𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

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

word count: 4905

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

Part 1

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

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ 　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ 　　 　˳ 　 　 　 　 　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 ₊

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

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

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

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

And that terrified her.

Because she’d started loving you.

More than she meant to.

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

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

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

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

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

And then the door opened.

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

Natasha gave a breathless laugh. “Thanks.”

“I brought soup.”

“You’re a menace.”

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

And you let her.

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

It had never been temporary.

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

Only for a few seconds.

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

You did.

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

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

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

“It’s literally canned soup, Romanoff.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha blinked. “You figured?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t look up. “I know.”

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

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

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

And Natasha smiled.

God help her, she smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised a brow. “Mine?”

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

“She is enough.”

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

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

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

She just smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you… You filled the rest in.

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

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

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

But she smiled anyway.

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

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

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

You didn’t see her watching you.

You didn’t have to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha opened her eyes.

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

Eventually, curiosity pulled her from the couch.

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

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

She was asleep. In the bath.

Completely, utterly at peace.

And so were you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha blinked. “I am not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was.

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

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

Then, finally, she stepped into the bathroom.

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

You were supposed to be a complication.

Instead, you were comfort.

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

To quiet nights and lavender baths.

To soft smiles and someone else cooking soup.

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

Maybe not just someone.

Maybe you.

The water had helped.

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

And paused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t say it. But she smiled.

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

“I can stay.”

Natasha blinked up at you.

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

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

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

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

Your brows lifted. “What, here?”

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

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

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

You turned your head on the pillow to face her.

“You sure about this?”

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

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

You didn’t answer.

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

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

The room had gone quiet.

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

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

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

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

Eventually, your voice broke through the dark.

“Do you miss it?”

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

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

Natasha took a long breath. Then shook her head.

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

You nodded, slow. Processing.

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

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

You looked over at her. “And now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Natasha said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” Natasha asked.

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

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

“She does have good taste.”

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

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

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

Natasha didn’t answer right away.

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

Trying for them.

So she gave you the simplest answer she could.

“You already are.”

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

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

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

She just let you do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she made it feel like you were finally home.

sugar, sugar | v.a

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

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

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

word count: 5.5K

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

— TWO

Making protein muffins was harder than you thought.

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

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

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

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

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

Would she think you were trying too hard?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, cupcake. Those for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The people at the store are very lucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?” Your smile widens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please say yes, you internally begged.

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

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

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

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

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

“See you, Vi.”

You felt like throwing up from your nerves.

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

from vi ♥︎ | Do you have any options?

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

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

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

from vi ♥︎ | Fuck, you look good in both

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

to vi ♥︎ | violet :(

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

from vi ♥︎| I’m serious

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

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

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

to vi ♥︎ | really?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, she scared you a lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you push through.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It made her all the more attractive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi nods slowly in agreement at your words.

“And Ekko?” She hums.

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

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

“On your marks,” he yells, “get set.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit, are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catching you off guard, you ponder for a moment.

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

“Just… wondering.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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. 

.

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. 

.

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.

.

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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─── Ⅵ CHAPTER ONE: SHUT UP AND KISS ME

violet; 4,711 words; fluff, enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, wlw, the gays can't communicate, college parties, toxic ex!cait, impulsive!reader, drama as all living fuck, no "y/n"

summary: in which you decide to go to yet another party vi's going to be at. consequences ensue.

a/n: i know its late but its still the 30th in cali!!! enjoy the ENEMIES part of enemies to lovers!!!! <3

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ IT TURNS OUT THAT Vi does, in fact, remember you. And, it also seems like she’s the type to hold a grudge.

Because three days later, when you’re running through a few off-ice warmups while the hockey team finishes up their morning practice, you distinctly hear her challenging one of her teammates to a race even as everyone else is clearing off the ice.

You groan, dropping back onto the bench and frowning as you start to lace up your skates.

“Great, now I’ve gotta skate on fucked up ice before the mid-day zamboni — really fucking great —”

“Got something you wanna say to my face, princess?”

Your eyes jerk up, and there’s Vi, standing not even a foot from you, her helmet tucked under one arm, her stick in the other, her hair a sweat-slicked mess that somehow still looks infuriatingly attractive. You narrow your eyes.

“Nope. Just… talking to myself.”

“I… don’t think so, sweetcheeks,” she says, taking a few steps forward even as you stand up. Like this, your eyes are barely level, your own skates giving you a solid few inches, but she still manages to look down at you as a smirk twists her lips.

You puff out a breath, feeling a wild thumping curling up your throat as you stare up at her, your fingertips going cold even as heat rushes into your cheeks.

“Fine,” you say, “you’re really that curious?”

Vi shrugs, “I mean, you seem to like dolling out unsolicited opinions so,” she pins you with a harsh look, “What’s another one to add to the collection, huh?”

You stiffen, and for a second, something breaks in Vi’s expression before it melds back into one of caustic curiosity. She looks like a beartrap sprung on a hair-pin trigger, her jaw clenched, her eyes hard.

“Huh, never thought you’d be such a glutton for punishment,” you say, the words dripping from you, slow as poison, and somewhere in the back of your mind, your fight or flight response is telling you that this is a bad, bad idea, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from taking half a step closer, even though Vi’s probably twice your size and can bench three times your body weight — “But then again, you did stay in a relationship with an emotionally manipulative bitch who swapped you out the second she could get her hands on someone better —”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t know anything —!”

“Hey, hey!” A pair of large hands yanks Vi back just as she’s about to lunge towards you; another thinner pair of arms loops through yours, tugging you back a few steps.

“You stay the fuck out of this, Jayce!”

“Darling, what on earth is going on?” you turn to find Mel, her cheeks dusted in gold, her hands firm on your arms, as Jayce forcibly wrangles Vi back.

You swallow around the vitriol threatening your lips and shake your head, turning away from Vi.

“Nothing, just… I was annoyed that the hockey team always fucks up the ice after their practices —”

“Oh, you think we fuck up the ice?” Vi’s voice cracks like a gunshot in the vast rink, and several of the other girls from the hockey team have come jogging back, placing their hands on Vi’s shoulders to keep her from steamrollering into you. “You know how much precious practice time we’ve wasted filling up those massive holes you guys leave with your stupid little toe-pick jumps?”

You roll your eyes, anger flaring hot and high in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, so sorry, didn’t know you guys could still see with the sustained brain damage you all must have from slamming into each other all the time.”

“Fuck you.”

You scoff, twisting back with a viperous smirk.

“In your wildest dreams, six.”

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh… didn’t know you knew my number, princess.”

“It’s written on your face — or have all your previous hookups been so stupid they can’t even read —”

“And what kind of tomfoolery is this?”

Everyone freezes at the sound of Amara’s voice. You bite down on your lips and take a step back as the small, gray-haired woman strides through, her hands behind her back, her chin held high.

“Sorry, Amara — it’s nothing,” Jayce says, jerking Vi behind him as she tries to open her mouth to speak.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” Amara says, her words smooth as a river in spring thaw, and nearly just as frigid.

Guilt creeps up your spine as she scans over the hockey team with marked distaste.

“Perhaps I ought to let Vander know that his girls are once again causing a —”

“Don’t, Amara. It was — it was my fault.” You shake off Mel’s hands and slot yourself between Jayce and Amara, ignoring the the disbelieving snort from Vi.

Amara’s eyes land on you, and for a second, they soften. Still, she tilts her head, eyes sharp as a hawks as you twist your fingers behind your back.

“Your fault, darling?”

You nod, “Yeah, I — I was annoyed that they were carving up the ice, so I — I picked a fight —”

Amara sighs, “Yes… well, I can’t blame you, but you know it’s not good rink etiquette.”

“I know,” you say, hanging your head.

Amara tuts, “As long as you know,” she reaches up to pat your cheek before marching off towards the rink-side boxes to set up the music. Behind you, Jayce releases Vi’s arms with a sigh.

“Martyr,” Vi coughs as she shoulders passed you, flanked by a few of the hockey girls, casting dirty looks over their shoulders before disappearing into the locker rooms.

You close your eyes, take three deep breaths, and then step onto the ice.

“It was an ass thing to say.”

“As long as you know —”

“But I feel like she took it way too seriously, y’know?”

Jayce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slumps down into the booth in the dining commons, shoving half an entire banana into his mouth as he pins you with a look.

“Or maybe, you can just apologize —”

You crinkle your nose, prodding at your yogurt bowl, toying with a spoonful of blueberry flavored granola.

“Can’t you just… like tell her I’m sorry or something?” you ask, pushing out your bottom lip in a signature pout. Jayce only swallows the rest of the banana before digging into a truly dauntingly sized ham and cheese sandwich.

“’m not doing your dirty work for you,” he says, his expression lighting up as Mel slides gracefully into the booth next to you, pressing a napkin into her lap.

“And what’s this about dirty work?” she asks, a teasing grin on her lips.

You sigh, “I’m asking very nicely —”

Jayce holds up a hand, “No, you’re trying to get me to apologize to Vi for you — which basically defeats the whole point of an apology.”

“No! It’s because I know you guys are like… platonic gym soulmates or — whatever —” you wave your hands through the air even as Mel laughs into her salad.

Jayce huffs, “Or,” he catches Mel’s eye, and you feel a distinct spate of unease work it’s way down your spine at the way Mel’s lips split into a devious grin.

“Or?” you prompt, setting down your spoon and sitting back, looking between the pair of them with mounting apprehension.

Mel gently places a hand on your arm, “You could just apologize to her yourself —”

“At the party this Saturday —”

“No — no way —” you put up both hands, “the last time I went to a party with you guys —”

“You got to make out with the hottest girl on the entire hockey team,” Mel soothes.

You bite your lips, eyes cutting down to your lap. You hadn’t told her. You hadn’t told anyone. So far as she and Jayce knew, the only slight against Vi you’d made is calling her ex a ‘manipulative bitch’, which — well.

“Right, and now she hates me.”

Mel sniffs, “You can’t be that bad at kissing. I refuse to believe it.”

Jayce snickers; Mel shoots him a glare. He reaches for the bag of free chips and pops it open with one hand.

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? You offer her another kiss to make up for your little tantrum the other day?” Mel asks, flicking a thin, gold-laced braid over her shoulder.

You groan, sinking into your seat as you fold your arms over your chest, weighing the options.

You did feel bad for what you’d said. But you also tried to shield her from what you’re sure would’ve been much worse than what she’d gotten given Amara’s track record of tattling to Vander.

And then, unbidden, comes the memory of Vi’s sultry grin as she’d pinned you against the frat house door, her mouth inches from yours, the solid muscles of her torso pushing against yours as she’d leaned in and —

“— at a sorority house, so the space’ll be much nicer,” Mel promises, turning towards you again, her eyes expectant.

You blink, your mind catching up to her words a second later as you sigh.

“I — sure, fine — but I can’t stay too long. I’ve got Skate America in two weeks —”

Jayce ruffles your hair, “Yeah, so do we.”

You shove his massive arm off you with a half-hearted glare, “Yeah, but I’m not made like you guys. I can’t just literally skate into a podium. I actually have to practice.”

“Oh don’t get all shy now, little miss triple axel.”

“I’ve only landed it twice in practice, and I’m pretty sure one of them was underrotated —”

Mel shakes her head, “And there she goes again —”

“Always so humble —” Jayce adds.

You groan and bury your face in your arms, “Will you leave me alone?”

Mel laughs, “We will if you come to the party on Saturday,” she sing-songs, nudging you with her elbow.

Jayce slings an arm around your shoulders, shaking you slightly.

“And Vi’s for sure going.”

You peak up at him, “How… do you know?”

Jayce smirks, “Cause. Her ex is gonna be there.

You blink.

“Oh.”

Mel pillows her cheek on her palm, tapping her perfectly manicured nails along the table, a Cheshire-grin spread across her lips like warm butter.

“With her new girlfriend.”

You whip around towards her.

“Oh.”

This was a terrible idea, you think, as you step into the sorority house, tugging on the edge of your dress, the hem of which barely skims your mid-thigh, the modest, high-necked front contrasted with the plunging back line that settles in a graceful slope of material just above the curve of your ass.

“Quit fidgeting,” Mel says, slapping at your hand as you try once again to readjust the bottom of the dress.

“I can’t — I feel like I’m gonna flash the world — and it’s a tossup if it’s the front of the back!” you hiss, jerking the hemline of the dress down as it slowly starts to ride up your thigh again.

Mel tuts, “Please, as if this is anywhere near as short as the performance outfits that we have to wear —”

“That’s different!” you insist, reaching out to grab two cups of something and shoving one at Mel, “We’ve got tights on under those!”

Mel rolls her eyes, sniffing at the drink before making a face and dropping it off on a random surface. You take an absent sip of your own drink, gagging immediately at the taste.

“Eugh, oh god what do they put in those?” you ask, dropping your own solo cup on a table as Mel drags you through the shifting crowd.

The party’s already going in full swing, but she’d been right, the space is nicer — wider and less cramped, the ceilings high and the music less abrasive.

“Where’re we going?” you ask, even as Mel guides you towards the heart of the party and somehow manages to conjure up two glasses of what looks like champagne, handing one to you, and taking a sip of the other one herself.

“Finding Vi,” she says, to which you balk, shaking your head.

“Mel!”

She turns with an exasperated sigh, “What?”

“C-can’t we just —” you motion towards the party, “try to have a good time? I mean — maybe she’s not here — maybe she wanted to have a quiet night in —”

“Speak of the devil —” Mel’s face breaks into a grin as she spots someone over your shoulder and you whip around to see —

Caitlyn Kiramman, the veritable goddess of track and field, all dark hair and endless long legs, standing there with her new girlfriend Maddie Nolen, a cute, if slightly awkward girl, with strawberry blond hair cropped in a truly abominable bob-cut.

The room seems to part for them, Caitlyn tugging Maddie forward with their fingers laced, looking not so unlike the Queen of England, followed by her loyal procession of ginger-backed corgis.

You take a few steps back, watching them with raised brows, wondering what on earth Caitlyn might’ve seen in Maddie, given that she’d had Vi seemingly wrapped around her pinky finger just months before.

But then, you see Vi — her expression caught somewhere between hurt and barely scraped together bravado, her fists at her sides as Caitlyn also spots her, approaching with Maddie half a step behind.

“Fancy seeing you here, Violet,” Caitlyn says, her voice carrying over the crowd even as everyone tries to avert their gaze or pretend like they aren’t listening in.

Vi puffs out her chest, “Sure, yeah. Super fancy. What, d’you think I’d be banned from the sorority house or something?”

Caitlyn shrugs, “Something like that.”

Vi narrows her eyes, her knuckles going white, “Sorry cupcake, ‘fraid not even you can keep me from havin’ a good time.”

“So I see,” Caitlyn says. Maddie peers around her shoulder with wide eyes and a shy smile.

“Name’s Maddie, it’s nice to meet —”

“See you’ve already replaced me,” Vi says, folding her arms over her chest, her biceps bulging, the vein in her jaw ticking dangerously as she looks Maddie over.

Caitlyn smirks, “See you haven’t.”

Vi seems to deflate slightly at that, her arms coming loose, “Actually I —”

You find yourself moving before you can stop yourself, pushing through the gathering crowd till you can throw your arms around Vi’s neck, bowling into her with a simpering squeal of —

“Vi! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Vi’s expression morphs from one of shock to a momentary flash of suspicion as you meet her eyes and bat your lashes in what you hope is an inconspicuous way before turning towards Caitlyn and Maddie, a 100-watt smile hitched over your lips.

“Oh! And who’s this?”

Caitlyn narrows her eyes, looking you over with an imperialistic eye.

“Caitlyn — Kiramman… pleasure.”

“Oh wow! You’re the — the girl who’s really good at hurdles, right?” you say, even as Vi stifles a laugh at your side, her hand settling around your waist.

Caitlyn’s eyes harden as her lips thin into a pale line. Anyone who knows her would know that hurdles are her worst discipline, and that she’d dropped nearly every single one on her last major competition.

“And I’m Maddie… Nolen. So you must be —” Maddie reaches out, but not before Caitlyn takes your hand instead.

“The Ice Princess — our very own Olympic hopeful. Best of luck to you in the Grand Prix series this year. I heard you had something of a nasty fall early in your season last time… you oughtta be more careful this time around,” Caitlyn says, looking you up and down, even as you smile up at her, blissfully sweet and unbothered. Your cheeks are starting to hurt.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you flap your hand, crinkling your nose as you lean forward, using the motion to reach down and give Vi’s hand a soft squeeze, your eyes pinned on Caitlyn’s as you say —

“I never make the same mistake twice.”

And before she has the chance to respond, her jaw dropping open, you turn towards Vi with a bright grin, placing a palm against her chest, leaning right into her space.

“C’mon, let’s go get a drink, hm?”

“Y-yeah, princess — sure —”

You tug her away before the facade crumbles entirely, the pair of you dodging around curious eyes till you end up in the thankfully empty kitchen. Her hand pulls from yours the second you close the door behind you.

“What the hell —”

You hold up both your hands, falling back three steps to put some distance between you and her.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It — it just looked like…” you shrug, casting your eyes around the kitchen even as Vi huffs, folding her arms across her chest to lean back against the door, “It looked like you could use a hand, that’s all.”

“I didn’t need anyone to rescue me,” she snipes, her voice hardening around the edges.

You nod, “Yeah, I know. But…”

“But what?”

You swallow, turning your back to Vi as you pace around the large, marble-tiled kitchen, “I — I felt bad for — for what I said last time… so…”

You turn around just in time to catch Vi’s incredulous expression, seconds before she breaks into a sharp bark of laughter.

“Wow, my hero — my very own white-knight. Really, who needs Prince Charming when you’ve got —”

“Okay! I get it — you didn’t need saving — holy shit you don’t have to rub it in.”

You sigh, leaning up against the kitchen island, glaring down at a half-empty bottle of vodka sitting in the sink before reaching out to grab it and rummaging around for two empty shot glasses.

Vi watches you with an amused grin twitching at her lips.

Finally, you manage to find a few shot glasses tucked into the far corner of a cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, but your fingers don’t quite reach. And a second later, a body presses solid and warm to your back as Vi’s hand reaches in to pull two of the glasses out, placing them squarely on the counter.

She shoots you a lopsided grin as you watch her expertly pull two shots from the vodka bottle and slide one towards you.

“Mazel,” she smirks, tossing it back and smacking her lips.

You eye your own shot for a second longer before squeezing your eyes shut and tossing it back as well, immediately coughing, fighting to keep your gag reflex from taking over, pressing the back of your hand to your lips.

Vi’s laughter is loud, but not unkind as she reaches out to tug the shot glass from you, setting everything back into the sink.

“So. You’re felt bad, did you?”

You groan, dropping your head into your arms.

“I mean — yeah — it was —” you take a deep breath, bracing your palms against the kitchen island, eyes fixed on where your fingertips are slowly going white, “It was a shitty thing to say.”

“Mm. Which one? Mentioning my breakup right before I was about to kiss you? Or calling my ex a manipulative bitch?”

You wince, chewing on the inside of your cheek, though when you look up, it’s to find Vi smiling.

“Either? Both? Ugh… alcohol makes me —” you gesture at your head, wiggling your fingers as Vi watches, her smile sliding from amused into indulgent, “misplace the brain-mouth barrier a bit.”

“Yeah? And uh… do you skate drunk a lot? Or was that little exposition special just for me?”

You swallow, feeling the heat of the vodka creeping back up your throat as your cheeks prickle.

“That was…” you trail off, crinkling your nose as you cast about for a plausible response, but coming up empty, you sag against the kitchen counter, throwing up your hands, “I just — I’m not the best with impulsivity, okay?”

Vi chuckles, nodding, “So… I can see — I mean, even without the shouting match at the rink, that stunt you pulled back there with Cait —” she lets out a low whistle, shaking her head, “Gotta say, princess, I’m impressed. Pretending to be my new girlfriend in front of her new girlfriend? That’s… that’s ballsy.”

You let out another groan, sliding down the side of the kitchen island to sit on the floor, pulling your knees into your chest and glaring half-heartedly at the bottom of the fridge. A second later, Vi flops down to join you, an arm propped on her knee, her eyes caught on the shape of you, your pouty lips and the slope of your nose.

“Seriously though, when you made that hurdles comment — I almost lost it —”

You break into a bright peal of laughter, head thumping back against the cupboards as Vi allows herself a chuckle.

“Yes, yes — I’m kind of bitch. Point made,” you say, casting her a sidelong glance.

She shrugs, “Then I guess I’ve got a type, so…”

You bite down on your bottom lip, mulling over her words.

“So?” you ask.

She sighs, “So. What’s next?”

You frown, “Next?”

She fixes you with an incredulous look, “Yeah. Like — what comes after you so gallantly rescuing me from my oh-so-wicked ex by announcing that we’re dating in front of half our graduating class?”

You open your mouth, gaping at her.

A second passes. Then another.

Vi stares. Then, she bangs her head so loudly against the cupboards behind you you almost jump out of your skin.

“Come on! Are you kidding?! You’re telling me you did all this without any kind of plan?” She pushes to her feet seconds before you scramble up onto yours, frowning defensively in her direction.

“I told you! I’m — I’ve got an impulse problem and impulsivity doesn’t exactly lend itself to perfect foreplaning —”

But the pair of you break off as the unmistakable sounds of voices echoes down the hallway leading towards the kitchen. And in particular one voice — low and pitched and accented.

“Fuck —” Vi swears, looking suddenly stunned, her eyes wide, her whole body going rigid, “We’ve — we’ve gotta hide or something —”

You blink at her for a brief second before huffing out a breath and reaching up to jerk her down towards you. She barely catches herself against the counter, her hands braced on either side of your hips as you hiss against her lips —

“Oh c’mon — don’t be stupid —”

“What the hell are you —”

“Just shut up and kiss me —”

The door swings open behind you and laughter pours in, though it abruptly cuts off as Caitlyn freezes in the doorway, Maddie nearly smashing into her, and Mel behind her as everyone else jostles to try and see what the hold up is.

“Oh… whoops,” Maddie says, letting out an embarrassed chuckle as she tries to turn away from the sight of Vi and you caught in the throes of what looks like an intense make out session, Vi’s fingers digging divots into the skin of your hips, your fingers curling in her hair.

You let out a tiny whimper as Vi hoists you up onto the kitchen island, slotting herself between your legs, even as Caitlyn makes an affronted noise behind you, folding her arms.

“I see this room’s taken,” she says, voice flat and dangerous.

But Vi’s only response is to trail a hand up to your jaw, cupping it in her palm so she can slot her lips more comfortably against yours, letting out a satisfied hum at the way you soften into her as she sinks her teeth into you bottom lip.

Caitlyn scoffs, rolling her eyes even as Maddie tugs her back down the hallway. Everyone else jostles back into the main room as well, giggling and gossiping about this exciting new development.

Mel, though, clears her throat as she and Jayce share a look before closing the kitchen door behind them.

“Right, that’s enough you two —” she says, to very little avail.

Because somewhere between one breath and the next, you’d lost yourself to the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours, the heady, pulsing friction of her body as she cradles you against her, the way you can still taste the remnants of that vodka shot on her tongue as she licks into your mouth.

Faintly, you wonder if this might’ve turned out differently if you’d just kept quiet on that first night and let her kiss you in that dirty frat room.

But the thought is quickly dashed by a deep groan thrumming from Vi’s chest to yours as you lean back into the kiss, running your thumb down along her neck, pressing into the fluttering pulse point just below her jaw.

A whine curls up your throat as Vi’s fingers work beneath the hem of your little black dress, teasing at the skin of your thigh.

“Hey! Earth to horny lesbians!”

You pull back with a gasp, and Vi resurfaces as well, the both of you panting, your lips separating with a sound not unlike a plunger being released from a recently blocked sink. You feel your head spin, the room pressing in around you before expanding back out, even as Vi drags the back of her hand across her mouth, stumbling back a few steps.

“W-what?”

Jayce lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? That’s what got you?”

Mel sighs, rolling her eyes, “I think it’s time you explain yourselves.”

You lick your lips, hopping off the kitchen island even as Vi runs a hand over her face, her eyes strangely fractured, her cheeks dusted high with color.

“Well you were the one that said I should offer her another kiss to make up for — Vi? Where are you going?”

But Vi’s already making for the door, her shoulders hunched, her fists clenched at her sides. You take a few steps towards her but stop dead as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Sorry — I — I gotta go —” her voice is hoarse, and the look on her face when she glances over her shoulders at you — that more than anything convinces you to let her go.

You like to think that you’d seen experienced a good number of human emotions on the broad spectrum. Skating forces you to tap into a lot of them — anger, excitement, joy, sorrow, jealousy, vindication, passion.

But you’d never seen someone look so utterly broken.

“Wait, Vi —” Jayce tries to stop her but Mel places a hand on his arm, and Vi brushes passed them both, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway beyond without another word.

You sag against the kitchen island as both Mel and Jayce turn their eyes back onto you.

“Right.” Mel rounds on you even as you shrink back against the fridge, chewing on your lips.

Jayce groans, looking between you and Mel before marching over to the table and pulling up a few chairs.

“Everyone sit. If we’re gonna talk about this, we might as well be comfortable.”

You eye the chairs for a few seconds before sliding over and dropping into one of them.

Mel perches on the edge of another as Jayce leans himself against the dining table, arms folded loosely across his chest.

“So?” Mel prods.

You take a deep breath.

“So… at that frat party… when me and Vi were… supposed to kiss? Yeah, well… we… kinda, sorta… didn’t.”

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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. 

I have a whump prompt I found on pintrest: "Baths were used as a form of torture against reader. They were forced to sit in icy water for hours on end or they were repeatedly held under until they blacked out. When they get rescued, and then are given a bath, they freak out and try to stay away from the water."

Title: Brackish

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanov/Romanoff

Word Count: 3280

Warnings: Mentions of torture, mentions of mind control, ice baths, abuse, starvation, drowning, panic attacks, imprisonment, vomiting, blackouts, Canon-typical violence, horrible grammar. I stuck with the request, please respect your triggers!!!

Summary: Agent Romanoff is sent into an interrogation room to break the only prisoner they pull from a Hydra compound, but things don't go exactly as planned.

[A/n: God damn, I haven't written about Romanoff in so long, it truly does feel so good to write about her again and it seems like Tumblr is seriously lacking in fics lately! I miss my bby girl!]

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Natasha Romanoff’s eyes were something cold and calculated that reminded you too much of the cell that the unnamed agency had pulled you from twenty-four hours before. They’d seated her across from you in the darkened room, the cold metal chair digging into your spine uncomfortably, but comparatively comfortable compared to the floor you’d slept on for an indiscernible amount of time.

She regarded you with discontent, an icy type of green that you were sure would give way to a critical glare in a matter of moments. Still, you didn’t waver. Something she wasn’t used to. They’d sent her in after the overly-muscled-man with a soft blue stare and another one with a goatee from the early 2000’s and an attitude that matched.

You hadn’t broken for either of them. It was the classic good cop, annoying cop routine. Natasha Romanoff was clearly the bad cop. They hadn’t pulled her at first and you knew it was because of where they had pulled you from. A facility that was filled with nothing but bad cops. Worse than bad cops. Cops that had dissected you, pulled out all of your organs and stitched you back up incorrectly just for the hell of it.

“Do you speak?”

Natahsa’s own voice was raspy from disuse. She’d given up on the silent game now that it had been over an hour. Her manicured fingers had fallen onto the metal table and left rings of warmth on the surface. You watched as the disappeared.

She reached across the length of the table, movements assured. You tracked her with your stare but still flinched when she placed her warm fingers under her chin and lifted it, eyebrows furrowing. “There’s a scar over your larynx. Did they cut deep enough?”

You leveled her with a glare of your own and wrenched away from her touch. Yes, you could talk. They’d spared your vocal chords. You just didn’t want to speak with her. With any of them, for that matter. They’d taken you from one cage and thrown you right into another. Even if this one had heating and a plush bed it was a cage all the same.

A huff left you, instead. You crossed your arms over your chest and sat back in your seat, lifting a sculpted eyebrow. If you looked hard enough you swore that there was the slightest curve of a smile on Natasha’s lips. You wondered if they were interrogating the others that they pulled from the wreckage of the Hydra base, or if they only had eyes on you. If she only had eyes on you.

“Family, then?” She tapped her fingers impatiently. “Anyone we can notify?”

You tilted your head to the side, keeping your expression neutral. Though the subject matter was a sore spot, something raw like sunburn after a long day at the beach, it was something that your brain had forced itself to forget for your own good. Her tactics were useless.

Truthfully, you could feel exhaustion tugging at the back of your eyes. It would be easy to give up now, to slump forward and lay your head on the cool exterior of the table. Would it be so bad to give up to an agency such as this one?

When muscle-man was in here earlier, you could smell the sweetness of coffee on his breath. It was laced with hazelnut, and it was oh so different than the sour stench of alcohol that often joined the spit that coated your face when Hydra agents swished saliva around their mouths and flung the viscus at you.

Goatee was well groomed and slicked his hair back with a beautifully scented hair gel that carried an evergreen odor. It was the closest you had gotten to the outdoors in decades. You had nearly folded then, for the simple fact that you wanted to close your eyes and imagine what it would feel like to brush the tips of your fingers against the sappy needles.

Agent Romanoff flicked her gaze past your unmoving form to the reflective glass behind you. A two-way mirror, you knew. They’d been watching you for ticks this entire time, some indication that you would break and then shatter so they could pick you back up in your moment of need. They were talking to her through an earpiece that was miniscule enough that you couldn’t see it. Impressive.

“Okay,” She leaned back in her own chair, defensive demeanor seeming to soften in the slightest. Her jaw unclenched and her eyebrows unfurrow. There was a beauty to her that was unassuming even in the blaring lights above. This time her voice was lower. “Alright. Well, if you’re going to be stubborn, we might as well clean you up, get some food in you. We can’t have you rotting away in an interrogation room, can we?”

No- you supposed they couldn’t. Hydra would do the exact opposite. They’d haul you into a cell that was soaked with the scent of urine and cold and desolate and scattered with the blood of others. Already, this was an improvement.

You wouldn’t let them know that. You wouldn’t let Agent Romanoff know that.

There were cuffs around your wrists, bound tightly, but not uncomfortably. The metal was heavy, and your arms hung at your front. You allowed yourself to be hauled to your feet with dizzying deftness. Unsteady, nauseous. Natasha smelled nice and clean, and her body was warm just from its proximity to you. Base instincts told you to flinch away. Baser instincts told you to crash into her. You fought both valiantly and allowed her to lead you into a plain looking hallway.

Neither of you spoke and you were thankful for Agent Romanoff letting you set the pace. It was hard to walk. Whitehall would bark out orders and you were often hauled to your feet, dragged with a quickness that would give you no choice but to fight until layers of tissue ripped from your fingers as you fought. And fight you did. Teeth and nails until everything was raw and bloodied.

Now that you were alone, mostly alone, away from the prying eyes of the men behind the two-way glass, you relaxed your shoulders and felt the breath in your lungs leave with a little less tension. Unlabeled rooms were on either sides of the corridor, yellowed light spilling from select ones, your stare tracing the golden color.

Eventually, Natasha stopped at one that looked like all the others. She used a keycard on her belt until a magnetic click sounded. When she pushed it open it reveled something of a hotel room. Windowless, but cozy: a queen-sized bed, a television with a screensaver of a beach with flowing water, a desk and a closet, a bathroom that was larger than the cell Hydra had kept you in for an indefinite amount of time.

 It was a hell of a prison, but the door locking with a mechanical click reminded you that it was a prison all the same, your gaze hardening against the outline of the entrance at the noise. Agent Romanoff watched you carefully. Tenderly. It squeezed at your chest.

“I’m going to take these off now.”

Natasha edged her fingers against the cuffs, pressing the right combinations that released them. Instinctively, you rubbed your hands against the raw skin. They weren’t too tight. Just phantoms of the metal and the freedom that you were craving.  She tossed them on the bed with little regard.

You tracked her as she walked into the bathroom, flicked on the lights. “I’m sure you want some privacy right now. I’ll stay in the room but you have to crack the door. Standard precautions and all that. I’m sure you understand. We can’t leave you alone just yet.”

Natasha turned to you, green eyes still filled with a tepid worry. “Bathtub is just through there, already run. Towels and a fresh set of clothes are set out.”

Your fingers tightened around your stomach with fervor. It was an involuntary motion. The fabric that was stained and crusted in your own blood and sweat crinkled under the motion. It would be noticeable to a blind man and it was certainly noticeable to a trained agent. You must have paled. Must have shown some form of trembling panic. Your façade had cracked in the slightest form that piqued Natasha’s interest.

“I can sit with you, if you’d like.” Natasha sounded out.

No, no, no. That would make it worse. She could easily put her hands on your shoulders and dunk you under the water. The second you let your guard down, nothing was stopping her from holding you against the basin until you lost consciousness.

“Bathtub,” The whimper left you. The first word that you’d said since being taken from the Hydra compound. More of a whispered plea than anything. Your nails were digging so heavy into your ribs that they were drawing blood, such a small pinprick.

“Can’t”

Another punctuated word. Your throat was closing. It felt like it was closing, skin cold. They would use bags upon bags of ice in a metal tub. Whitehall claimed the practice taught patience. That sitting until your lips were blue and your skin was numb kept you vigilant. Unfeeling. Trained well and good.

When you did something against his diligent conditioning, he’d shove you under. Wait until the shock of cold made you black out, steal the air from your lungs and make you choke on the icy cold before pulling you back up and forcing you to sit in your own trembling mess for hours on end, just to start the process all over again. Hours morphing into days.

“Bathtub”

You were clawing at your throat now, trying to force air into it, like your nails would slash into the soft skin of your throat and allow the breath to flow freely. You were cold everywhere, nearly numb in the extremities. The stinging had moved from your sides to your collarbone. You were scratching at yourself. Had to make sure you were real, not submerged. Not drowning.

Agent Romanoff, at some point, had moved closer to you. That clean scent pulled into your lungs frantically. You were breathing, you knew logically that you were. Her warm hands gripped yours and pulled them away from your chest as she pressed your back to the coolness of the wall.

“Hey… Easy, easy”

Your arms were crossed over your chest, Natasha applying pressure to the center of the ‘x’ she had formed naturally. She pressed her whole body close to yours. Warmth. Security. The exact opposite of the ice bath that Whitehall would constantly dunk you into.

Tears streaked down your face, small cries escaping you as you let your head drop back against the wall. Natasha held you steady. Her eyes search your expression. She applies just the right amount of weight to you to help you breathe. You sniff hard. Swallow harder.

Soon it’s just the sound of your breath mingling with hers, of the air pumping into the room through the vent in the corner. You’re thankful that the room is fortified for sound. Much unlike the cells at the Hydra compound. Suddenly, and not for the first time today, you’re thankful for a lot of differences between the place you’d been pulled from the and place you’d been pushed into.

“Don’t suppose you have a room with a shower,” You huffed out.

Agent Romanoff scoffed, let her head fall just above your shoulder with a thump. “Yeah. I think I can figure something out.”

‘Figuring something out’ to Natasha meant taking you from the generic room on the basement level of the Avengers tower and moving you without consequence up to what you assumed was her floor. Something of a penthouse that overlooked the city.

A blanket of stars that rivaled the real nighttime sky. It was dizzying to you. You didn’t want to linger on the gesture for too long. She was being kind and had brought you down from a panic attack with the swiftness of a trained hero. You were sure that they made her take a course in that.

It was decorated smartly and smelled of vanilla. The elevator opened directly into her living area, large and stretching and chrome in a way that was not too garish. Agent Romanoff did not seem guarded about allowing you into her home. This was her home.

She removed her earpiece and set it on the table by the elevator as if it were car keys and not her lifeline to the man with the goatee and the muscle-man. There was an ease to her shoulders that showed she trusted you. Or at the very least, that she could take you.

You followed her like a lost puppy, taking stock of the modern art on the walls as she led you to a bathroom. The primary objective. This time, there was no bathtub, an obvious relief. Just a frosted shower that was as elegant as the rest of the residence.

“I can sit with you.” She offered again, this time, less cautious.

“Please.”

It wasn’t so much as begging as a simple answer to her simple question. Natasha was a gentleman and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, making a show of clamping her hand over her eyes and crossing her legs at the knee. You scoffed and stripped and closed yourself into the shower before turning on the water, flinching under the cold spray for just a moment.

There was relief there, in the growing warmth of the water and the way the dirt and blood and grime washed down the drain. Your muscles trembled under the heat as they began to loosen. You breathed. You clenched your eyes shut, letting the drops of water fall from the curve of your nose. It felt safe to close your eyes with Agent Romanoff right outside the glass plating.

Her shampoo smelled like her. Clean. Comforting. Soon the water ran clear, and you accepted the clothes that she gave you with gratitude unmatched. Still guarded but less-so. There was a pinkness on Agent Romanoff’s cheeks, as you dressed in a labored silence that you easily attributed to the thick steam the two of you breathed in. It crept silently past the hand that hid her eyes from the world.

Instead of leading you back down to the cell, to the room, she’d taken you to her kitchen. Told you to sit down. Now that you had a change of clothes, a t-shirt that was soft as if it’d been worn a million times before, and a pair of gray sweatpants that you had to cuff at the ankles, you felt better. Well enough not to curl into yourself as much. Less of a stranger in your own body but still a passenger waiting for instructions that Natasha was happy to provide.

“I don’t have much. It’s pretty late, so if you’re willing to forgive microwave pizza, so am I.” She turned from the fridge and you gave her the smallest bit of a nod that she found endearing. “Perfect. I’m afraid I’m no chef.”

You watched her curiously as she loaded up the plate with cold slices of New York style pizza. Even now, the scent hit you and made your mouth water. It was simple, probably a few days old and certainly not as good as it would have been fresh, but your stomach clenched in want all the same.

At the Hydra compound, it had been the same thing when they decided to grant you food. A slathering of white rice and tasteless gravy. Sometimes a chunk of stale white bread to soak up the soupy gruel if you were lucky. You often weren’t but by the time they’d slide the frothy tray through the bottom of the latch in the darkness you were too starved to care.

The first time you’d eaten too quickly to digest it properly and promptly vomited it back up. Whitehall was not pleased. He’d dug his boot into the tenderness of your ribs as a punishment for being ungrateful for what he’d provided you. You weren’t permitted food again for another three days after that.

Natasha slid the plate in front of you now, watched as you shrunk in front of her, lifted your eyes to her own as if waiting for permission to touch the food. Her eyebrows knit together. She attempted to lighten the mood “Lactose intolerant?”  

“No,” You whispered with a laugh, “No, I don’t know. I… why are you doing this?”

The chair creaked as she sat back, a baffled expression on her face. “It’s my job.”

“There’s more than that. You could have left me downstairs to fight off that panic attack on my own, but you didn’t. You walked me through it and then brought me into your own space and let me shower and gave me your own clothes and your own food. I don’t… that’s not part of the job descriptions, I don’t think. I don’t deserve any of it.”

“And who told you that?” Natasha huffed out a breath, lifted her chin towards the plate. “Eat. I know you’re starved.”

She hadn’t answered your question. Not really. But an order was what you needed right now and it was enough to get you to give in to the hunger clawing at the base of your stomach. After the first bite- the first time you had flavor in god knows how long, you gave in and started taking larger portions. The desire for something human swallowed you whole, and happy hums of satisfaction brought a small smile to Agent Romanoff’s face.

Natasha ate slower than you did. With the poise of someone who had once been starved, but had pushed through that haze. When you’d both finished, she moved the plates to the sink, turned to you and rested her palms against the edges of the counter with a question on tip of her tongue.

“I don’t feel comfortable sending you back down there. I have a guest room, more than one, actually. I know that you’ve been through a lot. Too much for any one person to go through in a lifetime. Logically, it’s not safe to have you in my home. I know that and you know that.”

She paused, as if she were waiting for you to object. But you didn’t. She was right. Agent Romanoff was trained. There was good reason to have you locked up downstairs and you were perfectly fit to move back to that room. The idea of the bathtub being just behind a door made your spine stiffen, but it was manageable. It had to be manageable.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat at the thought. Something that the agent again noticed in the quietness of her own home.

“You are the only one we pulled from that compound who was not there willingly, but I assume you know that.” She hugged herself, something subtle. Something grounding. “If you are to stay here… with me. I’d like to know what to call you.”

You squeezed your fingers into the palms of your hands, letting the pressure soothe you for a moment, and then released the hold. A weighted warmth falling heavy on your shoulders, almost as if Agent Romanoff’s body was still pressed against yours like it had been downstairs to quell the anxieties that bubbled up.

“I don’t know,” You shook your head, a small pout forming against your lips. “I don’t think I’m supposed to remember.”  

Eyes Closed

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Day 11: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 11th of January, which is 'prom'.

Fluff and gentle smut contained below.

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You were in bed. The darkness had crept into the room slowly, just like the silence. You turned on a light but it wasn’t enough for that kind of darkness. 

You thought about her. You tried not to worry.

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‘I know, I know.’ Natasha called out as soon as she entered the room. Your mouth dropped as you stared in shock at her appearance. Blood stains coated her face and suit. You could barely see her skin beneath. Natasha stood at the foot of the bed with a nonplussed expression on her face. 

‘I feel like Carrie at the prom.’ She yawned as she unzipped her blood-soaked suit to her waist, revealing her toned stomach and sports bra. 

Natasha reached up to her hair then, ready to undo the end of her usual braid. She groaned as she remembered her more intricate hairstyle made up of several smaller braids.

‘Here, love.’ You slipped off the bed and walked to her. ‘Let me help.’

Natasha tilted forward, her head pressing tiredly against your shoulder as you worked to undo each braid. You tried not to hesitate as you worked around the hair matted with even more blood.

When you were done, you resisted the instinct to kiss her.

‘This might be your most disgusting post-mission look.’ You said wrinkling your nose at the pervasive smell of the dried blood. 

Natasha gave you a sarcastic thumbs up as she headed to the ensuite bathroom.

‘Guess you won’t be joining me.’ She commented dryly as the shower began to run. 

‘It’s so hard to say no.’ You grinned, grabbing your phone and keys and heading out of the room. ‘I’ll bring you back sustenance.’ You promised as you left. 

You returned soon enough, a peanut butter jelly sandwich in one hand. You’d cut the crusts off. Natasha didn’t actually care about the crusts. That wasn’t why you did it. 

You knocked the door as you entered. Natasha was lying on her stomach, sprawled out on the bed, wrapped in a fluffy white robe that she’d stolen a million years ago from a fancy hotel. It was tied loosely, already half off one shoulder. You could tell she was naked underneath. Her long red hair was damp, combed through and already curling at the ends. 

She turned at the sound of the door. Her attention immediately fell to the plate in your hands. 

She made a happy noise, muffled by her pillow as she rolled over onto her back. She shuffled to a seated position in the bed.

‘Give.’ She demanded teasingly as you held out the plate. 

Natasha noticed the missing crusts. Her delight was easy to see. She covered her face and gave a laugh. 

‘I’m special.’ She teased.

‘Yep.’ You agreed simply and sat down next to her, your arm automatically snaking around her waist. 

Natasha leaned against you like you were her support pole. She chewed slowly on the sandwich, her eyes closed with the first bite and she nodded happily to herself.

‘Good?’ You checked teasingly. 

Wordlessly, she gave you another thumbs up.

When the sandwich was done, Natasha fell backwards onto the bed. With great effort she moved back to her starfish position across the centre of it. 

You felt yourself finally approaching the moment. The time for acknowledge what she was obviously avoiding. 

The energy had been too light since she got back. It had been a bad mission. 

‘I’m so tired.’ Natasha mumbled finally against her pillow. 

You crawled over to lie beside her. You brushed her damp hair away from her face.

‘What kind of tired?’ You prompted gently. Natasha’s eyes screwed tight against your gaze.

‘A lot of people died.’ She murmured at last. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

She opened her eyes again and met you with a heavy stare. You recognised the swirling regret and thought inexplicably about ocean waves crashing over rocks.

‘I should’ve-’ Her voice cracked. 

The rush of love was overwhelming and you leaned forward with the sudden, aching, urgent want to kiss her.

Natasha clung to your lips needily, her fingertips brushed your jaw. 

Her lips were cracked and the sensation brought you back to yourself. You cupped her cheek gently as you slowly encouraged Natasha back to a sitting position. 

‘You’re thirsty.’ You hummed out as Natasha’s lips continued to brush yours over and over again. 

Natasha’s eyes briefly squeezed shut again and then she nodded. 

You left the bed to retrieve her water bottle on the other side of the room. Natasha unscrewed the top and wordlessly drank it all.

Your stomach twisted as you watched her.

It could be a symptom, sometimes, of the bad missions. Not giving herself what she needed. Punishing herself for things that weren’t her fault. 

Natasha put the empty water bottle back on the nightstand. She turned back to you with the same hidden sadness in her eyes. Still, she gave you a small smile. 

You reached forward again with a surge of the same want. You left a trail of the softest kisses along on her neck. You could smell the familiar mix of her body wash and that scent that was only Natasha. 

Natasha hummed with pleasure. You felt her body rise and fall as her breathing evened out into slow, deep breaths. You tugged the white robe gently away from her shoulder, and then again, until you’d removed it all the way.

Natasha acquiesced readily to the direction of your touch. There was a relief almost in the way she was naked next to you. As if the pretence could leave her. 

She arched her back dramatically and you watched the muscles move and stretch. Then, she returned her body easily to its most comfortable bad posture. 

Natasha looked at you again and, this time, her gaze was easier and her smile was warm. 

A longing caught itself in your throat. 

Hesitantly, you touched the old scar that sat between her shoulders. Evidence of another mission survived, another risk taken.

You pressed a little harder and Natasha moaned in response to the pressure on the fatigued muscle just beneath the skin.

You adjusted yourself back on the bed, propping yourself up on your knees. You kissed the base of her neck as your thumbs began to rub concentric circles over her shoulder blades. 

Natasha murmured your name. Her back arched again in pleasure. 

‘You are brave.’ You told her, consumed with the constant need to take away her pain. 

You kissed her again, trailing a path down the curve of her spine.

‘You are strong.’ You murmured, your mouth grazing past another nameless scar. 

You felt the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest against your lips. The steady proof of her existence; all you could hope for.

‘You are trying your best.’

Your thumbs brushed lightly over the large, fresh bruise that sat under Natasha’s ribcage. Natasha stiffened.

You ran your hands soothingly back up to her shoulders and then around to cup her soft breasts.

‘And, you are always, always forgiven.’ 

You felt Natasha’s limbs loosen unthinkingly with your words and then, slowly, you felt her muscles tighten again with a different want. 

Natasha murmured your name again. And then again. You listened to the longing soaked into her voice. 

You squeezed her breasts slowly before moving around to stand in the space in front of her seated position on the bed.

You reached over and took a pillow from the bed. You held it to the back of Natasha’s head and gave her a teasing smile as you pressed her gently in encouragement to lie back. 

Natasha’s fingers caught the front of your shirt automatically as she let her torso go flat against the mattress. 

Her feet were still touching the ground. You watched her hip bones cant upwards towards the air in this new position.

You lost yourself briefly in the act of just looking down at her. At the softness and sharpness that made Natasha's body the only one that you craved. 

Natasha’s eyes were half-shuttered as she watched you too. Her smile was easy but you caught the swirling of a thousand emotions that sat beneath her stare.

It was enough for you to drop to your knees.

You spread her legs slowly and slid between them. The steady warmth of her was your favourite heat. 

Another anchor that promised you she was here. 

You stretched out your arms, letting your fingernails brush back and forth along her toned stomach. You didn’t waste any more time. 

Slowly you ran your flat tongue along her pussy. There was the familiar tang of her body wash  and the taste that could only be Natasha. 

Natasha groaned above you. You felt her stomach muscles tighten under your fingers and knew that she was already close. 

You moved on instinct, your eyes closed as you lost yourself in the sounds of her hums and sighs. The heat of her against your tongue spread through you. You let your tongue arc and flatten, finding the rhythms that caused her breathless moans. 

You felt her tensing. Felt the pleasure inside her become a desperate need. You used your hands to keep a steady pressure against the urgent movement of her hips. 

Natasha gave a strangled cry and in the midst of it you heard your name. You pressed again and again with your tongue. You felt her body wind itself tighter and tighter and then undo itself all at once. 

You tasted the dripping want and heard the soft pants of something achieved. 

You gave one last lick along her pussy. 

‘Good?’ You murmured, as you moved back to survey Natasha. 

Natasha didn’t move or speak. Slowly, as if with great effort, she gave you a silent thumbs up. 

You breathed a laugh, kissed her one more time and got to your feet.

You headed to the bathroom, grabbing a flannel and running it under the warm water. You returned and gently washed between her legs. 

Natasha’s eyes were fully shut now. 

You leaned forward and Natasha moaned in automatic pleasure at the sudden heat of your body against her bare one. 

‘Bed, love.’ You whispered, pulling the covers back and coaxing her gently. 

Natasha acquiesced and you watched her crawl beneath the warm covers. 

You left and got yourself ready for bed too. 

Just as you were about to slide under the covers, you heard the first snuffling noises of Natasha pressing herself comfortably into her pillow. 

A moment later, you clicked off the light on your nightstand.

.

You turned to face her. Natasha’s face was framed by her own messy curls. You thought about her. About the sadness that you could always see unless her eyes were closed. You tried not to worry.

Natasha snored suddenly and the sound was another steady proof that she was here. You closed your eyes and finally slept. 

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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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Loving Her Is (Im)possible

masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x Civilian!Reader

description: They say loving the Black Widow is impossible, so what happens when you meet her?

Words: ~2k

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none I think, not proof read tho

I know this is shitty, I wrote this coping with myself lmao.

Next one is promised to be good or at least better again

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Loving her is impossible. That's what they say.

Meeting her is easy.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And effortless elegance that held the power to draw everyone's attention but prevent anyone from making eye contact. Or comment on her.

"A large, black coffee please" her voice carried the same unspoken authority her movements displayed.

Rough and soft at the same time, polite but distanced. She layed one hand on the counter while waiting. With the other hand she removed her sunglasses, letting them fall in the pocket of her coat. A few curious glances from the other customers in her direction but most just continued their conversations.

You watched the interaction, studying her. How she glanced over the room. How she corrected her own posture - and you did instinctively too. How she took her cup and took yet another glance over the room but in a seemingly different way. Her eyes locked onto you.

She directed a small, greeting nod to you and you responded with a friendly smile. "That seat doesn't seem taken", the redhead mostly stated, sitting on the chair across your own.

"You can't be sure of that" you replied with a teasing grin. The woman chuckled. A low, soft and intriguingly dangerous sound, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to save it, lock it in your memory and protect it, the moment you heard it. If you could do something to get to hear it again, you would.

"So you're saying this seat is taken, princess?" a playful glint in her eyes, knowing exactly that it wasn't.

And within a split second your mind surrendered. You weren't sure if it was the nickname or just the way your own teasing backfired but you flushed and glued your eyes to your hands. "No" you mumbled, holding the cup in your hands just a little tighter. A shy smile played around your lips.

"No need to be shy, sweetheart. I'm Natasha"

Meeting her was embarrassing in a way you enjoyed it.

Knowing her is easy.

You knew who she was. Everybody does. The media is flooded with footage of her, everytime something in the world happens. Everybody sees what you could see that day.

Effortless perfectionism. Authority without room for arguments.

She was the Black Widow.

In press conferences the backbone of the avangers.

No one knew her. Behind that perfect mask that would allow her to dominate the whole room, was in reality something different.

Behind that perfect image was a human just as everyone else is. Someone who sometimes feels lonely. Someone who's guarded but also someone who let a few things slip from time to time.

You were aware that everything you saw of her was calculated. A risk she took.

A nightmare she told you she had. Explaining why her day was bad. Asking you what she should cook.

You never got much to grasp on, but to every little detail you held on as if it was sacred.

Nat:

I'm bored

What should I do?

You:

Me [you deleted that as soon as you typed it]

Cinnamon rolls

And just two hours later it'd ring on your door.

"Hey, I brought cinnamon rolls."

You laughed, seeing her physically relax under your careless happiness as you invited her in.

The Black Widow was an open book - someone everybody could know within thirty minutes of amateurish research.

Natasha Romanoff was more than that.

A closed book with a lock, behind bars, behind walls.

She rarely shared something about what she actually did or felt at any given moment. But if she'd let something slip you'd pick it up and cherish it.

Talking to her is easy.

Without even noticing in less than a month your world was upside down.

Checking your phone every ten minutes for notifications, even though you know the screen lits up when you get one.

Smiling when it does.

Denying the small bit of disappointment when the notification doesn't begin with "Nat 💕:".

Going silent on phone calls with others for a moment when you recieved a message from her. Being mentally absent while playing cards, glancing down at the phone beside you, answering whenever it's not your turn.

You:

How was your day?

Nat💕:

{voice message 1:48}

You loved these. You loved listening to her voice, detecting the satisfaction when she told you about a successful mission, hearing the frustration when some recruits didn't listen to her in training and then obviously failed the task at hand. You loved her sighs when she was tired.

Soon you yearned for every interaction you could get. A small chat, a short phone call. Or when you had the time you'd bring her a coffee over.

The first time you did, you weren't sure you'd get out of the building in one piece.

You learned that day that Shield doesn't have visitors. Especially not ordinary people and definitely not one's who come in without an agent.

Your hands were shaking as you held them over your head, in one still the coffee you brought.

"What do you want?" The guy, who asked this just entered the area, motioning for the security to stay in position.

"u-uh visiting? A friend" you added and cringed internally about verbally friendzoning the redhead. But that's the most fitting description. Maybe even exactly what she sees in you. A friend. One she likes to flirt and tease with just to see how it messses with your head.

"And who is that friend?" he walked behind you, taking the coffee from your hand.

"Natasha? Romanoff..." your voice grew quieter realizing how unrealistic that must sound. And just as confirmation he scoffed "Of course. And if that's true, why isn't Agent Romanoff here to get you through security? And further, why is the name on this coffee 'Nathan'?"

Now you scoffed, rolling your eyes "So now it's my fault that coffeeshops can't get names right?? You can't convince me no coffeeshop ever wrote your name wrong" You regretted those word almost as soon as they left your mouth but now it was too late anyway.

But before anyone reacted to that, the clicking of heels cut through the tension. Just as they stopped a familar voice spoke up from behind you "You have some nerves, giving these kind of answers while having two guns directed at you, princess"

Your cheekes flushed at the nickname. You knew she did that on purpose, relishing your involuntary reaction. And it happened every time.

With probably another motion of one of the two behind you the security guys backed down and you turned around with a small smile on your lips. "Well, bold of you to show up so late they almost shoot me"

When you sat down on a couch in what you presumed was her office she took a sip from her coffee and sighed. "Nathan, huh?" A smirk playing around her lips.

You snorted meeting her eyes with a mischievous glint in your own "Maybe I made the barista write down the wrong name intentionally. But a coffee wouldn't be a coffee if they got your name right twice in a row"

It became a little game of yours. Trying to find a new variant or fucked up way to mess with each others name.

These meetings happened more often, you bringing her coffee or lunch. Talking, laughing, joking. You learned that the guy, who questioned you on your first time there was Clint, Natasha's best friend. Soon these lunch breaks became the thing you looked most forward to, by the start of a week.

You got to meet Clint, introducing himself with saying something along being sorry for almost having you shot. And by then all of you could only laugh about that first encounter.

On a random friday she took you to the shooting range after another shared lunch. Handing you one of her pistols she positioned herself behind you. Guiding your legs to stand in the right stance, moving her hands along your arms so you wouldn't hurt yourself. And while you loved learning to shoot, her being pressed against your back made it hard to focus. How her touch burned itself under your skin, how her scent surrounded you. And suddenly you felt like one of the recruits she liked to complain about. Distracted.

Of course Natasha noticed. But she didn't seem mind it, when it was you. She didn't mind having to guide you into the right position another time and maybe even a third. At least she didn't say so. She seemed to enjoy the time you had as much as you did and that alone made your heart skip a bit.

Watching yourself fall for her feels scary. Like the craziest thing you've ever done.

Running away is easy.

Especially when self-doubt is consuming you.

When she's out on missions and you don't get any response to your messages for hours or days.

You start to doubt yourself, if this was right for you.

The redhead tried to push you away only shortly after you met. Telling you that she's too much for you. That her life isn't made for her to fit in your world. You managed go convince her from the opposite.

Now you were the one doubting if that was the right decision.

On the one side fearing how much this is about to hurt if you don't work out, on the other already being too attached to let go now.

Not without trying.

But after just another day of radio silence from her side you feel like ending things would be best for you. Or after another conversation, where you realize that she's not actually telling you what she feels or what's bothering her. Giving only so short answers to your messages that something like a conversation wouldn't even begin - it hurt you probably more than it should.

But you didn't blame her. Or you tried not to. You knew that this was an unsettling kind of jealousy with no one to be jealous of. No one you knew about. But that didn't make it easier. It just drained your energy on these days, killing some of your usually good mood. Every one of those days giving you another reason to leave.

Running away. Not without an explanation, that would be unfair. She deserved to understand. And while you're trying to convince yourself that hurting her by leaving now would be less bad than doing it even later and that it would probably be for the best for both of you, you couldn't shake the feeling that she would've felt used.

And every time you think about that, she texts you, answering your last message and pushing the thought of leaving away immediately - not that she's aware of that but she still does. The start of a conversation, that filled you with a strange sense of happiness. A happiness that kept you from running.

The urge to stay is impossible to ignore. The want to understand every action before calling it unreasonable, taking all reasons to leave and burn them down, you kept only the reasons to stay.

A stupid smile with every message.

An shy and embarrassing flush with every tease.

The commitment to understand her and give her time.

You mentally burned whatever you read about her on the internet. Banning news reports about her, ignoring blogs judging her or her job in any way.

Instead you chose to focus on every single bit that seemed to be real and held on to it. Every soft chuckle, the glint in her eyes when they meet yours, her sighs at the end of a voice message about an overly exhausting day.

Everything that you knew was her. What didn't scream 'ex-assassin and spy'.

You chose to learn and hold on to what you got about Natasha instead of Widow.

You chose to ignore the reasons to leave for now.

Red hair, brown coat, black boots.

And a caring smile in your direction.

Loving her could turn out so easy.

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baby, if your love is in trouble | e.p

Tags: emt!reader, flirty!emily, blood and injury, established relationship (we won’t question how they went from point A to point B), canon typical injuries, quite a few mentions of blood in this one oops, medical inaccuracies, use of petnames, reader is pissed but emily’s a smooth mf with big brown eyes

Summary: You get called to a scene and find your girlfriend—yet again—all bruised and bloody. She flirts, you don’t reciprocate. Requested here.

Word count: 2.2k

Part one (you don’t have to read it to read this part)

When you arrive at an abandoned warehouse, the last person you expect to see is your girlfriend. The surprise is muffled; you were aware this wasn’t outside the realm of possibility once Emily told you two weeks ago that the unsub they’re hunting is local.

Even in a messy, crowded scene like this, crawling with FBI agents and police officers alike, it’s easy to spot her amidst the chaos. She doesn’t notice you, leaning against a cop car and shying away from a lanky guy who reaches out with his finger, attempting to prod at her bleeding nose. A crumpled tissue is held between her fingers; it’s soaked through with blood, barely an inch of it unblemished white. Emily doesn’t seem to mind it as she glares and avoids the guy’s touch, swatting at his hand with hers.

“It’s not broken, Reid.”

“I’m just saying, it looks a little swollen—”

“Emily.” You say unthinkingly. She turns, her ponytail swishing as her eyes meet yours. 

The first thing you notice is the bruises on her face, a violent galaxy etched around her right eye. The cut on her cheekbone, dried blood crusted around the skin you just recently discovered you loved to kiss. Not the way her brows lift in surprise, her mouth parting to breathe out your name.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is muffled into the hand holding the tissue.

You can’t reply for the nausea in your throat. Emily’s coworker is frowning at you, no doubt mentally tearing this interaction to pieces. It kickstarts your brain into action, practicality forcing its way over the queasy roiling in your stomach. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask him.

He shakes his head.

Jaw set, you meet Emily’s eyes and try to pretend they’re anyone else’s. “Come with me, please.” You say tightly, one hand listlessly extended to her body.

This time, it’s easier to wrestle her into the back of the rig. Emily wordlessly shoves off of the cop car and lets your fingers grip her elbow, lets you drag her to the ambulance and force her to sit on the hard metal ledge. The heat of her eyes follows you as you get your kit, burning holes into your face when you set it down next to her and pinch the sodden tissue she’s holding. Her hand falls away, exposing the bottom half of her face; a blooming cut on her lip stains her chin red.

Your mouth flattens into a thin line.

“Hi,” Emily says again, softly. “I, uh, didn’t know you’d be here.” She tilts her head to meet your gaze.

You don’t let her.

She exhales a low sigh. You ignore it as you toss away the bloodied tissue and scan her face, surveying the damage but not settling on the near magnetic pull of her eyes. What you find is harrowing: bruises on her temple and brow, a black eye, a cut on her cheek. They’re quickly darkening into deep reds and purples, visciously marring her ivory skin. Oh, and not to forget her bloody nose and split lip. Her face is a kaleidoscope of color.

Jesus.

“What happened?” You ask, reaching for the straps of her kevlar. Velcro separates, screeching as you rip the wretched vest off of her body. Shoulders, hips; you free her, then toss it carelessly into the ambulance.

“Can I get a hi first?” Emily retorts tiredly. You finally meet her eyes, the weight of them a physical blow to your gut. The black eye doesn’t help. “Hi?” Her fingertips skim yours.

You swallow thickly. Grab her hand, squeeze. “Hi.” You say back.

A smile flickers over Emily’s face. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m okay, I just got a little banged up.”

A little.

Your lips purse. “What happened?”

Emily laces her fingers through yours. You need to pull away, but you can’t help the way your shoulders loosen under her touch. Her skin is warm, thumb skating over the back of your hand with her head ducked. 

“Doesn’t matter.” She murmurs.

“Emily.” You take your hand back. The movement isn’t quite so gentle; Emily’s brows dip into a frown as she winces, a low curse escaping past her lips. “What?” You demand. Taking her hand again—carefully—your eyes travel until you find a dampness on her shirt sleeve, the blood almost invisible against the navy blue fabric. You cut it off to expose a long cut, the width of her arm, just above her elbow. It’s still bleeding sluggishly, most of it staunched into her shirt.

Nausea stirs again. 

Your jaw is tightly set as you let go of Emily’s arm and snap on a pair of gloves, eyes fixed on your hands and the forceful sting of the elastic. If you look up, if you find the face of the woman you’re half in love with rather than some nameless stranger’s face, you’ll fucking lose it. Already your breathing is shallow, not enough oxygen filling your lungs as you try your best not to breathe in the scent of Emily’s blood.

“Hey,” she says quietly. You let the silence answer as you clean around her cut. It looks deep, deeper than you can manage, but at least it’s clean. Emily’s ragged inhale sours your mouth when you place pressure on it, stopping the flow. Blood blooms on the gauze, and—maddeningly—she still persists. “I’ll be home tonight.” Her voice is only slightly choked. “All on my lonesome. Would you like to keep me company?”

There’s a few things you’d like to do to her right now. You voice none of them.

When you’re certain the bleeding has stopped you grab a roll of gauze, wrap it around her arm. “We could order pizza. Get that cheese crust you like.” The first layer dampens; the second doesn’t. Neither does the third, but you still wrap another layer for good measure.

A low sigh tickles your ear.

“I miss you,” Emily says, velvet soft. 

Work had gotten in the way more than usual these past few days, both yours and hers. You missed her too, more than you think is in any way logical, but you can’t rise to her flirtations when she’s half beaten and bloody. Just the sight of the bruises on her pale face turns your stomach.

You snip the gauze and tuck the end under the layers. Her shirt is in tatters now; you don’t linger on the fact that it was one of your favorites on her.

“It’ll probably need stitches,” you lift your gaze from the bandages around her arm and grab another antiseptic wipe. You don’t mean to catch her eyes. It’s accidental, a stupid move that freezes you in place, stops your hand from meeting the cut on her cheekbone.

Her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline, the black carving out her irises until all that’s left is thin brown rings. And still they’re captivating. Emily shakes her head, tongue darting over her lip. “Honey, talk to me.” She says desperately.

You exhale a short breath through your nose. “What do you want me to say?” You murmur, dropping your eyes from hers and focusing your attention on cleaning her wound. The skin scrunches beneath your touch as she winces; guilt stabs you in the chest. Your heartbeat quickens, the pace of it making your hands shake. Briefly, ever so briefly, your eyes fall closed.

You can’t do this. Fuck, you can’t, not when it’s her.

“I already asked you what happened and you didn’t answer.” You toss the wipe away. Looking down, you take a moment to breathe in before grabbing the antiseptic ointment. She’s fine now, you try to remind yourself. Mostly. At least she’s in one piece.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.” Emily says. Her fingers find your chin; she pinches it gently and tilts your face up, to her tentative smile. It tugs at the cut in her lip. “I’m fine now.”

You can’t tell if it’s profiling or if she can genuinely read your mind.

An exasperated breath parts your lips. “You have a skewed definition of fine.” You huff, dabbing ointment on her cut. Emily’s lashes flutter closed, a frown digging its way between her brows. You bite down on your lips, immediately hating yourself. “Hurts?” You ask quietly.

“Mmm,” she doesn’t verbally confirm nor deny. It’s answer enough. By the time you peel a bandage and are placing it over her cheek she’s opened her eyes. “Maybe you can kiss it better?”

“You’re bleeding.” You say flatly.

“Babe,” she murmurs, frowning as if you’re being unreasonable, “don’t be like that.”

Her too calm tone sparks fire in your blood.

“Like what?” You bite out. “Like someone whose girlfriend is beaten and bloody because of god knows what trouble she was in? How exactly do you want me to act, Emily?”

“Girlfriend?”

You falter. “W-What?”

Emily grins stupidly. “You called me your girlfriend.” Her eyes glitter.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. It knocks over the guilt, the nausea, swarms of butterflies crowding your lungs. God, what are you, fifteen? 

You huff out a flustered breath. “Well, aren’t you?”

You’d had this conversation weeks ago. Not over an intimate, candlelit dinner; rather Emily had found romance in the early morning light of her bedroom. Body warm over yours, she’d grabbed your sleep-pliant hand, murmured into your knuckles if you would be her partner, let her be your girlfriend.

It had taken a few slow blinks of your eyes, chasing the blurriness from your vision and sharpening her tentative silhouette, before you’d said yes.

“I am. It’s just the first time you’ve called me that.” Emily’s arm goes around your waist. Her smile is transcendent and bloody.

“Don’t try to distract me,” you rub at your temple. “I’m still mad.”

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. Her fingers squeeze your side. “Cross my heart.”

The childish promise makes you huff out a humorless laugh. It thins out quickly, dissolves into the air between the two of you.

“You can’t look me in the eye and honestly tell me you’re fine, Emily.” You sigh. This close, you can’t help yourself. You gently cup her jaw, your thumb just shy of the broken skin at her bottom lip. It’s wet with fresh blood, the cut deepening with her careless smiles.

Emily gives you another one. You internally wince, wishing she’d stop. “Okay, well, I’m banged up.” She murmurs, leaning into your hand and blinking long lashes at you. “At least I have you to stitch me back together.”

Stupidly, thoughtlessly, your heart jumps. With no regard for the violence on Emily’s face or the complete lack of privacy of the scene around you. It’s basically your first meeting, reincarnated.

“And if I wasn’t here?” You mumble half heartedly, beginning to crack under her persistent flirtations. “Do you flirt with all your EMT’s or just me?”

Emily gives you a soft smile, a dizzying flash of dimples. “Just you, sweetheart. Only ever you.” 

The saccharine drip of her voice only makes you feel more like shit. Here she is, actually, physically hurting, and taking the brunt of your sour attitude because you couldn’t stand seeing it for yourself. You don’t know how she wipes the pain almost clear from her voice, how she can brave injuries that make you squirm at the thought of bearing them yourself, but somewhere beneath all the worry, there’s awe. 

“That’s reassuring,” you say lamely. You give her fingers a squeeze, attempting to convey what your dry tone can’t as you lean away. “Just please don’t get so banged up next time.” Reaching for another patch of gauze, you gently press it to her bottom lip. Her knee bumps into yours. “You do already have my attention, y’know.” 

A whole lot of it. Who are you kidding, probably all of it is hers.

Emily tucks the gauze into the corner of her mouth. “Like to have it at all times.” She mumbles.

You shake your head, breathing out a slow breath through your nose as the corner of her lip turns up. The ring of bruises around her eye has darkened into purple, capillaries bursting in blooms to chase away the unblemished expanse of her skin. It’s a terrible contrast, unmistakably stark and dripping violence. Still, you try your best not to shy away from her gaze.

“Will you come home with me?” Emily asks again.

You’re nodding before you know it. “Yeah, baby. Is that okay?” It’s a miracle she still wants you around after your wretched demeanor.

“That’s a stupid question, Y/N.” She says, so bluntly a laugh is forced from your lungs. It bubbles past your lips, making Emily’s smile stretch into a beam.

“Don’t fucking do that,” you scold, grimacing when fresh blood soaks the bandage. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot girlfriend.”

It’s no use trying to staunch the blood. Her grin is so wide you discard the gauze and reach for her jaw instead of another one. 

When you finally kiss her, the metallic taste of her blood flooding your mouth, you know you’re in too deep.

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