natasha romanoff x fem!reader one-shots

𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 (𝟑/𝟒)

a/n: turns out writing consistently is so much harder when you have classes and everyday life; apologies it took so long

next one will be the final chapter (and this time, i mean it)

In her apartment, it's quiet. No neon lights, no loud music, no smell of smoke or alcohol. It's just you and her, skin slick and chests heaving. You roll over and press your nose against her collarbone. She smells like your body oil. It's all over her skin.

You met her right after your shift ended. You'd waited for her a few blocks away from the strip club, with your coat on and your hair open. You'd hid in the shadow of a building to avoid being seen. Your original plan wasn't to end up in her bed, as all you wanted to do was talk — but here you are now.

It's been a few days since you last saw her. You couldn't handle seeing her so soon. The sooner you met again, the sooner you'd have to tear it all down. You don't see a different option, though. What you're doing now is risky enough, and you need to protect the fragile sense of peace you built for Grace and yourself.

"You're quiet", Natasha mumbles, running her fingers through your hair. "How was work?"

"Fine." You hesitate. "The Christmas special weeks are starting soon. Lots of preparation, you know."

She hums. Her hand traces your jaw, brushes your neck, trails all the way down to your hip. She pulls you closer and kisses your forehead.

"Am I invited?"

You exhale. The guilt is heavy in your stomach, like hot embers burning you from the inside. Making a choice like this is never easy, but especially not when you care about the person you're about to turn down. Sleeping with her right before doesn't make it better, either. Part of you feels like you took advantage of her one last time.

Natasha notices your hesitation. She shakes her head. "I'm being stupid", she promises. "A Christmas special sounds nice, though. What's different?"

"Red costumes with Santa hats", you say, your cheek flat against her chest. "Candy cane cocktails. They hang up some lights, too. It's not all that."

"Sounds intriguing."

"It's not." Your fingers brush along the waistband of her boxers. You shift uncomfortably, then finally sit up. "Hey, Nat?"

One look at your face already tells her more than she wants to know. She props herself up on her forearms and frowns. "Hm?"

Months ago, you never would've thought you'd get yourself into this kind of situation — and you definitely wouldn't have thought it'd be this hard to get out of it again. Her eyes stare into yours, green and attentive, and all you want to do is forget about Angela. But every time you think about the club, you can feel her words press against your back like the muzzle of a gun.

You're keeping Grace safe. You're making sure you're staying smart. It's the right thing to do. And if she really cares about you, she'll understand.

"I can't keep seeing you", you somehow manage to say. Her eyebrows shoot up. "I'm sorry. The club's policies, you know...they came back to bite me in the ass."

"Slow down", she says. "What happened?"

"Angela happened." You gesture awkwardly, then — feeling defeated and nauseous — drop into the mattress again. A beat of silence passes. "You know about the rules. No off-duty contact with patrons. No personal involvement."

"They found out?"

"You thought they wouldn't?"

"According to what I know, most clubs aren't that great at finding things out", she says. "It's like they're blind on purpose."