Sugar, Sugar | V.a

Redline. (Bonus 3) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), crash, blood, broken bone (detailed), panic attack

Word count: 8,1k

A/N: There’s no tissue emoji, so I’m just using this one instead: 🧻

The first rays of morning light spilled through the sleek, minimalist bedroom, painting the polished surfaces in soft hues of gold. Natasha was already awake, her gaze fixed on her laptop screen as her fingers danced over the keyboard. Notes, timings, strategies, all meticulously checked and double-checked, as she always did on race days. It was her ritual, her way of ensuring everything went flawlessly.

But even while immersed in her work, her eyes flickered toward the bed, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. You were still tangled in the blankets, one arm flung over a pillow, your hair a beautiful mess against the white sheets. The peaceful rise and fall of your chest was one of Natasha’s favorite things to watch.

Natasha pushed away from her desk, stretching slightly before walking over to the bed. She perched on the edge, her fingers delicately sweeping a stray lock of hair from your cheek.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Natasha murmured, her voice a soft blend of fondness and amusement. “It’s almost time to get ready.”

A sleepy groan escaped your lips, your eyes squeezing shut tighter as if to keep the morning at bay. “Five more minutes…” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You say that every morning, and somehow it always ends up being twenty.”

You cracked open one eye, your lips curving into a lazy grin. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Natasha quirked a brow. “If you don’t get up soon, you’ll be the one explaining to the fans why their favorite driver was late.”

That got your attention. Your eyes fluttered open fully, the warmth of sleep slowly giving way to the familiar rush of excitement. Today was another race, another chance to prove yourself, not only to the world but to yourself.

“Fine, fine, I’m up.” You sat up, rubbing your eyes before glancing at Natasha with a sleepy smile. “You’re already in boss mode, huh?”

“Someone has to keep you in line.” Natasha replied with a smirk, but the glint in her eyes was nothing but adoring. “Now, I made you coffee. It’s waiting in the kitchen. I’ll get your things ready.”

“Have I mentioned you’re amazing?” You stretched your arms above your head, the early morning light catching your features in a way that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat.

“Once or twice.” Natasha’s voice softened, her hand resting on your shoulder. “But I like hearing it.”

You reached up and captured Natasha’s hand, bringing it to your lips for a gentle kiss. “Well, you are. Absolutely amazing.”

Natasha’s cheeks flushed, but her composure never wavered. “And you’re a dork. Now, get moving. We have a race to win.”

Within thirty minutes, you were showered, dressed, and already buzzing with pre-race energy. Natasha was all precision and efficiency, double-checking every little detail before you left.

The drive to the racetrack was relaxed, filled with quiet conversation and the comfortable silence that only comes from years of understanding. Your fingers laced through Natasha’s as she drove with her usual cool confidence, the city blurring past the windows.

“Ready to meet your fans?” Natasha asked, glancing sideways at you.

A grin spread across your face. “Always.”

The moment you arrived at the paddock, you could hear the hum of excitement from the fans gathered just beyond the barriers. As you stepped out of the car, the familiar chants of your name echoed through the air.

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here!”

You beamed, your nerves melting away under the warmth of the crowd’s enthusiasm. Natasha watched from a few steps behind, arms crossed, her expression softening as she saw you stop to sign autographs, exchange kind words, and take selfies with your adoring fans.

Natasha joined you by the barrier. A few fans squealed, not just for the famous driver but for the woman standing at your side.

“Alright, alright.” Natasha said with a half-smirk, “You’ve had your fun. Let’s get you to the garage before you start signing every piece of merchandise in this city.”

You laughed, but Natasha could see the energy it gave you. You were glowing. And today, Natasha would do everything to make sure your star kept shining.

The energy in the paddock was electric, the kind of buzz that seeped into your veins and made you feel alive. Natasha guided you through the usual pre-race routine like clockwork, her presence as steady as ever. But there was a warmth to her efficiency that only you could feel. A care threaded between every checklist and instruction.

As you made your way to the garage, you glanced over at Natasha, your fingers twitching slightly with pre-race nerves. Natasha caught the movement instantly. “Cold feet?” she asked, one eyebrow arching in concern.

“Just the good kind of nerves..” you replied, offering a crooked smile. “The ‘I’m ready to crush this’ kind.”

“Good.” Natasha nodded, her eyes scanning the garage as you entered. Technicians hustled around you, final checks and adjustments happening in a blur of motion.

The minutes ticked by as you completed your pre-race rituals, your muscles thrumming with the familiar cocktail of nerves and excitement. As the call came for drivers to take their places, Natasha walked alongside you to the car.

You slid into the driver’s seat, your hands instinctively reaching for the steering wheel as you settled in. Natasha leaned over the side of the car, her gaze locking with yours. “Remember, no heroics. Just smooth and clean. You’ve got this.”

“Got it, boss.” You winked, your cheeky grin making Natasha roll her eyes, though her expression softened with pride.

The engines roared to life all around you, but your focus remained on Natasha until the last possible moment, the warmth of her touch lingering long after she stepped away.

The race began with a thunderous surge of power, tires squealing against the track as you pushed your car to its limits.

The race was going perfectly. Almost too perfectly. Your grip on the steering wheel was firm but relaxed, your breathing steady, your focus unshakable. The crowd’s roar was a distant echo, dulled by the padded embrace of your helmet. Lap after lap, the world narrowed to nothing but the track before you and Natasha’s calm, measured voice in your ear.

“Just a few more laps, Y/n. You’re holding the lead beautifully.” Natasha praised, her tone laced with that signature coolness but layered with something deeper. Pride. Relief. Love.

You grinned despite yourself, eyes flickering briefly to the rearview mirror. The pack was behind you, clawing at your shadow, but your speed was unmatchable today. You were flying.

Then, out of nowhere, chaos erupted. A sharp, metallic scream tore through your headset, the sound of metal against metal. Tires shrieking. Engines spluttering into desperate, dying growls.

“Car pileup! Sector 3! Repeat, multiple cars down!” The voice from Race Control was pure panic, barely able to keep its terror in check.

Your stomach twisted. Your eyes snapped to the bend ahead. It was supposed to be an easy maneuver, just a clean sweep around the corner before the long straight. But the corner wasn’t clear.

Smoke billowed, thick and acrid, curling into the sky like dark fingers clawing upward. Amidst the haze, the glint of wreckage shone with a wicked brightness, metal torn and twisted like paper. Two cars tangled together, blocking the track almost completely.

“Oh, shit…” Your voice came out cracked and trembling, your foot already slamming on the brakes. But there was no time.

No way to avoid it.

“Y/n, slow down! Pull to the left!” Natasha’s voice cut through your ear, sharp and desperate, the cool edge of her usual calm utterly shattered. “Y/n, now!”

You tried. God, you tried. The wheel jerked beneath your hands as you swerved left, but another car had already collided with the wreckage, spinning out of control and slamming into your side. The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire.

The sound of steel shrieking against steel filled your ears, your body thrown forward as your car skidded violently against another. Pain flared across your ribs, your shoulder slamming into the frame, your head knocking against the padded helmet hard enough to leave your vision blurred.

Then, just darkness.

The crash happened so fast, it was nothing more than a nightmare stitched from metal and fire. Meanwhile, in the control room, Natasha was frozen. Her fingers dug into the edge of the console, knuckles white, her eyes glued to the live feed that displayed nothing but a burning mess of wreckage and smoke.

Around her, the other team managers were reacting, shouting commands, issuing urgent instructions, some already sprinting toward the exit. But Natasha couldn’t move. She was locked in place by the overwhelming dread that had wrapped itself around her like ice.

“Romanoff! What the hell are you doing just standing there? Move!” A voice snapped her out of the icy paralysis gripping her. A hand on her shoulder was rough, shaking her out of her trance. She could barely see him through the haze of panic clouding her vision, but his eyes were sharp and urgent.

“I-” Natasha choked on her words, her voice cracking. Her mind was torn between the control room’s blinking screens and the burning wreckage outside.

“She’s out there..” she rasped, her voice thick and guttural.

“I know.” The men replied, his jaw clenched. “And so is my driver. We’re going to find them. Now, get in the damn car.”

Natasha barely registered the way Daniel’s fingers curled around her arm, dragging her toward the emergency exit. The world around her was a blur of frantic shouts and blaring alarms. All she could hear was the faint, distorted echo of your last words over the headset.

She felt like she was choking. The memory of your grin, your careless confidence, your unwavering faith in her guidance, all of it tore through her with the cruelty of broken glass.

They reached Daniel’s car, the bright red vehicle roaring to life the moment he turned the key. Natasha threw herself into the passenger seat, her hands trembling uncontrollably.

“Buckle up.” He snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. But Natasha barely heard him. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, each one worse than the last.

What if it’s worse this time? What if your car is nothing but wreckage, your body broken beyond recognition? She swallowed thickly, her nails digging into her own palms until pain flared in her hands. “Drive faster..”

“I’m going as fast as I can without crashing us both..” He shot back, his eyes locked on the road as the car shot down the access lane toward the accident site.

The air between them was electric with urgency, the silence filled with the muffled rumble of engines and the distant screams of the crowd. The crash had spread like wildfire, multiple cars caught in the violent mess of twisted metal and scorched asphalt.

“Natasha.” Daniel’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. His eyes flicked toward her, his own panic tightly controlled, channeled into cold determination. “We’ll find them. Y/ns strong. She’s a fighter. You of all people should know that.”

Natasha clenched her jaw, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s the problem.” she whispered. “She’s been fighting her whole damn life. And if it’s bad this time…if it’s worse…”

The wreckages came into view, a horrifying sprawl of debris and smoke. Cars were scattered across the track, crumpled like toys thrown aside by an angry child. Marshals were already swarming the area, trying to contain the chaos, but there was nothing contained about the devastation before them.

Daniel slammed the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The instant they stopped, Natasha was out of the passenger seat, her feet pounding against the asphalt as she ran toward the destruction.

They split up, their desperation spurring them in opposite directions, both of them scanning the wreckage with feverish intensity.

The smoke was thick, burning her throat, her lungs. She stumbled over a shattered piece of debris, her legs threatening to buckle under her. But she kept going. Because she couldn’t stop. Because you were out here. And Natasha was not going to leave you alone.

Her voice tore from her throat as she called out, her screams swallowed by the chaos around her. Her eyes scanned the mess of broken vehicles and frantic medics, her throat raw from shouting your name. The world was a blur of flashing lights, shouting officials, and the terrifying echo of her own heartbeat.

And then, through the haze of smoke, she saw it. Your car. It was half-crushed against another, the nose twisted, panels ripped apart like some brutal sculpture. But even more incredible was what Natasha saw beside it.

You.

Natasha’s breath seized in her throat as she saw the way your body sagged between the medics’ arms, your head lolling forward like you could barely hold it up. The paramedics were lowering you carefully to the ground, their words a mess of urgent commands and rehearsed reassurances.

She was at your side in an instant, her knees almost buckling with sheer relief and terror all tangled together. “Y/n. Hey. I’m here. I’m right here..”

Your eyes flickered open at the sound of her voice, dazed and unfocused. The dark glass of your helmet’s visor was cracked, splintered lines running through the surface like spiderwebs.

“Natasha..?” Your voice was barely a whisper, your lips chapped and trembling.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay..” Natasha said, her voice tight and trembling. Her hand wrapped around your gloved fingers, gripping them like a lifeline.

The medics were already circling like vultures, one of them barking orders into a radio while the other started running through the protocol.

“We need to get her helmet off, check her breathing. Possible concussion. Someone get the stretcher ready!”

Natasha’s fingers tightened around your hand, her gaze locked on your face. “Stay with me, okay? You’re doing great. Just stay with me..”

The medic nearest to you was speaking calmly, his gloved hands gentle as he reached for your helmet. “Y/n, I need to take this off, okay? It’s going to hurt a bit, but you’ll be able to breathe better. Just stay still.”

You nodded, though the motion was clumsy, your head barely moving. “’Kay…Just…just don’t leave..” you slurred, your gaze sliding to Natasha’s face with a desperation that nearly broke her.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha promised, her voice hoarse. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”

The helmet came off with a sickening scrape of broken metal against skin. Natasha’s breath hitched as her eyes caught the glistening trail of blood running down your face from a vicious gash torn across your eyebrow. The cut was deep, the blood so dark it looked black against your skin.

Natasha’s gasp was almost a sob. “Oh God… Y/n…”

But your gaze was unfocused, your breathing shallow. “I…I’m fine. Just…just a little dizzy..”

The medic’s gloved hands were already pressing gently against your head, checking for fractures, murmuring reassurances you couldn’t hear. Natasha’s eyes traced every drop of blood, every twitch of pain on your face.

“Y/n, I need you to try and stay awake, alright?” the medic continued, his tone calm and firm. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

Your voice was sluggish, your words slurred. “Uh…Head…and…foot. Really hurts..”

The medic’s eyes dropped to your leg, and Natasha followed his gaze. Then her stomach dropped to the ground.

Your right foot was twisted at a sickening angle, the racing boot visibly swollen. But worse than that, the thing that almost made Natasha vomit, was the jagged, broken bone protruding just above your ankle, blood pooling against the fabric.

“O-Oh God..” Natasha whispered, her voice barely more than a strangled breath. Her hand squeezed yours so tight she feared she’d break something.

“Dammit, we need to get her stabilized.” the medic barked, his voice now laced with something that sounded far too much like fear. “Get the stretcher over here, now!”

Your head was already turning, your glassy eyes trying to make sense of the panic around you.

“W-What’s… going on?” you slurred, your gaze starting to drop downward, toward the carnage of your own leg.

“Hey, hey.” Natasha’s voice was sharp, her free hand reaching to cup your face, gently turning your head back to meet her eyes. “Look at me. Just look at me, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“But…my foot…” your brows furrowed, your voice fractured by pain and confusion.

“It’s fine.” Natasha lied, her own voice shaking. “You’re going to be fine. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look down.”

The stretcher arrived, more hands pressing around you, securing your neck, your broken leg. Natasha hated the way they moved you, the way your face twisted in agony, the little gasps of pain you couldn’t quite suppress.

But even through the horror, your fingers clung to hers, your grip as tight as you could manage.

“N-Nat…?”

“I’m here.” Natasha’s voice was firm now, as solid as steel. “I’m not leaving you. Not for a second.”

They loaded you onto the stretcher, the medics shouting orders Natasha barely registered. Everything was a blur, but her gaze never left your face.

“Talk to her.” one of the medics said to Natasha, his tone harsh with urgency. “Keep her awake. We can’t risk her passing out before we assess the damage.”

“Y/n, sweetheart, listen to me.” Natasha said, her own panic buried deep beneath the surface of her voice. “You’re going to be okay. You’re too damn stubborn not to be, right?”

You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a shuddering gasp. “Y-Yeah…stubborn…that’s me…”

“Damn right.” Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles, her own hands slick with blood. “You’re not leaving me, you hear me? You’re staying right here with me.”

“’M not… leaving…” your words were fading, your eyelids drooping as shock and pain clawed away at your consciousness.

Natasha felt her own breathing hitch, her voice breaking. “Good. That’s good..”

As the medics lifted the stretcher and began moving it toward the waiting ambulance, Natasha followed, her hand locked around yours like a lifeline.

Minutes later, the ambulance tore through the streets like it was chasing time itself, sirens wailing into the sky, the city blurring into light and sound. Inside, Natasha sat wedged against the wall, one hand gripping the steel bar, the other never leaving yours.

Your eyes fluttered, trying and failing to stay open. Your skin had gone an ashen shade beneath the streaks of blood, your chest rising and falling in shallow, unsteady rhythm. Every time the medic adjusted your leg, you whimpered, barely a sound, but one that carved itself deep into Natasha’s chest like a knife.

“You’re okay.” Natasha whispered over and over, her voice cracking around the edges. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The moment they reached the emergency bay, the ambulance doors burst open. Lights flooded in, followed by the blur of movement , gurney wheels on concrete, shouting voices, cold air rushing through the gap before the building swallowed them whole.

“Female, 23, compound fracture to the right foot, deep laceration above the right eye, suspected concussion.” the paramedic rattled off as they passed the threshold of the hospital.

A woman stepped forward, tall, composed, sharp eyes framed by silvering curls tucked behind her ears.

“Get her into Room Five-” she ordered, but the moment her eyes fell on Natasha, her entire posture shifted. Her brows lifted slightly, the recognition instant.

“Get the VIP trauma room prepped now. Clear the hallway. Tell imaging to stand by.”

Natasha stayed right at your side as the gurney wheeled through wide corridors, glass doors flying open before them like water parting.

“Vitals are unstable.” one of the medics said. “BP’s dropping.”

Inside the trauma room, the chaos turned clinical. Machines hummed to life, IVs were connected, and gloves snapped into place.

The nurse stepped up beside and leaned over you with practiced precision. “My name is Helen. I’m going to check you, okay? Can you open your eyes for me?”

You blinked slowly, your gaze unfocused. “Mhmm…”

“Good. Stay with me.” Helen reached up and shone a penlight into your eyes. “Natasha, any known allergies?”

“No. No allergies..”

Helen nodded quickly. “What’s your full name?”

Your lips moved, the sound faint. “Y/n…L/n.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“’M…I was racing…”

“She’s lucid but foggy.” Helen muttered. “Pupils are sluggish. Concussion confirmed.” She gently wiped away blood from your temple, exposing the deep gash beneath. “We’ll stitch this after scans.”

Then a second nurse moved to the foot of the bed, starting to unwrap the temporary support on your leg. The second she shifted it, you jolted violently, a strangled cry escaping your throat.

“Careful!” Natasha snapped, stepping forward, her own panic flaring. “Her foot-”

The nurse paused, her expression grim. “Confirmed compound fracture. Bone’s fully through.”

“Prep for OR.” Helen said calmly.

But that calm shattered the second the word OR hit your ears. Your chest hitched. Your eyes widened. And just like that, the panic flooded in.

“No. No-no no no!” Your voice cracked as your hands reached for anything, the rail, the blanket, Natasha. “Not surgery, not again, please don’t- don’t-”

“She’s panicking..” Helen said immediately, eyes darting to the vitals monitor. The heart rate was skyrocketing.

Natasha, cupping your face. “It’s okay! It’s just a bone, baby. Bones heal, you hear me?”

“It is-” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “It’s happening again..I’m gonna be stuck- I won’t”

“You can, and you will, you hear me?” Natasha said, forcing her voice to be stronger than the tremble in her own heart. “It’s not your spine. It’s not your nerves. It’s one damn bone..”

You were trembling, head jerking side to side as if trying to run from the memory crawling up from your past.

“She has trauma from her last crash..” Natasha said, looking up at Helen. Helen’s jaw clenched, then her expression shifted. “Alright. I’ve got her.” She turned to the nurse by your feet. “Touch her toes.”

The nurse blinked. “What?”

“Touch her toes.” Helen repeated. “Y/n?” She turned back to you, voice soft now. “Can you feel this?”

The nurse pressed gently along the top of your foot, just above the exposed break.

You gasped but nodded. “Y-Yeah…I feel it..”

Helen leaned in, voice low and firm. “That means your nerves are fine. You’re not paralyzed. Your body’s okay. The surgery is to fix something fixable. We are not going to let this become what it was last time.”

Natasha watched as the words landed, saw the slow, shaky exhale leave your lungs. Your hand, still clinging to Natasha’s, loosened just slightly.

Helen stood, her eyes flicking over the vitals. The panic was still too high, pulse, blood pressure, breathing all elevated. Too dangerous for surgery in that state. She turned to Natasha quietly.

“She’s too wound up to go in like this.” Helen said under her breath. “We’re putting her under now. I’ll make the call.”

She gave a small nod to a nearby nurse, a younger man already prepping the IV line. He moved with practiced hands, drawing a small vial from his tray and inserting it into the port.

“It’s going to hit fast.” Helen said. Natasha knelt beside you again, brushing damp hair away from your pale forehead. “Hey, baby. They’re going to give you something to help you sleep now, okay? Just sleep. That’s all.”

You blinked slowly, tears still welling in your lashes. “You’ll be there…when I wake up?”

“I’ll be the first face you see.” Natasha whispered, kissing your temple. “I swear to you. I’m not going anywhere.”

The nurse pushed the medication in, and within seconds, your body began to still. Your breathing evened out slightly, your trembling stopped. Your eyes fluttered. “I love you…” you murmured, barely audible.

Natasha’s throat closed up. “I love you more.”

And then your eyes slipped shut. The panic was gone. Replaced by a terrifying, aching silence. Helen gave Natasha a nod. “You did good. Now let us take care of her.”

The stretcher rolled out, the surgical team falling into step. Natasha followed them to the doors of the OR, only stopping when Helen placed a firm hand on her arm.

“She’s in good hands now.” she said gently. “But you need to breathe. Sit. And wait. And when she wakes up, she’s going to need you.”

Natasha stood frozen as the doors swung closed. The surgical wing was too quiet. Too white. Too sterile. Too full of time that refused to move.

Natasha sat down on a hospital bench just outside the OR, elbows on her knees, fingers tangled in her hair. The double doors to the OR stayed shut, a glowing IN USE light above them. Mocking her.

She had tried to sit still. To breathe. But her leg was bouncing uncontrollably, and every minute that ticked by felt like someone carving another line into her spine. The guilt was crawling up her throat like bile. I promised her I’d protect her. She trusted me with everything.

“Natasha.”

She flinched, eyes snapping up. Yelena stood in front of her, pale and tight-jawed, still in her coat like she’d run straight from her apartment the moment she heard.

“You okay?” Yelena asked softly.

Natasha scoffed, a bitter sound. “She’s in there with a fucking broken foot and a head wound, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Yelena didn’t respond immediately. She just sat down beside her, shoulder brushing Natasha’s, grounding her like an anchor in a storm. Natasha swallowed hard. “It’s my fault.”

“No.” Yelena said firmly. “No, it’s not.”

“I put her back in the car! After everything she went through. After that crash. After her body was wrecked the first time. I pushed her. Because I missed the racer in her.” Her voice cracked. “Because I wanted to win..”

Yelena looked at her, eyes narrowed. “You didn’t force her to drive, Natasha. You believed in her when no one else did. That’s why she came back.”

Natasha looked away, lips pressed into a line. “And now she’s bleeding in an OR again. Screaming. Panicking. Because all I ever do is bring her back to the pain.”

There was a pause. Then Yelena sighed and dug into her coat pocket.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you yet..” she muttered, pulling out her phone. “But…they’re waiting for news. I called them.”

Natasha blinked. “Who?”

Yelena’s lips pressed together. “Her parents. They’re on the line.”

Silence. It was a full second before the weight of the words hit her like a wrecking ball. Natasha’s body went stiff. Her fingers curled in her lap. Her breath froze in her lungs.

Your parents.

“Oh god..” she whispered. “Yelena, what the hell am I supposed to say to them?”

Yelena’s voice softened. “You tell them the truth.”

“No. I- I can’t! I told them I’d keep her safe. I promised them..” Natasha’s voice cracked, her hands shaking again. “They trusted me. After the last time? They didn’t even want her back on the track. I had to fight for her, with them. And now she’s in a damn OR again and I—”

“Natasha.” Yelena turned to her, firm now. “They’re scared out of their minds. They need to hear from the one person Y/n trusts most.”

Natasha looked at the phone in Yelena’s hand like it was a bomb.

“She’s their daughter.”

“And she’s your everything.” Yelena said quietly. “So breathe. And talk to them.”

Natasha reached out with a trembling hand and took the phone. “Hi. This is… this is Natasha.” Her voice was hoarse.

There was a pause on the other end, and then a voice. Soft. Tight with worry. Your mother.

“Where is she? Is she okay? What happened? Natasha, w-what happened to our daughter? P-Please don’t say-”

Natasha’s throat closed up. Her free hand gripped the edge of the bench like she needed to hold on to reality. She tried to answer, but nothing came out at first. Not a word.

Then finally, broken and quiet, she whispered:

“I’m so sorry.”

Natasha’s hand shook as she held the phone to her ear, her voice cracking with every word.

“Yes. She’s in surgery..”

Pause. Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes. A broken foot. And a concussion.”

Her gaze kept flicking toward the double doors of the OR, her eyes raw and burning from the unrelenting tears she refused to fully shed. The sterile lights above buzzed with cold indifference.

“She’s alive. The doctors..They’re doing everything they can.”

Her fingers clenched tighter around the phone, knuckles white.

“I-I’ll call you back when I know more, okay? I promise.” She clicked off, the phone slipping from her grip and landing heavily on the floor.

Yelena bent down, picking it up, her own expression unreadable. “I’ll let them know when she’s awake.”

“Thanks..”Natasha rasped. Her voice was shredded, hollow. Her entire body trembled with the effort of holding herself together.

Minutes turned to hours. The cold, merciless kind of waiting where every passing second felt like a punishment. Natasha’s mind kept churning over every horrific possibility. What if the concussion was worse than they thought? What if her leg was so damaged she could never drive again? What if she woke up and decided Natasha had pushed her too far this time? What if she never woke up?

The doors finally swung open with a soft whoosh. Natasha shot to her feet so fast her vision spun. A doctor stepped out, flanked by Helen. Both of them wore weary but steady expressions. Natasha’s stomach twisted. Her nails dug into her palms.

“Miss Romanoff?” the doctor began. His voice was calm, measured. She hated how clinical he sounded.

“Yes. I’m-” Her voice cracked, too sharp, too desperate. “Is she…is she okay?”

“The surgery went smoothly.” the doctor continued. “The bone was successfully reset and secured. The nerve function in her leg is undamaged, which means with proper rest and rehab, she will make a full recovery.”

The words crashed over Natasha like a tidal wave. A violent rush of relief so strong her legs nearly gave out beneath her.

“S-She’s okay?” Natasha breathed, her voice trembling.

“She’s stable.” the doctor confirmed, his gaze sympathetic now. “We’re moving her to recovery. She’ll be groggy when she wakes up, but she’s going to be fine.”

The tears Natasha had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks unchecked. Her shoulders shook, her breathing turning into something ragged and uncontrollable.

“Thank you. Oh God, thank you…” Her hands flew to her face, trying and failing to hide the ugly sob that tore its way out of her throat.

Helen reached out and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder. “We’ll make sure no one bothers her while she recovers. I’ve already spoken to security. No paparazzi, no press. And if anyone tries, they’ll have to get through me.”

A wet, broken laugh slipped from Natasha’s lips. “Thank you. You don’t know…you don’t know how much this means.”

Helen’s smile was brief but genuine. “They’ll be bringing her out in a few minutes. She’s going to need rest, but you can be there when she wakes up.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion. But beneath it, there was hope. Raw and fragile, but alive. She glanced over at Yelena, who had been standing just outside the doctor’s conversation, arms folded tightly across her chest. Their eyes met, and Yelena gave a short nod.

“See? She’s tough as hell.” Yelena said, her voice rough with emotion she wasn’t about to admit. “Just like you.”

Natasha didn’t have words. She just nodded.

When Helen patted her shoulder one last time and turned to leave, Natasha couldn’t help herself. She reached out and threw her arms around the nurse.

Helen stiffened, caught off guard, but only for a moment. Then her arms wrapped around Natasha, gentle and reassuring.

“She’s going to be fine.” Helen whispered, her voice low and steady. “And so are you.”

Natasha pulled back, wiping furiously at her eyes. “I just…thank you. Thank you for everything.”

The walls were a soft cream, the blinds drawn to shield from the press of evening light. The private VIP suite was spacious, silent, and most importantly: protected. No noise. No reporters. No cameras.

Just Natasha.

She sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on her knees, fingers curled into her palms. Her heart still hadn’t stopped racing. The image of you, limp and bloodied on that stretcher, still looped in her mind like a cruel replay she couldn’t turn off.

Now, you lay before her. Wrapped in white hospital blankets, hooked up to monitors, your head gently bandaged. Your leg was elevated and braced in a temporary cast.

But you were breathing.

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off you for a second. A soft beep from the monitor spiked, just slightly. And then a subtle twitch in your fingers.

Natasha shot up from the chair, her heart lurching. “Y/n?” she whispered, stepping closer.

Another twitch, your head shifted faintly, your lips parting as your brows drew together in faint discomfort.

“Hey..” Natasha said softly, her fingers brushing your hand. Your eyes blinked open, slow, uneven. Cloudy from anesthesia. Your gaze was unfocused at first, drifting past Natasha like you weren’t really seeing her.

“Where…?” Your voice was raspy, so soft it was almost inaudible.

“You’re in the hospital..” Natasha murmured, her thumb stroking gently across the back of your hand. “You were in a crash. But you’re okay. You’re out of surgery. You’re safe now.”

You blinked again, your pupils beginning to center, focus returning in slow, heavy waves. You winced, your free hand moving slightly toward your head.

“Easy.” Natasha said quickly, gently taking your wrist. “You’ve got a concussion, and a cut above your eye. But you’re stable. They stitched you up.”

You blinked, your breathing beginning to pick up as awareness started setting in. “My leg…”

“It’s just broken.” Natasha said softly. “But the bone’s set. They fixed it in surgery. The nerves are intact, full feeling. You’re going to walk. Drive. Everything.”

There was a beat of silence, and then your eyes finally locked onto hers , really saw her. And the tears welled almost instantly.

Your fingers tightened weakly around hers. “You didn’t leave..”

“Never.” Natasha breathed. “I held your hand through the whole thing. And I’ll be right here for every step of what’s next.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes beginning to close again. “You’re warm…”

Natasha smiled gently, brushing the hair back from your bandaged brow. “That’s the morphine talking, baby..”

A small, dopey grin formed on your lips. “Good… I don’t wanna feel anything right now.”

“You don’t have to.” Natasha murmured. “You just sleep. I’ve got you.”

You blinked once more, and then slipped back into sleep, but this time, it was peaceful.

Natasha sat back down, still holding your hand. She wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.

The early morning sunlight seeped through the blinds, a soft glow painting the hospital room in warm hues. It was quiet. Peaceful. Almost enough to trick Natasha into believing the nightmare was over.

Almost.

She hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d spent the night in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside your bed, her legs curled up, one hand still clutching yours like a lifeline. Every time you so much as twitched, Natasha’s eyes would snap open, her pulse spiking until the monitor’s steady beeping reassured her you were still okay.

But now, in the calm glow of morning, your eyes fluttered open again. Slowly. Blinking groggily against the light.

“Nat…?” Your voice was raspy, hoarse from disuse and the effects of anesthesia.

Natasha sat up straight, fingers lacing through yours. “I’m here.”

Your gaze slowly focused, your lips twitching into a weak, lopsided smile. “Still here…”

“Always.” Natasha said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck..” Your brow furrowed, your hand drifting toward the bandage on your forehead. “My head feels… foggy.”

“You had a concussion.” Natasha explained, her thumb tracing calming circles on your palm. “You might feel a little fuzzy for a while.”

You nodded, your gaze sliding down the length of your body until it landed on your elevated leg. The bulky cast was awkward and ugly, but Natasha had never been so relieved to see something so damn unappealing.

“Leg’s broken?” you asked, your voice too casual, like you were trying to make the truth sound less real.

“Yeah.” Natasha’s voice was gentle. “Clean break, though. They fixed it up good. The nerves are fine. You’ll be walking in no time.”

You swallowed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “So…not like last time?”

“Not like last time.” Natasha reassured, her voice steady and strong. “This one’s just a bone. It’ll heal.”

Your eyes glossed over with relief, the shaky exhale escaping your lips almost like a sob. “I really thought…I thought it was all happening again.”

Natasha’s chest tightened. “I know. And you pushed through it. You’re…You’re so damn brave.”

Your fingers tightened around hers. “I was a mess. Crying, panicking…that’s not brave..”

“Want me to argue?” Natasha’s voice cracked with a teary smile. “Because I will. And I’ll win.”

A half-laugh, half-sob slipped from your lips. “God, you’re stubborn.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Their fingers stayed entwined, the silence between them comfortable for a few precious moments. Natasha watched the way your breathing evened out, your expression softening into something like peace.

But before she could fully relax, the door creaked open. Natasha’s head snapped up, eyes blazing with protective wariness.

Yelena stepped in, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp as always. But she wasn’t alone.

Behind her were two familiar faces. Your parents. Natasha’s stomach clenched, guilt and terror slicing through her chest like a knife. But their eyes weren’t on her. They were on you.

“Y/n?” your mother’s voice cracked, the sound ragged with emotion.

Your eyes widened. “Mom? Dad?”

And then the tears came. From all of you. Natasha started to pull back, to give them space, but your hand tightened around hers, refusing to let her go.

But her gaze drifted to your parents, waiting for them to tell her off. To say this was her fault. That she’d broken you all over again. But instead, your mother walked over, reached out, and hugged Natasha. “Thank you…for being here for her.”

Natasha nearly collapsed from the sheer relief that tore through her. She glanced at Yelena, who gave her a subtle nod of approval. And somehow, that made the world seem just a little bit safer.

Your parents stayed for a while, their voices a soft blur of relief and love as they hugged you, whispered words of comfort, made promises of being there every step of your recovery. Natasha mostly stayed quiet, her fingers still wrapped around yours, never letting go.

Eventually, they slipped out for a much-needed break, some coffee, air, anything to relieve the ache of hours spent in panic. Yelena went with them, promising Natasha a few minutes alone with you.

Now, the room was quiet again. And your eyes found Natasha’s, searching for something unspoken.

“Everyone’s okay, right?” you asked, your voice still rough but stronger now. “The other drivers? From the crash?”

Natasha hesitated for a split second. “Yeah. Everyone made it out. Some got pretty banged up, broken ribs, concussions. But no deaths. They’re all alive.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath. “Thank God. That crash was…”

“Horrific.” Natasha finished for you, her gaze dropping to your hand in hers. “I saw it happen on the monitors. It was like…like a nightmare.”

“It was..” you admitted, your expression darkening. “Everything just…closed in. There was nowhere to go. Just metal and fire.”

Natasha’s thumb traced over your knuckles. “And you still fought your way out. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Not strong enough to keep my cool.” You laughed bitterly, your gaze slipping away. “I was a total wreck. If you hadn’t been there to talk me down, I don’t think I would’ve—”

“Stop.” Natasha’s voice was firm, cutting through the doubt like a knife. “You did everything right. You survived. You held on. And you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Your eyes softened. “And you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A soft knock on the door pulled their attention. It swung open to reveal Helen, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but focused.

“Mind if I do a quick check-up?” Helen asked, her voice gentle. “I just need to make sure everything’s looking good.”

“Yeah, sure..” you mumbled, offering a weak smile.

Helen stepped in, eyes flicking between you and Natasha with that same warm but professional gaze. “Nice to see you looking a little less like roadkill.”

“That’s a real compliment right there..” you replied with a ghost of a grin.

“Hey, in here? That’s high praise.” Helen approached the bed, her eyes scanning the monitors before she leaned over to inspect the bandage on your forehead. “How’s your head feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?”

“Uh…a little dizzy, but nothing terrible. Just… fuzzy.”

“That’s expected.” Helen said, her fingers carefully pressing around the bandage, checking for swelling. “The cut’s clean and stitched up well. We’ll keep an eye on the concussion, but I think you’re already doing better than most would.”

You managed a wry smile. “I guess I’m not most.”

Helen’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “No, you’re definitely not.”

She continued her examination, clicking her pen against her clipboard before moving toward your elevated leg. Her fingers traced gently along the edges of the cast, checking the exposed skin for circulation.

“Any pain? Tingling? Numbness?” Helen asked, all business now.

“Pain, yeah..” you admitted, your fingers twitching against Natasha’s hand. “But no tingling. I can…I can feel everything. Well, as much as you’d expect, I guess.”

“That’s excellent.” Helen nodded, glancing at the monitors again. “The break was nasty, but they did a damn good job putting you back together. You’ll be out of here sooner than you think.”

Your shoulders relaxed visibly. Natasha felt the tension drain out of her too, her chest loosening with every word Helen spoke.

“So…I’m not gonna be stuck in a bed for months again?” your voice was small, laced with a vulnerability that made Natasha’s heart twist.

Helen’s gaze softened. “No. You’re not. You’re going to heal. And once you’ve done the proper rehab, you’ll be walking again. Racing again, if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes flickered to Natasha’s, an unspoken question hanging between you. Natasha nodded, her grip tightening. “You’ve got this. And I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Helen straightened, tapping her clipboard lightly. “I’ll come back in a few hours for another check. Just get some rest and, for God’s sake, take it easy.”

You smirked, though your eyes still brimmed with exhaustion. “Yes, ma’am.”

Helen headed for the door but paused, looking back at Natasha. “And you. You should rest, too. You look worse than your patient.”

Natasha managed a shaky smile. “Not leaving her.”

“I figured.” Helen said, her own smile gentle. “But the offer stands.” With that, she disappeared down the hallway, leaving you and Natasha alone once more.

Hours later, Natasha’s legs felt heavier than concrete as she wandered through the hospital corridors. The bright lights, sterile air, and endless sea of white walls were all starting to blur together. But she needed to do something other than just sit by your bed and replay every horrific second of the crash over and over.

So she’d gone to fetch food. Something decent, not the bland garbage most hospitals served. Because you deserved better. Always.

The cafeteria was practically empty, just a few staff members drifting like ghosts through the aisles. Natasha grabbed a couple of pre-packaged sandwiches, bottled water, and fruit cups. Nothing glamorous, but it would do.

The walk back to your room was shorter than she expected, but when she turned the corner to the private suite, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Two interns were standing just outside the door, talking in low, excited voices. “Holy shit. That’s really her. Y/n. The Y/n.” The first one whispered, his voice barely restrained from outright squealing.

“I know, right?” The second intern shook her head, eyes practically sparkling. “She’s, like, legendary. After that last accident years ago? And then her comeback? It’s insane. And now she survived this? She’s got to be superhuman or something.”

“I would kill for a chance to talk to her. Even just an autograph.”

“Forget an autograph. Just seeing her — that’s like…damn. It’s like meeting a god.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed, gaze locking onto the interns like a hawk zeroing in on prey. She took a slow, deliberate step forward.

The interns saw her. And the joy drained from their faces like someone had flicked a switch.

“OO-h..” the male intern whispered, his eyes widening in terror. “That’s Natasha Romanoff…”

“No freaking way…” the girl muttered, her voice trembling.

Natasha’s eyes burned as she approached them. The sandwiches and drinks felt like dead weight in her hands. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The look on her face was enough.

The interns immediately stammered out awkward apologies and practically sprinted down the hallway. Natasha’s gaze followed them until they disappeared around the corner. Only then did she let herself breathe.

She hated it. How the vultures were already circling. How they saw your pain as some kind of heroic legend instead of a goddamn near-death experience. How they would never understand what it was actually like.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet safety of your room.

Your eyes were half-closed, but the second the door creaked, you blinked awake. And the lazy, knowing smile that spread across your lips nearly undid Natasha entirely.

“What’s got your murder face on?” you murmured, your voice a touch stronger now.

Natasha grumbled something incoherent and kicked the door shut behind her, the metal click a satisfying note of finality. “Just some idiots loitering around like they think this is some kind of theme park.”

“Fans?” you asked, smirking even as your eyelids drooped.

“Interns. But yeah, pretty much.” Natasha muttered, striding over to the bed and placing the plastic tray of food on the bed table. “I swear, they’ve got no boundaries. And if anyone else hovers near your door, I’m personally throwing them out the goddamn window.”

Your grin widened. “I love it when you get all protective. Makes me feel special..”

“Because you are special.” Natasha’s voice softened, and the tension in her shoulders finally eased. “And you’re still not eating this crap alone. I’m not getting scolded by you for making you eat hospital food again.”

“Oh nooo, can’t have that..” you joked, but your eyes shone with warmth.

Natasha slid the table closer to the bed, opening one of the sandwiches before nudging the fruit cup toward you. “Eat. And drink this water. No arguments.”

“Bossy.” you mumbled, but your fingers reached for the cup obediently.

Natasha’s gaze remained locked on you, tracing every detail of your face. The way your eyes still fluttered with fatigue, the way your lips twitched as you fought through the pain. It hurt to watch. But it was better than not seeing you at all.

Once she was convinced you had eaten at least a few bites of the food, Natasha leaned forward and gently tugged the sheets, sliding you slightly over on the mattress.

“What…what’re you doing?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“Making room.” Natasha replied bluntly.

She kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed beside you, and settled herself down against the pillows. One arm curled protectively around your shoulders, pulling you gently against her own chest.

“You don’t have to-” you started.

“Shut up.” Natasha’s voice was soft, but the underlying force of it silenced you immediately. “You’re not getting rid of me. I’m staying right here. Whether you like it or not.”

You chuckled weakly. “Guess I don’t really have a choice, huh?”

“Nope.”

The warmth of your body against her own was more comforting than Natasha could have imagined. She felt the weight of exhaustion settle over her like a heavy blanket, tugging at her limbs and mind with quiet insistence.

“Nat?”

“Hm?” Natasha’s voice was already thick with sleep, her fingers gently stroking your arm.

“You’re the best.”

The only answer was a soft, barely audible snore. You smiled, your head nestled against Natasha’s shoulder, your own body easing into the kind of rest you hadn’t felt since the crash.

They were okay. Somehow, against all the odds, they were okay.

-

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-

-

to everyone who follows me from ao3 and keeps up with my Natasha Romanoff fic, I am still working on the next chapter, but I wanted to see what everyone thinks of me splitting chapter 2 in half to get an earlier update? right now I'm at about 22k words, but it's definitely going to get longer because I have one more scene to write. I could post what I have already this weekend or I can wait until the whole chapter is done (which I unfortunately don't know when that will be because of exams and assignments).

If there's no clear consensus, I'll likely split the chapter up anyway. I just want to know your opinions before anything! super sorry it's been so long between updates, but this is my way of trying to fix that <33

You don't need anyone's approval for the stories you write and the art you create. But it's also absolutely valid to want some approval from your audience. Kudos and likes don't determine your creation's worth. But it just feels amazing to receive them.

BLACK TEE

SUMMARY — natasha spends all morning looking for her favorite black t-shirt that you stole weeks ago

You had no idea what had sent your girlfriend into such a frenzy, but walking into her apartment alarmed you that something was up. The ruckus only got louder and louder the farther you stepped into the home, until you found your girlfriend sprawled out on her bedroom floor with clothes surrounding her. Her eye was still bruised over from the last mission she was called away on, and her side was still bruised up from the assault of the weapons backfiring. Nonetheless, she looked perfect.

“Everything okay down there?” You asked, watching as Natasha rolled over onto her stomach and once again began pulling random shirts out from beneath her bed. The red scratch marks littering her back were all from you, and a blush spread over your cheeks as you took in her bare appearance. You could do as much damage as a battlefield.

“I’m trying—” She huffed, pulling out yet another black t-shirt that had been crumpled into a ball, probably having never been worn because of the messy state of not only Natasha’s room, but her life at the moment. “I’m trying to find my one black t-shirt. Not the ribbed one.”

You raised your eyebrows, looking down at the shirt clinging to your own torso. Natasha had too many black t-shirts, you’ve told her a million and three times, but she always shushed you with the justification that she could identify each one by a single trait she didn’t like, and it almost never failed her. The specific t-shirt she’s looking for is your favorite, and you’ve been playing a long pawn to finally steal it. It was big on you, and it was soft, and it smelled like the perfect mix of your girlfriend's favorite things; the salt of the ocean, her perfume, the fabric softener you used when you did her laundry after a battle, and your perfume from the beginning of the day. If she had looked up at you when you entered, she would have realized it was hers immediately due to the oversized fitting, but she was too much in a trance to even pay you any attention.

“The one Maria got you for christmas?” You played into her antics, getting down on your knees beside her head so you could scour through her dresser. You felt her hair move against your thigh in confirmation, and you laughed softly. “Why do you want that specific one? You just pulled out an identical one.”

“The one I’m looking for is softer.” She mused, “You washed it with the fabric softener last time you were here. After Clint almost got blown to bits..” Your heart swelled knowing that she paid enough attention to what you did for her to know you spent hours washing her clothes after she went to bed because you couldn’t sleep, still on edge about how you could’ve lost her this time. She had come to find you just after one, but you had already folded her clothes and put them away before she corralled you back to bed sleepily herself.

You squealed when suddenly your body was tackled to the floor, pinned beneath Natasha’s body and her smiling face was above yours. You giggled as her fingers moved against your hips, digging into the shallow dips of your hips, knowing that was where you were the most ticklish. “You have it on!” She taunted, “We were looking for a shirt you have on! When did you take it?”

“When I washed it. It’s my favorite.” You added nonchalantly, nuzzling your nose up into the collar of the shirt and smiling at Natasha, even though he couldn’t see your mouth beneath the soft black cotton. “Smells like you.”

Natasha lowered her nose to yours, pulling the shirt away from your mouth and putting her lips on yours. The two of you fit together perfectly, and even though Natasha spent hours looking for that soft black shirt, she didn’t have the mind to strip it from your possession.

“Looks better on you anyways, baby.”

oh my god I know you only posted that mechanic vi thing 6 hours ago but PAPA ME WANT MORE MOVIE 🤬🤬🤬 you have GYAT to extend it by like vi introducing us to vander or like idk like im tweaking like

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

dont worry anon im right there with you ive spent nearly my entire day just maladaptively daydreaming about mechanic!vi

sfw; car mechanic!vi cinimatic universe continuation of this hc post

it is not the most formal of introductions -- but by the time you make it downstairs to the kitchen, swimming in one of vi's thrifted band tees and jogging shorts, tamping down your hair, vander's already on his second cup of coffee.

"well, well, if it ain't the red corvette with the busted radiator," vander says, grinning wide as you fight the urge to duck behind vi like an antisocial child.

"h-hi -- morning..." you mumble, even as vi chuckles and pours you a glass of orange juice.

"heard you guys went to jericho's diner last night," vander says, looking between you and vi as you slip onto one of the mis-matched bar stools sat against the tiny kitchen island.

"yeah! the banana split almost did me in though," you say, reaching for the tall glass of juice.

vander laughs, "yeah, those are famously impossible to finish, though from what i heard, you made a very diligent effort." he shoots you a wink even as vi elbows him in the side.

"i -- we --" you stutter, your cheeks flooding with color. vi rolls her eyes and scoops two perfectly poached eggs out of a pot, placing them on two slices of toast.

you blink as vander nudges the salt and pepper shakers towards you.

"how... how'dyou know i like my eggs poached?" you ask, looking between vi and vander. they share a knowing look; vi shrugs, grinning.

"lucky guess."

you tuck into the eggs and toast, humming happily around the golden yolk as it bursts in your mouth. vi watches you with soft eyes and vander's smile stretches wide as he leans against the counter.

"so. seems like your daddy's got good taste," he says, a soft laugh rumbling through him, deep and thick as thunder. you glance up, cocking your head. vander puts his coffee mug in the sink.

"he might not remember me but couple years ago, he brought over the most beautiful gullwing -- mercedes, from the 50's --"

"oh yeah!" vi says, her eyes brightening as she rinses out the breakfast things "that was a sick car."

vander nods, humming, "one o'the first luxury cars post-war... and one of my personal favorites. some people say it's a bit tacky but --" he shrugs, laughing, "i've always had a soft spot for it"

vi scoffs, "better than all the db5's we see people bring in."

vander laughs then, a loud, uproarious sound. you swallow over another bite of toast and egg, content to watch him and vi banter.

"yeah, but you know why people like it --"

vi sighs, her eyes rolling so hard they might fall out of their sockets as she replies, "the james bond car, yeah yeah, whatever -- still tacky."

you slice into the second egg and watch as the yolk spills molten gold over the toast.

"that reminds me though, i've gotta order the parts for the crossflow radiator --" vi says, putting the pans in the sink as well, wiping off her hands before she rounds the island to lean up against your chair. she slips an arm around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder.

you load a bite of toast with egg and yolk, sprinkle the top with salt and pepper, holding it out for her to eat. she leans forward, mouth open as you feed the bite to her.

she groans around the bite, nodding appreciatively, even as you reach out to swipe a bite of yolk from the corner of her lip, popping your thumb into your mouth with an indulgent smile.

"'ow'dyou know i'd like more yolk than egg?" she asks, turning to pin you with a look.

you flash her a cheeky grin.

"lucky guess," you parrot her words back at her, setting down your fork.

across the island, vander watches the pair of you with soft eyes and a knowing smile.

"right, well -- i've gotta get to the bar. your uncle silco'll be mad if i --" he breaks off, running a hand through his hair.

vi waves him off, "go, we've got it here."

"text benzo if you need help with the parts --"

"yeah, yeah -- he already sent me the link for where to order the parts," vi answers.

vander chuckles, nodding. he reaches over the island with a large hand.

"it was lovely to meet you," he says, taking your hand and shaking it firmly; his palm is warm and callused, and you feel yourself sinking into the solidness of his touch even as he pulls away.

"keep an eye on 'er for me, wouldjya?" he says, winking, jerking his chin towards vi. you giggle, nodding your head.

"sure, i'll try."

"and you make sure to treat her and her car well, y'got that?" he turns his gaze towards vi, who blushes, a scowl knitting her brows as she sighs.

"what'dyou think i'm trying to do -- geez --" she huffs.

vander laughs, a big, booming, belly-full sound.

"that's my girl," he says, flashing you and vi one more wink before ducking out the garage door.

vi sighs, "sorry, i know he can be a lot..."

you smile, shaking your head, "he reminds me of you."

vi's cheeks darken as she looks you over, her eyes startlingly bright in the mid-morning light, her hair a blaze of pink as the sunrise paints her shades of orange and gold.

"he -- he's a good dad..." vi says, finally, her voice a bit rough.

you nod, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

"he is. and you're a good daughter."

vi swallows, tugging you towards her till she's slotted between your legs. you, poised on the edge of the bar stool, your arms looped around her shoulders, her palms laid flat against your thighs, inching up beneath the hem of her jogging shorts.

"y'know sweets, you can't just say shit like that to me --" she murmurs, leaning in just close enough to ghost her words along your lips.

"and not expect me to do something about it..."

your breath hitches, a delicious, gasping sound even as vi digs her nose into the hollow of your throat with a thick groan, pressing her lips to your collarbones.

"v-vi -- the dishes --" you hiss, but vi's already pulling you forward, hoisting you over her hips and carrying you towards the stairs back up to her room, her fingers digging into the meat of your ass as she kicks open her door and lets it slam shut behind her.

"the dishes..." she says, her voice breathy as she sets you down on her bed and crawls over your body, the shape of her caging you beneath her.

she leans down to trail her mouth along the bend of your neck, humming against your skin --

"... will still be there later."

A deceitful Valentine's

It's Valentine's Day and Natasha is on a mission. Katya won't let the day pass by without seeing her.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova) • Wordcount: 1.9k • Warnings: sexual talk (they're horny lesbians) •A/N: not proofread because it's 1AM and i'm tired :) Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

''No, I'm not helping you so you can fuck each other's brains out in a hotel room. Or whatever it is that you lesbians do.''

''Wow,'' Katya breathed, an amused smile lingering on her lips as she watched her appalled friend shake his head. ''I thought you were a romantic.''

''Me?'' Clint scoffed, shuffling through the papers on his messy desk. He hadn't been able to look at her since she asked her question, a red tint on his cheeks. Obviously, it made him uncomfortable. Katya loved making men uncomfortable. ''Valentine's Day is a ridiculous product of capitalism, created to make us spend more money on things we don't need.''

Katya hummed knowingly, placing her hands on his desk. ''Is that why you bought Laura that perfume she's been obsessed with for months? And, oh, what is this?'' With a smirk, she plucked a Valentine's card from underneath a stack of papers on his desk. 

Swift like a cobra, Clint snatched it from her hand before she could open it. His cheeks burned as he stashed the red and pink paper deep in a desk drawer, slamming it shut loudly. ''You Russian dickheads need to stay out of my business,'' he grumbled. Natasha had been sitting next to him when he ordered that perfume, and while he thought he'd been sneaky, obviously she saw. And then told Katya.

The brunette had to fight off a malicious laugh, in the depths of her element. ''Hm… Natalia will be thrilled to hear about that card.'' She tilted her head, pursing her lips as she pretended to think hard. ''What did it read on the front, again? 'A man like me has a lot to be thankful for'?'' 

''Okay, okay!'' Clint looked like he was about to scream in frustration, slamming the papers in his hands down. He knew she was completely serious in her threats—she would tell Natasha. But Katya could keep a secret if he helped her out. ''Fine, I'll help with your plan.'' He pointed a warning finger at her. ''But if I face serious consequences because I tempered with an agent's mission, it's your responsibility.''

''Absolutely.'' Katya nodded sternly, her eyebrows knitted together. ''I'll tell them I blackmailed you with a Valentine's Day card.''

Spotting the amused glint in her eyes, Clint shook his head with exasperation. One of these days, either Katya or Natasha was going to cause him a mental breakdown because they were just so good at emotional manipulation. ''You need serious help,'' he muttered, grabbing his laptop.

~~~~

The hotel bar wasn't too busy. Most people were still enjoying their late dinner or were spending the evening with their lover, holed up in a bedroom. Natasha had seen enough of them today; couples. It's the one day of the year where people suddenly seem to remember to show affection to their partners. Dinners, movies, gifts—they were all talking about the same things, all day.

She didn't really care about Valentine's Day as a holiday. Sure, she and Katya bought a little something for each other, and tried to do something together if they got the chance to—not including the evening sex, of course—but she did it because it made Katya happy. Natasha was a moreso a believer of showing her appreciation all year 'round. Leaving a sweet note, taking her out for dinner, planning a movie night with snacks, running Katya a bath, giving her a massage. 

But Natasha would be lying if she said that she didn't miss her a little more today. This mission had been dragging on for three weeks. And while she had hoped to be home tonight, she was sitting in a five star hotel's fancy bar, all dressed up, sipping on her Dirty Martini, because Clint had given her new intel. Seducing a man, of all things, when she had a sexy, attractive woman waiting for her at home, must be the universe's type of karma. 

Lazily, she stirred her drink, seeing the bartender move around in her peripheral vision. The stools beside her were empty, the atmosphere calm; soft, classical music playing in the background. It was boring. Clint didn't say what time her target's ''business associate'' would arrive. She could be sitting there for hours. Her mind wasn't as focused as it should be, her thoughts drifting away from her.

It took her a moment too long to realize that somebody was sitting down on her left, gracefully settling down on the high stool with a quiet rustle. There was a flash of red silk, and then a whiff of a deep, sensual perfume. 

Natasha stiffened, her body already knowing what her mind didn't want to believe yet. Slowly, from the corner of her eye, she looked her neighbor up and down, her gaze lingering on their chest and exposed neck. It was the most elegant, exquisite picture she'd ever seen, the red silk dress draping around her figure like liquid. Most of her back was exposed, a decent amount of cleavage showing while the fabric ran all the way to her ankles in loose waves, accentuating the curves Natasha could draw with her eyes closed. 

This was the type of woman men used to go to war for.

Natasha's heart started to race in her chest. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she averted her eyes forward again, fighting to keep her cool. Preferably, she'd rip that dress off her body right here, right now, but she had a mission to run. Although she was starting to get an inkling that she might have been misled. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Would you like something to drink, ma'am?" The bartender had materialized in front of them.

Katya smiled charmingly and placed her clutch on the bar. "A Vodka-Martini, please."

''Coming right up.''

Natasha followed the man with her eyes as he walked off to make her order. Next to her, Katya casually touched up her lipstick. Fuck, it was her favorite. "I'm assuming there's no "business associate" I'm meeting tonight?"

"I thought you'd rather have me instead,'' Katya said, tapping at her lip with her ring finger. Her complete lack of fucks given about interrupting her mission and using Clint to lure her here with a lie was both annoying and amusing. Natasha wanted to be more pissed, but in reality, she was really happy to see her.

"You're not wrong, but I am supposed to be on duty around the clock."

"Screw the mission,'' Katya declared, tossing her lipstick and mirror back in her clutch before turning to face her girlfriend. She tilted her head, a smile on her perfectly kissable lips. ''It's Valentine's Day. We're not supposed to be apart."

Part of Natasha's brain wasn't working correctly. Katya's alluring appearance had hypnotized her. She wasn't sure if she wanted to sculpt her beauty into marble for all eternity to see, or worship her body all night until it was covered in drops of sweat. "So you sabotaged my mission because you missed me too much?" She smirked, finally giving in and turning her body in Katya's direction.

The brunette shrugged, something mischievous flashing across her face. "Maybe I'm just incredibly horny."

Caught off guard by her bold statement, Natasha nearly lost her composure. "Are you?" She mused, ignoring the twitch low in her stomach.

Instead of answering, Katya smirked confidently. "Are you?"

"Definitely." She couldn't lie—or joke—about the impact Katya had on her, her teasing demeanor fading into an intense, lustful one as she took the time to take in Katya's appearance once more. "You look fucking incredible," she muttered, noting how Katya shifted on her stool at the desire in her voice.

In that dress, she was an expensive, rich wine from France and Natasha was the alcoholic who hadn't had a drop in three weeks. It took every ounce of self-control to stay seated. Her throat was dry, her hands were itching. 

Reluctantly tearing her gaze away, Natasha reached for her drink and took a big sip. It didn't fix her burning throat, but the sensation brought her back to Earth. "Maybe I should leave more often so you can interrupt my missions looking like this," she joked.

Katya chuckled, slowly circling the rim of her Martini glass with her finger. "Or, you can take me out to dinner sometime, give me a reason to dress up." Her gaze met Natasha's. "Maybe to one of those posh restaurants where I would actually have to wear underwear to."

Natasha's fingers tightened around her glass, her wide eyes flickering to Katya's hips. "Baby…" Katya had prepared for this night to end one way, and with how she was working her up, Natasha knew it was going to be good. She smiled to herself, excitement flooding her veins. "I'm gonna buy Clint such a big bottle of Vodka when I get back."

"I don't think he's gonna be able to look at us for a while. It's pretty obvious what I was planning when I asked him to help us meet up. At night. In a hotel."

"Oh, yeah?" Natasha smirked.

Katya raised an eyebrow. "If I'm still able to walk out of here by myself tomorrow, I'm gonna make you pay for this dress."

Natasha chuckled, reaching out and slowly trailing her fingertips up Katya's arm. They left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "How about this: I ruin your pretty makeup, your ability to walk, and I pay for the dress?"

"That better be a promise." Katya's lips held a daring smirk, her body still as Natasha's fingers had reached her collarbone. "My mascara is waterproof."

"Do you doubt me?" Natasha asked, her hand ghosting over Katya's throat. A shiver ran through the brunette's body as her pupils dilated. 

"I know you like to talk big."

Natasha pulled her hand away to place it over her heart. "Katariina, you're breaking my heart."

"I didn't know you had one to break," Katya mused.

"It's a little messed up, but it's yours."

Between all the flirting and sexual tension, this half-hearted, soft joke came out of nowhere. Katya had to take a second to switch around. "Where did you learn to sweet-talk like that?''

Natasha shrugged, turning away to take another sip of her drink. ''A place where I met this girl.''

Katya's smile turned knowingly, warmth swirling in her chest. She loved it whenever Natasha spoke about falling in love with her. ''There's always a girl."

''This one was special. She cared. And nobody had ever cared about me." Their eyes met. Natasha's started to sparkle with a amusement. "Oh, and she had the most beautiful blue eyes.''

Katya fought the urge to roll them. ''She sounds nice.''

''She's more than just nice." Placing a hand on her thigh, Natasha leaned in more with every word, until their faces were only inches apart. Her breath fanned over Katya's chin. "She's brave, and kind, and stunning, and so incredibly smart…''

A low hum fell from Katya's lips, her gaze flickering from the redhead's mouth to her eyes. Her heart raced in her chest. ''You're trying to get in my pants.''

''I thought you weren't wearing any.''

Katya smiled amusedly, her thigh tensing up when Natasha's hand started to creep higher. This was exactly how she hoped this night would go. ''So, how did things end with that girl?''

Her breath hitched when she caught the look on Natasha's face. So lustful. If all of that was going to be released tonight, then her girlfriend would for sure make good on her promise. 

Katya's stomach swirled heavy with anticipation as Natasha brought her mouth to her ear. ''With her underneath me, naked, in a hotel room, her pretty dress on the floor, screaming my name as I make her cum for the sixth time in one night.''

And then they have bed-breaking, wall-shaking, earth-shattering sex

A/N: Please consider reblogging if you liked this fic. It really helps me :)

Natasha Romanoff x y/n

Underneath the stars she whispered

You flinched as Natasha worked on your injured arm. The sting was sharp, or maybe you were just too drained and unaccustomed to this kind of pain. “Shh, sonlyshko. I know it hurts,” she murmured, her voice soft as her eyes met yours. That softness wasn’t like her, not usually—but with you, it always was. Sweet and tender, she had a way of making even moments like this feel gentle. “Look up at the sky,” she said quietly, “isn’t it beautiful? The stars are shining…” You did as she said, lifting your eyes. The sky really was beautiful, and the stars… just as lovely.

"There. All patched up," Natasha said softly, her voice drawing your gaze from the sky to her. You blinked, realizing how effortlessly she’d finished. The stars had stolen your focus so completely that even the sting had faded without you noticing.

You shifted closer to her on the bench, hesitating for only a moment before resting your head on her shoulder. Her warmth enveloped you, and when she didn’t pull away, you felt a quiet sense of relief.

For a few breaths, silence settled between you, comfortable and unspoken. “You’re too good to me,” you murmured, your words brushing the space between you like a secret.

Natasha tilted her head slightly, letting it rest against yours. “You think so?” she asked, her voice low, almost teasing, but there was a tenderness in it that made your chest ache.

“I know so,” you replied, your fingers brushing against hers, testing, until they found their way into her grasp. She held your hand firmly but gently, her thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

She smiled, the kind of smile she rarely showed—soft and unguarded. “You deserve someone who takes care of you,” she said quietly, her lips brushing the crown of your head. “And I’ll always be that someone.”

The stars above seemed to shimmer brighter as you closed your eyes, your heart full in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. “I’m lucky it’s you,” you whispered, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you truly meant it.

Natasha stayed quiet for a while, her thumb still tracing absentminded circles against your hand. The soft hum of the night filled the space between you, but it didn’t feel empty—it felt full, alive with the things unsaid.

“Do you remember the first time we sat like this?” she asked, her voice gentle, almost like she was afraid to disturb the quiet.

You nodded against her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I was the one patching you up that time,” you said, the memory slipping through the years like a warm thread.

She chuckled softly, the sound low and familiar. “You were so nervous,” she teased, and you could hear the smile in her voice. “I think you apologized at least twenty times while trying to stop the bleeding.”

“Maybe I just didn’t want to hurt you,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly to glance at her.

Natasha met your gaze then, her green eyes catching the faint starlight. For a moment, she said nothing, as if weighing her words. “You never do,” she whispered finally, her tone so soft it was almost lost to the night.

You felt your heart skip, but before you could say anything, she turned her head slightly, her lips brushing against your temple as she spoke. “You’ve always been different, you know? With you, it’s… it’s easy to be soft. To feel safe.”

The confession hung between you, delicate but heavy, and her fingers tightened around yours. “You make me feel like I can breathe,” she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to let you know how real this was.

Your breath caught, the weight of her words sinking into you. “Natasha…” you started, but she cut you off with the faintest shake of her head.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment,” she admitted, her voice barely above a breath. “But I don’t think there’s ever a perfect one. So, I need you to know… I need you to hear it.”

She paused, her forehead leaning gently against yours now, her voice breaking the stillness with a fragile tenderness. “I love you.”

The words didn’t feel rushed or rehearsed—they felt like they’d been waiting, buried deep in her, and finally given the chance to bloom. You exhaled shakily, your heart racing, and when you finally spoke, it was through a smile you couldn’t suppress.

“I love you too,” you whispered, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

do u ever get a comment on a fic thats just so sweet that ur like Maybe slaving over 24k of fanfiction was worth it for user SprinkleTrashcan2012 to leave a three paragraph comment

·˚ ₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 | natasha romanoff

. ݁₊ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 . it was a new era of her life. she no longer had missions or a team to rely on — only endless free time, and a bunch of thoughts that weren't really helpful. Natasha for once, had time to pick up her phone — something trivial. through the dating app Tony had dared her to install months ago, she meets somebody. finally, her heart was at peace.

. ݁₊ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 . smut! i am not responsible for your content consumption! — a TW for the photo editing thing. this may be a sensitive topic for some. lonely Nat, insecure Nat — she edits a picture of her body, swearing, oral (N receiving). lots of fluffy stuff, too. set after Civil War.

. ݁₊ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 . english is not my first language (🇧🇷) so i apologize for any spelling errors. this ended up SO MUCH longer than i initially planned. i put a lot of dedication into this so, yeah 🥹

thanks to my lovely @sunswish who helped me with the plot and the proofreading! ♡

The trailer was quiet, except for the faint rustle of the wind through the trees outside. Natasha sat at the small wooden table by the window, her knees pulled up to her chest, a steaming mug of tea resting untouched beside her. The Norwegian countryside was beautiful, vast and unassuming, but the stillness pressed down on her.

Her phone laid on the table, the screen dark. She stared at it for a moment, the faintest flicker of hesitation crossing her face. She’d never been good at this — being still, alone with her thoughts. For years, her life had been one constant motion: missions, battles, briefings, always moving forward because stopping meant thinking, having time to ponder about her life.

Her jaw tightened, and she looked out the window instead. What was she even doing?

She’d fought tooth and nail to become an Avenger, to carve out some sliver of redemption for herself, some sense of belonging in a world she’d spent so long working against. She’d believed in their cause, in their family, even when it meant trusting people with pieces of herself she hadn’t known she was capable of sharing.

And now? The Avengers were gone. Torn apart, like everything else she’d tried to build. She was a fugitive, hunted by the very government she’d once fought to protect. Her friends — her family — were scattered, some in hiding, some in prison. She was left with nothing but her name and a handful of private contractors who worked in the shadows. People she barely trusted, people who barely trusted her. Yet she still needed them for supplies, false documents, and a roof above her head. Funny, she thought.

She reached for her mug, her fingers curling around the warmth of the ceramic, though she didn’t take a sip. She had no mission now, no team to fall back on. No one to call when the silence became too much. She wasn’t sure if she missed the fights or the people more.

A faint vibration against the table snapped her from her thoughts. Her phone. She glanced down, the screen lighting up with a notification — some random email, one of these ‘no reply’ ones, nothing important. She hesitated, then picked it up anyway, her thumb hovering over the screen.

Scrolling through her phone felt… strange. Almost trivial. She opened Instagram, an app she barely used but kept around for the rare moments she wanted to feel tethered to something normal. The feed was full of snapshots of a life she didn’t recognize—vacations, dinners, smiling faces, people celebrating milestones she wouldn't ever have.

And right then, the name ‘Avengers’ didn’t make sense for her anymore. She was supposed to have this. This life where she would have a fun moment and think ‘oh, yes! i should absolutely shoot a pic and add to my stories’. After all, Natasha was just an unavenged girl, woman, human. A picture of a mother celebrating her daughter's birthday wasn't just one more picture showing on her feed. It was her dream.

She scrolled absently, her mind only half-engaged as her thumb flicked upward. Part of her wanted to throw the phone across the room and forget she’d ever picked it up. But another part—the quieter, lonelier part—held onto it like a lifeline.

She then receives another automatic notification. How has your love life been going? It took her a moment to remember what it was, and when she did, she let out a dry, humorless laugh.

The dating app.

She’d installed it months ago as a joke, because Tony had bet her she wouldn’t. She could still hear his voice in her head, teasing her. “Come on, Nat. You might actually meet someone who doesn’t want to kill you for once.” At the time, it was funny. She’d downloaded it, filled out the bare minimum of the profile, like: cat lover, captivating green eyes & martial arts enjoyer and promptly forgotten about it.

Her finger hovered over the icon now, her heart giving a strange, uncomfortable twirl in her chest. The idea of opening it felt absurd. What would she even say to someone? What would they see in her, beyond the scars and the lies and the mess she’d made of her life? That was made of her life? Could she even try and have a relationship? When throughout her life, she didn’t ever have a conversation about feelings? Clint was the closest attempt to that — he knew her past, more than the others, at least. So she spoke to him about things like that before. But he had a wife, kids, a home.

Natasha damned her heart every single day — for wanting a connection with somebody — for wanting to be somebody's, and for not being content with what she already has.

What does she even have?

She sighs deeply as she gathers a little bit of courage (that usually wasn't necessary when one was to open a simple app in their phone) and presses her thumb against the icon. Her eyebrows show a little frown as she realizes the app wasn’t open — she had held the icon for too long, making the options add to home and uninstall pop up on her screen.

“Goddammit,” she mutters to herself. Maybe she had done it on purpose. She considers choosing the second option. But her thumb, once again, hovers over the uninstall word for too long.

She was just confused. In conflict, with something so small. Although, she was braver than that.

“Let's just get over with this.” She mutters to herself as she finally opens the app — SparkMatch, she reads the name, for the first time. She lets out a scoff. Though the feeling of unease didn't take long before coming back to her. The about me section was completely empty, in exception for-

“Captivating green eyes. Cat lover.” she reads the words she had typed, aloud, cursing herself. It was what she had written in order to simply make the Iron Man laugh and leave her alone. “Great job, Romanoff. Truly irresistible.”

Scrolling down her profile, which was named only @Natasha1203— having in mind that her surname wasn't one to be openly shared — she finds the photos she had chosen, months ago, without really thinking much. Her gallery didn't have much cheering stuff. They were as nondescript as possible: a picture of a skyline she had taken while on the run. Her in sunglasses, her most common accessory. And.. a single closeup of her face, that felt too honest for comfort. She doesn’t know why she left that one there, for the world to stare at. Maybe it was the one moment where she caught herself looking like.. well, herself. If somebody squinted their eyes, they could see a small scar on her shoulder. She hoped people wouldn’t do that.

Summing up: the profile was a mess. And that was a perfect reflection of the person behind it. She doesn't make a move to edit any information — before remembering an important detail. It would be nice to change her profile's name, in case anybody (especially Tony, that was aware of this) tried to look for her.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203 was the new username.

Perfect. She does a little ‘tsk’ with her tongue, a little habit she developed when finishing a task.

Flirting was easy. She had been trained for it — trained in the art of seduction, molded into a woman that could slip into any persona, say the right words, touch in the right way, just to get what she needed. But this wasn't one of the spy programs she had access to in SHIELD. This wasn't about manipulation or information extracting. This was trivial. Normal.

Natasha browses through the app for a while. She stops in profiles of strangers that smiled back at her through their pictures — men, women, who were teachers, doctors, engineers. People with families and hobbies. Who had the chance to live a life without looking over their shoulders every second. Yet something about this.. gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling. It was faint, but it was there. Knowing all these little details about random folks, she could find small pieces of herself in each one: some did ballet when they were little. Some had a scar due a kitchen accident. Some did karate simply for liking the sport. Some liked peanut butter sandwiches. She quietly giggles, her previous nervousness replaced by a silly feeling.

Maybe it wasn't that bad. It is not like a random person was gonna crawl out of her phone screen and have a date right then, anyway. And there was another ‘problem’. This app was still american, while she was in a whole new timezone.

What a relief.

She shifts on the small couch of her trailer, now laying down on it, allowing herself to get entertained with SparkMatch. She even found some profiles that were probably deactivated by now, seeing that they were created, like, a decade ago. She purposefully clicked on the small heart on them, meaning Match. She softly laughs.

But the sound is interrupted by herself as she finds a specific user.

It was a minimalist profile — elegant, even. It didn't say much about the person's personality: it said enough. It wasn't extravagant or absurd like some she had found. And it certainly wasn't a mess, like hers.

Y/n. 34. Not good at small talk, but I'm a good listener. A photographer, currently traveling around. Just someone who thinks the world is too big of a place to stay idle for too long. Currently: Norway

It was truly something else, compared to the live, laugh, love bios or the gym rats flashing their abs.

Her curiosity picks up, and soon enough, she sees a picture of them in Oslo.

And it was posted just three days ago.

So they were active in this app. But this wasn't what her mind grasped. Traveling in Norway. International trips usually didn’t last just three days, right? So that meant they were still there. There with her.

Out of all countries in the world, they were there?

She reads the bio again. Currently: Norway.

A strange shiver runs down her spine the more she thinks about the situation she found herself into. She bites on her lip, her stomach twirling almost painfully, like a school girl texting her crush. She was the Black Widow, for God's sake. She didn't get to go on silly dates and receive flowers.

No. This was too much. Without closing the app, she locks the screen of her phone again and drops it to the couch, quickly standing up and running her fingers through her hair. There were many reasons why this wouldn't work, especially when she was a fugitive and could get recognized, even in a small cafe.

Heading to the tiny kitchen, she opens a drawer on the countertop and grabs a bottle opener, opening the fridge and taking a beer out. She removes the cap and downs the bottle with no second thought, the bitter liquid ripping down her throat. Deeply breathing, shakily. Amidst the vast emptiness, not only of the place she was currently settled, but of her heart too, she fought back tears. The glass of the bottle clicks against the marble countertop as she places it down, her hands tightly gripping onto the edge of the furniture, holding herself up. It was a hard decision to make, whether to take this opportunity and keep it safe in her heart, or to let it go and pretend it never happened in the first place.

But she wouldn't be able to rest tonight knowing she simply did nothing about that special person the app charitably put into her hands. So, on this night, the unshatterable Natasha Romanoff did something she never thought she would. Before heading to bed, she picked up her phone again. Gladly, she didn't have to look for the profile once more. She simply had to press onto the small heart next to their picture. And she did.

The screen flashed: It's a match!

Natasha blinked in surprise, almost dumbfounded by this message. But this was meant to happen, right? Now, she could only hope that she would receive something in return by the morning.

It felt.. good. She had something to expect, a little flicker of hope that followed her even in her dreams, that made her feel better than she could ever imagine.

And this was just the start.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

When the next day came, all of Natasha’s thoughts regarding the whirlwind of recent events were replaced by a single thing: that person. That New Yorker who was currently in Norway to take photos for a personal album. She initially wondered if she could really lower her guard like this and not think too much about Secretary Ross — who was still after her — but it was not like she would leave this trailer anytime soon. Thus, she needed a distraction, something to keep her brain entertained until this whole mess was over.

Talking to them was a relief — a solace she had been needing and didn't even know until now.

Talking to you.

Right away you had seen the match notification of SparkMatch, even if it was already one in the morning when it arrived. You sent this woman- Fanny? a message, and waited, but no response came until the next day. You wondered if she had impulsively pressed the match button and ran away from her phone out of nervousness. You actually imagined it, seeing the one picture of herself she published on her feed. Her profile was.. vague, to say at least, but she was incredibly beautiful, and indeed had captivating green eyes, like she boldly described herself. It made you smirk to your phone’s screen. No, genuinely smile.

It was pretty much clear that she wasn't a dating app person. And neither were you! You just had a better sense of organization than her, that's for sure. What if you two could really be a match?

As the day went on, you two engaged into a conversation that was surprisingly enjoyable for both sides. Opening the inbox chat, that could be found:

@Y/n: Good night. Is your real name Fanny Longbottom?

— eight hours later —

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Good morning! The first thing you ask a woman is if her name is real?

@Y/n: It just doesn't suit a beautiful redhead with captivating green eyes.

Natasha groaned to herself at this, laughing. The humor in the text was evident, and she loved that.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Right. It was a joke. You can call me.. Nat.

It was a glimpse of her name. It could be Natasha, Natalia, Natalie.. or all of these.

@Y/n: Nat.. that is better. Yet still very vague. Like your whole profile.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Perhaps my whole account here is a joke.

@Y/n: And we still matched. And sincerely, I'm intrigued. Intrigued and curious.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That’s a dangerous thing to tell someone you just met.

@Y/n: Personally, I wouldn’t call a cat lover dangerous.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Will you stop mocking me for my irresistible biography or what?

It was an easy playful banter. It felt light. Not like these conversations where you had to directly ask the other person to be nice to you.

@Y/n: You just don’t strike me as someone who spends much time on dating apps. What brings you here?

With that, she debated whether to mention Tony’s dare or not. She could talk about it, but not for now. If she’s sincere, about how much she needed not to be alone anymore, this could lead to something good, more profound.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: I’m just trying something new. What about you? Norway seems kinda away from the rest of the world.

@Y/n: It is. But sometimes you have to go far to find what you’re looking for.

Natasha leaned back, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She didn’t know who you were, or why your words seemed to settle something in her chest, but for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she felt.. excited.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Have you found it?

@Y/n: Not yet. But I have a feeling I might be in the right place.

She stared at the message, her mind turning over the possibilities. She was already glad that this hadn’t started with “hey, you’re cute” or “what’s up?”, and now? It felt like she was in a dream — to find someone that shared her ideals, or that at least, thankfully, sounded like a mature adult.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Maybe Norway isn’t so bad after all.

@Y/n: So you’re also here!

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That seems like an excited message to me.

Gladly, her phone’s camera wasn’t capturing anything. Because she swore her eyes were sparkling right now.

@Y/n: Of course I’m excited, Nat. Now I have something else to think about other than shooting pictures.

Natasha stared at the reply, her fingers lightly brushing against the edge of her phone. There was something disarming about your words — direct, yet not forceful. And the way you used her name so casually made her blush.

She hesitated, before typing back.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: What do you shoot? Other than clever replies, apparently.

@Y/n: Street photography. Portraits, mostly. But I’ve been known to dabble in the occasional cat picture. You know, for balance.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Balance is important. What would the world do with no cat pictures?

@Y/n: I shudder to imagine it. Speaking of balance.. would you let me buy you coffee sometime? Or would that be too much?

Her breath caught. You really didn’t waste time, did you? she thought. For a moment, her walls threatened to go up again — she could almost hear that little voice in the back of her mind telling her that this was not a good idea, that it wasn’t smart, safe.

But she silenced it. It was too soon, for sure — but she couldn’t knock it till she tried it.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That depends. Are you going back to New York in the next few days?

@Y/n: I don’t have a specific date to go back. So I guess it depends on how things go.

Yeah. Now she felt a little pressured. It was a dilemma, she could be the reason you stayed or left. Adrenaline coursed through her veins — that was determination.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: It’s not like I am going anywhere anytime soon, either. But.. I like to play hard to get sometimes. How about we wait and see how things go?

@Y/n: Hard to get, huh? Well, patience is a virtue. Let me know when you feel like stopping the chase.

And you two went on like that — talking about your favorite portraits, sending her some — receiving her compliments, which sounded way too genuine for your liking. It was casual, like talking to a friend. Natasha didn't take long to start feeling comfortable with texting you. If she weren't a spy without a private number, she would've asked for your WhatsApp. Or maybe she was just exaggerating. The thing was: she didn't have to wonder about how to answer you. Your way of having conversations was so nice that she didn't feel forced to text back.

And with these new discoveries, Natasha felt like she could be in this new country without feeling too out of place. She feared that in the end this would be just one momentary experience, one of the many personas she played.

But shockingly, for once, she didn’t feel like paying attention to her overthinking.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

Weeks had passed, and the nightly silence Natasha once dreaded was now filled with something else. Her phone screen, once cold and impersonal, had become an opening to something warmer. A new phase of her life. She never thought she would be so close to a mobile device before. Supersecret agents couldn’t have personal ones other than burner phones, it was risky — they could get hacked, tracked, recognized. She didn’t have a number, or an email with her name, bank accounts, or any sort of thing that could link her to the authorities. She only had TikTok, Instagram, some games like Candy Crush Saga and her newest best friend, SparkMatch.

Everyday, without fail, your conversations flowed effortlessly. You spoke about everything: Norway’s quiet beauty, silly anecdotes, and even the mundane things that somehow became meaningful when shared. She made herself get used to the habit of not thinking much. This wasn’t part of the plan — or rather, there was no plan. This constant connection grounded her in a way she didn’t fully understand.

Having someone willingly care about her, without having to ask, beg for it — she couldn’t understand.

This evening, after eating her exquisite caviar and drinking champagne, she settled onto her couch with a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her phone buzzed, and her mind involuntarily anticipated your witty reply, or question about her day.

Instead, a picture greeted her.

It wasn’t posed or staged — just you. mid-laugh, with a goofy expression that instantly betrayed your attempt to be serious. Your hair was a bit disheveled, and the lighting was off, but the image carried a kind of authenticity Natasha couldn’t let pass. The caption reads:

@Y/n: I don’t usually do selfies, but I figured you deserved to see what you’ve been stuck talking to all this time.

It was caring. You thought about her often enough to send a picture of yourself, doing absolutely nothing important.

Natasha softly blinked at the picture, completely still as her brain worked to process what she was looking at. It wasn’t just a picture. There was trust behind it, a hidden message. She couldn’t tell where you were getting at with this action — actually, she could. She just tried to convince herself of the contrary, afraid of putting her hopes up and screwing up afterwards.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Hi. I wasn’t expecting that.

@Y/n: Hi! How are you right now?

She bites her lip, incredulously chuckling. She was almost certain that this question was supposed to come before the picture.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Better.

She was feeling better, but not just that — she was feeling.. something. Something like.. seen. Like she was remembered by someone, like she existed, for once.

And those feelings stirred something even deeper within her.

The connection was becoming deeper — it was just now that she realized that the flirting which occurred every now and then wasn’t meaningless. It had a deep impact on her, in her soul — as a friend, as a person, and mostly.. as a woman. She needed it. She needed someone to like her, to pay attention to her, to see her — intimately, closely. Even better when this someone wasn’t a superficial person, and actually one who she related to and felt like she could share this dormant part of herself.

So she decides to share a picture, too.

She sits upright on the couch, the blanket falling and pooling around her hips as she opens the camera. She switches from the back camera to the frontal one, and takes a selfie. She was wearing a simple grey tank top, so her shoulders, collarbone and neck were on display. She wasn’t smiling smiling, just briefly, just enough to make a friendly expression. It was soft, tender. Unlike the deadly Black Widow.

Thankfully, for you, she didn’t have to be that.

So she presses send, laying back again and staring at the screen in anticipation — her eyes closely watching as the send mark changed into seen, that then turned into open. It stayed like that for a long while — like you were examining the picture and weren’t ashamed of it.

It gave her goosebumps.

The typing bubble appeared again after what felt like an eternity.

@Y/n: You’re beautiful, Nat.

It was a compliment you had already used on her. But this situation? Oh, it felt so, so different. You were talking about the simplicity, the domesticity of her in this closeup, the softness.

Fueling the fire that started to burn within her on this specific day.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Just a selfie.. don't get carried away. I'm hardly camera ready.

@Y/n: It's more than a selfie for me. It made my day. If that's not camera ready, I wonder how it'll be like when you try.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Would you like to see?

Oops. She didn't think before sending this one.

@Y/n: Hell, yes.

Her mind was immersed, totally consumed by the attention you were giving her — no jokes, no hints, just shameless flirting. Standing from the couch, she walks to her small bedroom, which was already dark, gladly — she closes her door, and slumps on her bed. Seduction was her nature, she couldn't control it. Though it wasn't necessarily a bad thing right now. Reaching her hand out, she turned on her yellow dim lamp, a gentle, warm glow casting her skin, making a better environment for the incoming picture.

She reopened the camera and adjusted herself in a comfortable position — knees pulled up, her left hand resting above her stomach as she held her phone with her right one above herself — taking the photo. There was auburn red hair all over the pillows, some strands framing her face perfectly. There was skin showing — a bit of her thighs, her arms, waist.. the curves of her body leaving room for imagination.

And something that she forgot about for the longest time.

The bullet scar above her left hip.

She stared at the photo on her screen, finger hovering over the "Send" button instinctively. The lighting was perfect, the pose effortless yet captivating. Her expression was soft, relaxed — but her pupils were darkened, a hint of the sinful emotions coursing through her body. But her eyes fell to the scar.

It was unavoidable, cutting through the smooth expanse of her pale skin like a brutal reminder. The bullet scar left by the Winter Soldier, a relic of her past life, stood out glaringly in the image. Her jaw clenched as a familiar wave of self-consciousness surged through her, a feeling she thought she had buried already.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the headboard as her thumb swiped to open the editing tools. It took her less than a minute to brush the scar away, leaving her skin unmarked, untouched. Natasha tilted her head, scrutinizing the result. The photo looked… perfect. Too perfect, perhaps, but she didn’t allow herself to dwell on that.

With a deep breath, she pressed send.

Unlike your other conversations, she felt.. heavy. Like the instinct of having to show her perfect body in order to be liked was speaking louder than her rational side.

The message was delivered almost immediately, but the seconds felt drawn out, agonizingly long. When the "seen" indicator appeared, her heart raced. She bit the inside of her cheek, anticipating your response.

The reply came swiftly:

@Y/n: Wow. I’m speechless.

She smirked (bittersweetly), her thumb hesitating for only a moment before typing back.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: That’s a first. Usually, you always have something to say.

The typing bubble reappeared, and she waited, her heart thudding in her chest.

@Y/n: You make it hard to think, Nat.

Natasha felt warmth flood her cheeks, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Don’t let it go to your head.

@Y/n: I think it's too late for that.

For a moment, she wondered what you would have said if you’d seen the unedited version. Would you have found it ugly? Would you have pitied her? Or would you have admired her for wearing it like the badge of survival it was?

In her dreams, you would have worshiped it.

Before she could send anything else, you decided to take a shot on meeting her in person once again.

@Y/n: I'm sorry, I'll have to suggest. How about this: I'll find the best café within a 10-mile radius, and you can tell me if my photography is as good as my coffee recommendations.

Time passed, and the accusations against Natasha had toned down a bit. Maybe, just maybe, if she's careful enough, she can do this. The first date she'd have in what, a decade?

It was refreshing. And scary. But overall refreshing.

@Fanny_Longbottom1203: Deal. But I will be the judge in both.

The day and place was decided — it would be in Oslo, downtown — a café, where tons of people would be present. Natasha, growing up, became a master in blending in.

If fate decided to be on her side, this would be one of the best days of her life.

She tossed her phone onto the pillow beside her and laid back, staring at the ceiling. Her fingers brushed the scar again, tracing its jagged edges as if trying to understand its place in this new chapter of her life.

“Not everyone gets to see this side of me,” she murmured to herself.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if that was a warning or a promise.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

The café buzzed with the warmth of chatter, the soft clinking of ceramic mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter. It was tucked into a quiet corner of downtown Oslo, a place where the world felt comfortably distant yet close enough for her to disappear if necessary. Hours before, Natasha had dressed herself up — a burgundy dress, black tights, her usual black boots — and her jacket, of course. Her hair was naturally wavy, falling down her shoulders and back — and the makeup was simple. She wasn't a woman for makeup. But this time, she wore red lipstick and the faintest glitter eyeshadow.

She felt like a doll. It was stupid, a thing she liked to imagine how it would feel like back then — in the Red Room, where the girls wore black uniforms — grey sometimes, but always robotic, always calculated. It was a comforting feeling, which made her want to go back in time and tell little Natalia: yes! we are older now, and we are all dolled up for the date of our dreams.

Natasha arrived early — of course she did. She always did. She chose a seat by the window, her back to the wall, a vantage point where she could see everyone coming and going. Her heart wasn’t racing, but there was a slight tension in her chest. She sipped her coffee slowly, the warm bitterness grounding her as she kept an eye on the door. Then, you walked in.

Her doubting thoughts flew away the moment the green eyes landed on you.

She recognized you instantly. Your smile was smaller in person but somewhat warmer, more genuine. You scanned the room briefly before your eyes landed on her, and for a moment, Natasha thought she saw your breath catch. She softly smirks, gaze involuntarily daring.

Come and get me. This? Is all for you.

She shaked that thought away as she watched you approach her table — your clothes, your style, your body language — she scanned it all. The Black Widow wasn't an easy woman to conquer, which made her dump most of the people that tried to hit on her in the past. You were a rare exception, someone who didn't even have to try to make her heart race. It happened in it’s own.

“You made it,” Natasha said, standing to greet you, to give you a quick hug — the subtle press of your body against hers making her skin tingle. Damn it. She adjusted her dress before sitting back down. You did the same, sitting in front of her.

“Of course I did. This date was all I could think about,” you reply, eyes drinking her in, like she was the prettiest woman to exist. She truly was. “No. Let me rephrase. Seeing you was all I could think about.”

Natasha lets out a soft laugh, shifting her gaze towards the floor. She was so pale that the fact that she was blushing was, unfortunately, evident.

“Feels good to finally hear your voice,” she says, resting her chin on her hand as she stares at you. “In person. Not in audio messages or calls.”

After ordering pastries and more coffee for the both of you, the conversation flowed easily, from the usual mundane topics to little jokes that made Natasha chuckle softly. She found herself studying you more and more, the way you gestured when you spoke, the way your eyes lit up when you laughed.

Eventually, the question came.

“So, what’s it like?” you asked, your voice gentle but curious. “Being an Avenger?”

Natasha paused, her fingers brushing the edge of her coffee cup. She had expected this, of course. She knew it would come up. She couldn't simply hide, not when her face had shown up on TV so many times. But if necessary, she would say that this wasn't what she wanted to be anymore. Not with you. She simply wanted to be herself around you, and not the superhero.

She wasn't Natasha who assaulted T'challa. Wasn’t the Sokovia Accords breaker. She hoped you knew by now.

“It’s… complicated,” she said after a moment, her tone measured. “Not as glamorous as it looks on TV, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You smiled. “I’m sure. But it’s still something, isn’t it? Saving the world, fighting alongside legends.”

A faint, nostalgic smile tugged at her lips. “It was something, yeah. But it wasn’t always about saving the world.” Her gaze softened as she thought back. “There was this time when Tony installed this AI in the kitchen — Friday’s cousin or something — to help us cook. It ended up burning everything it touched. Clint started calling it ‘Flamebot,’ and Steve…” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Steve tried to fix it, of course. Said it was ‘worth saving.’”

You laughed, and Natasha found herself smiling more openly. She was rambling.

“And Thor,” she continued, “he once mistook a microwave for some kind of… magical contraption. He tried to ‘summon its power’ with Mjolnir.”

“Did it work?” you teased.

Natasha smirked. “No, but we had to get a new microwave.”

The nostalgia warmed her, but it also left her feeling melancholic. She missed them. Not the missions or the battles, but the team — the messy, dysfunctional family they had become. You seemed to notice the shift in her mood and didn’t push further. Instead, you leaned in slightly, your voice soft.

“I can tell you miss them,” you said.

Natasha nodded, her walls lowering just a fraction. “Yeah. I do.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, realizing she needed some cheering up. This was supposed to be a happy day, not one to bring up sad memories. So you opened your bag, pulling out of it your camera — which made Natasha's eyes brighten up.

“You brought it!” she exclaims. “I almost forgot that you're a photographer,”

“I thought of the possibility of having to register this moment. And I was absolutely right. You look.. beautiful isn't enough to describe it,” you deeply sigh, as if surrendering to her, to this feeling of being completely in love. “Can I please take a picture of you?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “A picture of me?” she asked, her tone teasing. “You know that’s dangerous, right? What if you decide to sell it to the tabloids?”

You laughed softly, looking at her like a lovesick puppy, shaking your head. “I’m not interested in fame, Nat. Just in you.”

That made her pause, her smirk faltering for just a second. It wasn’t often she heard something so direct, so sincere. She tilted her head, studying you with those piercing green eyes, as if trying to gauge if you meant it.

“Alright,” she said finally, leaning back in her chair. “But only if it’s a good angle. No pressure.”

You grinned, lifting the camera and adjusting the settings with practiced ease. “No such thing as a bad angle with you.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but the blush dusting her cheeks just got worse. She straightened up, her posture relaxed yet commanding, exuding that natural grace and power.

“Like this?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her voice.

You brought your chair closer, lowering the camera for a moment. “No. Don’t pose,” you said quietly. “Just be yourself.”

That caught her off guard. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she shifted in her seat, unsure of what to do with herself for once.

“Be myself, huh?” she murmured.

You nodded, lifting the camera again. “Exactly. I don’t need the Black Widow. I want Nat.”

Her lips parted slightly at your words, and for a fleeting moment, the mask she wore every day seemed to slip. Her shoulders relaxed, her head tilted to the side, and a genuine, very shy smile spread across her face. “I-”

Before she could protest, the shutter clicked, capturing her in that rare, unguarded moment. “Perfect,” you murmured, lowering the camera and meeting her gaze.

Natasha shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Only the good kind,” you replied with a grin, setting the camera down.

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand again as she studied you. “So, do I get to see it? Or are you keeping me in suspense?”

You turned the camera around, showing her the photo on the screen. Her expression softened as she took it in — the warmth in her eyes, the slight tilt of her head, the way the light framed her face, her rosy cheeks. It wasn’t just a picture. It was a glimpse of who she really was, beyond the layers of secrecy and survival. It was simply her, away from espionage, having coffee with her date.

Her unforgettable trip to Norway.

“It’s… good,” she said quietly, her voice almost hesitant.

“Good?” you ask. “It’s stunning. Just like my model.”

Oh, that…

The way you emphasized the word ‘my’.. the way you were making her feel.. actually precious. She was trapped.

“Alright,” she said, sitting back. “You’ve had your fun. Now tell me, do I at least get a copy?”

You laughed, nodding. “Of course. But only if you promise to go easy on me when I take more later.”

She smirks, her confidence returning. “We’ll see about that.”

As the evening wore, the sky showed a beautiful indigo, stars twinkling just like the sparkles in both of your sets of eyes. Natasha allowed herself to relax. To bask in this kind of normalcy that she never had the chance to experience. She had seen a lot, lived a lot. She knew what people could do in response to fear. She saw war and hatred, she saw coldness and cruelty. But from now on, she could live in a lighter way — like her heart was finally at peace.

“Should we get going?” you asked as the people also started to leave, standing and offering her a hand.

Natasha hesitated for half a second before taking it. Your touch was warm, steady, grounding, and promising. As you stepped outside, the cool air of Oslo wrapped around you. The city lights flickered like stars. Natasha felt a strange sense of calm. When she felt your arm enveloping her shoulders, her breath hitched, but she didn’t let it show — leaning into you gently.

“Where to now?” she asked, glancing at you.

“Well, the hotel, if you’re up for it,” you replied, your tone playful but not pushing.

That playfulness was a disguise for more surprises that awaited her back into the hotel room you were hosted in.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

When you unlocked the door to the hotel you're staying in, Natasha followed you inside, her steps hesitant, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The space was warm and inviting, even if it wasn't a fixed place — especially after knowing you for a good while now — tons of polaroids laying across the bed, portraits, some funko pops that you bought recently. But what caught her attention almost immediately was the bouquet of flowers resting on the counter, tied together with a simple ribbon.

Her brows furrowed slightly as she turned to you, her lips parting in surprise. She didn't even have time to look around the place. “What’s this?” she asked softly, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and vulnerability.

You stepped past her, picking up the bouquet and holding it out to her with a smile. “These are for you,” you said.

Natasha blinked, momentarily stunned. Her fingers brushed against yours as she took the bouquet, her touch delicate, as though the flowers were something precious. She examined them quietly — deep purple irises mingled with soft yellow sunflowers and a few sprigs of white heather.

“So you’re a hopeless romantic.. you didn’t take them to the café. What made you so sure I would come back to your place?”

You shrugged, leaning casually against the counter. “I wasn’t sure,” you admitted, meeting her gaze with an honesty that made her pause. “But I hoped you would. And, well, I wanted them to be a surprise. It felt more personal this way.”

Natasha glanced down at the flowers again, her fingers gently brushing over the petals. “You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

“I thought you were worth the effort,” you said simply, the sincerity in your voice making her blink rapidly, as though she was trying to process it.

Natasha smiled as she shook her head lightly, trying to dismiss the overwhelming feeling creeping up on her. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You chuckled, stepping closer. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She tilted her head, her green eyes studying you with a mixture of curiosity and warmth. “It is,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to,” you interrupted softly, stepping closer. “You deserve something beautiful. Something that shows how incredible you are, even if you can’t always see it yourself.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The Avenger, the unshakable spy, was speechless.

Natasha turned to face you fully, the bouquet forgotten for a moment as she searched your face. It was almost desperate, how she tried to find reassurance, anything that told her that her past wasn't a problem. “You… you don’t even know the half of it,” she murmured.

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I want to. Every part of it, Nat. I want to know you.”

For a long moment, she just stared at you, as if trying to decide whether she could let her walls down one more time. Talking through an app was easier. In person felt way too serious. And then, with a deep, trembling breath, she set the bouquet back on the table and closed the distance between you.

She walked with determination, her chest lightly touching yours as her hands found their way to the back of your neck. Her fingernails softly scratched in between the hair strands. She didn't know what to say — she didn't want to say anything. In this very second, she simply wanted to feel. Feel what she never had the privilege to feel as the years passed, because yes, this felt like a privilege. She stood on her tiptoes to press herself closer, doe green eyes pleading.

They told you everything, and you didn't need to be passed the message twice. Your right hand cupped her cheek as the left one wrapped around her waist, bringing her even closer.

She was an angel. Not a deadly spy. A sweet angel to be taken care of. To have her needs satisfied and tears wiped away.

As Natasha felt you responding, she allowed her eyes to close.. basking in the darkness, wanting to be enveloped by this only one sensation. This soft, intense sensation of your lips against hers, moving in a way that wasn't rushed, but wasn't too deliberate either — your hands gripping her waist and bunching the fabric of her jacket, maneuvering her back against the counter. Holding onto your shoulders, she sat on the countertop, welcoming your body between her legs. The kiss lasted. She softly whimpered as she felt your tongue brushing against her bottom lip, asking for entrance, for more of her. And she allowed it. Her head tilted to the side, moving in sync with you — as your tongues danced, a dance she hadn’t discovered before.

Needing air, you pull away, foreheads resting against one another as you deeply inhale, messily. It was torture to stop kissing her, she was good. But air was necessary. Calming down, your arms circle her waist. A smile makes its way to your lips as you see the state she was in. Flushed. And…

“I think your lipstick is a little smudged,”

Natasha felt that — every nerve of her skin was burning, including the parts with the messy makeup. She lets out a huff of air and clears her throat, trying to find her voice so she could respond.

“That was…” she whispers, her hands cradling your jaw. “Wow,”

“You are ‘wow’,” you whisper, using your thumb to wipe away the red lipstick from the corners of her lips, fixing it. “You are perfect,”

“I'm not that- I'm not,” she nervously giggled, humming as you finished fixing her up. She shifted on the countertop, her legs pressing around your hips, as if afraid of you leaving.

“I wish I could give you my set of eyes,” your hands travel down to her thighs, feeling the slightly rough fabric of her tights, but that didn't make her skin any less smoother to the touch.

Her dress was basically all the way up her hips at this point, something she hadn't paid the necessary attention to, due being too busy making out with you — and in the pit of her stomach, a small flicker of panic started rising. This was reckless, so reckless. It is not like she didn’t think of the possibility of things escalating while coming back to the hotel with you, but in her head, she would have more control over the situation — and with that, manage to keep her secrets uncovered.

But she didn’t. Her body was reacting in its own and her mind was cloudy. She had zero control.

Before you could even touch the zipper of her dress, Natasha froze. Her breathing hitched — barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but you were. Her hands, which had been so confident just moments ago, trembled as they pressed gently against your chest.

“Wait,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if it might shatter if spoken any louder. “Just.. give me a second,” she muttered, avoiding your gaze as she detangled from your grasp, getting off the counter and hurrying to the bathroom.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the quiet room. Natasha leaned against the sink, gripping its edges so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her reflection stared back at her — flushed cheeks, wide eyes, red marks staining the corners of her lips.

Why did she have to choose a matte lipstick?

Her fingers brushed against her side, over the spot where the bullet scar lay. She had hidden it from you before, in that photo. It had seemed harmless at the time — a small deception to preserve the image of herself she wanted you to see. But now, in the raw intimacy of this moment, it felt like a betrayal.

She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto her face in an attempt to calm the storm raging inside her. She couldn’t lose this moment — not to her own fears, not to a scar that was just one more piece of her long and painful past. But how could she explain it? How could she show you this part of her without ruining everything?

Natasha pressed her hands to her face, inhaling deeply. It’s just a scar, she told herself. It doesn’t define me. It doesn’t change who I am.

Except that it does. And a small tear rolls down her cheek.

You’re not in the Red Room anymore, she reminded herself, gripping the sink harder. And this person… they’re different. They don’t expect you to be perfect. They just want you.

The doubt, the fears that you managed to keep away from her in the past month, came back to her — only a thousand times more painful.

Regardless, Natasha didn't have any more time to think, before she heard the doorknob turning, the damn door she didn't lock opening. She kept her head low, her body stiff as she continued to hold onto the sink. You could see her reflection in the mirror clearly. The fact that she was silently shedding tears.

“You're crying,” you state quietly, taking baby steps towards her.

“And you're bold,” she chuckles, the sound a mixture of tears and sarcasm. She sniffles, using her arm to wipe her nose. “Entering like that.”

“You're crying.” you shake your head, once again standing face to face with her. You reach out your hands and cup her tear stained cheeks. “What's wrong?”

“I…” she debated what to tell you. That she was afraid of physical intimacy since she was young? Or that she hid a crucial thing about her body all this time? “I don't know-”

“You’re hiding something from me and are afraid I’m gonna hate you?” you inquire, voice serious — not mocking, not pressuring.

What?

Her eyes go wide instantly, the tears stopping. You wipe them away from her cheeks, expression softening again as you prepared to explain yourself. “You’re part of a New Yorker superheroes team. There was absolutely nothing that spoke about your personality in SparkMatch, which is expected, Nat. I’m aware that there’s a lot that I don’t know about you. I know where I’m getting myself into.”

“For the longest time, all I wanted was company. Someone to talk to, to listen to me, and that I could listen to them. Someone to see me,” she quietly confesses, leaning her cheeks into your palms. “You did just that. You’re that person.. you filled a huge void in me. You saved me in more ways that you could ever know.”

“I’m so grateful for that.” you lean closer, pressing a lingering kiss against her forehead. She shyly wrapped her arms around your waist, her eyes searching yours once more.

“It’s not just that…” she adds, her breath hitching. She was now determined to continue from where you left off on the entrance counter. “I longed- I long for.. touches, and..”

“And closeness,” you complete, head dipping down and tucking itself into the crook of her neck. “Geez, you smell delicious,”

“It’s… Twilly D’Hermès,” breathless, Natasha speaks, a small hint of pride in her tone as she spoke about her moisturizing cream. “My body lotion,”

It wasn’t cheap, but she liked to spoil herself sometimes. It was also great to deal with the constant bruises and cuts on her skin. Your brows raise in surprise, an incredulous laugh escaping your lips. Natasha could feel the warmth of your breath on her neck, a surge of happiness and ecstasy washing over her.

“That’s.. pretty luxurious, one can say.”

“Can’t a woman spoil herself sometimes?” she retorts — interrupted by a gasp that left her as your lips pressed against her neck. Her eyes flutter shut, her hands holding onto your arms as she did her best to keep talking. “B-Besides, years of bruises and burns require good skincare.”

“I see,” you hum, nuzzling into her, into the spot behind her ear. She felt soft today. Now you knew the reason. After staying like that for a while, you pull back, looking into her eyes with a gaze that showed admiration, respect and concern towards her comfort. “Can I?”

She deeply inhales, feeling you reach for her dress again — only more mindfully now. Shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, she places it next to her on the sink and nods.

She was prepared for the question.

“Okay, hold on.” you kneel down, beginning to untie her boots, catching her by surprise. You remove them and place them aside, before slowly pulling down her tights. “Damn. Why did you have to wear something so complicated?”

“I wanted to feel beautiful,” she quietly chuckles, allowing you to get rid of the excessive fabric on her body.

So, it's time for the dress. You got up to your feet and slid your palm up her spine, holding onto the zipper and then pulling it down. Natasha was expectant, self aware, but mainly, consumed by her desire — finally awake again.

“I'll make you feel beautiful,” you nod, pushing the dress straps off her shoulders and sliding them down her arms.

“You already do.” She breathes.

She doesn't stop you from getting her off the dress. But when it stops below her hips, she tenses up. That's because she sees you freezing. To look at her. It's strange, to have someone look at her body with no apparent emotion. You didn't look at her as if she were a prize to win — an object, or a weapon. Helping her step off the dress, you toss it aside on the floor. Now nothing was disturbing you from taking her in. Her black underwear. Her toned muscles — which you assumed were from years of workout. And her scars. Cuts, a few small keloids, and the bullet scar.

“You didn’t have to hide this from me.” you breathe, dropping to your knees once more as you held her by the hips. She found herself leaning against the sink’s counter, breathing ragged, every nerve of her body buzzing in anticipation. “Makes you even more gorgeous.”

“I—”

“You're fucking gorgeous.” you hiss, kissing above the place that once had a bullet in.

Yup. Her dreams came true.

“Please,” she murmurs, not knowing how to vocalize what she wanted. But the heat pooling between her thighs told you everything.

Your lips make a path from her hip down to her pelvic bone, right hand grabbing her thigh and putting it on your shoulder — coaxing a gasp out of her. Your palm covers her scar, as though it were something precious about herself — making her feel safe, above everything. Natasha, for a moment, almost lost her balance — having to hold her weight with one foot — as your pointer finger hooked around the soaked fabric of her panties, pulling it to the side. You gave her one look. One look before diving in.

You are no longer alone.

She took the message. And her world exploded.

Your tongue working on her — licking past her folds, tasting her — as if committing to memory, and not just using her — her slender fingers tangling into your hair, pulling your head closer to her core, soft moans leaving her mouth as if there was no tomorrow.

“Yes,” She gasps, her hips bucking, seeking more of the kitten licks you showered her clitoris with. “Don't stop.”

None of her sexual experiences had been good in the past — not in the slightest. So having something so good, so pleasuring — it was truly her first.

In the Norwegian hotel, Natasha was more Avenged than she ever was with the Avengers. In the end of the night, she ended up with you on the bed — your clothes making each other company on the floor, as she lost herself — in your body, your scent, your hands on her,

and your love for her.

♡₊˚ 📱・₊✧

You were tucked under the covers when the bathroom's door opened — the hot steam of her recent shower now dispersing and mingling with the air. You sat up, leaning against the headboard as you watched her with a smile.

Natasha walked towards you, the white hotel's towel in her hands, drying her damp hair. She was wearing a t-shirt you lent her, which was probably three times her size. She was smiling. Happily.

Before climbing back onto the bed, she absentmindedly placed the wet towel on an armchair. She gently settled onto your lap, straddling your hips, her head instantly nesting on your shoulder.

“Hi, baby.” you embrace her.

“If I have to leave the country, for any reasons,” she says, her hands tracing random patterns on your back. “Will you come with me?”

“I'll go anywhere with you.” you reply, voice unwavering.

She released the air she didn't know she was holding, and allows herself to relax her sore body. She nuzzled closer as you played with her still damp hair.

Maybe dating apps weren't so bad, after all. If she ever saw her team or Tony again, she would thank him for making her install it.

“Oh, and by the way,”

Natasha whispers, finally. Probably, you were aware. But it was one more thing about her true self she wanted you to know.

“My name is Natalia.”

college roomate!vi x classical musician!reader

part one

men/minors dni!

pairing: vi x fem!reader

2.5k words

contains: brief mention of hockey player!vi, fluff, friends to lovers, reader’s instrument is described as being in a case, or for percussionists a stick bag (sorry pianists), reader plays in a symphony orchestra, reader is briefly described to wear a long skirt

note: I've been working on this for about a week now! I am a violinist and ex percussionist who wrote this. I tried to make it as inclusive as i could for other instruments, but alas I will never truly understand what every single instrument goes through. there are a few words or phrases that aren't universal, so feel free to ask what they mean! I'd love to explain. 😚

college roommate!vi who isn’t exactly well versed in classical music before she meets you. the best she knows is the songs played in commercials and at stores; beethoven 5, can-can, maybe even a couple of pieces from the nutcracker. she spends her time listening to rock music, because that’s all she’s ever known.

when the two of you first met, you made proper introductions, and violet--no vi, as she insisted, looked down at your case/stick bag. curious, she asked you what instrument you played. she nodded at your answer and said, "cool," in fake understanding.

for people who play an instrument that isn’t well known: vi asks you to explain to her what it is, and you show her, then she pulls the “oh so it’s like a _____?” you smile tightly at her and say, “sure, something like that.”

college roommate!vi when you leave your dorm to find a practice room for the first time.

"where ya goin'?" she asks.

“to go practice,” you say, pointing to what you were carrying with you.

“you don’t want me to hear you or something?” she said teasingly.

you rolled your eyes and said, “no, the campus here has rooms for people to practice their instruments in.”

she stared at you for a second. “huh, i had no idea we had those here. well have fun,” she said, ending the sentence with your name.

“I'll try," you chuckle.

one day, when there are no practice rooms open, you get fed up and go back to your dorm. vi is there, laying on the couch in a cropped black tee and grey sweatpants. she nods in acknowledgement toward you.

“hey vi,” you smile, trying hard not to stare at her abs on display, “is it alright with you if i practice in here? there are no practice rooms open.”

“yeah sure, knock yourself out sweetheart,” she replies, laying her head back down lazily.

you try not to show a reaction to the pet name, but the thumping in your chest makes it a little harder. you turn and walk into your room, letting the door close behind you. you stand in silence for a moment before letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.

you situate yourself and set up your instrument, palms suddenly a little sweaty. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous about vi hearing you play.

vi listened through the wall as you practiced a particularly slow and sweet piece. she felt a calmness wash over her. about 10 minutes in, her eyelids became heavier. your playing was quite literally lulling her to sleep. the only thing keeping vi awake was when you'd stop playing, and she'd realize that she wasn't listening to a recording of music, but to you, shaping every note that reached her ears.

when you finished practicing, vi found herself longing to hear more of your playing instead of the silence that followed. it was something different from the genre she typically listened to, but she definitely didn't hate it. she was definitely asking you later for some song recommendations.

you walked out of your room, immediately heading toward the fridge for a snack. vi looked at you from her spot on the couch, wondering how you could look so normal after gracing her ears with the most gentle sound she's ever heard.

vi sat up, grabbing your attention.

"damn, I've never heard anything like that before, it was--," she paused, trying to find the right word, "beautiful."

you look up at her, and find yourself looking at those bright eyes of hers with the most sincere smile on her face.

you felt something churn in your stomach, and a heat rise up to your cheeks that you tried to brush off as being flustered by the praise.

"thanks," you said, trying not to melt.

college roommate!vi who is up in the middle of the night scrolling on her phone when she hears you practicing for your rhythm dictation midterm. she hears a metronome going off in your room, and your voice carrying strings of "do-ta-da-ta-di-ta" through the wall. your mantra being occasionally broken by you slamming your hands on your desk and groaning out a frustrated, "fuck." your actions earning a chuckle from her.

college roommate!hockey player!vi who would periodically leave for practice at the same time you would leave for a rehearsal, and who was rather pleased when she found that the music building was not very far from the ice rink.

let's see...I have my music, my instrument, a pencil, and water. perfect, you thought. looking at the clock, it was 5:25 pm, 35 minutes before rehearsal started, and it was about a 5 minute walk to the music building from your dorm, give or take.

you walked out of your room and looked to the door, to see vi turning the door handle, on her way out.

"oh hey, leaving now too?" you say, looking down at her stuffed duffle bag.

she turned to look at you with a smile, and nodded. "let's walk together?"

you felt your stomach flip in excitement at the invitation. "sure," you said, in the most casual tone you could muster.

vi held the door open for you as you left the dorm building, following close after you, finding her spot beside you.

the sun was setting, and the orange light it cast on your face combined with the slight breeze blowing your hair as you walked made vi draw in a breath.

"so I've been thinking..." she started, her pause lasting longer than she meant for it to when you looked at her so intently with your big round eyes, "I want to get out of my comfort zone in terms of music. right now I only listen to rock, and you seem like you know all about classical music..."

you gasped, your face lighting up. "oh my god are you really asking me to put you on classical music?"

god, she's adorable, vi thought.

“yeah, hard to believe, i know,” she snickered.

"okay, so what do you think you'd be into? something more hardcore like Shostakovich?" you started.

"what do you mean by hardcore?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

you began to explain different periods of classical music to her, pulling out your playlist on your phone and showing things to her. listening to you talk, she realizes that your knowledge matches your skill. you talk for a while, asking her "does that make sense?" here and there. all the while she watches you with eyes that sparkle with adoration.

once you reach the music building, you say your goodbyes, and vi is left alone as she watches you through the glass door, waving at her one last time before walking down the hallway and greeting a friend.

she turns and continues walking, the space next to her feeling awfully empty.

college roommate!vi on a cold winter day, who is painfully bored and has nothing to do, so she nags you to let her go grocery shopping with you. you let her tag along, her presence not at all unwelcome.

when you pull in to the shopping center, you see somebody in the parking lot playing the same instrument as you. they have a speaker set up next to them, seemingly projecting the sound they were producing.

"playing in the cold must be rough," vi commented.

you took a few glances at the performer before saying, "it probably helps that they're not actually playing."

"they're faking it?" she said in surprise.

"yeah, look at their hands. it doesn't match up with what the speaker is playing."

vi leans forward in her seat, further examining the person. she leans back in realization once she sees your point.

"rent must be that high I guess."

you laugh at her joke, and the sound fills vi's chest and blooms onto her face with a smile that she turns away to hide from you.

you turn the car into a parking spot, oblivious to her reaction.

college roommate!vi during the nutcracker season, who gets so excited when you have to practice in your dorm again, and she recognizes one of the pieces you play (it was in the classical music playlist you gave her).

the moment you leave your room after practicing, vi approaches you and asks, "that was a piece from the nutcracker, right? russian dance?"

your face lights up in surprise. "yeah it was!" you grin. "look at you, you're a pro now, you even called it a piece," you joke, lightly bumping her arm with your elbow.

vi laughs and gets this feeling she has whenever she's around you, the one that makes her heart race, and her face spike with a flush of heat.

college roommate!vi randomly asking you if you want food (image below)

college roommate!vi who can't remember when the two of you got so close. since when did it become normal for the two of you to start listening to classical music together? to laugh and talk late into the night? or for vi to have been in your room so many times that she's memorized all of your stuffed animals' names?

college roommate!vi who is worried sick when you come back to the dorm after a long rehearsal, slumping face down into the couch with a groan.

"what's wrong sweet cheeks?" she asks, taking a seat beside you, rubbing your back with her hand comfortingly.

you chuckle at the nickname, feeling a bit of your worry leave with your laugh. you turn over to look at her.

"the conductor gave me a solo, and I'm honestly terrified. when I play, no one else is playing. it's dead silent. the only sound the audience is going to hear will be me."

vi's expression softens, and she lets out a little chuckle. "and that's a bad thing?"

"of course it is, what if I bomb the whole thing?"

"then you carry on. you're going to do the best with what you have in the moment, and whatever happens will happen," she shrugs. "at the end of the day, that moment will not have changed the trajectory of your life."

you prop yourself up and stare at her. it's dark out, but thankfully the living room window always lets in the moonlight, casting the room with a soft blue glow. vi is beautiful in this light, her eyes looking into yours.

silence lingers between the two of you, but vi doesn't seem bothered by it, and neither are you.

"violet," you say. the use of her full name catches her off guard, but the way it leaves your mouth leaves her wishing you would say it again.

"yes," she whispers. it's so quiet that she wonders if you can hear her heartbeat.

she didn't know what you were going to do, but she didn't expect you to wrap your arms around her in a hug. she felt you sigh into her shoulder, the breath of air rushing down her back.

vi wrapped her arms around you, returning the gesture. she settled her hands at either side of your waist. she felt your soft hair brushing against the side of her face, the scent of your shampoo entering her nose.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you tell her, arms tightening around her toned muscles.

"so am I," she smiles, and you feel her relax into you.

college roommate!vi who since that night, cannot stop replaying the moment in her head. something inside gnaws at her to find out if the hug you two shared meant anything more than gratitude.

college roommate!vi immediately saying yes when you invite her to one of your symphony orchestra concerts. you tell her what you'll be playing, and she adds the pieces to her playlist. she listens to them all day long leading up to the concert.

college roommate!vi who sees you dressed in concert black right before you leave for your dress rehearsal, and she swears she's never seen anyone look so good in a black long sleeve and a long skirt.

vi's eyes travel across your body, lingering on the way the skirt hugs the curve of your waist before dropping down into a long flowy curtain.

you catch her staring. "how do I look?" you smirk, twirling to show off your skirt.

vi stares at you, forcing herself to tear her gaze away to meet your eyes. "you look...stunning," she says breathlessly.

you don't want to assume anything, but the way that she's looking at you as if you were an oil painting of an angel makes you think that she would get on her knees and worship you right then and there.

"I'm gonna get going now," you say, slinging your music bag over your shoulder. You turn towards the door and open it, standing in the doorway. "I'll see you at the hall, yeah? 7:00 sharp!" you smile over your shoulder.

vi clears her throat and stammers out, "y-yeah, see ya there."

the door closes with a click, and vi slumps down, holding her face in her hands. she replays the image of your face cast in the golden sunset light.

she lets out a low "fuck" at the realization that she is madly in love with you, and the chance that you might love her back drives her insane.

ending note for my musicians: I know it may seem like I was over exaggerating the way that vi reacts to reader playing for the first time, but I'm really not! people who have never listened to classical music before have nothing to compare you to, especially when all they're used to hearing is some pop song with guitar and drums, accented on beats 2 and 4 (not that pop music is bad, it's just not the same as classical). I've performed many concerts in my life, and even when I was in high school, playing with my mediocre symphony orchestra, people who had never heard such music were always amazed and loved our playing. don't think that you need to be a professional to be a good musician. music is all about conveying emotions that cannot expressed with words, so as long as you are able to put your heart and soul into a piece, and just go out on stage and feel something, you are an amazing musician.

sorry to leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger, I'll make the next part worth it. 😏

comment if you want to be in the taglist for part 2!