Hotel California | Track 15: Roadies

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I Kissed The Scars On Her Skin

Natasha X Reader

Inspired by the lyrics ‘I kissed the scars on her skin, I still think you’re beautiful’ from the song A Match Into Water by Pierce The Veil.

Chapter warnings/Tags: Mentions of objectification/sexualisation, Brief Reference to Natasha’s past and unwanted sexual experiences, talks of body image, Insecurities and anxiety about body image, comfort, fluff (?)

Word Count- 2.6k

I wrote this to try and get out of my writer's block and it's not worked 🫠

Please read the warnings/tags before reading.

Masterlist

Staring ahead at the mirror in the corner of the room, emerald green intently stared at her reflection, observing every inch of her bare body that was on display, wet, red curls clinging to her body as she simply stood in front of the mirror, her usually playful green corrupted into disgust. Hurt, regret and shame crawled down her spine as her gaze flickered from one body feature to another, a lump clawing its way into her throat as pain creeped onto her face as she continued to stare, every second passing only amplifying the whirlwind of emotions flooding through her.

Natasha couldn’t stop the negative and despondent trail her thoughts drifted down as she looked at herself properly, nausea stirring deep within her. She didn’t see herself staring back at her, all she could see was an object, a tool she used to get the mission done, no matter what it took. She didn’t see someone soft or beautiful, someone you’d want to spend hours admiring because they were so pretty and delicate, all she could see was something… to be used. She was sexy and seductive, she wasn’t someone who was tender or gentle. She wasn’t someone lovable, she was something to be utilised for a mission.

Her eyes glossed over as she continued to berate her body, objectifying it herself as everyone else had done to her as she stared and ogled at her own body, trying to persuade herself there was something more to her than her looks. Her teeth anxiously bit down on her lower lip to stop it trembling as she failed to convince herself of anything positive, a stray tear managing to escape her when her gaze settled on one of the many scars that littered her body from her past.

The haunting memories of her past desperately tried to gnaw away at her thoughts but she didn’t pay them any attention as she was too focused on drowning in her other thoughts, drowning in the onslaught of doubts and insecurities eating away at her. She was a weapon and a killer. That’s all she was and all she was ever going to be.

The sound of keys twisting in the door made her aware of your arrival, the redhead not bothering to cover herself up as she assumed you would be happy to see her completely exposed, everyone else would. God, what did you even see in her? Was she just a good fuck? Is that why you hadn’t left her yet?

“Hey, you’re never going to believe what Sam did on the mission-“ You chuckled out as you opened the bedroom door, your eyes widening in surprise at the sight of her body, a smile naturally tugging at your lips before your gaze met her green in the reflection, the sheer amount of emotion swirling in them immediately filling you with concern, your face dropping into worry. “What’s wrong?” You ask softly as you carefully place your bag down on the floor, making your way gradually over to her body, watching her reaction as you approach your girlfriend.

“When you look at me, what do you see?” Her tone was laced with hurt as your brows furrow, your eyes trained on hers in the reflection as you move to stand next to her, being respectful and keeping your gaze locked on those eyes you fell so deeply for.

“I see the most beautiful woman in the world,” you whisper, your voice dripping with care and honesty as you watch her reaction, pain flashing across her face and causing confusion to wash across yours.

“No, no you don’t,” she mutters, lifting her hand to wipe away the tears lingering on her cheeks, brushing it away roughly as she hates crying, she hates showing any sign of weakness. “I’m not beautiful, I’m…I’m disgusting,” she mumbles, your face instantly reacting to her words, disbelief engraved on it as you take another step closer to her body, trying to think of a way to convince her that she wasn’t, she was more than what they made her.

“Nat,” you whisper softly as she stares ahead at the mirror, avoiding your gaze in the reflection as she tries to blink back the tears brimming in her eyes. “Natasha, look at me,” you murmur affectionately, waiting patiently for her to muster the courage to look at your loving and tender gaze, her mesmerising green eventually flickering over to your soft gaze. “Do you trust me?” your voice was barely above a whisper as your mouth moved near the shell of her ear, waiting for her consent before trying to show her how wrong she was.

She was beautiful, not because of her body but because of her heart. Despite everything she thought about herself, she was a kind, loving, and amazing woman, she was someone who managed to steal your heart without even trying. She was everything to you, and you needed her to know that.

When she nods, you show her your hands in the reflection, signalling to her you wanted to touch her before waiting for her to nod again, your hands gently moving to caress her waist when she was ready. Your warm touch felt odd against her skin momentarily, the sheer tenderness and care you managed to put into it made her heart flutter as you kept your gaze on her face, gauging her reactions carefully. It was almost overwhelming to feel so appreciated and seen by you, your hands moving against her soft skin slowly, your fingers moving over every inch of her body in an adoring way, not a hint of lust or desire present in your touch as you explored her body, slowly warming her cold body up.

“Do you know why I said I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?” you murmur as you place a delicate kiss to her bare shoulder, the kiss so innocent and affectionate it almost makes Natasha tear up from the loving blooming within her as you close your eyes, almost lost in your admiration for her. “Because there’s not a single part of you I don’t adore, I love all of you Natasha, not just your body,” you whisper, your warm breath tickling her skin as you kiss her shoulder blade, letting your lips ghost over a small scar you knew haunted her.

You kissed over the scar with as much love as possible, trying to sooth her worries about the physical scar as well as trying to comfort the mental scars that littered her, the feeling of their rough, forceful hands still invading her thoughts from time to time.

You can hear her exhale a shaky breath at your words and actions, her body slowly relaxing further into your touch as you move to glide your hands down her toned arms, propping your head on her shoulder as your mouth ghosted her ear again, watching her reaction to your touch as she lets her eyes flutter shut, trying to engrave the memory of your touch into her mind forever.

“Do you know why I love your hands?” You mumble softly, a smile tugging at your lips as she shakes her head, too scared to speak and ruin the tranquil atmosphere that’s wrapped around the two of you, wanting to let the world fade away. “I love the way you run your fingers through my hair when we cuddle,” you whisper, trying to list all the unique things she does that you adore, trying to express to her your undying love, needing her to realise how much you care about her. “I love how gentle they are when I let you braid my hair, the way you twirl your pen between them in debrief meetings, that when you get anxious you trace the lines on your palms,” you mimic the movement with your own fingers, dragging the tips of your fingers across her hand before up and along her forearm until you move them back to her waist to rest there for a moment, letting everything sink in for a moment before you continue.

“Do you know why I love your shoulders and back?” you ask quietly, letting your fingers trace her spine almost intimately as your body ghosts behind hers, her body subconsciously leaning back further against you, seeking your warmth and comfort. “Because despite carrying the world on your shoulders, you make time for others, you care for everyone else,” you whisper, “But most importantly, you let me take care of you, which I know was something difficult for you to start with. I love how now you let me run my fingers up and down your back because you know I love watching you relax,” your let your thumb gently press into a spot on her back, knowing it was her weak spot and watching as her body crumbles apart at your touch, relaxing instantly into your arms as your hands move to snake around her waist, letting her sink into your embrace.

You hold her for as long as you think she needs it, her eyes still closed as she focuses on the feeling of your steady heartbeat behind her, ears listening attentively to your calm breaths as you embrace her, smiling fondly at her reflection as the disgust on her features dissipated into shyness and love, the suffocating spiral she was trapped in easing it’s grip as your words lured her out of her dark thoughts.

Only when she was ready, did you move away from the embrace, moving around her body to face her, your lips pressing delicately against her forehead to make the corner of her lips lift up that little bit more before you slowly kiss down her body in an appreciative way, trying to express your love for her as you kneel before her, almost as if you were worshipping her.

“Do you know why I love this scar?” you whisper ever so gently, her head tilting to look at you as you peer up at her, honesty overflowing from your eyes as she struggles to process how you could love the old wound on her lower abdomen. “It shows how strong you are,” you mumble as you kiss the scars on her skin, “It shows that you are a good person, Natasha. You saved that man’s life, you risked yours just so he could go home to see his children, I think that’s something to admire and love.”

“Y/n,” she murmurs out but you kiss near the scar again, her hands naturally moving to thread through your hair, wanting to feel closer to you as she lets you continue praising her body.

“I’m not finished,” you mumble playfully, not letting her disagree with your words. “I also love how if I let my fingers brush over the spot above it…” you chuckle out, knowing she was some reason ticklish there, a soft laugh escaping her as her body jerks at the funny sensation, your hands settling at her hips to show you weren’t going to tickle her again. “I get to hear that angelic laughter,” you whisper with a cocky smile, her eyes rolling as she looks down at you, unable to stop the smile breaking out on her face, your comforting words a safety boat coming to save her from the sea of doubts and insecurities.

“That was mean,” she grumbles, scratching your scalp softly as you lean against her body, smiling up at her with nothing but love in your eyes.

“It still made you smile,” you say whilst kissing the spot you had just tickled, your hands moving down to her legs, deciding to compliment one more part of her body, having a feeling your plan had already seemed to have worked. “Do you know why I love your legs?” You hum out, looking up at her and noticing the small hint of mirth in her eyes.

“Why?” She murmurs in a tender tone, your lips peppering a few soft kisses against the soft skin and her tone muscles.

“I love how you wrap them around my body to pull me closer when we cuddle,” you whisper, knowing that, especially when she was tired, she’d throw her leg over your body and slide you closer to her, needing to feel you completely pressed up against her to sleep comfortably. “Or when you use them to trap me to the bed playfully, trying to prove that you could beat me in a sparring match,” you tease, knowing full well she’d kick your ass if you spared against her. You chuckle as you watch her brow raise at your words, her smile endearing as she gets lost in your enamoured gaze, her heart unable to cope with the amount of love pumping through it.

Gradually, you push yourself back up to your feet and let your arms snake around her waist, pulling her body closer to yours as she keeps her eyes on you, trying her best to express how grateful she was to have you in her life, to have you push away all those negative thoughts and clear the fog of anxiety that would cloud her mind.

“You’re beautiful, Natasha,” you whisper, not hiding an ounce of your love for her in your tone, the soft look in your eyes turning serious as you need her to know you mean it. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me think otherwise. I love you, I always will.”

“I love you too,” she murmurs back affectionately, kissing your lips innocently, not wanting anything to escalate as she simply wanted to be with you, to feel loved and cared for. You let her face rest at the crook of your neck as you try to slide your jacket off to cover her body, noticing how she shivered slightly at the gentle breeze that filtered through the room from the window. You let her take as long as she needed in your embrace, only parting when she moved first, deciding to warm herself up by slipping under the covers of your bed as she watched you sit on the edge of the bed, taking off your boots tiredly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles after a moment, realising that you had just gotten back from a long mission, exhaustion evident in your features as she observes you, your head instantly turning at her apology.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” your tone is quiet as you kiss her forehead, letting your hand cup her cheek and thumb brush over the smooth skin. “I’m here for you, no matter what,” your tone conveys your care for her as you kiss her once more, swiftly taking the rest of your clothes off so you could join her in bed, letting your bare bodies press into each other so you could both get lost in a tranquil moment between lovers, gazing into each others eyes.

“Thank you for loving me,” she whispers after a little white, your lips stretching into a soft smile, your head tilting to look at her as she hugs your side, her leg slotted between yours like she always did.

“Thank you for giving me the chance to,” your words are soft as you hold the intimate stare, her cheeks tinting pink before she lets her face press further against your body, trying to hide the sudden shyness consuming her as well as giving into her body’s desire for sleep, the tormenting thoughts from earlier draining her. “Goodnight Nat,” you whisper once you could tell she was drifting off to sleep, your lips pressing one final kiss to her hair before letting your own eyes close, content with being in the arms of your lover. 

I want everyone to know that this is me every time someone drops a comment on something I've written:

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A Feline Connection Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha has an unexpected reunion while on a mission.

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: light fluff, slight angst, mention of gun

Words: 4703

Natasha sits at a small outdoor table, blending effortlessly with the weekend crowd outside a nondescript café. Dressed casually in a simple jacket, jeans, and sunglasses, she appears to be just another city dweller enjoying a quiet morning coffee.

Beneath the surface, however, her sharp eyes remain focused on the apartment building across the street, subtly monitoring every individual entering or leaving. 

The team had received a tip suggesting that one of the building’s occupants might have ties to the city’s criminal underworld and could possess some information about an upcoming weapons deal they were investigating.

Natasha’s mission is to uncover more, though the lead is vague. They only know that the target supposedly resides in this area, leaving Natasha with little to do but wait and watch for anything suspicious.

Maintaining her undercover guise, Natasha casually lifts her coffee cup to her lips. Just as the rim touches her mouth, she feels a gentle nudge against her leg. 

Startled, she frowns slightly and glances under the table to investigate.

Wide, familiar yellow eyes stare back at her, unblinking.

For a second, Natasha considers the possibility that it’s just a coincidence. 

There must be dozens of black cats in the city, but when her gaze shifts to the sleek gold tag hanging from the cat’s collar, she reads the ironic name engraved on it.

Widow meows, placing her paw on Natasha’s leg and nudging her again, this time with more insistence, as if greeting an old friend.

Natasha can’t help the small smile that tugs at her lips.

“Hey, it’s been a while,” she murmurs, lifting Widow onto her lap. She gently scratches behind the cat’s ears, feeling the soft, familiar fur beneath her fingers. 

“Did she lose you again?” Natasha asks the cat with a slight chuckle.

Before Natasha can react, a soft, amused huff appears near her ear, followed by a low voice.

“Is that really how you think of me?”

Natasha starts slightly, momentarily caught off guard by the fact that she hadn’t sensed your approach. She turns her head to find you standing beside her with an amused smirk, your eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

You reach out and gently push the bridge of her sunglasses up, fully covering her eyes. 

“Does this disguise really fool anyone?” you tease.

Natasha clears her throat, recovering her composure quickly, though she still feels a slight heat on her face caused by your close proximity.

“It works well enough,” she replies smoothly as you move to the other side of the table.

You chuckle, casually resting your hands on the back of the empty chair across from her, raising a brow in question.

“Mind if we join you?” you ask, your voice carrying that familiar blend of ease and flirtation.

Natasha hesitates, her eyes flicking toward the apartment building she’s been watching all morning. She knows she should stay focused on the mission, but the unexpected reunion with you and the cat resting in her lap has thrown her off balance. 

Noticing her hesitation, you lean forward, your voice dropping to a whisper. 

“You know,” you say, glancing around dramatically before locking eyes with her, “it’s a lot less suspicious if you’re sitting with someone.”

Your knowing grin makes Natasha sigh, but still, the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in amusement. She gives a small nod toward the empty chair across from her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “But Widow stays with me.”

The black cat meows as if in agreement, her body brushing more snugly against her lap.

You grin wider, pleased at her acceptance, and pull out the chair to settle in across from her, the faintest glint of fondness softening your gaze at the two of them.

“I wouldn't dare argue with either of you.”

As Widow curls up, her purring reverberates softly in Natasha’s lap as she strokes the cat’s fur. 

After a long morning of heightened vigilance, this unexpected visit brings a strange but welcome sense of calm. The tension in her body unravels as she savors this brief moment of normalcy, an unusual pause in her otherwise relentless routine. 

“So,” you begin, your voice pulling her back from the quiet comfort of the moment, “who are you watching?”

Natasha’s gaze sharpens, but she keeps her tone casual, taking a sip of her coffee before responding, “Who says I’m watching anyone? I’m just here for the coffee.”

You raise a brow, your smile growing. 

“Right. Because the Black Widow spends her weekends blending in with civilians, sipping coffee, and definitely not on a mission.”

“Exactly,” Natasha replies smoothly with a smirk.

Releasing an exaggerated sigh, your expression turns mockingly disappointed as you remark.

“And here I was, thinking you sought me out specifically.” 

Widow lifts her head at your words, releasing a chastising cry in offense. 

“Sorry,” you amend, glancing at the cat with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “I mean, us.” 

Natasha chuckles at the exchange, allowing herself to indulge in the banter to steer the conversation away from her mission. 

“Isn’t it more likely the other way around? After all, you approached me first,” she counters with a teasing smirk. 

You scoff playfully. “Ah, I see—someone’s pretty confident in herself.”

Raising a brow, Natasha gestures pointedly to the cat nestled comfortably in her lap. 

“I’m just basing it on facts. Why else would you name your cat after me?” 

You narrow your eyes, a playful glint returning.

“Who says she’s named after you?” 

Natasha’s smirk widens as she leans back, clearly enjoying the upper hand. 

“You’re not denying it.”

“And I’m not admitting it either,” you shoot back, leaning forward with a grin, resting your chin on your hand as you meet her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Natasha teases with a nonchalant shrug. “I’ve had my fair share of admirers. There’s no shame in being a fan.” 

With an amused scoff, you gesture toward the apartment building as you reply with a sarcastic tone.

“Yes, you’ve caught me. My apartment is filled with Black Widow merch,” you smirk at her, adopting a playfully serious expression.

Your words make Natasha pause in her playful banter, her brows knitting slightly at the casual mention of your home. She glances briefly at the building she’s been watching, remembering the intel she received.

“You live here?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusatory.

Widow raises her head at her and lets out another indignant meow, clearly displeased by the oversight.

Natasha pets the cat’s head gently, an apology in her touch. 

“Sorry,” she corrects, “the two of you live here?” 

“Yep, third floor,” you answer. “We were just on our way back when Widow spotted you.”

Widow meows again, almost as if confirming the information, nuzzling Natasha’s hand affectionately. 

At the new information, Natasha taps her fingers lightly on the tabletop, humming in thought. She wonders if the intel the team received might have been about you—or perhaps someone from your past. 

Before she can delve deeper into the idea, your hand slips over hers, gently stopping the movement.

“I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you say, your voice serious enough to catch her attention. 

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that Natasha recognizes but can’t fully understand. Yet, instinctively, she feels she can trust you—at least for now.

Natasha’s gaze drops to where your hand covers hers, feeling the warmth of your touch seep through her skin. The contact sends a familiar stirring through her, the same unexpected feeling that often rises whenever you’re near. 

She’s still not sure whether to welcome it or resist it.

Natasha looks back into your eyes, her curiosity piqued, ready to probe deeper with questions.

But before she can speak, you gently turn her hand over in yours, your fingers tracing light, random patterns across her palm.

“At your ten,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s pulse quickens, both from the delicate sensation of your touch and the subtle way you’ve pointed out something she missed.

Despite the distracting warmth radiating from your fingers, she discreetly shifts her gaze in the direction you indicated.

Sure enough, a man walks toward the apartment building, his posture tense, clad in a plain jacket and a cap pulled low over his face, clearly trying to avoid attention.

Widow’s body tenses in her lap and her ears flatten against her head as she lets out a low hiss in his direction.

Natasha attempts to soothe the cat’s nerves with gentle strokes.

“He moved in down the hall a few weeks ago,” you continue casually, not looking up, still focused on tracing her palm. “Seems normal enough, but I’ve recognized his type before.”

After calming Widow to the point where her tail is no longer lashing, Natasha’s eyes return to you.

“You’ve been watching him?”

With a faint sigh of exasperation, you reply, “Didn’t have much of a choice. He’s taken an…unwelcome interest in me lately.”

Curious, Natasha glances back at the man, her eyes narrowing as she observes him. As if sensing her attention, he pauses mid-step, his gaze locking onto your table—specifically, onto you.

His body language shifts, stiffening with barely concealed interest and tension.

Before Natasha can react, your fingers slowly and deliberately intertwine with hers. With a playful smirk, you lift her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss against her skin.

Natasha snaps her attention back to you, eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected gesture.

"Maybe that'll finally give him a hint," you remark nonchalantly, lowering your entwined hands back to the table as though the intimate moment were perfectly ordinary. 

Natasha blinks, momentarily thrown by the shift in dynamic.

A now familiar warmth rises in her cheeks, and she's grateful her sunglasses hide the flustered look creeping across her face.

Natasha clears her throat softly after a beat, regaining her composure. Glancing subtly in the man's direction, she's relieved to have a reason not to meet your gaze.

He’s no longer standing there—storming away instead, his frustration and confusion apparent in the hurried way he vanishes into the building.

Before Natasha can fully process everything that just happened, Widow hops onto the table. Her little paws rest on top of your joined hands as if wanting to be part of the moment. 

That touch settles her as she returns to her previous cool demeanor.

“You were using me,” Natasha accuses, her voice carrying a mix of mock indignation and dry amusement.

You grin, utterly unfazed. 

“And in return, I gave you valuable intel to move your little operation along.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow playfully with a slight huff. 

“You could’ve just told me from the start.”

Your smirk widens, your eyes gleaming with mischief. 

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Natasha shakes her head, her lips twitching upward in a reluctant smile. Despite your methods and actions, you did give her a new lead on her mission. 

Though, now she has to handle this new situation—the tension between you two.

Even though the man is gone, you haven’t released her hand, and she doesn’t pull away either. 

Something else lingers in the air between you, something unspoken but undeniable. 

Widow nudges her head against your hands as if offering her approval of the unfolding moment. 

Natasha’s gaze drifts to the cat before her eyes return to you, her expression softening.

“You two never came by the Compound after that night,” Natasha comments softly, her tone casual but tinged with a hint of disappointment.

You shrug lightly and reply with a sly grin, “I’m sure Stark didn’t appreciate how easily I bypassed his security system.”

Natasha chuckles lightly at the memory. 

“Telling him about that was the best part. You should’ve seen his face.”

You let out a soft laugh, the moment lingering in comfortable silence.

Eventually, you slowly release her hand, your fingers trailing against hers before pulling away completely. 

Standing up, you adjust your jacket with casual ease. 

“Well, now that you know where we live,” you say, nodding toward the building, “feel free to drop by whenever you’re not too busy saving the world.”

You gesture to the little cat, who’s now swatting lightly at Natasha’s coffee cup in a playful manner, adding, “I’m sure Widow wouldn’t mind your company.”

Natasha’s eyes twinkle with amusement, catching the cup before it could fall and giving the cat a tiny scratch on her head before returning her attention to you.

“Just her?” Natasha raises a brow, the question hanging between you with playful intent.

You don’t answer directly, but the slight smile on your face says enough. 

“Good luck with your mission, Miss Black Widow,” you say softly, your tone shifting to something more sincere before turning toward the apartment building. 

Widow gives her a soft meow goodbye before hopping off the table and climbing into your arms.

Natasha watches you walk away, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. Eventually, her mind returns to the mission but not without a fleeting thought of you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha leans against the rooftop's edge, her eyes fixed on the target’s apartment in the building across her. The cool night air brushes against her face, but her focus remains sharp. 

You were right. The man you pointed out is involved with one of the organizations suspected of orchestrating a major weapons deal. His hidden familial ties and shady movements had confirmed it.

After bugging his phone and tracking his movements for days, Natasha discovered that tonight would be crucial—a drop-off containing the specs for some of the weapons in the deal and where they came from. 

She watches patiently as the man opens his door to receive a small package from an unknown figure.

The exchange is brief, and once the door shuts, the man places the package carelessly on his counter.

As Natasha considers a plan to obtain the package, something causes the man to tense, and he cautiously turns back toward the door. 

Her hand instinctively moves toward her own weapon, prepared to intervene when she spots him pull a gun, keeping it hidden behind his back as he cracks the door open again.

The man’s posture relaxes as he realizes who’s on the other side of the door, and he hides his weapon in the back of his waistband.

Natasha observes as his overly confident bravado takes over, and it becomes clear he’s trying to impress someone. 

Natasha’s view of the visitor is blocked, but judging by the man’s lowered guard, she assumes this person doesn’t pose an immediate threat. 

Whoever they are, though, they seem to hold some influence over him.

After a brief conversation that results in the man turning off the lights and slipping out of the apartment, led by the unseen visitor, Natasha seizes the opportunity to retrieve the package before he returns.

With practiced precision, she shoots her grappling hook across the gap between the buildings and swings silently onto the balcony outside the man’s apartment. Carefully picking the lock on the window, she slips inside without making a sound. 

But as she steps into the room, she quickly realizes something is wrong. 

The small package, which had been resting on the counter moments ago, is now gone. 

Natasha scans the area, her eyes darting around the room. 

Had it fallen somewhere?

A faint sound reaches her ears as Natasha walks around the room—movement just behind her.

She whirls around, gun raised, ready to face whatever threat is lurking in the shadows.

But the only thing she’s met with is darkness.

Her eyes narrow as her instincts scream that something is off. She’s sure she heard something.

She focuses on the shadows for a moment longer when a pair of familiar yellow eyes suddenly blink open, glowing softly in the dark. 

Natasha lowers her weapon, momentarily caught off guard by the sight.

Widow emerges from the darkness, its head tilted curiously as she approaches Natasha. The corner of the small package is clutched tightly in her mouth.

Natasha lets out an incredulous huff. 

“Really?” she mutters in disbelief as she kneels and waves the cat closer.

Widow trots over and jumps into Natasha’s arms without hesitation, the package still firmly between her teeth. 

Standing up, Natasha tries to pry the package from the cat’s mouth gently, but each time she reaches for it, Widow swats at her hand and shifts her head, making it impossible to grab.

“You’re not serious,” Natasha sighs, exasperated. 

But Widow only stares up at her with those wide, innocent eyes, completely unfazed by the situation.

Before Natasha can try again, she hears footsteps approaching from the hallway. 

Instantly, she reacts, slipping out of the window with Widow still in her arms, her movements quick and silent. She carefully closes the window behind her, ensuring everything looks untouched, before flattening herself against the outside wall.

The light flickers on inside the apartment, and Natasha hears voices. She listens closely, picking up snippets of conversation.

“Thanks again, I don’t know what I would have done without your help,” your voice floats through the window, laced with exaggerated helplessness.

It’s not like your usual demeanor and tone. You were clearly playing a part. 

“Anytime,” the man responds, his tone gruff, but Natasha can tell he’s trying too hard to sound confident. “You know, if it doesn’t work out with—” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I really have to go!” you interrupt quickly, your voice fading as you move toward the door. “Have a good night!” 

Natasha hears the door close with a soft click, signaling your exit. She waits a moment longer before making her own move, descending silently into the nearby alley below.

Landing with ease, she looks down at Widow, still cradled in her arms.

The cat is now lazily gnawing on the corner of the package, completely unbothered by the chaos of the situation. 

Her claws grip the package tightly, almost possessively.

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief, her lips curving into a small, amused smile despite herself. 

“You two have a lot of explaining to do,” she mutters, glancing at the apartment building.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The moment you open the door, your eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Natasha standing there.

“A bit late for a visit, don’t you think?” you tease with a playful grin, leaning casually against the door frame, trying to mask your surprise.

But Natasha doesn’t return your smile. 

Instead, she tilts her head slightly, one brow arched with an unimpressed expression and pulls her jacket open just enough to reveal the black cat nestled comfortably in her arms. 

Widow is still clinging stubbornly to the small package in her claws. 

Your grin falters immediately, your gaze dropping from Natasha’s face to Widow and the damning evidence she’s holding. 

Realization hits you like a wave, and your once-confident smile dissolves into a look of sheepish acknowledgment.

“Oh,” you murmur, awkwardness settling in as you glance between Natasha's unimpressed stare and Widow's innocent eyes.

“Well,” you sigh, stepping aside to open the door wider, “you might as well come in.”

Natasha steps past you, her eyes sweeping the room in quiet observation. 

Your apartment is neat, save for the scattered cat toys littering the room. Natasha takes it all in quietly, her gaze eventually falling back on you—specifically, your night attire. 

You’re wearing a black oversized t-shirt and shorts, casual and comfortable, but it’s the symbol on the front of the shirt that grabs her attention.

“Nice shirt,” she comments, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

You glance down and immediately realize what she’s referring to—the iconic red hourglass symbol of the Black Widow emblazoned across your chest. Rolling your eyes, you cross your arms defensively over the logo. 

“This doesn’t prove anything,” you remark. “I’ve got shirts with the other Avengers symbols too.”

“Sure you do,” Natasha teases, clearly enjoying the moment before her attention shifts to the cat in her arms. She nods toward Widow, who’s still gripping the package as if it were a prized possession. 

“How do you get her to let go of things?” 

A proud grin spreads across your face at the cat’s actions.

Walking to the kitchen, you rummage through a cabinet, pulling out a small tube of cat treats before returning to Natasha’s side.

Tearing it open, you hand it to her.

Widow’s sharp yellow eyes instantly zero in on the treat. Natasha, intrigued, waves it in front of the stubborn cat. 

“How about a little trade?” she offers. 

The cat’s eyes follow the snack in contemplation. Slowly but surely, her grip on the package loosens, her claws retracting as she reaches a paw toward the treat.

Seeing the opportunity, Natasha quickly snatches the package and shakes out its contents—a USB drive, which she tucks into her jacket.

When Natasha still has not promptly given her reward, Widow yowls in protest, having already upheld her end of the deal.

Natasha huffs lightly at the exaggerated behavior but relents and offers the treat to the eager cat, who devours it with delicate bites.

“I guess that means mission accomplished,” you quip, attempting to bring some levity back into the room. 

But Natasha doesn’t laugh. She glances up at you, her expression shifting as her playful demeanor fades. 

“You said you didn’t do this kind of thing anymore,” she says, her voice edged with accusation. 

You shrug, hands raised in defense.

“Technically, I didn’t,” you reply, though Natasha’s piercing stare cuts through your weak deflection.  

With a tired sigh, you rub the back of your neck before continuing, "Remember that post I asked you to take down?"

Natasha nods slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, silently urging you to continue.

“Well, some of my old associates saw it before you did. And let’s just say…we didn’t part ways on the best of terms.”

Natasha places the finished snack on the table, her fingers moving to absently scratch behind Widow’s ears as she processes the situation. Her eyes narrow, her tone shifting to something more serious as concern creeps into her voice.

“So, they’re forcing you to steal for them?”

You lean back against the counter, exhaling a heavy breath.

“They have leverage,” you reveal cryptically. “If I don’t cooperate...things get complicated.”

Her fingers pause in Widow’s fur, her expression hardening as the situation sinks in. 

“Then why help me? Wouldn’t that put you at risk?”

You manage a wry smile.

“If the Avengers get involved, they can’t hold it against me, right?”

You gesture toward her, adding teasingly, “I mean, what can one simple thief do against Earth’s mightiest heroes?”

Natasha shakes her head, frustration and disbelief mixing in her features.

“That doesn’t guarantee they’ll leave you alone.”

“And like I told you before,” you say, voice soft but resolute, “let me handle it. You’ve played your part. Now go be a hero to someone else.”

Natasha huffs, more in disbelief than anger.

“So you used me. Again.”

Her tone has no malice, but the sting of truth lingers.

You step closer and reach out to adjust the collar of her jacket. Your fingers brush her skin, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Like I said,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “you shouldn’t get involved with someone like me.”

Widow purrs contentedly in the stillness, oblivious to the tension in the room, nuzzling against Natasha’s hand affectionately.

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly at the sight of the cat—remembering what you once said about Widow being a good judge of character. 

If this little creature, with all her instincts, trusts someone with a past like hers, then surely there must be a similar reason she chooses to be with you.

When Natasha looks up, her eyes lock onto yours, steady and unwavering.

“What if I want to be?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with something far more than just concern.

Your breath catches, the vulnerability in her words taking you by surprise. You quickly school your expression, forcing neutrality even as your heart pounds in your chest.

Natasha steps closer, the heat of her body brushing against yours as close as she can, her gaze piercing.

“Do you want me to be?” she asks softly, the challenge clear in her tone.

For a moment, you meet her gaze, steady and unrelenting, but your eyes betray you. They flicker, just briefly, to her lips.

Natasha catches it. Her lips part slightly, and the air between you thickens with tension, both of you standing on the precipice of something neither can quite name.

But you break first.

You step back, clearing your throat as if that could dispel the weight of what just passed between you.

“As tempting as that is,” you say, your voice thick with the emotions you’re trying so hard to suppress, “I can’t let anyone else get caught up in this.”

Natasha doesn’t move, her eyes searching yours for more explanation.

However, you reach for Widow instead, gently lifting the cat from her arms, using the small creature as a shield between you.

“This one’s already enough trouble,” you joke weakly.

Natasha’s gaze lingers, watching you with a mix of exasperation and something deeper—something you refuse to name. She tilts her head, her voice soft.

“You know my job is to help people, right?”

You swallow hard, the playful smirk returning, though it feels hollow.

“And I’ll let you know if I ever need it.”

Natasha narrows her gaze, unconvinced. “Really?”

Rolling your eyes, you offer a small concession. 

“Fine. Check in whenever. You’ve got my number, remember? And I’ll even send you cute pictures of Widow often to keep you from worrying too much.” 

Widow chooses that moment to let out a soft meow, raising her paws beside her face as if on cue.

Natasha’s stern expression falters, a tiny smile tugging at her lips at the sight. But even as she shakes her head in resignation, the tension between you both lingers, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

With a small sigh, Natasha accepts your decision and steps toward the door. As she reaches for the handle, she pauses, her hand hovering there momentarily before turning to look at you again.

“If you ever decide that you don’t have to handle everything on your own,” she says softly, “you know where to find me.” 

You nod, your mask of indifference slipping back into place.

“You’d be the first one I’ll call,” you promise playfully.

Natasha lingers for a moment longer, her eyes searching yours for something that never comes. She finally opens the door and steps through, pausing briefly before turning back to you.

“Take care of yourself. Both of you,” she whispers before leaving, the door clicking softly behind her. 

The room feels emptier in her absence, the warmth of her presence fading.

Widow stirs in your arms, hopping onto the counter and letting out a soft, sad sound as if sensing the change in the air.

You lean heavily against the counter, exhaling a deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Natasha's words replay in your mind, sinking deeper into your heart than you will admit. 

But as always, you push it aside. There’s no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing—not in your world.

Uncurling your fist, the USB falls from your hand—swapped from Natasha’s pocket with another containing misleading data. 

Widow trots over to the item on the counter, nudging it with her paw before turning to you, letting out a sharp meow, almost as if scolding you.

“I know,” you sigh, guilt settling in as you scoop her back into your arms.

You stroke her gently, your hand brushing over a slightly raised patch of fur. The reminder of what's beneath fills you with concern for the little feline and your position.

Widow meows again, tilting her head curiously, oblivious to your worry. You force a reassuring smile, though it never quite reaches your eyes.

As your gaze drifts toward the window, your expression falters. You watch Natasha’s silhouette disappear into the shadows, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

“She really shouldn’t get involved with someone like me,” you whisper sadly, giving Widow one last scratch behind the ears before turning away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n: I have decided to make this into a series. It's probably not going to be like my other one with extensive plotlines and such (I don't think). But maybe leaning more toward light-hearted adventures and interactions between the two (and Widow). Thanks again for reading! I hope you'll enjoy this series too!

Hotel California | Track 14 : Between the Stars

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 5.7k

Chapter 14/18

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: This is a span of a couple days in their lives.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

You're sitting in the hair and makeup chair with Cece, your stylist, and a lifelong friend, and you’re kind of nervous. You thought you could handle things like this. After all, you’ve been around Hollywood’s elite for most of your life. You’re a decent performer, a great publicist, and you’ve always been good at working a room. Public speaking? No problem. Memorizing a script or delivering a speech? Easy. You’d probably do well at the whole celebrity thing. So, why does this have you on edge?

This press run has been something out of a dream—an opportunity for which you’re genuinely grateful. But still, your nerves buzz under your skin. You’d had a taste of fame before, back when you won that Grammy for songwriting, but this? This feels different. Your frontal lobe’s fully developed now. You’re painfully aware of every word, every glance, every judgment. And this time, the spotlight isn’t on your work. It’s on you—and something as personal as your relationship.

You try to focus as Cece chats about some new trend on a social media app you’re not even on. Her hands move precisely, sectioning your hair while Cole, your makeup artist, preps your skin. The two of them work in sync, and you feel utterly pampered. Every brushstroke and spritz is meant to make you shine. But even under their care, the knot in your stomach doesn’t unravel.

You smile at Cece’s story, pretending to keep up, but your mind wanders. You remind yourself you’re here for a reason.

Promote the single. Promote Velvet Rebellion's new album.

******

The softly lit studio is quiet and intimate. The setup is personal— a solid background, two chairs angled toward each other, and a table between them. Natasha is already sitting, effortlessly poised. She leaned back in her chair, the picture of laid-back confidence. Her faded red Rolling Stones shirt peeked out from under a well-loved leather jacket, paired with black jeans that clung just right and boots that had seen some stories. Everything about her was effortless, cool, and completely her. You couldn't hide your approval of the outfit as you complimented her.

"You look so good, baby," you cooed. "I love the leather."

She smiled at the compliment and watched as you sat down.

"Thank you," she said. "And you," she continued, "You look like a fucking dream. As always."

You wore a fitted button-down with rolled sleeves and wide-leg pants. There was just enough cleavage to be tempting, but it was the way the shirt hugged your curves and the pants draped around your ass that had her eyes glued to you.

"You know, we need to go shopping together more often," you said, "If you're going to show up looking this good."

"Well, it's not like you don't look good in everything." She paused for a moment.

"You're such a charmer," You laughed. "Shall we get into this whole interview thing?"

Natasha smirked, "Let's. Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

"Oh, you should start." You said. "Since you're the famous one."

Natasha let out a laugh, "Alright, famous one it is. " She shuffled her cards around. "Can your partner cook? What's their favorite dish?"

"Hmm, it's a little debatable whether or not you can cook yet," you answered. "You have some potential, but I don't think you've mastered anything."

"I'm getting there."

"Well, you've gotten a lot better. Anyway, your favorite is mac and cheese. Kraft, to be specific."

"It's comfort food."

"Yes, yes. I know," You looked at the camera. "She's lectured me on it a few times since I don't consider it a meal."

"And she's wrong," Nat said.

"Let's move on," You grinned. "What's their favorite TV show?" You took a moment to think. "Hmm, I think Natasha loves The Nanny. That's a classic, and we watch it together some nights. Right now, she's binging Sons of Anarchy."

"And what's yours?"

"Ooh, I'm a little embarrassed to say it. Mine's Pretty Little Liars. I know, I know. It's a bit juvenile, but there's no shame in guilty pleasure shows."

Natasha smiled, "I've seen an episode or two. Not my thing, but I can appreciate a good plot line."

"I guess the next question is," Nat continued. "Who's more likely to be late?"

"Natasha is."

"And Y/n is." She countered.

"Okay, okay. Maybe we're both a little late sometimes," You said. "Ohh, this is a deep one. How's your partner's relationship with their siblings? I guess we can answer for each other."

"You talk to your brother at least once a week, and I know you miss him," She tilted her head. "Your sister, you're quite close to her, too. I haven't met either of them yet, as they're both on opposite ends of the world."

"Yes, Chandra is in New York being her hot fashion model self," you nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Michael is somewhere in Europe right now with his wife and kids. They're travelers. Natasha's pretty close to her little sister, too. I think we both have pretty solid family units."

"Next question," Natasha said, glancing down at her cue card with a playful smirk. "Favorite quality about your partner. This one's easy for me. Y/n is incredibly supportive and nurturing. She's also a little badass. It's a sexy combination. I love that she can go from a power suit and killer heels to leggings and a messy bun in minutes and still be the same beautiful, confident, and powerful person. When we got together, I was attracted to her confidence and brains. She's still the same person she was when we first met—no Hollywood surprises with her."

"Wow, Tash," you said with a smile that softened your entire face. "You're too sweet. I don’t know how you do it, but somehow, you always make me melt." You paused, glancing at Natasha with a quiet reverence. "For me, Natasha is kind. And I don’t just mean she’s a nice person. There are perceptions you have when dating someone of status—whether they're a musician, athlete, or executive. Natasha is not only kind and considerate, but she’s humble. She’s real. What I love most about her is how she makes me feel safe. Not just physically safe but emotionally. I know I can tell her anything, and she won’t judge me or hurt me. She’ll always be honest with me. I think that’s why her music resonates so much. Especially our single, Obvious."

The perfect tie-in to the song—a natural choice and one that felt authentic coming from you. It left Natasha glowing, her smile stretching just a little wider.

"You're making me blush," She teased.

"I'm not even done yet," You smiled. "Natasha is smart. She is not just book-smart; she has a way of reading people that I find fascinating. And she's thoughtful. She thinks about the little things—like getting me a drink or bringing me my favorite candy after a long day at work. Or leave me a little note with my coffee in the morning."

Natasha looked bashful for a moment.

"You're one to talk," she said. "Y/n is... she's everything."

She reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing gently.

"I can't believe I'm so lucky to call her mine."

You gave her a wistful smile. "This whole interview is going to be a love fest."

"I don't mind," Nat grinned. “I’m sure the fans won’t either.”

"Me neither." You shuffled your cards. "I don't remember whose turn it is. What are your significant other's vices?"

"Oh boy," Natasha said. "She has a lot."

"I do not!"

"Okay, you don't. But let's see if we're talking about the good ones. She'll eat any sweets. Any. I'm surprised her teeth aren't rotten by now. And she can drink anyone under the table, no matter how hard they try."

"I've seen her get through an entire bottle of vodka and still sing the entirety of 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' perfectly," you said.

"Y/n doesn't have many bad habits. But, if I had to pick one, I'd say she likes to sleep in."

"I'd argue with that, but that's not a vice," You said. "My biggest vice is staying up too late. And sleeping in," You admitted, earning a laugh from Natasha.

"It's a miracle we get any sleep together," Natasha quipped.

"Alright, alright," You chuckled. "Favorite feature about your partner?"

"Oh, this is the one that made me pick these cards," She grinned.

"Is that so?"

"It is," Nat confirmed. "I don't know if I can pick a favorite. But if I had to choose, I'd say her smile. It lights up the room."

You were smiling, but not as wide as when she'd answered the question.

"That's sweet," You sighed. "I thought you were going to say my ass."

"I can't not say it, babe," Natasha said. "Your ass is... wow. It's a work of art."

"Well, I'll take that," You laughed.

"What's mine?" She asked.

"Easy," You replied. "Your eyes."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. They're so expressive. Like, I can tell how you're feeling without even hearing you. And they're so green."

"That's the second time today you've made me blush," Natasha said with a small, sheepish smile, brushing a thumb over the edge of her cue card.

"Oh, there's a lot more where that came from," you teased, grinning as you shifted slightly in your seat. "We're only halfway through this interview."

"I'm not complaining," Natasha replied, the corners of her lips quirking up. She glanced down at the next question. "Next question. What is something your partner does that drives you crazy?"

"You know, it's funny," you started, tilting your head as you thought about it. "Natasha is so quiet at home. She's like a little cat that sneaks up on you. In another life, she could be a spy or something."

Natasha's laugh was warm and unguarded. "You know I've had a few offers."

"No kidding."

"No, seriously," she said, leaning forward slightly, her tone suddenly playful but sincere. "A few of my friends in the business have suggested it. But that's not something I'd do."

"Why not?" you asked, curiosity lighting up your face.

"Because I wouldn’t want to keep secrets," Natasha explained, her voice softening. "From you. From my family. Friends. I'm a pretty open book."

"Yeah, that's understandable."

The rest of the interview went smoothly, with questions and answers flowing easily. It was fun, and it was comfortable. By the time you finished, you felt more confident and at ease.

When the cameras stopped rolling and the lights were turned off, you stood, smoothing your shirt before contacting Natasha.

"Good job, babe," You said.

"You, too."

She hugged you, wrapping her arms around you and pressing her lips against your temple.

"Thank you," she murmured.

You closed your eyes and breathed in her scent, letting it wash over you, calming the butterflies in your stomach.

"What do you think?"

"I think we did well," Natasha replied.

"So, I did okay? My public speaking skills haven't gone completely out the window?"

"I was worried about nothing," Natasha said, a gentle chuckle escaping her.

"Oh, shut up," You rolled your eyes.

"I mean it. You did great."

"Thanks, Tash."

She smiled and leaned in to kiss you. You responded immediately, your lips parting slightly, letting her taste their sweetness.

"Hey," she murmured. "Let's get out of here. I want to spend some alone time with my girl."

You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, and you squeezed her hand.

"That sounds perfect."

"Not so fast, you two," Mitch stopped the both of you. "I still have a few TikTok posts that our social media manager wants to do."

"Seriously?"

"Sorry, it's not that bad," Mitch said. "You know the drill, Natasha. Let's get this over with. Then, you can go home and enjoy the rest of your night."

"Alright," Natasha agreed. "I'm going to have a drink after this," She said, pulling out her phone. "Let's do this."

Back in the dressing room is where the magic began.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely, as Natasha rolled her eyes with good-natured exasperation. Mitch handed her the phone, already queued up with the latest TikTok trend featuring one of the songs from Velvet Rebellion's album.

"This one’s easy," Ellisa, the social media manager for Velvet Rebellion, said, demonstrating a quick series of gestures. Natasha raised a skeptical brow at Mitch, watching the screen like she was analyzing a mission briefing.

"I feel like I’m too old for this," she muttered, passing the phone back to Elissa.

"You’re not old, Tash," you teased. "You’re seasoned. There’s a difference."

She shot you a mock glare, but the slight smirk on her lips gave her away. "Careful, or you’ll be joining me in this dance."

You laughed and held up your hands. "No way. I’m just here for moral support—and to thoroughly enjoy watching you do this."

Natasha sighed dramatically but started moving, mimicking the dance as best she could. Her moves were precise but slightly stiff, her usual grace overshadowed by the awkward rhythm of trying to keep up with a trend meant for teenagers.

"Is this even right?" she asked, glancing at Mitch.

"Close enough," Mitch replied, barely holding back a laugh.

You couldn’t help it; you started giggling; the sight of Natasha—usually so calm and composed—fumbling through exaggerated arm movements and head bobs was pure gold.

"Stop laughing!" she said, her voice laced with amusement as she paused mid-dance to point at you.

"I can’t help it! You’re just… too serious about it."

She cracked then, laughing along with you. "I’m serious because I don’t want this to haunt me on the internet forever."

"Trust me, no one’s going to be laughing at you," you said, still smiling. "Except maybe me. Forever."

Natasha finally finished the dance, breathing a relieved "Thank God" as Mitch nodded in approval.

"Perfect. That’s a wrap," Mitch said, pocketing the phone.

Natasha walked over to you, shaking her head. "You enjoyed that way too much."

"Every second of it," you admitted, still grinning. "But you looked adorable."

"Adorable wasn’t the vibe I was going for," she said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Well, too bad. It suits you."

*********

A simple coffee run wasn’t simple. Not when you were Natasha Romanoff. Even something as mundane as picking up her favorite drink from the shop down the street turned into an event. Cameras clicked. Voices called out. There was no privacy, no room for messy buns or sweatpants. Not when every step outside was under public scrutiny.

Natasha walked out of the little café with a drink carrier in one hand; her leather jacket pulled snugly against the chill. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes, but you could tell by the slight furrow in her brow that the swarm of paparazzi wasn’t something she could just shrug off today.

You stayed close, matching her pace, your hands tucked into your jacket pockets. Talking wasn’t an option. Not with the cameras so close, their lenses hovering like vultures. Still, the brush of her shoulder against yours was enough.

"Natasha! Over here!" One of them shouted, their voice cutting through the air. She didn’t turn.

Another chimed in, louder, more deliberate. "Natasha, how do you feel about Carol being out of rehab? Are you going to visit her?"

Natasha's jaw ticked, and you immediately knew it was a sore subject. You lead her over to her car, opening the door for her letting her duck inside while you tossed her things into the back seat.

You ignored them, keeping your focus on Natasha.

"They really can't help themselves, can they?" She muttered as you slid into the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the window.

"No," You replied. "But you don't have to talk to them."

She let out a dry laugh, the sound hollow and bitter.

"Yeah, I know."

She took a long sip of her iced coffee to calm her nerves. Natasha shifted into drive, her jaw tightening slightly as she carefully maneuvered out of the café parking lot, avoiding one particularly bold photographer who refused to move out of the way.

You watched her grip the wheel a little tighter than necessary. "Tash," you said gently, glancing at the phone lighting up on the console. "Your phone’s ringing. It’s your mom."

She sighed, hitting the button to connect the call through the car’s speakers. Melina Vostokoff's familiar voice filled the car almost immediately.

"Too busy for your mother, I see," Melina teased.

"No, of course not, Ma," Natasha replied, shaking her head even though Melina couldn’t see her. "My schedule’s pretty clear for the next couple of days. We just have a couple more rehearsals later this week."

"Good, good," Melina said, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind. "I’m calling because I wanted to ask about your new girlfriend. You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!"

Natasha visibly stiffened, her eyes flicking to you for a split second before returning to the road. Meanwhile, you tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh, biting your lip as Melina’s voice continued, full of motherly curiosity.

"So, what does she do? Is she nice? Where did you meet her? Does she like borscht?" Melina fired off the questions with practiced ease, leaving no room for Natasha to respond.

You raised an eyebrow at Natasha, silently daring her to answer. Natasha sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Ma, slow down," she said, exasperation laced with affection. "She’s—"

"Does she cook? Does she get along with you-know-who? Does she have any bad habits I should know about? Natasha, you know I need to approve!"

That did it. You couldn’t hold back the laugh bubbling up in your chest, which slipped out before you could stop it. Melina, of course, didn’t miss it.

"Who’s laughing? Natasha, are you with her right now?"

Natasha sighed again, with a resigned smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, Ma," she admitted, glancing at you as you tried to compose yourself. "She’s right here. Sitting next to me."

Melina paused for half a beat before exclaiming, "Natasha! Why didn’t you say so sooner? Let me talk to her!"

Natasha groaned, leaning her head back against the seat for a moment. "Here we go," she muttered under her breath, shooting you an amused yet apologetic look.

You grinned, leaning closer to the speaker. "Hi, Melina. It’s nice to meet you... well, kind of."

"Ah, so this is the mysterious girlfriend," Melina said, her tone instantly warmer. "I have so many questions for you!"

"Okay, Ma, go easy on her," Natasha warned.

"Nonsense," Melina scoffed. "If I have questions, I want answers. Now, Y/n, tell me, where are you from?"

You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the interrogation. "I was born and raised in Sherman Oaks, Los Angeles. Though I lived in Paris for a few years in middle school."

"Oh, wow, Paris," Melina said, sounding impressed. "How lovely. Did you live in the city, or were you more in the suburbs?"

"The city," you replied. "It was quite a change from L.A."

"And your family? Where did they go to school?"

"My parents both attended UCLA," You answered. "And my sister and I graduated from USC."

"Ah, a Bruin," Melina hummed, clearly pleased. "Very impressive."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please, call me Melina," she insisted. "Or Ma, like my daughter does. Do you have any children?"

"Yes, I do, one she recently turned 10," you replied.

"Ten years old?" Melina mused. "So, she's probably in school now, yes?"

"Yeah, she is."

"I've done some research on you," Melina said. "So I've known most of those answers."

"Really, Ma?"

"You'd be surprised by the things I can find out about people, Natasha," Melina replied, a hint of a smirk in her voice.

"I don't doubt that," You chuckled.

"Natasha has a tour stop where I'm living currently," Melina said excitedly. "Hopefully, you will be over soon. And you will bring the child, yes?"

"If my schedule allows," you promised.

"You’ll make it work," Melina said with certainty. "I’ll even cook. Natasha can tell you I make the best borscht."

Natasha groaned softly, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "Ma, don’t scare her off."

"Oh, please," Melina replied. "She doesn’t seem easily scared. I like her already."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest as Melina’s approval seemed to settle between the three of you. Natasha glanced at you, her gaze softening momentarily before she refocused on the road.

"Well, it’s settled then," Melina added. "You’ll come, and we’ll have a proper family dinner."

"I’ll hold you to that," you replied with a grin.

******

Watching a movie in the middle of the day started harmless enough.

After a morning full of errands and lunch with your friends, you had returned home and decided to spend the rest of the day curled up on the couch. It was supposed to be a quiet, relaxing afternoon, but having Natasha so close did things to you. This time, you were the big spoon, lying behind her with your hand on her belly. The shared body heat made her warm, and it wasn't long before she'd pressed her ass into you. She could probably later say it was innocent. She was only trying to get settled. Your breasts pressed into her back was also an accident. She wasn't trying to rub her ass all over you. But the little sighs that were coming from her mouth were unmistakable.

"You okay?" You murmured in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

"Hmmmm," Natasha hummed, leaning back into you.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked, sliding your hand underneath her shirt, your fingers drawing patterns across the skin of her belly.

"Nothing, just nice having you here," She said. "We never spend time at my apartment."

"You're right," You agreed, pressing your lips against her temple. "It's nice."

Natasha tilted her head back, seeking your mouth. She sighed, the sound muffled as you kissed her, your hand traveling up her ribs. You were so tempted to slide your fingers higher, cup her breast in your hand, and feel the weight of her, but you knew that if you did, it would escalate quickly. And you didn't want to be caught up in the throes of passion, naked and writhing against each other on the couch with no warning.

"I like this," You whispered, your fingers tracing the underside of her breast.

"Me, too," She murmured. She seemed to not play into your games, only offering you a bit of leverage to lift her bra underneath her hoodie. Her eyes closed, and her breathing became heavier, her nipple hardening under your touch.

"You're so responsive," You mused, tweaking her nipple. "It's like you're just waiting for someone to touch you."

"Not someone," She replied, her voice low and thick with desire. "Just you."

Her hips moved again, a slow grind as she sought more friction. This felt like the perfect moment to get her hot and bothered. Both of you were fully clothed, and there was no pressure to have sex—just a bit of fun.

"You're such a tease," You chided, twisting her nipple. She bit back a moan, her eyes opening for a moment.

"So are you," She countered.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked again, sliding your fingers to her other breast.

"About what you're doing to me."

"And what am I doing to you?"

"You're getting me all worked up and then not going to do anything about it."

"Oh, I plan to do something about it," You nodded. Your hands trailed down from her belly, and you pressed your knee between her thighs to give you space. You could feel her wetness seeping through her leggings, and it was enough to make your core clench.

"Is that so?" She gasped, arching her back. You kissed whatever part of her body you could find as you rubbed her through her pants.

"Do you like when I do this?" You asked, pushing harder into her.

"Yessss," She hissed, her hips rising.

"Does this turn you on, Tash? Having me fingerfuck you while fully clothed?"

"Shit," She breathed out. "Yes."

"Yeah, me, too."

The material was thick, but you could still feel her body heat, her arousal seeping through. You found a steady rhythm, rocking against her as your fingers pressed against her clit.

"Fuck, that's good," She sighed.

"You're so wet," You marveled. "All from this."

"God, you have no idea," She whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as you kept going, her hips rolling with your movements. "It's so fucking hot." For the next few minutes, there was silence from both of you—the occasional moan from Natasha and groaning on the couch with your movements.

"I want to see how wet you are," You finally spoke, moving the elastic of her leggings. She didn't protest as you pushed them down, leaving her underwear in place. Her legs parted just enough for you to dip your fingers underneath the cotton and into her slick folds.

"Jesus, Tash," You breathed out.

"Don't stop," She begged. "Please."

"I've got you, baby," You promised, finding her clit. You stroked her, keeping her on edge, the wetness coating your fingers. She was practically dripping now.

"I want you to come," You whispered. "Come on my fingers, Tash."

Your words were her undoing. Her body shuddered, her mouth falling open as her orgasm rushed through her.

"Holy shit," She breathed, her voice hoarse and shaky.

"Was it good?" You asked, kissing her jaw.

"So fucking good," She nodded. "God, you're amazing."

"Glad I could help."

She smiled and turned her head to kiss you. "I think I need to repay the favor."

"I would love that," You said. Her kiss was slow and deep, her tongue sliding against yours as her hand snaked behind your head. "I can't believe I get to call you mine." You whispered against her lips.

"Me either," She grinned.

You were about to tell her how lucky you were when the sound of a door opening caused both of you to jump.

"Hey, guys," Wanda called out, strolling into the room with a teasing grin.

You scrambled to help Natasha tug her leggings up, your hands moving as quickly as possible. "Hi," you answered, trying your best to look innocent, even though the heat in your cheeks said otherwise.

"Sorry," Wanda said, holding up a couple of grocery bags as if to explain her presence. "I'm leaving again. Just stopped by to drop these off."

"Okay," Natasha replied, her voice a little too casual as she fought to keep her expression neutral. "Have a good time."

"I will," Wanda said with a smirk, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced between the two of you.

"We're not doing anything," you blurted, raising your hands to prove your innocence.

Wanda’s smirk widened. "Right. Well, don't have too much fun while I'm gone." She gave a knowing look over her shoulder as she left the room.

"Shut up, Wanda," Natasha called after her, rolling her eyes as the door closing signaled her exit. Natasha exhaled heavily, leaning back against the couch. "I really need to think about getting my place soon."

"Or," you countered, raising an eyebrow at her, "you could possibly think about spending more time at my house."

Natasha tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Are you trying to tell me something, or is this just a clever way to avoid interruptions?"

"Maybe both," you teased, leaning in closer. "Think about it. We could have lots of privacy. Lots of time alone."

Natasha hummed thoughtfully, her lips hovering mere centimeters from yours. "I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah?" You grinned, your heart fluttering in your chest.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Though, how would Isabella feel? Or even Sam. With me being there so much."

"You're worried about how my ex-husband would feel with you moving into my house?" You raised a brow.

"Not necessarily," Natasha shrugged. "But I did mention Isabella coming on tour with us, and he wasn't open to the idea."

"You told him about that?"

"At her party," Natasha said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Of course you did," you groaned, leaning back against the couch. "Nat, I love that you feel comfortable with him, but don’t tell him things before I’m ready."

"I thought you had, honestly," Natasha admitted, sitting up straighter.

"No, I hadn’t," you said firmly. "I wanted to talk to him about it first. Regarding Bella, we have a great agreement—50/50 custody, as you know. It works for us, but Sam can play hardball too."

"I know, baby," Natasha said softly, her hand reaching for yours. "I’m sorry."

"It’s fine," you exhaled deeply, the tension easing. "It’s just...a lot is changing. He hasn’t mentioned it to me yet, so at least he’s not against it, which is good. He’s chill. It’ll be a great conversation. And honestly, it’s football season—he’ll be working a lot. That’ll give me more time with her anyway."

Natasha squeezed your hand gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You’re right. And if it makes it easier for you, I’ll stay out of it. You take the lead with Sam."

"Thank you," you said, offering her a small smile. "I know you meant well. We’ll figure it out."

"We always do," Natasha replied, kissing your temple. "And hey, I promise to run things by you first from now on."

"Good," you teased, your smile widening. "Now, let’s talk about how you’ll make up for it."

Natasha grinned, leaning closer. "I’ve got a few ideas..."

********

The small bistro was quiet, the kind of place with soft jazz playing overhead and just enough tables to feel intimate. When you walked in, the faint clinking of silverware and the smell of fresh herbs greeted you. You scanned the room, noting how empty it was—a relief. This was the kind of conversation you didn’t want to be overheard.

Your eyes landed on Sam, seated near the window. He leaned back in his chair, an easy grin on his face as he chatted with a waitress. She laughed at something he said, her cheeks slightly pink as she poured more water into his glass. If you looked closely, she resembled you. Sam had a type.

You sighed and walked over, the heels of your shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor.

"Sam," you said, your voice cutting through their conversation.

He looked up, startled for a moment before his signature smile returned. "Hey! There she is."

The waitress stepped back, offering a polite nod. "Let me know if you need anything else," she said before disappearing behind the counter.

"Flirting already?" you teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

He shrugged, unbothered. "What can I say? She’s cute. Plus, it’s not like I’m the married one here anymore."

"You never could stop the wandering eye," you quipped, leaning back in your chair.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I wasn’t the one with the side piece, though, was I—"

"No," You rolled your eyes. "you never had problems watching either.'

He held up his hands in surrender, clearly enjoying himself. "Fair point."

"I can't believe you're the one who picked this place," you mused, glancing around the small cafe. "A little too romantic, don't you think?"

"What?" Sam chuckled. "You know I like good food."

"Of course," you replied dryly. "I want to talk about bringing Isabella on tour with me for a few weeks."

His smirk faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly, leaning back in his chair. "Bringing her on tour? For a couple of weeks? Yeah, your girlfriend told me about it."

"Yes," you nodded, watching him closely. "I think it could be good for her. She’s curious about what I do, and it’d be a great opportunity for us to spend more time together. Plus, she’d get to experience something different."

Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "It’s not that I’m against it, but are you sure it’s the best environment for her? I mean, all that traveling, the schedule, being around... well, Natasha."

You crossed your arms, not missing the way he hesitated. "Natasha is part of my life now, Sam. You know that."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "It's just when you fall in love with women, you fall pretty hard."

"And you don't think this is something different?"

"Honestly, I don't know," He said. "It's not my place to judge. My only worry is that Isabella won't be influenced by being with adults the entire time."

"That's why she'll be there, with me, her mother, for support," You argued. "I understand your hesitance, but I'm asking as a courtesy."

"A courtesy to me?" He frowned. "This isn't just about her coming along. This is about bringing people into her life with a reputation for being party animals. You can't blame me for questioning that. I'm not questioning your judgment. I'm judging theirs."

"If I had any sliver of doubt that she'd be exposed to anything we don't want her to, I will bring her home," You promised.

Sam sighed, toying with the gold ring on his finger. He seemed to consider your words momentarily, his gaze flitting over your shoulder. Then, his expression softened, and he leaned forward. "I can see how important this is to you," he said.

"It is," you confirmed, meeting his eye.

"You're a great mom," he went on. "The best, honestly. You're a great person. I trust your judgment."

"Thanks, Sam," you smiled, a weight lifting from your chest.

"But," he added, "if she's exposed to any of the bad shit, you'll bring her home. No questions asked."

"Deal," you agreed, holding out your hand.

Sam shook your hand, his grip firm and warm. "Alright then. We'll see what we can work out."

"You're the best," you grinned, relieved.

"I know," he said, his smirk returning.

You shook your head, biting back a laugh.

Hotel California | Track 1: Smoke and Mirrors

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7k

Chapter 1/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I was going to wait to post this since I have fifty-leven WIPs but to make up for me not being able to write for a while and also finishing two stories in the coming weeks - here we are. I'm nervous about posting this one for some reason. Hope y'all like it.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Track 1 - Smoke and Mirrors (each chapter is a track)

In the world of music, there's no denying that Velvet Rebellion's sound is electric, their melodies are undeniably addictive. But offstage, the drama and chaos surrounding this band have been the subject of endless tabloid fodder. It's a classic case of the music being sweet, but the rest of the package is a tad sour. Will their rock 'n' roll lifestyle ultimately overshadow their undeniable talent? That remains the question on everyone's lips.

The TV channel flicking produced a rapid succession of blips and static.

"You know, when it comes to Velvet Rebellion, it's clear that Natasha Romanoff is the best thing about the band. Her vocals are just on another level!"

"Oh, absolutely! Natasha's stage presence is incredible, and her voice, that raw emotion she pours into every note, it's what sets them apart. But let's not forget the rest of the band; they bring their own magic to the mix!"

Another press of the button. Another channel emitting the same rhetoric. 

"So, what are your thoughts on Velvet Rebellion, the band that seems to be taking the music scene by storm?"

"Look, I won't deny that they've had their moments. Natasha's got a powerful voice, and they've had some catchy tunes. But let's not forget, there's more to rock 'n' roll than just one person. We bring our own unique sound to the table, and we're here to show that rock isn't a one-trick pony."

Suddenly, the screen goes black. The television has been turned off. The room is silent. 

“Whatever,” The mysterious person tsks. There are better things to do. 

In the dimly lit room, the first flicker of a cigarette lighter illuminated a shadowy figure, and a guitar's haunting melody echoed through the air. It was a simple beginning, a humble birth of sound that would eventually become the anthem of a generation.

Images flashed in rapid succession—a chaotic whirlwind of memories and moments that had defined their journey from obscurity to stardom. The flashing lights of a small, dimly lit club, the very place where they had played their first gig, gave way to a sea of screaming fans, arms raised in fervent adoration.

“Bucky! Bucky!”

“Steve, we love you!”

Talk show interviews brought them into living rooms across the nation, their faces beamed into millions of homes as they shared their stories and their music with the world. The camera panned to Natasha, her fierce gaze unyielding as she answered questions with poise and grace.

And then, there were the guitars. Guitars being smashed in a blaze of glory on stage, a ritual that had become their trademark. The destructive catharsis of the act symbolized the release of their raw energy and passion into the world.

Groupies and fans clamored for their attention, their devotion evident in the longing looks and outstretched hands. Each face in the crowd told a story of how Velvet Rebellion's music had touched their lives.

Late-night studio sessions followed, with the band working tirelessly into the early hours, crafting the songs and lyrics that had earned them their place in music history. In the dimly lit room, the flicker of a cigarette lighter once again marked the beginning of a new song.

Magazine covers splashed with their images adorned newsstands across the country. Excerpts from clippings of their first studio album, "Velvet Love," told a tale of raw, unbridled emotion set to music—a story that had resonated with countless souls.

The montage painted a vivid picture of a band that had journeyed through the highs and lows of fame, never losing sight of the music that had brought them together. Velvet Rebellion had carved its path through the music industry, leaving an unforgettable mark on the hearts of those who had listened and loved.

*************

Sunlight filters through the curtains of Natasha and Wanda's cozy Los Angeles apartment. Disheveled yet determined, Natasha sits on the edge of her bed, cradling her guitar. She strums the strings absentmindedly, searching for that inspiration that once fueled Velvet Rebellion. Her fingers danced over the strings of her trusty guitar, each note a whisper in the quiet solitude of the bedroom.

Natasha's hair framed her face, and frustration lined her expression as she strummed the chords once again. The next album's melodies were meant to be born here. Yet, inspiration remained at arm’s length, teasing her like a fading dream.

"Come on Natalia," she whispered gruffly, remembering the name she had left behind long ago.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the muted TV on the dresser. A NEWS REPORTER's face appeared on the screen, accompanied by headlines that could never escape the relentless clutches of the media. She searched for the remote to turn up the volume as the face of one of her bandmates, Tony Stark’s pictures appeared. 

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“In a surprising turn of events, Velvet Rebellion's Tony Stark was arrested last night for public indecency.”

Natasha's eye-roll was instinctive. Tony always had a way of making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“...fans and critics alike have noted the band's gradual decline, and it seems the once-revered punk rock indie sensation is now on the verge of falling apart.”

The reporter's words cut through Natasha's indifference, a scalding reminder of the shadows that had been gathering around them. She couldn't deny it; the band had been stagnant for too long.

Fury sparked in her eyes, and she clenched the neck of her guitar, momentarily abandoning the song. The Velvet Rebellion of yesteryears, the band that had ignited stages and won hearts, couldn't be reduced to this—a spectacle of controversies and dwindling star power.

Returning her attention to her guitar Natasha sighed. The room's stillness hung heavy as she gently laid the guitar down on the floor. It felt like a futile effort, the muse remaining frustratingly out of reach, leaving her with an empty canvas and an aching desire to create.

Her gaze dropped to the small, black notebook, its pages filled with aborted attempts to capture the essence of their experiences and emotions in song. But today, those pages mocked her, an unforgiving reminder of the creative void that had taken its home within her.

Just as her frustration reached its peak, the bedroom door swung open with a soft creak, and in walked Wanda, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her hand. She plopped down on the bed beside Natasha, her eyes rolling in a knowing, teasing manner.

“How’s writing going?” Wanda asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn to plop into her mouth. 

Natasha let out a weary sigh, her notebook momentarily forgotten as she shared her woes with her best friend.

“You have no idea. It's like I've hit a wall, and I can't seem to find my way around it.” Natasha said. “How are we supposed to come up with another album with no songs? It’s been two years. We’re going to be known as one-hit wonders.”

“First off that’s a bit dramatic,” Wanda attempted to calm her down. “We made the hot rock and alternative songs billboard charts for our debut. I think the momentum is still there.”

Wanda cast a glance at the muted TV screen, where a news reporter was still busy dissecting Tony's latest escapade. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, mirroring Natasha's exasperation.

“And of course, our dear Tony adds another branch to the publicity tree. It's almost impressive how consistently he manages to get into trouble.” Wanda shook her head. 

After placing her bowl of popcorn on the dresser, Wanda decided to abandon her sitting position and instead flopped onto her belly, propped up on her elbows. She grabbed Natasha's small notebook, a curious glint in her eyes as she skimmed through the handwritten lyrics and scattered notes.

“You know, Nat, I think I see where you're stuck.” Wanda hummed to herself for a moment. 

Turning her attention to Wanda, Natasha felt her frustration momentarily ebb away, replaced by curiosity.

“Oh?” Natasha eyed her. “Please, share your wisdom.”

Wanda's eyes sparkled with an unexpected idea, and she pointed to a particular verse in the notebook. Her voice took on a sultry, poetic quality as she suggested a new lyric.

“How about this: "In the shadows of desire, we ignite the night."

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise as the words resonated deep within her. She quickly reached for her instrument and strummed the guitar, incorporating the new lyric into the melody, and in that instant, it all fell into place. A smile grew on her face, and she turned to Wanda.

“Wanda, that's brilliant! Thank you!” Natasha leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I know why I keep you around.”

Wanda beamed in response. 

"Speaking of," she began, her voice casual yet laced with an underlying purpose, "we've got a gig this weekend. It's a birthday party for Harley Jameson, you know, the producer's daughter."

Natasha's response was swift and uncompromising, her will clear in her refusal. Her head shook slightly as she firmly voiced her decision, her thoughts already drifting toward the disturbing pattern of her bandmates taking liberties with decisions without consulting her, the lead.

"Absolutely not, Wanda," Natasha declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Aren’t we better than performing for snot-nosed brats?

Wanda, ever patient and understanding, propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Well, when that snot nose brat is paying us fifty thousand dollars plus a retainer,” Wanda shrugs. “And all the booze and food we want.” Her words were measured, spoken with the calm that came from knowing this conversation was inevitable." Nat, remember," she began, "you're the lead, not the boss. We haven’t been taking gigs because you've been declining. You know we need to keep the momentum going."

Natasha's jaw clenched in frustration. She leaned back, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as she contemplated her response.

"There's a reason, Wanda," Natasha explained, her voice tinged with concern. "Our brand has taken a beating lately with all the scandals we've had over the years. It’s not a good look being so new. I want us to lay low for a while, let the storm pass."

Wanda sighed, her eyes reflecting her understanding of Natasha's concerns. But she also recognized the band's need to keep going ahead despite the challenges.

"Nat," Wanda said, her voice gentle and reassuring, "I get it, I really do. But we'll be fine. Harley's party should be a breeze, and I promise we'll stay out of trouble. We'll stick to the music, no antics."

Natasha's hesitation lingered. Ultimately, the trust she had in Wanda, her lifelong friend and partner-in-crime, began to outweigh her reservations. She finally nodded, a reluctant but willing acceptance of the gig.

"Alright, alright," Natasha conceded. “We'll do it. But just this one, and we'll play it safe."

Wanda's eyes sparkled with a victorious smile, recognizing that she had won this battle for now. With that agreement, they returned to their songwriting. 

**************

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn of Harley Jameson's grand estate, Velvet Rebellion gathered on the makeshift stage. Around them, staff and party planners began to decorate the backyard. Their instruments glistened under the setting and stage lights. 

Natasha, her guitar slung securely across her shoulder, couldn't help but notice Tony, seated behind the drum kit, his sunglasses doing little to hide the lingering effects of his earlier indulgence. She approached him with a stern expression, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Tony, you better get it together," She warned. "We're not messing this up tonight."

Tony, ever the charmer, brushed off her concerns with an easy smile and a wave of his hand.

"Nat, I promise, I'm fine. See?"

With that, he launched into a lively drum solo, his sticks dancing skillfully across the drumheads. The rhythm was tight, the sound electrifying. Natasha couldn't help but acknowledge his undeniable talent, even as she sighed in resignation.

"Great," she muttered to herself, "the sunglasses are his secret weapon now."

Standing beside Natasha, Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His quiet and calming presence was a balm to her nerves.

"It's alright, Natasha," He reassured her, his voice steady and comforting. "We'll get through this gig, just like our old days. Tony’s recovering but he seems fine."

Together they glance back to their bandmate who was more than likely inebriated. Tony chugged a bottle of water, before crushing it and dropping it down onto the floor beside him. 

Natasha's gaze softened as she looked at Steve, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, he’s the epitome of fine.”

“Okay,” Steve pulled her gently to the side. “What’s the problem?” 

“Nothing,” Natasha shrugged. “I just can’t help but think that gigs like this are beneath us. I mean we went from performing at the MTV Video Music Awards to this? A sweet sixteen?”

Steve looked at her. He had been through thick and thin with Natasha and knew the depth of her concerns. 

“Natasha,” He replied. “I get your worries, but I promise this is a good thing for us. Todd Jameson is one of the biggest music producers in Hollywood right now. There will be a lot of executives here just to support his daughter. Think of what that could mean for us.”

“Fine,” Natasha nodded. “But if he fucks up I kick his ass.”

“Oh, you bet. Right after I’m done kicking it,” Steve joked causing Natasha to burst into laughter. 

Natasha steps back over to the mic. “Alright let’s take it from the top.” 

As Natasha prepared to lead the band into their rehearsal of the first song, the peacefulness of the backyard rehearsal space was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of Harley Jameson. She swept onto the scene with all the extravagance befitting a Hollywood princess, accompanied by a harried-looking party planner and another woman, who appeared to be a guest.

Harley, the embodiment of a spoiled heiress, immediately began issuing orders with a sense of entitlement that left the party planner flustered.

"No, no, no! These decorations are all wrong! Change them around! The mirror ball should be over here. And I want a live peacock by the pool. It's not too much to ask, is it?" Harley demanded impatiently.

The party planner, clearly overwhelmed, tried to keep up with Harley's demands. "Harley, we only have a few hours before the party starts. It's going to be challenging to make all these changes in such a short time."

Harley huffed, uninterested in the logistical challenges she was causing. "I don't care about that. Just get it done. My dad said I could have whatever I wanted."

Meanwhile, Harley's attention shifted to Velvet Rebellion, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Oh, my God! I've been dying to meet you! I'm a huge fan!" she exclaimed with excitement. “I’m so happy I could get you here.”

She bounded over to the band, seemingly oblivious to the chaos she was creating, and introduced them to the party planner and you.

"This is Velvet Rebellion!" Harley introduced with enthusiasm. "Steve, the keyboardist, Tony on the drums, Bucky on the electric guitar, Wanda, the second lead singer and bass guitar, and Natasha, the incredible lead singer!"

You and the other woman exchanged glances, your expressions a mixture of frustration and amusement at the whirlwind that was Harley Jameson. You gave a small wave, opting to be in the background of this exchange. 

Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, managed to maintain her composure and put on a friendly smile despite Harley's overwhelming energy. She nodded graciously at Harley's enthusiasm.

"Oh, thank you so much, Harley!" Wanda replied with genuine warmth. "We're thrilled to meet you too. Your party looks like it's going to be incredible!"

Harley's energy showed no signs of waning as she delved into the details of the band's performance. When Wanda mentioned their planned first song, "Smoke and Mirrors," Harley immediately piped up with an alternative suggestion.

"No, no, no," Harley interrupted with fervor. "I want you to start with 'Ink and Whiskey.' It's my favorite!"

Natasha, who had been preparing to protest the sudden change to their setlist, hesitated as she saw Wanda's meek demeanor. However, it was clear that Harley's demand had disrupted their carefully planned sequence.

Natasha began to voice her concerns, but Harley's retort was swift and smart-mouthed. 

“We’ve already planned this out for-” Natasha began. 

“Oh, you can change it, can’t you? It’s just a silly setlist,” Harly questioned. 

Before Natasha could respond, you intervened with a calm yet authoritative tone.

"Harley, let's tone it down a bit," You advised, your demeanor oozing an air of authority that surprised Natasha. Harley listened, her earlier defiance giving way to a more composed demeanor.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Harley shrugged. 

Natasha found herself intrigued by your presence and the respect Harley seemed to show you.

"Alright," Natasha conceded with a smile, "since it's your birthday, we'll start with 'Ink and Whiskey.'"

Wanda offered a nod of agreement, and the tension in the air began to dissipate.

Harley, feeling triumphant, turned her attention to the party planner.

"Sarah, darling, let's make sure everything is perfect. I want it to be a night to remember!" Harley changed the subject, pulling you both back into a conversation with ease. 

Sarah, the party planner, nodded and tried to hide her relief that the brief crisis had passed. 

"Of course, Harley. Everything will be just as you want it."

Natasha watched the exchange between Harley and Sarah, her curiosity piqued more by you. 

“Who’s the chick?” Natasha pointed over to you with a tilt of her head. She got shrugs from Steve and Bucky. Tony was way too distracted to answer as he flirted with one of the staff. Wanda squinted to see if she could guess. 

“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m guessing it’s not her mom.”

“Interesting,” Natasha mumbled to herself. She shook her head. There was no time for whatever the thumping in her heart was proving to be. She was here for the band and for the music. Also for the money, she couldn’t forget the money. 

As the preparations for the party continued, your cell phone suddenly rang, breaking the conversation flow. You excused yourself with a polite smile and stepped away from the group, heading toward a quieter corner of the backyard a few feet away.

Natasha couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation, the tone of your voice suggesting a heartfelt exchange, likely with a significant other. Natasha discreetly glanced in your direction, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Your voice held a gentle warmth as you spoke softly into your phone, your words filled with affection and longing.

 "I miss you too, sweetheart. Yeah, the party's getting started here in a couple of hours. It's not the same without you. Can't wait to see you soon." You smiled. 

Natasha couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but the tenderness in your voice painted a clear picture of a loving connection between you and someone special.

Meanwhile, Harley, always the inquisitive host, began questioning Steve and Bucky about the band and its music.

"So, guys," Harley started, her interest genuine, "Have you ever thought about going solo? I am dying to know the secret."

Steve and Bucky, accustomed to answering these questions, engaged in a friendly chat with Harley, even if they also found her annoying. 

As Natasha discreetly observed you from the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but be captivated by your natural beauty. You were dressed in a simple white t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, a look that should have been unremarkable, but on you, it was utterly captivating.

The way your hair was styled, framing your face in soft waves, added to your appeal. Your skin had a radiant glow, and your features held an understated elegance that drew Natasha's attention. Despite the casual attire, you exuded a timeless charm that was impossible to ignore.

Natasha found herself admiring the effortless beauty that seemed to emanate from you and she wanted to know more. 

Just as Natasha started to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping, you turned around with a warm smile, catching her off guard. She quickly toyed with her microphone stand, feigning indifference.

You found her reaction amusing but were soon drawn back into your phone conversation. Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the person on the other end of that call and what had sparked such a genuine smile on your face. 

She toyed with the mic stand for as long as possible, physically forcing herself not to look your way. It’s a few more minutes before you returned to the group. You turned your attention to Harley and Sarah.

"Harley, don't forget, you have that hair appointment in an hour," You reminded her, glancing at your watch. "We need to make sure you're all set for your big night."

Harley, momentarily distracted by the band's presence, nodded in agreement.

"Oh, right! Thanks, y/n. I'll head out now," Harley replied with a grin. She turned to the band and offered her farewells. "Catch you all later!"

With that, Harley and Sarah departed, leaving Velvet Rebellion alone in the backyard.

As the group began to disperse, you took a moment to say goodbye to the band. 

“See you guys tonight,” You said. “I’m sure you’ll do great. If you need refreshments just ask one of the staff and they will be happy to help you with anything you need.” 

Natasha responded with a small smile and a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of the brief but pleasant interaction.

Once you, Harley, and Sarah were out of earshot, the rest of the band couldn't resist teasing Natasha. Wanda, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, chimed in.

"Uh oh, I know that look," Wanda teased, earning a knowing chuckle from the others. Natasha's momentary fascination with you hadn't gone unnoticed, and her bandmates were more than happy to playfully nudge her about it.

“There’s no look, I don’t have a look.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Sure, you don’t,” Wanda grinned. “Any bets on how long until she gets her number?”

“I say within the hour,” Tony raised his hand pulling out a single, crinkled five-dollar bill from his back pocket. 

“Fifteen says they sleep together after the show,” Bucky shrugged. Steve is the only one to remain silent. 

“I don’t know,” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’ll save my thoughts for later. The girl barely said two words to any of us.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said. “Now, can we rehearse like a proper band?” 

She tried to erase your image from her head as she positioned herself in front of the microphone. 

From the top. 

*****************

The night was alive with energy as Velvet Rebellion took the stage, the crowd gathered around, eager to soak in every note of their music. Natasha oozed confidence and charisma, a star in every sense of the word. The opening chords of "Ink and Whiskey" filled the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers. This birthday party was a rager if she’d ever seen one. Natasha always considered rich people stiff and uptight. Going to plenty of parties once their debut kicked off their careers. Stiff drinks, weird pleasantries, and even more drugs. She was being proven wrong with this particular shindig. 

She moved to the edge of the stage, her presence magnetic. She sang with a passion that could be felt in every corner of the space, her voice carrying the weight of their lyrics. The audience couldn't help but be drawn into her performance, and they eagerly joined in, singing along and dancing to the beat.

Wanda, standing beside Natasha, bled a different kind of cool and calm. Her steady presence provided the perfect balance to Natasha's fiery performance. It was clear to anyone watching that their dynamic was the secret to their success.

Natasha lowered her head, giving Wanda the floor to sing her part of the chorus. Wanda’s hands moved steadily between the chords as she sang into the microphone. 

Ink and whiskey, the pages of our hearts,  

Tangled in the chapters where love starts,  

In the darkness, our secrets we confide,  

With every word written, our souls collide

Natasha steps forward, moving close enough to the microphone so that she and Wanda could harmonize the last verse. Her eyes travel from Wanda’s, smiling as they share in the energy and joy of being on stage before she maneuvers herself to face the crowd. 

In the night's embrace, our love's sweet refrain,  

Ink and whiskey, like a runaway train,  

Through the highs and lows, we'll find our way,  

With every word we write, love's here to stay

In the front row, Harley danced with her friends, reveling in the music and the excitement of the night. The atmosphere was electric, and the joy was contagious.

As Natasha sang, she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on familiar faces among the sea of B-listers and music enthusiasts. But the one that stood out the most was you. Your eyes locked, and Natasha couldn't resist a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of your earlier encounter.

You raised your glass in a silent toast and clapped enthusiastically when the song came to an end. You weren’t a huge fan of the music genre but you could see why Velvet Rebellion was such a rising star amongst new artists. Their stage presence was undeniable, the song was catchy and the beat was electrifying. It helped that Natasha was cute. All good things in your book. You can’t take your eyes off the stage as they move into their next song. It’s a bit disjointed considering Harley made them change the setlist around the last minute but it seems smooth either way. Natasha dances a bit for this one, her body movements fluid and effortless. Almost as if she’s had some training. 

You’re momentarily distracted when a distant family member comes to say hello. 

The show must go on as Natasha continues to sing her heart out. 

**********************

The final notes of their setlist rang out, and the crowd roared in appreciation. Velvet Rebellion had given their all, and now it was time for the DJ to take over and keep the party going.

Wanda had convinced Natasha to stay a while longer, promising that the night was still young and full of possibilities. Tony, ever the charmer, remarked with a grin, "I see a few MILFs in the crowd that I wouldn't mind mingling with." He slipped into the crowd with ease, chatting up the first single woman he saw. 

Natasha, however, remained all about business. She stood at the bar, surveying the party and keeping a watchful eye on her bandmates. The chaos and revelry around her seemed to blur into a colorful swirl of dancing bodies and laughter.

It was then that you approached her, catching Natasha's attention. Your presence was a welcome change of pace, and Natasha couldn't help but appreciate the genuine compliment she received.

"You guys were incredible," You said with a smile. "I'm impressed."

Natasha, always a woman of few words in such settings, offered a gracious nod of acknowledgment. 

You extended your hand with a warm smile as you introduced yourself, "I'm y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Natasha shook your hand firmly and replied, "Natasha. Likewise."

You couldn't help but notice Natasha's reserved demeanor. Almost as if she felt too cool to be here. 

"I couldn't help but wonder," You began, your curiosity evident as you raised your voice above the music. "why aren't you out there dancing like the rest of your bandmates?"

Natasha offered a wry smile and shot back, "I could ask you the same thing."

“Touche,” You nodded. “I’m not much of a party girl.” You turn towards the bartender. “Do you want a drink? Eric here makes the best mojitos.”

“Sure, I’ll have a sex on the beach,” Natasha asked. 

“You heard the woman,” You jokingly said to Eric as he began to make your drinks. As you focused your attention on grabbing a few napkins, Natasha gave you a once-over. Your party dress was a delightful balance of simplicity and style. The knee-length and backless dress showcased a flattering silhouette, hugging your curves in all the right places. The deep, midnight-blue fabric was decorated with tiny, shimmering glitter that seemed to twinkle with each movement you made. Its sweetheart neckline and delicate spaghetti straps added a touch of femininity to the ensemble, while the mid-thigh slit allowed for easy movement as you moved. The overall effect was a cute yet elegant dress that perfectly suited the festive atmosphere of the party.

Natasha's observant eye caught the jewelry adorning your wrist. It was subtle but tasteful, hinting at a level of refinement that didn't go unnoticed. It was at least half of her salary for tonight’s show. This only interested her more. She needed to know who you were. She wanted to know the mystery behind you and your name. 

“Here you go,” You step back over to Natasha to hand her a drink. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“Not at all,” Natasha shrugged. 

"You know, if you're looking for a bit more quiet, we could step inside for a breather." You suggested, tilting your chin towards the house. 

Natasha considered the offer, realizing that a change of scenery might be a welcome respite from the party's chaos. With a small smile, she agreed, "That sounds like a good idea."

You led Natasha through the sea of people and inside the mansion to a nearby office where the music's relentless thump was muffled, and the atmosphere was quieter. It was a welcome change from the frenzied party outside.

As you settled into seats close to each other on the couch, drinks in hand, Natasha couldn't help herself and began to ask you questions. 

“Why did you ask me in here tonight?” Natasha asked. “Not that I’m complaining. I have been invited into much worse places.”  

“Thanks, I think,” You chuckled. You sensed Natasha's curiosity and offered a simple explanation, your eyes holding Natasha's in an unspoken connection."I enjoy meeting new people," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "And I've decided I wanted to talk with you."

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze thoughtful. "I also wanted to apologize for Harley's behavior earlier. She can be... spirited at times."

Natasha waved off the apology with a small smile, understanding that spirited was one way to describe Harley's antics.

You went on to explain, "Usually, I don't speak up like that, but my uncle has a way of spoiling Harley. It's... complicated."

Natasha's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Your uncle? He’s Todd Jameson?"

You took a moment before revealing, "Yes. He and my dad are half-brothers. Making Harley my little cousin. I don’t admit it often."

The revelation left Natasha intrigued. She had heard the name Todd Jameson before, a figure of significance in the entertainment industry. The connection between you and Harley was now becoming clearer, and Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the family connection.

“That would make your dad…” Natasha began. 

“Nick Fury, the one and only,” You finished for her. “Different fathers. My dad is somewhere out there tonight. It’s a thing I don’t like to admit to strangers.”

“I get it,” Natasha nodded. 

The revelation about your family connection to Todd Jameson made Natasha pause for a moment. She had always admired the award-winning jazz player turned talent manager, Nick Fury, from afar. His contributions to the music industry were legendary, and Natasha couldn't deny that she was a fan of his music.

She decided not to fangirl, though, and instead offered a genuine smile. "Your dad is a legend. I've always been a fan of his music."

Your eyes lit up with appreciation. "Thank you, Natasha. I'll be sure to pass that along to him." You set your half-empty cup onto a coaster, before turning back to Natasha. “So, watching you on that stage. Not many people have that star power. I was wondering if you have experience dancing? You were incredible.” 

Natasha's eyes sparkled as she recalled her performance. "The way I danced on stage during our set, it's a part of who I am. I guess you could say it's a bit of my background showing through."

Your curiosity piqued, and you guessed, "Ballet, then?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, I did ballet for sixteen years as a child. I even got into Juilliard."

Your eyes widened in admiration. "That's amazing, Natasha. How did you get into singing and music?"

Natasha took a sip of her drink and smiled as she delved into the story of how she got into music. It was a story that she didn't often share, but there was something about her conversation with you that made her feel comfortable opening up.

"It all started back in high school," Natasha began. "I was really into dancing, and it was an elective at my school. But then, one day, I decided to join the choir on a whim. And I fell in love with singing and songwriting. I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I needed something to keep me out of the house and off the streets."

She paused for a moment, reminiscing about those early days. "So, I started writing songs, and my friends Wanda and Steve would go over to Steve’s small bedroom. We'd play our rented instruments and experiment with different sounds. It was just a fun little hobby at first."

Natasha's gaze drifted, lost in the memories of those simple beginnings. "Then Bucky, Steve’s best friend well, he's always been a bit of a troublemaker, but he's got a talent for the electric guitar. And Tony...his dad's pretty wealthy and bought us all our equipment. Plus, he's good at the drums."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "It was a bit of a motley crew, but that's how Velvet Rebellion came to be. We started playing in small venues, dive bars, and country clubs. And somehow, we made it here."

Natasha's usually guarded demeanor had softened in your presence, and she found herself enjoying the opportunity to share a piece of her journey with someone who seemed genuinely interested in her story.

“I love that,” You nodded. You and Natasha share a smile before she asked. 

“Is your boyfriend here tonight? I don’t want to keep you too long,” She fished for more information. 

“No, no,” You shake your head. “No boyfriend. You?”

“Not really into monogamy at the moment,” She shrugged. She doesn’t know if this statement will bite her in the ass later but for some reason she trusted you. “Tell me about you. Are you in the family business or?”

"I've always had a bit of a connection to the music world," You began. "As a teenager, I sang a few backup vocals for artists my uncle produced. I guess you could say I almost pursued a career in music, but life had other plans for me. I got pregnant at seventeen. Dedicated to finish school and go to college."

You took a thoughtful swig of your drink and continued, "Now, I'm a publicist. I don't mean to brag, but I'm good at what I do.When I'm not working, I'm taking care of my daughter, Isabella. She's nine years old and the light of my life."

Your face softened as you spoke about your daughter, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and joy. "She's with her dad for the weekend," you added, "and we co-parent quite well."

Natasha was genuinely interested in your life outside of the party scene, and she couldn't resist asking, "Do you have any pictures of Isabella? I'd love to see her."

Your eyes twinkled with delight as you pulled out your phone and began to share a few adorable images of your daughter. Natasha couldn't help but smile as she admired the photos, enjoying this glimpse into your world beyond the music and the party.

“Here she is at gymnastics practice,” You flipped through a few pictures of Isabella’s smiling face. “And swim. She is a little spitfire and she wants to do it all.”

“Wow,” Natasha smiled as if Isabella were her own child. “Do you ever want more?”

“Maybe one day,” You said wistfully. “For now I feel pretty full with everything in life. You?” 

You noticed the change in Natasha's expression and asked, "Is something on your mind?"

Natasha sighed, leaning back into her seat. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for motherhood," she admitted. "I have a younger sister, Yelena, she’s attending the University of Cambridge in England now. She's even developed a bit of a British accent." Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"But," she continued, "I enjoy the fast-paced life, the music, the performances, and the constant movement. A significant other won’t quite understand that I don't always have the time. Not that I don’t ever want that someday but…” Her voice died down. 

You listened empathetically, understanding the complexities of Natasha's life as a musician. "I get that," you acknowledged. "But it's essential to find the right balance for you, whether it's in your music career, personal life, or something in between. My dad was able to do it. When he crossed over into hip-hop there was definitely a lot he missed but he still made things happen"

“Really? Well, I will have to ask him for pointers.” She grinned. 

Just as the conversation was reaching its peak, there came a polite knock at the office door. A member of the party staff popped in to inform you that they were ready to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley.

You turned to Natasha with a warm smile. "It was nice meeting and talking to you, Natasha," you said genuinely.

Natasha, not wanting the connection to end, began, "You know, I'd love to..."

But before she could finish her sentence, your cheeks flushed, and you interrupted already knowing what she was going to say, your voice bold, "Are you going to call me, or are you going to leave me hanging in the wind?"

Natasha couldn't help but laugh at your sudden assertiveness. It was a pleasant surprise. "I’m not that type of woman," Natasha said. At your look, she laughed again. “You got me there.”

You returned her smile and handed Natasha your phone, saying, "You'll just have to trust me with your number instead, and I'll call." Asking for her number instead eased the pressure off Natasha, and also your nerves at hoping she’d call. 

You gave Natasha a wink and chucked a thumb over your shoulder to indicate you were going back to the party. Natasha nodded and watched you walk away. When her eyes trailed lower she doesn’t even feel guilty about it. 

Natasha left the office, rejoining her bandmates outside in the backyard, just as they were preparing to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley. The festive atmosphere was in full swing, and the energy of the party was infectious.

As the crowd gathered around Harley, Natasha's eyes scanned the faces, and they landed on you, who was standing among the partygoers. Your eyes met, and you shared a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had developed.

Tony, always quick to pick up on things, couldn't help but tease Natasha when he noticed her grin. "So, did you get her number?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony's assumption but then burst into laughter. "No," she replied with a playful smirk, "she took mine."

The party was still in full swing when someone on stage stopped the music with a loud, "Hey, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?"

The spotlight shifted to the stage, and all eyes turned toward the source of the interruption. It was a friend of Harley's, and he had a mischievous grin on his face as he spoke into the microphone.

"I have a special surprise for our birthday girl tonight," he announced. "We have someone here who's agreed to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Harley, and I think you're all in for a treat."

A collective cheer and applause erupted from the crowd as they eagerly anticipated the surprise. The spotlight moved to you, highlighting your face and putting you on the spot. You managed to not look like a deer in headlights which was a feat in itself. Natasha's curiosity was piqued, especially considering you had mentioned you weren’t much of a singer.

You tried to protest shyly, but the crowd begged you to come up on stage. Encouraged by their cheers, you reluctantly made your way up to the spotlight.

Once on stage, you cleared your throat and took a deep breath, your nerves palpable. You began with a little birthday speech, your voice tinged with affection and humor.

"I want to wish a happy birthday to my cousin Harley," You began, your smile directed at the birthday girl. "Even though she's a bit of a brat," you teased, earning laughs from the crowd, "she's my brat, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then, as expected, you began to sing "Happy Birthday." Your voice, which you had modestly downplayed earlier, was nothing short of remarkable. It was soulful, sweet, and filled with a depth of emotion that resonated through the entire backyard.

The crowd, including Natasha, was utterly blown away by the unexpected talent that you possessed. Your voice filled the air, making the birthday celebration even more special and memorable. It was a moment of pure magic, and Natasha couldn't help but be captivated by your incredible singing ability.

Natasha decided two things then and there. One, she really liked you, and two, boy, was she in for a ride.

---> next part

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.

Eyes Closed

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Day 11: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 11th of January, which is 'prom'.

Fluff and gentle smut contained below.

.

You were in bed. The darkness had crept into the room slowly, just like the silence. You turned on a light but it wasn’t enough for that kind of darkness. 

You thought about her. You tried not to worry.

.

‘I know, I know.’ Natasha called out as soon as she entered the room. Your mouth dropped as you stared in shock at her appearance. Blood stains coated her face and suit. You could barely see her skin beneath. Natasha stood at the foot of the bed with a nonplussed expression on her face. 

‘I feel like Carrie at the prom.’ She yawned as she unzipped her blood-soaked suit to her waist, revealing her toned stomach and sports bra. 

Natasha reached up to her hair then, ready to undo the end of her usual braid. She groaned as she remembered her more intricate hairstyle made up of several smaller braids.

‘Here, love.’ You slipped off the bed and walked to her. ‘Let me help.’

Natasha tilted forward, her head pressing tiredly against your shoulder as you worked to undo each braid. You tried not to hesitate as you worked around the hair matted with even more blood.

When you were done, you resisted the instinct to kiss her.

‘This might be your most disgusting post-mission look.’ You said wrinkling your nose at the pervasive smell of the dried blood. 

Natasha gave you a sarcastic thumbs up as she headed to the ensuite bathroom.

‘Guess you won’t be joining me.’ She commented dryly as the shower began to run. 

‘It’s so hard to say no.’ You grinned, grabbing your phone and keys and heading out of the room. ‘I’ll bring you back sustenance.’ You promised as you left. 

You returned soon enough, a peanut butter jelly sandwich in one hand. You’d cut the crusts off. Natasha didn’t actually care about the crusts. That wasn’t why you did it. 

You knocked the door as you entered. Natasha was lying on her stomach, sprawled out on the bed, wrapped in a fluffy white robe that she’d stolen a million years ago from a fancy hotel. It was tied loosely, already half off one shoulder. You could tell she was naked underneath. Her long red hair was damp, combed through and already curling at the ends. 

She turned at the sound of the door. Her attention immediately fell to the plate in your hands. 

She made a happy noise, muffled by her pillow as she rolled over onto her back. She shuffled to a seated position in the bed.

‘Give.’ She demanded teasingly as you held out the plate. 

Natasha noticed the missing crusts. Her delight was easy to see. She covered her face and gave a laugh. 

‘I’m special.’ She teased.

‘Yep.’ You agreed simply and sat down next to her, your arm automatically snaking around her waist. 

Natasha leaned against you like you were her support pole. She chewed slowly on the sandwich, her eyes closed with the first bite and she nodded happily to herself.

‘Good?’ You checked teasingly. 

Wordlessly, she gave you another thumbs up.

When the sandwich was done, Natasha fell backwards onto the bed. With great effort she moved back to her starfish position across the centre of it. 

You felt yourself finally approaching the moment. The time for acknowledge what she was obviously avoiding. 

The energy had been too light since she got back. It had been a bad mission. 

‘I’m so tired.’ Natasha mumbled finally against her pillow. 

You crawled over to lie beside her. You brushed her damp hair away from her face.

‘What kind of tired?’ You prompted gently. Natasha’s eyes screwed tight against your gaze.

‘A lot of people died.’ She murmured at last. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

She opened her eyes again and met you with a heavy stare. You recognised the swirling regret and thought inexplicably about ocean waves crashing over rocks.

‘I should’ve-’ Her voice cracked. 

The rush of love was overwhelming and you leaned forward with the sudden, aching, urgent want to kiss her.

Natasha clung to your lips needily, her fingertips brushed your jaw. 

Her lips were cracked and the sensation brought you back to yourself. You cupped her cheek gently as you slowly encouraged Natasha back to a sitting position. 

‘You’re thirsty.’ You hummed out as Natasha’s lips continued to brush yours over and over again. 

Natasha’s eyes briefly squeezed shut again and then she nodded. 

You left the bed to retrieve her water bottle on the other side of the room. Natasha unscrewed the top and wordlessly drank it all.

Your stomach twisted as you watched her.

It could be a symptom, sometimes, of the bad missions. Not giving herself what she needed. Punishing herself for things that weren’t her fault. 

Natasha put the empty water bottle back on the nightstand. She turned back to you with the same hidden sadness in her eyes. Still, she gave you a small smile. 

You reached forward again with a surge of the same want. You left a trail of the softest kisses along on her neck. You could smell the familiar mix of her body wash and that scent that was only Natasha. 

Natasha hummed with pleasure. You felt her body rise and fall as her breathing evened out into slow, deep breaths. You tugged the white robe gently away from her shoulder, and then again, until you’d removed it all the way.

Natasha acquiesced readily to the direction of your touch. There was a relief almost in the way she was naked next to you. As if the pretence could leave her. 

She arched her back dramatically and you watched the muscles move and stretch. Then, she returned her body easily to its most comfortable bad posture. 

Natasha looked at you again and, this time, her gaze was easier and her smile was warm. 

A longing caught itself in your throat. 

Hesitantly, you touched the old scar that sat between her shoulders. Evidence of another mission survived, another risk taken.

You pressed a little harder and Natasha moaned in response to the pressure on the fatigued muscle just beneath the skin.

You adjusted yourself back on the bed, propping yourself up on your knees. You kissed the base of her neck as your thumbs began to rub concentric circles over her shoulder blades. 

Natasha murmured your name. Her back arched again in pleasure. 

‘You are brave.’ You told her, consumed with the constant need to take away her pain. 

You kissed her again, trailing a path down the curve of her spine.

‘You are strong.’ You murmured, your mouth grazing past another nameless scar. 

You felt the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest against your lips. The steady proof of her existence; all you could hope for.

‘You are trying your best.’

Your thumbs brushed lightly over the large, fresh bruise that sat under Natasha’s ribcage. Natasha stiffened.

You ran your hands soothingly back up to her shoulders and then around to cup her soft breasts.

‘And, you are always, always forgiven.’ 

You felt Natasha’s limbs loosen unthinkingly with your words and then, slowly, you felt her muscles tighten again with a different want. 

Natasha murmured your name again. And then again. You listened to the longing soaked into her voice. 

You squeezed her breasts slowly before moving around to stand in the space in front of her seated position on the bed.

You reached over and took a pillow from the bed. You held it to the back of Natasha’s head and gave her a teasing smile as you pressed her gently in encouragement to lie back. 

Natasha’s fingers caught the front of your shirt automatically as she let her torso go flat against the mattress. 

Her feet were still touching the ground. You watched her hip bones cant upwards towards the air in this new position.

You lost yourself briefly in the act of just looking down at her. At the softness and sharpness that made Natasha's body the only one that you craved. 

Natasha’s eyes were half-shuttered as she watched you too. Her smile was easy but you caught the swirling of a thousand emotions that sat beneath her stare.

It was enough for you to drop to your knees.

You spread her legs slowly and slid between them. The steady warmth of her was your favourite heat. 

Another anchor that promised you she was here. 

You stretched out your arms, letting your fingernails brush back and forth along her toned stomach. You didn’t waste any more time. 

Slowly you ran your flat tongue along her pussy. There was the familiar tang of her body wash  and the taste that could only be Natasha. 

Natasha groaned above you. You felt her stomach muscles tighten under your fingers and knew that she was already close. 

You moved on instinct, your eyes closed as you lost yourself in the sounds of her hums and sighs. The heat of her against your tongue spread through you. You let your tongue arc and flatten, finding the rhythms that caused her breathless moans. 

You felt her tensing. Felt the pleasure inside her become a desperate need. You used your hands to keep a steady pressure against the urgent movement of her hips. 

Natasha gave a strangled cry and in the midst of it you heard your name. You pressed again and again with your tongue. You felt her body wind itself tighter and tighter and then undo itself all at once. 

You tasted the dripping want and heard the soft pants of something achieved. 

You gave one last lick along her pussy. 

‘Good?’ You murmured, as you moved back to survey Natasha. 

Natasha didn’t move or speak. Slowly, as if with great effort, she gave you a silent thumbs up. 

You breathed a laugh, kissed her one more time and got to your feet.

You headed to the bathroom, grabbing a flannel and running it under the warm water. You returned and gently washed between her legs. 

Natasha’s eyes were fully shut now. 

You leaned forward and Natasha moaned in automatic pleasure at the sudden heat of your body against her bare one. 

‘Bed, love.’ You whispered, pulling the covers back and coaxing her gently. 

Natasha acquiesced and you watched her crawl beneath the warm covers. 

You left and got yourself ready for bed too. 

Just as you were about to slide under the covers, you heard the first snuffling noises of Natasha pressing herself comfortably into her pillow. 

A moment later, you clicked off the light on your nightstand.

.

You turned to face her. Natasha’s face was framed by her own messy curls. You thought about her. About the sadness that you could always see unless her eyes were closed. You tried not to worry.

Natasha snored suddenly and the sound was another steady proof that she was here. You closed your eyes and finally slept. 

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Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

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broken rosary, cinnabar dreams

+18, mdni; bc @vifilms inspired me so hard with her insane drabble i had to restart my laptop and bang this out before the words left me for good; so this one's for u raybaebae !

tw: heavy religious imagery, body worship, blasphemy (lol), extremely mixed metaphors, just stream of consciousness at this point

you think that perhaps god made women because he'd looked at men and said i think can do better. but you're convinced that when god made vi, he'd turned to the nearest angel and said goddamn, i'm good.

and you would worship her like she was made to be worshiped, kiss every inch of her skin till her breaths start to sound like monastic prayers, mark her skin with your piety, offer up bloodied palms and bruising knees, press your forehead to the muscle of her thigh and anoint yourself in her essence. you would worship her, yes. and her fingers in your hair would be as the commandments were, an irrefutable intimacy, from your lips to god's ears (or simply the apex of her thighs -- it's been a long time since you've been able to tell the difference).

because you know she's your saving grace, every bead on your broken rosary, cracked ivory and cinnabar dreams, her lips like sin and her body like so much wretched salvation. you would damn yourself for her. for her.

you'd shake her open, swallow down every drop of her violent grace, hollow her out till she's full of nothing but light, fashion her pleasure into angel wings so beautiful the seraphs might start to call her annabel lee. you'd kiss her into a wild messiah, mortal flesh and divine fecundity, curl your apostle fingers until neither of you can wonder if heaven is indeed just a place on earth.

it's here, in the negative space between your body and hers.

and it has always been here, hasn't it? because there's always love and your bodies have been the making. because poetry is only ever the answer to the question of do you love me?

and truth will always rhyme with your voice saying -- please, please, please.

so she answers your prayers with her mouth wide open, her athena-eyes dark as a moon-rocked sea. from here, pressed against her chest, you swear you can almost hear the angel-wing thrum in her thundering heartbeat.

"o-oh -- oh god -- kiss me --"

you anchor yourself to her with a groan, heed her words with hungering lips and a reverent tongue. you kiss her like it's the only thing you'd been put on this earth to do right, as if you'd been given these lips solely for the sake of this. of kissing her.

of kissing her bloody, and kissing her sweet.

of tracing her into more solid lines even as she shakes close to shattering.

"baby, baby -- i'm close -- fuck -- please --"

you nod, tugging back just a fraction to watch the pleasure break across her face, savoring in the splendor, in the gut-deep reckoning.

"yeah? c'mon violet -- show me -- wanna see you cum for me --"

"a-ah -- hah -- fuck -- oh fuck --"

for this, you think, you'd break the world into war. for this, you remedy, you'd paint the world into peace.

you pluck the desire from her like an unraveling thread, unspooling it in gossamer strands, picking it apart till she's undone beneath you -- in all her gold-limned glory, her bright eyes darkened by love or lust, the ridges of her body a study in perseverance -- you remind yourself to take it slow.

because sure, belief is a steady thing, but faith -- faith is running a marathon with no knowledge of the finish line, only the promise of the wind as she whispers in your ear -- just a bit more, just a bit more...

you slow your pace as vi shudders around you; reality shakes loose around your shoulders and truth becomes nothing more than a bedtime story the hungry tell their children on the nights when there's not enough food to go around the table. you gorge yourself on the sight of her, on the leavening skin of her abdomen, rising and falling with her staccato breaths, on the warmth threading from between her legs, slick and sticky as you pull your fingers away.

"holy... shit --" vi breathes, looking down at you with a half-drawn breath. the room around you shimmers in refracted bits of lucidity and memory. you smile, slipping into the space next to her, curling your body into hers, leaning into her as a supplicant to her majesty.

she smiles, reaching out to caress your cheek. you press into her touch, sating yourself on the gentility.

"god... what did i do to deserve you," she asks, her voice corded and breathy.

you blink open your eyes, uncertain of her meaning.

her, deserving of you?

you shuffle forward till your nose is pressed into the junction of her neck, till she is every breath your lungs have the dignity to breathe.

"you're everything, vi," you say, and you hope she understands. you hope she can hear the utter reverence in your voice, the debasement to which you would allow yourself to sink just to convince her of this one, singular truth.

everything.

vi laughs, reaching out to pull you close.

she grazes a kiss by your temple and you try not to whimper.

"and you're everything to me, pretty girl," she says, murmuring the words into the crease between your brows. you tug back to catch the flash of something that looks almost like that self-same adoration in the flutter of her lashes, the darkness of her eyes.

you do not think she understands; you pray she does anyways.

"c'mon doll -- time for bed," she says, chuckling as she hauls you into her chest, littering your skin with a flurry of kisses. your bodies settle against each other as the ocean might a stretch of familiar shore. as raindrops might recognize the specific mirror of the sea -- your souls tied, your breaths sighing in tandem -- ah yes, this is where i'm meant to be.

you let sleep caress you with her silken fingers, let her paint your dreams in shades of violet and blue, let moonlit-silver and midnight-sin sink into your skin. you fall asleep in violet's arms.

you do not hear her say i love you, in a voice singed with holy flames. but you do feel her kiss you. and you think, even in your dreams, that her lips have always tasted like smoke.