Patience, Darling (pt. 1)

Bad Hair Day

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

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

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

The footage blurred and the screen went black. 

You replayed the tape.

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

You replayed the tape. 

You stared at the dark screen. 

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

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

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

You replayed the tape one more time.

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

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

In three sentences you stated your case.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You watched her bury her face in her hands. 

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

You swallowed every response you could think of. 

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

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

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

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

You called her name softly and Natasha turned around. 

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

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

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

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

After a moment, Natasha became self-conscious.

‘What?’ She checked unsurely.

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

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

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Redline. (Bonus 3) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), crash, blood, broken bone (detailed), panic attack

Word count: 8,1k

A/N: There’s no tissue emoji, so I’m just using this one instead: 🧻

The first rays of morning light spilled through the sleek, minimalist bedroom, painting the polished surfaces in soft hues of gold. Natasha was already awake, her gaze fixed on her laptop screen as her fingers danced over the keyboard. Notes, timings, strategies, all meticulously checked and double-checked, as she always did on race days. It was her ritual, her way of ensuring everything went flawlessly.

But even while immersed in her work, her eyes flickered toward the bed, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. You were still tangled in the blankets, one arm flung over a pillow, your hair a beautiful mess against the white sheets. The peaceful rise and fall of your chest was one of Natasha’s favorite things to watch.

Natasha pushed away from her desk, stretching slightly before walking over to the bed. She perched on the edge, her fingers delicately sweeping a stray lock of hair from your cheek.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Natasha murmured, her voice a soft blend of fondness and amusement. “It’s almost time to get ready.”

A sleepy groan escaped your lips, your eyes squeezing shut tighter as if to keep the morning at bay. “Five more minutes…” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You say that every morning, and somehow it always ends up being twenty.”

You cracked open one eye, your lips curving into a lazy grin. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Natasha quirked a brow. “If you don’t get up soon, you’ll be the one explaining to the fans why their favorite driver was late.”

That got your attention. Your eyes fluttered open fully, the warmth of sleep slowly giving way to the familiar rush of excitement. Today was another race, another chance to prove yourself, not only to the world but to yourself.

“Fine, fine, I’m up.” You sat up, rubbing your eyes before glancing at Natasha with a sleepy smile. “You’re already in boss mode, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you in line.” Natasha replied with a smirk, but the glint in her eyes was nothing but adoring. “Now, I made you coffee. It’s waiting in the kitchen. I’ll get your things ready.”

“Have I mentioned you’re amazing?” You stretched your arms above your head, the early morning light catching your features in a way that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat.

“Once or twice.” Natasha’s voice softened, her hand resting on your shoulder. “But I like hearing it.”

You reached up and captured Natasha’s hand, bringing it to your lips for a gentle kiss. “Well, you are. Absolutely amazing.”

Natasha’s cheeks flushed, but her composure never wavered. “And you’re a dork. Now, get moving. We have a race to win.”

Within thirty minutes, you were showered, dressed, and already buzzing with pre-race energy. Natasha was all precision and efficiency, double-checking every little detail before you left.

The drive to the racetrack was relaxed, filled with quiet conversation and the comfortable silence that only comes from years of understanding. Your fingers laced through Natasha’s as she drove with her usual cool confidence, the city blurring past the windows.

“Ready to meet your fans?” Natasha asked, glancing sideways at you.

A grin spread across your face. “Always.”

The moment you arrived at the paddock, you could hear the hum of excitement from the fans gathered just beyond the barriers. As you stepped out of the car, the familiar chants of your name echoed through the air.

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here!”

You beamed, your nerves melting away under the warmth of the crowd’s enthusiasm. Natasha watched from a few steps behind, arms crossed, her expression softening as she saw you stop to sign autographs, exchange kind words, and take selfies with your adoring fans.

Natasha joined you by the barrier. A few fans squealed, not just for the famous driver but for the woman standing at your side.

“Alright, alright.” Natasha said with a half-smirk, “You’ve had your fun. Let’s get you to the garage before you start signing every piece of merchandise in this city.”

You laughed, but Natasha could see the energy it gave you. You were glowing. And today, Natasha would do everything to make sure your star kept shining.

The energy in the paddock was electric, the kind of buzz that seeped into your veins and made you feel alive. Natasha guided you through the usual pre-race routine like clockwork, her presence as steady as ever. But there was a warmth to her efficiency that only you could feel. A care threaded between every checklist and instruction.

As you made your way to the garage, you glanced over at Natasha, your fingers twitching slightly with pre-race nerves. Natasha caught the movement instantly. “Cold feet?” she asked, one eyebrow arching in concern.

“Just the good kind of nerves..” you replied, offering a crooked smile. “The ‘I’m ready to crush this’ kind.”

“Good.” Natasha nodded, her eyes scanning the garage as you entered. Technicians hustled around you, final checks and adjustments happening in a blur of motion.

The minutes ticked by as you completed your pre-race rituals, your muscles thrumming with the familiar cocktail of nerves and excitement. As the call came for drivers to take their places, Natasha walked alongside you to the car.

You slid into the driver’s seat, your hands instinctively reaching for the steering wheel as you settled in. Natasha leaned over the side of the car, her gaze locking with yours. “Remember, no heroics. Just smooth and clean. You’ve got this.”

“Got it, boss.” You winked, your cheeky grin making Natasha roll her eyes, though her expression softened with pride.

The engines roared to life all around you, but your focus remained on Natasha until the last possible moment, the warmth of her touch lingering long after she stepped away.

The race began with a thunderous surge of power, tires squealing against the track as you pushed your car to its limits.

The race was going perfectly. Almost too perfectly. Your grip on the steering wheel was firm but relaxed, your breathing steady, your focus unshakable. The crowd’s roar was a distant echo, dulled by the padded embrace of your helmet. Lap after lap, the world narrowed to nothing but the track before you and Natasha’s calm, measured voice in your ear.

“Just a few more laps, Y/n. You’re holding the lead beautifully.” Natasha praised, her tone laced with that signature coolness but layered with something deeper. Pride. Relief. Love.

You grinned despite yourself, eyes flickering briefly to the rearview mirror. The pack was behind you, clawing at your shadow, but your speed was unmatchable today. You were flying.

Then, out of nowhere, chaos erupted. A sharp, metallic scream tore through your headset, the sound of metal against metal. Tires shrieking. Engines spluttering into desperate, dying growls.

“Car pileup! Sector 3! Repeat, multiple cars down!” The voice from Race Control was pure panic, barely able to keep its terror in check.

Your stomach twisted. Your eyes snapped to the bend ahead. It was supposed to be an easy maneuver, just a clean sweep around the corner before the long straight. But the corner wasn’t clear.

Smoke billowed, thick and acrid, curling into the sky like dark fingers clawing upward. Amidst the haze, the glint of wreckage shone with a wicked brightness, metal torn and twisted like paper. Two cars tangled together, blocking the track almost completely.

“Oh, shit…” Your voice came out cracked and trembling, your foot already slamming on the brakes. But there was no time.

No way to avoid it.

“Y/n, slow down! Pull to the left!” Natasha’s voice cut through your ear, sharp and desperate, the cool edge of her usual calm utterly shattered. “Y/n, now!”

You tried. God, you tried. The wheel jerked beneath your hands as you swerved left, but another car had already collided with the wreckage, spinning out of control and slamming into your side. The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire.

The sound of steel shrieking against steel filled your ears, your body thrown forward as your car skidded violently against another. Pain flared across your ribs, your shoulder slamming into the frame, your head knocking against the padded helmet hard enough to leave your vision blurred.

Then, just darkness.

The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire. Meanwhile, in the control room, Natasha was frozen. Her fingers dug into the edge of the console, knuckles white, her eyes glued to the live feed that displayed nothing but a burning mess of wreckage and smoke.

Around her, the other team managers were reacting, shouting commands, issuing urgent instructions, some already sprinting toward the exit. But Natasha couldn’t move. She was locked in place by the overwhelming dread that had wrapped itself around her like ice.

“Romanoff! What the hell are you doing just standing there? Move!” A voice snapped her out of the icy paralysis gripping her. A hand on her shoulder was rough, shaking her out of her trance. She could barely see him through the haze of panic clouding her vision, but his eyes were sharp and urgent.

“I-” Natasha choked on her words, her voice cracking. Her mind was torn between the control room’s blinking screens and the burning wreckage outside.

“She’s out there..” she rasped, her voice thick and guttural.

“I know.” The men replied, his jaw clenched. “And so is my driver. We’re going to find them. Now, get in the damn car.”

Natasha barely registered the way Daniel’s fingers curled around her arm, dragging her toward the emergency exit. The world around her was a blur of frantic shouts and blaring alarms. All she could hear was the faint, distorted echo of your last words over the headset.

She felt like she was choking. The memory of your grin, your careless confidence, your unwavering faith in her guidance, all of it tore through her with the cruelty of broken glass.

They reached Daniel’s car, the bright red vehicle roaring to life the moment he turned the key. Natasha threw herself into the passenger seat, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Buckle up.” He snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. But Natasha barely heard him. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, each one worse than the last.

What if it’s worse this time? What if your car is nothing but wreckage, your body broken beyond recognition? She swallowed thickly, her nails digging into her own palms until pain flared in her hands. “Drive faster..”

“I’m going as fast as I can without crashing us both..” He shot back, his eyes locked on the road as the car shot down the access lane toward the accident site.

The air between them was electric with urgency, the silence filled with the muffled rumble of engines and the distant screams of the crowd. The crash had spread like wildfire, multiple cars caught in the violent mess of twisted metal and scorched asphalt.

“Natasha.” Daniel’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. His eyes flicked toward her, his own panic tightly controlled, channeled into cold determination. “We’ll find them. Y/ns strong. She’s a fighter. You of all people should know that.”

Natasha clenched her jaw, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s the problem.” she whispered. “She’s been fighting her whole damn life. And if it’s bad this time…if it’s worse…”

The wreckages came into view, a horrifying sprawl of debris and smoke. Cars were scattered across the track, crumpled like toys thrown aside by an angry child. Marshals were already swarming the area, trying to contain the chaos, but there was nothing contained about the devastation before them.

Daniel slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The instant they stopped, Natasha was out of the passenger seat, her feet pounding against the asphalt as she ran toward the destruction.

They split up, their desperation spurring them in opposite directions, both of them scanning the wreckage with feverish intensity.

The smoke was thick, burning her throat, her lungs. She stumbled over a shattered piece of debris, her legs threatening to buckle under her. But she kept going. Because she couldn’t stop. Because you were out here. And Natasha was not going to leave you alone.

Her voice tore from her throat as she called out, her screams swallowed by the chaos around her. Her eyes scanned the mess of broken vehicles and frantic medics, her throat raw from shouting your name. The world was a blur of flashing lights, shouting officials, and the terrifying echo of her own heartbeat.

And then, through the haze of smoke, she saw it. Your car. It was half-crushed against another, the nose twisted, panels ripped apart like some brutal sculpture. But even more incredible was what Natasha saw beside it.

You.

Natasha’s breath seized in her throat as she saw the way your body sagged between the medics’ arms, your head lolling forward like you could barely hold it up. The paramedics were lowering you carefully to the ground, their words a mess of urgent commands and rehearsed reassurances.

She was at your side in an instant, her knees almost buckling with sheer relief and terror all tangled together. “Y/n. Hey. I’m here. I’m right here..”

Your eyes flickered open at the sound of her voice, dazed and unfocused. The dark glass of your helmet’s visor was cracked, splintered lines running through the surface like spiderwebs.

“Natasha..?” Your voice was barely a whisper, your lips chapped and trembling.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay..” Natasha said, her voice tight and trembling. Her hand wrapped around your gloved fingers, gripping them like a lifeline.

The medics were already circling like vultures, one of them barking orders into a radio while the other started running through the protocol.

“We need to get her helmet off, check her breathing. Possible concussion. Someone get the stretcher ready!”

Natasha’s fingers tightened around your hand, her gaze locked on your face. “Stay with me, okay? You’re doing great. Just stay with me..”

The medic nearest to you was speaking calmly, his gloved hands gentle as he reached for your helmet. “Y/n, I need to take this off, okay? It’s going to hurt a bit, but you’ll be able to breathe better. Just stay still.”

You nodded, though the motion was clumsy, your head barely moving. “’Kay…Just…just don’t leave..” you slurred, your gaze sliding to Natasha’s face with a desperation that nearly broke her.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha promised, her voice hoarse. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

The helmet came off with a sickening scrape of broken metal against skin. Natasha’s breath hitched as her eyes caught the glistening trail of blood running down your face from a vicious gash torn across your eyebrow. The cut was deep, the blood so dark it looked black against your skin.

Natasha’s gasp was almost a sob. “Oh God… Y/n…”

But your gaze was unfocused, your breathing shallow. “I…I’m fine. Just…just a little dizzy..”

The medic’s gloved hands were already pressing gently against your head, checking for fractures, murmuring reassurances you couldn’t hear. Natasha’s eyes traced every drop of blood, every twitch of pain on your face.

“Y/n, I need you to try and stay awake, alright?” the medic continued, his tone calm and firm. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

Your voice was sluggish, your words slurred. “Uh…Head…and…foot. Really hurts..”

The medic’s eyes dropped to your leg, and Natasha followed his gaze. Then her stomach dropped to the ground.

Your right foot was twisted at a sickening angle, the racing boot visibly swollen. But worse than that, the thing that almost made Natasha vomit, was the jagged, broken bone protruding just above your ankle, blood pooling against the fabric.

“O-Oh God..” Natasha whispered, her voice barely more than a strangled breath. Her hand squeezed yours so tight she feared she’d break something.

“Dammit, we need to get her stabilized.” the medic barked, his voice now laced with something that sounded far too much like fear. “Get the stretcher over here, now!”

Your head was already turning, your glassy eyes trying to make sense of the panic around you.

“W-What’s… going on?” you slurred, your gaze starting to drop downward, toward the carnage of your own leg.

“Hey, hey.” Natasha’s voice was sharp, her free hand reaching to cup your face, gently turning your head back to meet her eyes. “Look at me. Just look at me, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“But…my foot…” your brows furrowed, your voice fractured by pain and confusion.

“It’s fine.” Natasha lied, her own voice shaking. “You’re going to be fine. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down.”

The stretcher arrived, more hands pressing around you, securing your neck, your broken leg. Natasha hated the way they moved you, the way your face twisted in agony, the little gasps of pain you couldn’t quite suppress.

But even through the horror, your fingers clung to hers, your grip as tight as you could manage.

“N-Nat…?”

“I’m here.” Natasha’s voice was firm now, as solid as steel. “I’m not leaving you. Not for a second.”

They loaded you onto the stretcher, the medics shouting orders Natasha barely registered. Everything was a blur, but her gaze never left your face.

“Talk to her.” one of the medics said to Natasha, his tone harsh with urgency. “Keep her awake. We can’t risk her passing out before we assess the damage.”

“Y/n, sweetheart, listen to me.” Natasha said, her own panic buried deep beneath the surface of her voice. “You’re going to be okay. You’re too damn stubborn not to be, right?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a shuddering gasp. “Y-Yeah…stubborn…that’s me…”

“Damn right.” Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles, her own hands slick with blood. “You’re not leaving me, you hear me? You’re staying right here with me.”

“’M not… leaving…” your words were fading, your eyelids drooping as shock and pain clawed away at your consciousness.

Natasha felt her own breathing hitch, her voice breaking. “Good. That’s good..”

As the medics lifted the stretcher and began moving it toward the waiting ambulance, Natasha followed, her hand locked around yours like a lifeline.

Minutes later, the ambulance tore through the streets like it was chasing time itself, sirens wailing into the sky, the city blurring into light and sound. Inside, Natasha sat wedged against the wall, one hand gripping the steel bar, the other never leaving yours.

Your eyes fluttered, trying and failing to stay open. Your skin had gone an ashen shade beneath the streaks of blood, your chest rising and falling in shallow, unsteady rhythm. Every time the medic adjusted your leg, you whimpered, barely a sound, but one that carved itself deep into Natasha’s chest like a knife.

“You’re okay.” Natasha whispered over and over, her voice cracking around the edges. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The moment they reached the emergency bay, the ambulance doors burst open. Lights flooded in, followed by the blur of movement , gurney wheels on concrete, shouting voices, cold air rushing through the gap before the building swallowed them whole.

“Female, 23, compound fracture to the right foot, deep laceration above the right eye, suspected concussion.” the paramedic rattled off as they passed the threshold of the hospital.

A woman stepped forward, tall, composed, sharp eyes framed by silvering curls tucked behind her ears.

“Get her into Room Five-” she ordered, but the moment her eyes fell on Natasha, her entire posture shifted. Her brows lifted slightly, the recognition instant.

“Get the VIP trauma room prepped now. Clear the hallway. Tell imaging to stand by.”

Natasha stayed right at your side as the gurney wheeled through wide corridors, glass doors flying open before them like water parting.

“Vitals are unstable.” one of the medics said. “BP’s dropping.”

Inside the trauma room, the chaos turned clinical. Machines hummed to life, IVs were connected, and gloves snapped into place.

The nurse stepped up beside and leaned over you with practiced precision. “My name is Helen. I’m going to check you, okay? Can you open your eyes for me?”

You blinked slowly, your gaze unfocused. “Mhmm…”

“Good. Stay with me.” Helen reached up and shone a penlight into your eyes. “Natasha, any known allergies?”

“No. No allergies..”

Helen nodded quickly. “What’s your full name?”

Your lips moved, the sound faint. “Y/n…L/n.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“’M…I was racing…”

“She’s lucid but foggy.” Helen muttered. “Pupils are sluggish. Concussion confirmed.” She gently wiped away blood from your temple, exposing the deep gash beneath. “We’ll stitch this after scans.”

Then a second nurse moved to the foot of the bed, starting to unwrap the temporary support on your leg. The second she shifted it, you jolted violently, a strangled cry escaping your throat.

“Careful!” Natasha snapped, stepping forward, her own panic flaring. “Her foot-”

The nurse paused, her expression grim. “Confirmed compound fracture. Bone’s fully through.”

“Prep for OR.” Helen said calmly.

But that calm shattered the second the word OR hit your ears. Your chest hitched. Your eyes widened. And just like that, the panic flooded in.

“No. No-no no no!” Your voice cracked as your hands reached for anything, the rail, the blanket, Natasha. “Not surgery, not again, please don’t- don’t-”

“She’s panicking..” Helen said immediately, eyes darting to the vitals monitor. The heart rate was skyrocketing.

Natasha, cupping your face. “It’s okay! It’s just a bone, baby. Bones heal, you hear me?”

“It is-” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “It’s happening again..I’m gonna be stuck- I won’t”

“You can, and you will, you hear me?” Natasha said, forcing her voice to be stronger than the tremble in her own heart. “It’s not your spine. It’s not your nerves. It’s one damn bone..”

You were trembling, head jerking side to side as if trying to run from the memory crawling up from your past.

“She has trauma from her last crash..” Natasha said, looking up at Helen. Helen’s jaw clenched, then her expression shifted. “Alright. I’ve got her.” She turned to the nurse by your feet. “Touch her toes.”

The nurse blinked. “What?”

“Touch her toes.” Helen repeated. “Y/n?” She turned back to you, voice soft now. “Can you feel this?”

The nurse pressed gently along the top of your foot, just above the exposed break.

You gasped but nodded. “Y-Yeah…I feel it..”

Helen leaned in, voice low and firm. “That means your nerves are fine. You’re not paralyzed. Your body’s okay. The surgery is to fix something fixable. We are not going to let this become what it was last time.”

Natasha watched as the words landed, saw the slow, shaky exhale leave your lungs. Your hand, still clinging to Natasha’s, loosened just slightly.

Helen stood, her eyes flicking over the vitals. The panic was still too high, pulse, blood pressure, breathing all elevated. Too dangerous for surgery in that state. She turned to Natasha quietly.

“She’s too wound up to go in like this.” Helen said under her breath. “We’re putting her under now. I’ll make the call.”

She gave a small nod to a nearby nurse, a younger man already prepping the IV line. He moved with practiced hands, drawing a small vial from his tray and inserting it into the port.

“It’s going to hit fast.” Helen said. Natasha knelt beside you again, brushing damp hair away from your pale forehead. “Hey, baby. They’re going to give you something to help you sleep now, okay? Just sleep. That’s all.”

You blinked slowly, tears still welling in your lashes. “You’ll be there…when I wake up?”

“I’ll be the first face you see.” Natasha whispered, kissing your temple. “I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere.”

The nurse pushed the medication in, and within seconds, your body began to still. Your breathing evened out slightly, your trembling stopped. Your eyes fluttered. “I love you…” you murmured, barely audible.

Natasha’s throat closed up. “I love you more.”

And then your eyes slipped shut. The panic was gone. Replaced by a terrifying, aching silence. Helen gave Natasha a nod. “You did good. Now let us take care of her.”

The stretcher rolled out, the surgical team falling into step. Natasha followed them to the doors of the OR, only stopping when Helen placed a firm hand on her arm.

“She’s in good hands now.” she said gently. “But you need to breathe. Sit. And wait. And when she wakes up, she’s going to need you.”

Natasha stood frozen as the doors swung closed. The surgical wing was too quiet. Too white. Too sterile. Too full of time that refused to move.

Natasha sat down on a hospital bench just outside the OR, elbows on her knees, fingers tangled in her hair. The double doors to the OR stayed shut, a glowing IN USE light above them. Mocking her.

She had tried to sit still. To breathe. But her leg was bouncing uncontrollably, and every minute that ticked by felt like someone carving another line into her spine. The guilt was crawling up her throat like bile. I promised her I’d protect her. She trusted me with everything.

“Natasha.”

She flinched, eyes snapping up. Yelena stood in front of her, pale and tight-jawed, still in her coat like she’d run straight from her apartment the moment she heard.

“You okay?” Yelena asked softly.

Natasha scoffed, a bitter sound. “She’s in there with a fucking broken foot and a head wound, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Yelena didn’t respond immediately. She just sat down beside her, shoulder brushing Natasha’s, grounding her like an anchor in a storm. Natasha swallowed hard. “It’s my fault.”

“No.” Yelena said firmly. “No, it’s not.”

“I put her back in the car! After everything she went through. After that crash. After her body was wrecked the first time. I pushed her. Because I missed the racer in her.” Her voice cracked. “Because I wanted to win..”

Yelena looked at her, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t force her to drive, Natasha. You believed in her when no one else did. That’s why she came back.”

Natasha looked away, lips pressed into a line. “And now she’s bleeding in an OR again. Screaming. Panicking. Because all I ever do is bring her back to the pain.”

There was a pause. Then Yelena sighed and dug into her coat pocket.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you yet..” she muttered, pulling out her phone. “But…they’re waiting for news. I called them.”

Natasha blinked. “Who?”

Yelena’s lips pressed together. “Her parents. They’re on the line.”

Silence. It was a full second before the weight of the words hit her like a wrecking ball. Natasha’s body went stiff. Her fingers curled in her lap. Her breath froze in her lungs.

Your parents.

“Oh god..” she whispered. “Yelena, what the hell am I supposed to say to them?”

Yelena’s voice softened. “You tell them the truth.”

“No. I- I can’t! I told them I’d keep her safe. I promised them..” Natasha’s voice cracked, her hands shaking again. “They trusted me. After the last time? They didn’t even want her back on the track. I had to fight for her, with them. And now she’s in a damn OR again and I—”

“Natasha.” Yelena turned to her, firm now. “They’re scared out of their minds. They need to hear from the one person Y/n trusts most.”

Natasha looked at the phone in Yelena’s hand like it was a bomb.

“She’s their daughter.”

“And she’s your everything.” Yelena said quietly. “So breathe. And talk to them.”

Natasha reached out with a trembling hand and took the phone. “Hi. This is… this is Natasha.” Her voice was hoarse.

There was a pause on the other end, and then a voice. Soft. Tight with worry. Your mother.

“Where is she? Is she okay? What happened? Natasha, w-what happened to our daughter? P-Please don’t say-”

Natasha’s throat closed up. Her free hand gripped the edge of the bench like she needed to hold on to reality. She tried to answer, but nothing came out at first. Not a word.

Then finally, broken and quiet, she whispered:

“I’m so sorry.”

Natasha’s hand shook as she held the phone to her ear, her voice cracking with every word.

“Yes. She’s in surgery..”

Pause. Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. A broken foot. And a concussion.”

Her gaze kept flicking toward the double doors of the OR, her eyes raw and burning from the unrelenting tears she refused to fully shed. The sterile lights above buzzed with cold indifference.

“She’s alive. The doctors..They’re doing everything they can.”

Her fingers clenched tighter around the phone, knuckles white.

“I-I’ll call you back when I know more, okay? I promise.” She clicked off, the phone slipping from her grip and landing heavily on the floor.

Yelena bent down, picking it up, her own expression unreadable. “I’ll let them know when she’s awake.”

“Thanks..”Natasha rasped. Her voice was shredded, hollow. Her entire body trembled with the effort of holding herself together.

Minutes turned to hours. The cold, merciless kind of waiting where every passing second felt like a punishment. Natasha’s mind kept churning over every horrific possibility. What if the concussion was worse than they thought? What if her leg was so damaged she could never drive again? What if she woke up and decided Natasha had pushed her too far this time? What if she never woke up?

The doors finally swung open with a soft whoosh. Natasha shot to her feet so fast her vision spun. A doctor stepped out, flanked by Helen. Both of them wore weary but steady expressions. Natasha’s stomach twisted. Her nails dug into her palms.

“Miss Romanoff?” the doctor began. His voice was calm, measured. She hated how clinical he sounded.

“Yes. I’m-” Her voice cracked, too sharp, too desperate. “Is she…is she okay?”

“The surgery went smoothly.” the doctor continued. “The bone was successfully reset and secured. The nerve function in her leg is undamaged, which means with proper rest and rehab, she will make a full recovery.”

The words crashed over Natasha like a tidal wave. A violent rush of relief so strong her legs nearly gave out beneath her.

“S-She’s okay?” Natasha breathed, her voice trembling.

“She’s stable.” the doctor confirmed, his gaze sympathetic now. “We’re moving her to recovery. She’ll be groggy when she wakes up, but she’s going to be fine.”

The tears Natasha had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks unchecked. Her shoulders shook, her breathing turning into something ragged and uncontrollable.

“Thank you. Oh God, thank you…” Her hands flew to her face, trying and failing to hide the ugly sob that tore its way out of her throat.

Helen reached out and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure no one bothers her while she recovers. I’ve already spoken to security. No paparazzi, no press. And if anyone tries, they’ll have to get through me.”

A wet, broken laugh slipped from Natasha’s lips. “Thank you. You don’t know…you don’t know how much this means.”

Helen’s smile was brief but genuine. “They’ll be bringing her out in a few minutes. She’s going to need rest, but you can be there when she wakes up.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion. But beneath it, there was hope. Raw and fragile, but alive. She glanced over at Yelena, who had been standing just outside the doctor’s conversation, arms folded tightly across her chest. Their eyes met, and Yelena gave a short nod.

“See? She’s tough as hell.” Yelena said, her voice rough with emotion she wasn’t about to admit. “Just like you.”

Natasha didn’t have words. She just nodded.

When Helen patted her shoulder one last time and turned to leave, Natasha couldn’t help herself. She reached out and threw her arms around the nurse.

Helen stiffened, caught off guard, but only for a moment. Then her arms wrapped around Natasha, gentle and reassuring.

“She’s going to be fine.” Helen whispered, her voice low and steady. “And so are you.”

Natasha pulled back, wiping furiously at her eyes. “I just…thank you. Thank you for everything.”

The walls were a soft cream, the blinds drawn to shield from the press of evening light. The private VIP suite was spacious, silent, and most importantly: protected. No noise. No reporters. No cameras.

Just Natasha.

She sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on her knees, fingers curled into her palms. Her heart still hadn’t stopped racing. The image of you, limp and bloodied on that stretcher, still looped in her mind like a cruel replay she couldn’t turn off.

Now, you lay before her. Wrapped in white hospital blankets, hooked up to monitors, your head gently bandaged. Your leg was elevated and braced in a temporary cast.

But you were breathing.

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off you for a second. A soft beep from the monitor spiked, just slightly. And then a subtle twitch in your fingers.

Natasha shot up from the chair, her heart lurching. “Y/n?” she whispered, stepping closer.

Another twitch, your head shifted faintly, your lips parting as your brows drew together in faint discomfort.

“Hey..” Natasha said softly, her fingers brushing your hand. Your eyes blinked open, slow, uneven. Cloudy from anesthesia. Your gaze was unfocused at first, drifting past Natasha like you weren’t really seeing her.

“Where…?” Your voice was raspy, so soft it was almost inaudible.

“You’re in the hospital..” Natasha murmured, her thumb stroking gently across the back of your hand. “You were in a crash. But you’re okay. You’re out of surgery. You’re safe now.”

You blinked again, your pupils beginning to center, focus returning in slow, heavy waves. You winced, your free hand moving slightly toward your head.

“Easy.” Natasha said quickly, gently taking your wrist. “You’ve got a concussion, and a cut above your eye. But you’re stable. They stitched you up.”

You blinked, your breathing beginning to pick up as awareness started setting in. “My leg…”

“It’s just broken.” Natasha said softly. “But the bone’s set. They fixed it in surgery. The nerves are intact, full feeling. You’re going to walk. Drive. Everything.”

There was a beat of silence, and then your eyes finally locked onto hers , really saw her. And the tears welled almost instantly.

Your fingers tightened weakly around hers. “You didn’t leave..”

“Never.” Natasha breathed. “I held your hand through the whole thing. And I’ll be right here for every step of what’s next.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes beginning to close again. “You’re warm…”

Natasha smiled gently, brushing the hair back from your bandaged brow. “That’s the morphine talking, baby..”

A small, dopey grin formed on your lips. “Good… I don’t wanna feel anything right now.”

“You don’t have to.” Natasha murmured. “You just sleep. I’ve got you.”

You blinked once more, and then slipped back into sleep, but this time, it was peaceful.

Natasha sat back down, still holding your hand. She wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.

The early morning sunlight seeped through the blinds, a soft glow painting the hospital room in warm hues. It was quiet. Peaceful. Almost enough to trick Natasha into believing the nightmare was over.

Almost.

She hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d spent the night in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside your bed, her legs curled up, one hand still clutching yours like a lifeline. Every time you so much as twitched, Natasha’s eyes would snap open, her pulse spiking until the monitor’s steady beeping reassured her you were still okay.

But now, in the calm glow of morning, your eyes fluttered open again. Slowly. Blinking groggily against the light.

“Nat…?” Your voice was raspy, hoarse from disuse and the effects of anesthesia.

Natasha sat up straight, fingers lacing through yours. “I’m here.”

Your gaze slowly focused, your lips twitching into a weak, lopsided smile. “Still here…”

“Always.” Natasha said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck..” Your brow furrowed, your hand drifting toward the bandage on your forehead. “My head feels… foggy.”

“You had a concussion.” Natasha explained, her thumb tracing calming circles on your palm. “You might feel a little fuzzy for a while.”

You nodded, your gaze sliding down the length of your body until it landed on your elevated leg. The bulky cast was awkward and ugly, but Natasha had never been so relieved to see something so damn unappealing.

“Leg’s broken?” you asked, your voice too casual, like you were trying to make the truth sound less real.

“Yeah.” Natasha’s voice was gentle. “Clean break, though. They fixed it up good. The nerves are fine. You’ll be walking in no time.”

You swallowed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “So…not like last time?”

“Not like last time.” Natasha reassured, her voice steady and strong. “This one’s just a bone. It’ll heal.”

Your eyes glossed over with relief, the shaky exhale escaping your lips almost like a sob. “I really thought…I thought it was all happening again.”

Natasha’s chest tightened. “I know. And you pushed through it. You’re…You’re so damn brave.”

Your fingers tightened around hers. “I was a mess. Crying, panicking…that’s not brave..”

“Want me to argue?” Natasha’s voice cracked with a teary smile. “Because I will. And I’ll win.”

A half-laugh, half-sob slipped from your lips. “God, you’re stubborn.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Their fingers stayed entwined, the silence between them comfortable for a few precious moments. Natasha watched the way your breathing evened out, your expression softening into something like peace.

But before she could fully relax, the door creaked open. Natasha’s head snapped up, eyes blazing with protective wariness.

Yelena stepped in, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp as always. But she wasn’t alone.

Behind her were two familiar faces. Your parents. Natasha’s stomach clenched, guilt and terror slicing through her chest like a knife. But their eyes weren’t on her. They were on you.

“Y/n?” your mother’s voice cracked, the sound ragged with emotion.

Your eyes widened. “Mom? Dad?”

And then the tears came. From all of you. Natasha started to pull back, to give them space, but your hand tightened around hers, refusing to let her go.

But her gaze drifted to your parents, waiting for them to tell her off. To say this was her fault. That she’d broken you all over again. But instead, your mother walked over, reached out, and hugged Natasha. “Thank you…for being here for her.”

Natasha nearly collapsed from the sheer relief that tore through her. She glanced at Yelena, who gave her a subtle nod of approval. And somehow, that made the world seem just a little bit safer.

Your parents stayed for a while, their voices a soft blur of relief and love as they hugged you, whispered words of comfort, made promises of being there every step of your recovery. Natasha mostly stayed quiet, her fingers still wrapped around yours, never letting go.

Eventually, they slipped out for a much-needed break, some coffee, air, anything to relieve the ache of hours spent in panic. Yelena went with them, promising Natasha a few minutes alone with you.

Now, the room was quiet again. And your eyes found Natasha’s, searching for something unspoken.

“Everyone’s okay, right?” you asked, your voice still rough but stronger now. “The other drivers? From the crash?”

Natasha hesitated for a split second. “Yeah. Everyone made it out. Some got pretty banged up, broken ribs, concussions. But no deaths. They’re all alive.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath. “Thank God. That crash was…”

“Horrific.” Natasha finished for you, her gaze dropping to your hand in hers. “I saw it happen on the monitors. It was like…like a nightmare.”

“It was..” you admitted, your expression darkening. “Everything just…closed in. There was nowhere to go. Just metal and fire.”

Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles. “And you still fought your way out. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Not strong enough to keep my cool.” You laughed bitterly, your gaze slipping away. “I was a total wreck. If you hadn’t been there to talk me down, I don’t think I would’ve—”

“Stop.” Natasha’s voice was firm, cutting through the doubt like a knife. “You did everything right. You survived. You held on. And you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Your eyes softened. “And you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A soft knock on the door pulled their attention. It swung open to reveal Helen, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but focused.

“Mind if I do a quick check-up?” Helen asked, her voice gentle. “I just need to make sure everything’s looking good.”

“Yeah, sure..” you mumbled, offering a weak smile.

Helen stepped in, eyes flicking between you and Natasha with that same warm but professional gaze. “Nice to see you looking a little less like roadkill.”

“That’s a real compliment right there..” you replied with a ghost of a grin.

“Hey, in here? That’s high praise.” Helen approached the bed, her eyes scanning the monitors before she leaned over to inspect the bandage on your forehead. “How’s your head feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“Uh…a little dizzy, but nothing terrible. Just… fuzzy.”

“That’s expected.” Helen said, her fingers carefully pressing around the bandage, checking for swelling. “The cut’s clean and stitched up well. We’ll keep an eye on the concussion, but I think you’re already doing better than most would.”

You managed a wry smile. “I guess I’m not most.”

Helen’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “No, you’re definitely not.”

She continued her examination, clicking her pen against her clipboard before moving toward your elevated leg. Her fingers traced gently along the edges of the cast, checking the exposed skin for circulation.

“Any pain? Tingling? Numbness?” Helen asked, all business now.

“Pain, yeah..” you admitted, your fingers twitching against Natasha’s hand. “But no tingling. I can…I can feel everything. Well, as much as you’d expect, I guess.”

“That’s excellent.” Helen nodded, glancing at the monitors again. “The break was nasty, but they did a damn good job putting you back together. You’ll be out of here sooner than you think.”

Your shoulders relaxed visibly. Natasha felt the tension drain out of her too, her chest loosening with every word Helen spoke.

“So…I’m not gonna be stuck in a bed for months again?” your voice was small, laced with a vulnerability that made Natasha’s heart twist.

Helen’s gaze softened. “No. You’re not. You’re going to heal. And once you’ve done the proper rehab, you’ll be walking again. Racing again, if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes flickered to Natasha’s, an unspoken question hanging between you. Natasha nodded, her grip tightening. “You’ve got this. And I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Helen straightened, tapping her clipboard lightly. “I’ll come back in a few hours for another check. Just get some rest and, for God’s sake, take it easy.”

You smirked, though your eyes still brimmed with exhaustion. “Yes, ma’am.”

Helen headed for the door but paused, looking back at Natasha. “And you. You should rest, too. You look worse than your patient.”

Natasha managed a shaky smile. “Not leaving her.”

“I figured.” Helen said, her own smile gentle. “But the offer stands.” With that, she disappeared down the hallway, leaving you and Natasha alone once more.

Hours later, Natasha’s legs felt heavier than concrete as she wandered through the hospital corridors. The bright lights, sterile air, and endless sea of white walls were all starting to blur together. But she needed to do something other than just sit by your bed and replay every horrific second of the crash over and over.

So she’d gone to fetch food. Something decent, not the bland garbage most hospitals served. Because you deserved better. Always.

The cafeteria was practically empty, just a few staff members drifting like ghosts through the aisles. Natasha grabbed a couple of pre-packaged sandwiches, bottled water, and fruit cups. Nothing glamorous, but it would do.

The walk back to your room was shorter than she expected, but when she turned the corner to the private suite, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Two interns were standing just outside the door, talking in low, excited voices. “Holy shit. That’s really her. Y/n. The Y/n.” The first one whispered, his voice barely restrained from outright squealing.

“I know, right?” The second intern shook her head, eyes practically sparkling. “She’s, like, legendary. After that last accident years ago? And then her comeback? It’s insane. And now she survived this? She’s got to be superhuman or something.”

“I would kill for a chance to talk to her. Even just an autograph.”

“Forget an autograph. Just seeing her — that’s like…damn. It’s like meeting a god.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed, gaze locking onto the interns like a hawk zeroing in on prey. She took a slow, deliberate step forward.

The interns saw her. And the joy drained from their faces like someone had flicked a switch.

“OO-h..” the male intern whispered, his eyes widening in terror. “That’s Natasha Romanoff…”

“No freaking way…” the girl muttered, her voice trembling.

Natasha’s eyes burned as she approached them. The sandwiches and drinks felt like dead weight in her hands. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The look on her face was enough.

The interns immediately stammered out awkward apologies and practically sprinted down the hallway. Natasha’s gaze followed them until they disappeared around the corner. Only then did she let herself breathe.

She hated it. How the vultures were already circling. How they saw your pain as some kind of heroic legend instead of a goddamn near-death experience. How they would never understand what it was actually like.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet safety of your room.

Your eyes were half-closed, but the second the door creaked, you blinked awake. And the lazy, knowing smile that spread across your lips nearly undid Natasha entirely.

“What’s got your murder face on?” you murmured, your voice a touch stronger now.

Natasha grumbled something incoherent and kicked the door shut behind her, the metal click a satisfying note of finality. “Just some idiots loitering around like they think this is some kind of theme park.”

“Fans?” you asked, smirking even as your eyelids drooped.

“Interns. But yeah, pretty much.” Natasha muttered, striding over to the bed and placing the plastic tray of food on the bed table. “I swear, they’ve got no boundaries. And if anyone else hovers near your door, I’m personally throwing them out the goddamn window.”

Your grin widened. “I love it when you get all protective. Makes me feel special..”

“Because you are special.” Natasha’s voice softened, and the tension in her shoulders finally eased. “And you’re still not eating this crap alone. I’m not getting scolded by you for making you eat hospital food again.”

“Oh nooo, can’t have that..” you joked, but your eyes shone with warmth.

Natasha slid the table closer to the bed, opening one of the sandwiches before nudging the fruit cup toward you. “Eat. And drink this water. No arguments.”

“Bossy.” you mumbled, but your fingers reached for the cup obediently.

Natasha’s gaze remained locked on you, tracing every detail of your face. The way your eyes still fluttered with fatigue, the way your lips twitched as you fought through the pain. It hurt to watch. But it was better than not seeing you at all.

Once she was convinced you had eaten at least a few bites of the food, Natasha leaned forward and gently tugged the sheets, sliding you slightly over on the mattress.

“What…what’re you doing?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“Making room.” Natasha replied bluntly.

She kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed beside you, and settled herself down against the pillows. One arm curled protectively around your shoulders, pulling you gently against her own chest.

“You don’t have to-” you started.

“Shut up.” Natasha’s voice was soft, but the underlying force of it silenced you immediately. “You’re not getting rid of me. I’m staying right here. Whether you like it or not.”

You chuckled weakly. “Guess I don’t really have a choice, huh?”

“Nope.”

The warmth of your body against her own was more comforting than Natasha could have imagined. She felt the weight of exhaustion settle over her like a heavy blanket, tugging at her limbs and mind with quiet insistence.

“Nat?”

“Hm?” Natasha’s voice was already thick with sleep, her fingers gently stroking your arm.

“You’re the best.”

The only answer was a soft, barely audible snore. You smiled, your head nestled against Natasha’s shoulder, your own body easing into the kind of rest you hadn’t felt since the crash.

They were okay. Somehow, against all the odds, they were okay.

-

-

-

-

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.

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

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

Word count: 5075

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

Part 2

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

Natasha had never been the type to hope for softness.

Not for herself, at least.

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

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

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

Not in the way that mattered.

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

She also knew something more personal. Something quieter.

You didn’t like children.

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

That was fine.

That was expected.

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

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

You, however, were new.

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

But Ana didn’t.

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

Not in fear. Not in confusion. In recognition.

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

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

“Down,” Ana whispered.

Natasha blinked.

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

“Down,” she repeated.

Natasha hesitated—glanced at you.

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

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

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

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

Natasha’s chest tightened.

One step. Then another.

You looked up.

There was a breath, the room shrinking around it.

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

And then she lifted both arms toward you.

“Lap.”

You froze.

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

Natasha didn’t move.

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

You didn’t reach for Ana immediately.

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

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

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

Like she had always meant to end up there.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat.

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

And then she started to play.

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

It was almost unbearable, the quiet of the moment.

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

Because that’s what it was. Impossible.

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

And she had chosen you.

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

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

Ana had found something.

Or maybe, someone.

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

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

The room was almost too quiet now.

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

Natasha couldn’t look away.

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyebrow lifted. “Should I be?”

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

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

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

“I don’t regret much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re dangerous,” she muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door creaked open behind them.

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

You’d arrived.

She turned.

You looked… awful.

Delightfully awful.

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

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

Ana stared, Hard. So damn hard.

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

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

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

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

“She’s being dramatic,” Natasha said.

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

Ana took it like it was sacred.

“Traitor,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

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

Ana reached again, You fed her another bite.

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

“She was clearly starving.”

“I told you—she’s not.”

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

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

She huffed a laugh.

“My God. You’re the same person.”

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

“You’re both insufferable when hungry.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me the oatmeal.”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

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

A beat of silence stretched between you.

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s persuasive.”

“She’s one and a half.”

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

“So am I,” you said.

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

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

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

Natasha didn’t say anything else.

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

But she didn’t say that either.

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

Then came the briefing.

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

She was so wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

She acted.

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

Ana lifted her head.

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

That was all Natasha needed.

“Catch,” she said dryly.

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

“Wait—what the—”

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

Ana squealed in delight.

Natasha didn’t look back.

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

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

And there you were.

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

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

Ana watched your mouth move as if following every word.

Then she gagged—loudly and dramatically.

Not because of anything serious. Just… toddler flair.

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

Bruce snorted. “She takes after you.”

“She has better fashion sense.”

Ana giggled, then burrowed her face into your shoulder.

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

She cleared her throat.

You looked up, brows raised. “Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

Ana giggled again, tucking her head against your collarbone.

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

“You’re a mess,” she murmured.

You smirked. “I could be Your mess.”

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

Not yet.

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

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

Warm.

Quiet.

Home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Natasha had seen it.

She had seen it.

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

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

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

It rewired something in Natasha.

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

“You traitor,” she whispered.

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

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

“You did this on purpose.”

Ana made a content hum and reached for her blanket.

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

Ana blinked again. Unbothered.

“Don’t fall for anyone.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, quiet and helpless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She paused.

“But not with you.”

A slow breath pushed from Natasha’s lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ana didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

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

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

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

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

She flicked off the light.

Behind her, Ana slept soundly.

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

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

Fic commenters, I want you to understand your power. You are literally the engine that drives the fanfic machine.

Without you, a lot of fic would never exist.

Without you, a lot of fic would never be completed.

Without you, unique fic would never exist.

Without you, a writer would not improve and then write something particularly great.

Fic commenters:

make writers feel seen.

boost our confidence.

make us smile.

make us laugh.

make us tent our fingers and laugh maniacally when you keyboardsmash about a plot point.

make us cry if we happen to touch you or you make a particularly lovely comment about our writing or story.

bring us joy when you tell us we made you laugh.

make us go "heheheheh" when we realize you found something we wrote hot.

And most importantly...you are the reason we write. Otherwise, we're just shouting into the void. YOU make us feel seen and drive us to write more, more often, and better fic.

Telling a story and seeing people respond to that story is the only "payment" a fic writer can hope for. We're just fellow fans, we're not separate from the rest of the fandom. We're all in the pool together.

So, thank you! And keep using your power.

I'd rather 5 comments and 50 hits than 2 comments and 2000 hits.

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER SIX: SIX

violet; 4,984 words, fluff and SMUT!!!, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, college parties, hurt/comfort (kinda), wlw, SESBIAN LEX!!!, thigh riding (both), fingering, oral (r!receiving), gays being bad at feelings, mel is Mother, jayce is the bestest wingbro ever, no "y/n"

summary: in which vi, actually, does not fuck this up.

a/n: and.... here it is!!! the grande finale :) thank you guys so much for reading and for showing this lil miniseries so much support <3 i hope the payoff was good, and #trust that this won't be the last you see of hockey!vi and figure skater!reader ! they're so dear to me and i'm already thinking of cute lil drabbles i could write in this universe but anyway -- i'm getting ahead of myself. enjoy the last chapter!!!!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ THIS IS, VI REFLECTS as she steps into the booming base-threaded room of the sorority house, probably not the best idea. But it’s the only one she’s got, so she might as well lean in, right? Right.

Jayce cranes up to look over the sea of people before jerking his head towards the punch table with a shrug. Vi follows him, running a hand through her freshly washed hair. She thanks whatever gods are up there that she’d remembered to bring a change of clothes to the game.

“Here,” Jayce says, pressing a red solo cup into her hands.

Vi stares at it for a second before gulping it back, grimacing around the clash of liquors and half-blended mixer as it burns its way down her throat. Almost immediately, a warmth starts to buzz behind her ears and she remembers, somewhat belatedly, that she’s had nothing to eat since having two bananas and an ancient granola bar before the game.

She shakes her limbs loose and reaches out to refill her cup, but Jayce catches her hand.

She’s about to argue when he points towards a sofa halfway across the room and Vi’s eyes follow it only to find you, sitting there with a cup of your own, laughing at something someone’s saying, and it takes Vi another second to realize that the person next to you is Margot, her bleached blond hair fading into acid green tips, her snakebite piercings glinting in the dim neon lights.

Vi’s pushing through the throng of people towards you before she can stop herself, careless of the hands that thump her on the back, the congratulatory sentences, cut off by the way she pulls way, till she’s standing feet from you, and your eyes twist up to meet hers.

The smile on your lips only falters slightly, but she doesn’t miss the way your gaze flicks down the length of her body, ticking back up to her lips, where it lingers for a beat too long before she finds your eyes with her own again.

There’s a dull, pleasant ache somewhere behind her navel as she notices how much darker your eyes are the second time around.

“Hey six,” Margot drawls, shifting back and stretching out her legs, “we were wondering when you were gonna get here. But don’t worry — I was keeping your little ice minx here company for you.”

Vi purses her lips, tries not to think too hard on the fact that your knee is so close to Margot’s leg it’s almost touching.

“Uh thanks but — can I — can I get a minute?” Vi asks, jerking her head towards the kitchen, praying to the heavens that it’s empty.

You bite down on your bottom lip, but you nod and push yourself up from the couch, glancing back at Margot with tiny smile.

“Thanks for the advice,” you say.

She smirks, “Anytime, dollface.” She wiggles her fingers and winks as she catches Vi’s eyes, and Vi makes a mental note to send her a thank you text later.

Vi leads you through the party with her hand around your wrist, but by the time you reach the door leading into the kitchen, her grip’s loosened just enough for you to slip your fingers between hers. But when she tries to open the door, she finds it locked.

“What the —”

She wiggles the door knob, wondering who on earth would want to lock the door to a sorority house kitchen, and then, a melodious voice says from the other side —

“What’s the magic word?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Mel, it’s us.”

A beat of silence later, the doorknob twists and the door slips open just a silver. Mel’s bright hazel eyes appear in the crack, her lashes limned in gold as she looks at you and then at Vi, then back at you again.

“Those aren’t the magic words,” she says, though she does open the door a few inches wider, her expression smug.

You groan, crinkling your nose before you lick your lips.

“Fine, please.”

Mel’s smile widens as the door opens and Vi steps through, pulling you along after her.

Mel’s eyebrows hitch up as she catches your free arm in her delicate hand.

You give her a soft squeeze and mouth thank you. She gives the pair of you a satisfied nod before letting you go and pressing a small key into Vi’s chest.

“Do not —”

Vi nods, “Fuck this up. Yeah… I know.”

Mel gives you both a final look before slipping from the kitchen and bringing the door closed behind her. Vi stares at it for a beat, digging her thumb into the jagged teeth of the tiny key before reaching over to lock the door behind her.

You let out a soft breath, folding your arms across your chest, your shoulder shrugging up as you suddenly remember that you’re still wearing Vi’s varsity jacket.

Vi turns around and you both speak at the same time —

“Look, I’m sorry about the —”

“I shouldn’t have walked out —”

Vi purses her lips around a burgeoning smile even as you let out a tiny laugh, shaking your head.

She waves an awkward hand as you lean back against the kitchen island. Distantly, Vi remembers the way you’d sunk down on the other side just about a month ago, how later that same night she’d hoisted you up onto the countertop and kissed you till there was no more breath in her lungs left to give.

“I… I’m sorry I freaked out like that in the locker rooms…” you say, twisting your arms tighter around yourself as Vi nods, leaning back against the closed door.

“I just saw that text come in and I thought…” you swallow.

“I know, princess… it was my fault for —” she heaves a sigh, motioning haphazardly at the air, “not cutting her off sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. Mel told me that she reminded Jayce to —”

“— tell me to block her. Yeah. And he did… I just…” Vi shrugs, sheepish, “… forgot.”

Your lashes flutter as your gaze cuts away from her face.

“Wow —” you say a second later, your voice threaded through with mirth, and when Vi looks back at you, it’s to find you smiling, “we’re really kinda shit at this, aren’t we?”

Vi puffs out a laugh, letting her head knock back against the door.

“Yeah… you can say that again.”

“So…” you say, fingers worrying at the hem of your little black dress.

Vi cocks her head, her eyes caught on the movement, and suddenly, heat plumes up the back of her neck at the memory of you, with your thighs slotted on either side of hers, the feel of your soft skin beneath her palms as she’d slowly worked up the hem of that very same dress.

She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“So?” she echoes.

You’re watching her with pink lips and damson cheeks.

“So… what now?”

Vi pulls an exaggerated sort of thinking-face before pushing off the door, taking the few steps forward to put herself in your personal space. She relishes in the way you gasp, lashes fluttering as your palms come up to rest against her chest, but you don’t make to push her away.

“Well, I’m not one for a lot of foreplanning but right now… I think I’d just like a do-over from the last time we were in this position.”

“Y-yeah?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as she settles her hands on your hips and digs her fingers into the plush of of your ass.

“Mhm… what’dyou think, pretty girl? That a good place to start for us?”

Your answering yes is cut short by the squeak you make as Vi hoists you up to place you on the kitchen island, her nose digging into the soft spot just beneath your jaw, breathing you in till her head spins, her thumb trailing up the soft of your thigh till you’re trembling.

“V-Vi?”

Vi pulls back just far enough to catch your eyes, and from up this close, she can see the thin trails of glitter running down your cheeks, the slight redness to your lashes that tells her you’d been crying. Guilt twists like a stitch in her side, and she bites back a sigh.

“What is it?” she asks. She watches you watching her, your eyes searching hers as if you were looking for something — a question, or an answer, or perhaps just the answering truth to the lies that both of you have been trying so desperately to tell yourselves.

You swallow, tracing a thumb across the small tattoo on her cheek; and then, you smile a smile that might just rhyme with forgiveness.

“Kiss me.”

So Vi does, the kiss itself shredding the air between you until there’s nothing left but the gut-clenching friction of her lips on yours. You gasp open for her, so beautifully that Vi almost stumbles back, but instead, she tips herself forward and pours herself into your pliant mouth. You taste like honeyed bourbon and stolen midnights, like the first breath of air on a winter’s morning or maybe just the next few decades of her entire life.

She pulls away breathless, moaning thick into the skin of your neck, hissing at the sting of your fingers curled into her hair, at the sound of your hitching gasps as she inches a hand between your thighs and swears when her fingers find you slick and wanting.

“F-fuck — Vi —”

“Holy shit —” Vi presses her face into your neck, letting her fingers slip through the folds of your wet heat, desire sparking through her veins like lightning in a gathering storm. She drops to her knees, nudging yours apart with her palm, yanking you till you’re nearly slipping off the edge of the counter, but you tug at her hair with a soft whine.

“W-wait, Vi —”

“Mm, don’t wanna wait anymore, princess — wanna taste you so bad — fuck —”

“No — Vi, please —”

She pauses then, looking up to find your eyes blown dark, your lashes fluttering like hummingbird wings as you watch her with your bottom lip caught beneath your teeth.

“It’s just — I don’t want our first time to be —” you motion weakly at the sorority house kitchen, your cheeks going blotchy, “and the counter’s… kinda cold and…” you drop your hand to grip the edge of the counter “… uncomfy,” you finish, rather lamely, your voice trailing off as Vi puffs out a laugh against your inner thigh, pushing herself back up with a crooked smile.

“Mm… you really are a princess, aren’t you?” Vi teases, even as she helps you off the counter and tugs down your dress for you. You pout up at her, but she rolls her eyes, grinning.

“Right, c’mon then —” she links your fingers and unlocks the kitchen door, tugging you once more into the disorienting throng of the party.

Halfway to the door though, your limbs go cold as the pair of you run smack into Caitlyn, this time sans her new ginger girlfriend.

“Vi — good, I was hoping to run into you —” she says, her eyes flickering over you for a second before it settles back on Vi.

You swallow, wondering if you should pull away, but Vi tugs you into her side and slips a possessive arm around your waist.

“Sorry, Cait — can’t really talk right now. I’ve gotta go fuck the brains outta my girlfriend — nice seeing you though — enjoy the party, go Enforcers!” she says, grinning wide as she pulls you through the rest of the way to the door, leaving Caitlyn slack-jawed and speechless behind you.

You let out an incredulous laugh as both of you stumble out of the door and onto the front porch. Vi chuckles as the door slams shut behind her, a little self-conscious even as you turn to stare at her.

“Wow… that was…” you purse your lips as Vi shrugs, tugging you back into her chest for a soft kiss.

“Impressed?”

You giggle, nodding, moaning soft against her lips as the pair of you fumble towards Vi’s car.

“I was gonna say impulsive,” you say, slipping into the passenger’s seat. Vi starts the engine and rips out of the parking space and down the street before you even have the time to properly buckle in your seatbelt.

“Yeah. Wonder who I learned that from.”

She shoots you a cheeky grin, reaching over the center console to grab a handful of your thigh, squeezing just hard enough to make you groan.

The car’s not even properly parked before the pair of you are stumbling into her apartment building, her pressing you up against the elevator wall, lips caught on the junction of your neck, her teeth sinking into your delicate skin. She takes a savage satisfaction in the knowledge that you’ll be sporting that mark for the next five to seven business days, at least.

You’re barely through her door before she’s walking the pair of you towards her room, kicking open the door and almost toppling through. You giggle as she trips over something on her floor and fumbles for the light switch, flicking it on as light spills into her messy bedroom, the walls papered in posters — everything from bands to hockey stars to what looks like an outdated bikini-model calendar.

Your eyebrows kick up as you take in the scene, an amused grin playing at your lips

“Oh wow…” and there’s a lilt in your voice that makes Vi’s face go hot. She regrets not at least cleaning up the laundry on her bed as she shoves it off onto the floor with an arm.

“What? Not up to your standards, princess?”

You purse your lips, delicately picking your way across the room to plop down on her unmade bed.

“Y’know, I think that first frat house room might’ve been cleaner.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Your grin goes slanted as you toe off your heels and inch back onto the bed, your legs spreading just a bit wider. Vi’s breath goes still in her chest as you lean back slightly on your arms, your head cocking slowly to one side.

“Is that a promise, six?”

Vi groans, yanking her shirt from her back with a single hand, tossing it somewhere behind her, her fingers fumbling with her belt, kicking off her pants as she crawls onto the bed towards you.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, princess —”

Your lashes flicker as she pushes up the hem of your dress, letting out a low breath as she finally sets eyes on you, a curse puffing out of her as she reaches down to slick two fingers between the puffy lips of your sodden pussy.

You let out a soft whimper, your head lolling back, but when she lifts her head to look at you, it’s to find you watching her with dark, lidded eyes.

“I-I’ve always wondered… how’d you pick your number? Is it like… a ranking system o-or — ah — like — on a ten-point scale o-or — mmngh —”

Vi hums, watching your lashes feather across your cheek as she flicks her thumb around your throbbing clit, her blood a spring-water rush behind her ears as she feels you jerk beneath her.

“We really gotta do something about that mouth of yours, princess…” she murmurs before tugging her hand from between your legs and pressing her slick fingers to your lips. You mouth falls open just as easily as she remembers, and she has to swallow down another thick groan as you suck her fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them to collect the taste of your own juices from her skin.

Your eyes flash open to meet hers, and the contact jolts right through her to her own aching cunt.

“Sweet fuck, pretty girl — I — I thought you said you’d never done this shit before?”

A tiny frown flickers across your forehead before you roll your eyes, giving her fingers a good hard suck before pulling back to lick your lips, sitting up slightly to tug her forward.

“I said I’d never really been on a date before — not that I’ve never had sex before.”

A startled breath stitches from Vi’s chest as you flip the pair of you till you’re straddling one of her muscular thighs, your own thigh pressing up between her legs to rub deliciously against her aching pussy.

She hisses out a breath as you roll your hips down over her leg, moaning low in your chest, your head falling back, the dress you’re wearing still rucked up at your waist.

“Those post-Gala parties can get… a little wild…” you say distractedly, picking up a slow rhythm, grinding down against her, your wetness slicking along her skin, making the most toe-curling noises every time you rock your hips forward and back.

Vi groans, reaching up to help you pull the dress off, her mind going fuzzy at the sight of your perfect tits, bouncing out of the tight black dress, your nipples hard and pebbling in the cool air of her room.

“F-fu-fuck that’s hot —” she says, leaning up to suck a nipple into her mouth, teasing her teeth over the sensitive flesh, grinning at the way it makes your hips stutter. She can’t help the quick little jerks of her own hips against your thigh as well, slotted along her clothed cunt, her boxers now well and soaked through.

“Vi — Vi —” you whine, the sound going straight to her clit as you rock down against her, your fingers reaching down to tug her closer.

“Y-yeah? Tell me, princess — wh-what do you want?”

She groans as you shift and your thigh presses harder against her, your own cunt squelching messily over her leg.

“Want — wanna ride your fingers —”

“Oh shit, yeah?” she swallows, adjusting back as you lift your hips up, “want my fingers inside you? How many d’you think you can take, princess? Hm?”

She pauses when she feels you scrabbling at the waistband of her boxers, a tiny laugh puffing from her at the pout on your face.

“Off,” you say, almost petulantly, as Vi shifts her own hips to jerk them off her legs, tossing the to one side.

“There, happy?”

You grin, sinking back over her thigh, looping your arms around her shoulders as she shifts her right hand beneath your sopping cunt and teases two fingers around your entrance.

“You never answered my question, sweet girl — how many fingers, hm?” she asks, even as you whine.

“Don’t — dunno — just — just wanna feel you inside me — please —”

Vi hums, watching your face as pleasure twists across your features.

“Then count for me — yeah? Can you do that?”

You nod, eager and desperate, and Vi chuckles, because she’s not sure if you even know what you’re agreeing to anymore. She pushes a finger passed your soaked folds and immediately feels you clench around her, the pressure making her own cunt squeeze. She hisses out a breath, rocking you down over her, shifting her hips to rut up against your leg.

“O-one —” you gasp, lifting your hips up to drop them back down again, your fingers digging into her skin of her back.

“More?” she asks, as you bounce a couple more times, and you nod, just as fervent as the first time, if not more so. She chuckles, “alright then —”

“T-two — oh — oh.”

She sinks another finger into you and revels in the way you keen, loud and high in the back of your throat, your head tossing back as you start to ride her fingers proper, your hair tumbling down around your shoulders. She reaches up with her free hand to fist a handful into her palm, yanking back slightly to bare your throat to her, groaning when she leans forward to suck another hard bruise into the skin of your collarbone.

“M-more — more Vi — want — want you to stretch me out — fuck — mm —”

“Fuck — shit — yeah? Want me to fuck you loose? That it?”

Vi’s head spins and she feels nearly delirious with want as she pushes a third finger into you, watching as your mouth falls open around a silent moan, your whole body shuddering around her. You’re so wet, so tight, and the growing ache between her own legs is starting to reach a fever pitch as she shamelessly rucks against your thigh, still slotted between her own.

“Yes, yes — fuck — Vi wanna — want you to stuff me full — fuck, fuck, fuck —”

“Shit, princess — so fuckin’ nasty — so needy —”

You nod, bouncing yourself so hard and fast that Vi has to take a second to marvel at how strong your legs are. She thanks the heavens for the innate athleticism required for figure skating before her thoughts smear into a crackling mess of pleasure as you inch your hand into the space between her cunt and your legs — your fingers pressing messily between her folds.

“Vi, Violet — can I — wanna feel you — want y-you to feel good too —”

Vi nearly loses it then, nodding, spreading her own legs wider to give you more access as you work three fingers into her sloppy cunt with no warning.

“F-fuck!”

You curl your fingers and Vi swears she starts to see stars.

“Y-yeah? Feel good?”

Vi nearly whimpers as she feels you pump your fingers up into the tender bundle of nerves inside her, her own fingers squelching noisily as you fuck yourself down on them. It’s all too much, and before she knows it, the tension in her stomach is snapping like a thread, her cunt pulsing around your fingers as her orgasm shakes through her, white pops of pleasure sparking behind her eyes.

“Mm — holy shit — oh my god… fuck —” she gulps down air, blinking her eyes as the shape of you comes back into focus above her, the buzzing inside her head still ringing with the aftermath of her high. She notes, vaguely, that you’re smiling down at her, a second before you lean down to press your lips to hers in a sweet kiss.

Vi hums into the kiss, her breath hitching slightly as she feels you pull your fingers from her. And when you pull back to pop them into your mouth, she feels another shudder work through her. Somewhere in the back of her head, there’s a small voice chanting holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck how did I get so lucky? over and over again till it becomes the baseline thrum that drives her to lean up, pushing you down onto your back with a hazy, indulgent smile.

“C’mere, princess — as much as I love watching you ride me —” she inches her way down your body, trailing a few kisses down your chest, pausing to circle her tongue around your nipples just to make you arch up into her. She drops a few lingering kisses down the line of your abs, before puffing a hot breath over your throbbing clit, her fingers spreading your dripping cunt lips open.

She swallows, groaning to herself.

“I’ve been dreaming about tasting you for weeks.”

You let out a soft whine above her, and she feels your fingers sinking into her hair. She glances up and marvels at the sight of your body, laid bare like this above her mess of sheets, writhing for her as she finally drops her mouth to you, licking a long strip along your slit, her eyes nearly rolling back at the taste of you soaking her tongue.

“A-ah! Vi!”

It doesn’t take long after that, a few good, hard sucks on your clit, and her pushing three fingers back into you, and you’re coming apart for her, your thighs shaking as you whine and jerk and gasp your way through your orgasm, Vi fucking you through it slow, leaning up to press a kiss to your shoulder as your breaths start to even out and your lashes flicker open again.

“Hey there, princess,” she grins.

You’re still a little breathless, but you pull her down for another long kiss, tracing her jaw with your thumb.

“Hey,” you answer, pulling away.

Vi chuckles, slumping down on to the bed next to you to stare at the pebbled ceiling. The warmth of her old Christmas lights casting everything in a soft, diffused glow. She feels you shift and tuns to find you looking at her, your cheek pillowed on your arm.

She shifts to mirror your position, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.

You catch her hand with a smile, wrapping your fingers around hers as you say —

“Six. I get it now.”

Vi frowns. “What?”

You splay your palm over hers, touching the tip of her pointer finger with yours as you start to count.

“One, two, three —” you say, a mischievous grin twisting your lips as you point to her middle and ring finger, before pointing to your own hand, “four, five, six,” you finish, wiggling the three fingers that had so recently been shoved into her throbbing cunt.

Vi stares at you for a solid few seconds before she shoves her face into her pillow and screams.

“Oh my god — get the fuck outta here!” but she surfaces laughing, and you’re laughing too, and the sound is so intoxicating, so mind-numbingly lovely that she thinks if she could, she’d grind your laughter into powder and get high on the lines of your smile.

She inches forward to pull you closer, tucking you into her chest.

“You’re insane, you know that?” she asks, pressing her lips to your forehead as you giggle. You wiggle your arms around her middle till your bodies are pressed curve for curve, skin to skin. And you settle against her as if you were always made to be there to begin with.

“Mm, been told a few times…” you murmur, your voice soft.

A tiny clink jars both of you from your post-orgasmic stupor, and you both pull back, only to find your necklaces linked — the pendants stuck together with a pair of tiny magnets set at the point of each teardrop, so small that Vi hadn’t noticed when you’d first given it to her.

“Oh, I didn’t get to show you this back in the locker rooms but…” you reach up to tug the two pendants apart before letting them snap back together.

“The necklaces come as a pair and they link together like this —” you show her the two pendants, the shape something like an hourglass or the two rabbit ears of a perfectly tied bow.

“That’s cute, but… what’s it supposed to be? A time-turner thing?” Vi pushes herself up on an elbow to try and get a better look.

You shake your head, pouting slightly.

“Nope! Well, I mean, it’s sold as an infinity symbol cause —” you roll your eyes, “forever and all that crap —”

Vi smirks, “Oh yeah. That crap.”

You shoot her a look before continuing, your cheeks burning, “But… it reminded me of a figure eight. You do those in hockey too, right?”

Vi nods, “Yeah, they’re drills that we run. Pretty basic.”

You nod, “And in figure skating, we used to have these mandatory figures we’d have to skate to demonstrate our edge control — hence the name figure skating. Amara still makes us do them, because she’s old fashioned as all hell, but I just thought… it was kinda nice… for the two of us…” your voice trails off as you drop your hand and the two pendants hang, suspended between the pair of you with nothing but their own magnetism.

Vi licks her lips, “Yeah… it is nice.”

She leans in, tilts your head up for a kiss, but you tug back just an inch.

“Vi…?”

“Hm? What is it?”

You blink up at her, a flash of uncertainty flickering behind your eyes as you glance down at her lips.

“We’re… we’re dating now… right?”

Vi stares. And stares. And then, she pulls back with a dramatic groan.

“Oh my god, you did not just seriously hit me with the what are we after we’ve just fucked each other into another dimension, after I’ve been wearing the necklace that you gave me, the one that matches your necklace —”

You scramble forward to push Vi down, yelping.

“Okay! Okay — I’m sorry! It’s just —”

Vi raises her eyebrows, pinning you with a look even though you’re perched above her, your hands clamped over her wrists.

“Neither of us ever properly asked the other one out, and — and I know you said girlfriend in front of Caitlyn back at the party but —”

“Hey princess?”

You break off, blinking as she pushes up and settles you over her lap.

Vi smiles, tugging your chin towards her.

“Will you go out with me?”

The smile that breaks across your lips is so pretty, so tooth-achingly sweet that Vi thinks she just has to lean forward and taste it.

So, she does.

You nod, breathless even as she chases your lips, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

“Yes — yes… I will.”

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Pirouette

Summary : Steve and Sam set Natasha up with a professional ballerina, but they already know each other. 

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x ballerina!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : mentions of Nat’s past, sex is referenced, cursing, set sometime between AoU and CACW

Word count : 4.1k

Note : Hi all! This is supposed to be posted last week but my schedule’s currently all over the place, so I won't have a posting schedule this month but will still try to post regularly! I do have Joaquin Torres x reader in my drafts and a possible endurance racer!Bucky x rival driver!reader (24 of Hours of Le Mans au) coming out this month! Series will still be regularly updated! Anyways, enjoy!

Moving to this city had been a calculated decision. The ballet company you’d signed with was one of the most prestigious on the continent, and luckily, you’d found an apartment just a short walk from the studio. This city was different from Paris, from Moscow, from anywhere else your career had taken you, but different wasn’t necessarily bad. 

Your new neighbour introduced himself within minutes of spotting you hauling boxes up the stairs. 

Of course, you recognised him instantly.  

Sam Wilson. A very public hero.  

He knocked on your open door just as you were unpacking your duffel bag, his eyes immediately catching on the worn pointe shoes slung over the side.  

“A ballerina, huh?” he said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. “That explains the posture.”  

You laughed, setting the bag down. “That obvious?”  

“I know discipline when I see it,” Sam grinned. “So, what brings you here?”  

“The company just brought me in for the new season.”  

“Well, welcome to the building. Let me know if you need anything,” he offered, voice smooth as silk. Then, with a flash of that signature charm, he added, “Or if you just want a tour—dinner included, of course.”  

You smiled. “That’s sweet, but no, thank you.”  

Sam blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You could tell it took him a second to process the rejection.  

“I’m flattered,” you said, realising this was the Sam Wilson—Avenger, national hero—and that turning him down probably wasn’t something that happened often. “I bet any straight woman would be helpless against your charm.”  

His mouth parted slightly in understanding before he grinned. “Ah. Gotcha.” He nodded. “Well, let me tell you, we’re gonna be good friends. Maybe we could go out tonight and help each other get girls?”  

You laughed. “Sounds fun.”  

And just like that, Sam became not just your friendly neighbour, but also your friend. 

At some point, he mentioned you in passing to Steve.

"She just moved in last month?" Steve asked over beers, taking a casual sip.

"Yeah, right down the hall from me," Sam said, leaning back against the bar. "She’s a ballerina, very disciplined.."

Steve nodded, intrigued. Sam was already the next part of his story. "We’ve been out for drinks a couple times— real good wingmen for each other. I mean, I think I’m good, but she’s got a whole system. We’re an elite team at the bar."

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?"

"Oh, yeah." Sam shook his head, chuckling. "One time, we spent half the night arguing over who got to flirt with this girl, only to realise she was the bouncer’s girlfriend. Thought we were gonna get kicked out for a second."

Steve chuckled. "Who backed down first?"

"Technically, her. But only because she said she liked my odds better in a bar fight." Sam took a sip of his beer, then pointed a finger at Steve. "Which I take as a huge compliment."

Steve laughed, shaking his head. He thought for a moment, then something seemed to click. "Natasha would like her."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"Yeah. Nat did ballet when she was younger. Still does sometimes."

That caught Sam’s attention. "No way."

Steve nodded. "Trained in Russia, back when she was a kid. She doesn’t talk about it much, but she’s still got it."

Sam shrugged. "Guess I gotta introduce them, then."

“Or,” Steve considered, “We could set them up on a blind date…”

—

Natasha Romanoff does not go on blind dates.  

She didn’t even do dates in general, let alone ones orchestrated by well-meaning but clueless super soldiers who think she needs to “get out more.”

But Steve had been relentless— It was damn near impossible to brush him off entirely. You’ll like this one, he had promised. She’s Sam’s friend, he explained. Just one dinner. And, well—she had been looking for an excuse to wear the new black dress hanging in her closet, so she thought, why the hell not?

So, there she was, stepping into an upscale Brooklyn restaurant, already bracing herself for a dull evening filled with polite conversation and forced small talk with someone who would inevitably bore her.

And then she saw… you.

A ghost from her past.

For a moment, she just stood frozen, her eyes unreadable, but she didn’t hesitate for long. She approached and slid into the seat across from you, crossing one leg over the other.

"Hi again," she said with a raised eyebrow. 

You didn’t look nearly as caught off guard. If anything, there was amusement in your eyes as you studied her posture— she still hadn’t fully relaxed.

"When Sam Wilson said he was setting me up on a blind date with someone who knew a thing or two about ballet," you said, lips curling into a wicked smile, "I thought it might be you."

Natasha let out a brief nervous laugh. "That so?"

You hummed and nodded, taking a sip from your glass before placing it carefully down on the table, eyes never leaving her. "I figured it was either you or some government plant making sure I wasn’t secretly a spy. But then again..." You trailed off as your foot slid forward beneath the table, your heel gently brushing beneath the fabric of her dress. "That would still be you, wouldn’t it?" you murmured, your voice low, teasing.

For a good five seconds, Natasha didn’t move. She just stared at you, as if measuring you and weighing her response. She shifted her leg slightly, the barest hint of tension in her body, before leaning back just a little— inviting the touch of your heels on her calves. Her breath caught for a second as your foot stayed there, pressing just a little further.

It was strange— this was not how you imagined this meeting going when Sam insisted on setting you up on a blind date.

She sighed almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. "I never thought you’d be the blind-date type," she said, her voice husky.

You raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping your lips. "Funny," you replied, your foot inching a little higher, this time the toe of your heel grazing her knee. "I could say the same for you."

You had met her years ago in Paris, before she was a public hero, long before the Battle of New York. Back then, she was a SHIELD spy sent to investigate a corruption case in a prestigious theatre. She had played the role of Natalie— a ballerina in your company, the woman who had torn your heart apart without even meaning to. The woman who disappeared without a trace, leaving you with nothing but a broken promise and more questions that you had room for in your mind. 

You had moved on. Or at least, you thought you had.

When the Battle of New York happened and you saw her on the screen as Black Widow, you finally understood why she left— she had never been a professional ballerina in the first place.

But now, with the faint pressure of your heel against her skin, all of it had come rushing back. The way she had looked at you in that studio in Paris, the way her breath had hitched when you touched her, the way your body had melted into hers, the way you talked and talked for hours on end after rehearsal. 

And now that she was here, it felt like she was a breath away from walking out of your life again.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned forward just a little, her lips parting as if considering saying something—anything—until her breath caught again. A flush of red spread across her cheeks, and your foot, still pressing against her, slid a little higher— to her thighs.

"Nervous?" You asked.

"Not when I already know what you taste like."

And then, you brushed your heels under the curve of her calf one last time before slowly pulling it back.

The movement left both of you feeling... unsettled.

You cleared your throat, forcing a breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. 

“So,” you said, leaning back just slightly, trying to sound casual. “Tell me, Natalie... do you still dance?”

Her lips slightly frowned at the name, but she held her composure. “Not really,” she said smoothly. “But sometimes I miss it.”

Her forehead softened, and for a moment, you wondered if she was thinking about you. About those nights in Paris, about all the filthy things you let her do to you in the studio full of mirrors.

“I always thought you had a pretty good pirouette,” you murmured, a sad smile playing at your lips. “Maybe I could help you improve it. I’ve gotten better with my technique over the years.”

“Oh?” She chuckled, “You’re offering dance lessons now?”

You leaned forward. “If you’re up for it.”

“I’m always up for learning new things,” she welcomed you, her tone a quiet challenge.

And there it was again—that suffocating tension. You hated the way she said it, like she knew exactly what was running through your mind, and maybe—just maybe—she was daring you to act on it.

Your fingers tapped against your glass. Natasha just watched you, the way she always had, like she was waiting to see what you would do next. Like she was testing you.

You leaned in. Just a little.

“Don’t think I forgot about you,” you said, “Or what happened in that studio.”

Her breath hitched. 

“You think about that often?” she asked, testing the waters. 

“Sometimes.” It was the truth. Perhaps dare of your own.

“Me too,” she admitted, almost shyly— well, as shy as Natasha could get. 

Maybe this was a game. Maybe you were both feeling out the old heat, seeing if it still burned the same way.

Soon, the waiter approached, and you ordered without a second thought. As he walked away, you leaned in slightly.

The conversation began, almost reseted. You approached her, with an open mind this time. It started with light small talk, but soon enough, you both caught up on lost years. Old memories started to come up, touches lingered between shared laughs and reflective pauses. 

When the check arrived and you paid, You hesitated for a moment, before asking, “Want to get out of here?”

Nat looked surprised… but also content. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Outside, the air was cool, but she was warm beside you. Her shoulders brushed against yours as she moved closer. It wasn’t an accident. It never was with her.

By the time you reached your place, you turned to her at the door, feeling your resolve fraying at the edges inside you.

“I don’t know how you keep doing this to me,” you murmured with a voice quiet enough only she could hear.

Natasha’s lips formed a knowing smile—the one that had haunted you for years. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the world outside. She stood there, close but not touching, her getflickering over you, as if deciding how far she was willing to let this go. But you both knew it had already gone too far.

You didn’t wait.

The tension had been building for years, and now, it finally snapped. Your hand found her waist, pulling her closer, and for a second, she just let herself fall into you. 

“Been a long time, huh?” you asked.

She laughed. “You have no idea.”

Neither you nor Nat barely had time to settle before your mouth was on hers. The kiss was urgent, the kind that stole air from your lungs. She tasted like something red wine and trouble— something you should have let go of years ago— but never did.

Her hands were tugging at your shirt, pulling you in, nails scraping lightly over your skins. The years apart hadn’t dulled this. If anything, it had amplified it.

Your fingers found the zipper of her dress, and when it fell away, she was standing there in nothing but lace and skin. And fuck—she was everything you remembered. Everything and more.

She worked at the zipper of your own dress, and then it was gone, discarded along with whatever suffocating distance had been between you.

The next kiss was hungrier, her hands sliding over your breasts, pushing you back until you stumbled back toward the couch. She followed, her lips hot against your jaw, your throat, lower—

You moaned, as your hands found the curve of her waist, fingers digging in. “You sure?” you muttered against her skin.

Natasha just leaned in, her voice a whisper against your ear. “You’re the one who asked me to dance.”

Then she kissed you again, and the rest of the night blurred into the feeling of finally, finally having her in your arms again.

—

Morning light filtered through the curtains, the heat of the sun over your bare skin, but it wasn’t what woke you. It was the woman shifted beside you.

Natasha was already awake.

She laid beside you, propped on one elbow, fiery red hair spilling over her shoulder. Her green eyes studied you, but her irises were softer than you were used to. Alone, she felt different. She was no longerot the Avenger, not the ghost who slipped away without a trace. She looked more like the woman who had once whispered poetry in foreign languages against your collarbone, the woman who had slid into your arms after a long day at the studio. 

You couldn’t help but stare for a moment, struggling to reconcile this version of her with the one you had known—the one who left without warning, without even a goodbye.

You sighed, staring at the ceiling before murmuring, “You’re leaving again?” Your voice was still groggy with sleep, but the words landed heavily. You thought you might be okay with her leaving. It wouldn’t be the first time. But Natasha was never easy to read.

“Would you rather I stay?”

"Natasha, you’re an Avenger." You laughed cynically, and it didn’t reach your eyes. "I can’t imagine this—what we’re doing—being anything more than what it was before."

She tilted her head, considering your words. “You wanted me to stay before.”

That stung more than it should have. It was true. 

Once, you had wanted that more than anything. But time had turned longing into resentment, and now… you didn’t know what you even felt anymore. 

“I didn’t know you were a spy,” you said instead, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Natasha only shrugged. “But you’re more than happy to sleep with me again?”

“I thought…” You ran a hand through your hair. You could feel frustration creeping in. “I thought I just wanted closure,” you admitted, quieter this time.

She leaned a bit closer. “What if we try?”

A breath hitched in your throat. “Try?”

Try? With her? After everything?

She shrugged casually, almost too casually. “Why not?”

You could think of and wanted to tell her a hundred reasons why not, but none of them made it past your lips. Instead, you rubbed at your temple. “Come to one of my shows first.”

“That’s your condition?”

“That’s a start.”

She stared at you for a second, then nodded. “I’ll be there.”

You studied her face for any sign of hesitation, expecting the same old pattern—empty promises, some semblance to the spy she was— but this time, something felt different.

“Sure you will,” you shook your head, half a laugh, half a challenge.

Her eyes held yours, stubborn as always. “I will.”

You wondered if you should make the mistake of believing her again.

—

Later, Natasha stepped out of your apartment, pulling her leather jacket tighter around her shoulders. As luck would have it, she ran straight into Sam Wilson.

He took one look at her—at the slight smudge of lipstick at the corner of her mouth, the tousled waves of red hair—and grinned like it was his birthday.

“Well, well, well,” he started

Natasha sighed, already regretting every thing she’d done that had led her to this moment— well, maybe except for you. “Not a word, Wilson.”

Sam held up his hands, though the mischief in his eyes gave him away. “Who, me? I didn’t say anything.” He stopped for a second before continuing, smug as ever: “Just… guessing it went well?”

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head just enough to remind him who he was teasing. Sam, wisely, took a half-step back.

Natasha shook her head and pulled out her phone, her thumb scrolling through the ballet company’s rehearsal schedule.

You wanted to give conditions?

Fine.

But Natasha Romanoff had never been one to back down from a challenge. 

—

The week after, Natasha sat in the velvet seat of the hall, her green eyes locked onto the stage. She had seen you dance before—up close, when she was dancing too. But this?

This was different.

The moment you stepped into the light, the theater ceased to exist, at least it did for Nat.

There was only you. 

The lights draped over your skin like a second skin, outlining the lines of your body, the precision of every movement. 

You were grace. 

You were untouchable.

And Natasha was utterly ruined.

"You’re staring,” Steve snapped her out of her thoughts. 

She ignored him. She regretted bringing him at all, really. But when she’d told him everything, he had insisted on coming with her for emotional support.

"If you’re serious about this, Romanoff, bring flowers,” he said yesterday, “No one says no to flowers."

So she had brought a carefully selected bouquet, now sitting awkwardly in her lap. 

She probably should have brought Sam or Clint instead. But Sam would have teased you both mercilessly, and Clint— Clint would have just been Clint, and she didn’t think she could handle that tonight. Steve, at least, was nice.

She might have been wrong about that, too.

The final note triggered applause. It sounded like waves crashing through the theater.

Natasha was the first on her feet, flowers pressed against her chest, cheerkng for you. 

Now, she had to face you.

—

Backstage was chaos—a flurry of dancers slipping out of their costumes, instructors giving feedback, and stagehands rearranging the props post-performance. 

But Natasha only saw you.

You were still breathless from the performance, your skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat. Strands of hair had come loose from your bun, framing your face in untamed wisps. You looked otherworldly, untouchable— until your eyes landed on her. for the way your gaze softened the moment it landed on her.

Oh. 

She could tell you were surprised by the way your lips parted.

"You actually came,” you said. 

She smiled, the bouquet in her hands feeling heavier than it should. “Told you I would.”

You glanced down at the flowers— deep red and bright pink roses, full and vibrant in the dim backstage lighting. When you looked back up, you looked amused.

"And you brought roses?” You teased, “Natasha Romanoff, are you courting me?"

Natasha let out a small, breathy laugh, glancing away for just a second before meeting your eyes again. 

"I didn’t do it right last time, did I?" She was quieter now, more vulnerable than you had ever seen her before. 

You stared her for a moment, fingers tracing the petals absently. Then, with the softest smile, you stepped closer. "No," you murmured. "But you’re getting there."

The space between you felt small. Too small.

Natasha had faced impossible odds. She had stood in the shadows of gods, stared down aliens that would send most running for their lives—and never once had she faltered.

But here, she felt close to. 

You tilted your head, looking at her like you were peeling back layers she hadn’t meant to show, like you already knew what lay beneath.

Then you lifted the bouquet to your face, inhaling the scent of the roses.

When you lowered them, your smile only gotten gentler.

"Come with me." You didn’t wait for her answer.  You simply turned, weaving effortlessly through the crowded backstage, and Natasha had no choice but to follow.

She ignored Steve’s stare from across the room. She ignored the scattered congratulations, the noise of post-performance chatte. None of it mattered.

Her entire world had narrowed down to the space between your shoulder as you led her toward your dressing room.

The door clicked shut behind you.

It was quieter here. More intimate. She saw costumes hung neatly along one wall, makeup brushes and scattered notes lay on the vanity, a half-empty water bottle sat beside a discarded pair of pointe shoes.

You set the roses down with careful hands, then turned to face her, arms crossing over your chest.

Natasha swallowed.?"You were incredible.”

You shrugged. "I know."

She huffed a small laugh, shifting in her feet. "Your pirouettes are getting even better—"

"Cut the shit, Nat." The teasing edge was gone. Your voice was smaller than it should have been, but it didn’t miss its mark.

Natasha froze.

You took a slow step forward, tilting your chin to meet her gaze head-on.

"You want me back?" you asked. "Then let’s talk about it."

Natasha let out a deep breath she didn’t realise she was even holding. She had walked into this moment prepared for a fight. She had expected distance, maybe even anger.

But this threw her off.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She had trained her body to be still, to hide tension, but standing here—under your scrutiny—she felt exposed in a way she wasn’t sure she was even trained how to handle.

"I never wanted to leave." The words slipped out before before doubt could creep in and steal them away.

Your brow lifted, waiting. "But your job..."

"My job," she echoed, almost regretfully. She shook her head. "I'm sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have—"

"I don’t care about your job, Nat." You uncrossed your arms. "I care that you want to stay. I care that you’re here. That you’re making the effort—" Your eyes flicked down to the roses still sitting between you. It was undeniable proof of her presence, of the time she had carved out of a life you once thought had no room for you. "And you are now."

She swallowed hard. "I am."

"Will that change?"

She didn’t hesitate this time. "No."

"Prove it."

For the first time since she walked into the theater, Natasha hesitated.

Prove it.

You weren’t asking for promises. You weren’t asking for empty words.

You were asking for proof.

She could do a lot of things. She could lie. She could manipulate most people. She could break a man’s ribs with her bare hands and disappear before he even hit the ground.

But she want trained for this. 

Finally, she took a deep breath. “Tell me how.” The words came out desperatez.

You put the roses down and stepped forward, closing the space between you until she could smell the faint traces of sweat and perfume still clinging to your skin. 

"Stay," you murmured.

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a request.

It was an invitation.

And this time, Natasha wasn’t going to walk away.

The moment your lips met hers, Natasha forgot how to breathe.

There was no second-guessing—just the heat of your mouth against hers, the scent of roses and sweat filling the air. She didn’t think. Didn’t analyse like she was used to. She just moved, her hands finding your waist, your back, the delicate fabric of your tutu brushing against her fingers.

You were still breathless from the performance, but you kissed her like you had all the time in the world. Like you had been waiting for this just as long as she had.

And then—

"Ahem."

Natasha nearly broke your nose when she turned around.

Steve stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too amused. "Just checking in." He held up his phone. "Clint and Sam are taking bets on whether you'd actually go through with this, so I figured I'd get confirmation."

Your lips were still kiss-bruised when you turned to him. "Captain Rogers," you said, not the least bit flustered. "Sam’s talked a lot about you. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Steve blinked. "Likewise."

Natasha groaned, pointing at her friend. "Steve. Get out."

He didn’t budge. "You sure? Because Clint bet ten bucks you’d chicken out, and I’d really like to send him a smug text."

Natasha leveled him with a glare sharp enough to cut vibranium. "Steve—"

He held up his hands, backing toward the door. "Alright, alright, I’m leaving. Don’t do anything I wouldn't do."

He barely made it two steps before Natasha called after him, "If you don’t leave right now, I swear to God, I will break something you—"

The door clicked shut.

Then, you huffed out a laugh. "So… your friends are betting on us?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, dropping her forehead against your shoulder. "They’re never going to let this go."

You grinned, fingers still tangled in her hair. "Good thing I don’t scare easy."

Natasha lifted her head again.

Then, with the smallest smirk—

"Prove it."

—End.

COUNTING HER FRECKLES

Vi x f!reader

Synopsis: Early in the morning, while Vi was still asleep and you had just woken up, you couldn’t help but notice the little constellations of freckles on Vi’s face.

The morning sunlight spilled through the half-closed curtains, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. The warmth of the blankets cocooned you, but it was the woman lying next to you that truly kept you rooted in place. Vi was sprawled out on her back, an arm slung over her head, her mouth slightly open as she snored faintly. A tiny trail of drool glittered at the corner of her lips, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your own.

You rolled onto your side, propping your head up with one hand. Her freckled cheeks were kissed by the sunlight, and her crimson hair stuck up in every direction. Even like this,unfiltered, messy, unguarded, she was stunning. Maybe even more so.

Carefully, you reached out to trace the faintest of lines across her skin, stopping short of touching her. “One, two, three…” you whispered under your breath, counting the constellation of freckles on her nose. You had no idea how she got freckles with her pale skin and constant yet humorous scowl, but you were grateful for them.

“Mmm…” Vi stirred, her head tilting slightly toward the sound of your voice. Her lashes fluttered, though her eyes stayed shut. A soft, groggy smile tugged at her lips, and she slurred, “Y’doin’, babe?”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh. “Counting your freckles. Shh, don’t move. You’ll mess up my math.”

“Math?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse with sleep. “It’s too early for math,” She cracked an eye open, peering at you with a mix of confusion and amusement. “Y’always this weird?”

“Always,” you replied, grinning. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re drooling.”

Her brows furrowed, and she quickly wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, grumbling incoherently. “Don’t call it that…” Her pout was impossibly endearing.

“You’re right,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead. “It’s not drooling. It’s aggressive hydration.”

Vi snorted, her laughter muffled by the pillow as she turned her face into it. “Stop, you’re killin’ me,” she groaned, though her hand reached out to curl around your waist, pulling you closer. “Lemme sleep.”

“You’re already awake,” you pointed out, though you didn’t resist when she tucked you against her chest. Her body was warm, her heartbeat a steady rhythm under your cheek.

“Not awake,” she mumbled. “Just resting my eyes.”

You ran your fingers up and down her arm, tracing the scarred skin there. “Your snoring says otherwise.”

Vi groaned again, this time more dramatically. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “I like you like this. All soft and sleepy and human.”

“Not soft,” she muttered, though her grip on you tightened. “I’m tough. Real tough.”

“Sure, babe,” you said, hiding your smile against her skin. “Super tough.”

Her only response was a low, contented hum as she drifted back into a half-sleep. You stayed like that, counting her freckles in your head and savoring the rare moment of peace. The world could wait a little while longer. For now, it was just you and her, tangled together in the soft light of morning.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: I know this is extremely short but I found it in my notes and thought I should post it (just a cute one shot).

---

☆, — 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐟𝐟

✧.* 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; cinnamon rolls aren’t the only thing you adore.

✧.* 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; none, just fluff content!

✧.* 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 643

✧.* 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes I might have made.

Her hands were cupping your face, her lips against yours and, for a moment, you wondered if it was really blood that ran through her veins. What if it was something rare, unique and beautiful, just like her? Something unknown to the world, but familiar to you? She smiled against your lips, her fingers finding the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath, and suddenly, there wasn’t anything in your mind but her.

“You taste like cinnamon,” she whispered, green eyes gazing into yours with undivided attention — her thoughts were on you, and every single atom of her body existed just for you.

“I like it.” She leaned in, resting her forehead against yours, her fingers tracing small patterns on your skin. “I like you.”

A soft giggle left your lips, the sound reverberating inside Natasha and she felt the urge to look up at the stars and beg them to let her keep you. In her heart, in her life, in her soul. You, you and you again — endless and forever.

“It’s because of the cinnamon rolls you bought,” you said, catching a glimpse of the sweets on the coffee table.

“You adore them.” She shrugged, looking at the cinnamon rolls as well. You shook your head, and she gave you a confused expression. “What’s wrong?”

Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol finally hitting you, or maybe it was already too late, and sleep was making you more honest. You didn’t know exactly what made those words leave your mouth, but you didn’t mind — they were a truth your heart couldn’t keep bottled up anymore, and it was a relief to let them slip past your lips.

“I adore you,” you murmured, warmth spreading through your cheeks as you blushed softly.

I adore you. The words echoed in Natasha’s head one, two, countless times. Not admiration or appreciation, but adoration. You had turned her into someone worth of worship and a supernova took place inside her chest.

The pink in her cheeks mirrored yours, a bright smile spreading across her lips and you could swear the sight before you was divine, utterly celestial. You tried to picture every single detail, to commit the moment to your memory, hoping it would repeat over and over again in your dreams.

“Say it again,” she asked, shy and reverent, in pure awe.

“I adore you,” you whispered once more, your hands touching her face, feeling the softness beneath your fingertips. “All the small details I know about you, I adore every single one. And the ones that are still unknown to my eyes and heart, I adore them too.”

Her gaze held yours, her eyes shining with a new gleam — one that couldn’t be found anywhere else on Earth but in them. She kissed you, gentle and tender, her arms wrapping around your waist, trying to get even closer to you. Maybe that way, she would be able to pour her gratitude into your soul, to convey how deep her love for you was.

Leaning back, she rested her forehead against yours. You stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace for a few moments, maybe minutes or even hours — time didn’t matter now. Contemplating each other, you and Natasha were one.

“But you adore the cinnamon rolls too, right? I need to know so I can decide whether to keep buying them or not,” she said, chuckling. Lightening the mood with a joke? That was so her.

“Yes, I do,” you answered, giving her nose a small poke, and the way she wrinkled it and rolled her eyes made you laugh. “But don’t mistake me.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, curiosity written all over her face. Adorable, terrifically adorable, you thought.

“I adore you more.”

Lessons of love - Part 3

Nerd!Natasha x Rogers!F Reader

Wdym I'm writing fic instead of resting 😅 anyway, I just had to finish this to give my brain a break.

Whatever this is, blegh, enjoy it.

Part 1, Part 2

--

Melina’s study was an amplification of her daughter’s room. It was all neatly displayed, wall to wall covered in books, some in other languages that you were sure she was fluent in. 

There was a laptop on her desk, atop it a pair of reading glasses; a gentle reminder that geniuses are human too.

“It’s not what it looks like” Natasha spoke first. You and Melina scoffed at the same time.

“You two look like a couple. So, am I to understand that it’s incorrect, and you’re going around kissing every girl that crosses your path, Natalia?”

Natasha turned to you, her eyes pleading for help. You crossed your arms.

“No, go on. I’d like to hear what you have to say about this” 

“I… uh…” your girlfriend mumbled and you turned to her mother, finally giving Nat a break. 

“Mrs. Romanoff, I’m terribly sorry for the way you found out. Truth is, I’ve been crazy about Natasha for such a long time, but never really thought I had a chance with someone like her. And then, Fury paired us in Chemistry and things just went from there” you turned to look at Natasha for a moment, smiling. “To be fair, we only made it official on Wednesday”

“Natasha, she’s a keeper” Melina said, blown away by your sincerity. Natasha had to agree. You had a way with words that she admired. “Well, congratulations. I know you’re both responsible girls, but there’s not gonna be late night outings during school days. I can’t obviously speak for your parents, Y/N, but I hope Natasha keeps her excellent grades and you both focus on school”

“I agree, of course” you nodded.

“Now, as for safe sex” 

“What?” you jumped, while Natasha stared at the ceiling. She pleaded in Russian, but her mother dismissed her words. “Mrs. Romanoff, we’re not there yet. At all, so don’t worry”

“I’ve had the talk with Natasha, of course” Melina spoke, and it was as if she didn’t listen to you at all. “I know your father is a surgeon, but if he’s not up for helping you with birth control at some point and you need an adult to accompany you, please know I’ll be happy to come with you. You must be responsible when having intercourse”

“Which hasn’t happened yet, Mama!” Natasha intervened.

“Right” you said, though… to be fair, it had crossed your mind. Especially when your girlfriend was towering over you as she opened the car door… or did anything, really.

You might be the horn dog in this relationship.

“I’m just obligated as a parent to mention it. If you have questions, please come to me” she said, reading your flustered expression. Busted.

“Yes, Mrs. Romanoff” you said.

“Very well! Now, please, would you like to join us for dinner tonight? We should go out and celebrate!”

“Yes, of course” you smiled, sensing the hard part was over. Melina clapped excitedly, walking you out of her study. 

“I’m so sorry” Natasha rushed as soon as you were out. You stopped her with a short kiss, smiling against her lips. “Why…?”

“I’m just… happy. That’s all” you said. “It’s ok, baby. Your mom is looking out for you. I don’t mind the talk, or anything else”

“That thing you said… about liking me for a long time. That was just to get her to calm down, right?”

“Oh, Nat” you leaned to kiss her again. “You’re so clueless, my love” 

The girl blushed. She had a hard time deciding which term of endearment made her knees weaker. 

“I have to go, tell my parents and all. Remember we’re going to the movies with the twins, and then dinner with your family, yes?”

“I’ll come with you, we’ll tell your parents together” 

You shook your head no. Natasha was about to protest, when you placed your hand on her chest, letting out a shaky breath.

“I told you, Nat, they’ve been having a hard time with me lately. I’m worried they’ll scare you away”

“They won’t” you gave her a gentle look to remind her how her own mother had made her trip with her words. “Ok, I know. I’m not as good as you when speaking to people. But, whatever they say, it won’t scare me away. If I have to go through a background check or take a test or cure cancer to be with you…”

You cut her off with a kiss that turned frantic as she pulled you closer. 

“Nat?”

“Yeah?” she said against your lips, eyes closed.

“I’ve thought about it… about, you know. That”

“Oh” she looked at you, and you swore her pupils dilated.

“It’s too soon, I’m aware. But… I guess I wanted you to know”

“Ok”

“Ok” you repeated, pecking her lips. “I’ll see you at the movies. Ask Yelena if she wants to come”

“You sure you don’t want a ride home?”

“Yes, darling” you nodded, squeezing her hands. You could use the time to walk and think. “I think I’ll stop by my mom’s gallery. It will be better if she’s the one I talk to first”

Natasha nodded.

“Text me when you’re there? Or if you change your mind. I’ll go pick you up”

“Thank you” you nodded, smiling as she opened the door for you.

“I like it when you call me all those things… baby, love” she confessed on your way out. “Not sure which one I like the most, though”

“Well, then I’ll have to come up with new nicknames to see which one is better. Lucky for you, I’m good with words” 

—

You were hoping to prolong the walk, but in the end, it only took 20 minutes to get to your mother’s gallery. It was a Saturday, which meant Wanda was working until noon. 

“Hey” you greeted your friend at the reception. Wanda looked up from her notebook and smiled at you. You placed your hand on the desk and she gaped at the bruises.

“Holy crap. You weren’t kidding” 

“Trust me, he had it coming”

“Everyone’s asking me about it. Your popularity has gone up a bit” Wanda leaned forward and you frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Jessica Jones asked me if you’re single. Darcy was similarly interested. I didn’t know if you wanted the rest of the school to know about Natasha so… I just said I had no idea”

You sighed. Considering Natasha’s concerns about hiding your relationship, it was better if everyone knew. You just had to figure out how.

“Well, I’ll fix that later. Right now I have to tell Mom”

“She’s in her office, speaking with a Japanese artist”

You nodded, walking past your friend to the back of the gallery. Knocking with your good hand, you waited for your mother to answer.

“Come on in. Oh, hi sweetheart. I thought you’d be staying home, recovering from yesterday”

“It’s just a bruise, Mom. Nothing to recover from” you took a seat in front of her, looking at the board behind her desk and the Art History books that she kept all over the place. It was an interesting contrast to Melina’s study, the image of order and chaos mirroring their own disciplines. Creative and scientist.

“Well, what are your plans for the day?”

“Uh… going to the movies with the twins and Natasha”

“The Romanoff girl? She’s so nice. Very shy, but sweet” your mother noted, still writing on her notebook.

“Yes, actually… we’ve been lab partners this semester and we’re also kinda… dating” you said the last part while your heart was beating out of control.

You gulped, as your mother put her pen down and looked at you. 

“Please don’t be mad” you begged, but she smiled that comforting smile that let you know she had your back.

“Mad? You’re 16. At your age, I was leaving a trail of broken hearts”

“Mom!”

“Don’t tell your father, though. He was a late bloomer”

“Speaking of Dad… can you be the one to deliver the news to him? He’ll get grumpy and you’re the only one that can handle him” 

“Don’t you worry about him, darling girl. Leave him to me. Now, will you wait for us to finish here so we can go to lunch and you tell me all about Natasha?”

“Of course” you smiled, always happy to know your mother was on your side. “I’m having dinner with her family tonight”

“Well, then she’s having dinner with us tomorrow”

“Yes, Ma’am” you nodded, thinking you’d have to prepare Natasha for meeting Captain Joseph Rogers.

—

Pietro and Wanda picked you up for the movies, the music booming across the street.

“Are you insane?” you leaned over Wanda to lower the volume on the stereo. Pietro laughed, his fingers drumming against the wheel.

“He’s been playing that stupid song since I told him you punched Rumlow”

“Eye of the Tiger is not a stupid song” he protested, finally stopping as he drove you to the movies. “She’s our Rocky Balboa!”

“Dork” Wanda mocked her brother with an affectionate smile and then turned to you. “Why are you dressed so fancy?” 

You had a burgundy cashmere sweater, camel colored pants and boots.

“Well, I’m having dinner with Natasha’s family. Do you think it’s too much?”

“You look amazing” Pietro assured you and you went to hug him  from your place in the back of the car.

“My favorite Maximoff”

“Hey, I called you fancy!” Wanda protested and Pietro laughed. “So, are you nervous?”

“Not really. I’ve spoken to her family, and I always see them when Natasha and I work on Chemistry homework. I’m more concerned about what Captain Rogers will have to say about Natasha”

“I’m sure it will be fine” Wanda said with a soft smile. She knew how hard these past few months had been, with the accident and the fallout between your parents and Steve.

Seeing Natasha eased some of the tension. Yelena was looking around the cinema when you arrived and after making the proper introductions, you moved over to greet your girlfriend.

“Hi” you said, kissing her softly. “Missed you”

Pietro pretended to gag behind you and you elbowed him.

“Wow, that was harsh”

“I’m Rocky, remember?” you winked, taking Natasha by the hand. Pietro insisted on buying popcorn and Yelena followed suit. 

“Don’t spoil your appetite, we’re going out for dinner tonight” Natasha reminded her. Yelena pouted.

“I can eat popcorn and have dinner, Natasha”

The redhead roller her eyes, but was soon distracted by your hand on hers. Either way, Yelena got away with it. Once at the theater, Pietro squeezed his way between Nat and you, saying he’d sit in the middle holding the giant popcorn bucket.

You gave him an angry look that he ignored and you had to play dirty to sit next to Natasha.

“Hey, babe” you called for her, leaning over Pietro so he would listen to everything. “We should go shopping tomorrow. You ripped my last pair of underwear, remember?”

“Ew, no” Pietro moved, allowing you to change seats.

“Ha. Easy” you mocked, leaning against Natasha. 

The movie started and you could tell Yelena and Pietro were hitting it off, making similar comments about the movie. Wanda was no better, pointing out things that the other two had missed.

“Oh, no, if they team against us we’re done, baby” you whispered against her ear. Natasha tried to reply, but moved against the back of her seat, pulling at the fabric of her pants. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a very good imagination” is all she said, trying to cover her crotch.

“Shit, sorry. I was just trying to get Pietro to move. Try to think about… something else”

“I’m trying” she said through her teeth.

“What are you going to say to Selvig tomorrow when we meet him?” you asked, hoping that would do the trick.

“We’re meeting him?” she turned to look at you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah, why not? If they don’t let us, I’ll use my press badge from the school paper and demand a Q & A session or something. Shutting down a teenager looking to learn more about the universe might be bad press”

Natasha chuckled, relaxing against your side. You could tell she was feeling better and the tension had eased. Just to be safe, you let her approach you first, and she reached for your hand, placing a small kiss at the back of it.

“I can’t wait for Virus XX!” Pietro clapped as you left the theater. 

“There’s gonna be more? We’re gonna be married leaving the kids with the sitter just to watch the next one” you whistled.

“I’m sooo full” Yelena complained.

“I warned you” Natasha said. The sisters began arguing and you waited for Wanda and Pietro.

“Ok, now I’m feeling nervous” you admitted. Wanda placed her arm around your shoulder and Pietro patted your back.

“You’ll do great and they’ll love you. You care about Nat and make her happy, that’s all her family wants” 

“Right” you took a breath, trying to slow your heartbeat. As you reached the exit, you waved goodbye to the twins and walked to Natasha’s car.

Your girlfriend was quiet during the car ride, and Yelena filled the silence with questions about practice and the twins. You were happy that they hit it off. Once at the restaurant, Natasha opened the car door for you while Yelena walked to the entrance. You took her hand, and followed her sister.

“Wait” Natasha asked, pulling you back.

“What’s wrong, Nat?”

“My family is a lot sometimes. They’re just loud and crazy and ask the weirdest questions…. If it’s too much…”

“Natty, it’s fine” you promised, kissing her cheek. “Come on. I’m starving” 

“You look very beautiful, by the way”

“Thank you, I wanted to make a good impression” you blushed.

“They already like you. My mom couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you are” Natasha commented, pulling the restaurant’s door for you to enter.

“Well, I’m very fond of your family too. But you’re my favorite, sweetheart”

The Italian restaurant had a nice atmosphere, with warm lights and soft music playing in the background. Melina waved at you and you walked towards their table.

“The girls are here, come, have a seat!” she said, excitedly. “I do hope you’re hungry”

“Yelena is starving” Natasha mocked and her sister glared.

“I am, actually” 

“Oh, Alexei, you know Natasha’s girlfriend, right?”

You waved at Alexei and he nodded. 

“Wait, how do you know? Mama just found out today” Yelena said.

“Well, they do homework together and go to the movies. Isn’t that what friends do?” Alexei looked at the two of you.

“No, Papa, they are girlfriends. As in holding hands, kissing and… bleh, other stuff. I don’t want to lose my appetite now that it’s back” 

“Oooh. Our little Natasha, quite the Casanova, eh?” he teased his daughter, laughing when she blushed. “Well, I’m very happy for you two. Tell me, what do young people do for dating now?”

“Well, movies, picnics, the mall. We’re going to the Planetarium tomorrow”

“Oh, we used to go there all the time” the man said, taking his wife’s hand. “And the minute it got dark, Melina would pinch my butt” 

“Ew, why?” Yelena dropped the menu, looking upset. 

“Because your mom is a butt girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

“No, that’s not what I meant, Papa”

“Oh, I see where Natasha gets it from” you joked, unable to help yourself. Your girlfriend looked around the table, turning red.

“I am officially not hungry” Yelena grumbled, making everyone laugh.

—

You focused on some homework during Sunday morning. Since you were meeting Natasha later, you also cleaned your room and got a chance to do your hair and make up, opting for a loose dress and a light jacket.

“Dinner isn’t until 7:30, young lady” your father said as soon as you walked down the stairs. He was wearing a polo shirt and slacks, carrying a book about World War II. His idea of a relaxing Sunday was very different from yours.

“Oh, I’m going out with Natasha”

He groaned, removing his glasses. 

“Yes, your mother mentioned this Romanoff girl”

“So, what do you think?” 

“You’re too young” 

“I’m not marrying her. Yet” 

Your father glared and you had to laugh at his stern expression. So dramatic.

“This isn’t funny”

“Dad, do you know what we’re doing today? Going to a talk about Astrophysics. You really have nothing to worry about.”

“There will be rules”

“I expect nothing less from Captain Rogers”

“And curfews”

“Those are like suggestions to me, but sure, go ahead”

“Young lady” 

Stepping forward, you hugged your father. Guess you can’t really take the military out of the man. But still, he had a soft spot for you and conceded, his arms around you.

“I love you, Pops. And I’m happy. So, just trust me on this one?”

“Ok, sweetheart” he nodded, sighing. “I guess I just refuse to believe you’re growing up”

You broke apart when the doorbell rang. Natasha was waiting at the door, wearing a white shirt with jeans, blue blazer and oxford shoes. 

My God, glasses too. 

“Hi” you greeted, staring. She looked… dashing. “Uh…”

Your dad rolled his eyes, stepping forward and introducing himself.

“Captain Joseph Rogers”

“Natasha Romanoff, sir. A pleasure to meet you” she shook his hand and you were surprised by her confident demeanor. Double fuck, she looked even hotter now.

“Dinner is at 1930” he informed your girlfriend. “No speeding, no texting while driving. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir” Natasha nodded. Your mother shouted from the kitchen, making you snap out of your trance.

“Joe, just let them go and come help me!”

“Thanks, Mom! Bye, Dad” you kissed his cheek, taking Natasha by the hand and pulling her towards the car. “You look… wow”

“Yeah? I thought it would be more formal, considering the event” 

“Handsome” you blurted out, making Natasha blush. Oh, yeah. She liked it a little too much. You played with the lapel of her blazer, feeling hot everywhere. “My father is probably staring out the window but know that if he wasn’t, I’d be all over you right now” 

Natasha groaned, opening the car door for you. Unable to help yourself, you gave her a quick kiss, smiling as she began the drive to the Planetarium. 

During the ride, you went over some basic information about your family that would probably help her with conversation. You mentioned your mother and her time living in Paris while she got her Masters in Art History, your Dad and how he went from Army medic to surgeon at a private practice. You mentioned that Bucky lived with you because his father was working in D.C., and how your father and Colonel Barnes went way back to their days as soldiers.

By the time you reached the Planetarium, Natasha felt she understood where you came from a little bit better. 

“Wow, this is amazing” you admired, looking at the scale models of probes sent to explore space. NASA had collaborated with the museum, sharing materials and information that came first hand from their work. Natasha explained things and concepts that sounded totally foreign to you, but you nodded, appreciating her enthusiasm and admiring the way her eyes lit up every time you came across some fascinating space rock. 

“Please join us at the conference room for Doctor Selvig’s talk” the hostess announced, and you let Natasha guide you to your seats. 

You were fully expecting the talk to be full of science terms and concepts that were above your comprehension, but Doctor Selvig was a great speaker, and the hour went by in the blink of an eye. There was a standing ovation as he delivered his last remark, and before it was over, you pushed Natasha to the side of the stage.

“Let’s say hi to him”

“Why?”

“Because he’s cool and you look like you want to cry from being in the same room as him” you whispered, intercepting him as he walked down the steps. “Doctor Selvig, Y/N Y/L/N with the Daily Shield. My girlfriend Natasha Romanoff is a great fan of your work”

“Hi” Natasha greeted him, starstruck.

“Romanoff? Any relation to Doctor Melina Romanoff?”

“She’s my mother. Do you know her?”

“We met at a conference in Berlin a few years ago. She has some interesting ideas about the composition of minerals we found near meteorite sites”

“Right. Molecular astrophysics. I’d love to study all of that” Natasha said excitedly.

“If you’re half as brilliant as your mother, I’m sure you’ll be very successful” he said, patting her shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you both”

“Likewise, Doctor Selvig” you said as he went to greet the people from NASA. “How cool was tha…?”

Natasha kissed you, pulling you by the waist. 

“Thank you” she whispered against your lips.

“No, thank you” you smiled, enjoying her closeness. “We should get going. I just need to use the restroom first”

“Ok” she nodded, kissing you again. God, she made you weak in the knees.

You felt light as a feather as you walked to the bathroom. Everything was coming together so nicely; Natasha’s family liked you and you were sure your girlfriend would manage to turn around your father’s bad mood.

Coming back to the auditorium, you searched for Natasha. To your surprise, she was speaking with a girl that looked ready to pounce on her any minute.

“Hey” you greeted, standing next to Nat. 

“Oh, hi. Ready to go?” Natasha turned to you.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” you eyed the other girl, who smiled and extended her hand.

“Jane Foster”

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Natasha’s girlfriend”

“Oh, I had no idea you were dating anyone” the girl commented and you had to resist the urge to punch her. “Natasha and I met last summer at Science Camp. No wonder you stopped texting back, Natty” 

Jane reached out, squeezing Natasha’s arm playfully. Your anger transferred to Natasha when she just stood there and did nothing.

“Yeah, well. We should go, we’re having dinner with my parents” you said, although the last thing you were was hungry. 

“Nice seeing you, let me know if you’re going to the Winter Retreat. We’ll have the best time” Jane said with a wink.

“Nice seeing you too” Natasha said goodbye, while you rolled your eyes, walking to the exit as fast as you could. “Y/N, wait for me. Y/N!” Natasha insisted, chasing after you. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“She was flirting with you” you accused, looking down. Since when were you the jealous type? “And you didn’t tell her you had a girlfriend. What was that about?”

“I just… don’t really think of her as anyone worth talking to?” Natasha admitted. “We spoke for a bit during summer, but that was it. I’m not interested in her”

“It’s just that…” you sighed, kicking the floor. “She’s smart, right? She probably understands everything about this exhibit and more, and could talk to you about all these science things while I’m… just me”

“Stop right there. You’re funny, and beautiful, and smart, kind, caring… I could spend all night listing things that drive me crazy about you”

“Crazy good?” you blushed, taking her hands.

“The best type of crazy” she promised.

“Ok” you nodded, allowing her to pull you closer. “I’m calling a truce because you look too damn good right now”

“Yeah?” Natasha smiled. Unfortunately for her, you spotted her good friend Jane Foster, still looking at you as if she wanted to continue the conversation.

Whatever Natasha was about to say next died on her mouth, because you crashed your lips against hers in a searing kiss, nibbling at her bottom lip until she groaned, allowing you to explore her mouth with your tongue. Her hands slid to your lower back and you scratched the base of her neck, fingers threading through fiery hair.

“Are you hungry now?” you whispered against her mouth, satisfied at the way she chased your lips, whining when you stepped back. 

“Huh?”

“Dinner. We can’t be late” placing a hand on her cheek, you smiled. Natasha nodded, following you to the car, her little friend long forgotten.

Yeah, that’s more like it.

—

During the drive back, you were still thinking about that Foster girl, and Natasha could read you like an open book, holding your hand as she went back to your home.

As usual, she opened the car door for you and allowed you to lead her to your house.

“Want a tour of the place?” you offered, taking her blazer so she’d be more comfortable. You appreciated the way the shirt clung to the muscles in her arms.

“Sure” she nodded, following you and looking at the framed pictures on the walls. Most of them were of Steve and you throughout the years. 

“Living room, that connects to the entertainment room” you pointed to a door where you’d usually have movie nights with the twins. “The pool table is close to the back shed, dining room, kitchen over there… Rooms are upstairs” 

“I guess I never noticed how big your house is”

“My mom has a studio and my dad has his reading room as well. Come on” you walked to the kitchen and got everything to set the table.

“Hi, girls. Did you have fun?” your mom greeted and you nodded.

“Can I help with anything?” Natasha offered and your mother nodded. 

“You can take the potatoes to the table, darling, thank you” 

She admired the way you set different silverware, including glasses and a bottle of wine that you knew your father liked. It all looked extremely fancy.

“We’re foodies here” you explained. “Hope you like greek lamb”

“I’ve never had any” 

“Oh, I do hope you love it” your mom said, carrying the tray with the food, fresh off the oven.

“Food’s ready, chop chop!” you shouted, assuming Steve and Bucky were playing pool. 

“Smells delicious” your father complimented, setting his book down.

“How are you liking Ryan’s book so far?” Natasha asked, sitting next to you. Your father seemed pleasantly surprised that she was interested.

“It’s good. About time I read The Longest Day. Though I still have to finish Churchill’s volumes. I’m stuck on the second half of the third”

“It took me two summers to read it all” Natasha agreed as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“All four volumes?” he said, clearly impressed.

You should have never doubted Natasha’s ability to win over a nerd.

“What did we miss?” Steve walked in, nodding towards Natasha. “Hey, what’s up, Nat”

“Romanoff” Bucky said and you glared. He sure as hell could be nicer, but alas. Boys will be boys.

“Just discussing some interesting books about World War II” your father replied and they both groaned. “Boys, it is an integral part of our history as a nation!”

“Pass the potatoes” Steve said, but your mother stopped him. 

“Guests first”

You poked your tongue out in a mocking gesture, passing the food to Natasha. 

After everyone had their plates ready, you started eating, talking a bit about your day and stuff you’d done during the week. Sundays were the only days you all had dinner together. Sometimes, your father was in the hospital for 24 hour shifts and your mom would stay late working at the gallery. 

“How was the conference?” your mother asked.

“It was fascinating. Did you know asteroids can have rings? And moons? There’s a whole world out there and we know so little” you said, inspired by Selvig’s speech. “Lucky for them, Natasha will put her brilliant mind to work on discovering new things pretty soon” 

“So, I’m guessing you’re going for MIT, Natasha?” your father asked.

“Yes, sir. That would be my first choice. Followed by Harvard and then CalTech”

“All very fine schools, right, Y/N?”

“NYU is also a very fine school” you defended, taking a sip of the wine you were allowed to have with Sunday dinner. Very European of your mother.

“Too many distractions in such a big city” your father complained; sensing the potential of a fight, your mother changed the subject.

“Bucky, still thinking about UCLA?”

“Yeah, some sun would be good for me”

“Next year you’ll both be gone, I can’t wrap my head around it” your mother pondered.

“Maybe we can finally get a dog” you proposed. “He’ll behave a lot better, that’s for sure”

“Very funny” Steve said.

“Not a joke, bro” 

“Natasha, what about your parents?” your father said.

“What about them?” you jumped, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I just want to know what they do”

“Well, my father is a retired football player. Alexei Romanoff. He was with the Patriots for six seasons. And now he’s a coach at school. It’s more of a hobby than anything. My mother is the lead researcher on a project to develop a treatment for Alzheimer’s” 

“Wait, Romanoff as in Doctor Melina?”

“How many Romanoffs do you gather live in Westview” your brother joked.

It was the second time someone mentioned Natasha’s mother and you were honestly impressed.

“I’ve heard about your mother’s work, it is very interesting. Perhaps your family can join us for dinner one day” he proposed and you locked eyes with your brother. That was as good as it was going to get with your father.

“That would be lovely, thank you” 

The conversation kept flowing  and by the time dessert was served, you were full, sleepy and happy to see Natasha relaxed and smiling next to you. You reached for her hand, squeezing it.

“Y/N and Natasha set the table so you’re on cleaning duties, boys” your mother instructed.

You took Natasha to the backyard, walking along the edge of the pool.

“What’s going in that mind of yours?” you asked, seeing her eyes getting lost in the water.

“We’re also going to college in a few years”

“Mhm” you nodded, taking her hands. “And?”

“What will happen to us? I mean, I know it’s too soon, but I hate the idea of not seeing you every day and being away… you’ll probably make so many new friends…”

“Nat…” you said softly, until she looked at you. “I’ve waited for so long to be with you, do you really think being in different cities is gonna stop me?”

“Really?”

You laughed, taking a deep breath.

“If I were a poet, I’d write a haiku; you should know I really like you” you recited.

“How did you… You wrote it” she gaped. 

“It wasn’t my best work, but to be fair, we were 12”

A note that had been left at her locker, on Valentine’s Day. 

Natasha thought it was a prank or a mistake.

“That’s how long I’ve liked you” you nodded, your arms around her waist. “So, we will cross that bridge when we get there, in approximately two years. Ok, love?”

“Sorry, I know I get crazy…”

“Yes, but that’s part of your charm” you smiled, leaning forward to kiss her. As you broke apart you yawned, laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, baby. It’s the wine”

“It’s ok” she said, kissing your cheek. “I should go, it’s getting late”

“Come on, I’ll walk you out” you said, leading her to the kitchen to say goodbye to your mother. Natasha thanked her and was forced to take back a giant piece of cake. Yelena was going to be extremely happy, that was for sure. 

As you opened the door, your father called for Natasha, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“It was lovely to meet you, young lady. You are always welcomed in our home”

“Thank you, Captain. And thank you for a lovely evening” 

Holy shit, holy shit, you kept saying in your head. And there was Natasha, looking super chill.

“What?” she asked, as you covered your mouth to keep yourself from screaming in pure joy.

“Uhm, that thing he said? He might as well ask you to call him Dad. He likes you, Nat” 

“Really?”

“Really” you nodded. “Can’t blame him one bit. Ok, drive safely, text me when you’re home” 

“Will do” she kissed you. And God, you wanted it to last forever.

You were so in love with her. The realization hit you hard and fast, but you decided to leave it for another time, when you weren’t so dazed by her presence and the little bit of red wine you had with your dinner.

Staring out the window, you watched her drive away.

“That was nice” your mother said and you nodded. The sound of plates crashing against the floor made her sigh tiredly. “Oh, boys” 

By the time you went up to your room, it was almost 10 PM. While you took off your dress, your phone pinged with a text from Natasha, letting you know she was home, and that Yelena had stolen the cake from her hands as soon as she opened the front door.

You laughed, sending heart emojis, as well as a picture of Natasha during the exhibit. She was smiling, looking up, the soft glow of the lights giving her a mysterious aura. 

Y/N: Stunning view

Leaving the phone on your dressing room, you went to the bathroom to wash your teeth, and brush your hair. As you settled in bed, you got a new text.

Natasha: 

each kiss is perfect

your smile is like summer breeze

our world is magic

Counting the syllables, you laughed. Of course Natasha wrote a haiku for you.

Y/N: Show off.

Y/N: I love it.

college roomate!vi x classical musician!reader

part one

men/minors dni!

pairing: vi x fem!reader

2.5k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

"where ya goin'?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

“I'll try," you chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vi sat up, grabbing your attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

god, she's adorable, vi thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"rent must be that high I guess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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