just-aake

[just-aake]

Sometimes I regret joining this fandom… I’d rather see it die than let Nat be replaced

-🦆

I understand how you feel. I'm not really great with endings either. So watching someone else take over a space once held by someone you loved for so long can be bittersweet. But what I’ve always appreciated about being part of a fandom like this is that you can continue to love and cherish that time period, even if others have moved on. Natasha may not appear on screen anymore, but we still get to see her live on through these stories. And I think there’s something really beautiful that this fandom can give to you. And if you ever need to take a break from it, that’s completely okay too. This space will always be here, waiting for you, whenever you want to revisit the Natasha you once loved. On a lighter note, let’s forget canon and pretend that Natasha actually survived. She just chose to retire and pass the mantle to Yelena so she could move to the countryside and live a peaceful life with her girlfriend 🙂‍↕️.

[just-aake]

Part 2 for in your arms?

Thank you for reading! As for part 2, I don't really know at the moment since I need to work on my other WIPs. But I'm not against writing a part 2 if something comes to mind, so we'll have to see 😅

[just-aake]

Omg that Nat fic you posted earlier?? Absolute perfection, had me kicking my feet and giggling. May your pillow always be cold 💜

Thank you for the cold pillow 😂 I'm glad you liked it!

[just-aake]

natasha better reach those mf flowers 😌😌

Thank you, this made me laugh. Also, I wholeheartedly agree 😂

[just-aake]

In Your Arms

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You have always been a touchy-feely person. Natasha on the other hand is not. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want your attention.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 1981

Natasha has always known you to be a touchy-feely person.

The first time she met you, you wrapped your arms around her before she even had the chance to blink. Her instincts flared immediately with her hand flying halfway to her weapon before her brain caught up to the fact that you weren’t a threat. 

Her grip on the concealed weapon relaxed, but her arms had remained stiff at her sides, unsure where to put them, uncertain what to do with affection offered so freely.

It had startled her more than any ambush ever had. That feeling of not being feared. Of being a person worthy of the affection of another, despite everything.

But you never held back with giving yours. 

Not then, and not after.

Over time, it became part of the rhythm between you. Your hand or arm slipped naturally into hers whenever you walked beside her. The lazy weight of your head leaning on her shoulder during briefings. The way you always pulled her into a hug when either of you returned from a mission, arms around her waist or shoulders, grounding her in something real.

She’d gotten used to that. Maybe even come to expect it. 

So when the elevator doors slide open and she sees you standing there, her first instinct is to pause—her heart giving a quiet little stutter she doesn’t acknowledge. 

Natasha steps out of the elevator, ready for that familiar warmth, that brief but steadying moment of contact she hadn’t let herself admit she was looking forward to.

You spot her a moment later.

“Hey, Natasha,” you say casually, offering her a quick wave.

No arms reaching out for her. Just a passing greeting as you walk by her without so much as the brush of your sleeve against hers, slipping into the elevator she just stepped out of.

Natasha turns, confused, mouth parting like she might call after you, but the elevator doors are already sliding shut, cutting off her view of you. She stares at the closed metal panels for a few lingering seconds, the silence pressing in.

That was…different.

Her brows knit faintly, but after a moment, she exhales through her nose and shakes her head. 

You probably had somewhere to be. That had to be it.

Still, the absence of your usual warmth settles heavy in her chest. She folds her arms loosely across her torso and forces the tension out of her shoulders with a quiet sigh.

Then she turns on her heel and heads toward the debriefing room, pushing the disappointment down before it has the chance to root too deeply.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Now Natasha is even more confused.

Earlier, she’d told herself you were just in a rush—that missing the hug in the hallway wasn’t personal—just bad timing. But now, sitting beside you in the common room with the other Avengers, that excuse feels thinner by the second.

It’s one of those rare nights when everyone’s actually home. Laughter ripples through the group, drinks are passed around, and stories are shared freely. Typically, nights like this meant you’d be curled up next to her, shoulder pressed to hers, fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve or resting on her thigh without thinking.

Tonight, though, you’re still right beside her on the couch. And yet you might as well be a mile away.

It’s not that you’re ignoring her. You speak when spoken to. You laugh at the group’s jokes. You even chime in when Natasha makes a dry comment that earns a snort from Sam. 

But there’s no contact. Not even the accidental kind.

Your posture is pulled in just enough to create a subtle space between your body and hers. And the longer it lingers, the more Natasha begins to feel it as a form of avoidance.

She tests it.

Casually, she stretches her arm along the back of the couch behind you, a gesture she’s done countless times before that usually ends with you unconsciously shifting closer into her side.

But this time, you lean forward, seeming suddenly interested in one of Thor’s increasingly embellished battle stories, your shoulders moving just out of reach.

Natasha’s gaze sharpens. She shifts again, this time subtly sliding closer, just enough that your thighs would brush if you moved towards her even if just by a little.

You don’t. Instead, you cross your legs in the opposite direction, slightly angling yourself away without a glance.

Her lips press into a thin line.

But what finally makes her frown is the way your body betrays your exhaustion. 

Natasha knows your rhythms too well. At this hour, you always start to fade, no matter how hard you try to stay engaged. And usually, when that happened, your head would gradually drift until it came to rest on her shoulder.

Tonight, it tilts in the other direction. You rest your cheek against your hand, elbow on the armrest, turning completely away from her.

Like clockwork, your eyes begin to flutter closed. 

Natasha catches the subtle slump of your posture and the way your breathing slows, soft and steady.

Her fingers twitch against her leg.

If you were leaning on her like usual, it would be easy, just a quiet nudge, a soft murmur of your name to guide you up to bed. 

But now, there’s nothing—no point of contact. 

Not unless she reaches for it herself.

But Natasha hesitates.

And someone else beats her to it.

Wanda leans forward from her spot in the other chair next to the two of you, her voice low and gentle. 

“Hey,” she says, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, giving it a soft shake. “I’m gonna turn in. Want to head up too?”

Your eyes blink open slowly. You nod, sleepy and half out of it, then reach up and take Wanda’s offered hand without hesitation.

You turn back toward Natasha, offering her a small, tired smile.

“Goodnight, Natasha,” you murmur.

Your hand lifts slightly as if you’re about to pat her leg like you’ve done a dozen times before.

But at the last second, it shifts direction and lands instead on the cushion beside her, fingers pressing gently into fabric before retreating.

Natasha’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Goodnight,” she replies.

She watches as you stand, still holding onto Wanda’s hand. The two of you walk out together, your head tilted toward her in quiet laughter as you lean slightly into her side.

And Natasha is left sitting on the couch, surrounded by voices and laughter, and yet with a space beside her that feels colder than it should.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha stands at the counter, fingers wrapped around a warm mug, steam curling up into her face as she takes a slow sip of coffee.

She’s been up for a while now, trying to clear her head. Sleep hadn’t come easily. Not with questions buzzing around her thoughts.

You hadn’t touched her.

Not once.

And it was driving her insane.

Natasha exhales slowly, grounding herself in the weight of the mug and the quiet hum of the Compound just beginning to stir. Then she hears your footsteps approaching.

Her heart reacts before her mind does.

You enter the kitchen, still rubbing sleep from your eyes, dressed in the kind of clothes that suggest you only half pulled yourself together before wandering in search of caffeine. You spot her immediately, offering a small, friendly smile—not the sleepy, instinctive shoulder nudge or greeting she used to get. 

Just a smile.

You head toward the cabinet, clearly aiming for a mug. 

The only problem is she’s in the way.

“Hey, can I squeeze past?” you ask, voice gentle.

Natasha straightens instinctively, stepping just slightly to the side. Enough to let you through, but only barely, with the space between her and the counter still being narrow. 

But it’s also close enough that brushing shoulders would be unavoidable.

Except it doesn’t happen.

Natasha watches in disbelief as you deliberately maneuver your body in the smallest ways, turning sideways, angling your arm, even lifting your hand to avoid grazing hers. It’s done with care, but it’s unmistakable.

You didn’t want to touch her.

Natasha’s patience snaps.

Before you can reach the mug, her arms suddenly come down on either side of you, palms flat against the counter. You’re trapped, caged in by her arms and presence.

You yelp, startled, immediately turning toward her with wide eyes. Your hands rise automatically as if to rest on her arms, but then hover awkwardly mid-air, uncertain, before you lean back into the counter in a clear effort to maintain distance.

Natasha frowns, eyes flicking to your hovering hands, then back to your face.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks bluntly.

You blink, caught off guard. 

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

Natasha’s jaw clenches before sighing in frustration.

“Because ever since I got back, you haven’t touched me.”

Her words hang in the air, too raw and direct to mistake. 

You part your lips in surprise, but before you can say anything, footsteps sound in the hall before you can get a word out.

Steve appears in the doorway. He pauses mid-step, clearly having heard just enough to register the tension in the air and the compromising proximity of Natasha’s arms caging you in.

A beat passes. Then Steve clears his throat, awkwardly.

“I’ll, uh…circle back.” He turns and disappears almost immediately.

Both of you stare at the space he left behind for a second before Natasha turns back to you, one brow raised. Her gaze drops meaningfully to your still-hovering hands.

You fidget, realizing you’ve been caught. Your fingers curl slightly in the air, unsure of where to go.

“I…uh..I read your file,” you admit quietly. “From your time in the Red Room. What they did to you…”

Natasha’s expression eases immediately in understanding.

But you still look away, ashamed. 

“It just—after that, I realized how much I’ve always just…touched you without asking. And it’s your body, Natasha. You probably put up with it every time. And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I thought I should give you some space for once.”

For a moment, Natasha just looks at you, stunned. Then she laughs. A quiet, surprised huff that escapes from her chest like she’s been holding it in for days.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” she says, voice fond with disbelief.

Your eyes widen in confusion. “What?”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she lowers her head until her forehead rests gently against your shoulder. 

Your hands hover again at her arms, but they don’t land.

“I like when you touch me,” Natasha murmurs. “It makes me feel safe. Like I’m supposed to be here.” 

You blink, slightly dumbfounded. Still registering her words. 

“…Oh.”

Natasha lets out a soft, amused sound at your tone of stunned surprise.

“And I’m still waiting,” she adds quietly, “for my welcome back hug.”

That startles you out of your daze. You let out a breath—half laugh, half sigh—as your arms finally rise and wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her in until there’s no space between you.

“Welcome home, Natasha,” you whisper into her hair like you’ve done many times before.

The effect is instant. Her body melts into yours, all the tension draining from her shoulders.

Natasha sinks into the embrace like she’s been craving it for days. Then slowly her arms slide around you, steady and secure.

She closes her eyes, breathing you in, confirming what she already knew.

This is where she feels safest. Warmth from your arms and hands on her back. Your heartbeat against her body. 

And that flutter in her chest? From just your touch?

Natasha decides, just for now, she’ll let it be.

That can be a different problem to confront for another day.

Right now, she’s content to be in your arms once again.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading!

[just-aake]

if u get a ★ in ur inbox it means ur moot appreciates u, and ur efforts in the community. send this to 10 mutuals to continue the love !!

Thank you so much! I'm honored that you thought of me! 🤗

[just-aake]

Will we ever get more of criminal temptation 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Eventually 😅 though it has been a while since I worked on it. I’m still deciding how far I want to take things in that story which is why I haven’t release anything on it since. But let me see if I can finish up the part 2 since it’s technically half finished already.

[just-aake]

Will there be a new chapter of "Everlasting Devotion"?

I’m probably going to put out a short one shot before the next chapter comes out because the one shot just needs to be edited and it’s done, but I have been working on the next chapter, so don’t worry, it’s happening. 👍

[just-aake]

Do you have a planned time to post new chapters of "Everlasting Devotion"? Or will it take a while?

So I don’t really have planned times when I post for Everlasting Devotion or for any sort of one shots. It’s mostly whichever one gets finished and edited first as I hop around my WIPs. 😅 I’ll try to prioritize the next chapter as much as I can, so hopefully it won’t be a while.

[just-aake]

Sobre "Devoção Eterna", poderia haver uma filha entre Natasha e o leitor no final? Como Melina inventando uma maneira de o leitor ter uma mini Natasha. (Só uma ideia, a história é sua e é incrível)

Translation: "Regarding "Everlasting Devotion," could there be a daughter between Natasha and the reader at the end? Like Melina inventing a way for the reader to have a mini Natasha. (Just an idea, it's your story and it's amazing.)"

Hello! Thank you for reading! I always love any kinds of idea with a mini Natasha. I could definitely see Melina or sorcery having some sort part in helping if they were ever to have children. But we'll just have to see if they can make it out through everything that's happening first. Hopefully, everything will turn out okay for them to have that future. 😬

Translation (from google): Olá! Obrigada por ler! Eu sempre adoro qualquer tipo de ideia com uma mini Natasha. Eu definitivamente consigo imaginar a Melina ou a magia tendo algum tipo de papel em ajudar, caso eles tenham filhos. Mas primeiro teremos que ver se eles conseguem superar tudo o que está acontecendo. Tomara que tudo dê certo para que eles tenham esse futuro.

[just-aake]

now, aake, why do you have to keep hurting me with everlasting devotion????

- 🍷

I'm sorry, I wish I could say there won't be more hurt coming 🥺

[just-aake]

OH. MY. GOSH. AAAAAAKKKEEEEEEE!!!! i've actually forgotten writing that request for whispered in russian. i was thinking: "when did i request that?" "did someone use my anon emoji?" i barely study russian now that i'm working (huhu i just want to consume natty fics all day and not work), so i'm surprised that i'm still familiar with some of the words you used.

okay, about the fic. you have never ever disappointed me (i don't think you could). you're so good at what you do!!!! i know you have a love and hate relationship with writing, but i'm just stating facts here. that was soooo cute and sexy and i was giggling and punching my pillow while reading it!!! i was even reacting verbally (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠).

again, thank you so soooo much for granting my requests. i don't mind how long before it happens or if it doesn't. i just wish you don't ever stop writing (please please please). i'm missing my other fave authors here on tumblr. some of them are deactivating or deleting their account already, so i really hope you won't. i'll cry (not kidding). is it bad saying this? i don't mean to guilt trip you or anything. i'm sorry. i love you and your fics!! take care always, oki?

- 🍷

Thank you so much for the sweet message! I'm glad you liked it even after such a long wait. And I don't plan on leaving Tumblr anytime soon. When I decided to start writing, I kind of already knew the state of being a writer on here (I've also seen my favorite accounts stop or disappear 😢), so I've always kept my expectations low whenever I post. Which is also why I'm so grateful for those who I always see appear in my notification when I do post. So if you don't see me post for a while, I'm probably just taking a break or bouncing around different WIPs. Take care of yourself as well, and don't worry too much about me disappearing. 😉

[just-aake]

Hi! I just finished The Red Room Sacrifice and I was hoping, even though it’s been done for a couple years now, if you were willing to scratch a little itch for me?

Idk I’d just love to see their wedding or even that little baby Yelena made a part of Nat’s story a while back. Maybe a mention of someone on the team taking care of Wanda, or themselves inviting her into their home after going through the loss of Vision, too. (Since Nat knows too well the feeling of losing your partner, though it wasn’t permanent for her). It’s cool if you wanna leave it where it is though! You did wonderfully on the story and I’m sooooo happy it ended well. I love your writing🤍

Thank you for reading and for the suggestions! It's been a long time since I revisted Red Room Sacrifice, so I'm not sure if I can go back and add to that series right now. Also, I was pretty satisfied with how that series progressed and turned out in the end, so I'm going keep it as a three part for now, but who knows, a sudden inspiration may come in the future. 😄

[just-aake]

Omg I just saw your work for sevika on ao3 love it 💕

Thank you for reading! She's such a fun character to write for. I'm glad you liked it! 🤗

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part XV

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

Warnings: light fluff, angst

Words: 4009

The surface of the lake stretches out in front of you, still and glasslike, almost too perfect in its quiet. A soft, silvery mist rolls across the water, catching the pale light of the sky. It gives the illusion of peace—of something untouched and whole.

But you know better.

You pick up a small stone from the ground and toss it into the water. It breaks the surface with a soft plunk, shattering the mirror-like illusion as ripples fan outward. 

The truth returns to the world in waves: not everything can stay calm. Not everything deserves to.

You draw your knees up to your chest and rest your chin on them, eyes locked on the ripples until they fade. The numb ache in your chest hasn’t left since the morning, but out here, at least, the world feels a little quieter. 

Like you can travel back to the ease of the past when everything wasn’t so complicated.

The soft crunch of grass and fallen leaves behind you pulls your attention. You quickly swipe at the corners of your eyes, brushing away the lingering sting of unshed tears before glancing back.

“Bucky?” Your voice comes out more confused than surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He stops a few paces behind you, glancing at the lake before slowly stepping closer. 

“You’ve talked about this place before,” he says quietly. “Figured you’d be here.”

There’s no explanation beyond that. He doesn’t mention how dangerous it is for him to be out in the open or how someone could recognize him. He doesn’t have to. You understand the risk without needing it spelled out—and you also know why he came anyway.

He settles beside you, close but not crowding, eyes trained on the lake’s quiet surface. He doesn’t press. Doesn’t ask. He just sits in that silence with you, offering the quiet kind of supportive presence without needing to say anything at all.

A breeze stirs through the trees, sending a flutter of scarlet petals to the forest floor. 

You tilt your head up, following their descent, and spot a small bloom—bright red, fragile—clinging to the tree’s highest branch. 

Despite the heaviness in your chest, your lips twitch into a faint smile.

“Do you think I could reach those flowers?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

Bucky follows your gaze. 

“Why would you risk falling out of a tree for that?”

Your smile falters. 

“It’s just...something Natasha used to do,” you murmur, voice thinning around the edges of her name. You pause, swallowing around the lump that threatens to rise again. 

“The first time I met her was here, and every year after, she always used to try.”

You keep your eyes forward, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble too obviously. But when you glance sideways, Bucky’s jaw is tight, his expression shaded with quiet concern. He noticed.

You shift, trying to deflect, even though it’s futile now.

“You heard the announcement,” you say, tone flat. 

Bucky exhales heavily. 

“It’s all anyone’s talking about in the kingdom.”

You nod once. The words had reached you this morning—rushed in on Pietro’s breathless voice, his expression tight with confusion.

Queen Natasha Romanoff is engaged to Princess Sharon Carter.

It echoed in your head like a curse.

You remember Wanda’s eyes flicking to you across the room, her lips parting with disbelief. Pietro had asked if you knew. 

You had shaken your head once—slowly—and walked away before anyone could ask more.

Now you’re here. Wondering. Replaying the moments from that night together days ago. Wondering if Natasha knew then, if she had kept it from you because…

There’s nothing she can do about it.

The devastation of that thought makes your shoulders sag as you curl into yourself further. 

If it’s already done—already decided—then where does that leave you? 

The one who loved her in the open for only a brief moment, and then in secret, content with sharing stolen moments if it meant being together with her.

And now you may lose the chance for even that.

The helplessness of the situation presses in again, slow and suffocating.

Bucky breaks the silence gently. 

“Where are the twins?”

You don’t answer right away. You know what he’s really asking.

Why are you out here alone?

A soft huff escapes your chest, not quite a laugh, more like the ghost of one. It’s too hollow to carry any real humor. Do you really appear that dependent on others for comfort?

Your hands clench against the fabric of your clothes before uncurling with a sigh. 

“I told them I just needed a little air. To clear my head.”

You don’t tell him how Wanda had looked at you, eyes wide and cautious, as if she was bracing for something breaking. How Pietro had hovered in the doorway, tense, like he was waiting to catch you before you crumbled again. 

Like last year. Like before. 

So you left before they could see it happen.

“I apologize for intruding, then,” Bucky says quietly. He keeps his eyes on the lake, respectful of your privacy even now.

You shake your head, brushing the remnants of tears from your cheek with your sleeve.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

Bucky doesn’t look at you, but his response is firm and quiet.

“It’s okay not to be.”

The words settle over you like a weight, not crushing but grounding. Something shifts in your chest, loosening the tension there just slightly, and you stare out at the lake again—still, reflective, like it’s holding your emotions for you.

A moment passes.

“What should I do, Bucky?” 

He turns to glance at you, expression unreadable at first. Then there’s a furrow between his brows as he exhales and rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable but still trying.

“I’m not really someone people go to for relationship advice,” he admits, with a half-grimace.

A soft laugh escapes you, genuine this time. His discomfort with the topic, the slight twitch of awkwardness, is oddly comforting. It breaks through the ache enough to let a breath of warmth in.

“Well, what would you do then?” you ask gently, tilting your head toward him.

Bucky considers for a moment, nodding slowly.

“Tactically?” he says, slipping into the language of battles like it’s second nature. “When things get too chaotic to control, the best move is usually to step back. Re-evaluate the field. Decide if it’s a fight you can win...or survive.”

You blink at him, then give a soft, incredulous laugh. 

“You’re treating this like a battlefield?”

He shrugs, faintly amused. 

“Sometimes matters of the heart are.”

You smile despite yourself. 

“There may be a soft romantic under that grumpy exterior after all.”

“Not likely,” Bucky mutters, scoffing with a shake of his head.

You hum thoughtfully, eyes drifting back toward the trees. The weight in your chest hasn’t left, but it feels...lighter somehow. Less like it’s crushing you and more like something you can carry, at least for a little while longer.

You take a breath, grounding yourself again. 

“Thank you, Bucky.”

You rise to your feet, brushing the dirt off your hands. With as much composure as you can gather, you turn toward the small path that leads back to your horse.

But Bucky’s arm swings out in front of you, halting your steps.

You freeze, startled. 

“What is it?” you ask.

His gaze is sharp, focused on the shadows just beyond the trees. Then, without further explanation, he stoops down, grabs a stone, and hurls it into the dense brush with startling precision.

“Ow!” 

You blink in surprise at the yelp before a blur of feathers bursts from the trees with a screech, a familiar shape twisting in the air before hurtling directly at Bucky.

“What the—?!” Bucky ducks, arms up, fending off the sudden aerial assault. 

“Redwing?” you blurt, eyes widening.

“What the hell is a Redwing?!” Bucky growls, swatting at the persistent bird. “And why is it attacking me?!”

“Hey! Easy!” a voice calls out, cutting through the chaos.

A sharp whistle follows, and Redwing circles back, letting out one last indignant chirp before retreating to perch on a shoulder. Sam steps out from the woods, hands raised in caution.

“Sam?” you ask, brows lifting, suspicion blooming behind your eyes. “What were you doing hiding in the trees?”

He grins, only slightly sheepish. 

“I wasn’t spying, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was sent to bring you to the castle, but when you weren’t at your manor, I had Redwing do a quick search.”

Redwing lets out a proud little trill and flutters from Sam’s shoulder to yours, circling before settling gently in place.

You let out a slow breath, reaching up to stroke the bird’s feathers with practiced ease. His familiar weight is oddly reassuring.

“Natasha sent you?” you ask, your voice quieter this time.

Sam hesitates. 

“Actually...her mother.” 

You lift a brow curiously.

He nods in confirmation before continuing. 

“Said something about needing your assistance with...something.”

You huff softly, dry amusement flickering in your expression. 

“Is that how she phrased it?”

Sam shrugs. 

“Look, I’m just here to bring you to the castle.”

Bucky steps forward, expression guarded. 

“If she wants to go.”

Sam’s brows furrow. 

“Buddy—”

“It’s Bucky.” 

“Sure. Anyway, no one’s forcing her,” Sam says, shifting his attention to you. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. This wasn’t an order or anything.”

You glance between them at Sam’s practiced ease and Bucky’s protective stance. Then at Redwing, still perched calmly, like this is all just routine.

You sigh and offer a small smile. 

“It’s okay. Maybe this ‘something’ is just what I need to clear my head.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, but he nods once. 

“Just remember what I said, alright?”

You meet his gaze with a slight tilt of your head.

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

You hesitate before giving him a single nod.

“I know.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, but he lets you go.

And with one last glance at the lake, at the scarlet bloom still clinging high in the trees, you follow Sam to the castle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The quiet rhythm of your steps echoes lightly against the stone floor of the castle corridor as you make your way toward the lab wing. The deeper you move into the private quarters of the royal halls, the more the hum of palace life fades behind you. You welcome the silence.

That is, until you turn the corner and nearly falter mid-step.

Councilor Ross is approaching from the other direction, his gaze fixed on the stack of parchment in his hands, brows furrowed in thought. 

For a moment, you hope he’d pass you by unnoticed. You adjust your posture, force your pace steady, and offer a polite nod and bow as you move to pass him.

But just before the feeling of relief could settle—

“Lady Y/n.”

You stop. Your back stiffens as your name cuts clean through the corridor.

Closing your eyes briefly, you breathe out through your nose to keep the tension at bay, then turn to face him. 

“Yes, Councilor? Was there something you needed?”

You silently curse the faint defensive edge in your voice, revealing your true feelings.

Ross lowers the papers in his hand, his expression unreadable save for the thin line of his mouth.

“As I’m sure you know,” he begins slowly, “the Carter Kingdom has long maintained neutrality in matters beyond their borders.”

You nod once, warily. “I’m aware.”

Your jaw tenses. You already see the path he’s trying to take, diplomacy dressed in a veil of condescension. His tone is measured, but you hear the weight behind every word. His implication.

“And I assume,” Ross continues, “you understand the strategic significance of gaining them as an ally, especially at a time like this.”

The polite curve of your lips disappears, replaced by something flat and pointed. You meet his gaze evenly.

“Let’s not pretend we’re here to discuss international policy. If you have something to say to me, Councilor, say it plainly.”

Ross’s eyes narrow just a fraction. There’s a glint of approval at your directness, or perhaps irritation that you’ve denied him the pleasure of dancing around the point.

“I simply hope,” he says with the tone of someone delivering a thinly veiled message, “that you are a woman of your word. That you won’t let personal attachments cloud what is clearly best for the kingdom. I’d imagine Princess Sharon did not come here expecting to engage in anything as…frivolous as a competition for affection. Especially not when there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Your hands curl subtly into fists at your sides, the weight of his words digging deeper than you’d like to admit.

Ross’s gaze dips briefly, noting the motion, before flicking back up to your face with that same infuriating calm. He’s waiting—for you to react, to falter, to confirm whatever he’s already believed about you in his mind.

But before you can speak, another voice cuts through the standoff, crisp and clear.

“That’s funny,” the voice says, cool and self-assured. “I don’t remember expressing my expectations to you, Councilor.”

You turn toward the sound.

A woman steps forward from around the corner with effortless grace, her expression neutral yet edged with quiet command. The golden light from the window plays off her blonde hair, framing her like a regal portrait—composed, confident, and resolute.

Ross straightens slightly. “Princess Sharon.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the identity of the woman. She stops beside you, her gaze still focused on Ross.

“I understand your concern for diplomacy,” Sharon says, her tone polite but unmistakably sharp, “but perhaps it would be more productive to discuss my expectations with me rather than assuming them for the sake of your point.”

Ross offers her a shallow nod, recovering quickly. 

“Of course. My intent was not to presume—only to advocate for what is in our mutual interest.”

“Then you’ll understand if I prefer to be the one to speak for myself.”

There’s a long beat. Ross doesn’t apologize, at least not sincerely. But he inclines his head in acknowledgment and adjusts his papers, his tone cooling further.

“Then I’ll leave you to it. If you’ll excuse me, I have some kingdom matters to attend to.”

With that, he turns and walks off, the sharp click of his boots echoing down the corridor until they fade.

You exhale slowly, the tension lingering in your chest even after he’s gone.

Sharon glances over at you. 

“You okay?”

You meet her eyes—light blue and calm. No trace of smugness, only composed regard. 

“Yes,” you answer stiffly. “Thank you...for that.”

She waves it off gently. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to you.

Because this woman who chose to step in and help you is the same one who’s now engaged to Natasha. 

You study her—her posture, poised and elegant, but not performative. There’s an ease to how she carries herself, confidence that isn’t boastful, just...sure.

Certain in who she is and the role she’s stepped into.

You can’t stop the tight pull of something bitter in your chest.

Sharon seems to observe you in turn. She studies your face with faint recognition before tilting her head, her smile curling just slightly.

“I knew your voice sounded familiar.”

You blink. “I’m sorry?”

Sharon’s smile widens, a touch of amusement softening her features. 

“At the masquerade. Not a fan of the crowds, right?”

Your lips part in surprise. The stranger. The one who’d spoken with you briefly that night under masked anonymity, trading friendly wit and unexpected candor in a stolen moment of reprieve.

“That was you?”

Sharon chuckles. 

“Guilty. It was...a strange night. But in any case, I hoped it turned out better for you than me.”

You don’t know what to say to that, ducking your head as you remember special moments of that night.

“It did,” you whisper.

For a brief moment, everything was perfect in the world.

Only for reality to force its way back in as you face the one who has unintentionally managed to take it all away.

“You know, I haven’t exactly had time to make friends since arriving,” Sharon continues with a soft shrug. “Everyone treats me so carefully. It’s...exhausting. But that moment with you was the only one that actually felt normal.”

There’s an honesty in her tone that catches you off guard. Something sincere.

“So, I’m glad I got the chance to meet you again. Officially, Lady Y/n,” she says with a soft smile. 

You swallow. Hard.

That bitter feeling claws at your chest again.

Because she’s kind. Because she’s not the villain you had quietly painted her to be in the back of your mind. And because it would be so much easier if she was.

You push the feeling down.

“Likewise,” you murmur.

Your words are true, even if they feel like they’re scraping something raw on the way out.

Sharon smiles again, and for the briefest moment, it feels like the start of something complicated.

Maybe friendship.

Or maybe just another weight you’ll carry quietly.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The doors to Melina’s lab swing open with a forceful creak as Natasha strides inside, already mid-rant, her tone clipped with frustration.

“Councilor Ross may have been knowledgeable during your reign, but I’m this close to sending him into early retirement. I know it was him who leaked the news about the—”

Her words stop dead in their tracks the moment her eyes find you standing quietly at one of the work tables.

For a beat, neither of you says anything.

Then your lips twitch into the faintest smile. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

Natasha breathes out your name like a prayer. 

“Y/n…”

It comes soft, stunned—almost disbelieving. Her frustration melts away at the sight of you, replaced by something far more vulnerable. She closes the door behind her without looking, her steps quick and sure as she crosses the room.

By the time she reaches you, her hands are already finding their place at your waist, instinctive and grounding. She draws you in close until your foreheads touch, her breath stuttering slightly as she exhales against you, her eyes fluttering shut as if just being near you is enough to calm the storm in her chest.

You hesitate at first, but then your hands slowly rise to rest on her arms. Familiar. Warm. Safe.

Your eyes close too—for a moment, you let yourself feel it. The pull. The peace. The illusion that nothing has changed.

But it has.

You sigh quietly and shake your head, pulling back just enough to look into her face. 

Natasha opens her eyes to meet yours, and when you raise your hand to her cheek, she turns into the touch, kissing your palm so gently that it makes your heart ache.

A soft smile begins to form on your lips—until reality rises again like a tide.

Your expression falls. 

“You’re engaged.”

The words come out as barely a whisper, but they hit like a hammer between you.

Natasha’s eyes widen in quiet devastation. She reaches up to cover your hand on her cheek, holding it there like she can will your doubt away. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you slowly slip your hand from her grasp, your arms folding tightly across your chest like a shield.

“Were you going to tell me?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Natasha’s fingers twitch, aching to reach for you, but she forces them to stay still. She sees the way you’re pulling inward, how your shoulders round and your eyes lower like the weight is suddenly too much. And it shouldn’t have come to this. She was supposed to protect you from this.

“I was,” Natasha says quickly. “I was going to tell you. Once I had a plan.”

You glance at her, your brows lifting in a mix of disbelief and hurt.

She scrambles to explain. 

“It’s not real,” she says, like the words alone will undo the damage. “I mean—the arrangement is real, but I’m not—I didn’t—” She exhales in frustration, jaw clenching. “I never intended for this to get out before I fixed it. I already sent a messenger to Queen Peggy about dissolving the engagement, but somehow, the entire kingdom heard about it first.”

You look away, your gaze falling to the stone floor.

“Does Sharon know what you’re trying to do?”

The casual use of the other woman’s name makes Natasha blink.

“You know her?”

You nod and turn to the lab table, still not facing her directly. 

“I met her on my way in. Well…technically, I met her at your birthday party. She was the masked stranger I was talking with before you found me.”

Natasha’s eyes widen slightly at the realization, but you continue before she can process it.

“She seems…” you murmur, hands fidgeting with glass vials on the lab table, “...nice.”

And just like that, Natasha’s arms are around you again—tighter this time, wrapping you up from behind like she can anchor you both in place. Her head dips close, her breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“Don’t,” she murmurs, already sensing where your thoughts are heading. “Please. Don’t do that. It’s not going to happen. I can fix this.”

You lean into her briefly, eyes closing at the way she holds you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. But then your shoulders slump. 

Not in comfort—in despair.

“But what if you can’t?” you whisper.

The moment the words leave your lips, you feel her whole body stiffen behind you, breath catching.

Natasha’s heart begins to race.

You—the person who’s believed in her since childhood, who’s never wavered in your faith in her, even when she couldn’t believe in herself. You were the one constant, the one voice that always said she could.

And now, you doubt.

Panic begins to claw its way up her spine.

She turns you around in her arms, holding your face between her palms, her voice raw.

“Hey, look at me,” she pleads. “Y/n, I love you. I’ve only ever loved you. Please—tell me you still believe in me. Tell me you’re still with me.”

You reach up, resting your hands over hers as you hold her gaze. 

“Of course I am,” you say softly. “I always will be.”

Relief floods her expression for the briefest moment. But then you add, just as gently:

“But Natasha…this might be too much. For you.”

She frowns, confused and wary.

“You’re rebuilding an entire kingdom. You have Stark’s diplomatic visit coming. You’re trying to keep the council in line, and now this engagement. You’re juggling everything at once—don’t you think it’s too much?”

“I can handle it,” Natasha says quickly, almost desperately. “I have to handle it.”

You step back, just slightly—enough to look at her with a knowing expression, one only someone who’s known her since childhood could wear.

“But that’s not what you’ve been focusing on these past few days, is it?”

She says nothing. Doesn’t need to.

You both know the answer to what—to who—has been her top priority these days. More than her duties. More than the kingdom.

Her silence speaks volumes. Her breath hitches as a growing fear crosses her face.

You watch her carefully, then ask, your own heart aching, “What are you so afraid I’m going to say?”

Natasha’s voice is a whisper now. 

“What are you saying?”

You take a breath.

“I think…” You swallow, forcing the words through the tightness in your chest. “I think we need to step back. Just for now. Just so that you can focus on the more important matters of the kingdom rather than…me.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Natasha pulls you into her again, her grip desperate, almost shaking.

“You’re breaking up with me,” she whispers.

Her voice cracks.

You close your eyes, forehead pressing against hers, and nod.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper back, the sorrow in your voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “But I think we need to.”

Natasha doesn’t answer.

She just holds you tighter, like maybe if she never lets go, she won’t have to accept that you’re slipping away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

a/n: ...sorry for the angst 😅 but thank you for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

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[just-aake]

Whispered in Russian Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 2 of Whispered in Russian. Natasha takes you to meet her family for the first time.

A/n: this was inspired from a request. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Warnings: fluff, suggestive themes, Russian translations from google

Words: 4990

You fidget with the ribbon on the container nestled in your lap, your fingers adjusting and retightening the bow for what has to be the fifth time since the car ride began. The satin already lies perfectly in place, but your nerves won’t settle unless your hands stay busy.

From the driver’s seat, Natasha casts a quick glance your way, catching the subtle tremble in your fingers.

“Rasslab’sya, detka,” she murmurs, her voice calm and low as her hand reaches over to still yours. Her touch is warm and grounding.

You exhale slowly, relaxing like she tells you to, trying to ease the anxiety fluttering in your chest. You turn your hand beneath hers, intertwining your fingers with hers, but the tension doesn’t quite fade.

After a moment, you groan and let your head fall back dramatically against the seat. You twist to look at her with exasperation, eyes wide.

“Oh, this is bad. Not even your Russian is helping me calm down right now.”

A small, knowing smirk plays on Natasha’s lips. Without taking her eyes off the road, she lifts your joined hands and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles.

“I thought you said my Russian does the opposite,” she says with a teasing lilt. Then, without warning, her voice dips into something darker, silkier—something meant only for you.

“Tebe uzhe stanovitsya zharko?”

Are you getting hot yet?

You gasp, jerking your hand back before she gets any more ideas, warmth blooming fast across your cheeks.

“Natasha!” you hiss. “We’re about to have dinner with your family. This is not the time to rile me up.”

Her grin only widens.

“You know I’m great at multitasking,” she replies breezily, her hand casually returning to rest on your thigh. But then it moves, slowly tracing delicate circles that make your breath hitch.

You clamp your hand over hers before it can travel any higher. 

“Focus,” you warn, your voice a mix of stern and pleading. “I’m already a wreck as it is. I’m trying to make a good impression.”

Natasha eases up, her touch softening but not quite withdrawing, thumb brushing along the hem of your skirt. She knows this matters to you.

It’s your first time meeting her family—the one she didn’t grow up with but still calls hers. Melina. Alexei. Yelena. All ex-assassins and one genetically enhanced super soldier. You’re not exactly bringing cookies to your average suburban dinner.

The nerves creep back in at the thought. You glance down at the container again, doubt flickering in your eyes.

“Maybe I should’ve brought something else,” you murmur. “Cookies feel…underwhelming.”

Natasha chuckles softly. 

“Well, if they don’t want them,” she says, squeezing your thigh gently, “I’ll eat them all myself.”

You gape at her. “So they’re not enough?”

She huffs a laugh through her nose, clearly entertained, as she mutters under her breath.

“Bozhe, kakoy ty milyy…”

God, you’re cute…

Your face warms immediately. You scoff, turning away so she won’t see the rising blush.

“You know I can still understand you even when you whisper,” you grumble. Then, quieter.

“Ty ne tonkiy.”

You’re not subtle.

She laughs under her breath, clearly delighted by your flustered state. You squeeze her hand lightly, a gentle reprimand.

“Your Russian’s gotten better,” she remarks, glancing sideways at you with a smirk.

“Of course it did,” you reply proudly. “I had a great teacher. Very strict. Very sexy.”

That earns a genuine laugh from Natasha. 

“Really now? Should I be worried?”

You grin, fiddling with her fingers as you lean in just slightly.

“Mmm, maybe. Our night sessions are my favorite.”

Natasha raises an amused brow but says nothing, letting you press the advantage while she drives.

“Oh?” she prompts coolly. “And why’s that?”

You lift her hand to your lips, delicately kissing her fingertip. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“Because I never want her to stop.”

The only response is the soft hum in Natasha’s throat—and the way her grip on the steering wheel subtly tightens.

You trail another kiss along her knuckle.

“So I tell her…”

You pause, eyes gleaming as you kiss a second finger, your voice sultry now.

“Yeshchyo…”

More…

Then, a third kiss, slower this time, into the center of her palm.

“Pozhaluysta, day yeshchyo…Natalia.”

Please, give me more…Natalia.

The car suddenly veers with precision into a parking lot, tires crunching against the gravel. The motion is smooth but decisive, too smooth to be spontaneous.

Before you can react, Natasha shifts the gear into park and turns to you. Her free hand reaches for your chin, firm but gentle, tilting your face toward hers.

Her eyes—deep, dark, and undeniably burning—flick to your lips, then back to your gaze.

“You really want to test me before dinner?” she asks, her voice a whisper against your mouth as she leans in just enough to brush her lips over yours.

You shiver at the contact, your heart racing.

“Now, who’s riling up who?” she murmurs before pressing her lips more firmly into yours, the teasing gone now—replaced with something deeper, more indulgent. 

Her hand curls at the back of your neck, anchoring you gently in place as she kisses you like she has all the time in the world.

And for a moment, you melt into it completely, a quiet hum escaping your throat—soft, pleased, and entirely content.

Your hand rests lightly on her chest, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. Her lips are warm and familiar, coaxing you to stay a little longer in this bubble she’s wrapped around the two of you.

But just over her shoulder, a gleam of amber light catches your eye.

You blink, breathless, and squint through the driver-side window at the storefront across the street.

Vinoteka Zvezda

Wine Star 

A small, charming little wine shop, the kind that screams “curated” and “family-owned.” An idea sparks in your brain, chasing away the last haze of Natasha’s kiss.

“That’s it!” you gasp, pulling back with sudden clarity.

Natasha remains frozen in place, her lips still slightly parted in protest, eyes fluttering open as she chases the space you just left. Her hand on your neck lingers, as does the ghost of the kiss on your lips.

She tries to lean back in, muttering against your mouth, “Chto—what’s it?”

You flash her a grin and press a quick, consoling peck to her lips.

“A bottle of wine,” you explain brightly, already reaching for your seatbelt. “It’s the perfect thing to bring.”

Unbuckling yourself, you shift in your seat and pop the door open before Natasha can reel you back in.

“Wait here,” you say, already halfway out. “I’ll be right back!”

The car door shuts behind you, leaving Natasha staring at the empty seat beside her.

She exhales through her nose in exasperation, slumping back into the leather of her seat as she watches you skip across the street, determination lighting up your features. She tracks how you enter the wine shop and immediately start talking animatedly to the shopkeeper, your hands gesturing in passionate, sweeping arcs as you describe the kind of bottle you’re searching for.

Natasha tilts her head, her lips curling into something soft and helpless.

“Kak milo…”

So cute…, she murmurs under her breath, shaking her head slightly at how easily you fluster and focus in the same breath.

She rests her elbow on the window ledge, her chin in her hand now, eyes never leaving you through the windshield. Even with the nerves, planning, and chaos, you still light up any room you walk into. And despite the teasing earlier, this…this is the part that gets her the most.

The part where you care so much.

Where you want to get it right.

And you don’t even realize how much you’ve already impressed her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha watches you out of the corner of her eye as you readjust everything in your arms—a wine bottle in one hand, the container of cookies balanced carefully in the other, and a bouquet of flowers tucked into the crook of your elbow. 

You’d made her stop at a roadside cart twenty minutes ago, determined to make the best possible impression. 

She’d offered—twice—to hold something, but you waved her off with that same stubborn confidence she’s grown increasingly fond of.

You shift your weight, square your shoulders, and glance at the front door with the kind of intensity you’d usually reserve for mission briefings.

“Okay,” you say, exhaling once. “I’m ready.”

Natasha gives you a once-over, lips twitching upward.

“You’re sure?”

You bump her with your shoulder. 

“Just knock already, Romanoff.”

She huffs but obeys, rapping her knuckles against the heavy door.

You barely have a second to mentally run through the Russian greetings you practiced before the door swings open—and any preparation you had dissolves on sight.

A tall, broad-shouldered man fills the doorway, eyes narrowed slightly, arms folded across his chest. His imposing figure, tangled beard, and the sheer weight of his stare make your spine straighten instinctively.

And you forget how to speak.

The man squints at you. Then, his gaze shifts to Natasha.

In an instant, his whole demeanor changes, and his eyes light up. 

“Ahh! My daughter has come home!” he booms, voice reverberating through the hallway before he steps forward and engulfs Natasha in a bear hug.

“Oof,” Natasha grunts as he pulls her in, her arms pinned awkwardly at her sides. “Alexei,” she mutters in protest, clearly used to this. “That’s enough.”

She peels herself out of his grip with practiced effort and steps back, brushing off her jacket. Then she gestures toward you with a small, subtle smile.

“This is my girlfriend.”

The word lands with a deliberate weight, and your heart skips at hearing her say it so directly.

Alexei blinks, then his head tilts slightly toward you. His brow furrows again, but this time in contemplation rather than challenge. His eyes dart to your full hands. 

“Girlfriend, da,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “A strong one, from the looks of it.”

You offer him a nervous smile. 

He opens his arms for a hug, but Natasha swiftly plants a palm on his chest.

“No.”

Alexei pauses, sighs theatrically, and switches tactics by offering his hand instead—before realizing you can’t take it. His gaze drops to the bottle.

You quickly shift and lift the wine toward him. 

“A gift. I thought it might go well with dinner.”

He takes it from you with a hum of approval, turning the label to inspect the vintage. 

“Ahh...1986. Hah! That year, I was invited to drink with high officials for my work as the Red Guardian. They only brought out the good stuff when I was in the room.” He winks at you before waving you both inside. “Come, come. We will drink this after dinner and toast to our victories!”

You follow Natasha in, carefully stepping around a pair of discarded combat boots and a black and red shield by the entryway. The smell of stewing herbs wafts in from the kitchen.

As you near the threshold, Alexei continues regaling you with some half-fantastical tale involving a Siberian embassy, three political defectors, and a wine-fueled arm-wrestling match.

“Alexei,” comes a sharp voice from the kitchen, cutting him off mid-story, “this is not the time. Go watch the pot before it boils over.”

You glance in and spot an older woman, her hair tied back, her sleeves rolled up, and a wooden spoon in hand. She doesn’t even look up at him to see if he’ll follow her words.

“Alright, Melina,” Alexei grumbles under his breath and trudges off.

After handing him the spoon, Melina approaches Natasha before placing her hands on either side of her daughter’s face and tilting it side to side with a critical eye.

“You’re looking healthy,” she remarks thoughtfully, then squints at her lips. “Though your lipstick is smeared. You may want to fix that before dinner.”

You immediately cough, embarrassed, breath catching in your throat at the reason it’s smeared. Natasha throws you a sidelong look and smirks, not even pretending to hide her amusement.

Melina turns to you next, her expression unreadable for a beat—then softens slightly.

“And you must be the one I’ve heard about.”

You offer her a respectful nod and a warm smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Vostokoff. These are for you.” You gently extend the bouquet.

Melina blinks in mild surprise as she accepts the flowers. 

“Oh...these are quite lovely,” she says, turning the stems in her fingers with practiced interest. Then she adds casually, “You know, with the right compound mixture, the petals of these can be distilled into a knockout gas that masks itself with floral pheromones.”

You blink once. Twice.

“I…didn’t know that.”

She hums.

“Thank you for these. I’ll be sure to use them effectively.” 

“Right…,” you swallow your nerves before continuing. “I also made these.” You offer her the container of cookies. “Thought it might be a nice dessert.”

Melina accepts them with a nod. 

“You baked them yourself?”

Before you can answer, a blonde-haired figure sweeps into the room.

“I can take that,” she announces, reaching for the container.

Melina immediately smacks her hand away. 

“Not now, Yelena, dinner first,” she says sharply. “Or else you’ll ruin your appetite.”

Yelena pouts, rubbing the back of her hand as she grumbles under her breath.

Melina takes the flowers and cookies into the kitchen without another glance.

Now left in the entryway with you and Natasha, Yelena crosses her arms and eyes you like she’s trying to gauge your combat level.

“So,” she starts, “you’re the one my sister wants to ma—”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Natasha’s foot connects with her shin, and Yelena yelps.

“Ow! That hurt!”

Natasha shrugs unapologetically. 

“My foot slipped.”

Yelena narrows her eyes as if looking for an opening to retaliate against her sister before Melina’s voice calls out from the kitchen again.

“Yelena! Come set the table.”

With a dramatic sigh and a half-glare thrown over her shoulder, Yelena mutters, “This isn’t over,” before disappearing into the kitchen.

The hallway finally settles into a quiet hum.

You glance at Natasha, but she’s already looking at you. Her brow lifts slightly.

“You okay?”

To her surprise, you let out a soft, breathy laugh and shift your weight, taking her hand in yours.

“They’re…different,” you say thoughtfully, “but somehow they’re also…normal. Like a family. A real one.”

Natasha’s expression softens as she watches you, her thumb gently brushing the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters beneath her touch. Then she lifts her other hand, brushing a stray curl away from your face, her gaze warm and steady.

“You’re not scared off?” she asks, quieter now like she almost doesn’t want to break the moment.

You meet her eyes and give a small, sincere smile.

“No. Honestly?” You shrug lightly. “I think I like them.”

A short laugh escapes from her—one part fondness, one part disbelief, because of course you would. Her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners as she leans in, her hand rising to cradle your face.

She’s just about to kiss you.

“Natasha,” Melina’s voice cuts through from around the corner, sharp and efficient.

You instinctively pull back, straightening like you’ve been caught in the act. 

Natasha groans softly in frustration, her lips parted in a half-formed complaint as her hand reluctantly drops back to her side.

You offer her an apologetic smile, squeezing her fingers in consolation just as Melina steps into view.

“Alexei and Yelena can handle the finishing touches on dinner,” Melina says, glancing briefly at you before continuing with a subtle weight in her tone. “The item you requested? It arrived yesterday. If you want to come see it.”

Natasha immediately perks up, something close to anticipation flickering behind her eyes.

“I do,” she says, already moving. Then she pauses when she notices you falling in step beside her.

She turns, steps into your path, and gently touches your arm.

“Why don’t you wait in the kitchen?” she suggests lightly, nodding toward the other end of the house. “We won’t be long.”

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“Abandoning me to the wolves already?”

Natasha leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, the soft brush of her lips barely enough to make up for the one Melina interrupted.

“You’ll survive,” she says, her voice low, amused, and just the tiniest bit smug.

You huff out a playful breath. 

“We’ll see,” you mutter as you turn, giving her one last look before making your way toward the kitchen.

The closer you get, the more you slow your pace as the nerves settle back in. You can hear Alexei’s deep voice rumbling through the space, followed by Yelena’s sharper reply, the familiar cadence of Russian drifting toward you.

“Gde tvoya mat’?”

“Where’s your mother?” Alexei asks, casual, distracted, and likely chopping something from the sound of the knife.

“Navernoye, otdat’ Natasha kol’tso, kotoroye prishlo,”

“Probably giving Natasha the ring that arrived,” Yelena replies without hesitation.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Аh…chtoby sdelat' predlozheniye.”

Ah…so she can propose.

Your stomach flips as your eyes widen slightly. You come to a complete stop at the entryway, hidden from sight as they continue.

Alexei hums in contemplation. 

“Yeyo devushka khoroshaya. Mne ona nravitsya.”

Her girlfriend seems good. I like her, Alexei says with a note of approval.

Yelena makes a faint sound of agreement, then adds, “I pechen’ye vkusnoye.”

And the cookies are delicious.

You blink, trying to process the whiplash of implications in their conversation. Ring? Proposal? Is that why Natasha wanted you to meet her family?

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, you clear your throat softly and step into the kitchen with your best attempt at casual nonchalance.

“Hey,” you say. “Need any help in here?”

Both Alexei and Yelena freeze at your presence. Alexei’s hand hovers awkwardly over a bowl while Yelena stands motionless with a half-eaten cookie in hand.

You raise a brow, hiding your amusement at their synchronized panic.

Yelena is the first to recover. She gestures toward the side counter. 

“Sure,” she says smoothly. “Can you help with setting the plates? We’re almost done with the food.”

You nod and walk over to the stack of dishes she points to, quietly beginning to lay them out on the table in the dining room.

Behind you, you catch the low whisper of Alexei’s voice again.

“Kak vy dumayete, ona chto-nibud’ slyshala?”

Do you think she heard anything?

Yelena responds under her breath, “Steny zdes' ne sovsem zvukonepronitsayemyye, Alexei. No, k schast’yu, ona ne govorit po-russki.”

These walls aren’t exactly soundproof, Alexei. But luckily she doesn’t speak Russian.

You suppress a smile as you gently place down the last plate, all while perfectly understanding every word.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and Melina’s voice returns with crisp authority as she steps into the kitchen.

“Looks like everything’s ready. Let’s start dinner.”

Natasha enters just behind her, eyes sweeping the room. Her gaze finds you almost immediately, her lips quirking up in something soft and private, like she knows you’ve handled her family better than she ever could’ve predicted.

You meet her eyes and smile back, warmth blooming in your chest at the revelation of what she wants for your future.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Dinner is warm in more ways than one. The scent of roasted herbs and buttery vegetables fills the room, clinking utensils and soft conversation creating a domestic hum around the table.

Natasha rests her chin against her palm, elbow propped lazily on the table as she watches you. Her gaze trails the subtle movement of your lips as you speak, the easy rhythm of your laughter, the way your hand flicks slightly when telling a story. 

She isn’t even pretending to eat. Her fork idles in her other hand, forgotten.

“You’re staring,” Melina remarks coolly, not even looking up from her plate. “As charming as it is to be hopelessly enamored, Natasha, you should eat before the food gets cold.”

You turn toward her just in time to catch the faintest flush of color on Natasha’s cheeks.

“Can’t really blame her,” you tease, casting Natasha a sly smile, your nerves completely vanishing in the warm, lively energy of her family. “I am objectively captivating.”

Natasha huffs through her nose but says nothing to tease you back. Instead, she nudges her chair just a little closer to yours. Barely noticeable to anyone else.

You glance at her curiously, but don’t press, returning your attention to Alexei across the table as he picks up where he’d left off.

“So you stopped the entire team of enemy operatives alone?” you ask, half in disbelief, half wanting to see how far this story goes.

Alexei puffs up with delight, always eager to relive his Red Guardian glory days for someone who hasn’t heard every exaggerated detail before.

“Alone? Pffft. Of course, alone. You think they could hold me with chains? Bah! They tried. I flexed. One shoulder pop and snap—bindings gone! Like thread around a bear.”

As he gestures grandly—mimicking his escape with dramatic flair—you nod along, engaged, even as Natasha slowly moves her food around her plate, her fork barely tapping the surface.

And then…you feel it.

A warm, deliberate hand slides beneath the edge of the table and lands lightly on your thigh—right at the hem of your skirt. Your back straightens in an instant. Your shoulders square. You glance sharply at her from the side, jaw tight in warning.

But Natasha? She’s chewing quietly, face entirely innocent. Her eyes don’t leave her plate.

You try to focus as Alexei mimics the sounds of panicked guards, but then her fingers give a little squeeze.

You twitch slightly, feet shifting under the table. 

Her hand slides upward, just a little, fingertips brushing the inside of your thigh.

Your breath hitches.

Just as her fingers begin to dip higher—exploring—you act fast, clamping your thighs together and catching her hand right in place.

Her fingers wriggle playfully, trapped now, but not at all deterred. In fact, from the subtle upturn of her lips, she looks positively smug.

Across the table, Melina suddenly turns to Natasha, shifting the attention just enough.

“Are you keeping yourself safe during missions?” she asks, tone sharp but not unkind. “I saw that latest intel packet. That explosion was too close.”

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Define ‘safe,’” she mutters. “People keep shooting at me.”

“That’s why she has me,” you chime in, clearing your throat and adjusting slightly in your seat as you discreetly reach under the table to grab her hand, intertwining them together and firmly placing them between the two of you. “To pull her out of those things. Preferably before the explosions happen.”

Alexei laughs heartily at that, reaching for his glass.

“I like her,” he says to Melina. “Ona ostraya.”

She’s sharp.

Melina tuts. “It’s rude to speak about her like that right in front of her, Alexei.”

Natasha, without missing a beat, smirks.

“She understands Russian.”

Alexei chokes on his drink. Melina blinks once, then tilts her head, intrigued.

“You do?” she asks you. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrug with a slight grin.

“I’m still learning.”

Melina hums, impressed. 

“Well. In that case, come sit with me. Let’s see how much you do know. Bring the wine.”

She rises and gestures for you to follow her into the living space.

You stand, giving Natasha a squeeze of her fingers in playful chastising for her earlier teasing before letting go.

Natasha watches you and Melina disappear from the kitchen, her eyes trailing after you fondly until she notices the quiet shift in the atmosphere.

She glances back at the table.

Yelena and Alexei are both frozen.

Yelena’s hand hovers just over the container of cookies, and Alexei’s head is bent low, scratching at the back of his neck with obvious guilt.

Natasha narrows her eyes.

“This is suspicious,” she says flatly, rising from her seat and stalking over to her sister.

Yelena stiffens. 

“Suspicious, how?” she mutters casually, reaching for a cookie.

Natasha closes the lid of the container and snatches it away before Yelena can grab it. 

“What did you two do?”

Alexei mumbles something into his hand, but Natasha’s already locked on to Yelena, who winces.

“Your girlfriend may have…possibly overheard us talking.”

“About what?” Natasha presses.

“Your ring that you got her,” Yelena admits, bracing for impact, before adding. “And Alexei mentioned you wanting to propose.”

Natasha groans and rubs a hand down her face.

“You two,” she mutters. “I swear to god…”

“Hey, how were we supposed to know she understood Russian?” Yelena defends.

“Da, you should’ve told us, Natasha,” Alexei agrees, crossing his arms.

Natasha just rolls her eyes before glancing toward the living room and sees you laughing softly with Melina as you both talk animatedly in Russian. Instantly, her irritation melts into something softer.

Because you heard. And the information didn’t seem to scare you off.

Placing the container back on the table, Natasha moves to join you. When she enters the living room, the soft clink of glass meeting wood draws her gaze immediately to where you’re seated with Melina. 

You’re curled comfortably into the armchair, cheeks tinged with warmth that isn’t entirely from the room’s temperature. Melina sits in the other armchair beside you, calmly refilling your glass with a steady pour and a faint, impressed smile on her lips.

You don’t even hesitate, raising the glass with a small toast and murmuring thanks in Russian. But your pronunciation is just slightly off. The syllables slur at the edges, your usual clarity muddled.

Natasha narrows her eyes.

She mentally counts—two glasses during dinner, one more after you stepped out with Melina… and now a fourth. Her eyes flick to the bottle on the side table, noting the high alcohol content. 

With a quiet sigh, Natasha strides over. You’re just lifting the glass to your lips again when she gently intercepts it, slipping it from your grasp before you can take another sip.

“Hey…” you whine softly, blinking up at her with a pout.

“Detka,” Natasha sighs, “my family has an elevated alcohol tolerance. You have a normal one.”

Melina lets out a quiet chuckle, unbothered. 

“I’m sorry,” she says with an amused twinkle in her eye. “You were such good company, I may have lost track.”

“It was really nice talking with you,” you say, voice lilting sweetly. “Even if your flower stories scare me a little.”

Melina gives you an affectionate pat on the arm before excusing herself. 

“I’ll leave you alone now. I need to check on the other two before they get into some trouble.”

“Too late,” Natasha mutters.

Once she’s gone, Natasha slides onto the armrest beside your chair, perched just above your shoulder. She’s watching you with the kind of expression that’s both exasperated and deeply fond.

“So,” she says, brow arched. “How are we feeling?”

You beam up at her with the kind of drunken smile that melts her on the spot. 

“S’good,” you say cheerfully, tapping her thigh like you’re letting her in on a secret. “I asked your mom to teach me something.”

Natasha’s brow furrows, intrigued.

“Oh yeah? What’d she teach you?”

You straighten slightly, gathering all your focus like it’s a mission. You take her hand in yours, lifting it gently between you.

You blink once, twice, then look her dead in the eye with as much serious gravity as you can summon in your wine-softened state.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanoff,” you say, slow and deliberate.

Natasha huffs in surprise, a low chuckle escaping her throat, at her full name that you probably got from her mother.

You take a breath, your accent slightly clumsy but the intent is crystal clear as you look up at her and say in Russian.

“Ty vyy-desh' za men-ya za…muzh?”

Will you marry me?

The room stills.

Your voice is slightly off, but the meaning—the emotion—lands with devastating clarity.

Natasha’s heart skips. Her fingers twitch slightly in yours.

“What do you think?” you ask, eyes wide. “Was it close?”

Natasha lets out a slow, shaky laugh and leans in closer, brushing a knuckle under your chin. 

“It was close,” she murmurs, then repeats it back to you, softer and steadier, in her perfect Russian accent.

“Ty vyydesh' za menya zamuzh?”

Will you marry me?

Your breath catches, a quiet smile blooming across your face. And you whisper back. 

“S udovol’stviyem.”

I’d love to.

Natasha leans in and kisses you, slow and gentle, her hand cradling your cheek with a tenderness that quiets everything else. When she pulls back, her lips hover close to yours.

“That’s nice to hear,” she says. “But…even if my family did ruin the surprise, you’re still going to have to wait for the proposal I planned before you get the ring.”

You blink up at her, your smile turning into a small pout that Natasha promptly kisses away.

“Preferably,” she adds, “when you don’t have four glasses of wine in you.”

You giggle softly. 

“So that means I’ll need to visit your family more. That way, your mom can help me practice my vows.”

Natasha gasps in mock hurt, shaking her head as she laughs. 

“Are you replacing me with my mom as your Russian tutor?”

You hum, resting your head briefly against her leg, tracing delicate patterns with your finger.

“You’ll always have the night sessions.”

Natasha’s breath catches at that. She lifts your chin gently, and her lips brush against yours in a lingering kiss. When she pulls away, her voice drops to a whisper.

“Obeshchayesh’?” 

Promise?

You smile, gaze soft as you press your forehead up against hers and whisper back, your voice trembling just slightly from the weight of it.

“Segodnya. Etoy noch’yu. I kazhdyy den’ dal’she. YA s toboy, Natasha.”

Today. This night. And every day after that. I’m with you, Natasha.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading!

[just-aake]

helloooo! it's been a while since i've sent an ask. i just had a thought after rereading the whispered in russian fic you wrote. maybe a next part? if you're up for it or feel inspired to write something. i know you've been posting a lot recently and i've been reading them all so don't feel pressured in doing this one.

i was thinking that the reader surprises nat by proposing in russian, speaking (almost) fluently, or maybe saying their wedding vows in russian.

you can keep this in your asks and write about it whenever inspiration or motivation strikes—or not. totally up to you! i just love your fics soooo much. thank you! take care always!

– 🍷

Hello, hopefully, you're still around to see this cause it's been a long time since I got this request (sorry! 😣). Anyway, inspiration stroke and I finished a part 2 for Whispered in Russian. So I hope you'll enjoy it!