plasticl0ve - Tumblr blog

plasticl0ve · 2 months ago

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❛❛ 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 ❛❛

꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: confession gone wrong, you're determinated to move on from the heartbreak the ex-assassin caused you. as you start distancing yourself from her, natasha realizes that she wanted you all along to begin with.

꩜ ۫ . PAIRING :: shield agent!nat x shield agent!reader

꩜ ۫ . WARNINGS :: part two of almost !! — none just a kinda sad in the beginning, nat making up for what she did.

꩜ ۫ . WORDS COUNT :: 3.3k || masterlist

author's note ; anddddd ... goobye pride month, you will be missed :p (little gift for the last june hours)

✍︎ 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 - @ahintofchaos *. @mrsrushman *. @hillslvr *. @henkermen *. @cjnewuntitled *. @shootingstars-stuff !

— S.H.I.E.L.D. ARMORY

Natasha adjusted the straps of her tactical vest with practiced efficiency. The mission briefing was over, gear check was routine, but her mind wasn't where it usually was. It hadn’t been all week.

Across the room, Barton leaned against the wall, tossing a throwing knife in one hand like it was a toy.

“Okay,” he said after a beat, watching her too closely. “Spill it.”

She didn’t look up. “Spill what?”

“That thing you’re doing. The brooding. You’ve got the whole ‘cold statue with feelings’ vibe going on.”

“I always brood.”

“Yeah, but normally it’s… less twitchy.”

Natasha shot him a glance, expression sharp. “I’m not twitchy.”

“You’re twitchy,” Clint said flatly. “You just almost loaded live rounds into a tranquilizer gun.”

She blinked. Looked down.

“…Shit.”

He tilted his head. “See?”

Natasha sighed, set the mag down with a clink. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, great.” Clint crossed his arms. “Natasha Romanoff just said ‘it’s nothing.’ That always means it’s definitely something.”

She turned her back to him, but her voice was low. “It’s… about Y/L/N.”

There was a pause.

“…Y/N?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Clint took a step forward, tone quieting. “Did something happen?”

“I turned her down,” Natasha said simply, like it was a classified file being handed over. “She told me how she felt. I said I didn’t feel the same. At the time, I thought I didn’t.”

“And now?”

Natasha’s jaw clenched. She was quiet for a long moment before answering.

“Now she’s just… not there. Not in the way she used to be. Not… around. And it’s stupid, but I can’t stop noticing.”

Clint gave a low whistle. “Oof.”

She shot him a glare. “Real helpful.”

“I mean, I’m just saying—you rejected her, Nat. She’s doing the healthy thing. You can’t blame her for backing off.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “I don’t. I’d never want to make her feel unwanted or foolish. I just… I didn’t realize how used to her I was until she was gone.”

Clint studied her. “You miss her.”

Natasha looked down at her gloves, adjusting them even though they were already perfect. “I miss the way she looked at me.”

He nodded, softening just a little. “Yeah. That kind of attention doesn’t come around often.”

“I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“Well,” Clint shrugged, “that’s not really how love works.”

That hit her harder than she expected.

He patted her shoulder, stepping away with a smirk to break the tension. “Anyway. Let me know when you want to stop being a disaster. I’ve got popcorn ready for the romantic fallout.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jackass.”

“Love you too.”

. . .

S.H.I.E.L.D. TRAINING GYM – THE NEXT NIGHT

The gym was quiet this late. Dim overhead lights buzzed faintly as the rhythmic thwack of gloves hitting a punching bag echoed across the room.

You were mid-combo—jab, cross, hook, duck, repeat—sweat lining your brow, tank top clinging to your frame. Your focus was laser-sharp, not on anyone, not on anything except movement.

From the entrance, Natasha watched silently.

Leaning against the frame of the doorway, she crossed her arms.

“Your footwork’s better.”

You didn’t stop. “Thanks,” you replied, not looking over. “Torres helped me clean it up.”

Natasha stepped inside, slow and careful like approaching a sleeping animal. “You’ve been training with him a lot lately.”

You finally paused, letting the bag swing lazily as you turned. “Yeah. He's a good sparring partner.”

Something in Natasha’s chest tugged. “I thought I was your favorite sparring partner.”

Your smiled faintly—small, tired. “We haven’t sparred in a while.”

Natasha nodded, her voice softening. “I know.”

Silence. The air between you two felt heavier than the weights in the corner.

You peeled off one glove, setting it on the bench. “What’s up, Natasha?”

Natasha.

Not Nat, but Natasha..

She found herself feeling uneasy on how easily this little detail unsettled her but she was able to mask it up pretty quickly.

“I could use a hand checking my new gear,” Natasha said, trying for nonchalance. “Straps feel wrong. Figured you'd know. You always do.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “What about Engineering?”

“I’d rather you.”

That hung in the air longer than it should’ve. Natasha realized too late how much weight those four words carried.

You grabbed your water bottle and took a long sip before replying. “I’m not trying to avoid you, you know.”

Natasha blinked. “Aren’t you?”

You met her eyes now—really looked. “I’m giving you space. You made it clear you didn’t want anything more from me. I get it, Nat. I’m not angry. I’m just… trying to respect that.”

There was a pause before Natasha answered, almost a whisper:

“I didn’t know I’d miss you this much.”

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard.

“…What do you want from me, Natasha?”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a question from someone still nursing a wound—someone bracing for another blow.

Natasha took a breath. “I don’t know.”

You nodded slowly, quietly. “Then maybe figure that out first.”

You turned back to the punching bag, pulling on your other glove.

Natasha stood there a moment longer, the distance between you twk never feeling more real.

“…Good night,” she murmured.

Thwack.

You didn’t look back. Once again.

“Good night, Nat.”

. . .

YOUR APARTMENT – NIGHT

It was nearing midnight when the knock came.

You were curled up on the couch in an oversized hoodie and worn-in sweats, a cup of tea lukewarm in your hands. Your cat, curled against your thigh, stirred lazily as you sat up.

Three knocks.

Not urgent. Not loud. But enough to twist something in your gut.

You stood, padding barefoot to the door and peeking through the peephole.

Your heart somehow stuttered.

Natasha Romanoff.

You hesitated only a second before unlocking the door.

“…Natasha?”

The redhead stood there in a leather jacket over a black hoodie, hair a little tousled like she’d either run her hands through it too many times or hadn’t cared enough to fix it.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Natasha said quietly, eyes not quite meeting hers. “I just—was walking. Ended up here.”

You searched her face. She didn’t look drunk. Didn’t look like she’d been crying. But there was something in her—like the silence after an explosion. The quiet when the dust hasn’t settled yet.

“You okay?” You questioned softly.

Natasha hesitated. Then:

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Stepping back. “Do you want to come in?”

A pause. Then a small nod. “Yeah.”

She entered slowly, as if unsure she should, and you gently closed the door behind her. The cat meowed, hopping off the couch and brushing against Natasha’s leg before trotting off to the kitchen.

Nat watched it go. “He still doesn’t like me much.”

“He purrs when you’re here,” You replied, walking back toward the couch. “He just likes to act tough.”

You two sat in silence for a moment— you on one end of the couch, Natasha on the other.

You took a sip of your tea, watching her over the rim. “You want something? I’ve got tea. Or whiskey. Depending on the kind of insomnia.”

Natasha gave a tired smile. “Tea’s fine.”

You nodded, standing again and heading to the kitchen.

Natasha looked around, taking in the little signs of comfort—throw blankets, the half-read book on the armrest, a framed photo of you with a few agents, laughing. She remembered that day. She remembered watching you laugh like that and wondering, even then, why it made her chest ache.

You returned, offering her a warm mug. Your fingers brushed. Neither of you said anything about it and only sipped in silence.

“…You don’t have to talk,” You finally spoke up. “Not if you’re not ready.”

Natasha turned to you, expression unreadable.

“I just wanted to be somewhere… where I used to feel wanted.”

Your throat tightened. Your voice was quiet when you answered:

“You're always wanted here.”

“…Can I stay a little longer?”

Nodding, you stated, “Yeah. Stay as long as you want.”

Natasha exhaled. Leaned back against the couch. And without a word, you shifted closer, just enough for your arms to graze.

It was quiet again.

But not empty.

. . .

S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ – ROOFTOP

It was early. The kind of early where the sky was still bruised with night, and the city hadn’t quite woken up.

Natasha stood on the rooftop, coffee in one hand, the other jammed in the pocket of her jacket. Her eyes scanned the horizon, not really seeing anything.

Footsteps behind her.

“Figured I’d find you here,” came Maria Hill’s voice, calm and unreadable as always. She approached with her own cup of coffee, standing beside her.

“Didn’t want to go home.”

Maria gave a short nod, blowing into her cup. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

Natasha turned her eyes on her, but said nothing.

Maria chuckled softly. “Nat, I’ve known you for years. I can tell when something’s eating you alive.”

Like tearing off gauze from a healing wound, Natasha spoke.

“She stopped looking at me the same.”

Maria glanced sideways.

“She used to look at me like I was… everything,” Natasha murmured. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. Especially then.”

Maria let her speak. She knew better than to interrupt now.

“And I didn’t know how much I needed that—until it was gone.”

“She respected your answer,” Maria said gently. “She backed off. She gave you space.”

“I didn’t ask her to disappear,” Natasha said quietly, almost defensively.

“You didn’t have to. She heard the ‘no.’ She honored it. That’s who she is.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched. “I thought I was protecting her. I thought I’d ruin her.”

Maria turned now, facing her fully.

“Maybe you were protecting yourself, too.”

That hit a little too close.

Natasha looked down at her coffee. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

��You don’t fix it,” Maria said. “You show up. You stop making her do all the work. You stop running from what you feel and tell her the truth—even if it’s messy.”

Natasha breathed in slow.

“She deserves better.”

Maria’s voice softened. “She deserved honesty.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, quietly, Maria placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not broken, Romanoff. But if you keep pretending you don’t feel anything, you’re gonna lose the one person who made you want to feel again.”

Natasha blinked hard. Just once.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t brush the emotion away.

. . .

S.H.I.E.L.D. TRAINING ROOM – LATER THAT WEEK

You stepped into the training room like you did every morning—earbuds in, ponytail high, gym bag slung over your shoulder. You liked the early hours, the silence & the predictability of it.

You tossed your bag to the side, heading toward the mats—only to pause.

There was a familiar shape waiting there.

Two coffees. One yours—exactly how yoi takes it. No label, but you knew it by the smell.

The other was Natasha’s. Of course it was.

You froze, lips parting slightly.

Then you noticed something else: your sparring gloves. Laid out neatly, clean, perfectly wrapped. You hadn’t left them like that.

None of those at all.

And resting on top of them… was a tiny folded note.

You highly hesitated before reaching for it.

Just five words, handwritten in that sharp, precise script you knew too well:

"You were never in the way."

You breath caught.

For a second, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

You looked around, half-expecting to see Natasha lurking in the shadows, but the room was empty. Just the coffee, the gloves, you & the note.

And your heart beating far too fast for this early in the morning.

You sat slowly, picked up the coffee, and took a sip. Still warm. Fresh.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

“…Goddamn it, Romanoff.”

The cat-and-mouse had shifted. This wasn’t rejection anymore. This was Natasha starting to chase.

And it terrified your more than anything.

. . .

S.H.I.E.L.D. TRAINING ROOM – NEXT MORNING

You was already on the mat, gloves on, sweat dotting your brow as you worked the bag. Clean jabs. Sharp footwork. Precise. Like you were fighting something invisible just under your skin.

The door creaked open behind you but you didn’t turn.

That presence—quiet but weighted, like the calm before a storm—was unmistakable.

Natasha.

You kept punching.

“I figured I’d find you here,” came the low voice behind you.

No response. Just the dull thud of glove on bag.

“You didn’t drink the coffee.”

“Didn’t say thank you either,” you replied coolly, still focused on your routine.

Natasha stepped closer, slow.

“You read the note.”

“I did.”

Another beat of silence. Then:

“I meant it.”

You finally stopped, breath a little heavy. You turned, pulling your gloves off slowly, your expression unreadable.

“Why now?” You asked. “Why leave a note instead of just saying it?”

Natasha’s eyes flickered. She shifted her weight.

“Because I didn’t know how to say it before.”

You gave a dry laugh. “That’s rich, coming from the most terrifyingly articulate person in the entire agency.”

Nat smirked softly. “I’m not good at... this.”

“And what is this exactly?” Your tone softened, but the wall was still up.

“I don’t know,” Natasha admitted. “But it’s not nothing.”

You looked away, jaw tightening.

“I spent a long time making you coffee. Carrying your gear. Making excuses just to sit next to you. And you barely looked back.”

“I looked,” Natasha said quietly. “More than you know.”

You swallowed. “And still said no.”

“I thought it was the right call.”

“And now?”

Natasha stepped closer.

“Now I’m not so sure.”

Your breath hitched as Natasha stopped just inches from you.

“I miss you,” she whispered.

It wasn’t a plea. It was a truth.

And you felt it — deep in your bones.

Still, she held your ground. “You don’t get to say that just because you’re lonely.”

“I’m not lonely,” Natasha said. “I’m just... tired of lying to myself.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Finally, you looked up at her. “I’m not a second choice, Romanoff. If you’re going to do this, you do it right.”

Natasha nodded once. “Then let me start over.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

You didn’t walk away.

. . .

YOUR APARTMENT – FRIDAY EVENING

It had been a long week. You were curled up on the couch in sweats, blanket pulled to your chest, a bowl of reheated pasta in your lap and your cat purring contentedly at your feet.

The last thing you expected was the knock on your door.

You stared at it for a second, reluctant to move. Then sighed, set the bowl down, and went to open it.

Natasha stood on the other side, holding... two plastic takeout containers and a bottle of red wine.

She wasn’t in black tactical gear for once — just a hoodie and jeans, hair in a low braid. Soft. Human.

You blinked. “What—uh—what are you doing here?”

Natasha lifted the containers. “You mentioned once you liked Thai from that place near 8th Street. I thought... maybe we could eat. Talk. Or not talk. Up to you.”

You looked at her for a long moment.

“I already ate.”

“I figured,” Natasha said, lifting a shoulder. “But I brought extra pad see ew just in case. You used to steal mine anyway.”

Still, your mouth twitched.

Against your better judgment, you stepped aside. “Come in.”

. . .

LATER — ON THE COUCH

The TV played quietly in the background — some bad true crime doc neither of them were really watching.

Natasha sat on the floor beside the couch, leaning against it, legs stretched out, her wine glass untouched on the coffee table.

Your cat had, predictably, made its decision — curled up smugly in Natasha’s lap like it had waited months for this reunion.

You looked down from the couch. “You bribed it with treats, didn’t you?”

Natasha didn’t even pretend to deny it. “You said he’s hard to win over. Thought I’d try.”

You shook your head but smiled. Just a little.

Then Natasha turned serious.

“I meant what I said the other day,” she said softly. “About wanting to try. I know it’s going to take more than words, so… this is me showing up. Outside of a mission. Outside of the job. Just... me.”

You swallowed. “Why now?”

Natasha stared at her wine glass.

“Because when you stopped chasing me, I realized how much I missed being seen. Really seen. And I hated how easy I made it for you to walk away.”

Your voice was quiet. “It wasn’t easy.”

Natasha looked up at her, green eyes steady.

“I’m sorry.”

It was soft. Earnest.

Your heart ached, still guarded but not cold.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” she murmured. “I just need to know you want to be here. With me. Not out of guilt or comfort—because you want to be.”

“I do.” Natasha said it without hesitation.

Then she reached up, fingers brushing your hand where it dangled over the edge of the couch.

You didn’t pull away.

The silence between them was warm now. Unfinished. Hopeful.

The cat purred louder.

You smirked faintly. “Traitor.”

Natasha grinned. “He's got good instincts.”

. . .

THE BOOKSTORE DATE – SATURDAY AFTERNOON

You didn’t expect much when Natasha texted:

“Meet me at the corner of 14th and Bloom at 3. Dress casual. No weapons.”

That last part made you laugh. Ironic, because she's one to always carry one with her.

You showed up in jeans and a sweatshirt, hair tied back half up, a healthy dose of curiosity trailing behind you.

What you didn’t expect was... a bookstore.

A small, cozy, independent bookstore with creaky floors, warm lighting, and a coffee bar tucked into the back.

Natasha was already there, leaning against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket.

You raised a brow. “This your idea of a date?”

Natasha gave a small smirk. “You told me once you’d rather spend a weekend in a bookstore than at any five-star restaurant.”

Your face softened. “That was like... a year ago.”

“I remembered,” Natasha said simply.

You both stepped inside, wandered through aisles, brushing fingertips along book spines. Occasionally, you would pick one up, skim the back, and Natasha would peek over your shoulder.

You noticed she didn’t hover. Didn’t try to impress.

She just existed there with you — quietly present.

In the poetry section, you pulled out a slim collection and opened it.

“Favorite?” Natasha asked, peeking.

You nodded. “I used to read this in the safehouse in Prague. It kept me sane.”

Natasha took the book from you, read a few lines silently. Her expression didn’t change much — but she held onto the book as you two kept walking.

“Are you... buying that?”

“I’m buying you that,” Natasha corrected.

“You know you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Then, you reached the coffee bar. Natasha bought something �� hot chocolate for you (“I know you never finish coffee”) and tea for herself.

You both sat near the window.

For a long moment, you just watched people walk by outside, steam curling from their cups.

Your voice was gentle. “Do you want this?”

“I think I want it because it’s you,” Natasha said.

And she meant it.

Not a line. Not a manipulation. Just the truth.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You reached across the table, fingers brushing Natasha’s hand.

Natasha flipped your hand over, let your palms rest against each other.

With no presure, just a quiet promise.

. . .

YOUR APARTMENT – NIGHT AFTER THE DATE

The sky was velvet-dark when y'all reached your building.

You’d walked the whole way from the bookstore — no rush, no awkward silences, just quiet conversation and easy laughter under streetlights.

At the door, Natasha hesitated.

She wasn’t sure if she should say goodbye or ask to come in.

But you unlocked the door and turned to her.

“You coming?”

Natasha blinked. “You sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

It was calm & dim inside. The kind of warm quiet that only lives in places you’ve cried in.

You kicked off your shoes. Natasha followed you inside, slow, uncertain.

You disappeared into the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

Natasha shook her head, then — “Actually... yeah.”

You both stood in the kitchen for a moment, the kettle humming low on the stove.

Natasha leaned against the counter, fingers picking at the hem of her sleeve. “You know,” she said quietly, “I thought you’d hate me.”

You glanced up. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, for pushing you away. For being so... closed off.”

You set two mugs down on the counter. “I never hated you, Natasha.”

“I hated myself a little,” Natasha admitted, voice cracking slightly.

Walking over, you stopped right in front of her an she continued nonetheless.

“I was scared. Because you made me feel seen, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I didn’t think I deserved it.”

You reached up, cupping her cheek gently. “I was never trying to fix you.”

Natasha’s breath caught.

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I came back.”

A beat passed. The kind of silence that hums with something unspoken.

Then you leaned in — slow, hesitant — giving Natasha every chance to pull away.

But she didn’t.

Your lips met softly, barely brushing at first. A question. An answer.

Natasha deepened it with a sigh, hands coming to rest on your waist. It wasn’t desperate or fiery. It was intentional, honest. Finally real.

When you two parted, Natasha pressed her forehead to yours.

“I want this,” she said. “You. Not just today. Not just for now. I want whatever this is — if you still do.”

Your swallowed the lump in your throat, smiling softly. “I’ve been yours since the first time you stole my fries.”

Natasha laughed — a real one, low and surprised.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m finally ready to keep you.”

. . .

S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ — MONDAY MORNING

The hum of fluorescent lights. The clatter of boots on polished floors. Agents moving with purpose.

Same old routine.

But something's different.

You walk in a few minutes later than usual, coffee in hand, hair a little softer around the edges, a little less rigid. You're not rushed or distracted. But instead, you look... at peace.

You round a corner and there’s Natasha, already geared up for the day, leaning against the wall near briefing room B.

“Morning you,” You state, brushing a hand lightly across Natasha’s arm as she passes.

“Hey,” Natasha answers, voice low, but there’s the ghost of a smile.

It lasts only a second.

But in a place like this — full of people trained to notice — it’s more than enough.

. . .

BRIEFING ROOM B

Hill sits at the head of the table, tablet in hand. The agents shuffle in one by one.

Natasha takes her usual seat on the left. You grabs yours beside her.

Maria glances up from her screen.

The way Natasha slightly angles her chair toward you.

The way your shoulders barely touch, yet neither of you shifts.

The way you slide Natasha’s favorite pen across the table without being asked.

Hill raises a brow but says nothing.

Instead, she waits for everyone to settle before speaking. “Mission debrief. Surveillance in Berlin. Romanoff, Y/N — you’re leading.”

A few agents exchange looks. It’s not that they’ve never been paired. It’s just… lately, they hadn’t been. Not since before.

Maria notices the way you and Nat exchange a glance — a subtle, silent nod of understanding that speaks volumes.

. . .

LATER – GYM

You're on the mat, working a bag. Natasha enters, towel slung over her shoulder. She doesn't announce herself — just walks over and taps your side.

“Switch?” she asks.

You steps aside. Watches as Natasha begins her warm-up routine.

There’s an ease between them now. A rhythm. You both move around each other like you’ve been doing this forever.

A few younger agents watch from the far end of the gym. One whispers, “Are they—?”

“No way,” another says. “That’s Romanoff.”

Then you tosses a water bottle to Natasha without looking.

Natasha catches it without blinking, opens it, and hands it back to Y/N — again, without a word.

“…Okay, maybe.”

. . .

HALLWAY, LATER

Maria catches you just before you can disappear into the locker room.

“Y/L/N,” she says, eyebrow arched. “You and Romanoff. I take it things are… better?”

You gives a soft, private smile. “Yeah. We’re… good.”

Hill folds her arms, appraising. “Just make sure that whatever this is, it doesn't interfere with the job.”

You meets her gaze evenly. “It doesn’t. If anything — we work better now.”

Maria gives a small nod, satisfied — though there’s a faint knowing smirk on her lips as she turns and walks away.

. . .

ENDING MOMENT — LOCKER ROOM

Natasha’s waiting for you by the lockers. Leans a shoulder against the metal door, hands in her pockets.

Your walks over, towel around your neck. “You waiting for me?”

Natasha shrugs. “Maybe I missed you.”

You smirk. “You saw me twenty minutes ago.”

Natasha leans in, voice quiet. “I’ll take every twenty minutes I can get.”

You laughs softly “You’re getting soft, Romanoff.”

Natasha grins. “Only for you, love.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#L is for the way you look atme

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plasticl0ve · 2 months ago

Text

༄ `. 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓

summary : you finally decided to spell outloud your feelings for the redhead but got turned down - not that something else was expected but it still hurt. what happens when you actually give someone else the attention you used to give to natasha too?

genre : S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!nat x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!reader

warnings : light angst, slightly cold nat, reader seeing a man.

words count : 2k || masterlist

an : based off this request from @natkisser :) thank you & i hope that goes up to your expectations bcs i feel like this doesn't make sense & it's frustrating. i've been rewriting this since yesterday and i'm still not proud of how it turned out tbh. (could still rewrite it if you dont like it.)

📍INT. S.H.I.E.L.D. BASE MORNING – CAFETERIA

SHIELD's Base cafeteria was buzzling with agents in most corners. Natasha had been sat on her usual spot by the window and as always, you appeared out of nowhere, ready to make her day full of yourself around.

Sliding a paper cup across the table, you stated. “Black. No sugar. Just how you like it.”

Natasha didn’t look up from the mission file she was scanning. “You always remember.”

You smiled nonetheless, leaning your hip against the table. “Someone’s gotta take care of you.”

“Mm,” Natasha hummed, taking a slow sip. “You do realize this borders on bribery, Agent.”

“I like to think of it as… pre-mission charm.”

Natasha glanced up briefly. A small, amused smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. But it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“Thanks,” She said quietly.

There were things unspoken between the two of you — never uttered in briefings, never acknowledged in sparring matches, never brought up in quiet corners of helicarriers or during the hush of night between missions. But they were there. As real and tangible as the tension in a drawn bowstring.

And everyone knew it.

Even if Natasha Romanoff never said a word, she knew.

Hell, a blind man would know. Anyone who’d seen the way you looked at her would know. It wasn’t subtle—not that you ever tried to make it subtle either.

So it was obvious. Way too obvious but you didn't care.

Even later, as she was at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s armory.

You watched as Natasha adjusted the straps on her tactical vest. The mission briefing had wrapped ten minutes ago, but you hadn’t moved.

“Your left holster’s twisted,” You said.

Natasha gave you a look. “You’re not my handler.”

“No. Just a perfectionist.” You stepped in without asking, brushing your fingertips lightly over the strap to fix it. “There.”

Their eyes locked for a second too long.

“You always do this,” Natasha said, voice low.

“Do what?” You asked, pretending not to know.

“Hover. Fuss. Look at me like I’m the damn sun.”

“Maybe because you are.”

Even as Nat rolled her eyes and walked away, you were still grinning like the idiot in love you were.

The truth is that you'd always felt something for the redhead ever since she showed up with Clint that day.

After all, how could you have not? It's not like most agents didn't look at her with the same heart eyes you did, just that unlike most, you'd been brave enough to approach her and actually got her to finally acknowledge you.

She'd never once crumbled from the flirting or the things you'd do.

It was the next day as Natasha sat alone in the training room, lacing her boots. Rain drizzled down the tall windows, painting the floor in soft gray light. She didn’t look up when you entered, not that she had to.

You walked in, no coffee, no reason - just your heart pounding behind your ribs like it wanted out.

Because you were about to do the one thing that was as stressul as any other shit you had done in your life.

Confessing to a cold Russian ex-assassin wasn't a daily task but you had to. You couldn't keep bottling those feelings , you couldn't keep hoping for her to say something you wanted to hear in the first place but didn't even get to say.

Hovering over the edge wasn't an option anymore, and you had to get a clear answer from this so,

“Can I talk to you?” You'd asked quietly.

Natasha looked up. A tilt of the head, a slight arch of a brow. “You’re talking.”

You smiled softly. “I mean... really talk.”

Natasha didn’t respond, just nodded toward the bench. You sat. The silence between you both was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that demanded honesty.

“I think I’ve made it pretty obvious how I feel about you,” You spoke up.

“You think?” The redhead raised an eyebrow.

“I know,” You corrected, smiling weakly. “But I’ve never actually said it. Not really.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at her hands. Gosh, this was it. The result would either be - rejected or get rejected

...

Or maybe given a shot if you were lucky enough ?

“I like you, Natasha. I’ve liked you for a long time. I just needed you to hear it from me—clearly, for once. Not in looks or coffee or tactical excuses.”

At first, it was complete silence. Then ;

“Don't do that,”

You only just as much as blinked, uttering a very quiet confused 'huh?' sound that you didn't even register yourself & the Russian was already continuing.

“You don’t want me,” Natasha added. Her tone was even, quiet. But her eyes betrayed a flicker of something—regret, maybe. “Not really. You think you do, but people like me don’t get that kind of ending.”

You frowned, “You don’t know that.”

“I know enough.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said softly. “Thanks for being honest.”

Natasha didn’t reply, so you stood, hands brushing down your pants “I’ll, uh… see you around.”

That was all you needed, an answer.

You couldn't actually hold that against her right? It was on you for falling for her, she never asked for anything but still, it does hurt to get turned down like that.

You felt no anger, you hadn't begged. Just… peace. Just acceptance - because you'd finally got what you wanted- an answer.

Maria Hill stood by the vending machines, chewing on a protein bar when you approached. She took one look at your face and tossed the wrapper.

“Jesus. How’d it go?”

You gave her a smile—small, but real. “Well,” you spoke up, exhaling deeply, “at least I can say I tried.”

Maria tilted her head, expression unreadable for a moment. “You okay?”

“I will be.”

“You’re not gonna go all brooding-Barton about it, are you?”

You chuckled dryly. “No. Just… gonna stop trying so hard. Let her breathe. Maybe I’ll even let myself move on.”

Maria nodded. “You deserve someone who doesn’t hesitate.”

You didn’t answer. Just nodded slowly and walked off, hands in your pockets, heart heavy—but finally honest.

That same evening, post work, you returned to your apartment.

The door clicked shut behind you and the moment it did, the silence hit you like a wave.

No comms.

No buzzing briefing rooms.

No mission tension.

Just the gentle hum of the fridge, and the soft pad of paws approaching on hardwood.

“Hey, trouble,” You murmured as yor cat, a chubby silver tabby with one torn ear, rubbed against your shin with a demanding mrrow.

You leaned down, scratching under the cat’s chin.

“Rough day,”

Your jacket landed on the coat rack with a lazy toss, and you padded toward your bedroom, peeling off your boots and switching into a worn gray hoodie and faded sweatpants. Your hair was pulled up lazily, face scrubbed clean. Stripped of your armor — literal and otherwise — you dropped onto the couch with a sigh, arms spread wide.

The tabby climbed right onto your chest like clockwork, purring like a tiny motorboat.

“Yeah, I know,” You hummed softly, running your fingers down his back. “You think I should move on too, huh?”

The cat gave a long, sleepy blink and purred in reply, curling up.

You smiled—just a little—and tilted your head back to stare at the ceiling.

“It’s not even her fault, really. She didn’t lead me on. Not once. I threw myself at her like an idiot, and she just… let me.”

The purring didn’t stop. Your cat kneaded at your hoodie, oblivious to heartbreak.

“I just thought maybe,” You whispered, “if I loved her enough, she’d… love me back.”

Just silence.

You closed your eyes, voice barely audible now. “Is that dumb?”

The cat headbutted your chin gently.

You chuckled—a weak, broken sound. “God, you’re so clingy. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

A soft buzz lit up your phone on the coffee table. A notification.

Not from Natasha.

Of course not.

But you didn’t check it anyway.

Instead, you sank deeper into the couch cushions, fingers tangled in fur, and finally let the heaviness settle.

Not a breakdown. No tears. Just the quiet weight of letting go.

Or at least trying to.

INT. TRAINING ROOM – 06:20 HOURS

Natasha stepped onto the mat early. Earlier than usual.

She never minded mornings. Her gloves were laced tighter than usual. Her movements — sharper, a little too aggressive.

She scanned the room between sets.

No you.

Not in the corner bench. Not by the lockers. Not leaning on the doorway with that stupid smoothie you always brought even though Natasha never drank smoothies.

Natasha frowned.

Maybe you were running late or maybe you were in another briefing.

Why the hell was she even caring now? She had the room all to herself without you around to distract her for once.

But that was just the first step of things changing. Not immediately but gradually.

The doors of the debriefing room opened and agents poured out in scattered twos and threes. Natasha stepped out last, flipping her file shut — just in time to catch you walking past. No wave. No wink. No cheeky “Where you headed, Romanoff?”

Just… a polite nod.

Professional.

“Agent,” You stated quietly.

Natasha blinked. “That’s new.”

You gave a tight smile. “Trying something different.”

And then you kept walking.

Natasha stared after you, that strange hollow feeling echoing in her chest.

You sat cross-legged on your bedroom floor, old records spread out around you. Something classic played softly — not sad, just mellow. Grounding.

Your cat lay belly-up on the bed, utterly useless.

You picked up your phone, thumb hovering over Natasha’s name in your recent texts.

Last Message:

“You made it back okay?" – Read 2 days ago

With a sigh, you exited the chat and tapped someone else instead. Someone who’d asked you out twice before but you'd never given a real answer.

[Text to Quinn]:

"Hey. If that offer for coffee’s still open, I could use a cup tomorrow." - 8:03pm.

You hit the send button with a racing heart. Not from excitement. From guilt. From ache.

You'd always shut down Quinn's attempt at getting to you, just because of your feelings for Nat and now that she'd rejected you, you wanted to make yourself forget her instead of looking miserable.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered to your cat as he seemed judgemental about your actions.

He simply yawned in reply.

SCENE: S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ – FRIDAY AFTERNOON

INT. S.H.I.E.L.D. COMMISSARY

The buzz of late lunch hour filled the space — clinking utensils, soft chatter, agents moving in and out in their usual rhythm.

Natasha walked in with a file in hand, intent on grabbing something quick and leaving.

But she froze halfway to the food line.

You were there — sitting at one of the corner tables, laughing softly at something Quinn said.

All while looking very relaxed.

You was in your casual blacks, legs crossed, a coffee between your palms.

Quinn was leaned in just slightly. Close enough.

And you didn’t lean back.

Natasha couldn’t hear what either of you were saying — didn’t need to. The body language said enough.

The worst part?

You weren’t performing or trying to get Natasha’s attention.

You didn’t even know Natasha was watching.

Which meant it was real.

You had moved on. Or were trying to.

That stupid hollow ache came back, clawing its way into Natasha’s chest like a slow-burning ember.

She turned away, almost bumping into Maria.

“Careful,” Maria said, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha’s voice was clipped. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Maria followed her gaze, spotted you and Quinn, then looked back at Nat. “Yeah. I gathered.”

“She’s just… talking to him.”

“Uh-huh.” Maria folded her arms. “Like she used to talk to you?”

Natasha didn’t reply.

Later that night, Natasha sat on the edge of her bed in her tank top and joggers, staring at the wall like it might answer her.

The room was dark, save for the low golden light from a desk lamp. On her nightstand: a mug of untouched tea. A knife. Your favorite snack — the one she used to bring Natasha after bad missions — still sealed in its wrapper.

Natasha picked it up slowly, turning it in her hand and a frown made its way on her face.

"...You’re supposed to still be mine,” she whispered to the silence. “Even if I never asked you to be.”

She exhaled shakily, jaw tight.

You'd stopped bringing her coffee. Not out of pettiness, but respect. You started letting the mission rosters stand without interference. You didn’t volunteer to pair with Natasha like you used to. You laughed with others more often than you used to.

You flirted with other agents at HQ in passing conversation—not deeply, but differently. Like you was learning to let go.

But you still smiled at Natasha in the halls. Still nodded politely. Still offered backup when it was required.

You stopped trying to be her gravity. And Natasha noticed. Noticed when her locker was missing the protein bar you'd always slipped in for post-mission recovery. Noticed when she got sent on assignment with Barton instead, and you didn’t try to change it. Noticed the way your voice had a new calm distance when she briefed, like she was building walls brick by brick.

The worst part?

Natasha missed it. Missed you.

She missed the way you saw her—not the assassin, not the Black Widow, not the Red Room ghost—but just… Natasha. The woman behind the cold veneer. But now that gaze was turning elsewhere. And Natasha felt it like a hollow in her ribs.

She’d told herself it was safer this way. Cleaner. Simpler. But God, did she want things to go back.

She wanted the coffee. The winks. The little notes you sometimes left on mission files with dumb jokes only she would get. She wanted the woman who never gave up on her.

And now, she feared it might be too late.

Then, for the first time, she opened Y/N’s contact.

Typed ;

You looked happy today.

He must be funny.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then hit backspace.

Typed again.

I miss you.

But remained unsent.

Your cat was nestled by your leg, tail flicking gently.

The TV was on but muted — some nature documentary you weren't really watching. Your phone buzzed softly on the armrest beside you.

Natasha : 1 new message

Yourr heart tripped over itself before you reached for it.

You stared at the name for a long moment. The screen dimmed. You tapped it back awake.

You looked happy. - 9:34pm. He must be funny. - 9:34pm.

Unpolished. Vulnerable.

You blinked, unsure for a second if you'd misread it.

You didn’t open the message right away. You just stared at it sitting there on her lock screen like a bruise that hadn’t yet formed.

A pause.

Then your thumb hovered over it.

But you didn’t tap.

“She texts me now,” You whispered, mostly to yourself, barely audible. Your cat purred low, sensing your shift in energy.

You looked over at him with a sad smile.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

You picked up the phone, unlocked it.

Read the messages properly this time.

And for a second — for a dangerous, foolish second — you nearly typed something back.

But then you remembered the way Natasha had looked at her the day you'd confessed.

How still she was.

How she hadn’t hesitated.

You swallowed.

You weren’t avoiding Natasha out of resentment. You never had.

You just refused to make someone uncomfortable in their own skin — refused to chase someone who had already told you no.

To reply now would be hoping for something again.

Something you’d already started to let go of.

Your thumb hovered above the keyboard

Then slowly, you locked the phone.

Let it fall beside you on the couch cushion.

And said aloud, voice soft and certain:

“I meant what I said… and I heard what she said, too.”

You leaned her head back, eyes fluttering shut as your cat climbed into your lap.

“If she really meant it, she’ll show me. And if she doesn’t… at least I’ll still have my peace.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #oh me? nothing just felt a pain in my chest reading this nbd #stab me why don’t you

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plasticl0ve · 2 months ago

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Bad Idea (3)

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary- Natasha proposes that the two of you become friends with benefits.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Friends with Benefits, Jealousy, Drinking, Parties, Fingering , Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Feelings.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List Ch1 | Ch2

“Alright folks I think a celebration is in order!” cheered Tony as you all started leaving the Quinjet after your latest mission. A few groaned in response as most people were tired after taking down a Hydra base but Tony persisted with his idea. “Come on guys,” he said while wrapping an arm around you causing you to raise an eyebrow, “Just a few drinks, maybe a game or two?” You rolled your eyes at the man as, despite being tired, you would never refuse the chance to drink and he knew that. After a few others agreed you also joined in and decided to go straight to your room so you could flop on your bed before the party.

A body joined you on the bed as you felt the bed dip with her weight before she settled straddling your back. A pair of hands worked over your back and you sighed into the sheets at the feeling of her hands working at the tense muscle.

“What? Does that feel good?” she teased while biting your earlobe earning a groan from you. You left out a muffled ‘Mhmm’ into the sheets earning a chuckle from the spy on top of you. The two of you stayed like that until you felt her peppering kisses along your neck and shoulder. You held onto the back of her thighs before flipping to two of you over so you could hover over her. Lips ghosted each other as you stared into her eyes with a soft smile.

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious to the effect you have on me?” you hummed out whilst scraping your teeth along her pulse point, a gasp leaving her lips at the feeling.

“Maybe,” she purred out while her hands found a place in your hair to tug your face back to hers. “What are you going to do about it?” Just as you were about to kiss her a loud knock at your door was heard.

“Y/N!” Shouted Tony and you groaned into her neck.

“What do you want Stark!” you shouted back as you had something much better to do then talk to Stark.

“Come on we’re starting the party so get your arse out of bed and get drunk with me!”

===

Two hours later and you were with the rest of the Avengers in the common area having a collection of shots or drinks that you would probably regret in the morning. You watched with wide eyes as Tony stood on top of the table and announced truth or dare. As it was Stark’s idea, it was his turn to go first. The night consisted of Tony giving Steve a lap dance, Clint strip teasing the group, Natasha having to take a shot of Asgardian liquor and Sam and Bucky switching clothes. You and Wanda were the only ones left so Tony once again got involved.

“I dare Wanda to straddle Y/n and whisper dirty things until the round is over,” he slurred out and your eyes widened. You looked over at Natasha to see a blank expression before your gaze switched to Wanda who was softly smiling at you. Wanda easily sat in your lap and your hands hesitantly went to her waist. You knew the agreement between you and Nat was strictly just meant to be sex but your feelings towards the spy made this feel so wrong.

“Wanda I-“

“I know,” she whispered softly into your ear. “I think you and Nat would be cute together,” she adds making you blush and to the others it seems Wanda is saying obscene thoughts.

“How?” you whisper back, moving so no one can hear what you’re saying.

“Does everyone forget I’m a mind reader?” she chuckles out into your ear making you blush again as well…you’ve definitely thought certain things about the spy near Wanda. “Also you might want to keep your thoughts quieter,” she teases and you groan in embarrassment earing a cheer from Tony as his thoughts are somewhere else. Once the round is finished, Wanda gets off your lap quickly and sends a wink your way for encouragement and you turn your gaze to Natasha who is refusing to look at you. After a few minutes you see her slip out of the room and swiftly follow after her.

“Nat,” you say while running up to her, your hands going to her waist.

“No,” she says with a hint of anger in her voice.

“You don’t need to be jealous Wanda was just-“

“I’m not jealous!” she snaps while turning around to face you, “Its just….you’re mine!” Her voice is shaky as you looks at you. Your eyes stay trained on hers as she carries on, “I know we agreed just sex but I fell for you. I couldn’t stop myself from loving you and I get that you don’t love me back-“

You cut her rambling off by crashing your lips to hers in a passionate kiss. You tried to put all of your feelings into the kiss and pushed her against the wall to continue it. Your hands cupped her cheeks as you pulled back to rest your foreheads togethers, both of you panting for breath.

“I love you Natasha,” you whisper against her lips. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you and I couldn’t stop myself falling for you,” you confessed and she pressed her lips back to yours. Your hands made their way to the bare skin of her thighs that her skirt reveals and slowly trail upwards. When you meet nothing but bare skin you moan into the kiss at the realization. “You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?” You stutter out as this feels so much more intimate now you’ve both confessed your feelings.

“No,” she rasps out at the shell of your ear. “So take me to bed. Now.” Her tone is desperate and who are you to deny her when she needs you. You pull away from her and grab her hand before dragging her towards her room as this is one of the soundproof rooms in the building. As soon as you make it to her room, she pins you against the door and starts stripping you of your clothes. Your hands work at her shirt and bra as she bites marks into your neck and eventually the two of you make it to her bed. You push her onto it before climbing on top of her and pressing your lips to hers in another passionate kiss.

“Tell me what you want,” you husk out at her ear making her hips grind upwards into your abdomen, “Show me how good you can be, how submissive you can be for me.” A whimper escapes her at your words and as your hands tease her sensitive nipples before you take a breast into your mouth. Her hands tangle in your hair as usual and she tugs your head back to her face so she can kiss you. Her hands wrap around to play with the baby hairs of your neck while you pull her skirt down to reveal her bare, creamy skin. “You’re perfect,” you mumble against her lips causing a tint of red to appear on her cheeks.

“Please touch me,” she whispers before closing the gap between you. You remain kissing her, enjoying this new intimacy, while one hand trails south to reach her dripping core. A low moan is muffled by your mouth as you run a finger through her folds, collecting her wetness, before moving to circle her clit. Your kisses move to her jaw and neck when she starts moaning as you slip two fingers into her soaking cunt. “Fuck,” she groans out, eyes fluttering close at the feeling, while you continue leaving marks all over her body. You pump your fingers in and out of her at an increasing pace earning a string of moans to pour out of her mouth and her hips grind upwards in time with every thrust. You place one last kiss on her mouth before kissing down her toned stomach to reach where she desperately needs you. Whimpers echo around the room as you tease her by nipping at the skin of her inner thighs. “Please just fuck me,” she groans out while pushing your head towards her core and you happily oblige. You lick and suck at her clit causing her back to arch in pleasure as you drive her closer to climaxing. As you feel her walls tightening around your digits, you curl them making her come with a scream of your name. You work her through the orgasm and immediately send her into another one by brutally thrusting your fingers in and out while sucking on her clit. Once she has calmed down from her high, you work your way back up her body and reclaim her lips. Natasha moans at the taste of herself on your tongue and flips you both over so she’s straddling your waist. She grinds down onto your bare cunt, her clit perfectly rubbing against yours, making you cry out her name.

“Fuck Nat,” you moan as she continues to grind along your cunt. Your both moaning messes when you both start grinding at a faster pace and your head is throw back in pleasure when she grinds down harder. “Please I’m so close,” you rasp out as your hands help guide her hips as her legs have started to tremble.

“Holy shit,” she moans, mouth parted open as she looks down at you, “Come with me.” As soon as she says that you feel yourself coming undone beneath her and she instantly comes with you. You both lay there riding out your highs together before she falls forwards and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“That was amazing,” you sigh out before kissing her hair and running feather light touches up and down her back. “I love you,” you whisper and she moves to face you.

“I love you too,” she murmurs in response before kissing you again.

#natasha romanoff x reader #forgive me father for i have sinned on purpose

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plasticl0ve · 2 months ago

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Bad Idea (2)

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary- Natasha proposes that the two of you become friends with benefits.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Friends with Benefits, Thigh Riding, Strap ons, Restraints , Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Feelings.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List Ch2 | Ch3

“Nat,” you whined from her bed as she typed away at her laptop paying no notice to you. You groaned in annoyance at the lack of response and flopped back onto her bed. When you got a call from her asking you to come over to her room you thought it may have had something to do with your little agreement but God you were wrong. It had been a few months since the first time you had hooked up and all you could say was holy shit. The sex had been the best you ever had and it only got better once you started to introduce more toys into the mix of it. But here you were, bored shitless, as she ignored you despite calling you over.

“Natasha,” you tried again but the only response was the annoying click, click, clicks of the keyboard. Deciding enough was enough, you walked up to the spy and ran your hands along her shoulders and across her collarbone whilst littering kisses along her neck. “Come on Nat,” you murmured in between kisses making her turn around to face you. Your smile quickly vanished when you saw her trade mark black widow glare and pushed your hands away.

“No I need to finish this,” she said whilst turning back around to continue the mission reports. Your mouth parted in shock as she just carried on working. Were you being cock blocked by a computer? Well pussy blocked or whatever by a mission report?

Flopping back down on the bed, you groaned into the bedsheets. Eventually you sat back up and watched her work and admired how focused she was. Well, you admired how she looked while she was focussed. Her tight, short-sleeved shirt left no room for imagination and you could see how the muscles in her arms flexed every time her arm moved to check files or to type. Her hair was in a simple ponytail and oh how you wanted to tug on her hair as you pounded into her with her favourite strap on. With your thoughts becoming more obscene, you tried once again to distract her from her work. Your hands started at her hips and moved up and down whilst you muttered your fantasies to her in hopes she would make them come true only to be told,

“I need to finish this.”

After another half hour of listening to her clicking away at her keyboard you had decided to try again. However your attempt didn’t get far as when she heard your footsteps get near she said,

“If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god.” Despite her warning, you still approached her and wrapped your arms around her chest and placed open mouthed kisses along her neck. “Right that’s enough,” her tone dominant, sending a shiver up your spine. Suddenly, you found yourself on your back in her bed with her tongue down your throat pulling the most sinful noises out of you. Your hands quickly pulled your shirt over your head as Natasha made quick work of your jeans and underwear. Her kisses trailed south to your chest as she unclasped your bra and pushed you down onto the bed, trapping you with her thighs. A predatory look was on her face as she smiled at you with a sinister smirk. “Since you wanted to touch me so bad,” she purred at the shell of your ear, “You don’t get to touch at all.” Your face dropped as she opened the draw next to her bed and pulled out two pieces of silk to tie your hands at each bedpost. With your arms now not able to move, Natasha ghosted her lips against yours earning a whimper from you. “What’s wrong?” she mocked while watching you tug on the restraints.

“Nat,” you whined when she pulled away and pulled her shirt off, revealing her tone and still-marked body from last night. You could practically feel yourself drooling at the sight of your marks littered across her skin and her black lace bra barely containing her breasts. Her hands then quickly got rid of her jeans and underwear and moved to straddle your thigh. Oh fuck.

“God you feel so good,” she moaned while smirking down at you, her core grinding along your thigh. You could feel her wetness dripping down your thigh and you momentarily though your previous action had an effect on her. Her moans knocked you out of that thought and you groaned beneath her when she started to massage her breasts.

“Please untie me,” you begged as you watched her grind along your thigh at a desperate pace, “Please I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good.” The only thing she responded with was a low chuckle as you watched her continue to get herself off on your thigh. The hardest part was not being able to be reason she was coming as you weren’t touching her like you wanted to. You wanted to be the reason she was moaning but you weren’t as she was doing all the work.

“Fuck,” her voice breathy as she neared her climax, her hips started to spontaneously grind along your leg in search of relief. She fell forwards and continued to buck against your leg while once again teasing you with her lips as they ghosted your own. Your eyes pleaded her to untie you but she refused and drove herself over the edge. “Fuck!” she screamed as she coated your thigh in cum. Her hips stuttered and her legs trembled as she buried her face in the crook of your neck to recover. Once she’s ready, Natasha moves off your leg and uses a finger to collect some of the juices she left of your thigh and offers her finger to you. Immediately, you take her finger into your mouth and groan at the taste of her whilst keeping eye contact with her.

“Please untie me,” you beg once again earning another a low chuckle.

“Baby we’re only getting started,” she taunts and you clench your thighs together and pull at your restraints. She places a quick kiss on your lips and she knows exactly what she’s doing as you crave for more. You try your best to chase after her lips but its no use as she’s already moving down your body, littering it with marks.

“Fuck Nat, please!” you whimper when you feel her hot breath at your core. You cant tell now if it’s your own wetness or Nat’s dripping down your thighs but you don’t care as long as she touches you. She places small kisses at your inner thighs, slowly making her way towards your core but purposely missing it to drive you made. She finally places a kiss on your clit but pulls away instantly to watch your hips buck in the air. “Nat,” you whine as she moves back up your body and places a kiss on your forehead before climbing off the bed completely to collect a toy.

When you hear her coming back, you raise your head to see her holding the strap on and you groan at the sight. To your confusion however, she doesn’t put the harness on but slides it up your legs and….oh. You throw your head back when you realise she’s about to ride you and you can’t do anything about it. Your grip on the silk tightens as she moves to sink down on the toy. You watch as her cunt swallows up the toy inch by inch and her hips settle on yours. A string of moans leave her lips as she rocks on it, still adjusting to the size. Her hands rest on your abdomen as she picks up the pace an eventually starts bouncing on your lap. Her mouth hangs open as she throws her head back while she rides you like it’s the last time, her breasts bouncing with every roll or grind of her hips. You pull against the silk once again when you can tell she is close and you realize your not going to be able to touch her clit to help her come. However the realization of that your legs aren’t bound hits you and you plant your feet into the mattress before thrusting upwards. A sinful moan escapes Natasha as she stares down at you in pure desire before bending down to crash your lips together. She moans into your mouth whilst untying your restraints and you immediately grab onto her hips to guide her. Once hand moves towards her clit and she comes not once but twice on top of you. By the end of it you are both panting messes and you gently roll her off you so you can clean up.

Once everything is take care of you join her in bed ,despite only being friends with benefits, and lay with your head in her chest as you listen to the sounds of her heartbeat. Quickly, you drift off to sleep whilst remaining in Natasha’s hold and the spy looks down at you. She takes in your peaceful and cute features whilst brushing a strand of hair out of your face. You sleepily smile into her neck and Natasha just thinks about how much she loves you.

Wait. She loves you?

#natasha romanoff x reader #forgive me father for i have sinned on purpose

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plasticl0ve · 2 months ago

Text

Bad Idea (1)

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary- Natasha proposes that the two of you become friends with benefits.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI- Friends with Benefits, Fingering, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Face-sitting.

This is an old fic I found from my ao3 so the writing quality isn't that good, apologies but I don't have the time to improve it.

General Master List Ch2 | Ch3

“What?” your eyes widened at the spy’s words as she stared at you from across the table. Her piercing green eyes watched you with an intent as you took in her offer. “You want to be friends with benefits?” It was your turn for your eyes to watch her now as she leaned forward on the table to grab a shot of vodka before sitting back, her eyes never leaving your own.

“Yes,” she purred, “There can be nothing more than sex.”

You subtly clenched your jaw at her words, unsure if this was going to be a bad idea. Is it smart to be friends with benefits with the woman you secretly love? Probably not but the way she was looking at you knocked all sense of reason out of you. Slowly, a smirk made its way onto your face as you took a shot before finally answering her question.

“Yes,” you rasped out, “I’ll take whatever you offer me.” You walked around the table to stand behind the assassin, your body still not touching hers as you leaned down to murmur in her ear. “And I’ll take you however you want me to.”

Her breath hitched at your words before she turned her head so you could see her dilated pupils and parted lips. “And if I want to take you?”

Your lips ghosted hers as you teased her, both of sets of eyes trained on each other’s lips, “Then I’ll beg you to fuck me.”

“It’s a deal then,” she whispered before pulling out her chair and walking away towards the door, her hips swaying as she looks over her shoulder at you. “See you later,” she purrs before slipping out the door leaving you to smile to yourself. This was definitely a bad idea.

***

“Fuck,” moaned Natasha as you pressed her up against her bedroom door, your knee slotted between her legs and pressed against her core. You crashed your lips back to hers and ran your tongue along her bottom lip seeking entrance. Her hands threaded themselves in your hair as she gasped and panted into your mouth, her hip grinding along your toned knee for friction.

“What do you want?” you husked out while moving your kisses along her jaw and neck. Your whole body felt on fire as she squirmed in your grasp, desperate for some sort of relief. A relief she could only get from you. Your hands settled of her hips to stop her from moving causing a low whine to leave her lips. “So needy,” you mocked while moving a hand to tangle in her fiery locks so you could tug her head back. With her neck bared to you, you placed hot, open mouthed kisses along her pulse point while murmuring, “I asked you a question darling.”

“Please,” she begged while trying her best to move her hips despite your super soldier strength grip on them. “Please fuck me,” her tone sultry as you watched react to your touch. Suddenly you ripped the shirt she was wearing cause a loud gasp to escape her lips.

“Sorry,” you murmured earning a chuckle from the pinned woman that was quickly replaced by a moan as you kissed the top of her breasts. Swiftly, your hands made their way to beneath her thighs so you could pick her up and take her to her bed. Her legs wrapped themselves around your toned stomach as you busied yourself on leaving small bites at the top of her breasts. As soon as your knees hit the bed, you placed her down and crawled on top of her while removing your own shirt. Slithers of green were left in her eyes as she stared at your body before reclaiming your lips. Your hands immediately went to unclasp her bra. You quickly took a breast into mouth and swirled your tongue around her sensitive nipple, making her back arch. “You’re so beautiful,” you muttered while switching breasts causing a blush to appear on her face. “So pretty,” you continued while biting a mark onto her chest earning a sinful noise from the woman beneath you, “And you're all mine to ruin.”

“Please,” she begged and you only chuckled into her skin at her impatience. Your hands slipped under her joggers before sliding out again to rest on her abs earning a frustrated groan. “Stop teasing me and fuck me,” she muttered out while you kept your eyes on her.

“I was going to say if you want to stop, I’ll stop,” your tone gentle earning a small smile from the spy. Her hands tugged you back up to her face and her lips immediately connected to yours as she whimpered into the kiss.

“Thanks,” she whispered, “Now fuck me.”

You returned to your position of above her core and swiftly pull down her remaining cloths making her gasp as the cold air met her exposed cunt. You didn’t give her chance to beg you again before sucking and licking at her clit, her hands tangled in your hair as you ate her out. Your tongue explored and tasted her as her hips moved in search of more across your face making you put a steady hand on her waist to hold her still. “Be a good girl and stay still.” A low moan left her lips at the praise and you knew she liked that. “Oh you like that?” you teased as your finger ran along her folds, her fae turned to the side to hide her blush from you. “Be a good girl and look at me Natasha.” As soon as her eyes met yours you thrusted a finger into her and watched her face contort in pleasure. Your mouth went back to her clit and you gradually increased the pace of thrusting your finger in and out of her. Feeling her walls clench around your digit, you added another finger and felt her hips buck at the action. You hummed into her core earning a strangled moan from her and pulled back to watch her throw her head back. Deciding she was wet enough, you slipped in a third finger and felt her stretch around you whilst whimpering at the feeling of being so full.

“Please, faster,” she moaned while tightening the grip she had on your hair. You willingly listened to her and started pumping your fingers in and out of her at a brutal pace causing her legs to tremble around your head. “I’m so close please,” she begged and begged as you kept her on edge with teasing kitten licks to her pussy.

Sensing she couldn’t take it any longer you doubled up your efforts and she almost came instantly. Her whole body tensed before trembling with the after shocks of her intense orgasm. You let her ride her high before crawling back up her body to gently kiss her. Natasha panted against your lips as she tried to regain some composure but that quickly vanished when she heard your next words.

“Please ride my face.”

She groaned into your mouth at your request and she happily moved to straddle your face. You looked up at her with a look of pure desire as she settled herself above you. As soon as your tongue met her cunt, you both moaned and her hands gripped the headboard for support. You slipped your tongue into her making her hips stutter on your face before continuing to grind. Her juices were dripping down your chin at this point but you didn’t care as long as she was moaning on top of you and chasing her high. Her hands once again tangled themselves in your hair and you let her take complete control as she tugged your head to where she wanted you. The sight of her riding your face made you groan into her soaking cunt and the vibrations along with your tongue working wonders, quickly sent the spy over the edge once again. Slowly, you ran your hands up and down her thighs as she calmed down and placed small kisses along her inner thighs. Once she had finished, she moved off your face and laid down next to you, still trying to catch your breath.

“Holy fuck,” she chuckled out while moving her hair out of her face and turning to look at you. “We should have done this a lot sooner,” she joked and you laughed along with her while moving forwards to gently press your lips together.

“How about I make up for lost time then?” you mused while moving back down her body, a smirk on your face as you knew this night was far from over.

#natasha romanoff x reader #forgive me father for i have sinned on purpose

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plasticl0ve · 2 months ago

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Victor Doesn't Know (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: a smut fic inspired by Scotty Doesn't Know

Words: 1236

Warnings: Smut, cheating, Vision 'cuz fuck that guy.

A/N: Victor is Vision because this is a human AU. Written kinda in my head as a college AU but there's literally no real mention of it. But also--fuck you, Vision, we could've had WandaNat and instead we got you.

-X-

You hadn’t spared it a single thought the moment Wanda had texted you to come over. There was no hesitation. No wondering if you should be doing this. Because when Wanda Maximoff texts you a photo of her standing in front of her floor length mirror in red lingerie, you fucking get your ass into gear and head to her room—

And if you ever turned down that type of invitation, you hoped someone would immediately put you down because you were either an imposter or losing your mind.

It’d only taken five minutes for you to stop in front of her door, knocking impatiently. It’d been days since you’d been together last because Victor was being exceptionally clingy—as if he knew something was changing and just hadn’t figured out what that meant yet.

She opened the door in seconds, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a secretive smile that was only ever for you these days. Half guilt, half greed but all hunger. Her hand tangled up in your shirt as she dragged you inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

Your eyes drank her in ravenously, tracing along the exposed skin like it was your birthright. Deep red with a bow between her tits, the skimpy fabric did little to leave anything up to the imagination, her nipples taut and pointed through the cups and the garters clinging to her thigh-high socks.

“Fuck, baby, you look delicious,” you groaned, gripping her hips possessively.

She’d told Victor this was for him.

But you knew better—and she knew you knew.

The afternoon sunlight slipped through the cracks in the curtains, painting her in the most ethereal golden light, her tousled hair and berry-colored lips only making it all the more sinful.

Her mouth was inches from yours when her phone began to buzz violently on her desk and she rolled her eyes, snatching it up. “Not a word,” she breathed, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before answering the call.

“Hey, baby,” she cooed into the phone, voice saccharine sweet even as her hand found the waistband of your sweats, tugging at them with a needy, pleading expression.

As your pants hit the floor, you spun Wanda around, pressing her back to your chest as your hand slipped into her thong. Her breath hitched violently as your fingers explored her soaked core, mouth hot and pointed along her throat as your strap-on ground against her ass. He didn’t notice—too boring and vanilla to ever assume his girlfriend was fucking the lesbian two floors above her—but you heard it and god, did it do things to you.

“Mmhmm, yeah, I’m just in my room,” she said calmly into the phone even as she tipped her head to the side, granting you more access to her throat as your fingers slipped through her need. “Just got out of the shower. Why?”

Her free hand fell to your thigh, gripping tightly as your fingers dipped into her aching pussy, stroking teasingly.

“No, I haven’t eaten yet,” she murmured, her voice so composed that it was almost infuriating. “You ordering something?”

Pressing your fingers deeper into her, you curled your fingers just right, knowing exactly how to break that pretty composure of hers and her hips bucked. Her mouth fell open, a silent but sharp inhale tensing her body in your arms. Her hand left your thigh, wrapping around your wrist as you stroked through slick arousal.

Victor’s voice was a tinny echo from the speaker as he mentioned some boring movie he wanted to watch and you rolled your eyes so hard you were worried you’d see your own brain.

“Sure, that sounds—” Wanda’s breath hitched as she rocked into your hand, “—perfect.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to press the mute button, her mouth hot and desperate against your jaw. “You’re going to make me moan and he’s going to fucking hear it,” she whispered.

“How terrible,” you smirked in response, walking her the few inches to the bed before lifting her onto the mattress.

Pressing her face into the pillows while her ass wiggled in the air, you yanked down her thong enough to settle behind her. She’d already unmuted the mic, but it didn’t matter. Her voice was already wavering just so as she arched her back willingly—so pathetic and needy—as your hands gripped her waist, dragging her back into you as the tip of your strap-on pressed into her slowly—achingly slow.

Victor was oblivious, talking about fucking shawarma of all things.

Her head pressed into the pillows, teeth sunk into the case as you bottomed out with a sharp roll of your hips. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the phone, not answering Victor as she tried not to scream. Her breathing was labored and heavy, barely muffled by the pillows.

“Wanda? Are you okay?” his voice echoed through the speaker and she scrambled to grab the phone.

“I—yeah, I j-just dropped s-something. S-sorry.”

Smirking, you drove into her rougher, relishing in the squeak that escaped even as she covered her mouth with her hand.

Victor sighed on the other end and every part of you wanted to reach through the phone and beat him senseless. He always sounded so exasperated with her and it was maddening. “You’ve been so clumsy recently.”

She shuddered beneath you, lashes fluttering and thighs trembling as you pounded into her like it was your only purpose. One hand dipped between her legs as you circled her clit roughly, the other hand tangling in her hair as your hips slammed into hers repeatedly.

She yelped, barely masked by the sheets and her own palm, but it didn’t matter. You could see the jolt that worked through her spine, the involuntary arch like her body only belonged to you.

Your fingers were merciless on her clit, the rough rhythm matching the punishing thrusts of your hips. Each one dragging another silent—barely—scream from her throat. Her cunt clenched around you like she was trying to trap you there as her thighs trembled. You tugged on her hair, pulling her head up from the sheets, watching as she bit her lip so hard that you worried she might bleed.

“Wanda?” Victor’s voice sounded again, louder this time, “What’s going on?”

She swallowed hard, voice cracking, “I-I think—I might be getting a fever,” she gasped breathlessly, “I-I think I’m gonna t-take a shower real quick.”

You never let up, even as he paused on the other end of the line.

“…didn’t you say you’d just taken a shower when I first called?” he asked cautiously, but her fingers shakily pressed into the End Call button, silencing his question.

She shoved the phone off the bed, back arching as a scream tore through her throat that mostly sounded like your name the moment the line went dead. Her entire body trembled and shook as her orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave of ecstasy, helpless as pleasure was dragged from her viciously.

Wanda collapsed forward, thighs sticky and convulsing as she panted, lips parted in disbelief at what she’d just let you do to her with him on the other end.

You smirked, kissing along her pale spine—

Both of you completely unaware that her fingers?

They’d never actually hit End Call.

#wanda maximoff x reader #WAIT OMG #forgive me father for i have sinned on purpose

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plasticl0ve · 2 months ago

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Taste of you (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

synopsis; Youre Tony Stark's assistant, and Natasha loves wanting things she cant have.

words; 1.1k

warnings; sexual tension, bathroom sex, rough sex, fingering, oral (r! receiving), top!natasha x bottom!reader, CEO!natasha, teasing

a/n; I miss my girl

Tonight the room was packed full of party guests that were invited by the host, Mr Stark himself.

You didn’t like going to these types of parties at all, too many people, faces you don’t know and those you’re supposed to know and be friendly with, since you’re a part of the team, you kind of have to go, to show that you’ve come.

You wondered how Tony even knows so many people, then you sometimes forget how famous his family name really is, same with names like Romanoff, Rogers, Carter, all the higher up and the wealthy.

Speaking of Romanoff, you have yet to see Natasha tonight, you haven’t spotted her amongst the crowd, she was a business associate of Stark industries, though it almost seemed like the two of them were close. Like they were friends.

Natasha was the CEO of her own company that she took over not that long ago, it seems everything has been going better since the last guy that tried to overthrow her.

“You seem spaced out” a voice startles you out of your head as you turn and see Natasha herself standing before you, she looked gorgeous, you couldn't help but let your eyes wander over her body.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I guess so” you say, you were never unsure of what to say to her, “You look nice tonight, Miss romanoff.”

“Please, call me Natasha, we’ve known each other for quite some time now, haven’t we?” there's a glint in her eye the way she speaks, you wonder what she’s thinking about.

“Yes, Natasha.”

She nodded, pleased.

“It looks like Tony is off drunk, again” she mutters, shaking her head as she takes a sip of her wine, you can’t help but stare and watch the way her lips wrap around the edge of the glass, her lipstick not leaving one stain.

“Work isn’t finished for me, though” you sigh, a guy carrying a tray of champagne comes up to you both, you take one.

Her gaze on you the entire time, your heart beating so loud you were afraid she could hear it with how close she was standing. You’re trying to not sneak glances so much, you can’t help it, you’ve always found her beautiful, effortlessly stunning in every way, she always has you captivated whenever she walks into the room, she has your full attention, she can make you do whatever she wants you to do.

You thought it was all in your head, that she’d never find you attractive or want you the same way you wanted her, turns out, you were wrong.

She was full of surprises.

Natasha would often come to stark industries to visit and have simple conversation with Mr. Stark, you’d find yourself trying to listen in on whatever they were talking about but you could never get anywhere, she was good at that, no matter how hard you tried to spy on her, she was always one step closer.

She’d come to see you, alone, when everyone had gone home for the day, you felt like you were being tested, with how she’s leaning against your desk, sometimes even sitting on it, so casually, as she made small talk, it made you go insane knowing she always had the upper hand.

You excuse yourself when another man had come up to talk with her, you weren’t even sure if they had noticed you left anyways, escaping from the party to go to the bathroom.

You splashed some water on your face, everything felt hot, too hot. You wanted to take off your clothes but you still had a party to attend even with Tony gone wherever he went.

You were leaning over the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you didn’t even hear the door opening.

In the mirror you saw Natasha’s eyes meet yours, you gasp as you turn around, walking backwards, your back hitting the walls as she steps closer to you, purposely trapping you.

She leaned in, you held your breath, feeling hers on your neck as she was that close, you could almost kiss her.

“I wish I had gotten to you before Stark did” she chuckles, a shiver going down your spine as your hands try to get a hold of whatever you can around you to steady yourself. “I swear he just got you to shove it in my face, I want you all to myself” she whispers, your body was still, you didn’t want to move not one bit, afraid she’d leave you.

She caresses your face with her hand, god they're soft, softer than you imagined, you wanted them so badly around your throat, even more.

“How would stark feel if I kidnap his cute little assistant for one night? Hm? You think he’d mind?” she says, tilting her head to the side as you stare into her eyes.

“No.”

“No?” she laughed, “oh so you want me to take you away? How adorable” she pouts, gripping at your chin, she grins, leaning in more as you feel her lips on your neck, you whine, wanting to touch her, but she wouldn’t let you just yet. She teased you, sucking on your neck, as she kissed down your chest.

She grabs you by the legs and lifts you up, as you wrap yourself around her, she pushes you against the sink, kissing harder, her hands roaming your body, like you were hers, her property, you were hers, more than anything.

Natasha forces your legs apart, pushing your dress up and taking your underwear off, your chest heaving as you watch her, wondering if this was all a dream, you couldn’t believe what was happening.

She placed her hand on your thigh, you gasped, feeling her mouth on you, her tongue licking up your cunt as you moaned, you tried to move and she wouldn’t let you, keeping a tight grip on you, she wrapped her lips around your clit, you bit down, trying to keep quiet but it was hard with her touching you like this, it made you dizzy.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was something else.

You weren’t sure, you didn’t want her to stop.

“Please” you whimpered.

“Please what?” she murmurs, her gaze locking onto yours, she liked the sight of you, your head thrown back, moaning like a mess for her as you desperately tried to keep yourself together, knowing anyone could walk in at any moment.

She didn’t care.

“Please let me come” you whined, biting down on your lip as she places her thumb on your clit, rubbing it in circles, fast, you tried grinding down on her hand and that caused her to stop.

“No, please” you begged, “touch me.”

Her mouth returns to your dripping cunt, she pushes a finger inside you, fucking you hard and rough as you gaped, gripping the edge of the counters, she could feel you tightening around her.

“Come for me, my pet.”

she sent you over the edge, your body shaking as you came, your sweet juices melting down from her mouth, you were lost in a daze.

and she held you captive.

#natasha romanoff x reader #forgive me father for i have sinned on purpose

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plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

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In this life, and the next

Summary: You and your soulmate are stuck in a cycle of reincarnation, but you manage to find each other every single time. In this life, you finally managed to track them down… only to learn they started a happy family with someone else. I read this prompt and began to write, and didn't stop. I hope you like it! Btw I am starting a masterlist, so if you want to be for Wanda please comment it down below. And what do you guys think about a part 2?

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: Angst, slow burn, fluff.

Word count: 7k

Green eyes, looking back at you while trying to keep up, a teasing smile playing at her lips, but you can't see her whole face. A secret that you desperately wait to unveil, but unfortunately can't. You try to focus, to see her, but never can.

You wake up, sweat dripping down your face, and your limbs feel sticky under the hot summer night. You breathe deeply, sitting on the unfamiliar bed. You take a glass of water to quench your thirst. It's 6 in the morning. Of course, it is. It is the only day when you can stay in bed late, but your body doesn't allow it, tormenting you with the thought of your unknown soulmate.

It's quite normal for people in their late 20s not to know who they're meant to be with. You've met a few people who didn't meet their soulmate until they were in their late 40s or 50s. People find the idea of a soulmate a blessing. You feel like it's more of a curse.

At least right now. You're new to town, and a few extra hours of sleep would have greatly helped you. However, your mind and your soul had different plans. You go to the bathroom. If you're up, might as well try to get a head start on things.

You grab your sneakers and head towards the door. Maybe the best way to get to know the new place you're supposed to call home is early in the morning.

---

Wanda woke up, startled by the comfortable laugh she heard in her mind. It isn't new, she doesn't know who it belongs to, but she gave up on finding her soulmate a long time ago.

The loud exhale of the man beside her brings her down to earth. It isn't real. This is real, Vision, the twins. She places her head back down on her pillow, closing her eyes to see if there is even a small chance for her to go back to sleep, or at least to pass a little more time before she had to get up to make breakfast. Her hand finds comfort in the warmth that Vision's body brings. Yes, this is enough.

Wanda makes breakfast, the music playing softly behind her; she hums as she finishes mixing the ingredients. Vision is making sure the boys are ready to go to school and it brings her a little bit more alone time as she pours the already mixed ingredients on a pan.

She grabs her coffee and walks towards the window that's next to the kitchen and something catches her eye. A beautiful woman, jogging at the start of the street, headphones in place and a slight blush on your cheeks, indicating that you've been jogging for some time now. She sees the way your legs move, strong, and the way your look is determined.

You stop slowly in front of a door. The house is almost directly in front of her kitchen. She knows she should look away but the way your hair moves, how you move, swiftly and with purpose, why does she find you so interesting?

"Wanda darling, the kids are almost done." Vision speaks, bringing Wanda back from her thoughts. She's startled but still handles everything with care, she finishes the eggs that she had been waiting for. How long was she watching you? She starts plating breakfast and sees her husband.

She gives him a soft smile, pecking his lips and embracing him as he comes close, his scent fills her and she looks behind her husband's back, trying to catch a last glimpse but closing her eyes as she sees that your door is already closed.

---

You walk around the field, looking for your coworkers, the people that you've gotten to know during the week, aren't bad. The person you've clicked with more is Monica, always laughing, always smiling, and has a great attitude. You thought it would be exhausting, but having positivity in your life is exactly what you need right now. Your older friend works here too. Natasha doesn't want to show her affection towards you, but behind closed doors, you find yourself at ease with the older sister of your best friend, but she isn't here, traveling around the States with her soulmate. Steve isn't bad either, but he always has problems with technology, and you find it funny whenever you need to head over to help him.

On the other hand, there are people you aren't so keen on getting to know. The tall blonde man, Vision, doesn't seem to be a fan of you, and the feeling is mutual. Even so, he's one of your superiors, and you can't afford to have a bad image at work.

Today is a family work carnival, and you are stuck working with Monica and Darcy. Thank god, both women are too funny for their own good and offer a good distraction for the evening.

"It's so hot, like, I remember that last year it was always pouring and right now the only thing that's pouring is me," Darcy states, putting herself in front of the only fan available. Her hair is up in a bun, she's wearing a tank top and some overalls. "Get away from the food, then," Monica states, swiping her away. You are supposed to be giving pizzas, but the hotboxes behind you are making the day worse than you could think. It was a hot year. "Just try to concentrate on something else," you try to help, grabbing one of the water bottles from the cooler that the company had given you. You toss one towards each of the women and put your water behind your neck. You let out a small moan and close your eyes, letting your head fall slightly back.

"Oh- excuse me," You hear a voice, and you open your eyes, immediately letting your hand fall to the counter, letting the water bottle rest on the counter. You feel even more heat creep up your face.

The woman is ethereal, with big green eyes, a smile that is making you melt, and perfect hair falling over her shoulders. "I'm sorry, how can I help you?" You ask, leaning a bit towards her and smiling softly, trying to recuperate after the embarrassing moment. "Just 4 slices of cheese pizza, please." She asks, and you nod, preparing the plates as quickly as you can. "Anything else?" You ask as you start to hand the plates, but quickly realize that she won't be able to carry them all by herself. "No, I think that's all," she smiles, her eyes gaze onto you, and you feel like floating. You don't even think twice as you exit the booth you're supposed to be in.

"I think you could use some help with that," You say, grabbing the plates from the other side. The skills that you learned in a kitchen during college shine through as you don't give her a choice. You're helping. "Oh wow, that's so sweet, thank you." She smiles, a mild blush tainting her cheeks. "I'll follow you," you say, and she starts leading the way.

"So, what department are you in?" She asks, making a small conversation. He dressed flowing behind her, the soft color making her skin glow. "I just started in engineering projects," you explain, feeling the sweat drip down your back. "Oh, where were you working before?" It seems to have piqued her interest, she slows down. "I was working for a small truck company in Missouri," you explain, she nods in understanding. "That sounds interesting," she says, and you can't help the butterflies in your chest. "And what about you?" You ask and she laughs, shaking her head. God, you want to make her laugh a million times more. "I just tagged along," she explains, and you see the tables that are nearing, swarms of groups enjoying the sun, some kids playing on the soccer field, and others trying to hide from the sun. "I would ask with whom, but I don't know anyone yet." You joke and she stares at you as if she were having a small conflict in her mind. She grabs two plates from your hands and places them on an empty table, only bags on the chairs. "Well, you know me now, I'm Wanda," she says and extends her hand. You leave the plates and grab her hand in yours.

You feel as if your hands are numb, your heart is racing in your chest, and your mouth is suddenly dry. "Y/N," you reply, softer than you intended, but mesmerized by her eyes. "Give me your phone," she says quietly. Did she feel the same way as you did? You obey her and she types what you assume is her number."You know, if you ever need a tour of town or a restaurant recommendation, call me." She explains, her fingers grazing yours, "Alright, thanks. I'll call you," you say, trying not to say anything more than what you need. Don't fuck it up.

"Oh my fucking god, you dick!" Darcy yells, pushing you playfully as you approach her, and you laugh freely now. What just happened? "That was pornographic and she liked it!" Darcy is amazed by what just happened. And you can't blame her, feeling a bit baffled by the whole exchange. "You do know who that is, right?" Monica asks, a small smile on her face, but her arms are crossed. You shake your head and continue to see her. Oh, how she wanted to record this moment. "That's Vision's wife."

---

"So, I heard you met someone," Natasha snickers when you place the bottle of beer in front of her, you push her legs slightly in retaliation. "I can't help it," you start, sitting across from her and settling on the couch. "Married women have a thing for me." You say, laughing at Natasha's reaction. "Can't blame them," she jokes and you try to hide the blush creeping up your face. Always saying the right things at the right times, that's just how Natasha is and you know better than to take it personally. "How's work, Tasha?" The nickname slips out effortlessly, she relaxes under your gaze the alcohol bringing her down from work.

You invited her over for dinner, a thank you for helping you so much during these past few weeks, showing you the ropes, and giving out tips.

"Projects are good but I swear to god I'm going to kill Vision the next time he wants me to change designs just because he wants to spend less money on materials." She confesses it's normal. She only focuses on work, and at this moment you do too. She's one of your direct bosses, managing all of the ongoing projects while you are simply designing stuff and making sure it passes the quality tests, that's where Monica comes in. Darcy looks for new materials, also making her a close colleague. "He doesn't seem to understand, huh?" You reply, goading her on softly for more information on the man.

"He seems more stuck up than usual, I don't know if he feels threatened by the amount of stuff we're trying to work on or if it's because I'm a woman," she replies. Her red braid falling down the right side of her shoulder, is cute. "But Tony always agrees with me even if he's so close to Vision, so that's good," she says, crossing her legs in front of herself, making herself more at home, as usual. "Yeah, I bet." You say, thanking Natasha mentally for bringing comfort into your home.

---

Wanda checked her phone for the millionth time, seeing no new notifications made her sigh loudly, setting her phone down and continuing to cook. This brings her comfort, ignoring the fluttery feeling that she had when she met you and the sudden exchange of numbers. That was so out of character but you looked so different. And sometimes different friendships are good, right?

She stares out the window, turning the stove off, thanking the peace that's in her home for now, before her boys come home. This is so mundane, that she should go out. A bit of fresh air, should she talk to Agatha? No, that would mean small talk (and the possibility that the gossipy neighbor manages to pull Wanda's secrets out and tell everyone about her different friendships).

"Darling, dinner is delicious," Vision smiles towards Wanda, making Wanda turn her phone off. Her unstarted conversation with you going black. "I'm happy that you like it," she smiles softly, grabbing more food on her fork to eat. "Are you alright?" Vision asks Wanda, and she knows that she's been getting too lost in her thoughts at the most inopportune moments. Overall when she's with her husband. She should be focusing on him, not on anything else. She chose him and should honor that commitment. "I'm fine Vis, I'm sorry." She says, holding his hand trying to make him anchor her, even if her mind drifts back to you.

---

The message that you've been staring at for the last fourteen minutes looks at you back from the screen. It's just coffee. Maybe one or two hours. She wouldn't have given you her number if she didn't want you to call. You look at the screen from work, projection of stress and torsion analysis litters one screen while the other shows an unfinished design. You swing your office chair, you shouldn't be so distracted by a woman you met, and not any woman- a married woman!

The internal battle that you don't even know if you're winning or losing makes you sigh and put your head back.

"I'm so glad we could get together," Wanda greets you at the coffee shop of her choice, you've been waiting for her for a little bit over 10 minutes but don't feel bad for waiting. Her smile brings you once again to your knees, the perfume she just put on makes you feel hazy and her eyes are kind as she sits on the other side of the table.

You close your book, careful with the glass in front of you. You smile at her and slide a menu over. The chatter of other people around the coffee shop gives you a small curtain of privacy. You're just two friends getting to know each other.

"I'm glad you could make it," you counter, "I already like this place, the music's good and it smells great." You say, she chuckles and nods, not even looking at the menu but for a fraction of a moment. "They can change the music for whatever you'd like." She says a waiter comes closer to take your order. "I honestly like the tea much better than the coffee," she jokes and you let out a soft giggle, nodding. "I didn't use to like coffee but I feel like it's been better recently. My work makes me need to drink it."

You notice a few things about Wanda, she always has something to say about town, whether it's competitions or meet-ups, restaurants, and other activities. Her hair gets in front of her face a lot and she always runs her hands through her hair (making her look insanely irresistible), when she doesn't know what to say she licks her lips and she always follows your gaze. You feel heard by her. This first, real conversation makes you feel like you can talk to her for hours and you don't feel tired. You feel eager to talk about more things. And when she retells a story from her youth, sometimes her gaze leaves you and goes towards the ceiling. It's barely noticeable but it's there.

"Oh dear, would you look at the time, I have to go pick up the twins." Right- her husband and kids. You exhale and nod, asking the waiter for the check. She starts to pull her stuff in her bag. "Don't worry, maybe we can continue this later," you offer with a soft smile and she bites her lip, a little lost in thought. "Or we could go pick them up together," she offers, clasping her hands and you laugh, but she doesn't budge. "Are you ready for me to meet your kids? How scandalous!" You joke and she giggles, nodding. "I honestly didn't think we were going to get to this part of our relationship so fast. But if they are going to accept you then-" she gestures between you, joking and continuing with your first response. You laugh and nod. "If you insist." You say, getting up to pay and motion for her to not worry. Spending more money is nothing if it's for Wanda. "I think you'll come to agree that I'm the best company you're going to find." You say and Wanda nods, trying to hide her furious blush- as if that could smother the wildfire already burning inside her.

Wanda grips the steering wheel tightly. She takes deep breaths, like when she had the twins. The music is soft from your choice selection, alternating between hits from today and music she likes from the 60s. It makes her calm down, you alternate between looking out the window and typing in your phone. Is this crazy? How can this be so easy? She feels light, she feels like she can laugh at anything you say, and she can go through anything you want. She wants you by her side.

"I like this song," she mumbles. Putting the directional on as she's about to turn. "I know," you murmur. The words come out of your lips before you think anything about them. Wanda tenses slightly, how would you know? But the moment is too fragile for her to break with a question.

Why does this feel so wrong but so right? Wanda asks these questions almost every day. Could it be? That you're the one that she's been waiting for?

She scoffs internally, shaking her head. Soulmates don't exist. At least hers doesn't. She waited so long, Vision was there as he waited for his own. Some people know at first glance. Others need a first touch. A first kiss. A jolt in their chest that tells them- this is it. And she refused to wait for her soulmate to start her family. Vision is her family and it's disrespectful towards him for Wanda to have these kinds of thoughts.

They agreed after Wanda saw the way that her brother died for his soulmate. No more wasting time, they found each other and fell in love, got married. Didn't waste time and had kids- Billy and Tommy, those boys are her soulmates and they are Visions too.

So she will just accept the comfort and happiness your company brings her. It would be selfish of her to make you think something that isn't going to happen.

Wanda parks and her thoughts calm down, she turns to look at you. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this." She lies, she's not sorry that you're here. You nod and wipe your palms against your pants. "Don't forget I wanted to come," you reassure and Wanda feels fluttering in her chest, chuckling. "Well then, let's go." She smiles and you step out of the car, rushing to go by her side and opening her door. "Lead the way," you say and she nods, pulling her hair out of her face.

You see the twins, both have smiles on their faces as they run tiredly toward you both. They see you and you take a step back, not wanting to intrude on their moment with their mom.

"Who's that?" Tommy asks, pointing at you. Billy swaps his hand, kissing his mom before asking questions. "That's my new friend, Y/N." She explains, wiping a bit of dirt off of Tommy's face. The boys just came out of soccer practice and it shows, that their skin has a slight gold tint that indicates that they love playing in the sun and the freckles make them look cuter than you think should be possible. They both resemble their mom. The kids bicker and you smile softly at them, waiting for a queue to go forward or for them to come to you.

"She's pretty," Tommy says, and Billy laughs at his brother before running towards you and hugging you.

The kid takes you aback, you freeze in place and Wanda blushes in embarrassment because of her child. Her eyes are wide and she looks at any sign from you, you put your arms around Billy and chuckle. "It's nice to meet you too, Billy." You joke softly and Billy lets go. "I like you, you make my mom smile." He points out and you nod, laughing softly. "She makes me smile too."

---

"This is just a work dinner, you don't need to get all worked up," Natasha explains, of course, you were nervous. Everybody who was someone was going to be there. You knew about your direct superiors. Darcy and Monica weren't invited but you were going to go to Vision's house.

You don't know if Wanda has told Vision anything, or the kids but you knew this was important. Close circle.

And not to mention that everybody had a date but Natasha, which is why you are stressing about what you were going to put on.

"Unless you want to impress someone," Natasha teases and you throw a shirt her way. You sit in front of your mirror, applying makeup while Natasha is already ready, just enjoying the company. "Come on, anyone who knows you can tell your feelings by the way you look at her." She continues and you scoff, shaking your head. "She's married, Natasha." You tell her with a stern voice.

Natasha only laughs, getting up from your bed. She looks great, almost like a comfy formal. She also knows better than to treat this dinner like just another dinner party.

"Well, that shouldn't take the fun away." She wiggles her eyebrows and places her hands on your shoulders, getting a bit closer to your face. "Why would I want to cause trouble between Wanda and her soulmate?" You question and watch the way that Natasha looks at every one of your lipsticks. She chooses a slight red and applies it to her lips, handing another shade to you. "Because her husband is a dick," Natasha states easily and you shake your head, applying the pinkish tint to your lips. Subtle.

"How does this look?" You ask and step forward, feeling a bit weird. Natasha is on the living room chair, scrolling through her phone. "You can do better," she says and you groan, heading back upstairs.

"What about this?" You come back down and Natasha barely spares a glance before pushing you upstairs. "Don't be so obvious that you're trying to get in her pants Y/N."

"Put this on," Natasha barges into the room, you don't have a shirt on and she barely glances at you. "Hurry up!" She says and leaves you alone.

"Fucking finally, you better be grateful that we aren't that far away from Vision's house." She says, grabbing your coat and helping you put it on. "You are the one that kept saying no to my outfits," you hissed and she playfully pushed the gifts towards you.

"You're gonna thank me later," she says and you step out of the house, waiting for Natasha to open her car. "You keep bugging me but you won't open the car." You complain and she closes the door of the house. "We're walking." She states and walks past you. You don't have a choice but to comply.

"Oh my god, you do look hot." She says and grabs your hand, pulling you towards the other side of the street. You don't even have a chance to say anything else before she knocks on a door. The house isn't far from yours, you can see your house from here.

"Hi Natasha, Y/N. Please come on in," Vision opens the door and you smile politely at him, the house is huge. You step in behind Natasha, helping her out of her coat. "It's nice to see you, Vision. Thanks for having us over." Natasha replies cordially and you take your coat off, placing both Natasha's and yours in the hangar.

"We brought this for you," you say, placing the bottle of liquor in his hands. Natasha chose it. "Oh, excellent! You have great taste, Y/N. We'll have a drink after dinner." He says and you find yourself surprised at the man.

You finally take a moment to appreciate the place that you're in. It's big, bigger than you imagined. A closed door on the left and on the right you took a seat, you can see the backyard and there's a table and dimly lit decorations. That's where you must be going to have dinner.

You see that there's a staircase but can't see much farther than that.

Vision shows that he's comfortable, the usual suit from the office replaced but not gone. He still has a tucked shirt and light trousers.

"I'm sorry for not coming sooner, the boys had a little mishap," Wanda says and suddenly your heart only beats for her. And just like that, your rational mind shuts off. You’re not at a work dinner. You’re seventeen again, hopelessly in love with the girl across the street. Only this time, she’s married. And her husband just wrapped an arm around her waist.

She's stunning in a flowy dark blue dress, her waist accentuated and her hair as always, bounced slightly because of her hairdo.

The shove Natasha gives you is enough to bring you back, you take a step forward.

"We also brought these," you hand the flowers over. Wanda gazes into your eyes but your eyes barely catch a glimpse of the hand that Vision puts on her waist. You should stop this meaningless crush. "Thank you Y/N, they're beautiful." She speaks and you don't miss the blush tinting her cheeks, she looks towards Natasha before speaking up. "Thanks, Natasha," she says and Natasha smirks. "No problem."

---

'We should ditch them' you read the text that Wanda sends you, glancing up to look at her across the table. She's not close and you thank that whatever situation happens, Natasha is there. She brings you back to the importance of the meeting. After not having a quick response from you, Wanda sends another text.

'Or would Natasha get angry if I stole you for a bit?' That earns a soft chuckle from you, Wanda watches you curiously.

'Natasha doesn't care who I'm with.' You reply, taking a small sip of your drink. You don't need to be drunk. Wanda drinks from her wine, but her gaze never leaves yours.

'But I think that Vision would have a slight problem if you're alone with me.' You continue, leaving your phone on your lap.

'Why? We're friends. Her response is innocent. Of course, she doesn't know nor should she know the feelings that you're harboring for her.

You don't answer, displaying that you're done with the small conversation by letting your phone rest face down on the table.

"So, basically Steve didn't even know what buttons to push." Tony retells and you drink a bit more of the liquor. Water would be a good choice by now.

"How long am I supposed to endure this? It was like 8 years ago!" Steve complains and you laugh, not thinking about grabbing Natasha's water and finishing it. "If you would've learned by now, then maybe this conversation would be different," Tony says and Steve just shakes his head. "Look, Y/N has been teaching me now and I don't even bother you anymore." Steve reasons and you feel your body heat up.

"How do you have the patience to show him? He's been at this for 10 years." Tony explains and you laugh, shrugging. "Maybe the problem is the teacher," you explain and everyone starts laughing, your eyes find Wanda's but break soon after.

Vision's hands find Wanda's and Wanda notices the glimpse in your eyes and the way your body tenses before you look at Tony.

"Are you insinuating that I'm not a good teacher?" He asks, joking. "If the shoe fits," his wife comes to your aid. She laughs at him and gives him a small kiss. "Alright teacher, tell me more about yourself." Natasha squeezes your thigh encouraging you to speak up. After all, this is why you're here.

"So you're telling me you started- well, you helped with the start-up of a company and specialized in new designs," Tony says and murmurs something to himself. "Natasha, why did you hide her for so long?" He asks her but doesn't even let her answer. "I'll call you Monday," he says and continues the conversation somewhere else.

You grin at Natasha and she laughs at you. Listening to what now Vision was saying.

---

You are finally cleaning up after dinner. And you are one of the last ones to leave. The lights shine brightly as you grab the gloves to start washing dishes.

"Are you gonna stay?" Natasha asks, placing more dishes next to you, you hum in response. "It's a lot." You barely explain and Natasha laughs, shaking her head. "Fine, I'll be in your house. Sleeping. In your bed." You splash a bit of water towards her face and laugh at her. She only walks out of the kitchen before shooting you a look. She won't be waiting up.

"Oh, you shouldn't bother doing that," Vision says, he's a bit drunk judging the expression and the slight slur of his words. "Oh, it's nothing." You say. It really is nothing and you know that if you go to sleep at this time, Natasha won't stop bothering you. "Well, I'll tell Wanda to come down, I have to take a shower. Thank you, Y/N." You're taken aback by his hospitality.

But then again, you always knew how Vision was. A dick to everyone but his close circle, or anyone that threatened with change. At least that's what Natasha told you.

"You shouldn't be doing that," Wanda says, and you shake your head. "You cooked a great meal for everyone, you don't need to worry about the dishes, too." You say, and she nods. She grabs the bottle of wine and gives it a small shake to see how much is there. You try not to stare at her, only trying to look at her with your peripheral vision.

"Well, we should finish the bottles of wine, it would be a waste to pour them down the drain." She says, grabbing two glasses and placing them near you. "Don't you have to check on the twins?" You ask. Having Wanda alone with alcohol could be something worrisome. She shakes her head. "Sound asleep and Vision will be too in about 20 minutes." She says and you nod.

"I still have to get back home," you counter, you shouldn't pass this limit. "Are you going to drive?" Wanda asks, starting to take a big gulp from her glass of wine. A single drop drips from the corner of her mouth, making its way down her collarbone. You suddenly feel dry, and you start to stare at the plate, soaping it up a bit faster. You don't even see the smirk that Wanda has on her face.

"Look, my only friend is Agatha, and you're different. We couldn't talk because of work and this way it's a slight continuation from when we went for coffee." She says, pleading almost for you to stay. You close the faucet. You shouldn't stay, but at the end of the day, you don't know how much time you'll be with Wanda. "Alright, start putting them away." You gesture towards the dishes and laugh at the adorable expression Wanda has.

---

"Is Natasha your soulmate?" Wanda asks, it's out of nowhere. You let your mouth fall open at her question. It's unusual for someone to ask about their soulmate, something so intimate that is only supposed to be shared between people who trust each other. But Wanda has a curious gaze in her eyes. "No, I haven't found mine." You can't help but answer, Wanda nods and grabs the bottle. She's forgotten about her glass.

"How did you meet Vision?" You counter, and she smiles softly. Her eyes go towards the ceiling, just for a moment, but long enough for you to notice. "College, he was one of my brother's friends." She offers no other explanation. She grabs your hand and you feel the way you tingle with just her touch.

Soft skin, pulling you towards the fireplace. You don't even know if the heat is from the alcohol starting to buzz in your system.

"Who was the last person to break your heart?" Wanda asks, letting you sit down on the carpet and moving towards the fireplace, her hands skilled to make a fire that you didn't even know was an option. "Her name is Ashley," you explain, you notice the way her body moves and slightly tenses, but continue with her movements. "She found her soulmate, and left me alone." You provide, Wanda sits back down next to you. Her hand slightly grazing your own, the bottle of wine in front of the chimney, putting it in a place where she knows it won't fall. "I'm sorry," Wanda whispers and you shake your head chuckling. "Don't be, it's been 4 years."

"Even so, it's kind of fucked up," she says and you shrug. "I wouldn't blame her, if I find my soulmate, I would do anything to be with her." You say and she hums. "I mean, you don't have to worry about that, right? You met Vision pretty young." You ask and she just grabs the bottle.

You know she's hiding something, she's calculated with her words, and smart with her answers. And it drives you crazy.

"How do you know it's a woman?" Wanda asks and you laugh, shaking your head. "I'm the only one that answers questions, what about you?" You tease and she laughs. Her head is thrown back and her cheeks are chapped because of the alcohol. The light hits at a perfect angle.

"Okay, we'll do one and one." She offers and you nod, grabbing the bottle from her hands, and taking a small sip. You want to remember this.

"How do you know it's a woman?" She asks and you sigh, looking away from her eyes and towards the fire. You close your eyes. "I dream of her, almost every single day now. I can never see her face, only certain places like her eyes, and lips," you continue, "sometimes when the universe is kind to me, I can feel her hand in mine." You say and turn your head to look at her, her expression is unreadable.

"You look in love." She states and you nod, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes. "I'm so fucking in love with a stranger, I barely have pieces and nothing, no one can distract me, well other than-" you stop. Too much information. "It's a nightmare," you finish and Wanda nods. Trying to ignore the squeeze in her heart. How would your soulmate feel knowing that you have so much love for her? It must be nice.

"Are you happy?" You ask and Wanda inhales. Too personal, but she doesn't let that stop her. "Only sometimes. With my boys, always. But never fully happy. When I'm with you, sometimes with Vision." She says and you don't try to ask another question, only nodding.

"I feel like I got together with Vision too quickly, I didn't experiment and, now that just keeps bothering me" She explains and you laugh. "What didn't you experiment?" This woman has everything, her husband, kids, and a house, what could be missing?

"I never took drugs, only had heterosexual sex, never gone on a girl's night out, I've never even kissed a girl!" She exclaims and you tense. You shouldn't.

"Well, we could remedy one of those things right now," the words slip past your lips without even thinking about the implications. Wanda looks at you in disbelief. "Don't fuck with me," she says, her voice stern. She isn't joking, she's serious. But you are too. "Look, the only thing is you can't fall in love with me," you joke, but grab the bottle and put it somewhere safer.

"It would just be to see how you feel," you say, stop trying to convince her! Her husband is upstairs! Her kids!

"Alright," she whispers, you don't know what she's thinking, but you know she's certain. She wouldn't look at you this way if she wasn't.

You change your position, slowly. Your boss is upstairs. Your hands tuck a strand of hair away and she closes her eyes, she doesn't want to move, she doesn't want to scare you away.

Her breath hitches and you feel her muscles tense, your fingers caressing her cheek, so softly. The way she smells hits you directly, making you struggle with patience.

If she doesn't want this, she has time. She can go back and you won't say a thing. But instead of leaning away, her face leans into your hand.

Your lips barely brush hers, her breath fanning over your face, the tingle in your body makes it impossible to finish leaning in, your eyes long closed.

Finally, she feels your lips press against hers.

---Ancient Greece---

"What are you doing here?" Your voice booms in the cave, the ethereal woman tilting her head. "Waiting for you, of course." She counters. She wastes no time, coming up to your lips, her hands cradling your jaw. "They didn't want us to meet, they envy what we are." She explains, leaving another kiss on your lips. "Who are they?" You ask, your muscles calming down under her touch. "The gods, my love."

---Medieval England---

The candle barely lights the room. Wanda is on the bed, her face pale. You grab another cloth soaking it in water, putting it against her forehead.

It's been days since you started crying, the flow never-ending.

"Y/N, my love." Wanda starts and begins coughing. You caress her cheek. "Don't overexert yourself." She motions for you to lay next to her, and whatever your queen asks of you, you comply. "If I die tonight, will you remember me next time?" She asks and you try not to sob. "I will darling, I promise."

---Colonial Massachussetts (1690's)---

"Shh, shh" Wanda hugs you, and you can't help the flow of tears pouring down your face. "She can't find you here. They can't find you here." She soothes and you don't know if it's true but you are made for this woman, and you can't help but trust her.

The room is dimly lit, and her lips press against your head. A haste kiss.

"You'll never be alone again." She promises.

---Paris (1880's)---

"Stop moving!" Wanda giggles and you laugh, shaking your head, your hair is tousled by the activities of the night prior, Wanda has her paintbrush in her hand. The light hits your skin beautifully. "Come on, my love, I want to paint you. I want my love for you known." She says and walks closer to you, leaving a kiss on your lips. You pull her closer to you. Good luck with painting if she can't even get out of bed.

---Hollywood (1950's)---

Wanda looks at the newspaper, throwing it away with a scoff. "They think they know who the love of my life is." She says and you hum, shaking your head. "Who is it now?" You ask, trying to grab a glimpse. "You know Robert, right?" She asks and you scoff. "His soulmate is Matt," you say and she laughs. "forget about that for now my love, let's focus on the important things." You grab her hand and pull her closer to you, swaying with the sound of the music that's in the background.

---

You feel Wanda's tears before you open your eyes, she kisses you again, feverishly. Her hands cradle your cheeks, she's now on her knees towering over you, you grab her waist, letting your other hand fall behind you, supporting both of you.

You are keeping each other alive, her breath fans over your face. She breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against yours. You can hear her small whimpers and also get on your knees.

She hugs you, and you hide your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply.

This is real, it was never a curse but a blessing. To find the person that is made for you, that love so strong doesn't die or end, it transcends once, twice, even a million times.

"I didn't think you existed." She whispers and you shake your head. "I'm so sorry I took so long." You say, your eyes looking up at hers.

Her beautiful eyes are red, and mascara runs down her face.

"I thought that Vision was your soulmate," you confess and she laughs, grabbing your hand and placing a tender kiss.

"Let's not talk about that please, let me enjoy having you in my arms once more." She says and you don't object, whatever your soulmate asks, you will do.

"How do you feel, having me so fucking in love with you?" You ask, kissing her lips once more. She is perfect. Made for you just as you are made for her. "Like heaven was brought to me." She whispers against your lips and you laugh.

That laugh, the same laugh she'd heard during the lonely nights. Her gaze falls on your eyes again. Big green sparkly eyes. The same eyes that share the love you have for each other.

#wanda maximoff x reader #stab me why don’t you

646 notes · View notes

plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

Text

Let Me Ease Your Mind

Pairing: Older! Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Summary: Occasionally, Natasha needs somebody to cat-sit her cat, Liho, whenever she’s away on a vacation. This time though, you got the dates mixed up… ➥ Smut

Warnings: Dom! Nat, Sub! Reader, Mommy Kink, Oral (R Receiving), Fingering (R Receiving), Praise Kink, Nat is 40, Reader is 24. | 2K

AC: Happy Birthday @swaqcenix !!! I hope you have an amazing day & all your wishes come true! You’re an amazing human and I hope all your dreams come true! X enjoy your little fic! X

You turned the spare key to the older woman’s home and slowly opened the door. Liho, the black stray cat Natasha adopted greeted you by brushing up against your legs. “Hey Liho!” You smile softly, looking down at the cat as you close the door behind you. She lets out a soft meow as if she was greeting you in her own verbal way. You bend down and give her a pet, “Nat is gone again huh?” You say softly.

Upstairs, Natasha, brushing her teeth, freezes. The faint sound of somebody downstairs makes her uneasy. Still wrapped in a towel, post shower, she leaves the bathroom. Each step she takes is silent as she listens for the intruder. Water droplets glisten on her skin as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Her guard finally at ease once she locks eyes with you.

The towel wrapped around her hugs her curves like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. Slowly, you rise to your feet. Your eyes can’t help but roam over the older woman’s body.

“Hey, everything okay?” Natasha asks softly with a hint of confusion in her voice. You nod, struggling to meet her piercing green eyes as you feel a rush of heat burning your cheeks. “I..I’m here to, ah, c-cat sit” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha chuckles softly, “darling, I don’t go on vacation until next week”. She notices the redness in your cheeks and the way you were struggling to regain your composure. “Oh crap! I’m so sorry! Work has been a lot this week and I must’ve put the dates wrong in my phone!” You reply, sighing heavily at your mistake.

“Don’t stress, these things happen” the woman smiles softly as she moves closer to you. The scent of her shampoo and coconut body wash getting stronger. “Why don’t you take a seat and chill for a while?” She offers.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother” you reply, quickly dropping your eyes to Liho for a distraction. Natasha gently lifts your chin to look at her, she takes a moment to look into your eyes. “You have really beautiful eyes, you know that?” She says softly, making your heart flutter.

“Th-thank you”

“They sparkle just a little more when your flustered” she adds, smirking as she sees your cheeks turn just a little more red.

“I’m sorry…I don’t mean to be…well…I’m just a little off guard” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha gently let’s go of your chin, titling her head to the right slightly. “Why’s that? Haven’t you seen another woman in a towel before?” She teases.

Your stomach turns upside down as your eyes widen at her comment. “Another woman…like…no…I mean…yes but” your reply comes out in a stutter, a true confirmation of your flustered state.

“Go on sweetheart, it’s okay. You can say it” Natasha encourages, “you can tell me how many times you’ve let your eyes wander my body” she adds, leaning forward close enough to your ear, “or how every time I see you, your cheeks go rosey red” she whispers in a low voice. She pulls back slightly, her eyes glinting with mischief as she watches your reaction. A slow and soft smile tugs at her lips.

“Tell me, darling, when you let your eyes wander my body, what dirty little thoughts run through that pretty head of yours, hmm?” She purrs, running a finger along your jawline.

Your heart pounds wildly as Natasha’s words wash over you, a shiver runs down your spine at the feeling of her finger tracing your jawline. Trying to find your voice, you swallow hard “I’m s-so sorry Miss Romanoff” you manage to word, your eyes dropping to the exposed part of her chest before darting away again. “I can’t help…seeing somebody…so beautiful” you add, a fresh wave of crimson staining your cheeks.

Gently, Natasha cups your cheek. Her thumb brushing lightly over your flushed skin. “Oh sweetheart, there’s no need to be embarrassed” she murmurs, her voice sweet like honey. “I’m flattered that I have such an effect on you” she adds softly, holding your gaze as you slowly look up at her.

“You are?” You asked.

She nods, “Considering I’m a lot older, it’s rather thrilling, actually” she chuckles softly.

There is a moment of silence, not an awkward one but a peaceful one. Natasha smiles at you once more, “why don’t you stay for a while?” She asks, “maybe I can help – “ her eyes drop to your lips, “maybe I can help with all that work stress that has all over the place” she adds, her voice barely above a whisper as she fights the urge to capture your lips.

“I’d…I’d love to stay” you breath out, hardly believing this is happening. You lean into her touch, the gentle caress of her thumb on your cheek making you feel comfortable once more. The way you lean into her touch doesn’t go unnoticed by the red head as she smiles softly more so to herself. She looks deeply into your eyes, “if at any point you don’t want this, just say, okay?” She says sweetly laced with care.

“I..I want this” you assure her.

Natasha’s eyes soften with tenderness at your assurance. She gives you time to pull away if you desire as she leans in closer until her lips are mere breath away from yours. “Then let me put your mind at ease” she murmurs, closing the distance and capturing your lips in a kiss that makes your heart explode. You felt your cheeks get warmer, if that were even possible. Her hand slides from your cheek to your waist, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. Her tongue diving past your parted lips to dance with yours. When she finally breaks the kiss, it’s only to trail her lips down to your neck. She places soft kisses on your neck before pulling back to take your hand and lead you to the bedroom.

Once in her bedroom, she turns to face you, reaching out to cup your face once more. “I’m going to drop my towel now, is that okay?” She asks. You give her a gentle nod before she slowly reaches for the draped towel around her body. She lets it pool at her feet, leaving her completely naked in front of you. A soft gasp escapes your lips as your eyes drink in every dip and curve of her body, almost forgetting she’s standing in front of you.

Natasha watches intently as your eyes roam over her naked form, as she takes a step closer. “Now, darling, it’s your turn” she says softly, almost snapping you back to reality. Her fingers find the hem of your shirt, slowly peeling the fabric upwards. You waste no time lifting your arms, allowing her to undress you before she’s wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to her again. She kisses you softly, slowly walking you backwards until she’s laying you down gently on her bed. She hovers over you, looking into your eyes while one hand slides gently up your thigh.

“I’m going to make sure you forget all about work” She whispers, leaning down to place kisses along your collarbone. Her hand continues up your thigh, her fingertips dancing along your inner thigh before stopping, just shy of your pussy.

“M-mommy” you let out a breathy plea. Natasha froze momentarily, looking up at you with a slight surprise look in her eyes. Your own eyes widen as you realize what you’ve said, your cheeks going red all over again.

“That’s right, darling” Natasha says, her voice low as she comes back to your lips, kissing you softly. “Let mommy take care of you” she adds in a whisper.

True to her word, Nat begins to trail kisses down your body, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts. Swirling her tongue around your nipples before continuing her way down the rest of your body until she’s settled between your thighs. Her warm breath ghosting over your wet folds. “So wet and this is all for me, baby?” She smirks, before leaning down and running her tongue through your slick folds. “Mmm, so sweet” she purrs before sealing her lips around your clit.

Your back arches off the bed as her tongue flicks over your swollen bud. “oh god!” You cry out, your hips already bucking against her face with need for more. “J-just, yes! Just like that!” You moan.

She brings two fingers to your entrance, digging her fingertips inside you, teasingly. “You’re so responsive for mommy, baby” she praises as she gently sinks her two fingers deep into your wet pussy. “Your greedy little pussy has been begging for this, hasn’t it baby?”. Natasha pumps her fingers steadily, twisting and scissoring them just right to stretch you open for her.

“Mommy! Please” you beg, “need more”.

Natasha pistons her fingers, curling them just right reaching that special spot deep inside you as her tongue flicks over your clit again. She can’t help but grin almost wickedly against your cunt, “cum on my fingers like a good girl” she says in her raspy voice, “shoe mommy just how much you’ve been wanting this”.

Broken moans and whimpers from your lips fill the room, your body tenses under her skills. “Ahh! R-right there, mommy!! Y-yes!!” You moan, shamelessly grinding against her hand while her tongue swirls around your clit, “s’good!”. Your pussy clenches around her fingers, trying to draw them even deeper. “Mmm s’close!” You cry out, throwing your head back against her soft pillow.

“That’s it baby, cum for mommy, darling. You’re doing so well for mommy” she praises before doubling her efforts, sucking on your clit just a little harder while her fingers pump in and out of you. One final thrust of her fingers and your orgasm is crashing over you as you practically scream her name. Your cunt clenches hard around her fingers, “M-m-mommy!!!!” You wail, losing yourself to your climax.

Natasha works you through your high, gently sliding her fingers in and out of your pussy. “Such a good girl, baby” she praises as she looks up at your fucked out state. “My sweet girl needed that, didn’t you? Cumming on mommy’s fingers like your sweet pussy was made just for my touch, mm?” She adds. Slowly, she withdraws her soaked fingers and brings them to her lips. “Mm, you really are my sweet girl” she purrs, licking her fingers clean.

As your orgasm eventually fades, you lay there in her bed with a soft smile on your lips. Your chest heaving as you catch your breath as you nod at her words, “Am your sweet girl” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hazy glaze meets Natasha’s as she trails kisses up your body to your neck, “that’s right sweetheart, you’re my sweet girl now” she whispers. Her lips press soft kisses on your neck to your jaw before finally coming back to your lips.

She captures your lips in a deep kiss, almost as if she’s been starved of your touch. Pouring all her affection into the kiss before pulling back to admire you softly. “You’re so beautiful, darling” she murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face so she can study your features before leaning in to kiss you softly once more.

“Can we stay like this? for a while? Please?” You ask, your eyes filling with hope that she doesn’t turn you away.

Nat gently cups your face with one hand, her other supporting her body as she hovers over you. Her eyes soften as she smiles softly, “of course, baby. We can stay like this for as long as you want” she replies, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

She slowly rolls onto her back, now laying beside you, “come here, baby, let mommy hold you” she says softly before gently pulling you closer. She pulls the covers over you both, spooning you from behind as she places a few soft and gentle kisses on the back of your shoulder. “We’ll have a shower soon” she whispers as her arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“I’m so glad you got the dates mixed up” was the last thing you heard come from her lips as you both eventually drifted off into a short slumber.

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#natasha romanoff x reader #forgive me father for i have sinned on purpose

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plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

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A Feline Connection: New Friends

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Widow makes some new friends with some of the other pets in the Avenger Compound.

A/N: This is a side story set after the events in A Feline Connection series. Please read the series first to understand the characters involved.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 2294

The elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing the Avengers compound common room bathed in late afternoon light. Natasha steps out, only to slow to a stop at the sight in front of her.

She blinks.

“What…are you two doing?”

Her voice slices clean through the low murmurs of effort and dogs snuffling. Across the room, Yelena looks up casually, far too casually for someone currently gripping a pair of flailing legs.

“Natasha. Hey.”

She says it like she’s not bracing herself under the full weight of Kate, who is halfway jammed into an overhead vent.

From inside the metal crawlspace, Kate’s muffled voice echoes, “Is that your sister?”

“Kate Bishop, stop moving,” Yelena snaps, adjusting her grip as one of Kate’s boots kicks near her face.

A dramatic sigh follows from above.

“Why am I always the one that ends up in the vents?”

Natasha crosses her arms, her brow arching.

“Yes, why are you in the vents?”

“She’s looking for Barton,” Yelena replies dryly, her tone flat with sarcasm.

Deciding to not waste any more of her time fishing for answers, Natasha turns slightly as if to leave.

“Yelena!” Kate’s voice rings out in betrayal. “Tell her!”

With a sigh, Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Fine. We were feeding Fanny and Lucky when this random cat launched out of the vents and snatched up Sriracha.”

Natasha frowns.

“Who’s Sriracha?”

“My guinea pig,” Yelena answers as Kate chimes in at the same time, “Her guinea pig.”

Yelena jerks her chin toward the vents.

“The cat took her and disappeared back into the ducts. So now we’re tracking it. Fanny caught the scent.”

Natasha glances toward the two dogs nearby.

Fanny, Yelena’s akita, stands poised beneath the vent, tail wagging and nose twitching furiously. She lets out two sharp barks, as if confirming her assignment.

Meanwhile, Lucky, Kate’s golden retriever, sits a few paces behind, happily chomping on kibble, occasionally glancing up at the chaos with curious interest.

“A black cat?” Natasha asks, though her tone already carries the weight of knowing.

Yelena nods.

“Yeah. Slipped in like a ghost.”

A soft hum escapes Natasha as she starts pacing slowly around the room, her gaze now sharp, scanning shadows and corners.

Yelena gives Kate one last boost until the archer disappears fully into the vent. She dusts her hands off and plants them on her hips, eyeing Natasha.

“Thought the Avengers had better security than this,” she mutters. “Letting stray cats sneak in.”

Natasha doesn’t miss a beat.

“And yet you let her get away after she stole from you.”

That makes Yelena pause, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Her?”

Before Natasha can answer, Kate’s voice calls from above.

“Hey! I think I found—wait…no, hold on—”

There’s a scrape of metal, and then Kate reappears in the vent opening, arms dangling awkwardly. She drops something.

A sleek black collar hits the floor with a light clatter. The gold tag glints under the ceiling lights.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yelena mutters. “The cat ditched her collar? What kind of Mission Impossible—”

Natasha chuckles, folding her arms as she stares at the discarded collar.

“Looks like your tracker got played.”

Fanny barks proudly, nudging the collar before circling Yelena, tail wagging harder at her apparent success. Yelena groans in disappointment but tosses the dog a treat anyway. Fanny snaps it up mid-air with practiced ease.

“Hey, help me down!” Kate calls, now dangling halfway out of the vents again.

As Yelena moves to assist her, Natasha’s steps take her silently toward the far side of the room. She rounds the back of one of the black couches and pauses.

At first glance, there’s nothing out of place, just plush cushions and empty space.

But Natasha knows what to look for.

She leans over slightly and peers down.

There, nestled in the center of the couch, is a compact bundle of sleek black fur. Still. Silent. Perfectly blended.

Natasha reaches out, fingers gently scratching behind a pair of flattened ears.

“You’ve been caught, Widow.”

The cat doesn’t move at first. Then, one gleaming eye peeks open, surveying her surroundings. The second follows when she sees her, and Widow lets out a quiet meow in greeting.

Natasha smirks.

“Don’t act cute. Where’s the guinea pig?”

The cat yawns theatrically, then glances away.

“Widow,” Natasha warns again, voice dropping in gentle reprimand.

With what can only be described as a feline eye-roll, the cat shifts, uncurling to reveal the trembling form tucked beneath her paws.

With a soft thanks, Natasha carefully lifts the guinea pig.

“Sriracha!” Yelena gasps, rushing forward with her arms already extended.

She takes the guinea pig from Natasha, cooing over it in a soft stream of Russian, pressing it to her chest like a lost child finally returned.

Natasha returns her attention to the feline, giving Widow one last scratch behind the ears.

“You’re not supposed to steal anymore, you know,” she mutters.

Widow purrs at her touch, entirely unrepentant.

Kate lands beside them with a grunt, brushing off her sleeves. Her gaze flicks to the couch.

“Wait—she was here the whole time?”

Natasha grins.

“Of course. She always likes hiding in this spot.”

Yelena narrows her eyes at her sister, suspicion blooming. Then her eyes widen, the pieces clicking together.

“No way,” she says, pointing a dramatic finger. “Are you a cat person? Since when?”

Natasha shrugs one shoulder, her lips twitching as she turns her head toward Widow, who is completely unfazed by the attention, licking a paw and grooming her face with practiced indifference.

“Since I met her,” Natasha replies quietly, gaze softening before calling the feline.

“Widow.”

At the sound of her name, the cat perks up. Ears flick, tail curls lazily, and in one smooth motion, she hops onto the back of the couch. She pads along its edge with practiced ease before stopping just beside Natasha, stretching out a paw to lightly tap, then persistently swat at her jacket pocket.

Natasha chuckles, already reaching inside.

“Alright, alright.”

She pulls out a small, half-empty tube of cat treats and unscrews the cap with a practiced twist. As soon as she opens it, Widow lets out a pleased trill and nuzzles Natasha’s fingers.

Yelena gapes, hands thrown up.

“You carry treats? You carry cat treats? Who even are you?”

Natasha just smiles, offering the tube to Widow, who immediately starts delicately munching from her hand.

“She’s feeding the thief,” Yelena mutters, scandalized. “Your cat’s a literal thief.”

Natasha snorts, brushing her knuckles gently along Widow’s back.

“Well, technically…” She tilts her head. “She’s not completely mine.”

Kate raises a brow.

“Okay, wait. Then whose cat is she?”

Before Natasha can answer, a thunk echoes softly from above.

Heads snap upward just in time to see a vent grate slide open on the opposite side of the room, closer to Natasha’s side.

A figure drops down smoothly, landing in a low crouch before rising in one fluid motion.

You dust your palms against your thighs and casually stop the ticking stopwatch on your wrist, glancing at it with a playful hum.

“That,” you say, voice wry and amused as your eyes lift to meet theirs, “would be me.”

Widow immediately perks up at the sound of your voice and leaps from the couch back to your shoulder with ease. She clambers into your arms, purring loudly as you scratch under her chin and kiss the top of her head.

“Beat me in again, huh?” you murmur to her with a proud smirk. “That’s twice this month.”

Natasha moves closer, the edge of her smile warmer as her hand finds its way to the small of your back. The other still holds the treat tube, which she now offers gently toward Widow, where she’s nestled against your chest.

Without needing to speak, you adjust your stance slightly, giving her better access to Widow, now curled comfortably in your arms. The cat perks up the moment she smells the treats again and eagerly resumes nibbling from Natasha’s fingers, her tail flicking with smug satisfaction.

“Hey,” Natasha murmurs, her voice low and quiet, the kind of tone she only ever uses with you.

You smile, eyes soft as you lean in and press a gentle kiss to her cheek, just near the corner of her mouth.

“Hey yourself,” you reply, just as quietly.

A beat of silence passes between you until Yelena’s voice cuts through the moment with her usual bluntness.

“��Okay. I get it now,” she says flatly, eyes narrowed. “That’s why you’re a cat person.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue.

Kate perks up.

“So what were you doing in the vents anyway?”

You glance upward toward the open panel where you dropped down, then back to them with a casual shrug.

“Oh, I was just breaking into the Compound.”

Both Kate and Yelena go still, alarm flashing across their faces.

You grin slightly and hold up a hand in quick reassurance.

“As a security test. For Stark. He hired me and Widow to audit the new surveillance nodes. I have… experience getting around defenses.”

Kate lets out a breath, relaxing. Meanwhile, Yelena squints at you like she’s piecing together your unspoken words.

“You mean you’re a criminal.”

“Yelena,” Natasha says sharply, though there’s no real heat behind it, just a warning note of protectiveness.

Yelena lifts her chin, hugging Sriracha a little closer. The tiny guinea pig burrows deeper into her hoodie as if sensing the tension.

“What? It’s true. That cat’s a thief too.”

As if on cue, Widow lets out an indignant meow and squirms in your arms, clearly offended.

You chuckle and release her gently. She drops to the floor, tail flicking, and struts right past Kate and Yelena with clear sass.

She picks up her discarded collar from the ground with her teeth, and without glancing at the other two, she pads back toward Natasha.

Natasha chuckles and kneels down, her fingers deftly reattaching the collar around Widow’s neck.

Widow chirps in appreciation and rubs affectionately along Natasha’s legs before disappearing behind the couch like a satisfied shadow.

You shake your head with a soft smile, then glance at the others.

“I like to think of us as reformed thieves,” you say lightly. “Trying to walk the straight and narrow. Or…mostly.”

Before anyone can respond, a low whine cuts through the air. The group turns toward Lucky, who’s pacing by his food bowl, throwing distressed glances between it and Kate.

You follow his gaze, then stifle a laugh.

Widow is perched beside the bowl, calmly eating from it with zero shame.

“Widow, no,” you chide gently. “No stealing.”

The cat pauses mid-chew and lets out a grumpy meow, then saunters away from the bowl and hops up onto the counter, beginning to groom herself as if she hasn’t just committed a full-blown food heist.

“Sorry,” you say to Kate with a sheepish look. “We’re still working on the whole...morals thing.”

Kate waves it off, petting Lucky’s head to calm him.

“All good. I mean, Yelena’s an ex-assassin, and I still have to stop her from killing people sometimes.”

Yelena scoffs loudly.

“Please. When have you ever stopped me?”

“There was that time in Prague—”

“Oh, that was barely—”

The two of them quickly spiral into a familiar back-and-forth, their voices overlapping with indignation and dramatic finger-pointing.

You watch them intently in amusement until you feel Natasha’s hand slowly drift from the small of your back and slide down to find yours, drawing your attention. She intertwines her fingers with yours, her grip light but deliberate.

You turn your head to meet her gaze.

She’s already watching you with that fond, barely-there smile that always catches you off guard, no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

“Are you doing anything later?” she asks softly, thumb brushing along your knuckles.

You hum, swinging your joined hands slightly.

“After I finish debriefing Stark? Widow and I were planning a little stakeout.”

Natasha lifts a brow, eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

“Do I need to stop you again?”

You roll your eyes and nudge her gently with your shoulder.

“It’s for a new apartment, not a heist.” You lean in closer and tap her nose. “Relax, Miss Black Widow. No need to suit up and be a hero.”

Natasha chuckles, leaning into the gesture.

“What about being a simple woman who wants to take her girlfriend out to dinner afterward?”

You laugh softly, catching the way her eyes linger on your lips for a beat too long. Then you lean in and press a kiss to them—a quick, affectionate thing that still manages to make her hand tighten around yours.

“You,” you murmur against her smile, “are anything but simple.”

She grins at that, then lifts your joined hands to press a kiss to your knuckles, gentle and deliberate.

“I just need to find someone to watch Widow,” you add, glancing around.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Natasha says, tilting her head with a knowing look as she nods toward the chaos still unfolding across the room.

You turn to see Yelena and Kate still mid-argument, hands flailing, voices rising with theatrical frustration. Meanwhile, at the counter, Fanny and Lucky are both perched on their hind legs, paws braced against the edge, watching intently at the feline.

Widow sits at the center like she owns the place. Poised, elegant, and completely unbothered. She lets out a lazy meow, swatting at either dog if they dare get too close, while one paw rests protectively atop a very bewildered Sriracha, who is somehow curled at her side like a prize.

Natasha follows your gaze, her smirk tugging wider.

“I think she’s made a few new friends to keep her company.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Decided to revisit for fun and ended up finishing one of the side stories. Thank you for reading!

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#natasha romanoff x reader #ohhhhhhhh my god!!!!!!!!#read later #holy shit its back!!

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plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: this is the final chapter but i’ll upload their backstory as well

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: gunshot + bullet wound, blood, violence

word count: 10k

part 4, part 5, part 6

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— SKIN OF TEETH —

A gunshot rings through the air.

The bullet slams into Natasha's shoulder, the force of the hit causing her to lose her balance for a moment. She staggers backwards, her hand going to her shoulder to try and staunch the bleeding. Blood seeps between her fingers, her vision swims, the world spins around her as she tries to stay upright.

"Warning shot", the man with the graying hair says coldly. He and his friend sit back down in their car and pull out the driveway.

She curses under her breath, pain radiating through her shoulder. She fights through it, steadying herself against a nearby tree. It's not like she isn't used to being injured every once in a while, but being out here, hiding in the woods — it complicates things.

Inside the cabin, you flinch as soon as you hear the weapon discharge. Nina's eyes widen, her little hands clutching your shirt as you get up with her in your arms. You throw the door open.

"Natasha?", you call — and then, all words die in your throat. Natasha's face is pale, one hand clutching her bleeding shoulder, the other trailing along the trees for support. You hastily put Nina down before running outside, snow crunching beneath your feet. "Natasha!"

You rush to her side, not wasting a second. You sling her arm over your shoulder, your hand wrapping around her waist. Natasha tries to stand taller, but her legs give out beneath her. Her weight nearly knocks you off balance, but you manage to catch her.

"I'm fine", she mumbles, but you just shake your head. 'Fine' looks different. 'Fine' isn't a jacket soaked with blood, or legs that sway with every step.

"Let's get you inside", you say, voice shaky, and start leading her towards the cabin.

You pull Natasha inside and help her to the closest chair, your hands flying to find the medical supplies. Nina is standing in the doorway, her hands nervously grasping at the hem of her shirt as she watches the scene unfold.

Gauze pads, medical tape, some antiseptic wipes.

"Y/N", Natasha groans as you gently peel off her shirt, revealing the deep, gaping wound underneath. The blood is still flowing, too quickly for your liking. What's in front of you is beyond your usual expertise, as you can clearly tell it'll need surgery. "I'm fine. I- I've survived worse, okay?"

You don't respond at first. The sight of Natasha, so vulnerable, so pale, sends a sharp spike of panic through you.

"Shut up", you mutter, almost angrily, as you press a cloth to the wound. "You're not going anywhere, you hear me? Just keep your eyes open."

You keep applying pressure to the wound in hopes to stop or at least slow the bleeding, but all attempts seem futile. She's still there, still fighting, but her forehead is feverishly hot and she looks like all blood drained out of her face.

"We need to get you to a hospital", you say quietly, your fingers pressing on the cloth shakily. "I can't do this here."

Natasha shakes her head, her eyes fluttering — the effects of blood loss, so visible, so tangible. "No hospital. Too risky."

"You're barely holding on as it is", you snap, your frustration boiling over. "I'm not letting you die in some cabin, for god's sake! You'll bleed out, and then I can't save you!"

Her eyes soften with something you haven't seen in years. She winces as you adjust the bandage only to wrap another layer around her shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere", she murmurs, the words faint.

You bite your lip, but you can't help it — the first tears of the night fall. "You'd better not", you mutter stubbornly, your voice cracking. "You're not allowed to."

A beat passes. Then, Natasha weakly reaches up, her fingertips wiping the tears off your cheek.

"I love you", she says quietly, almost too quietly to hear, but she means every word.

You freeze. Your heart stutters in your chest. She loves me.

"Don't you dare leave me", you plead, your voice broken and raw. She shakes her head again, but the simple movement seems weaker and weaker the more often she repeats it.

"I'm not going anywhere", she says again. "I promise."

The ticking of the clock is the only sound in the room. Natasha is slumped against the table as you apply the final makeshift bandage. The wound in her shoulder is deep, her blood has soaked through every layer, but your hands are steady. Your mind, however, is everything but.

She's losing too much blood.

"Natasha", you say, frustration taking over. "I can't do this here. If you don't get to a hospital soon, you'll die."

"I told you...no hospital." She winces as she tries to sit up. "Too risky."

You look at her, seeing the spark of determination in her eyes. It's admirable that she's still being the strong one, but it also makes your heart break. Is this what will end up killing her? Is this how you will lose her again, this time for good?

Natasha sees the look on your face and then, slowly, she exhales. "There's a place", she says reluctantly. "It's off grid. A SHIELD clinic, about 45 minutes away. They'll...patch me up."

"45 minutes?", you repeat, glancing at the front door. "That's far away."

"It's our only option", she murmurs. "It's either that or nothing. We don't have a choice."

You look at Nina, who's curled up beside the fireplace. She's been silently watching you for the past what feels like hours — in reality, however, not more than ten minutes could've passed. She saw all the blood, the wound in Natasha's shoulder, but she hasn't cried or voiced her fears once. When she catches your eye, she slowly gets up and walks to Natasha's side, wrapping her little fingers around her larger hand.

"Mommy will help you", she says quietly. "She can save you."

Natasha smiles weakly at the girl. You know how much your daughter adores her, and that bond has only grown over the past days.

Finally, you nod. You realize that she's right — SHIELD's off grid clinic is your only option right now. If you want to get there on time, you need to leave. Now. "Okay. Fine. Let's go."

You pack medical supplies and other essentials you may need. You help Natasha to her feet and guide her through the door, making sure she's somewhat comfortable in the backseat. You wrap blankets around her and Nina, who's holding Natasha's hand firmly.

Snow is falling in thick sheets. It's gotten dark outside, which will only make everything more difficult. You slide into the driver's seat and buckle up, your hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled force. Then you give Natasha one last look before starting the car.

You drive off into the dark, leaving the cabin behind. Your sanctuary, your place of peace, is now slowly fading into the distance.

. . .

The road stretches endlessly in front of you. Snow and ice crunch under the tires, the sound mixing with Natasha's ragged breathing. You keep checking the rear view mirror for any signs of danger, your mind a whirlwind of fear and urgency.

And then, your stomach drops.

In the distance, a pair of headlights has appeared, glowing bright in the pitch-black of the night.

"Natasha", you say sharply, making her open her eyes. "We've got company."

"Drive faster", she mutters after glancing at the road behind you. "If they catch us-"

"I know", you interrupt her. You don't even want to think about what would happen then. You press the accelerator, the car skidding slightly over the icy road. Your eyes flick to the rear view mirror, the headlights now dangerously close. "Hold on."

The pursuing vehicle closes in, a dark silhouette against the snowy night. It's a black Jeep, unmistakable, and it's clear they're not here for a friendly conversation. Your hands are sweaty but steady as you grip the steering wheel.

The car tries to force you off the road, swerving to ram you, but you remember all the maneuvers Natasha taught you years ago.

"Not today", you mutter as you yank the wheel to the side. The car jerks sharply, the tires screeching as you barely escape the oncoming impact. The Jeep veers off course, its front end spinning dangerously close to the edge of the road.

"Hold on!", Natasha warns, holding onto the seat in front of her as the car veers back into the right direction.

You slam your foot down harder on the pedal, the car jolting forward and the distance between you and the Jeep increasing. But the attackers don't give up easy — they gain speed and start coming closer again.

That's when Natasha, with that last bit of strength left in her, reaches under her jacket and pulls out her Glock. Both your and Nina's eyes widen as she leans out of the window and aims with precision, loud gunshots cutting through the icy night air.

The Jeep swerves violently, tires screeching on the road before the car crashes into a snowbank. It disappears between the trees, allowing you to breathe again.

"Jesus Christ", you mumble, nervously gripping the steering wheel. You glance at Natasha and Nina to check how they're doing. Your daughter seems fine, although a bit upset by everything that's happened, but Natasha — Natasha looks like she's about to collapse. She's lost so much blood, and now she's sagged into the backseat. You frown nervously. "Nina, baby, can you check on Nat?"

The girl nods and starts squeezing Natasha's hand. "Tasha", she sing-songs, rubbing her fingers. "Open your eyes."

Nothing. You swallow and nod, encouraging her to keep going. "Just like that. Come on, ten more minutes."

Natasha stirs faintly, her forehead drenched in cold sweat. The way she's experiencing reality right now is dreamlike, as if she's watching herself from a distance. Colors have dulled. Voices and sounds are muffled, like she's underwater. Something about this feels familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it.

A second stretches into an eternity. Everything slows, then blurs together, then slows again.

. . .

You can feel yourself relax when the small, nondescript clinic appears on the horizon. Nestled into the woods like a hidden sanctuary is a an angular structure with a row of windows that emanates a faint glow. Despite its isolation, it brings a wave of relief.

You barely park the car before you're out, rushing to Natasha's side. Getting her into the car earlier was struggle enough, but now it nearly seems impossible. She can barely keep her eyes open, yet alone stand, so you basically have to drag her into the building. Nina, wide-eyed and terrified, follows behind you in her little snow boots.

Inside, the clinic is dimly lit and quiet. Muffled voices and footsteps are the only signs of someone being there. You look around frantically until you find a doctor — one you recognize from your days at SHIELD.

"Dr. El-Sayed!", you call out, relieved. He spots you, his eyes going wide when he sees Natasha.

From that moment on, everything happens in a blur.

Natasha is wheeled into surgery immediately. You linger by the door, clasping Nina's hand, your knees almost buckling. A nurse finds you and gently ushers you into the waiting room, where you sink into a hard plastic chair. Your daughter curls up in your lap, hiding her face against your chest.

Your eyes sting with tears as you look at her. You barely manage to catch a glimpse of her face — still terrified, still in shock, her fingers clutching your hoodie. She'll have nightmares about this, just like you.

Trying to soothe both her and yourself, you snuggle her closer and kiss the top of her head. She lets out a pitiful sound, her eyes squeezing shut.

And then, you wait.

. . .

You've almost dozed off by the time Natasha's doctor approaches you. He pulls off his mask and clears his throat, startling both you and Nina.

"Oh, sorry, I-" You cut yourself off and exhale, looking at him anxiously. He doesn't seem too somber, which you take as a good sign. You want to straighten up, but he gently stops you.

"Don't worry", the doctor says, his brown eyes as warm as you remember them, only now with a few more wrinkles around them. "Natasha is okay. She's out of surgery and stable. The bullet did cause significant damage to her shoulder, but luckily, it didn't hit any major arteries. There was moderate blood loss — she went into the early stages of shock — but we were able to control it quickly. She will need time to heal."

"Can I see her?", you ask, not able to wait any longer. You get up, balancing a now-awake Nina in your arms.

Dr. El-Sayed smiles faintly and nods, leading you through the sterile-smelling hallways of the clinic. He opens a door and steps aside.

"I'll be here if you need anything", he says, then you turn around and step into the room.

The quiet hum of machines and the soft clicking of the door as it shuts behind you are the only noises in the otherwise still space. Natasha lies in the bed, her face pale and drawn, but alive — luckily. Her shoulder and torso are wrapped in bandages, but she's breathing steadily now.

You lower Nina into one of the chairs before slowly approaching Natasha. Your heart gives a sad tug at the sight of her like this — small, vulnerable, but so so familiar. You've seen her like this before, bruised and battered between hospital bedsheets, but it always hurts the same.

At your quiet footsteps, her eyes flutter open. She needs a second to remember where she is and what happened, but once she does, she smiles faintly. It doesn't reach her eyes, though.

"Guess you were right", Natasha mumbles, still high from that cocktail of painkillers they put into her. The humor in her voice, however, is unmistakable. "You do save my ass when things go sideways."

It's funny, how a simple statement can transport you back into the past. That first "Who are you?" in a distant, dangerous world of espionage, that first bandage you wrapped around her arm, your first kiss. Here you are now, years later, standing in the aftermath of it all.

The wound between you never healed. Suddenly, everything hits you at once.

"Natasha", you whisper. Without wasting another second, you cross the distance between you and cup her face. Your fingers tremble as you brush them over her cheeks, feeling how warm she is. Before she can say another word, you kiss her.

In that moment, everything outside the room you're in ceases to matter. Her lips are soft against yours, tasting familiar still. She doesn't pull away, doesn't even consider pulling away — instead she grabs your wrist and leans into the kiss, a quiet noise escaping her as her own emotions catch up to her. Neither of you need to say anything.

You pull away eventually, but you keep cradling her face. You study her face, taking it all in. Her tired eyes, her messy eyebrows, her colorless skin. You can't hold the words back any longer.

"I love you too", you say quietly, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "I love you so much."

Natasha blinks, her expression softening into something raw and sweet. Despite the way her heart rate increases, she manages a teasing smile. "You really know how to make a girl wait."

A weak laugh escapes you, followed by tears you can't stop. You shake your head, your fingers tracing along her jaw. "I was scared", you admit, your voice breaking. "Saying it before felt like it would've been a goodbye. A final goodbye."

Her eyes soften further. She turns her head just enough to nuzzle it into your hand. "Never goodbye", she mumbles, her eyes falling shut. "Not for us."

"Good", you say quietly, your tone trembling but resolute. "I'm not losing you. Not after all of this."

Behind you, Nina shifts in her chair. You hear the soft padding of her feet and turn to look at her, quickly wiping away your tears. "Mommy?"

"Hey, honey", you say softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her into your lap.

Nina looks at her, tilting her head. She pauses as if contemplating something. She saw you kiss Natasha, after all — and she's never seen you kiss anyone besides her dad like that. Though, truthfully, you haven't even kissed him like that. There was always something lacking.

Finally, your daughter tilts her head up to bring her mouth near your ear.

"You kissed Natasha", she whispers. The words hit you like a sharp gust of wind, momentarily knocking all air out of your lungs. You glance at Natasha, who's looking more amused than shocked.

"I did", you say quietly. "Because Natasha is special", you then add.

Her little face scrunches up. "Special how?", she asks, her index finger drawing circles on your arm.

Natasha chuckles, wincing at the simple motion. "I like your mom", she says simply, glancing at you with something way deeper than affection. "A lot."

You smile faintly, moving one of your hands to grasp hers. Nina nods after considering her words for a moment — apparently, it all makes sense now.

"I like her too", she says with the innocence only a child can possess. She leans over to hand Natasha her Bearie. "Here. He can make you feel better, Tasha."

"That's sweet", Natasha says, watching the girl snuggle into your embrace. It's way past midnight by now, way past Nina's bedtime, and all three of you are tired. Careful not to move her injured shoulder too much, Natasha shifts on the bed before you can protest. "Come on", she says, nodding at the space next to her. "Kid's exhausted. You must be, too."

"Alright", you mumble after a brief moment of hesitation, turning and then scooting backwards with Nina in your arms. You lay down and cuddle into Natasha's side, feeling her body heat mix with yours. Your daughter is tucked between you, already dozing off, and you feel yourself calm down as well.

Outside, the snow continues to fall in thick flurries. You're not out of the woods yet — you've both got multiple people looking for you, most of them with the intention to harm you in some way. But for now, the world seems at peace.

. . .

— A SUDDEN DISTURBANCE —

You've been ignoring every single one of Ethan's attempts to get you to come back home. His (mostly empty) threats, the guy showing up in front of your cabin, the dozens of phone calls and texts. There's not much you could've done, either — what were you supposed to do, after all? Give in? Tell him to fuck off? Nothing seemed like the right solution, so staying quiet was what you did.

Your lack of response only fueled his frustration and anger. He spent hours pacing around his office and calling people. Vance, Isabelle, basically every connection he has gets a call from him. His perfect facade is crumbling, and he needs to act fast.

Natasha is a larger threat than anticipated. Hours of research tell him that she's a dangerous wildcard, one that's about to expose secret after secret. Her involvement with SHIELD and the whispers about her taking down powerful criminal organizations in the past gnaw at him. Worst of all: her interference in the human trafficking ring.

One that he's technically not a part of. That's what he used to tell himself, at least — but now, reality looks different. He'll be thrown behind bars if he doesn't find a solution. He ends up making another call, this time contacting a trafficker that owes him favors. He's linked to the organization Natasha has been targeting.

"What do you know about Natasha Romanoff?", Ethan demands during the phone calls, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He's in the kitchen, only wearing boxers and a crumpled shirt, but appearance isn't what matters right now. He's sporting a long stubble despite usual opting for the clean shaven look, and his hair is messy and unwashed. He hasn't had the time to shower.

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"Romanoff?" The man chuckles mirthlessly, almost grimly. "Yeah, we know her. Woman's trouble. You've got her in your sights?"

"I need her taken care of", Ethan responds coldly. "And I want my wife and daughter back."

A faint rustling of papers and another pause. The trafficker, smooth and detached, is taking is time. Meanwhile, Ethan feels like he's about to go insane.

"Are you even aware of what she's done? Of what she's been doing recently? Romanoff is a high-profile problem."

"I don't care about her past", he says, his voice clipped. "I just want her out of the picture."

"Well, if you want her gone, you're doing us a favor", he says. "She's been a thorn in our sides for months. Tracking shipments, leaking intel. We're trying to get rid of her."

Ethan perks up as he feels a cold ripple of satisfaction. This could work in his favor.

"And I've got the leverage to make that happen."

"Leverage?" The laugh the man lets out is mocking and sharp. "You've already handed us Romanoff's location without realizing it. What 'leverage' do you think you have?"

"Uh..." He stiffens, frantically racking his brain for something that'll help him here. He hasn't considered how easily they might use him. "I can keep her distracted."

"We don't need you 'distracting' anyone, Bailey. We need results. If it keeps you out of the way, fine. You handle your family, we handle Romanoff."

Another pause. What the man on the other side of the line says next sends a chill down his spine.

"One more thing — if you interfere, you'll end up just like her. Don't overestimate your value."

. . .

You end up falling into a way too brief, dreamless sleep. You're all huddled together in the hospital bed, with Nina tucked between you. Your forehead is resting against Natasha's uninjured shoulder, breathing in her scent with every breath you take. A fragile picture of peace, but you'll take what you can get.

What shatters this moment of stillness is the faint sound of engines. It's not loud — just a faint hum of cars pulling up outside — but it's enough to make you jolt awake. You've been overly alert for what feels like an eternity now, so even the smallest change in your surroundings causes your system into overdrive. Your heart begins to race, every muscle in your body tenses up. You glance at the clock — 4am. Too early for any visitors.

Carefully, so as not to wake Natasha or Nina, you slip out of bed. You move to the window and peek through the curtain.

Outside, it's pitch black. It's stopped snowing, but there's a thick layer of snow glittering underneath the faint glow of SHIELD's clinic. You, on the other hand, are paying attention to something completely different.

Multiple cars have parked just beyond the clinic's entrance, men stepping out of them. One of them: Ethan.

Your stomach drops. Ethan is a problem you can handle — there is not much he can do about you coming back home. But the others? They aren't here to mediate a family dispute. Judging by their gear and the way they're moving, this is an escalation you haven't anticipated.

Your first thought is to wake Natasha, but a single glance at her makes you hesitate. She's still recovering, her strength nowhere near where it needs to be. And Nina — your eyes fall on your sleeping daughter, her face peaceful as she stays cuddled into Natasha's side.

You move quickly but quietly to the closet where the clinic staff has stored their gear. You open the door and begin rummaging for the emergency stash you know you'll find here. With trembling hands, you pull out a firearm and check its chamber — not much, but it will have to do.

Just as you're about to put on a bulletproof vest, a faint rustle behind you makes you turn around. Natasha has stirred awake, her green eyes fluttering open. Her gaze immediately locks on you.

"What's going on?", she asks, sitting up way too rapidly. Nina huffs in her sleep and Natasha grunts as she gingerly brushes her fingertips over her injured shoulder.

"Ethan's here. And he's not alone." You frown as she tries to sit up a little more to glance out the window, the strain of her injury making her grimace. "Natasha, get back into bed. You're in no shape to fight."

"And you're going to handle it on your own?", she shoots back. "We need backup, Y/N."

You nod, quickly running through all the options in your head. "Maria?"

Natasha curses under her breath, pressing a hand to her side as she tries to shift again. She nods. "Hurry. We're out of time."

As you're reaching for your phone, the men outside start to approach the clinic. One of them motions for Ethan to stay back, clearly intending to take the lead. Ethan complies but scowls as he leans against his car, his arms crossed tightly. If he's sure of one thing, it's that he won't be leaving without you or Nina.

The traffickers begin moving into the building without even sparing him a second glance. They're moving with the kind of cold efficiency that makes even him uneasy. For a brief moment, he wonders whether he unleashed something he won't be able to control.

You send a message to Maria, looking up from your phone just in time to see Natasha swing her legs over the edge of the bed. She has difficulty moving, but that's not stopping her.

"Natasha, don't-"

"Don't even try", she says, her voice steady despite the pain etched into her face. She steadies herself by grasping your arm. "We do this together. We've got to hold them off until Maria gets here."

You hesitate — again, Natasha is in no condition to fight. You can tell by the way she's barely standing upright, with her legs wobbling underneath her. She's clearly in pain, sweating all over. She should stay in bed and rest. But you're out of time, and you're just wasting precious seconds by trying to argue.

"Be careful", you remind her and step towards the door. "Stay here with Nina."

"Not happening", she says firmly, grabbing a gun. "We don't have enough firepower for that. We're already outnumbered, and if we split, we have no chance of making it out alive."

You nod and poke your head out of the room. Behind the counter, a nurse — young and wide-eyed — peeks at you. "Do you need help?", she asks.

"Can you handle a weapon?"

The nurse hesitates, but another staff member — an older man in his fifties — steps forward and grabs a scalpel. "I can", he says grimly. "Not my first rodeo."

Natasha looks at Nina again, now rousing at the sound of your voices. The girl is barely clinging to the last shreds of sleep. "Good", she says, feeling a painful tug of anxiety in her chest. "If it comes down to it, protect the kid."

As soon as she's said that, the front doors of the clinic burst open. Two men in black storm inside, scanning the area. You don't hesitate when you see them — you aim your gun and shoot one of them in the shoulder, making him let out a grunt. The other one quickly turns to you and raises his weapon.

Natasha reacts quickly, firing at the man. Her aim is steady despite the pain she's enduring, and she hits him square in the chest. He drops to the floor, blood soaking into his shirt. Beside you, the nurse lets out a gasp.

"We need to move them back!", Natasha barks, her voice commanding. "They'll funnel if we stay in here!"

You nod, motioning to the staff. They immediately straighten up. "Go to the back rooms! Secure Nina and everyone else in there!"

The older man takes charge. He scoops Nina up, who wakes with a start. Eyes wide, she begins crying for you. "Mommy?"

"Go", you tell him, waving your hand urgently. It pains you to send your daughter away without even trying to comfort her, but right now, you don't have a choice.

The man and the nurse head into the other direction, checking all the other rooms. You turn to Natasha again, then you retreat into the main hallway. More men enter, their weapons drawn, and you quickly use a corner as a cover. You both fire again, slowing some of the attackers.

But the numbers aren't on your side. Another man moves around the corner, firing a shot that whizzes past your ducked head and embeds itself into the wall. You glance at Natasha, your heart pounding, before returning fire.

"They're splitting up!" She curses under her breath as she spots movements through the clinic's windows. Two men are circling the building, clearly on their way to the rear entrance. She gestures towards another nurse who's tucked into the corner behind a supply closet. "You! Cover the back entrance! Don't let them through, for fuck's sake!"

He nods and quickly grabs a heavy wrench from a maintenance cart, then he heads for the rear entrance.

"With a wrench?", you mumble, shooting her a skeptical look. "You just threw him to the wolves."

Natasha doesn't have much time to respond. Another attacker lunges forward, too close for you to fire any shots. You react on instinct and slam the butt of your gun into his face. He stumbles, and Natasha follows up with a swift kick.

Another man approaches you from behind. He grabs Natasha and locks his arm around her throat, causing her to let out a pained grunt. She twists sharply, driving her elbow into his ribs and startling him. She uses the opportunity to sweep his legs out from under him, and he falls to the ground. Meanwhile, you shoot someone who's aiming at Natasha.

"They're relentless!", you gasp, your chest heaving.

"So are we", she replies, wincing as she leans against the wall for support.

The fight spills into the clinic's main treatment area, where overturned chairs and shattered equipment litter the floor. You grab a metal IV pole, swinging it at an oncoming attacker and knocking him off balance. Natasha, weakened but still deadly, manages to take down another man with a precise shot to the leg.

The nurse from earlier reappears, blood streaking his temple. "They're at the back door", he warns, his voice strained. "We're holding them, but they're not stopping."

Natasha curses under her breath, glancing at you. "We can't hold this place much longer."

"Maria should be here soon", you say, her voice tight, and brush some hair out of your face. "We just need to buy a little more time."

"How much time?", she asks, her face hardened in both frustration and pain. Her shoulder is throbbing nonstop, a sharp pain that suggests she might've torn her stitches.

"I don't know", you say weakly, already hearing the faint echoes of footsteps. More men are approaching, all of them armed and thirsty for blood. You brace yourselves and adjust your grips on your weapons. "Be careful."

You retreat further into the clinic, taking down another attacker. Natasha's shoulder is bleeding through the bandage by now, her breathing labored and droplets of sweat glistening on her neck. She grips the corner of a counter for support, her gun trembling in her hand. She may be strong and determined, but she's running on fumes.

"You need to stop", you plead during a moment of calm — one that won't last long. "You're not going to make it if you push yourself any further."

"No", Natasha rasps, her voice raw with pain. "If I stop, you won't make it either."

Before you can respond, another wave of attackers storm the hallway. Boots pound against the floor tiles, making you whip around and raise your gun. You fire at the nearest man and drop him before he even gets the chance to aim. Another lunges at you, and you barely have time to dodge. You slam your elbow into his face and twist his gun out of his hands, shooting him with it.

"Natasha, stay down!"

Despite your orders, she pushes herself up from where she's been leaning against the counter. She raises her gun, taking out another assailant with a precise shot. But the effort costs her — one of the attackers seizes the moment and aims directly at her.

"No!", you scream, your voice breaking as you turn too late.

The bullet hits Natasha's side and she crumbles to the ground. Two gunshots in one day, is all you're able to think, frustrated and desperate, helpless and absolutely furious.

Your heart is racing as you throw yourself at the man who shot her. You tackle him to the ground and wrestle away his weapon, fueled by nothing but pure, unabridged rage. Your fists connect to his jaw, his nose, punching his face until he's a bleeding, unconscious mess.

Then you scramble back to Natasha's side, pressing your hand down on the wound on her side. Her face is pale, her breathing shallow.

"Don't die on me now", you whisper, basically begging her. "You're not dying, you hear me?"

"Don't- don't sound so sure", she mumbles, forcing a weak smirk. You shake your head, feeling her blood seep between your fingers. You cover the wound with both hands, hoping to slow the bleeding.

"You're not dying", you repeat frantically, as if your words alone could change her fate. "Just stay with me. Maria should be here soon. Please, Nat."

Being so focused on the woman in front of you, you forget about everything else that's happening around you. Suddenly, a man grabs your arm and yanks you away from her. You struggle, kicking and clawing, but he's stronger.

Your gun? Discarded on the floor, right next to Natasha. She somehow manages to reach for it. It slips from her sweaty grasp for a moment, but then she aims it at the man and shoots him in the face. Blood goes everywhere, into your hair and in your face. You cough some of it out, grimacing, before kicking him aside.

Another guy grabs you, pinning you to the wall. You can't do anything but watch as a tall man walks up to Natasha, cornering her.

"Leave her alone!", you yell, struggling against the attacker's firm grip. "She's injured, you bastard!"

No shot. You can't free yourself from his rough hands, his fingers gripping you so hard they'll leave bruises. Natasha's lying there, defenseless, her breathing shallow.

Your mind is reeling. This can't be how it ends. Not after everything you've gone through together.

And then, the shattering of glass and the sound of engines roaring cuts through the air. Suddenly, a smoke grenade rolls into the hallway, filling the space with a thick fog. You start coughing, but —luckily — the man lets go of you.

"SHIELD!", a voice booms through the chaos. "Get down!"

You drop to the floor, wincing, and then crawl to Natasha's side to shield her from everyone else. Quickly, you check her pulse — weak but steady —, then you apply pressure to the new gunshot wound in her side. The bleeding seems to be slowing down, which is a relief.

"Can you hear me?", you sob out, seeing her through some lingering smoke and an unbidden rush of tears. Blurred, shimmering, both achingly close and impossibly far. "Nat, come on. Say something."

The remaining attackers around you are being arrested and dragged out of the clinic. Maria sends an agent outside to look for Ethan and then spots you two on the ground. Natasha, in her worsening condition, and you, sobbing as you kneel beside her. You faintly hear her call for a medic.

You're pushed aside. Medics surround Natasha. She's being stabilized.

You stand there, speechless, tears drying on your cheeks. Your expression is stoic — you refuse to let anything shimmer through. Beneath that mask of composure lies a truth too raw to surface: nearly losing Natasha has stripped every emotion bare, turning love, fear, relief, into something sacred. Those feelings belong to you alone, too precious to be exposed to the eyes of a world that could never understand what you almost lost.

Outside, the snowfall has begun to slow, the chaos being replaced by a haunting stillness. SHIELD agents swarm the scene, rounding up the remaining attackers — among them, Ethan. What a shame neither you nor Natasha can see him like this, with his hands cuffed behind his back as he's forced to his knees by two agents.

Surviving members of the trafficking ring are dragged into reinforced vehicles. Their operation is dismantled, their leader subdued, and your personal nightmare might just finally be over.

Natasha's doing better soon. Not much better, but she's somewhat stable and awake now. You kiss her forehead before straightening up, then you look for your daughter. Your heart is pounding as you search room after room — you haven't seen her in what feels like ages, and the worst scenarios are flashing through your mind. You turn a corner and freeze, relief flooding you when you see a SHIELD agent crouched next to Nina in a small corner of the waiting room.

"Mommy!" Nina's voice cracks as she sees you, her arms outstretched. You exhale and drop to your knees, pulling her into a tight embrace. The second your arms wrap around her, she starts sobbing inconsolably.

Thankfully, Nina is unharmed aside from a scratch above her eyebrow. She's shaking, however, her tears showing no sign of easing. You fully understand why — the past hour or so has been one of the scariest of your life, and you don't even want to imagine what it felt like to a little child.

"I've got you", you whisper, scooping her up and holding her close. The agent nods as he walks up to you, a look of sympathy on his face.

"You've got a brave little one", he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. "Barely cried."

You give him an absentminded hum as you keep rocking Nina. Still crying, but now voicing words of complaint through the constant stream of tears.

"I know", you mumble into her ear, making your way through the hallways of the clinic. You pass a bunch of SHIELD agents — some familiar, but most of them not —, your feet carrying you back to Natasha.

. . .

As soon as the medics are done stabilizing and treating Natasha, you visit her. Nina is awake still, unable to find sleep after the events of the past few hours, so you sit down on the edge of the hospital bed with the little girl in your arms.

Natasha looks at you and you look at her. For a moment, everything's okay. The wound has healed, the gap has closed. The world outside is exactly how it's supposed to be — quiet, snowy, undamaged.

Nina wriggles out of your arms. She stopped crying a while ago, her cheeks reddened and warm from the tears. She presses a hand to Natasha's face, frowning in childish concern. "You're hurt", she states softly.

"Just a scratch", Natasha assures her, smiling faintly. Now that she can see that both you and Nina are alright, she barely feels the weight of her injured body anymore. You see how warm their simple exchange is and your throat tightens. Wordlessly, you reach for Natasha's hand.

"I thought I'd lost you", you admit quietly, your thumb grazing her knuckles. They're scarred and bruised, colored in so many shades of blue and purple that they look like a tiny canvas.

"I'm a little harder to get rid of", she promises, squeezing your fingers. "Where is...?"

Ethan. She won't say his name, and you know why — the reason is sitting between you, her tiny hand smoothing down Natasha's hair the way you do hers.

"Gone", you say. "Arrested. I don't know what will happen to him exactly, but we've got some breathing room for now."

"Are you sure?", she quips, something akin to both amusement and self-deprecation lacing her voice. "I don't think that's ever the case."

You smile weakly, but it doesn't reach your eyes. Her words hold a certain, painful truth — whenever you're together, you run. You fight. You survive, if only barely. Peace tends to avoid you, for some reason.

"A little too early to be making jokes about that", you murmur, your eyes fixed on Natasha. She huffs quietly, the corners of her mouth twitching into the slightest of smiles. "You're okay? Does it hurt a lot?"

"I'm fine", she says, bringing your hand to her lips. She kisses your fingertips before resting your palm against her cheek. You can feel the life beneath her skin, feverish and fragile, like a little flame refusing to be snuffed out.

"Say that one more time", you warn her, somewhere between playfulness and genuine concern. "I dare you."

Natasha grins and, finally, she actually looks a little more like herself again.

. . .

— AFTER THE STORM —

The living room is bathed in a soft, golden light from the crackling fireplace. A faint scent of hot cocoa, mingling with pine and cinnamon, lingers in the air. There's a Christmas tree in the corner, its branches dusted with a sprinkle of glittering tinsel. Tiny ornaments, mostly picked out by Nina, dangle like treasures from a storybook.

You're curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over the two of you. Natasha's arm is slung lazily over your shoulders, your kisses slow and unhurried. After weeks of chaos, this peace feels fragile but sweet. You're warm, safe, and this is a gift more precious than anything wrapped under the tree.

You're still under SHIELD's protection — you're fully equipped with a panic button and a bunch of instructions to keep you safe —, but you both trust that you've finally made it. For now, you're safe.

You pull away from Natasha only to lean in again, your lips pressing against hers time and time again. She tastes like Christmas, which is something you're definitely not used to. During your SHIELD days, her taste was everything but sweet and cinnamony — it was smoke and chewing gum, alcohol and blood. You can't say you mind the change, though, so you trace the seam of her lips with your tongue.

"You know", you murmur between kisses, your lips stretching into a lazy smile, "this might be the first Christmas I've actually looked forward to in ages."

"Yeah?", she rasps quietly, keeping you close to her. Her nose nuzzles against yours as she places another kiss on your bottom lip. "Then I'll make sure it's a good one."

"It already is really damn good", you assure her, both of your heads turning toward the hallway as you hear soft footsteps. Nina emerges from her makeshift bedroom, bundled in her favorite pajamas and her hair a mess. You smile softly as she pads to the couch, opening your arms. "Hey, baby. Merry Christmas."

"Mommy", she mumbles, still half-asleep, and nestles herself between you and Natasha. "Merry Christmas."

Natasha leans down to kiss the top of her head. "Did you sleep well, Tiny?"

The girl nods, her face buried against Natasha's chest. Then she seems to remember what day it is and pulls away, her attention shifting to the heap of presents underneath the sparkling tree. Instantly, her eyes light up.

"Can I open my presents?", she asks, her face full of hope as she looks at you.

"Yes, honey", you confirm, watching her scramble out of your lap.

She sits down in front of the tree and starts opening present after present. She plucks off the little bows and tears the wrapping paper to shreds with unrestrained excitement, squealing and smiling at each new toy. New crayons, a coloring book, some LEGOs — no matter what it is, she loves it all the same.

You and Natasha stay seated on the couch, exchanging occasional glances of pure contentment.

Then, the doorbell rings.

You frown, sitting up straighter. "Who is it?", you ask as Natasha is already pulling up the camera feed from outside the door. A slow smile spreads across her face and she nods at Nina.

"That's for you, Tiny. Want to see what it is?"

Nina's eyes widen with curiosity. She scrambles off the floor and runs to the door, fumbling with the handle before pulling it open. Her jaw drops as she sees the big box sitting in the hallway, tied with a large red bow.

"Whoa!", she exclaims, grabbing the bow and pulling the box inside. Then, she crouches down and carefully lifts the lid. The box's sides fall open, revealing a small black puppy inside. His fur is slightly ruffled, and his tiny tail is wagging so fast it's a blur.

Nina squeals in delight and starts to jump on the spot. The puppy follows in suit, bouncing around her more like a spring toy than a coordinated animal. They do make quite the pair, their movements and voices almost identical.

You freeze, your mouth opening and closing as you process the scene. Slowly, you turn around. "Natasha. You got her a puppy?"

"She asked for one a few weeks ago, remember?", she says, her hands lifted innocently. "Said it was for her birthday. Figured Santa could be the one to deliver it a little late."

"Oh god", you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I- how did you even..."

"Shelter", Natasha replies simply, leaning down to scratch behind the puppy's ear as he runs up to her to sniff her leg. "He's a mutt, but the guy there said there's some Belgian shepherd in him. That tail? Definitely herding dog energy."

"Oh no." Your eyes widen and you quickly throw another glance at the puppy again. "No way. Those get huge! Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

Natasha shrugs, watching Nina and the dog roll around on the floor. She giggles when he puts his paws on her chest, licking at her face enthusiastically as his tail thumps on the floor. "Made a kid happy. Isn't that what Christmas is all about?"

You scoff, giving her a look of utter disbelief. "I can't believe you. Neither of us have any idea how to take care of a dog."

"We'll figure it out", she says, waving her hand dismissively. "We handled Ethan and those other jerks, didn't we? Can't be that hard to raise a canine."

"God, you're impossible", you groan. Natasha leans in and kisses your temple.

"You'll get used to it."

You let out a slow, resigned breath, watching Nina and the puppy tumble around on the floor. He yaps at her, his butt lifted into the air and his tail wagging wildly. One ear perked up and the other flopping to the side, he does look pretty adorable. "Well...he is cute."

"See? Told you." Natasha's smirk deepens, and you lightly swat at her arm. "Ouch", she complains mockingly, wrapping her arms around you to pull you closer again.

"Natasha, what's his name?", Nina asks, beaming up at you as the puppy barks.

"That's up to you, Tiny."

Her little face scrunches up in thought as she regards the puppy. His paws patter lightly as he approaches the Christmas tree, tumbling before he quickly gets back up. He's all paws still, his gait clumsy and bouncy.

"Max!", she finally says, smiling as the puppy bolts back into her direction.

"Max it is", Natasha confirms.

. . .

Later that day, the cozy Christmas morning shifts into an entirely different type of adventure. Wrapped up in warm coats and scarves, you, Natasha, Nina, and the energetic little puppy pile into the car. The drive is surprisingly quiet — Nina is busy cuddling Max, and Natasha's hand is resting on your knee.

In front of you, the Avengers' Compound appears — sleek, modern edges softened by blankets of fresh snow, with frost-covered trees dotting the property. It's nice, you can't deny that, but it's not the same.

"I still miss the Tower", you mumble, causing Natasha's lips to twitch into a smile. She parks the car at the edge of the shoveled driveway.

"You'll like it, I promise. You ready?"

"I'm not sure 'ready' is the word I'd use", you reply, trying to catch a glimpse of what's happening behind those huge windows in front of you. "I haven't seen them in years."

"You'll be fine", she assures you, gently squeezing your knee. "It's not like they bite."

Behind you, Max barks. Nina giggles. "Not like Max!"

You sigh, a wry smile tugging at your lips as you unbuckle. "Yeah, this will be great."

"Come on", Natasha says, getting out of the car. As you step out, Max bolts out of the car, dragging Nina along. She giggles as she hurries to keep up with him, her grip on the leash firm.

"Oh no", you quickly say, trying to get the dog to stop. But he's a little tornado, already halfway across the grounds. "Max, no! Stay!"

The puppy stops, glancing at you. He yaps, bouncing as if to test your patience. You quickly dart forward and hoist the howling puppy into your arms, ignoring his sounds of protest.

"Good call", Natasha says as you approach the Compound together.

"Is this where Natasha works?", Nina whispers as she grabs your hand.

"It is", she confirms, shooting the girl a smile. She opens the door to the Compound and ushers you into the warmth of it.

The living room is buzzing with activity when you walk in. Steve, Sam and Bruce, chatting by the fireplace, Tony pouring himself a drink, Wanda flipping through a book as she sits cross-legged on the couch. Thor is unmistakable, his laughter as loud and booming as you remember it.

You linger in the doorway, partially hidden behind Natasha. Returning so suddenly, after years of not talking to them, feels intimidating. They've changed, you've changed, and yet, it all appears to be the same.

"Look who I brought", Natasha announces, immediately drawing attention.

All heads turn, and the room goes silent as they take in the unfamiliar trio — you, Nina and the puppy.

"No way", Tony says, slowly, as he puts his glass aside. "Natasha Romanoff finally brought people to a holiday gathering. Mark the calendar."

Steve raises his eyebrows, his gaze shifting between you and Natasha. "Y/N?", he says, holding out his hands. You shake it, smiling sheepishly.

"Hi. It's been a while."

"A while?" He smiles back at you, letting out an amused huff of air. "Try seven years. What are you doing here?"

Thor, oblivious to any tension, strides over and claps Natasha on the back hard enough to make her wince. "Hello! You brought a little one, I see." He crouches down in front of Nina, who smiles widely. "Pleasure to meet you, tiny warrior."

"I'm Nina!", she says, preening under his warm smile.

"Of course you are", Thor says delightedly and pats her head. He looks at Natasha. "You didn't mention you had a daughter."

"She's not-"

"I'm mommy's daughter!", Nina declares, pointing at you. Then, she turns to Natasha. "And that's Tasha! She likes my mommy!"

You're not sure which one of you blushes more. Natasha smiles weakly, her hand resting on the small of your back. "Can't argue with that", she mumbles.

"Nat, when were you planning to share this?"

"Oh wait, so you're back back?"

"What happened to your shoulder? You look like hell!"

"Guys, calm down-"

"Don't act all high and mighty, Rogers. You can't tell us you aren't even a little bit surprised by this."

Finally, Wanda stands and extends her hand. She's the only one who hasn't met you yet, so she's more interested in you than the commotion. "You must be Y/N", she says. "I've heard about you."

You shake her hand, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. "And you must be Wanda. I...truthfully, I haven't heard much about you."

"Figures", Wanda says with a small smile. "Natasha's not exactly forthcoming about her personal life."

"She's not forthcoming about anything", Tony mumbles, finally recovering from his shock. "And what's with the dog?"

Max chooses that moment to lunge at Tony, his leash slipping from Nina's hands. Tony yelps as the puppy jumps up, leaving wet paw prints on his suit.

"Great. This is why I don't do pets."

The room descends into a flurry of activity. Max darts between legs, yapping excitedly, while a laughing Nina chases after him. Thor decides to join the fun, attempting to 'herd' Max with booming laughter. Tony stands to the side, muttering about dry-cleaning bills.

Meanwhile, Natasha stays by your side, her hand resting on the small of your back. "See? Not so bad."

"Not so bad?", you say, watching in horror as Max knocks over a small vase. Flowers spill out, as well as some water. "Nat, this is a disaster!"

"Relax", Natasha says, leaning in to whisper. "They like you."

"You think?"

She smirks, brushing a kiss against your temple. "I know."

At first, the chaos seems to settle. Max curls up next to Nina, who's asking Thor about Asgardian princesses. Everyone else is sitting on the couches, chatting and exchanging gifts, and you find yourself relaxing for a moment. Your lips graze Natasha's as she turns her face to yours, making her smile. Before you can lean in a little more, though, her attention switches to the puppy. Her eyes narrow as she notices him starting to sniff around, a gleam in his eye.

"Uh-oh", she mumbles, her instincts honed even for mischievous animals. Max pauses, glancing at her — and then he squats down next to the couch, leaving a puddle on the pristine floor.

"Oh no!", Nina exclaims. "Bad Max!"

"This", Tony says, shooting you and Natasha a withering glare, "this is why I said no pets in the Compound."

You direct a look at Natasha that screams This is your fault. She just shrugs, unbothered.

"I've got this", Wanda says, standing up. A small wave of her hand makes red tendrils of magic appear, wrapping them around a towel from the bar and guiding it to the floor. Both you and Nina watch with amazement as the towel floats and gracefully mops up the mess, swirling the liquid away.

"Wow", Nina whispers, enchanted by the glimmering threads of red magic. "How are you doing that?"

"It's just a trick", Wanda says with a kind smile, whirling the towel around in midair for dramatic effect.

But Max doesn't think it's a trick. He thinks it's a game.

With one high-pitched, excited bark, he takes after the floating towel. Wanda raises an eyebrow as Max jumps, chasing after the swirling piece of fabric.

"Okay, okay, that's enough-", she begins, retreating the towel higher.

The puppy isn't deterred. He bolts towards Wanda, barking furiously, as everyone else starts laughing.

"Uh, Wanda?", Natasha says, grinning as she squeezes your side.

The witch turns around just in time to see Max leap at her. She squeaks in surprise and instinctively floats into the air, her powers lifting her above the dog's reach.

"Down! Down, boy!", she calls from her perch, her legs tucked underneath her. Nina is rolling on the floor laughing, her giggles loud and infectious.

"I think he likes you", Sam says.

"I'm more of a cat person", Wanda shoots back, carefully moving the towel into the trashcan before she lowers herself down near the edge of the room. Max quickly runs after the piece of fabric, only to be met with the lid shutting in front of his nose.

"You should've warned her", you whisper to Natasha. She smiles and pecks your cheek.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Wanda returns to the couch, muttering something in Sokovian, but her smile gives away her amusement. "That dog has too much energy," she says, eyeing Max warily as he wags his tail.

Nina grins up at her. "He wants to be your friend."

"Sure he does," Wanda says, gently patting Nina's head. "But next time, let's keep the magic for cleaning spills only, okay?"

The girl smiles, nodding. "Okay, but it was so cool! Can you do more of that?"

"You want to see more?" The witch holds out her hands. You and your daughter both lean forward to watch closely as red wisps of power curl around her fingers like smoke, forming tiny droplets in the air. Slowly, the droplets multiply and begin to fall, creating a kind of 'rain shower' that cascades over Nina.

"Woah", the girl says, lifting her hands to catch the drops. They aren't wet or cold, no — they're warm and soft, almost melting on her palms.

"That's incredible", you mumble, completely fixated on the scene in front of you. Wanda smiles, her powers now weaving into a new creation. The droplets coalesce into floating shapes — stars, hearts, even a tiny, glowing puppy that bounds through the air. Max barks excitedly, jumping up and down. "Like a living painting."

"You're too kind", she says, though her blush hints at her pleasure. She forms a constellation of stars that spin around Nina, the twinkling lights eliciting quiet giggles.

Natasha, however, is a bit more wary. She trusts Wanda, but she's also seen what kind of damage her powers can cause. "Careful", she mumbles, her arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. "Keep that up and they'll start expecting magic at home."

You turn, a small smile playing on your lips. "I already have magic at home", you flirt expertly, making her roll her eyes. Nevertheless, she plants a kiss on your cheek. "Come on, just admit it's impressive."

"It is", she says cautiously. "But it's also unpredictable."

You shift, turning your body fully toward Natasha as if to block her view. "You're tense", you say, trailing your fingers along her jaw before letting your hand rest on her chest. "Relax. No one is going to get hurt."

She sighs, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. "Old habits."

"And I love you for them", you whisper, leaning in to leave a lingering kiss on her jawline. "But right now, you should stop glaring at Wanda and focus on me."

"I am focusing on you", she counters, her hand dipping underneath your sweater.

"Good", you mumble, brushing your nose against hers. You press your lips to hers, slow and deliberate, your hand cupping her cheek. Behind you, Sam groans.

"Good lord", he says, tossing a cookie at you. "Can we not with the romance novel PDA? Some of us are single."

"Some of us are jealous", Natasha quips, not even glancing away from you.

"Jealous? Of you two? Please."

Wanda, trying to maintain Nina's focus, turns the glittering stars into snowflakes that rain down around her. Max barks, leaping into the air in an attempt to catch one, his paws skittering against the floor.

"Max, no!", Natasha says, making no real move to stop him.

"Relax", you mumble, smiling at her. "Look at me."

"I'm looking", she says, her voice dropping enough to make Sam stand up abruptly.

"And I'm leaving", he says, grabbing a plate of cookies and stomping out. "Y'all can make goo-goo eyes in private!"

"Who needs privacy?", Natasha whispers, planting a trail of kisses from your earlobe to the corner of your mouth. You hum, turning your head to capture her lips with yours.

Your daughter is the only one who's unfazed by your sap-show. She tugs at Wanda's sleeve, a pleading look in her eyes. "Can you make a rainbow next?"

Before the witch can respond, Tony bursts into the room and taps his watch. "Alright, enough of that. Time for the real show!"

Quickly and piece by piece, his Iron Man suit begins assembling itself around him. Wanda rolls her eyes, the shimmering stars she's been conjuring up now fading. Nina gasps and jumps up as his helmet clicks into place. The magic was impressive, but Tony's tech is simply said cool.

"Impressive, right?", Tony says through the speaker. He crouches beside her, swiftly pulling out a kid-sized glove that's not too unlike his own. Red, gleaming with lights and buttons. "Here, kid. Just don't press the-"

"No!", you and Natasha interrupt him simultaneously.

"What button?", you ask warily.

"Don't worry, it's decorative — mostly."

"'Mostly'?", she snaps, her tone rising with the same alarm as yours.

Nina's finger hovers near the button, and you both yell: "Don't press it!"

Eyes widened, the girl yanks her hand back. "Sorry!"

"Tony, I swear-", Natasha begins, only to be interrupted by you pulling her into another kiss. She lets out a quiet grunt before relaxing, her eyes falling shut.

"Alright, alright, lovebirds", Tony says with a wave of his hand. "I'll take it back. Geez. Merry Christmas, you paranoid maniacs."

. . .

The quiet hum of the car fills the space, soothing in the way only long drives at night could be. Snow falls softly outside, flurries illuminated by the glow of the headlights, while Nina and Max doze in the backseat. Her tiny hand rests protectively on the puppy's fur, her head lolling to one side as she fights sleep.

You adjust your grip on the wheel, your gaze flicking to the rearview mirror. A tender smile tugs at your lips. "Look at them," you murmur, your voice barely louder than the heater's low hum.

Natasha turns her head, her eyes softening as she takes in the sight of Nina and the puppy snuggled together. "She's so much like you," she says quietly. You glance at her, tilting your head.

"Stubborn?"

"No", she says pointedly, reaching out to gently wrap her fingers around your wrist, her thumb tapping against the back of your hand. "You know what I mean, smartass. Open-hearted, always seeing the good in people."

"Hm", you mumble, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "That means a lot. Really."

"I mean it", she says.

For a moment, silence lingers. The car keeps coasting along the road, snow blanketing the world outside and muffling the night. Behind you, Nina dozes off.

"She's wiped."

"It's been a long day", Natasha says, her expression gentle as she glances into the back of the car. "For all of us."

You hum in agreement, your hands on the steering wheel tightening. 'Long day' is an understatement — it's been a long few months, but you've somehow made it through them. Despite Ethan, despite the chaos, the fear, you've made it out alive.

You frown as Natasha shifts and winces, adjusting her position a bit. "You okay?"

"I'm fine", she says, though the faint lines of pain around her eyes betray her. She carefully moves her hand to rest it on your thigh. "Stop worrying about me for once."

"That's rich, coming from you", you mutter, but your voice softens. "You scared me, you know. Bleeding out on that clinic floor. I'll have nightmares about it forever."

Her hand lingers, her thumb lightly brushing against the fabric of your jeans. "Not going anywhere", she mumbles like a quiet promise. You've heard that exact sentence too many times to be able to ever fully believe it, but in that moment, you do — you believe her.

Your throat tightens, but you swallow the lump that's formed. Instead, you nod, trying to focus on the road. Natasha leans her head against the backrest, watching the snowflakes outside curl and dance through the air. You place your hand on hers, squeezing briefly.

"Home?", Natasha asks softly.

"Home."

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @heliotropeheart @s1ut4nat @upsidedowndanvers @scarletsstarlets

#natasha romanoff x reader #l is for the way you look atme #stab me why don’t you #home????? 😭😭

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plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you are still going to write for Natasha Romanoff x reader. If you are, imagine something where the avengers don’t know that they are together, until one of them (maybe Tony because he talks too much) sees reader with hickies and messy hair early in the morning after an intense night 🤭. And then maybe Natasha would be wondering why she’s taking so long away and comes in after. 🤭🤭🤭🤭

⁀➷ Classified // Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: A quiet night at Avengers Tower turns into something much more intimate when secrets begin to unravel—and nothing stays hidden forever.

Requested by: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to write! I've actually had this drafted for months and months, but I'm so glad to finally get around to finalising it.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, soft dom!Nat, sub!reader, doctor reader, secret relationship, marking (hickeys), hair pulling, minor injuries, fingering, oral, praise kink, protective nat, power play

Words: 2.4k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Restocking the medical supplies was usually a monotonous task that dragged endlessly. Today, however, you completed the task with the precision of someone trying not to think about worst-case scenarios.

Gauze, antiseptics, sutures—each item slid into place like it could stop your hands from shaking. The mission was supposed to be routine—in and out. But they were late. No one had heard a word from the jet in hours.

While wiping down the already sterile and clean surface for the tenth time in the last two hours, you tried to avoid your colleagues’ quizzical looks, but your phone buzzed.

Heart thudding painfully in your chest, you snatched it up.

Natasha. Thank fuck.

You answers, relief flooding your chest. “Romanoff.”

“Mm”, came her voice, low and sultry. “I love it when you call me that. Makes me feel like a bad girl.”

Turning your back on the other doctors and nurses in the room, you tried to act casual, ignoring her remarks that had already caused heat to creep up your neck at her teasing. “How can I help you, Miss Romanoff? Are you in need of some medical assistance?”

Natasha laughs lightly down the phone at your professional response. “I need you to come to my room and check on me. My face has been missing its home between your legs.”

Her words caused an immediate reaction between your legs, your core tightening with arousal. Coughing to release some pent-up frustration, you tried to casually answer, “Your left knee? It hurts? Can you come to the hospital level, or do you need me to come to you?”

“You can come alright. I’m in my room. Alone.”

“I’ll be there shortly with my medical supplies.”

“That’s my girl.” The line went dead.

Pocketing your phone while turning to your colleagues, you tried to explain that you needed to attend to Black Widow’s knee. Slinging a medical bag over your shoulder, you tried to walk and not run like you wanted to out of the medical bay and into the elevator.

When stepping onto Avengers’ personal floor, you could see no other individual. Tentatively, you knocked once on her door before entering.

The room was dimly lit, and soft orange light from the setting sun cast through the ceiling-to-floor windows. Natasha, beautiful as ever, stood near her bed in just a sports bra and leggings. Her red hair was still damp from a quick shower, and the room was sweet from the scent of her body wash.

Those fierce green eyes clash with yours as you close the door.

“Shirt off”, she commands, her tone light but firm.

Blinking in response, you remark whilst dropping the bag onto the floor. “I thought I was here to check on you, baby.”

Natasha gives you her signature smirk. “You are. But I’ve missed you. And you’re wearing too many clothes for that, even though I love seeing you in those scrubs.”

Still, you stepped toward her first, fingertips brushing against her bare stomach that tensed at the action as you stared at the discoloured bruise along her left side. All excitement had quickly manifested into worry.

“How’d you do this?”

“Threw a guy over a railing. He didn’t go quietly. You know how it is.”

You sigh, pressing your palm gently over the bruised skin, checking how significant the bruising is. The lack of reaction from Nat was reassuring; you knew that her pain tolerance was higher than most of the US population.

“You need to rest. Ice. Maybe you shouldn’t be on your feet.”

She leans in, her voice a purr against your ear. “Then you’ll just have to keep me in bed, won’t you, Doc?”

There was barely any time to react before she was kissing you- hard and hot, like she’d been waiting days, weeks, too long. Her hands tangled in your hair, guiding your mouth open so she could taste you deeper. She tasted sweet, like cherries and gum.

Nat walked you backwards until your knees hit the bed. Collapsing onto the mattress, she’s quick to follow, straddling your hips with a predator’s grace.

It took entirely too long – seconds – for your shirt to be removed, but her lips are all over the moment it’s removed. From your neck, biting and licking, to your stomach, kissing and caressing with her tongue like she wanted to taste your entire body.

“You taste like antiseptic”, she murmurs against your skin, her admission not stopping her actions at all as she gently nipples on your collarbone, her fingers massaging your breasts through your bra. “And anxiety, did you miss me, hm?”

Tugging her closer, your nails dig into the flesh of her hips, “And you smell like trouble, baby.”

“Mmhm,” she hums in agreement, “but you love trouble, don’t you, Sugar?”

Her lips are on yours again with renewed hunger, but slower, like she savoured everything you had to offer. Your hands move to cup her arse, pulling her hips closer until you’re both grinding together.

“Let me take care of you for once.”

Natasha arched a brow. “You think I need taking care of?”

Flipping the two of you with surprising ease - meaning Natasha allowed you to do so - you hover over the assassin, taking a moment to admire the redness of her hair, mixing with the orange streaks of sun beaming through the window.

“You’re so fucking beautiful”, you breathe the words out as your fingers bring down the waistband of her leggings and underwear as she removes her own bra, leaving her completely naked beneath you.

While mindful of her bruised side, you eased her to the edge of the bed. Sinking to your knees, Natasha’s eyes darkened as she bit her lips, thighs spreading as you ease each leg over your shoulder.

“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” she asks as she idly plays with her own nipples until they’re taunt, rosy and peaked.

You didn’t answer. Just pressed your lips to her inner thigh, slowly kissing your way upward. Her fingers laced through your hair, but her grip faltered when your mouth finally reached her. Tongue lickign up the length of her hairless pussy, adding pressure to slip betweens her softness to feel the firm, throbbing clit that drew out a choked sound from the back of her throat.

“Fuck,” she goans, her eyes closing and head tipping back.

You work her slowly. Needing to memorise her taste, the sounds she makes, the way her body moves from her hips, trying to dictate your movements by a subtle role, to the way her strong thighs nearly suffocate you between them.

“Don’t stop,” she rasps, the hand in her hair tightening to the point of pain. “God, baby, just like that.”

You were never going to stop, even if you couldn’t breath as your lips sealed around her clit. Two fingers slipped inside, curling in time with your pulsing mouth, the other hand pressing lightly above her pubic bone, attempting to keep her hips on the bed so you can have some form of control.

You watch, memsorised as her cunt begins to pulse around your fingers. Back arching, thighs unbelievably tight around your face, a moan so breathtaking that you’re sure your own arousal is now staining your scrubs with how turned on you were. She was utterly fucking beautiful.

Ever the dom, Natasha’s orgasm hadn’t even subsided fully before she’s pulling your body back onto the bed, swapping your positions so you’re lying against the sheets.

“That was dangerous,” she teases against your mouth, nipping your lower lip between her teeth until it snaps back to place. Now, I’m going to have to remind you who’s really in charge.”

Her slender fingers skim beneath your waistband, teasing and lingering.

“Say it”, she says against your throat. “Say you missed me.”

“I missed you.” Your voice quivers as her fingers finally dip lower, brushing beneath your underwear, touching exactly where you want her most.

She was always like this, dominant and teasing, but you’re always rewarded.

“That’s my girl, always so wet for me”, she compliments before sucking on the skin to the point of pain beneath your ear. You grunt at the mix of discomfort and pleasure as her fingers idly stroke over your soaked pussy.

There was no rushing Natasha, not when she’d been kept from you for so long. A small part of you worried that the other doctors and nurses would wonder where you’d disappeared, too, but all rational thoughts escaped you as she spread your labia, pressing her finger directly there.

One finger, became two, slipping inside as you gasped and arched into her, rolling your hips until her palm is pressing against your clit. With slow, deep curls, Natasha's fingers have your thighs trembling and breathy moans becoming desperate in no time at all.

All the while, she keeps her forehead pressed against yours, eyes locked on your face, studying every moan, every flutter of your lashes.

“God, look at you,” she whispers, voice rough. “Fall apart for me. Are you going to cum on my fingers, Sugar?”

You nod your head, whimpering as she applies more pressure to your clit. Bucking up and grabbing her shoulders. “Please - Natasha-!”

“I’ve got you”, she promises, lowering her face now until she’s biting your nipples through your bra in a sharp sting of pain.

You came with with a startled cry, your cunt pulsing around her fingers, sucking her in deeper, like your body never wanted to give up. She keeps the pressure, continues to curl her fingers as your orgasm draws on and on until you’re a pile of numbness, still half dressed from work.

Nat withdraws her fingers with slow movements, leaving you twitching in the sensitive area. Watching her movements, you groan deeply as she sucks her wet fingers into her mouth, tasting your juices with a pornographic moan, her eyes clossing as she savoures the taste.

She curls around you protectively, damp fingers brushing against your cheeks whilst kissing your temple, then your shoulder. Lazily dragging her lips down your neck, sucking another deepy hickey against your skin.

Groaning whilst half-laughing, “You’re marking me on purpose”.

She smiles against your skin. “Obviously. You’re mine.”

~~~~~~~~

Later, you were lounging on one of the couches at the tower’s low-key celebration, which was never really low-key when it came to Tony Stark. Thankfully, you owned a turtlenecked dress that was soft and comfortable on your sensitive, heavily marked skin.

Something Natasha noticed as she caught you in a dark crevice, easing away your neckline to admire her artwork with a bite of her full lips. That wasn’t all, though. Usually, at public events, the two of you would stay on opposite sides of the room, but tonight, Nat couldn’t help herself.

Frequently, she would walk back, her warm hand brushing the small of your back, her eyes watching your every sip, every shift in your chair; your secret girlfriend missed nothing.

Since then, the party has dwindled to only a handful of individuals, who are, for the most part, members of the Avengers or close friends.

“You know,” the billionaire loudly declared while holding up his glass of scotch. I know I’m a genius, and you guys never really appreciate it, but I’ve just cracked a code, and I need to share.”

Not thinking anything of it, you continued to idly sip from your drink, eyes flicking to the red-haired woman sitting across from you in the circle of couches.

“I know who’s been sneaking around like hormone-crazed teenagers.” Tony grins widely. You stiffen, eyes once more flicking to Natasha, who remains nonchalant. Her reaction has you calming. Of course, he wouldn’t know about you and Natasha. She’s an assassin; she could keep secrets, hide in plain sight, and, of course, your relationship was still hidden.

However, as your eyes moved back to the billionaire staring only at you, you knew nothing good would come from his next words. “Our very own medbay angel and Miss Romanoff. Caught the Doc here leaving her bedroom with messy hair and a constellation of hickets. Pretty classic evidence, honestly.”

A beat of silence followed. Every head turned to look at you. At Natasha. At the space between you.

All you can do is freeze. Not blinking. Not breathing. They knew. They all knew. The attention made your skin feel too tight, like your heartbeat had jumped outside your body.

It wasn’t just embarrassment—it was vulnerability. The intimacy you’d guarded for so long was exposed. It was no longer a private, secret thing. It was no longer yours and Natasha's alone.

Finally, dragging a deep breath in, the urge to flee the room came over you, but an enraged redhead stepped into your path. Her arms rested comfortingly on your upper arms, thumbs stroking in slow circles. The energy rolling off of her was unmistakable. She was protective, sharp, and unapologetic.

“That’s enough”, she said evenly, tone calm but laced with authority. “We kept it private for a reason, Tony.”

The man blinked, taken aback by the reaction from the room. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing-”

“She’s not a punchline,” Natasha continues to defend you. “And this isn’t gossip. I don’t want the whole world, including our enemies, Stark, knowing what she means to me. Understand?”

You felt her hand slip behind you, curling gently around your wrist, anchoring. But the tremble of anger was evidently there.

“Nat,” you whisper, stepping closer to her side as your heart hammered.

Turning away from her friends and colleagues, her features soften, eyes tracking every emotion written across your face. “You okay?”

You nod, even if you weren’t entirely sure.

She leans in, her breath tickling your eye. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting anyone make you feel small about it. Not even Stark,”

There was another beat of silence until Clint, of all people, groaned and toasted an empty beer bottle at Tony’s head. “It took you this long to figure that out? I’ve had fifty bucks on them for months.”

“Same,” said Sam, raising his hand.

Steve snorted, “I told you she wasn’t just icing her injury in the medbay.”

Tony looked around, betrayed. “You all knew?”

Bucky shrugged. “It wasn’t that subtle.”

Laughter filled your ears from those surrounding you. Natasha’s grip on your wrist eased, but her hand kept you close. Exhaling shakily, you watched the group ease back into their jokes and drinks, the weight slowly lifting from your chest.

When you glanced back at Natasha, she was already looking at you. She pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. “Not a secret anymore. Now there’s no hiding that you’re mine.”

And somehow, that made it all ok.

#natasha romanoff x reader #forgive me father for i have sinned on purpose #lmaooo tony

964 notes · View notes

plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: second to last one :)

warnings: guns/gunshots

word count: 8.5k

…part 4, part 5, part 6

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— SECRETS IN INK —

The automatic doors of the grocery store slide open with a hiss, letting in a gust of cold wind that makes Nina squeal with delight. She jumps out into the snow, which crunches under the soles of her little boots.

"Mommy, look!", she says, puffing out dramatic clouds of steam. You manage a smile, though your mind is miles away. The note in your pocket, which you keep touching with your fingertips to make sure you didn't lose it, feels like a weight dragging you down.

When did she put it there?, you wonder, absently grabbing Nina's hand to make sure she doesn't run off. You approach your car, your free hand holding the handle of the shopping cart. Did she sneak into the house? Or was it the day she left? But when? How?

Too many questions, too few answers. Your brain is a mess, your thoughts louder than your daughter's endless chatter.

Back at home, the warmth of the house greets you as Nina stomps her feet against the entry rug, sending chunks of slush flying. She lets out a quiet "oops" and apologizes, but her wide smile doesn't waver.

"It's okay", you murmur, setting the grocery bags down next to the door. You bend down to help Nina out of her coat, but — again — your mind is elsewhere. You're wondering why Natasha didn't just call. Why she left a cryptic note, telling you to come after her when you don't even know where you're supposed to be going.

There's her apartment, of course. Or the Avengers' Compound. Both would be reasonable, obvious choices, but you doubt them for several reasons. Natasha has never been easy to pin down, for one. Part of you also wonders whether she's testing your resolve — is this a riddle? A game? It feels like something she'd do just to see how far you'd go.

At the same time, an even larger part of you protests at the mere idea that she'd do something like this now, when things are so serious. This is not something she'd use as an opportunity to mess with you, is it?

You rub your temple and turn around, starting to put the groceries away. Nina skips away into the living room, her feet pattering against the hardwood floors. Your hands work on autopilot as you put cans and cartons away, your thoughts circling through the same questions.

Finally, you reach for the note again. Your finger brushes over the paper mindlessly as you stare at the words and the hourglass symbol underneath. The boldness of it is so her — a quiet defiance, a challenge. You almost smile at the thought, but then reality comes crashing down on you again.

Sighing, you turn around and lean against the kitchen island. Nina comes back into the kitchen, proudly holding her notebook.

"Want to see?", she asks, already holding out the notebook for you. You smile and let her put it in your hands, but your smile fades as soon as you see the picture. Three figures — one smaller, two slightly bigger. Red hair and a black jacket. Your breath catches slightly and you silently curse as you realize how serious this has gotten.

"Wow. That's beautiful, baby. Who's this?", you ask, pointing to the figure with the red hair, even though you already know.

"That's Natasha! I like her. I think she likes you", she says innocently, clearly not grasping the complexity of what you and Natasha have. She likes you, alright.

"She's very...nice", you say quietly, running your finger over the page. The three of you almost look like a family.

Nina nods, climbing onto a barstool and swinging her feet back and forth. She pats the surface of the kitchen island with her hands. "I'm thirsty, mommy."

"You are?" You put the notebook aside and turn around, grabbing a plastic cup for the girl. "What do you want? Water, milk? We also got lemonade."

"Lemonade!"

"Got it, honey." You pour some of the lemonade into the cup, then you hand it to her.

She takes a few sips, then sets it down. Her hand bumps it just hard enough to send the cup tipping over, and the yellow liquid spills in a swift arc across the kitchen island. Your eyes widen and your hand quickly reaches out to grab the cup, but it's too late — the lemonade has soaked through the note you left there so carelessly.

"Nina!", you exclaim, grabbing a dishcloth to mop it up. Your daughter seems to shrink, looking genuinely upset.

"I'm sorry, mommy", she mumbles, giving you a sheepish look.

"It's okay", you mutter, dabbing at the counter. You grab the damp note, your heart already feeling heavy — this feels like the last thing connecting you to Natasha, for some reason —, but then you freeze. Faint, delicate writing has started to appear on the back of the page.

Of course. Natasha used invisible ink.

Nina frowns, leaning in to see. She can't quite believe her eyes. It's like the magic she sees in her favorite cartoons, where characters wave their hands and make secrets appear out of nowhere. "What's that?"

"I don't know", you say unsurely, looking at the words that have appeared on the back of the page.

Safehouse. Catskill Mountains.

Underneath it, some coordinates that you won't need. You know what safehouse she's talking about — you went there after the attack on New York together.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you stare at the message. It's more than just a cryptic invitation — Natasha left you a way to find her.

"What does it say?", Nina probes, craning her head to look at the front of the note. She spots the hourglass symbol. "What's that?"

"It's nothing, sweetheart. Just something silly", you reassure her, gently patting the note with a towel and putting it aside. Your daughter tilts her head but doesn't push, instead sliding off the barstool and zooming back into the living room. Your eyes flicker back to the note, more specifically the words on the back.

Natasha was deliberate, careful, knowing you'd want this enough to figure it out. In the end, a simple accident caused you to reveal the additional information on the back.

The question is: do you want it? Do you have the courage to risk everything for it?

Your eyes drift back to the drawing Nina left in the kitchen, to the three of you standing there like you belong together.

. . .

You spend the day trying to maintain some sense of normalcy, for both your sake and Nina's. You have time, after all — you doubt Natasha is going to vanish if you don't show up right away. Besides, Ethan won't be home for another few days, so you can choose whether you want to leave now or wait a bit.

It's hard, though. Deep down, you've made your decision. There's no need to question anything, really. But something is holding you back, and it frustrates you immensely. Because if you go, there's no coming back. You're sure of it.

Nina doesn't notice your inner turmoil, which you're grateful for. You spend the afternoon distracting yourself by entertaining her — picture books, cartoons, making puzzles.

By the time dinner rolls around, you feel more frayed than you'd like to admit. It's not the exhaustion of the day itself — it's knowing this might be the last 'normal' day you can give Nina for a long time.

You watch your daughter happily munch on her mac and cheese, blissfully unaware of the underlying tension in the room and the problems that you might encounter soon. She's chattering about her day animatedly, gesturing dramatically with her free hand and laughing at her own silly impressions. Every now and then, she pauses to take a bite before continuing with her rambling. You cling to every word, savoring the sound of her carefree laughter.

"Mommy?", she suddenly says, putting her favorite green fork aside. "Does Natasha like adventures?"

You force a small smile. "I think she loves them", you say softly.

"I love them, too", she says, proud to have something in common with Natasha. "And you? Do you like adventures?"

"Hmmm..." You smile, reaching out to boop her nose. "I like them when you're with me."

Nina beams. "I like that, too!"

"Yeah?" You laugh quietly and nod, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Good. Maybe one day we'll go on a big adventure. Just you and me."

"Yes! We can see ponies and rivers and a circus and-" A yawn cuts her off — the fourth one in the past half hour. It's still early, but the girl is getting tired.

You wait until she finishes dinner, then you get up and start gathering the plates and silverware. You put everything aside, then you scoop her into your arms.

"Alright, sweetheart, let's get you to bed."

Nina scrunches her nose. "Do I have to?", she whines. You smile at her protesting — still not fond of bedtime, it seems.

"Even adventurers need their rest", you tease, tickling her side and making her giggle.

As you tuck her in, her eyes grow heavy. You sit on the edge of her bed, gently brushing wayward strands of hair from her face. "How do you feel about going on a real adventure?", you ask after hesitating for a moment.

Her eyes flutter open slightly. "Like...with Nat?", she mumbles.

"Maybe", you say softly. "Or just you and me, for now. Sounds good?"

"Can I bring Bearie?", she asks, clutching her stuffed bear tighter.

"Of course." You nod and kiss her forehead, then you get up. "Good night, sweetheart."

. . .

— TIME TO GO —

Later you sit on the couch, staring at the crumpled note you've pulled from her pocket. You trace the faint outline of Natasha's hourglass symbol with your thumb, willing yourself to stop overthinking. Natasha has left you a way out, a chance to escape. All you have to do is take it.

But something holds you in place, a nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that maybe you're wrong. That maybe running will only make things worse.

The sound of the front door opening interrupts your thoughts, and you freeze. Ethan's voice calls out from the hallway. "Y/N?"

Your stomach churns. He wasn't supposed to be back before Friday.

Quickly, you shove the note into the pocket of your sweatpants before forcing yourself to stand up. You smooth down your hair as you enter the foyer. "You're back early", you say, trying to keep your voice light.

"Plans changed", he says briefly, his expression unreadable as he looks at you. His tone makes you uneasy, but you don't press further.

"Dinner's in the fridge if you're hungry", you say, leaning against the wall and avoiding his gaze. He puts his coat aside and starts making his way up the stairs.

"Not yet", he says. "I have a call to make."

He disappears into his office upstairs, the door shutting quietly behind him. You exhale and relax, even if only a little, then you tiptoe up the stairs and toward his study.

Through the door, you can faintly hear his voice.

"...promised results, not delays... No, you handle it. I don't want them anywhere near here."

Your heart drops. Them?

"Yes, the wife and the kid are here. They don't know anything... No, don't you dare. They're not involved in this."

Every word increases the nausea you're slowly starting to feel. You take a step back from the door without really meaning to.

"... If it comes to that, clean up your mess without involving me."

You may have doubted your intentions before, but now, you don't. This isn't overreacting — this is survival. This is keeping your daughter and yourself safe from whatever mess Ethan has dragged you into.

You don't think twice before rushing through the house. You grab a duffel bag and throw everything inside that you can find — few changes of clothes for Nina and you, snacks, a couple of documents you don't want to leave behind. You make your way to the bathroom, quietly praying that Ethan won't break his habit of staying in his office until after midnight, and toss in a few hygiene products like toothbrushes and shampoo.

A blanket. A towel. A gun you've been storing in your safe for years.

Yes, a gun. There's just something about being in a relationship with Natasha Romanoff and working at SHIELD that will make you consider buying one.

You distinctly remember her scolding you about living alone without a weapon when she started staying at your place more regularly. A woman. Alone. Without a gun. Seriously, Y/N?

Those words stuck, and you're grateful for it.

Once you're done, you tuck the duffel bag into the corner behind Nina's bed, then you go and lay down.

. . .

You've gone over the plan a dozen times in your head, running through every possible scenario. It's simple, really: wait for Ethan to fall asleep, slip out with Nina, and disappear into the night. But simple plans don't always go smoothly, and that thought keeps gnawing at you

You hear his footsteps approach the bedroom at around 1am. The door creaks open, his shirt hits the floor as he drops it, then the mattress dips next to you as he climbs into bed. The room is quiet, save for the faint rustle of bedsheets and the rhythm of his slow, steady breathing.

You wait, listening to each breath until it evens out. Minutes stretch into what feel like hours before you're finally sure he's asleep, then you carefully and quietly slip out of bed. You don't fully close the door, but you leave only a narrow gap to make sure he won't hear you.

When you reach Nina's bedroom, you hesitate. She's curled up underneath the blankets with her stuffed bear clutched to her chest, her mouth slightly agape. For a brief second, your resolve wavers — and then you remember staying isn't an option. Not anymore.

You crouch down next to her bed and gently run your hand over her head. "Nina", you whisper, your voice soft but urgent. "Sweetheart, wake up. We're going on an adventure, remember?"

Your quiet words rouse her from her sleep. She rubs her eyes, clearly sleepy and confused. Your heart aches at the sight.

"Now?", she mumbles, sitting up blindly and reaching for her Bearie.

"Yes, now. We have to be very quiet, okay?"

She nods, letting you put on her shoes and coat without protesting. You grab her hat and scarf — it's snowed again and the temperatures are icy —, then you scoop her up. You don't bother changing her out of her pajamas. You don't have the time.

With Nina in one hand and the duffel bag in the other, you swiftly move down the stairs. You listen for any signs of Ethan stirring, but the house remains quiet apart from his muffled snoring.

When you reach the front door, you hesitate. It feels like crossing a threshold you can't come back from, and the weight of it presses heavily on your chest. But then Nina looks up at you, sleepy and trusting, and that's all the encouragement you need.

You open the door and step into the cool night air, closing it softly behind you.

"Where are we going?", she whispers, her hand clutching yours tightly. You unlock the car and buckle her into her booster seat.

"To someone who can help us", you say, brushing your thumb over her rosy cheek. "It'll be fun, okay?"

"Okay", she agrees, her eyes drooping shut again already. You slide into the driver's seat and buckle up, then you finally pull out of the driveway. The lights in your bedroom remain dark as you drive down the street.

. . .

The road stretches endlessly before you, cloaked in darkness and lit only by the headlights of your car. Nina has fallen back asleep, her hands clutching her stuffie and her head lolling to the side. The steady hum of the engine is the only sound, but your nerves are on edge.

You glance in the rear view mirror, scanning the empty road behind you. You've been driving for about an hour now, and things have been going somewhat smoothly. Still, the tension in your chest hasn't lessened. Every shadow seems to stretch too far, every turn feels too sharp. You've made it this far, but the weight of your decision hasn't fully sunk in until now.

Then, the car sputters. Your heart jumps.

"No, no, no", you mutter, your grip on the steering wheel tightening. The car lurches and the engine coughs, then everything goes silent. The headlights flicker out and you're in the middle of the road in near-total darkness.

"Mommy?", Nina says after stirring awake, her voice thick with sleep.

"It's okay, sweetheart", you say quickly, forcing a calmness you're not feeling. You twist the key in the ignition, but the car won't start.

God, why did I insist on keeping this old thing?

Because Natasha sat in it. That's why.

You curse quietly as you glance in the rear view mirror again. From behind, a faint light appears on the horizon — headlights. The vehicles approaches slowly, its beams growing brighter as it draws closer.

Is this it?

Immediately, your mind jumps to worst-case scenarios. Ethan's associates. The people he's been dealing with. Whoever he was on the phone with. They've found you.

Your hand flies to the key in the ignition again, turning it desperately. "Come on, please", you whisper, your fingers trembling. The car groans, catching for a few seconds before dying again. The car behind you is only a few hundred feet away from you now, approaching like a stalker chasing its prey.

"What's wrong?", Nina asks, sitting up.

You glance back at your daughter, panic filling you at the sight. You can't let anything happen to her — not now, not ever.

Summoning every ounce of focus, you grip the key again. You turn it, the engine sputters, and then roars to life. A shaky breath escapes you and, without wasting a second, you slam your foot on the gas. The car gains speed quickly, headlights cutting through the darkness once more. Behind you, the strange vehicle's lights recede, disappearing in the distance.

You glance at Nina once more, who's curled up in her booster seat again. Her eyes are heavy with sleep, but she keeps watching you.

"Are we okay now, mommy?", she asks drowsily.

You manage a small, shaky smile. "Yes, baby. We're okay. Go back to sleep, alright?"

The girl nods, her head tilting to one side as she closes her eyes.

You keep checking the rear view mirror every few seconds, unable to shake the feeling that someone is following you. You're practically waiting for the headlights to reappear again, but it doesn't happen. The road stays dark and empty.

You bite your lip, Natasha's words from days ago echoing in your mind: "Trust me."

Can you?

You have no choice now.

. . .

At three in the morning, with snow falling thickly over the narrow, twisting road, the drive through the Catskill Mountains feels more like a scene from a horror movie than a journey to safety. Towering trees loom on either side, their bare branches clawing at the darkness. The headlights barely cut through the swirling snow, and you curse under your breath at Natasha's choice of a safehouse in the middle of nowhere.

It's not something you're not used to — you've been to creepy, deserted places before. Hell, you've been to places that were way worse than this, since you know that you're actually approaching somewhere safe. But you're alone, with a little child and a car that literally broke down a mere hour ago, and you're terrified.

The fact that the safehouse is enveloped by darkness doesn't help. It's tucked deep into the snow, silent and almost ominous, with a narrow road leading up to it. No tracks mar the freshly fallen snow.

You cautiously park the car at the edge of the clearing, the unsettling silence greeting you. Not a trace of light spills from the windows of the house, and Natasha is nowhere in sight.

It looks too quiet. Too abandoned. Too empty.

You scan your surroundings again, but the snow-laden pines give nothing away. You even start to doubt whether she's actually here, which is something that fills you with guilt. No, Natasha would never do that to you.

"Mommy?", Nina mumbles, looking out the window. She immediately thinks the house is scary. It looks like a place a witch would live in. "Where are we?"

"You'll see, NeeNee." You unbuckle and then — hesitantly — reach for your gun. You tuck it into the waistband of your sweatpants before getting you both out of the car. Snow crunches underfoot as you make your way to the cabin, your one arm holding Nina and your free hand resting on the gun.

You approach the dark cabin, its frame both a promise and a threat. You hold Nina tighter as you make your way up the few steps that lead to the porch, then you pause. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting the forest to shift under your gaze or someone to jump out with a knife, but nothing happens.

The cabin door is slightly weathered, its surface a mix of peeling paint and exposed wood. You lift your fist and it hovers above the door for a second or two. Then, a faint creaking sound coming from inside makes you flinch, and you instinctively reach for your gun.

"Mommy, listen", Nina whispers, her voice small but curious.

"Shh, baby", you murmur, your lips brushing the top of her head. You let go of the gun to grab and twist the doorknob, the door creaking open with a reluctant groan.

Inside, faint traces of moonlight spilling in through the windows illuminate the outlines of sparse furniture. The air carries a scent of pine and dust, mixed with the smell of extinguished candles.

"Natasha?", you call hesitantly, glancing around the room to check if some masked killer will suddenly appear with an axe.

Nothing, of course. This isn't a horror movie. But it feels like one — the cabin doesn't answer, its darkness swallowing your words, and you're standing there helplessly. You tighten your grip on Nina as you step inside cautiously, closing the door behind you.

For a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own quiet breathing, mixed with the rustle of Nina's coat as she shifts in your arms. Then, a muffled voice breaks the stillness.

"Took you long enough."

A breath, half-relieved and half-irritated, escapes you as Natasha emerges from the small hallway. You shift Nina on your hip, your eyes narrowed. "You idiot!", you hiss, your voice trembling with relief. "What were you thinking? Why is it so dark? I thought we'd get jumped by some psycho-"

"Y/N", Natasha cuts you off, firmly but gently. She approaches you, her hands outstretched slightly with her palms up — a silent reassurance. Nina smiles widely at the sight, her eyes squinted so she can see the familiar woman better. "You're safe here. Both of you."

You huff, feeling your daughter's hand grip your hoodie. She's unbothered by your nerves. "You could've turned on the lights", you mutter, your voice cracking slightly.

"Didn't want to risk drawing attention", Natasha says, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she approaches you. "You're here now. That's what matters."

"Yeah, we're here now", you snap halfheartedly, your shoulders sagging. You gently put Nina down when she starts squirming. "Which is a miracle, may I add. Could've warned me about the whole invisible ink thing, superspy."

"Didn't think I'd need to hold your hand through that one", she teases, stepping around you to reach the door. She locks it with one swift, practiced movement. "Figured you'd put the pieces together. Which you did."

"Yeah, well. Try not scaring the hell out of me the next time."

"Noted." She turns around, her gaze lingering on you before dropping to Nina, who's blinking sleepily. The excitement from earlier has faded away, and the girl is tired again. "Hey, Tiny."

"Hi", Nina says, giving a small wave. Natasha's expression melts into something warmer, almost tender.

"You did good", she says, crouching down in front of the girl, "sticking with your mom like that. Brave girl."

Your daughter smiles, perking up at the praise. "Mommy said we're going on an adventure", she mumbles. Natasha glances at you, something like amusement shimmering in her eyes.

"An adventure, huh?"

"What was I supposed to say?", you retort. "'Hey, we're fleeing for our lives. By the way, your dad might be the reason'?"

At the sound of your slight bitterness, Natasha's smirk fades. She nods, her face more serious as she crouches down and holds out her hand like a secret pact. "Well, you made it. Adventures don't scare you, right?"

Nina giggles, shaking her head as she grabs Natasha's hand. "No. But mommy was scared."

You raise your eyebrows at her. "I didn't raise you to be a traitor", you scold her playfully.

Natasha smiles, straightening up. "Smart kid", she says. "Takes after you."

"She's the one who discovered the invisible ink", you say, looking at Nina. Her smile is wide, despite the exhaustion that's evident in her eyes. "You're lucky we found the message."

"Nobody else saw it?", Natasha probes, leading you to a small dining nook. "Ethan, for example?"

"No, he didn't." You sit down, pulling Nina into your lap in the process. "We're safe here, right? I mean, what if he-"

"You're safe here", she reassures you again, her hands resting on the surface of the table. "I would've have brought you here if that wasn't the case."

You nod, keeping your daughter close. Silence lingers, heavy and unspoken, broken only by the quiet howling of the wind outside. Nina nestles into you, her eyes drooping as she lets out a tiny yawn. You run a soothing hand through her soft locks, though your own mind is far from at ease.

Natasha glances at you, her face softening at the sight. "There's a double bed in the bedroom", she offers. "I'll crash on the couch."

You look up, exhaustion and vulnerability etched into your features. You don't say anything for a moment, then you shake your head. "No."

She blinks, surprised. "...No?"

"No." You shake your head again. After everything that's happened, you're not going to sleep by yourself. "We're all sleeping in the same bed", you say, straightening up and balancing Nina in your arms. "I just- I need to know you're here. I need to feel that."

The protests die on the tip of her tongue as she looks at you. The bravado from earlier has slipped away, replaced by something raw and fearful. And she wouldn't argue with that.

"Okay", she says softly, nodding. Relief flickers across your face. You don't thank Natasha out loud, but the way you squeeze your arm as you walk past her says enough.

The bedroom is bare and utilitarian, with a simple wooden frame supporting the double bed, but the thick blankets look comfortable and warm, which is all that matters. You tuck Nina in first before slipping in beside her. Natasha hesitates as she sits on the edge of the bed, then she takes off her boots.

"This is a bad idea", she mumbles halfheartedly, curling up on the other side of Nina. The mattress dips slightly underneath her weight.

"Maybe", you reply, already settling into the warmth of the forest green comforters. There's a nightlight that Natasha plugged in near the door, which is dipping the room into a gentle, golden light. "It's the only one I've got for now, though."

Nina nods off quickly, her little breaths quiet and rhythmic as she nestles against you. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, the faint scent of pine and aged wood wrapping around you like a memory.

"We've been here before", you whisper, not wanting to disturb Nina's slumber.

"After New York", Natasha whispers back, her head turning towards you. She smiles faintly.

"You dragged me here after that mess. I think we slept for twenty hours straight."

"You snored", she teases softly, making you huff a laugh. You shoot her a crooked smile.

"You were out so cold you wouldn't have noticed if the building collapsed." You pause, your expression somewhere between weary and wistful as you absentmindedly stroke Nina's hair. "It felt safe. Like nothing could touch us here."

"It still is", she says quietly, looking at you. Her hand shifts under the covers, brushing lightly against yours. Not a grand gesture, just enough to remind you that you aren't alone. "I promise."

. . .

Morning light seeps through the narrow gaps in the blinds, casting thin beams of sunlight across the room. The cabin is quiet, save for the soft sounds of breathing — slow and quiet.

You wake up first, the warmth of the bed making it difficult to separate yourself from the cocoon of sleep. But, as you stir, you realize something: you're tangled in a mess of limbs — yours, Natasha's, and Nina's.

Nina is nestled between the two of you, her body half draped across Natasha, the other half across you. Her face is pressed into Natasha's side, her cheek pink from sleep. Natasha has one arm wrapped across the child loosely, the other is tucked underneath your shoulders and holding you close.

You smile softly, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding you. Your life may have fallen apart, shattered into pieces, but this? This feels like a fragile kind of peace.

You watch for a moment, your heart full and warm, then you shift slightly. You're careful, trying not to wake either of them up, but Nina stirs in her sleep. Her little hand fists the fabric of Natasha's shirt as she mumbles something unintelligible.

Eventually, thanks to Nina's movements, Natasha wakes up as well. The look on her face is warm, content, as if the chaos of last night never happened.

"Morning", she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

Your lips curve into a small smile. You look at Nina, who's still blissfully unaware of the world around her. "I think we've made a human knot here."

"It's cozy", Natasha says, her hand gently adjusting your daughter's position without waking her.

"I'm glad we're here", you say, shifting a little to press a kiss to Nina's temple. You hesitate, then tilt your head up and kiss Natasha's cheek as well. "For saving us", you tease, though your heart feels heavy. "Can't just exclude you."

"Very thoughtful", she whispers, considering to pull you into an actual kiss this time. But Nina finally rouses from sleep and she sits up, rubbing her cheeks. She scrunches up her face, eyes squeezing shut to block out the sunlight seeping in through the windows. Natasha smiles, pulling the girl into a light hug, and Nina hums happily as she nuzzles into her side and falls back asleep.

You simply look at them, realizing the same thing once more — this is where you're supposed to be. For the first time in forever, you feel like you can finally rest.

. . .

— THE FALLOUT BEGINS —

The moment Ethan opens his eyes, he knows something is off.

His hand blindly reaches out for you, but his fingertips are met with the cold material of the bedsheets. Seems like you're up already — which isn't unusual, as you sometimes manage to wake up before him —, but today, there is no telltale hum of activity coming from downstairs.

Instead, the house is eerily quiet. No faint sound of Nina's giggles, no murmur of cartoons playing on the tv, no waft of coffee coming in through the slightly ajar door. He sits up, running his hand through his hair nervously, then he finally plucks up the courage to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and get up.

His movements are slow, unhurried, as if his body hasn't caught up to his mind yet. He pads to the door and pauses, listening for any signs of life — nothing.

Growing more worried by the second, he makes his way down the stairs. He glances into the living room — empty. The kitchen is spotless, a mug resting in the sink. He frowns, confusion cutting through the mess in his head. You hate leaving before cleaning up.

Then, he notices something else. The drawer where you keeps the keys to your Range Rover is ajar. The keys? Gone.

Ethan looks around the room frantically as if he expects to see them somewhere. Instead, his gaze lands on an envelope sticking out of the fruit bowl. He takes a few tentative steps toward it, then he reaches for it. He pulls out a letter, the text inside typed and printed. His eyes scan its contents, once, twice, then the truth sinks in.

It's the letter you received not too long ago, the one that confirmed your suspicions about Ethan. You had no idea who sent it, obviously — but Ethan knows immediately.

Isabelle.

She sent you this letter, causing you to pack your stuff and leave. With Nina. And now his family is gone, gone without so much as a goodbye.

Fuming, he pulls out his phone and dials Isabelle's number. He starts to pace around the room, his fingertips rubbing at his hairline as he waits for her to pick up. When she does, he comes to an abrupt stop.

"How could you?", he barks without waiting for her to say much besides 'hello', his hand landing flat on the surface of the kitchen island. "Are you dumb? You ratted me out to my wife? Isabelle, I am going to KILL you-"

"Relax, Tiger", she says, clearly amused by his little outburst. She pops a maraschino cherry into her mouth, chewing idly. "You're interrupting my beach day."

"Beach day? You think I give a fuck about that? Isabelle, my family is gone! Because of you!", he yells, breaking out into a cold sweat. "They're gone! She took my kid, you moron!"

"Please. Aren't you the one who's been having an affair for months now? With me, may I add. I really doubt your kid is your top priority."

"That doesn't matter! This- this isn't just about us!" Ethan slams his hand down on the marble surface again, his chest feeling tight. All his secrets, the ones he's managed to keep locked away for so long, are now teetering on the edge of exposure. "You're fucking stupid, that's what you are! Did all that cocaine fry your fucking brain?"

"My god, Ethie-kins. No need to swear so much." Isabelle laughs, emptying her cocktail with one quick sip. "You're always so stressed. You should be relieved, now that you've gotten rid of those two. I mean, you always go on and on and on about how tedious it is, don't you? Now it's finally just the two of us."

"That's not the point! What if she informs the authorities? What if she reports me? I have worked so hard for this!"

Isabelle tuts, a sound that nearly sends him through the roof. He's seconds away from ripping the entire place apart.

"That's what you're worried about? My, my, you're naive. Your little wifey is far too busy taking care of that brat you created. If I were you, I'd worry about her girlfriend", she says nonchalantly, making him freeze.

He stays silent for a moment — girlfriend? what in the world? —, and then it clicks. Mommy's friend. The redhead that left his office building. That's why Nina knew her.

He grabs the neckline of his shirt, which suddenly seems way too tight, and tugs on it.

"What?", he croaks.

"You didn't know? Wow, men really are oblivious. You think you're the only one who can have an affair, boo?" She laughs and keeps talking, but her next words barely register in his mind. "At least we've got them both in the same spot now. Makes things easier."

Ethan shakes his head, his hand stretching out before he balls it into a tight fist again. "You're lying. Y/N is not...she..."

"What? Not gay? Because she married you? Frankly, I thought you'd be smarter. Not much smarter, no, but seriously?" Isabelle slides off the barstool gracefully, her bare feet dipping into the sand in front of her. "You know, you're really ruining my vacation. I'm supposed to get a massage in ten minutes."

"Shut up!", he yells, sweeping the fruit bowl off the kitchen island. It shatters on the floor, shards everywhere, apples rolling around. "I don't give a fuck about your vacation! Isabelle, who is she?"

"Oh, nobody important. Barely worth mentioning." She smiles to herself, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. "Ever heard of Natasha Romanoff?"

. . .

The entire kitchen smells sweet and milky. Natasha's sitting in the dining nook, sipping on a steaming cup of something, and there's a pot of rice pudding boiling on the stove. It's warm in the cabin, despite the fact that it snowed all night.

The sound of small feet padding across the floor breaks the calm. Natasha looks up to see Nina, hair tousled and still sleepy from sleep, appear in the doorway. The girl smiles when she sees her, her entire face lighting up.

"Morning", Natasha greets warmly.

Nina's smile only widens. She scrambles into Natasha's lap without a second thought, nestling herself into the safety of her arms.

You appear seconds later, your messy hair and tired eyes still making you look like you've just woken up. You offer Natasha a small smile as you catch her eye, then you step in front of the stove. You nudge the pot of rice pudding to check its consistency, then stir the frozen wild blueberries she's heating up separately. Your voice, when it comes, is low.

"I was thinking we stay here for a while. No rush."

"Sounds good", she says, her hand lightly resting on Nina's back. "I think you could both use the time to breathe."

You nod, scooping some rice pudding into a bowl and topping it off with hot blueberries. You put the bowl in front of Nina and hand her a spoon, watching her scoop some pudding up and blow on it.

"She loves it here", you murmur as your daughter carefully tries a tiny amount of rice pudding. "Which is quite the compliment. She usually needs more time to adjust to new places. I think we can both make peace with it."

Natasha hums, not pushing for more than that. There is no need. For now, you have time.

Nina looks at Natasha, her mouth stained with blueberries. Natasha smiles, using her thumb to wipe the fruit juice off her face. "I like rice soup", Nina declares happily.

"That's rice pudding", Natasha reveals.

"Oh." The girl pauses, then lifts her spoon to offer Natasha a bite. "Do you like rice pudding?"

"I do", she says, smiling, and runs her hand over the little girl's head. "But I should let you finish that before I try some. Or maybe your mom will get me a bowl as well?"

Without hesitating, you scoop rice pudding into a second bowl. Blueberries on top, then you put the bowl in front of Natasha.

"Thank you, mommy", Natasha teases, making you roll your eyes. You gently swat at the back of her head and she laughs, a fond glint in her eyes. You smile and shake your head, momentarily forgetting about everything else.

The soft clink of spoons against bowls fills the living space as you settle into your makeshift breakfast routine. But as the quiet stretches on, something nags at the back of your mind. You've been avoiding it for hours at this point, so you quietly get up and walk over to your bag on the counter.

You grab your phone, press the power button and watch the familiar lock screen greet you. Then, a bunch of messages start popping up.

Ethan: Where are you? — 7.25am

Ethan: This isn't funny, Y/N. Come home. We need to talk. — 7.26am

Ethan: I've called in some favors. You know what that means. — 7.28am

With shaky hands, you put your phone aside. But your eyes stay glued to the screen.

Ethan has resources, you knew that already. You know it's only be a matter of time before he starts looking for you — he won't let you slip away that easily.

"What's wrong?", Natasha's voice cuts through the silence.

You glance at her, then shake your head. "Just Ethan."

"Everything okay?"

You nod, slipping your phone back into your bag. "I'll have to deal with it eventually", you say quietly, as to not disturb your daughter. She's happily eating the last spoonfuls of your rice pudding, scraping out the bowl as best as she can.

Natasha frowns, her fingers gently combing through Nina's hair. At least your daughter is oblivious to the storm brewing just outside your little sanctuary.

. . .

It doesn't take long for Ethan to start freaking out. The texts he sent you are just the beginning. A subtle warning, a desperate attempt to get you back home now.

He googles Natasha's name, asks a few of his 'friends' about her, does his own research. The more he finds out, the worse his nausea gets.

He's been trying to convince himself that he's not the bad guy here all day. What did he do, after all? Attend a few shady auctions? Buy some artworks? Oh no, the horrors.

Deep down, however, he's aware of just how much he's done.

He's been funding human trafficking rings. He's been putting lives at risk. He's the one who's been too complacent, too blinded by his own ambitions, and now his family is gone. Natasha has found them — and now he's up against something far worse than a petty affair.

Natasha Romanoff. Not just a threat, but the threat. He keeps scrolling through the information on her, nervously licking his lips in the process. Her reputation, her history. The things she's done, the lives she's ended. The connections she has. And now, they have his name.

Ethan grabs his keyboard and slams it against the wall, individual keys falling out and clacking quietly as they fall on the floor. He scrubs a hand down his face and gets up, nervously pacing through his office.

Without thinking twice, he picks up the phone and calls the one person who'll get you and his daughter back home.

"Ethan?", he says, his voice deep and rich with depth.

"Hey, Vance", he says curtly, running his fingers through his short hair and tugging on it. "There's an issue. I need you to help me out."

"Calling in favors, I see. What did you do this time?"

"I didn't 'do' anything", he immediately snaps, then forces himself to calm down. If anyone can find the two of you, it's Vance Harrington. He can't get on his bad side. "Look, I need you to find out where my wife is. She left. Took my kid with her."

"Sounds like they're running from you, man. You screwed up?"

Ethan grits his teeth. "I don't need your commentary. Just find out where they are. Make sure they come back home before things escalate."

Vance laughs, a sound that's smooth like butter. "Fine, fine. I can track 'em. But you know the drill — it'll cost you."

"I don't care about the cost! Just get it done."

"Alright, I'll need a few hours", Vance replies. "But I'll find them. When I do, I'll let you know. Don't go anywhere, Ethan. You wouldn't want this getting out of hand."

The call ends, and Ethan sinks back into his chair. A moment later, his phone buzzes.

Vance: It's a small world. You'll want to make sure she knows where she stands. Don't make me remind you. — 10.52pm

It's a cryptic message that makes Ethan feel uneasy, but he pushes the uncomfortable feeling down. He has no choice — he needs you back. He can't let his family slip through his fingers, not after he worked so hard to build everything you have.

Little does he know that a simple, two-minute phone call would start a ripple effect.

. . .

A faint scent of roasted garlic and fresh herbs fills the air. Nina is perched on the counter, her little hands clumsy but determined as she follows Natasha's instructions. Together, they carefully cut potatoes and carrots into cubes.

"It's my birthday soon", Nina informs Natasha, briefly looking up from the cutting board. The woman smiles. "I'm going to be four."

"Yeah?" Natasha hums, scooping the potato cubes into a bowl. She adds some olive oil and then hands the potatoes to you so you can season them. "What do you want for your birthday, Tiny?"

"A puppy", your daughter says, beaming. She glances at you to make sure you don't argue — you've said no to pets more times than she can count —, then she keeps talking. "A little one. Can I get a puppy, Natasha? Please?"

You exchange a quick glance with her, raising your eyebrows teasingly. Try getting out of this one, is what your eyes say. But she just smiles, shrugging.

"You know what, Tiny?", Natasha says, scooping Nina into her arms. "How about we first finish making lunch. Puppies can wait."

"Okay", she says, then leans in and whispers into her ear: "Please, Natasha. I really want a puppy."

"I heard that", you say, amused, as your gaze shifts to the window.

Snow is falling in a dense flurry, swirling and thick as they add more layers to the blur of white that's covering the ground. A snowman is waiting next to the porch, its pebble-smile crooked. It'd be a peaceful, idyllic scene, if it weren't for the black SUV disrupting it.

A large vehicle with tinted windows and a man sitting behind the wheel. He doesn't move or get out — he simply sits and stares.

You freeze and stop stirring the soup in front of you. Your heart starts racing, a cold wave of anxiety washing over you. Slowly, you reach out for Natasha. She glances at you, then follows your stunned gaze out the window. Her hand moves toward the weapon she has hidden in one of the drawers instinctively.

The man doesn't move for what feels like an eternity, his eyes fixed on the cabin with unnerving precision. Then he starts the engine of the SUV, the sound cutting through the air like a knife, and slowly pulls away from the cabin.

You watch him disappear. The silence afterwards feels oppressive.

"Mommy?", Nina says insecurely, tugging at your hand. Her head is tilted to the side, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "What happened?"

You look at her, forcing a small smile. "It's nothing", you say, trying to sound reassuring. Natasha bites the insides of her cheeks, still staring out of the window.

The black SUV was just a warning, but it's concerning nonetheless. Ethan clearly doesn't like that you left, and now he'll know where you are.

. . .

You thought one car showing up unannounced would be bad, but neither of you had an idea.

A few days pass in between. Snow melts and then falls again, the temperatures turn icy, the atmosphere slowly shifts to a less tense one. The cabin is silent save for the occasional wind gust against the windows and the soft crackle of the wood stove. The storm outside has grown harsher over the past few hours, with snow piling high around the cabin and isolating you further.

The three of you are calmer than you should be given the events of the past days. You're having dinner together — a sparse meal consisting of canned stew and Ritz crackers, since Natasha hasn't had a chance to go to the only nearby grocery store yet.

You look up from your plate, breaking the silence that's settled over you. "Natasha", you say, putting your spoon aside. "Have you heard anything else from SHIELD? Any updates?"

"No", she says, her posture tensing up. "Nothing yet."

It's clear that she, just like you, has been expecting something — anything — to happen. The quiet you're experiencing now is a prelude to the storm she's waiting for. She can't shake the feeling that the people she's been investigating, the ones she's been digging into so thoroughly, are aware of her presence now.

The silence stretches on, until a faint sound disrupts it. A car engine, too close, too precise, purrs in the distance.

You and Natasha exchange a look. She exhales before rising quietly, subtly slipping her Glock into her pocket before making her way to the window. Nina looks up briefly, her face scrunching up.

"Where is Natasha going?"

"Shh", you say, putting your hand on hers.

Natasha stands in front of the window. Again, a black car is pulling into the clearing by the cabin, but it's a different one this time. Her chest tightens.

It's them. The ones she's been investigating, the ones who've been tracking her.

"Is that...?"

"Yes", she murmurs, her voice low but filled with urgency. "They've found us."

The vehicle has stopped a few yards away from the cabin, its engine dying with a soft hum. No one gets out immediately, the world seeming to hold its breath. Then, the door opens, and a tall man with broad shoulders and graying hair exits. Another one follows, bald and tattooed all over, his expression grim.

They both stand in front of the cabin as they survey it from a distance, taking it all in. You're vulnerable here, and the stakes have never been higher.

"Stay here", Natasha orders, quickly moving to the front door. You frown and shake your head, instinctively pulling Nina into your lap.

"What? No! You don't know who that is, what if-"

"Y/N", she interrupts you, slipping into her coat. "This isn't just a random threat anymore. This is targeted. Now stay here and keep the kid safe."

Outside, the men start heading to the cabin. Natasha glances at you one last time before she opens the door. You want to argue, to follow her, but you can't. It'd be too risky. Instead you watch as the door falls shut behind her with a groan and a click, leaving you and Nina alone.

Natasha approaches them, keeping her distance but not showing fear. They stop in their tracks.

"You", one of them sneers, the other one reaching for his gun. "You think you can just walk away? We don't just let people disappear after they dig into our business."

"I suggest you leave", she says, her voice low. "Otherwise, I could make this way worse for you."

A standoff. A moment of tension thick enough to cut.

The men exchange a look, communicating silently. One of them pulls out a gun, causing Natasha to point her own Glock at him.

Then, without warning, the other man moves, drawing his gun way too quickly for her to react.

A gunshot rings through the air.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets @upsidedowndanvers @s1ut4nat

#natasha romanoff x reader #stab me why don’t you #OH MY GOD????????? IM ABOUT TO PISS MY PANTS

197 notes · View notes

plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: not much to say tbh. have fun i guess?

warnings: implied smut, cheating

word count: 10.9k

…part 3, part 4, part 5…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— A TANGLED HEART —

The kiss threw Natasha off.

What started as a simple mission, a plan to figure out who Ethan Bailey is and what kind of shady business he's involved in, resulted in her meeting the love of her life again. Discovering that was a curveball Natasha wasn't prepared for, one that made everything about indefinitely more complicated.

Keeping her distance seemed easy enough at first, but it quickly became impossible. As soon as she'd figured out enough to know that Ethan Bailey is hiding something bigger, her old feelings came rising back to the surface rapidly. Protecting you and your daughter — that was her new priority. That, and not falling in love with you again.

Well, shit — she's failed at one of those already. Plans have always had a way of collapsing whenever you were involved.

To be honest: she never failed to keep her heart out of it. She never even tried.

Natasha leans against the counter in her kitchen. It's been a few days, but her lips still tingle whenever she thinks of the kiss. The look in your eyes burned itself into her mind and wormed its way straight into her heart, settling there comfortably.

She tried to distract herself — mostly because you're married and have a family. She knows your marriage with Ethan isn't perfect as you've told her so yourself, but becoming a homewrecker? Or even being something that's close to a homewrecker? It's not something she'd ever thought she'd do.

Natasha exhales slowly, her fingers drumming against the smooth marble countertop. It's silent in the kitchen, apart from the gentle hum of the refrigerator — a sharp contrast to the whirlwind inside her head.

Something that was once an easy mission has unraveled into something much more complicated. It's not just about Ethan anymore. In fact, it stopped being about him the minute she saw you.

And that kiss. That damn kiss.

Actually, it's way more than just the kiss. It's everything combined — your smile, the way you look at her even seven years later, the way Nina beams at you. It's the same affection you once directed at her: the same warmth, the same genuine, quiet adoration.

Natasha hates how easy it is to slip back into your orbit, but she can't help it. She remembers the day she realized she's in love with you for the first time. The realization that her feelings ran deeper than expected — that, what was once a quick conversation over coffee, had turned into something that would screw her forever.

The way she loves you has always gone beyond what she can easily explain. She's never experienced this before, and she's certain she won't have to experience it again.

Her gaze shifts to the window. The city outside is unfairly calm with its glittering lights and towering buildings, almost taunting her. Natasha quickly forces herself to look away, a shaky breath escaping her.

She knows she should focus on the mission, on Ethan's secrets, on protecting you and Nina from whatever storm may be brewing. But her heart keeps dragging her back, screaming louder than the rational voices in her head.

She pushes off the counter and grabs a glass of water. As she takes a sip, her phone buzzes in the pocket of her sweatpants. She fishes it out and glances at the screen, spotting Hill's name.

Maria: Any updates? — 10.32pm

Natasha stares at the screen for a moment, the message managing to pull her back to reality. The kiss may have blurred the lines, but it hasn't erased her responsibilities.

Her thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment, then she texts back.

Natasha: Not yet. I'll check in

tomorrow. — 10.33pm

Maria: Distracted? — 10.33pm

Blushing, Natasha shuts off her phone and pretty much tosses it aside. 'Distracted' — that's certainly one word that comes to mind at her current predicament.

. . .

The laptop glows dimly in the darkened room. The neatly spread files before her are anything but neat in content — transaction records, meeting schedules, cryptic emails. All of it hints at something deeper, something that's still out of reach.

A new address pops up when she clicks on Isabelle Durant's name that's listed under a few of Ethan's known associates. A location Ethan visited recently, possibly right before leaving to visit his family with you. It's miles away from anything even remotely tied to his company's headquarters.

Natasha is certain of three things by now.

1) Ethan is involved in human trafficking. She's not sure in what way exactly, but he is.

2) Some woman named Isabelle Durant is a part of this as well, and Ethan's hiding something about their relationship. Coincidentally, she found the exact same email you retrieved from underneath his clothes — and she immediately realizes that it isn't just business between them. And if her hunch is correct, their relationship may be the thread that ties Ethan's secret dealings together.

3) You don't know the full extent of what Ethan's involvement — which, admittedly, stings. However, she noticed your growing sense of unease when you were talking, and she's afraid it's only a matter of time until you discover the truth yourself.

Natasha's torn between telling you herself and letting you figure it out on your own. She isn't sure which one would be more upsetting; but, in the end, she'd have been lying to you either way. Because she'll either have kept her investigations a secret for way too long, or the fact that she's known about Ethan's shady business all along.

She leans back, exhaling sharply. She still doesn't have enough. Enough to bring Ethan down. Enough to explain to you why she's been lurking around. But what she does know is that she needs more access.

It's something she realized a while ago, something she's done before — but it still hurts every time.

She has to use you for more information. Again.

Even if what you can give her are only scraps, it'll still be helpful. You're his wife, after all, so you automatically know different things about his whereabouts than anyone else. Plus, a not-so-small part of her brain wants to hear your voice again. See you again. Kiss you, hold you, all that sappy stuff she never thought she'd be daydreaming about.

Like she said: you worm your way into her heart with ease every time.

Natasha hesitates as she stares at your contact for a moment. She's not proud of what she's about to do — using your current situation as a way in — but the truth isn't going to reveal itself without her digging for it. Part of her is also scared that in the end, it'll seem like she was using you for intel.

But she has to do this. Protecting you and Nina is more important than keeping your relationship (affair?) alive later on.

She dials your number with a quiet sigh. The line barely rings before you answer.

"Hello?", your voice cuts through, sounding rushed and distracted.

"Are you alone?", Natasha asks, concealing the relief she's feeling at hearing you again. It's only been three days, Romanoff. Get a grip.

You let out a humorless laugh, and she hears something clink in the background.

"You mean aside from Nina demanding I cut her sandwich into a perfect star shape? Ethan barely left for his trip, and I'm already swamped."

"Didn't mean to interrupt", Natasha says, smirking faintly.

"No, no, you're not. It's just...chaotic", you mutter, your voice fading slightly as you shift the phone to your other ear. Natasha can hear Nina as she demands chocolate pudding. "No, we're having breakfast first— This is what happens when he springs things on us last-minute. Barely said goodbye to Nina this morning — too busy packing and taking a damn call. Do you know he didn't even-"

You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. "Sorry, I'm rambling. What's up? Everything alright?"

"It's fine", she says after hesitating for a split second. She didn't expect you to volunteer so much so quickly, but she'll take what she can get. "Sounds like you've got a lot on your plate."

"That's putting it mildly. Honestly, it's always like this when Ethan decides to just leave. I mean, he's not exactly hands-on when he's here, but still..."

Natasha picks up on the frustration in your voice, filing it away for later. She feels irritation, directed straight at Ethan, when she hears how stressed you sound. "Where'd he head off to?"

"Some business meeting or whatever." You pause, and Natasha can hear Nina in the background again. She smiles faintly at the familiar sound of the little girl's voice as she keeps asking for chocolate pudding. "Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention. Something about reconnecting with business partners overseas. You know how vague he can be about his work."

Natasha, in fact, doesn't know. You assuming that she does amuses her for some reason, but what you said is causing her mind to quickly piece the details together. "Right. You sound exhausted."

"You have no idea", you say, huffing a laugh. "Anyway, why'd you call? I assume this isn't just a check-in or something."

"I just wanted to check if you're alright. I haven't seen you and Nina in a while, so I figured I'd stop by, see if you need anything", she says, careful not to give anything away. You chuckle softly.

"That's sweet of you. Actually, I wouldn't mind some company —", Natasha hears you rip open a bag as you balance the phone between your ear and your shoulder, "Nina's been asking about you, by the way. But you'd better bring snacks. She's on a roll today."

"Snacks, got it", Natasha says, a smile tugging at her lips. "Text me your address? I'll be there soon."

. . .

— WHERE SHE BELONGS —

The domestic chaos of everyday life — you tidying, Nina playing with her toys — is something Natasha didn't know she craved.

A scent of soup lingers in the air as it boils on the stove, clearly homemade. There are stuffed animals and drawings everywhere, Nina is constantly running from one room to the other, a basket of freshly washed laundry is sitting on the floor next to the couch. It's impressive how you've managed to turn a white, lifeless mansion into something warm and welcoming.

Natasha carefully steps over a pile of blocks as Nina zips past her, carrying what looks like a crayon-streaked notebook.

"Mommy, look!", she says, skidding to a halt in front of you. You dry your hands with a dishrag before taking the notebook and inspecting the drawing.

"That's beautiful", you praise her warmly, handing the notebook back to her. It's almost full by now, pages and pages filled with doodles and typical toddler-drawings.

Nina beams and turns to Natasha. "You want to see?"

Natasha blinks, momentarily caught off guard. "Sure, let's see", she then says, crouching down and letting your daughter place the notebook in her hands. It's a chaotic swirl of colors, messy and vibrant, but Nina's eyes are lit up makes it feel like a masterpiece. "Wow, that's amazing!", she says. "A real artist, are we?"

You huff softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. You keep walking around the room as you tidy up, pulling a stray sock from in between the couch cushions and gathering the empty snack plate Nina left on the coffee table.

"Sorry for the mess", you apologize. Natasha just waves her hand dismissively. "I try to stay on top of it, but Nina..." You gesture at the girl as she tries to climb the couch, only to flop over dramatically halfway through. "She's a bit of a tornado."

"A cute tornado", Natasha says, grabbing a pair of kids' pajama bottoms and holding it out to you.

"Thanks", you say absentminded, tossing the laundry into an empty basket. "'Cute tornado', huh? You sure you don't want to borrow her for a week and see if you still think that?"

"Amazing idea. I'm known to be great with kids."

You smile at the sarcasm in her voice. "You don't give yourself enough credit", you say firmly, putting the laundry basket with the dirty clothes aside. "She adores you. Right, Nina?"

Nina briefly looks at you, then jumps off the couch and zooms into the hallway. "Yes!", she yells, her footsteps echoing through the house as she patters upstairs.

"Where are you going?", you call out to her.

No response. You shake your head and grab the basket full of freshly washed clothes. Whiffs of soap and fabric softener, clinging to the threads and now surrounding you. You start sorting through the clothes in silence, Natasha joining you after a minute or two.

You're working side by side, quietly, as if you've done this a hundred times before. Your fingers brush against hers as you reach for the same shirt, your eyes meeting — and for a moment, you pause.

"Thanks for helping", you say, finally looking at the shirt you're holding.

"Anytime", Natasha replies. She means it more than she probably should, but part of her is aware it's too late now. She's too deep in to get out again, and maybe it's time to make peace with that.

. . .

The more time you spend together, the more you're reminded of what you once had — of what you could've had.

A glimpse into some other universe, timeline, whatever you want to call it. Unfortunately, you both like what you see — it's sweet, warm. It's familiar, lulling you both into a sense of peacefulness.

Natasha spent years honing her ability to slip into any role, to blend into any life. Now, for once in her life, doesn't feel like she has to pretend.

You slip into a routine easily. Natasha keeps folding laundry, stacking tiny socks and soft towels into neat piles, while you clean the kitchen and get started on lunch.

She joins once she's done, offering to chop veggies. You hand her a chopping board and a knife, and she gets started right away.

Let's say it like this — Natasha has an interesting approach to cooking.

You give her an amused look as she starts to cut the onion into small pieces (or, what are supposed to be small pieces). They're uneven, some a bit too chunky, but there's no way you're going to complain about that.

It's nothing you're not used to, either. It reminds you of that time you and Natasha were stranded in a safe house in rural Russia. You wanted to make dinner from a few scraps you'd found — spaghetti, canned tomatoes, frozen fish. An odd combo, but you made do with what you had.

It was a dingy house with nothing but a hot plate. The pot was old and all banged up, and Natasha had managed to burn the pasta. You'd laughed for ten minutes straight while Natasha, red-cheeked and torn between amusement and embarrassment, had dug through the fridge for something eatable. You'd ended the night with buttered peas and some crackers.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how you dice an onion", you finally say, earning a small smile from her.

"Looks perfectly fine to me", she says nonchalantly and throws the cubed onion into the pan with the hot oil. It starts to sizzle quietly.

"Don't let it burn."

Natasha suppresses a smile and throws a piece of onion peel at you. "Still haven't forgotten about that?"

"No", you laugh, dodging the onion peel. "Now stop making a mess. I have my hands full with Nina already."

"Full hands, huh?" She raises an eyebrow and tosses another onion peel your way, which ends up on your sleeve. "You should consider yourself lucky to have me."

You pause, your fingers quickly brushing the onion peel away. Your features soften, if only momentarily. "I am damn lucky", you tease, but there's an underlying hint of sincerity in your voice. Natasha picks up on it despite you not wanting to. Her smirk fades, being replaced by something warmer.

"At least you're aware of it", she teases back, then proceeds to throw away the rest of the onion peel. She flicks it into the trash with exaggerated precision, trying to steer the moment back into lighter territory. "And just for the record — I don't burn food anymore. I'm a whole new woman."

You smile faintly, focusing on the salmon filets in front of you again. "Oh really?" You pause, sprinkling a generous amount of pepper over the three pieces. "A whole new woman? What else is new about you, then?"

Natasha smirks, tossing a handful of vegetables into the pan. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I mean, you're the one who said it", you tease, grabbing the salt from the tray with the seasonings. You hesitate for a moment, your curiosity bubbling back to the surface. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. A few weeks ago, I noticed something. Avengers Tower — what happened to it?"

Her movements slow for just a fraction before she continues stirring normally again. "Ah, that. Right. It's...been a while. Things happen, people change, whatever. We moved to a more secluded location."

"Oh", you mumble, unable to conceal your disappointment. "I liked the Tower."

"You'll like the Compound", Natasha says and you glance at her, smiling weakly. "No, seriously. It's nice there. Not the same, obviously, but still nice. Lots of outdoor space, too."

"Perfect for kids", you tease, hearing Nina sing along to some song as she's sitting in the living room and drawing.

Natasha nods, trying to hide how your simple statement affected her.

"Yes", she says quietly, keeping her gaze fixed on the pan in front of her. "It is."

Lunch is a messy, laughter-filled affair. Between stealing bites of your bread and making her cutlery 'fight', Nina demands Natasha cuts her salmon into pieces, which the redhead doesn't mind doing.

"You're spoiling her", you say, half-serious, as you watch her carefully cut the filet into bite-sized pieces.

"Guilty as charged", Natasha replies. "She deserves it."

Afterwards, you stack the plates and put the knives and forks into the sink as Natasha wipes the table. Nina, having grown impatient with the adults, starts tugging at Natasha's sleeve.

"Come play outside!"

"Bossing me around, are we?"

Nina shakes her head, still insistently pulling on Natasha's sleeve. "Mommy says she's the boss."

Natasha shoots you a pointed look, a small smirk on her face. "Seriously?"

"She's not wrong", you say, shrugging. You wipe the countertops before crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Before Natasha can even think of a response, Nina has already grabbed her hand and started tugging her outside. She's surprisingly strong for such a little thing, and at least double as stubborn.

"Go, go! You too, mommy!"

Outside, the sun is warm and the grass is soft underneath your shoes. Despite it being November, it's not nearly as cold as you thought it'd be, but the air is still chilly. You barely manage to tuck Nina into a jacket before she storms away, quickly running from the dreaded scarf in your hands.

You watch from the sidelines as Natasha is pulled into a game of tag. Nina's like a hurricane, bouncing around and chasing after Natasha, but she's not quick enough to catch her.

Your chest grows warm at the sight. Natasha's taking the game far too seriously — she even pretends to stumble just so Nina can catch her. She collapses onto the ground, with the girl climbing onto her back triumphantly.

"I win!"

"Unstoppable", Natasha agrees, breathless. She looks at you, a small smirk forming on her face. "You're next, boss."

"Oh, no", you immediately say, but your daughter has other plans. Soon enough, all three of you are tumbling in the grass, a mock-yelp escaping you as Nina tackles you.

"Got you!"

"Traitor", you say, tickling her sides until she starts giggling and kicking her feet. Natasha smiles, propping herself up on her elbows as she leans back and watches.

"Didn't even have to help", she says, brushing a few blades of grass off your jeans. You roll your eyes — Natasha had caught your wrist when you tried to run, making you an easy target for the little girl.

"You're terrible at lying, Romanoff."

Nina flops onto your chest, her kicking legs slowly coming to a halt as she nuzzles into you affectionately. You smile, wrapping your arms around her.

"Mommy, you're warm", she declares.

"That's called body heat, sweetie." You look at Natasha, her expression soft and lost in thought. "She used to do this all the time when she was smaller. Just...collapse on top of me."

"She feels safe with you", she says quietly, absently plucking at a stray thread on her hoodie.

Before you can respond, the feeling of raindrops on your face makes you pause. You look up at the sky, which is now marred with dark clouds. A cool breeze sweeps through the yard, rustling the grass and sending a ripple through the trees. Natasha looks up, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Feels like rain", she mutters.

"You always say that", you say, sitting up. Nina quickly gets up when more raindrops start to fall on you, her face lighting up. The light drizzle suddenly turns into a downpour, and the girl cheers happily. "Oh no!"

Nina laughs, her arms stretched out as if she's trying to catch the raindrops. "It's raining, it's raining!"

You scramble to a stand, brushing wet hair from your eyes. "Nina, come on! We have to go inside before we catch colds!"

"No! I like the rain!", she protests, hopping in place as the rain soaks through her clothes.

Natasha doesn't waste another second. She grabs Nina and hoists her over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Let's go, puddle jumper."

"No!", she whines, her legs kicking half-heartedly. "Mommy, save me!"

"You're on your own here, honey."

You hurry after them, slipping slightly on the wet grass. By the time you're all inside, you're all drenched, water dripping down on the hardwood floors.

Natasha sets a still-giggling Nina down, her curls clinging to her face. "I'm wet!"

"I can see that", you say, glancing at Natasha as she wrings out the hem of her shirt. "I'll go grab some dry clothes. Make sure she doesn't run outside again, yeah?"

"On it." The redhead grabs a fluffy towel from the stacks of fresh laundry from the couch, swiftly wrapping Nina up in it. She rubs her arms to chase away the chill, a small smile on her face. "There you go. You look like a little burrito."

"What's a burrito?"

"It's food", Natasha replies, sitting back on her heels. "Never tried it?"

Nina shakes her head, hugging the towel tightly around her. You reappear with a bunch of new clothes, tossing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie onto the couch for Natasha.

"Here, sweetie", you say, handing Nina a fleece overall. "That'll keep you warm."

She scampers off to go change, leaving you and Natasha alone in the living room. It's silent apart from the heavy rain, pattering down on the roof and against the windows. The storm has darkened the sky, turning the late afternoon light into something dimmer.

You stand on opposite sides of the room, the tension palpable. Her eyes locked on yours, green and deep. Yours, warm and less guarded than they were when she first arrived.

She clears her throat before turning around, taking off her soaked clothes and slipping into the fresh ones. Unsure what to do with yourself, you start to change as well.

. . .

In the evening, it's Natasha who reads Nina's bedtime story to her. You linger in the doorway, arms crossed and a small smile playing on your lips. You can't decide how to feel about this — Ethan has not read her a bedtime story once, claiming he'd be bad at it. How come Natasha's managed to slip into this role so easily, then?

"You talk funny", Nina giggles. Natasha has been using her Russian accent to read this story to her, making the pirates sound like they regularly eat borscht.

"Funny?" She scoffs playfully, reaching out to smooth out her blanket. "This is my professional storytelling-voice, ma'am."

Nina breaks out into another fit of sleepy laughter, her eyes drooping shut for a moment. She's exhausted — it's been a long day, after all.

Natasha can see the tiredness in the little girl's face, so she smiles softly and finishes the last page of the book. She shuts it and puts it aside before slowly starting to get up.

"Night, Tiny."

Immediately, her eyes snap open again. "Mommy said you're staying tonight", she blurts, which is definitely a lie. However, you can't deny that you've been thinking about asking Natasha to stay, just for a night. Your cheeks turn pink anyway.

"Nina", you chide.

"Well, looks like your mom's got plans for me, huh?" Natasha looks at you, a teasing smile on her face. You shake your head, a soft huff of air escaping you.

"I didn't say anything", you say, flustered but trying to keep your composure. "She's just...guessing."

Natasha hums, tilting her head. You sigh, a sheepish smile breaking through.

"Though I wouldn't mind if you did", you eventually add.

"Right", she says quietly, brushing some hair out of Nina's face. A small gesture, but one that seems so natural and effortless that it makes you all warm on the inside. It's like looking through a window, watching someone else's life that you wish could be your own.

Natasha catches your gaze — and for a quick second, it's like you're the only two people who exist. The remaining flush on your cheeks, the vulnerability in your eyes. It reminds her of everything you once shared. It's so much more than she bargained for, and yet it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

And just for a moment, she lets herself think about what could be. If things were different, if she didn't have this mission weighing on her. It's a fleeting thought, but it startles her.

She pulls her hand away from Nina's face, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

"Goodnight, kid", she says once more, slowly getting up. Her eyes lock with yours as she approaches you, then she walks out into the hallway. You tuck Nina in and kiss her forehead, then you follow Natasha downstairs.

You find her by the bookshelf, her head tipped back against the wall as she leans against it. She briefly looks at you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. It doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"I meant what I said", you start, approaching her with your arms crossed in front of your chest. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed the night. Nina would love to see you in the morning. And, I mean, it gets lonely here. It's a big house, and being alone with a toddler-"

"I'm staying."

You tilt your head, pausing. "You're sure?"

"I'm staying", Natasha confirms, her voice soft. She tries to give you a teasing smile, but it doesn't quite work. "I hope your couch is comfortable."

You smile and nod, slowly uncrossing your arms. "It's a nice couch", you say awkwardly, causing her smile to turn more genuine. "I'll make it nice. You'll see."

"Can't wait", she teases, watching you as you quickly busy yourself gathering pillows and blankets. She watches you for a few seconds, her eyes following your movements as you fluff pillows and smooth out blankets. "You don't have to fuss, Y/N. I've slept in worse places."

"This isn't 'worse places'", you argue, continuing to feel the different pillows to determine which one is the comfiest. "It's my house. I don't want you to wake up with a crick in your neck."

"Well, thanks", she says quietly, sounding sincere. You hum, patting the couch.

"Here, see if it's okay like this."

Natasha lays down, her head sinking into the pillow. "It is nice", she simply says, watching as you absentmindedly grab a stuffed animal — a cat — and hand it to her. "Seriously?"

You glance at her, confused, before realizing what you did. "Oh, sorry. That's a habit", you say, quickly reaching for the toy again. "Nina needs her Bearie at night."

She laughs quietly, shaking her head. "As long as you don't tuck me in, we're good."

"I was just about to do that", you say with a smirk, covering her with a blanket. "You're all set?"

"All set", she confirms, shifting a bit. You hesitate, unsure if you should say anything else — and then decide against it.

It takes a few hours for Natasha to fall asleep. Her thoughts are running wild with various things — you, the mission, Ethan, what this means, where it's leading. She's still grappling with her old feelings for you, and she knows you're conflicted about this as well. You're married, after all. You have a family.

Ironically, being apart makes it worse. You used to sleep in the same bed, tangled up underneath bedsheets. You used to sync your breathing, listen to each other's heartbeats.

The physical distance feels unsettling, unnatural, but you both know better than to get up and join the other.

. . .

Early morning light filters through the curtains. Feet shuffle across the polished floors, dishes clink quietly in the kitchen. Quiet giggles, a hushed voice reminding the child to be a bit more quiet.

Natasha wakes up early, drawn to the quiet sounds of the house. The thoughts from last night linger, but she tries not to overthink. She'd rather focus on how warm she feels, how the smell of coffee is wafting through the rooms. Slowly, she gets up, her feet padding across the floor as she approaches the kitchen.

You're in front of the stove, dressed in pajama bottoms and a loose top. You have a cup of coffee that you're sipping on while simultaneously preparing Nina's breakfast. There's a soft, familiar warmth to you — one that she remembers so well from times that were simpler. It makes Natasha pause and lean against the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Good thing Nina has her back turned to her, otherwise she probably would've blown her cover again.

But no, you don't notice her at first. Natasha just stands there, watching you as you put some oatmeal into a small bowl. It's a peaceful, fleeting moment — one that can't last forever, but she pretends it will.

Finally, you look up. Your eyes meet, pulling you into a moment of shared connection. It's easy, like it always used to be, and you find yourself putting your mug aside.

Without thinking, you step closer, and Natasha follows in suit. It doesn't require words.

Her hands on your waist, yours on her face. Your lips meet in a lazy, unhurried kiss, carrying all the affection you've never been able to truly let go of. All you focus on is the taste of her lips, the gentle pressure of the kiss, transporting you back to a place in the past.

For a moment, everything else fades away. No missions, no lies — just the two of you and the feeling of what once was.

You pull away slightly, your hands resting on her face. Your thumb brushes over her mouth, eliciting a sleepy smile from her.

"Morning", she mumbles, her voice still raspy with sleep.

"Morning", you reply, not taking your hands off her cheeks even when you start to flush a little. The color on your face sends a thrill through Natasha, little sparks of electricity shooting down her spine and making her heartbeat quicken. You can feel it against your chest, the rapid thumping of her heart underneath her ribcage, and you smile at the realization.

Still a little flustered, you pull away before Nina turns around and sees you. You keep stirring her oatmeal to make it cool down quicker, a small smile playing on your lips as you steal a glance at Natasha.

"Want coffee?", you ask, trying to appear casual.

"I'm good for now", Natasha says, leaning against the counter. "How's Nina?"

You look at your daughter, who's happily making faces at the spoon. It never fails to amaze you how easy it can be to entertain a child.

"She's in a good mood, apparently."

Nina, finally realizing that a) Natasha's here, and b) the adults are talking about her, looks up. She smiles when you put down the bowl of oatmeal in front of her, instantly digging in.

Natasha watches the girl with fondness, then directs her attention towards you again. "What did you have planned for today?"

"Oh, the usual", you say, filling the remaining oatmeal into two bigger bowls. "Run some errands, clean up around the house...that kind of stuff. Nina's not going to preschool today, so we'll just hang out a bit."

"Sounds peaceful", Natasha says, subtly moving behind you. Her arms snake around your waist before she can stop herself and reconsider whether this is a good idea, and her mouth places a kiss on the back of your neck. You freeze before melting into her embrace, but she's already stepped away again.

"Yeah, it-" You clear your throat, the flush on your cheeks making you look like you're sunburnt. "It's all I can manage right now, I guess."

"Mhm." Natasha smiles, her arms now crossed in front of her chest.

Trying to distract yourself, you decide to check on Nina. The girl's chin is smeared with oatmeal, but she looks completely content like this, oblivious to the world outside of her little bubble of joy.

You exchange a look of both amusement and fondness, then you nudge the chair next to Nina's aside and sit down. You wipe her face, ignoring her halfhearted attempts at protesting.

Natasha wasn't expecting this moment — this simple, fleeting slice of normalcy —, yet here you are. No espionage. No dangers. Just the three of you.

She may not have all the answers yet. Truthfully, she has no idea where this is headed. But the smile on your face, so soft and disarming, makes her feel like she's exactly where she's supposed to be.

Natasha will never know what life would've been like if it had taken you down another path. What she does know, however, is that this, right here, is something worth holding onto.

. . .

— A SWISS AFFAIR —

"You're so paranoid."

"I am not paranoid", Ethan replies, irritated, and keeps scrolling through his phone. He's been checking it obsessively — scanning emails, cross-referencing encrypted notes, making sure his location is turned off. He looks out of the window of the sleek black car, almost as if expecting to be followed.

But the quiet streets of Zurich are empty. Snow is covering the sidewalks, glittering under the streetlights, and there are no people to be seen. No cars, either, lucky for them.

"You're going to give yourself an ulcer", Isabelle teases, swirling a glass of champagne that was offered to them by the driver.

"This isn't some charity gala, Izzy", he says, briefly glancing at her. "One wrong move, and we're done."

"Paranoid", she repeats in a teasing tone, her red lips moving exaggeratedly with each syllable. She leans in closer and plucks the phone from his hands. "Relax. We're here to spend money, not stage a coup."

"You can be exhausting", he says, slumping into the seat and scrubbing a hand down his face.

The car drives up to the gate of a private mansion on the outskirts of the city. It's secluded, surrounded by sprawling, snow-dusted grounds, with ornate stonework and high arched windows. The tall iron gates are manned by heavily armored security, which scan their car with a device.

Ethan rolls down the window to show their invitation. The security guard nods and waves them in, two other men opening the gates for them. The car rolls up the driveway, coming to a halt in front of the mansion.

"Why would they need to check the car?", he mutters once they're out of earshot, unbuckling his seatbelt. "What are they expecting?"

"Oh, I don't know. Explosives?", she says, laughing softly. They exit the car, the air around them icy and fresh. Isabelle leans closer to him as they approach the building, her voice a whisper: "Honestly, it's endearing. You want to look like you belong here so desperately, but you're always so tightly wound. Charming in its own way."

Ethan just shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his tie. Her words are teasing, but there's truth to them. He's out of his depth here, and she knows it. No tailored suit, no Swiss watch, no polished shoes can hide that. Every choice carefully considered, but lacking authenticity. A constructed mask, one that Isabelle sees right through.

They make their way into the mansion, passing through the upper floors. Laughter and champagne flutes clink freely, creating a stark contrast to the basement they're now approaching. Down there, the air is heavier and the light dimmer.

The auction room stretches wide, with antique archways framing the space. Polished marble floors, bare stone walls, a touch of severity to it all. In the corners, alcoves host private conversations between guests.

Ethan steps into the room, feeling more and more out of place with each second he spends in this place — one that is filled with people who seem too at home, like they've been living in this kind of underground world for years.

"You see her?", Isabelle whispers as they walk deeper into the darkened room, nodding at a woman in a green dress. "She's the one who gets the 'deliveries' to the right people."

Ethan stiffens. "Don't talk like that."

"What?" She scoffs, smirking. "You're here, Ethan. You know what this is. Don't play innocent."

"I am innocent", he snaps, his tone too harsh for discretion. "I just-" He looks around, quickly lowering his voice. "I'm not involved in any of this. I just buy art, Isabelle. That's it."

She rolls her eyes and leads him to their reserved seats. "Keep telling yourself that, darling", she mumbles, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. "Without payers like you, there's no auction. No money. Everything would crumble."

His hands clench and unclench as he rests them on this thighs. He wants to argue, find a way to tell her how wrong she is.

It's easier to focus on the artwork, to tell himself his hands are clean, than to admit that he's guilty.

The auction starts with the ring of a bell. All the conversations die down, and a woman in a black dress steps up on the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen", she begins. "Welcome. I'm delighted to see so many familiar faces tonight..."

Ethan tries to focus on her words, but his eyes drift to the display area. Multiple paintings and statues, lined up neatly. One painting catches his attention — a bold, abstract piece with thick strokes of crimson and black. Something about it draws him in — it's violent, chaotic, unlike anything else that's being auctioned here tonight.

He briefly glances at Isabelle as she shifts next to him.

Isabelle Durant. Auction facilitator, middlewoman, laundering specialist. Although she tries to avoid direct contact with the human trafficking side, she's definitely more involved in this than he is.

She ensures the auctions go smoothly, she helps conceal the origin of funds. And, unlike him, she's completely aware of the fact that she's financing the system. She has no delusions about it — she knows she's a complicit, but she simply doesn't care.

Sometimes, he wonders whether she feels any guilt at all. Whether she has made peace with it.

Part of him knows she has. Maybe that's the thrill of it all.

. . .

Ethan manages to win the piece he laid eyes on after a dramatic bidding war. It's supposedly from a reclusive European artist, and it'll certainly look good in his gallery — but the knowledge that this painting helped funnel an enormous amount of money into the trafficking organization sours his mood.

He gets into the backseat again, Isabelle joining him from the other side of the car. She looks completely unfazed — happy, even. The hard part of the day is over. What comes now is alcohol, a nice suite and maybe some good food.

"Don't look at me like that", she says, leaning in. Her fingers brush along his jaw, making him look at her. Sometimes, he still wonders what drew him in — her good looks? Her sophistication? The fact that she seemed to know everyone worth knowing?

A mix of that, probably, but she also had a certain gift: she knew how to make him feel special, especially in the beginning. With her, he felt like the smartest, most desirable man in the world. You'd never made him feel like that (granted, you didn't make him feel stupid or unlovable either — but a narcissistic little part of his brain craved the validation that he's better than the best, that he's more than anyone could ask for).

While he does appreciate the fact that he has a family with you, one that makes him look good to the public, he also knows that he can't appreciate the simplicity of what he has with you.

Ethan grasps her hand and pulls it away from his face, his expression stoic. He's aware that their affair has turned into a relationship that is a toxic web of dependency and control — he still keeps telling himself that he could leave whenever he wants to. Her influence, however, is undeniable.

"It's been a long night", he finally says, grazing his lips over her knuckles. She smiles, cupping his face with her other hand.

"That's true", she confirms, kissing his stubbly cheek. "But it's worth it. You're one of them now", she adds, her voice more teasing this time.

Guilt and exhilaration flood his brain. Before he can dwell too long on either, Isabelle pulls him into a brief, charged kiss, her lips moving against his.

. . .

— LETTER WITH CONSEQUENCES —

Receiving a letter in an unmarked envelope is never a good sign, but especially not after an anonymous number texted you to check your mailbox at half an hour prior to midnight.

At this point, Natasha and you have spent the past three days together. She hasn't gone home once — she's been sleeping on your couch, showering in your shower, wearing your clothes. She's spending her days with you and Nina, and you haven't been this happy in a long time. Even your daughter noticed, telling Natasha that she "makes her mommy smile."

You're still both trying to keep your distance, although it's become more of a one sided effort. Something about the ring on your finger makes you hold back from anything that's more than a simple kiss. Even that little display of affection makes you feel nauseous with guilt, which Natasha knows and understands. She doesn't know what it's like, since she's never been married, but she understands anyway.

You've basically forgotten about Ethan by now. He's somewhere in Switzerland, doing his usual business. You're still not sure what to believe regarding him possibly having an affair, but you've decided that you'll deal with that issue once he's back home.

If only there wasn't that damned letter.

The text message lights up your screen right as you're about to go to bed. Natasha's on the couch downstairs, reading a book, so she doesn't notice it or the way your eyebrows knit in confusion.

ANON: Check your mailbox. — 11.32am

In retrospect, you'll realize that obeying a command from god knows who is not the smartest idea — especially not this late at night. But right now you're tired and puzzled, as well as a little curious, so you make your way down the stairs and open the front door.

The air outside is cold and crisp. It smells like it's about to snow, which is a feeling nobody but Natasha has ever managed to understand.

You can't smell snow, can you?

Yes, you can, you think, carefully approaching the mailbox. You open the small compartment and pull out a letter. No sender, no recipient, nothing — the envelope is completely blank

Frowning, you quickly pad back into the house and gently shut the door, then you walk into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, you use a knife to cut the envelope open. You pull out the neatly folded piece of paper and open it, your eyes immediately skimming the text.

It was typed and printed, clearly trying to keep whoever sent it to you secret. But that's not the only thing that makes you pause — the contents of it are far more unsettling.

「 Dear Mrs. Bailey,

You don't know me, and I have no intention of revealing who I am. What I do know, however, is that your husband isn't the man you believe him to be. For your sake — and for your daughter's — I strongly urge you to open your eyes to the truth.

Ethan has been lying to you for months. His late-night meetings, his frequent business trips, the people he surrounds himself with — it's all a carefully constructed web of deceit. While you've been holding your family together, he's been tearing it apart behind your back.

He's been cheating on you — but he isn't just unfaithful.

The company he keeps and the deals he makes aren't just unethical — they're dangerous. If I were you, I'd take my daughter and leave before his sins catch up to him.

Consider this a warning from someone who knows more than you think. You deserve better.

Signed,

A Friend 」

At first, you don't dare believe what you're reading. Surely, this is a prank. A manipulation tactic, something that's meant to freak you out.

But the details hit too close to home. Whoever sent you this letter knows at least as much as you, but probably way more.

No, they definitely know more. This isn't something they could guess, or lie about. It's way too serious for a prank, especially considering that they mentioned your daughter twice.

Nina. Innocent and oblivious, asleep in her bed upstairs, a heart-patterned blanket covering her. The mere thought of something happening to her makes you sick to your stomach.

How dare you, you think, your hands shaking as you stand frozen in place. You built a life with him, trusted him. You gave birth to his child, set your own dreams aside in order to allow him to fulfill his. And this is how he pays you back?

You feel a mix of emotions, but most prominent of them all: anger. All the lies, the betrayal, crash over you in waves.

You're aware of the lingering distance between you and Natasha, the way everything has shifted since she reappeared in your life. But in this moment, all doubts and reservations vanish. You need to do something, need to feel something that's not the crushing weight of your life.

Without thinking, you put the letter aside. Your legs carry you to the living room automatically, where you're met with the sight of Natasha. She's on the couch, now looking up from the book she picked from your bookshelf.

All words die in her throat when she sees the storm of emotions in your eyes. Raw, intense, but also mixed with something soft and familiar.

You cross the room without saying a word, your heart pounding in your chest. You hesitate for only a moment, your breathing shallow.

"I'm not really sure what we're doing", you say, "but I know I can't keep staying away from you." She stares at you, her blood rushing through her veins and clouding her brain — it's a quiet admission that Natasha's been waiting for, but didn't expect to come this way.

She doesn't have time to respond. You close the gap between you and her in a single step, your lips meeting hers in a desperate, messy kiss.

An explosion after years of suppression, resulting in a heat that consumes you both. Her arms wrap around your waist as you sink into her lap, feeling like they've always belonged there. Your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging at the strands, your movements frantic and needy.

Natasha's hands push under the fabric of your shirt to feel the warm skin of your back. You let out a muffled moan, breaking the kiss reluctantly to start trailing kisses along her jaw.

There's no time for second guesses — not this time. All that matters in this moment is you and her, your bodies tangled together on the couch, heat enclosing you and shielding you from the world. You'll deal with the consequences later.

You tug on her shirt, needing to feel more than the soft fabric. Natasha doesn't hesitate to let you take it off, the piece of clothing being tossed aside carelessly.

When you finally feel her skin against yours, it's like a million fireworks going off inside your veins. The closeness is electric, but also full of tension. The way she runs her hands along your curves is familiar, mapping them out and tracing the scars you got all those years ago. She remembers every single one and how you got them, the pictures vivid in her mind.

Then, her hand grasps yours, sliding the wedding ring off your finger. It clatters hollowly as it meets the floor.

You push forward and box her in against the couch, meeting her lips with your own again. You taste her tongue, her hands palming at your sides, your heart beating erratically. She moans quietly, her fingers starting to toy with the waistband of your sweatpants and finally pushing past it.

You break the kiss for just a moment, pulling away enough to look into her eyes. You both pause, hands stilling and breaths mingling in the small space between you. Natasha's gaze searches your face, her expression unreadable, but the look in her eyes tells you everything you need to know.

"Nat...", you begin softly.

Natasha doesn't respond right away. Her fingers brush along your cheek, the touch featherlight but purposeful. You swallow, tracing the outline of her collarbone.

"We can stop this", she finally says, her voice quiet. "If you want me to leave, say it now."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You shake your head, not saying anything. You don't need to say anything — because you don't want her to leave. Not now, not ever.

Instead, you sink into another kiss. At this point, it's a language of its own.

. . .

Bodies naked and entangled on the couch. Natasha brushes her fingers along your spine, her lips pressing a kiss to your forehead. You're fast asleep, your body curled against hers. For the first time in way too long, you both feel right — even if the situation is wrong.

It's been a few hours by now. Natasha slowly disentangles herself from you and gets up. She puts on some clothes before leaving the room, deliberately keeping her footsteps quiet to make sure she doesn't wake you.

The kitchen tiles are cold underneath her feet. She grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with water, but her gaze drifts to the abandoned letter on the counter. She hesitates, glancing over her shoulder toward the hallway that leads to the living room, where you're still asleep.

Curiosity gets the better of her. She's a spy, after all — if something seems off, she'll investigate it.

Natasha's eyes skim over the text, her chest feeling tighter with each word. She's so fixated on the letter and what it means that she doesn't even think about the fact that she's not completely innocent either.

She doesn't know what to feel — concern? anger? disappointment? — and she also doesn't know who to direct it at.

This is it, she thinks bitterly, her grip on the letter tightening so much that the edges crumple, This is the reason for last night. This is why you came to me with such desperation.

The faint clink of glass in the kitchen was what pulled you out of your slumber. You shift on the couch before sitting up, the blanket pulled to your chest.

"Nat?", you call out softly. Natasha tenses when she hears your voice, then she slowly walks back into the living room. You hesitate when you see the look on her face. "Everything okay?"

For a moment, she doesn't say anything. She simply thrusts the letter toward you, making your heart drop.

"Is this why you slept with me?", she demands, her voice low but trembling with emotion. "To get back at him?"

"Nat, I-", you start, your mind scrambling to explain.

"Don't", she cuts you off, her voice rising slightly. "It was never about us, was it? It was about him."

"That's not true!" You quickly get up, trying to wrap the blanket around your body. You're way too conscious of the fact that you're still completely naked. "I just..."

"Don't lie to me", Natasha snaps, tossing the letter aside. Her voice cracks as she speaks, the rawness of her emotions spilling out. "I let myself believe, for one second, that maybe we-" She shakes her head, swallowing thickly. "Forget it."

Your brain takes a few seconds to realize that she, in fact, has turned around and stormed out. Car keys in hand, only wearing a hoodie and some shorts. The front door shuts, finally ripping you out of your frozen state.

"No", you say, scrambling to get some clothes on. You hurry after her. "No, no, no! Wait!"

Natasha's outside, fumbling with her car keys. The air is cold on her skin, but she doesn't care — she needs to get away.

Your panic spikes as she slides into the driver's seat, the car starting. You bolt for your own car, jamming the key into the ignition. But nothing happens — the engine sputters once, twice, and then falls silent.

"Shit!", you curse, slamming your hands against the steering wheel. You look up and see the Natasha's taillights flicker to life, the car pulling out of the driveway. "Fuck!"

Without thinking twice, you lean on the horn. The sound — loud and insistent — cuts through the quiet suburban morning like a scream, probably waking everyone who's asleep, but that's not important.

"Natasha!", you yell, throwing open the car door and stepping outside. Snow, icy and numbing, melts under your bare feet. You didn't even notice it before. I was right, is all you manage to think as tears run down your cheeks. "Natasha, stop!"

You press the horn again, desperate and frantic, hoping it'll at least make her hesitate.

And it does.

Despite her better judgement, she instantly stops the car. For a moment, she considers driving off, letting her anger take her somewhere else, anywhere else, to a place where it won't hurt so much.

She should protect herself, and she should protect you. She should put some distance between you and her, finally stop you from stirring up all these feelings — but she can't.

Natasha sighs, her forehead dropping against the steering wheel. Then, finally, she steps out of the car.

Your face is tear-streaked, your chest heaving from the yelling and crying and everything else that's happened in the past five minutes.

For a long moment, you just look at each other. The air is heavy with unspoken words; words that feel too dangerous to say.

"You sure know how to make a scene", she mutters, her voice low but not unkind.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes. "Yeah, well, you know how to run", you reply.

Natasha steps closer, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. Her breath comes out as visible little clouds in the icy morning air. She stops a few feet away from you, hesitating briefly.

"Well, you've got my attention", she finally says. Her voice is softer now, but still tinged with frustration. "What is it, Y/N?"

"Look, I-" You brush some hair out of your face, trying to find the right thing to say. "Don't run. Just...just don't run. Please. I know it's messy, I get that. I also know that I should explain, but..."

"Explain what?", she asks cautiously.

"That I don't know what I'm doing", you say, your voice wavering. You take a careful step closer to her, and to your relief, she doesn't back away. "That I've made a thousand mistakes. But sleeping with you last night? It's not one of them."

She goes quiet for a moment, studying you. She swallows and looks at the ground, the footprints left in the snow. "And what was that letter about?"

"I was going to tell you about it. I just didn't know how", you admit, your fingers curling into the material of your sweater as you cross your arms. "Someone sent it to warn me about Ethan. I had an idea that something wasn't right, but I didn't want to accuse him before knowing for sure. And I guess..." You sigh and shake your head. "It doesn't matter. All I know is that I'm done pretending my life is something it's not."

Natasha's shoulders sag slightly as they loosen up. Her eyes dart around your surroundings for a moment — the dark sky, the hint of sunlight peeking over the horizon, the mansions around you — before meeting yours again. "You have a funny way of showing it", she mutters, though her tone is more resigned than biting.

Your lips curl into a tentative smile. Maybe you didn't screw things up completely. "You have a funny way of staying."

"I haven't decided I'm staying yet", Natasha points out, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips despite herself. She doesn't move an inch, however, staying right in front of you.

"You're not running, either." You stay silent for a moment, your eyebrows narrowing. Natasha's smirk fades as you search her face. "You knew, didn't you?", you finally say.

"Knew what?", she immediately deflects.

"Natasha", you say, taking a step closer. "Don't lie to me. You knew about Ethan, about what he's involved in. Didn't you? I mean, you always know more than you let on."

For a moment, she considers lying. It'd be pointless — you definitely know that she knows —, but it'd be worth a try. She wants to protect you, but she's not sure from what exactly at this point.

"I've been investigating him", she eventually admits. "Not just him. Everything he's involved in. I've been trying to take it down."

"And you didn't tell me", you say quietly, your jaw tightening.

"I couldn't", she quickly says. "Y/N, I didn't know how deep you were in. I didn't know if you'd be safe."

"'Safe'? You think you were keeping me 'safe'? I deserved to know what was happening behind my back! I don't even want to think about the kind of danger my daughter and I could've been in!"

Natasha shakes her head, her expression bordering on pleading. "I didn't want to put you two into more danger! All I've been thinking about since running into you that night is how I'm going to keep you and Nina safe."

You go quiet, watching her with a guarded expression. "Is this why you suddenly decided to be in my life?", you then demand. "To get intel?"

Her face falls. She exhales and her defenses crack. "Maybe at first", she admits. "I needed information. It was an opportunity to get closer to a him. He's been involved in a human trafficking ring, which is being financed by the auctions he attends — complicated stuff, you know. I was focused on the mission. But then..." She pauses, looking up. "...then I saw you again. Really saw you. And then it all changed."

"How am I supposed to believe that?", you whisper, feeling like something's stuck in your throat.

"Because it's the truth", she says firmly, her green eyes unwavering. "I don't know what this is, or where it's going. But I know I want it. I want us."

"Nat, it-" You look away, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to blink away the tears. "It's not that easy. I don't know if I can do this. Ethan has power, resources. If I leave, if I even try to leave, then what happens to Nina? What happens to me?"

She hesitates before placing her hand on your arm. "I can protect you both", she says softly. "You and Nina. But you have to trust me."

You shake your head. "You don't understand", you say weakly. "He's not just some guy I can walk away from. He'll ruin me, Natasha. He'll take Nina away from me."

"No, he won't. Not if I have anything to do with it."

You give her a doubtful look, but the conviction in her eyes doesn't fade. Natasha is a woman of her words — in all these years, she's never lied to you, unless it was to protect you. Not even when she probably should have. And you also know that she knows what she's doing. She's not someone who'd put the people who are important to her in danger. Her entire life has been about protecting others, but you were always her priority.

"I'm scared", you admit, searching her face for reassurance. It softens under your gaze.

"I know", she replies. Her hand shakes as she lifts it to your face, brushing her fingers across your damp cheek. Then she cups it, her eyes meeting yours and the outside world seeming to fall away.

Finally, she leans in. It's a tentative kiss, salty from your tears and so warm it creates a striking contrast to the icy air. You sink into it, prolonging it for just a few seconds and soaking up the feeling. The part of you that is scared thinks that this may be it — your last kiss.

The circumstances could be worse, though. You're standing in the snow, feeling so cold that both your fingertips have started to turn blue. Your only source of warmth is each other, as it's been so many years ago.

You both pull away, not saying a word at first. Natasha's hand drops to her side, but the ghost of it lingers on your cheek.

"I don't have an answer yet", you admit quietly. "I just...I just don't know. I'm sorry."

It was what Natasha expected to hear. She nods and exhales sharply, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a bitter laugh.

"Don't apologize", she says, her voice low and rough. "Just...figure it out. Before it's too late."

There's a pause, heavy and suffocating. Then she steps back, her walls slowly being rebuilt already — you can tell by the way her expression is becoming unreadable again.

Natasha turns around and walks away. The car door shuts, the engine fires up, and you watch her leave.

. . .

— "COME AFTER ME" —

It's been days since the morning on the driveway — days since Natasha left, since you last saw her or heard from her. Apart from the email she sent you, at least. One that contained a bunch of information about Ethan and the human trafficking ring and black market auctions. Reading it gave you the headache of a lifetime, but it also gave you clarity.

The house has felt colder since, quieter in a way that has nothing to do with the November chill creeping in through the windows. It's as if a fog has settled over your mind, muting every noise and color.

It happens when you're running errands, a mundane escape from the stillness at home. Ethan is supposed to return the next day, which makes you all the more tense. Thankfully, Nina hasn't picked up on it — she's as happy and chatty as ever, skipping along next to the shopping cart and looking at the bright display of cereals on the shelves.

"Oh, marshmallows!", she says, clearly delighted, and grabs a box of Lucky Charms. You sigh, shooting her a faint smile.

"You can have one thing, honey. We agreed on that when we left, remember?"

"I want this", she says, nodding, and gets on her tiptoes to drop the box into the shopping cart.

"Sure", you agree, continuing to push the cart. Your daughter keeps a firm hold on the basket of the cart, giggling when it makes a noise.

"It's squeaky!" She rocks the cart back and forth a little to make the noise louder. "Like a mouse, mommy."

"Like a mouse", you agree, smiling distractedly, and glance at the shopping list in your hand again. But her continuous laughter, bright and bubbly, pulls your attention for a brief moment, and you manage a quiet chuckle. Nina smiles back at you, her hand letting go of the cart to grab yours.

You eventually approach the checkout, and Nina asks if she can help put some items on the conveyer belt. You agree, putting her in the shopping cart and placing everything on the conveyer belt together. The barcode reader beeps whenever the cashier scans an item, and Nina imitates the sound every time.

You barely notice that, though. The cashier tells you the total, and you nod and start rummaging through your purse. As you reach for your wallet, your fingers brush against something unfamiliar. A small piece of paper, smooth and folded precisely in half.

Frowning, you pull it out and open it. The ink is smudged, but the handwriting unmistakable.

You stare at the three simple words, not even registering when Nina tugs at your sleeve and tells you that it's your turn. All you can do is stare at the note, the red ink stark against the blank page.

Come After Me

⧗

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets @upsidedowndanvers

#natasha romanoff x reader #l is for the way you look at me #not to be rude or anything but they need to get together asap and stay forever and always

191 notes · View notes

plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: reread this and realized how much i missed these two </3

warnings: cheating, mentions of alcohol

word count: 7.9k

…part 2, part 3, part 4…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— A FAMILY DIVIDE —

It's no secret that your in-laws don't like you.

You're not entirely sure why — you've never done anything to sour their opinion of you. You've always stayed respectful, friendly, always did your best to fit right into this social circle of privilege and wealth they've created. You're supportive of Ethan, but not in a way that makes them think you're hogging him for yourself. You're a good, hands-on mother to Nina, you regularly send them pictures of her, you visit at least every few months.

Still, they can't seem to get over the fact that you're apparently undeserving of Ethan. You suspect that it's because of your background, which is rather modest compared to theirs. Nurses instead of surgeons, cashiers instead of insurance agents, librarians instead of lawyers.

They don't know the struggle of sitting in front of a pile of bills, scattered across the dining table, your father's head in his hands as he stares down at them. They can't imagine wearing the same outfit twice in the same week, let alone two days in a row. They think that anyone can be rich like them — as long as they're willing to put the work into it.

You can't deny that your upbringing, so different from Ethan's, sets you apart a little. It's only natural, since you're not used to the kind of life they lead. Even now, over five years after getting married to him, you still don't know how to act sometimes.

How do you host a dinner party? How do you decide what art to hang in your home? How many seasonal homes does one family actually need?

They're questions you don't dare ask. They swim around in your head whenever you spend time with the Baileys, making you feel increasingly uncomfortable and outcast. Even if it's something as simple as brunch together, they'll manage to make a bunch of question marks appear in your head.

But despite it all, they're still Ethan's family, which technically makes them your family, too. They're Nina's grandparents, her aunts and uncles and cousins, and you can't imagine keeping her away from them just because you struggle to feel at home with them.

As every year, her great grandmother's birthday is the reason the entire family (including you, of course) gathers in their antebellum-style home in South Carolina.

Manicured gardens, featuring rose bushes, hedges and a large koi pond. A grand fountain, with a marble statue of a woman pouring water out of an urn, right next to the driveway. You keep Nina cradled in your arms as you take it all in, feeling the cold feeling of dread wash over you.

Ethan shuts the door of the car before walking up to you. He puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he gazes up at the house appreciatively.

"I missed this place", he says. "So much nicer than New York."

"It is beautiful", you agree, not able to resist the charm of the estate. It's ridiculously huge and almost too perfect, with its towering columns and black iron gate. Even though it's gorgeous, it's short of a certain sense of warmth and individuality. Not a home, just a house.

"Granny Bee!", Nina squeals, squirming. You put her down on the floor as Ethan's mother approaches, her lips curling into a small smile. She gives Nina a hug, her manicured fingers swiftly adjusting the little girl's jacket.

"My, my, did you grow!" Beatrice cups Nina's face before looking at you, her smile turning just a tad less warm. Not unfriendly, but lacking familiarity. "Y/N, hello. Ethan, my dear, I haven't seen you in so long. Let me see you! Oh, handsome as always."

"Hey, mom", he says, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Where's dad? Inside?"

"You know how he is. The cold weather makes him grumpy. He misses golf", she says, her voice turning a bit quieter as she tells him that. "With the knee injury..."

Nina pads back to your side, her hand swiftly grabbing yours. You exchange a smile with your daughter, not noticing that Beatrice has shifted her attention back to you. Her eyes scrutinize your outfit — simple jeans and a sweater, elegant but not as polished as the rest of the family, apparently.

"You look lovely, Y/N. Still keeping things simple, I see", she says and you look up. "It's refreshing, really — many of us overdo it, don't we?"

"I wouldn't know about that", you say politely, plastering on a smile. A kiss on each cheek, her hands briefly squeezing your free one. "We aren't late, are we?"

"No, right on time. Come on, everyone else wants to see the child", she urges you, starting to lead you into the house.

You step onto the marble floor of the grand entrance, still holding your daughter's hand. You circle the double staircase and make your way to the hallway that leads to the living area. Inside, you're welcomed by about a handful of people — seems like most of the guests won't arrive until tomorrow.

You shake hands with Dean, Ethan's brother, hug his wife, say hi to all the kids that are present. Then you look at Margaret, the matriarch of the family — 90 years old, but still as elegant and witty as ever. She's the only one in this family you truly like, even if her sense of tradition and proprietary is as strong as everyone else's.

"Say hi to Grandma Maggie", you tell Nina. She nods, making a beeline for the oldest family member. Margaret welcomes her with open arms, her face softening with genuine affection as the girl clambers onto her lap.

"There you are! Aren't you adorable. Did you draw anything for me?"

Nina smiles and starts chattering, her hands clumsily brushing strands of hair away from her face as she does so. Having ensured that your daughter is comfortable, you finally allow yourself to relax a little.

You mostly sit quietly and observe as the conversations start to flow. Ethan blends in seamlessly, of course, laughing at something his father said or cracking jokes with his brother. His parents are constantly fussing over the children of the family — seven of them in total, which makes it all the more odd that the atmosphere is still somewhat quiet and collected. Seems like the Baileys have everything under control.

. . .

One of Ethan's hands is on your lower back, the other is holding Nina's.

The birthday party is in full swing. Guests are roaming the parlor, chatting amongst each other and sipping ridiculously expensive champagne from just as ridiculously expensive flutes. Waitstaff weave through the room with silver trays of hors d'oeuvres. Elaborate arrangements of ivory roses, china patterned with intricate floral designs, the white centerpiece cake multi-tiered with gold accents.

A gleaming backdrop, one that makes you feel like you're sticking out like a sore thumb. You shift in place, smiling politely as some of his relatives approach you.

"Aunt Vivian", Ethan says, not being too delighted but hiding it well. "What a beautiful dress. Where's uncle Andrew?"

"He's over there, talking to your mother." Her gaze trails from Ethan to you and then to your daughter. "You have a lovely family. Such a cute thing, a Bailey through and through — and you're Y/N, right?"

Of course, you think, forcing a smile and shaking her hand. It's not like you've met me about a dozen times before, you old shrew.

"Yes, that's me. Nice to see you again, Vivian."

"Still a little housewife?", she asks, her smile saccharine. The words land like darts, making your grip on Nina's hand tighten. "Must be such a blessing, having all that free time. How do you keep yourself busy? I mean, I would just lose my mind. I get bored so easily!"

"Oh, I manage well", you reply simply, glancing at Nina. "She still needs quite a bit of attention."

"No nanny?"

"No", Ethan says, pulling away from you as his eyes dart to another person in the room. He quickly adjusts his tie. "Y/N insisted on handling it herself. Said she wanted to be hands-on or something. Would you excuse me?"

Off he goes, approaching one of his uncles. You sigh, looking at Nina as Vivian leaves as well.

"What does 'hands-on' mean?", she asks, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"It means I want to be there for you", you reply, trying to make it graspable for the little girl.

You start navigating the room, still holding onto her hand to make sure she doesn't get away. Not necessarily because you're worried you'd lose her — it's a big house, but she's used to it by now —, but rather because she's the only person bridging the gap between you and Ethan's family at the moment. It feels pathetic, to be relying on your daughter like this, but she's still young enough to not mind that at all.

"Nina! Oh my, look at you."

You turn around rapidly as you hear Beatrice's voice behind you. She appeared out of seemingly nowhere, her coifed bob looking as flawless as always. She swoops in and picks Nina up, not bothering to ask either of you.

"Let grandma fix this mess", she says, fussing over her dress and hair. She briefly turns to some woman who can't be much older than you, yet her makeup and outfit make her look at least 50. "Children need a bit more refinement, don't they? Especially at this young age."

"Thank you", you say, trying not to let your frustration show. This isn't unusual behavior for Beatrice, but it still manages to grate on your nerves. "Didn't even notice."

"Of course not, dear. It can be hard looking after a child all by yourself. I don't know how Clara does it, with her three little ones — however, she does have a nanny."

"Good thing I only have Nina", you say curtly, grasping your daughter's hand again and leading her away. She follows without complaining, but she glances at her grandma over her shoulder.

"Mommy, are you mad?"

"Not at you, honey."

"At granny Bee?", she probes, making you smile faintly.

"I'm not mad", you lie, squeezing her hand. "Just a bit tired."

"I'm not tired. Can I go play?", she asks, subtly sneaking a peak at her cousins.

Stifling a sigh, you nod. You don't blame her for wanting to escape the attention of the adults. You wish you could escape, too. Escape to a place — a person — that's too far away for your liking.

"Of course, sweetheart." You gently nudge her forward and she runs off, quickly finding her way to her favorite cousin.

You watch her for a few seconds, then turn around and grab a glass of wine. You've estimated how many hours you have left before you can retreat to the guest suite without coming across as rude, and the result is chastening. If you're going to be stuck here for the next four hours, you'll need at least a bit of alcohol in your system.

You keep fiddling with your necklace, playing with your wedding ring, checking your phone for new messages. Every time you glance at the screen, you secretly hope you'll spot Natasha's name on it. You haven't stopped thinking about her since that day at the park, and not being around her is killing you.

If only she was here. She always knew how to spot your 'tell' — that nervous little gesture you did whenever you were uncomfortable, the one that signaled her to get you away from wherever you are. You know that if you were here with her, she'd have pulled you outside into the gardens about a half hour ago already.

But nope. You keep suffering.

You find yourself standing with a group of people — Ethan's uncle, brother, a few distant relatives. You nod politely as you sip your drink, trying to stay engaged with a conversation about the estate's history. The Bailey family takes pride in their legacy, which is something you don't fully understand.

Again, you feel isolated. It's not their fault, at least that's what you keep telling yourself. They shouldn't have to adjust their topic of conversation just because one person can't relate, should they?

"It's just interesting, isn't it?", Vivian remarks, her gaze idly sweeping across the room. "How many generations have lived here. And so many more to come."

"This, right here — it's our family's legacy. Every single inch of this house, of the property outside. It's been in the family for more than a hundred years", Dean says, his arm wrapped around his wife's waist. She smiles, leaning into his side. Must be nice — Ethan ditched you two hours ago and you haven't spoken to him since. "It'll be ours one day."

"Your brother's first in line. Him and his family", their uncle Andrew remarks, slowly turning his head to look at you. There it is again: that look of genuine curiosity, mixed with a hint of condescension. "You're married into the family now, so it's yours at well."

Please shut up.

"Oh, well..." You smile stiffly, glancing at your almost empty glass of wine. "It's not my priority."

"No? Well, it must be such a change for you. Quite different from what you're accustomed to."

You bite the inside of your cheeks before answering, briefly holding your breath to avoid snapping at the man. His temper definitely surpasses yours — if your patience snaps now, it'll end in a fight.

"I've had time to adjust", you say, sounding clipped.

"It has been quite a few years, yes", Vivian says, nodding. "Ethan is such a good boy. You should've seen him when he was a kid — smart and cheeky. There's this story...I'm not sure if you've heard it, it happened when he was in middle school. He tricked his teacher, his science teacher. He should tell it himself." She looks around, not seeing him anywhere. "Where is he, anyway?"

You feel a light flush rise to your cheeks. "I'm not sure, actually."

The woman gives you a disapproving look. "You're not sure? He's your husband. Come on, he has to be somewhere-"

"Yes, he's my husband", you cut her off, a faint glare on your face. You've officially had enough of these subtle jabs, these microaggressions that are being thrown your way. "Which doesn't mean I need to know where he is at all times. Now, if you'd excuse me for a moment."

You put your glass down with a little more force than necessary, then you spin on your heel and make your way out to the porch. A few people are standing outside, quietly talking in the afternoon sun. You keep walking until you reach an empty corner, one where you're alone, and lean against the railing.

Your mind is spinning, you feel sick to your stomach, you can feel a headache slowly starting to announce itself. Every part of your being wishes you were somewhere else, somewhere you'd feel less isolated.

Red hair appears at the front of your mind, accompanied by green eyes. A little arrow, combat boots. Laughter, low and private, drawing you in instead of pushing you away. Kisses that felt searing, still burned into your mind.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those thoughts to go away.

It's not right. None of it is.

Your hand clenches around the railing in frustration, the chilly November air feeling like ice on your skin. You didn't remember to put on a jacket, but you're too exhausted to go back inside. Plus, you'd most likely be confronted by Vivian or Beatrice. If that happened, it'd probably result in you slapping someone.

"Y/N?"

Startled but not surprised, you look over your shoulder — Ethan. The smile on his face is tight, his expression cold. The way he's looking at you isn't too different from how his family does.

"Yes?", you ask, doing your best to mask how irritated you are.

"What are you doing out here? Everyone's asking where you are."

"Oh, really?" You turn around again, staring into the distance. Wide landscapes and bare trees, hedges and stretches of farmland. The sunlight feels thinner and softer now, promising an early dusk. "I didn't realize talking to your family was a full-time job."

He blinks, his neutral expression shifting to one of slight disbelief and irritation. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously!" You look at him, not hiding your feelings this time. You've been considerate enough. "I'm tired of it. I've been explaining and defending myself the entire fucking day, but it's useless."

"It's not 'useless'", he begins, stepping closer. "It just takes some effort, Y/N. And you hiding from them makes me look bad."

"I've been making an effort — which you would've known if you hadn't ditched me as soon as the damn party started!" You go silent, then mutter: "And I really don't care how it makes you look."

He pauses, taken aback. Running a hand through his hair, he sighs. "Look, can't- can't you just try? For Nina's sake?"

The mention of your daughter is enough to quiet your retort, but not the anger curling in your chest. All you expected was at least a bit of comfort from Ethan — a few reassuring words, maybe a promise that he'll stay by your side for the rest of the party.

What did he do, though?

He started scolding you like a child.

"I've tried enough", you finally say, stepping away from the railing. "I'm done here."

He frowns. "What?"

"I'm done. I'm leaving. I'll pack my stuff and leave", you say, your mind made up.

"You're being ridiculous", he snaps, crossing his arms. "What are you going to do, huh? Storm off and leave Nina here? That's mature."

"Yes", you say bluntly. You feel a tangled mix of frustration, exhaustion, deep-seated bitterness — you're fed up. "Exactly that. It's not like it'll make much of a difference, anyway."

"'Not much of a difference'?", he echoes, his sharp voice reflecting his bruised ego. "You think this is all about you?"

"Maybe, maybe not! I don't care!"

"Fine! Run, leave! Let Nina wonder why her mother can't even stick it out for her own family!"

His use of Nina as a weapon stings. Your face is pale but set, your jaw tight, as you stare at him. "I'll be sure to let her know her father had more time for his little art project than her", you say coldly, a deliberate steadiness in your tone. You can't allow yourself to crumble.

You turn around and leave, weaving your way through the party and hurrying upstairs. You grab your suitcase and start throwing your stuff into it. Usually, you'd make sure the clothes are neatly folded, but now you don't care. All you want is to disappear from this place.

Downstairs, you look for Nina. You find her with Ethan, holding his hand as they talk to one of his uncles.

"Nina", you say, making her turn. She smiles widely and runs up to you, instantly forgetting about everyone else. You scoop her into your arms and press a kiss to her cheek.

Nina looks at the suitcase next to you, her eyebrows raised in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home a bit early", you explain, brushing some hair out of her face. "I'm not feeling well, baby. You'll be okay here, with daddy and granny?"

The girl frowns. "Are you sick, mommy?", she asks, her voice soft with concern. "I can take care of you. I make you tea!"

You smile and shake your head, the ache in your chest growing worse. God, you hate leaving her here — but you don't want to make matters worse.

"That's so sweet of you, honey, but I'll be okay. I just need to rest at home for a bit. You'll have so much fun here, okay? Daddy and granny Bee love you so much."

She pouts, her little hands touching and playing with your necklace. "I want to go home, too."

"Nina", you say quietly, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll go home soon. In two days. I promise."

She looks at you, her head tilted. "Two days?"

"Yes, two days."

She hesitates again, chewing on her lip. "Can you call me?", she then adds.

"I'll call you. Pinky promise", you say, holding out your pinky. She interlocks it with hers and you squeeze it gently.

"Pinky promise", she whispers. "I love you, mommy."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Come on", you say, putting her down.

Ethan immediately steps forward, briefly kissing your cheek and mumbling something along the lines of "get well soon." Pure formality, that much is clear — he's still pissed, but he can't let his family know. They have a certain image of your marriage that he needs to uphold, after all.

They watch you leave as you get into the taxi, standing in the doorway. Nina waves at you, still chewing on her lip nervously. You wave back until you can't see them anymore, then you sigh and slump into the seat. The muffled hum of the car engine seems to amplify the silence, pressing in on you.

Your eyes flicker to the window, but the scenery — a blur of autumn foliage and elegant driveways — fails to register. Your mind is elsewhere.

You instinctively reach for your bag, your hand brushing against your phone. For a split second, Natasha's face flashes in your mind, unbidden but undeniably clear.

Why Natasha?, you think, but the answer comes easily.

Natasha's steady. She's dependable in ways Ethan could never be. She doesn't push, she doesn't judge. Somehow, she always seems to know what you need. She's the only person you can think of who will understand without needing a full explanation, who will listen without offering hollow reassurances.

With her, it was simple. You loved her, she loved you.

Doubt creeps in as your fingers hover over the screen. You can't decide whether this is selfish, whether you'll just end up bothering her.

But the alternative — being alone with your spiraling thoughts — feels unbearable.

You unlock your phone, scrolling to Natasha's name. Before you can second-guess yourself, you press the call button and lift the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times. Your heart thunders as you worry that she won't pick up.

But then, Natasha's voice — steady and familiar — cuts through.

"Y/N?"

"Natasha", you say, something inside you loosening. A shaky breath escapes you. "Are you busy?"

. . .

— SOMETHING LIKE HOME —

Shopping carts clink, checkout registers beep, plastic bags rustle.

You push your cart through the aisles of the grocery store, eyeing fresh produce and holiday-themed items. Natasha's next to you, one hand on the handle of the shopping cart.

This was Natasha's idea. She sensed how emotionally drained and uncertain you were when she picked you up from the airport, so she offered a way for you to unwind and take your mind off whatever you're thinking about. A run to the grocery store seemed perfect: a mundane task, detached from the drama of the day.

"Anything in particular you're craving?", she asks, an underlying current of concern audible.

"No", you say absently, scanning the shelves. You grab a box of cereal, showing it to her. "You think Nina would like this?"

Natasha inspects the box. Frosted Flakes with a cartoon character on it, its unmoving mouth grinning at her. "It is pretty sugary", she says, looking at you. "But kids seem to love that."

You nod and toss the box into the shopping cart. Normally, you don't let Nina have too much sugar — but after you basically abandoned her, you want to make up for what happened. A special sweet treat sounds like the perfect way to do that.

"You could also get this", Natasha says, grabbing a jar of peanut butter. "Go the full indulgence route, you know? Really spoil her."

You see through her with ease. She's trying to keep things lighthearted, which you're immensely grateful for.

"For you or for her?", you ask teasingly, reaching for the jar. Your fingers brush against hers, lingering.

She gives you a sly grin. "Both?"

"You're impossible", you say, but put the jar into the shopping cart anyway.

"I'm just saying —", she says, taking over the shopping cart, "if I ever need to bribe her to stay on my side, I've got the perfect plan."

"I don't think that's necessary. You've already got her wrapped around your finger."

"Well, I do have my charm."

"Yeah", you agree softly. You're all too familiar with her 'charm'. It's always had a hold on you, whether you wanted it to or not. No matter how many times you tried to fight it or push it aside, Natasha always seemed to slip into your mind at the most unexpected times.

You watch her as she puts more items into the shopping cart — a jar of pasta sauce, some pasta, lettuce. She looks so perfectly at ease in that moment, effortlessly casual, as if she's right where she belongs. It's not always been that easy for her. You know that better than anyone else.

A part of you, a part that's always adored Natasha, even when it was impractical to do so, starts to soften again. Just being with her like this makes it feel like you're stepping into an old, familiar rhythm, one that you don't know how to escape from.

"How does cheesecake sound?", you ask, grabbing one from the fridge. "For dessert."

"Love cheesecake", she mumbles, reading the ingredients of a salad dressing. She looks up to briefly catch your eye, then continues looking at the label on the back of the bottle. "You seem calmer", she says, a softness beneath her voice. "More like yourself again."

"Being around you helps", you admit quietly. "You've always had this ability of making everything feel less...heavy. Even just standing there like that. It's almost unfair."

Natasha raises her eyebrows, lowering the salad dressing. "I don't think I've ever been accused of making anything less heavy", she says with a small smirk that quickly mellows into a smile. "But I'm glad it's different with you."

You smile, then clear your throat. Her reaction makes you feel both heavier and lighter at the same time. A sense of safety and relief — feelings you haven't experienced in a while — floods you.

"We're getting sentimental again", you joke, hoping to maintain some sense of distance — even if it's futile. There's that pull again, subtle but undeniable, making you yearn for something you can't quite grasp.

You're not even sure what you want, or how much you're allowed to want.

You probably want more than what's appropriate, and that thought makes you take a step back.

Natasha gives you a curious look as you she notices you creating some distance. She decides not to comment on it and instead continues pushing the shopping cart, her fingers absentmindedly drumming against the handle.

You fall into step beside each other again, the silence between you heavy, but not entirely uncomfortable. You pick up a few more things as you go — chocolate-coated raspberries, some pretzels. Natasha nudges you, the brief touch feeling like an electric shock.

"What's next on the list?"

You reach for your phone to check the list. "Uh...wine?"

Natasha raises an eyebrow, the lighter expression on her face pulling you both back to safer ground. "Now we're talking."

The moment allows you to forget about the tension for now, but just because it's unspoken doesn't mean it goes anywhere — it simmers beneath the surface, lingering, waiting for the right moment rise again.

. . .

The lighting in Natasha's apartment is softer, its only source a lamp in the corner. The remnants of your late dinner sit on the coffee table, forgotten in favor of the wine you now sip. Quietude, rare and delicate, lingers in the air.

"Cozy here", you comment, your legs crossed and your posture much more relaxed than it's been all day. Your eyes lazily take in the space around you — clean, minimalistic, yet without a doubt Natasha's. There's a part of her in every nook, every detail, and it's making you feel warm and fuzzy.

"You think so?", she asks, the corners of her lips lifting into a small, amused smile. "Cozy enough for you?"

You give an almost imperceptible shrug, not bothering to make a big show of it. "I like it. It's just so...you", you say, your words simple but honest. You quietly wonder if you could ever feel at home in a place like this, and you find you could. A thought you won't voice out loud, but one that seems like a weight on your chest. It's too unattainable.

Natasha hums, the sound getting lost in the noise from the city outside. She swirls her wineglass in her fingers, watching the bordeaux liquid slosh around.

"I've been told it's the perfect mix of 'comfortable' and 'pretentious'."

You laugh softly, watching Natasha settle deeper into the couch as her finger traces the rim of her glass. "Well, I could get used to it."

"You've always been good at finding your place", she says after a few seconds of silence, setting the glass down. Just like that, the ease of the moment is gone, vanishing like smoke. It fades with your smile, making Natasha frown.

"I'm not so sure about that anymore", you say, chuckling weakly.

A small silence stretches between you. Natasha watches you for a moment, and the weight of her gaze makes you fidget slightly. You tap the side of your glass, shifting on the couch.

"You okay?", she eventually asks, her voice losing all of its usual sharpness.

"I don't know", you respond honestly, putting your wineglass aside. "I've been...feeling out of place, lately."

Natasha doesn't press. Instead, she leans back, her silence encouraging you to go on.

"It just feels like I'm stuck", you continue, looking at your hands in your lap. "Stuck between two worlds. I don't know what I want anymore. It's all very confusing."

"Sounds heavy."

You wave your hand dismissively, not wanting her to worry too much. Ethan's tendency to nurture this picture-perfect image everyone's supposed to have of your family seems to have rubbed off on you.

"It'll pass, just like everything else", you say, trying to convince both her and yourself. "Just a phase, right?"

"Y/N..."

"I mean", you continue, glancing at her, "things have been difficult, sure. It's hard to feel like I'm going down the right path sometimes. But there has to be a reason why I'm here, right? In this...life."

Natasha can't bring herself to say anything. Your words, heartfelt and sincere but also so damn vulnerable, hit her right in the chest. She's always felt protective over you, even though she knows she shouldn't. Hearing you like this — all confused and frustrated — makes her entire body ache.

"You're not alone", she finally says. You look at her, a lump forming in your throat. "Maybe it feels like you are, but you're not."

You nod, inspecting your fingernails. Not perfectly manicured, with the nail polish chipping off and the cuticles pushed back unevenly.

Why do you always feel the need to distract yourself instead of focusing on what's in front of you?

"It's why I called you", you admit, daring to meet her eye again. She smiles faintly, softening her sharp features in a way that makes your heart stumble.

"I figured", she says gently. "But I'm glad to hear you say it."

"Is it?" You let out a quiet laugh and avert your eyes. "I don't know. It feels like I'm unloading on you."

"You're not unloading", Natasha says quickly, leaning forward slightly with her elbows resting on her knees. Your eyes meet, momentarily making the guilt in your chest fade away. "You're reaching out. There's a difference."

Her words wrap around you, reassuring you in a way you didn't know you needed. But you did need it. You craved it, sought it out, all whilst never receiving it from the one person who promised he'd be there forever.

You feel foolish. You married someone who could never fill the spaces in your heart, someone who was maybe never interested in those spaces in the first place. You deliberately ignored the fact that you already had someone who was willing to follow you to the ends of the universe.

"You make it sound so easy", you say quietly.

"It's not", Natasha admits. "But it's worth it."

Your breath catches as you look up, meeting those impossibly green eyes that always seem to look right through you. There's no pretense, no agenda in Natasha's gaze — just honesty and that familiar kind of adoration.

"Natasha..." Your voice falters.

"Don't overthink it", she says. "You don't need to have all the solutions. Just let yourself be here."

"Here", you mumble, feeling yourself lean into the moment — into her warm presence, into the comfort of her home — and suddenly, your world feels a little less heavy. You grab your wineglass and take a small, steadying sip. "I don't even know what 'here' means anymore."

She smiles faintly. "It can mean whatever you need it to. Right now, it just means...this."

You look up, caught by the simplicity of her words. "This?"

"You and me, sitting here. No expectations, no pressure." Natasha tilts her head. "Us."

"You make it sound so easy", you repeat — but this time, there's no trace of doubt in your voice. You set the wineglass down with a soft 'clink', Natasha's eyes tracing your movements. She leans back, her own glass forgotten.

"It can be", she says in a way that makes your pulse quicken.

You swallow, hesitating for a short moment. The ring on your finger suddenly feels impossibly heavy, like a weight dragging you down. You decide to ignore it.

"It should be", you say softly, and it's all the permission Natasha needs.

She leans in, giving you the space to pull away. But you meet her halfway, feeling her hand on your cheek, her breath on your face.

Her lips brush over yours, feather-light and tentative, testing the waters. You lean in more as you allow her to deepen the kiss, feeling her mouth press against yours with a little more urgency.

First soft and gentle, now more desperate and hungry. You try to satiate the need you're feeling, but it seems impossible. Your hands grasp at Natasha's sides, feeling the heat of her skin through her shirt. Her thumbs press into your cheeks, keeping your face close and your lips locked with hers.

You can barely breathe at this point and you're not sure why. All you know is that the lack of oxygen is making you feel lightheaded and that the knot in your chest has loosened, allowing you to melt into her.

Her hand slides to the back of your neck, gently toying with the soft hairs at your nape. You make a soft noise and pull away, your breathing as ragged as hers.

"Dammit", you curse quietly, your body slumping into the pillows behind you. Your face is flushed, just like hers, and your breath is coming in quick pants.

"Y/N", she starts softly, despite the ache she's feeling deep in her soul. "Talk to me."

You shake your head and run a shaking hand through your hair. There's a glimmer in your eyes — of fear, regret, something you aren't quite ready to name.

"I shouldn't have-" You take a deep, unsteady breath. "I need a minute", you mutter, pushing yourself off the couch and taking a few steps away. Natasha stays where she is, her eyes following you.

"Take your time", she says quietly, her hands balled into fists — holding herself back is an effort.

You pace a few steps, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. You stare at the far wall, your mind racing in circles. Ethan, Nina, your marriage, your carefully constructed life that seems like it's been falling apart — and now Natasha, and the kiss, only further solidifying your belief that what you have won't last long.

"I just- I-" You shake your head and look at her again. Your voice is laced with frustration. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I came here to...I don't even know anymore."

"You came here because you needed someone", Natasha says simply. Her green eyes are unwavering, as steady as you've known them to be. "And I'm glad you did."

Your lips part as if to argue, but no words come. Your chest is falling and rising unevenly as your gaze flits to the floor and then back to Natasha. "It's not fair", you say quietly.

"What isn't?", she asks, frowning slightly.

Your movements are tight, almost defensive, as you gesture between the two of you. "This. You. Us. The way it makes me question everything."

"Y/N", she says slowly as she gets up from the couch, her movements hesitant. "You're allowed to question things. You can't always figure everything out immediately."

"No", you snap, your entire body tense. "I chose this mess. I made my bed, and now-"

"And now you're allowed to get up", Natasha cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. "You don't have to be stuck in it forever."

"It's not that easy", you say weakly. "I don't know how to do it. I don't know what to do."

Natasha steps closer, her hand hovering above your arm for a moment. Then she pulls back, her gaze finding yours.

"You'll figure it out", she says softly. "You always do."

The kiss was a release of emotions you've been bottling up for way too long, but it also made your need to be close to her even more apparent. You crave the safety she provides, the passion, the knowledge that she — unlike Ethan — will always care.

Being with her soothes something raw inside you. It's something you've been feeling more and more lately, and you're tired of holding back.

Without another word, your hands fist the front of her shirt. Her lips meet yours in yet another kiss, one that's messy yet grounding.

There's no hesitation, no holding back this time. Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you close, drawing out the kiss until you're both breathless. You pull away and rest your forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

"Still need a minute?", Natasha murmurs, smiling faintly.

"Yeah", you mumble back, an amused, halfhearted huff escaping you. Your hands smooth down the front of her shirt, straightening away the small creases. "I should go home", you say, your tone somewhere between apologetic and guilt-ridden.

Natasha just nods, her thumbs rubbing your sides soothingly. "Take your time", she repeats, this time a bit more sincerely. "Take a few days off, now that you've got the house to yourself."

"I will." You slide your hands up to her face, cupping it, and then give her a quick goodnight-kiss.

When you leave, it doesn't feel like a goodbye. Not this time.

. . .

— THE QUIET BEFORE —

There's a reason why Nina spends most of her time with you.

He's never been paternal, or nurturing, or great with kids. They're cute, he has to admit that, and he likes the idea of having a descendant. He's awkward in moments where Nina needs reassurance or comfort, he doesn't know how to talk to her without feeling like he's downplaying his own intelligence, and the lack of emotional connection is apparent.

He lets you handle basically everything child-related — and it shows.

It's only been a few hours of Ethan being alone with his daughter, and he's already about to lose his mind. The girl was chatting nonstop during the flight already, and now, sitting in the back of the car, she still won't stop. It's like she's got an endless reservoir of words she needs to use up as quickly as possible.

He's not used to this chatterbox of a child. He knows she can talk, but damn it, she sounds like a broken record. It's so bad his head has started to pound. Not even work stresses him out like this, despite it being fast paced and demanding.

"Okay, honey", he interrupts her, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, "we gotta make a quick stop at my office, yeah? I need to grab some stuff."

Nina nods, her hands toying with the tiny sweater her teddy bear is wearing. It's one her other grandma — your mom — knitted for the stuffie.

"Are we going home to mommy?", she then pipes up.

"Yes, yes, we're going home soon. I just need to check something."

Ethan pulls into the parking lot behind the office building and parks the car. He briefly registers the presence of a few other cars — not surprising —, but what really makes him pause is the unfamiliar Jeep parked across from him.

After a few seconds of just staring at it, he decides he's being paranoid. He turns around to face Nina, his hand on the side of the passenger seat.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't leave the-"

"Mommy's friend!"

He frowns as he's cut off by a suddenly ecstatic Nina. "What?"

She keeps bouncing in her seat, eagerly waving at someone outside. The girl clearly has no idea she might be getting Natasha, or you, into trouble — she's just happy to see the nice lady again.

Ethan turns his head and follows her gaze, spotting a red haired woman as she makes her way towards the Jeep. A black blazer and a matching skirt, her hand loosely clasping a file.

I knew I haven't seen that car before, he thinks.

"That's mommy's friend", Nina repeats excitedly. "She was at the gallery. And we played in the park."

"Oh yeah?", Ethan says, his mind starting to race. He knows you haven't expanded your close circle of friends during the past few months; surely, you would've informed him in some way. Finding out that this unknown woman has met Nina twice doesn't sit right with him, for some reason.

But then again, it's not like he's too involved in your or your daughter's life — he's a busy man, after all, working overtime and constantly on the run. Even when he's at home, he's working on things.

He debates confronting you about it, but ultimately decides against it. If this stranger is connected to you, it could mean trouble — trouble he doesn't want to call attention to. He tries telling himself it's no big deal, that it's probably just a big coincidence.

Despite his best efforts to convince himself that everything will be alright, he feels his paranoia grow as the Jeep pulls out of the parking lot.

"Daddy?", Nina interrupts his train of thoughts. He turns around with a slight start. "I want to go home."

"In a minute."

. . .

"Hey, baby!"

You smile as Nina runs straight into your arms. It's only been a few days, but you missed your daughter more than anything.

You pick her up with ease, her entire body slumping into your embrace.

"I missed you", she says sincerely, her warm breath sweet like apple juice.

"I missed you too", you reply, rubbing her back. Your eyes flit back to Ethan, who's carrying two suitcases into the house. Oddly enough, it seems like he isn't mad at you for leaving anymore. He actually seems pretty unruffled, which is a surprise — after what happened, you'd expected him to be more than just pissed. "You okay?"

"I'm good", he says, glancing at you. He smiles faintly. "Kid missed you. Guess there's a reason why she prefers you."

"No kidding", you say, cracking a smile, and follow him into the house. He puts his suitcase next to the staircase. "You're not taking that upstairs?"

"No, actually", he says as he makes his way to his office. "There's a work trip coming up. I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

You pause, taken aback. Of course, work trips aren't anything unusual in his line of work. He frequently travels to other cities or countries to meet clients, attend networking events, pitch new investment opportunities — this, however, seems abrupt.

"Oh", you say slowly, gently putting Nina down. "Okay."

"I'll replace a few of the clothes I packed. Care to grab me that one gray suit? The one from Italy."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." You nod absentmindedly and follow him upstairs. He disappears into his office, shutting the door behind him, and you round the corner and enter your bedroom.

You step into the walk-in closet and rummage through his collection of suits until you find the one he asked for. Then, just to be nice and make it easier on him, you open the drawer with his shirts. As you start to organize a few, your fingers brush against a folder of documents hidden underneath the clothes. It's barely visible — clearly, he tried to hide it, but not well enough.

For a moment, you consider letting it be. Spare yourself the trouble, forget about it, pretend it doesn't exist. But your curiosity gets the better of you, so you gently pull the folder out from underneath the shirts.

You open it and scan the first document.

A financial statement, outlining a series of transactions from an unnamed offshore account to Durant Enterprises. Ethan's name — Consultation Fee: Ethan Bailey — appears in the memo line of one transaction for $50,000.

What confuses you the most is the handwritten note, in neat, feminine script, underneath:

"All set for the Zurich project — talk soon.

- Isabelle."

Your shaky fingers struggle to push the document aside and reveal the next one.

A partial draft of a business agreement between Ethan and Durant Enterprises; the text is mostly filled with jargon, but it hints at a high-risk, high-reward investment opportunity that would require discretion.

At the bottom?

Ethan's signature, right next to Isabelle's.

Then, an email.

Subject Line: "Zurich Timeline Adjustment"

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hi Ethan,

As discussed, the timeline for Zurich needs to move up for next month. I've already made the necessary arrangements on my end, but I need confirmation from you that everything is good to go.

Let me know if you'd like to discuss this further — dinner next week, maybe? Same place, same time? I'll make the reservation.

- Isabelle.

It's the final nail in the coffin. Your unease shifts into something sharper, almost unbearable. Your eyes start to burn, but no tears seem to come. But why cry, anyway?

It's not like you've been faithful, either. But for some reason, what you did feels different.

Stop — you've kissed Natasha, you've wanted Natasha. If he's guilty, then so are you. You can't ignore the paralleles between what you did and what you suspect Ethan might be doing.

'Suspect' being the keyword here. You have no clear evidence yet. All of these documents point in the same direction, but none of them confirm any of your suspicions. As far as you know, Isabelle Durant could be a business partner.

You barely manage to tuck the folder back under his clothes when you hear someone enter the bedroom. You look to your right with a start, then relax once you see it's Nina. It's a relief to see her instead of Ethan. She won't ask questions as to why you're digging through his stuff.

"Mommy? Can we go play?", she asks, clumsily running her hand over her messy hair.

You smile and crouch down, gently pulling her closer.

"In a minute", you promise, kissing her cheek. "I just have to help daddy pack."

"Okay", she says, giggling at the kiss. She frees herself from your loose hug and rushes off, her tiny feet pattering down the hall. She leaves you in the quiet of the room, the weight of the documents still pulling at your thoughts.

Finally, you straighten up.

You'll have time for this later. For now, you'll focus on your daughter.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlets

#natasha romanoff x reader #l is for the way you look at me

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plasticl0ve · 3 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: part 2. idk

warnings: none

word count: 6.4k

part 1, part 2, part 3, …

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— COOKIES AND CONVERSATIONS —

"Natasha?"

Her eyes lock with yours as she slowly straightens up, making Nina let go of her sleeve in the process. You pull your daughter closer, staring at Natasha incredulously.

"Y/N", she finally says, a tad too coolly for your liking.

"What are you doing here?", you ask, still wary. Nina has grabbed your hand, a bit confused by how icy and distant the interaction between you two seems. You both said you're friends, after all. She's too young to grasp just how complex your relationship actually is.

'Friends' is far from the truth.

Natasha looks around the lobby, noticing the stares she's getting from strangers.

Yes, she specifically. You're a familiar face around here, probably visiting every week with your daughter in tow. She, however? She's unfamiliar. A face that stands out, someone who doesn't fit in. Her traitorous brain remarks that she should be used to that feeling by now. But she isn't.

"Can we maybe move this outside?", she asks quietly, her eyes flitting back to meet yours. You frown, unsure whether you should agree to her request.

But then again, Natasha is safe. Despite the breakup, despite the years of distance — you trust her. Part of you also realizes that your conversation is being overheard, which you don't like. Too many people know too much about you already, so there's no need to give them more stuff to talk about.

"Fine." You reluctantly follow her, making sure you're holding on to your daughter. No way is she running off again. That'd be the second time within less than a week.

You look at her as soon as you're outside, standing by your car. Natasha pushes her hands into the pockets of her coat, observing you out of the corner of her eye. She still can't shake that habit, it seems — always on the lookout, always studying you. It's as endearing as it is frustrating.

"So?", you eventually say, your thumb rubbing Nina's fingers. You're trying to calm yourself down. Or keep yourself calm. Either of those. "Answer me."

Natasha's gaze briefly sweeps over your surroundings. Traffic, an empty sidewalk, that gigantic building you just exited. Nobody in vicinity, which is a relief.

"I wanted to see you", she says. A half-lie. She did want to see you, in some way at least, but that's not what she's here for. She came her to find evidence, to gather intel about your precious husband.

Can she tell you that, though?

No. Not yet.

Your expression falters for a moment, the mask of indifference crumbling and vanishing. A variety of emotions flickers across your face, unreadable yet obvious. Natasha can see every single one, making her chest feel tight with guilt.

"You've got great timing", you say weakly, feeling the early autumn breeze brush over your cheeks. "It's been seven years."

"It's been a little more than five days", Natasha corrects you, still stoic.

"You know what I mean", you say sharply. "That thing at the art gallery? Doesn't count. Besides: if you wanted to see me, why'd you come to my husband's office?"

"I didn't know this was his office", she immediately replies, which — to you — is even more ridiculous than her claiming she wanted to see you. She's a spy, for god's sake. She doesn't do anything without a purpose, especially not something like this.

"So this is a coincidence?" You let out a hollow laugh. "Natasha-"

"Okay", she says, stepping closer. You quickly look at her, feeling the urge to take a step back. You can't get close to her again. "Maybe I did know he works here. But how else was I supposed to find you?"

"Not at all would've been a start."

"Charming", she says drily, her attempt at concealing the hurt in her voice failing. "Nice to see you too."

"Oh, come on." You sigh. "I'm sorry, but this...it's odd. I didn't think you'd be the one to seek me out first after, you know...", you trail off. She smiles bitterly, averting her eyes.

"Not all of us hold grudges", she says, softer this time. "I guess you're just harder to forget than I thought."

There's a teasing lilt to her voice, something that's meant to protect you both. It doesn't work, but you appreciate the effort. Plus, it manages to elicit a small smile from you. That's more than enough for Natasha.

Nina, ever the restless one, lets go of you to grab Natasha's hand again. The woman looks down at her, a smile appearing on her lips. The child is staring at her as if she's some kind of superhero, which is pretty much spot on.

"Looks like I've been replaced", you comment, the smile on your face turning more genuine now.

Nina is sociable. She loves people of pretty much all ages and is guaranteed to talk their ears off. Still, this kind of immediate fascination is something you haven't seen before. Like mother like daughter, it seems. When you first met Natasha, you felt this kind of enchantment as well. It's a spell that's hard to break.

"I am very likable", Natasha boasts playfully, grinning at your daughter. The little one turns to look at you, pleased that she made the pretty lady smile at her.

"Mommy, she's nice", she pipes up. "Can we get cookies? You promised."

"I did promise cookies", you sigh, shooting her an affectionate look. Then you glance at Natasha. "We were supposed to pick up a snack on our way home", you say sheepishly. "Care to join us?"

"Change of heart?", the redhead teases.

"Yeah, well..." You crack a smile. You're aware you went from pissed off to mildly flustered, all within the span of mere minutes. It'd throw her off guard if she wasn't still familiar with it. "It's always been difficult to stay mad at you."

Natasha hums, looking at Nina again. The girl smiles as if on cue, bouncing on the spot.

"Please?"

"Will I get a cookie, too?", Natasha asks, raising her eyebrows.

Nina nods. "You can have one", she says, her tone generous yet slightly self-important. You and Natasha exchange an amused look — it's a kind and genuine offer, but the way she's saying it makes it sound like the cookies are hers to give away. You're starting to see why your parents have called your daughter spoiled before.

"Looks like the boss has spoken. So, you're joining us?"

"I can't say no to Miss Nina here", Natasha confirms, squeezing Nina's hand.

"Nobody can", you huff, smiling, and take Nina's free hand. "There's a café down the block. We can walk there."

To say that this is weird would be more than just an understatement.

You haven't seen her in years. Haven't talked to her, haven't texted her, nothing. Refusal to reach out from both sides resulted in complete radio silence. And now?

Now you're walking down the street together, both of you holding onto Nina as she walks between you. You're not talking — thankfully, your daughter has decided to do that for you. She's chattering nonstop, her little voice ringing through the air.

It's warm inside the café, with the scent of pumpkin spice wafting right into your faces. Nina instantly lets go of you both, running up to the counter to inspect the pastries. She clasps her hands together in front of her, as if to prevent herself from touching the glass that's separating her from the sweet treats.

"She's a good kid", Natasha says quietly as you catch up to the girl. "She must get that from you."

You smile slightly, glancing at the woman next to you. Your gaze gets stuck, lingers, traces her features. You never could've forgotten what she looks like — not in a million years — but she's even more beautiful than you remembered.

Natasha notices you staring. She looks at you from the corner of her eye, subtly tilting her head. "What?", she asks softly.

"Nothing", you respond in a low murmur, quickly digging through your purse. "It's just weird seeing you here."

She manages a faint smile, silently agreeing with your words. Her eyes zero in on your wallet as you reach for a few dollar bills and her hand comes up to gently stop you.

"I got this", she says, reaching for her own money.

"No, hey-"

"Hush", she says firmly, then gives the barista a polite smile. She lets Nina order her own cookie (the rainbow one, of course), then she lists off everything else. Chocolate chip cookies — a classic —, an espresso and your favorite beverage.

You hide your smile, trying to get over the fact that she still remembers.

You find a quiet, secluded corner of the café, and sit down there. The sky is littered with clouds, covering the sun and allowing the soft lights of the café to be the star of the show.

Nina is tucked into the corner seat between you, her little hands breaking the cookie in two. Her excitement over something so mundane is serving as a buffer between you and Natasha, helping you through initial awkward silences.

"It's a nice place", Natasha comments, taking a sip of her espresso. "Much better than that place in D.C. with the squeaky chairs."

"And the bitter coffee", you add, looking at her. You reach out, tapping the frame of the glasses she's wearing. Those are definitely new. "Didn't know you need glasses now."

"I don't", Natasha says, quickly sliding the glasses off her face. Her eyes meet yours, deep green and softened. "They just help me be recognized less, believe it or not."

"I recognized you", you counter, stirring the hot drink in front of you before taking a tentative sip.

"Yes, you did", she says pointedly, glancing at Nina as she holds out a piece of her cookie. The girl has her head tilted sweetly.

"Trade?"

"Sure, honey", Natasha says, handing her a piece of her own cookie in exchange. Then she focuses on you again. "Now let's hope the rest of Manhattan isn't as sharp-eyed as you."

You roll your eyes, an amused sound escaping you. "Well, don't look at me. I don't think a pair of glasses could ever make you blend in." You pause, a thought crossing your mind. "What are you hiding from, anyways?"

Natasha looks at you, her brain — again — settling on a half-truth. "You know me. From the rest of Manhattan, pretty much."

"Right", you say, smiling faintly. "Always on the run."

"Old habits die hard", she says wryly, leaning back with her arms crossed. Irony — her very own way of suppressing the guilt that's starting to rear its head. She's lying to you pretty much constantly, keeping secrets and finding excuses.

Natasha has reasons for that. She can't just tell you what's going on, not until she knows for sure. Until then, you might be of use.

Telling herself that is easier than admitting why she's actually sitting here with you.

"Funny. I thought you'd have found some peace by now." You tilt your head pointedly. "Or at least a better disguise."

"Me and peace in the same sentence? Never thought I'd see the day", she says, finishing her espresso. "And the disguise? It's low-maintenance."

You let out a sound that's between a laugh and a scoff, wiping a few cookie crumbs off Nina's face absently. She rubs her eyes tiredly and you place a soothing hand on her back. "You were never low-maintenance."

"I thought I was charmingly uncomplicated", she smiles, briefly glancing at Nina to check on her. The girl looks sleepy, so it must be nap time for her soon.

"Yes, sure. If that's what you'd call having three passports in the glove compartment whenever you drove me anywhere."

The sole purpose of the smirk on Natasha's face is to hide a wince. It wasn't just the passports — it was everything that came with being with her. Switching cars while driving in the middle of the night, being prepared to run at any given moment. Making sure she could up and go whenever she wanted. Never entirely grounded, one foot always in the shadows.

Her existence was unpredictable, untethered. A stark contrast to the safe but stifling life you lead now, filled with monotony and routines.

Being with her allowed you to soar, even if it sometimes meant crashing down.

"Touché", Natasha says, watching you smooth down Nina's hair. Yet another new mannerism you've picked up — an endearing one at that. "Makes me wonder why you didn't run."

"Maybe I liked the thrill", you reply, looking at her again. Nina's head droops onto your arm for a moment. She's definitely ready for her nap. "Or maybe I liked the person behind the passports."

"That person hasn't changed as much as you may think."

"I think we've both changed."

Natasha watches you scoop the yawning child into your lap. Nina nestles against you, her eyes closing.

She never thought she'd see you like this: all motherly and nurturing, quietly soothing a child — your child. So maybe you have a point. Maybe you did change.

"Maybe", she admits, giving a small smile. "Some things don't, though."

"Like what?", you ask quietly, a hint of challenge in your voice.

Natasha leans forward, her gaze holding yours. The café, the people around you, the noises and smells — it all disappears. At least for a moment, it does.

"Like the way I recognized you, too."

. . .

— THE WEB UNFOLDS —

Her office is small but efficient, filled with the tools of her trade. Screens glowing with data, paperwork and open files scattered across her desk, a steaming mug of tea. She toys with a pen as she scans the financial documents she retrieved once more, one name standing out: Durant Enterprises.

Multiple transfers to and from said company, the amounts large and the descriptions vague. It's the frequency that makes her pause. This isn't just routine business — it's deliberate.

Natasha feels on edge as she puts her pen aside, now pulling up a secondary window on her screen. She cross-references the company with known entities in her database and starts to dig.

At first, Durant Enterprises doesn't raise alarms. Everything seems ordinary until more troubling details surface.

Natasha pauses, her hands stilling. She stares at the screen, feeling a chill run down her spine.

Ties to overseas operations, suspiciously under-the-radar accounts — and, most notably, an association with human trafficking syndicates.

She swallows, her fingers continuing to move over the keyboard in a rapid pace. A list of contacts connected to Ethan catches her eye, several names matching aliases from SHIELD's database of traffickers and corrupt officials. A few of the numbers that are listed appear to be burner phones, heightening her suspicions.

Natasha plugs in the USB stick and runs a deep scan of the files on Ethan's computer. A dense folder of corporate documents, mostly financial data — endless spreadsheets, balance sheets, transaction records. But, nestled among them, an invoice marked for 'freight services' from a shipping company she's never heard of.

It's not an innocent transaction — the total is unsettlingly large.

She pulls up the details, her eyes narrowing as she connects the dots to previous intel. And there it is again: an obscure company, linked to the same shadowy network she's seen before.

Dammit, Bailey, she thinks, taking a hasty sip of tea. What are you dragging them into?

As expected, her thoughts have drifted back to you. To you and Nina, completely oblivious to what Ethan — the man who's supposed to protect you and care for you — is doing.

And then there's Natasha — about to tear this entire network down, about to expose him to his family and countless others. She knows you'll have to find out eventually; it's only fair, after all. You deserve to know the full truth, even if it'll add yet another weight to your shoulders.

Part of her wonders whether you'll forgive her. She's been lying to you ever since that night at the art gallery, and she continues lying to you constantly. It's what she has to do to protect you and Nina.

Lingering affection wars with duty. Shield you from all of this or tell you the truth, let you live in this little bubble you've created for yourself or make it burst. Natasha shouldn't let her feelings get in the way, especially not when this entire mess concerns you and your daughter as well.

Every part of her being is trying to stop her from getting you involved in this. You don't deserve to be a part of this — but here you are.

And she's certain she'll do everything in her power to protect you, even if it means losing you once and for all.

Natasha sets the tea aside and grabs her phone. Her finger hovers above the call button for an excruciatingly long moment, then she decides against it. She leans back in her chair, starting to massage her temples. A dull ache has started to form behind her eyes.

It's a realization, a resolve, that hurts.

She'll have to use you somehow.

. . .

— MOMENTS IN FOCUS —

The sunlight filtering through the windows has a richness to it, making everything appear softer and more vibrant. Leaves dance in front of the floor to ceiling windows, shades of amber and russet that make the scenery outside look like the perfect October morning.

You look up from the ingredients in front of you — bananas, berries, a handful of spinach, all ready to be thrown into the blender — when you hear footsteps approach. Ethan pauses at your side, briefly glancing up from his phone to press a short kiss to your cheek.

"Good morning", he says, looking like the epitome of effortlessness. Hair wet and slicked back, a crisp white robe tied loosely around his waist. Nina doesn't even notice him; she's too engrossed in the picture in front of her, her tongue sticking out as she focuses on coloring within the lines of the butterfly. "What's on the menu?"

"Smoothies, scrambled eggs, yogurt with granola", you list off, turning on the blender. It hums softly as the colors swirl together, creating a nice pinkish shade.

"Hear that, Nina?", he asks, leaning against the counter next to you. She barely looks at him before going back to coloring, now choosing a purple crayon. "Jesus. We've really got to make sure she pays more attention. This is rude behavior."

"She's tired", you defend her, pouring the smoothie into two glasses and one plastic cup. "Also, it's 7 in the morning. You can't expect her to function properly at this hour, Ethan."

"Why not?", he counters, reaching around you to grab one of the smoothies. He takes a few big gulps, already sitting down at the breakfast table and reaching for the newspaper. "She's almost four. It's time she learns some manners."

"She has manners", you retort, crouching down in front of your daughter. She stops coloring, her eyes meeting yours expectantly as she waits for you to say something. "Breakfast is ready, sweetheart. Are you hungry?"

"No", Nina says, but gets up anyway. You smile and swiftly lift her into the air, then sit her down on the chair with her booster seat. She reaches for her cup, holding it with both hands as she takes a sip. "That's yummy."

"Thank you, baby." A kiss is planted on the top of her head, then you join them at the table.

Ethan looks up from the newspaper, casually drumming his fingers on the surface of the table. "Do you have anything planned for today?"

"Not that I know, no", you say, glancing at him. "Why? Did something come up?"

"Oh, yeah. This magazine — Art & Culture Monthly, you probably know them — called this morning. They want to feature the gallery's grand opening in their upcoming issue. It's a pretty big deal, you know? Anyway, they'll interview me and also feature our family."

You can hear the excitement in his voice, causing you to smile faintly. Of course — another thing he can add to his long list of achievements. You can't believe you thought he'd ask if you wanted to do something normal. Go to a pumpkin patch, maybe visit a park. Simple, ordinary things.

"Whatever. They want to take a few pictures of us later today — you, me, the kid. It'll be great for the gallery's reputation, and it'll really solidify our place in the art scene."

Your smile fades a bit. A photo shoot. You've done a couple of those before, but they were always for private usage. You don't want Nina's face to be printed in some magazine everyone can buy, even if basically no one would recognize her anyway.

"I don't know", you say hesitantly, handing Nina a napkin. She has some of the smoothie smeared across her chin and cheeks. "It's a bit unexpected. Plus, Nina is too young for that. She won't be able to sit still for that long."

"Hey, it's okay", he says, brushing off your concerns. "You'll be fine, Nina. Won't you? Anyways-" He turns to you without waiting for an answer, "it's a huge opportunity for us — for me, really. They want to showcase the perfect family, and we're pretty much spot on."

The perfect family — husband, wife, cute little daughter. Well-off but still relatable, at least in a way. Always happy, always fitting society's expectations. You're tired of being pushed into this mold.

You sigh, glancing at your daughter. She looks at you, not understanding too much. "Photos?", she asks curiously.

"Yeah, photos. A photo shoot", you say, feeling uneasy. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Come on", your husband pushes impatiently. "It won't take too long. Besides — it's not like you have anything to do, do you? You'd spend the entire day sitting around. At least you'll make yourself useful."

You roll your eyes. Yes, that's definitely the case. It's not like you have a toddler to take care of, right? And even if you do — it can't be as hard as what Ethan does, obviously.

"When do we have to be there?"

"Two hours", he says happily, eating a bite of his scrambled eggs. "By the way, did you put chives in this? You know I don't like chives."

. . .

It's an upscale studio, bustling with assistants, lights and backdrops. Ethan is just as polished as the space you're in, immediately stepping up to the photographer — an older man, balding, with tiny glasses and a sweater vest — and staff to charm them. You keep your daughter close, feeling out of place.

As much as you hate this — you have to admit that Nina looks impossibly cute in her outfit. A white cabled fisherman sweater, matching yours, paired with denim jeans in a light wash. A pastel yellow headband is keeping her hair out of her face, making her cheeks look even rosier than usually.

"Mommy, this is itchy", she whispers, tugging at the front of her sweater. You grimace, quietly sympathizing with your daughter. The fabric doesn't exactly feel nice on your skin.

"I know, honey", you reply in a hushed voice, making sure the assistants and photographer don't hear you.

"And it's bright", she adds, squinting as she accidentally looks at one of the lights. You snort in amusement, gently making her turn away so she doesn't let the brightness fry her eyes.

"Yeah, I know. It'll be over soon, alright?"

"You ready?", one of the assistants says, waving you over. You nod and gently nudge Nina along.

The photographer positions you in various poses — Nina perched on Ethan's knee, Ethan with his arm around you, you holding Nina. It feels rehearsed, like they know exactly what they want to sell. Which, realistically speaking, is probably the case here.

Picture after picture, pose after pose. You're not the only one who starts to get restless. You spot Nina fidgeting more than once, subtly reaching into her pockets to make sure her crayons are still there — crayons she brought along secretly.

"Stop that, please", the photographer's voice cuts through the air. You don't like the irritated tone with which he's speaking one bit, but you decide to ignore him.

Nina stops, quickly pulling her hand out of her pocket.

"Yes, perfect. Ideal!", he gushes, continuing to snap pictures of you. You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. You silently wonder whether anyone will look at the pictures and realize that you'd rather be anywhere else. Ethan won't, that's for sure — he's beaming, oblivious to your discomfort.

"Mommy?", Nina whispers as you pick her up, already clutching her crayons in her smaller hand. You're finally done after what feels like an eternity of posing and smiling stiffly. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, sweetheart, we're going home", you nod, letting her nestle into you. "Let's just finish up here, okay?"

"Okay", she mumbles, her crayons pressed against the clean fabric of your sweater. They'll most likely leave stains, but you couldn't care less about that. You're just relieved you're done with this.

The drive home isn't silent, to your dismay. Ethan keeps going on and on and on about how great the photos are and how important this is and how it'll certainly elevate his public image. He's talking so much you're surprised Nina managed to doze off in her seat, her chin resting on her chest.

You don't bother responding — instead, you just stare out the window, your mind drifting. You wonder whether Natasha would've laughed at how absurd this whole thing is. You wonder what's she's doing, whether she's thinking about you.

In that moment, you get a text message.

Natasha: Hey, Y/N. This is a bit random, but does Ethan know a few guys in the whole arts world?

I'm looking into something for Tony. — 2.17 pm

You: Hey! I can ask him for a few of his

contacts and send you a list, maybe? — 2.17 pm

Natasha: That's perfect, thank you. — 2.18 pm

You look to your left when Nina stirs. She looks at your phone, rubbing one of her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Who is that?"

"That's Natasha", you say. Ethan doesn't even notice. He's now telling your chauffeur about the feature, again rambling about the interview and the art gallery. Part of you is thankful for that.

"Natasha?" Nina suddenly doesn't seem so sleepy anymore as her eyes light up. "Say hi!"

You smile at your daughter's enthusiasm. Seems like she's really starting to adore the redhead.

You: By the way, Nina says hi. She's all smiley. — 2.19pm

Natasha: Right back at her :) — 2.20pm

Natasha: Are you guys in town next week? There's this park near

the old tower, I think she'd love it. (I promise I won't hog the cookies

this time.) — 2.21pm

You glance at Nina. She looks at you, wide-eyed and practically buzzing with excitement.

"Natasha's asking if we want to go to a park with her", you say, reaching out to adjust her seatbelt. "What do you say, NeeNee?"

Your daughter immediately nods. "Yes, I want to go! Can we go?"

You smile faintly. "Sure, we'll go."

You text Natasha back, confirming the day and time. Then you slip your phone into your pocket.

You let out a small breath, your lips curving into a smile before you even realize it. The weight of your lousy day lingers, but it seems lighter now.

The idea of seeing Natasha tugs at your chest in a way you weren't prepared to unpack. It's almost absurd, how a simple text exchange could bring you such warmth. There's a faint flutter beneath your ribs, caused by a mix of excitement and a wary kind of anticipation.

It's been years, yet you still don't know what it is about Natasha Romanoff that can do this to you with such little effort.

. . .

It's a nice day — the October sun is warm but not overbearing, the chatter of children is echoing through the open space. You get out of the car and scoop the squirming child out of her booster seat, her hand tightly clutching her favorite stuffed bear. You set her on the ground, making sure she doesn't just run off.

"Mommy, can we go there first?", she asks, pointing at the swings. You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Let's find Natasha first, sweetheart. Then maybe she can push you."

Your suggestion earns a gleeful nod. With her hand clasped in yours, you start making your way down the winding path leading into the park. The late-afternoon light dapples the ground through the trees, creating a peaceful but slightly surreal atmosphere — though maybe that's just your nerves.

You spot Natasha near a quiet corner of the park, leaning casually against the wooden fence by the playground. Her pose is relaxed, but her sharp eyes are scanning the area around her.

Once she sees you, her face softens.

"Natasha!", Nina yells, voice bubbling with excitement, and frees herself from your gentle grip to dart forward.

Natasha crouches down just in time to catch the girl in a gentle hug, her expression warm. "Hey, Tiny!"

You ignore the nickname and the way it sends butterflies through your stomach. Instead you approach her, your steps hesitant but steady. She straightens up, her eyes meeting yours, and the park fades into the background.

You feel a small rush of warmth — one that leaves you confused.

"Hi", you say, your voice quieter than intended.

"Hi", she responds, her tone equally soft. But her gaze lingers, taking you in, and the curve of her lips hints at something deeper. "Should we sit? Or does Nina have a playground mission I should know about?"

Nina tugs at Natasha's hand, a grin on her face. "Swings first!"

The little girl manages to slightly break the tension. You let out a laugh, shooting your daughter a fond look. "Looks like you've got your orders."

"Please", Nina adds, remembering the magic word. She keeps pulling at Natasha's hand, who plays along easily. She follows Nina to the playground, all while exchanging a brief look with you — a silent 'Is this okay?'

"Go ahead", you say, nodding, and follow them to the swings.

Leaves crunch beneath the soles of your shoes, the air having a slight bite to it already. A boy, slightly older than Nina, runs past with his father chasing after him. Laughter and voices carry through the air, allowing you to relax a little.

Natasha makes sure Nina's holding on tight before she takes the lead in pushing her. You stand next to them, arms loosely crossed over your chest to preserve some warmth.

"Higher!", Nina promptly demands, trying to glance at Natasha over the thick fabric of her scarf.

"Higher? What are you, a little daredevil in training? You're going to give your mom a heart attack!"

"She's already started", you say, mildly exasperated. "You should've seen her last week, when she tried to climb the bookshelf."

"Huh." Natasha smiles, her eyes briefly meeting yours. There it is again, that annoying tug of warmth. "Sounds like someone I used to know."

You huff, but you can't deny the truth behind her words. You shrug, pushing your hands into the pockets of your coat.

"You never complained."

"I didn't", she agrees, gently stopping the swing when Nina starts to talk about the merry-go-round. "Doesn't mean you didn't make my nerves fray, though."

"Please." You start walking to the merry-go-round, watching Nina speed ahead. "If anyone's nerves were frayed, it's mine. I watched you leave for missions on a weekly basis. I can't even count how many times I stitched you up afterwards."

"You make it sound like I was some kind of wrecking ball", she smirks.

"You didn't need to be." You let out an amused chuckle, your eyes glued to Nina as she sits down on the circular bench of the merry-go-round. "You were a force of nature, and I spent most of my time just trying to hold it together while you ran off into the chaos."

"You always did", she agrees, her voice quieter now. You stop when you reach the merry-go-round, watching Nina as she starts to spin around. "You were good at it, though. At stitching me up, I mean. Better than I deserved most days."

"Very true", you say, trying to keep it light. "I think I deserved a medal for keeping up with you."

"You mean for putting up with me?", Natasha corrects you, her hand briefly touching the handle of the merry-go-round to make sure it doesn't spin too fast.

A faint smile forms on your face. She's not entirely wrong — some of the time, it really was 'putting up with her'. Rolling with it, with her lifestyle, with the way every day seemed to be pure chaos.

You know it's not her fault. It's who she is, it's the life she ended up choosing for herself after never getting to have a choice. You were patient, too — you understood why she had to do all those things. Why she could never just rest.

"I'm just saying: most people would've thrown their hands up after the third emergency stitch job", you say mock seriously, earning a quiet laugh.

"Good thing you're not most people", she says, her smirk letting some tenderness shimmer through.

"Yeah", you agree, watching her. She's looking at Nina again, making sure she isn't spinning too fast or getting dizzy. Again and again you realize the same thing: only days later, Natasha fits in perfectly. Maybe that's what scares you the most. "Real good."

. . .

With Nina playing in a sandbox, you and Natasha get to be alone for a moment. You never take your eyes off your daughter to make sure she stays right where she is, but most of your attention is on the woman sitting next to you.

"I never knew how fast things could change", you speak softly, your words lingering in the chilly air. "I mean — one moment, I was making all these big plans. And now?"

"...now, you're a mom", Natasha says, smiling faintly as Nina smushes down her sandcastle.

"Yeah, exactly."

"You found a calmer life", she says, half to herself. It's bittersweet — she's glad you made it to a place where you don't have to worry about her or the dangers that come with the territory anymore. Now, your days are filled with cartoons and picture books and colorful bandaids. No more midnight missions, no more bloodies bandages. "A safer one."

"Calm and safe, sure", you mumble absently. "But I'm not so sure about...better."

Natasha turns to look at you, frowning slightly. What you said is odd enough, but the way you said it really threw her off. She scoots closer, her voice lowered.

"What are you talking about?"

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can say anything, Nina calls out to you. She's running, one hand clutching her teddybear. "I'm thirsty, mommy."

"Come here, honey." You grab a juice box from your backpack and hand it to her. She struggles with the straw for a moment, then she manages to poke it through the hole. The straw is now covered in grains of sand, making you grimace — but, of course, your daughter doesn't care about that.

She empties the juice box in record time, then she tosses it into the trash can. Off she goes again, her eyes locking onto the pony spring-rider. Natasha watches her with increasing fondness, silently wondering whether, in some other, faraway universe, this is what her life looks like.

"Always on the go", you say quietly, watching her. "So full of energy, I swear."

"I guess that's why I like her so much", Natasha says, glancing at you. You smile.

"She reminds you of yourself, huh?"

Natasha laughs under her breath, shrugging. "Maybe. Though I hope not too much."

You look down at your lap, at your hands that are resting there, and subtly toy with the ring on your finger. Your gaze shifts back to Natasha, a small, wistful smile on your face.

"I disagree. I wouldn't mind if she was a bit...wilder." You bite your lip, then add: "Like you. I mean, you were the one always pushing me out of my comfort zone. It was part of the deal: I tried to rein you in — unsuccessfully —, and you kept pushing."

Natasha smiles, her hand briefly reaching out to squeeze yours. You exhale softly at the simple touch — you haven't felt her skin against yours in years, but it's still the same.

"Did I ever do it right?", she ponders. "Push you the way you needed?"

"Maybe not always", you admit. "But you made me feel alive. Even when it was complicated."

. . .

"For you!", Nina says, handing a flower — a chrysanthemum — to Natasha. The redhead smiles, taking the small plant and twirling it between her fingers.

"A flower? For me? I'm honored!" Natasha turns to look at you, a teasing look on her face. "See? She already likes me better than most people."

You chuckle, lifting Nina into your arms. "I wouldn't be so sure", you say, smiling back just as teasingly. "She gave the mailman a flower last week, too."

"Oh really? And here I thought I was special."

You hum, adjusting your hold on your daughter. "You are special", you say, this time completely sincerely. You can't remember the last time Ethan spent the whole day with you like this — simply existing, doing things that aren't work-related, making sure Nina has fun. This was Natasha's idea, too — not yours. For the first time in a while, you don't feel isolated.

You clear your throat, giving a quick nod. "Well, uhm...thank you. For this. She really had fun."

Natasha hesitates, her gaze flickering from the flower to your face. "I didn't just come for her", she eventually speaks, the words hanging in the air as you exchange a look. You swallow, managing a faint smile.

"Let's not get too sentimental", you say, trying to sound lighthearted. You nudge Nina to distract yourself. "Say bye, honey."

Nina waves at Natasha. A few hours of playing outside in the fresh air have turned her cheeks rosy. "Bye, Natasha!"

"Bye, Tiny."

Another quick glance at each other, then you part ways. Natasha goes in one direction, you go in the other. Years linger between you, years that were spent together and that keep you close. There's a pull that's close to magnetic, and you're not sure how you managed to resist it for such a long time.

Both of you wonder whether you were ever able to truly leave your past behind — or if, somehow, you're still tangled in it, just waiting for the right moment to unravel.

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🌙 tagged (as per request): @fxckmiup

#natasha romanoff x reader #l is for the way you look at me

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