HEHE

“Seriously? Who?”

Natasha lifts her fork, tilting it just enough to indicate across the room without drawing attention.

“Carmen. From the front desk. They’ve been dating since last month.”

You follow the direction of her gesture, eyebrows rising when you notice Carmen sitting in the corner. Tablet in hand, sure, but her eyes keep flicking upward—straight toward Jenn in the line. When their gazes meet, there’s a secret smile, a tiny wave, something almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

“…Huh,” you murmur, reluctantly impressed.

Natasha only nods, as if it’s obvious. She resumes eating, believing that the subject of this particular conversation is over after her words.

You notice a tiny smear of sauce clinging near her lip, and without thinking, you lean in and dab it away with a napkin.

“You got a little something,” you say softly.

Natasha doesn’t even react in surprise at your touch. She just takes the napkin from you with a distracted “Thanks,” eyes still on her plate.

You lean back, resting your chin on your hand, studying her with something between admiration and exasperation.

“So how’d you figure that out?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, slicing into her food with precise care.

“Jenn’s lunch routine changed. She used to eat in her office, now she shows up whenever Carmen’s here. Plus, Jenn’s been wearing that silver bracelet Carmen wore every day until about three weeks ago. And whenever Carmen’s shift ends early, Jenn conveniently leaves a couple minutes later—even though she usually stays late.”

You blink, almost dropping your fork at the overload of detail.

“And you just happen to notice all of that?”

“It’s part of being a spy,” Natasha says, looking up with a faint smirk. “People tell you things without realizing it. All you have to do is watch.”

Before you can respond, a new group enters the cafeteria. You nudge her arm, pointing at someone in the middle.

“Okay, what about—”

“Crushing on Jeremy from IT,” she interrupts smoothly, not even bothering to turn her head.

Your jaw drops. “You didn’t even look.”

“I don’t need to,” she replies coolly, taking a sip of her drink. “She rearranged her gym schedule to match his. Switched brands to that chalky protein powder he drinks. And she nearly concussed herself last week trying to follow him around a corner.”

You gape, then narrow your eyes at her.

“You say you’re not into romance,” you accuse, jabbing your fork toward her, “but you’re basically tuned into everyone’s relationship at SHIELD.”

Her smirk deepens just enough to be infuriating. 

“I don’t have to be into it to recognize it. Tells are tells. That’s all it is—patterns, shifts, little details.”

You hum, a grin tugging at your lips as something mischievous sparks in your chest. You lean forward, voice lowering with challenge.

“Alright then. Since you’re so confident…do me.”

Her brows rise. “Excuse me?”

You rest your chin in your palm, grinning excitedly. 

“Figure out my crush.”

For the first time, Natasha falters. Just a flicker—but you catch it. Surprise. Maybe confusion. Definitely something unsettled before she schools her features back into cool indifference.

“You have someone you like?”

You shrug, your smile turning smug. 

“Mmhmm. Guess you’re not as sharp with the little details as you thought.”

Her eyes narrow on you, and you don’t miss the way her grip tightens subtly on her fork.

“Give me until the end of the week,” she says finally, standing to gather her tray.

You smirk at her teasingly.

“You need that long?”

Her look turns flat. 

“We leave on mission tomorrow. With actual gunfire and people trying to kill us. You want me to prioritize your love life over keeping us alive?”

You tip your head in mock consideration. 

“Multitask, Romanoff.”

Her huff is half amusement, half irritation as she adjusts her tray and tablet before attempting to grab her bag. 

“Fine,” she grunts, conceding the challenge.

You sweep the bag from her overloaded hands before she can manage it. 

“End of the week,” you call as you stroll away, flashing her a playful grin. “Let’s see how good the Black Widow really is…at noticing the little details.”

Natasha watches you go, eyes narrowing just slightly. 

You don’t spare a single glance toward anyone else in the room. No tells. No obvious trails. For someone she spends so much time with, she realizes she never noticed there was someone you liked.

That thought alone bothers her more than anything.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha’s boots click quietly against the floor as she moves down the long row of lockers, her mind already sorting through mission details. She slows when she spots you in the next row, bent over the middle bench, lacing your boots.

She stops short, retreating a step back around the corner when she realizes you’re not alone. A weapons support tech she recognizes stands beside you, chatting animatedly while you respond with the same bright energy. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow when the other woman’s hand lands briefly on your shoulder before she departs with a smile. The touch is friendly, fleeting even, and yet irritating all the same. 

“You know she’s still tangled up in that on-again, off-again thing with Tess from legal,” Natasha blurts as she finally approaches.

You turn, one brow raised, clearly amused.

“Even I know that tidbit,” you tease, tugging your boots tight and rising to your feet. Hands settle on your hips as you tilt your head at her. “What are you suggesting, that she’s my crush?” 

Natasha considers, tilting her head. For a split second, she weighs the possibility before dismissing it, shaking her head as she strides to her locker.

“No. She’s not your type.” 

You chuckle, leaning your shoulder against the lockers beside hers, arms folded loosely across your chest. 

“And what exactly do you think my type is?”

Her hand freezes halfway into her locker. The question digs in deeper than she expected. For all her observation skills, she realizes she has no answer. You flirt often, but always lightly, never with any real heat. Not once could she recall you showing actual romantic interest in anyone. 

Irritation stirs in her chest at the gap in her knowledge. Her lips press thin before she finally mutters, “Just…not her.”

You hum thoughtfully at her clipped tone, pushing off the locker. 

“Well, you’re right again, Romanoff. She was just dropping something off for me.”

Natasha answers with a noncommittal noise, keeping her face buried in the depths of her locker as she gathers her gear. The sound of rummaging nearly masks your footsteps when, suddenly, a tug at her arm pulls her around.

“What—” she starts, but the words catch in her throat when you step into her space, close enough that she freezes.

For one breathless second, her pulse spikes as you lean in.

But at the last instant, you angle past her face, fingers working deftly at her waist. Natasha’s breath stills as she feels the brush of your hand close the clasp of her utility belt.

Then you lean back, patting the red hourglass buckle at her front. 

“Got them to finish the repairs just in time,” you announce proudly, turning away toward your own locker.

Natasha releases the air she’d been holding in a slow rush, her hands curling at her sides as she fights to steady the pounding of her heart. The warmth on her cheek feels out of place and unexpected. She brushes at it with the back of her hand, annoyed with herself. Why did her body react like that?

Her gaze drifts back to you.

You hum absently while you pack your duffel, tossing items in without care. Same as always. Nothing new, nothing different. 

Nothing to explain her reaction.  

Something slips from your locker with the next careless toss. 

Natasha stoops and picks it up—a photo, edges worn. It’s the group shot at the shawarma shop after the battle in New York. She remembers the moment, remembers the exhaustion in her bones as she sits between Steve and Clint.

But what catches her eye now is you. You aren’t looking at the camera. Your gaze is angled toward the three of them instead.

“Have you heard from any of them recently?” you ask casually, drawing her attention.

Natasha blinks, processing your question for a beat before handing the photo back. 

“Uh, no. Clint’s on vacation. And last I heard Stark’s still rebuilding.” 

You hum softly, sliding the picture back onto the inside of your locker door. 

“What about Rogers?”

Her brows draw together. She glances at the photo again, as if she could trace the direction of your gaze, pinpoint whether it lingered on the Captain. Her tone cools. 

“What about him?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, zipping up your duffel. “It must be tough, adjusting to the modern world all alone.”

The spark of irritation comes so suddenly that it makes her jaw clench. Natasha slams her locker closed harder than she means to. 

“He’ll manage,” she says curtly before adding. “We should focus on our own jobs.”

You only laugh, throwing your duffel strap over one shoulder and—before she could react—snatching hers as well. 

“Whatever you say, Romanoff,” you say, walking towards the hangar bay.

Natasha lingers for a moment longer, her gaze sliding back to your locker. The group photo sits just inside. She exhales through her nose, trying to banish the nagging thoughts.

Steve Rogers probably isn’t your type either.

So why does just the possibility of it leave such a bitter taste in her mouth?

With a sigh, she follows after you, irritation simmering low in her chest and growing harder to explain.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha lounges on the lush couch in the grand hotel lobby, ankle crossed neatly over her knee, a glossy magazine balanced in her lap. 

To the casual eye, she’s absorbed in the pages, but in reality, her gaze darts over the rim of the paper—tracking staff as they carry trays of glassware into the ballroom, noting security placement, measuring the rhythm of movement in and out of the gilded doors.

The comm device crackles faintly in her ear, and your voice filters through, light and curious.

“Do you see our target yet?”

Natasha exhales a soft breath, flipping the page like she’s genuinely invested in the article. 

“Still no,” she murmurs. “Nothing has changed since you asked me five minutes ago.”

Your sigh hums over the line, a note of boredom. Then your voice drops lower, the ghost of a teasing smile audible across the frequency.

“Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Her hand stalls mid-turn, the page hanging half-folded in her fingers. Natasha blinks once, forcing herself to return to her sharp and focused composure, but her chest betrays her with the faintest hitch.

Usually, she has no trouble brushing off your teasing, filing it under friendly banter and harmless distraction. 

But lately…lately the simple sound of your voice makes her pulse skip for some reason.

She clears her throat quietly, forcing her attention outward. 

Across the marble floor, movement catches her eye. A cluster of security streams through the doors, and in the center, exactly as expected, is the target.

“I see him,” she says, her voice cracking slightly, which she quickly covers with a soft cough.

On the comms, you shift, the rustle of fabric telling her you’re straightening in your seat.

“And the package?”

Her eyes flick between the security bodies and spot a slim metal case in the target’s hand. One of the guards moves to the front desk, and the target’s grip on the case shifts into perfect view. 

Natasha palms her phone and pretends to scroll before tilting it just enough to capture an image. She sends it over with a practiced ease.

“Nice work,” you say, approval warm in your tone. “It looks like that model requires a fingerprint scan to open.” 

Natasha lifts her phone to her ear, feigning a call as she considers the problem. 

Her gaze drifts toward the ballroom doors, where the staff are still bustling about.

At the threshold stands the event planner—clipboard hugged close, lips moving as she ticks off notes. When she glances up and her eyes catch sight of Natasha, her composure stumbles. She ducks her head, her cheeks flushing faintly as she pretends to fuss with her clipboard.

“So we lift the prints at the party,” Natasha says calmly, already slotting pieces of a plan into place.

Your soft laugh filters through with a hint of skepticism.

“And how exactly do you suppose we get inside?”

Natasha’s eyes flick back to the planner, who sneaks another look at her before quickly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

Natasha feels the corner of her mouth curve. She tips her head, gifting the woman a small, disarming smile and a subtle wave. The shy grin she earns in return confirms it—an opening.

Natasha lowers her magazine just enough to murmur, “I’m working on it.” 

Before you can reply, she rises smoothly from the couch and crosses the lobby, her stride confident but unhurried. She stops just beside the planner, her posture easy and her smile warm.

“You’ve done a beautiful job with the room,” Natasha says, voice low and sincere.

The compliment lands instantly. The woman beams, shoulders straightening.

“Oh! Thank you—it’s been exhausting, but I think it’s finally coming together. Are you…a guest?”

Natasha shakes her head lightly. 

“Helping a friend who is. Their luggage got lost during the flight, so I came to make sure they had what they needed.” She lets the pause linger a beat, then adds smoothly, “Though I may be pressing my luck asking if there’s any chance of being a plus-one.”

The planner’s brows lift, interest sparking exactly where Natasha expects it.

“We might have last-minute passes,” she says quickly, flipping through her clipboard. “I could add a note to add you if you’d still like to come.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Natasha replies, resting a hand lightly on the woman’s arm, her smile just this side of intimate. “I hope that means I’ll see you there too.”

The woman chuckles, biting back a grin, before one of the staff calls her name. She starts to go, but glances back.

“What’s your name? For the list.”

Natasha gives the alias assigned to her mission. The woman scribbles it onto her notes, then flashes her a quick wave. 

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Natasha answers smoothly, watching as she disappears into the organized chaos of final preparations.

Once she’s gone, Natasha raises her phone again, pretending to resume her call.

“And now we have a way in,” she says softly, satisfaction threading her tone.

Silence answers. The accomplished warmth in her chest cools into tight concern.

“Hello? Is everything okay?” she asks, turning toward the exit, ready to head back to you if needed.

Finally, your voice filters back through the comm.

“All good. Just some connection problems. I’m back now.”

Natasha frowns faintly. Something in your tone is off. It’s no longer playful, but clipped. Before she can press, you clear your throat, steering the moment away.

“Can you figure out what room he’s staying in? I’ll sneak in and take the case while you lift his prints at the party.”

The frown deepens. She doesn’t like the sharp pivot or the stiffness in your voice.

“Are you sure you’re—”

“Natasha.”

The curt way you say her name stills her instantly.

“Focus on our own jobs, remember?” you add with a teasing lilt, though the note rings hollow compared to earlier.

Natasha swallows, turning back into the lobby, her expression once again carefully neutral.

“…Yeah. Sure,” she mutters, though the word sits heavy in her chest.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits cross-legged on the narrow bed, eyes tracking you as you pace the length of the safehouse. The single room feels even smaller with your restless movement, your gaze fixed on the tablet in your hands as you scroll through hotel blueprints.

You mutter to yourself occasionally, weighing entry points and fallback routes, but when she tries to interject, all she gets are clipped one-word answers or noncommittal hums.

She narrows her eyes. Something is off—it has been off since the hotel lobby. She just can’t put her finger on what.

A sharp knock breaks the tense quiet. Both of you freeze for half a beat, instincts snapping in. You exchange a look, then move in a practiced tandem.

Natasha slips from the bed, gun in hand from beneath the nightstand, while you draw one hidden by the doorframe.

“Oi! Open up already! I haven’t got all day!”

Natasha exhales sharply at the familiar voice. You relax too, though your weapon stays in your hand until you swing the door open.

Mason leans casually against the frame, suitcase in hand. His brow arches at the sight of your guns.

“Always a warm welcome with the two of you,” he deadpans, brushing past you into the room.

Natasha huffs, tucking her weapon away. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I called him,” you say, shutting the door and turning to Mason expectantly. “Did you get it?”

He presents the case with mock ceremony. 

“Here you are. Now we’re square, yeah?”

You take the case and tilt your head in consideration. 

“Is one favor really enough after what you put me through at that last safehouse?”

“Hey,” Mason protests with a hand raised, grinning, “I was trapped there with you, too.”

Natasha frowns, her gaze darting between you and him. There’s an ease in your banter with Mason—inside jokes, stories she isn’t part of. The space between you two is minimal also, too casual for her liking. She tells herself it’s nothing, but irritation prickles anyway.

The irritation grows as she realizes you’ve spoken more words to Mason in these few minutes than you have to her in the past hours. Before she can think better of it, she’s already stepping forward, pressing Mason back toward the door with a polite but firm hand.

“Alright, we need to prep for tonight,” she says briskly, ushering him over the threshold. “Thanks for the delivery. Until next time.”

His brows lift, but before he can argue, the door clicks shut and locks.

She turns to find you perched on the bed with the case, already working the clasps.

“That was a little rude,” you comment, a grin tugging at your lips when you glance at her. The teasing tone doesn’t match the way you immediately look back down, shutting her out again.

Natasha’s patience snaps. 

“Alright, what’s up with you?” she demands, folding her arms as she steps closer.

You stop fiddling with the lock, lift your eyes, and fix her with a steady look. 

“That woman at the hotel,” you say flatly.

Natasha blinks in confusion. 

“What about her?”

“How did you know she was interested in you?” Your shrug is casual, but the words are sharp. “That’s why you went over, right? Because you already knew she’d say yes.”

The question hangs heavier than it should. Natasha hesitates, suddenly cautious. She could give you a dozen technical answers, but instinct tells her the wrong one might make things worse. She taps her fingers against her arm, searching.

“I just…noticed,” she admits finally. “The little details. How someone looks, shifts, reacts. I can always tell when they like something—or someone.”

Your expression doesn’t soften. If anything, the slight clench of your jaw tells her she’s only made it worse. You hum, noncommittal, and turn back to the case.

Frustration knots in Natasha’s chest. She can feel you slipping back into silence, shutting her out again.

The locks pop open.

She leans forward instinctively, expecting some weapon or device.

Instead, you pull out a long red dress. Without a word, you rise and step in front of her, holding it up against her body.

“I knew it would look good on you,” you murmur, appraising her with softened eyes for a brief second. Then you drape the dress onto the bed and brush past her, back to your tablet. “Now you can notice all the people interested in you later at the party.”

This time, the edge in your voice is unmistakable.

Natasha’s mouth opens to respond, but she falters. She doesn’t actually know what the issue is, only that she’s missing something, and the fact that she can’t see it bothers her more than she wants to admit.

You curl up on the sofa, tablet balanced on your knee, already scanning blueprints as if she’s no longer in the room.

Natasha sighs, staring at the red dress lying stark against the drab blanket, before dragging a hand down her face. Confusion and annoyance churn together, and for once she has no read. No clear tells.

Just the unsettling certainty that she’s failed to notice some detail that matters most.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha smooths her palms down the dress, the fabric gliding beneath her fingers. You were right—it fits perfectly. Too perfectly. She wonders, fleetingly, if Mason guessed her measurements or if you had given them.

When she finally exits the bathroom, she finds you already geared up in your black tactical suit, adjusting the straps across your shoulders, with your focus tight on your equipment.

“Can you help me with this?” Natasha asks quietly, turning her back to you and gathering her hair into one hand to bare the zipper.

“Sure,” you reply. The nonchalance of your tone makes her want to sigh, but she keeps still, bowing her head slightly so you have easier access.

Your palm steadies her lower back as your other hand finds the zipper and tugs it slowly upward. The soft scrape of metal teeth closing echoes in her ears. At the top, your breath ghost against the nape of her neck.

“You look beautiful, Natasha,” you whisper faintly, almost as if you didn’t mean to say it aloud. Then, just as quickly, your touch and presence vanish as you step away.

Natasha stays rooted to the spot. She releases her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, and lifts her gaze to the mirror across the room. Her eyes widen at the sight of her reflection.

A flush blooms across her cheeks, one she can’t write off as heat or adrenaline. She knows this expression. The flicker of awareness, the telltale glow in the eyes, the way her pulse jumps—details she’s read a hundred times in others, but never noticed in herself.

Her head snaps over her shoulder. 

You’re focused on your gear again, oblivious to the rush of thoughts in her mind as the memory of your whisper hums in her ears.

Unconsciously, her heart beats faster, and the urge to step back into your space nearly overwhelms her. Her hand flexes at her side, restless.

But then she remembers. 

You already told her you like someone. The reminder settles like a stone in her chest. Natasha breathes deeply, pressing her feelings down beneath years of training.

As if sensing her stare, you glance up and offer her a small, reassuring smile. 

“Ready, Romanoff?”

Her throat tightens, and she forces herself to nod.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The party is bright and loud, chandeliers scattering light across polished floors and velvet drapes.

Natasha slips through with ease, greeted warmly by the planner who ushers her inside. A few pleasantries exchanged, and the woman is called away, leaving Natasha free to focus on the mission.

The target is easy to find, seated with his cluster of guards. 

Natasha approaches, glass of wine in hand.

One guard steps in her path, his palm pressing firmly against her shoulder. Natasha knocks his hand away, cold irritation flashing in her eyes, until the target waves him aside.

His leer is obvious, his gaze shameless. 

Natasha fights the urge to roll her eyes, pasting on a coy smile instead as she takes the offered seat beside him. She crosses her legs slowly, the slit of the dress shifting to bare a line of skin. Predictably, his attention locks there.

A few flirtatious remarks and practiced laughs later, he’s pliant in her hands. She passes him her glass under the guise of sharing. When she takes it back, her “slip” sends the last drops spilling onto him. Her apologies tumble out sweet and flustered, and he waves her off with a smile, completely unaware that his fingerprints are now captured on her scanner after she leaves his side.

“I got the prints,” she murmurs into the comm, moving swiftly toward the exit.

Static crackles before your voice cuts through, strained and layered with the sounds of impact and shattering glass.

“That’s… great.” A grunt follows, then the crash of something breaking.

Natasha freezes, then picks up her pace. 

“What’s happening?”

More noise filters in—grunts, a muffled curse, the slam of bodies colliding. Your voice returns, breathless but firm.

“I’ve got the case too. Just…finishing up here.”

Natasha presses the elevator button repeatedly, muttering under her breath. 

“You could just admit you need help.”

Your laugh comes, dramatic and almost mocking, despite the strain. 

“What? Everything’s fine.” Another grunt follows, less convincing this time.

When the elevator doors slide open, she bolts down the hall toward the sound of chaos. One door hangs ajar.

Natasha bursts in, gun raised—only to see you drop the last guard with a final, clean strike.

You straighten, sweat-damp hair sticking to your forehead, chest rising and falling. Spotting her, you flash a crooked grin.

“See? All good.”

You stoop to pick up the case and head past her, but Natasha steps into your path, hand pressing firmly to your shoulder. She tilts your chin with practiced precision, inspecting your face.

The moment her fingers brush your temple, you flinch. Her hand comes away slick with red. Natasha’s jaw tightens. She grips your chin again, forcing your eyes to hers.

“Next time, just ask for help.” Her tone is sharp and low.

You only stare back, wide-eyed, lips parting without words. 

That’s when Natasha realizes just how close she is, her body angled into yours, her grip still holding you there.

Heat climbs her cheeks before she notices something else. 

Your gaze flickers—downward, just for a breath, to her mouth—before darting away, and the color deepening on your face clearly isn’t just from exertion.

Her heart stutters. She recognizes this detail, too.

You pull back abruptly, her hand falling from your jaw.

“Let’s get moving before reinforcements show,” you mutter, brushing past without meeting her eyes.

Natasha turns and watches you go, pulse still racing, and suspicion coiling in her chest. Of all people, she knows these kinds of tells the best, and she knows exactly what they mean.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha drops the last strip of gauze into the first-aid box and snaps the lid shut, but she doesn’t move away from you. She stays planted in front of the bed, her knees brushing yours as you sit at the edge, head still tilted slightly from where she bandaged you.

You squirm under her gaze, eyes fixed anywhere but her face—the window, the wall, the worn carpet. She notices every flick of your eyes, every shift of your shoulders. It’s not discomfort. It’s just nerves.

You sigh finally, rubbing at your palms. 

“Alright, I’ll call for back-up next time,” you mutter. “Just…stop whatever intimidation tactic this is.”

Natasha huffs, a low, amused sound. 

“This isn’t intimidation.”

Before you can retreat further, she lifts her hand and cups your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. She tilts your face up toward hers, and the moment your eyes meet, she catches it—the sudden flush rising under your skin, the slight hitch of your breath.

Her own lips curve, triumphant and almost disbelieving.

“I knew it,” she whispers, more to herself than to you.

Your brows furrow. “Knew what?”

Her smile deepens. She kneels onto the bed, closing the distance, until she’s almost straddling your thighs. 

You lean back instinctively, bracing yourself on your elbows as she hovers above you.

“The person you like,” Natasha murmurs, voice low, teasing yet fragile at the edges. “Is it me?”

You blink in surprise, startled, your words stuttering in your throat. 

“How…?”

Natasha’s grin softens into something warmer. Her fingers slide up from your jaw to cradle your face fully, thumbs resting at the corners of your mouth. She leans in until your noses brush, her breath fanning over your lips.

“I notice things. Always have,” she murmurs. “But somehow I missed the one right in front of me.”

Before you can answer, she tilts your chin up and presses her mouth to yours in a soft, tentative kiss—testing, tasting, a question asked with her lips.

For a heartbeat, you’re frozen, caught between disbelief and the flood of warmth crashing through you. Then instinct takes over. Your hands rise almost on their own, sliding over the curve of her waist until your palms spread firmly against her hips, grounding both of you in the moment.

You kiss her back, slow at first, savoring the softness of her lips against yours. The tentative edge fades as you angle your head slightly, deepening the kiss, letting her feel in the press of your mouth what words never managed to say.

Natasha exhales against you, a shiver running through her that you feel in the flex of her body beneath your touch. The hand cradling your face tightens just a fraction, as though she’s afraid you’ll pull away.

Instead, you slip one hand up from her hip to her lower back, drawing her closer until there’s no space left between you.

When she finally breaks the kiss, it’s only because she needs to breathe. She stays close, resting her forehead against yours, her lips brushing yours with every shallow inhale.

You can feel the rapid beat of her heart in the way her chest rises against yours.

Her eyes open, and this time, you don’t look away. You keep her close, thumbs brushing soft circles over her waist, silently telling her the answer she already suspects.

“Sorry it took me so long to notice that little detail,” she breathes, her voice breaking faintly on the words.

A laugh escapes you, shaky but relieved. 

“What I feel for you is nothing little, Natasha Romanoff,” you murmur, brushing your lips against hers again.

This time, she doesn’t hesitate. The next kiss is deeper, hungrier—no longer testing but answering.

Natasha shifts forward, pressing you back against the mattress, her hands sliding to your shoulders, anchoring herself as she kisses you harder.

Your fingers tighten on her waist, tracing the outline of her dress, feeling her shiver under your touch.

She parts her lips under yours, a soft sound escaping her throat, equal parts relief and want.

The safehouse fades—the hum of the heater, the smell of antiseptic, the muffled city sounds outside—until there’s only the warmth of her body and the weight of the moment, long overdue.

Natasha breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, her forehead still against yours, her lips grazing your mouth with each word.

“Tell me if this is too much.”

You shake your head slightly, eyes locked with hers.

“Not even close.”

She smiles, a real, unguarded smile, before capturing your lips again—this time slower, deeper, her hands sliding behind your neck as yours explore the curve of her back, both of you surrendering to this little detail that the two of you share.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

"Alex, John said he was looking for you" the agent stopped talking with you to turn around and look at her sister.

"oh yea, we still need to interrogate Will" Alex said, referring to the guy you and Supergirl just captured "we'll let you know if he talks" she assured, walking out of the room and closing the door behind her.

You then noticed Kara quickly skipping towards you, causing a smile to form on your face. "are you ready to go home?"

Being the only two in the room of the DEO made it possible for her to use your real name.

"home?" you questioned, watching how she started playing with her fingers, her confident act dropping in the comfort of the empty room.

"yea I thought since I don't have to work tomorrow, you could come sleep at mine" your amused smirk caused her to ramble even more "we don't have to do anything, I just thought it would be fun to spend the night together"

This was the shift in behavior you noticed, still chirpy, still Kara Danvers like, just...more affectionate, in a way.

"I have something to take care of at work tomorrow morning" you never had sleepovers, so you didn't understand the reason behind her frown, and how she lowered her head taking her bottom lip between her teeth.

But it still made you feel bad.

You took one step closer and left a soft kiss on top of her head "we can have lunch together when I'm done?"

You let out a sigh of relief when she eagerly nodded, replacing her frown with a smile. You smiled back, before walking past her to get out of the room.

As you opened the door however, her voice stopped you.

"do you think I can, maybe, tell Alex?" she turned around to see your perplexed expression. "you know, she's my sister and I want to-"

"of course" you nodded, albeit confused "why couldn't you?"

"I was just, making sure" she shrugged, her cheeks tainted a light shade of pink "thank you"

And she said it so sweetly you couldn't help but chuckle. "bye Kara"

"bye, Y/N" she replied when you were already out of the room.

- - - -

"hi"

You raised your head from your phone to find Kara smiling at you. As you got up to give her a quick side hug, to which she responded with both of her arms around you, you noticed she was alone.

You were about to ask if Alex was going to be late or if she couldn't come at all, but the blonde stopped you with a question of her own.

"can i sit next to you?" you briefly looked at the booth in front of you, occupied only by her bag, then turned to look at her.

"uh, sure" you spoke up after a second, making room for her to seat.

"how was work?" she made no move to grab the menu in front of her, instead leaning on your side when you opened yours, putting her head on your shoulder.

"uh, good" you hesitated again, causing Kara to distance herself from you with a worried expression

"oh I'm sorry" she must have realized the position she was in, and how you didn't reciprocate the affectionate touch "do you want me to sit across from you?"

You thought it over. You have never been a really touchy person, and Kara's sudden but constant affection was obviously weird; but the way she always seemed attentive to your reactions, like this moment, and the softness of her hands whenever she wanted to hold yours, you didn't exactly hate it. You quite liked it.

"no, it's fine" you cleared you throat, and felt the weight of her head going back on your shoulder. "it's just...new"

And Kara chuckled, adjusting the glasses that almost fell with the new position. "yea, I bet it is"

- - - -

A few days later, while Kara was texting you about a new movie she'd like to go watch with you, Alex called you both over at the DEO because the alien you captured a week ago escaped.

As soon as you got there you felt two strong arms engulfing you in a hug, a familiar scent invading your senses. "hello, partner" Supergirl whispered. The hug ended before you could register it ever happening, as her hand slid down your arm to take a hold of your own. "come on, we're waiting for you"

Bringing Will back proved to be fairly easy, they had enough intel on him to predict where he was heading to.

But it hadn't been...pretty. or dry.

"you brought him back just in time, we put a guard outside of his cell until we know what to do with him" John stood tall with his hands on his hips. Then his gaze shifted on your drenched hair, and your even more drenched suit, offering you a sympathetic, and dare you say proud, smile.

"good job you two"

He didn't wait for you to thank him, and walked off.

Droplets of water kept on falling from the tips of your hair down to your nose and onto your eyelashes, making you continuously blink them away.

"I better get going, I'd rather not catch a-" You raised your head from the ground when you heard rustling and heels clicking on the floor from the other side of the room.

Your back instantly felt warmer, red cape around your shoulders.

"you know I can't get sick, I could have jumped into the river to catch him" she almost wanted to laugh at his desperate attempt to hide "you didn't have to"

She saw how you crossed you arms tighter every time a shiver run up your spine, so she brought her hands to your biceps, gently squeezing, and felt you shrugging your shoulders.

"I know," you softly smile "but I didn't want you to get your hair wet" and she instantly glanced back at yours "it looks like you put a lot of effort in it"

Kara raised her eyebrows, giggling at your words "is that a compliment?"

You shrugged a second time, but your answer was wiped away by a soft sneeze, and a shiver right after it.

"okay that's it, go home" she firmly stated, tapping your biceps twice before letting her arms fall to her sides. "you can give it to me tomorrow at game night" instead of helping you remove her cape like you intended to do, Kara clasped it tighter around you so it wouldn't fall on your way home. "you're coming right?"

there was a light uncertainty in her voice, but you didn't catch it

"I want my partner to be there"

You never missed a game night since she invited you the first time, unless you had important work to do.

"of course, unless I get-" you covered your face when another sneeze hit you "sick"

- - - -

Thankfully a warm bath and a deep sleep prevented you from getting sick, even if the hardest task was convincing Kara you didn't need her to come over and bring you soup.

As you got off your phone with one of your coworker to delegate your work, you didn't have time to knock on the door as it flew open right before your eyes.

"I heard you talking" Kara was standing in front of you with a smile on her face, whispering the words in case you were still on your phone.

You quickly greeted her and reached inside of your backpack. "it's a bit wrinkled I'm sorry, I didn't want people to see me walking around with Supergirl's cape in hand"

She took it from your hands and moved it to the side so it wouldn't be in the way when she leaned in to give you a hug.

Alex came up behind her and called your name, while Kara got back to her room to put the cape away.

"hey" Alex's arms wrapped themselves around you, it wasn't a bad hug, but it felt lighter than when her sister did it. And you had a feeling it wasn't because of the kryptonian strength.

"hi" she glanced back at the room where everyone was carelessly chatting before turning back to you, lowering her tone. "Kara told me."

Told her...told her what?

"and you know she's my sister, so this is my duty" she stopped, raising the beer in her hand, completely unaware of your confused expression "to tell you that if you dare-"

She was stopped however by the rest of group calling your names, so the -game- part in game night could finally happen.

So when she assured you this wasn't over, with a seemingly threatening tone you might add, you could only hope for some clarity.

It was a few hours later when the excitement died down, and the night turned into light conversations and soft tones, where sleepiness started to make itself present.

Except for you, Alex, and Brainy, intent on playing a very competitive Mario kart race on Kara's tv.

You and Alex were fighting for the first place, while Brainy was a few seconds away, in fifth place.

"you know I haven't forgotten about our talk right?" Alex spoke up as a mean to distract you, a smirk playing on her lips.

You let your eyes move to her for a second, and decided to play the part "okay, what do you want to tell me?"

She shook her head, not falling into your trap. Instead, she leaned into your side and bumped her shoulder with yours, making you grip the controller tighter.

"come on Danvers, that's all you got?" you noticed on the little map in the corner of the screen Brainy's character being surpassed by two cars, making you glance at the man to make a witty remark.

You didn't have time to open your mouth however, as Alex used your distraction to push your character off a cliff.

Your groan joined her proud laugh, but it didn't last long, as she soon found herself in the air, hit by a blue shell.

Courtesy of Brainy.

"Brainy!"

"I didn't mean to hit you" he said, and he sounded genuine "I meant to hit Luigi in front of me, why did hit you?"

Thankfully Nia explained it to him, so you and Alex could focus on the race "the red shell hits the person ahead of you, the blue shell hits the person in first place" after his nod, she put her head back on his shoulder.

You and Alex were once again head-to-head, while Brainy was quickly catching up, now in fourth place; and just as you were about to reach the finish line you paused the game; the loud complaints of your opponents startling those who weren't playing, especially Nia, who sleepily rubbed her eyes.

But you gave them no thought, and turned your head to look at the blonde who tapped your shoulder.

She had a light blush on her cheeks as everyone's eyes were now on the two of you. So she opted to whisper, hoping no one other than her sister, who was still leaning into your side, could hear.

"can you stay for a bit later? for..you know" Kara had one thing in mind, Alex had another, judging by her disgusted expression, while your head was completely blank.

But once again, you didn't have time to voice your confusion, as Alex pressed a button on your controller, resuming the game.

You whipped your head to the tv but it was already too late as the agent finished in first place with you in second place, followed by Brainy. "oh come on you cheater!"

You asked for a rematch after the race, but Nia was drifting in and out of sleep on Brainy's shoulder, so they decided it was time to go, and Alex just wouldn't give you the satisfaction.

So everyone used this as a excuse to end the night, leaving you and Kara alone.

You raised from the couch to help her clean up, and you two soon fell into a rhythm.

The silence created was only interrupted by questions of were you should throw away the trash or the leftover pizza, and by the game music softly playing in the background.

You refrained from asking her why she wanted you to stay, as you waited for her to bring it up. But you could see in her furrowed eyebrows and her slightly uncoordinated steps that she was indeed thinking about it.

So you decided to cut the head off the snake.

Leaning on the back of the couch to peek at the blonde in the kitchen you asked her "why did you ask me to stay?"

Your tone hid no malice, but Kara still looked taken aback, and rounded the counter to stand a few feet away from you.

She began playing with her fingers, her gaze lowering to look at them.

"I wanted to ask you if...if you had anything in mind for tomorrow?"

She couldn't see your conflicted expression but she could hear you sigh, and she raised her head, adjusting the glasses that moved with the motion.

Kara being weird, Alex looking at you differently, claiming she had to talk to you. You were tired of all of it. You just wanted some clarity.

"i don't know what tomorrow is" you let your arms fall to your sides, and you almost wanted to take it back when you saw the hurt flash in her eyes, but you know it was best you didn't. "what is tomorrow? Did I promise you something?" your question close to a plea

"no you didn't promise me anything, but I assumed we could do something" she crossed her arms, and slightly raised her voice "I would have been fine with not doing anything, but you forgetting about it is a kind of a low blow"

You furrowed your eyebrows, you could feel the annoyance radiating off her body, and you wanted to punch yourself in the face for it, but no matter how much you racked your brain for an answer, nothing came up.

So you got closer to her, cautious of her tense shoulder, and tried again with the kindest tone you could master.

"please Kara, I have no idea what you're talking about. Can't you just tell me?"

"I shouldn't have to tell you Y/N" she shakes her head "you should remember when we started dating"

uh?

you and Kara were dating? And nobody told you?

More time passed between Kara's outburst and your silence, more things started to make sense, the way Kara started being more affectionate towards you, how she always asked you to spend alone time with her, and the looks she gave you from across the room.

All things you would expect from a couple.

And come to think of it, she has been acting this way for like...

"a month?"

oh god.

You blink twice. Is that what Alex wanted to talk to you about?

"yea tomorrow is a month" Kara echoes, then her defensive stance turned into one of defeat "did you seriously not remember?"

The answer was yes. You and Kara were dating, and nobody told you.

The answer was no. You didn't remember.

She was already mad, so you figured telling the whole truth couldn't make the situation any worse, you hoped.

You weren't able to stop the incredulous laugh before it escaped your lips, and told her the truth "I didn't know we were dating. Believe me" you added, because even though you were indeed telling the truth, you wouldn't blame Kara for not believing you, and kicking you out of her apartment.

And it was really hard for her to believe you, and she had to will herself not to throw you out the window. You were still her best friend after all, so she trusted you not to play with her feelings like that, so it must be something else.

Did you knock your head while fighting the last alien?

So she bit her tongue, and pondered her next question. "how do you not know? You were the one who asked me."

It felt like she was looking for the answer in your eyes with how intensely she was looking into them, but all she could see was an empty stare.

"I don't...remember. I think I would remember something like that?" you muttered, and you started considering the head injury too.

The blonde sighed, the rage and hurt being put aside for the moment. She still had her arms crossed but they weren't as tense, and you noticed.

"when that livewire copycat and that shapeshifter started creating chaos all over the city, do you remember that?" she stopped for a second to see you carefully nodding your head "and Nia went to stop the shapeshifter while we went after the other one" She took a deep breath, suddenly embarrassed to narrate the events out loud "before going after him, you stopped me and asked me if- you asked me if I wanted-"

"if you wanted to be my partner" you interrupted her, while a deep red rushed to your cheeks.

Her cheeks became red too, even if she lowered her head to try and hide it. She nodded.

You loudly cleared your throat. You definitely could have explained it better.

"I meant uhm, I meant work partner. I didn't mean-"

You were stopped by Kara's breath hitch. She didn't know how to feel, the anger was being quickly replaced by the embarrassment of her actions of the last month. "work partner?" she parrots "what does that even mean?"

You shrugged your shoulders "my work partner! it was our first real assignment together, the day we started being a team" You see her shoulders drop, and yours drop with hers, your voice coming out softer this time "I'm sorry"

Kara let out a big sigh, shaking her head "it's not your fault." because it wasn't "I just can't believe I've been attached to you a whole month and you never noticed!" she tilted her head to the side. And while she was still reliving the past few weeks, you could tell she was feeling more at ease.

"No no I did notice, but you seemed normal..so I didn't ask" you really should have

"why did you agree when I said I wanted to tell Alex?"

"I thought you wanted to invite her for lunch" you shrugged your shoulders, laughing with her at the absurdity of it all. But then it felt natural to ask "Why have you never tried to kiss me?"

You saw her cheeks becoming a shade darker, while she stammered a bit "I thought you wanted to go slow and I wanted to go at your pace." Her hands went to smoothe the wrinkles on her sweater, but it was probably just an excuse not to look into your eyes "But now I know why you were so stiff whenever I tried anything"

Silence fell between the two of you, with Kara awkwardly looking at everything but at your face, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Then you cleared your throat and straightened your back. "Would you like to?"

She raised her head when she heard your footsteps getting closer. "What?"

So you repeated "Would you like to? Kiss, I mean" you got closer to her face, giving her enough space to pull back "We've been together for a month now after all"

Kara audibly gulped, while her gaze moved from your eyes to your lips "Well uh- uhm, technically tomorrow is a month, but I wouldn't-" -mind.

That's what she meant to say, but you didn't give her time as your lips fell on hers.

You distanced yourself after just a second to look at her face, but she brought you right back by the back of your neck.

Saying you had never thought about kissing Kara would be a great lie, especially with all those moments where she was too close for comfort, too close to not get caught staring at her probably- soft, probably- sweet lips. And now you could finally confirm their softness as you felt them against yours, and how sweet they were when you tongue came out to taste them.

You eventually pulled away again, admiring the red tint of her cheekbones as she kept her eyes closed for a second longer.

"since I already did it once I'm going to do it again" you whispered "and this time I mean it the romantic way"

Kara's smile twitched upwards, and reached for your hand.

"do you want to be my partner?"

Instead of answering verbally, she leaned in to take your lips in hers one more time. But when she broke off the kiss you could see she was still pondering something.

"so, when is our anniversary going to be?"

Kara Danvers Masterlist - Supergirl Masterlist

Midvale is a beautiful town. The pine trees along the road are a luscious green and the few lakes I’ve spotted here and there on my drive glitter invitingly in the late summer sun.

I turn down another empty road and take a deep breath of the salty ocean air. I have the window rolled down and the radio turned up, smiling from ear to ear at the prospect of seeing Kara and her family again.

We’re taking some time off from work and superhero-ing and decided staying at Eliza’s would be the best way to relax and reconnect with each other and the rest of the Danvers family.

Things have been busy lately, especially at my job because I’m up for a promotion, which is also why I didn’t drive here with Alex and Kelly two days ago.

Kara flew, getting Alex and Kelly to take her bags with them.

I continue driving a couple more minutes, humming to the song on the radio until Eliza’s familiar beach house comes into view.

The sun has just gone down which leaves a faint orange hue across the sky and I smile when I see the lights turned on inside the house.

I pull into the driveway, turn off the car and roll up the windows before getting out and rounding the car to get my bag from the trunk.

“You made it!”

Alex’s voice makes me look up and I smile instantly when my eyes land on her standing in the open doorway with a glass of wine in her hand.

“Alex!” I beam and jog up the stairs to the door to pull her into a tight hug. “I missed you.”

Alex squeezes me with one arm and holds her wineglass away from our bodies with the other, pulling back with a smile of her own. “I missed you, too. Did you get everything you need?”

I nod and hold up my bag for reference, feeling nerves bubble up in the pit of my stomach at the thought of the small velvet box stuffed between my shirts.

You see, being stuck at work wasn’t the only reason I didn’t take Alex and Kelly up on their offer of carpooling. My jeweler called me the day before we were supposed to leave and told me there had been some delay on the ring I commissioned.

So, I had no other choice but to postpone my departure and because Alex didn’t buy my half-lie of being stuck at work a little while longer I came clean and told her all about my plans of proposing.

She was ecstatic, going on a rant about how my idea of doing it on the beach was perfect and how happy she was for Kara for having someone like me.

“Perfect. Now, come on in. We finished dinner a while ago, but there’s still some leftovers in the kitchen.” She offers to take my bag up to Kara’s childhood bedroom and I accept with an embarrassed smile when my stomach grumbles loudly.

“Y/N!”

Kelly is the first to notice me when I step into the living room. She just came in from the porch outside where Eliza and Kara are sitting on cushioned Adirondack chairs wrapped in throw blankets.

“Hi. It’s good to see you again,” I say with a smile, accepting the gentle hug she pulls me into. “How have you been? How’s work?”

“I’ve been great. Work is. . . Well, it’s work, what can I say?” she laughs before adding, “But I do love my job, so there’s really not that much I can complain about. How are you? I heard you’re up for a promotion.”

“I’m good, and yeah I am up for a promotion, but my boss said—“

A shriek makes my head whip around and I only see a flash of blonde hair before my favorite person launches herself into my arms, sending me stumbling backward. “My baby!”

I laugh breathlessly and grab the kitchen counter to regain my balance. “Jesus. . .”

The blonde wraps her legs around my waist and peppers my face with kisses. “Not Jesus, just Kara.”

I smile incredulously and glance at Kelly for some kind of explanation as to why Kara’s acting like this, but the older woman just shrugs and watches the scene unfold in front of her with a fond look in her eyes.

“What on Earth has gotten into you, my love?” I chuckle and squeeze the back of Kara’s thighs to get her to look at me.

Her blue eyes shine with love and I’m almost convinced she’s simply happy to see me but then she kisses me and I’m met with the taste of alien liquor on her lips. “N’thing,” she slurs with a dopey grin. “‘M jus’ happy to see you.”

“Mhmm, I can tell,” I tease which makes her frown comically.

“Hey, don’t be mean.” She pouts, but I’m quick to kiss it away with a couple of pecks.

“There. Better?” I ask and she nods, draping her arms loosely around my shoulders before unwrapping her legs from around my waist. I let her slide down my body and tuck her hair behind her ears.

“Much, thank you.” She leans into my touch and closes her eyes briefly before looking up at me with an adoring, yet slightly drunk look on her face.

It makes my insides melt and I can’t help but dip my head down to press another kiss to her lips, savoring the way my lips tingle at the contact before whispering, “Hello, darling. How are you?”

Kara tightens her arms around my shoulders and hides her face against the side of my neck. “Perfect now that you’re her.”

She sounds surprisingly sober which means that the effects of the alien liquor must already be wearing off. It gets her drunk pretty quickly but because of her fast metabolism it also gets absorbed easily, making the high intense but short-lived.

I kiss the top of her head, another smile growing on my face when I catch Eliza’s eyes outside. She smiles and waves at me, mouthing a “hi!”, just as my stomach growls again.

“Have you had something to eat yet?” Kara pulls back to look at me.

I shake my head. “Not yet, but Alex said something about leftovers?”

Kara goes to answer but Kelly beats her to it. “Why don’t you head outside and I’ll get you some? I was heading to the kitchen anyway to grab a glass of water.”

“Oh that’s nice, but I can—“

“Thanks, Kelly!” Kara interrupts cheerfully and tugs on my hand to lead me onto the porch.

I chuckle and look over my shoulder to thank Kelly before greeting Eliza properly.

She hugs me, asking about the drive here before Kara tugs on my hand again, pulling me onto the chair she occupied earlier and plopping down on my lap.

The view of the ocean is spectacular as the last hues of orange disappear to make way for the starry night sky.

I get lost in the sight for a moment, enjoying the feeling of Kara snuggled up against me as she chats with Eliza until Kelly returns with a steaming bowl of food and a glass of water.

She hands me the bowl and puts the glass down on the small table in the middle of the chairs and returns to her own seat.

Kara shifts so I can eat with her still in my arms and continues talking to her mom and Kelly.

Alex joins us a second later, taking a seat on the chair next to her wife’s and chimes in on the current conversation which I’m not particularly paying attention to.

I’m tired from driving and simply focus on the kryptonian warmth Kara is emitting and eating Eliza’s delicious chilly until the bowl is empty and my eyelids are drooping.

“You tired?” Kara whispers when I try to stifle a yawn. She sounds and looks completely sober now, playing with the collar of my shirt absentmindedly.

“Yeah, and I’d really like to shower before bed,” I admit quietly so as to not interrupt the story Alex is currently telling of her time in med school.

“Okay then,” she says getting to her feet slowly and pulling me up with her.

Eliza’s eyes dart in our direction at the movement and when she sees the exhaustion on my face she smiles sympathetically.

“. . . And then that lady just vomited all over me. I honestly thought I was going to throw up right on top of her, too, but I managed to run out before that happened,” Alex finished her story and all of us gag at the thought of being thrown up on ourselves.

“You guys going to bed?” Eliza asks once everyone has calmed down again.

I nod, feeling Kara playing with my fingers. “Yeah. It’s been a long day. Thank you for dinner. It was delicious, as always.”

Elize smiles bashfully. “Thank you, dear. Good night.”

“G’night.” I nod at Alex and Kelly and go to take my bowl inside, but Eliza tells me to just leave it.

Then, it’s just me and Kara, making out way inside and up to her childhood bedroom.

She used to share a room with Alex, but when Jeremiah passed, they turned his study into a bedroom for her.

“How was your day, darling?” I ask once we get to the room.

Kara closes the door behind us and jumps on the bed, having already changed into her pajamas before I got here.

“Quiet,” she says, taking off her glasses.

I hum in understanding and go to my bag to grab a change of clothes and my toothbrush. The city is loud, even for a human like me, so I know what she means when she says it’s quiet up here in Midvale. Yes, she can still hear heartbeats a mile away, but the constant buzz of the city is missing and I can only imagine what a relief it must be to get away from all of it for a while.

“How was the drive?” she asks. She gets under the covers and pulls the comforter up to her chest.

“There was some traffic, but it wasn’t too bad. I’m just glad I’m here now.” I smile tiredly and take a seat on the edge of the mattress next to her.

“I’m glad you’re here, too. What do you want to do tomorrow?” she asks, tracing the shape of my brow with a finger before dropping her hand in her lap again.

“Go to the beach, maybe? And then have some dinner at Mike’s,” I suggest. I know I want to propose, I just don’t know when yet, so I’ll just see how everything goes and then do it whenever it feels right.

“Sounds good.” Kara leans forward to peck my cheek and shoos me away. “Now go shower so we can cuddle.”

I chuckle and squeeze her leg over the comforter. Then I grab my clothes and head to the bathroom down the hall.

I shower, wash my face and brush my teeth before heading back to the bedroom with a yawn.

I expect Kara to be in bed where I left her, but when I enter the room she’s crouched on the floor next to the bed with her back turned to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask with a confused smile, turning to put my dirty clothes in the hamper behind the door.

Kara doesn’t say anything which makes me frown and turn back around to see her now facing me with tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?!” I rush across the room and kneel in front of her. I lift my hands, wanting to cup her cheeks but then her eyes drop to her lap and I follow her gaze with my own.

Oh shit. . .

Clutched between her fingers is an all too familiar, small, black box.

We both look back up at the same time and when our teary eyes meet I can’t help but smile sheepishly.

“Surprise?” I whisper. My heart is pounding in my chest and I feel like throwing up when Kara stays silent.

Her eyes dart between mine and for a second, when a tear runs down her cheek, I think even just the thought of proposing to her was ridiculous because she obviously doesn’t want to be with me like that.

But then she finally speaks, her voice shaky and quiet.“Ask me.”

My eyebrows dart up knowing surprise and I swallow thickly. “Are you sure?”

She nods as another tear runs down her cheek, but this time she smiles softly and pushes the box into my hands.

“O-Okay.” I get to my feet and pull her with me, only to drop back down on one knee in front of her. “Kara. . . I— This isn’t how I thought this was going to go, but here we are I guess. . .”

Kara smiles, teary eyed, and wipes at her cheeks. Her blue eyes are trained on me and her hands twitch as I speak, showing how much effort it takes for her not to reach out and touch me.

“I love you, Kara,” I start, my voice shaking with emotion. “I’ve loved you ever since you spilled your coffee all over me at Noonan’s and I love you now, standing here in your pajamas. You are beautiful and smart and the size of your heart leaves me utterly and completely speechless sometimes. The last five years have shown me what it is like to love someone, and be loved by someone wholeheartedly and I can’t imagine not spending the rest of my life with you.

“You once told me that being with you was dangerous because you’re Supergirl, but since I’ve known you I’ve never felt safer. You always have my back and I hope when you’re with me you feel even just a fraction of the sense of security you make me feel.” I take a deep breath and open the box carefully to reveal the sparkling ring inside. It’s a simple gold band with a princess-cut diamond sitting on top of it.

Kara’s eyes widen at the sight—even though she knew it was coming—and lifts one of her hands to cover her mouth in shock.

“So. . . Will you marry me, Kara Zor-El?” I whisper.

“Yes.” The reply is immediate and within a second she surges forward to kiss me. The impact of her lips on mine is so forceful, it makes me topple over with a groan and sends a stinging pain through my face.

“Shit.” I cringe and break the kiss immediately, bringing my hand up to my nose only to pull it back and see that it’s now covered in blood.

“Rao, I’m sorry.” Kara’s scrambles to get off me and helps me sit up before inspecting my nose. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A new wave of tears makes its way down her cheeks, but they’re no longer tears of joy. Regret and guilt is written all over her face and when I wince, scrunching my nose, she backs up even more so she’s no longer touching me.

“Hey, no. It’s okay.” I wince again, but try to focus on Kara instead of the pain. I crawl forward and touch her chin with my clean hand, the open ring box on the floor next to us. “It’s not like this is the first time this has happened,” I try to joke, but it falls flat.

“Y/N, I—“

“No.” I push a finger to her lips. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, and I’m already feeling better, see? It’s not even bleeding anymore.”

Kara looks up with red-rimmed eyes, the guilt still evident on her face. “But—“

“No buts, baby,” I say with a smile. I grab the box off the floor and take the ring out before holding it up to Kara’s face. “Do you still want to marry me?”

She nods and wipes at her eyes again. “Of course.”

“Good.” I take her hand and, after waiting for another nod, slip the ring onto her finger. “Then that’s all that matters right now.”

Kara stares at the ring and I watch in awe as the heartbreak slowly melts off her face. It’s replaced by adoration and love and when she catches me staring at her, her lips twitch into a tentative smile.

“I love you,” she whispers, lifting a hand to brush her fingers against my cheek. “And I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I love you, too, and I will do everything in my power to give you the wedding you deserve.” I lean into her touch and grab her other hand, kissing the ring on her finger.

Shaking her head, Kara gently rests her forehead against my own. “I don’t need anything fancy. I just want you there.” I smile and tilt my head, wanting to close the distance between us, but a hand on my chest stops me. “Let’s get your face cleaned first.”

I huff playfully but agree, letting her help me to my feet before she pulls me to the bathroom.

I take a seat on the edge of the tub as Kara wets a towel.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” she says and I nod, closing my eyes as she gets to work cleaning the blood off my face. “Well, your nose is not broken, but it will probably bruise.”

“It’s okay. Like I said, it’s not our first rodeo.” This time, Kara cracks a smile and when I pull her to stand in between my legs, she drops the bloodied towel and leans down to capture my lips in a sweet kiss.

Her hands land on the side of my face, making me shiver when I feel the ring against my cheek.

“Let’s go to bed,” she says when we break apart. At the mention of going to sleep, I yawn which makes her giggle.

I change out of my bloodied top and go to throw on a clean shirt, only to freeze when I remember that the ring was at the bottom of my bag and I have yet to ask why Kara was going through it in the first place.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” I zip my bag and put on the shirt before joining Kara in the bed.

“Sure.” She snuggles up to me and places her hand on my chest, admiring the ring in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

“Why were you going through my bag?” I ask gently, not wanting to sound accusing.

Blushing furiously, Kara hides her face in the crook of my neck. “I wanted to steal one of your hoodies.”

I laugh and pull her closer. “Of course you did.“

Kara chuckles too and once our laughter has died down, she rolls over to turn off the light before returning to my side.

“I love you,” she whispers against my collarbone. “And I can’t wait to tell everyone that we’re going to get married.”

“I love you, too. . . Fiancée.” I run my hand up and down her back and shiver when the action earns me a kiss against my throat.

“Mhmm, Fiancée.” Kara exhales loudly and snuggles even closer before going still. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” I admit and before long I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

You were always grateful to be the go to florist for weddings, holidays, and anniversaries. At times for more somber reasons like funerals, but you were able to leave a lasting memory for your customers with the care you put into their requests.

Being a florist and owning your own shop was something you always aspired for and it brought a lot of meaning into your life. Seeing people at their happiest and at their lowest points was something you didn’t take for granted and always gave it your best.

Though, being empathetic and connecting with customers didn’t cost you anything and felt natural, you needed some time in your day to focus on yourself and relax. 

You did that through gaming which became a hobby a few years ago. Being able to immerse yourself into another world and focus on only that was something that took your mind off the responsibilities that came with being an adult. 

Wanting to connect with others who enjoyed the same hobby, you started streaming a month ago in hopes of meeting or creating a community of people with interests similar to yours. It had started off slow, which was to be expected, but soon you had people joining your stream and chatting with you.

You loved the small community you had and was grateful to have something to look forward to after work. You enjoyed talking about your day and hearing about the lives of others and the different games they were playing. 

You chose to stream without a camera because you wanted this to be completely separate from your normal life and were a bit too shy to put yourself completely out there. Thankfully those in your community didn’t mind and stuck around for you and your personality.

–

After closing up the shop, you arrived home and began settling in for the night. Doing your usual routine of showering, making dinner, and preparing for your stream.

You do your routine of making sure all your equipment is working, your connection is stable, and at last, you press “Go Live”.

–

Natasha turned on the TV and connected to the live stream of the only person who brought her peace for the past two weeks.

It was Natasha’s turn to train recruits for the next three months which had begun a month ago. Being as skilled as she was as Black Widow, training people who didn’t know their asses from their elbows was headache inducing. Not to mention the overconfident recruits who felt that they were above the training they were receiving.

Exercising had been a way for her to release stress and still was, but recently it hadn’t felt like enough. She wanted a way to relax at the end of the day and discovered gaming. After exploring a few games she learned that while she did enjoy it quite a bit, she found more joy in watching people playing after stumbling upon a videogame streaming site.

She came across a channel called, “Y/N’s Corner” and was immediately hooked. Your soft and gentle voice brought her a sense of calm that she hadn’t experienced in a while. Like the stresses of the day and the responsibilities she had didn’t matter for the time that she watched your stream.

Listening to your little rambles about your day as you traversed throughout whatever game you chose to play made her smile without realizing. You were just the right amount of casual and competitive that kept her engaged. Hearing you laugh brought a sense of warmth in her chest that she couldn’t explain and she wondered what you looked like when you were laughing. 

She never chatted, rather, was a silent supporter and showed up whenever she could when she saw the notification that you went live. Always thankful for the unknown streamer that allowed her to go to sleep in peace.

After your stream ended for the day, Natasha laid in bed thinking about what she needed to do the next day and remembered it would be Wanda’s birthday. Tony would be throwing a party for the occasion and she didn’t want to show up empty handed. Maybe flowers? she thinks as she drifts off to sleep.

–

After a few deliveries, it had been a slower day at the shop. Considering how busy it had been the past week you couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved to have a breather. 

It was nearing the time to close and the sun was starting to set, creating a warm hue throughout the shop. Shadows casted from the dissipating light were all around you in the shape of flowers as you began doing a few closing tasks around the counter.  

The bell chimed as a customer entered the shop and you looked up to see a distracted redhead examining the flowers near the door. You couldn’t help but pause as the setting sun made her look like she was glowing. Her hair looked fiery but soft at the same time and her green eyes were shining from the reflection of the light. The green dress she was wearing accentuated her eyes even more.

You shook your head, remembering that you have a job to do and need to lock in. 

“Hi, welcome in! Is there anything specific that you’re looking for?” you say with a bright smile.

Her eyes snap to yours and looks at you as though she recognizes you from somewhere.

“Not anything specific,” she says while squinting at you. “It’s my friend’s birthday and I wanted to get her some flowers.”

Choosing to ignore the looks she was giving you, you respond “That’s very sweet of you. Did you want to choose a few flowers for a bouquet or select a premade one? Or I can select a few for you.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, would you select a few to create a bouquet?” the redhead says.

“It’s no trouble at all,” you say while walking around the counter. “Do you happen to know what flowers your friend likes?”

“I don’t, sorry. I know that flowers have a meaning behind them and I’d like to convey our friendship and hope for her happiness, if that’s helpful at all.”

“It’s very helpful,” you say while scanning the shop. You pick up a yellow freesia and hold it up to her. “This, for example, conveys friendship in flower language. While a yellow daisy represents happiness. There’s a lot of combinations to choose from to convey what you want to express to the person you’re giving them to. My job is to try to make it presentable at the end,” you say with a laugh.

“I don’t know if my friend will understand the meaning of them,” she says with a little smile. “Hopefully the feeling will be conveyed anyway. I think my friend likes pink. What about these ones?” Glancing at you while pointing to some pink hyacinths.

“Oh, so you’re doing my job for me now?” you say playfully. “Those are pink hyacinths. They represent playful joy. I think they’d add a pop to the bouquet. I was starting to get worried that it was getting too yellow.”

“I had to throw in a suggestion considering I hardly gave you anything to off of,” she says with a smirk. “I think three different types of flowers should be enough. I don’t want to hold you up any longer.”

You gather a handful of each of the flowers and move behind the counter to start arranging them.

“You’re not holding me up at all. What’s your name by the way?” you ask while multitasking to fill the silence.

“My name is Natasha. What’s yours?”

“I’m Y/N.” Pointing to your name stitched into the fabric of your green apron.

Natasha looks surprised that she didn’t notice as she looks down to where you’re pointing.

You catch her attention again, gesturing to the ribbons. “What color ribbon would you like to be tied around the bouquet?”

Her eyes move to examine the ribbons. Smirking, she says, “Let’s go with scarlet.”

You pull up the total as you do the finishing touches on the bouquet.

Natasha pays as you hand her the finished bouquet. Her fingers brush yours as she looks up and gazes at you. It feels like the noises outside come to a quiet and it’s just you and her, hands touching, looking at each other as though you were both exactly where you needed to be.

“Thank you so much for your help today Y/N,” she says softly while looking down at where your hands are touching. 

You looked down as well, feeling shy all of a sudden. “It was my pleasure. I really enjoyed helping you today and I hope your friend likes the flowers.”

Her hand moves away from yours as she grabs the bouquet from you fully. You immediately miss the bit of warmth that her hand had given you but shake it off as you look up to give her a soft smile.

“Have a great rest of your day Natasha. If you’re ever in need of flowers again, you know where to find me.”

“Of course. You’ll be my go to girl,” she says with a playful smile. She turns to leave and you find yourself staring at her as she walks away.

With her hand on the door handle she turns around to look at you. Even though the sun had set a bit more than when she first walked in, she still looked as radiant to you as when she first entered. 

Her eyes shining like emeralds linger on your face as if memorizing you before smiling and walking out the door.

You inhale deeply, realizing that you hadn’t been breathing during the short staring contest. You feel your heart beating a little faster and wonder what it was about her that made you feel this way.

You could only hope to see her again as the shop was encompassed in darkness as the sun fully set.

—

Natasha walked back to the Tower, holding the bouquet securely against herself as though it were something precious and fragile. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if she ruined the beautiful arrangement you had made for her.

She looked back on the interaction she had with you and wished it could’ve been longer. When you had first welcomed her in she felt startled to hear the same voice she’d heard last night on stream. The same voice that would quiet the worries in her mind and soften the shell she surrounded herself in.

At first she thought it was just a coincidence, someone with a similar voice. Your laugh though, was unmistakable. That laugh that carried an ease to it and was so infectious that she couldn’t help but feel lighter while hearing it. 

She’d always wondered what you would’ve looked like laughing, and seeing it in person was even more than she could’ve imagined. Your eyes brightened with a little crinkle in the corners of your eyes that she found endearing. The way when your laughter would slowly die down and turn into a soft smile.

You brought the same sense of peace that she felt while watching your streams but the feeling was even deeper while talking to you in person. She felt a pull towards you that she couldn’t quite explain and secretly hoped to see you again soon. 

Maybe tell you about how Wanda liked the flowers tomorrow as an excuse to visit you, she thought as she entered the tower and stepped into the elevator to go up to the party.

The elevator doors open to loud music and a sea of people that Tony probably invited. She scans the room to find the birthday girl leaning against Vision and talking animatedly to some members of the team.

She makes her way through the crowd with light steps, gracefully avoiding bumping into other partygoers until finally arriving in front of Wanda.

“Natasha you’re finally here!” Wanda exclaims excitedly. 

“Yes, sorry I’m a bit late. I was grabbing these for our beautiful birthday girl,” she says while handing Wanda the bouquet.

“These are gorgeous Natasha. I didn’t take you for one to know flower language or did you just take a lucky guess and happen to choose the ones that mean friendship?” Wanda remarks with a teasing lilt while giving Natasha a hug.

“Hey, I can be sentimental too you know,” Natasha states exasperatedly. “But yes, the florist was the one who helped me with the meanings behind the flowers and choose them. The pink one was my lucky guess.”

“I figured,” Wanda says with a laugh. “Thank you anyways. I love them. I guess I’ll have to pay them a visit when I want to change the flowers in my room.”

“You should. The florist’s name is Y/N she’s really–”

“Rushman! You’re needed behind the bar,” Tony calls from somewhere nearby.

“Unfortunately duty, or I guess I should say the Tinman, calls,” Natasha says while rolling her eyes. “I’ll catch up with you whenever you decide to freshen your drink. Enjoy the party Wanda, you deserve it.”

Wanda gives Natasha another hug before Natasha walks to take over as makeshift bartender.

Charming the guests came naturally to her as she made their drinks. Fake smiles and polite pleasantries. Never anything below surface level despite the many advances made towards her. 

After a few hours she was relieved of her duties and decided to call it a night. The forced smiles had taken a toll on her social battery. She wishes Wanda a happy birthday one last time and says her goodbyes to the team before heading back to the elevator to go to her room.

She releases a sigh of relief as she closes the door to her room, taking off her heels and begins getting ready for bed.

It was late and she knew that the chances of you streaming were low, but decided to check anyway as she opened her laptop. She was happily surprised to see that you were live. Her body relaxed into the bed the moment she heard your voice. You sounded a bit congested compared to earlier, but maybe her speaker was the problem.

“Haley is so hot but so rude in the beginning. I know she gets better but do I really want to marry someone who was mean to me until I gave them gifts? Leah feels more stable and more wholesome. Sigma67, hell no I’m not marrying one of the bachelor’s. Sebastian? I may as well marry a rock at that point.”

Natasha chuckles quietly as she hears you continue to rant about the marriage candidates in the game. Feeling her eyes slowly begin to close to the soothing tone of your voice.

“If I could marry Krobus I would. They’re the only one that never disappoints me, doesn’t get jealous, gives me buffs. What’s not to…”

—

Natasha woke up feeling refreshed. She had a rare day off and was looking forward to resting her voice from yelling at recruits.

After finishing her morning routine she joined the team for breakfast in the common room. Everyone but Steve was fairly hungover so it was a quieter morning with Wanda cooking, Tony grumbling about how much his head hurts, and Vision watching over everyone. 

You stayed in the back of her mind all throughout and she wonders if it’d be too soon to pay you a visit. She continued to consider this while going through her workout and while she headed to her room to shower.

While showering, she convinces herself to go, not to see you, but to let you know how much Wanda loved the flowers. Definitely not because she already missed your smile.

She changes into jeans, a white shirt, a leather jacket, and a baseball cap. It was much earlier than yesterday when she visited your shop and she hoped she wouldn’t be catching you at a busy time.

She turns the corner to see the white door of your shop but pauses when she sees a sign on it.

The sign on the door read, “Closed today, sorry:(“

While your handwriting and frowny face looked adorable, she felt a wave of disappointment wash over her when realizing she wouldn’t be seeing you today. 

Hopefully you’d be streaming today so she could at least hear your voice, she thought as she trudges back to the tower.

—

The day passed by slowly and it was finally around the time you normally stream. Natasha had her laptop open, ready to watch whenever you went live.

This went on for a few hours, with her tidying up her room, doing her nighttime routine, all the while checking her laptop every few minutes. The notification of you going live never comes.

Maybe you’re taking a break today too,” she thought, trying not to be too disappointed. 

Realizing you wouldn’t be streaming today, she put one of your previous streams on, hoping that it would have the same effect. She felt herself relax a bit, but missed hearing new stories about your day and worried about why you had closed today.

—

Sleep had not come easily. Natasha woke up throughout the night, pausing to listen to you, then going back to sleep. Apparently there was something special about hearing you talk live. Or perhaps after meeting you, she wanted more.

The combination of the change in routine and her lack of sleep forced her into a lousy mood that she wasn’t afraid to show.

After getting ready for the day and changing into her workout attire she walked into the common room for breakfast. Everyone was already seated as she made her way to the end of the table next to Steve and Tony.

“Wake up late, Romanoff? That’s unusual for you,“ Tony quipped.

“Finally got your head out of your ass, Tony? That’s unusual for you,” Natasha snaps back with a glare.

“Jeez, who rained on your parade today?”

“Stop provoking her, Tony. You’ll just make it worse,” Steve says, glancing between them. “Nat, is something wrong?”

“What’s wrong is both of you spreading your testosterone and not minding your own business.”

“What am I supposed to do about–”

“Tony, let’s just eat quietly.” Steve, sensing her mood, picks up his fork and silences Tony.

—

Natasha slams her jacket down on her bed. It felt like everyone was getting on her last nerve today. Tony with his constant comments, the recruits being incompetent, and most of all you still not going live today.

You didn’t stream for another two days and Natasha was losing it. She had checked your shop to see if you were open, under the guise of surveying the area, only to be disappointed each time. The rain cloud that was forming on the first day only grew and she wasn’t afraid to strike lightning down on anyone who tried to mess with her. Or breathe within five feet of her for that matter.

She was towards the end of sparring training with the recruits and everyone had been paired up except the odd number that got stuck with Natasha. She took her time making small jabs until she caught them off guard and slammed them into the mat with more force than necessary. Finally dismissing everyone for the day.

The recruits grumble about how harsh she had been the past few days as they walk to the locker rooms. 

She releases a tense sigh. The days felt slower without you, like she was just going through the motions to get to the end, only to start over again the following day.

She felt a desperation in her chest that she had never felt before. How could you affect her this way when she barely knew you? Sure, she watches your streams and knows small details from the anecdotes that you shared, but those were simple. What she felt when she met you was like she was behind a door that could bring her happiness. Unlocked and inviting. She just wasn’t sure if she was brave enough or trusted what was beyond.

She made her way up to her room to shower, passing by staff and team members who took one look at her expression and scampered away. 

Her head felt clearer after showering but there was a lingering feeling of exhaustion that wouldn’t go away. With dark circles under her eyes and heavy shoulders, she made her way to her laptop, deciding to catch up on reports to get her mind off of you.

The streaming site was still open from when she had played one of your past broadcasts the night before. She was about to close the tab when she saw a notification on the top right of her screen indicating that you had just gone live.

The exhaustion she felt washed away into disbelief. Completely disregarding the reports she needed to finish, she found her way to your channel and heard you greeting everyone.

Your voice sounded a bit scratchier and you spoke quieter, but the complicated feelings in Natasha’s chest dissipated. She felt lighter than she had in days. It was you. You that had been on her mind, you that brought quietness in the chaos of her life, you that she had missed even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“Sorry for not streaming these past few days without any notice. I ended up getting a cold and was confined to the dungeon that is my room and the cell that is my bed. I’ve been symptom free for the past day – throat is still going through it as you can hear. Hopefully I won’t sound like a gremlin for too much longer.”

Natasha caught herself smiling softly the entire time you were talking and laughing along with you. Your giggle might’ve been the cutest thing she ever heard. She was glad to hear that you were okay and still had your infectious positivity. 

You couldn’t talk as much as normal, as you were protecting your throat, but Natasha savored the bits and pieces of you talking about your cold as if it was an adventure.

“And then I literally sneezed 10 times in a row. I thought that was it for me – with no one to bless me and all. It’s a miracle I survived without any blessings.”

 Natasha listened for as long as she could, but felt herself slowly dozing off. The lack of sleep finally catching up to her as though hearing that you were okay was the permission she needed to rest peacefully.

I hope the flower shop is open tomorrow, she thought before letting sleep take over her.

—

You woke up feeling better than you had for days. Your throat didn’t feel like it was on the verge of shriveling up every time you talked and your complexion looked better as you tested your voice in front of the mirror of your bathroom.

“You’ve been symptom free for 36 hours. It’s time to get back on the saddle and work.” Hyping yourself up while walking to your closet.

Deciding on a gray long sleeve shirt and blue jeans you head out to the door to put your sneakers on before finally departing for your shop. 

It felt good to be walking the familiar route after being trapped inside for a few days. Other shop owners stop you to ask where you’d been. You retold the story of your cold in the most dramatic way possible as they laugh along with you, handing you little treats as a way of saying “We’re happy to see you back and hope you’re feeling better.”

After finishing your tale, you bid them farewell as you made the rest of your way to your shop. Taking note of the sign on the door that you haphazardly wrote when you realized you were too unwell to open.

You unlock the door and take everything in. The automatic watering system thankfully had done its job. Your plant babies were still thriving. Your green apron is still hanging near the counter. The fresh smell of the flowers gives you energy.

It hadn’t been long but you had missed this. You loved the routine you had of taking care of the flowers and managing your shop. 

You walk through the space, going around the counter to put on your apron. Starting your opening tasks before finding yourself at the door ready to kick off the day.

You saw customers already waiting outside the door, some being regulars that you felt grateful to. You turn the closed sign to open and open the door with a smile.

“Welcome in!”

—

It had been quite the rush until you were in the last half an hour of being open.

Regulars had stopped by when they noticed you were open and new customers joined when they saw how popular your shop was. You caught up and laughed with them as you navigated the shop to help them find what they were looking for. Helping others who were unsure, until everyone left with smiles on their faces and flowers in hand. 

The sun was low in the sky. You felt sapped, but filled with warmth. You hadn’t been gone for long, but the reception you received filled you with gratefulness.

You were tidying up around the floor when you saw pink hyacinths in the corner of your eye. You brush the petals gently with your fingers. Natasha suddenly came to mind. The sun had been setting like it was now and you remember how drawn you felt towards her.

Is it weird to feel this way towards someone I’ve only interacted with once? you thought, reminiscing about the interaction.

While lost in thought, the bell chimes and you glance up.

You lock onto familiar green eyes, the same eyes you were just picturing. Your heart flutters as you glimpse down at her lips that were curling into a smile.

You try to muster some courage. “I guess you couldn’t stay away. Back for more?”

“I did say you’d be my go to girl,” she says with an easy smile. “Plus, my friend adored the bouquet you made her for her birthday.”

“Hey, you chose one of the flowers so it was a team effort,” you say grinning at her. “What’s the occasion today?”

She looks caught off guard but quickly answers, “Just something for myself.”

“Nothing wrong with some self love.” You cringe inside at your response. Normally you were charismatic with your customers, but with Natasha you couldn’t stop your nervousness.

“Yes, exactly,” she responds seriously. “Can you choose a few flowers for me to create a bouquet like you did last time? I’m not familiar with that many so I’d really appreciate it, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Already looking around for the flowers that came to mind when you thought of her, you shot her a smile. “I’m more than happy to.”

You pluck some light red carnations, pink tulips, and white orchids from their containers with decisiveness. 

Natasha watches you with fondness as you begin wrapping the flowers in floral wrap.

“Are you not going to tell me the meanings of the flowers this time?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, forgetting that she’d probably be expecting you to explain the meanings like you did last time. Contemplating if you should lie, you decide you should do your job properly.

“The light red carnations mean admiration, the pink tulips mean gentle affection, and the white orchids mean beauty,” you relay quickly while pointing to each one. Looking away to not see her reaction.

You don’t see Natasha change from looking at you with fondness, to looking at you with so much tenderness that even she’s surprised at how you can make her melt with just a few words.

“Can I get a bouquet of these as well?” she asks while pointing to the container of white gerbera daisies.

“Of course,” you say while going around the counter to retrieve them. Relieved that she wasn’t asking further about your selection of flowers for her.

You wrap the daisies while she watches your hands work. The silence felt more comfortable than it did the first time she had visited.

You bring up the total for the bouquets after finishing the wrapping, handing them to her after she pays. She only grabs one of the bouquets, leaving the bouquet of white gerbera daisies in your hands.

“Those are for you,” she says leaning forward with a soft smile. “New connections.” She turns around and walks out the door. Leaving you with just the sound of the bell’s chime, a racing heart, and an astonished expression.

—

Ever since Natasha had gifted you the bouquet, she had been visiting you everyday around the time you closed. 

She would help you move the heavier pots and containers that you normally struggled with, with ease. She’d sweep the floor for you and wipe the windows even though you protested against it. After the first few days you started joking that she was an honorary worker.

The conversations started gradually, just learning bits and pieces about each other. You learned that she was Russian, that she has a sister who she loves but tries to hide it, that she learned ballet when she was younger. You could tell that she didn’t like to share much about herself, so you gratefully held the pieces that she did share close to you.

After two weeks, she nervously told you that she was a part of the Avengers with Black Widow being her alias. 

“How could you let me charge you for the flowers?” you shriek.

“That’s what you’re focused on?” she asks, amused. Her shoulders lose their tension.

“I mean, for someone who’s saved the world a couple times, the least I could’ve done was give you some free flowers,” you mutter regretfully. 

She looks down at her hands, rough from her training and field experience. “I thought you’d treat me differently considering everything I’ve done in the past is out there.” 

You consider her words before reaching for her hands. Holding them in yours gently as though she were precious. To you she was.

“These past few weeks I’ve gotten to know Natasha. Not Black Widow. I know Natasha can’t tell the difference between a hydrangea and a dianthus even though I’ve told her at least 100 times,” you say with a playful eyeroll. “I know Natasha is a menace if she doesn’t have a coffee at 3 o’clock on the dot. I know that Natasha loves her friends and family even when she’s complaining about them.”

You rub the back of her hand with your thumb. “And I know Natasha that’s allowed herself to tell me pieces of herself even though it’s difficult. That’s the person who I want to continue to know and learn about, past be damned.”

She looks at you, eyes glistening, as though you hung the stars and the moon.

“I guess I’ll have to keep telling you more about me,” she murmurs, holding your hand back.

—

It had been a month since Natasha started visiting your shop regularly. Helping you close at the end of the day had become a part of her routine. You and her had gotten even closer after she told you what she does. Even bringing you to the tower a few times, in which you were endlessly entertained by F.R.I.D.A.Y.

She wasn’t sure how to define your relationship. It felt like an in between where she accepted how she felt about you, but was too afraid to risk what you guys had currently. She had convinced herself that she was satisfied with how things were as long as she had you, her sunshine, in her life.

That is, until she walked to your shop and paused at the door to see a man leaning against the counter. Far too close to your personal space. Natasha could tell he was flirting with you and she felt her chest tighten.

She knew you were popular in the area. People from other shops often brought you gifts in the form of baked goods and other items from their shops. She always figured that you’d probably have some admirers, but seeing it in person brought a twinge of irritation that she wasn’t anticipating.

She wanted to stop him but knew she didn’t have the right. You weren’t hers. People were allowed to be interested in you and she had to be okay with that. She told herself this, but imaging you with someone else felt unbearable. The facade of being satisfied with just being friends cracking.

While lost in her thoughts you notice her at the front. Wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with her leather jacket that you had become so familiar with. The man, who was leaning far too close to you and only talking about himself, had blocked your view of her. You wave at her, catching her attention.

She looks conflicted as she walks through the door. You lean back from the counter, letting the man know you would be closing soon. Essentially dismissing him without saying it outright.

He gets the idea and walks out, grumbling about how women never give men chances.

“Are you ready for your closing shift?” you ask with a grin.

She looks lost in thought as she absentmindedly murmurs, “Yeah, let’s get started.”

Normally she’d chat with you while you guys went through the checklist of tasks. Today she was quiet. Seemingly engrossed in what was preoccupying her mind.

Maybe she’s tired today, you thought while moving the last pot into place and closing out the register.

You turn to look at her, only for her to already be watching you. Her face fills with determination as she locks eyes with you.

“Do you want to hang out at the tower today?”

Your eyes widen. Figuring that she wasn’t in the mood to talk today. You would never turn down an opportunity to spend time with her though.

“Of course. You just can’t get enough of me huh?” 

“I really can’t,” she says softly, moving towards you. She reaches her arms around you, untying the back of your apron and gently maneuvering the neck loop over your head. “Ready to go?” she asks next to your ear.

She moves away to put the apron on the hook near the counter. 

You're glad because you’re sure if she was still next to you that she would be able to hear your heart beating a mile a minute. Did she know the effect she had on you? There’s no way she didn’t. You had known that you had feelings for Natasha for a while now. At times you thought she might feel the same way, but she never pushed the boundaries of friendship. So you always held yourself back.

It was the first time you felt that maybe just being friends wouldn’t be enough. Your heart wanting more. To be hers and for her to be yours. You just didn’t know how to make that step forward and if it was worth risking everything.

You both walk to the door together, her holding it open for you before you lock the door.

The evening was warm as you both made your way to the tower. You felt yourself gravitate towards her, bumping into her occasionally. Apologizing each time with a shy smile.

Her hand brushes yours as she gives you a smile, telling you not to apologize when you’re about to open your mouth to say sorry again. Your hand felt electric where she had made contact.

You enter the tower together and head to the elevator. She presses the button for her floor.

You’d only been to her room twice, both briefly. You felt glad that your relationship with her was progressing and maybe she was putting more trust in you.

She leads you to her room, closing the door but not turning around.

“Nat?”

—

So many thoughts were racing through Natasha’s mind. Should she risk everything? If you didn’t feel the same way, how would you guys go back to how you were before? Would you even be in her life after this?

She looks down and notices her usually steady hands, shaking. She was terrified of not having you with her. 

She swallows the fear down, the feeling of wanting more – to have you be hers overtaking her as she takes a deep breath and turns around.

“Y/N,” she says with as much confidence as she can muster. It was now or never. It was time to allow herself to open the door.

“We haven’t known each other for that long but the moment I walked into your shop to buy flowers that day, I knew I was a goner for you. You’re on my mind all the time. When I see the sunset, I think of you. When there’s flowers on the side of the road, I think of you. Even when I’m brushing my teeth, I think of the silly faces you make at me when we’re closing the shop and I can’t help but smile and wish you were there with me.”

She takes a shaky breath before saying, “I might’ve been a goner even before that. Your voice, your laugh, your cute giggles, have brought me so much peace even before really meeting you. Over two months ago I came across your stream and I was hooked. Hearing about your day and watching you play games with your adorable commentary became a part of my routine. When I went to get flowers the day we met, I didn’t know it was you until I heard your laugh. I’d know that laugh anywhere. The same laugh that felt like it was lifting the burdens of my day away. I didn’t mean to hide that I knew about your stream, I just didn’t know how to bring it up. I’m sorry for keeping it to myself all this time.” She finds the courage to look at you.

You’re staring at her. Eyes wide, like you couldn’t believe what she was saying.

She prepares herself to be rejected. She’d told you this too late.

“Y/N-”

“Nat,” you say, cutting her off. “For a master assassin you’re not very good at hiding things.” You say with humor in your voice, eyes filled with warmth.

“The first time you allowed me into your room I happened to see your laptop open. I promise I wasn’t peeking on purpose! It was just right there, and I saw my channel on your screen. If I clocked you as a stalker, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

You walk forward until you're standing right in front of her. Her eyes tracking you the whole way.

“The day we met I knew there was something different about you. When you walked in, I was floored. I almost couldn’t do my job because I was so lost in your eyes,” you say with a sweet laugh. You reach your hand up to cup her cheek, smiling up at her adoringly. “And then our hands touched, and it felt like it was just you and me. Like we were meant to be there together. I didn’t think my feelings could grow even further, but every time we talk I just want more. More time to talk to you, more time to look at you – just more of you.”

“I was yours the moment we met,” she murmurs while leaning down before pausing halfway. “Is this okay?”

Instead of answering, you close the distance. Your lips meet as you wrap your arms around her neck.

She wraps her arms around your waist, like she originally wanted to when she took your apron off but couldn’t find the courage to. Wanting to be as close to you as possible – finding it just wasn’t enough.

She lightly bites your lower lip, asking permission. You part your lips, allowing her tongue access as she starts walking you backwards slowly against the wall. Your bodies pressed tightly together as she leaves you breathless.

With one kiss, Natasha was already addicted. Feeling like she couldn’t get enough of you. You had her in a haze and she wanted to be as close to you as possible. She slowly dragged her hands under your shirt. Feeling the warmth of your bare skin as she held your waist. She pulled her head back slightly to look at you. Gazing at you with a wordless question that you understood immediately. 

You lean your forehead against her shoulder and murmur, “I want you.”

“I’m yours,” she says, sliding her hands down to the back of thighs and lifting you. Carrying you towards her bedroom.

You let out a startled laugh. Kissing below her ear as she lays you down onto the bed.

She leans down on top of you, supporting her weight with one arm as she gazes at you lovingly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper. Your cheeks heating up from her gaze.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the only thing that matters.”

“Maybe you are.” She leans down to kiss your neck. You jolt, feeling her lips suction onto your neck, leaving her mark on you. 

She brings her hand down to the hem of your shirt, looking up from where she’s leaving another mark, asking for permission silently.

You sit up, allowing her to slide your shirt off. She looks at you like she can’t help herself before reaching behind you for your bra clasp. Looking at you to see if it was okay.

“I trust you, Natasha,” you say before brushing your lips against hers. Hoping she understood that you wanted to give her everything.

You hear the click of the clasp being released as the straps of your bra loosen. She slides them off your arms and tosses your bra aside. She presses her hand to your shoulder, laying you back down.

She gazes down at you adoringly before murmuring, "Gorgeous.” She leans down, kissing between your breasts before turning her head to take one of your nipples in her mouth. 

It wasn’t your first time, but everything with Natasha felt different. New. Like your sensitivity got turned up a few notches. You felt yourself reacting to every swipe of her tongue. The pressure of her fingers gripping your breast. All culminating into the growing wetness you felt between your legs.

You weren’t the only one reacting. You could feel her length pressing against your thigh through her jeans. Your shaky breaths when she would lick your nipple and sharp intakes of breath when she would suck a bit harder drove her crazy. 

She gave your other breast the same attention before kissing down to your stomach. Covering every inch of you with kisses like she were on a mission.

You tugged on her jacket, wanting to feel her warmth more clearly.

She slips out of her jacket, taking off her shirt and bra in the process. You admire her body openly and wrap your hand around one of her biceps. No wonder she was able to carry everything with ease when helping you. Her strong muscles flex in your grasp.

She hides her flushed cheeks in your neck as she moves her hand downwards. Her fingertips resting on the button of your pants. 

Kissing over the marks she made, she undoes the button of your pants and zipper and slides your pants off. She drags her fingers over your underwear until she reaches the spot where your arousal has gathered. You were already soaking and she hadn’t even truly began.

She let out a breath against your neck before leaning back to drag your underwear down your legs. A string of your arousal shining as she fully removes them.

“You’re driving me crazy,” she mutters.

Her thumb presses lightly against your clit and you twitch from the sensitivity. She presses harder and circles her thumb, forcing a moan out of you.

“Mmm-” Your cheeks heat up from hearing yourself and move to cover your mouth.

Natasha grabs your wrist and presses it into the bed. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby. I love the sounds you make. Let me keep hearing them,” she whispers while her fingertips move downward until she’s at your entrance.

She doesn’t give you a moment to feel shy before swirling your arousal on her middle and ring finger. She looks up, looking for approval.

You give her a small nod, feeling safe with her.

Her fingers slowly enter you and you feel yourself tighten at the intrusion. She rubs circles into your hip to ease you and you feel yourself relax.

She starts slowly, setting a leisurely pace. Her fingers drag against the spot inside you that forces breathless moans out of you. You feel her thumb return to its spot on your clit, continuing its ministrations from earlier while thrusting her fingers into you faster.

You feel your mind become hazier as you get closer to reaching your peak. A part of you wants more of her. To be full of her.

You reach towards her, touching her cheek. “Nat,” you say breathlessly. 

Her fingers pause – eyes filled with worry that she might’ve hurt you. “Is everything okay baby?”

“Everything is okay,” you say, trying to ease her worries. Shyly looking down, you bite your lip. Finally peeking up to see her looking at you with a mix of worry and adoration. Your chest fills with warmth as you find the courage to say, “I don’t want to cum without you inside of me. I want to be even closer to you.”

It’s like a switch flips in Natasha as she eases her fingers out from inside of you and begins unbuttoning her jeans. 

You could see how hard she was from how her cock was straining against her boxers, creating a tent. You reached out, rubbing her length through the fabric and noting how thick she was. She inhales sharply at the feeling.

You push her boxers down, not being able to be patient anymore, as her cock springs free and hits her stomach. You could see the head of her cock glistening as precum dribbled down her length. 

You lay back down as she shuffles forward until her shaft is rubbing against you. She slides herself on your slit, gathering slick and bumping against your clit as she thrusts upwards.

Your arousal was down to your inner thighs from how turned on you were.  It didn’t take long for her cock to be covered in you and she lines herself up to your entrance.

She cups your face with her hand, rubbing her thumb across your cheek. 

“I’ll take it slow. You let me know whenever something doesn’t feel right, okay?” She looks at you seriously.

You wrap your arms around her neck to pull her closer to you so you’re face to face, Leaning up the rest of the way you kiss the corner of her mouth. Smiling against her lips you respond, “I promise I will.”

She brings you into a deep kiss – slowly beginning to press herself into you. The stretch feeling impossible at the beginning. You suddenly feel grateful that Natasha had stretched you out a bit earlier.  

She makes her way into you. Inch by inch. You grip her biceps as she continues. The head of her cock finally hitting the deepest part of you. The sound of your pants filling the room.

She rests her face against your neck. Staying still to allow you to accommodate to her size. 

“I’m obsessed with you,” she breathes out.

“I’m that good already?” you say playfully through uneven breaths.

She pauses for a moment before pulling out halfway and thrusting back into you with force. You release a startled moan.

“I’m that good already?” she says looking at you with a smirk.

“The absolute bestest,” you say with a teasing glint in your eyes.

She rolls her eyes with a smile. She presses her lips against yours and you feel yourselves both smiling into the kiss. Her hips gradually move away from yours as she begins a slow, but steady pace.

Everything with Natasha felt perfect. Her caring demeanor, the way she looked at you like you were her world, even the random playful banter when you were making love. You wanted everyday and every moment for the rest of your life to be with her.

You feel the stretch start to feel more manageable, Natasha reading your expression, increases her tempo. Hitting the exact spot inside you that makes you feel like you’re losing control with every thrust.

You feel tears start pooling and falling down the sides of your cheeks at how intense everything felt. At the overwhelming adoration you have for her. At the love you feel building for her, even in the short amount of time you’ve known each other – knowing that this love would only continue to grow.

She wipes your tears away, matching your expression of love for her as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. You memorize her face at this moment, cheeks slightly flushed, pupils dilated, her red hair disheveled, but most of all – her tender expression.  Like she was memorizing you too.

Your hands grip the sheets as you feel your climax steadily approaching. She reaches for your hands, uncurling your fingers and interlocking them with hers. She presses your hands into the bed on both sides of your head as shifts to change her angle, hitting even deeper inside you. You wrap your legs around her waist, wanting her closer to you.

Your moans reverberate next to her ear, her strokes becoming erratic. Too lost in your pleasure to feel smug about the effect you have on her.

“I’m close, baby,” she groans, trying to make the moment last longer. Unsure of where to finish.

You wrap your legs tighter around her waist. You look up at her with pleading eyes.  “Inside please. It’s okay.”

That sets something off inside of Natasha – gripping your hands tighter, her thrusts shallow but don’t lose their intensity. Your walls tightening around her as you sit on the verge of climaxing.

“Fuck, baby-” she moans shakily before making a final rough thrust, reaching as deep as you can allow.

You feel the warmth of her seed filling you to the brim and beyond. Your legs shake against her waist as you reach your peak. Your vision blurs from the pleasure. Clutching her hands until your knuckles turn white. Letting out a broken moan that sounds like her name.

She murmurs quiet praises into your ear. Making slow thrusts to help you ride out your orgasm. She releases one of your hands to cup your face.

“This feels like a dream,” she whispers, still breathless.

You gently grab her hand, maneuvering it until her palm is resting over your heart. Finally able to speak after coming back down to Earth.

“I’m right here. I’m yours. You have my heart,” you say softly but with conviction.

She leans down, giving you a deep kiss that she hopes conveys her feelings, unable to put them into words.

“And I’m yours. Always, as long as you’ll have me.”

“This coming from my biggest fan?” you question, giving her a mischievous grin.

She throws her head back, letting out an unrestrained laugh at your cheekiness. Yeah, she’s in love, she thinks to herself. 

She gives you a playful smack on your shoulder.

“Domestic violence already!" you shriek dramatically.

“What have I gotten into?” she says, shaking her head trying to give you a disapproving look but failing.

You pull her into a tight hug. “No take backs,” you say softly.

“Never,” she says, holding you tighter. “I’m exactly where I want to be. Now and in the future.”

“Forever,” you whisper, picturing it.

—

The sun casts a red orange glow around your flower shop. Its fading rays shine off the leaves of the flowers, and glint off the shelves.

The bell chimes as a customer enters. Red hair accentuated by the remaining light.

“Is it too late to buy something?” she asks while looking around.

“It’s a bit last minute but I guess I can make an exception,” you respond while hiding a smile. “Do you need help finding something?”

“No thank you. I know exactly what I’m looking for,” she says while grabbing a bouquet of red roses. “I’ll just take these today.”

You ring her up while trying to keep an air of professionalism. “Receipt today?”

“No thank you, ma’am.” Her act finally cracking as she smiles at you. The soft smile she only gives when you two are alone.

She hands you the bouquet, brushing your hair behind your ear. It was longer than it had been a year ago.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” she says softly, voice filled with love.

You rush forward, giving her a kiss that has her stumbling backwards before catching herself. Your eyes shine with love as you look at her.

“I love you too,” you say against her lips.

“Sorry I’m a little late getting out today. Let me just finish up so we can leave for the restaurant,” you say while removing your apron.

“Take your time, gorgeous. We’re in no rush.”

“Maybe if my part time closer showed up on time I would’ve been done already,” you say with faux discontent. Glancing back to give her a pointed look.

She lets out a laugh filled with amusement. “Aren’t they just terrible?”

“Just the worst,” you say while reaching to hold her hand.

You both walk toward the door. She pauses right before, leaning down to give you a sweet kiss before opening the door. You walk out together, looking forward to all the anniversaries, memories, and love that will only continue to grow in the future.

–

At the sound of your approach, she looks up, her lips curving into her signature smirk. There’s a glint in her eyes that feels heavy, almost expectant, as she pushes off the wall. Before you even reach her side, she silently extends her hand toward you—an open invitation she’s been offering more and more lately. 

It’s a quiet, domestic gesture that still catches you off guard. As you slip your hand into hers, feeling the familiar warmth of her palm, you can’t help but marvel at how much your relationship has changed. She always insists on walking you back to your quarters, joking that you’d get lost without her, but the way she holds onto you feels like more than just a guide. 

It’s a dizzying contrast to the woman you met months ago. Sometimes, when she squeezes your hand or offers you a warm smile, you still see the ghost of the cold mask she wore the day you first met. 

The memory of that mission is still sharp. Your team had been chosen as backup for the Avengers—a standard data retrieval with too many variables. You were assigned to follow the infamous Black Widow. Back then, "Natasha" didn't exist. She was just a shadow in tactical gear, one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s greatest assets. 

You had tried to bridge the gap during the transport, offering a polite, "Hi—" 

"Just follow orders and stay out of my way," she’d snapped. She hadn't even looked at you, her eyes fixed on her gear, dismissing your entire existence with a single breath. 

Yikes, you had thought, adjusting the holsters on your leg. So much for getting along.

The jet had touched down shortly after, and the mission began before you could even blink. Natasha was the leader and you quietly followed her as the team cleared the area. That is, until the variables S.H.I.E.L.D ignored came screaming into play. A hidden pressure plate triggered an explosion that buckled the hallway you were scouting, the ceiling groaned as it began to rain concrete. 

Without a second though, you grabbed the back of Natasha’s tactical suit and lunged forward, clearing the collapse just as the hallway crumbled into a wall of stone behind you. You stood there for a heartbeat in the settling dust, breathing heavily, only for the silence to be shattered by the thud of combat boots. 

Enemy agents swarmed the room from the far end. In the chaos of the crossfire, a stray bullet tore through Natasha’s thigh. You saw her try to take a step only for her to stumble and was forced to one knee. 

You didn't think twice. You stepped in front of her, planting your feet and returning fire with focused precision. You didn't stop until the last enemy fell, leaving the room in a ringing, heavy silence.

Dropping your weapon to the side, you immediately knelt in the dust, ripping a pack of gauze from your med-kit. You pressed it firmly against her wound, but you felt her rough, tactical glove catch your wrists, trying to shove your hands away. 

You met her piercing green eyes with a glare of your own. “Stop,” you commanded, your voice labored but steady. “I’m already holding pressure.” 

She was dangerously pale, her breath coming out ragged. Even wounded, she tried to sharpen her gaze into something lethal. “I didn’t need you to protect me,” she hissed, her fingers digging into your skin. “Don’t try to act like a hero.” 

“Isn’t that how you try to act every day?” you bit back. Then, you let your voice soften, your thumb brushing unintentionally against the edge of her glove. “I don’t need to be a hero, and I wasn't trying to be. But if me playing hero is what kept you alive today, then that’s fine. You can be mad at me later—right now, you’re going to let me treat your injury.” 

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but the fight seemed to drain out of her. A heavy sigh escaped her instead. She scanned your face, her green eyes searching for something, before finally dropping her gaze. 

She reached for her own med-kit just as you reached out to stop her. She brushed your hand away with a roll of her eyes, but the movement lacked its previous bite. “Fine, 'Hero.' Keep pressure on my leg since you’re so insistent.” 

Before you could respond, she reached her hand toward your neck. You jolted as a sharp rush of pain flared from your throat. You hadn't even realized a bullet had grazed you, missing your carotid artery by a terrifyingly small margin. 

“Let me take care of your wounds at least,” she murmured. You tried to flinch away from the sting, but she caught your chin, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she held you in place. “Stay still, will you?” she asked, her voice tinged with irritability, though her eyes were uncharacteristically soft as she watched the blood seeping through the gauze. 

She was looking at the wound as if she were seeing a ghost.

“Thank you,” she whispered, so low you almost missed it. “For protecting me.”

Your eyes widened. You could tell by the slight tremor in her touch that she wasn’t used to being the one who needed shielding. Her expression was becoming unsure, so you didn’t let her sit in the feeling for long.

“No problem at all, Miss Widow,” you teased, a playful lilt returning to your voice. “Happy to be your hero today.” 

You let out a breathless laugh, the movement caused her hand to shift against your skin. Natasha met your eyes with a perfectly deadpan stare, though the warmth in her gaze was unmistakable. 

“I so want to take that back,” she said flatly, her eyes lingering on your neck for a second too long. 

The moment of quiet was shattered as Captain America burst through the rubble, his shield clearing the path for the rest of the team. In the chaos of extraction, you were pulled in separate directions. You were shuffled onto a transport jet where medics worked on your neck, while Natasha was rushed ahead—her blood loss had been significant, her face a ghostly shade of pale as they lifted her onto a gurney. 

By the time you landed at the Tower, she was already gone. You spent the next few hours in the medbay getting stitched up, feeling a strange hollowness now that the adrenaline had faded. Thankfully, your team had emerged with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises, but your mind kept drifting back to the slight rasp of Natasha’s voice when she thanked you

You figured that was it. You were on different levels. She was an Avenger and you were merely a team leader for the backup team. You’d go back to your separate lives and meet the next time the Avengers required assistance. 

You didn't expect to see her again so soon. 

A few days later, as you exited the training room after a light workout, you froze. Leaning against the wall beside the door was Natasha. She looked better—her color had returned—but she was propped up by a crutch under her arm, the wrapping surrounding her leg visible under the fabric of her sweatpants. 

A relieved smile touched your lips before you could stop it. “I don’t think you should be training, Miss Widow,” you said, your voice warm. 

“Just Natasha is fine,” she replied, though her voice lacked its usual bite, sounding more like she was trying—and failing—to be exasperated with you. She shifted her weight on the crutch, her green eyes scanning the fresh stitches on your neck. Her gaze softened, just for a fraction of a second, before she looked away. 

“I’m not here to train. I was just... passing by the wing after getting cleared to leave. I’m off missions for a few weeks.” She cleared her throat, gesturing vaguely toward the residential hallway. “I’ll walk you back to your room. Since I’m already here.” 

You knew the residential floor was in the opposite direction of the medbay, and there was absolutely no way she just happened to have passed by this area. You felt like there was more to it but you didn't want to press her.

“I would’ve been so lonely on that five-minute walk by myself,” you teased, your eyes filled with a playful mirth. “Though I will say, I’ll be walking. It’ll be more of a hobble for you.” 

She let out a dry, short laugh. “Shut up and keep your pace down, Hero.” 

That was months ago. Now, there are no crutches or excuses—just Natasha. She’s become someone you look forward to seeing every day. Even though you were just friends, you couldn't help but feel like there was something more bubbling under the surface. 

As you walk, your thumb finds its way across the back of her hand. Her skin always feels a little cool, a sharp contrast to yours, which always seems to run warm. She responds by squeezing your hand more firmly, and when you steal a glance at her, she’s wearing a tiny, private smile. She keeps her gaze on the hallway, guiding the two of you until you finally reach your door. 

Your heart sinks a little when you see the metal nameplate. The walk is always too short, and the thought of letting go already feels like a loss. 

The first time she reached for your hand, it had caught you completely off guard. Now, it’s just a part of the day—a quiet ritual that leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy, your heart doing a strange little flutter every time. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she mumbles. She sounds a little bummed, like she’s just as unready for the walk to end as you are. “Same time?” 

“Tomorrow,” you promise softly. 

You honestly wonder how she manages to find the time for this every day. You wonder if she’d ever do this for anyone else, but the way she looks at you—as if you’re the only person in the entire building worth her attention—makes you believe this is just for you. 

She slowly starts to pull away, her fingertips sliding across your palm and down the length of your fingers, dragging out the contact until the very last second. She waits until you’ve stepped inside and turned back toward her to give her one last smile before she finally heads off, her steps light with a subtle, happy bounce that says more than she ever could. — It starts gradually—the need to feel her more. She invites you to watch a movie with the Avengers, whom you thankfully have a good relationship with. She leads you to the couch, letting you sit first before sinking down so close that you can feel the heat of her thigh against yours. She turns to you, her gentle gaze meeting yours for a second, before she turns back toward the screen as the movie begins. 

You find yourself tuned into her every move. You feel her tense during the suspenseful scenes and relax during the quiet ones. Those little tells her body gives—the glimpses she gives you—send a rush of warmth through you. Eventually, you can’t help but watch her instead of the screen. 

Without really thinking about it, you reach for her hand where it rests on her thigh. You intertwine your fingers in that familiar way, the ritual you usually save for after your workouts. Your hands are both a little rough from training, but in this moment, all you can feel is the overwhelming softness she brings to your life. 

You look down at your joined hands, your fingertips dragging across her palm. You find a small scab that has formed there and rub it gently before your fingers drift down to the underside of her wrist. The skin there is pale, and you can faintly see the blue-green veins underneath. 

An injury brought you together, but you won't let it happen again. You promise that to yourself as you trace the veins that travel from her wrist to her palm. 

Suddenly, Natasha’s hand envelopes yours, stopping your movements. You look up to find her already staring at you, her eyes unbearably tender. 

“You know…” she whispers, her voice low over the sound of the movie, “that’s the first time you’ve held my hand first.” 

Your lips curve into a playful, soft smile—the kind you save just for her. “I didn’t realize you were keeping track.” 

Your voice matches her quiet whisper, but the happiness in your tone is obvious. 

“I wasn’t,” she whispers back, stubbornly turning her head to face the screen again. 

“Mhmm,” you murmur. You intertwine your fingers with hers again, your thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into the back of her hand. 

As you watch her, you notice the tips of her ears turning a faint, tell-tale pink. You smile to yourself, leaning back into the cushions. She’s acting tough, but you catch her glancing your way throughout the rest of the movie, her hand squeezing yours just a little tighter every time.  — A member of your team went against orders during a base raid today, and the fallout was messy. Thankfully, the injuries were minimal, though you’re currently sporting a jagged cut above your eyebrow. You haven't even had time to reach the medbay before the other team leader, John, corners you in the hall. 

He’s relentless, getting right in your face and shouting. You try to resolve it calmly, but he doesn't seem to care. Your apology is just noise to him. His hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, his fingers digging in so hard you know they'll leave bruises. You try to wrench your arm free, but the exhaustion from the mission has sapped all your strength. 

When he finally lets go, it’s not because he’s finished. You look up to find Natasha standing there, her eyes filled with a terrifying, steady fire. She steps directly in front of you, her hand immediately finding your wrist. She caresses the skin where the bruises are already starting to bloom, her touch a stark contrast to the cold stare she’s leveling at John. 

She points a finger at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

The temperature in the hallway seems to drop twenty degrees. She sounds like ice, yet she continues to stroke your wrist with her thumb, a secret pocket of warmth meant only for you. John starts stuttering out excuses that don't make sense, and you feel Natasha’s hand tense against yours. She’s ready to tear him apart. 

You wrap your hand around her index finger, squeezing lightly—a quiet warning to dial it back. Her shoulders drop a fraction, but she isn't done. 

“There’s a proper procedure for everything,” she snaps, her voice like a whip. “You think you can just—” 

She falters when you lean forward, resting your forehead right between her shoulder blades. It’s a bold move, and you feel the way her breath hitches. Her voice loses its edge, sounding much weaker than it did a second ago. “You can... explain yourself later. Go.” 

John doesn't need to be told twice. He scampers off, looking genuinely terrified. 

Natasha turns to face you, a slight pout on her lips and an annoyed look in her eyes. “I was defending you, you know,” she says, sounding disappointed. “Until you distracted me.”

“I distracted you?” you ask innocently. “I just wanted to be closer to you.” You smile sweetly at her.

She tries to glare at you, but she can’t quite hold it against your smile. She sighs, looking like she knows she’s already lost. She reaches up, her thumb brushing gently over the cut above your eyebrow.

“Let’s get this checked out,” she says softly. She interlocks her fingers with yours, leading you toward the medbay. She doesn't let go once—not even while the doctor is putting in the stitches. — You sit directly behind Natasha in the conference room as Steve goes over the mission details. The stakes are high and the intel is thin—exactly the kind of unknown that makes your skin crawl. You’ll be on Natasha’s team again, which usually brings you relief, but the variables are stacking up. HYDRA is suspected of developing a massive explosive, and S.H.I.E.L.D needs the data destroyed yesterday. 

The anxiety starts to settle in your chest. Without realizing it, you dig your nail into your palm, only stopping when a sharp sting of pain tells you you’ve drawn blood. Your hands won't stay still. 

You’re trapped in your own head when you feel something warm tap against the top of your thigh. You recognize the weight immediately. Natasha’s hand rests there, palm up, even as she keeps her eyes fixed on the formations Steve is displaying. 

You place your hand in hers. The moment your palms press together, your heart rate starts to slow. You catch a glimpse of those blue-green veins on her wrist, and the promise you made to yourself echoes in your mind. Never again.

You relax into your chair, your fingertips tapping against hers in a rhythm only the two of you know. You catch the slight curve of her lips—a move so imperceptible no one else in the room would notice. But you always have your eyes on her. 

Her fingertips wiggle against yours, as if she’s playing a game, and you respond by squeezing her hand lightly. It still surprises you how much strength is hidden in her thin fingers. You let go just enough to trap her middle finger between your thumb and index finger. You begin to drag them up and down, feeling the ridges of her skin and rubbing your thumb against the smooth surface of her nail. 

You get lost in the motion, alternating between her middle and ring fingers. You trace the calluses in a repetitive, slow, up-and-down stroke. 

A minute passes before you feel Natasha’s hand suddenly tense. Her fingers curl, trapping yours tightly against her palm. She turns around in her chair, and your breath catches. Her cheeks are flushed, and her usual composure is gone. 

“Are you messing with me?” she whispers. Even in a whisper, you can hear the breathlessness in her voice.

“What do you mean?” you whisper back, tilting your head. You were just playing with her hand like you always do to stay calm.

She gives you a hard, searching stare. Like she’s looking for some kind of hidden agenda, but after seeing the genuine cluelessness in your eyes, she lets out a heavy sigh.

“Do you not like it?” you murmur, your voice dipping into something sad.

The tips of her ears turn a deep, vivid red. She looks like she’s fighting an internal battle, finally covering her face with her free hand.

“No…” she mumbles through her fingers. “You can continue.”

You smile happily at her as she turns back to the front with a low, frustrated groan. — You kept your promise, though you can sense Natasha still feels a flicker of guilt. She keeps glancing at the white bandage wrapped around your bicep while she speaks to one of Tony’s business partners. The mission was successful against all odds, so Tony is hosting a victory party—though you suspect he would’ve found any excuse to throw one. 

You and Natasha are seated at the bar, finally taking a breather after greeting team members and guests. She looks beautiful in her grey dress. The fabric hugs her curves perfectly, and in the dim lounge lighting, she looks almost ethereal. 

You reach out, resting your hand against her waist. You feel the subtle flex of her abdomen under your fingertips as she turns toward you. Without missing a beat in her conversation, she reaches up and hooks a finger under the strap of your navy dress, sliding it back onto your shoulder where it had slipped. 

Then, instead of pulling away, she drops her hand back down and covers yours, pinning your palm firmly against her waist. 

It’s a possessive, quiet gesture. She continues talking to the guest, but her thumb starts to stroke the back of your hand, holding you there as if she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. Being this close to her—feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress—makes that familiar flutter in your chest turn into heavy, quick beats. 

You watch her profile as she continues to speak. The polite smiles and practiced pleasantries she gives the room are a stark contrast to the deep, late-night conversations you share, or the private smiles she saves just for you. Between the adrenaline of the mission and the noise of the crowd, you can feel your social battery starting to wane. You’re just grateful that Natasha always seems to notice. She effortlessly shifts the focus of the conversation to herself whenever you start to go quiet. 

Needing to feel her groundedness, you gently pull her hand from her waist and rest it on the wooden bartop. You cover it with both of yours, pressing your palms against the front and back of her hand. It always makes you feel better, as if simply touching her can transfer her calm strength directly to you. 

You glance down at her hand, noticing the neat nail polish she’s applied. The dark red color shines softly in the low, amber light of the lounge. They look perfect—sleek and sharp, just like her. Yet, the ends are rounded out, giving them a subtle softness that also feels just like the woman she is when the world isn't watching. 

You find yourself tracing the shape of her nails, your thumb brushing over her knuckles as you get lost in the repetitive, soothing motion. To anyone else, you’re just a pair of friends sitting at the bar. But to you, this is the only place in the room that feels like home. 

You pause, your fingertip hovering. Something feels different.

You trace the tip of your index finger across the tops of her nails again, more carefully this time. There is no question about it. The nails on her ring and middle fingers are shorter—filed down significantly more than the others.

Did she accidentally trim them too short? you wonder. You continue to drag your fingertip across the top ridge of those two specific nails, the texture smooth and consistent. Something tells you it isn’t a mistake, though. Natasha does everything with intention. She doesn't just slip up with a nail file. 

You drag your fingertip across even slower, feeling how perfectly rounded they are. It’s as if she took extra care to make sure there wasn't a single jagged edge left. Maybe they broke during the mission and she had no choice but to even them out, you tell yourself, nodding slightly as if that answer finally makes sense. 

Satisfied with your theory, you bring her middle and ring fingers together, trapping them against your palm. You run your fingertip over both nails at once, over and over, lost in the repetitive sensation. 

You’re so focused on the task that you don’t notice the way Natasha has gone completely still. The guest she was talking to is still halfway through a sentence, but Natasha isn't even pretending to listen anymore. Her hand is trembling in yours, and her breath is coming out in shallow, shaky hitches that make the fabric of her dress flutter. 

She turns sharply to you, her pupils dilating the second they meet your eyes, the green barely visible. They hold a heat you thought you’d imagined before, but seeing them now—raw and unhidden—you realize this isn’t the first time she's looked at you this way. She looks completely wrecked. 

She leans in, her face so close that her breath fans against your ear. “You’re testing me, aren’t you?” 

Her voice is low, breathless, and heavy. The heat of her words makes a shiver race down your spine, pinning you to the barstool. You don't pull away. Instead, you rest your head lightly against hers. 

“Testing?” you ask, your voice laced with genuine confusion. 

She tilts her head, her lips so close that a slight upward tilt of your chin would bring them together. “Yes, testing. I let you get away with it during the mission briefing, but there’s no way you don't know what you’re doing.” 

She presses the tips of those two specific fingers against your palm, stroking them downward. She repeats the motion, her gaze unwavering and intense. 

“I just noticed they were shorter,” you murmur back, your heart hammering. “I was just wondering why. Is that... not okay?” 

She lets out a ragged sigh against your lips. “You’re driving me crazy.” 

Before you can get another word out, she presses her fingers harder into your palm, curling them slightly. “You really want to know why they’re shorter?” she asks, the hunger in her eyes finally spilling over. 

You feel the heat radiating between you, the specific points where her fingertips are pressed into your skin beginning to sweat. You know there’s a deeper meaning to her words—something you’re right on the edge of understanding—but all you can focus on is the sheer weight of her desire. It’s intoxicating. 

“Tell me why,” you breathe against her lips.  

You hear her sharp intake of breath before she finally lets it go. Her lips meet yours as if she couldn't wait a single second longer. They move with an unrestrained, desperate hunger, her free hand coming up to cup your jaw and hold you in place. She’s all heat and when she lightly bites your bottom lip, a jolt of pure electricity leaves you breathless. 

She pulls back just enough to look at you, both of your ragged breaths the only sound in the small space between you. Her eyes are dark, focused, and entirely yours. She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“I’ll show you why,” she whispers, her voice a low, raspy promise. 

She interlocks her fingers with yours, tugging you toward the elevator with a purposeful stride. And she shows you why—over and over—all night long. — You wake to the soft, ticklish sensation of Natasha running her fingertips over your spine. Opening your eyes takes a bit of effort, and the first thing you see is the scattered evidence of last night. A collection of deep hickeys you left blooming just above her collarbone. 

You reach out, pressing your thumb gently against the one with the darkest hue. Natasha flinches slightly, a small intake of breath catching in her throat, but she doesn't pull away. You look up to meet her eyes, finding them filled with a soft surprise that quickly melts into pure affection. 

“This means you’re mine, you know,” you murmur, your voice still scratchy and deep from last night’s activities. 

She smiles down at you, the corners of her eyes crinkling in that way they only do for you. She doesn't say a word. Instead, she reaches under the tangled sheets, her hand finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. She presses firmly against a mark she left there, making you jolt. 

“And this means you’re mine,” she teases, her voice a low hum. 

Her expression softens as she leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels a lot like love. She pulls back just a fraction, a playful glint returning to her gaze as she looks at your hand resting near her heart. 

“So…” she drawls out, her nails stroking your palm. “Were they short enough for you?” —

What was supposed to be a 1-2k word short fic about something that happened at the bar last week turned into double the length because I started to think, "but how did they meet tho?" Then I figured I should make it a bit cutesy for all the cutie patootie readers. So yeah, this is how it ended up 😂 Hope you enjoyed it! Feedback is always appreciated :)

“If we put Thor’s hammer on some sort of tray,” Clint continues, gesturing with both hands to illustrate the concept, “and then pick up the tray…technically that counts as lifting the hammer, right?”

Natasha hums thoughtfully, tilting her head in exaggerated contemplation.

“Hmm,” she says slowly. “Interesting point.”

Clint brightens immediately.

“But,” Natasha adds, her green eyes glinting with amusement as she turns to him, “would it be you who’s worthy…or the tray?”

Clint opens his mouth and then pauses. His brows slowly knit together as he processes the loophole she just introduced.

Natasha watches him rub his chin in concentration, a small, amused huff leaving her nose. She shifts her weight slightly against the counter, enjoying the rare moment of downtime.

It’s peaceful, which is exactly why she doesn’t notice the footsteps approaching before a pair of arms suddenly slips around her waist from behind.

The action comes with a familiar ease as the warm body settle lightly against her back. Before she can turn, a chin rests comfortably on her shoulder.

“I know who’s worthy,” you murmur, your voice low as your words brush against the shell of her ear.

Natasha’s smirk appears instantly. She tilts her head just enough to glance at you from the corner of her eye, one brow arching in amusement.

“Do you now?” she asks, playing along.

You nod, a confident little grin spreading across your face.

“Mmmhmm.”

Your arms remain loosely wrapped around her waist, casual and unapologetic. One of your hands slips beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips lightly brushing the skin at her side.

“And she’s pretty cute too,” you add offhandedly. “Especially when she wishes me luck before I leave for my mission.”

Natasha snorts softly under her breath.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we’re going to have a problem,” you warn in playful threat.

Natasha simply raises her brow, unmoved by your words.

When it’s clear she’s not budging, you tilt your head and respond with an exaggerated pout, batting your eyelashes at her with ridiculous enthusiasm.

“Come on,” you say dramatically. “Don’t leave me hanging, Romanoff.”

Natasha chuckles at your antics, shaking her head. Still, she turns within your arms until she’s facing you. Her hands rise to your face, cupping it with easy familiarity as her thumbs brush gently across your cheeks.

For a moment, the playful noise of the room fades into the background.

“Good luck on your mission,” Natasha says softly.

Your smile appears instantly, but then—

Flick.

Her finger taps your forehead.

“Hey—!” you protest, instantly bringing your hands up to soothe the spot.

Natasha’s lips curl into a small, teasing smirk.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” she adds.

You respond with an exaggerated pout.

Before you can retaliate, the calm kitchen atmosphere is abruptly interrupted as FRIDAY’s voice echoes through the room, calling your name.

“Mr. Stark has requested me to inform you that if you are not in the hangar bay in the next sixty seconds, he will leave without you.”

A beat passes before she continues.

“Fifty-eight…fifty-seven…fifty-six…”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

“Alright, guess I’m going now.”

You back away, already heading toward the doors, though you pause long enough to point a warning finger at Natasha.

“This isn’t over,” you tell her with mock seriousness. “I’m getting back at you when I return.”

Natasha leans casually against the counter again, folding her arms.

“Sure you will,” she replies, entirely unconvinced.

You point at her again as if issuing a formal threat. Then you disappear through the doors.

Natasha watches them slide shut behind you before a quiet chuckle escapes her.

When she turns back around, she finds Clint staring at her with a raised brow. It’s the look he gets when he thinks he’s figured something out.

Natasha narrows her eyes.

“What’s with your face?”

Clint leans forward slightly against the counter, folding his arms.

“So,” he says carefully, “are you two together now?”

Natasha’s expression immediately flattens. 

“No,” she says, her tone firm. “You already know what kind of relationship I have with her.”

Clint waves his hand vaguely.

“Right, right. The whole casual friends-with-benefits situationship.”

He points toward the door you just exited through.

“However…”

Natasha already doesn’t like where this is going.

“…that just now seemed a bit on the coupley side of things.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at his ridiculous observation. 

“It was a hug, Clint.”

“Uh-huh.”

Clint nods thoughtfully.

“I mean,” he continues, “Laura hugs me like that all the time.”

Natasha gives him an unimpressed stare at his comparison. What you did just now is not the same thing.

“It’s just a hug,” she insists.

“Sure,” Clint says with a shrug. Then he tilts his head slightly. “But have you seen her hug anyone else like that?”

Natasha opens her mouth, but then she pauses. Her eyes narrow slightly as she thinks about it.

Because…no. Not really.

You’re friendly. You joke with everyone. You throw your arms around someone’s shoulders sometimes during celebrations or victories.

But that kind of hug?

Arms around the waist. Chin on the shoulder. Body pressed against hers.

That was different. You don’t usually do affectionate stuff like that outside the bedroom.

Still, Natasha quickly pushes the thought aside.

You and she spent last night together. Maybe it was just leftover affection from that.

Post-sex warmth. Nothing unusual. Nothing meaningful.

Except, for some reason, the thought of you hugging someone else like that causes a strange irritation in her chest.

Natasha frowns faintly at the feeling. Then she shakes her head, brushing the thought away.

“You’re overanalyzing,” she says firmly. “It meant nothing.”

Clint raises both hands in surrender.

“If you say so.”

His expression, however, clearly says he doesn’t believe her. Still, he’s learned not to push Natasha when she uses that tone.

Instead, he nods toward the counter again.

“So,” Clint says casually, returning to the earlier debate, “picking up the tray with Thor’s hammer on top?”

Natasha smirks again.

“Doesn’t make you worthy.”

Clint sighs dramatically.

“Damn.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The room is quiet.

Not the brittle, suffocating silence that sometimes settles over the Compound after a mission. Not the kind that presses in from all sides and demands to be filled.

This one is softer. Almost fragile. The kind that lingers in the aftermath of something warm.

Natasha lies awake on her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling above her.

Sleep refuses to come.

It hovers just out of reach, close enough that she can feel it pulling at her, but never quite close enough to take hold.

Beside her, your body is warm. You’re tucked into her side beneath the sheets, your presence a steady, grounding weight against her. Your arm rests loosely around her waist, fingers curled just slightly against her stomach like you’d fallen asleep mid-thought.

Your breathing is slow and even. Soft against her skin. 

You usually aren’t here this long.

Most nights follow a pattern—one that neither of you ever bothered to name, but both of you understand perfectly. It starts the same. You come together, lose yourselves for a while, share a few quiet moments afterward. Sometimes, a conversation drifts lazily between nothing and everything. A few smirks, maybe a teasing remark.

And then you leave.

Always before it lingers too long. Always before it can become something else.

But tonight is different.

You had just gotten back from a mission, longer than usual, rougher by the look of it. Natasha had seen it in the way your shoulders carried tension, in the way your movements were just a fraction slower than normal. And so, the moment you stepped off the jet, she had taken you into her arms and pulled you straight into her room.

Instinct. Habit. Maybe something else.

Clothes hadn’t lasted long. They never do.

But afterward, after a momentary respite of just losing yourselves in each other, instead of leaving, you had just curled into her side, exhaled once, and fallen asleep almost instantly, like your body had finally given out the moment it felt safe enough to.

And Natasha had let you stay.

Slowly, her gaze shifts, and she looks down at you.

Your face is half-hidden against her collarbone, your hair slightly disheveled, messy in that way that comes from both sleep and everything that came before it.

For a long moment, she simply watches you.

There’s something unguarded about you like this. Something softer than the version of you she usually sees—the one who jokes, who fights, who moves through the world with sharp edges and practiced confidence. This version of you seems like it’s reserved for her eyes only.

And Natasha doesn’t know what to do with that. 

Inevitably, her mind drifts. Back to the kitchen. The hug. Clint’s words.

Her chest tightens slightly at the memory, the feeling subtle but persistent. Annoyingly so. And with it comes the thought she had pushed down at the time.

Did it mean anything?

“You’re thinking really loud,” you mumble against her skin. The words are rough with sleep, barely formed, but they cut cleanly through her thoughts.

Natasha blinks, startled, her gaze snapping back down to you.

Your eyes are only half-open, unfocused, like you’re hovering somewhere between awake and asleep.

“You’re awake?” she murmurs quietly.

“Barely,” you grumble.

You shift slightly, adjusting your position so your chin rests more comfortably against her shoulder. Your arm wraps firmly around her waist in an absent, instinctive movement.

Natasha’s gaze flickers downward to your hand, resting against her stomach. Then back to your face.

“What was with that hug before you left?” she asks quietly.

You lift your head just enough to look at her properly, blinking like you’re trying to piece together what she’s talking about.

“What hug?”

“The one in the kitchen,” she clarifies. “Before your mission.”

Your brows draw together slightly.

“What about it?”

Natasha shifts onto her side, propping her head up with one hand so she can see you properly. The movement creates a small distance between you, just enough for her to notice.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly. “Clint was saying some things, and it just seemed…”

She trails off, searching.

“…intimate.”

The word lingers between you.

You go still for a second, thinking.

“Oh.” 

It’s quiet. Almost too casual. But something changes.

Without seeming to realize it, your arm slips away from around her waist. It’s subtle. But the absence is immediate.

The space you leave behind feels colder than it should.

Natasha hates how quickly she notices.

You run a hand through your hair, still looking thoughtful.

“I guess I didn’t really think about it,” you admit. “It just sort of happened.”

Natasha nods faintly. That’s what she expected. Clint had been reading into it. Overanalyzing, like he always does. The hug didn’t mean anything.

It was just—

Nothing.

For some reason, that revelation doesn’t bring the relief she thought it would.

You sit up with a quiet stretch, a tired yawn slipping past your lips. The sheets fall away from you as you move, revealing the tank top and underwear you must’ve pulled on at some point.

Natasha’s eyes track the motion automatically. She remembers exactly how those clothes had ended up on the floor earlier.

The urgency. The heat. The way neither of you had slowed down long enough to think.

Now, you stand beside the bed, scanning the floor for the rest of your clothes.

The contrast is jarring.

Natasha stays quiet, watching as you dress—pulling your shirt back on, stepping into your pants, smoothing each fold as if putting yourself back together piece by piece.

When you finish, you turn toward her again. You lower yourself onto the mattress beside her, leaning in. Your hand lifts to her chin, gently guiding her eyes back to yours.

Then your lips press softly against hers.

Natasha responds without hesitation. Her hand slides up to the back of your neck, fingers curling lightly into your hair as she kisses you back.

For a brief moment, the thought crosses her mind.

Pull you down. Keep you here. Start it all over again. Lose herself in something easier than this feeling sitting in her chest.

But before she can act on it, you pull away.

“Sorry about that,” you murmur, your voice still close enough that she can feel the words against her lips. “I’ll try not to do anything like that again.”

Natasha’s brows knit slightly. She tilts her head upward, chasing your mouth for another brief kiss.

“It didn’t bother me,” she says quietly.

You smile, soft and small.

But when she leans in again, you pull back. Just enough to be out of reach. Her hand lingers in the air where you had been.

“But you’re right,” you continue gently. “That kind of thing’s too intimate.”

Your expression softens further.

“At least when we’re not hooking up.”

The words settle heavily in the quiet room.

“We agreed this was casual,” you remind her.

Natasha nods slowly. She remembers how this all started. Months ago, at one of Tony’s infamous parties. Too much music. Too much alcohol. Too many people packed into the living room.

The night had blurred into laughter, dancing, and eventually, one very impulsive decision. 

The morning after had been awkward. Not because either of you regretted it, but because you both understood exactly what it could become.

And what that would mean.

In this line of work, relationships don’t come easy.

They come with risk. With distance. With the constant possibility of loss.

Neither of you had ever been particularly successful at making relationships work in the past. Neither of you had ever been good at holding onto something like that.

So Natasha made it simple.

No expectations. No attachments. Just something to take the edge off between missions. Something steady in the middle of chaos.

And it has worked so far. 

You lean down again, pressing one last, gentle kiss to her lips.

“Let’s not blur the boundaries, Natasha,” you say softly. Then you pull away. You slide off the bed, your movements quiet as you head toward the door.

“Sweet dreams.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and the room falls silent again.

Natasha exhales slowly, her head sinking back against the pillow. Relief settles over her. Or something like it.

The misunderstanding is gone.

Everything is exactly what it’s supposed to be.

What you have is casual. Simple. Safe. It’s better this way.

She repeats it to herself as she closes her eyes.

Again. And again. And again.

Eventually, sleep begins to take her.

But no matter how many times she repeats it, it doesn’t quite erase the faint, persistent ache in her chest.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha takes a slow, measured sip from her glass, letting the burn of the liquor settle before she swallows. To anyone else in the crowded living room, she looks perfectly at ease, just leaning casually against the bar at one of Tony Stark’s increasingly extravagant parties.

The room is alive with movement and sound. Music pulses through hidden speakers, low and rhythmic, blending with the hum of overlapping conversations. Laughter erupts from every corner. Glasses clink in celebration of yet another successful mission. The Avengers are relaxed, off-duty, and untouchable for the night.

Everything appears normal.

But if anyone cared to look closely, they would notice the cracks beneath her surface.

The subtle tension in her posture. The way her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the stem of her glass. The faint clench of her jaw.

And most telling of all, the fact that Natasha’s gaze hasn’t shifted in several minutes.

She isn’t watching the party. She’s watching you.

When you told her you would avoid doing things like the hug, the things that blurred lines, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time. A new boundary drawn, respected without argument.

At first, Natasha thought she wouldn’t even notice the difference.

But she had been wrong.

It started small.

A movie night in the common room.

Where you used to drop onto the couch beside her without hesitation, your shoulder pressed comfortably against hers, your presence warm and familiar. Sometimes you would lean into her without thinking, your head resting briefly against her arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Now, you sit on the opposite end. A pillow placed neatly between you two, creating a quiet, deliberate space.

Then in the gym.

After sparring, when both of you were catching your breath, Natasha had paused in front of you, expecting, without thinking, that same absentminded gesture where your hand fixes a loose strand of hair behind her ear as you made some teasing remark about her fighting skills.

But this time, you passed right by her, reaching behind her instead and grabbing your towel and water bottle without so much as grazing her skin.

Even during mission briefings, the difference was impossible to ignore.

You used to lean over her shoulder to read the screen, your presence close behind her. She could feel your warmth at her back, your breath near her ear as you murmured observations only she could hear.

Now, you stood at the table with your own tablet.

Still beside her but never close.

Always careful. Always just far enough away.

Natasha swirls the amber liquid in her glass, watching the way it catches the light.

So this is what you meant. This is the new boundary.

And she had agreed to it.  

So why does it feel like something is missing? Why does the absence of those touches that “meant nothing” feel so…loud?

Her gaze sharpens slightly.

And more importantly, why are you giving them to someone else?

Natasha’s jaw tightens at the sight.

Across the room, you’re laughing. There’s a looseness to your movements, a little more relaxed, your smile a little brighter. Tony’s been generous with the drinks tonight, and it shows. You’re not out of control. Just…lighter.

Your arm is draped casually around Carol Danvers’ shoulders as the two of you talk, the two of you caught in your own bubble of conversation.

Carol laughs, her head tipping back at something you say. And you laugh with her. Then, without hesitation, your arms slip around her from behind, pulling her into a playful hug.

Natasha’s grip tightens around her glass.

It should mean nothing. It is nothing.

Just like how it is for her.

But to her irritation, the hug lingers. Your arms don’t drop right away from the other woman.

Carol nudges you with her elbow and says something in response, prompting you to lean closer so you can hear her over the music. You lean in a little too much, your face drifting into her space with an ease that feels overly familiar.

A sudden, sharp heat twists in Natasha’s chest.

Before she fully registers her own reaction, she downs the rest of her drink in a single motion. The glass meets the counter with a quiet yet decisive sound.

Then she moves.

Natasha crosses the room with clear intent, weaving through groups of people without slowing.

You’re still smiling when she reaches you, still caught mid-laugh as you turn to greet her.

“Hey—”

Her hand closes firmly around your wrist as she pulls you away from the other woman. You look at her in surprise, but you do not resist as she leads you through the crowd.

Behind her, Carol calls out, her tone light and amused.

“Hey, Romanoff, what’s the rush?”

Natasha does not respond or look back. She continues forward, guiding you toward the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder, your smile lingering.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Danvers!” you call.

The promise sharpens Natasha’s irritation. Within moments, she pulls you into her room.

The door closes behind you with a quiet click, and the atmosphere shifts immediately.

You move first. Your arms slide around her neck as you pull her into a deep kiss.

Natasha responds without hesitation. Her hands grip the front of your shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as she kisses you back.

There is nothing gentle about it. The kiss is intense and consuming as she steps forward, erasing the space between you until your back meets the door with a soft impact.

She barely notices. All she feels is the heat building inside her.

For a brief moment, an image flashes through her mind of you standing with Carol, your arms around her, leaning in without hesitation.

The feeling tightens inside her, and Natasha presses into the kiss with greater intensity.

Her hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place as though anchoring you exactly where she wants you. Where she feels she needs you.

Mine.

The thought hits her before she can stop it. She resents it immediately, hating how natural it feels and how good it sounds.

Because the truth is, you do not belong to her. You never have. That was always the agreement.

When she pulls back, it is only for a brief breath. Her eyes move over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, your softened expression, and the way you are looking at her, completely unaware of the conflict inside her.

“Hey, what’s wr—”

She silences you with another forceful kiss.

Your words dissolve into a soft sound against her lips.

Her hands rise to cup your face, drawing you closer as though she fears you might slip away if she lets go.

“Natasha…” you murmur.

The sound of her name on your lips sends a dull ache through her chest.

Still, she continues to kiss you. Again and again, her lips lingering briefly before moving to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek, and then back again. The rhythm becomes restless and searching, almost desperate, as though she is trying to remind both of you of something unspoken.

Eventually, your hands move to her waist and pull her closer.

The contact draws a quiet breath from her.

Your touch feels exactly the same as it always has, and she hates how much she has missed it.

Your fingers trace along her sides and slip beneath the hem of her shirt. The warmth of your touch against her skin sends a shiver through her.

But the sensation is complicated.

Even as she leans into it, something inside her aches. This is the only time you touch her like this now, hidden away behind closed doors.

Outside of this space, there is distance. No casual contact, no easy closeness, and no quiet affection shared without thought.

Yet tonight, Carol received that version of you.

The realization sharpens the ache. For a moment, Natasha allows herself to sink back into the kiss, into the feeling of you, into the illusion of being chosen.

But the thought does not fade.

Only here. Only like this.

Abruptly, Natasha pulls away. Her hand catches your wrist, stopping your movement beneath her shirt.

She shakes her head.

“I can’t do this.”

The words feel as though they tear something open inside her.

You blink at her, confusion crossing your face. Your head tilts slightly as you try to understand, and then your expression softens.

“Are you worried about the drinks?” you ask gently. “I’m fine. I only had a few.”

She shakes her head again and steps back, creating distance between you.

“No,” she says quietly, gesturing between you. “I can’t do this with you anymore.”

The words settle heavily in the space between you.

Your hands lift slightly, as if you intend to reach for her, but you stop yourself at the last second and let them fall back.

For a moment, you simply look at her. Then something in your expression shifts. Your arms fold loosely, your fingers gripping your sleeves.

“Oh.”

The sound is soft, almost lost, but the way your shoulders drop afterward makes her chest tighten painfully.

You look hurt, though you try not to show it.

Every instinct in Natasha urges her to move, to close the distance, to pull you back and say something that will erase that look from your face.

But she remains still.

What right does she have?

She agreed to something simple and uncomplicated.

Yet standing here, watching you try to act as though this does not matter, she finally faces the truth she has been avoiding.

She does not want something simple. She does not want something casual.

She wants you.

Not just in this room or within some boundary. She wants you openly and completely.

The realization arrives all at once, clear and undeniable, and entirely unhelpful.

Because the words still refuse to come.

You offer her a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

“If that’s what you want, Natasha,” you say softly.

Her throat tightens as she tries to respond, but no words follow.

You nod once and turn toward the door. The quiet click as it closes behind you echoes through the room.

Natasha remains where she is long after you have gone, her chest tight and aching.

Only now does she understand why.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha exhales slowly, releasing a quiet sigh as she leans her hip against the kitchen counter. One hand remains loosely wrapped around a ceramic mug whose warmth has long since faded, yet she makes no effort to refill it.

She is waiting, though she cannot fully define what she expects. Perhaps she is waiting for the coffee machine to finish, for the silence to shift, or for something deeper that she cannot quite name.

The steady drip of coffee fills the otherwise empty room.

It reminds her of how things were only weeks ago, before everything changed and before words were spoken that cannot be taken back.

Sunlight stretches across the polished countertops, catching along the edges of steel and glass. Somewhere within the walls, the faint hum of the tower’s systems continues, a constant reminder that life is still moving forward.

However, she doesn’t feel as though she is moving with it.

Her thoughts wander without restraint, circling back to that previous night. Every word, every glance, and every moment she wishes she could change plays repeatedly in her mind.

A dull ache settles in her chest, familiar and unwelcome. Despite how hard she tried to ignore it, it never truly fades, instead lingering with quiet persistence.

She closes her eyes briefly, hoping for relief, but nothing changes.

The sound of footsteps echoes faintly from the hallway. The rhythm is steady and unmistakable.

Natasha’s attention sharpens immediately, her body reacting before her thoughts fully catch up. She glances over her shoulder and straightens as soon as she sees you standing in the doorway.

You appear just as surprised to find her there.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The space between you feels heavier than it should, weighed down by everything that was said. The silence stretches, pressing in from every direction.

Eventually, you offer a small smile. It is soft and genuine, familiar in a way that causes something in her chest to tighten.

But you do not step closer.

Instead, you remain where you are, leaning casually against the doorframe as though an invisible boundary separates you. The distance itself is not large, but it is undeniable.

And Natasha notices it immediately. 

You clear your throat, the sound quiet but enough to break the tension.

“I am heading out for another mission today,” you say, your voice careful and measured. Your head tilts slightly, a habit she knows well, one that always made her smile without effort. “Wish me luck?”

The words are the same as always. The tone, the phrasing, and the moment itself are all familiar.

Everything surrounding them, however, is different.

There is space between you now, a deliberate distance that marks the line she has drawn.

Natasha swallows, her throat suddenly dry.

She understands what this moment means.

You are trying in your own way. You are trying to show her that things are still manageable between you, that you respect her decision, and that you can stand here and speak with her as though nothing has truly been lost.

Her fingers tighten slightly around the mug before she sets it down with a soft clink.

“Good luck,” she says quietly.

The words feel small and inadequate, but they are all she can manage.

Your smile lifts just a fraction more, and relief flickers across your expression. It is as though you expected resistance and are grateful not to find it. You nod once.

“Thanks, Natasha.”

Just like that, you accept it. You seem satisfied with that small offering, with the careful and restrained version of whatever exists between you now. You push away from the doorway and begin to turn, ready to leave things exactly as they are.

That is what breaks her composure.

It is the ease with which you accept the distance without question.

Something twists sharply in Natasha’s chest. In that instant, with startling clarity, she realizes she cannot continue like this. She cannot stand there pretending that polite smiles and quiet farewells are enough.

Her body moves before the thought fully settles.

“Wait.”

The word is soft, barely above a breath, but it stops you immediately.

You pause mid-step and glance back over your shoulder, confusion flickering across your face.

Natasha is already moving. She crosses the kitchen quickly, her steps decisive as she closes the space between you before doubt can interfere.

Before you can react, her hands rise, warm and steady as they cup your face.

Then she kisses you.

There is no hesitation, no restraint, no careful distance. There is only her, choosing you.

A soft, startled sound escapes you, muffled against her lips. For a brief moment, you freeze, caught off guard as you try to process what is happening.

Then instinct takes over.

Your hands find her waist and pull her closer as you return the kiss.

In that instant, everything falls back into place. The warmth, the familiarity, and the connection that never truly disappeared all return at once.

Natasha leans into you and deepens the kiss, pouring weeks of restraint, frustration, and unspoken emotion into it. Her grip tightens slightly, as though anchoring herself, as though afraid this moment might slip away again.

Your hold mirrors hers, firm and certain.

When she finally pulls back, both of you are breathing unevenly. She rests her forehead against yours, her thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks as she steadies herself in the moment.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” she murmurs.

The words are familiar, but their meaning has changed. This time, they carry everything she left unsaid before.

Your eyes open slowly as you study her face, and when your expression softens, Natasha knows that you understand.

This was not an accident or a lapse in judgment. It was a deliberate choice.

Before you can respond, FRIDAY’s voice cuts through the moment as she calls your name.

“Mr. Stark has requested that I inform you that if you are not in the hangar bay in the next sixty seconds, he will—”

“FRIDAY,” you interrupt calmly, “I got it.”

You do not look away from Natasha.

There is a brief pause.

“…Understood.”

Silence settles again, softer now.

Your hands remain at her waist, your fingers idly tugging at the edge of her top.

“So,” you say carefully, a hint of teasing in your voice, “are we establishing new boundaries?”

The question sounds light and joking, but Natasha knows what you’re really asking. You’re trying to understand what she is offering.

Natasha exhales sharply, her nose wrinkling slightly in slight irritation at the word.

“Yeah, new boundaries,” she mutters.

Your brow lifts slightly.

“And they are...?”

She rolls her eyes, though there is no real sharpness in the gesture. When she looks back at you, her expression is completely unguarded.

“Whatever lets me love you.”

The honesty is blunt and unfiltered in a way that’s entirely her.

For a moment, you simply stare at her in surprise. Then your smile spreads slowly, bright and certain. Your hands shift, slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt as your fingertips brush against her warm skin.

Natasha relaxes at the contact. Her eyes flutter closed, and a quiet sigh escapes her as relief washes over her.

The distance is gone.

Your arms wrap fully around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She melts into you instantly, burying her face against your shoulder as though it is the most natural place for her to be, as though she is finally allowed to rest there.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

Then, softly near your ear, Natasha speaks with quiet curiosity.

“That hug in the kitchen the other day…?”

You hum softly in response, waiting for her to finish.

“…Did it mean something?”

After a brief hesitation, you nod gently against her temple.

“Yeah,” you admit gently. “It did.”

Her arms tighten around you. And for a few seconds, the world narrows to just this moment, to the two of you standing in the quiet kitchen, holding onto something that never truly left.

“Forty-eight…forty-seven…forty-six…” FRIDAY'S voice counts softly in the background.

You groan quietly and pull back just enough to look at her, offering a reluctant, almost apologetic expression.

“This is not over,” you say with mock seriousness. You lean in and press a brief kiss to her lips before whispering, “I am going to tell you exactly how I feel when I get back.”

You begin to turn, but Natasha catches your arm and pulls you back against her. She arches a brow, a playful smirk forming on her lips.

“You honestly think I’m going to let you leave now?”

She leans closer to your face, close enough to steal your focus again.

Your grin returns instantly.

“Oh?”

Your arms slide around her waist once more, drawing her tightly against you.

“Are you planning to hold me here with you forever, Romanoff?”

Amusement flashes in her eyes.

“Maybe,” Natasha says, her smile widening. “Unless there is another boundary you would like to set.”

You rest your forehead gently against hers, a soft laugh escaping before you answer.

“No,” you murmur quietly. “That actually sounds perfect to me.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your eyes scanned the room for the newest attending, but you couldn’t find her. Most of the day shift was gone. Once hand-offs were completed, they all booked it out of here, ready to sleep and do it all over again tomorrow. But she was still here. Her Lululemon jacket was half-heartedly thrown onto the back of a chair. She wasn’t with Robby or Jack as the two were talking about the events of the day. Where the hell was she?

“Hey, Parker,” you stopped the night shift Doctor as she walked by. “Was Al-Hashimi in the break room? She left her jacket.” You jerked your head in the direction of her jacket, and she followed your gaze.

“It was empty when I was in there,” she said when she looked back at you. “Heard Robby tell Abbot she went to the roof.” Dammit. You cursed under your breath, but you forced a smile, thanked Parker, and wished her luck.

Today was bad. Not your typical busy, chaotic ED environment, but different. It was trauma after trauma, and their body’s were done fighting by the time they got to you. It was one of those days that made you question why you worked here.

Quickly, you finished your charting. Touched base with some of the nurses and said good night to Robby and Jack. With her jacket in hand, you pressed the elevator button. Once you were in and the metal doors closed, you leaned back and closed your eyes.

This thing between you and Baran was complicated. When she first arrived at the PITT with her changes, you were hesitant to accept her. Change always scared you. But you began to understand her. She desperately wanted to fix a system that was stubborn to change.

After a case where you lost a patient, and the parents took their anger and grief out on you, she stood up for you. Once you both clocked out, you invited her out for something to eat. Maybe she leaned in. Maybe it was you. But you kissed her in the back of the booth of a dimly lit bar and brought her back to your apartment because her son was at her dad’s.

This thing was casual, no strings attached. When you both felt the pressure and stress of the ED, you fell into bed with each other. Was it healthy? Probably not, but you were both consenting adults.

Then something shifted. When you were alone in your apartment, your mind went to her. You wondered what she was doing. Was she taking care of herself? You wondered how she spent her days off with her son. Would she be listening to music while she cooked? How would it feel to spend the morning with her in your arms, with no rush of the ED calling?

Sighing, you walked out of the elevator and pushed open the door marked ‘employees only’. Baran’s back was to you as she looked over the city. Your stomach plummeted as you saw her on the other side of the railing. Realistically, you knew she wasn’t going to jump, but the thought fucking terrified you.

Instead of calling out to her, you carefully walked over. You saw her body tense when she discovered she was no longer alone. “You left your jacket down there,” you put it on the metal railing. “Figured you might be cold.” You could see the goosebumps form on her arms.

“I’m not gonna jump.” She mumbled.

“Never said you were,” you responded with a shrug. “Just here if you need me.” Baran looked at you. Brown eyes that were sad and wet with tears that she refused to let fall, and she showed this side of herself to the others. She had to be nothing less than perfect when she ran the ED.

“Today fucking sucked.” You barked out a laugh, not expecting her blunt statement.

“Yeah, it sure did.” A comfortable silence fell between you, too. The city’s sound was background noise to you as you stared at the attending. Her hair wasn’t as put together when she first started the shift. Constantly running her hands through her hair loosened some of the definition in her curls. The bags under the eyes seemed darker. Still, she was breathtaking.

Sighing, she ducked back under the railing. Finally, you felt like you could breathe easier. Slowly, she put her jacket on and fixed her hair. “Why did you come up here?” You turned to face here, elbow resting on the ledge.

“Is it that surprising that I care about you?” You questioned. Baran frowned. Tentatively, you stepped forward. When she stayed, you moved closer until you felt the warmth of her breath against your lips. “Why did you come up here, Baran?” You spoke softly. “Why were you on the other side?” Instead of answering, she looked back towards the city.

“The noise got too much,” she admitted. “Just needed it all to stop.” Carefully, you placed your hand on her chin and forced her to look at you. Your thumb rubbed patterns on her skin. Even with only the lights of the city, you could count the freckles on her cheeks. It was your favorite activity while she slept next to you. The attending leaned slightly into the contact.

“Come home with me tonight,” you said. “Let me take care of you.” You were expecting a fight, an excuse for why she couldn’t. Baran was many things, and one of them was stubborn. But the opposite happened. Her shoulders dropped. The weight of expectation and responsibility fell.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You smiled and kissed her cheek.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Lucky, no one seemed to bat an eye as you and Baran walked out of the elevator, grabbed your stuff, and walked out together. Well, besides Jack. The man sent you a smirk and wiggled his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes and flipped him off.

Once outside, you placed a hand on her lower back and guided he to your car. Not in a controlling way, but you needed to feel her against you. You needed to feel the deep inhale and exhale she took at each step away from the hospital as she finally let the stress of the day go. The warmth that seeped through her scrubs and jacket. You needed to feel her because your mind began to wander. If you had never gone to the roof, what would have happened?

You opened the passenger door and closed it when she was in. A quick jog around the front of the car, and you were on the driver’s side and started the car. It seemed instinct for your hand to rest on her thigh. Slowly, her fingers traced the lines and scars of the back of your hand. The simple action sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s healing nicely,” she said as you looked at the scar on your knuckles that she was examining.

“Thanks,” you smiled. “I had a hot doctor taking care of them for me.” Baran rolled her eyes, but a faint smile appeared on her lips. It was the first smile you’ve seen since Whitaker slipped on something suspicious and took out the sandwich cart. That happened at 0830.

The scar in question happened because of a fight between you and Robby. You loved the man, saw him as family, but you hated how he took his bullshit out on everyone else. You couldn’t even remember what you said as you defended Dana, but you remembered the punch you threw at the wall in the stairwell. Baran found you with bloody knuckles and a lot of guilt.

You pulled into your parking spot and parked. Baran got out before you could open the door for her. It took you both no time to climb one flight of stairs and unlock the door. “Take a seat. I’ll make us something to eat.”

Baran scuffed. “I’m not that incompetent that I can’t help with dinner.”

“I never said you were,” you took her bag from her shoulder and dropped it next to yours. Your hands went to her waist, and you maneuvered her to your couch. She fell down on the cushion with a quiet huff. Before she could stand up, you knelt between her legs. “I said I wanted to take care of you,” you untied her left sneaker and slid it off her foot. Your thumb dug into the arch of her foot. Again, her shoulders sagged in relief. “So let me take care of you,” you gave her other foot the same treatment. “I am going to cook us something, then run you a bath or shower, then we are going to bed,” you explained. “Is that okay?” Baran shook her head. “What is wrong with it then?” You asked with a laugh.

Without a word, she sat up, put her fingers underneath the neck you wore, and pulled you closer. Your hands grabbed the back of the couch so you wouldn’t fall on top of her. Which seemed to upset her. She frowned, pulled you closer until your chest was flush against hers.

Finally. Finally! Her lips touched yours. It felt like years since the last time you kissed her. Which was a little dramatic, but two days without it felt like years. Baran kissed with the precision she used in her everyday life. She knew how to take you apart and put you back together quickly.

When your lungs needed a break, you pulled back with your forehead against hers. Her heart was rapidly beating against yours. “I don’t think I deserve you, Azizam.” The pet name in Farsi was your undoing. At the beginning of this thing, she never let them slip out. She would let some curse words out in her mother tongue. But the pet names. Azizam. Asalam. Jaan. Words that felt foreign on your tongue and their meanings were sometimes lost on you, kept locked against your heart.

“Funny,” you mumbled against her lips. “I was thinking the same thing.” A final kiss to her lips, and you stood up. “Now sit there, put on a stupid reality TV show that you love, and relax.” A smile was back on her face.

“Please,” she grabbed the remote from the table. “You love the shows too.” You went into the kitchen without a comment. You hated them, actually, but you loved her laugh and smile, so you endured them.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Dinner was simple chicken and pasta with red sauce. You brought over two waters and the bowls of food back to the couch. “Thank you.” You smiled and ate in silence. You both probably ate a little faster than normal since you both were surviving on empty stomachs. You put the dirty dishes in the sink to deal with later.

“Shower or bath?” You asked.

“Bath,” you answered without hesitation. “Only if you join me.” You held out your hand for her to take, and you led her to the bathroom.

You turned on the water, added essential oils, and made sure the body was in reach. By the time you were happy with the setup, you turned to face Baran, who had already shed the scrubs she was wearing. You couldn’t help but stare. You’ve seen her naked; seen her at the heights of pleasure on your bed, couch, and everywhere in between. This felt different, more intimate. “You’re starring.”

“Can’t help it,” you smiled. “You are gorgeous.” Baran held out her hand, and you took it.

“Let me help,” she said softly. “Please.” And you weren’t going to deny her such a request when she asked so nicely. Her hand pulled your top over your head. Next came your bra. Her fingers traced the tattoos that were usually covered by your scrubs. You weren’t embarrassed by the goosebumps that followed her touch.

She made quick work of your pants and underwear. Baran wasn’t hiding the way her eyes looked over your naked form. “Like what you see?” You smirked.

“You know I do.” Oh, you were well aware. Some mornings, after you would wake up with hickies all over your chest. You held Baran’s hand as she stepped into the tub. Once she was settled, you climbed in behind her. Your legs on either side of her, with her back resting against your front.

The warmth of the water helped relax your tense muscles. You heard Baran sigh. You grabbed the body and put a healthy amount on a cloth. “Sit forward,” you whispered. She followed your instructions, and you began to clean her back, paying close attention to her shoulders. Baran moaned as you focused on a tough knot.

“You have magically hands.” You chuckled.

“You’ve been on the receiving end of my magically hands more than once.” Baran pinched your thigh. You smiled against her shoulder. Once her back was done, you cleaned her arms, chest, and parts of her legs that you could reach. You placed the rag on the edge of the tub and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“This has been nice,” you weren’t blind to the hint of surprise in her voice. “Tonight felt very domestic.” You kissed her shoulder.

“Did you think I couldn’t be domestic?”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, it was me.” You frowned. Before, you could question her, but she turned around to face you. You put your legs together, her so she could sit down. “My marriage fell apart because of me. I couldn’t hold down a relationship during medical school. I don’t know how to do this.”

“First of all,” you said slowly. “Your marriage did not fall apart because of you alone. There are two people in every relationship.” She opened her mouth to argue, but you cupped her cheeks in your hands. “Second, I don’t want perfect. I just want you.”

“I’m a mess,” she whispered. “A perfectionist with PTSD and absence seizures.”

“And I’m overly protective with anger issues and depression that I should be medicated for.” Baran chuckled, shaking her head. “All I’m saying is, we all have our shit. Just don’t push me away. I’m here, not going anywhere.” Baran smiled, brown eyes filled with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before. You could get lost in her eyes. Warm, beautiful, and filled with light that many tried to put out.

Her hand held onto your chin, and she kissed you. Like everything tonight, this felt different. It was slower. Every time you tried to rush, to fall back into the same pattern as before, she slowed you down. She kissed you like she had all the time in the world, too. In this moment, there was no place you would rather be.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Once the water turned cold, you both got out. Her nighttime routine was more in-depth than yours. So you brushed your teeth and gave her space in the bathroom. While she got ready, you unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher. Once the kitchen was cleaned, you went back to your room to find Baran curled up in your bed, as she belonged there. In your opinion, she did. You smiled as you climbed into bed next to her, turned off the lights, and cuddled close. She turned in your arms so her head rested against your chest. “I never said thank you.”

“For what?” You hummed, closing your eyes.

“Pulling me off the ledge.” With your eyes still closed, you kissed the top of her head.

“You pulled yourself off,” you mumbled. “I was just there to tell you that you were strong enough to do it.” Baran let out a shaky breath, you felt against your heart. Her lips pressed against the organ.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” You smiled.

“Good, because I’m already falling, I’ll meet you at the bottom.” Baran laughed; the sound echoed in the quiet room.

“Goodnight, Eshgham.”

Wanda is a blur below, her hands glowing scarlet. You land right on top of her with a winded grunt from both of you. 

A helmet-cam catches the moment your palms brace on either side of her head and your forehead presses against hers for half a second in adrenaline shock.

You can only blink at each other as Wanda’s lips part in stunned relief. 

The camera freezes at that moment, displaying the image on the screen.

“And there it is,” the news anchor trills. “The fall that launched thousands of fan edits. With recent rumors of two Avengers dating in secret, many are speculating that maybe this duo are more than just teammates.”

Natasha stabs the remote so hard the plastic creaks as the screen goes black.

You’re lounging against her shoulder, scrolling your phone. Natasha’s arm is casually around you like it always is at home, but her jaw is clenched tight.

“Natasha.” You nudge her ribs lightly. “You gotta stop watching those segments. They’re just baiting fans and inventing drama because they’re bored.”

She huffs, arms crossing beneath you in a show of indignation.

“I know,” she mutters. “I know. I just don’t understand how they’ve managed to ship you with every single one of them except me.”

Your brows rise, lips twitching in amusement. 

“Oh?”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me.” Natasha sits forward, affronted, gesturing with both hands. “Steve puts a hand on your shoulder one time—one time—and suddenly you’re America’s sweethearts.” She mocks in a sugary voice, “‘Look at the way Captain America looks at them,’” before scoffing.

You swallow a laugh, choosing patience over teasing—she doesn’t get vulnerable often, and you aren’t about to take this moment from her.

Natasha continues, winding herself tighter. 

“And then two minutes later you practically tackle-hug me and all the comments say—” she tosses her hair dramatically, “‘Aww, best friends.’ Best. Friends.”

She spits the phrase like it’s stale vodka.

You snort, burying your face in her hoodie. 

“They’re not wrong. You do give extremely best-friend energy.”

The death glare she shoots you is legendary.

“You’re my partner,” she growls, low enough that it isn’t a performance but the truth. Possessive. A little jealous. A little…wounded. “They fawn over everyone else at every little thing—Tony, Sam, Wanda, even Clint once—and then look at you hugging me and suddenly it’s a wholesome friendship montage?”

You slide your phone aside and shift to face Natasha fully, fingers brushing her wrist under the blanket. 

“Does it bother you that much?”

Natasha lifts her chin stubbornly. “No.”

You raise one brow.

“…Maybe.”

Your hand slides up her forearm. 

“We know what we are,” you say softly.

“We do.” Her voice drops, quieter now. Less jealous, more vulnerable. “I just…” she searches your face. “I don’t like people getting it wrong.”

“That we’re just friends?” you tease gently.

“That you’d look at anyone else like that,” she corrects without hesitation. Then, softer, like it slips out, “I like being the one you fall on.”

The heat rises between you at the double meaning. You kiss her shoulder, slow and reassuring.

“You’re the only one I’d fall for.”

Natasha goes completely still. A quiet breath catches in her chest, and then bit by bit, her edges soften.

“Sometimes,” she admits quietly, eyes flickering up to yours, “There are still moments I can’t believe you did.”

You gently guide her chin toward you and close the distance, brushing your lips to hers in a slow, reassuring kiss.

Her hand rises to cradle your cheek, returning it with a tenderness she rarely shows anyone else.

You pull back before she can chase after you, pressing your forehead to hers with a teasing smile.

“Next time I’m leaping out of a burning building,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along her jaw, “I’ll aim for you instead of Wanda.”

Natasha’s lips curve immediately, an amused, pleased glint sparking in her eyes.

“Good.” 

The word lands warm and possessive between you. A beat passes, close enough to feel the steady rise of her chest under your hands, before she adds, voice low and teasing.

“Then we can spend time together in the med bay when you break my ribs from the impact.”

A surprised laugh slips from you before you steal a quick kiss from her.

“Romantic.”

“It is,” she answers with that familiar Natasha sincerity, the kind that makes your pulse jump. Her arm slides more firmly around your waist, tugging you closer until there’s no space left. “And you’re right. Let the internet have its delusions.”

You blink, momentarily thrown by how easily she accepts it. Some small suspicious part of you arches a brow, half expecting another grumble or glare toward the TV. But you barely have time to process it before she tugs you fully into her lap with quiet, decisive strength.

Your breath hitches at Natasha’s stare, locking onto your mouth like she’s been waiting all day for this moment. When she kisses you this time, it’s deeper, slower, but also grounding. A claim made not through jealousy, but certainty.

Her fingers slide to the back of your neck, thumb brushing the pulse point she never misses. She kisses you like you’re something she earned. Something she refuses to relinquish.

“I have you,” she whispers against your lips, voice soft in a way that only exists in rare, fragile pockets of privacy like this.

You lean into her, fingers curling into her shirt, forehead still resting against hers as you breathe her in.

“And don’t you ever doubt that.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The steady hum of the jet lulls you awake, a gentle vibration beneath your cheek where it rests against Natasha’s shoulder. For a moment, you stay there, suspended between sleep and consciousness, breathing in the faint scent of leather and whatever subtle perfume she always somehow smells like, even mid-mission.

“We still have a few hours to go,” Natasha murmurs, voice soft, fingers brushing absent-mindedly through your hair. “You should rest a little longer.”

You breathe out a half-formed agreement, eyelids drooping again as you nestle closer. She warms your side in a way no blanket could. But before sleep finds you again, a flicker of pale-blue light catches your eye from the corner of your vision.

You crack one eye open, curiosity tugging you awake. 

The phone’s screen illuminates Natasha’s face, her jaw tight and lips drawn into a subtle pout she’d deny with her last breath. The crease between her brows is small but telling to you. 

You sigh softly, blinking yourself fully awake.

“Careful,” you mumble, voice still thick with sleep, “if you glare any harder, your phone’s going to combust.”

A tiny, amused huff escapes her, but the sadness remains ghosted beneath her expression.

“Listen to this,” she mutters, then reads in a flat, unimpressed tone: “Long-distance lovers? Not even space can separate them.”

She tilts the phone toward you. The image is a freeze-frame of you mid-wave at Carol, who hovers in the air effortlessly, one arm braced around a hunk of falling steel, as if it weighs nothing.

You don’t need to be a mind reader to feel the pinch in her chest.

Natasha scrolls down a little, and the next headline pops up before she stops it.

“5 Facts You May Not Know About the Black Widow’s Past”

The breath leaves her in a tight, controlled exhale, one of those quiet ones she does when something stings, and she refuses to bleed in front of anyone.

The phone clicks off, and darkness replaces the glow.

“We don’t owe them anything,” she says, voice low and tired. She lets her head fall back against the cold metal bulkhead with a soft thud. “But still…I can’t help wanting them to know you’re mine.” Her tone softens to something rawer, more fragile, barely above a whisper. “That I can have someone.”

Her eyes flick toward you, guilt tugging down her lashes.

“Is that selfish?”

You don’t answer with words right away. Instead, you slide your hand down her arm, fingers tracing the line of muscle to her wrist, then lower, until your fingers lace with hers. You squeeze once and meet her eyes.

“Not at all, Natasha.”

Then you lean back into her shoulder, thumb brushing slow circles across her knuckles, grounding her in return. She doesn’t say anything, but her grip tightens like your touch is the first deep breath she’s taken in minutes.

“If the world knew how easy it is to love you,” you murmur, lips brushing her collar as you speak, “I’d be the one getting jealous of everyone who wanted you.”

For a second, she goes very still, like she’s swallowing something thick. Then a soft chuckle falls from her lips. 

“Well,” she murmurs, turning her face just enough to press a quiet kiss into your temple, “luckily you’re the only one.”

You should be relieved that she’s feeling slightly better, but instead, something twists in your chest.

Her words echo in your mind—that I can have someone—and it stings more than you expect, enough that your lips flatten, a slight frown tugging at you before you can stop it. That she still believes she needs to prove she’s worthy of love—prove she can have you—burns at something tender inside you.

You turn your face into her shoulder anyway, not wanting her to see the way it hits you. Your nose nudges the fabric of her suit, grounding yourself in her warmth as you swallow down the ache. 

Natasha leans ever so slightly, resting her head against yours, unaware that you’re fighting back the urge to tell her she deserves the world and every version of softness in it.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The mission goes sideways in the final minutes as it always does. A rooftop extraction, comms fried by interference, backup still five minutes out. Smoke drifts up from the crumbling stairwell, debris rattling as another explosive tremor shakes the building.

“Natasha,” you call through the static, “you need to get out now.” 

The harness digs into your ribs as you drop down from the adjacent building, boots scraping the side, one hand white-knuckling the line as you try to find the floor she’s on.

“Working on it,” she grits out, the calm hiding strain, her boots skidding across the floor as the structure groans beneath her. She darts straight toward the blown-out window.

Panic claws up your throat, choking you the moment you spot her, realizing what she’s about to do. 

“Natasha—!”

She meets your eyes across the distance, steady and sure. And with no hesitation. She jumps, flying through glass and smoke, body arcing out of the window toward you. 

You brace instinctively, reaching your arms out, lungs locked, praying—

The impact slams into your chest as her arms snap around your shoulders, your hands grab whatever you can: her suit, her waist, anything to secure her against you.

Then gravity takes over. And you both plummet.

The harness cord whips, screaming through the rig. You swing violently into open air, the two of you tangled together, spinning, dropping weight, dragging the line faster than it should. 

“Hold on!” you gasp, not sure if you mean to her or to yourself.

The line finally snaps taut with a brutal jerk, halting your freefall just a few feet above the pavement. The world lurches as you both slip, momentum ripping you down the last stretch anyway.

You both hit the ground and roll, limbs tangled in a chaotic knot, her elbow jamming into your ribs as your harness bites in deep until eventually dust settles around you in a soft gray cloud.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

You just breathe each other’s air, stunned, alive, and shaking.

Natasha’s fist is still twisted in your vest, like letting go would send you both right back into the fire. Her forehead rests against your collarbone, chest heaving softly. 

You press a trembling hand to her back, feeling her, real and warm, against you.

Eventually, she exhales a tiny, disbelieving laugh against your neck.

“…ow,” she groans, and then she rolls off you with a hiss of breath, flopping onto her back beside you on the pavement.

You turn your head toward her, still panting, before relief crashes over you so fast your vision blurs. You roll yourself to hover above her and grab her face with both hands, scanning for blood even as she blinks at you, dazed and sheepish and annoyingly beautiful, covered in soot.

“You—are absolutely insane,” you choke out, voice trembling. “You jumped out of a burning building with no plan.” 

A faint smirk curves her lips. 

“My plan was you.”

The knot in your chest unspools so fast your eyes sting. You grab her suit collar, pulling her toward you just enough to press a shaking kiss to her lips, tasting smoke and adrenaline and the dizzying relief of still having her. 

Her fingers bury in the front of your suit like she needs you just as fiercely.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, trying to catch your breath. 

“You deserve everything, Natasha,” you murmur, the words trembling out of you before you can temper them. You need her to feel it, not as a comfort, but as truth.

Her breath still comes ragged from the fall and the kiss, smoke streaked across her cheek, and her hair is still wild from the leap she never hesitated to take. 

But the second the words leave your mouth, something in her stills. Then softens. That guarded tension she always holds, the armor she wears sometimes even in quiet moments, loosens like your voice unlocked it.

Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, they shine with that same stunned, fragile wonder she wore the first time she let herself believe you wanted her. The same disbelief, still there under the strength, but met now with a certainty she never used to have. 

Natasha tilts her chin up, brushing the barest breath of a kiss to your lips. 

“I know,” she whispers, voice breaking soft in a way she would never let anyone else hear. “I have it right here.”

And everything else — the sirens wailing, the cameras flashing, the roar of the collapsing building behind you — it all falls away. 

All that matters in that moment is the two of you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The medical bay lights are dim, all machinery soft-humming, and shadows stretching long across sterile white. Your phone screen is the only bright thing in the room, painting your face in pale blue as you scroll lazily.

Natasha is warm along your side, tucked into you like she belongs there, head in the crook of your neck, one arm draped over your stomach beneath your shirt, fingers rubbing slow, absentminded circles into your skin. The faint throb of bruises reminds you of the fall, but having her weight pressed into you makes the ache feel like background noise.

As you mindlessly scroll, you eventually come across a headline, bold and impossible to ignore. A still shot accompanies it: soot-smeared faces, tangled harness straps, your hands bracketing her jaw, her lips caught against yours, chaos in the background.

Confirmed? A New Power Couple in the Avengers

You blink, startled, then huff a breath through your nose in amusement. Tilting your head, you nudge Natasha’s temple gently.

“Natasha…”

She groans, weariness coating her voice, and nestles deeper into your neck briefly before grudgingly lifting her head a few inches. Her tone is rough with exhaustion.

“What?”

You turn the screen slightly. “Look.”

Her eyes squint at the article blearily, then widen just enough to show she’s processing it. A beat passes. Then another. You brace for a reaction, a celebration maybe.

But instead, she merely exhales through her nose, unimpressed.

“Took them long enough,” she mutters.

“Well,” you tease softly, brushing your cheek against her hairline, “looks like the internet doesn’t think we’re just best friends anymore.”

Natasha lets out a delicate scoff and lowers her head dramatically back onto you, settling comfortably into your collarbone.

“I don’t care what the internet thinks anymore,” she mutters with practiced disinterest, though the softness in her tone betrays her. “I know the truth.”

You feel it this time in her words. You feel her believing it, truly this time. Your chest warms, thick with quiet affection, and you press a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Never doubt it,” you murmur into her hair.

Her answer is a soft hum, content and sure. She shifts down again, fitting herself perfectly against you. 

“Now go to sleep. Once we pass Dr. Cho’s check-up tomorrow, we can finally leave this place and go home.”

You chuckle lowly, thumb brushing the back of her shoulder as you go to turn off your phone, except your thumb slips and the screen scrolls farther. A new post catches your eye.

“Huh,” you mumble, purely reflex, interest piqued.

Natasha shifts slightly, but her head doesn’t lift. 

“What?” she asks, a hint of curiosity in her tone.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, far too suspiciously, locking the screen.

You don’t even get half a second before she pinches your side under the blanket. You yelp, twisting as she smirks against your neck.

“Natasha!”

Her voice is low, amused, and dangerous in that playful Russian spy way of hers.

“Tell me.”

You squirm, laughing quietly. 

“Okay, okay—fine! It’s just—” you lift the phone again “—there’s a poll. People voting on who fell in love first.”

Natasha snorts immediately. 

“The internet always finds something new to gossip about.” She shifts slightly, settling again with lazy confidence. “Besides, we already know the answer.”

You hum, nodding sagely. “We do.”

The phone is clicked off, and darkness returns to gentle quiet.

You settle in fully in the bed beside her and pull her closer, chin resting on her hair. Then, very casually, very innocently, you add.

“Obviously, I fell in love with you first.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Natasha lifts her head and hovers above you, brows raised. Her lips curl slowly and dangerously.

“No, you’re wrong,” she says. “I fell in love with you first.”

You blink at her, equal parts amused and incredulous. 

“Are you seriously thinking you’re the one who fell first? When I asked you out?”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s a sparkle there, an unguarded warmth mingling with the challenge. 

“I am not going to lie here,” she states, voice both velvet and steel, “and let you discredit my months of silently suffering and pining for you.”

A laugh bursts from you, soft and delighted. Your arms loop around her neck, pulling her down until your foreheads brush.

“Agree to disagree?” you whisper.

Natasha dips lower and presses a kiss to your jaw, a slow and lingering touch that pulls a soft exhale from you.

“Mmm…no.” She pulls back just enough to smirk against your skin. “It simply means I have to prove it.”

“Prove you loved me first?” you murmur, leaning up, brushing your lips against hers, breath catching.

She hums in confirmation, eyes half-lidded, voice dropping to a tender whisper that feels like a promise.

“Prove I love you more.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the quiet conviction in her tone. You tilt your mouth to hers, lips brushing softly.

“I can’t wait for the challenge,” you breathe against her.

Her smile is small and dangerous and impossibly soft all at once as she kisses you again, slow and gentle, claiming in a way not to win, but simply because she can.

Because she loves you.

And neither of you ever doubts it.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your spider senses only worsened to the point where sleeping was becoming harder to do and at some point you stopped trying altogether. Night after night you’d stare aimlessly at the ceiling above you, just, waiting for the prickling sensation to eat at your flesh until you couldn’t handle the needles seeping through your skin. The lack of sleep and the cruel anticipation were eating at you, and you were starting to grow desperate.

Over dinner you complained about it to Steve one Friday night when all the Avengers took time off for some one-on-one time (despite not being an official member you graciously accepted the invitation), he noticed your sluggish behavior and recommended you avoid living near the danger until you could learn to control your powers better. His reasoning being; “If you’re not near a crime scene, your senses won’t have anything to wake you for, that way you’ll receive the proper rest you require”.

The strangest part out of all of it was; his advice worked. At the compound, you slept like a baby, in your apartment in New York? Not so much. You were very appreciative of the man, and he was even kind enough to offer you a room which you accepted immediately. 

One person who had been initially excited about your move-in was Wanda. You were lucky enough to consider Wanda one of your closest friends aside from Peter. She was absolutely brilliant and you both got along well. Similar to an unfinished puzzle piece she was the last puzzle you didn’t even know you were missing. She needed company, and you were glad to provide it. 

You didn’t visit often, but with this newfound arrangement, you would be. Wanda didn’t know if the idea of spending more time with you or potentially sleeping one room away from you excited her more. Either way, the thought of you being a door down had her cheeks flushing and Natasha’s lips curling into a knowing smirk.

So yes, Wanda was excited about your temporary stay. 

That was until she realized how annoying of a sleeper you could be. No, you didn’t snore, nor drool in your sleep. 

Your problem wasn’t any of those. And honestly, Wanda wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for a late-night last-minute grocery run. Earlier that morning she had promised the team she’d cook her famous paprikash for tomorrow and had miscalculated exactly how many ingredients were in stock. 

As Wanda stepped out of the elevator, she shifted her weight to better handle the bags, struggling only slightly before releasing them onto the counter with a sigh of relief. With a flick of her wrist, the lights turned on, and to her surprise; you were there too. Not in the kitchen but sprawled out on the couch where soft snores were leaving your lips. 

‘Huh’

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, chuckling to herself. You looked like a starfish and your attire was… well, certainly something. You were completely knocked out beneath your Spider-Man suit and–– were those sweatpants? She guessed you must have been swinging through the city on patrol again. As for how sweatpants ended up on you, a mystery. 

You still had your mask on, and before Wanda could give it much thought she was already walking in your direction, step by step, until she was kneeling beside the couch. Carefully, her fingers reached out, slowly lifting the edges of your mask. Just as she was about to peel it out, you stirred beneath her touch, causing her to still.

“Wanda?” You whispered hoarsely, elbows lifting to get a better look at your surroundings but Wanda was quick to push you back down.

“Relax, you fell asleep in your suit again.” Wanda shushed you, and you hummed, not really fighting it, settling back into the couch to give her more control. She gently pried off the rest of the mask before placing it on the coffee table. 

Leaning down she ran her hand towards your hair, pushing away strands from your eye and you grumbled sleepily. 

The witch chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before straightening herself up again. “There, you can sleep now.” 

“You’re the best.” You mumbled as she walked away, taking a deep breath, and burying your face back into the cushions. 

From the kitchen Wanda smiled fondly, a blush tinting her cheeks as she unpacked the groceries; moving quietly to not wake you. You’re all she thinks about as she organizes things, glancing in your direction every so often. 

And you find yourself doing the same, seeing her in your dreams, and sleeping with an even bigger smile than before. 

—

2. Tony’s desk 

The compound is surprisingly quiet the next day, considering Tony was paying a visit Wanda would’ve assumed exactly the opposite in his company. But there were no out-of-the-ordinary noises, just the occasional banging of his hammer and welding machine. 

Overall it was pretty peaceful and the weather was just beautiful, a perfect blend of sunny but not insufferably so, a sight that would go well with some lunch. Naturally, you’re the first person that comes to mind that Wanda thinks to ask. 

Yet, a problem arises when Wanda can’t seem to find you anywhere. You’re not in your usual spots, including the bean bag chair in the movie room, or the outside bench next to the pond. 

Noticing Wanda’s dejected demeanor, Natasha has enough of it after all the aimless pacing. The assassin suggests that you might be downstairs in Tony’s lab, and Wanda’s eyes light up the next second. A brilliant suggestion indeed, after all, he was your mentor. 

Unsurprisingly, Wanda finds you exactly where Nat said you’d be. Hunched over, asleep on one of Tony’s desks, snoring ever so softly. Next to you were your web shooters—or pieces of them. 

The sight would’ve normally made Wanda smile if it weren’t for your uncomfortable position. Any more time spent like that and you’d surely be retired before 40 with chronic back pain. Previously, you had told Wanda not to worry about it, mumbling on about how you spiders could sleep anywhere.

Wanda didn’t believe it for one second, knowing you immediately had to pop a few pills to relieve the pain in your spine. As much as you were a superhero, you weren’t immortal, humanity never left you—something Wanda had to remind you of whenever you pushed yourself to a certain extent. 

Feeling a weird sense of déjà vu, Wanda removed the gears from underneath your arms, carefully placing them aside, mindful not to ruin the process you had sorted out. 

Placing the items aside, you sigh on the table, stirring softly, but you remain blissfully unaware. A gentle smile curls on Wanda’s lips as she watches you, her soft palm coming to stroke your back. 

That was enough to jolt you awake, snapping up with wide eyes, and grabbing the nearest screwdriver to threaten whoever was there. Your posture was contrary to intimidating, and Wanda couldn’t help but laugh, lifting her hands in mock surrender. 

“Please have mercy.” She teased with a playful grin, using her finger to push back the ‘weapon’. 

You blinked confusingly, glancing down at the item in your hand before chuckling. “Consider yourself lucky it wasn’t Thor’s hammer I picked up.” You quipped, placing the tool down and stretching your arms above your head. 

And Wanda sighed, watching you struggle to get that knot out. Standing up from her chair she came to your aid, massaging at your shoulders and back. You sighed in relief, leaning back into her touch as she worked her magic.

She really did have magical fingers. 

“You really have to stop resting in places that’ll give you backaches.” Wanda chides, hands sliding underneath your shirt for better access, sending a shiver down both of you.

“If I stop then how will I get more of those delightful massages from you?” You murmured with closed eyes, completely drunk off the feeling of Wanda’s warm hands on you. “It’s what I love most about you.” 

Wanda tensed, flattening her palms on your back, before continuing with trembling fingers to not raise suspicion. “Is that all?” She retorted, voice low. 

You posed a thoughtful expression, letting out a hum as you leaned back. “Also for the delectable cooking, so, two reasons.” You teased, holding up two fingers. Wanda scoffed, slapping the back of your head and removing herself the same second. You giggled mischievously, trying to get her to come back. 

Swiveling your chair around, you reached out for her and effectively trapped her between your legs, and Wanda rolled her eyes, ignoring how the position made her feel things. 

“So I’m just a housewife to you then?” She prodded, tilting her head in a way she knew would have you stumbling. 

You shook your head, gently uncrossing her arms and taking her hands between yours.

“You’re more than that to me Wanda…” Standing up you brushed the strands of hair away from her eyes, leaning in close enough to feel Wanda’s breath hitch and you smirked; whispering. 

“You're my housekeeper.” 

Approximately 0.5 seconds was what it took for Wanda to gasp and shove you back towards your desk, and you let out a hearty laugh. 

“See if I ever cook for you again.”

Her voice means to come out stern but you completely ignore it, thinking how adorable she looks with arms crossed and an almost annoyed pout on her face. It’s your arms that wrap around her that make her break, bringing her into a hug and making her cheeks flush again.

“I’m simply teasing witchy, you know I love you, all of you.” The words slide out easily from your lips as you lean down to press a tender kiss to her head and Wanda looks surprised, but then you quickly redirect your attention to the basket with a cheesy grin and Wanda stumbled. “Now how about we go enjoy that picnic then?” 

Your steps are quick as you grab the basket, ignoring her piercing gaze.

And with how unaffectedly you move, Wanda wonders if you could possibly love her differently in the first place.

—

3. In a tangle of webs + Peter

Some nights were harder than others for a mind reader. It wasn’t an uncommon fate for any Avenger either, everyone had their own issues and Wanda had just been so lucky to view all of them. If she had the choice she’d never choose to see them but if Wanda had learned something from all her years; nightmares were loud.

Loud enough to startle people from their subconscious, and loud enough to provoke detailed images of their clouded lives into replaying scenes in her mind. A horror Wanda didn’t yet have the strength to ignore. 

It didn’t help that most nights, they had them. 

Empty walls stared back at Wanda’s dimmed green eyes. Her hands firmly wrapped around her head—in a fashion of both comfort and control, trying to ease the pulsing, luring her into a state of ease just to slip into someone’s mind again. She wanted to stop the feeling and visions but couldn’t. 

After twenty more minutes of hopeless starring, the memories grew weaker. 

Still, her mind remained trapped in what she had managed to see. Deciding that sleep wasn’t going to help Wanda groggily stood forward, trudging down the stairs to grab a glass of water in the common room, maybe some chamomile tea. 

Part of her heart sought company, and if given the courage she’d knock on your door and ask for it. But this time, for once the universe seemed to be on her side when her eyes landed on you.

—with Peter. Laying in a tangle of limbs, and webs. Not exactly the conscious company she was hoping for…

Despite your clustered position on the floor you both seemed at peace. You were both fast asleep and for just a second her heart clenched with envy before simmering into a soft sense of affection. How was it that you could be so cute without even trying? 

Slow droplets poured from the facet and into her cup as she took in the sight, forgetting why she was even there in the first place. But then her eyes wandered over to the calendar, right, Friday. 

She felt silly not noticing sooner. Had she really been so caught up in her head that she didn’t notice what day it was? 

The unfinished Lego Razor Crest propped on the table should have given it away. 

Fridays were ‘Fundays’. 

Wanda thought it was stupid, which was probably why she wasn’t invited to the events. Not that she minded, considering all you ever did was build legos with Peter and occasionally talk about girls—and why would Wanda want to hear that purposely? 

She knew she had no right to feel jealous, it wasn’t wrong for you to think about other girls. But did you have to be so damn obvious about it? Your mind was a fortress when it came to penetrating your thoughts, it so rarely happened, but when it did she caught glimpses of the girl who was (annoyingly) always on your mind.

The girl with green eyes. 

Too focused on figuring out who that girl was again, Wanda lost track of how much water she really needed when the cup began to overfill. 

“Shit.” Wanda hissed, turning off the tap before the water could spill further. “Gross…” she grumbled, scrunching her nose as she dabbled at the wet spot on her sweater.

That was enough water for the night.  

Briefly, before she leaves, Wanda considers waking you up again. Maybe coax you into a proper bed this time around, but before she can make up her mind Peter’s bursting awake, looking panicked. His widened eyes meet Wanda’s equally alarmed ones and he sucks in a breath. 

“Oh, sorry… I thought…burglar.” He stammers, scratching the back of his head, albeit confused. “What time is it?” 

Glancing towards the oven, Wanda squints. “Late, it’s 3 AM.” She replies and Peter grunts, mumbling about how it’s way past his bedtime. 

Amid his movements to stand up, your head slips from his grasp, colliding with the foot of the table with a heavy thud and he stumbles back. Wanda gasps, shooting Peter a glare, (who doesn’t really register it in his state of distortion) before she rushes to aid you. 

“What the fuck…” You mumble groggily, hissing at the stinging coming from the back of your head, slowly lifting yourself up to find a concerned Wanda helping you sit. “Wanda?” Now you were really confused but nevertheless allowed her to move you. 

The room was cold, chills rushing through your body in the absence of warmth, but the soft touch of warm hands felt incredible against your skin. Not being able to help yourself you leaned into her touch, noticing the way Wanda’s breath hitched.

God, she was so cute. 

Wanda swallows dryly and you think you might’ve said that out loud, judging by the way her fingers tremble and she’s turning away a blushing mess. But you don’t dwell on it as she continues to rub the back of your head to ease the pain.

“Are you okay dorogoy?” She coos and you nod wryly, her face contorting into one of mellows but neither of you says anything. Instead, you will your eyes to focus on her own, gazing into the depths of the forests that haunt your heart, and you have no clue why.

Sighing, she redirects her attention, eyes flickering between the both of you who are lost in thought. Part of her feels it’s from exhaustion but there’s something else written on your face that has her curiosity peaking. 

“Why aren’t you in bed? Both of you, it’s late.” She chides gently, and you flinch. 

“We got caught up with…” Peter starts to explain, motioning towards the Lego set and his demeanor avoidant. “that.” 

Wanda notices his shaken tone and frowns. It’s clear she doesn’t fully believe him and she opens her mouth to indulge him further but you squeeze her hand, pursing your lips to ask her to drop it. Her brows furrow in silent question, eyes glinting with whirlwinds of misunderstanding and hurt, but you’re too tired to answer any. 

Instead, you give her a reassuring smile. 

Peter had a rough time yesterday, that’s all, little witch, You whisper into her mind, seeing Wanda’s eyes turn a shade of red before returning back to you, accepting the response with a hesitant nod. 

“You really should get to bed Y/n…” Wanda tells you, rising to her feet and offering you her hand in the process. “You too Peter.” 

Peter nodded in agreement almost instantly, not wanting to stay any longer in his state of lethargy. Wanda makes a mental note to speak to Tony about decreasing his work hours. 

However, in contrast to Peter’s compliance, you deny her suggestion with a shake of your head. 

“S’too far.” You mutter under your breath, tugging webs to the corners of each room to create a hammock so naturally as if you had done it a thousand times. Which you probably have. 

For a moment Wanda looked amazed, marveling at your abilities to manipulate and create whatever you needed with just webbed fluids. But then you were snoring soundly on the makeshift bed—hammock—oblivious to the concerns you had stirred up and Wanda realized that wasn’t the point. 

When she turned to Peter for help, the younger boy scratched the back of his head nervously, shrugging his shoulders and giving an apologetic look. 

Seeing as there was nothing else she could do, nor did she wish to wake you again for the second time tonight, a sigh escaped Wanda’s lips. Red tendrils wrapped around a blanket, pulling it closer until it encompassed your body completely. She felt the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, but with Peter in the room, she held back to avoid any awkwardness 

Your lips curled into a soft smile, and Wanda returned it before turning on her heels to guide the other spider into bed. 

At least this one listens. The thought came bitterly, causing Wanda to grimace. 

“I honestly don’t understand why she keeps doing this when she has a perfectly good mattress.” Wanda sighs deeply, her voice laced with exhaustion as she walks up the steps. 

Peter blinks, giving another helpless shrug, gripping onto the rail for dear life. “I think it’s just a spider thing, sleep is anywhere you make it.” 

“But you sleep in your bed every night.” She points out, shivering at the sudden temperature. 

The air is turning colder and Wanda wonders if the singular blanket she gave you would be enough. She’s tugging at her sleeves when Peter interrupts her thoughts. 

“That is true…” A yawn cut through the younger boy's speech as he approached his door, looking dangerously close to passing out. “But I don't have problems with sleeping alone.” 

Wanda furrows her brows as the words register. Alone? You can’t sleep because you feel alone? But before she could pry further Peter was leaning against the wooden frame, fast asleep. And Wanda didn’t have it in her to ask anymore. 

Once she had successfully tucked in Peter, she closed the door gently, never once did you leave her mind. Leaning against the door, Wanda tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, her mind caught in thought but one remained a constant. 

Spiders really can sleep anywhere. 

—

4. Staircases 

Tired was an understatement, Wanda was spent. Completely and utterly exasperated by your behavior. There was an outstanding record for the amounts of migraines you’ve given her this month, knocking Pietro off the scoreboard by two. 

She was starting to feel annoyed and rightfully so as she stared at the crowd with a sour expression on her face. For the fourth time in a month, you were nowhere to be found and it was your party. 

Before Christmas, it was a tradition in the compound to throw a Gala in honor of the friendly neighborhood spiders who had worked overtime to keep New Yorkers safe for the holidays and throughout the year. 

More so an excuse for Tony to itch that insatiable party nerve of his before the big Christmas one. 

Of course, this gala was no exception to a roaring crowd. The dance floor was packed with sweaty people grinding on one another and Wanda swears she could see even Bruce getting into the groove of it. At the bar, only Natasha remained with a couple of straying men. So where were you?

A completely plastered Tony walked past the witch, stumbling as he did so and fiddling with his pants. Immediately Wanda grasped on his suit before he could get too far, enticing a yelp when she tugged the man to a secluded corner. 

“Tony, where's Y/n?” Wanda asked through gritted teeth. She didn’t know why—call it intuition—but for some reason, she felt your disappearance had something to do with him.

Tony scrunched his face, glancing over her shoulder with urgency and shouting back louder. “Where’s the restroom? That’s what I’m trying to figure out Maximoff, I’m pissing myself here!”

“Y/n, Tony, Y/n.” Wanda says exasperatedly.  

Tony's mouth forms an ‘oh’ as the realization dawns on him before he’s giggling like a schoolgirl which only heightens Wanda’s worries. 

“Ah, Y/n, funny story actually—”

It was not a funny story, and hearing the end of it had Wanda feeling even more upset and aggravated at the man. 

She didn’t know whether to be more angry at the fact you “consented” to that stupid dare in the first place or Tony coming up with the bright idea to launch you midair while intoxicated in his death trap tin suit. 

Which is how Wanda found you, through Tony’s utter stupidity and your sleepiness. Much to her relief, you weren’t dangling from a ledge or on top of the Empire State Building; instead, cozied up on the staircase with a beer bottle in hand threatening to fall off at any given moment. Tony’s red helmet sat snuggly on your head, leaning against the wall. 

Wanda huffed in annoyance, rolling her eyes and approaching swiftly to wake you. Her hand collided with the back of your neck, sparing you absolutely no mercy as you sputtered awake. 

“Ouch,” You groaned, blinking dazedly beneath the helmet as all your senses came back to you, along with a searing headache. 

You grimaced at the sight of the bottle in your hand, setting it aside as if it could burn you with one single touch. 

That explains the headache.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” Came that voice you knew all too well. You swore you could feel the hairs on your body standing as you slowly turned to see, shivering at the goosebumps, and being met with the sight of a very displeased Wanda. 

Her arms folded against her chest, head tilted at just the right angle to make you scared shitless. Still, the slight furrow to her brows and teary glimmer in her eyes had you thinking she wasn’t entirely angry, just, upset—sad. 

And maybe if your mind wasn’t so foggy, you would’ve taken it into account, and taken her into your arms. 

“Wanda…?” You murmured, attempting to feign innocence as if she wasn’t glaring daggers into your skull. “Oh! Wanda!” You exclaimed, mustering a very nervous chuckle. 

As if the helmet could sense your distress it decided that opening would be the best option and smiled sheepishly. Wanda raised an unimpressed brow, green darkened eyes digging into your soul and you sighed in defeat. Not exactly the happy welcome you expected.

Worth a shot.

“Don’t ‘Oh Wanda’ me! Seriously? Sleeping at a Gala!?” She hissed, and you stiffened, feeling the need to back up. “And on the stairs of all places, do you know how much of a hazard that is?”

You scoffed disbelievingly, feeling the need to defend yourself.  “Come on Wanda, we both know Tony’s parties—“ You cut off your speech, putting your fingers up in quotation marks to quote her.  “Sorry, ‘Galas’ are anything but formal.”

Then you’re pointing at the rousing crowd above you who you can hear yelling through muffled walls ‘Chug! Chug! Chug!’ and give Wanda a pointed look, who then rolls her eyes again.

“That’s not the point Y/n. It’s your party.” 

It’s Wanda’s diminished expression that has you sobering up instantly. Her tightened eyes stared back at your own, and you hated the guilt tugging at your chest. In the worst of states, you wouldn’t want her looking at you like that, not when you’ve seen her look at you better. It was selfish, but was it? To wish to see her smile again? You didn’t know, but it was worth more than whatever goddamn party—gala they threw at you. 

With a new mindset in mind, believing you’d have more fun with Wanda than without, you dusted yourself off, properly taking the helmet off this time. You carried it under one arm and offered the other. Wanda looked at you quizzically at the sudden change but you didn’t let that faze you, taking the initiative to wrap your arm around her own. 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you just wanted to, so you did, leaning over to plant a short kiss on her cheek and Wanda lost all train of thought then and there. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry–I don’t know what’s the matter with me lately.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair and Wanda gives you a look of sympathy.

She squeezes your arm with her other hand, shaking her head. Her tone is soft as she rubs a comforting hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you Y/n…we all have our rough patches. Just, let me be there for you. You don’t have to hide away.”

 You suck your teeth, the urge to disagree coming in strongly but you resign, feeling embarrassed under her gaze and your confidence ends short-lived. 

Pursing your lips, your eyes drift downwards to your arms, not really sure what to do next. Noticing your struggle, Wanda takes pity on you and decides to drop the subject for another day, softly tugging on your forearm as she speaks. 

“Let’s dance?”

“Yes please.” You groan, barely finishing your sentence before Wanda leads you up the stairs and you almost stumble. Grumbling to yourself as you straighten up, you level Wanda a look in caution. “Just be warned, I can’t really tell the difference between my left and right foot right now.”

“It’s okay, you were never much of a good dancer anyway.” She hums teasingly, failing miserably at hiding her smirk.

You let out a gasp, feigning mock offense as you raise a hand to your heart, wounded. “Geez Maximoff, you know, typically you’re supposed to woo your dancing partner, not crush their hopes and spirits.”

The witch scoffs, rolling her eyes. Once you’re off the stairs and stable enough, she makes no point in waiting for you or giving you any answer as she walks through the bustling crowd and you quickly rush to catch up with her.

“Wow! And now you’re ignoring me!” You yell over the noise, a pout adorned on your lips. “And leaving me?! Wanda I must say, I’m not quite enjoying these new colors on you. What happened to manners–?”

You’re cut off abruptly by a sudden tug to your arm by Wanda, who’s pulling you to the side and you grin. She has two cups of what you assume is tropical punch in her hand and hands one to you. Lowering your nose, you smell the drink to check if it’s spiked. Wanda gives you an unimpressed look, and you think she looks hot when she’s annoyed with you.

Suddenly she’s slapping your shoulder with a burning pink tint on her cheeks, completely exasperated as she replies “My god, do you have an off switch?”

You shine a toothy smile, leaning against the wall for support as you bring the cup to your lips, a familiar mischievous glint in your eyes that has Wanda regretting saying anything. 

You cautiously lean into the space, whispering for only her to hear, “No, but I do have a couple of ideas on how to keep me quiet.”

To say it comes out more suggestive than you intended was an understatement. But Wanda doesn’t let that deter her, doubling down.

“Oh really?” Her head tilts, quirking an amused brow and you clear your throat to regain yourself.

The air becomes a little thicker than before and no amount of alcohol can save you from the blood pounding in your ears. The space between you has become thinner to the point where you can feel her breath on your lips and you pretend the close proximity holds no effect on you but your trembling fingers say otherwise. 

“Mhm, two words,” You murmur affectedly, and Wanda swallows. Your mind is clouded by all that is her so you speak slowly, feeling your throat dry. “Duck Tape.”

“One of these days, I’m gonna throw you out of the building.” Wanda huffs as you snicker, crossing her arms as she tries to fix her hair. 

Unable to help it, you tentatively reach your hand out, waiting for Wanda to pull away. When she makes no move, you carefully brush the strands away from her face, the warmth of your touch sending a shiver down her spine. 

Pulling away, you meet her hazy gaze and you swallow wryly, trembling. Giving her a lopsided grin as you stumble back, equally as affected. You really have to stop doing that. 

“Jokes on you, I’ve already done that tonight.” Comes your attempt to clear the air, resulting in another cross expression from the witch and you smile sheepishly.

“Y/n.”

Sucking your lips into your mouth, you nod. You raise a finger as you take one last sip from your cup, placing it on the table as you grab her hand again. “Right, sorry, dancing.”

Dragging her towards the dance floor, you spared one last look. This time finding pure adoration shining through her features as she stared at you almost…lovingly before she rolled her eyes. A look you preferred to see instead. Even if it had your brain short-circuiting.

A look that thankfully carried on when she found you half crashed into the Christmas tree after Tony had asked you to put up decorations, almost fast asleep.

“You’re an idiot.” Wanda sighed with a slight curl to her lips and you took that as a silent victory. She shook her head as she carried you down the hallway with her magic. 

“Yeah, I know…” You mumbled, still grinning which was quickly wiped as she let go of the magic carrying you. “Hey!”

Wanda squeaks as you reach out to grab her, running away the next second and you quickly follow with the promise that you’ll catch her, laughter echoing through the corridors as you chase each other.

—

5. Pillow Forts

Construction wasn’t exactly your forte unless it involved miniature bricks with instruction manuals. Aside from that, it was very obvious that Peter was the more resourceful spider as Steve liked to put it. You knew the man meant well when he said it and your ego completely shattered but despite the mental bruise, you never made a move to practice. 

It wasn’t like stopping trains or stringing a boat back together required much engineering when you had webs stickier than epoxy. 

And now, veins popping, sunk to your knees, you deeply regretted that decision. You wanted to strangle Peter, you envied his master builder abilities. The jumble of pillows on the floor mocking you with a stare that you could only describe as insulting if pillows could…stare. 

It was pathetic really, no, extremely pathetic and sad. Who has trouble building a pillow fort?! What was supposed to be a simple project, was the newfound bane of your existence. No matter how you positioned them, they tumbled. Limiting yourself to building by web fluid was becoming a choice to regret too. It made sense, every superhero grows dependent on their powers, it’s only natural, but this time you were determined to build something without your abilities. 

Glancing over at the clock, it read a little past nine—bordering on lines of ten- you bit the inside of your cheek, figuring you probably had a couple of minutes before Wanda’s arrival. 

Huffing, you returned your attention to the pillows and took them in your arms once more. This time with determination in your eyes and the thought of who you were building this for, remnant in your head and heart. 

As you stood back to admire your finished work, you surprised yourself. It wasn’t perfect and some pillows were more crooked than others but it was comfortable. Just as you had envisioned—from Pinterest boards.

It almost looked just as good as the ones Wanda had built for you after long missions and you wished you had spent less time staring at her and more time focusing on how she was arranging the blankets.

But the fortress only became better when you clicked on the tiny remote, turning on the fairy lights that hugged the curves of the pillows, bringing it all together in a bright vibrant glow and you smiled to yourself as the lights glimmered, imagining how happy Wanda would be. 

Your eyes returned to the clock and immediately widened next. “Shit!” You gasped, rushing upstairs to pick out the main attraction, silently scolding yourself for forgetting in the first place; Sitcoms. 

You grumbled to yourself as you dug through the drawer at the multitudes of never-ending options. Wanda had always preferred to watch sitcoms on a VHS tape, although the compound had access to all streaming services she claimed it didn’t feel the same. Truth be told, you didn’t understand why they were in your room in the first place but you assumed it had to do with the fact that Wanda always left them, tucked neatly in her nightstand before she curled underneath the covers with you.

You paused. 

Her nightstand? 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked across the room, realizing that there were a lot of things she left behind. Ranging from articles of clothing to a spare toothbrush in your bedroom and since when did you get decorative pillows? And why were there so many?  

You shrugged the thought off, assuming she was just really forgetful, besides it wasn’t like you were usually sleeping here anyway. You continued to dig through the classics until your eyes landed on the familiar I Love Lucy cover. 

Bingo

Smiling to yourself, you walked downstairs with the tape pocketed. Now you just had to be patient and wait a few until Wanda arrived from the hanger—

“Y/n?” Your heart startles and you're clutching your chest, turning to scold whoever scared you before the words die in your throat as you take in her appearance.

You suck in a deep breath because you feel as if all the air in your lungs has been taken.

She was breathtaking without even trying. Wet strands of hair clung to her face as she stared at you incredulously, eyes flickering between you and the fortress. Clad in nothing but a loose graphic t-shirt (that you briefly recognized as your own), and shorts that were making you dizzy. 

You cursed yourself mentally, shaking yourself out of any inappropriate thoughts. She’s your best friend for God's sake!

“Surprise?” That is what you say with a weak smile and a much higher pitch than intended. Keep it subtle. Things weren’t going entirely as planned, however, you could improvise. 

Wanda stares back amused, an unfamiliar glint in her eyes pooling, taking a step closer until her hand is dragging against your forearm. “Dorogoy, what’s all this?”

“I built it for us, I figured maybe you’d like to unwind…I know you had it pretty hard today and you’ve looked stressed all week.” You mumbled meekly, shifting against her touch. Pull it together man.

“Really?” She picked up her head, looking at you adoringly–that you missed from the bundle of nerves wracking at your mind, mistaking the look for one of contempt. 

But you pushed forward, believing it was a nice gesture. And even though all the logical parts of your brain tell you not to, you slowly untangle yourself from the witch anyway, missing the hurt that crosses her expression. 

You didn’t know why you were so nervous today. 

“Yeah, I picked out your favorite too.” You say half breathlessly, reaching for the tape in your pocket to show her. “Snacks and sitcoms, and more if you need anything. I’ve just gotta set up the TV before this and all since you came back a little earlier than I expected.” 

During your rant, you walked towards the television to find the player. Fiddling with it to distract yourself from the rising goosebumps picking at your body, but Wanda didn’t need to know that. With your back turned you failed to notice the scene unfolding behind you. Her eyes were slightly watered and she lingered by your side. Part of her, hesitant to reach out so instead she let them fall to her side, fiddling with her sleeves in a manner of comfort. 

Rummaging through the cabinets you exclaimed as you found it, turning forward with the device held to your chest, completely oblivious of the inner turmoil you’ve caused inside the other girl.

“Maybe even grab some popcorn unless you’d prefer chips? Seriously Wanda, whatever you want, I just want you to feel better—”

“Y/n?” She cuts in.

“Yeah?”

“Hug me, please?” She whispers, her voice cracking with desperation, her eyes unable to meet yours, ashamed of the vulnerability, and waves of regret crawl over you for letting go of her in the first place. “I’m sorry, I just really missed you and things went pretty badly- I just–” 

It’s you who cuts her off next, pulling her into your embrace, feeling her tremble against you. Wanda chokes back a sob, and tears blur your vision as you hold her tightly. 

You whisper words of comfort, murmuring, ‘I know, it’s okay, I know.’, while cradling her head against your chest. Despite being only slightly taller than her, you fit together perfectly, and you rest your head atop her chin. She exhales softly, her breath hitching with each shudder as she inhales your scent. Her arms move from your chest to return the embrace, burrowing herself into your chest and clinging to you as if you’d vanish again.

After a few moments, Wanda’s breathing begins to even, but she shows no signs of releasing you anytime soon. You gently squeeze her waist, hoping to draw her attention. Pressing a kiss to her hair, murmuring softly as you ask:

“Is…Is there anything else you need?”

Sighing, Wanda shakes her head, nuzzling further into you. “Just you, I don’t need anything else.”

“Okay.” You mumble into her hair, your fingers tracing gentle patterns across her back. For a moment, you stand there, bodies swaying softly as you hold each other. Selfishly allowing yourself to soak in the feeling of having her so close to you. “But if you even dare to grab my Cool Ranch Doritos just know I told you—”

Wanda groans, and you stifle your laughter when her hand playfully smacks your shoulder. You can almost feel her eyes rolling.

“Shut up, I don’t even like those.”

“Yeah right! I can still see the crumbs on your chin from last time!” You laugh in disbelief and Wanda pulls back gaping, completely affronted.

“That was one time!”

“One time too many! It was a party-sized bag—that I was planning on saving by the way, and you finished it!”

“Oh my god, just get in the fort before I change my mind and leave.”

It doesn’t take a lot of convincing to get you in the fort when soft hands lace into your own, dragging you inside. You’re more than willing to follow her anywhere.

She’s quick to push you into the pile of pillows, laughing when you squeal from the sudden impact. Shuffling underneath your arm and making herself comfortable against you, she turns to look up at you with a smile and you quickly turn into a flustered mess. With how she’s looking at you, you can’t help but feel that she’s doing it on purpose. 

Using her magic Wanda’s able to connect the TV from your position, not once disconnecting your bodies. She smiles in success when it works, sinking further into the comforting atmosphere as the show plays softly in the background. 

As the lights glimmer between your bodies, Wanda finds herself more captivated by you than the show itself. How could she not? After you’ve devoted so much of your time just to make her smile. A pang of gratitude hits Wanda’s heart, mingling with a feeling she knows all too well—a feeling she had tried to pass off as something smaller than love. But the more she spent with you, the more she realized it was pointless to deny.

Part of her hoped you’d choose to stay, to stay with her, because she isn’t sure how she’d be without you. 

Wanda knew she was letting it get into her head—but then you look at her, tenderly, as if she was the only girl in the world and fantasies resurfaced along with uncontrollable feelings that felt stronger than herself. Fantasies of one day being together, like this forever. Not just one singular moment but for the rest of your lives. 

The feeling of your body vibrating with laughter quickly snaps her out of her senses and she turns to look at the screen where a joke plays out. And god is that feeling one of her favorites. What drives her crazy is how you don’t seem to even notice how affected you make her. The way your hands would gradually grow bolder, slowly slipping past the hem of her shirt and grazing the skin underneath, leaving a trail of goosebumps in your wake. And how, whether consciously or not, you’d tighten your grip around her, pulling her in closer in a possessively deliberate way that had her biting her lip. 

Was it really selfish to want more? 

The thought swirled in Wanda’s mind heavily, but unbeknownst to her, it was in yours too. 

Wanda yearned for more than fleeting touches that led to nowhere. She craved more than unspoken vows you carried in silence, being too afraid to say anything, mortified by the thought of ruining what you had—unknowingly missing how you could have better.

Wanda Maximoff wanted to be yours.

The thought awoke her with a slight jolt and it had taken her a second to comprehend that she was asleep, the TV long since turned off then. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she recalled her vivid imaginations, realizing what had been originally just a second of resting her eyes had resulted in a 3-hour nap. 

But with the thoughts still fresh in her mind, Wanda couldn’t bring herself to care. She was on a mission.

“Y/n?” Her voice calls out slightly hoarse, breaking the silence. But the silence remains unbroken and Wanda frowns, removing her head from your shoulder to look at you. 

You’re sound asleep next to her, a faint trail of drool lining your lips. Bags are evident below your eyelids, and Wanda lets out a small ‘oh’. You had fallen asleep too.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Wanda shook her head softly, an amused smile playing on her lips as she admired you. Deciding that confessions could wait for another time, she leaned back and tugged a blanket forward, encasing you both again into that warm atmosphere. 

Recalling words you had said before: “A little back pain is worth the sleep”. She couldn’t help but agree more when it was next to you.

—

Together

There were two things you loved more than being Spider-Man in the world. 

Lightsabers, and maybe potentially Wanda. 

The latter being much more intimate than the first but you get the jist. The point was, that you liked Wanda. You were sure of it, with everything in your mind, body, and soul. 

So, why were you avoiding her? 

Cowardice.

Weeks had passed since that night. You still vividly remember the feeling of waking up to Wanda’s sleeping form, resting comfortably on top of you. After all, it was the best sleep you’ve had in a while.

The sight had initially startled you, but what scared you most was the normalcy of it all. The domesticity, how bright Wanda’s eyes shone in the daylight, looking at you as if you were a treasure from the depths of Atlantis. How eager she was to make you breakfast and how her touch never left yours throughout the process. 

Miles away in New York, you could still feel her. 

“Chocolate or blueberry?” Wanda asked, tilting her head to the side to look at you. 

The familiar scent of pancakes wafted through the air and you knew it was only a matter of seconds before the team came to steal them all.

Your hold remained firm on her waist as you hugged her from behind, swaying softly to the tunes of nothing. Not wanting the moment to end just yet, you remained silent, allowing yourself to bask in the peace. But Wanda had other plans, quickly squeezing at your arm to grab your attention and you rolled your eyes, amused by her impatience. 

Posing a thoughtful expression, you eyed the batter before turning to the basket of blueberries. They looked fresh, not too ripe to be sour, and not too soft to be soggy. 

“Hmmm, how good are the blueberries?” 

Wanda shrugged absentmindedly, whisking at the batter as she leaned back into you, stealing whatever warmth she could. “Pretty good, I grew them myself.” 

The mental image of Wanda in her gardening gear made you smile a little more than expected, and you hid into her shoulder, inhaling her scent. Absolutely hooked. 

“Did you?” You reply, watching as Wanda nods her head shyly and you chuckle. Unintentionally dragging your lips across her cheek as you press delicate kisses to her skin, murmuring softly in her ear, “What a talented little witch.” 

Wanda laughs, blushing as she attempts to shrug you away, not really understanding why you’re being so touchy but not opposed to it either. “Stop it.” 

Your lips tug into a lazy grin as you laugh with her, avoiding her attacks and keeping your grip firm. “It’s true Wands…you’re great at everything really. Never once have you failed to amaze me—“

“Here, try this.” That is all she says before shoving multiple berries into your mouth, distracting you before you can pay too much attention to her flustered state. 

You gasp at the sudden impact but graciously accept the blueberries into your mouth, playfully glaring at her as you chew. Her nose scrunches adorably, turning in your arms to watch you eat them, her face lighting up and offering you some more. 

Though, when you lift your hand to take them, she swats it away. Cupping your cheeks in her hands, softly stroking at your face with her thumbs, you rolled your eyes. Complying with rosy cheeks as she fed them to you.

As you held her, the world outside seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, wrapped in a safe haven you’ve created. This moment was everything—a fragile glimpse into a future you desperately wanted but were too afraid to reach for.

Although neither of you seemed too keen on parting, Wanda’s hands were preoccupied with the feel of your skin underneath her own, repeating senseless patterns. That is until the oven goes off with a loud bang and you both break away bashfully. 

Before you can make a move, Wanda lets out a deep breath. Hands gently smoothing over your shirt, her touch lingering with tender care. She pats your chest softly, her eyes sparkling with warmth and affection.

“Blueberries it is.” 

You run a hand over your face as the memory washes over you, letting out a shaky breath. It shouldn’t affect you this much, and you didn’t want to read into it because that would require acceptance. 

The risk of ruining something you held so dearly hurts you more than the silence you keep. Heroes aren’t supposed to be afraid, and yet it’s all you felt in your heart at the thought of losing her. But your heart ached for more, just even the slightest glimpse into what could be. And when you closed your eyes, you could almost see it. An alluring figure stringing you along, captivating you with their lush green eyes, promising you that they’d be yours forever.

But those were dreams, not real life.

A real-life you wanted with Wanda.

You slowly sink into your thoughts, your mind both your stronghold and a labyrinth of sorrow. As you wipe the tears that blur your vision, you gaze down at the streets of New York. Despite the hour, the city remained wide awake. Citizens walked with pure radiance of confidence, towering buildings seeming so distant and away from where you sat. Did they know? Did anyone know that one of their beloved Spider-mans was capable of turning a mess so easily?

The weight of it all feels suffocating and no amount of air can prevent the tightness that clogs at your throat, heavy breaths leaving your body as you recount your errors. You were raised to believe that love was this grand, amazing thing. But now you want to scoff at everyone who fed into your hopelessness, fed into those lies. If love was so wonderful, then how come it hurt so much? 

But then, without warning your senses are ringing, and your eyes widen as a figure lands in your space with a slight stumble. The clouds of smoke that surround them make it hard for you to tell who it is and you raise your hand, ready to attack. 

And then, recognition dawns on you as the smoke settles. Your body easily relaxes and loosens the grip on your strayed mask next to you. With a trembling exhale, you lower your hand to take a moment to breathe, drawing in a deep calming breath and your lungs silently thank you.

“Hey, kid.” Tony greets, exiting his suit with a lopsided smile. One that doesn’t quite meet his eyes but you know better than to pry.

“Tony?” You furrow your brows, wanting to ask why he’s here but the bag in his hands tells you all you need to know. “Another late-night donut run?”

“Pepper thinks I should lay off the suits for a while.” He explains with a sigh, grunting as he sits down next to you, rattling the bag in his hands for emphasis. “And donuts are the only thing that both keep me busy and fulfilled. Win-win don’t you think?”

“Depends on what type of donuts you picked.” You mused with a hum. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Long John.” He retorts with a smirk, reaching into his bag to place a donut in your hands. Patting your shoulder as he did so. “Here, for your troubles.” 

You cocked your head curiously, examining the sweet with a soft smile. “A maple bar, sweet.” 

Thanking him, you took slow soft bites, savoring the sweet taste in your mouth as you looked towards the city in thought. You felt Tony’s stare and tried your best to ignore it, not wanting pity. 

“In my entire years of living, not once have I ever seen someone looking so sad while holding a donut.” He commented, taking a bite of his own donut and you release a sigh. “It’s really depressing to look at.” 

He spoke between bites, causing you to grimace. Backing away, you studied your mentor incredulously, analyzing his facial features in the hope it’d give you a clue as to why exactly he was here. Finding nothing, but an unusual softness to his features, you raised a wary brow.

“Did you come all this way just to patronize me, Stark?” You sneered with a glare. Feeling like the donut was really just bait to lure you into a conversation. 

Which you had admittedly been postponing from both Steve and him, using the city as an excuse to step away from your problems. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with you again. 

And here he was, the tightness behind his eyes diminishing as he stared at you, carefully, with laces of soft affection instead. You weren’t sure if you liked this look.

“A little birdie—or should I say spider, told me about your troubles with our resident Maximoff and I figured it’s time you got advice from the love doctor.” His hand came to his chest, motioning to himself and you scoffed in disbelief before turning into one of disgust. “And listen, I love Pietro, but I really don’t think—“

“Pietro?! Ew, god, no.” You say hurriedly, eager to dispel those rumors. Your distaste quickly turns into irritation as you realize with an offended gasp. “Is Peter seriously going around and spreading this?! Tony what the fuck.”

“Right, witchy then.” He sucks his teeth, waving a finger your way and you shove at his shoulders with embarrassment. Not letting that deter him, he scratches his chin, posing a thoughtful expression as he begins, “Love is scary, isn’t it? You’re scared. Scared of messing things up, scared of hurting her, losing her—“

“This is really inspiring Tony.”

“Pipe down Pipsqueak I’m not finished,” He huffed, clearing his throat before returning to his speech. “The point in all this is that you’re afraid. And that’s okay, so long as you don’t let those fears hold you back. Hell I’m still scared Pepper will leave me for someone more sensible, someone who won’t constantly be putting her in danger.”

His admission doesn’t come easy, and you notice the frown and crease in his eyebrows as he says so. Releasing another breath, you think about his words, and how fear could hold someone back. Reflecting on the past days, all you notice is clear examples of how it’s done this, stopping you from chasing what you really want. Still, you shake your head, voice cracking as you admit:

“I just don't want her to get hurt, or get hurt.“

Tony blinks, looking at you with an emotion you don’t know. But in his eyes, he sees himself, speaking gently, “You’ll never know if you don’t try, Y/n.”

“Think about it.” Comes the last thing he’s to say as he stands up with a grunt. Hands dusting himself off and bending over to grab his bag, pointing to you with a reassuring grin.

The words swirl around your head like a roundabout, leading to only one conclusion and you know what you have to do. Face those fears, even if the words get stuck in your throat. Before Tony can get too far, you stand up, stammering on your words as you thank him. 

Tony nods inside his suit, propelling himself as he speaks. “Anytime, stay in school, and help Peter with his history homework will you?”

You shake your head, chuckling softly and Tony ruffles your hair, flying off with a booming “Ciao!” Leaving you alone to collect yourself, bidding him goodbye. 

Placing the last bit of the donut in your mouth, you slip on your mask. Launching yourself through the city to reach your destination, flying past buildings and deep into the wooded suburbs where you’d find the compound. 

There wasn’t a world in which you could successfully avoid Wanda, not forever at least. It was torture for yourself too these past few days, and you’d be dammed if you did it again. 

As you reached the vicinity, fear washed over you again, your heart beating rapidly the closer you approached. Tony’s words rang in your mind and you huffed, ignoring whatever your senses were telling you and letting your emotions speak louder. 

Rest could wait until later, for now, you had a witch to confront—confess to. 

You decided to take the easier route, being her window as you had down many nights prior. As you swung towards the wall, you found yourself stuck. Hanging from the rooftop, hand frozen midair as you stared at your reflection, was this really a good idea? In the middle of the night? 

It was a tranquil, beautiful night, with fresh air flowing through the trees, and the only source of light being the soft glow of the moon. Your eyes softly traced through the beauty of nature, losing yourself in the picturesque landscape. Perfect conditions for an Avenger to catch some sleep in and you quickly found yourself double thinking by her window. Anxiety crawls through you—what if she was asleep already and didn’t wanna see you? Surely you shouldn’t interfere with Wanda’s beauty sleep. Or should you—?

“Did you really come all this way to see me just to hang outside of my window like a creep?” Your heart startled at the sudden voice and you didn’t even notice when Wanda had opened the window but there she was, a crooked smile on her lips with a curious tilt to her head.

The moonlight only enhanced Wanda's beauty further, and you knew you were staring. But you couldn’t tear your gaze away, mesmerized, counting every freckle you could spot; dreaming of one day kissing each speck you could find. 

You wondered if women like Wanda inspired philosophers to write the most beautiful sayings because you’re certain if you had the intelligence you’d do the same. It’s only when Wanda cleared her throat, a small blush tinting her cheeks, that you turned away. 

You sighed to try and collect yourself, letting your previous anxieties disappear. “Well, you know how much I love hanging out with you.” You joked, grinning at the groan Wanda let out as she shook her head disapprovingly.

“Dork.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged.

“Most definitely.” She says before moving closer, touching the ridges of your mask, and your heart races when she pulls it down just the slightest. You lean eagerly against her palm without a second thought, savoring her touch. It feels as if time freezes, and you realize how intensely you’ve missed Wanda these past days.

You think Wanda feels the same with how she looks at you, hand tracing the small scar etched into your chin with a frown. Her hand shutters a bright red and you lean into it like second nature, knowing what she seeks; to feel you. Something that came often after missions back home, a reminder that you were still here, but as you opened your eyes to stare back into her own, it felt different. Dangerously close to intimate and emotions build against your throat, constricting you because you can’t handle how close you are. How close you could be to changing things. Your defenses fly up again and you’re inching away despite not being able to get far with Wanda keeping you still–so you rack your brain, trying to find something to say to ease the tension—deflect, maybe a joke? 

But any witty retort you had is quickly forgotten as Wanda hesitantly leans closer, testing the waters, and freezing you on the spot. You’re sure Wanda can hear your heart racing, but she doesn’t seem to care. It’s only when you make no motion of moving that she brings your mouths together. And you think you’ve just taken a glimpse into heaven.

It's just as sweet as you imagined and more. Her lips are soft and sweet and welcoming, easily enveloping you in all that is her, something you fall into hopelessly yet again. You want to ask why she chose now to do this, but you don’t want to part. The position is less than ideal, and sure your neck is straining but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Wanda’s the first to pull away, equally taken by surprise by her actions, a deep flush taking her the next second with a small shy smile and you feel yourself swoon. 

You hesitate as you try to speak again, find the proper words to say but Wanda stops you, taking off your mask properly and lifting herself off the frame, walking back into her room. She throws your mask aimlessly away behind her desk but you’re not paying too much attention to it.

“Why don’t you come inside for once? Catch some real sleep, on a real bed.” She suggests invitingly, throwing you a playful look over her shoulder. You let out a breathless chuckle, flipping yourself over to enter her window, and closing it behind you in one smooth motion.

Wanda doesn’t say much else as you help her un-tuck the sheets, shooting you an appreciative glance and you pause, realizing it is her from your dreams. She’s the girl. The girl you can’t escape at night. It baffles you how you didn’t see her sooner. And suddenly you understand. 

You understand why you’re always thinking of her, why even in your sleep you don’t wish to leave. It’s not just some crush you’ve been harboring, no, it’s something more intimate. And you want to say it’s love, but you want to say it better. Not when you’re both so absorbed in the moment, so you wait, because for Wanda Maximoff you’d wait for any length.

“I do sleep.” You spoke softly, ignoring how nervous her stare was making you and the stare made you believe that she already knew. You sucked in a breath, knowing if you didn’t say it now you wouldn’t say it ever, “I’d just sleep better with you.”

Wanda’s eyes widened in surprise before softening in a way that made your resolve crumble and you looked away with a clumsy smile. It feels like a silly confession to make, but unbeknownst to you, it’s enough confirmation for Wanda.

Shuffling into the sheets, you turn to meet Wanda only for her to advance on you the next second into a much more tender kiss than before. It’s soft and a reassurance that she feels the same way, her lips tasting of strawberries and love. You melt into the kiss once again, placing your hand on her wrist that holds your face in place, deepening it to convey. 

“I’ll keep you to that,” Wanda murmurs between kisses, placing one last peck on your lips before curling in closer to your body, hiding in the crook of your neck. You chuckle and wrap your arms around her. 

Her presence enveloped you instantaneously, reducing every muscle in your body into mush; a wave of relief washed over you, almost in disbelief that this was real. It was almost overwhelming, how easily you found peace in her arms. Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill as you realized that this simple moment was all you had ever wanted–a night of rest with the girl you cared for most, free from all the world's problems and whatever else dared to ruin you. 

As if she could sense something was wrong, the witch shuffled closer, her lips tenderly grazing against the skin of your neck and you tensed as she pressed. Her lips lingered against your skin, repeating the process over and over until you relaxed as if to say I know, it’s okay. When her legs intertwined with yours, you didn’t resist, understanding that she needed you just as much as you needed her. Instead, you held her tighter as if she could slip away if you didn’t. 

Natasha could barely think.

The hallways of the compound are quiet, the distant hum of Tony’s party barely reaching this far. The dim light casts long shadows against the sleek walls, flickering slightly as if they’re unsure of its own presence. Footsteps stumble softly over the polished floor, the sound swallowed by the thick air of anticipation that clings to the both of you. Your breaths are uneven, soft laughs and giggles falling from your lips, heavy with the weight of unsaid things and the burn of too much alcohol. Fingers, eager and trembling, trace the curves of bodies, sliding beneath fabric and finding warmth. Her lips meet yours again, desperate and searching, leaving a trail of stolen kisses as the two of you move—half blind, half guided by something stronger than sight. You didn’t need words; the world outside the glow of this narrow hallway is distant, unimportant. All you cared about now is her, how she pulls you closer, leading you closer to her room just ahead.

Natasha could barely think at all. Everything in her mind blurred, thoughts slipping through her fingers like water as soon as they tried to form. The only thing she could focus on was you. The taste of your lips. Sweet and intoxicating. The way they fit perfectly against hers, they’d been made for her to kiss. It sent a shockwave through her body each time your mouths collided, obliterating any coherent thoughts. Her hands, strong and firm, moved on their own, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, over the silk of your dress, desperate to feel more of you, to pull you closer until there was no space left.

She couldn’t think, didn’t want to think.

All that mattered was this—your body pressed against hers, trapping you between her and the door of her room, the soft moans that escaped between kisses, the way her heart pounded in her chest, matching the frantic rhythm of her lips. It was overwhelming, dizzying, and she never wanted it to stop.

The warmth of the alcohol buzzed through Natasha’s veins, making everything feel hazy and wonderfully unreal. Having you in front of her like this, in her arms, underneath her hands, felt unreal. Her head was light, the edges of the world around her blurred as she kissed you, deepening the pleasant fog in her mind. The room tilted slightly every time she pulled you closer, but she didn’t care—if anything, it made the moment feel even more like a dream she didn’t want to wake from. The sharp edges of her usual control were dulled by the alcohol, making her bolder, less cautious. She found herself giggling against your pretty mouth, a sound she barely recognized as her own, drunk on both the wine and the feel of your beautiful body.

With shaky hands, Natasha reached behind you, her lips trailing your neck in sweet, wet kisses as her fingers fumbled for the zipper of your dress. She found the zipper a second later and slowly, deliberately, began to tug it down, feeling the tension in the material as it loosened around your body. The sound of the zipper sliding down was almost lost in the charged silence, but Natasha heard it, like a release of everything she’d been holding back. When the zipper finally reached the end of its line, Natasha let out a deep, shuddering sigh against your neck, her breath warm against your skin.

“Fuck, detka…” Natasha closes her eyes, letting her hands draw away from your back to trail them down to your thighs, her palms flat against your skin as they push the fabric of your dress upwards.

You can feel the pads of her fingers finding their way up, playing with the soft lace of your panties. Natasha moved slowly, savoring the moment for as long as she could. Her mouth paints your skin in light hickeys, trailing downwards to the valley of your breasts while you bring your hands up to run them through her red hair, pulling on it slightly to kiss her deeply once again.

“N-Natasha, please…” You muttered against her lips.

You could feel it—the way Natasha’s lips curved into that maddeningly smug smirk against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. It was as if Natasha knew exactly what she was doing to you, and of course, she did. Your skin burned where Natasha touched you, her fingers trailing with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every reaction, every trembling gasp.

“Please, what, krasivaya?” She asked, her voice low and seductive.

You whimpered, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, trying to tug her jacket off of her. “I need you... Please… Hurry…”

“You are so impatient,” Natasha smiles and kisses you softly. “I’m getting there, darling. Don’t worry.”

Your fingers fumbled with the edge of Natasha’s suit jacket once again, and your movements hurried, almost desperate, as you tried to push it off her shoulders. A soft whine escaped your lips, frustration mingling with the need that pulsed through you, but Natasha just smiled against your mouth, pausing the frenzied kisses for a brief moment. She pressed a softer, lingering kiss to your lips, calming the storm with her gentleness, before reaching up to shrug the jacket off herself. It slipped down her arms and hit the floor in a whisper of fabric, and then she was back, her hands finding your face, her lips capturing hers again.

Natasha guided you backwards with a practiced ease, never breaking apart from your lips. Her hands found their way to your thighs once more, fingers gripping the soft skin through the fabric of your dress. With a fluid motion, she lifted you off the ground, pulling you close as your lips collided again, more urgent this time, more desperate. Your legs instinctively wrapped around Natasha’s waist, your bodies fitting together as though they’d done this a hundred times before. Natasha’s grip tightened, the strength in her arms steadying them as she carried you across her room, never once faltering. The bed was just a few steps away, and the world outside your heated breaths felt impossibly distant. When she reached the edge of the mattress, Natasha lowered you down gently, her hands still firm on your thighs.

God, she’s always wanted to see you like this. Natasha had often imagined what it would be like to see you in this exact moment, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. You were sprawled across the bed, her bed, your dress now a loosely draped, tangled mess that did little to cover your body. Your hair, once neatly styled, now fell wild and disheveled around your flushed face.

With a sense of urgency, Natasha’s fingers fumbled with the hem of your dress. The fabric slipped slowly away from your shoulders, revealing the expanse of your skin beneath, and Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. As the dress fell away, pooling around your waist, Natasha’s eyes roamed over your curves, your breasts, with a kind of awe that was both intense and profound. The sight of you, bare and vulnerable before her, ignited something deep within Natasha—sending a wave straight to her core. Every inch of your skin seemed to glow under the dim light. You were so beautiful.

Natasha pulled on your dress until it was completely off of you, mindlessly throwing it behind her, her eyes never leaving your body. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, each one more stubborn than the last as she tried to hurry through them, her impatience palpable. Her gaze never left you, a vision she could scarcely believe was real. The way you looked at her—eyes heavy with desire, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath—only made Natasha’s hands more unsteady. Her shirt slipped open, one button finally giving way, then another, watching how your lips were slightly parted, breathless. There was a hunger in Natasha’s stare, an urgency she couldn’t suppress, as if unbuttoning her shirt fast enough might bring her closer to the moment she’d been silently craving for longer than she cared to admit. She could feel the warmth of your gaze on her, too, as each button gave way, the fabric parting to reveal the skin beneath.

“You’re so beautiful, Natasha,” you said breathlessly.

She smiled again, leaning down to kiss you between the valley of your breasts, “I’ve got nothing on you, detka.”

Natasha leaned down, hovering over you, her lips pressing softly against your neck, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. She lingered there for a moment, savoring the way your pulse quickened beneath her kisses as soft gasps escaped your mouth. Each touch was careful, brushing against the delicate skin just below your jaw, then down the hollow of your throat. Natasha’s kisses grew bolder with each passing second as they moved further south, grazing the curve of your collarbone to the swell of your breasts.

You laid back, closing your eyes as her lips explored your skin and the pads of her fingers softly rolled over your hardened nipples. A sigh falls from your mouth as Natasha’s breath glides closely over your chest, her lips wrapping around your nipple and sucking softly. Her tongue darts out, swirling around it, and your hands find themselves resting against Natasha’s shoulders, pulling her even closer.

“Spread your legs, for me, baby,” Natasha whispered against your stomach, her hands gently guiding your thighs apart as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You parted your legs without a second thought. But the reality of it—the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your breath hitched and your body responded with such raw, trusting openness—made Natasha’s heart pound in a way that left her almost dizzy. She could feel the heat radiating between them, the anticipation thickening the air as she pressed closer, savoring every trembling moment. Natasha felt that she could die happy right here, with you beneath her, so vulnerable and breathtakingly beautiful.

God, you were so pretty.

Her fingers traced the delicate edge of your lace panties, her touch light and almost absentminded as she toyed with the fabric. She could feel the softness of the lace under her fingertips—the way it barely clung to your skin. Natasha didn’t rush—she liked the slow burn, to see you squirm, itching to get her to touch you, the way your breath hitched each time her fingers lingered a little too long or dipped a little too close to where she knew you wanted her the most. Natasha’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, catching the mixture of frustration and desire there, and she couldn’t help the small, teasing smile that tugged on her lips as she continued to play with your panties.

“Natasha, please… Touch me, already…”

She licked her lips, parting them slightly as she listened to your pretty voice begging for her. Fuck, it was making her feel dizzy. “Gonna make you feel so good, angel. Trust me.”

Then, your hand found Natasha’s with an urgency that spoke of all the words she couldn’t say, fingers wrapping around hers and guiding underneath her panties. The fabric felt impossibly thin over her hand, and the wetness, the heat radiating from your skin sent a wave of electricity through Natasha that left her breathless. You were so wet, oh, fuck, and for a moment, Natasha forgot how to breathe, how to think—everything narrowed down to this simple, maddening desire.

“Can you feel how wet I am for you?” You whispered.

The sigh that escaped Natasha’s lips was involuntary, a soft sound of surrender, as she let herself be led by your need, her own mind dissolving into the heady rush of desire that clouded everything else.

The teasing only lasted so long before something snapped inside Natasha, a sharp, undeniable urge taking over, using her other hand to grab your wrist and pin it down against the mattress. She wanted to be the one to do it—to touch you, to make you come. Her finger hooked around the delicate waistband of your lace panties. There was no hesitation as she tugged them down, the lace slipping effortlessly over your hips. Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest as she discarded the fabric, her breaths coming quicker now, driven by the sheer intensity of her need.

Natasha nodded her head absentmindedly, her mind drowning in thoughts of you and your pussy. She said quietly, to herself almost, “Wanna fuck you…”

Her hands found their way under your thighs once more, lifting them up slightly, spreading them even wider as she leaned down to face your glistening pussy. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t give you a single warning, before she dove right in, licking a stripe through your folds, collecting your sweet wetness on her tongue.

Your moan was deep, guttural, a sound that reverberated through the quiet room as Natasha’s tongue ravaged you. It was as if every nerve in your body lit up at once—a shockwave of pleasure that left you gasping for breath. Instinctively, your legs tightened around Natasha’s head, your thighs trembling as they pressed against Natasha’s cheeks, holding her there. Each flick of Natasha’s tongue against your pussy sent you spiraling further, your moans growing louder and needier, echoing in the space around them. Your fingers tangled in Natasha’s hair as she fucked you, gripping tightly as your hips began to move on their own, seeking out every bit of friction you could find. Your whole world narrowed down to this one moment—Natasha’s mouth on you, the unbearable pleasure building inside you, and the primal need to keep her right where she was, between your legs.

Natasha felt like she’d stumbled into heaven itself. It was intoxicating—every taste, every subtle movement. Your body trembled under her touch, and Natasha reveled in it, savoring the way your flavor spread across her tongue, sweet and delicate. She moved slowly, deliberately, wanting to make this moment last forever, her hands gripping your thighs as if she were anchoring herself. Natasha closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the taste of you, thinking that she could stay here forever—right here, where nothing else existed but your taste, your scent, and the soft, breathless sounds that escaped her lips. You tasted better than Natasha had ever imagined—sweet, salty, intoxicating, like some forbidden nectar she had been craving for far too long. It felt like drinking water after wandering in a desert. Every lick, every pressure of her tongue, flicking against your clit, delving into your pussy, made Natasha feel like she was floating. She devoured you.

“Fuck, Natasha—“

Natasha could feel the shift in your body before you even registered it yourself—the way your muscles tensed, your breath catching in your throat as Natasha’s tongue became rougher, sucking on your clit harshly without mercy. It was a subtle change at first, just the slightest arch of your back. She could sense the way your body was coiling tight, your hands gripping the sheets, knuckles white, as you tried to hold onto some semblance of control. But the more Natasha pressed into her, the more she felt you surrender, hips lifting off the bed, with each swirl of Natasha’s tongue. The low, broken sounds spilling from your lips were growing desperate, and Natasha knew you were close; she could feel it in the way your thighs trembled, in the way her head tilted back, and in the way you tried to pull away slightly, as if you were scared of your own climax.

“N-Natasha… ‘Tasha, I-I’m cumming… I–“

Then, it snapped. Your body arched and trembled, reaching the peak of your pleasure, overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm as you moaned her name aloud. Natasha’s hands were steady and guiding on your thighs as she licked you softly, helping you ride through the waves, making sure you could feel her—and only her.

“That’s it, baby…” She murmured against you.

When you began to calm down, Natasha pulled back slightly, giving you space but keeping her gaze fixed strictly on you. The sight of you, your body still quivering and your eyes fluttering open to reveal those pretty eyes of yours, struck Natasha as the most beautiful thing she has ever witnessed. You were trembling so much, and Natasha couldn’t help the smug smile that appeared on her face.

You were still trembling, your body humming with the aftershocks of release, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. But even in your dazed state, you reached out instinctively, your hands searching for Natasha, needing to feel her, to ground yourself in the warmth and presence of the woman who had just unraveled you completely. Natasha didn’t hesitate. The moment your fingers brushed against her, Natasha leaned in, wrapping her arms around your trembling body. Natasha found your lips again, kissing you deeply, the kiss not hurried or frantic like before, but slow and full of something deeper—something that tasted like promise, like... devotion. You could taste yourself on her lips, and Natasha couldn’t help but melt as you moaned softly into her mouth.

Natasha hovered above you, leaving just the barest sliver of space between the two of you. She pulled back, barely a centimeter, her breath mingling with yours, warm and uneven. For a moment, Natasha did nothing but stare, her gaze locked on your half-lidded eyes, the way they fluttered with each rapid breath. Your chest rose and fell beneath her, still struggling to catch your breath, to stop your body from trembling, your lips slightly parted and glistening. Natasha couldn’t help but smile softly, taking in the sight of you like this—disarmed, vulnerable, beautiful in a way that made Natasha’s heart ache with affection. Fuck, she wanted to stay here forever.

“Hi,” you whispered breathlessly, almost with a shy smile.

“Hi,” she murmured, her smile growing. Then Natasha brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, her fingers lingering there as she asked, “You okay?”

You nodded, still catching your breath, but your smile grew a little wider, a little surer. “More than okay,” you replied softly, your hand finding Natasha’s hand and squeezing it gently. “You?”

Natasha’s smile deepened, a rare, genuine expression that felt as natural as breathing in this moment. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’m good.”

She found herself lost in the quiet afterglow, her gaze lingering on you with a kind of reverence she rarely allowed herself to feel. You looked so peaceful now, your face still flushed, and your hair fanned out against the pillow. There was something so effortlessly captivating about you—something that made Natasha’s heart stumble in her chest every time she looked at you like this. The way your lips curved into a soft, contented smile, your eyes half-closed and still dazed with pleasure, made Natasha’s breath hitch.

She could almost feel the words forming on her tongue before she even realized it.

I love you.

Natasha blinked. She almost said it. The words pressed against her tongue, desperate to be spoken, to be released. But just as quickly, she swallowed them back. It was a truth that had settled deep inside her, so much so that every time she looked at you, really looked at you, it almost felt impossible not to say it. You looked so peaceful, so breathtakingly beautiful in the dim light of her room, your lips still slightly parted as if caught in a dream. Natasha’s fingers brushed gently against your cheek, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw as she stared, mesmerized. In this moment, you were everything to her—so pretty, so real, and so entirely hers.

God, she wanted to say it.

But, for the first time in as long as she could remember, fear gripped her. Not the kind of fear she was used to—the physical, tangible kind that came with a mission or a fight—but something deeper, something far more terrifying. Would it be too fast? Would you feel the same way? Would you say it back? The thought twisted in her chest, making her hesitate. Natasha wasn’t used to feeling this vulnerable, this unsure. She wasn’t scared of much in life, but the possibility of rejection—of putting her heart on the line and finding out it wasn’t enough—was enough to keep the words trapped inside.

She stayed silent, her gaze lingering on you with a tenderness she couldn’t fully express, her heart aching with the love she didn’t dare speak.

Instead, she kissed you again—slowly at first, as if savoring the taste of your lips might somehow drown out the urge to confess. The kiss deepened quickly, turning desperate and consuming, a way to silence the fears that clawed at her insides. Natasha’s hands roamed over your body once more, fingers tracing familiar paths, as if she were trying to memorize every inch of you, to carve this moment into her memory so it would never fade. The world outside this room ceased to exist; all that mattered was the way you responded to her touch, the soft gasps and whispered sighs that filled the air between them. 

Natasha didn’t stop, couldn’t stop—each kiss, each touch, every moan, became a plea for more time, more of you, as if by making love to you again and again, she could delay the inevitable, could keep the fragile bubble of this night from bursting. The hours slipped by in a blur of passion and quiet intensity, the darkness outside deepening as Natasha pressed closer, held you tighter, and chased the fleeting moments that seemed to slip through her fingers like sand. It wasn’t enough—it would never be enough—but for now, it was all she had.

And so she loved you through the night, as if time itself could be bent to her will, as if each kiss, each whispered name, could stave off the dawn just a little longer.

In the morning, you were gone.

Natasha woke slowly, the warmth of sleep still clinging to her as she blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, she reached out instinctively, her hand searching the space beside her, expecting to find you. But all she felt was the cool, empty sheets where you had been. She let out a quiet sigh, already knowing why. Your work started early—too early—and you were always gone before the sun fully rose, slipping out of bed with a quiet grace that Natasha admired but, at times like this, resented.

She stayed there, her hand resting on the vacant spot beside her, feeling the absence like a weight on her chest. The room was too quiet without your soft breathing; the lingering scent of your hair was still faintly on the pillow. Natasha turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, her mind a haze of thoughts she couldn’t quite pin down. She knew you had to go—it was just how things were—but that didn’t stop the hollow ache that settled in her stomach, the longing for just a few more minutes of your presence.

After a while, Natasha sat up slowly, her movements sluggish and heavy as the quiet of the morning settled around her. The moment she lifted her head from the pillow, a dull, throbbing ache bloomed at her temples, spreading like a slow wave of discomfort. She groaned softly, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes as if that might somehow lessen the pounding in her skull. The aftermath of last night’s drinks had finally caught up with her, and it wasn’t letting her forget it.

Natasha let out a breath, trying to shake off the haze of exhaustion that clung to her, but the effort only seemed to make her head spin. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from her mind, but it was no use. The room felt too bright, the air too still, and the emptiness beside her in the bed only added to the strange sense of disorientation. She ran a hand through her hair, wincing as the movement sent another jolt of pain through her head. It wasn’t the worst hangover she’d ever had, but it was enough to make her wish she could just lie back down and sleep it off—except, of course, that spot next to her was still cold and empty, and there was no comfort in the silence.

She turned her head toward the nightstand, squinting against the light as her eyes landed on a small note propped up beside a familiar pill bottle. She blinked, then reached for the note, the crinkling sound of paper somehow comforting in the quiet room. The words were written in your neat, slightly slanted handwriting: “Thank you for last night. And don’t forget to take these! :)” The smiley face was unmistakably you—a touch of warmth that made Natasha’s chest tighten in the best way.

A slow smile crept across her lips as she read the note again, and again... and again. The headache still pulsed faintly behind her eyes, but it suddenly didn’t feel as bad. The simple gesture, the thoughtfulness of it—you thinking of her in the early morning hours, leaving behind something to make sure Natasha would be okay—it was enough to make everything else fade into the background. Natasha picked up the pill bottle, shaking it gently, then set it back down with a soft chuckle.

Without thinking, she lay back down, the note still clutched between her fingers. She held it up, her gaze tracing over your handwriting, memorizing the curves and loops of each letter. It was such a small thing, but it felt monumental, a tangible reminder that you had been here, in her room, in her bed, that you’d thought of Natasha even after leaving.

But as the days passed, you and Natasha slipped effortlessly back into your familiar routine, all filled with work. The compound buzzed with its usual activities, and you moved through your tasks with the same blend of efficiency and warmth that Natasha had come to rely on. Your conversations flowed as seamlessly as they always had, punctuated by laughter, talks of work and her health, and shared moments of quiet understanding.

Yet, for Natasha, everything had shifted subtly, profoundly.

Every glance, every casual touch between the two of you now felt charged with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. The way your eyes lit up when you spoke, the way you brushed against Natasha in passing—it all sent jolts through her, leaving her with a physical ache that was almost unbearable. Natasha found herself hanging on to every word you said, her heart racing whenever you came near, her fingers almost itching to reach out and close the space between the two of you.

When you brushed her hand against Natasha’s, it was no longer just a simple touch; it was a spark that set Natasha’s entire being on fire. The way your laughter filled the room, how you tilted your head just so when you were focused on your work—it was all consuming. Natasha wanted to pull you close, to kiss you with a hunger that had been simmering just beneath the surface, to feel the softness of your lips against hers and lose herself in you. Natasha wanted more than just the stolen moments and the shared smiles; she wanted everything with you. The thought of a future, of waking up to you beside her every morning.

“What’s going on with you?”

Natasha blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Steve’s voice pulled her out her thoughts. They were in the midst of their mission, moving through the dimly lit corridors of an abandoned warehouse. The mission was progressing smoothly, as always, but Natasha’s mind had been elsewhere, lost in a whirl of thoughts and emotions that had nothing to do with the task at hand.

Steve’s brow was furrowed with concern as he looked at her, his sharp eyes catching every nuance of her distraction. It was clear that her usual focus and sharpness were missing, and that was something Steve didn’t overlook, especially in the midst of a high-stakes operation.

Natasha hesitated, her mind racing to regroup, to push aside the tumult of feelings that had been gnawing at her. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“Just a lot on my mind,” she said, forcing a casual tone that didn’t quite match the tension in her voice. She adjusted her stance, trying to redirect her focus back to the mission. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Steve studied her for a moment, clearly not convinced. “Natasha,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “We’ve been through this before. If something’s bothering you, you need to talk about it. We’re a team.”

The sincerity in his voice made Natasha’s chest tighten. She appreciated Steve’s concern, but the truth was, she even didn’t know how to articulate the whirlwind of emotions she was experiencing.

Natasha sighed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. She knew Steve was right, but she couldn’t bring herself to share what was really troubling her. “It’s not a big deal,” she said, her voice firmer this time. “I’m fine... I’ll get it together.”

Steve gave her a scrutinizing look, clearly still concerned, but he nodded. “Alright. But if you need to talk, I’m here.”

“I know, Steve.”

The mission was successful. As usual.

On a calm Sunday morning, Natasha sat at the counter, methodically biting into her peanut butter sandwich as she half-listened to Steve’s low murmur about the latest Avengers briefing. The kitchen was bathed in the soft morning light that filtered through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the polished surfaces. Steve was nursing a steaming cup of coffee, his gaze occasionally drifting to the newspaper spread out before him.

The soft sound of footsteps nearing drew Natasha’s attention as you walked in, your presence immediately changing the room’s dynamic.

You greeted them with a quick, cheerful “Morning, guys,” before heading straight for the coffee machine, your voice carrying the easy warmth that Natasha had come to crave.

“Hey, (y/n). Just brewed a pot,” Steve said.

You thanked him with a kind smile and moved quickly, grabbing a cup of coffee from the counter and casting a fleeting, soft, lingering smile in Natasha’s direction as you filled her cup. The smile was fleeting but full of unspoken warmth, a subtle connection that spoke volumes in its brevity.

Natasha’s reaction was immediate. She paused mid-bite, the sandwich almost forgotten as she watched you with an intensity that didn’t go unnoticed. Her fingers faltered, the sandwich slipping back onto her plate with a soft thud. She nodded at you, a nervous, shy smile tugging at her lips as if she were trying to hold on to that fleeting moment.

Steve, who had been watching this exchange with an increasingly amused expression, couldn’t help but chuckle softly. The realization hit him with a sudden clarity. Natasha’s distraction, the lingering thoughts that had clouded her focus during the mission—it all made sense now. The way she looked at you, the way her entire demeanor changed in your presence—it was a classic case of being head over heels.

“Well, well,” Steve said, his voice low and teasing as he took another sip of his coffee. “I think I just figured out what’s been on your mind.”

He shot Natasha a knowing grin, his eyes sparkling with understanding. Natasha looked up, caught off guard but with a soft flush creeping up her neck.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, though her tone was already betraying her discomfort.

Steve’s smile widened. “Nothing, just an observation.” He took another sip, enjoying the moment of revelation. “Seems like someone’s made quite the impression.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, trying to mask her embarrassment with a playful scowl. “I suppose I can’t keep anything from you,” she said, shaking her head but unable to suppress the fond smile that tugged at her lips.

“Looks like it,” he said.

Natasha sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping as she rested her head on the cool surface of the kitchen counter. “What do I do?” she muttered, her voice muffled by the countertop.

Sam strolled into the kitchen just as she had asked this, his expression a mix of curiosity and mischief. He took in the scene with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“Confess immediately,” he said, his tone light but resolute. “Don’t overthink it. Just go for it.”

Natasha looked at him in disbelief, an eyebrow raised as if she were silently asking how he could possibly know about all of this. Steve, who was leaning casually against the counter, gave Sam a sidelong glance.

“Hey, maybe ease into it a bit,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “What about asking her on a date? A nice, romantic dinner—something where you can talk, you know.

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, no,” he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “A dinner date sounds nice and all, but if you’ve got feelings, you might as well just lay it all out there.”

Natasha lifted her head slightly, her gaze shifting between Steve and Sam; her expression caught between exasperation and hope. “So, you both think I should just... tell her?”

Steve nodded, his expression encouraging. “Yeah, but maybe take the chance to make it special. It’s not just about confessing—it’s about showing her how much you care.”

Sam shook his head with a smirk. “Or you could just cut to the chase. No need for all the pomp.”

Natasha sat in the quiet of the kitchen, the hum of the morning routine a distant backdrop as she contemplated the contrasting pieces of advice she had just received. She already knew she had to tell you. The doing is what’s got her in a slump. Steve’s suggestion of a romantic dinner held a particular allure, painting vivid pictures in her mind of you dressing up all pretty just for her, a soft glow of anticipation in her eyes. She imagined the two of you sitting across from each other at a candlelit table, the air filled with the intimate murmur of conversation and the soft clink of glasses. Yet, Sam’s more direct approach was equally compelling. The simplicity of confessing her feelings outright, of stripping away pretense and diving straight into the heart of the matter, had its own raw appeal. The idea of bypassing all the elaborate gestures, cutting straight through to the essence of her emotions, felt refreshingly honest, more her style.

She tried Steve’s idea first. She had it all planned out, chose a restaurant she thought you’d like, take you out for a walk under the moonlight, and then she’d tell you everything.

But her attempts to ask you out on a date seemed to be thwarted by an endless stream of interruptions. Each time she mustered the courage to approach you, the timing was never right. One time, as Natasha approached the med bay with a hopeful resolve, she was met with the sight of your hands deftly tending to a newly injured agent. The room was filled with the hum of medical equipment and the urgent tones of your focused attention, making it impossible to find a moment of privacy.

Another time, Natasha had managed to catch you alone, only for a sudden emergency to arise.

“I’m so sorry, Nat,” you had said.

Natasha shook her head and urged you to go with a pained smile, telling you that she’ll just find you again later. The sound of the alert echoed through the compound, pulling you away with swift urgency as you dashed off to respond to the call. Natasha watched with a sigh, frustration and longing mingling in her chest as you disappeared down the hallway.

Even when she did manage to find you alone, the med bay door would swing open with startling regularity, admitting a new batch of agents or staff members needing your expertise. Each interruption was a jarring reminder of the busy, unpredictable world they inhabited, leaving Natasha grasping at fleeting opportunities that never quite materialized.

With every failed attempt, Natasha’s patience was tested. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, the universe was determined to keep her moments with you brief and fragmented. But, even then, Natasha’s resolve only deepened, determined to find the right time with you.

The next day, Natasha found herself lingering outside the med bay, her shoulder resting against the doorframe as she watched you from afar. You were sitting at your desk, completely absorbed in a thick, worn book. Your brow furrowed slightly in concentration, a stray strand of hair falling across your forehead as you absentmindedly brushed it away. The soft glow of the med bay’s overhead light bathed you in a warm, gentle hue, casting delicate shadows on your face. Natasha stood there, quietly captivated by the sight, her heart swelling with an almost unbearable tenderness.

There was something so achingly beautiful about the way your eyes flicked across the page, your lips occasionally curving into the faintest hint of a smile at whatever she was reading. The world outside the med bay seemed to fade away, and for a moment, Natasha felt like she could stand there forever, simply watching you.

“You can come in, Natasha,” she heard you say, your eyes never leaving the pages of your book.

Natasha blinked, startled by your words. She hadn’t realized she’d been standing there long enough to be noticed. Clearing her throat, she pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the med bay, the familiar scent of antiseptic and coffee mingling in the air. You still hadn’t looked up from your book, your eyes tracing the lines of text with an almost lazy ease, but there was a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

“You always seem to know when I’m around,” Natasha said, trying to keep her voice steady as she moved closer to your desk. She felt a strange mix of relief and nervousness—the comfort of being near you and the anxiety of what she wanted to say, what she’d been trying to say for days now.

You finally looked up, your eyes meeting Natasha’s with that familiar warmth that always made her heart skip a beat. “You’re not exactly subtle,” you teased lightly, setting the book down. “And I like it when you drop by.”

Natasha smiled, but it felt more like a grimace, her nerves getting the better of her. She shifted on her feet, hands fidgeting at her sides. “I just... wanted to see how you were doing. You’ve been busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You tilted your head, studying Natasha in that way that made her feel like you could see right through her. “I’m fine, and you’re not interrupting,” you said softly, your smile fading into something more serious.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. This was the opening she needed—the perfect moment to say what she’d been practicing in her head over and over again. But the words seemed stuck, tangled up in her chest. She could only nod, her gaze dropping to the floor as she tried to summon the courage to speak.

“Natasha…” Your voice was gentle, coaxing, and when Natasha finally looked up, she found you watching her with that same patient expression, as if she already knew what Natasha was struggling to say.

“I—” Natasha started, then stopped. She bit her lip, trying to find the right words. “I… just wanted to see you,” Natasha finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t exactly what she had planned to say, but it was the truth, raw and unfiltered.

Your expression softened even more, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You closed the book; your full attention now on Natasha.

“Well, you’ve found me,” you said, your tone playful but laced with something deeper, something that made Natasha’s pulse quicken. “What’s on your mind?”

“Uh, I’ve been... meaning to ask...” Natasha began, her voice tinged with a rare vulnerability that made you pause, your full attention on her.

Your gaze softened as you waited patiently, sensing that whatever Natasha was about to say was important. The air between the two of you felt charged, thick with anticipation, as if this moment could be the beginning of something they both had been skirting around for too long.

But just as Natasha opened her mouth to continue, the sharp ring of her phone cut through the tension like a knife. The sound startled you both, and Natasha’s expression immediately shifted from hesitant to frustrated as she pulled the phone from her pocket. A quick glance at the screen told her all she needed to know: Fury.

Fuck. She sighed, feeling the weight of the moment slip away from her. “Of course,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to you. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen as if delaying the inevitable.

You gave her a small, understanding smile. “You should take it. It’s probably important,” you said softly, though Natasha could see the flicker of disappointment in your eyes.

Natasha sighed and nodded, the frustration still gnawing at her as she swiped to answer the call.

“Yeah?” She said into the phone, her tone clipped, already mourning the lost opportunity.

As Fury’s voice filled her ear, Natasha couldn’t help but glance back at you, who had returned to your book but seemed distracted, your eyes not really seeing the words on the page. She wanted to be here with you and wanted to finish what she’d started to say. But duty called, and as much as she resented the timing, Natasha knew there was no escaping it. Still, as she listened to Fury’s instructions, her mind lingered on the words she hadn’t yet spoken.

Natasha left the med bay with a heavy heart, her footsteps echoing down the sterile, polished floors of the compound as she moved with practiced efficiency. The cool air felt harsh against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that had lingered in your presence just moments before. She didn’t want to leave, not when she had been so close to finally asking you out, but Fury’s voice in her ear had been all business, pulling her back into the world of missions and danger. The life she had known so well before you had started to change everything. Now, as she moved toward the hangar, readying herself for a quick mission, Natasha couldn’t shake the image of you sitting at your desk, so patient, so understanding, yet so distant now as the demands of her duty called her away from you once again. The familiar rush of adrenaline from the impending mission did little to dull the ache of leaving you behind, and as Natasha climbed into the Quinjet, she realized that no matter how many missions she completed, this—the moments with you—was the one thing she couldn’t afford to lose.

Natasha arrived back at the compound two nights later.

It was the kind of hour where everything felt suspended in a heavy, muffled silence. The Quinjet landed with a low hum, its lights cutting through the darkness, but Natasha was too tired to appreciate the quietness of her arrival. Her body ached with every movement, bruises blooming across her skin in angry shades of purple and blue. Her nose was still bleeding, a thin trickle of crimson slipping down her lip that she wiped away with the back of her hand. And then there was the stabbing pain in her side—a broken rib, she was sure of it. Exhausted, she stumbled down the ramp, each step sending a sharp jolt of pain through her chest. When she finally reached the dimly lit corridor, she paused, leaning against the cool metal wall for support.

She tapped into her comm, her voice rough and weary as she asked, “FRIDAY, is anyone in the med bay right now?”

The calm voice filled the space around her, gentle but clear. “Doctor (L/n) is in, Agent Romanoff. Would like me to alert her?”

A wave of relief washed over her, mingled with a touch of dread. You. Of course, you’d still be there.

“N-No, I’ll just… I’m heading there right now.”

Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, pushing past the pain as she straightened up. She had barely been able to ask you out before she left, and now she was coming back bruised and broken, needing you in a different way. With a heavy sigh, Natasha started down the hallway. She trudged through the corridors of the compound, her footsteps uneven. The sterile white walls of the hallway seemed to blur as she moved, the intensity of her injuries casting a dull haze over her vision. Her breath came in shallow, labored gasps, each inhale sharp and punctuated by the searing pain in her ribcage. The normally comforting hum of the compound’s ventilation system felt intrusive.

As she approached the med bay, the dim light spilling from under the door painted a faint golden streak across the floor, guiding her weary steps. Natasha’s fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the button on the wall, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of her flushed skin. The door opens automatically, and the slide is loud in the quiet space. The med bay was bathed in a soft, muted glow, its organized chaos of medical supplies and equipment casting long, flickering shadows. Her eyes scanned the room, searching through until they settled on the figure she had hoped to find. You stood at a workbench, your focus intent on preparing some medical supplies. The sight of you, so absorbed in your work, made Natasha’s heart ache. The exhaustion and pain seemed to fade a little in your presence even as Natasha forced herself to step inside.

You continued your meticulous arrangement of medical supplies, your back turned to the door as you muttered, “If you’re here for a minor issue, just fill out the form and I’ll get to you when I can.”

Your voice carried the practiced tone of someone who had dealt with countless interruptions, your focus unwavering.

Natasha let out a pained scoff, the sound escaping more sharply than she intended. The noise drew your attention, and you froze mid-motion, your hand hovering over a box of bandages. You turned slowly, your eyes widening as you took in Natasha’s battered appearance. The sight of Natasha, bruised and bloodied, caused your heart to skip a beat, her professional mask slipping away to reveal a raw edge of concern.

“Natasha?” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, as you took an instant step forward, your gaze fixed on the blood trickling from Natasha’s nose and the pained grimace on her face. “What happened?”

The words came out in a rush, your earlier dismissal forgotten as you rushed to Natasha’s side, your hands already reaching out to help, your eyes filled with a mixture of shock and worry.

Your hands moved with practiced urgency as you guided Natasha to one of the beds, the action firm but gentle. You eased Natasha down onto the cushioned surface, your eyes darting across the extent of Natasha’s injuries with a rapid, assessing glance. Your breath hitched slightly as you took in the sight of Natasha’s battered body—the bruises spreading across her skin, the telltale signs of pain in her face, and the blood that marred her otherwise stoic appearance.

With a quick, deft motion, you reached for a nearby first aid kit, your movements efficient despite the visible tremor in your hands. You worked with a calm resolve, your mind focusing solely on the task at hand.

“Okay, let me take a look,” you said softly, your voice steady but filled with concern.

Your fingers were careful as they moved to inspect Natasha’s broken rib, pressing gently to assess the injury while avoiding exacerbating the pain. Your gaze remained focused on Natasha, your eyes reflecting a deep well of worry and care.

You reached up slowly, cradling her face with your gentle hands, a move that made Natasha close her eyes in relief, feeling your palm rest softly against her face. As you cleaned the blood from her face and applied a fresh bandage, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Natasha’s eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort.

Later, as the night wore on, you kept working and carefully prepared an elastic bandage, your fingers moving with practiced precision. You already administered the painkillers, watching as Natasha swallowed them down with a grimace, and handed her anti-inflammatory pills with a soft reminder to take them regularly. Now, as Natasha sat upright on the edge of the medical bed, her shirt discarded, you gently guided her to lift her arms.

The room was quiet, save for the faint rustling of the bandage as you began wrapping it around Natasha's torso. You always loved Natasha’s body, beautiful and athletically toned, but seeing her buried up like this was a sight you weren’t too fond of.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, the pressure firm but not too tight, offering support without constricting Natasha's breathing. Each pass of the bandage was done with utmost care, your fingertips brushing lightly against Natasha’s skin. Your eyes flickered between your work and Natasha’s face, making sure you weren’t causing any unnecessary discomfort. The bandage gradually wound around Natasha’s ribcage, securing the fractured bone in place, and you took your time, ensuring it was both comfortable and effective. As you finished, your hands lingered for a moment, her touch lingering in a quiet, intimate gesture of care before she finally stepped back, her eyes meeting Natasha’s in a silent exchange of concern and unspoken words.

“You should lay down,” you said sternly, and she obeyed with your help.

You stepped back from Natasha, your eyes scanning over the finished bandage job with concern, then made your way to the cabinets behind you.

As you turned and walked away, Natasha couldn’t help but let her gaze linger, her eyes tracing the subtle sway of your hips as you walked. Despite the dull ache in her ribs and the sting of her cuts, Natasha found herself distracted by the sight of you, the way your hair fell prettily around your face, and the confident yet graceful way you carried herself. It was ridiculous, really—how someone could look so effortlessly beautiful at this time of night. But that was you, distracting and disarming, making it nearly impossible for Natasha to focus on anything else. You were always beautiful. She would never stop thinking it. The pain in her body dulled just by watching you, and Natasha couldn’t suppress a wry smile at the thought.

A part of her, the part she tried to keep buried beneath layers of stoicism and professionalism, kind of liked being in this position. Being injured wasn’t ideal, of course, but if it meant that you were the one taking care of her—if it meant those gentle hands tending to her wounds, those soft eyes watching her with concern—well, it wasn’t all that bad. Natasha leaned back on the medical bed, trying not to wince as she adjusted herself, her mind already anticipating the feeling of your cool hands against her skin again.

Your eyes scanned the cabinet, your mind racing, already mentally cataloging what she needed—an ice pack for Natasha’s ribs and creams and ointments to treat the cuts on her and the bruises on her body. You moved quickly, your hands working automatically as you gathered the items—a tube of antibiotic ointment, a small jar of healing cream, and the ice pack she swiftly prepared, cracking it to activate the cold. You worked quickly and efficiently, but the image of Natasha’s bruised and bloodied face lingered in your thoughts, pushing you to hurry back. With everything in hand, you returned to the bed.

Swiftly, you pulled a chair over, your movements deliberate as you positioned yourself close to Natasha, almost too close, yet Natasha found herself craving the proximity. Your expression was a mix of concern and something else—something sharper, like a restrained anger simmering just beneath the surface. You dipped your fingers into the ointment, your touch cool and soothing as you began to apply it gently to the cuts on Natasha’s face. Your gaze never left Natasha’s, your eyes searching for answers even before you spoke.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Your voice was low and stern, the tone almost scolding.

It carried an edge that made Natasha’s chest tighten, but not with fear—with something warmer, something that made her want to smile despite the situation. And she did, her lips curving upward, unable to hide her amusement at how your concern manifested in this sharp, almost angry way. She knew it wasn’t anger, not really. It was worry and frustration that you couldn’t have prevented this, that Natasha had come back to you bruised and broken.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Natasha replied softly, her voice tinged with that smile she couldn’t quite suppress.

But she didn’t give you the full story just yet, savoring this moment where your hands moved so carefully over her skin, applying the ointment with such focused tenderness. Natasha liked this—liked seeing you flustered, your emotions so close to the surface. It made her feel important, seen.

Your fingers paused for a moment, your eyes narrowing slightly as you studied Natasha’s face. You didn’t seem convinced by the lightness in Natasha’s tone, but you didn’t push—at least, not yet. Instead, you took a deep breath and resumed your work, the soft pad of your thumb smoothing ointment over a particularly nasty cut on Natasha’s cheek. Natasha winced slightly. She could sense the underlying tension in you—the way your jaw clenched ever so slightly, the way you focused a little too intently on the task at hand.

“You know that’s not what I asked,” you said quietly, your voice still holding that stern edge, though there was a softness there too, a plea for honesty.

You didn’t look up as you spoke, your attention fixed on her injuries, but Natasha could feel the weight of your words. It wasn’t just concern—it was something deeper, a fear that gnawed at you every time Natasha walked out of the compound on a mission. And now, seeing Natasha like this, bruised and battered, only made that fear surface all the more.

The redhead sighed, her smile fading as she let her gaze drift away from your face, staring at some indeterminate spot on the wall.

“It was a solo recon mission,” she finally said, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Things went south, and I had to engage. Took a few hits, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Your hands stilled again, this time longer, and Natasha could feel the frustration radiating from you, though you still kept your touch gentle. You finally looked up, your eyes locking with her green ones.

“You always say that,” you muttered, your voice stern and laced with exasperation. “You always downplay it, like it’s nothing. But look at you.”

Natasha met your gaze, and for a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence. She wanted to reassure you, to say something that would ease that worry etched into your face, but the words caught in her throat. So instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your wrist.

“I’m okay, milaya,” Natasha said softly, and this time, the smile that curled her lips was tender and genuine. “I promise.”

You didn’t reply right away, but you didn’t pull away either. Your fingers lingered on Natasha’s skin, and for a moment, you simply stayed like that, the air between you thick with tension. Finally, you exhaled a soft, resigned sigh as you resumed your work, the sternness in your expression giving way to something more vulnerable, more caring.

“Just... try to be careful. It’s not like you to be making mistakes,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, and Natasha felt her heart clench at the raw emotion behind the words. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded eagerly, her words catching in her throat.

You shook your head, a soft, almost exasperated sigh escaping your lips as you reached out, gently cupping Natasha’s chin to turn her face towards you. She allowed it, letting you guide her, the warmth of your hand against her skin sending a shiver down her spine. You leaned in closer, your brow furrowing as you examined the other side of Natasha’s face, your eyes darkening when you saw the bigger bruise that had bloomed there.

“Natasha...” you whispered, your voice laced with a tenderness that made her chest tighten.

Your touch was featherlight as you carefully dabbed ointment over the bruise, your movements slow and deliberate, as if you were afraid of causing more pain.

But Natasha barely felt the sting. No, her mind was somewhere else entirely.

You were so close now, closer than you had been all night, and all Natasha could think about was how your breath ghosted over her skin, how your lips hovered just inches away. The scent of your shampoo filled her senses, clean and familiar, and Natasha’s gaze drifted to those lips—soft, plump, the same lips she remembered so vividly from that night, the lips that had been moaning her name all night. Her heart thudded in her chest, drowning out everything else. The pain, the bruises, the mission—they all faded into the background. All that remained was the memory of those lips, how they’d felt against hers, the way they’d made her forget everything but you.

Natasha swallowed hard, fighting to stay present, but it was useless. Her green eyes lingered on your mouth, tracing the curve of your lips and the way they moved as you murmured soft reassurances. Every part of Natasha ached to close the distance, to taste those lips again, to lose herself in that same rush that had consumed her that night. It was maddening how badly she wanted it—how badly she wanted you.

And for a moment, just a fleeting second, Natasha wondered if you felt it too—if you could feel the tension crackling in the air between you, the way Natasha’s pulse quickened under your touch. But she couldn’t think of anything else. She couldn’t think of anything but how close you were and how desperately she wanted to close that gap.

Your hand lingered for a moment longer, your fingers brushing over Natasha’s skin gently. And you were just about to pull away, to turn your attention back to the supplies on the tray beside you, when she felt it—a sudden rush deep in her chest that she couldn’t ignore. The words she’d been holding back for so long, the ones that had burned at the tip of her tongue for what felt like forever, finally pushed their way out, unbidden and unstoppable.

“I love you.”

It was barely a whisper, but in the quiet of the med bay, it sounded deafening. Natasha hadn’t meant to say it, not like this, not when she was bruised and battered, vulnerable in a way she hated to be. But the moment had slipped through her fingers, and now the words were out there, hanging in the air between you.

You froze, your fingers still resting against Natasha’s face, your eyes widening slightly as the words registered. For a split second, there was nothing but silence, a silence so thick and heavy that Natasha almost couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t planned this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that she might lose control, that she might let her guard down so completely. But it’s so hard not to when she was with you.

But then your eyes softened, your expression shifting from shock to something Natasha couldn’t quite read—something gentle, something that made Natasha’s heart pound even harder. Your hand moved again, this time not to turn away but to cradle Natasha’s face more firmly, your thumb brushing lightly over her cheek.

“Natasha…” You whispered, your voice barely audible, and there was a tenderness in your tone that made Natasha’s breath hitch. Your eyes searched hers, as if trying to find the truth behind the words, to make sure you hadn’t imagined them.

But Natasha couldn’t take them back now. She didn’t want to. The weight of them had already lifted, and even though her heart was racing, even though her chest ached with the fear of what might come next, what you might say, she didn’t regret it. All she could do was hold your gaze, waiting, hoping that somehow this wouldn’t be the moment everything shattered.

The redhead leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering shut for just a moment as she let the warmth of your palm soothe the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. The confession had slipped out too quickly, too easily, but now that it was out there, she couldn’t stop herself. It felt like a dam had broken, and all the feelings she’d kept buried for so long were rushing out.

“I’ve always loved you,” Natasha murmured again, her voice steadier this time, though still soft, vulnerable in a way that felt foreign to her. She opened her eyes again, finding your gentle gaze still locked on hers, wide and searching. Natasha’s heart pounded as she watched the emotions flicker across your face—surprise, confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t pull away. If anything, your grip on Natasha’s face tightened, your thumb gently brushing against the curve of her cheek. The silence that followed wasn’t as suffocating as before, but it still held weight, heavy with what Natasha had just said. She could see you processing it, trying to make sense of the sudden shift of the words that had come so unexpectedly. But Natasha didn’t waver. She let herself sink into the moment, letting herself be held by your gaze and by the feel of your hand on her skin. She’d always known that her feelings for you ran deep—deeper than she’d ever allowed herself to admit.

“(Y/n)…” Natasha murmured, her voice soft but more certain. She tilted her head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your palm, her lips lingering there for a moment as you let her words sink in. She wasn’t asking for anything, not really. She just needed you to know. To understand.

Your eyes flickered with uncertainty, a shadow of doubt crossing your expression. It wasn’t like Natasha to confess anything so personal, so vulnerable, especially when it came to her feelings. It left you reeling. You searched Natasha’s face, looking for any hint of insincerity, any sign that this might be some sort of joke. But all you found was the steady, unwavering gaze of someone who had just bared their soul.

“You’re not joking?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with disbelief. There was a softness in your tone, a hint of hope that you almost didn’t want to acknowledge.

Natasha’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. She shook her head, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Why would I be joking?” she replied, her voice firm, carrying a quiet confidence that left no room for doubt.

There was no teasing in her expression, no hint of the usual playfulness that often accompanied her words.

This was different. This was real.

“You’ve just... never said anything... Before, I mean,” you tell her, drawing your hand back slightly only for Natasha to hold your wrist still. You took a deep breath. “You’ve always said that you don’t like getting too attached to anyone.”

Natasha’s gaze softened as your words hung in the air. It was true—she had always been the one to keep her distance, to draw a line between herself and everyone else. Attachment was dangerous. It made you vulnerable; it made you weak. And in her line of work, weakness could get you killed. She’d lived by that rule for so long that it had become second nature, a part of who she was.

But looking at you now, with the worry and confusion etched across your beautiful face, Natasha felt all of that unraveling. The walls she’d built so carefully over the years crumbled piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the raw, undeniable truth of what she felt.

“I know,” Natasha said quietly, her voice carrying a weight that matched the heaviness in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain something she’d never really let herself admit. “I said that because I thought it would make me lose focus. But with you…”

She trailed off, her eyes searching yours, hoping that somehow you could understand what she was struggling to say. “With you, it’s different. It always has been. I didn’t want to admit it, maybe because I was scared… scared of what it would mean. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this... like I don’t want this.”

“I’ve actually been trying to ask you out on a date these past couple weeks.” Natasha took a breath, her hand moving to cover yours, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Had it all planned out... But I never found the right time to ask you.”

You smiled softly, “Really?”

“Yeah,” she replied, shaking her head.

Your smile grew, the tension in your shoulders easing as you absorbed Natasha’s confession.

Her hand remained on yours, her thumb still brushing lightly against your skin. “But if, for whatever reason, you don’t want to or... don’t feel the same way... that’d be okay. It’ll take me a while to get over, but I don’t want to force you.”

Your heart ached at the thought of Natasha being hurt and her struggling through rejection. The sincerity in Natasha’s voice, the way she laid her feelings bare with such honesty, made your decision clear. You reached out and shook your head, your thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Natasha,” you said softly, your eyes meeting hers.

The words seemed to hang in the air, a delicate promise of something new, something hopeful. Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat as she processed your words.

“And... I’d really love to go on that date with you.”

Natasha’s heart leaped at your response, relief and joy flooding through her. The uncertainty that had clouded her mind for weeks, the fear of rejection, seemed to dissipate in an instant. Your smile, soft and warm, was like a beacon of hope that cut through the fog of Natasha’s doubts. The way your eyes sparkled with affection made Natasha’s chest tighten with a happiness she hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel before.

“Yeah?” Natasha’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if she couldn’t quite believe the words that fell from your mouth. She imagined every negative scenario and had been bracing herself for disappointment, for the possibility that her feelings might not be reciprocated, and to hear your affirmation was everything to her.

Your smile grew even wider, your eyes meeting her green ones with a tenderness that made Natasha’s breath catch.

“Yeah,” you said softly, her voice steady and sincere.

Natasha’s thumb gently caressed your hand, her gaze lingering on your face. “I’m really glad to hear that,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “Just... let me know when you’re free, and we’ll make it happen.”

You give her a look. “How about when you’re fully healed, hm?”

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the warmth in her eyes as she met your playful gaze.

“Deal,” she said with a grin, her voice carrying a note of playful defiance. She shifted slightly on the bed, trying to ease her discomfort, but her smile remained. “I guess, to make sure I heal properly, I’d have to let you take care of me a little longer. Not that I’m complaining about that.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, I’m sure you’re not,” she said, her tone teasing yet affectionate.

Natasha’s heart swelled at your words, the playfulness in your voice making her feel cherished in a way she hadn’t expected.

You rolled your eyes and smiled at her, “Now, let me finish. You’re distracting me.”

Natasha’s lips curled into a gentle smile, and she sighed, her eyes sparkling with affection. “Okay, baby. I’ll be good,” she replied, her voice low and tender, the endearment slipping out naturally, almost as if it were second nature.

Your cheeks flushed deeper, your eyes flickering up to meet Natasha’s for a moment before you quickly looked away, trying to maintain her professional composure. Both the embarrassment and focus in your expression were endearing, and Natasha couldn’t help but feel like she was over the moon.

As you continued your work, gently dabbing the last of the ointments and soothing creams on her, Natasha stayed quiet, simply enjoying the sight of you and the way you moved with purpose and care. There was something comforting about being cared for by someone she loved, and in these moments, Natasha felt grateful and at peace.

When you finished, you pulled away to clean your hands as Natasha laid her head back against the adjustable bed, the head of it raised up comfortably for her to lean against. She let out a quiet breath as her head sank into the pillow. The tension that had coiled through her muscles slowly unwound, leaving her feeling weightless, almost serene. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a soft smile played on her lips. The cool air of the med bay, the distant hum of machines, all faded into the background as she focused on the lingering warmth of your touch, the way your fingers had brushed against Natasha's skin so gently.

The pain that had been gnawing at her ribs was a dull, distant ache now, replaced by a warmth that spread through her chest. She let herself sink deeper into that feeling, savoring it, her thoughts blissfully quiet for once.

She was content—more content than she could remember being in a long time. This was enough—your presence, the gentle care you had shown, the soft, lingering scent of antiseptic, and something sweeter, something uniquely you. Natasha's smile deepened, and she sighed softly, her heart swelling with gratitude and affection. She could stay here forever, knowing you were right next to her.

And then, just as Natasha felt herself drifting on the edge of sleep, she heard your voice—soft, tentative, pulling her back from the brink.

“Natasha.”

“Hm?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t think I’ve said it yet,” she heard you say, your voice shy but sure. “But, I love you, too.”

Natasha's eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, her heart skipping a beat as she registered the words. She lifted her head, her gaze locking onto your face, which was now tinged with a soft blush. For a moment, Natasha just stared at you, caught off guard by the sudden rush of warmth spreading through her chest as she looked at you. You stood there, absentmindedly wiping your hands clean. But your usual composed demeanor was now softened, your shyness making you seem even more beautiful in Natasha’s eyes. The way you flushed, the way your lips curled into that shy smile—it all felt like a dream.

Without thinking, driven purely by instinct, Natasha tried to sit up, ignoring the sharp protest from her broken rib. Her only focus was you—your face, your lips—drawing nearer, as if she were being pulled by an invisible force. She needed to close the distance; she needed to feel those soft lips of yours against hers.

But before she could move any closer, your hand was there—firm yet gentle—against her chest, guiding her back down with a tender but insistent pressure.

“Whoa, hey,” you said softly, your voice laced with concern as you kept Natasha in place, your touch more soothing than restraining. “Don’t move. You need to minimize all movement.”

Natasha let out a frustrated exhale, her pout unmistakable as she stared up at you, caught between longing and the dull ache in her side.

“You seriously expect me not to kiss you after you just told me you love me?” She murmured, her voice tinged with a playful defiance, though her body reluctantly surrendered to your care.

“Yes, I do.”

But your lips curled into a knowing smile as you saw the frustration in Natasha’s eyes. With a gentle, playful smile, you leaned down, your lips barely brushing Natasha’s in a tender kiss. The contact was fleeting, but it held a promise of more. Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips instinctively moving toward yours in a desperate attempt to deepen the kiss. She sighed against your mouth, moaning softly at the feeling of your lips finally pressing against hers. She felt a surge of warmth as she reached for you, her hand finding its way to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, trying to pull you closer.

But your hand remained steady on Natasha’s chest, a gentle reminder to keep still. You pulled back just enough to keep the kiss from deepening, her breath mingling with Natasha’s as you looked down with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Agent Romanoff,” you said softly, her tone both affectionate and teasing. “I do believe I told you to rest.”

Natasha’s lips curved into a playful pout, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gazed up at you, her thumb caressing the skin behind your ear as her hand rested against the side of your neck.

“You know,” Natasha said, her voice a sultry whisper, “I’m starting to think you enjoy having this kind of power over me.”

You chuckled, narrowing your eyes as you gave her a sexy glance. “Maybe,” you admitted, your smile widening.

Natasha grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she relaxed back against the pillow. “Well, if this is what it takes to get more of those kisses,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “then I might just have to let you boss me around a bit longer.”

Your cheeks flushed with a soft pink, your eyes shining amusement. You leaned down again, giving Natasha one last gentle peck before pulling back, your hand still resting lightly on Natasha’s chest. You pulled back slightly, your expression softening as you met her eyes.

“Rest,” you said sternly, though your voice held a trace of affection. The authority in your tone was undeniable, but it was softened by the warmth of her gaze.

Natasha’s smile lingered, a hint of playful defiance still dancing in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied softly, her voice carrying a teasing edge despite her agreement.

She sank back into the bed, the pain in her ribs momentarily forgotten as she focused the thought of your presence, your gentle hands, and your soft, delicious lips. As Natasha lay back against the pillow, her body finally succumbing to the soothing embrace of rest, contentment washing over her. The pain in her ribs seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the warmth of your presence.

Later, opening her eyes for a moment, she could see you sitting beside her, comfortably nestled into that same chair, now with a book in your hand. The sight of you getting ready to be absorbed in your reading, keeping Natasha company as she rested, filled her peace.

She reached out to you with a quiet, unspoken need, finding your hand resting gently on the bed. Noticing the gesture, you let Natasha’s fingers settle softly into your own, allowing your hands to rest together against the cool sheets. With a soft smile, you held the book in your other hand, the pages casually open, resting comfortably on your lap. As Natasha’s fingers intertwined with yours, your touch remained light and soothing, squeezing softly as you held her hand. As her eyelids grew heavy and the soothing pull of sleep began to claim her, she relished the comfort of your hand in hers. The warmth of your fingers, soft and steady, felt perfect in hers. The subtle pressure of your grip was calming, intimate, and gentle, wrapping Natasha in a warmth she’d like to keep forever. Knowing you were there eased Natasha into that peacefulness she aimed to never lose.

And with a soft sigh, Natasha closed her eyes, letting the rhythmic sound of your gentle breathing lull her into a serene sleep. Her thoughts drifted, focused on dreaming of you, excited for what the future had in store for the two of you. The gentle light of the bedside lamp cast a warm glow—with Natasha’s face peaceful in sleep, and you occasionally glanced down at your joined hands before returning to your book.

Not then, and not after.

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

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

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

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

You spot her a moment later.

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

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

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

That was…different.

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Now Natasha is even more confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She tests it.

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

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

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

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

Her lips press into a thin line.

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

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

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

Like clockwork, your eyes begin to flutter closed. 

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

Her fingers twitch against her leg.

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

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

Not unless she reaches for it herself.

But Natasha hesitates.

And someone else beats her to it.

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Natasha,” you murmur.

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

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

Natasha’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“Goodnight,” she replies.

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

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

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

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

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

You hadn’t touched her.

Not once.

And it was driving her insane.

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

Her heart reacts before her mind does.

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

Just a smile.

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

The only problem is she’s in the way.

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

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

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

Except it doesn’t happen.

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

You didn’t want to touch her.

Natasha’s patience snaps.

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

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

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

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

You blink, caught off guard. 

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

Natasha’s jaw clenches before sighing in frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha’s expression eases immediately in understanding.

But you still look away, ashamed. 

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

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

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

Your eyes widen in confusion. “What?”

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

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

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

You blink, slightly dumbfounded. Still registering her words. 

“…Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Sequel : Take my Hand

Crowded streets, overlapping scents, too many voices blending into one another. It made tracking harder—not impossible, just less precise. Everything needed more time, more focus. And for once, they weren’t rushing.

Y/N sat at a small café table near the edge of the street, back to the wall out of habit, but her posture wasn’t as rigid as before. One arm rested loosely along the back of her chair, the other around a glass she hadn’t really touched. Across from her, Wanda stirred her drink slowly, the spoon clinking softly against the cup. They’d been there a while—long enough for the noise of the city to fade into something almost normal.

“It’s strange,” Wanda murmured, watching people pass by. “How everything just keeps going.”

Y/N followed her gaze—couples walking, someone laughing too loud, a kid chasing pigeons across the square. “…Yeah,” she said quietly.

A pause settled between them, but not heavy this time—just quiet. Wanda took a small sip of her drink, then glanced up at Y/N. “Anything?” she asked.

Y/N shook her head, but there was no tension in it. “Not really. Too many people. Too much overlap.” She leaned back slightly. “If Nat’s been here, it wasn’t recent.”

Wanda nodded, accepting it easier than before. They’d had a week to adjust to that answer. Her fingers tapped lightly against the side of her cup. “We’ve been here longer than we planned,” she said.

“Yeah.”

Neither of them sounded urgent about it. Y/N glanced toward the street again, more out of habit than necessity, then looked back at Wanda. “We should probably move soon,” she added. “Just to be safe.”

Wanda hummed softly but didn’t argue. “Tonight?” she asked.

“Tonight’s good.”

Another pause, then Wanda’s lips curved faintly. “…At least the coffee’s better here.”

Y/N huffed softly, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “Yeah. That’s true.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. For a moment, they just sat there—no immediate danger, no running, no gunfire. Just two people in a café, blending into the world like they were supposed to. Y/N watched Wanda for a second longer than necessary—relaxed, a little tired, but here, with her.

“…We’ll find them,” Y/N said quietly.

Wanda looked up, meeting her eyes. This time, she didn’t hesitate. “I know.”

Her shoulders eased slightly as she said it. And for now, that was enough.

---

Wanda’s POV

They left the café without rushing. The sky had already begun to dim, the last of the daylight slipping behind the buildings as the city shifted into evening, streetlights flickering on one by one and casting warm pools of light along the sidewalks. Budapest felt different at night—quieter in some places, louder in others. They walked side by side, blending into the steady flow of people heading home, out to dinner, or nowhere in particular.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. Y/N’s attention moved between the street, the people, the sounds—but not as sharp as before, not on edge, just aware. Then a small movement beside her—Wanda’s shoulders pulling in slightly, a faint shiver—and Y/N noticed immediately. She glanced at her. “You cold?”

Wanda shook her head automatically. “I’m fine.”

Y/N didn’t argue, just reached up and started shrugging off her jacket. Wanda caught the movement and frowned. “No.”

Y/N paused. “You’re shivering.”

“And you’re not wearing anything under that except a shirt,” Wanda pointed out. “If you start walking around without your jacket, people are going to notice.”

Y/N blinked once, considered it… fair. She nodded slowly. “Okay.” But she didn’t look convinced.

They walked a few more steps before Y/N slowed slightly and held out her hand. Wanda glanced down at it, confused for a second. “…What?”

Y/N tilted her head just a little. “Here.”

Wanda looked at her hand, then at her, then back again. A small smile tugged at her lips before she reached out and took it. Y/N’s fingers closed around hers immediately—warm, firm, grounding—and then she shifted their hands together, slipping them both into the pocket of her jacket.

Wanda stilled.

Because now their fingers weren’t just touching—they were intertwined, fully pressed together inside the warmth of the pocket, hidden from view, insulated from the cold. Y/N didn’t react, didn’t seem to realize what she’d just done. She just kept walking like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…Better?” she asked, glancing down briefly.

Wanda’s face had gone warm—very warm. “…Yeah,” she said softly.

Y/N nodded once, satisfied, and that was it. No hesitation, no second thought, just continued forward. Wanda, meanwhile, was very aware of everything—the way their fingers fit together, the warmth, the steady, absent-minded way Y/N’s thumb shifted slightly against her hand. Her heart picked up just a little, and she turned her gaze forward quickly, hoping the dim streetlights hid the color rising in her cheeks.

They kept walking, hands still tucked safely inside Y/N’s jacket pocket, moving in quiet sync through the evening crowd. The air had grown cooler, but the city felt warmer somehow—lights strung between buildings, voices rising and falling, the distant sound of music drifting through the streets.

At some point, the street opened up—and with it, a night market. Rows of stalls lined both sides, glowing under hanging bulbs. The smell hit first—grilled meat, spices, something sweet frying in oil. Voices overlapped in different languages, vendors calling out, laughter spilling into the open air. Y/N slowed slightly, and then—her stomach growled. Loud.

Wanda blinked, then laughed—not a quiet laugh, but a bright one that slipped out before she could stop it, cutting clean through the lingering tension from earlier. Y/N stiffened beside her. “…Don’t,” she muttered, a faint flush already creeping up her neck.

Wanda turned to her, still smiling. “Didn’t you just eat three slices of cake?”

Y/N looked away immediately. “That was… earlier.”

“That was twenty minutes ago,” Wanda said, amused.

Y/N’s blush deepened. “I burn energy faster,” she defended, a little quieter now.

Wanda’s smile softened instantly—adorable. Without really thinking about it, she lifted her free hand and reached up, fingers brushing gently through Y/N’s hair, soft and lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Y/N froze completely. Wanda noticed—and didn’t pull away right away.

“…Come on,” she said softly instead, giving her hair one last light stroke before lowering her hand. Then she tugged her forward, still holding her other hand in the pocket. “Let’s get food.”

Y/N blinked, still slightly stunned, but followed without resistance as Wanda led her toward the stalls. “Anything specific?” Wanda asked, glancing back at her.

Y/N shook her head. “Anything.”

A small huff of amusement. “Figures.”

They stepped into the market together, lights brighter here, warmth wrapping around them from every direction. The first stall they stopped at was already crowded—skewers sizzling over open flame, fat dripping and hissing as it hit the coals. The smell alone was enough to make Y/N’s stomach growl again. Wanda raised an eyebrow. Y/N pretended not to notice.

“Two,” Wanda said to the vendor, pointing.

Y/N leaned slightly closer, eyes tracking the movement of the grill. “Four.”

Wanda glanced at her. Y/N didn’t look away. “…Four.”

Wanda smiled faintly. “Four.”

They stepped aside to wait, the heat from the grill fading quickly once they moved out of the stall’s glow, the cold creeping back in almost immediately. Wanda’s shoulders tensed—just slightly. Y/N noticed. Of course she did. Without saying anything, she shifted closer, then closer still, until there was no space left between them. One arm came around Wanda’s shoulders, pulling her in against her chest—natural, easy, like it wasn’t even a question.

Wanda blinked, caught off guard for half a second as warmth wrapped around her again, stronger this time. “Y/N—”

“You’re cold,” Y/N said simply.

Wanda hesitated, then relaxed into it. “…A little.”

Y/N hummed softly, her grip adjusting just enough to be more comfortable, her chin almost brushing the top of Wanda’s head. They stayed like that while they waited—close, warm, the noise of the market fading just a little around them.

When the food was ready, Wanda stepped forward to grab it, but Y/N didn’t let go completely. Her arm lingered loosely around Wanda’s shoulders as they moved aside again. The first bite barely lasted a second. Y/N ate fast—not messy, but efficient, like she was fueling more than just hunger.

Wanda laughed under her breath as she took a slower bite of her own. “You’re not even tasting it.”

“I am.”

“You inhaled that.”

“I tasted it fast.”

Wanda shook her head, smiling.

They didn’t stop there. Next stall—something fried, crisp and golden, dusted with sugar. Y/N took a bite and paused for half a second. “…This is good.”

Wanda grinned. “High praise.”

Then something savory wrapped in thin bread, then dumplings, then something sweet again that Wanda insisted on trying—only for Y/N to end up finishing most of it anyway.

“Hey—that was mine,” Wanda protested lightly as Y/N took the last piece.

“You weren’t eating it.”

“I was going to.”

“You hesitated.”

Wanda stared at her. “…You’re unbelievable.”

Y/N shrugged, completely unbothered. “You can get another one.”

Wanda huffed—but she was smiling again.

At some point, their hands slipped back together naturally, no hesitation this time, fingers finding each other like it had already become habit. They walked slower now, weaving through the stalls, sharing bites here and there—well, Wanda sharing, Y/N mostly eating. But it didn’t feel one-sided. It felt easy, comfortable, normal.

Y/N slowed near another stall, watching as something was prepared, her attention fully caught again. Wanda glanced up at her—at the way her eyes tracked everything, at the faint flush still lingering from earlier, at how relaxed she looked now.

“…You’re happy,” Wanda said quietly.

Y/N blinked, like she hadn’t realized it. “…Yeah,” she admitted after a second.

Wanda smiled.

They stood there together, waiting for yet another order, Y/N’s arm slipping back—this time around her waist without thought. It was different, closer, and Wanda felt it immediately. Her breath hitched just slightly as Y/N’s hand settled at her side, thumb resting against the fabric of her jacket, steady and warm. There was no hesitation in the touch, no question—just instinct.

Wanda didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into it, subtle but enough that the space between them disappeared completely.

The vendor called out something in Hungarian, and Y/N’s attention shifted forward again, focused on the food. Wanda watched her instead—the way her jaw moved slightly as she waited, the way her eyes tracked every motion behind the stall, the way her hand stayed right where it was on Wanda’s waist.

Like it belonged there.

Wanda swallowed softly. She didn’t say anything, didn’t point it out. Instead, she watched her.

Y/N’s attention had already drifted back to the stalls, eyes moving from one display to another, tracking everything with quiet focus. Every now and then, her gaze would linger just a second longer on something specific. And then—a small, unconscious movement. She licked her lips.

Wanda’s breath caught.

It was subtle, barely noticeable, but once she saw it, she couldn’t *unsee* it. Y/N did it again a moment later, eyes fixed on another stall further down, clearly already planning what she wanted next.

Wanda felt warmth creep up her neck. God.

She forced her gaze away—then back again without meaning to.

The vendor called out, pulling Y/N’s attention forward. Her hand slipped away from Wanda’s waist as she stepped up to grab the food. And just like that, the warmth disappeared.

Wanda felt it immediately—the absence, her body registering it before her mind could catch up. For a split second, she missed it. Actually missed it. The realization made her blink, a flicker of something like disappointment settling in her chest.

But before it could linger, Y/N turned back, already splitting the food in half. “Here,” she said, handing a portion to Wanda without hesitation, like it was automatic—like sharing with her was just part of the process.

Wanda smiled instantly—soft, real. The feeling from before easing just a little as she took it, their fingers brushing briefly. “Thank you,” she said.

Y/N nodded once, already taking a bite of her own, attention shifting back to the taste, to the moment, to everything around them.

Wanda watched her for a second longer, then took a bite herself—and stayed close.

She smiled even more when, the second Y/N finished her portion, she stepped right back in—closing the space again without hesitation. Her arm slipped around Wanda’s waist like it had never left, warm and steady, pulling her gently back against her front as if it was the most natural place to be while she waited.

And then she just… watched.

Not subtly, not even a little. Her eyes tracked every movement of Wanda’s hand as she ate, attention locked onto the food like she was already calculating her next bite. Wanda tried to keep a straight face—she really did—but the longer it went on, the harder it became.

“You’re staring,” she said, amused.

Y/N didn’t even deny it. “You’re eating slow.”

Wanda huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe because someone already ate everything else.”

“I didn’t eat everything.”

“You ate most of it.”

Y/N shrugged slightly behind her, completely unapologetic.

Wanda took another bite, but her attention drifted for a moment—because they were close, very close. Y/N’s body pressed lightly against her back, her arm firm around her waist, holding her in place without force. Anyone passing by would’ve seen it instantly—a couple. The thought slipped in without warning.

Wanda didn’t pull away, didn’t even realize how much she’d leaned into her until her shoulder brushed Y/N’s chest again. She laughed softly under her breath and lifted the food slightly. “Do you want some?”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s yours.”

“It’s fine,” Wanda said easily. “I’m not that hungry. And you’re going to keep eating anyway.”

A small pause, then Y/N nodded. “Okay.”

Wanda held the piece up—and Y/N didn’t take it. Didn’t reach for it. Instead, she leaned down, close—too close—and took a bite directly from Wanda’s hand.

Wanda froze.

Her breath caught as she felt it—the warmth, the proximity, the way Y/N’s focus didn’t waver even for a second as she pulled back, chewing like nothing had happened, like that was normal. Wanda’s heart kicked hard against her ribs, heat rushing up her neck and across her cheeks.

“…Y/N,” she murmured, a little breathless.

Y/N glanced at her. “What?”

Wanda blinked. She had no idea what she was going to say. “…Nothing.”

Y/N nodded, accepting it immediately, already leaning in again slightly as if considering another bite. Wanda swallowed, her hand still raised, still holding the food, and suddenly she was very aware of it—of everything. The closeness, the way Y/N’s arm was still around her waist, the way her body hadn’t moved away.

Her heart didn’t slow down.

But she didn’t stop her either.

Instead, she lifted the food again just a little—and let Y/N take another bite.

Wanda held the food there for a second longer than necessary, watching Y/N take another bite like it was the most normal thing in the world—and maybe for her, it was. Y/N chewed, swallowed, then leaned back just enough to give Wanda space again, but her arm never left Wanda’s waist. Still there. Still warm. Still grounding.

Wanda lowered her hand slowly, her fingers feeling a little unsteady.

What is wrong with me?

Her heart was still racing—too fast, too loud for something this simple. She forced herself to take another bite, but she barely tasted it this time, her thoughts already turning inward, spiraling in a way she didn’t like. Why was she reacting like this? It was just Y/N—the same Y/N who had been beside her for weeks, who had carried her through forests, kept her warm, made sure she ate, stayed close without ever asking for anything in return.

So why did her chest feel tight? Why did her stomach flip every time Y/N got closer? Why did something as simple as being held—being looked at like that—make her feel like she couldn’t breathe properly?

Wanda swallowed, her grip on the food tightening slightly.

Then the thought came, quiet but impossible to ignore.

Am I catching feelings?

Her breath hitched.

No. That didn’t make sense. It couldn’t. She had just gotten out of a relationship. Everything was messy. They were on the run. Of course things would feel intense. Of course she’d cling to the one person she had right now.

That had to be it.

Right?

Her eyes flicked sideways. Y/N was still there—close, steady, watching her again with that same quiet attentiveness. Not intrusive, not demanding—just present.

Wanda’s heart skipped again.

She looked away quickly, heat rising to her face.

Why did she like this so much?

That was the worst part—not the confusion, not the racing thoughts. It was the fact that she didn’t want Y/N to move, didn’t want her arm to leave, didn’t want that warmth to disappear again.

Wanda exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, but her body betrayed her—leaning just a fraction more into Y/N without thinking, seeking it.

God.

Her lips pressed together as she stared down at what was left of the food in her hand.

This wasn’t good. This was complicated.

And yet—

She didn’t pull away, didn’t step out of Y/N’s hold, didn’t stop herself from offering another bite a moment later.

Because whatever this was—confusing, unwanted, too much—

It also felt right.

---

Y/N’s POV

The rest of the night blurred into movement and light. They drifted from one stall to another, the rhythm easy now—stop, look, eat, move again. Some places had sizzling grills, others rows of sweets stacked in neat displays, and further down, small tents selling handmade things—bracelets, scarves, little trinkets that caught Wanda’s attention more than the food sometimes.

Y/N followed wherever Wanda went. She didn’t even question it. If Wanda slowed, she slowed. If Wanda stopped, she stopped. If Wanda lingered at something, Y/N stayed beside her, one arm still loosely around her waist more often than not. It felt right. Simple.

Wanda laughed more tonight—that was the first thing Y/N noticed. Not the food, though it was good. Not the lights, not the noise, not even the fact that they were standing in the open without immediately scanning every shadow. It was Wanda. The way her shoulders weren’t as tense, the way her eyes lit up when she saw something new, the way her voice softened when she pointed things out—small details most people would’ve ignored.

Y/N liked that. A lot.

She didn’t say it, but she stayed close.

At one of the stalls, Wanda paused in front of a display of small handmade charms, picking one up to examine it. Y/N watched her instead of the items, her gaze softer than usual. “You like it?” she asked.

Wanda glanced back at her, then down at the charm again. “It’s cute.”

“Get it.”

Wanda shook her head lightly. “We don’t need extra things.”

Y/N didn’t argue, but a few seconds later she stepped forward anyway, quietly paying for it while Wanda was distracted by something else on the table. 

They kept walking after that, stopping for more food because Y/N kept finding things she “hadn’t tried yet.” Wanda teased her about it but didn’t stop her. If anything, she encouraged it, occasionally stealing small bites just to prove she could.

At some point, Wanda leaned into her again without thinking. Y/N noticed—of course she did—and her arm tightened slightly around Wanda’s waist in response.

They didn’t talk about it.

Didn’t need to. The night stretched on like that—easy, warm, almost normal.

On the way back to the Airbnb, the noise of the market slowly faded behind them, replaced by quieter streets and softer light. The air had grown colder again, but neither of them seemed to mind. Their hands found each other somewhere along the way—no hesitation, no second guessing, just fingers slipping together naturally like it had already become something familiar.

They talked lightly this time, nothing about Hydra or plans—just small things. The food. Wanda teasing Y/N for how much she ate. Y/N defending herself with quiet seriousness.

“I still think you could’ve eaten more,” Y/N said.

Wanda laughed softly. “I had plenty.”

“You had half of what I had.”

“That’s because you ate like five people.”

“Four,” Y/N corrected.

Wanda shook her head, smiling, their hands tightening slightly around each other as they walked. Neither of them acknowledged it—but neither let go either.

By the time they reached the Airbnb, the city had quieted. The hallway was dim, and the silence settled around them as soon as the door closed. Inside, it was warm and still.

Wanda slipped off her shoes, stretching slightly as she stepped further in. Y/N lingered by the door for a moment, watching her, then reached into her pocket.

“Wanda.”

She turned. “Yeah?”

Y/N walked toward her, something small in her hand. “I got you something.”

Wanda blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

Y/N opened her hand.

A necklace. Simple. Dark chain. And at the center—a small black wolf pendant.

Wanda stilled. She recognized it instantly—the stall, the moment she had paused, the way she had picked it up just for a second because it reminded her of Y/N.

Her eyes lifted slowly. “…You saw that?”

Y/N shrugged lightly. “You looked at it.”

Wanda’s chest tightened. She stepped closer, fingers brushing over the pendant, tracing its shape. It did look like her—strong, quiet, a little dangerous, and somehow comforting.

“It’s… really beautiful,” Wanda said softly.

Y/N’s gaze softened just a fraction. “Yeah. I thought so too.”

A small silence settled between them before Wanda looked back up, something gentler in her expression. “…Will you help me put it on?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

Wanda turned, lifting her hair slightly. Y/N stepped closer, her fingers careful as she fastened the clasp behind Wanda’s neck, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

Wanda felt it. Her breath slowed.

Y/N’s hands dropped. “…Done.”

Wanda turned back, fingers immediately finding the pendant again. She smiled—soft, real. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Y/N nodded, but didn’t step back. Didn’t create distance.

They just stood there, close.

And the necklace rested right over Wanda’s heart.

Wanda turned slightly, her fingers still resting on the pendant.

Y/N’s hand lifted without thinking, brushing gently against it where it lay against Wanda’s chest. Her fingertips traced the small black wolf, adjusting it so it sat properly, centered. Wanda’s breath caught. She looked up.

Too close.

Y/N was right there—closer than before, her hand still lightly holding the pendant, her gaze dropping for just a second before lifting to meet Wanda’s.

And then they froze.

No movement. No sound. Just the quiet hum of the room and the space between them suddenly feeling too small. Wanda could feel it again—that pull, that tight warmth in her chest, the way her heart started racing for no reason she could explain.

Y/N didn’t move either. Their eyes locked.

And for a second, neither of them looked away.

Wanda’s breath slowed, then faltered.

This is—too much. Too close. Too—

She snapped out of it, abruptly turning away so fast it almost felt like she broke something fragile between them.

“I—I’m going to shower,” she said quickly, her voice just slightly off. “And… get ready for bed.”

She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t look back—just moved, fast, grabbing her things and heading straight for the bathroom. The door shut with a soft click.

Silence filled the room again.

Y/N stood there for a second longer, her hand still half-raised where the pendant had been. Her fingers curled slowly—confused. Then she lowered her hand, her gaze lingering on the closed bathroom door.

“…Okay,” she murmured quietly.

Y/N stayed where she was for a moment, eyes still on the closed bathroom door. Then slowly, a small smile formed.

Wanda was wearing it.

The way the pendant had looked against her skin, the way Wanda had touched it like it meant something. Like she meant something.

Y/N exhaled softly, then turned and walked over to the bed before dropping onto it—not properly, just flopping across it sideways, one arm hanging off the edge, legs still half bent. Relaxed, for once. She stared up at the ceiling, the faint hum of the room settling around her.

And she smiled. A real one, unfiltered.

Because Wanda had liked it. Because Wanda had stayed close. Because Wanda hadn’t pulled away. Her chest felt warm, full, and her thoughts drifted—inevitably—back to the same place they always did when it came to Wanda.

My Imprint.

The word settled in her mind, certain, unchangeable.

Wanda was hers.

Not in a possessive way, not something forced or taken—just meant. Like gravity. Like instinct. Like breathing.

Y/N lifted her hand slightly, staring at it like she could still feel the warmth of Wanda’s skin from earlier, the way her fingers had fit between hers so easily, the way she had leaned into her, the way she hadn’t moved away.

Her smile softened.

Maybe… maybe she could tell her.

The thought came carefully this time—not rushed, not overwhelming. Just there.

Wanda deserved to know. She deserved to understand why Y/N stayed close, why she noticed everything, why it felt impossible to let her out of her sight for too long—why being near her felt like home.

Y/N exhaled slowly, one arm coming up to rest behind her head. “…Maybe,” she murmured to herself.

Not yet. Not like this.

But soon.

She turned her head slightly, eyes flicking toward the bathroom door again—waiting, patient, and still smiling.

---

Wanda’s POV

The shower didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse.

Wanda stood under the water longer than she needed to, letting it run over her shoulders, her face, trying to quiet the storm in her chest—but her thoughts kept circling back. To the pendant. To Y/N’s hand. To how close they had been. To how, for a split second, she had almost leaned in—almost closed the distance.

Almost—

Wanda exhaled sharply, pressing her palm briefly against the cool tile. “…God.”

She couldn’t pretend anymore. This wasn’t just stress, not just proximity, not just survival instincts clinging to the only person she had. This was feelings—real ones. And that realization sat heavy in her chest as she turned off the water, dried off quickly, and got dressed.

By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, her hair still slightly damp, her expression softened—but the tension hadn’t completely left. She was going to say something. She had to. At least… something.

“Y/N, it’s your—”

She stopped.

Y/N was already on the bed, half on it, half off, like she had just dropped there and never bothered to move properly. One arm hung loosely off the side, her breathing slow and even.

Asleep. Completely.

Wanda blinked, then let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. “…Of course.”

The tension in her shoulders eased almost instantly. She stepped closer, slower this time, and sat down gently beside Y/N’s head. For a moment, she just watched her—the way her face softened in sleep, the way all that constant alertness finally disappeared, the faint rise and fall of her chest, steady, calm.

Peaceful.

Wanda’s expression softened.

Her hand lifted without thinking, fingers threading gently into Y/N’s hair, brushing through it slowly—familiar, comforting. The same way she used to when Y/N was in her wolf form, when she’d sit beside the bed and Wanda would reach down to run her fingers through soft fur.

Y/N leaned into the touch, even in her sleep.

Wanda’s breath caught. “…What are you doing to me, little wolf?” she whispered.

Y/N shifted slightly, leaning more into her hand, chasing the contact instinctively. Wanda’s heart stuttered, then picked up faster. Her hand stilled for a second, then moved again, slower this time. Her fingers drifted lower, brushing along Y/N’s temple, then her cheek.

Soft. Warm.

Her thumb hovered, then traced lightly over Y/N’s lips.

Wanda froze, her breath hitching.

She should stop. She knew she should stop.

But she didn’t.

Her eyes dropped to Y/N’s mouth, her thumb still resting there, and something in her chest tightened, pulling her forward before she could think it through. Before she could stop herself, she leaned down and pressed a soft, quick kiss to the corner of Y/N’s mouth.

The moment it happened, Wanda jolted back like she’d been burned. Her hand snapped away, her heart slamming violently against her ribs.

“Oh my—”

Her eyes widened, panic flooding in instantly as she stared at Y/N, still asleep, still unmoving.

“I—”

She pressed her hand to her mouth, her breath coming faster.

“What did I just do?”

Wanda’s heart wouldn’t slow down.

It felt like it was trying to break out of her chest, loud and frantic, every beat echoing in her ears. She stared at Y/N—still asleep, still completely unaware—and somehow that made it worse. How was she just… sleeping? After that? After Wanda had just—

Wanda dragged a hand down her face, pacing once in place before stopping again, eyes snapping back to Y/N. “…Are you serious right now?”

Nothing. Y/N didn’t even stir.

The calm of it, the peace of it—it irritated her. Not really at Y/N, but it had nowhere else to go.

“Unbelievable,” Wanda muttered under her breath, heat still burning across her face.

Before she could think better of it, she grabbed a pillow and threw it. It hit Y/N square in the head.

Y/N jolted up instantly—fully alert, eyes sharp, body tensing like she was ready for a fight, gaze snapping around the room in less than a second. “What—?”

Her eyes landed on Wanda.

Confused.

“…What happened?”

Wanda froze for half a second, caught between embarrassment and panic, her face still bright red. “I—nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

Y/N frowned slightly, still trying to assess the situation. “You threw a pillow at me.”

“I didn’t throw it,” Wanda snapped, then immediately regretted how sharp it came out. “I just—”

She cut herself off, turning away abruptly. “Just go shower.”

Y/N blinked. “…Okay?”

There was a pause. Y/N glanced down at herself—still in the same clothes from outside, a little wrinkled, maybe slightly dusty from the bed. Realization clicked in her head.

“…Oh.”

She stood up without arguing. “Sorry,” she said simply. “I didn’t mean to get the bed dirty.”

Wanda pressed her lips together, guilt flickering briefly, but she didn’t turn back.

Y/N didn’t question it further. She just grabbed her things and headed toward the bathroom. The door closed behind her.

And the second it did, Wanda let out a long, frustrated groan, dropping onto the bed and covering her face with both hands.

“…What is wrong with me?”

---

The sound of the shower cutting off was the only warning Wanda had.

She had been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes, the words blurring into meaningless shapes as her mind replayed that reckless, impulsive kiss over and over. She needed to be normal. She needed to be the cool, composed Wanda Maximoff who hadn't just had a minor heart attack because her “friend” was sleeping.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Wanda looked up, ready to offer a casual, distant nod. Instead, the book nearly slipped from her numb fingers.

Y/N stepped into the room, a cloud of steam following her. She wasn't wearing a shirt—just a tight black sports bra that left very little to the imagination and a pair of loose athletic shorts. She was focused on her hair, vigorously rubbing a towel over her head, her muscles shifting and rippling with every movement.

Wanda froze. Her breath didn't just hitch; it died in her throat.

"Why..." Wanda’s voice came out as a strained squeak. She cleared her throat, trying again. "Why are you shirtless?"

Y/N pulled the towel away, her hair a messy, damp halo around her face. She looked at Wanda with those steady, honest eyes, completely oblivious to the internal meltdown she was causing. "I'm hot," Y/N said simply. "The shower was steaming, and my internal temp is higher anyway. Is it a problem?"

"No," Wanda managed, though her brain was screaming yes.

Despite her best efforts to look literally anywhere else, Wanda’s eyes betrayed her. They traveled. She saw the damp skin of Y/N’s shoulders, the way the sports bra hugged her chest, the defined, powerful lines of her abs that flexed as she moved to toss the towel aside. And then, her gaze dipped lower—following the trail of water droplets past the waistband of the shorts toward Y/N's crotch.

The heat that flooded Wanda’s face was instantaneous and agonizing. It felt like her skin was actually on fire.

The heat that flooded Wanda’s face was instantaneous and agonizing. It felt like her skin was actually on fire, the blood rushing to her cheeks with such force it made her ears ring.

"Wanda?" Y/N’s voice was low, vibrating with that steady, grounding tone that usually calmed her, but right now it only made the fire spread. "Your face is really red. Are you having a reaction to something?"

Wanda didn't answer with words. Instead, she moved with a frantic, jerky speed, snapping her head away and nearly fumbling her book onto the floor. She shoved it onto the nightstand without looking and scrambled further down under the covers, pulling the duvet up until only the very top of her head was visible.

"I'm fine!" she muffled into the fabric, her voice sounding strangled even to her own ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force her heart to stop hammering against her ribs. She was a Master of Chaos Magic, a woman who had faced down titans, yet she was currently hiding from a pair of shoulders.

Then, she felt it. The mattress dipped. The heavy, solid weight of Y/N shifted the bed behind her. Wanda stiffened, her breath hitching as she felt the heat radiating from Y/N’s body—a heat that had nothing to do with the shower and everything to do with the proximity.

"Wanda, look at me," Y/N murmured.

Suddenly, a face peeked over the edge of the duvet, looking down at her. Y/N had propped herself up on one elbow, her damp hair hanging over her forehead, those intense eyes searching Wanda's for any sign of injury or illness. From this angle, the sports bra left even less to the imagination, the curve of her collarbone just inches from Wanda’s nose.

"Go to sleep, Y/N," Wanda hissed, clutching the blanket tighter.

"Not if you're sick," Y/N countered stubbornly. She didn't move. In fact, she lay down fully behind Wanda, her front pressing dangerously close to Wanda’s back. "You're warm. Let me check." Y/N reached out, her hand sliding over the silk of Wanda’s sleeve to find the bare skin of her arm. It wasn't a grab; it was a caress—slow, firm, and devastatingly gentle.

Wanda snapped. The friction of Y/N’s palm against her skin was the final spark. Driven by a mix of frantic embarrassment, overwhelming desire, and the sheer exhaustion of hiding, Wanda whipped around to face her.

"I told you I'm—" The words died.

She froze. Turning around had been a mistake. Y/N was right there—breath-to-breath, skin-to-skin. The sight of her shirtless, the scent of rain and cedarwood clinging to her damp skin, and the raw, honest concern in her eyes stripped away the last of Wanda’s defenses.

Y/N opened her mouth to ask one more time if she was okay, her lips parting just a fraction. But Wanda didn't give her the chance.

She lunged forward, her hands tangling into Y/N’s damp hair, and pulled her down. She kissed her hard—desperate and bruising—silencing the questions and the logic and the world outside the room all at once.

The kiss was a sudden, violent collision of everything they had been holding back for weeks. But as quickly as the spark had ignited, Wanda’s mind caught up to her body. She pulled away with a sharp gasp, her chest heaving as she scrambled backward against the headboard. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering with a sudden, sharp panic.

“I—I’m sorry,” Wanda stammered, her voice trembling. “Y/N, I shouldn't have—I didn't mean to just—”

She didn't get to finish the apology. Y/N moved like a shadow, closing the distance before Wanda could even blink. She didn't ask; she didn't hesitate. She surged forward and captured Wanda’s lips in a kiss that was deeper, hungrier, and far more demanding than the first. It wasn't a question—it was an answer.

Wanda let out a soft, broken moan against Y/N’s mouth, her panic dissolving into pure, unadulterated heat. The kiss was intense, flavored with the lingering sweetness of the market treats and the sharp, clean scent of the shower. It was a desperate exchange, their tongues tangling as they tried to make up for every moment they had spent pretending they didn't want this.

Wanda’s hands, which had been trembling with fear a second ago, now gripped Y/N’s bare shoulders with a bruising force. She felt the damp, smooth skin, the hard muscle beneath, and it wasn't enough. She wanted more. She wanted the weight.

Driven by a sudden, fierce need, Wanda hooked her fingers into the waistband of Y/N’s shorts and pulled. She guided Y/N up and over her, and Y/N followed the movement without a second of resistance, sliding between Wanda’s legs until she was hovering directly over her.

The contact was electric. Wanda wrapped her legs around Y/N’s waist, pulling her flush against her. The feeling of Y/N’s sports bra-clad chest pressing into her own, their heartbeats slamming together in a frantic, syncopated rhythm, made the world outside the room vanish.

Y/N’s hands were everywhere—clutching Wanda’s waist, sliding up to cup her face, then tangling deep into her hair to tilt her head back and deepen the kiss even further. They were both gasping for air, their breaths hitching and catching, but neither would break the contact. It was a scramble of limbs and desperate, wandering hands. Every touch felt like a brand. Wanda’s fingers traced the line of Y/N’s spine, marveling at the strength there, while Y/N’s thumb grazed the line of Wanda’s jaw, her touch firm and possessive.

The air in the room felt thick, heavy with a heat that was quickly spiraling out of control. Every time their lips met, it was like a fresh jolt of electricity, leaving Wanda’s head spinning and her body humming with a desperate, localized ache.

They continued to kiss frantically, their movements uncoordinated and driven by pure, raw instinct. When Y/N shifted, grinding her crotch firmly between Wanda’s legs, the friction sent a jolt of pleasure so sharp through Wanda’s system that she couldn't stop the long, broken moan that escaped her throat. The sound was swallowed by Y/N’s mouth, fueling the fire even more.

Through the thin fabric of the athletic shorts, Wanda could feel the unmistakable, rigid heat of Y/N—she was hard already, responding to Wanda with a ferocity that made Wanda’s heart skip a beat. Desperate to close the final bit of distance, Wanda’s hand wandered down, her fingers trembling as they slipped beneath the elastic waistband of Y/N’s shorts. The contact with skin—real, hot, bare skin—was almost too much to bear.

“Wanda…”

Y/N’s voice was soft, a mere breath against her ear. Wanda didn't stop; she leaned into the sound, letting out a soft, affirmative hum as she tilted her head to give Y/N better access to her neck. She wanted this. She wanted all of it.

“Wanda?”

The name was louder this time, tinged with a note of confusion that didn't fit the rhythm of the moment.

“Wanda!”

The world shattered.

Wanda’s eyes snapped open, and the weight of Y/N’s body, the heat of the kiss, and the friction of the sheets vanished in a heartbeat. The suffocatingly hot air of the Budapest night was suddenly replaced by the cool, quiet stillness of the bedroom.

Wanda blinked, her breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. She wasn't pinned under a beautiful, shirtless wolf; she was sitting upright against the headboard, her knuckles white as she gripped the edges of her book. The pages were crinkled where her fingers had dug in, and she realized with a jolt of horror that she hadn't moved a single inch.

Beside the bed, Y/N was standing perfectly still, the towel still draped over her damp hair. She was wearing her sports bra and shorts, just as she had been when she walked out of the bathroom, but there was no hunger in her eyes—only deep, furrowed concern.

“Wanda?” Y/N asked again, her voice low and cautious. “Are you okay? You were… you were staring at that page for like three minutes without blinking. Your heart rate just went through the roof.”

Wanda felt the phantom sensation of Y/N’s skin still lingering on her fingertips. Did she really imagine all of that? Her face, which she thought had reached its limit of redness, somehow managed to burn even hotter.

“I—I…” Wanda stammered, her eyes darting to the book, then to the floor, then anywhere that wasn't Y/N’s bare midriff. “I just… the book. It got very… interesting.”

She snapped the book shut with a loud thwack, her hands shaking so much she had to tuck them under the covers. “I’m fine,” she managed, though her voice was a octave higher than usual. “Just… got lost in thought. I’m fine!”

Y/N didn’t look convinced. Her brows were still slightly furrowed as she stepped closer, slow and careful, like Wanda might bolt if she moved too fast. Without asking, she lifted her hand and pressed it gently against Wanda’s forehead.

Warm.

But not that kind of warm.

“…You’re really hot,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than anything.

Wanda’s entire body went rigid.

“I said I’m fine,” she insisted quickly, maybe a little too quickly, her voice still higher than usual.

Y/N’s hand lingered for a second longer, then slid slightly to the side of her face, thumb brushing her temple in a way that was meant to be grounding—

But only made Wanda’s heart spike again.

“I’m not sick,” Wanda added, softer this time but firm, pulling the blanket up slightly like a barrier. “Just tired.”

Y/N studied her for another moment. Searching. Listening.

Then, slowly, she nodded. “…Okay.” She didn’t fully believe it. But she let it go.

Wanda didn’t wait for anything else. She turned onto her side quickly, facing away from Y/N, pulling the blanket up just a little higher as if that could hide the heat still burning across her face. “Goodnight,” she murmured, quieter now.

Behind her, there was a brief pause, then the subtle shift of the mattress as Y/N moved, settling into the space beside her. Not too close. Not touching. Respecting the distance Wanda had just created.

“…Goodnight,” Y/N replied.

Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty.

Wanda’s eyes stayed open longer than she wanted, staring into the dimness of the room, her thoughts still racing—replaying everything: what she had imagined, what she had almost done earlier, what she was feeling now. Her heart hadn’t fully calmed, and the worst part—she could still feel it.

Phantom touches. Lingering warmth. The memory of something that hadn’t even happened.

Wanda squeezed her eyes shut.

Get it together.

Beside her, Y/N’s breathing slowly evened out—calm, steady, unaware.

And somehow—

That made everything harder.

---

Y/N’s POV

The next morning felt quieter—not awkward, not tense, just softer. Wanda didn’t bring up the night before, and Y/N didn’t push. Whatever had happened with Wanda, stayed unspoken.

They spent the morning walking through Budapest one last time, retracing familiar areas but taking different routes. Y/N slowed often, letting her senses stretch, filtering through the overwhelming mix of scents and sounds. Still nothing—no trace of Nat, no sign of Steve or Bucky, nothing recent enough to follow. By early afternoon, the city had grown louder, crowds thickening, the hum of life swallowing any chance of picking out something specific. Y/N exhaled as they paused near a quieter street corner. “…Nothing,” she said.

Wanda nodded, not surprised. “It was worth checking.”

Y/N glanced at her. Wanda didn’t look disappointed—just resolved. That made it easier.

“We should go,” Y/N said.

“Yeah,” Wanda agreed.

No hesitation this time. They went back, grabbed their things, and within an hour were at the station. The bus wasn’t full—just enough people to blend in. Y/N took the aisle seat automatically; Wanda chose the window. The engine rumbled to life, and slowly, Budapest slipped away behind them.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The scenery shifted from crowded streets to quieter outskirts, buildings thinning into open land. Wanda leaned her head lightly against the window, watching it pass. Y/N sat beside her, posture relaxed but attentive, eyes scanning out of habit—just not as sharp as before.

After a while, Wanda shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing against Y/N’s. She didn’t move away, and neither did Y/N. A few minutes later, Wanda’s hand slipped between them—not fully reaching, just there. Close.

Y/N noticed.

After a second, her fingers moved gently, carefully finding Wanda’s and intertwining them like it was something they didn’t question anymore. Wanda didn’t look at her. She just let it happen, her hand settling in Y/N’s as she kept her gaze on the road ahead.

The bus carried them forward—away from Budapest, toward the next city, toward whatever came next.

Together.

---

The next city blurred into motion. They didn’t stay long—just enough to step off the bus, move through the station, and buy another ticket heading further out. Keep moving, no patterns, no time to settle. It had become routine—efficient, safe.

By the time they stepped back out into the streets, the sky had already begun to darken, lights flickering on across storefronts as people moved in steady evening rhythms—heading home, meeting friends, living normal lives that still felt slightly out of reach. “We still have time,” Wanda said, glancing around. “We should eat.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

They moved through the streets side by side, not rushing, blending into the flow. The air was cooler here, sharper than Budapest, carrying different scents—cleaner in some places, heavier in others. Y/N’s hand brushed Wanda’s briefly, then stayed. Wanda didn’t pull away.

They walked like that, quiet but comfortable, scanning casually for somewhere to eat—and then Y/N stopped. Abruptly.

Wanda took another step before realizing, her hand pulling slightly as Y/N didn’t move. “Y/N?”

No response.

Y/N’s head tilted slightly, her grip on Wanda’s hand tightening—not painful, but firm. Focused. She inhaled slowly, deep, again. The world around her shifted instantly—background noise fading, scents separating, layering, organizing—

And then—

There.

Faint, but unmistakable.

Y/N’s eyes sharpened. “…Nat.”

Wanda stilled. “What?”

Y/N turned slightly, scanning the street—not with her eyes, but with something deeper. “Scent,” she said quietly. “Faint. But it’s hers.”

Wanda’s breath caught. “Here?”

Y/N nodded once, then her head shifted again, following, tracking. “…Moving,” she added.

That changed everything.

Wanda’s posture straightened instantly, tension snapping back into place. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No doubt.

Y/N’s grip on her hand tightened again. “Come on.”

And then she moved—not running, but fast enough to weave through the crowd with purpose, pulling Wanda along with her. Her focus locked forward, every step guided by something only she could sense.

The scent shifted—subtle at first, then faster.

Y/N’s pace adjusted instantly, weaving tighter through people, cutting corners sharper. Wanda followed without question, her grip firm in Y/N’s hand as the city blurred around them.

“They’re moving,” Y/N said under her breath.

Wanda nodded, already scanning ahead, behind, above—anywhere someone could disappear.

The trail pulled them off the main street, into a narrower one—then narrower still. Until—a back street. Dimly lit, quiet, empty.

Y/N stopped abruptly. The scent stopped right there. Her eyes narrowed. “…No.”

Wanda turned in a slow circle, scanning every shadow, every doorway, every rooftop edge. “I don’t see anyone.”

“They’re here,” Y/N said, voice low, certain. “They didn’t vanish.”

She stepped forward slightly, head tilting, breathing in again—deeper this time, searching for any trace of movement.

Nothing. Too still. Too—

Her head snapped sharply to the side.

Movement.

Before Wanda could react, Y/N moved—fast. She yanked Wanda behind her with one arm while the other shot forward, catching a wrist mid-motion.

A gun.

Y/N’s grip locked around it instantly, stopping it cold before it could aim properly. Her body shifted between Wanda and the threat, shoulders squared, stance grounded. A low growl tore from her chest.

“Don’t.”

The person froze.

Small. Blonde. Her arm trapped in Y/N’s hold, the gun still in her hand but completely useless now.

Wanda’s heart pounded as she peered from behind Y/N’s shoulder, red energy flickering faintly at her fingertips.

Y/N’s growl deepened for a second—then she inhaled mid-growl and stilled.

Her grip didn’t loosen, but her expression changed—confusion cutting through the aggression. Her nose flared slightly, taking in the scent again, closer this time, stronger—

But wrong.

“…Why,” Y/N said slowly, her voice dropping into something more controlled, more dangerous in its quiet, “do you smell like her?”

The blonde woman didn’t move, didn’t fight.

Y/N’s eyes sharpened, golden flickering faintly at the edges. “Why do you smell like Nat?”

The blonde woman didn’t flinch—not at the growl, not at the grip tightening painfully around her wrist. Her eyes flicked from Y/N to Wanda, calm, too calm, taking everything in with sharp precision. Then they dropped briefly to Wanda’s hand, where faint scarlet energy still pulsed.

Recognition clicked.

“You are the Avengers,” she said, her accent unmistakably Russian, voice steady despite the situation.

Y/N’s grip tightened further. “Who are you?” she demanded, low and dangerous.

The woman’s wrist was still trapped, the gun caught between them, but she didn’t hiss, didn’t struggle. If anything, she looked mildly unimpressed.

“Relax,” she said flatly. “I’m not a threat.”

Before Y/N could respond, the woman twisted her wrist just enough—not breaking free by force, but slipping out with controlled precision. Y/N let her go, but didn’t step back, her body still firmly between Wanda and the stranger. The gun stayed in the woman’s hand, lowered but not gone.

She adjusted her stance slightly, then looked directly at Y/N again. “If I smell like Natasha,” she said, “it is because she is my sister.”

Wanda’s breath caught.

She stepped out from behind Y/N, moving to her side, eyes narrowing as she studied the woman more closely now—the blonde hair, the stance, the confidence.

Recognition hit.

“…You’re Yelena?” Wanda said.

The woman’s gaze shifted to her, a small tilt of her head. “Yes.”

A beat.

Then, dryly—

“Now care to explain what happened to my sister?”

---

Lizzie’s voice was bright and breathless, a mix of surprise and excitement as she grabbed Y/N’s wrist and pressed her hand firmly against her stomach.

Elizabeth Olsen was practically glowing—hair messy, one of Y/N’s oversized shirts draped over her frame, the fabric barely disguising the curve that had become impossible to ignore.

Y/N barely had time to react before—

A kick. Strong. Clear.

Her eyes widened instantly. “…Oh—wow.”

“I told you!” Lizzie laughed, her whole face lighting up. “They’ve been doing that all morning.”

Y/N didn’t pull her hand away. If anything, she pressed closer, her palm spreading over Lizzie’s stomach like she was trying to memorize the exact spot.

Another kick followed, lighter this time.

Y/N let out a quiet huff of amusement. “Okay, that one’s got attitude.”

“Oh?” Lizzie tilted her head, amused. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means,” Y/N said, lowering herself slightly, her voice softening, “one of them is definitely going to keep us up at night.”

Lizzie snorted. “One of them?”

Y/N grinned faintly. “Okay, fine. Both.”

Another small movement shifted under her hand, and this time Y/N didn’t just feel it—she leaned in. Slowly. Carefully. Her lips brushed against Lizzie’s stomach through the thin fabric.

A soft kiss.

Lizzie went still.

Y/N lingered there for a moment before pressing another kiss, softer this time, more deliberate. “Hi, babies…” she murmured against her skin.

The response was almost immediate—a small, distinct kick.

Y/N pulled back just enough to laugh under her breath. “Yeah, okay. Message received.”

Lizzie’s fingers slid into her hair, gentle and grounding. “I think they like you.”

“I would hope so,” Y/N teased quietly, pressing one last kiss before resting her forehead there instead.

For a moment, neither of them spoke—just feeling, living in it.

---

A few minutes later, Lizzie shifted slightly on the couch, adjusting until she was more comfortable, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach.

“…Can you make tea?” she asked softly.

Y/N looked up immediately. “Of course.”

Lizzie smiled, small but warm. “Thank you.”

Y/N leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her lips—soft, familiar—before standing. “I’ll be right back.”

Lizzie watched her disappear into the kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and the kettle being filled quickly following. For a second, everything felt… normal. Quiet. Safe.

Then—

Her phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times.

Lizzie frowned slightly, reaching over to grab it from the table. The screen lit up—notifications, mentions, articles. Her thumb hesitated… then tapped.

And there it was.

Photos from the Avengers: Infinity War press tour. Zoomed in. Analyzed. Circled.

“Is Elizabeth Olsen Pregnant?”

“Hidden Bump? Internet Thinks So”

“Loose Clothing Sparks Rumors”

Lizzie’s stomach dropped.

Her free hand instinctively moved over the curve of her belly, protective.

They had been careful. So careful. Baggy clothes. Angles. Timing. She thought they had more time.

Another notification popped up. And another.

Her jaw tightened slightly as she locked her phone, exhaling slowly. “…Okay,” she whispered to herself.

From the kitchen, Y/N’s voice drifted in, casual, unaware. “Chamomile or green?”

Lizzie blinked, the tension softening just a little at the sound of her. “…Chamomile,” she called back.

“Got it.”

The kettle clicked on. Water began to heat.

Lizzie looked down at her stomach again, her expression shifting—still worried, but softer now. Her hand rubbed gently over where the kicks had been.

“They’re figuring it out,” she murmured quietly.

Another small movement answered her.

Lizzie let out a shaky breath, a faint smile breaking through anyway. “…Yeah. I know.”

Footsteps approached.

Y/N appeared a moment later, carefully balancing two mugs, steam curling softly into the air. “Chamomile for you—”

She stopped mid-step.

“…Hey,” she said quietly.

Lizzie hadn’t realized her expression had given her away—but of course it had. It always did, with Y/N.

Y/N set one mug into Lizzie’s hands anyway, guiding her fingers around the warmth before placing the other on the table. She didn’t sit yet. She stayed right there, eyes searching her face.

“What’s wrong?”

Lizzie hesitated.

Then her lip wobbled—just slightly.

“They’re talking again,” she admitted softly. “Online… articles, comments… people trying to figure out if I’m pregnant.”

Y/N’s expression didn’t shift in surprise. Only softened.

Lizzie looked down, blinking quickly, but it didn’t stop the tears from gathering. “We were careful,” she whispered, voice catching. “I thought we had more time…”

That was all it took.

Y/N immediately set both mugs aside, barely caring about the tea anymore as she sat down and gently pulled Lizzie into her lap, wrapping her arms around her like instinct.

“Hey… hey,” she murmured, one hand cradling the back of her head, guiding her close. “It’s okay. It’s okay…”

Lizzie melted into her, burying her face into Y/N’s shoulder with a small, frustrated sound.

“I didn’t want this yet,” she mumbled. “I just— I wanted it to be ours a little longer…”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. “I know, baby.”

Her hand slid down, resting protectively over Lizzie’s stomach, thumb brushing gently back and forth.

“We both knew this would happen eventually,” she continued softly. “It’s… kind of impossible to hide forever. Not with the lives we have.”

Lizzie nodded faintly against her, though her pout didn’t fade. “Still…”

“I get it,” Y/N said immediately.

She pulled back just enough to see her face, her thumbs brushing away the tears that had slipped free. Then she leaned in, pressing gentle kisses to Lizzie’s cheeks—one, then the other.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Lizzie sniffled, her hands gripping lightly at Y/N’s shirt. “I just wanted it to be ours.”

Y/N’s expression softened even more. “It still is.”

Lizzie looked at her.

Y/N smiled faintly, nudging her nose against hers before continuing, “We don’t have to confirm anything. We don’t owe anyone that. Let them guess. Let them talk.”

Her hand slid back down to Lizzie’s stomach, resting there like it belonged.

“Because this?” she added quietly. “This is always going to be ours. No matter who figures it out.”

Lizzie’s shoulders slowly relaxed. Her breathing evened out.

“…Yeah?” she asked softly.

Y/N nodded, leaning in to kiss her properly this time—slow, grounding. “Yeah.”

A small kick followed beneath their hands.

Both of them paused.

Then Lizzie let out a quiet, teary laugh. “…I think they agree.”

Y/N smiled against her. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think they do too.”

Lizzie’s laughter lingered for a moment, soft and breathy, before it faded into something quieter.

Her fingers twisted lightly in Y/N’s shirt as she looked down, voice small again. “…I’m sorry.”

Y/N frowned immediately. “For what?”

“For… this,” Lizzie gestured vaguely, her nose scrunching as she wiped at the last of her tears. “Crying over things like that. It’s stupid, I just— I get so emotional lately and I can’t control it.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She shifted her grip slightly, one hand coming up to cup Lizzie’s cheek, guiding her to look at her.

“Hey. No,” she said gently. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Lizzie huffed softly. “Even if my moods are all over the place because of the pregnancy?”

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “Especially then.”

Lizzie blinked. “…What?”

“I love it,” Y/N said simply.

Lizzie stared at her like she’d just said something ridiculous. “You love it?”

Y/N nodded, completely serious—at first.

“I love every mood swing you have,” she continued, her thumb brushing over Lizzie’s cheek again. “The soft ones, the clingy ones, the emotional ones…”

She paused.

Then her expression shifted—just slightly. A smirk.

“And especially the ones where you wake me up in the middle of the night because you’re in the mood.”

She wiggled her brows.

Lizzie froze for half a second—then burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” she groaned, hiding her face briefly in Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But I’m right,” Y/N shot back, clearly pleased with herself.

Lizzie shook her head, still smiling, before pulling back just enough to look at her again. There was something softer there now. Warmer.

Her hand came up to rest against Y/N’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly over her skin.

Then she leaned in—and kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Not rushed, not teasing—just full of everything she couldn’t quite put into words.

Y/N melted into it instantly, one arm tightening around her waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of her neck, holding her there—grounding her.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.

Lizzie’s eyes stayed on hers.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Y/N smiled softly, brushing her nose against Lizzie’s.

“I love you too.”

Another small kick nudged between them.

And this time—

Neither of them missed it.

The kick lingered between them like a quiet reminder.

Lizzie’s breath hitched softly, her eyes flickering down before she let out a small, amused exhale. “…They really have timing.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, her hand instinctively sliding back over Lizzie’s stomach, fingers splaying gently. “Yeah. Already interrupting.”

“Rude,” Lizzie murmured, though her smile gave her away.

They stayed like that for a moment—foreheads resting together, bodies close, Y/N’s arms secure around her, grounding her in a way nothing else quite could. The tension from earlier had softened into something warm again. Safe.

Lizzie shifted slightly, getting more comfortable in Y/N’s lap, one arm looping loosely around her neck. “We’re really doing this,” she said quietly.

Y/N tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Lizzie glanced down at her stomach, then back at her. “…This. Us. Them.”

There was no fear in her voice now—just awe.

Y/N’s expression softened completely. “Yeah,” she said gently. “We are.”

Another small movement brushed against her palm, and Y/N smiled, absentmindedly tracing slow circles over the spot.

Lizzie watched her for a second, something fond settling deep in her chest. “You’re going to spoil them.”

Y/N didn’t even look up. “Absolutely.”

Lizzie laughed softly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

That made Lizzie shake her head, but she leaned in anyway, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Y/N’s mouth. “We don’t even know who they are yet,” she murmured.

Y/N finally looked at her again, eyes warm. “Doesn’t matter.”

Lizzie’s lips curved. “…Yeah,” she whispered.

A quiet pause settled between them before Y/N glanced toward the table. “Your tea’s getting cold.”

Lizzie made a small noise of protest, tightening her hold slightly. “Don’t move.”

Y/N smirked. “Bossy.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Y/N admitted easily.

Still, she leaned just enough to grab the mugs, carefully handing one back to Lizzie before settling again, keeping her tucked close with one arm.

Lizzie took a small sip, sighing softly as the warmth spread through her.

For a while, neither of them spoke—just quiet sips, soft touches, the occasional tiny movement beneath their hands reminding them they weren’t alone anymore.

Lizzie rested her head against Y/N’s shoulder again, voice softer now. “…Do you think they can hear us?”

Y/N hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

Lizzie’s fingers traced absent patterns against Y/N’s collarbone. “Then they should know…”

She trailed off slightly, like she was choosing her words carefully.

Y/N glanced at her. “Know what?”

Lizzie smiled faintly, her hand drifting back down to her stomach. “That they’re already loved.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She just leaned down, pressing another gentle kiss to Lizzie’s temple, her hand covering Lizzie’s over her stomach.

“…Yeah,” she said quietly. “They definitely know.”

———

Y/N’s POV

I should’ve known it was a bad idea the second we stepped out of the car.

Not because of her—never because of her.

But because of the way the air shifted.

You get used to it, living this kind of life. The subtle change. The feeling of being watched before you actually *see* anyone. The quiet clicks in the distance that don’t belong.

I closed the car door and glanced around casually.

Yeah.

We weren’t alone.

“Y/N?” Lizzie’s voice pulled my attention back instantly.

I softened without thinking. “Yeah, baby?”

She adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder, one hand resting low on her stomach—absent, natural, like she didn’t even realize she was doing it anymore.

God.

Even with the oversized cardigan, the bump was there. Not obvious to everyone—but to me? Unmistakable.

“Are we getting everything for dinner tonight?” she asked.

I forced myself to focus, pushing the awareness of cameras to the back of my mind—for now. “Yeah. You wanted pasta, right?”

“And fruit,” she added quickly. “And that tea I liked.”

“The chamomile?”

She nodded.

I smiled faintly. “Got it.”

I reached for her hand without thinking, lacing our fingers together as we started toward the store entrance.

A camera clicked.

Then another.

I didn’t look. Didn’t react. That was rule number one.

Inside, things were quieter—but not safe. Never safe.

Still, the normalcy of it settled something in my chest. Fluorescent lights. Shopping carts. The low hum of people minding their business.

For a moment, it almost felt like we were just… us.

“Okay,” Lizzie said, grabbing a cart. “We’re not leaving without snacks this time.”

I raised a brow. “We?”

“Yes, we,” she shot back, already steering the cart. “You eat them too.”

“I eat what you buy,” I corrected.

“Exactly.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, falling into step beside her.

She moved slower these days—not in a bad way. Just… careful.

And I matched her without thinking. Always did.

We made our way through the aisles, picking things up one by one—pasta, sauce, fruit, tea.

Normal. Simple. Mine.

At some point, she paused in front of a display, one hand pressing lightly against her lower back.

I noticed immediately.

“Hey,” I murmured, stepping closer. “You okay?”

She nodded, giving me a small smile. “Yeah. Just… stretching a little.”

My hand moved before I could think—settling gently against her stomach, instinctive, protective.

There it was again. That curve.

This time, there was no hiding it. Not in that fitted top. Not with the way she was standing. Not with my hand right there.

I felt it before she even spoke—a small movement under my palm.

“…Hey,” I whispered, my voice dropping automatically.

Lizzie’s eyes softened. “They’re active today.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

She smiled—really smiled this time—and then, without warning, she leaned in.

Just a little. Just enough.

Her lips brushed mine—soft, quick, but real.

And for a split second—

I forgot where we were.

Forgot everything except her.

The warmth of her lips. The way her body leaned into mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. The quiet little breath she let out against me that I felt more than heard.

I almost chased it when she pulled back.

Almost.

Then—

A sharp click. Too loud. Too close.

Reality snapped back into place.

My eyes lifted instinctively, scanning past her shoulder—and there it was.

A camera. No—multiple.

Across the aisle. Near the endcap. Reflections in the freezer doors.

All pointed at us.

At her.

At my hand still resting on the gentle curve of her stomach.

Shit.

I felt Lizzie shift slightly in my arms, but she didn’t pull away fully. Didn’t hide. Didn’t turn.

Instead, her fingers curled into my shirt, grounding herself.

“…Well,” she murmured softly, almost amused despite everything. “That answers that.”

She gave a small shrug like it wasn’t the end of the world—then reached down and took my hand.

“Come on,” she added, tugging me gently. “We still need snacks.”

I blinked at her for half a second, then huffed a quiet laugh.

Of course she would react like that.

“Yeah,” I said, letting her pull me along. “Snacks are definitely the priority here.”

Behind us, the clicking picked up again—faster, more desperate now that they knew.

But it didn’t last long.

A sharp voice cut through the air near the entrance.

“Alright, that’s enough. You need to leave—now.”

Security.

I didn’t even have to turn to know what was happening next—protests, a couple last-second clicks, shuffling.

Then—

Silence.

Real silence this time.

Lizzie glanced back briefly, then forward again like it didn’t matter anymore. “They’re gone,” she said simply.

I nodded. “Good.”

My hand squeezed hers once before I let go, reaching for a basket instead. “Alright. What are we craving today?”

Her eyes lit up immediately.

“Okay—don’t judge me.”

“That already sounds suspicious.”

“I want those chocolate-covered strawberries,” she said, already turning down the aisle. “And the spicy chips. And—oh!—those little honey cakes.”

I stared at her.

“Spicy chips and honey cakes?” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“In the same sitting?”

She looked at me like I was the unreasonable one. “Absolutely.”

I shook my head, grabbing the strawberries anyway. “Pregnancy is wild.”

“It’s valid,” she corrected, plucking the chips off the shelf and dropping them into the basket.

“Uh-huh.”

“And I want pickles.”

“Of course you do.”

“And ice cream.”

“Obviously.”

She bumped her shoulder into mine lightly, smiling.

I watched her for a second—really watched her. The way she moved slower, but with purpose. The way her hand kept drifting back to her stomach without thinking. The way she still looked like herself in every way that mattered.

My chest tightened—just a little.

In a good way.

“Anything else?” I asked, softer now.

She paused, thinking, then glanced at me with a small grin. “Yeah.”

“What?”

“You.”

I snorted. “You already got me.”

“Good,” she said, satisfied, continuing down the aisle.

I followed right behind her, basket in hand, shaking my head.

The cameras were gone. The noise was gone.

And just like that—

It was normal again.

Just grocery shopping. Just us.

Even if… it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

——

Getting her home felt like a mission.

Not because it was far—but because I refused to let her carry a single thing.

“Y/N, I can take at least one bag—”

“No.”

“Just one—”

“No.”

Lizzie huffed behind me as I grabbed the last of the groceries from the car, balancing more bags than I probably should’ve. “You’re being dramatic.”

I kicked the door shut with my foot. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re growing two humans.”

She went quiet for a second.

“…Okay, that’s fair,” she muttered.

I smirked to myself as I carried everything inside, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter in one trip before heading back for the rest.

By the time I came in with the last load, the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Liz?” I called out.

“Bathroom!” she called back.

Of course.

I shook my head, starting to unpack things—fruits in the bowl, cold stuff in the fridge, snacks off to the side. Normal. Grounding.