i've got a big crush on you

But that's not really the case anymore. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving her lightheaded and sweaty. And as she stares at the computer screen in front of her she finds her vision starting to blur at the edges. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in order to try and steady herself but this causes a sharp pain in her wound

"Shit" she mumbles under her breath as she feels blood starting to seep through the makeshift bandages

"Hows the hack going?" you ask, having noticed her sluggish movements "Fine" she says, a bit strained, "Just finishing up"

But you don't fully believe her. Something is off, you just don't know what yet. You keep your eyes on her while she works, knowing she can feel your gaze and hoping that will be enough to convince her to tell you what's wrong. Only it doesn't. Her posture stiffens in a way that only you would recognize as nervousness, but she doesn't mention anything. She doesn't even talk at all. No flirty banter, no snarky sarcasm. It's very unusual and has multiple alarm bells ringing in your head

"It's done" she announces, breaking you from your thoughts

"Good" you sigh, "Now let's get out of here"

She tucks the drive away and leads you out of the data room and back down the hall you'd come from. She has her one gun drawn and so do you, ready for any threat that may appear. Despite the earlier altercation no alarms are going off in the facility. But that doesn't mean there isn't a sense of urgency to get out. Which is why you find her pace odd. She's always cautious, but her pace is never this slow, or this relaxed.

"Tasha, are you okay?" you finally ask

"I'm fine" she quickly answers, "Just a bit worn after that fight"

Now you're really suspicious. Because when the hell did fighting off one Hydra thug tire her out? This is the woman that ran from The Hulk, rode an alien spacecraft to reach the top of Stark Tower, and fought the Winter Soldier twice. Some nobody was nothing for her, so something was definitely off

But she pushes herself forward, clearly not wanting to delve further into it. And for a few minutes she does seem fine, and her stubbornness has her believing she can pull through this. At least until she was on the quinjet. But the pace eventually becomes too much for her weakened body and she stumbles, only catching herself by bracing against the wall

"You call that fine?" you hiss, tone equal parts worry and reprimand

"Just…just give me a minute" she murmurs, taking in a shaky breath. She can feel the blood seeping into her suit now

Your brows furrow and you gently call out to her, "Tasha? What's wrong?"

Natasha can feel her hands starting to tremble now, and the reality she refused to admit hits her hard. She's hurt, and quite badly. Bad enough that she can no longer ignore it, or the pain. She presses her hand against her side and lets out a soft hiss, confirming your suspicion that she was hurt. But when she pulls her hand away and it's covered in blood, you realize it wasn't a cracked rib, it's so much worse

"Fuck baby, why didn't you tell me?" you ask, quickly moving to press her own hand back against the wound with yours on top of it

"Didn't realize it was this bad" she admits softly, even as she grits her teeth, "And I didn't want to worry you"

"Well, you failed at that" you deadpan, "I am now extremely worried"

"I'm sorry detka(baby)" she forces out through the pain, "….fuck"

Your brows furrow as you take in her appearance. Pale, sweaty, obviously in pain. It was so very unlike her and it honestly unnerved you just as much as it worried you. And you could tell by the look in her eyes that she's starting to worry too. Which is what prompts you to use your comms

"Cap, do you copy?"

"Copy, whats your status?" Steve replies

"Nat's been stabbed" you tell him, pausing for a moment before continuing, "It's pretty bad. I can get her out but I'm going to need medics on standby at the quinjet"

"Roger that" he confirms, "Do you need assistance with extraction?"

"Well I'd never say no to a little back up" you tell him

"I'm on my way"

You feel a bit better knowing he was coming, but only slightly. You carefully remove your hand from her side to get a better look and curse under your breath when you see just how much blood is seeping through the wrappings and into her suit

"That bad huh?" Nat asks, studying your expression carefully

You take a deep breath and pull out your first aid kit, "It certainly isn't great"

"Yeah" she sighs, tilting her head back to rest against the wall, "I can feel that much"

You remove her makeshift bandages and press some trauma pads against the gushing wound. Natasha lets out a muffled sound of pain and closes her eyes, trying hard to keep her tears at bay

"I know baby, I know" you coo, "I'm sorry"

"Its okay" she grits out through clenched teeth, "Its necessary"

You nod and start wrapping gauze bandages around her to help keep the pads on place and help stem the blood loss. Once you're satisfied you look her over, but what you see only makes your heart drop. She's even more pale now, and her breathing is rather ragged.

"Come on, lets get moving" you tell her, helping her get steady on her feet. You support her as she walks and don't force her to go too fast, not wanting to risk taking away any more of her strength

As you both continue through the halls the only sound that can be heard are the sound of your footsteps and her ragged breathing. The sound tugs at your heart, you can't ever remember a time where she's made that noise, and that has a pit of fear settling in your gut. And that's when your comms crackle, it's Steve informing you that he's had a run in with a large number of Hydra agents. He could handle them, no doubt, but it would slow down his arrival. You didn't voice it to either him or Nat, but that made the pit in your stomach grow

A few minutes later you realize you're holding most of your girlfriends weight now, but before you can say anything about it she stumbles, nearly falling and taking you down with her. You quickly catch yourself and her, and lean her up against the wall

"You okay?" you ask, your eyes darting down to her wound

She shakes her head in a rather jerky manner and mumbles out, "I….I don't think I am"

"Hey, look at me Tasha" you tell her, cupping her cheek and almost flinching at how clammy she feels

She manages to bring her gaze to you but you can tell she's having trouble focusing her vision, "Detka(baby)…I don't….don't feel so good"

Hearing her voice so small and vulnerable while knowing how serious her injury is has your heart pounding against your ribcage like a runaway train. Without any hesitation you carefully hoist her into your arms and tuck her close to your chest, and then you head off down the hallway. Your pace is slow at first as you adjust to her weight and position, but you're soon moving as fast as your legs and lungs allow. You're spurred on by the warmth of her breath against your neck, telling you that she was still there, still fighting

As soon as you see Steve you're practically shoving Nat into his arms only because you know he's so much faster, "Go! Get her to the Quinjet!"

Her fingers tighten on your mission gear, "No….not leaving you behind"

"You are so stubborn" you tell her as a mix between a chuckle and a sob catches in your throat. Her grip falters and your eyes meet Steve's, "Get her to the medics, I'm right behind you"

He doesn't wait that time, he takes off down the corridor, leaving you to chase after them. As he turns the corner up ahead you notice that even though her sight isn't as sharp as it usually is, Natasha glances over his shoulder to make sure you were still there. The sight has you running even faster, until your muscles are aching and it hurts to inhale

Finally the jet is in view and as you watch Steve carry your girlfriend up the ramp in the distance you feel a small sense of relief wash over you. Even if you weren't beside her yet she was at least being looked at by a professional in the medical field.

By the time you get on board the jet the medics have already opened up her suit and are taking care of her wound. Unfortunately that means they're shoving combat gauze into it in order to stop the bleeding more efficiently, and she's only just had a dose of painkillers. A sound of agony slips past her lips and her hands grip the cot beneath her so tightly that her knuckles go white

"I'm here Tasha" you call out, rushing to her side to offer what comfort you could. You grab one of her hands, letting her squeeze it as hard as she needed to and with your free hand you brush hair off her sweaty forehead and behind her ear, "I know it hurts baby, but they're almost done"

After they pack her wound they wrap more gauze around it and one of them looks to Cap, "I recommend wheels up sir, she needs to be seen in the ICU as soon as possible"

"Alright, I'll tell the pilots" Steve agrees

You look at the lingering medic, "How bad is it?"

"The blade punctured something internally, possibly her kidney. She's stable currently but weak from the blood loss. She should be fine once we get her to SHIELD's ICU"

His reassurance does little to quell your massive amount of anxiety and fear, but you're at least grateful he was honest about the severity. You continue to hold her hand, caress her face and whisper softly to her the entire flight back, and you're grateful that she remains stable the whole time.

Once you arrive you have to let her go back to surgery alone, much to your discontent and hers but you're given the closest waiting room by the staff to make up for it. The wait feels like hours and seconds at the same time, you're not even sure how long you actually wait before being updated on how well she did and that she was being moved to a private room

As Natasha begins to stir back to consciousness she can hear the annoying beep of the heart monitor, it makes her brows furrow even though she's not even fully awake yet. But the she becomes aware of a familiar weight in her hand, and the furrow of her brows softens. She uses all her strength to open her eyes and gently squeeze your hand

"Hi detka(baby)" she mumbles, her voice slightly raspy still

"Don't you hi detka me" you tell her sternly, wiping away some tears, "What were you thinking Tasha, keeping an injury from me?"

Her heart sinks as she realizes what she's put you through, "I'm so sorry Y/n, I truly didn't feel like it was that bad and i didn't want to slow the mission down. It was a reckless decision, and one I shouldn't have made"

"If you ever do that again" you scold, having to reign in a sob

She squeezes you hand to offer reassurance, "I won't, i swear. You'll know about any bruise, scape and serious injury from now on"

You reach over and cup her face, "I was so scared Tasha, I though I was going to lose you"

"I'm sorry I put you through that" she tells you, leaning into your touch, "I have no plans of going anywhere though"

"Then you better not get stabbed again" you halfway joke, making her chuckle

"I'll do my very best"

“Are you okay?”

Gigi nods, giving you a quick glance before turning back to the show you’re watching. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” you press. “Because all night you’ve been kind of… fidgety.”

“Have I?”

You slide closer to her on the couch, and you notice the way she presses her thighs together when you snake a hand over to rest at her hip and rest your chin on her shoulder. “What’s going on with you?”

Gigi clears her throat, a sound that feels too harsh for the moment, like there is something within it she’s trying to break. “Nothing is going on.”

You hum disapprovingly, but you don’t press. “Okay. If you say so.”

You might be imagining it, but she seems to be disappointed that you’re giving up already.

You try to focus on the tv show playing in front of you, but by now you have lost focus on the plot. As it unravels in front of you all you can pay attention to is Gigi beside you, and the restlessness that has her shifting in her seat and sighing ever so often.

Eventually you take matters into your own hands again, reaching for the remote and turning off the TV.

“Hey,” Gigi frowns, hands finding your hips when you straddle her lap. “What did you do that for?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Gigi hesitates, which is out of character for her because you can’t remember the last time she ever hesitated when telling you how she felt or what she wanted.

“Do you not like the show?”

“I like it,” she smiles, “but I was ready for it to be over.”

“Why?”

Again she shifts a little beneath you, squirming, but your weight helps to steady her.

You already know what she wants. You can see it in her eyes when she looks at you, and you can feel it in the tightening of her grip on your hips. It’s everywhere in her body language, from the tension she carries to the heavy rise and fall of her chest.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to her jaw, then closer to where it meets her neck, then to her pulse point. You can hear the way her breath hitches, subtle but telling, and you have to tap her shoulder to remind her to continue.

“It’s been a long week,” she admits eventually. “And ever since I got home I’ve just wanted…” she trails off.

You keep kissing down her neck, nipping gently at the skin, sucking with the familiar pressure that you employ when you want to leave marks on her skin.

“What?” you ask. “What do you want?”

She feels your hands traveling beneath her shirt and it’s all she can do not to whine, push you down to the floor on your knees and guide your head where she wants it.

“You,” she answers breathlessly. “I want you.”

And when you get down off the couch to situate yourself on your knees between her legs, it’s as if you’ve read her mind. Because you know what she needs after a rough week — to feel above you, in control enough in the way she guides your head and clamps her thighs around it, but also taken care of.

“You could’ve just said that,” you tell her softly. “I would have gotten on my knees for you right when you walked in the fucking door earlier if that’s what you needed.”

She lets out a quiet sound at that, the vision filling her head. She nods and plants a hand at the back of your head before guiding you closer to her, raising her hips to let you pull down her sleep shorts and underwear and settling herself at the edge of the couch.

You kiss down her thighs, taking in the sight of her in front of you. She’s wet, you can see it plainly, and something about you admiring her so obviously seems to be making the need grow.

“Come on,” she urges, voice breathy. “Please, I’ve been waiting for this.”

You take your time with her as you move closer to where she wants you, nipping at the skin of her thighs ever so often and feeling the muscles tense briefly under your hands. But you need this too, enough that your resolve weakens and it becomes harder to draw things out.

“Please,” Gigi says again, and this time you can’t deny her.

When you finally swipe your tongue through her, all of the tension she’s holding seems to dissipate. She pulls you closer and murmurs jumbled praise as you bring your focus up to her clit, circling and sucking in all of the ways you’ve learned are best for her over the years.

She says something to you in Farsi, something you can’t quite catch, and you tap her thigh in a way that asks her to translate.

“Keep going,” she breathes, hips bucking up reflexively when you suck her clit into your mouth. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Right there, baby.”

Slowly, you bring a hand up and sink a finger into her. She gasps and you pause for a second but then she’s bucking into you again, voice strained as she asks for more, and you ease a second finger into her before starting a pace that’s slow and deep and exactly how she wants it.

“So fucking close,” she groans, pushing your head impossibly closer. She’s come to the edge quicker tonight than she usually does, which you chalk up to work stress, and you think you would do anything right now to drive her a little bit further. “Keep going, keep— fuck…”

You feel it when she comes, the way she tightens around your fingers and her thighs clamp around your head and it’s as if all the breath is sucked from her lungs. It hits her hard and fast, stretching out long, and you work her through the aftershocks until she pushes you away lazily.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Good?”

She nods, still a little breathless. “Come here.”

You crawl back up onto the couch and she pulls you back onto her lap. And you barely have time to process what she’s doing when she grabs your wrist before she’s taking your fingers into her mouth, sucking her own release off of them and meeting your eyes.

She guides your hips with her hands, repositioning you a little and getting you at an angle where you can grind against one of her thighs, and when she hums around your fingers you know what she’s trying to get from you.

You rock your hips tentatively at first, testing the waters. The contact of her leg against your clothed clit makes you gasp, grasping onto her shoulder with your free hand.

Her teeth press into your fingers lightly, and you understand the message: You can do better than that.

Allowing her to guide you with her hands on you, you rock your hips again. This time your movements are less timid, and Gigi moans with you when you hit the angle just right and feel yourself clench around nothing. You keep going, faster and harder, letting yourself take what you need if only so you can see the satisfaction in Gigi’s eyes when you do.

She pulls at your wrist and slides your fingers out of her mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and then kissing down your hand, your wrist, to your pulse point. She licks across your palm and then claims your pointer finger, slipping it into her mouth as far as it will go, and you press it flat against her tongue.

You’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself if you can’t lean in and kiss her, but the sight of her and the feeling of every pass you make over her leg is enough to have you seeing stars.

You let your head dip down to her shoulder and huff out a whine, feeling her switch fingers above you and testing them all one by one, as if each time she gets closer to your pinky is a countdown to your release.

By the time she gets to your ring finger, you’re nearly gone. Because that is the finger your wedding ring rests on, the diamond Gigi bought you that costs more than you could comprehend when you first received it, and when she gets to it she pulls it down your finger with her teeth before pushing it back on with her tongue.

When your ring meets the base of your finger, something in you snaps. A wave of euphoria comes over you and you ride it out on her thigh, vaguely registering the way Gigi guides you through it and releases your hand so she can murmur praise into your ear.

Once you go still on her thigh, Gigi takes the blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it over your shoulders, using the sides of it to tug you a little closer to her.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly, voice coming out blissed.

You nod. Then you lean in to kiss her, slow and allowing it to steady you, and only part when you need some air. “Are you? How are you feeling?”

“Fucking perfect,” Gigi answers, “but who wouldn’t after that?”

You look down at your hand, the small indents on a few of your fingers where she bit down lightly. Your wedding ring shines with spit in the low light and you feel the familiar stir deep in your core, but you are too tired to pursue it any further.

“Should we finish that episode of our show?” Gigi asks as if it’s just a regular night, pulling you against her and letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck. “I wanna see what happens, it was getting really good.”

You have on a new black bra with pink peaking through, your black lace thong showing as your legs stay up.

Your black Louboutins glint in the light, catching her attention. Baran’s eyes move down from your heels to your body, then back to your face.

You were sin galore to her.

You smirk and lean on your left side, allowing Baran to get a good look at you. “Hi, baby.” You tease, your eyes gleaming at the sight of her.

Baran’s lips curve into a smile before she giggles, “How’s my pretty girl doing?” Her tone is smooth like honey, drizzling all over your skin and down to your pussy.

Resting your hand on your thigh, your fingertips rub up and down your hipbone, making sure her eyes recognize that.

“I could be better, need you here, in bed with me.” You complain, Baran licks her bottom lip and laughs again. “I miss you more, miss your scent, your smile, your lips, your thighs squeezing every inch of my body.” She whispers the last part, you hum and hook the hem of your thong, stretching it up.

Baran shakes her head while biting her bottom lip.

“Think I miss you more, baby. This bed is so lonely without you.” You sigh and stretch yourself on the bed, purposely making the thong slide down a little.

Baran gulps and rubs her lips, missing the way she stuffed her face against your pussy. The tip of her tongue curling up in your hole as her lips suck hard over your folds. She missed her favorite meal so much.

Her eyes squint as her brows furrow, seeing the black ink on your skin. “Wait.” She pauses, you look at it in the camera, and giggle.

Pushing your hip back and forth as you laugh again.

“You see it now?” You question, and your index finger rubs it gently.

Baran nods, “Fuck, baby, when did you get it done? It looks so sexy on you.” She whispers, her breath shortening as she stares at it longer.

“A week ago, honestly, it was kinda impulsive. I mean, I did always want a tattoo, you know that, but I guess placement-wise, I wasn’t sure.” You shrug, and Baran bites her lip, still staring at the tattoo, her body feeling hot from the sight.

“Perfect place to put it.” She whispers, reading off the ‘bite me’ words and imagining herself tracing her fingers over the tattoo as she fucks you with her strap.

You smile wider and drag your thong further down to your knees, keeping it there.

Baran moves her fingers to her bra straps, letting one drop to her arm, her breast ready to spill out of her bra.

“So, how’s California treating you?” You ask, ignoring the small whimpers that leave her mouth as you make your thong reach to your heels, letting it get somewhat tangled against it before taking it off and tossing it on the ground.

Baran’s heart races as her hands move her bra strap off fully, turning the bra around to see the hooks better. She takes it off and places it beside her on the bed. “It’s been good, would be so much better with you here. Missed waking you up with my kisses.” Baran licks her lips as you sit facing the computer, your back pressing the headboard, as your pillow has been pushed against the back of your waist.

Your legs had been spread open, and your knees pushed up to the sides of your stomach, your stretch marks showing better. The glisten on your pussy appears on camera as your fingers go over to your clit, tapping on it before your middle finger rubs it slowly.

Clearing her throat, she sighs and watches you while bringing her fingers up to her nipples, squeezing and twisting them a little.

“You’ve been such a bad, bad girl for me, baby.” Baran breathily states, her eyes widen a little at the way you insert your ring and middle finger in your dripping cunt. Your lips pressed against your curled fingers as you pump them inside you.

You whimper and sigh, biting your bottom lip as you groan. “Yeah?” You let out, still going.

Baran licks her lips and nods, “Yeah.” Eyes staring at the way you keep your fingers curved, stretching yourself out.

“Slow down, baby, need to see that pretty pussy aching.” She whispers while teasing her nipples, her cunt dripping for attention.

You whine and slow your thrusts, your soft walls squeezing your fingers for more.

You watch as Baran places her computer at the end of the bed, coming out from under the sheets, she’s now only in her panties, looking so beautiful in the way they ride up on her ass.

Turning her body to the left, Baran opens the bedside drawer and pulls her vibrator out, checking the charge.

You smile while your thumb flicks at your clit a little. You let out whimpers and stare at Baran as she takes her panties off and keeps her legs open in front of the camera, mirroring your position.

The low sounds of her vibrator being turned on make her cunt pulsate hard as her mouth salivates at the sight of you and her.

“Need your pretty body so bad, baby, look at what you do to me.” Baran moans as she places her vibrator against her folds, brushing it up to her clit and squirming a little. “Fuck.” You both say in unison. 

Whines take over from both of you as you slide your fingers back in and out of your twitched pussy.

“Baran, baby.” You whine and lean your head back, your fingers hit your g-spot, and your legs begin to shake. 

Baran moans and sighs as she pushes her vibrator against her pussy, visualizing your lips sucking her folds like the good girl you are.

“That’s it, pretty girl, like that, touch yourself just like that.” She pants out, and her free hand grabs her breast, squeezing it.

“Mngh– so cl-close.” You stutter out, thrusting deeper into yourself. Baran closes her eyes and breathes out heavily.

“That’s okay, baby, I’m right here.” She gasps, driving her vibrator up and down, her arousal soaking the device and bedsheets.

You roll your hips up, and Baran does the same, moaning at the same time as you. “Shit, that was sexy.” She chuckles, sweat appearing on her forehead.

You open your eyes and look at her, seeing the way she keeps pushing her hips up, her pussy soaked.

You nod and swallow down your saliva hard. “Yeah.” You let out breathlessly.

“Look at yourself in the camera, see how pretty you are.” Baran coos, her tone making your legs shake, almost closing. “Yeah.” Being the only word you can get out.

The built-up feeling in your stomach comes back, harder now. “Shit, Baran.” You whine and ride your fingers out.

The ache in them became stronger, but you were so close.

She sees it in your face, Baran nods and lazily rubs her vibrator over her clit. “Such a good girl for me, look at you, all fucked out.”

You squeal as you pull your fingers out, only to shove them back in, mimicking Baran’s thrusts. You weep out moans and whimpers, Baran’s eyes darker at the sight as her body jerks forward many times.

You’re covered in sweat as you do one last thrust into yourself, your cum spilling out from your pretty pussy. Your fingers are covered, and so are the bedsheets.

Baran squirms and squeezes her legs at the sight. “Oh fuck!” She moans and rides her vibrator.

“Shit, baby, you make me feel so good.” Baran moans out as she orgasms, her pace getting slower. Your fingers still deep inside your hole, you lay your head against the headboard. 

Your eyes stare at the ceiling, finally reaching the peak you’ve been dreaming about ever since Baran left. 

Baran slows down and looks at you, admiring the way your cum spills out of you. Wishing she could suck it up and tongue it back into your hole.

“Damn.” She says breathlessly. You blink a couple of times and look back at her on the computer.

You laugh with her and sigh. Seeing the way her cum covers her, her clit swollen, deserving of being sucked at.

“So beautiful, so so beautiful. I can’t wait to get home.” Baran rasps, and you smile shyly.

“Me too, we should do more of this.” You state, covering yourself with the bedsheets, feeling cold now. Baran nods and licks her lips, “Promise, we definitely will in the near future.” You laugh with her and blow her a kiss.

“Later, baby.” You respond, and she blows you a kiss back. “Love you.” Baran finishes and ends the call.

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She shakes her head, smiling softly. “You aren’t going to win them over. They’re harsh judges, Alice still hasn’t made any progress with them.” 

“Alice doesn’t try,” you say bluntly. “She doesn’t want to be in their lives.” 

“And you do?” 

You lean back against the kitchen counter, shrugging. You hope the response you give is the right one. “I want to be in your life. That includes being in their lives, and I’m happy with that as long as you are.” 

“I am,” she says. Gigi comes over and places her hands on either side of you on the counter, effectively boxing you in. “Of course I am.” 

You catch a hint of her perfume, sweet and citrusy and always prone to making your head spin, and her curls brush against your front when she leans in to kiss you. 

Her hands find your hips and she takes a small step forward, pressing into you. Her touch is soft, her hands are warm sneaking up your shirt, and she breaks the kiss to meet your eyes just to see the love that blooms in them. 

“I won you over,” you say. “I don’t know exactly how I managed it, but I did. Your kids will be easy work.” 

Gigi rolls her eyes. She steps back, reaches for her mug of tea and holds it as she considers you. “You’re going to regret underestimating them.” 

— 

It’s not that the candy doesn’t work, but you don’t quite get the reception you hoped for. When Nat drops the kids off at Gigi’s after school and they pad into the house to see you standing there with two giant candy bars, your hopes are crushed when Olive looks right at you and says, ‘Alice gave us candy when she first met us, too.’ 

You give them the candy anyway, of course. Then you look behind you and find Gigi standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her arms crossed and an expression that reads, ‘I told you so’. 

The kids sit on the couch now. They have their homework in their laps and they try to be sneaky with the appraising glances they give you, but you notice. 

You sit in an armchair on one side of the couch, and Gigi sits in another on the other side with her kindle in her hands and a fresh mug of tea in front of her on the coffee table. 

You study her for a moment. She looks so at ease like this, legs folded under her and a heavy crocheted blanket over her, hair pulled up in a claw clip. Black tank top, shorts, a rose-scented candle lit on the accent table beside her. This is home. This is what she has always wanted. 

She looks up briefly and catches your gaze. She raises a brow as if to ask what you’re looking at, and you quickly look down at the paperback you’re meant to be reading. 

You don’t see her reach for her phone, but yours pings with a new notification after a second and you see that the message you’ve received is from her. 

Gigi 

Are you still okay with this? I can call Nat. 

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You’re not sure exactly what to respond with, but you know you don’t want to ruin your chances of getting what you’re on the precipice of: being fully accepted into her family, taking your relationship to a new level. 

You 

I’m fine with this. Are you fine with this? 

You sound anxious over text. You feel anxious, too. 

Gigi 

You’re nervous. 

You 

I want everything to work out. 

Gigi 

I know, but they can sense when you’re nervous. 

You 

The kids? 

As if on cue, Eli looks up from his homework. “Are you two texting each other?” 

You set your phone down on the armrest of your chair and look down at your book. “I was looking at a pizzeria online, actually.” 

From across the living room, Gigi stares you down. You know that if you looked up at her then she wouldn’t need to text you to say, ‘Really? A fucking pizzeria? That’s the best you could come up with?’

But Eli’s face lights up. He sits forward on his cushion and says, “Are we having pizza tonight?” 

You look up at Gigi. Gigi looks at you. The two of you were planning on cooking tonight, but now that it’s been brought up… neither of you are averse to a night free from cooking. 

“Yes,” Gigi answers eventually, picking up her phone again. “We’re having pizza.” 

You send her another text. 

You 

Sorry. I’ll pay, I promise. 

Gigi 

You better. 

— 

The four of you are sitting at the table with the pizza — Gigi tells you she always makes the kids eat at the table even when she usually doesn’t when they’re absent — when the first line of questioning begins. 

Olive is going to be the harshest critic when it comes to you, you think. Eli has proven easy to impress with candy and pizza and a quiet afternoon where you’ve intervened minimally, but Olive is different. She is older and has a better understanding of the world, and her disapproval of Nat’s girlfriend has already soured the idea of her other parent having a partner, too. 

“How long have you been with my mom?” she asks suddenly, staring you down over her plate of pizza in a way that uncannily resembles the look Gigi gave you a little while ago in the living room. You suppose you know where she learned it from. 

“A couple months,” you say. “Your mom was waiting for the right time to tell you.” 

“And you think that you love her?” 

You feel like you’ve been put on trial. This girl is going to grow up to be a lawyer someday. 

“I do,” you say. “I do love her.” 

“Then why haven’t you gotten married yet?” 

You glance over at Gigi for a bit of help, but she only shrugs as if it’s a valid question to ask. She isn’t bailing you out this time. 

“I haven’t found the right ring yet,” you say, and not just because you think it’s the right answer. 

“Why?” Olive asks. “Do you not have her ring size or something? Because I can tell you if you want it.” 

“Olive,” Gigi warns, “eat your food.” 

“No, that might be helpful,” you say. And while it still seems like you’re speaking to Olive, you turn your gaze to Gigi when you next speak. “I’ll ask you someday. I really will.” 

— 

You’re cleaning the dishes at the sink, alone while you work, when light footsteps sound behind you. 

You look back to see Olive in the doorway. 

“Hey,” you smile. “Do you need something?” 

She crosses her arms. “You’re not our mom, you know.” 

You sigh and pick up another dish. “I know.” 

“Alice isn’t our mom, either.” 

“She knows that, too.” 

“She’s always reminding us,” Olive says softly. She sounds sadder than you might have expected, and you look back to see her frowning. 

You wipe your hands on the towel at the sink and walk over to her, looking down. She acts so grown up, but she is still a child and she is still only a little over half your height. 

“Do you think I’m like Alice?” you ask. 

“I did when I first saw you,” she says. “I’m not so sure anymore.” 

You nod, trying not to look like you want her to think of you in one light or another. 

“You’re going to keep coming around, aren’t you?” Olive asks. 

“I am.” 

She nods, taking this in. Then she offers you a small smile, a truce of sorts, and steps out of the kitchen. “See you around.” 

— 

When you get into bed that night, you immediately ask Gigi: “How do you think it went?” 

She lies down beside you, slipping beneath the covers and nestling herself as close to you as possible. “How do you think it went?” 

You consider the progress you’ve made so far. You need more time with Olive, but you think you might have impressed Eli. “I think it went well. Better than it could have, at least.” 

Gigi shifts back a little so she can meet your eyes. You find so much love in hers, and when one of her hands reaches up to cup your face you press into it. “You were really good with them.” 

“I did okay?” 

She shifts again, closer so that she can lean in and kiss you. It’s tired, slow, and so gentle. Her hand is warm on your face still and one of her legs hooks over both of yours. 

“You did fucking amazing,” she murmurs once you pull back, “like I knew you would.” 

And she doesn’t say it, but part of her thinks she has just fallen in love with you all over again. She can see herself living with you, parenting with you, spending lazy nights and rushed school mornings with you trying to get the kids ready for class. She can see you helping Eli with his math homework at the kitchen table and Olive with her history presentations, and she can see the two of you lounging with glasses of wine while the kids are at Nat’s and making plans for family-inclusive summer vacations. 

It was a hard mission for Natasha.

No, it wasn’t just a hard mission; it’s been multiple. Over and over. Back to back.

She’s exhausted, and despite having just returned from one, she’s sure that tomorrow, she’ll be summoned for another. It seems like there’s just crisis after crisis these days. Infiltrate this organization, retrieve that intelligence data, handle and escort yet another asset across country lines… and do so through whatever means necessary.

She collapses onto the common room sofa, leaning back against the cushions, eyes slipping shut.

It’s late. No one else is up. She just needs one moment to…

Natasha’s disturbed by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Her eyes reopen tiredly to find you gazing at her, confused and concerned. Well, no one else was supposed to be up.

“Rough mission?” you ask her.

She sighs. She doesn’t want to get into it.

You understand her exhale; you don’t push. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just coming to grab a glass of water. I’ll be out of the space shortly.”

“It’s alright,” she murmurs, and she’s not sure she wants to—she’s had quite the past 72 hours—but it’s you, and she’ll always be soft for you. “Anything in particular keeping you up?” she questions.

You hum. “Not sure,” you reply, “Anxiety, probably. Stress, maybe.”

Natasha gets that. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.” You’re surprised at the offer—Natasha really looks like she’d prefer to be alone—but you accept anyway, unwilling to turn down the opportunity to spend time with her. You make your way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with some water before walking into the common room and settling on the couch beside the redhead, a comfortable amount of space between you two, perhaps a larger amount of space than usual for two friends.

Natasha’s not one for closeness, for intimacy, and she’s made that abundantly clear time and time again. It’s not uncomfortable, being this far from her, but you wonder what it would be like if she ever let you close the distance.

Her eyes fall closed once more, and silence blankets the both of you.

She looks so small right now. You want to offer something—anything—to comfort her, to soothe and alleviate whatever shadows from her mission may still be clinging to her.

But you don’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to talk, and she’s always rejected physical contact before: Steve’s friendly pats on the back, Wanda’s hugs, your casual linking of arms as you walk side by side.

But tonight, she looks so small, so worn out. You can’t help but try, and you’re willing to admit that you could use some closeness as well.

“Do you maybe… want to come here?” you ask hesitantly, certain that she’s going to reject your offer, but your arms open to welcome her on the off chance she chooses to accept.

And although she doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t even answer with certainty, to your shock, the redhead nods.

Maybe she senses that you need this, maybe it’s just for you, but she’s giving you it anyway.

It doesn’t take long.

Natasha’s head is pressed against your chest as she lets herself just be amazed by the steady sound of your heartbeat beneath her ear. Your arm is draped over her waist, keeping her flush against you, as you gently swipe your thumb back and forth across her hip. Your legs are tangled with hers as you two lounge together on the sofa, something on the TV playing quietly in the background, barely paid attention to by her in favor of reveling in your presence instead.

She’s trembling, everything within her at war. She’s never truly let herself get this near to someone else, and her instincts are both screaming at her to push you away and begging her to tug you even closer. Her nerves are on fire, every part of her body humming at the feeling of being in touch with another, and although lingering unease still swirls in her stomach, there’s also a sense of comfort that comes from being against you.

Everything is new, unfamiliar, and addicting.

She begins melting with each passing moment, relaxing into your hold, her tension unfurling as she surrenders to the sensation of just being held. Her own hands rise to settle around you, to grip at your shirt, the fabric clutched between her fingertips, and a soft sound escapes her, unbidden, as she nestles as if burrowing into your chest.

But it’s not enough. She needs to be closer.

So, Natasha situates herself more firmly against you, curling into you further, trying to gain even more physical contact. Her body moves without her thinking, acting on its own, shifting until she’s then fully on top of you, straddling you, her face soon back to being buried deeply into the crook of your neck, her nose nuzzling the curve of it, brushing the delicate skin there.

You suck in a surprised breath at the sudden change in positions, not having expected Natasha to make such a move. She’s been letting you take the lead, letting you guide her through all these new and hopefully gratifying feelings, but now, here she is, zero space between your hips and hers, her face tucked into you so close that you can feel every warm breath of hers on your throat.

Your hands instinctively grab onto her hips, trying to steady her, to settle her—you can feel the tremors in her body—and Natasha whimpers as the heat from your palms practically sears through her leggings.

You can sense the change, but you don’t understand it.

She grinds down lightly, testing without knowing it, and whimpers again at the ever so slight friction she receives. Her eyes flutter shut.

Your brows furrow at her neediness, but it’s not just neediness; it’s longing. Something is stirring within her, unlocking, making itself known, and you wonder…

You’re not sure you have a right to ask, not sure you have a right to know, but the way she’s acting right now—desperate, wanting, like she’s never felt the touch of someone who was touching her for her benefit—makes you think. “Have you ever…” you trail off.

“What?” Natasha asks breathily, eyes opening to look at you, trying to focus on your face and your words despite her hips still lightly grinding into your own. She can’t stop them.

“Have you ever…” you try again before rephrasing, “Has anyone ever made you come before?”

She stiffens in your arms, and you know you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve made so much progress with her tonight, gotten her to open up to you, to trust you, to let you touch her. You don’t want that to go away, but she does try to pull away, to sit up and move out of your arms, to remove herself from the vulnerable position she’s put herself in.

Your grip on her tightens minutely, attempting to keep her close, fingers resuming trailing soothing patterns along her as if that will get her to stay despite your misstep.

Neither of you two speak. You’re too worried about ruining what was already a fragile moment, and Natasha, she’s embarrassed, ashamed, not sure what she’s supposed to say in the face of the question that she is taking as an accusation.

She’s Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, known for using her body to get what she needs, known for seduction and sex and lust from others, and yet here she is, about to admit that she’s never been touched in a way that’s fulfilled her before.

“No,” she finally murmurs, quietly, almost inaudible, “It’s always just been a job. It’s always just been about the other person. I’ve never-”

You’re still silent, letting the new knowledge of how Natasha’s only ever been used sink in. You remember how her body moved against your own of its own accord, remember the whimper she made in response to her grinding. She needs this. You make a decision.

“Let me do this for you,” you murmur, pulling her upwards onto your stomach instead of your hips, beginning to mouth gently at the curve of her neck. You can feel her body still rigid in your arms, and although you don’t know if you should, you decide to press your luck, your tongue slipping out to hotly slide along her jawline. “Let me show you what real pleasure is. Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.” Your words are said against her skin, and it makes her shiver with want.

Natasha’s eyes drift shut again, and for a moment, just like earlier when you offered her your touch, you think that she’s going to decline, that she’s going to roughly shove herself off of you and tell you to fuck off and never talk to her again, but then she breathes out a small “please”, and it’s all the permission you need.

You can already feel her pulsing along the muscles of your abdomen, so you waste no time. Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of her pants and underwear, dipping themselves into her folds, just feeling her wetness, taking in her heat, and Natasha shudders. It’s not the first time she’s been touched there, but it’s the first time it hasn’t felt like it was for somebody else.

You watch her expression soften as she surrenders to the sensations, and you soften as well.

“I’m going to show you just how good it can feel, just how good you deserve to feel,” you whisper to her, and Natasha’s body yields further, falling limp against you as she prepares herself to simply let herself feel and enjoy it this time.

It’s not a mission, not an assignment, not something that has to be done. This is a choice that she gets to make for herself.

“Tell me what you want. Anything you want, it’s yours,” you tell her as you start to circle her clit, just light circles before pressing down on the sensitive bundle of nerves more firmly, drawing a long whine from the redhead.

You continue teasing her, moving down to her entrance to gather more of her slick before returning to her clit, tapping lightly, swiping across it, using your two fingers to brush and skim and stroke with varying pressures.

For a while, Natasha is speechless, driven into an overwhelmed quiet by your ministrations, but her body aches, her pussy aches, and she needs you to fill her.

“Inside,” she finally gasps out, hips starting to rock up to try and get your fingers to slip into her hole, to delve into her and explore.

You immediately comply, your fingers swiftly entering her. You want to give her whatever it is that she needs. Tonight’s about her.

Natasha’s eyes roll back. She’s felt something similar to this before, felt the fullness and the stretch, but her pussy has never wanted to hold someone within, her pussy has never been desperate for more, her pussy has never throbbed for another person.

You drag your fingers out only to shove them back in, curling them to try and find the spot that the redhead needs, and a whine escapes her again.

Your eyes snap up to look at her face when she makes the noise.

“Right there?” you ask softly, and she nods, her head bobbing up and down multiple times.

“Right there,” she affirms, tone hoarse, voice shaky. Her hips are rolling to meet your every thrust, her body lighting up under your touch. Her hands grip at your shoulders as if that will stabilize herself as you continue pumping into her, and despite her thoughts scattering as the world blurs around the edges, she can’t help but think about one thing: she wants to kiss you.

One of her hands moves to tangle in your hair, to try and draw you closer, to try and pull your head toward hers so she can at first graze her lips against yours. It’s not that she hasn’t kissed anyone—she has many times before—but tonight feels different, this feels different, you feel different.

You acquiesce for a moment, dipping yourself forward until you realize what her goal is, and then you’re pulling away. Although there’s a smile on your face, it’s resigned.

You think she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Natasha whines for a third time, but this time, it’s out of petulance at being rejected, and she tries to tug your face back to hers again.

You speed up your motions to distract her from her current fixation on your lips, and Natasha’s body arches as you succeed. Despite your movements being restricted by her leggings, you’re quickly taking her up to the edge that she’s always heard contains nothing but pleasure, the pressure building fast and hot inside of her.

And then… it releases. It’s nothing like she’s ever experienced before. She wasn’t aware it could feel like this.

Natasha’s reveling, savoring, basking in the feeling that follows an orgasm—a real orgasm—but… it wasn’t just an orgasm. It was an orgasm given to her by you.

She’s almost recovered after a minute or so, her chest still rising and falling unsteadily, her heartbeat still thumping rapidly in her chest, and she falls back onto her side on the sofa to look at you, her eyes soft. You look so beautiful in front of her. Her hand comes up to frame your face, and you lean into the touch, smiling at the affectionate gesture.

Now’s the moment, right? You didn’t kiss her during the act, but that didn’t mean anything. You were busy; you were preoccupied.

“Can I kiss you now?” Natasha asks hopefully, gaze not leaving your face.

Everything about this moment is tender, the haze of all that has transpired still hanging over the two of you and throughout the room… or maybe just over her.

You pull away from her hand, and your eyes turn… not guarded, but acceptant of the belief you already have.

When you respond, your tone is still gentle, so gentle, but it makes the redhead flinch anyway. “Natasha,” you murmur, and she knows you’re going to reject her again before you even continue. “You’ve never had this before, never felt like this before. I know you needed this, and I’m happy to have given it to you, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that you want me.”

Natasha’s heart breaks. After all this, you think she doesn’t want you?

When she doesn’t respond, you take her silence for confusion. “Don’t confuse your body’s need with what you want,” you explain more.

“No, no, that’s not-” Natasha breaks off, “I do want you. I do.”

You look at her with a mix of disbelief and sympathy, and it kills her. She doesn’t want your pity; she wants your trust.

“You think I would’ve let just anyone touch me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but she cuts you off.

“You think I would’ve let just anyone fuck me?”

“You’ve never-”

“It doesn’t matter that I’ve never been with someone like this before, I want you.”

“You’re just touch starved-” you protest.

“I’m able to tell the difference between touch starvation and feelings. You believe me. You have to believe me.”

She can tell by the look in your eyes that you don’t.

“Every other time, it’s always been for a job, with a goal in mind, but this time, it was a choice. I got to choose. Please don’t demean that; please don’t take that away from me.”

“Natasha,” you try one more time.

“After all that, don’t you… don’t you choose me too?”

It was a hard mission for Natasha.

No, it wasn’t just a hard mission; it’s been multiple. Over and over. Back to back.

She’s exhausted, and despite having just returned from one, she’s sure that tomorrow, she’ll be summoned for another. It seems like there’s just crisis after crisis these days. Infiltrate this organization, retrieve that intelligence data, handle and escort yet another asset across country lines… and do so through whatever means necessary.

She collapses onto the common room sofa, leaning back against the cushions, eyes slipping shut.

It’s late. No one else is up. She just needs one moment to…

Natasha’s disturbed by the sound of footsteps entering the room. Her eyes reopen tiredly to find you gazing at her, confused and concerned. Well, no one else was supposed to be up.

“Rough mission?” you ask her.

She sighs. She doesn’t want to get into it.

You understand her exhale; you don’t push. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just coming to grab a glass of water. I’ll be out of the space shortly.”

“It’s alright,” she murmurs, and she’s not sure she wants to—she’s had quite the past 72 hours—but it’s you, and she’ll always be soft for you. “Anything in particular keeping you up?” she questions.

You hum. “Not sure,” you reply, “Anxiety, probably. Stress, maybe.”

Natasha gets that. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure.” You’re surprised at the offer—Natasha really looks like she’d prefer to be alone—but you accept anyway, unwilling to turn down the opportunity to spend time with her. You make your way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with some water before walking into the common room and settling on the couch beside the redhead, a comfortable amount of space between you two, perhaps a larger amount of space than usual for two friends.

Natasha’s not one for closeness, for intimacy, and she’s made that abundantly clear time and time again. It’s not uncomfortable, being this far from her, but you wonder what it would be like if she ever let you close the distance.

Her eyes fall closed once more, and silence blankets the both of you.

She looks so small right now. You want to offer something—anything—to comfort her, to soothe and alleviate whatever shadows from her mission may still be clinging to her.

But you don’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to talk, and she’s always rejected physical contact before: Steve’s friendly pats on the back, Wanda’s hugs, your casual linking of arms as you walk side by side.

But tonight, she looks so small, so worn out. You can’t help but try, and you’re willing to admit that you could use some closeness as well.

“Do you maybe… want to come here?” you ask hesitantly, certain that she’s going to reject your offer, but your arms open to welcome her on the off chance she chooses to accept.

And although she doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t even answer with certainty, to your shock, the redhead nods.

Maybe she senses that you need this, maybe it’s just for you, but she’s giving you it anyway.

It doesn’t take long.

Natasha’s head is pressed against your chest as she lets herself just be amazed by the steady sound of your heartbeat beneath her ear. Your arm is draped over her waist, keeping her flush against you, as you gently swipe your thumb back and forth across her hip. Your legs are tangled with hers as you two lounge together on the sofa, something on the TV playing quietly in the background, barely paid attention to by her in favor of reveling in your presence instead.

She’s trembling, everything within her at war. She’s never truly let herself get this near to someone else, and her instincts are both screaming at her to push you away and begging her to tug you even closer. Her nerves are on fire, every part of her body humming at the feeling of being in touch with another, and although lingering unease still swirls in her stomach, there’s also a sense of comfort that comes from being against you.

Everything is new, unfamiliar, and addicting.

She begins melting with each passing moment, relaxing into your hold, her tension unfurling as she surrenders to the sensation of just being held. Her own hands rise to settle around you, to grip at your shirt, the fabric clutched between her fingertips, and a soft sound escapes her, unbidden, as she nestles as if burrowing into your chest.

But it’s not enough. She needs to be closer.

So, Natasha situates herself more firmly against you, curling into you further, trying to gain even more physical contact. Her body moves without her thinking, acting on its own, shifting until she’s then fully on top of you, straddling you, her face soon back to being buried deeply into the crook of your neck, her nose nuzzling the curve of it, brushing the delicate skin there.

You suck in a surprised breath at the sudden change in positions, not having expected Natasha to make such a move. She’s been letting you take the lead, letting you guide her through all these new and hopefully gratifying feelings, but now, here she is, zero space between your hips and hers, her face tucked into you so close that you can feel every warm breath of hers on your throat.

Your hands instinctively grab onto her hips, trying to steady her, to settle her—you can feel the tremors in her body—and Natasha whimpers as the heat from your palms practically sears through her leggings.

You can sense the change, but you don’t understand it.

She grinds down lightly, testing without knowing it, and whimpers again at the ever so slight friction she receives. Her eyes flutter shut.

Your brows furrow at her neediness, but it’s not just neediness; it’s longing. Something is stirring within her, unlocking, making itself known, and you wonder…

You’re not sure you have a right to ask, not sure you have a right to know, but the way she’s acting right now—desperate, wanting, like she’s never felt the touch of someone who was touching her for her benefit—makes you think. “Have you ever…” you trail off.

“What?” Natasha asks breathily, eyes opening to look at you, trying to focus on your face and your words despite her hips still lightly grinding into your own. She can’t stop them.

“Have you ever…” you try again before rephrasing, “Has anyone ever made you come before?”

She stiffens in your arms, and you know you’ve said the wrong thing. You’ve made so much progress with her tonight, gotten her to open up to you, to trust you, to let you touch her. You don’t want that to go away, but she does try to pull away, to sit up and move out of your arms, to remove herself from the vulnerable position she’s put herself in.

Your grip on her tightens minutely, attempting to keep her close, fingers resuming trailing soothing patterns along her as if that will get her to stay despite your misstep.

Neither of you two speak. You’re too worried about ruining what was already a fragile moment, and Natasha, she’s embarrassed, ashamed, not sure what she’s supposed to say in the face of the question that she is taking as an accusation.

She’s Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, known for using her body to get what she needs, known for seduction and sex and lust from others, and yet here she is, about to admit that she’s never been touched in a way that’s fulfilled her before.

“No,” she finally murmurs, quietly, almost inaudible, “It’s always just been a job. It’s always just been about the other person. I’ve never-”

You’re still silent, letting the new knowledge of how Natasha’s only ever been used sink in. You remember how her body moved against your own of its own accord, remember the whimper she made in response to her grinding. She needs this. You make a decision.

“Let me do this for you,” you murmur, pulling her upwards onto your stomach instead of your hips, beginning to mouth gently at the curve of her neck. You can feel her body still rigid in your arms, and although you don’t know if you should, you decide to press your luck, your tongue slipping out to hotly slide along her jawline. “Let me show you what real pleasure is. Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.” Your words are said against her skin, and it makes her shiver with want.

Natasha’s eyes drift shut again, and for a moment, just like earlier when you offered her your touch, you think that she’s going to decline, that she’s going to roughly shove herself off of you and tell you to fuck off and never talk to her again, but then she breathes out a small “please”, and it’s all the permission you need.

You can already feel her pulsing along the muscles of your abdomen, so you waste no time. Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of her pants and underwear, dipping themselves into her folds, just feeling her wetness, taking in her heat, and Natasha shudders. It’s not the first time she’s been touched there, but it’s the first time it hasn’t felt like it was for somebody else.

You watch her expression soften as she surrenders to the sensations, and you soften as well.

“I’m going to show you just how good it can feel, just how good you deserve to feel,” you whisper to her, and Natasha’s body yields further, falling limp against you as she prepares herself to simply let herself feel and enjoy it this time.

It’s not a mission, not an assignment, not something that has to be done. This is a choice that she gets to make for herself.

“Tell me what you want. Anything you want, it’s yours,” you tell her as you start to circle her clit, just light circles before pressing down on the sensitive bundle of nerves more firmly, drawing a long whine from the redhead.

You continue teasing her, moving down to her entrance to gather more of her slick before returning to her clit, tapping lightly, swiping across it, using your two fingers to brush and skim and stroke with varying pressures.

For a while, Natasha is speechless, driven into an overwhelmed quiet by your ministrations, but her body aches, her pussy aches, and she needs you to fill her.

“Inside,” she finally gasps out, hips starting to rock up to try and get your fingers to slip into her hole, to delve into her and explore.

You immediately comply, your fingers swiftly entering her. You want to give her whatever it is that she needs. Tonight’s about her.

Natasha’s eyes roll back. She’s felt something similar to this before, felt the fullness and the stretch, but her pussy has never wanted to hold someone within, her pussy has never been desperate for more, her pussy has never throbbed for another person.

You drag your fingers out only to shove them back in, curling them to try and find the spot that the redhead needs, and a whine escapes her again.

Your eyes snap up to look at her face when she makes the noise.

“Right there?” you ask softly, and she nods, her head bobbing up and down multiple times.

“Right there,” she affirms, tone hoarse, voice shaky. Her hips are rolling to meet your every thrust, her body lighting up under your touch. Her hands grip at your shoulders as if that will stabilize herself as you continue pumping into her, and despite her thoughts scattering as the world blurs around the edges, she can’t help but think about one thing: she wants to kiss you.

One of her hands moves to tangle in your hair, to try and draw you closer, to try and pull your head toward hers so she can at first graze her lips against yours. It’s not that she hasn’t kissed anyone—she has many times before—but tonight feels different, this feels different, you feel different.

You acquiesce for a moment, dipping yourself forward until you realize what her goal is, and then you’re pulling away. Although there’s a smile on your face, it’s resigned.

You think she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Natasha whines for a third time, but this time, it’s out of petulance at being rejected, and she tries to tug your face back to hers again.

You speed up your motions to distract her from her current fixation on your lips, and Natasha’s body arches as you succeed. Despite your movements being restricted by her leggings, you’re quickly taking her up to the edge that she’s always heard contains nothing but pleasure, the pressure building fast and hot inside of her.

And then… it releases. It’s nothing like she’s ever experienced before. She wasn’t aware it could feel like this.

Natasha’s reveling, savoring, basking in the feeling that follows an orgasm—a real orgasm—but… it wasn’t just an orgasm. It was an orgasm given to her by you.

She’s almost recovered after a minute or so, her chest still rising and falling unsteadily, her heartbeat still thumping rapidly in her chest, and she falls back onto her side on the sofa to look at you, her eyes soft. You look so beautiful in front of her. Her hand comes up to frame your face, and you lean into the touch, smiling at the affectionate gesture.

Now’s the moment, right? You didn’t kiss her during the act, but that didn’t mean anything. You were busy; you were preoccupied.

“Can I kiss you now?” Natasha asks hopefully, gaze not leaving your face.

Everything about this moment is tender, the haze of all that has transpired still hanging over the two of you and throughout the room… or maybe just over her.

You pull away from her hand, and your eyes turn… not guarded, but acceptant of the belief you already have.

When you respond, your tone is still gentle, so gentle, but it makes the redhead flinch anyway. “Natasha,” you murmur, and she knows you’re going to reject her again before you even continue. “You’ve never had this before, never felt like this before. I know you needed this, and I’m happy to have given it to you, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that you want me.”

Natasha’s heart breaks. After all this, you think she doesn’t want you?

When she doesn’t respond, you take her silence for confusion. “Don’t confuse your body’s need with what you want,” you explain more.

“No, no, that’s not-” Natasha breaks off, “I do want you. I do.”

You look at her with a mix of disbelief and sympathy, and it kills her. She doesn’t want your pity; she wants your trust.

“You think I would’ve let just anyone touch me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but she cuts you off.

“You think I would’ve let just anyone fuck me?”

“You’ve never-”

“It doesn’t matter that I’ve never been with someone like this before, I want you.”

“You’re just touch starved-” you protest.

“I’m able to tell the difference between touch starvation and feelings. You believe me. You have to believe me.”

She can tell by the look in your eyes that you don’t.

“Every other time, it’s always been for a job, with a goal in mind, but this time, it was a choice. I got to choose. Please don’t demean that; please don’t take that away from me.”

“Natasha,” you try one more time.

“After all that, don’t you… don’t you choose me too?”

She wore a black bikini and dark sunglasses, stretched out beneath the sunlight. One arm rested behind her head while the other draped lazily across her stomach. Relaxed Natasha was rare enough. Relaxed Natasha inviting you to spend the day with her? Was like a diamond in the rough.

Earlier that morning, she’d knocked lightly on your bedroom door before leaning against the frame. “Come sit by the pool with me today,” Simple, casual. But your heart had started racing immediately anyway.

Your pull to Natasha, and her pull right back to you, in a word had been miraculous. You’d been a young friend of Tony’s, something of a little sister to the man. You’d come from a troubled, orphaned past and he’d given you a place to stay. Now, you lived at the compound. You helped where you could, with research, mission support, communications, the less flashy stuff. Something else you’d gotten and you weren’t exactly sure how, was Natasha Romanoff’s attention.

You noticed a stark (no pun intended) difference from the looks she gave her other comrades and the looks she gave you. Soft looks were reserved from you, soft tones even more so. And you can’t remember having ever seen Natasha hug the other Avengers, or squeeze their hand, running her thumb along their knuckles. But that was the treatment that you got.

You’d spent your late nights together when neither of you could sleep, just you and Natasha in the kitchen with decaf coffee and deep conversations. Then came the touches. Natasha’s hand on the small of your back. Her knee bumping hours beneath conference tables. Natasha taking and squeezing your hand when she could sense you were overwhelmed with something.

You weren’t sure when it had shifted into something else. Maybe it was when Natasha started kissing you on the cheek when you ended the night. Maybe things had shifted the night she showed up at your room after a nightmare, and you’d held her close, snuggling up until sunrise. More than likely, it was the tennis court incident. God, the tennis court.

You still thought about it constantly. It happened last month after one of Tony’s parties. Too many people, too much noise. You’d barely gotten two words in with Natasha all evening.

Then suddenly, she’d appeared at your side and muttered, “Come with me,”

No explanation. Just Natasha leading you through the compound at midnight, fingers hooked loosely around your wrist. You’d ended up at the outdoor tennis courts under dim floodlights, warm summer air thick around you.

The second that gate clicked shut behind you, Natasha kissed you. Hard. Like she’d been holding herself back all night. You remembered stumbling backward until your spine hit the fence, Natasha crowding impossibly close while her hands framed your face.

You’d laughed breathlessly against her mouth at one point and whispered, “Nat—“

“I know,” she’d murmured before kissing you again. Like she couldn’t stop. Like she didn’t want to. You remembered hoping the moment never ended. And the way Natasha had rested her forehead against yours afterward, your breaths mingling, made you think she felt the same exact way.

So why did you still feel insane about it half the time? Why did every unanswered text make your stomach twist? Why did every mission leave you wondering if Natasha would come back distant again? Why did you feel so deeply while Natasha remained impossible to read? The thoughts followed you everywhere, even now. Especially now. Here you were, spiraling quietly beside her.

Sure, Natasha had been affectionate today. Softer, seeking you out more often. But your brain kept insisting that it was temporary. That eventually Natasha would realize you cared too much.

You turned another page in your book without processing a single word. A moment later, Natasha shifts beside you. You felt her looking before you actually glanced over. Sure enough, her sunglasses had dipped slightly down her nose so she could peer over the frames. Her smile was sleepy and fond and it made your chest squeeze.

“What?” you ask softly.

“Do you know you furrow your brows when you’re trying really hard to concentrate?” Natasha says.

Heat crawls into your face immediately. “I’m not straining myself or anything. I’m just reading. But it’s hot, so yeah, it’s a little hard to focus.”

Natasha snickers and settles back again. You try again to focus on your book, and fail a second time. Because every few minutes, Natasha would glance over at you. And sometimes she’d smile, and sometimes, she’d just look. Like she was just taking you in, admiring your presence. Which somehow made everything worse. Because if Natasha cared, really cared, wouldn’t things feel more certain than this? Wouldn’t you know what you were to her?

You were so lost in your own thoughts that you almost startled when a shadow suddenly crossed your book.

You look up, and Natasha is stood above your chair now, sunlight outlining her hair in coppery gold. God, she was beautiful.

“Wanna get in the water with me?” Natasha asks.

The answer escapes before you can think too hard about sounding eager. “I’d love to.”

Natasha smiles and holds out her hand. Your pulse skips as you take it. Her fingers curl around yours with familiar ease, and she gently tugs you to your feet. The walk to the pool was short, but Natasha never let go.

The concrete heats the soles of your feet while distant laughter echoes around the yard. Natasha stops at the water’s edge beside you. Blue water gleams beneath the afternoon sun.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, Natasha quietly asks, “What’s going on?”

Your stomach drops, but you attempt a smile. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been in your head all day, I can tell.”

Of course she noticed. Natasha noticed everything about you.

“It’s nothing.” You deflect.

Natasha turns fully toward you then. “Hey.” She squeezes your hand once. “Talk to me.”

And maybe it was the heat of the sunlight, or the way she’d looked at you all morning, but suddenly the words were pushing at your throat, too hard to keep inside.

“You ever worry,” you started quietly, staring at the pool water instead of her face, “that maybe you made something bigger in your head than it actually is?”

Your question is met with silence and you immediately regret speaking. Your laugh is nervous and you go for another deflection. “Forget it. That sounds dramatic.”

“Don’t do that.” Natasha says coolly.

You swallow hard. Natasha steps close enough for you to feel her body heat, smell the intoxicating musk of her perfume. “What makes you think this isn’t real to me?”

The question catches you so off guard that you finally look at her. Natasha’s expression had gone soft in that way she only allowed around you. It made your heart stuttered.

“You’re hard to read sometimes,” you admitted.

A flicker of guilt flashes across Natasha’s face and it surprises you. Then, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The gesture was unbearably tender.

“You know why I brought you to the tennis court that night?” she asks quietly.

Heat floods your face once again. You shake your head.

“Because I’d just spent four hours wanting to kiss you,” Natasha murmurs. “And I couldn’t stand pretending otherwise anymore.”

Your breath caught. Natasha’s thumb traces lightly across your cheekbone. “I invite you into my space constantly,” she continues softly. “You’re the first person I look for when I come home from missions. I sleep better with you beside me,” A tiny smile tugs at her mouth. “You’ve somehow convinced the world’s greatest spy to willingly talk about her feelings.”

A startled laugh escapes you through the emotion clogging your chest. Natasha steps even closer.

“This isn’t one-sided,” she said firmly. “I’m so incredibly fond of you, y/n,”

Every spiraling thought in your brain seemed to stop in that moment. Natasha looked genuinely offended by the thought of you doubting her feelings for you. And suddenly all those tiny moments over the past few months rearranged themselves differently in your head.

Natasha bringing you coffee exactly how you liked without asking. Her hand finding yours beneath blankets during movie nights. The way she always drifted toward you in crowded rooms. The tennis court. This pool.

You look up at her, searching her eyes. “I’m fond of you too, Natasha,” you reply. “So goddamn fond.”

Emily is obsessed with touching you any chance she gets.

It's surprising, really, the way she starts clinging to you when she finally feels like she's allowed to. When you're at hers, she keeps a hand on your hip while you cook dinner, she likes laying on the couch with you on top of her as you watch some random reality show. Emily keeps her face pressed into your neck, breathing you in, whenever she can.

And it's good. God, it's great. You want it all the time, you love how much she enjoys it, how close she keeps you. There's only one problem.

You want her. Constantly. And it seems like every time you try to move on to something more, she retreats. She kisses your cheek, your forehead, ending the makeout session as soon as it starts.

You don't push, you haven't been going out that long, anyway, and maybe she's still uncomfortable. Maybe you thought she’d be fine with it earlier because you were friends before, yet that might be the reason she's still uncertain, you're not sure. Although trying not to take it to heart is hard, especially when it seems like she doesn't want you as much as you want her, and you don't know if that's because she doesn't see you as her equal.

Being younger than her never really mattered to you. Ever since you started at the BAU you thought she was beautiful, attractive, sure, but she treated you like a colleague worthy of respect, even as her subordinate. Emily never made you feel like you were less than her or your teammates, which is why you never really thought about her age or yours as anything of a problem.

Perhaps you were wrong and she sees yours as a problem.

But there are moments in which you can't believe these conclusions. There are moments, when you're having dinner or just talking on a rare free night, that she looks at you and you can swear she wants you, too. At this point, anything could be true. You enjoy spending time with her, you care about her, and this one thing won't put you off a relationship that you believe can be really good, for the both of you. But this liminal stage ends up confusing you anyway.

Sometimes, your frustration gets the best of you.

You're on her couch, after dinner on a night when you're mercifully still in town. Emily never kisses like she doesn't mean it. She grips your hair and holds your jaw with her other hand, she tilts your chin slightly lower so she can get her tongue into your mouth. Emily sucks on your bottom lip like she's starved for it, then dives back in, leisurely feeling as you open up for her.

Scratching the back of your neck, she lets out a surprised sound when you pull her closer by the cheeks. When you get a leg thrown over her lap, though, she lays a hand on it softly, touching your thigh as if she's afraid you might break. Emily slows the kiss, kisses your chin, then your cheek, and still, with her lips swollen and cheeks red from effort, she smiles like nothing's happened.

“We should watch a movie,” she says, reaching over for the remote. You grip her arm, not letting her get away that easily.

“You're kidding me, right?”

Emily frowns, seemingly genuinely confused — if you weren't so frustrated you might've even found it cute. “I don't know what you mean.”

You chuckle humorlessly, resigned. This is fine. It's just something you'll have to get over. “Never mind,” you say, bringing your leg back from where it still rested over her, almost managing to stand up before she touches your hand.

“What's happening?” She asks, so lost that you actually feel bad. Seriously, what is she doing to you? “Did I do something?”

“No,” you sigh, “it's me. Pick a movie, I'll be right back.”

Emily's still frowning, but you get up, turning away from those sorry eyes. You can't help but feel bad that you put that look on her face when she hasn't done anything to earn it.

In the bathroom, you throw some water on your face. Chuckling ironically at yourself because the feel of the lace lingerie you have on is starting to annoy you. Lately, you've been choosing aesthetics over practicality with your underwear, just in case. Apparently, it was futile.

Reaching under your shirt, you remove your bra, tired of the uncomfortableness it brings. In a t-shirt of Emily's, you can barely tell you're not wearing it, anyway. Since you came straight from work, all you have is your laptop bag, not even pajamas in it, so she's lended you some. You figured you'd keep the lingerie on, again, just in case. Deciding it doesn't really matter, now, you get out of the bathroom and throw it in your bag, cursing the fact that you can't do the same with the bottom piece currently digging into your hips.

Back in the living room, Emily is sitting in silence. She's got a silk set on, some button-up shirt and pants that feel as soft as they look. You like seeing her this casual, comfortable at home, with you. Knowing you should focus on that, you smile at her when you sit back on the couch, your arms touching so she knows you're not upset.

“I couldn't choose,” she says in a low voice, sounding oh-so-dejected, pointing at the television.

Okay, does she have to make it this hard?

“I’m sorry, Em, I was just… upset about something else.” You try, touching her shoulder, letting her silver hair slip through your fingers. “I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

Emily shakes her head, a soft, yet genuine, smile on her face. “Don't worry about it.”

Biting your lip, you nod, still unsure but deciding to take her word for it. “There's a new thriller I thought you might like,” you change the subject, taking the remote from her hand and delighting in the fact that she snuggles up against you, her head on your shoulder, one of her arms around yours.

This is fine. This can be enough.

In bed, Emily has a terrible habit of scrolling through her work e-mails before you turn the lights off.

It usually ends in her getting annoyed at something or someone. She sighs, mutters about how she needs to stop looking at her phone before bed, then does it again then next night.

Tonight's no different. The only different thing is you're sitting next to her, leaning back against the headboard and reading a book, one you've read a thousand times. More passing your eyes over the words than actually absorbing them.

Emily huffs, takes off her glasses, places her phone on the nightstand, screen turned down. She turns on her side, still half propped up by pillows, and scoots closer. Her arm finds your waist, her head leaves the pillow to rest on your shoulder.

“Read it out loud?” She asks, her voice muffled against your skin.

You don't add anything, only start reading to her from the top of the page. You know she's not asking to know the story, she just wants to hear your voice.

“As the king made no answer, the little prince hesitated a moment. Then, with a sigh, he took his leave. // ‘I make you my Ambassador,’ the king called out, hastily. // He had a magnificent air of authority…”

The cold tip of Emily's nose touches your skin where your shirt’s moved a little. She presses it closer, breathes you in. Leaves a featherlight kiss on your shoulder.

You close the book harshly in the middle of a sentence.

“You must be tired,” you say, placing Le Petit Prince on the nightstand. “We should get some sleep.”

Emily frowns, “you're acting weird.”

You look away to turn off the lamp. She catches your hand.

“Talk to me.” She asks, her voice so syrupy as it usually is this time of night. “Please?”

Taking a deep breath, you buy some time. Not nearly enough.

“Did I do something?” She asks again, crestfallen now. Your chest physically hurts.

“No, you didn't do anything.” Taking her hand, you lace your fingers together. “I mean it, Emily. This is my issue, I'll get over it soon.”

Frowning, “I’d like to help.”

You shake your head, kiss her cheek. “I think,” you whisper, “no, I know, you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time.”

Emily only looks at you, eyes big and searching. Her profiler skills working at full speed and, still, she can't figure you out.

“I don't want to ruin it,” you finish. Squeeze her hand for good measure, to let her know you're there.

“I'm so confused,” Emily says, sitting up properly. “Why won't you tell me what's wrong?!”

“Why won't you have sex with me?!”

Alright, blurting it out was not how you wanted to do this.

You close your eyes, cheeks flaming. “Forget I just said that.”

When you look up, Emily looks… stunned. Her lips are softly parted and her eyes are wider than usual. Too bad you really want to kiss her.

“Let's go to sleep.” Imploring now, you try to pull your hand away. She doesn't let you.

“I'm sorry-” She starts, but you interrupt her.

“No! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that, I was-”

Emily shuts you up with a kiss. Pressing your lips together, she holds your face in place as she kisses you. She doesn't deepen it, but she lingers, then softens.

“Stop talking,” she murmurs against your lips. “Please.”

You nod, pressing your lips together.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize this was weighing on you.” Her voice is collected, like she sounds in the conference room. You want to shake her, tell her to yell or show that this is affecting her, too. “I never wanted to make you feel unwanted.”

“I don't-” You interrupt yourself before she can because, really, what can you say to that?

“I do want to have sex with you,” she says, calmly, but there's a light rubor to her cheeks, like it's hard for her to say it.

“Then- Why? Do you think it's too early? We've known each other for over a year.”

Emily nods, moving the hands that were resting on your shoulders to grip your own hands. “I don't think it's too early, I…” She shakes her head. “I don't know how to explain it.”

“Emily,” you say, finding that you really want to get that disheartened look off her face more than you want an explanation. Trying to convey in your tone what you feel about her. “You don't have to explain anything. We’ll do it when you're ready. If you're never ready, we'll never do it.”

“Simple as that?” She asks, slightly incredulously.

You shrug, “simple as that. I just wanted to know why, but that doesn't matter.”

Emily smiles, a small thing that you might've missed if you weren't paying attention. “You're so young,” she starts, confusing you again. It must show on your face because she quickly continues. “I'm not. And I don't look like I did at thirty anymore, or even forty. And maybe you should be with someone like that.”

Scoffing, you can't believe what she's saying. “You think I want to be with anyone else? I've been crawling up the walls because you won't touch me!”

Emily shakes her head negatively, “I believe you. When you say you want me, I can trust it. But I don't think you should.”

You cross your arms, dislodging her hands from yours. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but nothing really comes out.

“I don't care that you don't look like a wax figure. Do you care that my stomach isn't perfectly toned? Or that I have acne scars on my back? Cellulite?!”

“Of course not, but-”

“Emily!” You interrupt her. “I love you. God, why is that so hard for you to understand?”

She blinks. Silence engulfs the room.

“I was gonna wait, because we've only been together a month or whatever… But we've been friends for so long, and fuck it, it's out there now.” Holding her face between your hands, you bring it close to yours. “I love you. And I want you like I've never wanted anyone in my life.”

“I love you,” she whispers back. But you don't have time to react before Emily kisses you, holding you in place by the shoulders, forcefully pressing your lips together like a woman starved.

Moving a hand over her side, she grips it before you can leave it there, holding it in her lap and pulling back from the kiss. Emily touches her forehead to yours, breathing hard with her eyes closed.

“Sorry, I-” She gasps out. “I didn't think it'd be this hard.”

You nod, placing a comforting kiss to the side of her mouth. Pushing her softly against the pillows, you lean over her a little, but not enough to completely cover her body. Trying your best not to be overwhelming, you look all over her face, taking note of her breath coming in hard pants and her hands clenched in the fabric of your shirt.

“Emily.”

She opens her eyes, not realizing she'd even closed them in the first place. They're wide, searching your expression.

“Take a deep breath,” you suggest, touching your cheek to hers when she does so. “Again.” Matching her breaths, you keep her under you for a moment, hoping she can finally relax. “I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm going to do, and if you need me to stop, tell me, alright?”

Lifting your head, you lock eyes. Emily nods, pressing her lips together and managing to keep her breathing normally paced.

“I'm going to kiss you, now.”

And you do exactly that.

At least this is familiar territory. Emily quickly melts into you, her mouth welcoming your tongue in a practised move. You don't touch her anywhere else, only keep one of her hands in yours, the other resting by her head on the mattress. She lets out a small sound of approval, her neck lifting to get closer, head tilting for the best fit.

When she comes up for air, you lower your face into her neck. “Here,” you whisper. “Okay?”

Emily hums a consent. You kiss below her ear, slow and wet, enjoying the taste of her skin in the way she hadn't let you before. You've been dreaming about this for weeks, months, and the reality of it is better than you expected.

Placing kisses down her neck, you reach the base of it, right where it meets the skin of her shoulder. A particularly hard kiss there leaves a slightly red flush in the shape of your mouth. Emily gasps above you, her free hand moving to grip your shoulder. You let her hold onto you, let her feel the assurance of your body over hers.

You take your time exploring her skin. The exposed area of her chest glistens and flushes where you've kept your lips on it, enjoying the taste and the way she shudders, her back unclenching, lowering back onto her soft sheets.

“Can I take your shirt off?”

Not even having dared to undo a button, you wait for her approval. Emily looks up at you, an ethereal vision with her cheeks red and her lip swollen where she bit it to contain her own whimpers. She doesn't say anything, so you move your hands to your (her) own shirt, slowly lifting it off yourself. For a second, you'd forgotten you'd taken your bra off in the bathroom, but the chill in the room quickly reminds you of it.

Emily looks at you intently, her eyes mapping every bit of exposed skin. She licks her lips, placing her hands on your waist and squeezing softly. You nod at her encouragingly.

Dragging her hands up, she keeps her palms under your chest, not going further. You feel your skin heat up at the attention, but don't move to cover yourself, letting her look as much as she wants to.

Emily looks into your eyes again, "take it off.”

You don't waste any time. Swiftly opening the buttons on her silk shirt, you lower your head to breathe in every amount of skin that is gradually shown. When it's completely open, you kiss her sternum, the valley between her breasts, her stomach, but you don't move to push it off her body. Slowly, you taste every bit that's uncovered, feeling as Emily's hips move on their own accord, lifting up from the bed ever so slightly, a sight that you'll soon learn means she's aroused.

Getting your arms under her back, you pull her up, touching your uncovered chest to hers. “I'm going to take it off, now.”

Everything is said in your lowest tone, as if you're trying not to spook a scared stray. When Emily nods, you finally rid her of her shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor and not caring to look. There is a much more interesting view right in front of you.

She lies back down, her eyes locked on yours, her hands gripping you at the height of your ribs. You move down with her, trying to stifle a smile but losing the battle, kissing her chest so she can't feel embarrassed.

“You're perfect,” you murmur against her skin, causing her to shiver at the warmth in your voice. Keeping your promise, you continue, “I'm going to taste you, now.”

Taking a nipple into your mouth, you smile around it when she whines. Sucking slightly, the sounds she lets out spur you on. This is so, so much better than you could've imagined. Emily moans when you move to her other breast, the cool air causing even stronger shivers on her wet skin.

After a while, when Emily's breathing is labored for an entirely different reason, you bring your face up to meet hers. You can never get enough of the way she kisses, so you ask for it again. A thumb on her chin, pressing it down to guide her jaw, loving the way she relinquishes her body to yours. Your tongues meet heatedly, and you moan at how she tastes, yet again. She groans in the back of her throat, gripping your hair strands and keeping you exactly where she wants you.

You touch her chest, taking care of it with your hands this time as she kisses you oh-so-sweetly, in that way only she can.

Coming up for air, you smile at the expression on her face, dazed and relaxed, at last. Surprisingly, Emily smiles back, a small tilt of her lips but a smile nonetheless.

“Can I take your pants off?”

She nods, running fingers through your hair to move it away from your face. Twisting it onto a low ponytail to keep it there, she runs her hands down your bare back, then your chest, mapping your body with her fingertips as best as she can reach.

You remove her pajama pants, leaving her underwear on for now. Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself. She's everything and she really has no idea.

“I really didn't plan for this,” Emily murmurs, pulling you back to the moment. She's gesturing at her underwear, you notice, a simple, black cotton pair.

“It's perfect.”

Standing up, you take off your, also borrowed, sleep shorts. Emily lifts her eyebrows at the sight of your lace bottoms.

You smile, “just in case.”

Emily, mercifully, laughs. A loud, free thing that settles your worry.

“You can stop narrating now,” she says, pulling on your hand so you straddle her hips.

“You sure?”

She nods, pulling on the back of your neck to kiss you.

As you kiss, you feel her hips bucking up into yours. Your hands find her body again, relearning every curve that you, for a while, thought you'd never get to see. Finding the edge of her underwear, you only look at her, waiting for a sign of discouragement. Emily only nods.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper unconsciously after finally, finally, getting her naked. “I've been wanting to do this for months.”

Emily lifts an eyebrow, “months?”

You hum in agreement, growing more speechless by the second. Kneeling between her thighs, you stare at her unabashedly, earning an impatient look from Emily, who clears her throat. “Sorry,” you grin up at her, delicately lifting one of her legs onto your shoulder. Emily closes her eyes as her cheeks heat up.

“You're perfect.” It feels like you can't say anything else. You desperately want her to understand that you've never meant anything more than this. “Fuck, Emily, you're stunning.”

She opens her eyes, looking away quickly when she notes the flame in yours, her face turned to the ceiling. You let her have it, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, and start kissing the inside of her thigh where it's resting near your face.

Her skin erupts in goosebumps. You can smell her so strongly from where you lay, your mouth starts salivating almost immediately.

In the end, you don't know if you taste her more for her pleasure or yours. Every minute that passes with your head between Emily's thighs, you feel yourself get more and more aroused. You know you're just about to become addicted to her, you'll want to do this every hour or every day and it's gonna be so hard to not jump her every morning in the office.

The sounds she lets out are a spectacle apart. Her throat raw from moaning, the whimpers and gasps that she produces every time you find just the right spot. Every time that deliciously raspy voice hits your ears it spurs you on, when she calls please! into the ceiling, when she keens as you slip a finger into her.

Two fingers pulling forward, your mouth sucking precisely on her clit — you learn that's the perfect recipe. Emily cries out, telling you not to stop, telling you it's exactly right, and just like that, don't stop, fuck.

There's barely a breathy, broken, “baby, I'm so close” before she comes into your mouth. Her thighs shake and her hips try shooting up as you hold her down, keeping her close and still with your tongue on her, tasting as she comes down. Her back arches in the most stunning arch and you want to do it all over again, keep doing it, all night, all week, if she'll let you.

When she pulls your face away, gripping your hair strands and trying to stop you, you whine at the separation.

Once you're face to face again, you pout jokingly at her. “I was enjoying that.”

Emily smiles, “yes, well, I need a minute.”

She brings you in for a kiss, groaning as she tastes herself on your tongue. You feel the wetness on your chin passing onto her face, your kiss messy in the best way possible. Emily nips on your bottom lip, then beams at you.

“I don't know why I was so worried.”

You shrug, “I don't know, either.” But your eyes soften in understanding. A kiss on her cheek to tell her you've got her.

“Your turn?” She asks, grabbing your hips with her hands already under the waistband of the lace. Emily keeps them there, giving you the same time you gave her. It's sweet, even if you've told her you were crawling up the walls, and that she can probably feel the damp spot on her thigh from where you straddle her.

“I'm not done yet.”

Getting up again, you remove your underwear, then sit down next to her and pat your lap playfully. Emily rolls her eyes, but complies, straddling your own legs this time.

Gently moving her legs where you want them, you get one thigh over hers, the other under, and she swiftly adjusts herself when she gets your intention. She keeps herself lifted, not resting her weight onto you yet, leaning down to touch her forehead to yours, more easily as you're slightly propped up against the headboard.

You hold her hips firmly, guiding her down to bring your centers together. Emily closes her eyes, shivering.

Kissing below her ear, you whisper, “ride me?”

Emily sighs next to your face, hiding hers in your neck. “I'm not twenty anymore.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, taking her earlobe between your teeth and enjoying the way she shudders. “I'll guide you, hm?”

She doesn't say anything, but she nods, and her hips give a slight, barely there, thrust forward. You both moan in unison.

Keeping a tight grip on her hips, you encourage her to move.

It's dramatic, sure, but you feel like you've died and gone to heaven in the span of a few seconds.

Murmuring in her ear about how good she looks, how well she rides you, you delight in her needy whimpers. Emily lets out these enticing little gasps where she hides her face in your neck.

Still guiding her movements with a hand, you take another to touch her back softly, caressing the skin and feeling as beads of sweat start to form from the exertion. You don't stop praising her out loud, the vibration of your voice emboldening the undulation of her hips, and Emily grips the hand that's resting right there, a bruising hold that keeps you anchored.

It takes a little trial and error, but you find the perfect rhythm together. She lifts her head when she's getting close. Her neck strains as she approaches orgasm, you've noticed, her entire body tensing in expectation.

As her breathing gets more labored, her brows furrowing from the effort, you think you've never seen someone this beautiful, and you tell her just so. Her cheeks flame, still so unused to praise, but it still spurs her own, her thighs burning now from the merciless pace she sets. With a particular twist of her hips, she slightly moves off where you need her the most, but she looks so ruined, so gorgeous, almost reaching her peak, that you don't say anything. You have time. Now, you only grip her harder, letting her take what she needs from you.

Telling her how good she rides you, how perfect she looks above you, you watch in ecstasy as her back arches and she comes again, an almost sob of relief leaving her lips.

When she falls forward, spent, you wrap your arms around her and kiss her temple, then wherever you can reach. You whisper that you love her, she answers with a squeeze of your arm, still catching her breath.

“You've ruined me,” she says when she finally finds her voice again.

“I did no such thing.”

Turning her face to look at you, your noses brush together. “You probably fixed me.”

“Don't be silly,” you joke, nipping at her nose. “There was nothing to fix.”

“Huh,” she considers, pressing your lips together sweetly, like she can't get enough. “Somehow, I almost believe that.”

You beam. That was all you really wanted.

Baran could not stop thinking about you.

Ever since you’d showed up in the ED a couple weeks up, stitching up your own face, Baran found her thoughts constantly drifting to you. Your casual, flirtatious nature paired with competence and the obvious respect you garnered intrigued her. The more Baran thought about you, the more you became like a puzzle she was determined to solve.

When she had brought you up to Dana, the charge nurse simply waived her off. Thinking Baran had had a problem with your flirting, Dana told her, “Don’t worry about her. She’s a lover girl stuck on a surgeon’s schedule.”

Baran had asked a couple other people what they knew about you—subtly, of course—and the message was generally the same: you were a flirt, but a damn good doctor. She only wished you stopped by the ED more often so she could decide for herself.

As if you had heard her thoughts, your voice rang out, coming from the ambulance bay. “What’s open? I need a room prepped for a trach!”

“Trauma 2!” Someone yelled back, but Baran was focused on you, your crazed eyes and the way your entire front was splattered with blood.

Rushing over to walk alongside the moving gurney, already snapping on a pair of gloves, Baran called over McKay to assist.

“What do we have?” she asked as you entered the trauma room.

“Oxy overdose. Emesis and aspiration blocked the airway, so I went emergency circ,” you explained, barely giving her a second glance before turning to the paramedics. “On my count.”

As you transferred the man onto the trauma table, you started giving out orders, so naturally, Baran would have thought you were the trauma attending on call, not her.

“Somebody get Garcia in here,” you barked out to anybody who was listening as you readied yourself for a tracheostomy, putting on a gown, glasses, and gloves.

“Dr. Al-Hashimi.” Your urgent voice brought her out of her momentary shock from your commanding presence. “Lend a hand?”

As if like a switch, your tone changed from stern to flirtatious, and she wondered if this was how you always were. She ignored the slight coil in her stomach at the sight of the smirk pulling on your lips and stepped up to the table.

“So, you come here often?” Baran asked, trying to match your teasing tone, as she watched you carefully remove the emergency tube.

You laughed, looking up at briefly and wiggling your eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would actually,” Baran responded very matter-of-factly as she raised a challenging brow, her mouth forming a smirk of her own.

McKay snickered, causing you to glare at her.

“You ever do an emergency cric, Cass?” You put your friend on the spot, causing her to shake her head. “I’ll teach you,” you said slyly before looking back at Baran and winking. “You gotta be able to handle anything when you’re on street team.”

Baran’s eyes narrowed at this new piece of information about you. She’d thought learning more about you would help clear things up for her, but if anything, this only further confused her. Why would a plastic surgeon spend her off-time doing street team?

“Wow, you look like shit,” Garcia snarked, as she pushed open the door, hands already gloved and ready.

“All for you, Yoyo,” you replied smoothly with a flash of your signature smirk, earning an eye roll from the other surgeon.

Baran did her best to ignore the twisting feeling in her stomach as she watched the exchange between you two. You really were like this with everyone. Maybe your reputation did precede you.

“What’d I miss?” Yolanda walked over to stand by the patient’s head.

“Emergency cric conversion to trach,” you explained before asking Princess for a ten blade.

“First a slach trach and now this?” Garcia shook her head, clearly annoyed.

You looked up, your curiosity piqued. “Slash trach? Someone did a slash trach?”

Instead of responding, Yolanda transferred her stare from you to Al-Hashimi, causing you to do the same.

“You did a slash trach?”

Baran’s expression instinctively became defensive, which told you all you needed to know, and you let out a low whistle.

“Impressive.”

The warm hum of your voice caused Baran’s cheeks to warm, and she mentally chided herself. She was a middle-aged divorcée with a son, and here she was acting like a middle schooler with a crush.

“Dr. Mckay?” Your switched back into surgeon-in-charge mode as you addressed the resident. “Would you like to do the honors? I’ll talk you through it.”

“You never stop, do you,” Cassie quipped under her breath, picking up on your teasing suggestiveness that seemed never quite absent from anything you said.

You handed her the tube and moved to stand next to Yolanda.

“I’ve already created the window at the third and fourth tracheal rings,” you told McKay. “Now what?”

Cassie looked up at Baran, her attending, who nodded, giving the go-ahead.

“Insert the tube from a lateral position and twist in,” Cassie answered. You raised your eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “Once in position, inflate the cuff and insert the inner tube.”

“Good.”

As you observed the resident insert the tube, Yolanda leaned towards you, muttering in your ear, “I thought you hated the ED.”

“Street team,” you answered her unspoken question. Yolanda gave you a once over, and finally noticed you weren’t dressed in your usual scrubs.

“Missing your MSF days?”

This caught Baran’s attention, and she looked up from the patient and over to you. “You were with Médecins Sans Frontières?”

Everything she learned about you just continued to confuse her even more. Why would a plastic surgeon do a stint with MSF?

Tilting your head slightly, you met her gaze with a soft smile. “I spent some time with them in Yemen,” you replied curtly.

Baran could tell this wasn’t a topic you enjoyed discussing, and based on what she knew about the hospital airstrikes in Yemen, she could understand why.

“Tube’s in place, cuff’s inflated, and airway is sealed,” Cassie declared, bringing you back to the moment.

“Good work, Dr. McKay.” You nodded shortly, your words tired.

Yolanda noticed your shift in demeanor, and she could tell you were crashing. There was a reason you chose plastics over trauma.

“I got it from here.” She squeezed your elbow lightly as she motioned for transfer. “Go clean yourself off, Carrie.”

You took a deep breath and ripped off the gown. Following Yolanda as she escorted the patient out of the trauma room, you peeled off the latex gloves and threw them in the trash. Your hands were still caked in blood from your emergency procedure earlier, and you realized they were starting to shake.

Catching your faint reflection in the glass of the trauma bay, you saw your face was splattered with the man’s blood and your shirt was completely stained. As your mind caught up with what just transpired, you felt your anxiety start to crawl in your gut.

You rushed over to the nurses’ station and found the nearest trashcan before emptying your insides. The sight of your bloodied hands gripping the rim of the bin made you even more nauseous. Shakily, you pushed yourself off the ground and tried to ignore the stares, some of worry and some of disgust.

“I’m fine,” you announced to no one in particular, but you could see Dana’s motherly concern watching you, and you could feel a certain pair of brown eyes following you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated to yourself. Weaving through the ED, you were in a daze, your only focus being on getting this blood off of you, and didn’t hear Cassie calling your name.

Before the resident could chase after you, someone calling her name pulled her in a different direction. “Dr. McKay–” Perlah approached the station with a tablet in her hand– “x-rays are back on your CP patient in thirteen, and the mom is asking for you.”

Cassie sighed and took the tablet, sparing a glance back in the direction of where you had retreated, an imperceptible action that Baran had noticed.

“I’ll go check on her.” The attending gave the other woman a small, reassuring smile.

“Thanks.” Cassie nodded as she walked away.

When Baran pushed open the bathroom door, the last thing she expected to see was you without your shirt on using the article of clothing as a cleaning rag, but alas there you were. For a moment, she could only stare, letting her eyes linger on the way your back muscles flexed with each movement and on the few patches of scar tissue that contrasted against your smooth skin. Baran couldn’t help but wonder what your skin would feel like under her fingertips.

“You know, if you wanted to see me naked you could’ve just asked,” you joked weakly as you met her stare in the mirror.

“You’re not naked,” Baran deadpanned, causing you to smirk lazily.

“Maybe next time then.”

Taking a couple steps forward, Baran leaned against the sink next to you, the cool tile digging into the small of her back. She didn’t say anything, though, simply observing you.

“What?” you chuckled nervously, suddenly feeling very exposed under her watchful eyes.

Noticing the goosebumps that started to decorate your skin, Baran tilted her head. She had only met you once before today, but she couldn’t imagine you were one to shrink easily. Yet, she had to admit she liked seeing you squirm.

Deciding to put you out of your misery, she finally asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you answered reflexively. Both of you knew that was a lie, but neither of you said anything. “I just need to get cleaned off. I’m actually need upstairs in—” glancing down at your watch, you sighed and ran your hands over your face– “ten minutes ago.”

“You sure you want to work after that?” Baran frowned, and you smiled softly at her concern.

“I just have a cleft palate and a free flap reconstruction on my plate today. Then on-call for the evening,” you said flippantly, causing the other woman to scoff.

“You say that as if both those operations aren’t multiple hours long.”

“I’ve had worse.” You shrugged, and after all that Baran had learned about you in the last hour, she believed you.

“Uh—” you held up your blood-soaked t-shirt awkwardly— “thanks for, um, checking up on me.”

Baran didn’t need to know you well to see how uncharacteristic your stuttering was, and she bit back a grin. As you moved towards the door, she realized you were still clad in only your sports bra.

“Wait.” Her voice echoed lightly against the empty stalls as she slipped off her jacket.

“Woah,” you laughed, turning on your heels. “At least buy me a drink first.”

Baran merely rolled her eyes. You were relentless.

“As much as I’m sure many people would appreciate the view, I’m not sure HR would want you walking around the hospital without a shirt.” She held out the jacket, which you accepted with a raised brow.

“Are you included in these ‘many people’?” You lowered your voice as you put on the jacket, zipping it up in one motion.

Ducking to hide the tint on her cheeks, Baran shook her head. “You wish,” she muttered.

You let out a noncommittal sound before tugging at the sleeves of the jacket.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice returning to a gentler tone.

“You’re welcome.” Baran saw her opportunity and pushed herself off the sink. “Though, I think you looked better without it.”

Your eyes widened, visibly taken-aback by her forwardness. With a satisfied smile, Baran slid past you and exited the bathroom, leaving you to swallow a taste of your own medicine.

The sound of the door closing behind her shook you out of your momentary stupor. Taking a deep breath, you were immediately enveloped by the smell of the faint perfume that clung to Baran’s jacket.

There was something about the scent that exuded a quiet boldness, a scent so undeniably her, and you couldn’t get enough.

You gave her a shrug and looked down as you pick at your cuticles, as well as to suppress the laughter that threatened to escape your throat.

“What can I say? Being an R3 is tough.”

“You’ll fry off your lungs before you even finish your residency, kid.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, a groan following soon after. “Quit calling me that. I’m not one of your nasty children.”

Dana’s lips quirked into a smirk at your reaction, her head shaking when your face scrunched into a scowl. “Yet you’re here acting like one.”

Your head snapped up at her comeback, mouth hung open as if you just heard the most painful insult.

“And that’s why i’m going out for a smoke.”

“You better watch it, doctor. Being stubborn won’t get ya anywhere.” Dana scolded, her voice now turning serious and has that cold edge that you love.

You didn’t turn around to respond, instead you waved a hand at her before sliding through the exit.

It wasn’t long before the both of you arrived at your shared house—Dana’s house, to be exact. Her kids moved out and you moved in, although they pay the two of you visits from time to time.

The car ride was silent, you were focused on the road while Dana was looking out the window—but you can tell that she wanted nothing to do with you.

You’ve been getting on her nerves all day. Running your mouth to the med students around her, going out for a smoke after every patient, and joining Santos on her bitchiness spree.

She wasn’t having any of it. It was on purpose though. You always knew how to get her worked up, and even though this “method” of yours is dangerous because you can’t really predict Dana’s reaction—it’s surprisingly effective.

When you stepped inside the house, Dana walked ahead and entered the kitchen to cook whatever she could find for the both of you.

You were left behind, dropping your keys to the bowl on top of the drawer at the entrance, hanging your jacket to the clothing rack, and taking off your shoes before following suite.

Dana was already frying eggs and bacon on the barely heated pan and you slowly creeped up behind her, hands snaking around her waist.

You could tell that she was taken aback by how quickly she got tensed, but she eventually relaxed into your touch—a relieved sigh escaping her mouth that she didn’t even hear.

“You mad at me?” you mumbled against her silver hair, your thumbs sliding up and down her sides.

Dana shook her head, hand resting on your wrist as she craned her head to face you. “You were getting on my nerves. But, that’s your purpose in my life huh?” she chuckled, head shaking.

“You know i’m only trying to make your life shine brighter.” you whispered and pressed a kiss behind her ear that sent a shiver down Dana’s spine.

“Because I love you..” you trailed off, the same way your lips trailed kisses from her jaw down to her neck—where you left tiny bruises on her pulse point that made her whimper.

“And I want you to feel good. So, so good.”

Dana’s back slightly arched when your hands went under her shirt, you pulled down her bra and fumbled with her now hardened nipples—her bottom lip getting caught between her teeth as her wetness pooled between her legs.

“Fuck..” she whispered and leaned further into your touch.

Your right hand fumbled with the stove to turn it off and you swung Dana around, making her face you and her flushed face.

Her eyes looked up hungrily into yours, orbs travelling from your lips and back into your eyes.

Dana didn’t say anything, instead she pulled you into a kiss—her tongue immediately slipping inside your mouth that you eagerly took in. You sucked gently on the muscle, your hands coming down to squeeze her ass that made her tiptoe.

The kiss you shared became sloppy and it wasn’t long before Dana was sat on the counter with you standing between her legs—your hands squeezing her bare tits as you discarded her shirt and bra moments ago.

You pulled away from the kiss, your mouth moving to her collarbone then to her chest before you took one of her nipples in your mouth.

Dana’s eyes closed, her hands springing to clutch your hair as you sucked hungrily on her breast.

You alternated between her right and left tit, hand massaging one as you sucked the other.

“Wanna taste you.” you whispered and slowly got down on your knees as you looked up at Dana’s lazy eyes, your hands tugging at the waistband of her sweats that made her lift her hips.

You took them off, slowly sliding them down her legs that made Dana bite down on her lip as the soft material tickled her skin.

Once they were off, you spread her legs wider—mouth watering at the sight of her sopping wet cunt just waiting eagerly for your tongue.

Dana’s hand went behind your head, as if pushing you towards her heat.

You chuckled and pulled her hand down. “Eager, huh?” you teased, earning an eye roll from the woman.

“A picture’ll make it last longer.”

“I can’t taste a picture, sweetheart.” you grinned and leaned froward to lick a bold stripe up her slit, her back arching at the sudden sensation.

You sucked on her clit, your thumb teasing her entrance—finger going in and out just slightly to make her pussy twitch and clench hungrily around nothing.

She whined, a rare sound that you could ever hear from Dana, and that pushed you over to the edge.

You made out with her pussy, tongue licking her hole while your thumb pressed tightly on her swollen clit.

You eventually pulled your tongue out, and before Dana could even protest—you replaced it with your fingers, her walls so slick that you easily slid a third finger in.

Dana’s eyes rolled, her mouth hanging open as various curses escaped her throat. Her hips buckled forward, her hole swallowing the entirety of your fingers’ lengths that made a delirious sound echo in the kitchen.

“You feeling good, baby?” you smiled against her clit, eyes looking up to find Dana’s face scrunched up with her hands fumbling with her tits.

“F-fuck.. yes.” she slurred, making you grin and twist your fingers to rub her clit with your thumb.

Dana practically screamed at the added pleasure, her chest starting to heave when a familiar knot started forming in her stomach.

Her hands grasped at everything, your fingers sliding in and out of her at a deliberate pace that made sloppy sounds from how wet she is.

You took notice of the way Dana’s thighs flexed and how her moans started getting louder, your mouth replacing your thumb’s place on her clit—tongue flicking over the sensitive nub as you helped Dana cum.

“Fucking c-christ.. i’m cumming.” she trembled, eyes shutting tightly.

Dana’s hands flew up to your head as she pressed it forward, her breathing getting heavy as you ate her out and fucked her most sensitive spot with your fingers.

It didn’t take long before Dana’s cum started coating your fingers, her legs trembling harshly as she came hard on your fingers.

You grinned at the sight of your fingers drenched in her cum, and you slowed down your pace—only wanting to help her come down from her high.

Dana’s brows furrowed and she whined before pushing your hand away.

And you did, knowing that she was starting to get overstimulated.

You slowly pulled your fingers out, seeing moe of Dana’s cum gush out of her pussy.

“Came hard, didn’t you?” you teased, earning a flick to the forehead from Dana.

You got up from your knees and stared intensely into her eyes as you slipped your cum-coated fingers inside your mouth, tongue licking your digits clean before releasing them with a pop.