natasha romanoff x fem!reader one-shots

𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞 (𝟏/𝟐)

a/n: (request) nat cheats and you get divorced; firefighter!nat, g!p nat; this part was not requested but i felt like adding it so you have a bit of a backstory :)

Part 1: Death of a Marriage

Natasha's spent her entire life putting out fires. When she was a kid and angled the magnifying glass wrong. When she was a teenager and tried to make scrambled eggs. When she became a firefighter, carrying hoses and using fire extinguishers. The only fire she didn't manage to put out was the one burning down her marriage. Even worse — she was the one who struck the match.

Your daughter Valerie is four when it begins. Heat, fuel and oxygen come together. It's just little sparks, nothing more and nothing less; but it's enough to start something neither of you can put out.

It's an early night for you and your daughter. Valerie has been cranky all day due to a missed nap and a lingering fever, so you quickly dip her into a bubble bath before getting her into bed.

Cheeks warm and arms clutching her stuffed rabbit, she stares at the ceiling with the little glow in the dark-stars. Her toes wiggle under the blanket, and you smooth out her comforter.

"I want mama", she declares.

"Mama's at work, baby", you reply, bringing your hand up to her face. You brush unruly red locks behind her ear. "You'll see her at breakfast. She promised, remember?"

"No", she mumbles. "Want mama now."

You exhale, fingers brushing against her cheek in a soothing motion. This isn't uncommon — Natasha's shifts are long. But she used to be home more often, especially in the evenings.

She used to swoop your daughter up from the couch and into her arms, tickle her and carry her up the stairs. All you'd hear were belly laughs and quiet wheezing. It's been a while since that happened.

"I'm sorry", you reply. You grab her favorite fairytale book and open it, hoping it'd distract her. "Want to see what The Three Little Pigs are doing?"

Valerie shakes her head and turns around, arms crossed stubbornly. You frown and start reading anyway, but she stays quiet. No sign of interaction whatsoever — she's not looking at the pictures, not reacting to any of the scenes.

Finally, you close the book. You haven't even gotten halfway through.

"Honey?"

Valerie huffs, hugging her stuffed rabbit tighter. Her back stays turned to you, and you adjust her pajamas so they cover her lower back as well. You run your fingers through her red hair. Your hair texture, but the exact shade Natasha has.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You know mama's doing something really important, right?"

"No", she mumbles. "It's stupid."

That does slice you open a little. You know she doesn't mean it — she's four, for god's sake. Last week, she threatened to not invite you to her birthday party. But she's a little human with big emotions, and in this moment, those emotions are directed at the profession her mother chose to pursue.

You understand her. You've been angry at it as well. Not often, and not like this, but it's happened. It's hard to be understanding when you're sleep-deprived and rocking a toddler who caught the flu.

"Hey", you say, giving your failed attempt to distract her one last try, "what cartoon do you want to watch with mama tomorrow? I'll let you have breakfast on the couch."

First, she pauses. Then, her head turns and she gives you a hopeful look. "On the couch?"

"Yeah. You can watch whatever you want. Curious George, Franklin, Winnie...your choice, bub."