ThisIrishGirlLoves

getting teased by santos about you being a virgin. annoying victoria by saying you should practice with each other. or with mel. or even with dennis. donnie, mateo, even princess are setting you up with people they know.

somebody already put up a betting grid on when you would get your first kiss. 

it would probably be fun, and you would even get on the bet if you were still in university, but here in the place you work, you feel quite the opposite. 

especially around your superiors—your charge nurse in particular, whom you have had your eye on for quite a while.

fuck.

it doesn't help that she would stop the others from teasing the hell out of you, only for her to give you quips of her own with that low gravel of her voice that you definitely don't fantasize about.

“don't listen to them, sweetheart. you don't need to rush. the right person will come for you.”

“they're setting you up with that girl from cardio? honey, you can do better than that.”

the longer it drags on, the more…suggestive they become, and in your lust-addled brain, you like to think she’s insinuating something you’ve only been dreaming of. 

“you want to be with someone older the first time. teach ya things, y’know?”

the rational part of your brain tells you not to overthink it, but the seeds she’s been planting in your mind make it hard not to. not only that, but dana’s touches have been lingering more frequently.

she once saw cat hair on your top, and made it her mission to pluck them off your scrubs. she was too close, too close even for her normal tactile self, that some eyebrows were raised, but of course, no one’s brave enough to call out dana on it.

both hands on your hips as she scoots past you.

once a usual pat on your back for a job well done, now a firm squeeze on your arms. 

if a patient’s flirting with you? it’s either her or somebody else takes over. no questions asked.

dana found you on a quick break on the stairwell. “their pool’s almost 200 bucks, kid. you gonna let someone win that?”

“it’s stupid. i don’t have time to hook up with someone. i’m barely on my own bed.”

she sits beside you, her elbows resting on her knees. “you and me both, kid,” dana chuckles. “do you want to?”

“w-want what?”

“kiss someone. get laid,” she said with a low voice. like it should be a secret. 

“i…i dont know. maybe. one day?” you reply nervously. you don’t know where she’s going with this, all you can think about is the hand that’s now resting on your knee, her thumb brushing the space. 

“you need someone you know. person you trust. someone who knows and can give you what you need. you won’t get that from a bar. jesus, god knows bar hookups can be so sloppy. gal like you don’t deserve that.”

“okay, well. do you…know someone?”

dana doesn’t answer.

instead, she stands up, and you follow her movement with your eyes.

you already miss her touch—but not for long, as she tips your chin up to match her gaze. her blue eyes map your expression. wide bright eyes, dilated pupils, lips parted.

her cocky smirk returns on her lips, then pulls away, going back to the chaos of ED. over her shoulder, she says, “you should come later. there’s ice cold beer.”

later comes.

the chill of pittsburgh air permeates your skin, but it’s not why the hair on the back of your neck stands up. 

it’s the way dana’s arms are resting at the back of the park bench.

your colleagues are long gone, and it’s only you and her and the can of beer that tastes a little more bitter now. 

“ya know what i think? i think,” dana’s voice lowers. “…you like someone and that’s why you’re not game with the people they’re setting ya up with.”

you chuckle in response. “maybe i do. but, it’s impossible. they’re…she’s just not someone. it can’t possibly happen.”

“well, why not? you’re a very pretty girl. anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“it’s complicated,” you huff. you turn towards dana, her other hand busying itself by brushing your hair out of your face. “she can’t possibly see me the way i do. she’s everything. i’m just…me. i’m not even half the woman that she is.”

“don’t sell yourself short, honey. here, look at me.” dana directs your face toward her. “‘m sure you’ll do great. why dont you practice with me?”

you gape at her like a fish out of water. “w-what?”

“ya heard me. it sounds like this woman you like’s a real piece of work. if you want her, you need to be able to sweep her off her feet.”

god. how do you even process this? when the very woman she’s referring to is herself?

but you do want to kiss her so bad. so bad, you’re already nodding yes—you could never say no to her, anyway—and you inch closer to her, your hand letting go of the beer can on the ground. 

you put your hand on dana’s knee with a hesitant palm. 

dana leans in, but still waits for you to close the gap. “just follow my lead, ‘kay? do what feels natural.”

so you close your eyes and wait with bated breath for her.

it’s barely a kiss, just a tentative brush of dana’s lips against yours. she pulls back slightly. “you good, kid?”

it’s barely a kiss, but you could feel your heart beating so loud you probably need to go back to the ED but as a patient, this time. 

it’s barely a kiss, and yet. 

it’s worth the wait. it’s everything you ever wanted, and more. 

“y-yeah. i…can we do that again?”

“of course, baby girl.”

your stomach did a flip at the nickname. 

this time, you let dana’s lips slide against yours, pressing more deeply than the first time, until the two of you get into a comfortable rhythm. your hand now finds its way to dana’s jaw, feeling more confident. 

that is, until dana pulls your hair, and a moan slips out of your mouth. you could feel her grin, her tongue now licking on your lower lip. she pushed her tongue past your lips, and you let the wet muscle explore your mouth. you mimic what she’s doing, but still letting her lead—earning a hum from the older woman. 

the taste of beer and a hint of nicotine burst in your mouth. you might have just found your favorite taste—and you’re becoming addicted.

you make out in the park for what feels like forever, your touch more bold now as it grasps the collar of dana’s jacket to keep her close. 

much to your dismay, you do need to breathe, so you pull away, but not before dana bites your bottom lip.

“not bad, cheeky girl. see, you’re a natural.”

dana’s praise makes you shiver, and it’s not the cold anymore. “thank you. you’re amazing. that was…incredible. i like it.”

your chest is still heaving, and you could still feel your lips tingling. you take a glance at dana’s face, noting that she’s not entirely unaffected either. her lidded eyes glint against the night, lips curled into a—dare you say—proud, smile.

“it’s getting late, sweetheart. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

It began as any other golden morning in Velaris — sunlight spilling lazily through the gauzy curtains, the distant murmur of the Sidra brushing against the city’s edge, and that warm, comforting scent that always meant home.

You usually slept through all of it.

Mor liked that about you — how peaceful you looked in those quiet dawn hours, tangled in blankets, one arm draped dramatically across the bed as if declaring war on the world for daring to wake.

Except this morning, you weren’t there.

The space beside her was empty. The sheets were cold.

For a moment, Mor lay still, blinking at the absence. Maybe you’d gotten up to grab a drink of water. Maybe you’d gone to open the window. But the apartment was too quiet — the kind of quiet that made her wings twitch.

She sat up slowly, curls falling over her shoulders, and called softly,

“Sweetheart?”

Nothing.

The silence stretched. Then, faintly, came the sound of something clattering in the kitchen.

Mor frowned. You never cooked this early. You never cooked at all before coffee.

She padded barefoot down the hall, still half-smiling, ready to wrap her arms around you and nuzzle your neck while you pretended to protest — “*Mor, I’m trying to— stop— that tickles!*”

But the moment she reached the kitchen doorway, the air changed.

You stood at the counter in one of her shirts, sleeves rolled to your elbows, jaw set, hair pulled back in that messy way she loved — only this time, there was no softness in your expression. Your brow was furrowed, eyes sharp, mouth pressed into a thin line.

The pan hissed on the stove. The scent of eggs and herbs filled the air.

You didn’t even look at her.

“Morning,” Mor said, her voice all honey and sunlight as always.

No answer.

You flipped the eggs. Set the pan down.

Mor waited. Smiled. “You’re up early, love. Planning to surprise me?”

Still nothing. Not even a hum of acknowledgment.

Her smile faltered slightly. “...Alright. Guess not.”

You grabbed a plate, set it on the counter, and began slicing fruit with slow, surgical precision. Mor leaned against the doorframe, watching.

You moved like someone trying to keep their hands busy, like silence was safer than whatever might come out if you opened your mouth.

She tilted her head. “Did I—”

You opened a cabinet, ignoring her completely.

“Okay,” Mor murmured under her breath, “so she’s mad. Good to know.”

You finished arranging the plate, took a fork, and sat down to eat without so much as a glance in her direction. Mor crossed the kitchen, trying again.

“You didn’t sleep well?”

No reply.

“Bad dream?”

Still nothing.

“You’re doing that thing where you pretend I don’t exist. Which is frankly cruel, considering how adorable I am first thing in the morning.”

You stabbed a piece of fruit.

Mor blinked. “...Is that an orange or my heart?”

Nothing.

Her confusion began shifting into mild panic. You never ignored her this long. Not even after the time she accidentally burned your favorite scarf.

She leaned across the table, chin propped on her hand, studying you with a smile that was trying very hard not to be nervous. “You know, I’ve fought in wars, faced monsters, stared down High Lords — but the scariest thing in this world is this face you’re making right now.”

Your only reaction was the slow, deliberate act of setting down your fork, wiping your hands, and standing. You took your plate to the sink, rinsed it, dried it, and placed it neatly in the cupboard.

Mor’s golden eyes tracked every movement, utterly baffled.

“Sweetheart,” she tried again, more serious now. “Talk to me.”

You turned. Looked at her — really looked — for the first time that morning.

And the glare you gave her was sharp enough to make even the Morrigan flinch.

Then you brushed past her, silent as a shadow.

The smell of your shampoo lingered after you’d gone.

The rest of the morning was torture.

Mor sat in the living room pretending to read, eyes darting to you every few seconds. You cleaned. Not the casual kind of cleaning you usually did while humming. No, this was full-blown declaration of war cleaning.

Shelves reorganized. Floors scrubbed. Windows polished until they gleamed.

At one point, she walked in to find you moving all the cushions on the sofa, rearranging them into perfect alignment.

“You’re— you’re dusting the lamps, sweetheart,” she said weakly.

Silence.

“You hate dusting lamps.”

You kept dusting.

Mor rubbed a hand over her face. “This is it. She’s finally snapped. The House of Wind’s chaos gene finally claimed her soul.”

By midday, she was pacing behind you like a lost puppy while you sorted laundry.

“Okay,” she said aloud, counting on her fingers, “so. Did I forget an anniversary? No, that was last month. Did I say something stupid? Unlikely — I’m charming. Did Cassian say something and you think it came from me? He does that sometimes.”

You folded a towel. Mor leaned closer.

“Blink twice if this is about Cassian.”

You blinked exactly once.

Mor groaned. “Okay, not Cassian. Good. Because I swear, if this is about something he—”

You moved to hang the clothes.

“—or is it Nesta? Did she say something? Because if she did, I can totally—”

You shut the laundry room door in her face.

“—take that as a no,” she mumbled to herself.

By late afternoon, Mor was a wreck.

She’d tried everything — humor, gifts, flattery, food. You’d barely acknowledged her existence. The silence wasn’t loud anymore; it was suffocating.

She even went so far as to pull out a bottle of your favorite wine, setting it on the counter like a peace offering.

You glanced at it, then at her, then went back to cleaning the counter.

Mor nearly screamed.

When you left the kitchen, she flopped dramatically onto the couch, burying her face in a pillow.

“She’s going to kill me,” she muttered. “She’s actually going to kill me and no one’s even going to find my body because she’ll bury it under the floorboards after scrubbing them clean.”

The thought of calling Feyre crossed her mind. For all of half a second.

Then she remembered how you would react if she did that.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “No calling Feyre. No calling anyone. Figure it out, Mor. You’re ancient, gorgeous, clever—”

From down the hall came the faint sound of a door closing.

She sighed, pressing a hand over her heart. “—and completely doomed.”

By the time the sky blushed pink over the mountains, Mor had exhausted her last ounce of patience. She’d given you space. She’d given you silence. And now she was done pretending she wasn’t worried sick.

She approached your bedroom door softly, fingers brushing the handle.

“Y/N?” she called, voice gentler now.

No answer.

She pushed the door open.

You were curled on the bed, facing the window, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. The room was dim — the curtains drawn, the last light of sunset casting golden streaks over the floor.

The sight of you like that — small, quiet, hurt — made Mor’s heart squeeze painfully.

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch you yet. “Sweetheart,” she said softly. “You’ve been ignoring me all day. I don’t know what I did, but please— please talk to me.”

Still no response.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not good at this. You know that, right? Feelings. Apologies. But if I said something—if I forgot something—just tell me. Don’t shut me out like this.”

The sound you made then — a broken, watery sniffle — nearly undid her.

Mor froze. “Hey,” she whispered, voice trembling, “are you crying?”

You turned your head slowly, eyes red, lashes wet.

Her heart dropped. “Oh, gods, baby…”

You sat up, pulling your knees to your chest. “I’m— I’m fine.”

Mor gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You’re not fine. You’ve been glaring at me for twelve hours.”

You wiped your face with the back of your hand. “You didn’t do anything.”

Mor blinked. “What?”

“It was a dream,” you muttered miserably.

Her brow furrowed. “A… dream?”

You nodded, cheeks heating. “You— you cheated on me.”

Mor stared at you. Blinked once. Then again.

“You’ve been mad at me all day because of a dream?”

You groaned, covering your face. “It felt real, Mor! You were smiling with her and— and touching her—”

Mor’s shock melted into pure amusement. A slow, teasing grin curved her mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, crawling closer until she could brush a strand of hair from your face. “You jealous little thing.”

You swatted at her weakly. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not laughing,” Mor said — though she very obviously was. “I’m—” She caught herself when she saw fresh tears gathering in your eyes. “Hey, hey. I’m sorry. It must’ve been awful.”

You sniffled. “And my period started this morning.”

Mor froze. “Oh. Oh, gods.”

You nodded miserably. “So yes, I hate everything.”

Mor immediately pulled you into her arms, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You poor, tragic creature. Betrayed by your own imagination and your own uterus.”

That earned a shaky laugh from you, muffled against her shoulder.

“Shh,” Mor murmured, rocking you slightly. “I’ve got you. I promise, I’m not going anywhere. Not even in your dreams.”

You exhaled softly, letting yourself melt into her warmth, the scent of citrus and sunlight wrapping around you. “You’re lucky I love you,” you mumbled.

Mor smiled against your hair. “Oh, I know. Trust me, I know.”

And for the first time that day, you let yourself believe it.

The sun filters through the curtains of Mor’s room — gold spilling lazily across the sheets, across you, across the woman who’s trying very hard to breathe under the weight of your body.

Because you haven’t moved.

At all.

Not since you woke up tangled in her arms at dawn and decided, quite firmly, that you weren’t going anywhere.

Mor blinks awake, her hair a golden mess, her voice still rough with sleep. “Good morning, sunshine,” she murmurs softly, smiling when she feels you nuzzle closer into her neck. Her fingers trail down your back, slow, comforting. “You’re warm,” she hums. “And very clingy this morning.”

You don’t answer — only press a little closer, your leg hooking over hers, your face buried against her shoulder.

Mor laughs quietly. “I take it I’m forgiven, then?”

You hum something that might be yes — or maybe just a sleepy sound of protest when she tries to move.

She chuckles again, brushing her lips against your temple. “Sweetheart, I need to get up. Cassian will burn the kitchen down if I don’t—”

You tighten your arms around her waist immediately. “Let him,” you mumble, voice muffled by her skin. “Let him burn it.”

Mor freezes for a heartbeat — then bursts out laughing so loudly the bed shakes. “You’re serious?”

You lift your head just enough to glare at her, hair all messy and expression deadly serious. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh, I see,” she teases, brushing a stray lock from your cheek. “So this is punishment now? I survive a day of being ignored, and my reward is you turning into a koala?”

You don’t even deny it. “Exactly,” you mutter, laying your head back down. “You deserve it.”

Mor tries — she really does — to wriggle free. But the second she lifts an inch from the mattress, you make this small, wounded noise that hits her straight in the heart.

She sighs dramatically, falling back beside you. “Alright, fine. I’ll stay. The world can crumble. Cassian can burn the entire House of Wind for all I care.”

You grin against her skin, satisfied.

But after a few minutes, Mor tilts her head toward you again. “You know,” she says softly, “you were scary yesterday. You didn’t talk to me for hours. I almost begged Feyre for help.”

You snort at that, finally peeking up at her. “You deserved it.”

Mor gasps theatrically. “I did not! I was an innocent victim in your dream betrayal!”

“You cheated on me!” you protest, half serious, half joking — though your pout is very real. “In my dream! With some faceless fae!”

Mor bites her lip to stop from laughing. “Sweetheart, I think the real tragedy here is that your imagination doesn’t even let me cheat with someone interesting.”

You gasp, sitting up and crossing your arms, glaring at her in mock outrage. “Oh, so you wanted to cheat with someone interesting?”

Mor’s grin softens. She sits up too, cupping your face in her hands. “Never,” she whispers, kissing your forehead. “In this life or any other, there’s no one but you. Even your dreams can’t convince me otherwise.”

Your heart squeezes — but instead of replying, you push her down again and curl up on top of her chest.

“Still not letting you go,” you murmur stubbornly.

Mor strokes your back, amused and utterly gone for you. “I’m starting to think you mean that literally.”

You nod against her. “You’re mine today. No training, no errands, no nothing. Just me.”

She sighs, but her tone is soft, indulgent. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You hum in satisfaction, tracing lazy circles on her stomach with your finger.

By the time afternoon arrives, Mor has fully accepted her fate.

You follow her everywhere — to the kitchen, to the balcony, even to the library. You cling to her arm while she tries to make tea, standing so close that she can barely move her elbows.

“Sweetheart,” she laughs, trying to reach the kettle, “if you want tea, I kind of need to be able to breathe.”

“You don’t need tea,” you say without looking up, cheek still pressed against her shoulder. “You have me.”

Rhysand walks in at that very moment, freezes, and then silently turns around, muttering something about newly mated nonsense as he leaves.

Mor loses it, laughing until she has tears in her eyes. You glare at her, but your lips twitch, betraying you.

Later, on the balcony, you end up sitting in her lap, both of you wrapped in a blanket, the sun setting over Velaris. The city glows below — soft lights, the sound of laughter, the smell of jasmine.

Mor rests her chin on your shoulder, voice low. “You know,” she whispers, “if this is what I get after you ignore me for a day, I might start misbehaving more often.”

You turn your head sharply, meeting her mischievous grin with a warning look. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Mor raises her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No betrayal — not even in dreams.”

You nod firmly, then lean forward to kiss her cheek. “Good.”

There’s a long silence after that, comfortable and warm.

Your fingers find hers, intertwining naturally. She looks at you — at the stubborn little crease between your brows, at the softness in your eyes when you think she’s not watching — and she realizes she’s utterly, helplessly gone for you.

Mor brushes her lips against your hair. “You’re impossible,” she whispers.

You smile faintly. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately,” she murmurs with a smirk, “I do.”

You turn in her lap, wrapping your arms around her neck, your voice muffled against her skin. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

And true to your word, you don’t.

When the night finally settles over Velaris, you’re still there — wrapped around her, warm and safe, refusing to give her even an inch of space.

your chat had been ruthless lately.

"chat she's literally just my roommate," you said for the fourth time that night, trying not to laugh. someone kept spamming the same comment over and over - "we heard her voice again😬😬"

behind the camera, lara was cracking up. loud enough for your mic to barely pick it up. you shot her a look. "stop it," you mouthed.

she raised her eyebrows innocently like she wasn't doing anything, leaned back against the wall, and quietly sipped from your pink water bottle - the one chat knew you never let anyone touch.

your chat exploded.

SHE'S DRINKING FROM THE BOTTLE AGAIN BRO.

mystery girl strikes once again

we need a face reveal pls

you tried to hide your grin as you went back to your game. "guys, it's just my friend," you said. you were so dangerously close to bursting out laughing.

behind you, lara mouthed, am i just your friend baby?

you instantly got nervous. you fumbled your controller, dying in-game instantly. "okay cool, love that for me," you mumbled while she giggled - quietly, but not quietly enough.

that laugh wasn't YOUR laugh😭😭

girl who laughs like that is def your gf

bro the way u got nervous says everything

you shot a glare over your shoulder. lara, smug as ever, leaned forward just far enough that her arm came into frame. your armrest shook as she tugged lightly on your sleeve.

"don't," you whispered.

"don't what, baby?" she teased and dragged out, voice low, right next to your mic.

that made that chat its mind.

WHO WAS THAT

OMG OMG GUYS THAT SOUNDS LIKE LARA FROM KATSEYE

bro she just called u baby ur not beating the allegations.

mystery girl has smth to say

you slapped a hand over your mic and turned. "you're evil."

lara smiled - that slow, satisfied smile that always meant she was having the time of her life. "you love it," she whispered back.

later when you ended stream, you slumped back in your chair, face burning. "you almost exposed us," you said.

lara shrugged, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "almost doesn't count."

you couldn't even argue - mostly because she was right, and partly because your chat was already blowing up on twitter with clips titled

Natasha is barely paying attention to the morning meeting. It’s only an excuse for Tony to listen to the sound of his own voice as he talks through the same things day after day. The schedule barely changes – he could get a whiteboard and just write it down, would make the whole thing ten times easier and save a lot of time. Natasha takes a sip of her coffee, her gaze out the window as she drifts in and out.

“- And then we have a press conference this afternoon, Y/N will be here to co-ordinate-”

Natasha quickly tunes back in to Tony’s rambling at the mention of your name. You’d been hired as their PR Manager six months ago and Natasha was quickly developing feelings for you though she tried her best to deny it. Calling it a crush felt childish, she wasn’t a little school girl but your name only had to be mentioned for her to start blushing. Natasha hated it. She was a deadly assassin for goodness sake, why did the mere mention of your name turn her into a bright red mess?

Press conferences had been the bane of Natasha’s existence when she first became an Avenger. As an undercover assassin she never had to talk to the press or justify her actions. She could work in solitude. Now everything is analysed, discussed in great detail, her entire existence and motives constantly questioned. Her pictures are in the newspapers, she gets recognised walking down the street. It’s intense. Now she doesn’t mind press conferences as much. At least she gets to see you.

The morning drags by slowly in a haze of training and then Natasha is sent off to shower and dress for the press conference. It turns out the press don’t want to see her in her gym gear with sweat trickling down her back. They’d wanted Natasha in a suit, preferably with a skirt and with her hair perfectly styled. Another reason that press conferences drove her insane. One of the things Natasha had loved about you was that your style of PR had been different.

“You don’t look comfortable in that.” You’d told her as Natasha had adjusted her skirt for the hundredth time.

“I’m not.” She’d replied, unable to meet your gaze even then without blushing “I only wear these things at press conferences or UN meetings, things like that-”

“What would make you feel more comfortable? What do you normally wear?”

“Leather jacket and my jeans.” Natasha had replied without even having to think.

You’d shrugged “So just wear those with a smart top. It’s just a Q&A, we’re not trying to impress the Queen.”

From then on Natasha had worn her leather jacket with a shirt and her smartest but comfortable jeans with black boots. She could still feel like herself. It had made her fall even harder for you.

When she heads downstairs you’re already there and she feels her stomach flip over, glad that she’d spent that extra fifteen minutes straightening her hair. You’re talking to Tony, your biggest PR nightmare. Once you’d told Natasha she was one of your easiest clients as she thought out everything before she said it – it had made Natasha’s cheeks go pink with pride. She was turning into Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer with how often she flushed red around you.

Natasha picks up her PR packet and starts flicking through it when you suddenly approach her. Immediately flustered she reaches out to shake your hand only to drop her packet, causing the papers to fly everywhere “I- Shit, I’m sorry-” You’re entirely calm as you bend down and gather all the papers back up, handing them back to Natasha. She gives a nervous laugh “You would think I wouldn’t be so clumsy… Given… You know…”

You smile, adjusting her jacket which makes her palms go sweaty and her heart start pounding even faster “Feeling prepared?”

“I- Yeah- As- Pretty prepared yeah.” Natasha eventually mumbles.

“Awesome. The last mission went pretty well, no major casualties so there shouldn’t be any difficult questions though there will be the discussion of who owes money for the damages-” You talk calmly and confidently as you give Natasha one final look over to make sure she looks presentable. Natasha is always amazed at how work focused you are. It’s like you don’t even notice how much of a wreck she becomes whenever she’s around you.

You move on to talk to Wanda, who’s always nervous before anything like this, whilst Steve saunters over and gives Natasha a grin “Y/N then, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I barely knew what you were talking about, you were stammering so much.”

Natasha punches his shoulder and Steve just laughs “Why don’t you ask them out? I bet they’d say yes.”

“I don’t like them like that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Natasha says stubbornly.

“Nat? Have you had your mic yet?” You call out.

“Beh- I- Buh-” Natasha stammers.

Steve has to look away to try and suppress his smile as you return to Natasha, clipping her small microphone to her jacket “There we go, good to go!”

Natasha glares at Steve as you walk away “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re really gonna look me in the eye and tell me you don’t like Y/N ‘like that’ after that little display? Come on now Nat.”

“Okay, fine, I like them like that.” Natasha says, folding her arms “Big deal.”

“Ask them out!”

“And embarrass myself further? No thank you. I don’t know why I’m acting like this, it’s not me…” Natasha sighs heavily.

Before Steve can comment further you usher everyone around for one final group huddle before the conference to go over topics that can and cannot be discussed, and how to answer any questions around damage repayments. Natasha can barely take in what you’re seeing, her gaze on the ground because every time she glances at you she feels her cheeks heat up and she doesn’t want the first few photos of her at the podium to show how bad she’s blushing.

Finally they go through to the conference room and Natasha manages to get through without making a complete idiot of herself. She knows that you’re listening in on everything but you’re stood at the side of the stage out of her eye sight which makes it easier. You field any questions you don’t think they should answer but otherwise stay quiet, just watching.

When the Avengers leave the conference room Tony sighs dramatically “Well, I think we all need a drink. Y/N, you staying for a drink?”

You shrug “Sure, why not?”

Natasha hadn’t been interested in drinks with the rest of the Avengers but the moment she hears your agreement her heart soars and she’s instantly locked in. Soon you’re all in the living room, spread out with everyone chatting and helping themselves to drinks. Natasha sees you at the bar and she approaches you, trying to sound as confident as she usually is “Hey! Can I get you a drink?”

She cringes a little when she remembers it’s an open bar – it’s not like she can buy you a drink. But you smile “Sure.”

Her face lights up and she grabs two glasses “White Russian okay?”

“You know… I’ve never had one. Enlighten me.”

“It’s my favourite.” Natasha explains, trying her best to keep herself focused solely on the task at hand but her hands are shaking as she does so. She can feel her palms sweating as she picks up your glass and holds it out to you “Here, you-”

The glass slips out of her hand because of course it does and shatters against the floor. A few Avengers look over whilst Tony cheers loudly and obnoxiously. Natasha’s cheeks are even brighter than usual now as she quickly bends down to start picking up the broken shards of glass. She notices your footsteps receding away from her and her heart plummets as she thinks she’s blown her chance to talk to you. Only for you to return a moment later to mop up the spilled drink with a cloth whilst Natasha sweeps up the rest of the broken glass.

Natasha stands back and slides her drink across the bar, not trusting herself to pick it up “Here, have mine. I guess I’ll make another.”

You pick up the glass smoothly and take a sip with a smile “Not bad. I’ve always been a Sex on the Beach person myself but I could be turned to White Russians.”

Natasha’s cheeks flush and she turns to face you “How are you so calm all the time? Do you not see the effect that you have on me?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? I’m cool! I’m a goddamn super spy for God’s sake, I’m as cool as a cucumber in life or death situations yet when I’m around you I can’t even make a damn drink without my palms going all sweaty and stammering and-” She cuts herself off with a sigh “I’m not like this. I shouldn’t be like this. I didn’t think I could have a crush on anyone, not after everything-”

“Wow, wow, wait…” You say, gobsmacked “You have a crush on me?”

“Oh for- You beautiful, oblivious idiot. Of course I do. How could you not have noticed?”

“I just figured you got a bit jittery before press conferences.”

“And my idiocy once the press conferences were over?”

“I don’t know, I thought it took you a while to calm down again. I didn’t think it was anything to do with me.” Your own cheeks are flushing red now “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.” Natasha mumbles, looking away “I’m such a mess around you. It’s not like me at all.”

“Well maybe if you took me on a date and got to know me a bit better you wouldn’t get so flustered.”

Natasha meets your gaze, sees the flush spreading across your own cheeks and feels a little braver “Okay.” She says quietly “Friday night?”

“I’m free.”

“Well then… I’ll pick you up about seven.”

“Sneven sounds good.”

“Sneven?”

“Fuck, now I’m getting flustered.”

The briefing room was quiet, lit only by the overhead lights. You were supposed to be finishing mission reports, endless pages of debriefs, signatures, and summaries, but your focus was elsewhere. 

Natasha sat across from you, her brow furrowed in concentration, pen moving steadily across the pages. Every now and then, she’d tap the pen against the table. 

A loose strand of red hair slipped forward, falling across her cheek. She didn’t seem to notice. But you did. 

Without thinking, you reached out and brushed it back, tucking it carefully behind her ear.  

Natasha froze. The pen stopped mid-tap.  

Your fingers lingered just long enough for her to feel the warmth of your touch. Then you pulled away, pretending to look back at your papers. 

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t move either.  

Later that night, long after the paperwork was done and the lights were off, she caught herself replaying that short moment. The way it had made her heart stutter in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

She wasn’t a touchy person. She had never been. 

At least, that’s what she used to believe. But tonight, she couldn’t stop thinking about your hand brushing her hair away. And how much she liked it.  

~ 

It happened again after a mission. Nothing serious. Just a shallow cut on her arm, the kind that bled more than it should. She insisted she could handle it just fine, but you didn't listen. 

Now she was sitting on the edge of the bed, jacked tossed aside. The sleeve of her shirt rolled up to her shoulder. You stood in front of her, holding the first-aid kit. 

“Let me,” you said quietly. She didn’t argue. 

Her skin looked warmer under the soft light of the room. You sat on the stool beside her, cleaning the cut carefully. She didn’t move, but you could feel the tension in her arm.  

Your fingers brushed her skin by accident. She flinched and your hand stilled. She didn’t pull away. 

You worked in silence.  

When you smoothed the last piece of tape down, you felt her eyes on you. You just pressed your palm gently over the bandage, grounding her, grounding yourslef. 

“Thank you,” she said, so quietly you almost missed it.  

You only nodded, packing the supplies away. When you looked up again, she was still watching you.  

You smiled at her and said your ‘goodbye’ before leaving the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts again.  

~ 

The movie was still playing, but neither of you were really watching it anymore. The sound filled the room. 

You’s both had a long day. The kind that left you wordless, sitting side by side on the couch. The space between you was smaller than it used to be. 

At some point, you shifted closer, too tired to think about it. Your head found her shoulder, the movement so natural it barely felt like a decision. 

Natasha froze. Just for a second. Her spine straightened, her breath caught. But then she looked down at you, your eyes already closed, your breathing slow and even. 

Something in her chest eased. 

Carefully, she exhaled, the tension melting from her shoulders. She didn’t move away. Instead, she adjusted slightly, so you could lean more comfortably against her. 

Your warmth seeped into her. The weight of your head against her shoulder, the rise and fall of your chest. It anchored her in a way she hadn’t realized she missed. 

Her eyes grew heavy. The movie blurred into background noise, forgotten. She let her head fall gently on top of yours, her hair brushing your cheek. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha didn’t fight the feeling. She let the quiet hold her, and she slept. 

~ 

The morning light slipped through the curtains, soft and pale. You stirred first, still half-asleep, realizing your cheek was pressed against something warm and solid.  

It took a moment before it clicked, it was Natasha. 

Her arm was draped loosely around you, her head resting on top of yours, hair tangled between your shoulders. She was still asleep. Peaceful. So unlike the Natasha everyone else saw. 

You didn’t move. You just watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint crease between her brows that never really disappeared, even in sleep. Carefully, you brushed your fingers against her arm, barely a touch. 

Her body tensed, the instinct immediately. Then her eyes fluttered open. Green, hazy with sleep, focused on you. 

“Morning,” you said softly, barely above a whisper. 

She blinked once, then twice, trying to orient herself. “Morning,” she finally murmured back, her voice still rough from sleep. 

You started to pull away, but her arm tightened for just a second, a silent ask for you to stay. And you did. 

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore. It was steady. Familiar. Natasha let her head fall back against the couch, her hand brushing against yours, slow and deliberate this time. Not accidental. Not hesitant. 

For Natasha, it was small, but it was everything. Her way of saying I want this. Even if she wasn’t ready to say the words out loud. 

~ 

The movie flickered across the screen, its glow washing over the living room in muted colors. You were both quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, but comfortable. 

You sank deeper into the couch, your eyes barely following the movement on the screen. Natasha was next to you, a little too still, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. 

After a while, you yawned softly. “Long day,” you murmured, stretching your legs out. 

She hummed in agreement, voice low. “You looked half-asleep during the debrief.” 

You smiled faintly. “Wasn’t just me. You almost fell asleep on your report.” 

That earned you a small laugh, soft, real. Then silence again, broken only by the quiet hum of the TV. 

Natasha shifted beside you. You felt the couch dip, her arm brushing yours. At first, it seemed accidental, until she moved closer, just a fraction. 

“Cold?” you asked, glancing her way. 

“Maybe,” she said, though the warmth in her tone gave her away. Her fingers fidgeted on her knee, hesitating for a moment before she reached over and let her arm rest around your shoulders. 

You blinked at her, a bit surprised. “So... that’s your way of asking for a blanket?” 

She smirked. “No. This is my way of saying you look like you need one.” 

You let out a quiet laugh but didn’t move away. “You sure that’s the only reason?” 

Natasha’s gaze stayed on the screen, but her voice dropped, softer now. “No,” she admitted. 

You didn’t say anything. You just leaned into her, feeling her tense for a second, then slowly relax. 

Minutes passed like that, the movie forgotten. Her arm tightened slightly around you, a small, almost unconscious pull that brought you closer. 

When your head eventually fell against her shoulder, she froze for a heartbeat, then exhaled and rested her cheek lightly against your hair. 

You heard her whisper, so quietly you almost missed it, “This isn’t so bad.” 

You smiled, eyes heavy. “Told you. You just needed to try it.” 

She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your temple. “Don’t make me regret it.” 

“Never,” you mumbled, already half-asleep. 

Natasha looked down at you, her fingers brushing your arm once before she let herself sink into the warmth between you, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling her into rest, too. 

~~~~

The bar music was loud but you didn't mind as it meant you could watch your girlfriend drunkenly dance with Garcia in the middle of the dance floor. You weren't drinking much tonight since you wanted JJ to be able to unwind for once and so you would drive her back to your shared apartment when she inevitably crashed.

"You know we're here to celebrate Morgan's birthday right? Cause all I see is you gawking at your girlfriend." Emily came from seemingly nowhere but that may have been your fault as all your focus was on the beautiful woman dancing without a care in the world. "I know that, I just got a bit distracted," you said, and finally turned to her.

"Hmm well it is nice to see JJ let loose a bit," "Tell me about it, she's been so busy lately that she really needed this." Your eyes drifted back to her but you still saw Emily's smirk from the corner of your eye. "You are so down bad for her," she said with a laugh.

"Of course I am, have you met JJ? She's the fucking sun Emily, I can't help but notice her and be absolutly enamoured by every little thing she does." You knew you were really letting it all out right now but it didn't matter how much Emily would tease you for this when it meant you got to talk about JJ.

You had turned to Emily as you spoke so you didn't even realize that your girlfriend had moved and shown up right behind you, so when you turned your head a bit you jumped at seeing her.

She giggled at seeing you jump and draped her arms over your shoulders, "Hi baby," JJ said with a bright smile. "Hey Jayje, did you have fun dancing?" "Yes! So much fun, I missed you though so now I'm here." She said as her head slowly fell to your shoulder, you then gently guided her to the booth the team had claimed and sat with her.

"You're so pretty," her fingers traced your lips as she spoke. "Yeah? Well you're really pretty too love," you tried holding back from laughing at her softened state.

"Do you wanna get married to me? Cause I really wanna marry you but only if you want," She was now resting her cheek on her hand and looked a bit like a kicked puppy. "Where did that thought come from my love?" You definitely wanted to marry her but this was not the best time to talk about it, "Well I was thinking of that song and I realized I'd wanna marry you no matter what, anywhere, even if we didn't have rings. Hell I'd marry you right now if you'd let me," her serious face made this even better.

You smiled and kissed her cheek, enjoying the way she blushed at your affection. "I'd marry you anytime, any place, I'd even marry you with paper rings but I'd prefer for you to be totally sober when we get married baby." At that she perked up, "You really want to marry me?" You let out a chuckle, "Yes Jennifer Jareau I want to marry you and we can talk more about this tomorrow if you want." She smiled and jumped into your arms as much as she could from her seat.

Later that night when she fell asleep on top of you she whispered, "I can't wait to marry you." Sleep then took over and she was far gone, "I love you Jay' and I can't wait to marry you either."

As the bottle stopped yours, and everyone else’s eyes, traced it to the person it pointed at. For a moment, your heart stopped, realisation slowly settling in. She looked back at you, a playful glint in her eyes. It wasn’t before someone told you to go, that you moved. Your legs dragged through the floor, as the party behind you bloomed and someone muttered out the time — 10:03.

Jennifer entered the closet first. It was smaller than either of you expected, as the bottle hasn’t landed on either of you until now. Your head spun for a moment, heart beating so fast you could swear it will beat right out of your chest.

This wasn’t ideal.

Parties were rarely the place to find you. Your new roommate dragged you here, promising to keep an eye on you, and now was nowhere to be found. Adaptation was impossible with the crowd you ended in, so you chose survival, hence not denying anything that is proposed, so no one thinks you’re lame. Which, quite frankly, you may as well be. You don’t party, you just stay in your room a lot and occasionally hit the local bar with your friends, just to talk through the whole night.

Jennifer on the other hand was the opposite, she was cool. As cool as they get. Her hair was bright blonde and pin straight, eyes blue. She was the captain of the soccer team and rumour has it she got an athletic scholarship to get in. She was fairly liked, knew a lot of people, easily engaged in conversations. In fact, you were pretty sure she knew everyone in the room you just left.

Totally no pressure.

The door closed behind you two with a creek. Your bare knees brushed against hers, goosebumps spreading on skin. Just two chairs and you stuffed inside.

The air became thicker with each breath, none was able to satisfy your hungry lungs. She watched as your chest rose and lowered rapidly, before speaking up.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know?” Her voice carried a soft rasp and deepness to it. Your wide eyes met her calm blue. “I know…” You muttered out, hot blood rushing throught your body. Everyone did something, as usual you had to be the exception.

JJ nodded lightly at your response, her fingers tapped rhythmically against her thigh as she continued to attempt to have a conversation with you.

“You’re Y/N, right? I’m Jennifer, though most call me JJ.” A light smile tugged at her lips.

“Yeah, that would be me…” A deep sight left your chest, your mind unable to focus on one thing. The walls towered over you, inching in closer.

“Not a fan of tight spaces?” She noted and your eyes settled on her for a moment. No response from you made her stiffen. She didn’t expect you to be very talkative, but hoped that when it was just the two of you, you’d speak more. JJ watched you closely — your hands turned into fists, knuckles white, rested on your lap, the short, rapid breaths — she was no master in psychology, but she knew people and you were a rvery anxious person.

“So, tell me Y/n…” JJ started, her body leaning in so close you could smell the vanilla scent which radiated off ofher skin. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

The question made your throat go dry, your hands already wet just sweated more. Your eyes instantly locked onto her, the question unexpected and the answer to it made your stomach turn into knots. The silence echoed through the space between you two and Jennifer’s blue eyes seemed intrigued. She definitely peaked your interest.

“I take that that’s a no?” Her brow rose, fingers lightly grazing her knees and by the proximity yours. A cold shiver travelled down your spine, your cheeks lit up like matches. “Okay, come on.” The nonchalance in her voice made you tremble, but you didn’t defy her.

Your knees intertwined together, her fingers tenderly moved a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes scanning all over her face.

“Relax.” JJ whispered, her breath reeked of alcohol and teased your face.

Jennifer’s other hand rested on your leg, thumb traced lazy circles on your flesh, the motion made time freeze. For once you leaned more into the physical than the mental. The distance between you slowly closed and you caught her stealing a couple longing glances at your lips. With endearment, you watched how calm she was. You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more terrified. The first kiss — an experience one may wait their whole life for, something supposedly so revolutionary was now going to happen in a cramped up closet with JJ.

A girl you met, maybe, ten minutes ago.

The soothing sound of her whisper brushed against your face, “It’s just about… going with the flow.” A snort escaped your lips, the flow was nowhere to be found in your body. Jennifer’s mouth twitched into the most sincere smile you’ve ever seen and as her nose brushed up against yours, air lodged in your throat.

It was subtle at first. The kiss, or more of a peck, was shy, slow. Just that was enough to set your whole body in flames, boiling blood rushing into your cheeks and other places. Her blue eyes instinctively searched for yours, making sure this was okay. With the bop of your head she continued. The next one was different, deeper, her lips grazed yours for longer. A set of red, curved marks was left on the bare skin of her thigh, the doing of your own hands.

A muffled gasp left your mouth, she pulled you closer, your body ached and burned for more. Jennifer deepened the kiss, fingers tangled into your hair, lips pressing against your harder, as the air in her lungs started to run out she pulled away. The lack of her touch made your body go dry and cold for a moment. It felt strange. The warmth radiated from your body, lips flushed as you felt the static still present in them.

“You’re not that bad of a kisser.” She watched your stunned face, a grin glued to her own. The loud snap of her fingers made you blink rapidly. “Come on. Don’t tell me I kissed all that brain out of you?”

Your hands collided together, gripping the soft material of your skirt, a poor attempt to ground your body the way she, so effortlessly, did.

“No, no… Sorry.” The stutter wasn’t intentional, thought Jennifer found in adorable, you found it irritating. Even in her presence you couldn’t get your shit together.

As the bottle stopped yours, and everyone else’s eyes, traced it to the person it pointed at. For a moment, your heart stopped, realisation slowly settling in. She looked back at you, a playful glint in her eyes. It wasn’t before someone told you to go, that you moved. Your legs dragged through the floor, as the party behind you bloomed and someone muttered out the time — 10:03.

Jennifer entered the closet first. It was smaller than either of you expected, as the bottle hasn’t landed on either of you until now. Your head spun for a moment, heart beating so fast you could swear it will beat right out of your chest.

This wasn’t ideal.

Parties were rarely the place to find you. Your new roommate dragged you here, promising to keep an eye on you, and now was nowhere to be found. Adaptation was impossible with the crowd you ended in, so you chose survival, hence not denying anything that is proposed, so no one thinks you’re lame. Which, quite frankly, you may as well be. You don’t party, you just stay in your room a lot and occasionally hit the local bar with your friends, just to talk through the whole night.

Jennifer on the other hand was the opposite, she was cool. As cool as they get. Her hair was bright blonde and pin straight, eyes blue. She was the captain of the soccer team and rumour has it she got an athletic scholarship to get in. She was fairly liked, knew a lot of people, easily engaged in conversations. In fact, you were pretty sure she knew everyone in the room you just left.

Totally no pressure.

The door closed behind you two with a creek. Your bare knees brushed against hers, goosebumps spreading on skin. Just two chairs and you stuffed inside.

The air became thicker with each breath, none was able to satisfy your hungry lungs. She watched as your chest rose and lowered rapidly, before speaking up.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know?” Her voice carried a soft rasp and deepness to it. Your wide eyes met her calm blue. “I know…” You muttered out, hot blood rushing throught your body. Everyone did something, as usual you had to be the exception.

JJ nodded lightly at your response, her fingers tapped rhythmically against her thigh as she continued to attempt to have a conversation with you.

“You’re Y/N, right? I’m Jennifer, though most call me JJ.” A light smile tugged at her lips.

“Yeah, that would be me…” A deep sight left your chest, your mind unable to focus on one thing. The walls towered over you, inching in closer.

“Not a fan of tight spaces?” She noted and your eyes settled on her for a moment. No response from you made her stiffen. She didn’t expect you to be very talkative, but hoped that when it was just the two of you, you’d speak more. JJ watched you closely — your hands turned into fists, knuckles white, rested on your lap, the short, rapid breaths — she was no master in psychology, but she knew people and you were a rvery anxious person.

“So, tell me Y/n…” JJ started, her body leaning in so close you could smell the vanilla scent which radiated off ofher skin. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

The question made your throat go dry, your hands already wet just sweated more. Your eyes instantly locked onto her, the question unexpected and the answer to it made your stomach turn into knots. The silence echoed through the space between you two and Jennifer’s blue eyes seemed intrigued. She definitely peaked your interest.

“I take that that’s a no?” Her brow rose, fingers lightly grazing her knees and by the proximity yours. A cold shiver travelled down your spine, your cheeks lit up like matches. “Okay, come on.” The nonchalance in her voice made you tremble, but you didn’t defy her.

Your knees intertwined together, her fingers tenderly moved a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes scanning all over her face.

“Relax.” JJ whispered, her breath reeked of alcohol and teased your face.

Jennifer’s other hand rested on your leg, thumb traced lazy circles on your flesh, the motion made time freeze. For once you leaned more into the physical than the mental. The distance between you slowly closed and you caught her stealing a couple longing glances at your lips. With endearment, you watched how calm she was. You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more terrified. The first kiss — an experience one may wait their whole life for, something supposedly so revolutionary was now going to happen in a cramped up closet with JJ.

A girl you met, maybe, ten minutes ago.

The soothing sound of her whisper brushed against your face, “It’s just about… going with the flow.” A snort escaped your lips, the flow was nowhere to be found in your body. Jennifer’s mouth twitched into the most sincere smile you’ve ever seen and as her nose brushed up against yours, air lodged in your throat.

It was subtle at first. The kiss, or more of a peck, was shy, slow. Just that was enough to set your whole body in flames, boiling blood rushing into your cheeks and other places. Her blue eyes instinctively searched for yours, making sure this was okay. With the bop of your head she continued. The next one was different, deeper, her lips grazed yours for longer. A set of red, curved marks was left on the bare skin of her thigh, the doing of your own hands.

A muffled gasp left your mouth, she pulled you closer, your body ached and burned for more. Jennifer deepened the kiss, fingers tangled into your hair, lips pressing against your harder, as the air in her lungs started to run out she pulled away. The lack of her touch made your body go dry and cold for a moment. It felt strange. The warmth radiated from your body, lips flushed as you felt the static still present in them.

“You’re not that bad of a kisser.” She watched your stunned face, a grin glued to her own. The loud snap of her fingers made you blink rapidly. “Come on. Don’t tell me I kissed all that brain out of you?”

Your hands collided together, gripping the soft material of your skirt, a poor attempt to ground your body the way she, so effortlessly, did.

“No, no… Sorry.” The stutter wasn’t intentional, thought Jennifer found in adorable, you found it irritating. Even in her presence you couldn’t get your shit together.