looking ridiculously hurt.

'Uh, getting a chair?' you say, amused.

Vi makes a vague gesture at her lap. 'What, I'm not good enough?'

You can't help but laugh at her affronted pout, sliding into her lap and wrapping an arm around her neck. One strong hand instantly settles your waist, her other hand resting lightly on your thigh. Leaning towards the camera, you smile, giving a little wave.

'Hi everyone...' you pause to peer at the comments. 'She's so pretty,' you read aloud. 'Oh, I know!' you turn to face Vi, cupping her face and leaning down to press your nose briefly against hers. Vi's looking up at you, face tilted to meet yours, and there's only one word for her expression.

Adoring.

'She's the prettiest,' you smile, leaning back and giving Vi a very quick kiss on the tip of her nose that makes her laugh softly, the hand on your waist tightening a little. 'My pretty girl.'

'I think they were talking about you,' says Vi, tucking you more firmly against her and resting her chin on your shoulder. 'But thanks, love.'

Leaning forwards to read the comments again, you gasp in faked shock.

'Babe! They're all calling you a massive bottom.' You pretend to frown at the camera. 'How dare you!'

Turning to face Vi, there's a teasing smile playing at her lips as you cover her ears with your palms until she huffs a laugh.

'Don't listen to them,' you say, then, tucking a knuckle beneath her chin to keep her looking up at you, you lift a hand to your face so the camera can't see what you're saying as you mouth, 'you fuck me so good. '

You mean it to be playful, a little joke, but Vi's eyes instantly darken as the words leave your lips, her gaze dropping to your mouth as she visibly swallows, her jaw tightening. The hand she had resting loosly on your waist suddenly digs in, her nails scrunching the fabric of your office skirt.

You laugh softly, fond, knowing exactly what's on her mind.

'Patience,' you singsong. 'Not in front of the children, love.'

this love will find me when

😭 😭😭 😭 😭 😭😭

SHOULD WE LEAVE THEM TO IT

KISSKISSKISSKISS

Reading out the chat again, you can't help but laugh.

'Kiss?' you ask, turning to give Vi a kiss on the cheek. She rolls her eyes playfully, but her cheeks are flushed, the hand on your waist still gripping tightly.

You turn back to the camera, biting back a grin—you know just what you're doing and hell if you don't enjoy Vi's reaction to you. But then she leans up, her warm breath ghosting over your neck so you can't help but shiver, quickly lifting a hand almost on reflex to cover the camera because you know what Vi's like when she wants you, you know exactly how her control slips.

All she does, however, is brush her lips over the shell of your ear as she whispers, 'Fuck, princess, you just gonna tease me all night?'

There's a slight strain in her voice, and you know she's more worked up than she's letting on. Still, you're pretty sure you're both just teasing, just putting on a bit of a show for the live, so, confident that she won't do anything more... risky, you let your hand drop away from the camera, laughing as you reply softly, 'We'll see.'

guys they kissed i was the chair

omg?!?!!?

im giggling STOP

AJDBAJABWAKSJSJS

The comment makes you laugh. 'Yeah, I feel that,' you agree. Behind you, Vi drops her forehead onto your shoulder with a soft, bitten-off groan. 'Right!' you grin, 'we'll be pg from now on.'

You start chatting to everyone, asking people where they're from, answering their questions about your work. Vi is unusually quiet, chin resting on your shoulder and hand never leaving your waist. At some point she turns her face a little so you can feel her breath on your neck. Shallow and quicker than normal.

'You all good?' you ask her without turning your head, running a soothing hand along her arm as you look at her in the camera.

She gives you a small smile as she nods, but there's something tight about her expression.

'Sure?' you double check, before continuing with your conversation with the chat when she nods again.

Almost absently, the hand she had resting on your thigh twitches a little, and she starts lightly tracing a finger along your skin, teasingly brushing under the edge of your skirt. It sends a spark of heat dancing up your spine, and you grin again, sure you know what she's doing, what game she's playing.

Well, two can play at that game.

But, not breaking off your conversation with the chat, when you reach back to thread your fingers through her hair, tugging slightly, Vi makes a choked off sound near your ear, her fingers squeezing reflexively on your thigh as if she wasn't the one trailing a finger under your skirt a moment ago.

Glancing at her in the camera, she's got her teeth sunk into her lower lip, eyes trained on the back of your neck, exposed where your hair is twisted up for the office. You squint— it's hard to see properly in the camera, but her cheeks are definitely flushed.

Suddenly you're... not so sure this is a game at all.

cupcake i think you broke vi

vi blink three times if u need us to go

EYES NEVER LIE

she's down so bad whelp

WE SHOULD LEAVE BEFORE VI GOES INTO CARDIAC ARREST

'You all need to, like, go out in the sun or something,' you laugh, but a moment later you feel Vi shift a little beneath you where you're still sitting in her lap. The tiniest cant of her hips upwards and an accompanying quiet whine in your ear and oh—

This isn't a game. She needs you.

You genuinely thought all the teasing was for the live, but you know very certainly now that it's not just for show anymore. Right now, she's desparate for you. For a second you let your mind wander, wondering if she's wet enough that she's soaked through her boyshorts, your mouth going dry as Vi drops her head on your shoulder again, fingers tightening reflexively on your thigh.

Clearing your throat, you give the chat a bright smile.

'Right! So we have to make dinner now and ya know...' you give them a wink, 'things to see, lots to do—'

*people to do

queen you're gonna fuck don't lie to us

crying in single

lol you be fucking frrrr

😭 😭 so happy for you guys 😭 😭 100% happy and not jealous at all

sleeping on the highway xoxo

lmao same

'Hey, no sleeping on highways,' you smile. 'Okay, well bye everyone! I had a lovely time meeting you all.'

You say a few more quick goodbyes as the chat sends love and kisses, and the second you press the end button Vi lets out a funny, strangled noise.

'Fuck,' she hisses, pulling her head up from your shoulder, 'fuck fuck fuck—'

Laughing softly, you turn to face her and oh—

She's absolutely wrecked.

A flush is creeping down her neck, her bright blue irises almost entirely swallowed by pupil and eyes heavy-lidded in want, her lips bitten and swollen. The sight sends an aching wave of heat through you.

'Oh hey,' you say gently, turning so you're straddling her as both her hands come to grip your waist and she looks up at you, the expression on her face nothing short of pleading.

'Fuck, princess you can't do that,' she says, voice shaky. 'You can't—can't tease like that it's not fair, fuck—'

Closing her eyes, her head tips back a little as you press a thumb against her lower lip. Leaning forward, you brush your own lips over her neck, allowing your tongue to flick against her pulse point. At the movement Vi lets out a ragged sort of moan, a full body shiver going right through her as she bites off another curse.

'I'm sorry,' you whisper against her throat. You're trying to feel bad about it, you really are, but honestly? Knowing that you do this to her makes you feel nothing short of a goddess.

Kissing a line down to Vi's collarbones, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that her chest is heaving just from this brief moment of contact, you draw back, allowing your eyes to flick up. 'Let me make it up to you? I'll take care of you baby.'

pt 2 will be posted soon xo

I want everyone to know that this is me every time someone drops a comment on something I've written:

Reblog if you're okay with receiving asks for backstory info on any/all of your fics.

If not all, specify which ones in the tags.

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.

Bad Hair Day

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Day 3: I've merged a lovely request from an anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for 3rd of January, which is 'spite'.

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Natasha’s shoulders were back. Her head was high. In spite of the obvious danger. She walked calmly forward into certain death. 

The footage blurred and the screen went black. 

You replayed the tape.

Natasha’s shoulders were back. Her head was high. In spite of the obvious danger. She walked calmly forward into certain death. 

You replayed the tape. 

You stared at the dark screen. 

You could hear the others around you. Lots of talk about what might have gone wrong, what could be done. Plans, strategies and no action. 

The sounds echoed strangely as if the air in the room had turned to water.

‘We need to consider contingency plans for various outcomes.’ You listened to one man advise the group behind you. His tone was smug, you could tell he wanted a promotion. You swallowed rising bile. 

You replayed the tape one more time.

Natasha’s shoulders were back. Her head was high. In spite of the obvious danger. She walked calmly forward into certain death. 

You stood up. The people around you quietened. You cleared your throat and heard a different echo in the room. A quiet theater waiting for a stage performance.

In three sentences you stated your case.

‘We don’t know when she might reappear but we do know her location. We should send a medical team now. We should be ready when she needs us.’

Your voice cracked and you felt shimmering sympathy in the air. Your jaw tightened. Everyone knew the rumours about yourself and Natasha. 

The rumours were true but their sympathy wasn’t helpful.

You waited for someone senior enough to nod in approval. You listened to them instruct your suggestion back at you; to assemble a medical team and prepare the quinjet. 

You watched the right person type a code into the computer, updating your access to include the nearest quinjet. 

You walked out immediately. You were lying to a room full of spies. You didn’t want to wait. 

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You went straight to the flight deck. You boarded a quinjet and you flew away. 

The rumours were true. But they weren’t even close. 

You turned off the built-in quinjet comms when voices crackled through, filled with sharp concern. 

You only thought about Natasha as you flew. You didn’t need to replay the video. You could fill in more details than any camera. 

You thought about the grainy footage of her glossy shoulder length hair, straightened to perfection. 

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You were the one who’d straightened it that morning. 

Natasha smiled widely when you offered. It was that smile of sudden, unexpected happiness that always made her look free. You kissed her cheek when you saw her glance away with shyness. You pulled out a dining chair and motioned for her to sit. You left your phone on the table, playing some of her favourite songs.

You handed her a freshly made coffee and it made her laugh. Natasha said something about having a spa day and you laughed too. It was 5am and the smell of her instant coffee was better than the taste. You kissed the top of her head and promised to take her to a better spa someday. She laughed again, sipping her coffee like it was worth drinking.

You straightened each piece of her hair methodically, listening to Natasha hum along to the music from your phone. As you finished, you dragged your fingers slowly through her warm hair. Natasha sighed and leaned her head back against you. 

Natasha kissed you once in the doorway, before she left for her mission. Her lips brushed yours and then she pulled back and hesitated. Her thumb brushed your lower lip. You watched her force herself to walk away. 

It couldn’t be the last time you saw her.

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You landed the cloaked quinjet silently on the roof of the building. You turned on the built-in comms just long enough to tell them where you’d landed the quinjet, to ask them to tell Natasha where it was if her comms reengaged.

You left the jet, walked to the single door you found on the roof and broke the lock. Your heart hammered in your chest now. You tried not to think about being scared. 

You’d had rudimentary combat training but you’d never used it. You’d armed yourself appropriately but you weren’t as confident as you should have been. Combat training had been a while ago. Medics weren’t meant for this. 

You waited at the open rooftop door until you were sure that you didn’t hear anything below. Carefully, you walked down the rusted stairs to the top level of the building. You found yourself at the end of an empty hallway. You tried to tread lightly as you walked along it, heart in your mouth. 

As you walked, you thought of Natasha’s simple bravery. You lifted your head and you let your shoulders relax. You took a deep breath. Before you’d fully turned the corner at the end of the hallway, you were shot in the shoulder. 

You fell awkwardly to the floor and crawled instinctively back around the corner to safety. 

The wound was just below the shoulder. It was okay. It was probably okay. You weren’t sure if it was okay.

You held still and held pressure. You tried to count and take deep breaths. 

You pressed your back against the wall and waited for the sound of someone coming to finish the job. There was only more silence. 

You weren’t sure if you briefly lost consciousness or if only a few minutes passed. 

You heard someone take a sharp breath in front of you and knew immediately that it was Natasha. 

You opened your eyes and winced at the sudden brightness. Natasha had blood dripping from her chin to her neck. The ends of her hair were coated in it. You could tell it wasn’t her blood. You closed your eyes and smiled with relief. 

Natasha knelt down next to you. Her hands were shaking as they skimmed lightly over your own. She touched the area that you were holding pressure to. Your body tried to recoil. Natasha made a choked sound.

You cleared your throat. The world around you echoed with the slow haziness of trauma and blood loss.

‘Rooftop’s clear. I brought you a getaway car.’ You tried to sound calm but the pain was evident. 

Natasha’s green eyes were an inch away from you. She looked terrified. 

It took ten minutes to get you onto the roof and another few to get you onto the quinjet. 

Natasha didn’t speak until the ramp had closed behind you and the jet was in the air. 

You watched her bury her face in her hands. 

‘You could’ve died.’ She said quietly. Her voice was hoarse and tense. 

You swallowed every response you could think of. 

I wasn’t thinking. I had to help. I couldn’t bear the thought of you hurt and alone.

‘I was so scared.’ You whispered finally, carefully. 

Natasha crumpled in on herself. You watched her curl over the control panel. Her chest heaved.

‘I love you.’ She whispered at last, still not looking at you. ‘You give me spa days.’ 

You called her name softly and Natasha turned around. 

Her eyes were shining with tears. She moved desperately toward you. Her hands ran lightly again over your body. You realised it was her way of checking that you were still here.

‘I love you too.’ You told her softly. Natasha closed her eyes and she nodded hurriedly. You watched a tear roll down her cheek.

‘Okay.’ She mumbled, wiping the tear away with her sleeve and leaving a bloodstain on her cheek. ‘So don’t even think about dying.’

You gave her a long look, breathing still shallow from pain and heart too full for words. 

After a moment, Natasha became self-conscious.

‘What?’ She checked unsurely.

‘Nothing.’ You sighed, fighting not to smile. ‘It’s just, you’ve ruined your nice hair.’

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Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

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