yeah ok

It was just sex.

Simple, transactional, the exchange of physical pleasure between two acquaintances, two friends. That’s what you and Jessie had decided.

It had started as an off the cuff offer from her to you after you’d been complaining about being stuck in a dry spell. Much to Jessie’s surprise, you’d invited her over that night and took her up on the offer.

It worked despite the two of your personalities differing.

You were noncommittal, you never had done the long term relationship thing, it wasn’t for you. Independence was easier, it always had been for you. Hook ups were your go to in college and your first year after graduating, but as your popularity within the sport grew, you became more wary of advances for hook ups. Two instances of going home with someone only to find your jersey in their house was enough for you. You’d decided you couldn’t trust a stranger anymore, thus beginning your treacherously long dry spell. But you could trust a teammate, which made Jessie the ideal candidate.

Jessie on the other hand liked the idea of a relationship, if anything she longed for it. The idea of something stable, someone who was hers, but she hadn’t found it yet. Half of Portland would probably line up for the chance to take her out, but it wasn’t that simple. It was hard with the constant travel, the uncertainty of contracts, a life partially out of her own control. That’s what made you perfect, you knew the uncertainties, the turmoil, but you were there. It wasn’t a relationship, and Jessie wasn’t wanting it to be, you were a constant in her life and for now, that was enough.

The two of you had laid out ground rules before anything physical happened. There had to be structure if this was going to work. You were teammates first, it couldn’t interfere with your jobs, it wouldn’t be fair to those around you. So you sat at Jessie’s kitchen table and made a list laying out the expectations and rules of your agrreement.

Rule one, no spending the night, no sleepovers. “get off and then get out” the two of you had jokingly referred to your hook ups.

Rule two, no commitments, no feelings, it was just sex.

Rule three, no other people, if either of you wanted to start seeing someone new, this ended. For everyone’s safety, that was the easiest.

Rule four, it wasn’t to be public information, a few select friends could know, but not everyone, especially not the whole team.

Rule five, it couldn’t change your friendship, if things got weird, if things felt wrong, it stopped, immediately.

Rule six, anyone can end it at any time, no questions asked.

Rule seven, no pet names, no baby, no honey, no sweetheart, nothing.

Rule eight, no missionary, you’d both agreed that felt too close.

And your final ground rule, no kissing.

It was your idea, you could kiss her neck, she could kiss your chest, you could kiss her hips, she could kiss your thighs, anything but the lips. Kissing felt too intimate, something a couple did, not two friends.

After laying ground rules, everything else fell into place, and the two of you fell into bed. It was easy, the lack of commitment, the lack of feelings, it worked for both of you. She’d text you, you’d text her, you’d slip her a note at training, she’d send you a knowing glance across the locker room, simple commitments of when and where.

The sex was good too. Jessie definitely knew what she was doing, and she learned your body quick, just as you did hers. You knew how to satisfy each other, it was consistent, routine, and it felt good. It was perfect for the 6 months you’d been each others fuck buddies, absolutely perfect.

“Tonight? My place?” Jessie came up behind you as you walked into the tunnel from training.

You glanced at her, her face shiny with sweat, cheeks flushed, you’re sure your expression matched. “Yeah, yeah sure.” You agree with a smile and a nod.

You split at the entrance to the locker room, your cubbies across the way from each other. You barely get your boots off before you’re met by your coach standing in front of you. “I need you to come with me.”

“Okay, just let me throw on my change of clothes I’ll be right there.” You nod, grabbing at your sweatpants.

“No, I need you to come now.” Her voice tells you whatever it is, is serious, you rush to grab your sandals and follow her to her office, trying to avoid drawing attention to yourself.

You stare at the official standing behind your coach’s desk, blazer and collared shirt, small logo in the corner that you immediately recognize. A doping committee representative. You internally groan, you’d just gone through this a week ago, how was it possible you’d been randomly selected again.

“Sit down please.” The tone of your coach’s voice has you concerned, a more serious, more professional than normal presence in it.

“Is everything okay?” your coach holds up her hand pausing your questioning. She pulls a yellow envelope over before sliding a stack of papers out of it.

“I need you to read this.”

You immediately notice the seal of the anti-doping committee in the corner of the letter and your heart races. It's a results page, you hardly ever saw these, on occasion when the medical staff would wave it at you to congratulate you, in a joking manner, on passing. You’d never been sat down with the results. A wave of panic floods your mind, you hadn’t taken anything, you wouldn’t take anything, never. With a shaking hand you grab the papers and begin reading.

You skim over the details regarding the testing, “taken on the 4th of April following competition between…” you try to make sure you’re not missing anything important but also rush to get to the point. “Urine and blood samples tied to results below were collected from identified athlete within 60 minutes of end of match…” your mind flashed back to taking the test, it was routine, you don’t recall anything weird.

You keep reading “Athlete was within normal limits and considered negative for the following findings…” you skim through the list of performance enhancing substances, of course you were negative. When you finally hit the bottom of the page you find the following listed under “Abnormal Findings”.

“Athlete was found to have severely elevated hCG.

Accepted Level: <5mlU/mL

Athlete Sample Level: 9,882mIU/mL

Follow up testing required.”

“I, I didn’t take anything, I swear, you can test me again, I didn’t, I wouldn’t!”

“Hey, it’s alright. We’re going to take care of this, that’s why Joan from the committee is here.” Your coach could try to ease you, but it definitely didn’t feel alright.

Your vision feels fuzzy, your ears mumble out the sounds of the official, Joan, speaking to you. “hCG elevation can be a couple of things.” The official continues to speak but you can only catch a couple words, “found in performance enhancing drugs” more concerned over the fact that a false test might be ending your career. “Tumors, premenopausal or menopausal,” you're sweating now. “The other main cause of elevated hCG is pregnancy.”

“You think I’m taking something, that I’m taking drugs, steroids?” Suddenly defensive you stare at the woman in the corner. “I’m not!”

“We’re not here to accuse you of anything. We’ll collect new samples today, those will be sent off, we’ll determine any further necessary processes at the time of those results.” The official states, clasping her clipboard. “If you’re ready, we’ll go complete sampling now.”

“I didn’t take anything.” It's a helpless feeling, you can do nothing but test again, you have no other defense, no other proof that you were innocent. “Can I still play?”

“You may train, it’s likely we’ll have your results back before your game this weekend, however if there is a delay, you will not be able to compete.” She points to the last sentence of the page that states until results are verified or overturned, you are barred from any form of competition.

“I didn’t, I wouldn’t.” You stammer hoping they’ll believe you.

“I know, just go get tested again, they’ll see, it’ll be okay.” It’s a reassuring nod your coach provides but it does nothing to settle the fear and unease in your stomach. This could end your career.

You follow the official as they head to the physio room. Your face flushes with embarrassment as many of your teammates remain in the room following training. You stand against the wall as the official speaks with the medical staff and they begin to prep the office and restroom for the testing. Everything felt wrong, the room too loud, the sounds of your teammates and the music overwhelming you. Suddenly overly aware of how your shirt felt too tight, still damp with sweat from training that afternoon, you needed to change, it was too hot.

“Oooo someone’s in trouble.” Jayden jokes, gathering the attention of the whole team. It’s a joke, you know it, you’ve made the same ones when your teammates get pulled all the time. The rest of the room joins in with commentary and noises regarding your situation. It’s a joke but it gets your head pounding, you can feel your heartbeat in your fingers, in your ears, everywhere. You can feel tears of frustration and embarrassment begin to pool.

“Alright, leave her be! Rest of you, finish up, change and be upstairs for review in 15.” Kylie, one of the team’s assistant physios, and your best friend since college finally speaks, settling the room and sending most of the girls shuffling towards the locker room.

Your eyes catch Jessie’s as she leaves, a quick glance of pity on her face followed with a mouthed “sorry”.

“Are you okay?” Kylie places a hand on your shoulder.

“Um,” you want to say yes, you also want to say no, but your throat tightens in the moment and instead you give a halfhearted nod.

“We’re ready for you.”

Stepping into the medical office the fresh smell of rubbing alcohol burns your nose. The sterile environment of the testing room does anything but calming your racing mind. You opt to get the urine test over with first, you hated it. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and it never got better. Grateful you’d hydrated enough during practice, you were able to get the sample fairly quickly. You finish the sample cup and pass it to the official before pulling up your shorts.

“Now, it’s not part of standard protocol, however in cases of female athletes with elevated hCG, it’s offered, as I said before hCG is often an indicator of pregnancy, would you want to take a test this afternoon?” She holds out a box of pregnancy tests.

“You think I’m pregnant?” The past half hour had been such a blur, you don’t remember her mentioning pregnancy.

“I’m not here to make guesses, it’s just simply offered. You indicated you were sexually active on the paperwork, your last menstrual cycle is dated to be almost 7 weeks ago, but I see it’s noted in your chart you tend to have irregularities. The test is simply for you to decide, it is not required, just the blood and urine are.”

You weren’t pregnant, sure you were having sex with Jessie, but she always wore a condom, you two were careful. Even the time the two of you got carried away and she slipped in unprotected before pulling out and putting on a condom, she’d brought over a Plan B the next morning, worried her few drops of precum were potent enough to impregnate you.

Beyond being careful with Jessie, you were partially convinced you were infertile anyway, never having any scares in your reckless, less protection focused, teen and young adult years, on top of never never having a consistent period. But regardless you and Jessie were always so careful.

“It’s up to you.” You blink a few times realizing you’d zoned out, the official still standing in front of you, pregnancy test held in her hand.

It wouldn’t hurt, you gesture to the box. “Yeah, sure, I guess. Go ahead and test it.”

Watching intensely, she puts drops from your existing sample onto the test before putting it to the side. “We’ll let that rest while we collect the blood.”

You stare at the test across the counter as she applies the rubber tourniquet above your bicep. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Failing a doping test, being currently barred from competing, and now here you were taking a pregnancy test, at work, with a stranger, because she’s assumed you’re pregnant.

The test is out of your sight, but that doesn’t stop you from staring at the piece of plastic on the desk. The prick of the needle into your arm doesn’t even draw your attention away. It’s only once papers are being placed into your lap that your eyes shift off of the test. Going through the motions you’ve completed dozens of times, you sign your name on your blood, your urine, on paper after paper, agreeing everything was yours, it was correct, it wasn’t tampered with.

“I’m going to note that you opted to take the pregnancy test, I’ll note the result as well. Again, it’s not mandatory, but noted for the lab when they’re looking at your samples.” Glancing at her watch, she reaches for the test and hands it to you without looking at the result. “I can step out, if you’d like, since I’m not required to witness this.”

“Just stay, you need the result anyway.”

With a shake in your hand you slowly flip the test over, not yet looking at it. There was no way, you two were so careful. You break your eyes away from the wall to look down.

Two lines. Two pink lines.

You blink, then blink again, surely you weren’t reading that right. The more you blink the more the image cements itself into your brain. Two pink lines.

Suddenly the room is silent, your ears filled with the sound of blood rushing through your head. The edges of your vision darken. You can’t see your own face but you’re suddenly sure your color matches that of the sterile white room as you feel your heart, stomach, and what feels like every ounce of blood in your body, sink.

Two pink lines.

“Oh my God.” Your words came out nearly breathless, helpless, as if you were being strangled by the result.

You stumble as you stand from your chair, taking a couple clumsy steps in the direction of the toilet, bracing against the wall as your stomach churned. Your left hand braces against the bathroom’s tile wall as your right, still clutching the test, holds your stomach as you lose your pre-training lunch into the toilet.

You collapse to the floor, sitting just in front of the toilet. A cold sweat has gathered across your skin and shakes have taken over your bodily control. It’s all you can do, sit and stare at the test. The room around you spins, not aiding the existing nausea, but you can’t pull your eyes off the test.

It’s only a moment more before you see Paul, the head physio squatting beside you. Instinctively, you close your hand around the test, holding onto the secret. He’s speaking to you but you can’t hear any of it, the whoosh of your own mind too loud. His hands grab your wrist as he checks your pulse before he begins trying to relax your breathing. There’s a cool washcloth being placed on your forehead and one on the back of your neck, slowly starting to bring you back to reality.

“There you go, keep breathing.” Paul’s voice suddenly cuts through the static of your brain as he calls your name a few times. “Can you hear me?” Finally able to break the trance you move your eyes from the bathroom wall where they’d frozen, to meet Paul’s. “Hey, good.”

He says something about your color coming back, and your heart rate slowing to someone you can’t see, before asking them for a drink.

Feeling suddenly better, and suddenly mortified, you attempt to stand, wanting to just go home. You had to go, the urge to bolt, take off across the locker room, across the pitch and run until you physically couldn’t take it, you had to get away. Paul is quick to grab your waist and shoulder, keeping you from running or moving at all.

“Not so fast, drink this.” He pushes a sports drink into your hand, you take a small sip before placing it down. “Just sit for a bit, we don’t need you passing out on us.”

You hear your name again and this time the official is standing there. “Do you want me to note the test results?” Her hand held out to you. You’re once again overcome with emotions, tears sting the corners of your eyes. You reach out, placing the piece of plastic into her hand.

It doesn’t go unnoticed the way Paul watches the exchange. His face drops from the soft smile he had been giving you, now looking from the official to you and back to the official who was writing. “What are you testing her for? That’s not standard protocol.” He points at the plastic.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.” She states, not looking up from her notepad.

He stands up. “She’s my athlete! I’m responsible for her.” The woman ignores Paul in front of her, reaching past him to pass the test back to you. You wish she’d throw it out, take it back, make it never happen. It wouldn’t fix anything, or change the facts, but you’d have another few minutes of peace.

Paul starts to argue again before Joan shuts him down. “Sir!” The woman scolds him. “I’m not at liberty to discuss this.” She quickly closes her notes. “Your staff will be notified of the results. Thank you.” She quickly turns and removes herself from the room.

“Paul.” You’re finally able to find the first words since you've seen the test. Hearing his name, he puts his attention on you, a look of confusion and concern evident in the frown he wore.

You hated to disappoint him, he felt like a father at times, he cared so deeply for you and your teammates. He always made sure you were okay, he told you he was proud, he always rooted for you. And now you’ve messed that up. It’s a second later that the tears that have been building finally spill over.

“I’m.” You choke, your sinuses suddenly flooded making it hard to breathe. Glancing at the test again, hoping maybe it would only show one line, still frustrated it showed two, you hand it to him, watching his expression as his eyes widened before looking at you and back to the test. He doesn’t say anything, just pushes the plastic test back into your palm and reaches to pull you into him.

“I’m pregnant.” You muffle before sobs wrack your body.

Paul handles it better than you could’ve imagined. He sits with you, he doesn’t speak, he just waits.

“What am I supposed to do?” You finally ask.

“You know I can’t make that decision for you. I’ll, the club will support whatever decisions you make, I promise you, but we can’t make decisions for you.” He rubs your back, passing you another tissue. “My advice, go home. Talk to whoever you might need to talk to, family, friends, just sit with it, it might take a day, a few days. Just think, there’s no need to make decisions right now.”

It’s another few minutes before you leave the facility, seeing a slew of missed messages on your phone.

Jessie: 7:00 work for you?

Missed Call: Kylie 🌪️

Kylie 🌪️: yo call me when you leave the facility

Mom: tickets are booked! Allan and I will see you in two weeks!

Jessie: guessing you’re held up, if you can’t make it, don’t worry, I have plenty of practice with my right hand.

You couldn’t call Kylie, not right now, and you couldn’t even begin to think about your mothers visit in a few weeks. But you could still consider Jessie’s invitation.

You: I’m on my way, don’t get started without me.

Jessie opened the door only to be pushed inside by your hand on her chest. Not giving her much time to react as your lips found her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses down the column of her throat.

“Wow, aren’t you eager?” Jessie says, her hands holding firmly on your hips. “Are you alright?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure? I know you were stuck late testing.” Jessie tries to check in again with you.

You pull back and unzip your jacket, throwing it, along with your shirt, on the ground. “Take your clothes off.” You tell her as your hands have already dropped to her sweatpants. You fumble with the tie for a second before Jessie’s hands cover your own.

“I’ll get it, just slow down, we’re not in a rush.” She takes the strings from your hands and begins undoing the knot. Unable to help yourself, you lower to your knees in Jessie’s hallway so you’re level with her hands. Reaching to touch her you begin to lightly run your fingers over the fabric of her pants where her growing bulge was becoming obvious. Jessie’s thighs tense and she curses down at you “Fuck, give me a chance here, what has gotten into you?”

Now fully palming her erection through her sweats you look up at her as she looks stupefied at your actions. “I just need you, I need it.”

“Okay, okay.” She finally gets the knot undone and allows you to swiftly pull down her pants and boxers. Not even allowing her the time to step out of her pants, your hands find her length.

“Jesus,” Jessie mumbles to herself watching your somewhat erratic behavior. “Do you want to move somewhere more comfortable?” She couldn’t imagine that your knees on the hardwood were the most comfortable.

The two of you had christened many rooms and surfaces in your apartment and Jessie’s home and even your car on one occasion, but this was new. The front door was within arms reach, two large windows on either side. Jessie was suddenly very grateful she picked the house with the long driveway and many trees and not the one in the up and coming busy neighborhood. She also cursed herself for procrastinating buying blinds for those windows.

“No.” You put it simply before dragging your tongue along the underside vein of her cock. Jessie sighs at the sensation, one of her hands falling to rest on your head, grounding herself. She certainly wasn’t going to put up an argument with you right now.

You’d usually tease her, drag your tongue over the slit on the head, run your fingers slowly along her length watching it twitch in response. Not today, today you just couldn’t wait. You wrap your mouth over the head and begin to suck. You take her further and further into your mouth until your nose is nearly touching her navel and you’re on the verge of gagging as she touches the back of your throat. A groan of bliss rumbles in Jessie’s chest at the sensation of your warmth.

Pulling back you bring your hand up to work the base of her cock while your mouth and tongue focus on her sensitive head.

“Mmm, fuck.” Jessie starts to moan before it ends in an appreciative laugh. “It’s been two minutes and you’ve already got me on edge.”

Taking it almost as a challenge, you double down on your efforts, your tongue moving faster and firmer along the head of her cock. Jessie’s fingers begin to thread themselves through your hair, no longer just resting, but assisting in the movement of your mouth. Her hips twitch slightly, she always held back from thrusting fully, but you knew from the way she shifted and tensed, she was almost there.

“Fuck you’re so good. I’m gonna cum.” Never has that deterred you, and it wasn’t about to start now, you take Jessie deep into your throat again. The fingers tighten around your hair as she holds your head in place, giving a shallow thrust of her hips. A deep grumble comes from Jessie’s chest as you feel her begin to leak into your mouth.

A moment later Jessie’s fingers relax on your scalp, she brings both of her hands to rest on her head, as if she’d just finished a workout and was trying to recover. “Wow.”

You pull back slightly letting her softening cock fall from your lips.

“Here.” Jessie brings a thumb to the corner of your mouth wiping away what remained of her orgasm. Before she can wipe it in her shirt, you grab her hand and let your tongue lick the length of her thumb. You notice how Jessie’s mostly soft member twitches in response. “You’re killing me today.”

“Good.” For a fleeting moment, you’re able to forget about the test, the baby, feeling more than satisfied with yourself.

“Let’s move to the couch, I need to at least make this fair.” Jessie’s hands grab your waist as she pushes you in the direction of her living room.

Just before you reach the couch, she’s kneeling in front of you, her fingers in the waist of your pants. “You don’t need these.” She smiles up at you and slowly pulls them down to your ankles. You sit back into the couch and kick your pants off.

Jessie barely gives you a second before she hooks her arms under your legs and sharply pulls you toward her, your ass hanging off the couch slightly. Her hands slowly spread your thighs apart and while your panties were still on, you still felt exposed. Your hands find rest on the couch cushion as Jessie leans down, her tongue teasingly rubbing your lips through the fabric barrier.

She teases you a few more times, letting her tongue run across you, a couple pointed kisses to your covered clit, and then she pulls the fabric to the side. You can instantly feel her breath on your now bare skin. Her tongue finally swipes against you, gently parting your lips. In doing so, Jessie lets out a hungry moan.

“Mmm, you taste so good today.” Jessie pulls back slightly to look up at you. For a moment you think nothing of it, but when Jessie pulls back again and comments your brain starts wandering. “Seriously, you taste incredible.”

You tasted different. It was hard for your brain to focus on both Jessie and also the thoughts you were suddenly having. Her tongue and lips were devouring you in a way that should have you falling at her mercy. Her tongue dipping into your entrance the way you love, her lips providing perfect suction.

Instead, your brain was stuck wondering if you tasted different because your hormones were different, your body was different, if it was because you were growing a baby. Maybe it tasted different to her because it was her baby you were growing. You couldn’t help but wonder if on some biological level, her body knew.

Giving a gentle shake of your head you try to clear your thoughts and focus on the woman between your legs. You move a hand to her head, allowing yourself better control to rock your hips into her mouth.

You catch a glimpse between Jessie’s legs, noticing the way she was sporting a firm erection again. “You ready to go again?” You ask her, nudging her side with your knee.

She pulls away, lips and chin shining with your arousal in the soft light of her living room. “Yeah, it can wait though.”

She tries to dip her head back between your thighs, but your hand on her forehead holds her just inches away. “No.”

“No?” Her eyebrows furrow. She couldn’t remember any time before where you’d stopped her, except when she’d brought you to the point of overstimulation.

“I need you inside me, now.” Your hand drops to her chin, your fingers grazing the column of her neck. With a gentle tug you raise her from her knees. Your free hand comes to her cock, giving it a few strokes, circling your thumb firmly on the head. Her knees give slightly before Jessie pulls back, disconnecting from you momentarily.

“Hang on, let me get a condom, god woman, insatiable today.” Jessie chuckles to herself lightly with a soft shake of her head.

You freeze. A condom. To prevent pregnancy. Only now, that condom wasn’t preventing anything. You’d been so diligent about protection, you still were, well, she still was, because she didn’t know.

“Right, yeah.” You nod, looking at the floor, unable to make eye contact out of fear you’ll blurt out the secret.

“I’ll be right back.” Jessie darts down the hall and you can hear her rummaging through her bedside table. For a second you debate stopping her, telling her to come back, telling her she doesn’t need it, and then telling her why. But the ache between your legs begs you not to, to not kill the mood yet, besides what would a day's difference make?

She returns before your logic and reason can argue anymore with your desire. You watch intently as she opens the package and rolls it onto herself.

“So?” Gesturing toward the couch she questions you. You quickly stand in front of her.

“Lay down.” You gently shove her shoulders onto the couch before following her, straddling her waist. Pushing against her chest you lift your hips enough to reach one hand and grab her cock, placing the head of it at your entrance.

You watch as Jessie’s mouth falls open as you sink down onto her, your warmth concealing her. Leaning forward you press your hands to her shoulders, feeling her strength beneath you as you begin to ride her. Not wasting time, you set a quick pace, Jessie quickly follows her hips lifting from the couch to meet yours.

The room is relatively quiet, besides the panting of labored breath between both of you and the sounds coming from where you were intertwined. Jessie was never overly vocal, moans and whines often indicating how she felt instead of words, which is why her words caught you off guard. “You look so good taking me.”

You glance to her face, her eyes almost glazed over as she stares where she was thrusting into you.

You look down to see why she was so mesmerized, before you can, your stomach catches your attention.

Was it always like that? Was it bigger?

You try to push the thoughts from your mind, wanting to think about anything but the baby. The baby that you'd only just found out about, the baby that was half you, and half the women underneath you. And she didn’t even know it. You internally cursed yourself for getting in your own head. The feelings of pleasure that had built through the night suddenly being wiped cold by anxiety and uncertainty.

“Hey, you okay?” Maybe she’d seen it on your face, or maybe it was the fact that the way you were riding her had suddenly become sloppy and unmeasured.

“Yeah, uh, legs are just sore from training today.” Leaning down you kiss her chest up to her neck. “Maybe, you can finish it off from behind?”

“My pleasure.” You climb off Jessie and let her stand before lying face down into the couch. You’re briefly grateful for your no missionary rule, she didn’t have to see your face, you didn’t have to see hers. You didn’t have to stare and wonder if the baby you were growing would have her hair, or her eyes, maybe her nose, or her freckles.

She climbs behind you and you feel a quick tap to your hip, “lift”, you do and she slides a pillow under your hips giving her better access.

Her fingers run though you quickly before she’s pushing into you again.

“Shit, you’re tight like this, fuck.” You’d usually make a smart comment to her, joking that she’s just that big, or tell her not to finish too quickly, but today you remained silent. Your mind was still wondering if she had also noticed how your stomach looked.

“You good?” Her hand comes to brush the hair that had fallen across your face and temporarily sheltered you from her view, out of the way. Forcing a smile you glance out of the corner of your eye at her.

“I’m good, go ahead.”

You weren’t good. Coming to Jessie’s you thought you’d get your mind away from the news you’d just been given, from the stress of it, as you had, until you saw the condom. It was almost impossible for you to be in the moment, to enjoy the way she was taking care of you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop her, to tell her the truth at this moment. You had barely processed the news yourself, you couldn’t begin to process it with another person.

You couldn’t get into it, not right now, so you don’t. Instead you start to whine in time with her thrusts. Small, forced, sounds come out of your chest. Adding to the performance, you force your hands to sporadically grip at the couch cushions, you did everything your body usually did, you just faked it.

“You close?” She asks, you don’t have to ask her, you can tell the way she’s thrusting faster, less controlled that she’s on the verge of finishing.

“Yeah.” You lie. You weren’t, you hadn’t been for a while. You let out a sigh into the pillow, pushing your face harder into it so she couldn’t read your expressions. You let her continue to jostle your body, mentally reminding yourself to make noise, trying to naturally mix whines and moans with gasps, finding the fine line between exaggerated and being nearly silent.

When Jessie’s grip on your hips tightened almost painfully, you let out a whine of her name and did your best to mimic your natural body movements, trying to clench around her as if she’d actually made you orgasm. That seemed to be all Jessie needed. Thinking you were satisfied she gives a few more pointed thrusts before holding herself firmly inside of you as she releases into the condom.

It takes everything in you not to burst into tears. Crashing down from the intensity, suddenly sitting in near silence and Jessie panted behind you. Your hands balled into fists, your nails digging hard into your palm, your teeth digging into your lower lip and the chanting in your head, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re able to calm yourself down enough by the time Jessie pulls out and you roll over, you’re pretty sure she has no idea.

“You alright?” She asks as she wanders over to the kitchen to throw away the wasted condom. On her way back she grabs two glasses of water.

“Yeah, why?” It’s not the most convincing sounding, but maybe she’ll buy it. You drink from the cup.

She smiles and shrugs. “Nothing, just checking, like I usually do.” It was true, she always checked in after, it may be just sex but that didn’t mean you didn’t care about one another.

“Yeah I’m fine, I’m good, just tired. I should get home.”

“Yeah, of course, go get some sleep, it’s still early.” You nod, standing up from the couch. You find your clothing scattered from the couch back to the front door, getting dressed slowly as you move toward the exit. Jessie’s face looked concerned, you usually left relatively after you were done, but never in the fashion you were, practically scrambling for the door. It was as if you couldn’t leave fast enough.

“Have a good night.” You say as you’re halfway out the door.

“You too.” Jessie calls back, but you can’t get yourself to turn to look at her.

You throw your hand over your mouth the second you hear her door close, muffling the sob that threatened to escape.

“Apparently not.” 

“Is that all you came over here for?” you ask, turning again. “Are you that concerned about my bedside manner, Dr Al-Hashimi?” 

She steps closer to you, leaning down to place one arm on the back of your chair and the other on the table as if she’s looking at something on the computer. But all of her focus is on you, every bit of it, and there’s a raspiness to her voice that you’re able to understand the cause and implications of. 

“Are you free tonight?” she asks. 

You swallow hard, looking down at your hands on the keyboard. You itch to reach one over and take hers on the table, but you’re still at work, and you’re not sure if that amount of softness would be welcome in the first place. 

You give a quick nod. “Sure, but can we go to yours?” 

“Why?” 

Because her home is everything yours is not. It is big and cozy and it smells like the rosewater candles she lights. Her bed is giant, the pillows are soft, and you have become attached to the crochet blanket at the foot of the bed. 

“It’s closer,” you say, “and closer is more convenient.” 

Baran is quiet for a second, as if she might have preferred the answer you kept to yourself. But eventually she hums in agreement, gives your shoulder a squeeze, and walks off. 

— 

“What’s going on with you and Al-Hashimi?” Trinity asks, nudging you with an elbow as the two of you change clothes in the locker room. “You two are always talking, always taking cases together… I saw you leave in her car the other night, you know.” 

You shake your head, zipping up the bag you keep your belongings in and slinging it over your shoulder. “I was having car trouble, that’s all.” 

“Oh yeah? That’s it?” 

You sigh, running a hand over your face. You’re tired and you wish you were with Baran already. “It’s nothing, Trinity, really. It’s so casual that it’s not even worth talking about, and I don’t want it to become work gossip. We keep things professional when we’re here.” 

Trinity crosses her arms. Her hair is loose, she looks more at ease than she does on the clock. “So there is something.” 

“It’s not serious.” 

“The way you look at her seems pretty serious.” 

You frown at that, stepping away toward the door. “That doesn’t matter.” 

“She looks at you, too.” 

“Yeah, everyone is fucking looking at everyone else all the time, Trinity. We work in an emergency department.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Trinity says. She shakes her head. “Listen, I don’t know your situation, but from an outsider’s perspective… it sure looks like a little more than what I have with Yolanda. That is casual.” 

You walk the rest of the way out the door and try not to let that fully sink in. 

— 

“Are you okay?” Baran asks. You sit at a red light close to the street her house is on, with a takeout box in your lap that’s still hot. “You’ve been quiet.” 

“It’s been a long day,” you say. “I’m tired, that’s all.” 

She nods, sitting with that for a moment before replying. “Do you want me to drop you off at your place?” 

Immediately, you decline. You don’t want to be alone tonight after the day you’ve had, and you think it would do you good to have a distraction. All you want is to be with her, to feel the soft warmth of her skin against yours and the steadiness of her hands on you, grounding you to reality. 

“No,” you say, offering her a smile as reassurance. “I’m fine, really. It’s okay.” 

Baran reaches across the center console for your hand and gives it a squeeze. She runs her thumb over your knuckles soothingly. “Okay.” 

The light turns green and Baran’s hand slips out of yours, going back to the steering wheel. You can’t help the feeling of emptiness that comes over you with the absence of her hand in yours. 

“Baran,” you say quietly, glancing at her briefly as she drives. “What would you think if someone from work found out about us?” 

She tenses visibly. “Why? Has someone found out?” 

“I don’t know,” you lie. “I was just wondering what you would think about it if they did.” 

She pulls onto her street, then into her driveway, and she takes the time to park the car before answering. 

“That depends,” she says. “If we were serious, I wouldn’t mind. I would like people to know. But this, right now… it’s not serious, is it?” 

You look down at the takeout box in your lap. You think that no, your relationship is not serious, but it feels like it when you know her favorite order from her favorite restaurant and pay for it every time even when she sternly tells you not to. It feels serious when you ride home together with hands joined at stoplights, and it feels serious when compared with Trinity and Yolanda’s relationship the way it was earlier. 

Baran places a hand on your shoulder, swiping a thumb over it through your shirt. “Look at me.” 

You don’t want to, because you think every single thought you’re having about the state of your relationship could be read in your eyes right now. 

You look at her anyway. You meet her eyes because they are so beautiful and warm, studying you as if you are the only person she has any interest in looking at for the rest of her life. 

“What’s going on with you?” Baran asks. Her tone isn’t sharp or accusing, just curious. “Talk to me.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you raise a hand up and sweep some of her hair from her face, her curls soft beneath your fingertips. Then you trail it over her face, letting your knuckles brush over her cheekbone, then down to cup her jaw. 

You lean over the center console and lean in, meeting her in a kiss that is meant and taken as a distraction. 

“I don’t want to talk,” you murmur against her lips, and then lean in again to close the space. 

Baran pulls you closer, snaking a hand around to the back of your head. She makes a low, needy sound against your lips, tired but wanting, and for a second both of you forget what you had been talking about beforehand. 

The takeout box nearly falls out of your lap, but you pull out of the kiss and catch it. 

“Sorry,” you say quietly, smiling. “Come on, it’ll get cold, and if we have to cook a frozen pizza—” 

Baran pulls you in one more time, rougher than before, tongue slipping into your mouth and swiping against yours. You feel a fuller hunger from her now, a hunger that is more demanding, and it makes your head spin. 

“Backseat,” she says firmly. 

“We’re literally in your driveway, Baran. Let’s go inside.” 

“Get in the backseat,” she insists. “Balance the food on the dash, we’ll be quick.” 

You don’t put up any more of a fight. You would do anything for her if she asked, anything at all, so you balance the box of food on the dashboard and crawl into the backseat. 

Baran joins you, climbing into the backseat before lying down across the seats and pulling you down on top of her. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourselves here like this, Baran kicking off her pants beneath you on the leather seats while you make quick work of your top and bra. 

“Come here,” Baran reaches out for you, pulling you between her legs before leaning up a little to meet you in a kiss. One of her hands guides one of yours to her thigh, and you drag it teasingly upwards. 

You slip your other hand beneath her burgundy tank top, feeling her shiver when you cup one of her breasts, and she inches closer to you on the seats. 

“Fuck, I needed this,” she says shakily. “After dealing with those fuckers from surgery all afternoon…” 

“And banana peel guy,” you smile, leaning to press kisses down the column of her throat. 

“And you,” Baran adds. “You and those looks you gave me all day, you little shit… I noticed, you know.”  

You roll your eyes, if not at her accusation then at the amount of swearing. She almost never swears while on the clock, and sometimes it feels as though she tries to make up for it after work. It’s so very millennial of her, but she never likes it when you say that. 

“Let me make it up to you,” you say, and when she nods you slide your hand the rest of the way up to feel the wetness gathered between her thighs. It makes your breath hitch, the sheer amount of it, and it convinces you that she really was as affected by you today as she said. 

“Look at this,” you say, dragging it up to her clit. You rub tight circles against it, relishing the low groan she gives you. “All for me?” 

“Who else?” Baran asks. She sounds breathless, she sounds like she’s yours. 

“I don’t know. Like you said, this is just casual.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

“Don’t make me stop.” 

She reaches down to hold your wrist in place, as if believing for a moment that you really would. “Don’t stop,” she pleads. “It feels so good, don’t stop.” 

You slip two fingers into her easily, feeling the way her walls stretch around you and watching the way her back arches off the leather seats. She gasps, grip on your wrist tightening for a second before releasing entirely. 

“Relax,” you murmur. “Let me take care of you.” 

She nods, hips jerking up, and gasps when you hit especially deep. She pulls you closer to her like she needs your stability, needs you to be grounded so that she can let herself submit to the ecstasy, and you lean down to press a kiss to her shoulder as if to reassure her that you’re not going anywhere. 

Baran pulls your head up so you’ll look at her, and when you meet her eyes you can see just how far gone she is. 

“You’re mine,” she says, voice strained. “You know that, don’t you?” 

Instead of answering you lean down to kiss her, and when your lips meet hers you feel her tense around your fingers and she moans into the kiss, thighs clamping down on your wrist, and she tips her head back as she rides out her orgasm. 

The car goes quiet afterwards, the silence broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing and the creaking of the seats as she shifts to sit up a little. 

You pull her into you, letting her lean against you and nuzzle her head into the crook of your neck. You run a hand up and down her back as her breathing levels out, leaning down once to press a kiss to the top of her head, and let her rest. 

“We should go inside,” Baran says eventually, but she doesn’t move to get up. “Think the food will still be warm?” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you say. With one hand you tilt her chin up and lean down to kiss her, and then you part from her and study her as if committing this image of her to memory. “You are so fucking beautiful.” 

She leans back down to let her head retake its place, and closes her eyes. 

You hold her as long as she lets you. 

— 

Baran’s home is comfortable in a way that is distinctly different from the sterility of the emergency department and the persona Baran puts on while there. It is a place of warm lighting, table lamps and rosewater candles, and family pictures on every available surface. 

You asked her once why she still keeps pictures displayed that have her ex-husband in them. You know it’s not due to a lack of pictures without him in them, because you’ve seen her family photo collection personally, but there’s a presence of him in the decor around her house that you find surprising considering their divorce. 

‘They remind me of the good times,’ Baran explained when you asked. ‘Kaveh’s father isn’t a bad man, we simply weren’t right for one another.’ 

‘Why not?’

She shrugged, sipped her mug of tea. ‘Time changes people. It hardens some, softens others. He hardened.’

‘You didn’t.’ 

She followed your gaze to a picture on an end table by the couch of her and her son in the park, Baran tending to Kaveh’s scraped knee while he sat on a swing. 

‘No,’ she said, ‘I didn’t.’ 

Now, you sit on the couch and look at that same picture. 

“Car sex, takeout, and you still look tense,” Baran says, sitting down next to you. “Is it time for round two, or are you finally ready to talk?” 

You sit back against the couch cushion, letting it bear your weight. “Trinity got in my head today.” 

“About what?” 

“Us,” you say. Then you fabricate a bit of the story, because you don’t want to tell Baran that Trinity knows about the two of you. “She was talking about her relationship with Yolanda, and what they have seems so much more strained than what we have. For them it’s just sex.” 

Baran crosses one leg over the other and looks down into her lap, anything to avoid looking at you. “What do you think we are?” 

“Not that.” 

“No?” 

You shrug and look up at the picture on the end table again. “How can you do casual relationships? Why do you want it that way?” 

Her tone is defensive. “I’ve already gone through one divorce, I don’t need to experience another. I’ve had my fill.” 

“Not every relationship is destined to fail.” 

“No,” she agrees, “but many do. And I like you, I really do, but if you’re having second thoughts about this…” 

“No,” you say quickly. “No, it’s fine. I was just wondering what casual actually entails, since we never really discussed it.” 

“We discussed that what happens between us is meant to be a way to decompress,” she says. “That’s all it was ever supposed to be. We were very clear about that in the beginning.” 

“But is that still what this is?” 

Baran still hasn’t looked at you. She suspects just like you do that what you have now is very much not a casual arrangement, but the thought of that scares her. After her divorce, she shut the door on the idea of any other long-term relationships. 

Then you came into her life. You with your softness and your care, you with your way of pulling at her heartstrings, you who she can secretly see herself growing old with — not that she plans on admitting it. 

“I’m not him,” you say quietly, and then she tenses and you know you’ve gone too far. You keep pushing anyway. “I’m not your ex—” 

“I’m not doing this with you,” she snaps, standing up and rounding the couch. “This isn’t a conversation we need to have.” 

“How is it not?” 

Baran shakes her head, unable to come up with a good answer but still not wanting to let you win. “It just isn’t. We aren’t anything worth talking about.” 

“Are you sure?” 

No, not in the slightest. “Yes.” 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

She doesn’t respond. 

“I can leave,” you say more firmly. “Say the word and I’ll go.” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

Because I care about you, she wants to say, but she doesn’t. It would feel like letting you win, and by extension it would let in a little of the love for you that she’s been trying so hard to suppress. 

“It’s late,” she says simply. “I won’t make you leave, but I’m going to bed. You can sleep here.” 

“On the couch? Like we’re an old fucking married couple, and I’ve been banished to the couch for the night?” 

Shit. 

“That’s not what I was implying,” Baran tries, “but where the fuck else are you going to go tonight? I drove us here, your car is still at work, and I’m not letting you call an Uber this late. Sleep on the couch, sleep on the floor, sleep on the fucking roof!” 

You scoff. “Like Santa Claus?” 

“Santa Claus doesn’t sleep on the roof,” she deadpans. “He just parks his sleigh there.” 

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” 

She shakes her head, giving you one last assessing look before walking off. 

—

The drive to work the next morning is tense, quiet, and long. You don’t speak much and neither does she, both of you still being on edge about the night before, and once you get to the hospital you part ways quickly. 

It’s mid-morning when Dana finds Baran in the break room between patients, sipping coffee from a paper cup and trying desperately to keep her head above water. 

Dana doesn’t waste time with formalities. “So, what’s up with your girlfriend this morning?” 

Baran pauses for a moment, then lowers the cup down onto the table she sits at. “She’s not my girlfriend, Dana, and this is unprofessional.” 

“If she’s not your girlfriend,” Dana says, “then how did you know who I was talking about?” 

She doesn’t have a good answer to that. 

“She’s not acting like herself this morning,” Dana continues, then shrugs. “Thought I’d ask if you knew what was up with her.” 

“Her business is her business. I’m out of the picture.” 

Dana doesn’t believe that for a second. She’s seen the way you and Baran are together, the lingering touches and long glances, the way you’re the one person in this ED who can make Baran’s stern front falter. She keeps you steady and you keep her from driving herself into the ground, and that’s the way it has always been. 

It’s more than a relationship between colleagues, and it’s more than what exists between people who aren’t dating. 

“We get drinks after shifts sometimes,” Baran says. 

“No, I don’t buy that. I know you don’t drink.” 

For once, she wishes Dana was less perceptive. It would make this whole thing a lot easier. 

“We’re friends.” 

“Try again.” 

“It’s a way to take the edge off after long shifts,” Baran finally admits. “I take her to my place, she takes me to hers, we have dinner, we…” she trails off. “Really, it’s no one’s business.” 

Dana comes and sits down across from Baran, reaching a hand out to squeeze one of hers. “Listen, babe. Like it or not, you two are kinda the office romance around here. And you might not know that, but there are whispers, and all of us here… Well, to put it frankly, we see something I think you don’t want to.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Baran asks, but she knows exactly what it means. 

“It means you should go talk to her. I wouldn’t overstep like this, but she’s unfocused. She could hurt somebody.” 

“Then I’ll send her home early.” 

“Yeah? What about tomorrow, gonna tell her to stay home?” 

Baran hadn’t thought about that. 

“You pack each other’s lunches on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Dana accuses. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t notice the matching pink containers in the fridge.” 

“I’ll talk to her.” 

“You better.” 

“I will,” Baran says, and tips back the rest of her coffee. 

— 

“Are you free tonight?” 

You sigh, sitting back in your chair. This is exactly how it started last night, how it always starts before Baran is about to invite you over. 

“No,” you say simply, without looking at her. You try to focus on the computer, the chart you’re finishing up. 

“Are you angry at me?” 

“No,” you say again, and it’s not really a lie. If anything, you’re angry at yourself. 

“Are you sure?” Baran asks. She steps closer to you, then taps your shoulder as if that might convince you to turn around. 

Unfortunately, the gesture is so childish that it makes you smile. You have to try extremely hard to keep beneath your cloud of doom and despair. 

“Why are you smiling?” 

“You’re funny,” you murmur, “that’s all.” 

She frowns. “How am I funny? I’m trying to talk to you.” 

You stand, stepping away from your chair. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I want you to come over,” Baran says. “I want to talk to you about last night.” 

“What is there to say? I fucked up, I shouldn’t have implied—” 

“Let’s not point fingers,” she interrupts. “You were pushy and you apparently don’t know anything about Santa Claus, but I can look past that. We need to talk, and I’m taking you home with me to do so. There’s only one hour left in the shift.” 

“My car is going to get stolen if I keep leaving it here overnight.” 

“Good,” she says. “I’m happy to keep driving you.” 

“Are you flirting with me right now? I thought we were fighting.” 

“We’re not fighting. We’re confused.” 

“I’m not confused,” you say. You step closer to her, keeping your voice low enough that only she can hear. “I know exactly what I want.” 

She takes in a breath as if to respond, but before she can a new patient is being rushed into the ED and she’s being called over to help. 

All she can do before leaving is reach out, give your shoulder a quick squeeze, and nod to the clock on the wall before rushing away. 

One hour, her look seems to say. 

—

“Trinity,” you say, “where’s your pet country bumpkin?” 

Trinity looks up from her charts. “Huckleberry? He’s off today. Went farming. Why?” 

“I’ve been calling him and he hasn’t picked up. I was gonna make him run an errand for me,” you tell her. “He seems like the kind of guy I could make do my bidding if I promised him a croissant.” 

“A croissant?” 

You nod, leaning back against the counter of the nurses’ station. “Baran and I are going to have a talk tonight. Her favorite cafe is close to your apartment, and I thought maybe I could start things off on the right foot if I met her in the parking garage with tea and a scone.” 

“And you wanted Huckleberry to go get them for you.” 

“Exactly.” 

Trinity shakes her head. “You’re fucked, aren’t you?” 

You scoff. “Me?” 

“You’re in love, you’re in love, you’re—” 

“Don’t you dare say it again,” you warn. 

“But it’s true.” 

You look down at the floor, sighing. You don’t understand why everything has to be so complicated. “Maybe.” 

Trinity rolls her eyes. “Don’t maybe me. You’re in love with your boss, and everyone can tell. You’re the office romance.” 

While you don’t admit it out loud, you know as well as she does that it’s true. 

— 

You meet Baran at her car. You get into the passenger seat and she takes the driver’s side, and you sit in silence for a while as you both come down from the day. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask. “We’re both tired, and I don’t want this to end in an argument.” 

Baran reaches across the center console for your hand, entwining your fingers. She squeezes lightly. “This is a conversation we need to have.” 

“You didn’t think so last night.” 

“I’ve changed my mind,” she replies. There’s an edge to her voice. “Are you going to listen to me or not?” 

“Sure,” you nod. “Sorry, I’m a little…” 

“I know,” she says, and you believe her. “I understand.” 

You look down at your joined hands. You don’t know what to say, so you wait for her to take the lead. 

“I don’t want to love someone again,” she tells you. She sounds tired, defeated, like love is something she has been fighting back for a long time. “Like I said last night, I’ve already been through one divorce. That relationship was meant to last forever, and it didn’t.” 

You’re silent, giving her the time to form her admission piece by piece. 

“I don’t want to shake the life I’ve built for anyone,” Baran says. “I refuse to risk it for anyone.” 

You understand now. This is a breakup (if you can call it that) and you have ruined everything. You try to pull your hand from hers, but she holds on tight. 

“Anyone but you,” she finishes. She tips her head back and rests it against the seat, letting her eyes fall closed. “And I can’t believe I’m admitting to that, but I think we both know that what we have is hardly casual anymore.” 

You take a moment to let that sink in, releasing a breath. You are so relieved but at the same time still so nervous, still guilty for pushing and hoping she’s not jumping through hoops just because you want her to. 

“Are you sure about this?” you ask. “I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want, or that you’re not ready for.” 

“I’m ready.” 

“You don’t have to be.” 

“I’m in love with you,” Baran blurts out, opening her eyes. Her voice is level, professional, as if she’s diagnosing an illness. “It’s not a feeling I’ve been open to embracing, but not letting it in seems to have worse consequences.” 

It’s all such a contrast to last night. You remember how lonely you felt lying there on the couch, wishing you were in bed with her, imagining her uttering the words she is now. 

“One of those consequences is hurting you,” she continues, “and that’s the last thing that I want, besides losing you.” 

She looks at you and you see the anxiety in her eyes that she’s trying so hard to disguise. You wonder if her heart is beating frantically in her chest like yours is, if she’s trying to keep her palms from sweating like you are, if she is stunned by the words coming out of her own mouth. 

“Do you have anything to say about that?” Baran asks. 

It comes to you like a reflex. “I love you, too.” 

She sits with that, you sit with it, the moment is soft and yours. 

“Good,” she nods. Her voice shakes and her hand still squeezes yours. “I’m glad we settled that.” 

“Look at me, Baran.” 

She does, and her eyes glisten. She allows you to reach a hand out just like you did last night to run the same path from her cheekbone down to her jaw, and just like last night she allows you to lean in and kiss her. 

“I want to see where this goes,” she murmurs against your lips afterward, then leans forward to rest her forehead against yours. “I want quiet nights in. I want to be able to sleep next to you through the night just for the sake of it. I want to introduce you to my son.” 

It sounds so beautiful. You cling to the vision of it, let her set the scene. There’s nothing else you could want more. 

“I want that, too.” 

Baran leans back in her seat and a small smile ghosts over her lips, wry and remembering. “Backseat?” 

You laugh at that, sitting back. It cuts through the tension. “Not here. We’ll get caught.” 

“Isn’t that half the fun?” 

“Can’t you wait fifteen minutes until we get to your place?” 

“Fifteen minutes,” she shakes her head. “More like thirty, forty, an hour if traffic is bad...” 

“I think you can make it.” 

Though she wants to argue some more, she doesn’t. She has all the time in the world with you now, and she intends to enjoy every second of it. 

— 

Stepping into her house after work again feels right. It feels like a natural progression, a step toward more, even though it’s only the second day in a row that you’ve come home with her. It’s undeniable that a different feeling has been attributed to what you have with her now. 

She sits down on the couch and releases a sigh, letting the day seep out of her. She holds onto so much when she’s at work, you can see it when you’re with her at the ED, the tension she carries constantly. 

“We should’ve picked up food again,” she says, and it concerns you a little because Baran Al-Hashimi is not a woman who surrenders to takeout two nights in a row. “The last thing I’m interested in doing right now is getting up to cook.” 

You slip onto the armrest beside her. You expect her to push you off, maybe make a comment about preserving the structural integrity of her furniture, but she doesn’t. “Let me cook for you.” 

Baran raises a brow. You’ve cooked for her before, simple meals after sex where the two of you make the most out of what she has in her fridge, but this is different. This is a more intimate form of care. 

“Stay here,” you tell her. “I’ll cook us something.” 

You start to move off the armrest but she pulls you back, wrestling maneuvering you into her lap. 

“Baran…” 

“In a second,” she says. “I’ll let you up in a second. Right now I want you here.” 

There’s softness in her voice that makes you stay right where you are. You wouldn’t move for anything, not unless she asked you to, and it doesn’t seem like she’s planning on that. 

Baran presses a kiss to the side of your neck, then leans up to press another to your jaw. She holds you close enough that you can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against your body, and you let her guide your breathing into a similar rhythm. 

“I love you,” she says, because she can say it now. She has allowed herself to. 

⧗

Two months had already passed since everything.

Somehow, you and Natasha had fallen into a routine. Everything revolves around Aliah. School, homework, playdates, what she wanted for lunch, whether she was sleeping enough, whether she will sleep in mommy's or mama's. Natasha came by the apartment whenever she wanted and you did the same at the manor. There was no discussion about it anymore. No awkward asking for permission. If it had something to do with Aliah, the door was open. It was simple and easy.

At the same time, Natasha never let things become only about Aliah. Every single time she came over, she brought white tulips.

Every. Single. Time.

One bouquet for you and a smaller bunch for Aliah because your daughter had become obsessed with getting flowers too. At first, you thought was just a phase. But two months later, the flowers were still showing up. Natasha never made a big deal out of it. She'd just walk in, set them on the vase, and continue with whatever she came there to do.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then there were sundays. It became a habit to go to church. To light a candle and pray for the baby you lost—for your little angel. Time had passed, but not enough to make you forget. Maybe it never would. The grief wasn't as sharp anymore, but it was still there. A permanent part of you now.

Natasha wasn't religious. Everyone knew that. She'd probably be the first person to admit it. But every sunday, she was there beside you anyway. Sometimes she followed along. Sometimes she just sat quietly while you prayed and she held Aliah. She never complained or acted uncomfortable. She simply came because you did.

But somewhere along the way, Natasha had even started praying too—she wasn't really praying in the traditional sense. Most sundays, when she sat beside you and watched you bow your head, her own prayers felt more like conversations. Quiet thoughts directed toward someone she hoped could hear her—your little angel.

I hope you help mommy heal. Help her smile more. Help her carry this.

The requests were never really for herself at first. They were always for you. But eventually, Natasha started asking for something else too. Something selfish—something she never had the courage to ask you directly.

If you're listening, angel, help me make this right. Help me take care of her the way I should have. Help me show her that I'm trying. And if there's still room in her heart for me...help her give me a chance.

Natasha always felt ridiculous afterward. She wasn't sure if heaven worked that way. She wasn't even sure she believed enough to deserve an answer. But she kept doing it anyway. Week after week. Sitting beside you in church, talking to a child she loved and lost before she ever got to know them, hoping that somewhere your little angel could see how hard she was trying—not just to heal herself, but to find her way back to you.

She never asked if you had an answer for her yet. There were days she wanted nothing more than to sit you down and ask where she stood, whether you still loved her, whether there was still an "us" somewhere in the future. But every time the urge came, she swallowed it. She'd already hurt you enough. The last thing she wanted was to pressure you into giving an answer you weren't ready to give.

So she waited. And she will keep on waiting.

As long as you never brought up divorce—she's safe, she's fine. For Natasha, it meant everything.

It might not be comfortable or secure. Not stupid enough to think everything was fixed. She knew better than that. She knew there were wounds that she caused that still hadn't healed. She knew you still hadn't answered her. But if you weren't telling her to leave, if you weren't ending things, if you were still letting her sit beside you at church and walk through your apartment and help with Aliah, then Natasha could keep going.

She could be patient.

She could wait as long as it took.

Because after coming so close to losing you completely, uncertainty felt a lot less terrifying than goodbye.

The knock came at the same time it always did. When you opened the door, Natasha was standing there with white tulips in one hand and Aliah's favorite fruit snacks in the other.

Natasha held them out to you with a small smile. "Morning."

You took the flowers from her and stepped aside to let her in. "Morning," you replied quietly.

Two months had passed. Two whole months of Natasha showing up yet somehow, you still couldn't look at her properly. Not for long. Every time your eyes met, you found yourself looking away first.

"Where's Aliah?" she asks, though both of you already knew that. You nodded, clutching the tulips a little tighter.

"She's in the kitchen finishing her breakfast."

A small silence settled between you afterward. Comfortable enough not to hurt, awkward enough to notice. Two months later, neither of you knew exactly what you were anymore. But Natasha was still here, and you were still opening the door for her.

"Hey, maybe Aliah can stay with you later? If you can pick her up after school." You asked casually as you set the flowers on a vase.

It's monday today, you know her schedule and she's mostly free for the day. You knew which afternoons she disappeared for a few hours for therapy and which days usually left her quieter afterward. And without ever talking about it, you'd made it a habit not to bother her on those days.

Natasha looked up immediately. "Yeah, of course." Anything for you.

You nodded. "Thanks. I need to have the sink and bathroom fixed. Something's wrong with the water line, I think. The pressure keeps dropping and the bathroom faucet has been making weird noises for a week now."

Before you could say anything else, Natasha spoke.

"I can fix it."

The words left Natasha's mouth before her brain had a chance to catch up. You two meet eye to eye. Then the redhead mentally cursed herself.

Because no, she absolutely could not fix it.

"Are you sure?" you asked slowly.

And somehow, instead of admitting she had no business touching a water line, Natasha nodded. "Yeah."

The worst part was that she couldn't even explain why she'd said it. She was a multi-millionaire businesswoman. If something broke in one of her properties, she called someone and had it done in an hour or so—it would be fixed before she even noticed. Natasha Romanoff had many skills and plumbing was not one of them.

So now she stood there pretending she had even the slightest clue what she was doing while you continued looking at her suspiciously. But she held your gaze with all the confidence of someone who definitely did not know the difference between a wrench and whatever other plumbing tools existed.

Because honestly? If pretending she could fix a sink meant spending a few extra hours with you, she was willing to commit to the lie for at least another minute before reality inevitably caught up with her.

After dropping Aliah off at school, Natasha drove back to your apartment and parked outside. She had every intention of walking straight inside and confidently dealing with the plumbing situation she had volunteered for. Instead, ten minutes later, she was still sitting in the driver's seat with her phone propped against the steering wheel, watching a man on YouTube explain the difference between water supply lines and drain pipes.

Natasha stared at the screen with the same focus she'd once used to whenever she's in a meeting with the executives.

"Okay," the man said cheerfully. "First, you'll want to locate the shut-off valve."

Natasha paused the video. What the hell was a shut-off valve?

She opened another video. And another.

Twenty minutes later, she knew slightly more than she had before, which was to say not much. Then she felt it. That sensation at the back of her neck—the feeling of being watched.

Slowly, Natasha lowered her phone and looked around the area. There, she saw Wanda walking towards the apartment building.

Of course it was Wanda. That witch.

She'd been making Natasha's life difficult for two months now—not enough to be openly hostile, just enough to make sure Natasha never got comfortable.

Wanda called it accountability.

The grocery store incident alone should've qualified as a crime. You'd been sick one afternoon, and Wanda had casually mentioned that you were out of soup, medicine, and half the things in your kitchen. Natasha immediately drove out and bought everything.

One trip turned into three. Wanda would say after: wrong brand. Then again: forgot the eggs. Then again: actually we needed more than that, Y/N prefers the other kind. Natasha would come back from the grocery store, hands full, jaw tight, only to turn around and leave again because Wanda would insist it wasn't "that hard to get it right."

When she finally arrived at your apartment, exhausted and irritated, she opened the fridge.

Everything was already there.

Every single item.

Natasha had slowly turned her head toward Wanda, who had been standing in the kitchen the entire time.

Wanda just simply smiled. A smile that belonged in a horror movie.

The most exhausting part wasn’t even the errands themselves. It was the feeling that she was being watched while doing them—evaluated. Wanda would lean in the doorway, arms crossed, already waiting for Natasha's comeback—checking if she was frustrated, if she was slipping, if she was going to react.

And Natasha never did. She just stayed quiet, nodded, and went back out if she had to. Because every time she considered snapping back, she’d remember you were in the same house.

And she couldn’t risk making things worse between you two just because Wanda was making her life feel a little hard on purpose.

So whatever test Wanda had prepared for her today, she was going to need at least a basic understanding of plumbing.

Natasha's already back to your apartment and she had barely opened the cabinet under the sink when Wanda appeared beside her. She simply looked down at the toolbox, then at Natasha, and let out a long, unimpressed hum.

"That's brave."

Natasha ignored her.

"Or stupid. Honestly, I'm still deciding."

Still, Natasha said nothing.

Wanda leaned against the counter and took a sip of her coffee. "You really do this to yourself, don't you? Nobody told you to fix the sink. Nobody asked you to. Yet here you are, pretending you're a plumber." She looked down at Natasha. "Actually, pretending is generous. I don't even think you know what you're looking at."

Natasha tightened her grip on the wrench but kept working.

"Try not to destroy the plumbing," Wanda called over her shoulder as she walked away. "Y/N would be really stressed."

The comment shouldn't have hit as hard as it did, but Natasha immediately felt her stomach sink. Because that was the thing—anything that involved you made her worry. She'd spent the last two months trying to do the opposite—trying to make things easier, lighter, better. The last thing she wanted was to be the reason you had one more problem to deal with.

Staring at the maze of pipes beneath the sink, Natasha suddenly wondered if this had been a terrible idea from the start. Maybe she should've just paid for the plumber herself. Maybe she should've called three plumbers. Maybe she should've called an entire plumbing company. Unfortunately, she'd already committed to this.

A little while later, you came downstairs, slipping your phone into your pocket as you entered the kitchen. Your eyes immediately found Natasha.

"You're back," you said.

The effect was immediate. Natasha practically stood up from where she'd been crouched beside the sink.

"Yeah," she said, brushing her hands on her jeans. "Hi."

A small smile appeared on her face. You smiled back automatically.

It was awkward. The kind that felt suspiciously similar to two people trying very hard not to act like they were interested in each other.

Across the room, Wanda watched the entire exchange and rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle she didn't injure herself.

"Oh my God," she muttered to herself. Then she grabs her bag before grabbing you. "Let's go."

You looked back at Natasha. "Uh, we're going to the market." Then you awkwardly added, "Do you want anything? Food or something?"

For a moment Natasha looked genuinely surprised you'd asked. Then a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Yogurt." Natasha bites her lip, "You know…the one before? The one we used to buy."

And immediately you knew exactly which one she meant. The cheap yogurt you practically lived on back in college. The one you'd shared while cramming for exams, surviving on three hours of sleep and bad decisions. You hadn't bought it in years.

"Oh." You nodded once, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "Yeah. Okay, sure."

The moment the apartment door closed behind you and Wanda, Natasha let out a long sigh and looked around the suddenly quiet apartment. Well, this wasn't exactly how she'd pictured the day going. When she confidently said that she could fix the sink, she'd secretly imagined spending a few hours with you. Just being around you. Maybe talking while you cleaned or worked on something. Instead, you'd disappeared to the market with that witch, leaving Natasha alone with a toolbox and a plumbing problem she wasn't remotely qualified to solve. Still, she couldn't complain. At least she had the apartment to herself now. No one would judge her watching YouTube tutorials.

By the time you got back from the market, the first thing you noticed was that the sink was actually working. You stared at it for a moment before looking toward the kitchen. Natasha was standing there with a wrench in one hand, a smudge of dirt on her shirt, and what looked suspiciously like grease on her cheek. The sight alone was enough to surprise you. You'd known Natasha for since college and not once had you ever pictured her fixing anything around the house.

"Wow," you said honestly. "You actually fixed it."

Natasha immediately straightened up. The praise seemed to hit her harder than it should have. A faint blush appeared across her face, and suddenly the woman who had faced world-ending threats looked oddly nervous.

"Yeah..." she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "It's nothing." The blush only deepened.

"Here."

Natasha looked down. The yogurt. The exact one she'd asked for.

"Thanks." Natasha took it carefully. Then, after a brief hesitation, she looked up at you. "Do you...want to share?" The question came out quieter than she'd intended. Almost hopeful.

You shook your head. "No, I'm good."

Natasha nodded immediately. "Right. Okay."

She smiled anyway—a small one—the kind she'd gotten very good at over the last two months.

Because the truth was, it hurt a little.

Not because of the yogurt itself. Natasha could buy a thousand yogurts if she wanted to. It was what it represented. Back in college, you never even had to ask. One spoon, two spoons, it didn't matter. If one of you had food, the other automatically got some. It had been one of those small, thoughtless things that happened when two people were close.

Now Natasha found herself asking permission for things that used to be natural. And you had every right to say no.

She just couldn't help feeling the distance. The reminder that some things hadn't found their way back yet.

The yogurt wasn't the first time. There had been countless little moments over the past two months. Natasha would come over and you'd offer her food out of politeness.

"Have you eaten? I made pasta." But when you came back she only saw one plate in your hand—only for her—when she actually thought that you would sit down and eat with her.

Sometimes she'd arrive just as you were carrying groceries inside. She didn't need permission to ask, she just reached down to the plastic bags but you softly pulled it away from her.

"It's fine," you'd say before she could even get them. "I can carry them."

And then there were the days Natasha came over and never saw you at all. Aliah would throw the door open with excitement before dragging Natasha inside. Meanwhile, you'd stay upstairs.

Sometimes she'd ask, "Is your mom resting?" and Aliah would nod. "Mommy's in her room."

Natasha never pushed. She'd spend the afternoon helping with homework, playing, and listening to stories about school. Then she'd leave. There is an unspoken agreement between you both—Aliah came first. Natasha would show up for your daughter every single time and you'd never stop her.

But when it came to you, things were different. You were kind. You were never cruel. Yet there was still a careful distance that Natasha felt in every declined offer, every closed bedroom door, every quiet "I'm okay" that meant the conversation was over.

⧗

You texted Natasha asking if she could pick Aliah up from the apartment in the morning and take her to school. When she arrived, she noticed you were already dressed and ready to leave.

"You heading somewhere?" she asked casually while Aliah finished getting ready.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. Just an appointment."

The answer wasn't rude, but it was brief enough that Natasha immediately understood it wasn't an invitation for more questions.

She almost asked what kind of appointment. If everything was okay or if you wanted company. But she didn't. So Natasha simply nodded and said, "Okay." Nothing more.

The appointment is actually a follow-up after your miscarriage. And the entire drive there, one thought kept circling in your head—you should have told Natasha. She had every reason to know. She would've come even if you didn't ask. She would've cleared her schedule without a second thought and sat beside you through the entire appointment. You knew that. That's what made it harder to explain why you hadn't told her. And now, sitting alone in the waiting room, you couldn't decide if keeping it to yourself had been easier or just lonelier.

After dropping Aliah off at school, Natasha stopped by a coffee shop before heading home. She wasn't expecting to see Pietro there. The encounter was completely random.

"Natasha?" he said, looking surprised. Natasha greeted him, and for a few minutes they made small talk.

Among the twins, Pietro had always been the kinder one toward Natasha. He still talked to her normally.

"How'd the appointment go?"

Natasha frowned. "What appointment?"

Immediately, Pietro's expression changed. Shit, he thought. He felt like he just said something he wasn't supposed to.

"She didn't tell you." Then Pietro sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his lips.

Natasha felt something sink in her chest. Slowly, she shook her head. "No...what is it?"

Pietro looked away before answering quietly, "It's just a follow-up check-up in the clinic."

Just a follow-up check-up. That was the thing Natasha couldn't stop thinking about all day. Not the appointment itself or the fact that you'd gone alone. It was that you hadn't told her. She'd asked where you were going that morning and you'd given her an answer that was technically true but carefully incomplete.

By the time she picked Aliah up from school and headed to your apartment, a small part of Natasha wondered if maybe you'd bring it up yourself. She wasn't expecting some deep conversation. Just a simple, Hey, I came for a check-up today. It was okay. Something, anything. But when she arrived, you greeted her normally. Asked how the drive was, how Aliah's day had been, and the appointment never came up.

And Natasha didn't ask—she could have. The words sat right there on the tip of her tongue every time she looked at you. But she didn't push. She'd spent the last two months learning where the lines were, and she recognized this one immediately. If you wanted her to know, you would've told her. So Natasha swallowed the questions and kept the conversation on safer things instead even though it hurt her.

⧗

A couple of days later, Natasha called asking if the three of you can go out. But you let her know that you and Aliah were going to a friend's house for a birthday party that weekend.

"Do you need a ride?" There was a small pause before she added, trying to sound casual, "I can pick you up if you want."

Her plan of going out may not push through but she will still make a way to spend time with you.

You hesitated. But the memory of that appointment still lingered in the back of your mind. You've already hidden things from her. And maybe because of that, you found yourself saying something unexpected. "Yeah. Okay."

The silence on the other end lasted a second too long before Natasha answered, a little too quickly, "Yeah? Okay. I'll pick you up."

Monica's birthday party was louder than you'd expected. The backyard was filled with balloons, games, screaming children, and enough sugar to keep every kid awake for the next week. Aliah had disappeared almost immediately after arriving, running off with Monica and the other children without so much as a glance back.

Most of the afternoon, you stayed near the edge of everything. Sitting in a chair beneath a shaded patio umbrella, quietly watching the chaos unfold in front of you. Every now and then Aliah would run past, laughing so hard she could barely breathe before disappearing again.

A familiar figure dropped into the seat beside you, Carol. She followed your gaze toward the kids before nudging your shoulder lightly.

"I told you to follow me inside the house. You've been sitting here for an hour now."

You laughed softly. "Someone has to supervise."

"Half the neighborhood is supervising." Then she stood up and pointed her thumb toward the house. "Come on."

You looked at her suspiciously. Carol rolled her eyes.

"The adults are hiding in the kitchen."

"Hiding?"

"Drinking."

That earned a laugh from you.

"Come have one drink. I promise nobody's discussing politics."

With a reluctant shake of your head and a smile, you finally stood and followed her inside, she led you toward the kitchen and a chorus of greetings followed from her friends. You immediately got shy but smiled politely, and exchanged a few introductions. After that you immediately felt yourself gravitating toward the quieter side of the room. Carol noticed. With an amused shake of her head, she grabbed two glasses from the counter and guided you toward the farthest corner of the kitchen, away from the louder conversations.

"There," she said. "Now you can socialize from a safe distance."

A few moments later, she handed you a glass of wine. You stared at it for a second before hesitating. Carol immediately caught the look.

"Relax," she said, nudging the glass into your hand. "It's light. You're not going to wake up on someone's lawn tomorrow."

You laughed despite yourself. "Very reassuring."

"I'm serious. It's barely stronger than juice." Carol grinned.

You glanced down at the glass once more before finally accepting it. The first sip was cautious, but she was right. It wasn't heavy. Just enough to warm your throat without making you regret it.

What started as casual conversation somehow turned into the two of you being tucked away in the corner of the kitchen, talking about random things.

She watched you more than she meant to. When you took a sip of your drink. When you looked away like you were embarrassed by your own laugh. When you nodded along to her stories like you were actually interested instead of just being polite. And each time you laughed again Carol felt her cheeks warm a little, like her body was reacting before her brain could stop it. It annoyed her, honestly, how obvious it was becoming.

So she did what she always did when something felt too noticeable. She joked and teased you. She leaned into the role of the easygoing friend who just happened to enjoy your company a little too much.

But even as she spoke, she kept glancing at you when you weren't looking. It wasn't just that she liked being around you. It was that watching you be happy, even for a moment, made her want to keep you there.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

Carol held your gaze for a second too long, the words she couldn't say pressing at the back of her tongue. Then she exhaled softly through her nose and forced it all back into place. Whatever was happening in her head didn't belong in the room with so many people.

I like you.

I want to kiss you.

Fuck, I want to have you.

The blonde had already stepped in closer without fully realizing it. The space between you had narrowed to something that didn't feel accidental anymore. Her gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then back up again, slower this time, like she was weighing a decision she already knew she shouldn't make.

And then your phone rang.

The moment shattered instantly. Carol pulled back just a fraction too late. Your attention snapped away from her completely as you checked the screen, and the soft, immediate smile that appeared on your face made something tighten in her jaw.

"It's Natasha," you said. You answered without hesitation, stepping away not even realizing what Carol was about to do to you seconds ago.

When you came back, Carol was already back in place—composed, casual, drink in hand like nothing had happened at all. You told her Natasha would be picking you up soon. Carol nodded, forcing an easy smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Sure," she said simply. But her jaw ticked once, subtle but sharp, as she took another sip of her drink.

The blonde walked you out of the house, the noise from the party fading behind you. She kept things light, like she always did, talking about small things as you walked side by side. You nodded along, still a little warm from the wine. When you reached the curb, Natasha's car was already there.

Natasha observed the way you and Carol were still talking for a moment longer than necessary, like there was no rush. You finally turned toward Natasha's car and smiled politely at Carol.

"Thanks for earlier," you said. "And—Aliah, okay? I will try to call later if I still can."

Carol nodded. "Got it. We'll take care of her."

Natasha didn't say anything. She just watched from where she stood, eyes following the ease between you and your friend. It wasn't loud or obvious, nothing anyone else would've questioned. But Natasha noticed everything. The way Carol stood closer to you and the way she touched you. The way it all looked…easy. Maybe it's just her mind again, but fuck it's making her crazy again.

The moment you got into Natasha's car, you immediately felt it—that quiet shift in you. Like you had to be more careful now. More aware. The last fight between the two of you flashed in the back of your mind, the one that somehow ended up about Carol. So you quickly said your goodbye to Carol outside, a little too fast and awkward, then got in and closed the door immediately.

The drive was silent at first. Natasha didn't do her usual thing of trying to fill it with small talk or random questions. She just drove, one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road. It felt…different. Heavy that you couldn't ignore. After a while, you gave in and spoke first.

"Have you eaten?" you asked, like you always did.

Natasha glanced at you for a second before shaking her head. "I'm not hungry." Then, after a beat, she added, "Are you drunk?" Her voice didn't soften this time. Her eyes stayed on the road.

You blinked, a little thrown off by how direct it sounded. "I…a little," you admitted after a pause. "I had wine."

Natasha nodded once, like she was noting it down in her mind rather than reacting emotionally. "Wine," she repeated quietly, almost to herself.

She tightened her jaw slightly, keeping her focus ahead. Because in her mind, it wasn't really about the alcohol. It was the fact that you could sit there, a little tipsy from someone else's company, laughing somewhere else earlier in the day…but when it came to her, even sharing a meal felt like something you kept declining. And Natasha didn't say it out loud, but the thought settled anyway, quiet and sharp.

The rest of the drive felt heavier than when it started. Neither of you said much after that. By the time the car finally slowed in front of your apartment building, it almost felt like you had both been holding your breath the entire way there.

You stood there for a second after getting out of the car, keys in your hand, the conversation still sitting heavy in your chest. The air between you felt unfinished.

Without really thinking it through, you looked back at her.

"Do you…want to come in?" you asked quietly.

"Sure."

Inside the apartment, the silence didn't get any easier. If anything, it felt tighter now that the door was closed behind both of you.

"You didn't tell me the party was at their place," Natasha said, her voice calm—but firm. "You didn't tell me Aliah was staying over there."

There was no anger in it, but there wasn't softness either—just clarity.

"Sorry," you said quietly. "There were some sudden changes to the plans." You glanced down for a second before looking back at her. "The party wasn't supposed to be there originally. And the sleepover thing happened today. Carol asked if Aliah wanted to stay with the other kids and she got excited about it."

Natasha just hummed and nodded once. Not wanting to talk about it anymore.

"I'll get you some water. You're drunk."

"Thank you but I'm fine."

The response came so automatically that you barely thought about it.

Natasha froze. Then she looked at you and let out a short laugh.

"I'm fine." She repeated sharply. "Of course."

The tone in her voice made you straighten slightly.

"No, seriously," she continued, shaking her head. "It's always like that with me. I'll help you carry something? No need. I'm fine. I'll drive you somewhere? You're fine. I'll ask if you need anything? Don't bother, I'm good." Her jaw clenched. "It's always like that. Every time I ask about anything, every single time, I get the same answer." She laughed bitterly. "It's fine."

You swallowed hard. The apartment felt unbearably quiet.

"But is it really? Y/N? Is it really fine? Are we really okay?" Natasha looked away for a second before looking back at you. "Because at some point it stops sounding like you're actually fine and starts sounding like you just don't want anything from me."

Your eyes dropped to the floor, your fingers twisting together unconsciously.

"You didn't tell me about the appointment."

You blinked, your head lifting immediately. "How did—"

Before you could finish, Natasha answered. "Pietro. I bumped into him that day." She let out a breath and shook her head. "He asked me how the appointment went."

The guilt hit you instantly. You looked away, jaw tightening as the realization settled heavily in your chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?" There was no anger in it or accusation. Just hurt. "You knew I would've gone with you. You knew I would've been there." She swallowed. Her eyes stayed on yours. "Why, Y/N?" she asked again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

When you finally looked up, Natasha was still standing there, waiting. She let out a shaky breath and looked away for a moment before forcing herself to continue.

"You can't even look straight at me." Her voice cracked slightly. "But with other people, you can." She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "With that blonde friend of yours, you can. You talk to her, laugh with her. You sit with her." A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. "Do you know how hard that is to watch? And I'm trying not to read into it. I'm trying not to make assumptions. But I'm scared, Y/N." She wiped at her face quickly, frustrated by her own tears.

"Am I losing you?" The question came out small—vulnerable. "To her? Or to a life that doesn't have a room for me anymore?"

The apartment fell silent. Natasha swallowed hard and looked at you, eyes glassy now.

"I just don't know where I stand with you. We're always together but why do I feel like you're out of reach?" Her voice broke. "I don't know if I'm your wife. I don't know if I'm your friend. I don't know if I'm just Aliah's other parent." Another tear slipped free. "And I can keep trying, I will keep trying...but I need to know if I'm fighting for something that's still there."

Natasha wiped at her face with the heel of her hand.

"I just need to know where I stand in your life. I need to know." She said firmly though her voice is shaky and full of fears.

Her eyes stayed on yours, unwavering despite the tears.

"Because the only thing I am sure of right now..." Her voice cracked slightly. "The only thing I know for certain is that I still love you."

The confession hung between you painfully simple.

"So tell me. Tell me where I stand. Tell me if I still have a place there in your heart."

You didn't answer right away.

The silence between her words and your reaction felt like it stretched too long, too fragile to survive anything sudden. But then you moved. You stepped closer to Natasha, tears still running down your face, your breathing uneven from everything that had already been said. The alcohol was still there—softening the edges of your thoughts—but you were fully there. Fully aware. There was no confusion in the way you looked at her.

Your hand lifted before you could second-guess it. Fingers trembling slightly as you reach for her face. She just stood there, watching you like she was afraid that if she blinked, you'd disappear.

You wiped at her tears carefully, brushing them away like you were trying to undo every second that made her cry in the first place. A broken breath escaped her. She covered your hand with hers, holding it against her face like she needed it.

That broke something in you.

Your forehead dipped slightly, your voice barely steady when you finally spoke.

"I love you," you said, and it came out raw. Immediate and unfiltered. "But I'm scared too."

Natasha's grip tightened on your hand.

"I'm sorry," you hiccuped, shaking your head slightly as more tears fell. "I just don't know how to do this without being scared. I don't know how to come back from everything that happened and not feel like I'm going to be hurt again."

Your thumb brushed against her cheek instinctively.

"I never stopped loving you," you admitted. "I just…got lost in how to survive it."

Natasha's eyes squeezed shut for a moment. The words hit her harder than anything else you said.

A broken sound escaped her before she could stop it. She shook her head immediately, tears falling faster.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't punish yourself for being scared. You don't have to know how to do this. You don't have to trust me tomorrow. You don't have to have all the answers tonight."

Natasha looked into your eyes.

"Just let me stay." Her voice broke again. "Let me love you. Let me take care of you."

Fresh tears spilled over before you could stop them, your lips trembling as you stared at her.

"Let me spend however long it takes proving that I'm not going to hurt you again."

⧗

The discharge process took forever. You sat carefully in a chair, one hand resting absentmindedly over your abdomen while waiting for the doctor to call your name. The soreness was still there, dull and heavy, but manageable enough that you stopped visibly reacting every few minutes.

Natasha sat beside you with Aliah asleep against her chest, one arm wrapped securely around your daughter while the other rested on her own knee. Every now and then her eyes drifted toward you automatically, checking if you were uncomfortable.

Across the waiting room, a mother—probably around your age—walked past carrying a newborn bundled carefully against her chest.

Your eyes followed them without meaning to.

Then another mother passed by pushing a stroller, talking quietly to someone beside her while her baby reached tiny hands toward the hanging toys overhead.

Your chest tightened painfully. You looked away quickly, but it didn't help.

Everywhere you looked there were babies.

Tiny socks. Baby carriers. Soft crying. Mothers bouncing infants gently in their arms while waiting for appointments.

Natasha noticed the shift in your expression immediately. "Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"

You nodded too quickly. "Yeah."

The lie sounded weak even to your own ears.

Your throat tightened as you stared down at your hands instead, blinking hard while memories pushed themselves forward anyway.

What it could've looked like.

What it would've felt like.

The weight of your baby in your arms. Aliah meeting her sibling. Natasha finding out in a way that wasn't grief and blood or hospital monitors.

Beside you, Natasha went very still. She knew—of course she knew. She shifted Aliah carefully against her chest before leaning slightly closer to you.

"Do you want to wait outside?" she asked quietly.

"No, I'm fine." But your voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

Another woman walked by carrying twins this time, one baby asleep against her shoulder while the other fussed softly in her partner's arms.

You looked down immediately.

Natasha swallowed hard beside you.

Then very carefully, slowly enough that you had time to pull away if you wanted to, she reached for your hand resting on the chair between you. Her fingers curled around yours gently.

And you let her hold it. Your eyes burned suddenly and you pressed your lips together hard, trying to hold yourself together in a waiting room full of strangers.

Her thumb moved slowly against your knuckles. "Hey," she whispered softly.

You shook your head once, staring at the floor. Natasha's grip tightened around your hand. When you finally looked at her, her eyes were already glassy. And somehow that made it worse. Because there was grief all over her face now too.

Wanda finally came back, already talking to the nurse, her eyes immediately landed on your tangled hands. And before your bestfriend could even say anything, you pulled your hand away from Natasha. But surprisingly, Wanda didn't say anything. Instead, she immediately shifted focus to you.

"Come on," she said softly, already moving closer to support you.

The second you stood up completely, both women moved at the same time.

"Careful."

"Slow down."

You blinked tiredly between them. "I'm literally just standing."

Neither of them looked convinced.

Wanda immediately slid an arm around your waist while Natasha adjusted Aliah higher against her chest so she could walk closer beside you. The walk toward the elevator felt longer than it should have, mostly because everyone stayed painfully alert around you. Every time your expression tightened even slightly from the discomfort, Wanda looked ready to drag you back upstairs while Natasha visibly tensed beside you.

Outside, the morning sun felt warm against your skin.

The walk through the parking lot was slow. Wanda kept most of your weight leaning against her despite your repeated attempts to insist you could walk on your own.

Meanwhile, the tension between your bestfriend and Natasha, though, was impossible to ignore. Wanda barely acknowledged Natasha unless necessary, while Natasha stayed hyperaware of the distance she should put whenever your bestfriend is around.

When you finally reached Wanda's car, she immediately opened the passenger door for you.

"I've got her," Wanda said flatly as she now walked towards Natasha to get Aliah.

Natasha's arms tightened around her daughter instinctively before relaxing again. Her jaw flexed slightly, but she didn't argue. Instead, she looked at you.

You were too exhausted for the tension pressing from both sides.

"She can come," you said quietly before things could escalate.

Wanda looked at you immediately.

You sighed softly and leaned heavier against the car for a second. "She can come," you clarified carefully. "I just…" Your throat tightened slightly. "I don't want Aliah upset right now."

Wanda exhaled slowly through her nose, clearly irritated, but stopped herself from arguing. "Fine."

You looked at Natasha, "Aliah can ride with you only if you have a car seat for her."

"Yeah, I always have it in my car." Then Natasha stayed quiet, but the relief on her face was immediate enough to hurt. She looked down quickly afterward, trying to compose herself.

Carefully, she walked over to her car parked nearby and opened the backseat. Aliah stirred sleepily the second Natasha started buckling her in.

"No…" your daughter mumbled weakly, grabbing onto Natasha's sleeve.

Natasha's expression softened instantly. "I know, malyshka," she whispered gently. "I'm right here."

She waited until Aliah relaxed again before pulling a blanket around her. Then her hand lingered briefly against the car door after she closed it. Her eyes lifted toward you through Wanda's open passenger window.

Wanda climbed into the driver's seat without another word while you slowly settled yourself into the passenger seat carefully, trying not to aggravate the pain in your abdomen. The second the engine started, Natasha stepped back toward her own car.

The drive was painfully quiet.

You rested your head against the window while Wanda drove carefully through the traffic. Every bump on the road still hurt a little and exhaustion sat so heavily in your body you could barely keep your eyes open.

Wanda glanced at you once in the sidemirror before looking away.

"So…" she started carefully, keeping her tone light with you. "You and…her."

You immediately looked at your bestfriend. She literally hates Natasha that she can't even say her name.

"There's something going on there?" she added after a beat.

You sighed quietly and rubbed your forehead. "It's not like that."

Wanda hummed a little like she didn't fully believe you.

"I'm not judging," she said, finally glancing at you for a second. "I just need to understand what I'm walking into."

"It's complicated."

Wanda let out a short breath through her nose. "Yeah, I figured that part," she muttered.

Another silence.

"Does she hurt you?"

That question landed heavier than the first.

"I'm not trying to start something," she added quickly. "I just…I watched her in there. I watched you."

Your throat bobbed. "It's not simple, Wanda," you said again.

"I know," she said. "But I also know what I saw."

In the rearview mirror, you see Natasha's car moving behind you.

"She looks like she's trying," Wanda said after a moment, quieter now. "But trying doesn't always mean safe."

You didn't respond because you didn't know what answer would be right.

"I know you're getting irritated with me too."

You turned your head slightly toward her. Curiosity written on your face, you chuckled genuinely. "Why would you say that?"

Wanda exhaled, tightening her grip on the steering wheel just a little. "About how I act around her," she continued, meaning Natasha without saying her name. "I know it probably feels like I'm watching everything, judging everything she does."

The car passed under a streetlight, and her face briefly lit up—tired, conflicted.

"But at the same time," she added after a pause, "I know you can't blame me."

That made you shift on your seat. Wanda glanced at you for a second, then back to the road.

"I'm not your enemy here," she said. "I am your best friend," she added, more firmly now, like she needed to ground herself in it. "That's exactly why I'm like this. I'm not trying to control you, I'm just trying to make sure you don't get hurt again."

Her voice softened a little after that.

"And I know you might get irritated with me for it."

A beat.

"But I'd rather you be irritated at me than watch you go through that again and stay quiet."

Wanda went quiet for a bit after she spoke, just keeping her eyes on the road. The car felt calmer now, but still heavy in that quiet way neither of you really knew how to fix.

Then slowly, you reached over and held her right hand. Wanda tensed for a second out of instinct, fingers tightening on the wheel, but she didn't pull away. She let you take her hand.

You gave it a small squeeze.

"I'm not irritated one bit, Wanda," you said softly.

She finally glanced at you for a second.

A small, sad smile tugged at your lips. "I am grateful for you."

Wanda didn't say anything for a few seconds after that. She just kept driving, your hand still in hers, like she didn't fully trust her voice yet.

Then she let out a small breath, almost a laugh.

"Grateful for me?" she repeated, shaking her head a little. "That sounds so dramatic."

That made you snort quietly.

"Shut up," you muttered, but there was no bite in it.

Your bestfriend finally smiled too.

"See? You're a little irritated.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not," you said again, more firmly, and this time you actually laughed.

Holding Wanda's hand, you couldn't help thinking about everything she'd done for you over the last years. Not just the big things, but all the little things too. The random groceries that would magically appear in your kitchen when you were too exhausted to shop. The countless times she picked up Aliah from school because you couldn't get yourself out of bed. The nights she stayed over because she knew being alone would make everything worse. The way she somehow always knew when you were pretending to be okay and never let you get away with it.

You honestly didn't know what you would've done without her.

Even during the time you hid the marriage from her and when that same marriage fell apart, Wanda was there. She didn't question anything. When you lost the baby. When everything felt too heavy to carry on your own.

Wanda was there.

She never made you feel guilty for needing her. Never acted like you were too much. Never got tired of showing up, even when you gave her plenty of reasons to. And maybe that was why hearing her worry about you didn't annoy you at all like she was expecting you to.

How could it? She had earned that worry. She had earned the right to be protective after spending so long helping you put yourself back together.

You were never going to stop being grateful for Wanda.

Finally you're now back to your apartment and you were welcomed by Pietro. The moment he saw you, his expression softened. He crossed the distance quickly and pressed a kiss to the side of your forehead before gently taking hold of your arm.

"Easy," he murmured.

Great, now there are three people who're acting like your personal bodyguard.

The apartment behind him was spotless. The dishes were done, the counters were clean, and everything was exactly where it should be. It wasn't surprising. Pietro had probably been stopping by every day while you were in the hospital, making sure things were taken care of before you got home.

Without making a fuss about it, he guided you toward the couch. The second you sat down, Wanda was already moving toward the kitchen.

"Do you want to eat?" she asked immediately.

Natasha finally stepped inside carrying Aliah, who was now fully awake against her shoulder. She blinked sleepily a few times before lifting her head from Natasha's shoulder. Her hair was sticking out in every direction, and she looked thoroughly confused for a few seconds before recognizing where she was. Then she wriggled out of Natasha's arms and bolted upstairs before anyone could stop her.

"Careful," you called automatically. Your daughter didn't even slow down. She was already heading toward the hallway. "Aliah." But still nothing from your little rascal.

Your attention shifted back to Natasha, who was still standing awkwardly near the living room. She looked uncertain about where she was supposed to be, as though she was waiting for someone to tell her what to do. You swallowed before gesturing toward the couch across from yours.

"You can sit."

She crossed the room and sat down on the couch opposite yours. The space between you wasn't very large, but it still felt significant somehow.

Neither of you spoke immediately. The apartment settled into a strange quiet while Wanda moved around the kitchen and Pietro followed her.

Everyone was occupying the same space, but nobody quite knew how they were supposed to fit together.

"We should all eat together."

Nobody was particularly hungry and nobody seemed interested in forcing cheerful conversation after everything that had happened—to you.

The conversation around the table had quieted by the time Aliah finally came running back from her room. At first, you only heard the quick patter of her feet against the floor. Nobody paid much attention. She'd disappeared often enough since getting home, bouncing between excitement and curiosity the way kids always did.

Then she stepped into the dining area. And everything inside you stopped.

In her hands was a baby toy, a little twist rattle.

Your eyes locked onto it immediately—you knew that toy.

You remembered standing in the store holding it months ago, turning it over in your hands while trying to decide whether buying baby things too early was a bad idea. You remembered eventually buying it anyway because you couldn't help yourself. It had been one of the first things you'd bought since knowing you're pregnant.

The sight of it hit you so bad that your chest physically hurts.

Aliah, completely unaware of what she'd just brought into the room, climbed onto her chair and hugged the toy against her chest.

"Mommy? When you're not sick anymore," she said, her voice small and hopeful, "can I sleep with you and the new baby in the room?"

Every sound in the apartment seemed to disappear. Your heart felt like it stopped and so do the people around you.

"Fuck." Pietro slipped out before he could stop it.

"Can I help find the baby?" Aliah looked from face to face before finally adding, completely innocent, completely sincere, "Uncle Pietro said you kinda lost it."

Across from you, Natasha froze.

The moment the words left her mouth, Pietro's face crumpled like he wanted to get swallowed by the floor. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and looked away for a second. His sister glares at him.

The truth was, nobody had warned him. Nobody had told him not to say anything. He actually never thought that Aliah might start asking questions when he picked her up in her school.

But of course she had. She was a smart girl—observant. She noticed when people were upset. She noticed when routines changed. And the second she'd realized you were in a clinic and nobody was giving her a proper explanation, she'd started demanding answers.

At first, Pietro had tried avoiding it. He'd told her you weren't feeling well. That mama will be home soon and the doctors were helping you. But Aliah was not convinced so her questions had just kept coming. And eventually Pietro had sat down with her because he thought she deserved something close to the truth. He'd explained that there had been a baby. The baby was very, very small and something had happened—that mommy was sad because the baby wasn't here anymore.

He didn't use words like death or miscarriage. Aliah's only three, he doesn't want to overwhelm her with something she couldn't understand. So he'd tried to simplify it. And somewhere in that explanation, he'd said the baby was gone. Then, when Aliah kept asking where gone meant, he'd made the mistake of saying it was a little like losing something.

So naturally, Aliah spent the last 24-hours believing that if everyone looked hard enough, they could find the baby too.

And another mistake he made was to place all the baby stuff you bought in Aliah's room where she might've taken the toy in her hand.

Pietro looked absolutely sick with guilt. His eyes found yours across the table, and for a second he looked like he genuinely didn't know what to do with himself.

"Y/N..." he whispered. "I'm sorry. I—I didn't..." He swallowed hard. "I didn't mean..."

The words kept getting stuck.

But you already knew that he hadn't done anything wrong. He's been trying to help and he's been a great help. Slowly, you shook your head and gave him a small look of reassurance.

"It's fine," you said softly.

Pietro immediately opened his mouth to argue because it clearly wasn't fine. Nothing about this was fine. But you cut him off before he could.

"I got this."

Across the table, Aliah was still clutching the toy in her lap, waiting patiently for answers. Your chest tightened. Slowly, you pushed your unfinished food away. The appetite you'd forced yourself to find a few minutes ago had completely disappeared. You stood carefully from your chair.

Immediately, the three around you reacted.

Wanda looked up. Pietro started to stand. Natasha shifted in her seat.

You ignored all of them. Instead, you reached for Aliah's hand. "Come here, baby."

Aliah climbed down from her chair without hesitation. Her small hand slipped into yours and the toy remained tucked under her other arm. Together, the two of you disappeared from the dining area and the kitchen felt noticeably emptier the second you were gone. Nobody seemed quite sure what to do next.

Natasha remained frozen in her chair. Her eyes stayed fixed on the doorway you'd disappeared through. Every instinct she had was telling her to follow—to be there, to help. Because this wasn't just your conversation with Aliah, it was hers too. The baby had been hers too and Aliah was her daughter too. But at the same time, a part of her worried that following you would be overstepping. Because maybe this was something you wanted to do alone. Maybe she hadn't earned the right to be part of that conversation. But another part of her couldn't stand the thought of staying behind while you carried that burden by yourself.

You led Aliah into the living room and sat down carefully on the couch. Aliah climbed up beside you immediately, the baby toy still tucked securely under her arm.

You were trying to figure out where to begin.

Because the truth was, Aliah wasn't supposed to know about any of this yet. You hadn't told her about the pregnancy—there had never been a chance. You had spent weeks trying to figure out how and when to tell people. Some days you weren't even sure you wanted to tell anyone at all.

And then everything happened so fast. Now here you were.

"Was there really a baby, mommy?" Now, your daughter started it for you. The question nearly broke you.

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, sweetheart."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Really?"

"There was." You nodded.

Aliah looked at your stomach, then back at your face. The gears in her head were turning, trying to make sense of it.

"Was it in your tummy?"

You nodded again.

And suddenly the reality seemed to settle a little more for her. She hugged the toy closer. Then her next question came quietly.

"Where is the baby now?"

You stared at her. At your little girl. At the child who had only learned about her sibling after they were already gone. The unfairness of it nearly knocked the breath out of you.

You reached over and took her small hand in yours. "Sometimes, when a baby is growing, something happens that nobody expects."

Aliah listened quietly.

"The doctors tried to help mommy feel better. Everybody wanted the baby to keep growing." Your voice wavered slightly. "But sometimes babies are very small and their little bodies can't keep growing the way they're supposed to."

"So the baby stopped growing?" Aliah frowned—trying her best to understand.

You felt tears sting your eyes. "Yeah."

She looked down at the toy again. A long silence followed. Then came the question you knew was coming.

"Can the doctors help again?"

Your heart broke all over again. You gently brushed your thumb over her hand.

"No, sweetheart."

"Why?"

Because life wasn't fair. Sometimes terrible things happen for no reason. Because you didn't know either. But none of those were answers for your four-year-old. So instead, you pulled her a little closer.

"Sometimes there are things even doctors can't fix."

Aliah thought about that before her face slowly started to fall.

"So..." she started quietly. "The baby isn't coming to our house?"

You closed your eyes briefly before looking back at her. "No, baby. The baby isn't coming home."

The toy slipped a little in her lap as she hugged it tighter. Her lower lip trembled. You could practically see the disappointment settling over her. Not the same grief the adults were carrying. A child's version of it—it was simple, innocent and honest.

After a moment, she leaned against your side. You wrapped an arm around her immediately.

"The baby knew we loved them though, right?" she asked suddenly.

The question caught you off guard. A tear slipped down your cheek but smiled through it.

"Yeah." Your voice cracked. "Very, very much."

That seemed to satisfy her. She nodded quietly before curling closer against you.

You looked up and found Natasha standing in the doorway of the living room. She must have followed after all.

For a moment, she simply stood there, taking in the sight of you and Aliah curled together on the couch. Her eyes lingered on your face, on the exhaustion you were no longer doing a very good job of hiding. Then her attention shifted to Aliah. Your daughter looked exhausted. The earlier questions were gone. The curiosity was gone. The toy she'd been holding was now resting loosely against her lap as she leaned heavily against your side. Without saying anything, she walked over. When she reached the couch, she crouched down slightly in front of Aliah and brushed a hand through her hair.

"Hey, malysh."

Aliah looked up. The second she saw Natasha, she immediately leaned toward her. Natasha's expression softened. She slid her arms underneath her daughter and lifted her effortlessly into her arms. Once Aliah was settled comfortably against her shoulder, Natasha adjusted her hold and pressed a kiss against the side of her head.

"Let mommy rest, alright?" she said quietly. Her hand rubbed slow circles against Aliah's back. "She's tired."

The words were directed at Aliah, but Natasha's eyes briefly found yours. There was something gentle about it. Something that felt less like an instruction and more like permission.

Like she was telling you that for a little while, she could handle this. That you didn't have to carry everything alone.

Aliah nodded weakly against her shoulder. For a second, it looked like she was about to settle there completely before she suddenly lifted her head.

Natasha blinked in surprise as Aliah immediately stretched one arm toward you.

"Mommy." You looked up. "Come on."

Before you could react, your daughter wriggled enough for Natasha to carefully lower her back to the floor. The second her feet touched the ground, she walked over to you and reached for both of your hands.

"Let's get you to bed, mommy."

Your chest tightened instantly. The seriousness in her voice nearly broke you.

"So you can rest." Your baby looked genuinely concerned.

A shaky laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

God. You loved this child. You loved her so much it hurt.

"Yeah?" you asked softly.

Aliah nodded immediately. "Yeah."

Then she gave your hands a tiny tug. An attempt to pull you to your feet. One that would have been adorable if it wasn't so heartbreakingly sincere.

Behind her, Natasha watched the entire exchange. And for the first time that day, a small smile appeared on her face. Not because anything was fixed or because the grief was gone. But because even after one of the hardest days your family had ever faced, Aliah's first instinct was still love.

To comfort.

To protect.

To take care of the people she loved.

And somehow, standing there between you and Natasha, holding onto both your hands as if she could keep everything together by herself.

"I'll check upstairs first, okay?" You kissed her before carefully releasing her hands and pushed yourself to your feet.

Wanda and Pietro are still in the kitchen, finishing everything that needs to be done so you don't have to do and worry about them yourself.

Natasha remained where she was, holding Aliah against her shoulder.

Your daughter was practically limp with exhaustion now. One small arm hung around Natasha's neck while the other loosely held onto the baby toy she'd found. Every now and then her eyes would close completely before forcing themselves open again. Natasha continued rubbing slow circles against her back. Then she felt Aliah shift slightly against her shoulder.

"Mama?" The word came out soft—half-asleep.

Natasha immediately looked down. "Yeah, malysh?"

"Can we have another baby, mama?"

Everything inside Natasha stopped. The hand moving against Aliah's back froze and her breathing caught. She lowered her eyes. Her gaze immediately landed on the toy still tucked against her daughter's chest. The toy that should have belonged to someone else.

A sharp pain settled in her chest.

Aliah waited patiently. The way children always did when they asked something they believed had a simple answer.

Natasha swallowed. Her throat suddenly felt too tight. "I don't know, detka." She pressed a gentle kiss against the top of her daughter's head. "Mommy needs to get better first, detka."

"Oh." Her cheek settled deeper against Natasha's shoulder. "Because she's still sick?"

Natasha's chest tightened. "Yes."

That was the simplest answer. The one a four-year-old could understand.

Aliah nodded sleepily. Then, after a few seconds, she asked, "So after she gets better?"

Natasha smiled sadly. Children always wanted definite answers. The world was either yes or no. Tomorrow or today. Nothing in between.

But you and Natasha weren't like that—especially not now.

"Maybe," Natasha said softly.

"But do you want a baby too, mama?"

Natasha froze. The question wasn't loud, but it hit harder than anything else that moment because it wasn't about explanation or permission anymore. It was about wanting. About imagining a future that didn't exist yet but there's a possibility

Aliah's eyes were half closed, heavy with sleep, but still focused on Natasha's face with that quiet seriousness children had when they were trying to understand things that were too big for them.

"I want a sibling," she added slowly, her words slurring a little as exhaustion pulled at her again. "I want a baby sister…or a brother."

Natasha opened her mouth immediately, instinctively, because the answer should have been simple—yes. Of course yes. She had imagined it before without even meaning to, in small moments she never admitted to anyone. A second child in the house. A chance to experience things differently this time, to do it right.

To do all of it with you.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her eyes dropping briefly to Aliah's sleeping face again as she gently adjusted her in her arms. When she spoke, her voice came out quieter, steadier, but threaded with something she was trying very hard to keep from spilling over.

"I know, detka," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I know you want that." There was a pause as she carefully chose her words, because she refused to give her daughter something that might break later. "I want you to be happy," she continued gently, her hand moving in slow circles across Aliah's back, "and I want you to have a sibling one day."

Aliah made a small sound, barely awake, like she was accepting the answer without fully processing it anymore.

Natasha held her a little closer.

"But not everything is simple right now," she added softly, the honesty slipping out more than she intended, though still softened for a child who wouldn't fully understand it yet.

And that was the truth she couldn't avoid—she wanted it. She wanted it more than she was ready to admit out loud.

But wanting wasn't enough. Not when you were still grieving. Not when you might probably still be healing from everything she did. Not when she wasn't even sure where she stood in your life anymore, let alone whether there was room for a future that included something as big as another child.

So Natasha stayed quiet after that, simply holding her daughter against her chest. Her gaze drifted once more toward the staircase where you had gone earlier and for a moment she just stood there between two impossible things—a child dreaming of a future and an adult who didn't yet know if she was allowed to be part of yours.

When you finally came back down the stairs, the apartment felt quieter than before. The kind of quiet that wasn't empty, just softened by exhaustion and everything that had already been said. Natasha was still where you left her, now sitting on the couch with Aliah completely asleep in her arms. The toy had slipped to her side, barely held in place by her fingers now.

You finally spoke quietly, your voice low so you wouldn't disturb Aliah. "You can take her upstairs now, the one with an open door is my room."

Natasha looked up immediately at your voice, "Okay."

You watched her go for a moment, your gaze lingering on your daughter's sleeping face, before turning away toward the kitchen.

Pietro was by the counter when you walked over, still looking like he hadn't fully recovered from earlier. The shame was still there, quiet but obvious, like he was replaying every word he had said to Aliah and trying to figure out how he could have said it better. He looked up immediately, and the guilt in his face only deepened.

"Y/N, I—about earlier, I didn't mean for her to understand it like that. I thought I was being careful, I swear I did, I just—"

You cut him off before he could spiral further.

"I know," you said softly. You reached out and placed a hand on his arm to ground him. "It's okay, really. You were trying to help."

Pietro looked at you for a long moment, like he wanted to believe you but didn't quite know how to let himself off the hook. Finally, he gave a small, reluctant nod. Not fully convinced, but accepting your reassurance anyway because it was you giving it.

"Also, thank you for what you did upstairs, Piet. Everything here in the house." You gave him a small, tired smile before moving past him.

Wanda was near the kitchen doorway now, arms crossed, watching both of you quietly. She had that look again. The one that meant she had already made up her mind about something and was just waiting for the right moment to say it out loud.

It came the second you faced her.

"I can't trust her to be here," Wanda said flatly, nodding slightly toward the upstairs without even needing to say Natasha's name.

You exhaled through your nose and gave her a look. "You know she has a name, right?"

Wanda rolled her eyes playfully but there is a seriousness in it. "I feel like it's a curse."

You let out a soft and tired laugh at her reaction.

"I heard her conversation with Aliah."

That alone made something in your chest tighten, but you were too tired to fully chase it. Too drained to dig deeper into whatever Wanda was implying.

"Aliah wants a sibling."

Your daughter wants a sibling? It shouldn't have surprised you.

Because earlier—back in the living room, in that conversation you'd barely survived emotionally—you had already seen it. The way she held onto that toy. The way she asked where the baby was like it was just somewhere out of reach. That in the simplest possible way, something lost could still be found if someone tried hard enough.

"Your daughter wants a sibling now. And God, Y/N…" she trailed off, shaking her head like she was trying to hold back too many thoughts at once. "You can't yet," she said more quietly, but firmly. "You're fresh out of surgery."

You let out a breath and leaned back slightly against the counter, tiredness catching up to you all over again. A small, helpless laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

You let out a quiet sigh and rubbed at your forehead. "I'm serious," you said again. "I..."

Your hand lifted instinctively, like you were about to make a point, but the thought never fully formed. Too many things crowded your mind at once and suddenly you couldn't find the energy to sort through any of them.

You lowered your hand again with a tired breath. "I just..." You shook your head. "Wands, I don't even know what tomorrow looks like right now."

Wanda studied you for a moment longer, trying to decide whether to believe you or just wait for reality to prove her right later. Finally, she sighed, but her posture didn't fully relax.

"Just…don't have sex with her," she said, less sharp now but still firm. "Is all I'm saying."

"Oh God, Wanda," You let out a small, tired laugh under your breath, more out of disbelief than humor. Rolling your eyes at your bestfriend.

After a few more minutes, the Maximoff sibs finally left. Pietro gave you a careful hug and another apology that you quickly brushed aside, reassuring him with a tired smile that everything was okay. Wanda, on the other hand, looked like she still wanted to argue. She hugged you tightly, reminded you to rest at least three times, and made you promise to text her tomorrow. Before leaving, she shot one last suspicious glance upstairs, clearly directed at Natasha, before disappearing out the door with her brother.

Once they were gone, the apartment became noticeably quieter. You took a slow walk through the kitchen and living room, more out of habit than necessity. Pietro had already taken care of most things while you were away. The counters were clean, dishes put away, and everything looked exactly as it should.

Then reality settled in. Wanda and Pietro were gone. Aliah was asleep upstairs. The distractions had disappeared. Which left only one person left in the apartment besides you—Natasha. You let out a slow breath and rubbed a hand over your face. Somehow, after everything that had happened today, facing her felt like the hardest part.

Before you come upstairs, the redhead is already coming down. She spotted you immediately, standing alone in the living room and slowed slightly as she approached. The house felt strangely quiet now that—just the two of you.

"Hey," she said softly.

You looked up and gave a small nod. "Hey."

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Natasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other before finally gathering the courage to ask, "Do you want to talk?" The question was careful, almost tentative. Like she was afraid of pushing too hard after everything that had happened.

"Sorry, Natasha," you said quietly. "I can't right now, I'm tired."

The answer wasn't a rejection, but Natasha's face still fell slightly before she quickly masked it.

"Yeah. Of course, I am sorry." She nodded immediately, stepping closer without thinking. "Do you want me to help you upstairs?" she asked. "Are you comfortable? Do you need—"

"I'm fine." You shook your head gently before she could continue.

A silence settled between you again. This one wasn't awkward so much as heavy. You found yourself staring at a spot on the floor before speaking again.

"I'm sorry."

Natasha looked at you again.

"I'm sorry I can't answer your question yet. You know, the other night..."

The words landed exactly as heavily as you expected them to. Natasha didn't look away.

"I know what you asked me. I know what you're asking for." Your voice softened. "And I know you need an answer." A tired smile appeared for only a second before fading again. "I just don't have one right now."

You looked at her for a long moment before speaking again.

"But if you want to stay..." your voice trailed off briefly. "You can."

A faint smile touched your lips. You looked away for a second before gesturing vaguely toward the living room.

"I mean, we don't have a guest room. But the couch is big enough for you, I guess. Well, I hope it's fine with you."

A small laugh escaped you afterward, quiet and weary, but genuine. It was the first time all day something had felt remotely normal.

The sound made Natasha smile. A real one this time. Small, soft, and almost disbelieving. She lowered her gaze for a moment before looking back at you.

"Of course," she said softly. "Anything, for you."

For a moment, neither of you said anything after that. The conversation was supposed to be about something simple. About her staying. About the couch. About not making her drive home when she was already here. On the surface, that was all you were talking about.

But maybe only you knew it meant more than that.

Or maybe, judging by the way Natasha answered and looked at you, she knew too.

⧗

You came out of the operating room numb, the kind of numb that settles deep in your bones. The ceiling lights passed over you as they wheeled your wheelchair down the hall, everything was too bright and too quiet. When they finally stopped inside a room, you were left there staring upward, hands resting uselessly at your sides.

Then you heard it.

A cry. Sharp and full and alive. A newborn's cry, echoing somewhere down the hall. Nurses moved quickly past your door, voices gentle, congratulatory. Life continuing, uninterrupted.

But not for you.

Your hand moved to your stomach on instinct, fingers pressing lightly as if something might still be there if you just checked. Your chest tightened, breath breaking apart as the reality settled in all over again. That cry wasn't yours. That baby wasn't yours.

Tears slipped silently down the sides of your face. You didn't sob at first. You just lay there, staring, holding your stomach then your body twisted as the sobs finally broke free, pulling you inward. You curled onto your side, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold something that was already gone.

Then Wanda came. She stood frozen for half a second, eyes locked on you, taking in how you were curled up shaking. Then she pushed past the nurses without a word and rushed to your side. The moment they left the room, she was already there, dropping to the edge of the bed, hands hovering yours. Her face crumpled as she squeezed your hand, bringing it to her cheek.

"I'm here," she whispered over and over, voice breaking. "I've got you. I'm right here, love."

You tried to say something but your mouth wouldn't open. The words were there, crowding your chest, but they couldn't find their way out. All that came instead were broken sounds, breath hitching, tears soaking into Wanda's hand.

She didn't press you. She just nodded slowly, like she understood the language of your crying without needing it translated. Her hand stayed warm against your own.

"What do you want?" your bestfriend asked gently. "Are you hungry?"

You shook your head, small and tired.

"Okay," she said softly. "Then tell me, love. What do you need?" when she said your daughter's name, it broke something open in you. "Do you need Iyah?" she asked, careful, watching your face.

You nodded. Slowly. Once.

"Okay. I'll call Pietro. He'll bring her here. Don't worry," she said, brushing your hair back from your face.

Your best friend stayed with you. The crying wore you down until there was nothing left to hold you upright. Your breaths grew uneven, then slowly began to steady as exhaustion crept in. When you finally drifted off, Wanda pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders, adjusted the pillow so your neck wouldn't ache, and brushed your hair back from your face. She lingered a moment, watching to make sure you were truly asleep, then slipped quietly out of the room.

In the hallway, she found your doctor. She told her you should be able to go home tomorrow, that being in your own space would help more than another night under hospital lights.

"And I already talked to Y/N's wife, Natasha?" the doctor said, pausing like she was waiting for confirmation.

"Oh, uhm…yeah," that name got Wanda to raise her eyebrows to your doctor, "What about her?"

"She just settled all the paperwork and the bills."

Wanda nodded again, forcing a small smile as the doctor excused herself to check on you. The moment she was out of sight, the smile faded. Her jaw tightened, and she let out a slow breath through her nose, arms crossing over her chest as she stood there alone tapping her flats on the cold tiled floor.

Just as Wanda turned to head back to your room, she stopped short. Down the hall, unmistakable even from a distance, was the familiar red hair. She was walking toward your room like she knew exactly where she was going.

Like the fuck she has a right to, your bestfriend thought.

They locked eyes. Wanda held her ground, unmoving, a clear line drawn between her and your room.

Natasha slowed and stopped a few steps away. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Can I see her?"

Your best friend didn't hesitate. Her expression hardened and her politeness was gone. "You know," she said, "I really didn't expect you'd be here because all I know is how a heartless piece of shit you are."

Wanda took a slow step forward, closing the space between them until their faces were only inches apart. Natasha blinked, fisting her hands.

"I really want to sit down and have a conversation with you," Wanda continued, her voice tight. "But I won't. Because I don't trust myself to keep it just a conversation." She took a breath like she was forcing herself to stay in control. "Just…you know, I can tell you all of it. Everything she went through for three years you were gone. Everything." She hissed. "She was miserable, I can't even explain," a short, humorless breath escaped her. "But one time she didn't see a way out. If Aliah hadn't walked in when she did, if she hadn't called for help…I wouldn't be standing here talking to you. Maybe that's enough to tell how miserable she was, yeah?" she tilted her head slightly, sarcasm cutting through the anger.

For a split second, the mask slipped and the memory surfaced too clearly. That phone call Wanda received in the middle of the night of you crying and all hysterical, no words coming in your mouth rather than sobs, sorry's and cry for help. Wanda swallowed hard, then looked back at Natasha again, eyes burning.

"And she lived through that. All through that. Without you." Wanda leaned in just a fraction more. "And then you came back. She took it as a chance to make it up to you, for Aliah to have a complete family. But what did you do? Huh?" her voice was tight, edged with anger and she was barely holding back. "You ruined her all over again."

She stepped closer, their faces inch close to each other. "So no, you don't get to see her. You're not needed here. So you better get the fuck out."

Natasha took a step back to leave. Not because she wanted to, but because she knew staying would only draw more attention, more tension, more damage. Her shoulders were tight, her jaw set, every part of her resisting the choice to walk away.

But Wanda didn't let it end there, as the woman in front of her turned to walk away she spoke once again.

"You know after everything you did," she said, voice low but cutting, "she still wanted to fix things with you. She still believed in you." Her voice cracked.

"She told me she still loves you."

Natasha paused.

"But fuck you," Wanda spat with nothing but anger. "You don't deserve her love. You never have." A beat. "And you're once again proving that right now."

⧗

Carol noticed it from the school yard. Aliah was talking to someone she didn't know. A guy had crouched down in front of her, talking, his silver hair catching the light. Something about it felt off. Carol didn't hesitate and walked over.

"Hey, Aliah," she said gently, dropping to her level. "You know this guy?"

The man looked up first. "Oh—hi," he said quickly. "I'm Pietro. I'm her mom's friend." He glanced at Aliah, then lowered his voice so she wouldn't hear. "She's…in the clinic right now."

"Why?" Carol's expression changed instantly. "Something happened to her?"

Pietro hesitated, just a little too long.

Aliah heard it anyway. Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "What happened to mommy? She didn't cook me teriyaki for breakfast. Aunt Yeye cook me eggs with small eggshells."

The two went quiet for a beat, the weight of the question hanging there. Pietro swallowed, glancing at Carol, both of them suddenly aware that whatever they said next mattered more than anything else.

Pietro moved quickly, forcing a smile as he tried to soften it. "Oh, she was a little sick earlier?" he said gently, so unsure. "But she's fine now. We're just gonna go visit her at the clinic." He lifted Aliah into his arms, holding her close, already bracing himself. He knew how she gets when it came to you. He expected tears, panic, and questions all at once. But she didn't cry. She just rested her head against his shoulder.

"I want mommy."

"Yes, honey," Pietro's chest tightened. "We'll go to mommy."

Carol watched Aliah for a moment longer, then looked back at the man in front of her. "I'm Carol," she said, offering her hand. "I'm…Y/N's friend."

Pietro shifted Aliah on his hip and shook her hand. "Pietro," he replied.

"Is there any chance that I can visit her?"

Pietro paused, Wanda could be very strict and territorial with people around you especially right now, but the thing is, the man cannot say no. "Yeah." He lowered his voice. "She's at Harborview Maternity Clinic." He glanced down at Aliah before adding, "She'll be there until tomorrow morning." He gave Carol a small, polite nod, said a quick goodbye, and walked off with Aliah held close.

Carol stood there for a second after he was gone, the words sinking in.

Maternity clinic

The answer landed hard in her chest. She didn't need anyone to spell it out.

After dropping Monica, Carol stopped at a small shop on the way. She picked a simple bouquet and a hot chocolate from your favorite cafe.

When she reached the clinic, the smell of antiseptic hit her first. Then she saw her, Natasha—your wife.

She was standing near the counter, signing papers, speaking quietly with a doctor. They met eye to eye but maybe Natasha didn't recognize her or maybe she was too occupied with the paper in her hands.

Carol's stomach tightened. Instinct kicked in before thought could catch up. She turned away quickly, lifting the bouquet to half hide her face, pretending to adjust it as she slipped out of sight.

She didn't want to be seen. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Of course not by your wife.

The blonde walked straight to the lobby instead, pulse still a little too fast and signed in at the desk. A nurse led her down the quiet hallway and stopped in front of your room, knocking softly before opening the door for her. When she stepped inside, your eyes widened in surprise.

"Carol? Hey…what are you doing here?" you said quickly, lifting your head a little, instinctively fixing your expression like you didn't want her to see how fragile you felt.

Wanda squeezed your hand once, then stood. "I'll leave you two for a sec," she said gently, already moving toward the door.

"Hi," Carol smiles at Wanda and the woman just smiled back. Carol waited until she stepped out before she spoke. "Hey," she spoke softly and carefully. "I'm sorry. Someone earlier picked up Aliah, and…yeah. I talked to him and that's how I found out you were here." She took a step closer, bouquet still in her hands, her eyes full of concern as she looked at you. "If this isn't a good time, I can go. I just wanted to check on you. I was worried."

You managed a small smile, soft and tired, "No, it's okay," you said gently. "Thank you for coming, Carol. I really appreciate it."

The cup of hot chocolate sat warm in your hands, the heat seeping into your palms as you and Carol talked quietly. You two catch up and minutes slip by without either of you really noticing.

Then, almost casually, you asked between your conversation with her. "Have...have you seen Natasha outside perchance?"

Carol blinked, she noticed how you seem so uneasy like something is bothering you and you just addressed it now. "You haven't seen her?"

"Not since I got here. Maybe she's at work or something. I don't know. I was just wondering." You shook your head, a sad smile pulling at your lips.

Carol nodded slowly, "Okay, but I haven't seen her." She lies.

She lied.

She had seen Natasha. Just earlier at the lobby. But Carol didn't say that. She kept her voice even, her face calm, and let the moment pass without correcting it.

It just hurt her, that it was her who was there but you were looking for a different person.

She likes you—a married woman. There was no innocent way around that fact. No clean explanation that made it less complicated.

And now, sitting across from you, she couldn't help but notice the cracks. The pauses. The way you always feel awkward and distant when you talk about your wife, and the way something heavy always followed right after. She was picking up on it.

She never told herself she was entitled to you. She wasn't imagining taking you away or crossing lines on purpose. But she couldn't pretend the feeling wasn't there either. You being married didn't make it disappear. If anything, it made it heavier. So she kept it to herself, stayed careful, and chose to hold it quietly instead of acting on it.

But the thing about Carol is that when she saw a crack—a chance. She would immediately act on it. And now, she could see a small light slipping through, just enough to tell her the space was there.

⧗

Natasha drove back toward your residence to see your daughter. She was already aware of the woman who harbored an obvious dislike toward her. From what Yelena had learned, it was your close friend, Wanda Maximoff, who had a twin brother named Pietro. Both were immigrants from Russia. Wanda had been present since the earliest stages of your professional life, back when you secured your first corporate position, and from that point on, the two of you had remained closely attached.

As Natasha prepared to leave the clinic, she overheard Wanda speaking on the phone, mentioning Aliah and noting that she had just arrived home from school. That information shifted Natasha's course. She decided to pick Aliah up, and possibly return to the clinic afterward, creating an opportunity to see you. She did not pretend otherwise; she was fully aware that she was using her daughter as a means to reach you.

But now her mind wouldn't shut up.

Wanda's words kept replaying, over and over, louder with every block she passed. Three years. Alone. Miserable. The parts she hadn't seen, the moments she'd missed because she wasn't there. Natasha's grip tightened on the steering wheel, guilt creeping back in like it always did when she let herself think too long. The guilt hit harder the longer she drove. It wasn't just Wanda's words anymore. It was the comparisons she couldn't stop making. When she lost you, she'd still had someone. She had her mother, even if it was complicated. She had her sister. She had people who noticed when she was falling apart, people who caught her before she hit the ground.

You had none of that. Not even your mother. No one.

That realization sat heavy in her chest. Who held you when you couldn't hold yourself together? Who stayed up with you when the nights got too quiet and the thoughts got too loud? Natasha swallowed hard, blinking fast as her mind went somewhere she didn't want it to go. She tried not to picture it. Tried not to imagine you at your lowest, so tired of hurting that you almost gave up. She tried not to imagine what attempt you did. And Aliah—the thought of her precious girl being there, seeing even a glimpse of it, made Natasha's stomach twist.

Her thoughts were spiraling, stacking one on top of another until she couldn't hold them in anymore. She called Yelena. The moment her sister answered, everything poured out—Wanda's words, the anger behind them, the things she'd said about you. About the years Natasha hadn't known anything. About how bad it really was.

Yelena listened without interrupting at first. Then she let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "You just proved her right, Natasha," she said. "You walked away. Again."

Natasha's jaw tightened as she stared straight ahead, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel.

"You should've stood your ground," Yelena continued, her voice tense. "You should've fought for Y/N. You should've stayed. And don't forget—you're still her wife. You didn't divorce. You have every right to be there. She doesn't get to tell you to leave, Nat.

Natasha closed her eyes briefly and exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "I just didn't want to escalate things," she said quietly, exhaustion seeping into her voice. "She was angry. I was getting angry. If I pushed back, it would've turned into something worse, and that wouldn't have helped anyone. I thought walking away was the better choice."

She sighed, long and heavy, the sound carrying clearly through the phone.

"But that doesn't mean I'm walking away from her," Natasha added, firmer now. "I'm not giving up on her, Yelena. I won't disappear again."

She pulled into your apartment's parking lot and sat there for a moment, engine idling, hands resting on the wheel like she needed a second to steady herself because she knew that Aliah will not only bombard her kisses but also questions about you. Before getting out, she reached over to the passenger seat where the pizza boxes were stacked.

She knocked on your door, already rehearsing what she'd say. But when the door opened. It wasn't her daughter.

It was a man.

"Hi," he said, polite but surprised.

Natasha blinked. "Uhm, where's my daughter?" she asked, confusion slipping into her voice. Hadn't she just heard Wanda say Aliah was home?

"Oh," the man replied easily. "She was at the clinic. I just dropped her off earlier. I'd say about thirty minutes ago." He paused, then added with a small shrug, "We must've missed each other. Natasha, right?"

Natasha nodded, she was in the pizza parlor for almost 20 minutes so maybe they really did miss each other.

"Well," he said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door, "do you want to come in?" his eyes flicked to the pizza boxes and he smiled. "Perfect timing 'cuz I'm starving."

The red head wanted to just step back and just say she needed to see her daughter so she could use her to get to you but she doesn't want to appear so disrespectful so she nods. Besides, this twin seems nice and she doesn't want to get into this twin's bad books.

"I was just cleaning up the room for Y/N," the man added casually, stepping back inside. "For when she comes back tomorrow. You can go upstairs if you want," he said over his shoulder. "Actually," he paused, glancing at the boxes in the living room, "I could use some help carrying a few things up there too."

Before she could respond, he was already heading toward the stairs. Natasha hesitated for a second before picking up a box, then followed the man. It was the first time Natasha had ever stepped into your room. The room where you had lived for three years without her. The space that had held all the days she wasn't part of.

She slowed as soon as she crossed the doorway. She put the box down before wiping her hands on her jeans. Then, her eyes moved quietly over everything. The queen sized bed, the desk with two office chairs—one big and one small that she thinks is for you and the small one for Aliah. The little signs of a life built carefully, deliberately. Then she noticed the photo frames.

The first things she saw were the photos of you and Aliah.

Newborn pictures, tiny and wrapped up, your face soft and exhausted beside her. Then another frame. First birthday. Second birthday. A christening photo, Aliah dressed in white, you holding her carefully like she was something sacred. Natasha's throat tightened as she followed the timeline on the wall, each photo quietly telling her what she'd missed.

Then her eyes caught on something else.

A photo of you and her.

She knew that one. Back in college. She remembered exactly when it was taken, and remembered the night after her first gig. The laugh, the way you'd looked at her like nothing else mattered.

She looked again.

There was another photo of the two of you. Not the same one. Different angles. You were hugging her and she was kissing your cheek.

Natasha stood there, staring, confusion settling deep in her chest. There were more photos, collage photos that were mostly taken from your dorm room and the getaways you two always had every month.

You had kept these. Through everything. Through three years without her. She didn't move for a long moment, like she was afraid the truth in front of her would vanish if she did. She didn't understand, why?

Why?

"She put those there because she doesn't want to erase you in Aliah's life."

The man spoke as he adjusted the curtain rod, his tone steady, deliberate, as though he knew exactly where Natasha's thoughts had gone. "My sister—you probably met her at the clinic," he continued. "She told her not to do it. Said she shouldn't put those photos up because, well…you weren't really here."

Natasha felt it hit her all at once.

"She didn't want Aliah to feel like something was missing," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "Like there was a hole she couldn't fill. She wanted her to know you existed. That you mattered. Even if you weren't around."

Natasha turned her face away, blinking fast to make tears go away. More and more guilt pressed down on her, sharp and familiar, but this time it carried something more heavy. So heavy she doesn't know how she can bring herself up.

"So yeah, she just told Aliah you were at work. That was the story," he went on. "Mom's working. Long hours. Sometimes out of the country. She's on a plane so she can't call." He gave a small shrug. "Aliah bought it. Kids usually do when the story's simple enough." He glanced toward the photos again, then back at Natasha. "What's kind of funny is how it turned out, though. The whole thing." A short breath, half laugh. "That little plot she made up? It kinda became real."

Natasha frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, spreading his hands, "you actually came back. You were really actually working and suddenly came back home one day. So now, in Aliah's head, it all lines up. Like it was always supposed to be that way."

Natasha blinks, looking back at the photos of her daughter.

"But honestly, kids don't really get curious about that stuff," he said. "Not when they're that young. They don't sit around wondering why someone is missing. They care about who's there. Who shows up every day, who breastfeeds them, who tucks them in." Then he shook his head slightly. "But Y/N? She was stubborn about it. Really stubborn. She could've let it fade, because it's much simpler. Plenty of people would've. But she didn't. She kept you in the stories. Kept the pictures up. Kept your name alive in small ways, even when it probably hurts."

He looked back at Natasha, expression softer now. "And you know what I think? I think she also did that because she still loves you."

Twice today, Natasha had been told the same phrase.

That you love her.

The first time came like a blow, sharp and deserved. The second time landed slower, heavier, settling deep where guilt already lived. Hearing it once hurt. Hearing it twice made it impossible to ignore.

Because love like that wasn't supposed to survive with what she'd done. It wasn't supposed to last through absence, through years of silence, through the pain and damage that didn't heal cleanly. And yet here it was, reflected in photos on a wall, in stories told to a child, in people who knew you well enough to say it out loud without hesitation.

The guilt that followed was thick and relentless. It sat there, pressing in on her chest, reminding her that while she had found ways to survive losing you, you had found ways to carry her anyway. That you had loved her quietly, stubbornly, even when it cost you.

The man cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "Uh…I'm Pietro, by the way," he said, finally turning fully toward her. He held out his hand without thinking, palm dusty from whatever he'd been fixing, bits of plaster still clinging to his fingers.

Natasha wiped at her eyes quickly.

Pietro noticed his dirty hands a second too late. "Oh—" he pulled back awkwardly, glancing down at it, then gave a small, sheepish shrug. "Sorry."

He reached instead for the curtain rod leaning against the wall, lifting it like it had always been his intention.

Natasha drew in a breath and straightened, like she was pulling herself back together piece by piece. "Well, Pietro," she said, her voice coming out shaky, "I think I need to go back to the clinic. I need to see Aliah and Y/N. The pizza downstairs is all yours, thank you for doing all this."

"Oh—yeah, you're welcome." Pietro replied, nodding. "I think Aliah's sleeping there tonight." He hesitated, then added, "And there was a friend of Y/N who came by earlier. Carol, I think?"

"Carol?"

"Yeah," Pietro said. "Tall blonde. Military vibe." He shrugged. "She might still be there."

How didn't she notice her when she was there? Something shifted in Natasha's expression. She remembers a familiar blonde catching her line of sight while she was with your doctor in the lobby earlier. Her heart dropped realizing that someone else has been close in a moment she wasn't there for.

Especially when it was that tall blonde, military-fucking-vibe.

"Right," she said, a little bit pissed.

Pietro glanced at her, clearly catching how her words had landed, but he didn't say anything about it. "Anyway," he said, reaching behind the couch, "take this for Y/N." He pulled out something huge and awkward. "She won't sleep without it."

He handed her a worn out electric guitar pillow.

Natasha paused, staring at it for a second before taking it. It was from her. It was a gift she bought you during your first date. This time, Natasha really had a hard time fighting her tears, but she still managed to.

"Okay, thanks."

Pietro nodded and went back to what he was doing. Natasha stood there for a beat, holding the pillow, before heading out, the memory sticking with her as she left.

Walking in on your wife and your daughter with someone else was never something a spouse wanted to experience.

Especially not with a tall, blonde, unmistakably military-fucking-vibe woman sitting too close for comfort.

Natasha felt it the second she stepped inside. Aliah was on the bed, curled into you, arms wrapped tight around your body as if she were protecting you from the world. Carol sat nearby in a chair, close enough that it mattered, close enough that it made something sharp flare in Natasha's chest.

She forced herself to breathe. To slow it down and to get control. She had to.

The moment Carol noticed her standing there—having walked in without knocking—she stood immediately, careful and deliberate, like someone who knew exactly how this looked. You, on the other hand, looked genuinely surprised, eyes widening as you turned toward Natasha, caught completely off guard.

"Nat?" you said, blinking in surprise. "Just got off from work?"

"No, baby. I was here the whole time." The petname naturally came out.

Aliah slid off the bed and ran straight to her. She didn't say a word, just wrapped her arms around Natasha's neck and asked to be picked up. Natasha groaned as she lifted her without hesitation, holding her close. Only then did she look at the blonde, dead in the eye.

Carol got the message.

She stepped forward and squeezed your hand. "Get well, alright? I'll see you," she said softly.

"Thank you for coming," you replied, just as quietly.

As Carol headed for the door, Natasha moved without thinking, stepping into her path and stopping her short. They stood there for a second, just looking at each other. It always seemed to happen like this. Whenever they were face to face, Aliah somehow ended up right between them, like a tiny referee making sure things didn't go too far.

Natasha held her daughter a little tighter and met Carol's eyes. There was a lot she could've said. A lot she wanted to do. But she didn't. Instead, she was reminded what jealousy brought her last time—it cost everything.

Then she stepped aside, clearing the way.

"Bye, Y/N."

"Take care."

The door closed behind her and the room finally went still.

"Ali?" Natasha glanced down at Aliah, "Honey?" she shifted her slightly in her arms like she was checking if she was still awake.

"She's asleep." You say, seeing the sleeping angle of Aliah on Natasha's shoulder.

Natasha looked closer, at the way Aliah's head had gone slack against her shoulder, her breathing slow and even. She really had fallen asleep.

"Get her here," you whispered.

Natasha nodded and moved carefully, lowering Aliah onto the bed beside. Once she was settled, Natasha reached for the paper bag she'd brought and pulled out the electric guitar plushie. She tucked it into Aliah's arms, instinctively your daughter curled into it without waking, hugging it tight.

Your eyes lingered on the plushie. Then you looked up at Natasha. "You were at my apartment?"

She hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I thought Aliah was there. But turns out it was only your guy friend who was…there. The one with silver hair."

"Pietro."

"Yeah, him."

Silence settled over the room again, stretching on long enough that you became too aware of every breath, every small shift of the sheets. You cleared your throat softly.

"Nat," you said at last. "Come sit."

She looked like she was about to. She stepped closer, reaching for the chair—when the door opened.

Your best friend.

She stopped dead the moment she saw Natasha. The air changed instantly, like something tight had snapped into place. You knew that look on Wanda's face. You knew how angry she was, how fast that anger could turn into something loud, something sharp. She didn't care who was around when she reached that point.

So you acted before she could.

"Wands," you said quietly, almost pleading, tilting your head toward the bed. "Aliah's sleeping."

Wanda's eyes followed your glance. She saw your daughter curled beside you clutching the guitar plushie like it was her anchor. Something in Wanda's expression cracked. The anger didn't disappear, but it pulled back, held in by sheer will. She looked at you then, seeing your eyes softened, pleading in a way that said everything you can't say out loud.

"Call me if you need anything," she said quietly, the fight drained from her tone.

Before leaving, she glanced back at Natasha. The look she gave her was cold, furious, restrained only by the child sleeping and by you.

Once it shut, Natasha let out a slow breath. "She was really fighting the urge to slam that door," she said quietly, almost to herself.

You didn't say anything about that because you knew how much your bestfriend hated her and you feel guilty for it.

The silence that followed was awkward. It hung there, thick and uncomfortable, making you aware of every breath, every small movement in the room.

Natasha kept looking at you. Her eyes stayed on you with quiet worry, tracking the small things—the way you were laying in bed, the way your shoulders slumped, the way you avoided her gaze.

You couldn't bring yourself to look back. Every time you felt her attention, your eyes dropped to the bed, to Aliah, to anywhere that didn't risk breaking whatever fragile balance was holding the moment together.

Natasha wanted to say something. It showed in the way her lips parted, then pressed together again. She was worried, but afraid that speaking would make it worse, that the wrong words would push you farther away.

But she couldn't stay silent anymore.

"How are you?" Natasha asked quietly. "How do you feel right now? A-Are you in pain?" her voice softened as she went on, eyes finally lifting to your face. "What do you need? Are you hungry?"

The moment the words left her mouth, she felt the doubt and the cringe for herself. The worry that she'd crossed a line she hadn't earned the right to cross.

Too much. Too much questions, Natalia—she told herself.

Natasha's shoulders tensed slightly, her gaze flickering away for a second. It suddenly felt like too much—too soon, too heavy. Like she was asking for things she hadn't yet made up for. She swallowed, regret creeping in as she wondered if she should've stayed quiet, if her concern was just another burden on you instead of comfort.

"I am fine, I feel a little discomfort down there you know but I'll be fine. Also, Wanda gave me some soup earlier.

Natasha nodded a little too quickly. "Uhm—okay," she said, the word catching on the way out. "Y-You just…tell me when you need something." She paused, fingers flexing at her side, clearly unsure where to put her hands. "I'll be here. I mean—if that's okay with you."

There was an eagerness in her voice she didn't quite manage to hide, layered with nerves, with the fear of the feeling of overstepping again. She held your gaze for half a second longer than necessary, then looked away, waiting, hopeful and uncertain all at once.

You nodded softly. "You can stay," you said, barely above a whisper.

Another silence slipped in after that, heavier than the last. It stretched long enough that you could feel the moment settling. You swallowed and drew a breath, realizing this was yours now. Your turn to say something—anything.

"I didn't see you earlier. I thought you went to work after..." Well, that's an okay way to start a conversation again, right?

"No, I was here the whole day. I didn't go to work."

You frowned slightly, the pieces not lining up. You were about to say that Wanda hadn't mentioned seeing her—but the thought stopped short. You remembered the obvious animosity your best friend carried whenever Natasha's name came up. Wanda wouldn't have volunteered that information even if she had seen her.

"Carol said she didn't see you." You said instead.

Something changed in Natasha's face, subtle but unmistakable. "She did. I saw her."

You frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah. I didn't realize it was her at first. By the time I did, I was already leaving your place."

That only left you more unsettled. Carol had been so casual, so certain when she said she hadn't seen Natasha. Maybe she really didn't or she just didn't notice that it was her, weird.

"I…I want to get up."

Natasha reacted immediately, "Okay. Yeah. Slowly," she said, already moving closer. She adjusted the blankets first carefully, making sure Aliah stayed asleep. Then she slid one arm behind your back and offered the other for support, her touch light but steady.

She guides you up inch by inch, watching your face the whole time, ready to stop if you so much as flinched.

"Restroom?" she asked softly, already reading it on your face.

You nodded.

Natasha stayed close as she guided you forward, one hand steady at your back, the other ready if your knees gave out. She matched your pace, quiet and focused, watching your footing, making sure you stayed upright until you reached the doorway. Only then did she ease her grip, still hovering, still ready, in case you needed her again.

She stayed right by the door, close enough that you could feel her presence even with it half closed. When you finally stepped out, she moved instantly, arms already lifting, prepared to guide you back.

You straightened, steady enough, and gave her a small smile. "I've got it now," you said softly. "Thank you."

Natasha froze for a second, hands hovering in the air before she let them drop. She nodded, a little awkward, a little relieved, and stepped back just enough to give you space.

"Do you want coffee?"

Natasha blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I—uh," she started, then stopped. Her eyes drifted to the coffee pot sitting there, like it had only just appeared. "Do you want coffee?" her face turned red, embarrassing for repeating your words. "I mean—I can make you some." She cursed herself when she remembered you don't drink coffee.

You smiled at that, the tension easing just a bit. "I've got it," you said softly.

When you said you had it again, Natasha nodded, but something in her chest tightened anyway. She wished you'd let her do it, it's for her anyway. She wished she could step in, do something—anything—that proved she could still take care of you.

Instead, she watched you move carefully on your own. You'd learned how to manage by yourself. Had been doing it for a long time. Too long.

She sat back down in the chair, hands clasped together, eyes never leaving you.

Tears threatened to spill, and she blinked them back quickly. This was what hurt the most—not that you struggled, but that you'd learned how to carry everything alone, and she hadn't been there to help you hold any of it. That you didn't really need her or in the way she'd imagined, not in the way that might've made things simpler for her guilt.

While the coffee brewed, you stood there a little longer than necessary, hands resting on the counter. Your back was to her. Somehow, that made it easier.

"Natasha?" you said quietly.

She lifted her head at once, ready to ask if you need something.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," you went on, voice low, careful. Saying it like this felt safer—without having to meet her eyes, without seeing what it might do to her face.

Behind you, Natasha stayed silent because she doesn't know what she should say. But you don't really care if she hears you or not, you just need everything out of your system.

Your lips shook as you spoke, the confession tumbling out before you could pull it back. "I-I really don't plan on telling you," you said quietly. "It was gone anyway, so why would I?"

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a steadying breath before turning around. You walked back slowly, her cup of coffee in your hand.

"Here," you murmured, setting the cup down on the table beside the chair she was sitting on.

You barely had time to step back before Natasha closed the distance. She was still sitting in her chair when her hands took a hold on your waist—it caught you off guard. She said nothing. Her thumb moved slowly at your side, an absent, tender motion that drifted toward your stomach, guided by instinct rather than thought.

Then she leaned in, resting her forehead against your stomach, a breath leaving her that sounded unsteady, exhausted, relieved all at once.

You didn't know what to do at first. Your hands hovered, uncertain, before settling on her head. Slowly and gently, you ran your fingers over her braids, smoothing them down the way you used to, the way your body remembered even if your mind hesitated.

That was when you felt it.

Her shoulders shook, just slightly at first. Then a breath hitched against your chest, sharp and broken. She sobbed quietly, the sound muffled where her forehead rested against your stomach, like she was trying to keep it contained and failing anyway. Natasha shifted then, before you could register what she was doing, she pressed a soft kiss to your stomach. The thin hospital gown was the only thing between her lips and your skin, but it didn't matter. The gesture landed—gentle, reverent, full of grief she hadn't found words for.

It broke something in you.

Your breath hitched and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You turned your face just enough to hide it and wiped it away quickly.

She then guided you back toward the bed, making sure you were settled. Her hands lingered for a second too long because she didn't quite trust herself to step away.

She looked at the way Aliah slept so peacefully, unaware of how fragile everything around her really was. Natasha swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice down. But even whispering was difficult. Her voice cracked anyway.

"I…I have no right to cry," she said, her voice breaking despite the words as she sat back in the chair. "Not when it was you who had to go through all of that."

"Natasha—"

"I need to say this now," she murmured, words rushing out like she was afraid they'd disappear if she waited. "Because I don't want to lose you." She pressed her forehead a little closer to you, breath uneven. "I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and you won't be here anymore and it'll be my fault," she admitted quietly. Her voice broke completely then. "I can't…I can't go through that again."

She stayed there, trembling, holding the moment carefully, like if she spoke too loud or waited too long, it might all slip through her fingers.

"I'm sorry," she kept saying. "I'm so sorry. I should've been there. I should've known. I never should've hurt you—" her voice cracked, and she shook her head, unable to finish any of it.

You reached up without thinking, she immediately took your hand and leaned into your touch like she needed it to breathe.

She swallowed hard, eyes lifting to yours, desperate and afraid. "You haven't…you haven't brought up the divorce," she said quietly, like the thought alone terrified her. "I hope you won't." Her voice dropped, raw and pleading. "Please. Baby, I want a chance. Just one. I don't need forgiveness right away. I just—I don't want to lose you again."

She stayed there, leaning her cheek on your hand clinging to the possibility you hadn't taken away yet.

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before speaking again. "I've been in therapy," she said quietly. "For the drinking. For…everything." Her voice wavered, but she pushed through it. "I want to be better." She lifted her head just enough to look at you. "For you. For Aliah. And for myself," she added, like she needed you to hear every part of it. That she was going to be better and she is worthy of you. "I want my life back. I want us back. Let me make up for it, let me make up for you, baby please."

You looked away to the other side to wipe a tear that fell down your cheek.

"I don't know how to do this alone. I'm trying. I really am. But I don't want to do it without you. I don't want to come back to a life where you're not there."

She swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm asking for a chance. Baby, please just…a chance."

"I love you."

You didn't know what to say.

Seconds passed and you still didn't say anything and that made Natasha tighten her grip on your hand as she pressed her cheek deeper on your palm.

She closed her eyes, breathing you in, memorizing the moment in case it was all she would ever get.

⧗

"I'll draw up the papers."

Those five words, cold and unyielding, was the last thing you said to her that night. And now, it has been three weeks since you moved out.

Three weeks of silence.

Three weeks without you waiting for her downstairs with a packed lunch in your hands and that small, unnecessary touch of makeup you'd apply just for her.

Three weeks of just her and Aliah at the dinner table.

Three painful weeks of explaining to her daughter why you don't live in the house anymore. A house where families are supposed to stay together.

While the apartment feels emptier than ever.

Three weeks of being alone.

Three weeks of cooking meals for one, the extra plates especially your daughter's favorite strawberry shaped one gathering dust in the cabinet.

Three weeks of not having to clean up a mountain of toys scattered around.

You cannot say you're at peace but you aren't happy either.

Every school day, Natasha sends Aliah off. While you pick her up and drop her back home, it's the only time you get to spend with your daughter—those brief moments before the day ends.

You know Natasha's schedule by heart, even after all these weeks of being away. You time your drop-offs perfectly, ensuring that you arrive while Natasha will still be at work. But right now, your heart literally stops when you see her car parked perfectly in the driveway. She's home early—a very rare occurrence since she usually comes home the next hour.

"Mommy! Mama's early! Come!" she beams at the idea of you being complete again and that made you physically wince.

"Honey?"

"Yes, mommy?"

"I have a challenge for you." Your daughter hummed happily and eagerly swaying her little feet in her car seat. "Good. This is a really, really big challenge where you act like a big girl and unstrap the buckles on your seat and grab your trolley. You kiss mommy before you open the car door and walk yourself at the door like a big girl. How's—"

"Mama!" you almost jumped when Aliah shouted, she wasn't listening to you. Not at all, and you know what? You knew that. She was just staring at Natasha rushing down the porch, while you didn't dare turn your head on to see the woman.

The kid unstrapped herself and hastily plopped her hands in the door of the car, you panicked and clicked it open. Then, she almost threw herself out of your car.

"Jesus, Aliah! Careful!"

You stay seated, watching your daughter round the car. Her small fists pound on your car door, "Mommy! Come out!" She tries to pull the handle but it's locked. You watch through the tinted window as she jumps up and down in excitement. Then, your gaze went up to see Natasha standing behind her in a simple polo shirt, her hands grabbing around Aliah's trying to hold her unexpirable energy from leaving a dent on your car.

She leans down to her daughter's level and whispers something to which your daughter nodded excitedly then scampers back towards the house. Natasha turns her attention to your car, walking over to the driver's window and knocking gently before putting her hands back on her pants pocket, moving aside.

Well, you don't have much of a choice now. Do you?

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes briefly before unbuckling your seatbelt. The leather creaks under you as you push yourself out of the car. The evening breeze hits your face as you step onto the driveway.

The moment you stepped your foot outside, Natasha's world seems to slow down. Her eyes trace every detail of your movement—your legs were the first thing she saw, then your shoulders, your hair whipping gently in the breeze. You always prefer dresses that fall to your knees, modest yet feminine. Tonight, you're wearing a light blue, surprisingly loose dress that has small white flowers printed on it, a cardigan and a pair of white flat sandals.

Then there's a brown envelope clutched in your hand.

Natasha's slowing world comes to a complete stop. Her heart pounds heavily in her chest, and the cool evening air suddenly feels suffocating. Despite wanting to run, her feet feel glued to the pavement. This moment feels surreal—it's the first time seeing your face in what feels like an eternity, but somehow, it also feels like the very last time.

God, she doesn't want this to be the last.

She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. The air felt heavy around her as she watched you approach—each step bringing both relief and sorrow. She could feel her eyes starting to sting with unshed tears. "Please don't do this." She whispered most likely to herself. Her body trembled slightly as panic set in. She wanted to grab the envelope from your hand and tear it up, to beg you to stay, to let her make love to you right there on the driveway and forget about the divorce papers altogether.

You stopped in front of her, the envelope still clutched tightly in your hand. You looked at her with a small, almost sad smile.

"Hi," you said softly. A single word that felt like a stab that is meant to kill her and an envelope in your hand that is a declaration of her own death. "These are Aliah's grades, you might wanna see." You continued casually, handing the envelope.

Oh…

She was so consumed completely by the fear of divorce that she had forgotten about your daughter's card's day today.

As she takes the envelope from you, her hand shakes violently, but you don't seem to notice. Her breath comes in short gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to keep herself from completely breaking down. You avoid her gaze, hugging yourself tightly as if trying to ward off an unseen chill. She stares at the envelope. She needs to be sure—she needs to know that you haven't ended everything yet. With trembling hands, she opens it again, pulling out the sheets of paper inside with straight A's.

She forces herself to smile weakly in relief. It really is not a divorce paper. She tried to pull off a conversation despite her internal turmoil. Her voice is shaky as she speaks, "Straight A's, smart girl…" she pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. "She got that from you. You always helped her with homework…"

Well, not anymore.

You simply nod casually, not answering her question or compliment. Your silent treatment makes her stomach churn with unanswered questions and rising panic once again. She watches you unconsciously rub your arms, trying to warm yourself against the cold breeze that's suddenly made the open space feel even colder. The gesture is so familiar, yet it feels foreign now.

"I'll go now. Aliah's bag is in the car. She has no homework today." Her hand reaches out instinctively, almost touching your arm but stopping mid-air, suddenly you're far away. She opens her mouth to say something—anything—to make you stop moving further from her. But the words get stuck in her throat. She feels like she's drowning again, this time in desperation.

"Just..." her voice cracks slightly. "Wait." You pause and look back at her. She sees the distance in your eyes, the coldness that wasn't there before. It hurts, physically hurts, to see you like this.

So close, yet so far.

"I'll be traveling. Four nights for some deal abroad. If you want, Aliah can stay with you while I am gone?"

There was a subtle shift in your expression as you tried to hide your excitement behind a calm facade. It's like seeing a glimpse of the old you—the one who used to light up when you see Aliah or when you see Natasha bring you your favorite yogurt back in college. Her heart aches at how much she misses seeing that. How much she wishes you wouldn't hold back.

"You know you can always get Aliah if you want, right?"

"Yeah," you mutter softly, your dimples showing. "Thanks." You fiddle with your car keys, there's nothing to talk about now, this small talk is killing you just the same. "I'll go now." You point your thumb to your car over your shoulder.

In a desperate attempt to keep you just a little bit longer, Natasha mentions your daughter. She knows it's a low blow, using your Aliah to manipulate you—no, make you stay. But she's drowning, and she'll use anything to keep from sinking further.

"Aliah's expecting dinner...just the three of us."

You glance at your phone, seeing that it's already 6:30 pm. Dinner time is approaching fast. Natasha watches as your expression softens slightly at the mention of Aliah. She knows she's hit the right chord. But her desperation turns to suspicion when you glance at your phone again, this time with an urgency that makes her heart race. You're dressed nicely, too nicely just for picking up your daughter in school. Do you have work? Or maybe you're going to see someone after you had just dropped off your daughter in your soon to be ex-wife's home. Is that blonde threat making a move on you already?

These thoughts are making Natasha crazy.

"I'm sorry, I really need to go. But I will see her tomorrow." You nod curtly, your words clipped and final. She feels like she's being shut out, locked out of your life and decisions.

As you reach for your daughter's trolley in the passenger seat, Natasha immediately rushes to help—an automatic reaction from being so desperate to get a point for her to win her wife back. But as soon as she moves closer, you instinctively step back, creating distance between you two. The subtle move doesn't escape her notice, fuck, it stings deeply.

"Drive safe," she calls out softly, you smile—a casual small tug at the corner of your lips. A smile that she's starting to hate. She stands there for a moment longer than necessary, hoping maybe you'll come back, maybe you'll turn around.

Maybe in her dreams.

When you're out of the property, you take your phone and dial your best friend's number.

"Hey, Wands. I'm on my way."

"Good. I was starting to think you stood me up."

⧗

The day Natasha left for Vienna, you had called and offered to just pick up Aliah at her place when she had initially planned and told you that she would drop her off so you wouldn't need to tire yourself from driving. But you had a sudden change of mind and insisted that you would pick her up yourself and when you did, Natasha was already in the airport—thankfully.

The initial plan was okay to you, really—until it wasn't.

You were okay seeing Natasha not until you cannot.

Fuck, you can't. You don't know how.

Aliah watches you closely, like a tiny psychologist. She sees how you jump slightly when the timer of the oven goes off, how you avoid looking at your phone for too long. She notices how you stopped humming the songs—songs you told her her mama used to play back in college. She sees how easily exhausted you get. Your usual energy seems drained and she wonders if it's because you're working too hard like what her mama told her.

"Mommy? What is your work again?"

You smile gently at your daughter unaware of her trying to psych you. "You know, baby, it's just the usual office stuff. Mommy sits at a desk all day, talks on the phone, and looks at a computer screen, reads files, cases—just like before."

Your little one nods before she climbs onto the kitchen counter with surprising agility for a four-year-old. "Mama said she can work for the all of us, so you wouldn't need to go. I wish you come back to the house but mama promised soon!"

Soon? And she promised it? You don't want to get the hopes of your daughter high, so you didn't answer. Because you don't know what to do anymore. Everything feels like a blur, and nothing makes sense. You picked up on how Natasha is trying hard to win you back, but you just don't know if you're ready to give her another chance. Everything still hurts, everything still feels heavy and yet your heart still yearns for her, fuck, you still love her after all, but your head is telling you to keep your distance and even doing that hurts. And you don't know how to reconcile these two conflicting feelings.

Lost in your thoughts you didn't realize you were staring straight at your daughter. You almost flinched when you saw Natasha in her. God, she looked just like her and it's starting to hurt you. Your daughter giggled at you saying that her mommy is being weird and jumpy. She then reaches up and places her small hands gently on your forehead, her tiny fingers spreading out, checking your temperature. Okay, now she's a tiny doctor. "Are you sick, mommy?"

Your laughter is sudden and a little too loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. It's a nervous sound, lacking its usual warmth and depth. You shift uncomfortably, your eyes darting around the room like you can't focus on anything for too long. You force a smile, trying to reassure Aliah and yourself. "Mommy's not sick. Mommy's cooking your favorite pasta right now, you see?" you turn back to the stove, stirring the sauce with more force than necessary, your movements jerky and restless. "Mommy's strong."

The kid has always been unusually perceptive for her age. You know that, you were also aware of how she feels your moods like a tiny emotional radar. She knows when you're happy, sad, angry…

Even when you're lying or hiding something.

But not in this—definitely not with this one.

And luckily for you, your daughter cannot seem to place what's wrong with her mommy. She knows when to stop pestering you—usually. She's learned that sometimes mommy needs her space, or quiet. But today, she can't shake off the feeling that something is very wrong. Her little hand cupped your cheek as she looked up at you with those too-knowing eyes.

You two stared at each other. Her, out of concern, while you—you are so scared, you cannot keep an eye contact. God, you feel like she can see right past you that it is starting to scare you!

"Okay, mommy." She finally gave up with a cute pout that makes your heart crack.

You let out a heavy chuckle, more like a relief chuckle and quickly devise a distraction, turning to her with a bright, albeit forced smile. "Hey, sweetheart? Can you be mommy's helper today and grab those plates from the cabinet?" she seems to beam at the chance to help you and reaches up eagerly for the plates, particularly her favorite strawberry-shaped one, her prior concerns momentarily forgotten.

The evening seems to fly by in a blur of tea parties and pretend cakes. Now, you sit at the dining table, the large mahogany piece stretching out in front of you. Your hands hover over some papers, a pen clutched tightly between your fingers. Aliah plays quietly on the iPad Melina bought her, you were actually opposed to it but you couldn't deny your mother-in-law so you would just supervise Aliah with it and only allow her 2 hours a day of use, well not until you left.

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha had installed a calling app and spent some time teaching Aliah how to use it, just in case she needed to reach her urgently but most importantly because she would be far away.

Definitely not to have a chance to get an update or glimpse of you.

You hear Aliah's shriek from the living room and freeze. "Mama!" she shouts out happily. You on the other hand, immediately as if on autopilot, covered yourself with the thick fluffy robe you were already wearing. As if you were trying to hide something—hide yourself.

You're confused, she's not here. She's miles away. You peek from the dining room and find your daughter beaming at her iPad.

"Iyah?" you call, while looking at her. Still sitting at the dining, tying the robe in front of your abdomen.

"Look, mommy!" Aliah says excitedly, holding up the iPad. "It's mama!" she presses the speaker button, and Natasha's voice comes through clear as the sun goes down.

"Hi," Natasha says warmly. Awkward. Unsure.

You give a brief nod, not caring if Natasha sees your gesture or not. "Aliah, you have 43 minutes left on the iPad, okay?" you quickly turn back to your papers, adjusting your glasses as if trying to erase the interruption. The robe hides your body completely, your hair covering your face slightly that when Natasha tried looking closely through the camera, she'd barely see anything but your glasses and focused expression…

On some papers on the table.

Natasha grips her phone hard and whispers to it. "Baby, what's mommy doing?" she watches carefully, trying to see your actions clearly on the small screen.

"Papers," Aliah whispers back, mirroring her mother's soft voice.

Papers, yes. But what fucking papers! When she sees papers, especially when it's with you, she imagines the worst—divorce papers. Her heart pounds harder against her chest. Natasha feels like she's losing her mind again. The papers you're so focused on could be anything—good or bad. But her imagination runs wild with the worst possibilities.

As if sensing her mama's distress, Aliah walks over to you slowly. She climbs onto the chair beside you, not wanting to disturb your work but needing your attention. "Mommy?" she asks softly, holding the big iPad with her small hands. "Whatchu doing?"

You look down at Aliah, your glasses slipping further down your nose. You smile slightly, pushing them back up. "Big girl stuff," you say softly, ruffling her hair gently.

That doesn't answer Natasha's question! What does that even mean? It does nothing to ease her panic. Instead, it only fuels her imagination, making her think of even more worst-case scenarios. The thought of your daughter sitting beside you while she looks at the big girl stuff her mommy is doing that will declare the end of her parents' marriage.

"Honey," you say softly, "Go spend some time with your mama. Ask her about her day." You suggest, because Aliah had stopped paying attention to her mother's digital face as she read some paper on the table. You quickly usher Aliah away, not wanting her to see any more of the papers. "Go, go, go!" you say urgently, waving her towards the living room. She giggles and runs back to the sofa, climbing onto it with her iPad in hand.

"Hi, mama! How's your day?"

Natasha forces a cheerful tone as she talks to Aliah during their call. The two asked each other how their day went, she praises her daughter for being good to her mommy helping setting up the table for lunch and tells her what kind of place Vienna is. While Aliah reminds her mama to not forget to eat and drink water. Digital kisses were blown on Natasha's screen before the call ended. As soon as the call disconnects, Natasha takes deep, shaky breaths, and she tries to calm herself. She knows she needs to keep her composure, but the paranoia is eating away at her.

Every corner of her mind is spiraling, because what if those papers on your table were really a divorce papers? The terrified thought plays out in her mind's eye. She pictures herself walking through your apartment door to finally see Aliah and you, exhausted but happy—only to have you hand her that envelope containing a legal document spelling out the end of your marriage.

The Russian paces back and forth like a caged lion, her mind consumed by fear and anxiety. She's terrified to go home, because she's afraid once she does, there's no turning back—whatever is in those papers on the table will become real and done.

The sudden ringing of her phone startles Natasha out of her spiraling thoughts. She answers it hastily, at least for the mean time there was a distraction even if it's just her assistant on the other line.

"What is it?" her voice comes out sharper than intended, laced with unshed tears and barely contained panic.

"Mr. Rogers is currently in Vienna for business matters. He got the news that you're also there and asked if you'd like to meet up for tonight? He provided the location."

Then a number was sent to her. Natasha stared at it for a long minute before typing.

"Hey, it's Romanoff. I'll be there at 9 pm."

⧗

Just a little bit of business and lots of catching up, that's what Steve told Natasha during call.

She spots him from across the bar and he did as well, waving with a warm smile. The blonde pulls her into a hug and the Russian stiffens imperceptibly in his arms, secretly cringing and hating the feeling. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that this man is the same man you've been with—the man you chose. He's oblivious to the affair you two once had before and also to the fact that Natasha is now married to his former lover. So if anything, this man was supposed to be the one disgusted by her, therefore she pushes down her anger and sits across from him.

"Long time no see."

"I know!" Steve's energy is infectious, his smile genuine and warm. He's still like the full of life slash authoritarian council president you once had before. He orders drinks for both of them and starts talking about his business trip, his hands gesturing animatedly as he speaks—as always. "So, how's life treating you? Anyway, Bucky's here. He just went out for a call."

When Bucky came back, the energy of Steve was multiplied. Meanwhile, Natasha keeps her responses short and vague, not wanting to give away too much about her personal life while the two share much of theirs.

"Married?" Bucky's gaze lands on Natasha's hand resting on the table. His story about his cheating boss trails off as he notices the ring on her finger.

The woman looked at the ring in her finger. Unsure. But she nodded, anyway—proudly even, as if her marriage was not deteriorating.

Steve and Bucky exchange a glance, both smiling broadly as they raise their glasses in unison. "Congratulations!" Steve says enthusiastically, the man is a bit tipsy now.

Natasha offered a nod, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and raised her glass as well. Oh, only if these two knew…

"Man, do you remember when you almost got married?" Bucky's laugh catches everyone off guard. Steve chokes on his drink, laughing as well. But Natasha freezes, sitting up straight in her seat, the question wasn't hers but she knows—and she remembers.

The blonde throws back another drink before asking Natasha casually, "You know Y/N, Nat? The president of the liberal arts club back in college?"

Oh, very well. In every aspect, in every angle. But he could never ever know that.

"Yeah," she plays along, pretending she only knows you from college reputation, not from being her own affair—now wife, soon ex-wife. "Why?" she asks urgingly, a bit desperate to know what really happened between you two—when you chose him.

Suddenly, their table went silent. From full of boisterous laughter from these two loud men to silence, like an angel passed by. Steve breathed before starting as if he was about to vent to his therapist. "You know, she almost became Mrs. Rogers. We were gonna get married. Then suddenly, she was pregnant. The kid was redhead…and I was blonde."

Then, the two bursted out laughing again.

"Man, that always gets me!" Bucky hacks, clapping his friends' back who is out of breath. "Mind you, Steve was a celibate."

The blonde placed his hand on Bucky's arm, "Bro, you didn't have to say that but yeah I was." Then, he laughed again.

Natasha watches them guffaw about the situation. What's so funny about it? Steve seems completely unaffected, almost like it's a funny story rather than a painful memory. There are complex and unexplainable feelings swirling inside the redhead—guilt because she was the one you cheated with back then and this man clearly had no idea. And there's this irritation and above everything else, confusion especially with the reactions the two were showing right now.

"You're like celibate not after Sharon, you remember after graduation?" Bucky snickers after he emptied his glass, unaware of what he just said.

"Man..." Steve eyes him and his bestfriend let out a silent oh shit. "You're really snitching me here!" The blonde whines, but laughs after. "Well, since it's now out and about that was a little...accident turned into something more y'know?"

"Wait, Sharon Carter? We're in the same program." Natasha says, confused if she's understanding all this right.

"Yeah, and we're getting married soon."

Oh, this hypocrite motherfucker.

All the feelings Natasha has been struggling to explain is now replaced by one fuming feeling—anger.

"That's like..." Natasha squints her eyes, looking straight at Steve. Hesitant on how she will phrase her words. But she didn't care because this idiot didn't as well. "That's kind of unfair don't you think? Basically after grad you and Y/N were engaged, then you cheated? Well, both of you did and you get her to suffer while you get to run away with from the same thing you did?"

Steve, hearing Natasha's words, retorted a cold, heartless response, "Well, I wasn't caught, she was. And that's just the way the world works, you know? It's unfair, like what you said. It will always depends on who will get a head start." He shrugs with a smirk, "And I did."

That response and face only fueled Natasha's anger, she couldn't believe his lack of acknowledgement or remorse for his actions.

Is this still a mind of a decent person? Or a psychopath?

"So, going back, you know what? She was a piece of work. I kicked her out of the house with that kid." He said it so casually, as if he's discussing the weather—as if what he didn't just ruined someone's life.

"Damn, man. That's cold. But you did the right thing." Bucky laughs, "Can't have some bitch dragging you down with some other person's kid. Right?"

Natasha almost broke her glass of drink with her vice grip. She feels like she might throw up right there at the table. Her voice and question comes out softer and quick than she intends, "Did you...did you really kick her out?" She already knows the answer but needs to hear it again.

Steve looks up from his drink, his expression carefree—unconcerned as he repeats his statement, "Yeah, I did. I think the kid was 1 month old when I did." He let out a chuckle, clearly finding the situation humorous. "Hey, okay. Before you all judge I gave her a roof over her head for nine months. More than most guys would do in that situation. It's just too much for me, you know? Obviously, it wasn't mine and I just did what any rational man would—cut my losses."

The two never stopped laughing.

"She ruined my life, so I just reversed back y'know? And made her pay double." Steve leans back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips, "I made sure she had nothing. No home, no family, no job, no support or connection. Ruined."

Natasha swallows hard, trying to hide the storm inside her. "What do you mean no family?"

A cruel glint in Steve's ocean eyes that matched Natasha's. "Told her mama all about it and she disowned her." He takes a satisfied sip of his beer. "So now, she's just a bitch with a kid."

"Oooh, my man is standing on business!" Bucky drawled, hyping the obvious wrongdoing of his manchild friend.

Then, the two shared laughter once again. Making the situation a laughing stock—your life.

For Natasha, they are standing on a thin line.

She joined though…just a low and throaty chuckle, a sound that might seem sarcastic to anyone paying close attention. But Steve and Bucky are too drunk to notice anything amiss. They continue their banter and laughter, completely unaware that they're sharing drinks with someone who wants them dead.

"When did you last see that bitch?" Bucky slurs his words slightly as he asks. Alcohol is now getting to his system.

"She was desperate, man! She said she would do anything for me to forgive her." He snorts, finding the memory hilarious. "So I asked her to meet me at a cheap hotel."

Bucky blinked, "Dude, tell me you didn't…" he shakes his head, already knowing where this story is going.

"She said she would do anything, man." The blonde shrugs then chuckles, staring at his glass like a madman. As if he was reliving the memories in his mind.

His friend's mouth hangs open in shock and drunkenness. "Did she?" he repeats, his voice rising with incredulity and morbid curiosity.

"Well, she said no…"

A long suspenseful silence.

"But unfortunately for her, she lost the right to say that word to me. So I made her do anything."

Natasha's body is practically vibrating with unspent rage. Her mind screams obscenities. She wants to gouge his eyes out. She wants to watch him bleed. She wants to shut their mouths with her fists and smash their heads together. She wants to scream and curse and kill.

But she keeps her face smooth, managing a small, unreadable expression.

You had to go all through that, alone—Natasha keeps telling herself. Because if anything, it should be the both of you who should be punished since she was a part of it too—the affair. Suffering that should have been directed at her too. She was just as guilty, just as responsible for the affair.

But it was only you who paid for it and up until lately you were paying for it with how Natasha was treating you.

She cannot imagine the fact that when you two met again, you have been carrying loads of pain that she didn't bother to even know, she had questions, once curious. But was too heartless to know.

And the fact that she added to the weight of pain you've been carrying.

Now, she knows.

"So that's the last you've heard from her?"

Steve adjusted himself in his chair, swirling his drink around his glass, a smug smirk playing on his lips that Natasha really wanted to rip off. "Hm, well…" he slurs, "how will I put this one? Well, I kept tabs but not with her directly. Just for a few months with someone I paid."

"With someone you paid? Man, you had her followed, you mean?" Bucky says slowly, his brow furrowing.

The blonde shrugs, "If you'll put it like that. Well, just to make sure she's not pregnant this time and with my child you know?"

"You had her stalked." Natasha's tone is casual as she suggests the right word with her barely contained anger. This idiot just keeps adding and adding more charges that will put him to death row.

"Yeah, that's more accurate." Steve laughs, pointing at Natasha like he's giving her a point.

This person isn't as clean as she thought him to be.

Natasha forces a smile, a chuckle escaping her lips that sounds almost genuine. She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs and playing the part of one of the boys. The two laugh uproariously, their voices booming as they talk over each other, Natasha's presence is already forgotten. She doesn't mind; in fact, she uses the opportunity to listen intently. At times, she keeps her expression neutral, but she lets out a small, noncommittal laugh and comments at the right moments, just enough to keep the egos of the two inflated. She nods slightly, as if impressed by their crude stories, at first she would be disgusted like any other normal person would react but they could never know that. But now, she starts feeling numb as if she's gained immunity from it all, all while her mind races with the information they're unwittingly providing—something she can use later on.

As the two become increasingly intoxicated, their conversations slurring and their inhibitions lowering, Natasha watches them closely, their drunkenness making them oblivious to her intense stare. In movies, this is the right time for the serial killers to draw the victims in and do the exciting part, but Natasha didn't—she's not a killer—well, not until tonight.

Her visions are full of blood. She thought about a single bullet that would shoot through the head of the two, but that's too quick, not nearly satisfying enough for what these two idiots deserved.

So she devised something that is not better because for her, what will always come out on top is the one that will make them pay with blood. Now, she thought of something that doesn't require her to get her hands dirty. One that requires no effort, just efficiency, connections, and a lack of heart—the one that is torturously, slow and satisfying—evil. The plan wasn't even originally hers, she was just recycling—a process of turning waste into something reusable, and the idea was from none other than, smart president Steve. It was as if he was handing her his fate.

But she was their fate, to begin with.

"Anyway, Steve. How much do you need this deal again?" Natasha asks sweetly, as she looks at her phone to end the recording app she had turned on a couple of minutes ago.

⧗

"Are they here yet?" 

Natasha's heart was racing and so is she in the foyer, her eyes constantly darting towards the door. She couldn't remember the last time she was this nervous. Probably after the last time she saw you, but at that moment she was hysterical, so definitely not nervous.

"Natasha, calm down." Yelena's words snapped Natasha back to reality. "Fix yourself, you got this." 

It had been days since that nightmare encounter. 5 nights of Natasha tossing and turning in bed, 4 days of uncontrollable crying spells, 4 days and 5 nights of not having to drink even though she badly wanted to—no, needed just for herself to sleep hoping to forget the look on your face that day. 

She has been a wreck since, completely lost without you. And she will not deny that anymore.

And today, she is going to see you…

Natasha walked her way to the backyard, the main venue of the event. She has been staring at her phone, specifically on your contact that says Wife❤ Natasha didn't remove it nor did she replace the wallpaper. And Yelena caught her once again in the act when she tried catching up on her speed walking.

"Don't Natasha, we talked already." 

Oh, yes, the talk where Yelena actually did not just talk but also showed her sister some…tough love—literal tough love.

Natasha had never called you, but when she did, she called non-stop, clicking the green phone icon like a damn stalker. First was the day you were with some friend for some drink, and the next one was that very night you ran away where Natasha did nothing but drink and click the call button of your contact on her phone until she passed out. 

And right now, the urge to add more to that 86 calls that you missed from her is very tempting. Each one a silent scream for attention and apology, each missed call piercing through Natasha's desperate longing and her inability to cope without you.

You, you, you!

Every thought, every dream, every nightmare was consumed by you. She couldn't think straight without you. She couldn't sleep without imagining you. She couldn't eat without remembering your taste. 

You were everything.

You, you, you…

Only you.

"Sestra." Yelena, noticing her sister in deep thought, fished her out of it. "You'll be fine."

You had called everything off, the catering was canceled, delivery for decorations too—the party in whole. And Yelena had to convince you not to because Natasha practically begged her to talk to you and it's definitely not because it will only be the chance she will finally see you and Aliah both, well, maybe.  

Natasha looked around the backyard, her eyes scanning the pink and purple balloons, glittery princess cutouts, the catering, and the giant castle she stayed up all night building proudly standing at the center of the garden. This was all your plan and this party was supposed to be cooperated by you and Natasha but due to some unfortunate circumstances which she had taken as her fault, she executed it alone and she had no problem with that.

She had wanted everything perfect for Aliah's birthday party because it is going to be the first time she will celebrate it with her, with you. 

With your whole family.

She went back inside the manor to see her reflection staring back at her. She had been checking and re-checking her appearance for what felt like hours. She was getting out to check the venue and coming back inside the house to check herself. She was wearing a king costume looking handsome and beautiful at the same time. The gold brocade jacket hugged her curves, and the white breeches and boots completed the look. She turned this way and that, making sure nothing is wrong with her—she relentlessly fixed herself.

Because she wants you to see her fixed, put together, not drunk or hysterical—not a mess like what she has been with you.

And as the minutes ticked by, Natasha found herself becoming more and more restless. She had started walking around again. The fake sword she had strapped to her waist, swinging as she circled like a caged lion. She sees Yelena, who is dressed in a knight costume, welcoming each parent and kids that were arriving at the manor. Couldn't bear overthinking, she walks over to her to ask her for the 6th time again if you're really coming over.

"They'll be here soon. Rick called, he already picked them up." Yelena said, Natasha hasn't even uttered a word yet. She now pulled Natasha aside, her expression turning serious as she began briefing her on the plan for the party, again. "Slushat'," (listen) she started, pointing a finger at Natasha, "You're going to behave today. Once they're here, I will give you Aliah and you will help her get dressed. The gown…"

"Is already in her room, I know." Natasha finishes.

"And I will assist Y/N with hers. Got it?" Yelena says as she looks intently at her sister.

"Got it." Natasha nods.

"And Nat, give Y/N a space. Okay? I think it's better to wait for her this time. You can make small conversations and I know you'll know when she's off and once you feel that, you know what to do." 

"Yeah, this day is about Aliah."

"Good, behave. Okay?"

"C'mon, do I look like I am going to cause some chaos?" she pushed herself away from her younger sister, she doesn't like the feeling of being reminded to behave like she's a toddler.

"Oh please," the knight rolls her eyes, "Do you really want me to remind you?"

Natasha's jaw clenched, "Not today," she murmured under her breath like she almost just said it to herself. She actually doesn't need to get reminded of it because what she did was already ingrained in every corner of her mind, that even when she sleeps it never fails to bring her nightmares.

Yelena watches her sister take a deep breath, seeing the unspoken guilt in her eyes—today is not the day to bring up bad memories so now she feels guilty too. And to ease the guilt she immediately changed the supposed to be memories she was about to bring up. "No, no, no, I mean with that look? You will definitely cause some chaos, king."

"Can we just remove the sword, it's…it's intimidating and exaggerated." Natasha clears her throat while she adjusts the brocade that's making her sweat already.  

"I have the same and I ain't saying a damn word. Just be grateful you're not getting a face lift with an iron helmet!"

"You two." 

"Mama?! Kak dolgo vy zdes'?" (How long have you been here?) Melina smiles as Yelena runs over to her and kisses her cheek.

"Not too long, dear. Just enough time to watch you two banter." She pats Yelena's arm affectionately. "Go get Y/N. They're here now."

"They're here? I thought Rick…" Yelena's eyes widen in shock but stops when Melina simply nods at her with a knowing smile, silently urging her daughter to go get you without further explanation.

Natasha had rehearsed her words countless times before this very moment, knowing exactly what she would say to you and Aliah. She had imagined about every scenario and how to handle them—she thought.

But not with her mother.

"Kak vy?" (How are you?) Melina didn't ask her anything. She didn't confront her about the things she figured out her daughter did nor her side of the story. What she just wants to know is how she's doing, if her daughter is okay.

"Pytayus' byt' luchshe." (Trying to be better) Natasha's lips quivered, she finally eyed her mother and tried her best to smile and not let that damn tear that is threatening to fall from her eyes.

"Vse budet khorosho." (Everything will be fine) 

It's a phrase she's heard a million times before, it was a simple statement becoming overused and plain overtime. But hearing it right now from her mother made her heart feel some different kind of pain and comfort. 

"Yelena's probably with Aliah, go." 

Natasha nods, feeling a lump form in her throat. But she cannot cry right now, well, not yet, so she just kisses her mother before going.

The walk to her daughter's room is quiet, but her heart is pounding loud in her chest. Just as she was outside, Yelena exited the room. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for the moment she has been both dreading and longing for. 

"She's there already, I told her to wait for you." Yelena said as she pointed at the door behind her, she wanted to remind her once again to behave but chose not to. So she just gave her sister a pat of support. "Go."

Natasha breathes before opening. And her now four years old is already standing by the door, waiting for her. Natasha immediately lowered herself to her knees, and wrapped her arms around Aliah's tiny form, pulling her close.

It feels like forever.

"Happy birthday, Princess Aliahnovna Franceska Romanoff," she swallows hard to hold back her sobs, instead letting out a groan as she lifts Aliah into her arms. 

"I missed you, mama." Was the first thing Aliah said, the way she said it was with pure genuineness but her voice was so small like she's not sure if she's supposed to say it. Natasha knows her daughter too, she's giddy and jolly, and right now Aliah is lacking those.

And Natasha doesn't know why. 

"Princess, mama missed you too. I missed you so, so much." Her voice cracks slightly.

"But you don't love me any'ore." 

Now, she knows.

Natasha was in pure disbelief and her heart ached at the pain of that statement. She immediately brings her down and kneels in front of her, gently cupping her small face in her hands and there she sees the pain in her daughter's eyes.

"That's not true," Natasha carefully says, trying her best not to sound offended. "Of course I love you, more than anything in the world. W-why would you say that?"

"But you don't love mommy any'ore, so that means you don't love me too."

Now, she knows.

Natasha shook her head, frowning to hold her tears back and it's getting really harder this time. "That's...that's not true baby," she managed to say, her voice cracking. "I love mommy. I love mommy as much as I love you. I love you both." Her voice grew more desperate as she tried to defend herself—defend her love for you.

She thought she had imagined all the possible scenarios, she thought she was ready but it seems like you really don't know what to expect.

"You not gonna make mommy cry? Mommy cry a lot, mean people make mommy cry. I don't want her to cry any'ore." She pouts, crocodile tears in her little eyes. "You're big mama, you can portect mommy so she will not cry."

"Not gonna make mommy cry." Natasha repeated as if she's on oath. 

"You not hurt mommy."

"I will not hurt mommy." 

"You are mean to mommy, she cries." Although Aliah isn't crying, the hurt is something you wouldn't miss in her tiny voice. It's not the usual hurt of a little girl who's upset because she didn't get a toy or something she wants. This hurt goes deeper.

"And I am sorry." Natasha couldn't face her daughter anymore. "I am sorry."

"You hurt mommy." That overwhelming wave of shame is hitting her really bad.

"Y-yes, I…I know. I'm sorry, baby." Natasha nods, a tear now falling down to her lap. 

"You promised." Her little girl is stating facts like an adult. The fact that Natasha might be the first person to break a promise on her daughter's life made her guilty even more.

Then suddenly, Aliah's tiny arms wrap around her neck, her little face pressing into the crook of Natasha's neck. She is frozen, stunned by her daughter's sudden gesture. She doesn't dare move, afraid that any sudden motion might pull her little girl away. Natasha couldn't help it anymore, she breaks down completely, burying herself in Aliah's small body like it's the only thing keeping her alive. 

Aliah pulls back slightly, her small hands cupping her mama's face gently. Her tiny fingers wipe away her mother's tears with a tenderness that belies her age. She looks into Natasha's eyes with such love, and understanding. And there is a look of pain in her innocent eyes that breaks Natasha's heart all over again.

At Aliah's age, she should be out playing, learning about the world, and finding joy in discovery. Instead, she is here, confronting her mother about something that she did—about something she wants to know but wouldn't understand. Exposed with no young child should have to face. And Natasha felt responsible for it.

"Mama...I don't want you cry too."

⧗

Glancing in the mirror, you couldn't help but force a smile at the sight of yourself donning a queen costume. Yelena was behind you, grinning through your shoulders. 

"I think it's a bit…exaggerating?" you say carefully.

"Ouch."

Okay, maybe that was not careful at all. Dressing up as a queen was not a part of your initial plan for Aliah's birthday and you knew it was Yelena's added plan, well, she could be extra at times.

"You know, that's what Natasha said too." Yelena snorts.

She was not careful there too.

You dodged Yelena's comment about Natasha, instead shifting the focus to the dress. "I just don't want to get attention with the dress." It was something straight out of a fairy tale—a flowing silk dress in a shimmering shade of green and a delicate pearl headband that matched it.

"Oh c'mon, it's you who's overreacting. It's simple but elegant!" She tries to convince you when she sees you slightly doubting the whole look.

"Can I be like…you?" you slid your palms in the lengths of the fabric of the dress, clearly uncomfortable. "Or like be a maid or something?"

"Definitely no—"

"Is that a castle?" you ask in rush disbelief, when you get the view of the party in the garden and some kids playing around.

"Oh yeah, Natasha did that overnight." Yelena's words hang in the air, a casual yet powerful endorsement of Natasha's efforts—backing her sister up.

Despite everything she's done—despite the pain she caused—you can't deny that she will always be brought up to you. That is something you have no mastery to shut out. But you have conditioned yourself and put things aside for now because you know avoiding her today would be just impossible. 

Today isn't about you or Natasha or whatever drama that is going on between you two; it's about your daughter.

An announcement from the host was heard from where you're from that the event was about to start. 

"Your Highness, I think that's our cue." The knight said with a smirk.

"Okay, now you're really exaggerating." You covered your face with your hands, the teasing and attention Yelena is giving you is making you embarrassed already.

"C'mon before I make you a stable girl."

At this point, you'd rather be a stable girl.

Yelena separated ways with you, telling you she needs to check on something so you continued on your fast walking. You were nervous, a bit shy—embarrassed but you don't care now, for Aliah you will do anything. 

As you walked through the living room overseeing the venue, a familiar blonde bumped into you and it wasn't Yelena.  

"Oh, sh—" the blonde stopped at her tracks when she was able to take a good look at whoever the medieval queen she just bumped into, "My Highness, apologies." 

"Carol?! Oh guh-please, stop." You almost whined in embarrassment, once again covering your face—you let out a muffled cry as you did.

Then, you felt Carol's hands grip your wrists softly so she could take them away from your face. But your arms remained ironed, you just moved your fingers to uncover your eyes and peeked at her.

"You're pretty, c'mon." 

Natasha watched everything until the blonde completely disappeared. The sight of you with someone whom she considered a threat only reinforced the guilt she felt for her actions when she cheated on you. She doesn't even know if she had a right to feel that way, but she couldn't help it. What she did to you is just haunting her down, and she knew it was a thousand times worse than what she is witnessing right now.

"Mama, c'mon. Mommy's there." Natasha had been so engrossed in watching you  that she hadn't even noticed Aliah tugging her exaggerating costume.

The birthday girl practically dragged Natasha towards your direction.

Your face lit up with joy as you spotted Aliah approaching you. You knelt down, your eyes brimming with affection. 

"Baby!" you exclaimed, opening your arms wide to hug her. Aliah giggled and ran into your embrace, her little hands encircling your neck as she snuggled into you. "Oh, look at you," your voice slightly shaky, taking the sight of your daughter who is dressed up like a real princess—which she really is. "My baby, my princess, my everything please don't grow older."

"Mommy, mama will give you something." Your daughter removed herself from your embrace and took your hand, guiding you to stand while her other hand pulled Natasha towards you.

"O-oh…okay." 

Natasha's heart races as she holds your gaze. For a moment, everything else fades away—the party, the thick fabric that she is wearing that is making her sweat really bad, and even her own daughter that is between.

For a moment all that exists is you standing before her.

"For you," Natasha nearly cracked her voice, but hell, she didn't stutter. "You're really beautiful."

"Thank you."

Your smile is like a double-edged sword, beautiful but painful as you carefully took the small paper rose from her hand. You're not cold or distant, Natasha thought. You're not ignoring her either, but rather treating her with the same polite detachment as everyone else. As if she was just a duty you're supposed to make—a duty for your daughter's sake.

The smile didn't reach your eyes like it always did before and she cannot see what's in there anymore, not clearly. The distance between you feels both too close and not close enough. She wants to touch your cheek, to pull you closer, but she's terrified of what she might find there.

"Hi, royal fam." The host greets with a wide smile and you quickly shift your focus from Natasha to the woman. "So, we will introduce Aliah in a minute and then my partner will give the cue when to make the entrance with her. Okay?"

"Okay, yeah. Sure, sure." You say cooperatively while Natasha didn't listen at all, she was just looking at you…

Like a dandelion, slowly disappearing from her reach. 

⧗

Changes in breathing patterns, reduced vital signs, altered skin color and temperature, and decreased consciousness. These are the signs your loved one feels when you're about to lose them.

But those are the things that you feel when you are losing someone you love.

Natasha stood slightly apart, the party had come to an end, with the festivities winding down gradually. She watched as you bid goodbye to each child, a gentle smile on your face as you handed them the small trinkets and treats. 

The sight of you with Aliah, a warm smile on your face while your little one giggled, hugging her friends for the last time.

This is the beautiful family she had destroyed.

"Hey," Yelena placed a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder, noticing her once again in deep thought. "We already brought every gift to Aliah's room. Mom already left too."

"Oh, yeah sure. Thanks." Natasha clears her throat.

"You good?" Yelena asks as she finally sees the view her sister has been looking at—you and Aliah.

"Nervous." The word is understatement, Natasha is scared.

"You two gonna talk?" 

Natasha nodded, her expression serious. "If she wants to talk," she said quietly.

Yelena gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Well, good luck, Nat," she said. "Please, fix it this time. I don't want to have to pick up before your mess again."

"I'm sorry." Natasha let out a weary sigh.

Yelena chuckled softly in response. "C'mon," she said, gently punching her sister on the shoulder, a huge difference from the punch she did to her last time. "That's what siblings do. We try to almost kill each other when we think the other is being an idiot..." she trails off and eyed her sister comfortingly, "but we never leave each other."

Natasha looks down to her boots, the corner of her mouth lifting up in a half-smile. "Thanks," she said, finally meeting her sister's smile. 

Yelena has always been the one to step in and save Natasha from her own impulsive decisions, whether it's stopping her from causing further damage in her marriage or preventing her from completely embarrassing herself. She has always been the voice of reason in her sister's life, she never tolerated her but she never failed to offer guidance and support when she thinks she needs it. Especially now, Natasha being so desperate to see you and have this party for Aliah, without Yelena, this whole thing wouldn't be successfully done.

Before she can even say more to Yelena, she saw you and Aliah walk in her direction, all her friends are now gone home. She glanced to her side, expecting to find her sister. But much to her surprise, she was nowhere to be seen. 

What happened to the we're never going to leave each other?

Aliah, who has a sleepy expression on her face—yawns every chance she gets, eyes drooping slightly as she stares off into space while hand in hand with you. Her little arms now stretch out towards her mama, Natasha knowing exactly what her daughter needs, immediately runs and scoops her up into a warm embrace. 

"Who's my sleepy princess?" Natasha asks. Aliah snuggles against her neck, letting out a contented sigh as she nestles in.

"Mommy." Your little one slurs while her tiny finger pointed at you, you made an offended look that made your daughter giggle slightly. "Mommy's sleepy."

"Sure, my love." You carefully removed her tiny crown and smoothed her hair back before placing a kiss on her forehead. And with that, she's hit the sack.

Natasha placed her gently onto the soft bed, you decided not to change her clothes afraid that any move will ruin her sleep. You silently watched as Natasha tucked her in then looked around your daughter's room that is surrounded by the mountainous kingdom of presents waiting for her the moment she wakes up.

When Aliah is finally settled, Natasha placed a kiss on her forehead, the same area you had kiss your daughter. She stood and turned to face you, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. Your gazes remained fixed ahead, neither of you daring to look at each other directly. But your bodies seemed to betray your emotions, subconsciously turning towards each other as if waiting for something to happen.

What now?

"Natasha, can we talk?"

Her heart races at the sound of her name on your lips, a name she hasn't heard in a while. 

"S-sure yeah." Natasha was nervous, she was scared but her eyes are shining with a familiar obedience and willingness to please you. 

That she will do everything, anything just to make things right.

She holds the door open for you, her eyes never leaving your face. Once you step inside, she closes the door behind you softly. The office is indeed unfamiliar territory for you; it's a space she's kept private until now. Natasha will never bring you to her old one, the place where she always caught herself in between a mess.

The two of you stood away from each other, the costumes of the earlier party of your daughter still clinging on your bodies making it a bit awkward.

"Here, sit," Natasha quickly walked towards the couch, she even offered her hand to which you declined. She's overly attentive, almost nervous…and desperate. "Do you want some drinks? Or juice? Come, sit, you must be tired in that dress."

"I'm fine." Natasha's face falls slightly at your short response, but she quickly masks it with a smile. "How have you been?" 

Natasha blinks slowly to your sudden question as if it has stirred something deep within her. Her eyes glisten slightly, and she takes a moment before responding.

"I was...a mess," she admitted, blinking again to keep any tears at bay. She looks down briefly before meeting your gaze once more. "I'm so sorry," she now said, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

You nod silently, your eyes starting to water as well but you did not say anything.

Then there is a flicker of something in your eyes that Natasha can't quite place—longing? Hurt? It confuses her but you are definitely not angry. And the absence of any anger or disappointment in your eyes seemed to hurt her more than if you had shown what you truly felt. It was like a cruel reminder of how she had pushed you away, and now she couldn't even tell if there was still any love left in you. 

She takes a deep breath before starting again, "I...I just want to make things clear that nothing happened between me and that woman you saw that day. I promise you, nothing." She emphasizes each word carefully. Her voice shakes with emotion as she looks into your eyes pleadingly. 

And you nodded again, you believed it, tracing no lies in her words. "But what about the days...or weeks before that? Did something happen between you two?" you didn't need to ask but you just had to confirm your suspicions—you still have that right. 

The woman in front of you drops her head down as she nods, confirming everything you've been crazy about. "Yes. The last time was in...in my office. Long time now." Her voice full of genuine shame and guilt.

Now you wish you hadn't asked. The thing you saw that night in her office...and the things that happened between the two of you after that, the things you let her do to you are still burning freshly in your memories.

"Wow, long time." The words tasted like copper in your tongue. A single tear finally escapes down your cheek when the reality of her confession sinks in. You were quick to wipe it away. You hated the fact that she said it's been a long time now, she still cheated on you. No matter how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years—she still betrayed you. And yet she's here saying it like she's trying to downplay what she did since it's been a long time now.

"I...I am sorry I didn't mean it that way. I promise..." Natasha tried to consider her words now, "that meant nothing b-but still it was wrong, Y/N. And I am sorry, it will never happen anymore." 

You nodded, again. 

"I want a divorce." 

Natasha thought she had imagined all the possible scenarios, she thought she was ready but it seems like you really don't know what to expect.

She freezes at your words, it was heavy and final—you sounded so sure. She doesn't move, doesn't breathe for several heartbeats. It was now her turn not to speak, not that she doesn't want to because if anything, she wanted to speak, to shout, to cry, to beg—anything. But nothing. It's like someone stole her voice. Her shoulders stiffen as she swallows hard. She won't look at you. She can't.

Not when you're really slowly drifting away.

"Those things that I said the last time, they're true. I wasn't lying." You deepened your frown to fight the tears back, "And even now, I still love you, it has always been you and it's still you. And I think it will probably always be you. But sometimes..." you feel your chest constricts with your every word. "I couldn't tell if you're closer to me or you're out of reach again. I did my best to understand where it's all coming from, because I hurt you and I was willing to take it all. But..." you paused, swallowing a sob, then a painful chuckle emitted from you, "it's making me crazy. I was losing myself. One minute you're letting me in, I thought we're okay and then when I blink you're pushing me away again like...like I'm the thing you hated the most." You wiped the tears that started to fall shamelessly on your cheek. "It's just so hard having you in between, Natasha. I feel sorry for myself, I'm getting tired."

Shared sobs filled the room.

"I thought if I let things be, if I let you do whatever you wanted to do even though it was killing me—it will save us. When I tried doing everything I thought it will fix us. But how do you fix something that keeps breaking itself? Something that doesn't want to be fixed?" your swollen eyes search hers intensely, painfully. "Never in my whole life did I think you were hard to love, Natasha. Just..." you gasp for air, voice strained.

"Just now."

Natasha thought she had herself together, collected. But now she's falling apart again—she is a mess again.

"I-I'm so sorry, Y/N…" Natasha is out of breath now, pleading with you through her tears. "Please..." she doesn't even know what she's begging for anymore. 

You took a step back and Natasha didn't like that at all, all the distance you were putting.

"Maybe our time has really gone by. We had such beautiful time before but I'll admit, I wish it was under different circumstances—" 

"No."

She doesn't wanna hear what you're about to say next. She doesn't like where this is going. But still, you continued and rephrased each word in your mind, despite everything you're still being careful not to hurt her, but the new careful words didn't do anything to sting less.

"We're going to keep hurting each other like this."

The way you said it feels like you've been pondering this for ages with your already made up mind. You sounded so resolute as if you've been sitting there, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, repeating these words in your head until they've become a part of you. 

And Natasha didn't like it at all.

"Y/N—"

You clear your throat that made her stop, maybe you didn't want her to have at least a damn millisecond to talk, not even a word because if she did you're afraid you're going to lose it again—it will make you crazy again. So what needs to be said and done should be said and done. You wiped the trail of wet tears from your cheek and composed yourself again. 

"I will let you have Aliah's full custody." Your heart aches as you say those words, but you know it's for the best. "I just don't want us to get dirty."

Without warning, the woman in front of you drops to her knees in front of you. Her hands wrapped your legs desperately as she pressed her forehead against your stomach. A choked sob escapes her throat. "No, please...don't leave me. I can't do it without you." Her voice cracks with emotion and desperation. "Please...please I'll make it right, baby."

You had expected this to happen, you've seen it. Her doing something that will make you crumble, just like you always do. She knows your weakness—seeing her like this—and she's playing it perfectly. The last time it was you begging like this, it was you who was a sobbing mess. You were the one desperate for a chance, a chance to make things right. 

All of these felt familiar to you.

Her grip tightens, making it nearly impossible for you to escape when you try to wiggle your body around her.

"No," Natasha mutters, her voice dropping dangerously low, "Don't, don't. Please…" Her arms are like steel bands around your waist. You try to unravel them gently, but she refuses to let go. "Baby, baby, baby..." she cried.

"Natasha." You tried again, pushing her by the shoulders this time but she only rushed to put her head back to your stomach as if trying to burrow into your warmth. 

"It's Natty…" from hating you say it, now she's begging you to call her that again. "T-tell me what to do. Tell me baby. Please, Y/N…please."

Now you stopped pulling away from her. You stopped fighting. You didn't move. You didn't push her away. Instead your hands went to caress her shoulders and there you felt her body shaking. You gently run your fingers through the back of her head with such tenderness Natasha has been yearning for. Then, slowly and carefully you tried untangling her arms that is tight around you.

"Please, Natty. Let me go." 

She said she will do everything—anything to make it right.

But to let you go? 

That doesn't seem right.

Every day, she learns something new about you.

And in turn, she learns something new about herself, too–and how she can’t help herself getting so turned on by how risque you are acting right now. 

Natasha doesn’t even know when it started. 

How your hand fell on her inner thigh and squeezed when she'd stuttered on your dad's question, then slowly, surely, made its home in her crotch. She now regrets wearing jeans in an attempt to look more presentable in front of your parents, because it’s getting so tight and uncomfortable as she gets harder. She does not want to stain another pair of pants, thank you very much.

Natasha tried to swat your wandering hand away, but you’re persistent in making her suffer. You know she’s been longing to feel you–any part of you–and you decide to do it right now, with your mom and dad right there. 

She scoots her chair closer to the table to try to hide your lecherous hand, but it only makes you bolder as you now unzip her pants, trying to get her dick out. Natasha grips your wrists, but she’s not sure if it’s to take your hand off or use it to get her off. 

Natasha’s fork clatters from her hold as your fingertip touches the sensitive slit on the tip. The conversation stops, and the attention is now on her. 

“You okay, Nat?” you ask, as if you’re not the one who causes her so much ache and relief simultaneously right now, as if their precious daughter isn’t slowly stroking her shaft to full erection.

Natasha clears her throat. “Yep, all good,” she replies assuredly, picking up the fork and stabbing the piece of food from her plate. You give her a smile and her cock a squeeze in return. 

You continue to drive the conversation, your mom throwing her a question or two, but your parents remain focused on their darling daughter. Meanwhile, Natasha thinks about how she’s been waiting for this very moment.

She looks down briefly, noting that your fingertips indeed barely touch wrapped around her girth. Natasha’s eyes then flicker to your thighs, how tightly closed they are. It occurs to her then that you’re not entirely unaffected by your own actions. She has half a mind to give you a taste of your own medicine, but no. Not right now, anyway. 

Your roommate has perfected her poker face and acting mildly interested in the conversation, but Natasha knows it will be an entirely different game once she comes. 

How the fuck could she prevent her hips from bucking up and her thighs from shaking?

For once, the world is on her side.

Your parents mentioned something about being late to a gathering, and your hands leave Natasha’s dick. She tucks it back into her jeans as discreetly as she can and shakes the hand of your dad as he bids goodbye to her. 

Natasha watches you as you give your mom a one-armed farewell hug, and chuckles to herself as she notices your right hand being stuck behind your back. 

As soon as your visitors are out, Natasha's got you cornered against the door—again. She looks flushed and desperate, and she's already tugging her pants and boxers down and says, “Finish what you started.”

You watch her face and bite your lip, seeing how glassy her eyes look. She's looking at you fiercely, and you know it’s only a question of time before she takes matters into her own hands. Your eyes dart down to her leaking cock. “Can't believe how needy Natasha Romanoff is. All this for me?”

“You know it is. Fuck, just please.” Natasha catches your hand gently and places it on her shaft. “You know I’ve been waiting for this.”

When you start stroking her again, a deep grunt leaves her lips, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Now, she can bask in the feeling of your touch without any risks of getting caught. At this point, Natasha knows she wouldn’t last long. 

You tighten your grip around her, savoring the heavy breaths she’s letting out. Her forehead rests against yours, her lips parted as you continue to jerk her off. You couldn’t resist your roommate’s plump lips, so you capture them in yours, Natasha making you swallow her moans. At one point, you suck each other’s tongue, both now groaning in pleasure against each other’s mouth. 

“I’m gonna come, baby, I want your mouth,” Natasha whispers against your lips. “Want you to swallow my cum.”

You want nothing more than to finally taste her, so you nod in agreement, and then you slowly fall to your knees. You keep your eyes on her, looking at how her brows furrow and how her pupils drown out the green.

“I knew you’d look so pretty on your knees, detka.” Natasha whines, her hand now on the side of your head, ready to guide you.

With your hand getting a bit tired, you switch to your left hand and open your mouth, the head of her cock making contact with your tongue. You suck her cock in your mouth, getting as much of it as you can.

“Shit, baby. Can I fuck your mouth? Please?” 

You say yes by taking every inch of her until the head touches the back of your throat. Natasha now grips your head in place, fucking your face as she sees fit. You hollow your cheeks and let her chase her high. Tears are gathering in the corner of your eyes, getting used like this by your very hot roommate, and you think to yourself, you might let her use you like this just for her pleasure. 

Natasha cries in bliss as she shoots her load inside your mouth, making you swallow every drop of her. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth as she spills out the last of her. 

When she’s sure that you’ve milked her cock enough, she steps back a bit, admiring the way you show your tongue out for her, and the cum that gathered there. You never break eye contact as you make a show of swallowing her cum. The redhead’s eyes follow the way your throat bobs, and she’s hoisting you back to your feet as she smashes her mouth against yours to taste herself. 

Natasha pulls back to let you catch some breath and asks the million-dollar question. “What the hell are you thinking about, jerking me off like that in front of your folks like that?”

“Hmm.” you pepper kisses against her jaw as you wrap your arms around her neck. “Dunno, you make me feel very…naughty.”

You're pulling the comforter up your chest when you hear a door thud closed across the hall—deep in Baran's room. Guilt bubbles up. 

Sighing, you switch off the rest of your alarms and drag your limp body up in bed. Her warm, ridiculously comfortable bed. You itch to sink back into it. But Baran doesn't waste time and you're not about to make her late, so you force yourself up, into the bathroom, and come out dressed and half-decent looking in record time.

You're still fighting off sleep as you slowly descend the stairs. You rub your eyes, blink rapidly to adjust to the sunlight seeping through and drenching the house. God, if she saw you like this she'd send you right back to bed. 

You give your head a rough shake.

She's already flitting about the kitchen when you go down, screwing the lid on her thermos, slipping a granola bar into her bag. The bags under her eyes are darker than usual, you note, but she smiles when you walk in. Dimples.

"Morning, Ms Al." You mumble, stretching your arms over your head.

"Good morning, Y/N." Her eyes flit over you, linger a little too long. "Regretting your decision?"

"Nah. Ready when you are."

"Just a minute," she says. You take a seat at the island, watch as she briskly moves from end to end of the kitchen. 

She doesn't have a hair out of place. Her clothes are neatly pressed, her curls gathered back—hell, you even catch a faint shimmer on her eyelids. 

It hits in your gut, strangely. She moves light and quick—normal. Like she'd just had a full night's sleep rather than three measly hours.

I've struggled with it on and off since I was a kid.

She must have gotten used to the exhaustion.

"Sweetheart?"

You jolt in your seat. "Yes?"

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks." You say. Slipping out of the stool, you grab a glass and fill it with water. Baran continues spinning around you, slipping more things into her bag, the Tupperware where she stores her lunch.

"I've been thinking," she starts suddenly. You swallow down a gulp of water. "And I want you to take my car. Not just for today—I won't be needing it for the next few months. I'll send you gas money, but the tank's full right now, it should last you a bit." Her tone is casual, as if she's offering to lend you her sweater.

You nearly choke on your water.

"Sorry, wait, what? Take your car?" You sputter. "How do you mean?"

You're pretty sure you know exactly what she means.

Baran is patient, if a little amused. "Take it," she reiterates, slowly. "Drive it. As you typically would a car."

You search her face, but she's entirely serious.

"Baran." You exhale a breath, gaping at her. "I can't take that."

"It's only for a few months, I'm not giving it to you permanently." She frowns slightly, as if you're being unreasonable.

"Wha—" You rub at your temple. 6:23. In the morning. You can barely even feel the cup of water in your hand. "I don't understand. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing is wrong with it, I just can't drive it at the moment." Her jaw sets a little. "It's been sitting out for a couple weeks, you'd have a better use for it, that's all. Just until I can take it back."

Okay, weird. But then again, you can't recall ever seeing her drive the car. It's been stagnant in the driveway, and you never see headlights through the curtains, or hear an engine cut when she comes home.

"I promise you it's perfectly safe."

Your mind still whirs with disastrous possibilities. 

"Okay, but. Still." You wet your lips. "I can't handle that much responsibility, Baran. What if I—what if I crash it or something?"

She mutters something under her breath. You hear the word Allah and don't know if she's praying for you or cursing at you. "You're a good driver. In any case, I have insurance. There's absolutely nothing for you to worry about."

"Except for the fact that you're handing me your car."

"Sweetheart, it's just a car."

You really hope you'll be rich enough in your future to be able to say that same phrase with that much indifference.

Just a car. Says the senior emergency medicine attending.

"I don't know if you'll be saying that once I—"

"Try it for today." She presses the key into your palm. Her hand is warm, eyes just that sweet shade of brown that haunts you on the daily. "Please." Her voice goes soft—lifts a little at the end like she's asking. "For me."

Your heart gives an unsteady jolt in your chest. 

This whole damn thing is for you, isn't it? It's why I'm in this fucking mess.

She squeezes your hand, imploring, and you don't make an effort to hide your sigh. Baran smiles. She kisses the air between you, once—just like she does with Amir.

"Come on." She squeezes your shoulder. "We'll be late."

The key is heavy as you slip it into your pocket. You drain the last of your water, feel it slosh around in your stomach. Sunlight caps over Baran's curls, turning them honeyed, and you follow after her without a word, lift up her bag from the counter and sling it over your shoulder. 

Mom bags. It weighs a million pounds, but you keep your mouth shut. The car is far more polished than anything you've ever driven in your entire life, but you keep your mouth shut. You wonder what possibly could be stopping her from driving it, but you keep your mouth shut. Baran nods off, cheek against the window, her neck tipped down at a painful angle, but you keep your mouth shut. 

You keep your mouth shut and drive as slow as you can, hardly breathing. Still, the hospital looms in view too quick. You want to give her a few minutes—something, anything, her chest rises and falls so evenly—but it's already dangerously close to 7. Exhaling, you lightly touch her shoulder.

"Baran."

She wakes easily for how deeply she'd been sleeping. Your heart twists over on itself as she blinks, just once, the skin scrunching around her eyes, before she unbuckles her seatbelt and runs an absent hand over her hair. You resist the urge to put the car in park and reach for her thousand-pound bag again, slip it over your shoulder, slide an arm around hers, and deliver her in, as safe as you know she could be.

But she does it herself.

She turns to you, her hand hovering above the door handle. There's a faint, red imprint on her temple where she'd been pressed against the window. You want to smooth the spot with your thumb, rub the redness away—

"Thank you again, Y/N," she says softly. "Really."

You wave a dismissive hand, force your voice to be easy. "Don't mention it. Take care, Doc. Kick ass."

Baran smiles, and it pulls at the tired lines around her face. "Goodbye." Before you can react, she leans in over the console and presses the smallest kiss to your cheek. "Let me know when you get home."

Your weak, weak heart. It climbs out of your chest and follows her out, into the saw trap of the Pitt.

Your deadline is two days from now. You'd been pestering the asshole to finish his part for the past week, and, lo and behold, here it is—poor grammar, sixth-grade-level vocabulary, every word pulled out of his ass. You'd scrounged for all of the necessary references yourself. You'd divided the work, reiterated—multiple times—the structure of the paper, your thesis statement, the point each of you would be arguing—and yet.

You laugh again, your eyes hot with tears and the glare of your laptop screen. It's like you're frozen in time. You can't move, can't do anything but read the words on your screen, over and over.

Jesus fucking Christ. Amir could write you a better paper if you'd asked.

Your eyes are still stinging when you finally get yourself to look away. Exhaling, you close them and rub hard, trying to dispel the burn. Surely it's not too late to contact your professor. You're two days from the deadline, yes, but you'd finished your part weeks ago, and you have the proof in your document logs. And your text threads. You didn't work your ass off the entire semester for some fucking idiot loser—

You take a deep breath and sit up in your seat. The leather creaks around your movement, protesting the hours you've spent there. (God, how many has it been already?) 

You don't even want to know.

You drain the last of your ice-cold tea and set your shoulders, cementing your decision with a nod of your head. Just as you're pulling up your student email, a sudden sound breaks the stillness you'd been sitting in.

Footsteps. Going down the stairs. You go still, eyes darting to the clock in the corner of your computer screen.

1:53. 

Surely not Amir. The footsteps are too heavy. You crane your neck towards the door just in time to see Baran flinch as she shuffles into the kitchen, her eyes squinting against the bright lights. She raises up a hand to shield them, rasps out your name in a voice that has you shivering.

"Shit, sorry." You slip out of your seat and switch off the overhead lights, leaving only the warm, soft glow shining down on the stove top. "You okay? What are you doing up?"

Baran lowers her hand and blinks against the new light. It does her wonders, you notice, bathing her in gold, softening her features. Her scrunched brow loosens, the creases on her forehead smoothing out. 

You fight against the urge to peek down where her robe has split open.

"I could ask you the same thing." She sighs, turning to the cupboards and grabbing a glass. Her eyes dart to your laptop on the counter. "Working?"

Trying to.

"Yep."

She fills her glass and takes a seat next to you. You allow yourself a closer look at her—not the thin, comfortable cut of her nightgown, but her face, the darkened half-circles under her eyes. Her hair is distinctly rumpled, frizzier than it was earlier, tight curls losing their shape; there's a weary exhaustion to the way she moves, controlled posture gone. She looks like she'd been fighting a war with sleep and lost miserably.

You're still staring as Baran takes a slow sip of her water. Her eyes flick to yours just as you raise your gaze from the glazed, wet shine of her lips. 

"What are you working on?"

Jesus, you've never heard her voice like that. A little rough, grating. It chafes against your skin.

"Oh, just an essay. It's a joint project, unfortunately." You minimize the tab, bright white light zapping out into the darkness of your wallpaper. "More of a headache than it's worth."

Baran's eyes track across your face. "Looks like it's been giving you trouble."

You smile wryly. "Can you tell?"

"It shows on your face," she hums, entirely serious. "Here." She leans in closer and lightly grips your chin between her fingers, ghosts her thumb over the corner of your mouth. Then she trails it up, to the tail of your brow. "Here." A soft rub, her voice draping over your skin. "You hold a lot of tension here. In your body, in general. It's not good for you." She says softly, taking her hand back. Your throat is tight even after she settles into her seat and laces her fingers together, leaning her cheek against her knuckles, her eyes pinning you down despite their bleary exhaustion.

You wet your dry lips. "From a physiological perspective, or…?"

Her mouth quirks. She sits up straighter again, her robe whispering in the silence. "It starts in your muscles," she explains. "They lock up tight. Let that fester long enough and it'll start to give in to tension headaches, migraines." Again, her touch flutters over your skin. She lightly touches the hinge of your jaw, traces across, up, to your scalp, skates her fingers down to your shoulder. 

You feel the breath hitch in your chest. 

Baran gently presses down with her fingertips, as if testing for something. "All of this, just constantly squeezing around your head. Perfect pressure cooker." Her tone goes wry. "Never mind, of course, the damage to your digestive system, your cardiovascular and immune systems…" 

"Yikes."

"Your body remembers everything that happens to it. It keeps score." She says quietly. Her smile fades, eyes sobering. "Nothing is worth it, Y/N. If it's at the cost of your health…" she shakes her head, "fuck it."

You briefly jolt, hearing her curse. It's far more attractive than it should be, a little raspy, the sound sharp from her teeth. 

The words ring in your ears. Exhaling, you slump against the counter, eyes darting to your computer screen.

"It's not always that simple, Doc."

"I know, honey. But you come first." She squeezes your arm. Her touch is warm, the silk of her robe like water on your skin. You're in a strange limbo; you've gotten used to her touches, easy, comforting—motherly. Because you know that's how she means them. You're just a kid to her. Nearly two decades older than her son, yes, but all in all, a kid. She doesn't mean anything when she does this. You know she doesn't. Sometimes, you don't feel anything out of the ordinary when she does.

And sometimes, her touch is like a bolt of lightning through your skin.

You set your chin in your palm, her hand slipping away as you eye the exhaustion on her face. You've seen her tired. You know what she looks like when she's barely holding herself together at the seams. 

"And do you follow that example?" Your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be.

Baran inhales, her chin dipping. "I try to." She says earnestly. "I don't always succeed, but…I try to not let it get too far out of my control."

Your laptop goes dark, stealing some of the light from her face. The shadowed half-moons stand out under her eyes, dragging harshly into the cool brown of her skin. Your chest tightens at the sight.

"So," you glide your fingertips over the smooth granite of the counter, "what's keeping you up?"

Baran's lips thin as she shrugs. Her eyes dip back down, her hands wrapping around her glass, fingers knitting together where they overlap. Here, on the island, you're further from the stove top light. There's just enough for you to see her gnaw on her lip, a small crease forming between her brows. 

She doesn't often hold back. Hell, she's probably the most forthcoming person you've ever met. You don't expect her silence, but you sit in it, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes in, out, rubbing her thumb along the length of the glass.

"It's a combination of things," she finally admits, surprising you. "I've…I have trouble sleeping, sometimes. I've struggled with it on and off since I was a kid."

You feel your mouth open and close, silence grabbing your throat. Jesus. You're horrible at comforting people. You never know what the situation calls for, what to say. If someone like Baran even needs it from someone like you, if she'd want, accept it. 

You pick at your thumbnail, cringing as you settle on: "That must be exhausting."

Baran smiles at you, beautiful, exhausted, and you figure maybe you didn't fumble it so bad. "Sometimes. But," she gives your shoulder a little nudge, "having company is nice."

Your own brief smile falls away as you notice the heaviness of her eyelids. "How are you gonna go to work in the morning?" You ask softly.

Baran tucks some of her hair behind her ear. "I'll manage." She says, setting her cheek in her palm. Her mouth twists wryly. "I know it's a bit hypocritical of me after that whole"—she waves a hand—"spiel, but." 

"C'mon," you murmur. "You're not exactly in a forgiving field."

"No." She agrees.

But she's only human. A 12 hour shift isn't anything easy on its own, but a single lapse in judgment, one overlooked mistake can result in a dead patient on her hands. The weight of it slams heavily onto your shoulders, dropping into your gut. It's laughable compared to a college project gone awry.

"Can't you at least go a little later?" You go back to picking at your thumbnail. "Or take the night shift for today or something?"

"I can't take the night shift," Baran exhales, quite docile. "And going later would mean having an attending stay overtime for me, which is…" she shrugs, shaking her head, "I'll manage. It's not anyone's fault but mine."

You frown. "It's not your fault if you can't help it."

She gives your hand a squeeze. "I'll be fine." Her voice is gentle.

You gnaw on your lip. The wheels turn in your head, a little slow with her too-close proximity, the skip of her thumb over your hand.

Finally, you ask, "You leave at 6:30?"

"6:15."

You nod, hook your thumb into hers, push away the regret you'll feel in the morning. "I'll take you tomorrow."

Her eyes soften. "Azizam, no."

"Yes." You insist.

"You don't even have classes tomorrow—"

"Exactly! I'll drop you off then go back home and crash, easy."

Baran frowns. "No."

"Yes. I'm setting my alarm, you can't stop me." You reach for your phone, but you stop when you see her purse her lips. 

You know it's unwarranted, ridiculous, but her displeasure settles heavily in your stomach. Jesus, she'll be the death of you. 

You put the phone down. 

"Come on," you coax. "Is my driving really that bad?"

"You know that's not it."

Before you can think it through, you're wrapping your arms around her in a sideways hug, setting your chin on her shoulder like Amir does when he's begging for something particularly hard. "Please," you say quietly, giving her a little squeeze. "Just let me do it, Baran. I want to."

You realize you've fucked up when you find her mouth in your direct line of sight—and right below it, when you try to hide, the loose neckline of her nightgown. The swell of her chest. You only see a blur of freckles before you force your eyes up into hers—another mistake, Jesus, what even possessed you to do this—

Baran sighs, and you feel it go through you. 

"Fine." She says reluctantly.

You beam and hurry to let go. She shakes her head at you, but you can tell there's no real heat to it.

"Excellent."

"In that case," her eyes dart to the clock on the oven, "are you going to bed?"

You nearly wince at the thought. You idly drag your fingertips over your laptop's mousepad, coaxing it awake. "I should, but I want to take care of a few things first. Gonna move over to the couch," you find yourself saying, "if you want to join me."

You tentatively look back at her. She pauses for a split second then nods, resigned.

It's somehow more still in the living room, but Baran lights the lamps, and the darkness shrinks back. The distance between you and the night shrinks, too. The warmth of her body is a tangible thing on the other end of the couch, a blur in the corner of your eyes as she lays down, sits up, discards her robe. 

Your poor self control gives; you look up as she's tugging a blanket off of the back of the couch, not before she unfolds it and settles it over her bare legs, tugs it up to her chin.

Writing a simple email takes you a lot longer than it should. Your brain stutters through half of it, the words coming out clumsy and stiff—or not at all.

"I guess we can leave 6:30," Baran says suddenly. "If you're still intent on driving me."

You look up from your laptop, flashing her a grin where she has her face half buried into the cushions.

"Sweet."

The house is completely still. The clock on the wall of your bedroom reads just past one in the morning. Your mother went to sleep hours ago after a long Father’s Day dinner, having complained of a headache. 

If only she was aware that her daughter has been counting down the minutes until she can hear a soft snore from the master bedroom.

You hold your breath, straining to hear any changes. None. 

As quietly as you can manage, you slip out of bed and head out of the door wearing nothing but panties and socks and a long sleep shirt, the hem just barely brushing the tops of your thighs. You couldn't waste time changing. Your heart hammers an uneven beat, echoing around in your ribcage, and you clutch the small black gift box in your hands a little tighter.

Mindful to avoid any squeaky steps, you tiptoe down the stairs, thankful for the quietness of your socks. Natasha’s home office is just here, next to the staircase, and as you slow your steps, you can make out the sounds of the idle tapping of a pen and a faint amber glow coming from under the door. You grin despite yourself.

Your hands are only slightly shaky when you lift one to grasp at the door handle. You turn it slightly, it’s unlocked, and then, with one final deep breath to steady your lungs, the door is pushed open until you’re standing in the doorway like some sort of sneak thief.

Natasha looks up immediately. She’s sitting in her nice leather chair, documents on her desk, boring things you’ve seen her review countless times. Her initial sharp gaze softens at the sight of you, her daughter, standing in the doorway nervously, then her curiosity is piqued by the little box you’re clutching like a lifeline.

“What’s this?” she asks, voice a low rumble.

You walk forward, the sound almost silent. Your heart pounds in your ears, mouth slightly dry, but there’s no backing out now, not when you’re standing right in front of your stepfather’s desk.

The small box is placed down gently in front of her. It’s wrapped in a little ribbon, girlish and delicate, and Natasha eyes it curiously.

You take a step back, swallowing to wet your throat before speaking. “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”

One of her eyebrows raises. Slowly, her hand reaches out to pick up the box, so much smaller in her grasp than yours, and the ribbon falls away with one deft pull. Natasha looks up at you curiously, and you tamper down a smile as she slowly opens the box, as if she’s expecting something to jump out at her.

Another box, slimmer, blue, rests delicately on a bed of red tissue paper. Your stepfather’s expression changes almost instantly, her curious smile disappearing into open-mouthed surprise. Her gaze meets yours, and though your cheeks are burning, you force yourself to nod.

“I haven’t taken my birth control in two weeks,” you whisper. Your voice feels almost deafening in the soft silence of the room. Natasha picks up the pregnancy test, thumb running along the edge of the box. Her gaze never leaves yours, eyes dark with something unspoken, and your knees almost buckle. “I’m ovulating.”

“For me?” she asks, her voice a rasp from dinner’s wine. You nod. Heat floods your lower belly.

Your stepfather stands slowly, pushing out the chair and rounding the desk. Her steps are slow, almost predatory, and when she stops right in front of you, the height difference forces you to tilt your head up to keep eye contact. Her fingers grasp at your chin firmly, eyes searching your face, perhaps for a punchline or some hint of humor, but there’s none.

“You stopped taking your pills two weeks ago and you didn’t say a word?” Her thumb brushes your lower lip, and it takes all of your strength to not open your mouth and brush your tongue against it. “You let me fuck you again and again, waiting until you were fertile for me?”

You nod obediently. “Yes, Daddy.”

The word hasn’t even left your mouth for a full second before Natasha’s mouth is on yours, claiming your breath, lips soft and full and undeniably Natasha. A gasp slips from your mouth at the force, but it’s swallowed by the eager kiss, and you softly whimper when she pulls away with a flash of teeth on your lower lip.

“Bend over the desk.” Her voice has slipped into that dangerous register, not Natasha anymore, but your stepfather.

Your body moves without thinking, turning around and leaning forward until your chest brushes against the wood. Natasha’s hand pushes the hem of your shirt over your ass, exposing sensitive skin to the cold air of her office. You shiver as her hand smoothes over your skin, then dips between your thighs.

“Already soaked,” she murmurs, pleased. “My little girl got this wet just thinking about giving her stepdad her womb as a present.”

Your thighs shake, arousal flaring in your belly. From this angle, the pregnancy test lies in front of you, and the thought of eventually using it makes you whine softly. Natasha huffs out a laugh, though not as lighthearted as it typically is.

A hand grasping at the waistband of your panties makes you twitch. They’re white, now translucent with your arousal. Your stepfather slowly slides them past the curve of your ass until they slide down your thighs, and now you’re completely exposed, cunt wet and aching for contact.

The sound of a zipper almost makes your mouth water. A moment later, the familiar head of her cock presses against your entrance, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from pressing against her. It slides up and down your already sensitive folds, nudging your clit cruelly, pulling a whine from your lips. 

Natasha makes a pleased sound. She leans forward, her comforting weight pressing against your back, and her lips just barely brush your ear.

“If I was your real dad,” she starts, voice like velvet, “I wouldn’t be able to do this, would I? Wouldn’t be allowed to bend my daughter over my desk and fuck her little cunt for Father’s Day.”

And then a pressure against your entrance as her hips push forward, her cock sinking halfway inside you in one smooth motion. You gasp, fingers scrabbling against the smooth wooden desk as you’re stretched, aching around your stepfather, trying to get used to the sudden sensation of fullness.

“But here you are,” she continues, pushing deeper until her hips meet your ass, until she’s deep inside you the way only she can reach, “offering yourself up like a gift. No pill.”

“Fuck– Daddy…” you whimper. She starts fucking you with slow, deep strokes, and you gasp softly every time she bottoms out, every inch disappearing inside you.

“You want me to breed you?” she asks, her voice rough. Your heart thrums in your ears when you nod, angling your ass just right, enough for every thrust to feel deeper, harder. Natasha grins. “You want your mother’s husband to knock you up? To put a baby in her daughter’s belly?”

“Y-Yes, yes,” you moan, tripping over your words like sticky syrup. “Please, Daddy. I want it so bad.”

A firm hand slides into your hair, gripping tight as she picks up speed. Her hips slam against you, and the sound of skin meeting skin fills the quiet office, obscene and loud in the sleeping house.

“Say it properly,” Natasha demands.

“I- I want my stepdad to– to get me pregnant,” you gasp brokenly between thrusts. Her nails dig gently against your scalp, causing a flutter of warmth between your legs. “I want– fuck… I want you to cum inside me.”

Natasha groans in your ear, a rumbling guttural sound that rises up her throat. Her hips snap harder, fucking you with a force that makes your legs wobble unevenly. 

“Such a– shit– such a fucking thoughtful present,” she forces out as you tighten around her cock. “Stopping your birth control just so I can knock you up on Father’s Day. Been walking around this house for two weeks with a fertile pussy and you never said anything.”

Her pace quickens, the desk creaking and shaking under the force. One hand reaches under, nudging between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit. You almost scream at the contact, your swollen clit straining for more, your cunt squeezing, almost milking.

“Imagine it, baby,” her words are hot against your ear. “Your belly swelling up with a little brother or sister.” She groans roughly, making your clit throb at the sound. “Tits getting bigger. Wearing loose shirts so your mom can’t tell. Fuck, I wouldn’t stop coming to your room even when you’re pregnant.”

You’re shaking. Pleasure builds fast and sharp. “Daddy, please cum inside me,” you beg softly. It's a need, your body craving to fulfil its biological imperative.

Natasha straightens, posture perfect, and her hands move to your hips. She squeezes your soft flesh for a moment, making you squirm, and then her pace becomes unrelenting, fucking you with the singular purpose of breeding. You cry out, grasping at the desk, cheeks flushed with sweat, and Natasha can’t help her smile.

“Look at it,” she orders breathlessly. “Look at what you bought for your dad.”

You look at the little blue box, the pregnancy test, eyes blurry with tears of overwhelming pleasure. The thought of using it sends a gush of wetness between your legs, coating Natasha’s cock, and a moan pushes past your lips.

“I- I’m gonna cum, Daddy– fuck–”

“Do it,” she grunts, her thrusts becoming shorter and sharper. “Cum for me, baby.”

The heat is all-consuming. Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave. You bite your arm to muffle your sob, pussy fluttering wildly around your stepfather’s cock. 

Natasha doesn’t slow down, fucking you straight through it until your legs ache. As heat rolls through you, your cunt tightens around her cock, and then suddenly Natasha buries herself to the hilt and lets go of your hips.

“Fuck, I'm...” is all she manages to get out, her lips trembling with pleasure as her orgasm rolls over her, and you let out a high-pitched whimper as her cock throbs violently.

The warmth of her release coats your walls as she groans low and long, hips flush against your ass and grinding, pushing every drop as far in as it will go. 

She stays buried deep, breathing hard against your back, and after a long minute, she kisses the side of your neck. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten,” Natasha murmurs, and you whine softly at the praise. “My sweet little girl giving me her womb.”

Eventually, after what feels like hours, she pulls out slowly, careful not to let anything spill. She turns you around, lifting your legs up to sit you on her desk, and kisses your cheek, then mouth. The touch is so tender, almost reverent, that your heart does a silly flutter behind your ribcage.

“Keep your legs up for a while,” she whispers against your lips, tapping your knee. “I want it to stay in deep.”

You nod, dazed and glowing. Natasha hums, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and then her attention flickers back to the box on the desk. She picks it up, turning it over in her hand with a satisfied smile.

“Tomorrow morning,” she murmurs, her voice curling into something pleased, “you’re gonna use this for me. And if it’s negative…” She leans in and kisses you again, slower this time. “We’ll just have to keep trying until it turns positive.” 

You shiver at the promise in her voice. Her hand moves to cup your face.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” you whisper one more time. Natasha smiles against your mouth, thumb stroking your cheek.

the day you arrived back home, baran took the day off of work to pick you up from the airport. when you finally spotted her waiting for you, she immediately engulfed you into a tight hug.

"i missed you so much." her voice muffled into your shoulder.

"i missed you a lot more." you inhaled her perfume, taking her in because you missed her scent.

"now, let's get you home." baran pulled from the hug smiling widely and eagerly grabbing your luggage from you. "your surprise is waiting."

from her huge smile and eagerness, you knew she was for sure up to no good.

when you finally arrived home and got settled in, baran had you sit down in the bedroom as she pulled something from the closet. a few minutes later she returned with a gift bag holding it out to you with a smirk on her lips.

"what's this?" you questioned before opening the bag.

"just open it." she stood in front of you, still smirking and waiting for your reaction. "i know you're gonna love it."

you removed the tissue paper that sat at the top of the bag, placing it next to you on the bed. then you pulled out a very light box, your eyes rested upon it, reading, "8.5 inch squirting dildo with remote control" and "works great with harnesses".

you shook the box knowing it was empty and looked up at baran, who's eyes darkened as you reacted to her surprise. truthfully, you were excited she took your sexual fantasy seriously, but you also knew that you were in for it.

"baran." you gulped knowingly. "it's empty."

"i know." she replied, smirking. "i had to make sure it was all charged up, just for you."

now, you were laid out in you and your wife's marital bed, naked as she watched you from above, her new toy hanging from her hips. your legs were spread wide open for her, you felt the cold air blowing against your wet cunt, you'd been wet for the past day thinking of baran's cock filling you up full of her cum.

baran moved closer, now laying on her belly, taking your thighs in her arms and locking them in her grip. you felt her breath against you as she inhaled your scent, then her mouth opened, her tongue licking a long, wet stripe up your wet cunt and you whimpered softly from the feeling. baran began licking between your folds, collecting your wetness on her tongue, tasting the sweet taste of you, her tongue continued lapping at your cunt as your moans grew.

"this pretty pussy missed me so much." her voice spoke against your heat. "she was so ready for me."

she took your clit into her mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud, and enjoying your moans for more from her. your hands found baran's hair, trying to catch her attention by pulling at it, but she kept your clit in her mouth and her eyes looked up at you.

"mommy, please, i need you inside." you begged. "i need your cock."

baran ignored you and continued eating you out until you came on her tongue, still you were so desperate and needy for her cock to be inside you. she sat up on her knees after making you cum because she wanted to make sure you were ready to be fucked by her. she grabbed a hold of your ankles and yanked you closer, and positioned your legs to be opened wider. then she took her strap into her hand, slapping the plastic against your very sensitive clit as you let out a soft, needy whine.

"such a needy little thing." she cooed. "mommy's gonna take care of you don't worry."

baran dragged her cock between your folds, collecting your wetness to use as a lubricant, then pushing the tip past your folds, holding it there for a moment.

"are you ready, angel?" she asked and you nodded, eagerly as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth from feeling her pushing into you. "look at you, so ready for mommy to fill you with her cum."

once she felt like you were ready, she finally sunk her cock inside you fully, hearing your breath hitch at the fullness of her. baran's hands found your waist, gripping it tight, dragging her herself out of you, then pushing back into you, hearing your wet pussy squelch and those pretty noises she loves break out from you as she did. then she began giving you slow, but deep strokes, hitting you right where she needed to.

"right... right there." you breathed as your hands found your breasts, rolling your nipples between your fingers, watching baran's cock slide in and out of you. "feels so good... right there."

"look at you, so pretty and so full of my cock."

baran's eyes trained on you, watching the pretty expressions you made as her cock gave you so much pleasure. you took your eyes off her for a brief moment to throw your head back, one of her hands quickly grabbed your jaw, making you look at her.

"this is what you wanted," she growled, your jaw still in her grip. "now watch me fuck a baby into you."

you obeyed her and kept your eyes on her, as you moaned uncontrollably. then she removed her hand from your jaw, using it to replace one of your's that rested on your breasts. baran took your nipple between her fingers, pinching your hardened bud as your moans grew louder in her ears.

"when i make you a mommy, these pretty little things are gonna be so swollen and full of milk." she smirked. "can't wait to see that."

baran's continued fucking you relentlessly, until she felt your walls clenching onto her. she smirked, knowing you were close to cumming.

"ready for my cum, angel?" she leaned down purring in your ear. "i'm gonna make you a mommy, belly's gonna be so round and swollen with my baby."

her strokes got faster and harder, hitting your spot over and over. your moans grew louder, telling her how good she felt as your walls clenched tighter onto her.

"i'm gonna cum!" you cried out, wrapping your legs around baran, pulling her in, and using your arms to pull her down on top of you.

baran didn't mind because she knew you needed her closer as your orgasm drew closer, needing to feel her skin against yours.

"me too, angel." she reached for the remote that makes her strap squirt cum into you, holding onto it until you were ready for her.

your moans got sloppier and louder signaling her that you were ready, her strokes slowed down. she pressed the button, shooting the fake cum out, filling your pussy up, as you went through your orgasm.

baran lifted herself up, pulling out of you, watching her cum spill out of you, then she used her fingers to fuck it back into you.

"need to make sure it takes." her lips curled into a soft smile, as she fucked her fingers into your sopping wet cunt. "gotta make sure my pretty little wife gets all the babies she wants, right?"

you nodded, mouth gaped open from the feeling of her fingers inside of you.

"gonna be the sexiest mommy ever." her lips crashed into yours, kissing you passionately.

later on you laid on baran's chest, after the two of you bathed together, looking up at her in admiration. you knew you had the best wife in the world, who was willing to fill your every desire, and when the time came for you to have children with her, she'd be the perfect mother to them.

"i wanna have a girl," you spoke. "and decorate her nursery in all pink. it's gonna be so cute, right?"

"the cutest, my love."

taglist: @thuogthss @gf4lwt

Natasha sighed as she went to sit down in the circle of avengers, the only redeeming quality of this stupid game being that she got to sit next to you, her long-time obsession. 

She took a swig of her beer, trying to get herself into the party mood. After a particularly thrilling victory over an evil organization, along with the fact that it was their five year anniversary as a team, the Avengers were taking time to celebrate. They were having a party, and now that the majority of the team was drunk, they were getting a bit… childish.

The group was currently in a circle, playing spin the bottle truth or dare. It was simple. Someone would spin an empty beer bottle, and whomever it landed on had to answer a truth or do a dare decided by the person who spun it. 

Natasha thought it was ridiculous. She was one of the only sober ones, thanks to her heritage and history. Even after a couple beers, her mind was clear as day, and focused on the man sitting beside her. You.

You, you, you. From the moment you had joined the team six months ago, Natasha was fixated on you. She didn't know why. It had kind of just… happened. One day, she was simply giving you a tour of the compound, and a week later, she was sitting in the corner of your room, shrouded by darkness, watching the way your chest rose and fell as you slept. 

You were like an addiction to her. She'd been with people before, of course, but she had never been as obsessed with any of them as she was with you. She had been slowly weaving her way into your world during the past couple of months; some of her actions you were aware of, and others you had no idea about.

Due to her training and years of experience being a spy, Natasha knew how to play you. She didn't like that word, though. Play. It wasn't accurate. She wasn't playing you, per se, she was just… masking her true self. Hiding the perv that lived in her. 

To your face, she was a sweetheart. Well, as much of a sweetheart as the Black Widow could be. She'd been your guide around the compound when you first moved in, trained with you, and was softer with you than she was with anyone else.

Then she began to go deeper. Just a bit. She'd moved from her usual spot at meals, opting to sit beside you instead. She'd persuaded the young recruit in the room next to yours to swap with her so she could be as close to you as possible. She'd "kindly" do your laundry with hers, claiming she just wanted to help the newbie out, when really, as soon as she got down to the laundry room, she'd bury her face in your used clothes, greedily breathing in your scent.

That was the real Natasha. The perv she kept hidden behind closed doors, the side of her she worked so hard to hide from you. And she was doing an absolutely stellar job; you had absolutely no idea about the things she did right under your nose.

Even though she had gotten the room beside yours, she didn't sleep in it anymore. She spent every night in your room, and you hadn't the slightest idea. 

Her spy skills came especially in handy when she was creeping at night. She would effortlessly pick the lock on your door, and once she got to your bed, she'd pull a bait and switch. You always held a pillow close to your chest as you slept, and Natasha would silently, stealthily extricate the pillow from your embrace and slide into your arms instead. Sometimes she spent hours gazing at you before she slept, and when she knew you were deeply asleep, she'd pepper your face with soft kisses. You were perfect.

You never woke up; you'd simply just wrap your arms tighter around what you thought to be the pillow, and she'd creep out again before you woke up, putting the pillow right back where it was when she snuck in. She'd been cuddling with you every night for the past three weeks, and you didn't have the slightest clue.

And Natasha wouldn't just creep at night, oh, no. It was nearly constant. Sometimes you would go days without seeing her, but for Natasha, there hadn't been a single moment her eyes had been off you since you first walked into the compound. 

Of course, she'd creep on you when you were doing the mundane, such as eating or training, but her favorite moments were when you were exposed to her. 

She had memorized your entire shower routine by now. It was essential to know how long she had to touch herself before she risked you seeing. 

You always thought you were alone when you showered, as one does, so you felt totally comfortable leaving the shower curtain partially open. It was nothing for you, but for Natasha, that small crack was everything.

She'd watch, enraptured, as your big hands rubbed soap along your huge, muscular body. She could barely stifle her moans, her hand slowly traveling down her body and sliding into her panties as you cleaned yourself. She'd rub her clit slowly, imagining it was your hands on her body.

She'd begin to finger herself when you happened to turn face her, imagining it was your huge cock stretching her out instead. She'd do her best to bring herself to an orgasm before you stepped out of the shower, cumming as quickly as she could and rushing away before you could realize you had a voyeur. 

And Natasha didn't just creep in real life, she crept online, too. 

Hacking into your phone was like child's play for her. Your easily guessable passcodes and passkeys got her into all your social medias within five minutes. Slowly, over the span of multiple weeks, she removed all other women (besides family) from your contacts and social media. To you, it looked like you had just happened to lose some followers, but to Natasha, it was an extermination of any woman that wasn't her from your life.

She'd installed a secret software into your phone so that any texts you sent or received would also come through to her. Fortunately, most were benign, just exchanges with the fellow guys on the team, but sometimes, you received texts from women.

She hated that.

Once she confirmed it wasn't a member of your family, she immediately blocked the contact and deleted the conversation. She wouldn't tolerate any woman tampering with what was hers.

That possessive attitude carried over into real life, and that was why she was so pissed right now. You had spun the bottle, and it landed right on Wanda Maximoff. The slutty witch bitch.

"Ohhhh, my turn! Whatcha got for me, Y/N?!" the Sokovian asked in a chipper voice, too chipper, in Natasha's opinion. Wanda had been eyeing you up way too much. She was a slut, plain and simple. She had the "perfect" man already, Vision, but was still adamant about treating you as her eye candy.

Natasha knew Wanda couldn't handle someone like you even if the opportunity was presented to her. Why was she even trying? Natasha was the only one capable of taking care of your needs.

Anyway. Back to the present.

You looked hesitant. Just like Natasha, you were fairly sober, and you could sense nothing good was going to come from this game. Natasha leaned over, resting her head on your thick shoulder as she whispered, "Don't feel pressured to say anything. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You nodded, mumbling a thank you before looking back at Wanda. She was looking like the cat who got the cream, fully prepared for you to ask a crazy question or make her do something incredibly risky, but your gentle, calm voice floated through the electric air, speaking, "Here's a truth for you, Wanda. What was your favorite memory of Sokovia?" 

Wanda's triumphant grin immediately melted into a look of pure, utter shock. Sokovia? Her childhood? How boring! No one cared about that right now, the point of this game was to share deep confessions or do crazy shit!

Natasha, on the other hand, couldn't be prouder. She beamed, looking up and you and mumbling, "I liked that question, Y/N. I wish more people brought questions like that to this game."

You smiled down at Natasha, leaning your head against hers for a brief moment. She made you feel safe, comfortable. As you happened to breathe in, taking in her scent, you could have sworn you smelled it before, in your bedroom, of all places. Weird. You murmured, "Thanks, Nat."

The gentle moment you two just shared was quickly interrupted by Wanda, though. She was drunk, horny, and aggravated. She didn't want to think about her past. She just wanted to think about you. She wanted you. Wanted your hands on her body, wanted your mind on her, wanted you to stop leaning against the stupid redhead next to you and pay attention to her.

"Real nice truth, jackass!" She sneered, finishing her beer in one big swig before standing up and beginning to approach you. "Do you even have any idea how to play this game? You're supposed to say something dramatic, risqué, hell even something stupid! All you said was something boring!"

Wanda moved her arm, gesturing to the group around them. The joy and electricity were gone now, and the whole team was subdued and quiet, not wanting to become the next victim of her outburst, but thanks to downing a whole barrel of Asgardian beer, Thor was asleep. "Look at this sorry lot! You even put Thor to sleep with how boring that was, Y/N! Do you know how hard that is?"

You looked down, clearly sad that what you thought to be a benign ask made Wanda so upset. Natasha's jaw clenched, her fingers digging into your bicep more firmly, a way of telling you I'm here. Don't listen to her. 

The younger woman saw Natasha's grip tighten, and she scoffed. She got all up in your face, tilting your chin up to look at her. Natasha's eyes were locked onto Wanda like razors. She was ready to make a move at any moment, if need be. 

"I'm not mad at you, Y/N. You're new, and spending time with the old Widow over here probably isn't doing you any good. You don't know how to have fun when you're just surrounded by trauma and secrets all the time."

How dare she? Natasha thought, Using my past to try to convince him I'm inadequate? That's a low blow. 

But, regardless, Natasha restrained herself. Wanda hadn't done anything to you, and that was what mattered. Her free hand instinctively tightened into a fist when Wanda continued to speak, though. "This is how you do a proper truth or dare, okay? I'm gonna teach you. Pay close attention, mmkay?" 

You looked hesitant, but Wanda didn't care. "So, first you say 'Truth or Dare?'. That's the obvious part. You did that right, so good job!"

Natasha gritted her teeth. Wanda was so fucking patronizing. Just because you didn't give her what she wanted in a game didn't mean you were stupid or incompetent.

"Now, here's the part where you totally failed: you should always give a fun, risky dare! You've heard us rattle off truths all night. It's boring. There's a reason Thor's asleep. You need to make it… fun."

Natasha didn't like the way Wanda said "fun". Fun sounded like a code for something that was designed to irritate her. Wanda spun around, the short skirt she was wearing lifting for just a moment, revealing the bottom of her ass to you. How trashy. From the side, Natasha could see Wanda's finger perched on her chin, feigning deep thought.

Wanda spun back around, biting her lip, looking all too gleeful. "Here's a good one, Y/N! Instead of boring Sokovia, you should have said, 'Wanda, I dare you to give me a lap dance!'."

The witch giggled, and your face flushed completely red. You avoided eye contact with her, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of that. Wanda seemed to think it was cute, though, and turned around, slowly pulling her skirt up and inching her ass towards your lap. 

Natasha froze. This wasn't a suggestion, it was a plan Wanda had laid out from the moment you earnestly asked her the Sokovia truth. She was going to have you, whether you wanted it or not.

Natasha watched your face as Wanda began to back up on you. Your eyes were squinted closed, flinching and bracing for impact like pain was about to be inflicted on you. Natasha may have been a perv, but Wanda was a straight-up predator. She refused to let this happen.

Quicker than lighting, the Widow whipped out one of her handguns, pointing it directly at the younger woman. Your eyes widened. Where had Natasha even been hiding that thing? It didn't matter. Due to her past, she was always on her toes and prepared for the worst.

Natasha's voice didn't even sound like her own as she snarled, "Get the fuck away from him. If one single inch of your body touches his, you get a bullet through that whorish heart of yours."

The team was all awake now, and completely terrified, hiding behind couch cushions and used paper plates. They had never seen Natasha like this before. She'd hid her obsession well, but when something threatened her man, she didn't play around.

Wanda's cocky demeanor was gone in a flash, the girl was immediately squealing and running to hide behind Vision the second she heard the click of the safety being released. So much for taking what she wanted. 

Natasha wanted to laugh. How pathetic. Wanda was all bark and no bite. She finally looked back up at you, and seeing the way you looked less scared of a loaded gun than you were of the Sokovian girl's touch eased her mind. The team may have been horrified, but you were safe.

As Wanda began to to step out from behind Vision, Natasha glared at her once more, firing with no hesitation. 

She didn't want to actually hurt the girl, so she was careful. She had aimed the gun to the right of Wanda, just enough that it would fly through the frills of her skirt, giving her a scare without grazing her actual body.

Wanda wailed, collapsing to the ground and breaking into tears, despite no harm actually being done to her. She'd dealt no physical damage, but the psychological fear would never go away now. Natasha's goal was achieved. 

The team let out a collective gasp, immediately rushing over check on Wanda and make sure she was okay. Natasha stood up, notching her gun in her belt and walking back towards her room. Just so the team knew she wasn't totally psycho, she called out, "Decisive shot. Grazed her skirt. Didn't go anywhere near her actual body. If she's hurt, it's all in her head."

The team let her go, too focused on the wailing Wanda to lash out or punish Natasha. She continued to walk off to her room, leaving you to think about everything that just happened.

You still sat in the same spot, seemingly glued to your chair. Your mind kept replaying what just went down. After turning multiple thoughts over and over in your mind, it hit you that you had a woman who would kill for you. You couldn't tell if that was soothing or unnerving. All you knew is that you had to go find Natasha and see what's going on. Wanda would be fine. She had the whole team doting on her. But what about Nat?

You stood up, giving a curt goodbye to the group before making your way down to Natasha's room. She knew you'd be coming, so she made sure to hide the collection of photos she had secretly taken of you, the clothes of yours she had stolen, and the print-outs of texts she deemed suspicious. 

You knocked twice on her door, calling out quietly, "Nat? Do you wanna talk, or-?"

Natasha tried not to sound too eager as she approached the door, opening it up, putting on a sullen face as she nodded and stepped aside, allowing you to walk in, "Yeah, Y/N, of course. Come in."

You stepped inside her room, looking around. She had hidden everything of substance. All you saw were novels in Russian, overdue mission reports, and various bullet magazines. Standard.

Natasha moved to sit down on her bed, patting the side of it so you could join her. You sat down, your huge frame making the bed creak as it accounted for your weight. Natasha expected you to say she was crazy or reprimand her for being so harsh with Wanda, but to her shock, you said, "Thank you. Thank you for getting me out of that situation. Was it a bit extreme? Yeah, sure, but I'm bad at speaking up for myself. I probably would have just… let it happen."

Natasha brought her hand up to her chest, her heart nearly bursting with joy. You didn't think she was insane? You appreciated what she did? "Oh, Y/N. It means so much to hear you say that, but, truly, I am sorry. I never wanted it to go that way. But Wanda was about to do something terrible, and I couldn't stand it."

"I know. And that's what means so much to me," You said, fiddling with your fingers, "You cared enough about me to do something so… drastic. No one has cared about me like that since I came here, but you've constantly done the most for me."

Natasha reached up, her small hand cupping your cheek, "Y/N, I'd do anything for you. I do this… all of this because I care. Because you mean so much to me. Because I love you."

She froze. Oh fuck. She didn't mean to let that slip out. First she shoots at her fellow teammate, and now she let the secret she had been harboring for months slip out. Could this night get any worse?

Her eyes had darted away the moment she said it, and slowly, they finally made their way back to your face. You weren't scared or shocked. You were looking at her with awe, if anything. Your hand reached up to wrap around the one that was cupping your face, nervously asking, "Y-you love me? Because I… I've liked you for months! I just.. well, I didn't know how to go about pursuing the Black Widow, so I just stayed silent, and-"

She immediately cut you off with a kiss. You'd said the only words she'd cared to hear for the last six months. You felt the same way about her as she did about you. Well, not really, you surely weren't as obsessed with her as she was with you, but you didn't need to know the depth of her perviness. 

"Yes, Y/N, I love you," she mumbled against your lips, slowly pressing hers harder against yours, and subtly shifting her body so she was halfway into your lap by now. She leaned up, kissing a line from your chin up to your ear, and once she was there, whispered, "Show me how much you love me, too."

You didn't hesitate, your hands immediately going to her waist as you fervently returned her kisses. Natasha let out a low moan as your tongue slipped into her mouth, deepening the kiss. Her hips began to subtly grind against your lap, signifying her arousal.

As you felt her grinding on you, you momentarily pulled away from the kiss, looking up at her, smirking, "You're needy, huh? Who would have thought the Black Widow was desperate?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, playfully pushing your head back as she returned to kissing you, mumbling, "Shut up. Just fuck me."

At her words, you immediately complied. She was so much smaller than you, so it was easy for you to manhandle her and move her around. You picked her up off your lap and placed her back down on the edge of the bed, pushing her legs apart slightly and getting down on your knees in front of her.

Fortunately, Natasha had dressed causally for the party tonight, so all you had to do was pull down her sweatpants to get to her panties. You could see the wet spot on the crotch; she was soaked. You smirked, reaching out to run two fingers over her clothed folds, making sure to brush against her clit.

Your touch evoked a high-pitched moan from the redhead, a wail of, "Fuck!", and you took it as a sign to keep going. You leaned forward, shifting her legs so that they were now draped over your shoulders, and your face was right up against her panties.

You didn't touch her again, though, you opted to tease her instead. In lieu of eating her out, you went to lavish attention on her thick, creamy thighs. You peppered them with kisses, alternating from one thigh to the other as you kissed and left gentle bites on them. 

Natasha let out a sharp gasp or a needy whimper at each of your ministrations, her clit throbbing in anticipation as you continued to tease her. Her hand went down to your hair, pulling your face up so you made eye contact with her as she begged, "Hurry up. I've been waiting for this for so long. Please."

You just gave her a devilish grin, mumbling out something that sounded like "patience." Fuck, this was harder than she thought it was going to be.

As your mouth inched closer and closer to where she wanted you, you began to mark her. You left dark hickeys on her inner thighs, a reminder for her to see tomorrow, a tangible proof that this encounter happened. 

Finally, mercifully, your hands went up to her hips, pulling her drenched panties down. Your eyes dilated at the sight of her pussy, wet, throbbing, and ready to be pleasured. You felt her hand snake down into your hair again, her voice mumbling out a pathetic "please."

You looked up at her once more and said, "This is a thank you for standing up for me," before finally leaning in and giving her what she wanted.

You licked a stripe from the bottom of her opening up to her clit, flicking your tongue against it when you got there. Natasha immediately cried out, the hand in your hair tightening so much that it hurt, but you didn't care.

You lapped at her folds, getting drunk on the taste of her arousal. She was the perfect mix of sweet and tangy, it was divine. You let out a low rumble of pleasure, the vocalization sending vibrations through her clit, making her squeal and clench her thighs around your head. You pulled back for a moment, laughing, and mumbled, "Sorry, baby. You just taste so fucking good. I can't help myself."

Natasha let out more incoherent moans, and you dove back in. You sucked hard on her clit, feeling it throb in your mouth, along with feeling the growing wetness of her pussy soak your chin. She was just getting wetter and wetter.

You continued to lap at her folds, eating her out like a starved man. You alternated between licking slow stripes along her pussy to stimulating her clit, the alternating sensations of pleasure driving her crazy. 

"Oh fuck, don't stop!" She exclaimed as she felt your tongue finally bypass her folds, shallowly entering her. You fucked your tongue in and out of her, the sensation of being slightly stretched making her writhe in ecstasy. 

While you pleasured her, her legs had locked around your head, keeping your face buried in her sex. Now, you could feel them beginning to tremble. She was close.

You pulled your tongue out of her, earning a whimper of protest, but you immediately quelled her by shoving two fingers in her instead. A more than adequate replacement. 

As your fingers rhythmically fucked her, your tongue went back to her clit, alternating between flicking and and sucking in the way that drove her crazy. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy, her nails digging into your scalp as she tried to hold onto the slightest semblance of control, but it was futile. 

"Oh, God, Y/N, I'm gonna cum! Please don't stop!" Her voice was high pitched and breathy, and you knew she was seconds away from an earth shattering orgasm. 

You began to fuck her deeper with your fingers, and mumbled the words that finally made her come undone. "Cum for me, pretty girl."

At your permission, Natasha's restraint shattered. She let out a loud, keening cry of your name, her legs trembling as her clit throbbed and pulsed. You felt her squirt, her liquids covering your face, but you weren't the slightest bit bothered. You loved it.

You let her ride out her high, fingers slowly pumping as you licked up as much of her essence as you could, continuing to lap and suck at her folds. Only once you were sure she had nothing left in her is when you pulled away, looking up at her with that same devilish grin as before. "Don't think we're done, Nat. We're not even close. You got to cum, but now it's my turn."

Natasha whined, scooting back on the bed as you loomed over her, mumbling a desperate, "Please, Y/N…"

You fumbled out of your own pants and boxers, reaching down to your balls, and squeezing them gently a couple times to activate your erectile device that got you hard. Natasha had seen your cock hundreds of times through her creeping, but watching it harden for her was like an aphrodisiac. She bit her lip at the sight of it, instinctively scooting her hips closer.

You smirked down at the spy, seeing how desperate she was, her pussy throbbing, and it turned you on to no end. You stroked your cock a couple times to ready yourself before bringing it up to her folds, but not pushing in yet. You slid it along her slickness, getting it all lubed up and ready to go inside her.

The feeling of being so close, yet denied, made Natasha crazy. She reached up, nails digging into your shoulders, trying to pull you inside of her as she whined, "Please, Y/N, please. I want you inside me so badly. I need you."

Your tip bumped against her clit with every thrust of yours, making her squirm and whimper even more for you. You saw the way her pussy clenched instinctively, and you couldn't go another second without being inside her. As you notched the head at her entrance, you mumbled, "Here you go, princess."

You slid in with one thrust, not bothering to work your way in slowly or stretch her out; your fingers had already done the work earlier. She let out a cry of, "Oh my god!" as she felt you slide in, her walls instinctively clenching around your cock. 

You stayed like that for a moment, buried to the hilt inside her, admiring the way the formidable Black Widow looked like this, stuffed full of your dick and desperate for more. Right on cue, her hand came to your thigh, trying to push you back so she could get some friction. She bucked her hips up once, begging, "Move. Please. Need it."

You could have teased her more, but Natasha was so adorable when she was all pent up and needy. You answered her plea, slowly pulling out so just your tip was inside her and then thrusting all the way back in.

Natasha groaned in ecstasy, legs wrapping around your hips so that even when you thrusted, you couldn't go that far. "Fuck, you're so big. I love it."

You knew you were a big guy, but hearing your size praised always did it for you, and you unconsciously began to thrust harder, relishing in the way her tight pussy accommodated for your cock. You pressed down teasingly on the bulge in her stomach that rose whenever you slid in, asking, "You like this, Natty? You like being ruined by my big cock?"

The woman let out a frantic nod, whimpering, "Yes!" as she bucked her hips up more and more, desperately meeting your thrusts that became quicker and more aggressive. At this angle, the dark patch of hair at the base of your cock rubbed against her clit, sending shocks through her.

You groaned loudly as she began to clench harder, a sign that she was approaching another orgasm. You wanted to cum with her. You picked up your pace, hands gripping onto her supple hips tightly as you pounded into her. You leaned down, growling out, "I'm gonna cum. Get ready."

The words made Natasha shiver, her hands digging into your back even more as she whimpered, "Do it. Cum in me. I want to feel you fill me up."

Her desperate, submissive words did it for you, and with one final thrust, you hilted inside her and unloaded. Thick, sticky ropes of clear fluid leaked from the tip of your cock, coating her insides and thoroughly filling her up. "Oh fuck, Natasha. You're so perfect. Taking my cock and cum like that."

You saw that she was right on the edge, so you reached down, applying pressure to her clit as you continued to slowly fuck her. The sensations, combined with your words, did it for her, and within seconds, she was crying out and squirting once again.

You collapsed on top of her, your cock still buried balls-deep inside her as you both panted, coming down from your highs. You buried your head in Natasha's neck, breathing in her scent and holding her close as you just let your mind drift, happily going fuzzy in the post-coital haze.

But Natasha? She felt high. She stared up at her ceiling, the biggest smile plastered on her face. She had you. All that creeping and stalking had been worth it. You were hers now. Nobody could take you away.

Natasha's hand came up, gently running through your hair. You thought it was just gentle affection, but Natasha knew it was a claim. You thought you were in control just because you had dominated her, but she knew it was the other way around.

-=- First time

It started innocently enough. We'd just come back from a short mission, adrenaline still buzzing. I pulled her into our room, hands already sliding under her shirt, fingers tracing the toned lines of her abs. "Missed you out there, Romanoff," I murmured, voice low and teasing, pressing her back against the wall. She growled softly, that sound that always went straight between my legs, and flipped us so I was the one pinned. Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry, demanding. We shed clothes fast, my tank top hitting the floor, her sports bra following. I wrapped my legs around her waist as she carried me to the bed, her cock already hard and pressing against me through her pants.

She freed herself, thick and throbbing, and pushed into me in one smooth thrust. I gasped, nails digging into her shoulders. God, she felt perfect, stretching me just right, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. We moved together, her hips snapping forward, my body arching to meet every thrust, sweat slicked our skin. Her breath came in hot pants against my neck as she murmured praises in Russian. I was close already, but I wanted her closer.

Right as she started to lose rhythm, her cock swelling inside me, I gripped her arms "Stop."

She froze instantly, buried deep, muscles trembling with the effort. Those green eyes snapped to mine, confused but instantly concerned "YN? What’s wrong, detka?" Her voice was rough, strained, but she pulled out carefully, rolling off me even though I could see the frustration flickering across her face. She checked me over, hands gentle on my cheeks. "Talk to me. Did I hurt you?"

I faked a yawn, "Just... tired. Long day. Sorry, Nat." The lie tasted sweet. She nodded, kissing my forehead softly, even though her cock was still rock-hard and leaking against her thigh. She pulled me into her arms instead, holding me close. "It's okay. Get some rest." I snuggled against her chest, hiding my smirk.

-=- Second time

The next day I teased her on purpose. During training, I "accidentally" brushed against her while sparring, whispering how much I wanted her inside me later. In the common area, I sat on her lap during a team meeting, shifting just enough to feel her harden beneath me. By evening, she was pent up, eyes dark with need every time she looked at me.

 Perfect.

We barely made it to the bedroom. I dropped to my knees the second the door closed, yanking her pants down. Her cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, veins standing out. "Fuck, Yn," she groaned as I took her into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head, sucking hard. I worked her with my hand and lips, hollowing my cheeks, taking her deeper until she hit the back of my throat. Her fingers tangled in my hair. Her hips bucked, breath ragged. She was close, so close, thighs tensing.

I pulled off with a wet pop, wiping my mouth. "Actually... I don't feel like it anymore." I stood up, shrugging casually, even as my own arousal throbbed.

Natasha stared at me, chest heaving, cock twitching in the air, denied right at the edge. Frustration burned in her eyes, jaw tight. "Yn. What the hell?" But she didn't push, she never did, she respected me too much. She just exhaled sharply, ran a hand through her hair, and muttered something about a cold shower. I felt a twinge of guilt, but the power rush was addictive.

-=- Third time

She tried again two nights later, thinking maybe I'd gotten over whatever mood I was in. We were in the shower, water cascading over us. Her hands roamed my body, soapy and insistent. She lifted me against the tiles, strong arms holding me up as she slid into me again, deep and relentless. The angle was insane, every thrust ground against my clit, her cock filling me completely. I moaned loudly, biting her shoulder. She was pounding into me, grunting with effort, so close to losing it.

Halfway through I gasped, realising I nearly forgot; Right as her pace turned desperate "Stop, Nat."

She slammed her hand against the tile beside my head, breathing hard, but she stopped, pulled out, set me down gently even though her whole body shook with restrained need. Anger flashed in her eyes now,real anger. "This again? Yn, what game are you playing?" Her voice was low, dangerous. But she still wrapped a towel around me first, then herself, before storming out to the bathroom. 

-=- Fourth time

By now she knew. She watched me warily the next evening when I initiated, but desire won out. We didn't even make it past foreplay properly before I had her on her back, stroking her cock slowly, teasing the head with my thumb while kissing her neck. She was leaking, hips jerking up into my hand. When I straddled her and sank down, taking every inch, she groaned my name like a prayer.

I did it again. "Stop."

This time she was properly pissed. She pulled out immediately, sitting up and glaring. "Damn it, Stark. If you don't want this, stop starting it." She got up, pacing the room naked, tension radiating off her. But she respected the word, I almost felt bad, almost.

-=- The fifth time

A few nights after that, I could tell she was done with my shit. I tried to make up for it, crawling into bed in nothing but one of her old shirts, pressing against her back, hand sliding down her stomach towards her cock. "C'mon, Nat. I've been an ass. Let me fix it."

She caught my wrist, firm but not painful. "No. I'm sick of your jokes, Yn. Not tonight." Her voice was flat. She turned away, facing the wall. I felt a pang of real regret then. My own damn fault. I curled up on my side, back facing her, pretending to fall asleep even though my mind raced. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside.

Hours passed. The clock on the nightstand glowed 3:17 AM when I felt the bed shift. Warm breath brushed my neck.

Natasha pressed in close behind me, her body radiating heat. She stayed there for a long moment, breathing ragged, her thick cock hard and throbbing insistently against my ass. Her hand rested on my hip, fingers flexing with clear frustration, but she held back.

“Yn…” Her voice was low and strained. “You awake?” I hummed, looking at her and smiled at her state. “If you’re going to say stop again, tell me now. Please.” She said desperate.

I reached back, guiding her hand between my thighs so she could feel how soaked I was. “Don’t stop tonight,”

The second the words left my mouth, Natasha flipped me onto my back with a growl. She shoved the shirt up roughly, spread my legs wide, and thrust into me in one hard stroke, burying herself deep. I gasped at the sudden stretch as she started fucking me immediately, fast and relentless and going all the way in.

“Fuck… finally,” she panted against my neck, hips snapping “Let me finish inside you.”

She drove into me harder, desperate and messy, days of holding back, her cock throbbing with every thrust. Broken “please”’s spilled from her lips between moans as she chased her release, trembling with need. It didn’t take long before her rhythm faltered. She slammed in deep one last time and came hard, pulsing hot inside me with a wrecked groan, her whole body shaking.

When she finally collapsed on top of me, sweaty and tired, she pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.

“Never again,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “Or I won’t be this nice next time.”