#natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
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forty, love | natasha romanoff
part 2 | part 3
synopsis: winning was everything, and losing was a sin. unfortunately, you were on a losing streak, and natasha loved winning.
natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
word count: 4.9k words
a/n: inspired by that one scene from challengers.
masterlist
“slice forehand.”
thwock.
“inside-out forehand.”
another thwock.
“move to the volley. hurry. your feet aren’t keeping up.”
despite the insult, the thwock lands. the ball bounces and hits right where you want it to hit. the singular drop of sweat that dripped onto the ground between your feet is not wasted, as you look up to your performance coach across the net, unamused sneer hidden behind his thick moustache.
“not fast enough?” you quipped.
he sighed, shaking his head. “don’t get ahead of yourself. you’re still number 2 in the state. if you want a shot at beating the princeton team, you’re still going to have to move much faster than that.”
you wiped the beads of sweat on your forehead, fixing the slightly loose hair tie, before nodding understandingly. still, you weren’t too happy at his latest onslaught of insults this past session. “you could have at least given me credit for the dropshot earlier when you came in. it was perfect.”
“perfect shots don’t get you the win. defeating your opponent does.”
he signalled that practice was over for the day, and you walked off court at the same time as he did to gather your things. the woman watching from the stands stood at that moment, and began her descent down to meet you in the locker room.
natasha romanoff walked up behind you as you changed, the sudden feeling of her hands on your bare skin a welcomed intrusion, as you sighed into her touch. she let herself have her hands full for a minute, roaming over your muscles until she was satisfied, before settling them on the edge of your shoulders, massaging the tight knots out of them. you were still so tense.
she pressed her lips lovingly on a scar, waiting for you to finish panting at the feeling of where her hands had been. “you were great out there today.”
“coach said otherwise.”
“mm,” she let you put on your shirt, turning you around to kiss you after, “you were fighting him back just as hard. are you okay?”
you zipped up your bag then, taking a moment to avoid her question, before, “do you think i’m like what he says? what they all say…?”
natasha motioned for you to continue. “that i’m all bark, no bite, now? that i’ve lost my mojo?”
“baby–”
“–because you can tell me straight up. i can take it. you’re my girlfriend, you can tell me, i can take it.” the room had suddenly gotten tense, a stark drop to your composure that you had managed to hide so well on the court. in the locker rooms, you were angry again. you had been angry for a while now.
“losing a few matches isn’t going to hurt your record, baby. you’re this college’s star player, you know this.”
“but losing four matches in a row is going to shatter my ego. my confidence. you of all people should know this!”
you had backed away from natasha, eyebrows raised, posture standoffish. she hated this. she hated seeing you like this. as bad as it was to say, she hated seeing you lose. it was the worst part of yourself that you let her see, when you lost. but what was she, as a partner, if not to stand by you through your career, your ups and down? she should be sharing your pain, taking some burden off of your shoulders, at the very least.
“just last week, i let it go to break point, and i still fucking lost!” you had raised your fist at this point, nearly punching it at the steel frames of the lockers, when you reminded yourself of just the complications that could arise from shattered knuckles. your coach would never let this go. but still, the gesture was there, and the fire in your eyes remained all too dangerous.
suddenly, you were pressed against the lockers, the weight of natasha’s body engulfing yours, as her arms came to hold you tight against herself. you were forced to embrace her back, despite your slight protests and pleas, but she was having none of it. she had wrapped you up in her tight, strong embrace, and her hands were finding themselves to bring your face towards hers, eyes boring into your own.
“nat–”
“–last week, last week, you were against a professional, baby. a nearly retired one at that, but she was fighting for wins at the australian open not too long ago. she’s been doing this longer than you have even started learning how to hit the ball. don’t be so hard on yourself, will you? nobody, nobody else, could have gotten to where you were with her. break point is a feat in itself.”
you didn’t look convinced. but she didn’t need you to look convinced; she needed you to listen. “do you understand? you need to look at things from a different perspective, from my perspective. not your coach’s, not your teammates, certainly not that player’s fucking groupies, who were gloating about your loss all the way out of the stadium. you need to believe in yourself, as i have always believed in you. and you can’t keep going on like this. do you understand me?”
natasha’s eyes never departed from yours, her gaze firm. her hands were shaking, a little unsure of your reaction, because as far as she knew, you didn’t look like you were going to back down from a fight. either with yourself or her, she didn’t know. she certainly hoped it was at least the latter.
but then, your gaze cast downwards, you nodded ashamedly. sighing into the air, you pressed your face into the crook of her neck for a moment, the height advantage letting you lift her up, and she cooed as she let you gather yourself.
“i understand.”
she patted the back of your head. like a mother would a petulant, but repenting child. “good. now let’s go get dinner, then a massage for your shoulders. then back to the gym first thing tomorrow morning.”
–
natasha watched you push around your vegetables for nearly half of dinner. she knew the campus meal tickets didn’t exactly provide for five-star dishes, but she had never seen you so down like this before. it was almost as if you had become a ghost of yourself.
“steve’s birthday is coming up soon.” she decided to change the topic, and hopefully, get your mind off of tennis for a minute.
you gave a nonchalant grunt, finally stabbing the piece of broccoli. she steadied herself. “should we get him the pair of boots he’s always wanted? i figured we could pull in wanda and clint too, if we want to get him a bigger gift.”
your eyes were still unfocused. it was as if she wasn’t there at all. “baby.”
you looked up, half-expecting natasha to be pissed. but she only gave you a small smile. “steve’s birthday?”
“we can get him the boots. i don’t mind paying for them. but i don’t think i’m going to his party.”
“why not? your match on that day ends in the afternoon.”
“yeah, but i think i’m going to be pretty tired.” not to mention if i lose.
natasha decided not to argue with you on it. she knew enough how touchy the subject of your career already was. instead, she jabbed the last piece of corn with her fork, and gestured for your mouth to open.
the both of you left shortly after.
–
in a friendly match the next weekend with the neighbouring college, you were faced up against the top ranking player once more. being a finals round, you had imagined that the crowd would be roaring with applause for how far you’d come, but when the sets began to balance after your first few strong starts and the heat of the afternoon sun began beating on everyone’s backs, the crowd dwindled out one by one from boredom and, to you at least, the possible disappointment of you losing.
it was only expected, from a disenchanted champion. the college’s once pride and joy, the one who was once regarded as a candidate with potential to win grand slams. unfortunately, people only really like you when you win.
but natasha stayed. and so did her friends, and your friends that she had managed to force to stay. you had gestured that they could leave if they wanted to, during the breaks, but they were afraid to even nod, or make a move, lest they wanted to be subjected to natasha’s ferocity, sitting behind them. it was almost humiliating that they stayed only because your girlfriend was forcing them to, you thought.
thwock. a missed shot from your end.
another thwock. “out!”
by your last mistake, the crowd had only left natasha, steve, and some die-hard groupies of yours that were slowly losing hope too. so when the final set was determined by your failure to execute a passing shot, and subsequently touching the net, the roars from the other side seemed almost mocking. you had lost.
natasha rushed down to the locker rooms again, only this time, your friends followed, and the absolute mortification that you felt, along with the pure anger and frustration of losing, overpowered any remaining sense of decency you had left.
the moment you spotted her coming in, then the company behind her, you almost felt like the first time the instinct to shatter your racket came to you.
“out! all of you, out!” you had screamed, not caring to be decent even to your teammates.
“come on, we just wanted–”
“–i don’t care, out! you’ve just come in here to humiliate me, haven’t you? gloating how i could lose, even in a friendly! how shit of a player i am, now!”
the people behind natasha grumbled, but one by one shuffled out. it was better to tell you about how unfair you were being another day, not when emotions were running so high. natasha was thankful they understood. but it didn’t make what you did any less unfair.
she sat beside you as you kept your head down. “that wasn’t very nice.”
“losing isn’t very nice.”
“they meant well, baby.”
“no, they don’t.”
“how many times do i have–”
“–a ton, okay, natasha?” you looked up, slamming your drink between the both of you. “a ton of times, you have to remind me. that my friends love me, that they’re here to support me. but how the fuck am i supposed to believe that when i don’t even have anything for them to support me for?”
“your friends don’t just love you because you’re good at tennis, my love. i don’t love you just because you’re good at tennis. this is ridiculous! i can’t believe we are arguing over this, i can’t believe you think of yourself so lowly like this.”
natasha was met with a deafening silence the moment she finished her last words, her chest heaving up and down from her own disappointment. the rest of the players had filtered out, upon hearing your argument, leaving only you and her there. like always.
your hand rubbed over your face resignedly, hands covering the beautiful eyes natasha loved loves staring into. she wanted to reach out, to pull your hands away from yourself, to even get you to answer her, to let her know that you at least believed you were better than this. but she was afraid of the answer she was going to get.
then, she heard a sniffle, and a small, choked sob afterwards. and that was it.
you were up standing the next second, and slinging your racket bag over your shoulder. “i’m going to the gym. i know you have class after this. don’t wait up.”
she was left there alone, the dismay and disappointment of it all weighing down on her, the moment the doors to the locker room were slammed.
–
i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that, i apologised to my friends, now i want to apologise to you. i love you, i’m sorry. the words didn’t seem enough. the guilt that accumulated and eventually avalanched into your heart was almost insurmountable, after the incident with natasha. you weren’t even sure you were worthy of being forgiven, you thought as you sat in your car later that night, still angry at her, but making sure that she was safe in the short walk home from her class to her dorm.
which was why you found yourself in the florist off campus a few days later, asking the employee what flowers best represented i’m sorry for being such a terrible girlfriend, and which flowers were most likely going to help you be forgiven. the white and blue carnations reminded you of the colours in natasha’s room.
“how much is it?” you asked, to which the cashier then showed you the till. you cursed internally, not even knowing flowers were so expensive nowadays.
checking the contents of your wallet for a minute, you cursed even louder at yourself at the emptiness that greeted you. losing matches meant losing money, that was for sure, and it wasn’t a secret that you were mostly funding your life with prize money won from big matches in the state, with college at least funded with the athlete’s scholarship. yet another reason why i can’t keep doing this, you thought.
it was between dinner for the next few days and gas for your car, and the flowers. fuck it, skipping dinners once in a while wouldn’t hurt, and you could walk from place to place.
you handed over your card, and began the walk to natasha’s dorm.
when she received you, natasha noticed you looked almost like a kicked puppy, none of the anger or smugness you carried with you on and off the court. no, with her, you were soft, and vulnerable, and all-too pitiful for her love. she knows the power she has over you. she never had to worry.
so she brought you in, allowed you to apologise, to beg at her feet, and for her mercy and forgiveness. she allowed you to worship her, taking her to her bed and whispering how much you messed up to her skin, how much you loved her when you were making her see stars, how much you thought you would hurt yourself if she ever left you when she was chanting your name over and over again, begging you to let her come undone.
–
steve’s birthday rolled around, and natasha was once again seated in the front row for you. she never missed your matches.
you thought she should have missed this one, when the match reached a break point and you lost again. when you had gotten so frustrated, so furious, over a careless choke that you had, that you received a punishment for smashing your racket into bits as the opponent screamed in celebration.
she came down to sit with you in the locker room after, but it was in silence. there was nothing to say, and nothing to be said. there were tears streaming down your face, dripping onto the floor. your vision was obscured by the tears, and you would have lost yourself if not for the hand that was holding your own, firm, steadfast. somewhere along the line, she was kissing you, then slowly pushing for you to get up, and bringing you to her dorm. you didn’t really remember anything more after that, busy curling into a ball and crying yourself to sleep afterwards.
when she woke you again to accompany her to steve’s party, you felt almost bad that the ringing in your ears hadn’t gone away, and so had your misery from the match earlier. but natasha needed a ride, and you weren’t going to let her drive back later if she had been drinking for the night.
–
you encouraged natasha to mingle around at the party, and to not worry about you, as you stuck around your few friends for a bit. she was unsure, but you were firm, and soon enough, she too had disappeared into the crowd.
your eyes never left her after you found her again, though, leaning back into a pillar as your friend sam went on and on about his own matches so far. you didn’t have the heart, or energy, to tell him that tennis was the last thing you wanted to talk about right then.
she was by the birthday boy, his arm slung around her waist as the both of them guzzled down cups and cups of spiked punch. their circle was closely-knit, you had always known this, but somehow, the lingering touches, and his hand slowly travelling up and down her back, was ticking you off this time. you had almost half a mind to ask steve what he thought he was doing, but you knew natasha would get embarrassed, and upset. you knew you already made her upset enough today.
but then, sam quipped, “they’ve been awfully close lately, haven’t they?”
he must have forgotten he was talking to natasha’s girlfriend, of all people, as he continued, “steve’s on a winning streak recently. on track to become valedictorian, potentially getting drafted by the top teams next season, it’s only a matter of time before he wants someone by his side to share it with too, huh?”
“...right.”
“you know how natasha likes winners,” he hit your elbow playfully, breath reeking of alcohol and other illegal substances, “she just loves the game. i bet that’s how you got her to fall for you too.”
“not my good looks, or horrible attitude to anything outside of tennis?” you tore your eyes away from natasha for a moment to glare at sam. he chuckled.
“i’m just saying, better to keep your girl by your side, future federer.” he disappeared shortly after, and when you found natasha again, she was laughing and putting her head on steve’s shoulder.
instead of feeling angry this time, you were dejected, and a little bit ashamed. of course. natasha liked winners. and you certainly weren’t one anymore.
you bit back a harsh breath, and went outside to get some fresh air when steve stole a glance at her that was far too intimate to be one of merely friends. you should have known. if she wasn’t winning with you, she was winning with someone else, somewhere else.
that night, for the first time in your career, and relationship, you thought about retiring.
–
but when the competition season rolled around, and the WTAs approaching, you had managed to pull yourself up in the rankings enough to secure a spot at a challengers’ round to hopefully beat princeton and start a domino effect that could lead you to participating in a grand slam.
natasha was walking beside you, struggling to keep up as she checked your schedule haphazardly. “the princeton girl, she’s on the other side of the roster. i doubt the two of you would be playing each other unless she reaches the finals too. which…at this point…”
you didn’t want to know if she meant that you wouldn’t stand a chance of reaching the finals, or that the princeton champion would be knocked out early. you were afraid you knew the answer.
steve had dropped her off at the stadium when you went outside to pick her up, his smug smile as he waved her goodbye, and his eyes following yours, making you want to reach over inside the car and beating him with your racket. you had to arrive earlier to discuss strategy with your coaches, and while you were more than willing to pay for natasha’s ride in, she had mentioned that steve would be dropping her off. she sounded almost excited, so you dropped the topic and went back to your practice. like you have been doing for the past few months.
turns out it wasn’t so hard to succeed, and win matches, when you were more or less resigned to your fate that nobody was ever going to expect anything more of you from your streak of losses all those matches ago, and you had effectively lost the love of your life to some football player who kept winning, and winning.
you were at a challenger’s round this time, so you didn't need to worry. you won, and won, and won a little bit more.
–
thwock. right over the net. the opponent misses and falls to her knees.
a serve that would have made williams roar in awe. thwock.
last one. the set was done if you landed this one. thwock.
the ball landed inside the court, right by the opponent’s feet. and you advanced to the finals.
you remembered natasha rushing down, not even waiting until you entered the locker room. she was running, running, and jumping into your arms, kissing you like her life depended on it. you spun her around, giving her a smug smile, trying to hide a bleeding heart that knew she too, was surprised that you ever stood a chance of winning.
the crowd roared behind you. people were liking you again. but you had never felt worse.
–
it turned out that the princeton champion had advanced to the finals, and would be playing against you, after all. there was no surprise for her, but certainly a surprise for you, as the newscasters and fans had aptly put, a grand shocker. they had all thought you had seen your glory days over.
natasha caught you watching the latest telecast from the hotel’s television, gaze zeroed in on the anchor who was comparing your statistics over the last few games. almost perfect scores. leaving opponents with loves in sets. behind her, were the students of your college, decked out in the colour of the university and your face and initials printed on their shirts, caps, flags. all of it. they had never looked more proud. the college had even rolled out a banner in your name, in lieu of the upcoming finals. you knew natasha enjoyed all of it more than you did.
when it came to the broadcast from princeton, the college’s president had come to give a special interview. he mentioned that he never doubted his champion from the start, unlike what your college had to go through with you. you found yourself wanting to spit at the television.
but from behind, the sound of running water from the shower had stopped, and she had come out, in a robe and her wet hair in a towel. she saw the glazed look in your eyes, and promptly picked up the remote to shut the programme off.
she settled into the spot beside you, nuzzling into your comfort. she had to pull your own arms off of the couch to wrap around her. you thought she must have known. she couldn’t be so stupid. she knew that you knew about her, and what she had always liked.
but then you remembered, beyond the resentment, and grief, of the past few months, of just what she had been through with you. when you lost your very first match in college, natasha had been your friend, still. she was dating the captain of the basketball team, you remembered, but she had gone with you afterwards to walk the long way home, encouraging you and telling you that it would get better. it always would. you only half-believed her.
but then, you won. and won, and won, and won. by the tenth streak of winning, natasha had broken up with said boyfriend, and began hanging around your dorm, the tennis courts, even the cafeterias more often. she went where you went, showed up to most of your games, was the loudest one in the crowd when you secured sets. she would wait for you after your mini celebratory sessions with your teammates, and fans, and friends, all for a moment alone with you. then, she would bring you out for drinks, for dinners, sometimes the occasional walk down memory lane to her dorm. she was kind, she made you laugh, and you were on a streak. so what was there stopping you?
you fell for her just as easily as you fell in love with winning.
to your surprise, she stuck around when you lost a few matches along the way, never letting it phase her, or you. to everyone else’s surprise, she stuck around when you twisted your ankle in your second year of playing. she had left a pattern in her wake, you see, of leaving all of her past lovers when the going got tough, or when they had simply stopped winning. it was inevitable, you thought. but no, not this time. when you fell to your knees during that tournament, screaming in agony as your ankle felt like it was folding in on itself, she was there. she was right beside the medical officer, holding you up as he inspected the injury, face looking even more panicked than yours as they wheeled you off to the hospital.
she was there, as they wheeled you in for surgery, and wheeled you out to recover. she never left, even when the doctors told you it would take months to recover, let alone get back to playing on your level. she helped you recover, was the driving force in your physical therapy success, even became the sole reason that you returned to playing so quickly after your injury. you hadn’t wanted to disappoint her, much less lose her at all. you were too afraid of the possibility of her becoming someone else’s because of your failure in your sport.
natasha stayed through your losing streak. she never got mad, or lost her patience, with you. it had been three years now, with her. she had never lasted in a relationship so long, so had you. she had talked about getting married before, right after college, to which you had entertained, but still never gotten the full grasp of. how could she talk about marrying you, with such a reputation that preceded her? what if you had lost, would she have run off before the altar?
what if you lost tomorrow? you looked at her again, this time, and she was on her phone. she was texting your friends to make sure they came for your match tomorrow. you felt horrible.
“nat.”
she looked up. “yes?”
“tell me it doesn’t matter.”
natasha sat up this time, her hand holding yours. she looked confused. “what doesn’t matter?”
“whether i win or lose tomorrow.”
her face remained unchanged for a moment, but at the quiver of your lip, and the coldness in your hands, she broke her composure. she shook her head slowly, gaze steely. “no.”
“why not?” it was your turn to harden the look on your face. “why won’t you tell me at least that?”
“because,” she bit the inside of her cheek, “you’re the professional. you’ll tell me whether it matters or not.”
you sat up as well. “i just want to know that you’ll love me…no matter what…whether i win or lose tomorrow.”
natasha’s eyes suddenly couldn’t meet yours. she looked down, at your shirt, then away, but never back at you. you pleaded, “natasha, please.”
“no,” she remained firm, “no. i won’t tell you that, because i know you’ll beat her. you’ll win tomorrow. and you’ll go to the grand slams, you’ll be the best tennis player that’s ever played in them, and you’re going to win. every. single. one. of. them.”
“and what if i don’t? not even the grand slams, not even tomorrow? what if i come in second again, after all this time?”
you were growing desperate, and she was growing distant. you suddenly thought that you would have done anything, absolutely anything then, for her to tell you what you wanted to hear. to tell you that she would love you no matter if you won or lost.
natasha watched as you dropped to your knees in front of her, eyes already teary. your hands scrambled to hold her shirt, her waist, any part of her. she held them back, but to stop you from reaching further. then, she held your face again, but this time, it was you that was begging for her. you looked downright pitiful.
she wiped the stray tear off your cheek. she knew what she was going to say would either make or destroy you. “i’ll tell you this instead.”
“please.”
“baby, if you lose the match tomorrow, i’m leaving you. for good.”
–
thwock. thwock. thwock.
princeton parried, the ball is sent to the line. you return it with ease. princeton flicks back, you work twice as hard to send it over.
your moves were clean, cleaner than ever before, aided by a brain filled with rage and a heart filled with fear.
princeton served, out. you served, in. the advantage stood, and the crowd stood to cheer. princeton hit back, you hit harder. it was a game both colleges hadn’t seen in decades. there were talks of both of you dominating the grand slams, even possibly working together, even being the next best duo to ever hit the sport.
break point. the ball whizzes. and finally…after all the pain, the fear, the lost matches and the weight of the world on your shoulders, it was over.
you weren’t quick enough. princeton won.
a/n: i just love pathetic, pitiful characters who are down so bad for natasha romanoff, is that so wrong?
#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanoff#black widow#marvel cinematic universe#tennis player! reader#challengers#natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
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Match point | Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Where The Avengers and some famous tennis players meet to play doubles for a charity event.
Written with @catasha | Marvel masterlist | Words: 2.9k
-----
It had been months in the making but the time had finally arrived. Tony had been planning a charity event with some retired tennis players to raise money for an organisation who stands for helping children from all backgrounds to be able to play sports. Once Tony had reached out and set-up the basics, he handed over planning to Steve, who had a better eye for that part of the process.
While most of The Avengers had been busy with other things in life besides learning sports like tennis, they were all eager to join the cause, and learn something new over the next couple of days.
The Avengers made their way over to the tennis courts, where they would first be introduced with the players. Natasha was slightly nervous, not to meet the players, but to play a sport she has never played before and that in front of professionals. Nonetheless she put a smile on her face, and was looking forward to today.
Amélie Mauresmo, the player who Tony organised the charity event with, gathered everyone around. “Alright everyone, thank you all for joining us today. I hope you are all ready to have some fun along the way. Steve over to you.” Steve gets his clipboard out and moves towards Amélie. “Alright, I’ve matched up a player and an Avenger to create the doubles teams. You will be training individually with your partners over the next couple of days, leading up to the big event. Now, once I’ve listed your name, please find your partner and get acquainted. We will call you up when you can head to the equipment room to get everything you need sorted.” He looks down at his clipboard to read off the pairs. Once your name is announced along with Natasha’s, you send her a small wave before heading her way.
You get to know Natasha a little bit before she gets called to the equipment room. The equipment manager helps Natasha on her way with the right racket for her, letting her know the differences between the rackets. Natasha, who didn’t know a lot about tennis and therefore also not about rackets, listened carefully to the equipment manager. He advised her three different rackets, and it was to no surprise to anyone that she picked the red one.
You see Natasha walking back towards you with a red Wilson racket, and know instantly that as an avid Babolat user you were going to have to make a joke about her choice of rackets. Putting your best shocked face on, you exclaim “I don’t think I can play with someone that chose a Wilson over a Babolat.” However, since you had only just met, Natasha was convinced that you were being serious. “Oh, I can switch it to a Babolat if that’s better.” You realise that she doesn’t know you’re joking and are quick to reassure her, “I'm just messing with you, you should play with whatever feels best for you. And if I may, red suits you pretty well.” Seeing you joke around, she relaxed a bit so she got along, “Let’s say the compliment made up for messing with me then.” You both share a quick laugh and a casual talk while heading over to the tennis courts.
“So, it’s quite simple, I have one week to make you the best teammate possible! Everyday we’ll do physical training, even if as an Avenger you probably don’t need it, it’s still quite important to have the right footwork on a tennis court. Then I’ll teach you the basic shots and that’s it, you’ll be the best!” Your enthusiasm works its magic in Natasha letting loose about all the worries about the event. “Well, I’m ready when you are Coach, let’s do this!”
You both start running around the court for a few rounds, while you introduce some split and crossover steps. “Alright, one important thing, if not the most important while playing tennis, is how you run on the court. You’ll have to use different steps depending on where you want to go on the court.” You point in the directions, while explaining the techniques to Natasha, “To go forward, a normal sprint. On the sides, split steps like we did before and to go backwards, well just run backwards!” You both laugh at the simpleness of the last technique. “The most important thing is to always keep your eyes on the ball. So, I propose a little exercise. We’ll both start at the centre, run to the side, and then sprint to the net.” She nods at your explanations and you both make your way to the baseline of the court.
“It’s okay if you can’t keep up with the pace, I’ll start easy” You wink at her and she laughs. “Very sweet but you don’t need to worry about me, Y/l/n.” Her comment instantly told you that she was just as competitive as you were. You started the first rounds slowly, giving Natasha time to get used to the footwork. After a few rounds you notice she had increased her pace, because she was soon ahead of you by a few metres. “You alright, Y/n? Struggling to keep up with an Avenger?” Her comment made you snap out of your ‘go easy’ tactics, and soon you were sprinting to catch up with her. She didn’t make it easy on you and before you knew it, you were both running at full speed, not wanting to let the other win.
After a few more rounds, you end up out of breath from the sprinting and laughing, which definitely did not work well together. “Okay okay, I’m out… You win Natasha.” She comes back to you laughing, as if she didn’t spend the last minutes sprinting “You’re sweet, thinking you stood a chance against me.” A smirk plays on your lips, Natasha thought this was it, but you knew what was still to come and she would definitely feel less like the winner after the next point of practice. You go to grab your rackets from the sidelines, and hand Natasha hers. “Alright then, let’s get to the real business. Show me what you got Romanoff.”
Over the next few days you spend a lot of time on the court together. You practised serving, volleying, and a lot of other techniques that would be helpful in your matches later this week.
You were happy that you agreed to the charity event, because you never would have thought that you would have so much fun during it. Natasha was as enthusiastic as you were and it showed. Her skills were improving everyday, and she was actually getting quite good at it. After a few more practice sessions you were ready for the tournament.
The first couple of matches didn’t go as bad as Natasha had originally thought, as they were winning time and time again. It wasn’t that the matches were easy to win though, they really had to fight for every win, which in the end only brought Natasha and Y/n closer together. The charity matches had been livestreamed so far, and a lot of money had been raised for the cause already. Winning all their previous matches meant that they ended up earning a spot in the final, where they would play against Tony Stark and Amélie Mauresmo, which was bound to be an interesting match. It would also be the first match in front of an actual crowd, and you better believe that the whole stadium was sold out.
Natasha takes in the crowd as they walk onto the court, and realises just how many people had come to see them play tennis. You nudge her shoulder when you see her take in the crowd, “Nervous?” She turns to you, a shy smile on her face “How could I not be” Bringing your hand on her shoulder you’re quick to reassure her “You have trained well this week and I must say you impressed me. Let’s show these people what you’ve been working on, alright?” Natasha locks her eyes in yours. You can see a twitch in her eyes, going from nervousness to excitement. “Yeah, let’s crush Tony’s ego, since he’s been saying he’s going to win this tournament from day one.”
Every minute of the match had been intense. Both teams are playing really well and neither one of them seems to be willing to give up even one point. First set, 6-6 to the counter, set point for Y/n and Natasha. It’s your turn to serve against Tony so you decided to show off a little bit. You added a little extra power to your ball, which ended in glueing Tony on the spot. The crowd cheered for you, as well as Natasha who handshaked you and flashed you a flirty smile “Damn Y/n, that’s one strong arm” Seeing you slightly blushing she started laughing “Come on, we still need to win that final set”. You were really happy with how the rest of the match was going. Natasha was impressing you a lot with how well she was playing and how determined she was. And without even having time to notice, you were 2 points away from the victory. You shared an eye contact with Natasha, both realising that it’s your chance to win the tournament. You smiled at each other before focussing on your opponent’s serve. Point won. Match point now. Your turn to return Moresmo’s serve, Natasha is at the net. After a few exchanges between you and your fellow tennis player, Nat decided it was her time to shine. She sneakily intercepted the ball at the net with an almost flawless volley. Tony ran to catch the ball but was unable to hit it before the second rebound. It was like time stopped for Natasha who came back to her senses when she heard the referee scream her name and yours. She was fast to run to you and jump into your arms, “We did it Nat!” You congratulated her, squeezing her in your arms.
The twinkle in her eyes after the win was enough to make your heart beat faster. It was inevitable that you would get close with the Avenger after spending so much time with her these past weeks, but nothing could have prepared you for the depth of the connection you felt with the woman. You were from completely different worlds, yet you clicked instantly and ended up having a lot in common. The way she jumped into your arms after the win kept playing in your mind as you did a round around the court, signing autographs and taking pictures with the people in the crowd. You catch Natasha looking at you from a few feet away, and smile her way before taking some more pictures with fans.
Once you’re done with your round around the fans, you grab ahold of Natasha’s hand, and raise your intertwined hands up in the sky as the crowd cheers the both of you on. When you lower your hands, you don’t let go until you’re back inside. “So, how was winning your first tennis tournament?” Natasha was still beaming from the win, and spoke to you with a big smile on her face. “That was amazing! It was really hard, but we did it, and I’m so proud of us.” You returned her smile, “Yeah, we did pretty great.”
You talk a bit more about the match while you head further into the building, towards the dressing rooms. “Here I wanted you to have my racket, to have something to remember the match by, since I know you’re going to have to hand in yours.” She takes the extended racket. “Are you sure it’s not just something to remember you by?” Her confident smirk makes its way onto her face. You look at her with just as much confidence, “Who said this had to end?” Before you could respond, Tony yelled out in the hallway, “Afterparty at the Compound, you don’t want to miss it!” Natasha looks back at you once Tony has left again, “Will I see you at the party tonight?” You nod, “If you’re coming, I will definitely be there.”
To nobody’s surprise, Tony didn’t hold back for the party. Champagne bottles were on every bar and table along with a dozen different appetisers. It’s the least to say that it wasn’t the kind of environment you were used to. You were scanning the room trying to find a familiar face and decided to join a group of your fellow tennis players. Before you could even walk in their direction, you heard the soft voice that now makes you smile automatically “Hi champion”. Without giving you time to answer, Natasha planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You don’t know what made you blush the most, the kiss or her stunning red high slit dress. “Wow Natasha.. you are beautiful” A little hint of pink on her cheeks betrayed her even though she tried to hide it. “You’re not so bad yourself Y/l/n. So, do you want a drink?” She grabbed your hand without waiting for your answer and made her way to the bar.
The party was a success. After spending some time talking together, Natasha and you joined a group of Avengers. They shared various stories about some of their missions, how they all met, etc. You got to tell them how you became a professional tennis player as well. The conversation got interrupted by Tony screaming in a microphone. “Alright people, listen up! Firstly, I want to thank you all for participating in this charity event. We raised a huge amount of money and that couldn’t have happened without each and everyone of you. Now, I will ask you to make a lot of noise for our champions! Y/l/n and Romanoff come join me!” Natasha got up first, hyping you up on the way. She once again grabbed your hand and brought you to the stage next to Tony. He gave you each a huge bottle of some expensive champagne, on which you could read Natasha’s name and yours written on the label. “As much as it pains me to say this, you deserved the win. You make a pretty great team together”
After saying a few words of gratitude, you both got down off the stage and you led Natasha somewhere a bit more quiet. “Wow, I really wasn’t expecting that much.” You laugh to let go of some of the stress. “Ah Tony can’t do small things. And if I must be honest, I deserve it. I mean with all the running you made me do, I think I deserve that bottle”. She playfully hits you on the shoulder, to which you gasp. “Oh so you think you deserve it more than me huh? From my side, training the Black Widow was not easy..” It was her time to gasp at your comment. “Pff I know you loved it.” She was right, you had spent a wonderful week with her. “I cannot deny that. Seriously Natasha, I had a lot of fun with you. I am very happy we won, but I am even happier that I got to meet you.” You were about to continue with your monologue but Natasha stopped you before you could. She grabbed your hands and got closer to you, to place a soft kiss on your lips. Pulling back, she smiled nervously at you “I hope that’s okay?” You grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her in for a more passionate kiss. “I’ll take that as a yes” You both laughed and you brought her in for a hug “Of course it is.”
You spend some more time in the quiet corner of the room together, relishing in the moment. When Natasha feels like it’s time to head back to the party she thinks of a way to see you again soon. “So, my racket at home feels kinda empty, like it’s missing an autograph from a certain tennis player. Do you know anyone who would be able to fix that?” With a smirk you point to the room where the party is. “Oh, I can get Moresmo to come over and sign it for you, if you want?” She laughed and attached herself to your arm while you were both making your way back to the party. “Not the certain tennis player I had in mind actually. All jokes aside, I was thinking that you could come to my place sometimes, dinner maybe?” You smiled back at her brightly, “As a date?” She nods her head. “Then yes, I would love to.”
As the night continued, filled with laughter, champaign, and music, you found yourself enjoying your time with Natasha and the old and new friends surrounding you. Each time that Natasha’s eyes would meet yours, your heart would skip a beat. You were grateful to all parties involved in getting the two of you together for this charity event, and could not wait what the future held for the two of you.
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#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#marvel x reader#marvel imagine#mcu x reader#mcu imagine#natasha x reader#black widow#black widow x reader#black widow imagine#avengers x reader#avengers imagine
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Natasha and x Fem!Boxer!Reader..... How about Fem!Tennis player R 🎾👀?
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Tennis!Reader
Warnings: Implied Smut, Fluff
Serve
-I don't know much about tennis but i do know Natasha loooooves loves loves watching you play or practice
-If you wear short shorts she'll be eyeing up your legs for literal days
-if you wear a skirt, she'll be forcing herself to not walk over to you there and then
-she loves watching you play and enjoying yourself but she also loves watching the muscles working in your legs and arms, when you bounce from one foot to another she'd look at your calves or sprint from one area to another she'd look at your thighs
-Loves the way your hair moves and she definitely loves running her hands through it to tidy it up after your game
she asks you to teacher her and its the classic love scene: you wrap your arms around her whole body and hold the tennis racket above and below both her hands
-she'll be pushing back into you, getting a right shot each time just to hear your praise and approvals
-she loves playing along with you but she'd rather watch you play
-she is the type of girlfriend to cheer you on and cheer when you score and she'll bring you put refreshments and a towel to rid your forehead of any sweat and pass you water keeping you hydrated
-she think your hot in your tennis fit. no more words need to be said.
-she wants to fuck you and be fucked by you whilst your wearing your tennis fit. no more words need to be said
-she gets her own tennis outfit and wears her skirt up a little too high. no more words need to be said
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The Girl in the Pond Pt. 2 (Bones: Marvel AU)
Characters in this chapter: Steve Rogers, Female Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Original Male Character
Warnings: Language, More talks about a dead body, Slight violence.
Pairings: None. (Eventual Steve Rogers x Reader)
Summary: You are a forensic anthropologist working for the Smithsonian Institute in Washington D.C. when you and your team get recruited by the FBI to aid one of their top field agents, Special Agent Steve Rogers. Together, along with your colleagues/friends you put faces on the voiceless and throw the bad guys where they belong.
Author’s Note: So this is my first Marvel AU series and I’m quite nervous on how this is going to turn out. The series is going to be based on the TV show Bones and since the show is 12 seasons long I’m just going to base the series on some of my favorite episodes including the series finale coming out in the upcoming weeks. I only hope I do it justice. I want to thank @mrs-squirrel-chester for convincing me into writing this and for not only being as awesome beta but because she also made this kick-ass edit above.
“What's the context of the find?” you asked Agent Rogers as you both walked down the grassy hill, reading the names on the rows of white marble headstones.
“Routine landscaping,” Steve replied, looking down at his notepad. “Dropped a load in the local pond, one of the workmen thought he saw something.”
You recognized the emblem on the side of the black windowless van that was parked a few yards away from the pond; it was the Smithsonian Medico-Legal Lab emblem. The passenger door opened and a young man hopped out; duffle bag in one hand and a camera in the other.
Recognizing him immediately, you waved him over. “Hi Peter.”
Peter greeted you with a hug, ““This eco-warrior look works for you. Very action oriented.”
“Thanks.” you replied, looking down at your outfit. “Agent Rogers, you remember my assistant Peter Parker?”
“Of course,” Agent Rogers answered, sticking out his right hand. “Great to see you again kid.”
“How was Guatemala? Dig up lots of massacred victims? Learn a thing or two about machete strikes?” Peter asked you, completely ignoring Steve, who made a face at Peter’s rude gesture.
You cleared your throat and Peter quickly realized his mistake. “Sorry,” he muttered, taking Agent Rogers’ hand to give it a firm shake. “Good to see you again Agent.”
“Hey Pete, I need water samples and temperature readings from the pond,” you ordered.
“Right away doc.” He spun on his heel, quickly turning the other way, leaving you alone with Agent Rogers.
“Kid’s got no sense of discretion. Typical Squint…” Steve said, as they reached the river bank.
“Squint?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Ah you know, when cops get stuck, we bring in people like you. You know? Squints. You know, you squint at things,” Steve explained with a shit-eating grin. “Like this,” he demonstrated for you.
“Oh, you mean people with very high IQ's and basic reasoning skills?” You gave him a smart-ass answer.
His smile dropped, giving you a look as if he had just tucked his tail between his legs. “Yeah.”
“So what exactly am I supposed to be squinting at?” you asked, staring at a monitor while standing in the middle of a small boat, along with Agent Rogers, in the middle of the pond.
Steve dropped a camera attached to a cable into the pond. “Oh, you know, it’s like pornography,” Steve said as he continued to lower the camera. “You'll know it when you see it.”
“Like you would know,” you snarked, shooting your partner a wink.
His cheeks flushed pink. “Shut up Bones.”
You chuckled to yourself then turned your head to look back at the screen where you saw what looked to be a skeleton wrapped around in wire.
“Oh yeah, this is a crime scene,” you called out to Steve. “Call in the divers and bring the body up to land,” you ordered.
After thirty minutes of locating the body and a quick change, you were finally able to examine the remains while Peter leaned over to snap some photos. Kneeling down you pulled on some rubber gloves, grabbed a tool from your bag, and started removing some of the algae and wire that was attached.
“Remains are wrapped in four-milled, flat poly-construction sheeting,” you announced to Peter, who then crouched down on the opposite side of you.
“PVC coated chicken wire,” Peter responded as he helped you pull it away from the body.
“It’s weighted.” you added, looking up at Peter. “That's why the body didn't surface during decomposition.” There was a small bone fragment, which you held up to the magnifying glass. “The skeleton is complete but the skull is in fragments.”
Suddenly you felt Steve’s presence behind you. “What can you tell me?”
“Not much,” you answered, not looking at him. “She was a young woman, probably between 18 and 22, approximately 5'3", race unknown, delicate features.”
“That's all?” He asked in disbelief, crouching down next to you.
“Well, she was a tennis player,” you responded coolly.
Steve scratched the back of his neck. “How do you get a tennis player out of… well that?” he asked, referring to the muck that covered the remains.
Peter jumped in with an answer, “Epiphyses fusion gives age.” He pointed at one of the legs. “Pelvic bone shape gives sex of the victim.”
“Bursitis in the shoulder,” you pointed at the left arm. “Somebody this young, must be an athletic injury.”
“Okay?” Steve asked still not getting what you and Peter were talking about. “When did she die?”
“Ehhh…” both you and Peter replied, still not looking at the agent.
“Ehhh?” he mocked. “What do you mean Eh?”
Peter rolled his eyes, then got up, facing Agent Rogers. “It means wait until our bug and slime guy takes a look,” he said.
“Collect silt, 3 meters radius, to a depth of 10 cm,” you ordered Peter to do as you pulled the zipper on your baggy bodysuit and yanked it down, revealing your white long sleeve t-shirt and dark wash jeans. “Your FBI forensics team can take the plastic and the chicken wire, we'll take the rest.”
Walking up the stairs, heading into your office, you noticed your boss, Natasha Romanoff, leaving your office.
“Dr. Romanoff!” you shouted as you jogged over to the petite redhead in front of you.
“Dr. Y/L/N? How was Guatemala?” she asked, not that she cared. She was trying to divert the situation.
“You know, Dr. Romanoff, I wish you wouldn't just give me to the FBI,” you said as you walked along with her, not letting her change the subject.
“As a federally funded institution,” Natasha started as you both went down the stairs. “The Smithsonian must seize every opportunity to prove our worth to our friends in Congress. Which means, I loan you out as I see fit, especially to federal agencies.”
You rolled your eyes at your boss. “'Loan out' implies property Dr. Romanoff,” you responded. “And the FBI will never respect me as property.”
“I do not view you as property Dr. Y/L/N,” Natasha stopped you. “You are one of the Smithsonian's most valuable assets.”
“An asset is, by definition, property.” The two of you heard Peter say from behind.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “What's the rule Mr. Parker?”
“You only converse with PhD's,” Peter deadpanned. “You realize I am half way through two Doctorates? Two halves make a whole, so mathematically speaking…”
Natasha turned around and cut off Peter, “Go polish a bone Mr. Parker!”
“Hey Stark, find anything good on our body here?” You asked, swiping your ID card against the lock near the lab’s entrance.
After pulling a lab coat over your shoulders, you grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and joined your colleague Tony.
“The pond is not only warm and teeming with microbes, which accelerated decomposition, but it houses black carp and koi which fed on the body,” he answered while still looking over the body.
Walking up the steps into the lab, Wanda almost choked on the smell of rotting flesh. “Oh god! Can I, as the only normal person in this room, say, Ew?”
“Can you determine how long ago the victim died?” you inquired.
“Well, given by three larval stages of trichoptera, chironimidae…” Tony replied before you cut him off.
“In English, Stark.”
Tony sighed, all enthusiasm gone. “The body was in the pond one winter and two summers.”
“So spring before last,” you easily calculated, muttering to yourself as you turned back and looked at the monitor.
“You really think I'm Robert?” Tony asked out of the blue after a long pause.
“What?” you looked at Wanda in confusion.
“The book, sweetie,” Wanda answered.
You let out a dry chuckle and shook your head. “No, No, No. You're not in the book.”
“Well sure he is! We all are…” Peter cut in.
“No, none of you are in the book. Those are fictitious characters based on....”
“I found some small bone fragments in the silt,” Tony interrupted you mid sentence, motioning everyone to take a look at the monitor as he moved the magnifying glass over to the victim’s ribcage.
“Dr. Stark, can you determine the kind of bones found in the silt?” you asked.
“Given the size of the bone fragments, I’d say Rana Temporaria,” Tony answered.
“So frog bones?”
He nodded. “Also found some tiny gold links, those from a fine chain…”
“Just to clarify..” Peter announced. “I'm not a virgin. Nowhere near in fact.”
Tony snorted, trying to contain his laughter to which Wanda elbowed him in the arm.
“Oh my god, can you guys just ignore the fucking book and focus on your jobs?” you shouted exasperatedly.
“Who you captured perfectly, is Rogers. Buttoned down, but buckets of sexual confidence which, uhhh, I for one would love to tap.” Wanda let out a little smirk which made you roll your eyes at her.
“Wand, you’re not helping,” you muttered.
“Oh come on!” She walked over, grabbing you by the shoulders. “Like you wouldn’t tap that?” She giggled, which made your cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“It’s not polite to discuss ‘ass tapping’ in front of a soaker,” Peter breathed in irritation.
“And yet, you wanted to announce to everyone that you’re not a virgin,” Tony argued back.
“Okay everyone shut up and ignore the book!” you yelled at your colleagues. “Peter, remove the remaining tissue, I'll debreed the skull fragments myself, reassemble it so Wanda can put a face on our victim. And Stark, can you analyze the paper found in the victim’s hand?”
“Good. I prefer holographs, they don't stink,” Wanda answered, referring to the decomposing body.
“Sure thing, Dr. Y/L/N,” Both Tony and Peter said as the three headed out of the lab, before you pulled Peter back by the shoulder.
“Listen Pete, I don't like those terms for human remains, ya know; soaker, crispy critter stuff like that?” You whispered.
He hung his head low as if he was being scolded, his hands fidgeting with his royal blue lab coat.” Sorry, Dr. Y/N,” he replied.
“Hey no, I’m not mad at you Peter.” You let out a sigh. “I’m just saying that when we’re in the middle of an investigation, it’s better to just say victim and not weird nicknames alright?” You patted his back and asked, “Now go clean the bones alright?”
He let out a weak smile. “Sure thing doc.”
“So,” Steve’s superior, Director Nick Fury pondered as he sat at his desk across from Steve. “You guaranteed a squint a field role in an active murder investigation, Agent Rogers. Is that correct?”
Steve nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Huh, that’s funny,” the director replied, scratching his chin. “I thought you said she wouldn’t work with you anymore?”
Steve shifted in his seat before answering, “Well, the last case we worked she provided a description of the murder weapon and the murderer, but I didn't give her much credence.”
“And why is that?” Director Fury asked.
“Because she did it by looking at the victim's autopsy x-rays,” Steve answered.
The director snorted at Steve’s comment. “Well I wouldn't give it much credence either.”
“Turns out she was right on both,” Steve answered. “Plus the pond victim, Y/F/N gave me the victim’s age, sex, and favorite sport,” he praised with confidence.
The director chuckled, leaning closer to Steve.“Which is?”
“Tennis.”
Fury leaned back in awe. “She’s good.”
“Oh, she's amazing,” Steve answered proudly. “If the only way I can get her back to my side is to bring her out in the field, I'm willing to let her.”
The room fell quiet. Director Fury looked pensive for a moment, debating on whether or not he should grant permission as Steve shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wringing his hands together due to nerves.
“Fine.” Director Fury finally announced. “You can take her out in the field, but ultimately, she is your responsibility.”
Steve practically leapt from his chair, took a hold of the director’s hand, and shook it. “Thank you sir.”
Hearing a strange noise in your house, you scrambled out of your bed and crouched underneath, pulling out an aluminum bat. You were slowly tip-toeing down the hallway when suddenly, a dark figure walked through the bead curtains. Within the blink of an eye, you swung your bat hard, connecting with glass and smashing it, sending the person tumbling down on the floor amidst a sea of glass shards.
You stood over and almost swung when suddenly you heard a familiar voice stopping you, “Y/N, wait!”
“Julian?” You cried, surprised to find your ex-boyfriend in your house. You extended your right arm and he took it, lifting himself up off the floor.
“It's not rational for you to choose the first day I'm back to reclaim your television.” You sighed as you took a seat on your lounge chair.
Julian sat down on the chair opposite you. “While you were away, I thought a lot about why we broke up,” he replied nervously.
“We fought all the time and don't like each other anymore,” you answered bluntly.
“We fought because you are emotionally distant and cold,” Julian retorted as he got up from his chair and sauntered over to your chair, sitting dangerously close to you. “But sexually speaking, I think you'll agree tha-”
You immediately cut him off, “You didn't come for your TV, you timed this for a booty call!” You pushed him off the couch with a pissed off groan. “You’re a fuckin’ pig you know that.”
“Oh come on!” Julian got up and ran behind you. “Your intimacy issues are probably due to being orphaned so young.”
“Ughh... I hate psychology and you're just horny.” You rolled your eyes painfully hard at your ex.
“Y/N, honey, do you really want to spend the rest of your life alone?” he asked, a shit-eating smirk plastered across his face.
However, it didn’t last long as you slapped him hard across the cheek. “Get out Julian,” you growled as you pushed him out of the house.
Clutching the left side of his cheek, he asked, “So what, we split the cost of the TV?”
“Go fuck yourself,” you spat, slamming the door his face and stomped back into the living room where you threw yourself back on the lounge chair with a soft thud. You grabbed a cushion and buried your face, screaming into it.
The next day, Wanda, Steve, and you gathered around at a squared table in Wanda’s office, along with Peter and Tony.
“Does Rogers know how this works?” you asked with a hint of sarcasm in your voice and Steve shot you a dirty look.
“This computer program, which Tony and I designed, patent pending, accepts a full array of digital input, processes it, and then projects it as a three dimensional holographic image,” Wanda said as she tapped away on her tablet. A holographic skeleton popped up a moment later. “I call it FRIDAY.”
“You get that?” you asked Steve sarcastically.
“Sure thing, doll,” he replied with a smirk. Being the smart ass he was, he added, “Even the patent pending part.”
“Get a room you two,” Wanda teased, to which both you and Steve rolled your eyes.
“Anywho… Y/L/N reassembled the skull and applied tissue markers,” Wanda said as she continued to tap on her tablet.
As Wanda added the markers to the skull, you explained to everyone in the room how you managed to pull it off, “Her skull was badly damaged, but racial indicators, cheekbone dimensions, nasal arch, occipital measurements suggest African American.”
“And.... We have our victim,” Wanda announced as a full upper body photograph appears in hologram form.
“Whoa…” Steve whispered as he put his hand through the hologram and wiggled his fingers. “Have to admit, that's pretty cool.”
You slapped Steve’s hand away from the hologram. “Hey Wand, can you rerun the program substituting caucasian values?” you asked.
The image altered slightly as Wanda entered the information into her tablet. “Does she look familiar to anyone?” you asked everyone in the room.
Confused, Tony, Peter, Steve, and Wanda looked at each other, then shook their heads no.
“Split the difference, mixed race,” you told Wanda.
“Lenny Kravitz or Vanessa Williams?” she asked, head cocked to the side.
“Hmmm…” you thought for a moment before making a decision, “Vanessa Williams.”
Wanda added in more features and the image changed again. Steve was taken back by the final result. “Oh no,” he breathed, a hand resting on his hip.
“Anyone recognize her?” you asked the group once more.
“Not me,” Peter replied.
“Wait, is that who I think it is?” asked Wanda as she placed her tablet down on the table beside her.
“The girl who had the affair with the Senator?” Asked Tony.
“Her name is Cleo Louise Eller,” Steve said softly. “Only daughter to Ted and Sharon Eller. Last seen approximately 9pm, April 6, 2016 leaving the Cardio Deluxe Gym on K Street, she didn't even make it to her car.”
You turned to Steve. “Pretty good memory,” you acknowledged.
“Yeah, well, it's my job to find her,” he answered, not looking at you.
“Well, in that case, congratulations on your success.” Tony stuck his hand out for Steve to shake.
Steve shook his head in dismay, “This isn't exactly the way I wanted it to end.” He turned on his heel and headed towards the door. He stopped and towards you and your group “I need this kept quiet.”
Tagging: @lilasiannerd @mrs-squirrel-chester @motleymoose @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt @notateenbeachmovie @hellkat2 @kirmt15 @shamvictoria11 @yourtropegirl @basicallybucky @jonsnowisnotdeadthough @animexchocolate @westoftheglass @feelmyroarrrr @maris-astrum @heir-of-light-33 @labyrinth-of-storylines @dirajunara @danijimenezv @heather-lynn @ariallane @elfwriter1088 @sebbytrash @crazyliraz @onebigfangirlworld @erinvanlyssel @buckys-other-punk @musichowler @lady-thor-foster @meatballevan @bionic-buckyb @always-an-evans-addict @therealsabalicious @fly-little-butterfly @deanmon-winchester-666 @madhattervanessa @the-most-handsome-ginger
If anyone wants to be added or taken off the list shoot me a message!
#Bones#Marvel AU#Steve Rogers#Female Reader#Wanda Maximoff#Peter Parker#Tony Stark#Natasha Romanoff#Steve Rogers x Reader
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forty, love | part 3 | natasha romanoff
part 3 of forty, love | read part 2
synopsis: nothing's changed, or everything's changed, really, in the years away from you. natasha doesn't know which is better.
natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
word count: 5k words
a/n: the final part to this very wonderful series. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. as always, thank you for your support.
masterlist
working up the courage to approach you after the match felt like having to work up the courage to approach you at graduation, except this time, she was being pushed around by a swarm of other reporters, cameramen, and the fans, all trying to get a glimpse of the winner of the grand slam. it was no longer the college’s favourite tennis player that she was seeing, no, it was almost as if she was looking at a completely different person.
you were grinning from ear to ear, unbothered by the fans coming in swarms and happily signing each ball, each cap, each shirt that was passed your way. natasha assumed when you were in the position that you were in, paying fan service to the fans was the least you could do. the crowd was singing your name, and natasha was getting drowned out by people who were much taller, much bigger, and louder than her.
but then, by a stroke or luck, or mere fate, your eyes were roaming the crowd again, as if looking for someone. you were smiling and laughing with everyone around you, but your eyes betrayed the intention behind your search. somehow, this time, you caught natasha’s gaze in the crowd, among the many fans towering over her, among the cameras obscuring over her head obscuring your view. your smile faltered in the slightest bit, and natasha’s heart dropped.
it was going to be like a repeat of graduation. it was going to be you, telling her no, not to come any closer again, and forcing her to retreat. it was you refusing to take her back, even then, even now. she took one step back, almost stepping the foot of a photographer behind her, when you suddenly pulled your manager in by the collar, and whispered something to him. she saw his eyes shift to her as well, and he nodded, walking towards her while you returned your attention to the people around you. natasha found herself being escorted to your dressing room.
you only came in half an hour afterwards, when natasha had finished biting the last of her fingernails, and paced around the room about a hundred times by then. but when the door unlocked and you stepped in, it felt like natasha’s breath was knocked out of her lungs again.
“hi,” you started, giving her a small smile. you were carrying the trophy natasha watched you receive with joy earlier. but then, you set the trophy down behind you, not even giving it a second thought when you returned your attention to the woman before you. you had decided natasha was more important in that moment.
it was awkward at first; speaking after years of no contact. “hi.”
“you came.”
she wanted to say of course, i watch every single match of yours, but instead, she uttered, “yeah, my company sent me. i was covering the finals.”
you chuckled, nodding. you took the seat across from her, trailing your eyes up and down natasha. you thought she still looked like the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. natasha caught you casually glancing at her fingers, and at the absence of a ring on the fourth one, you were ashamed that she had seen your expression brightening.
you cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “you did what you always wanted to do. i always told you journalism was much more fun than chemical engineering.”
natasha couldn’t control the laughter that bubbled at her throat, remembering all the times she complained to you of how much she hated her degree, no matter how good she was at it. she always had a fondness for covering stories instead. you had been supportive of her pursuing her dreams, but she had wanted to be practical. you were proud that she was finally doing it then. “yeah, i tried my hand at a smaller firm after college, then i got this opportunity and…”
“...and you’re amazing at it. like i knew you always would be.”
she blushed brightly, fingers digging into the couch she was sitting on. then, she sat up. “but you! look at you…winning a grand slam, finally.”
it was your turn to get a little shy, sneaking a look back at the trophy, the shining Tiffany silver, and shrugging. “i won a grand slam.”
“congratulations.”
you thanked her, replying with, “it’s been a long time coming. i think…and i’m sure you know, you knew, that it’s all i ever wanted ever since i started playing. and now…it feels a bit surreal.”
“you deserved it more than anyone.”
there was no smugness, or arrogance, in your expression. it was one of quiet relief. natasha thought you still looked so beautiful when you sighed, nodding towards her in happiness.
then came the reason for why you had invited her to your dressing room. “i was very happy to see you. i thought i’d seen you, from way down in the court and you were in the hospitality suite, but i thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. and then you came to see me after the win, and i knew it…it hit me like a ton of bricks.”
natasha’s lips were already quivering, watching you nervously profess to her of the reality that she too, had been experiencing, since seeing you again. “i was very happy to see you too.”
the glint in your eyes twinkled, knee bouncing in excitement as you heard her words. you had doubted if natasha was happy, or even willing to say yes, when you had asked your manager to ask her if she wanted to see you after. you were half-expecting her to say no, or to leave after a brief congratulations with you, but she stayed. the both of you stayed, in that dressing room for hours after, catching up and laughing and talking like the years had never passed. you forgot that natasha was once your best friend before she became the love of your life.
and at the end of the day, when your team had to inevitably ask you to leave the room so they too, could pack up and return to celebrate, you were yearning not to have the time with natasha come to an end. you asked her if she had work to do, or any other players to interview or cover for, but when she said no, and looked back at you in hopes for something more, you decided to risk the chance.
“would you…want to go get dinner with me then?” you asked, fingers gripping the ends of your racket bag strap, drumming in anticipation.
the look of surprise on her face caught you off-guard for a moment. “y-you don’t have plans? to celebrate?”
she watched you sheepishly admit, “to be honest, no. i didn’t expect to actually win the slam and…and i usually celebrate by myself, alone in my hotel room. which i know is pretty lame, and boring, but i just like to–”
“–to take it all in.”
“you remember,” you grinned, and at natasha’s laugh, it grew even wider. you had missed hearing that laugh so much.
she nodded, affirming you, “i remember. and i would really like to, getting dinner with you.”
–
you asked natasha if it was okay, for old time’s sake, that the both of you visited a diner a little outside of town. a little afraid that she would be upset that you weren’t taking her for an upscale restaurant, or high-end steak place, considering your status and the occasion then, but she said yes. she found that your preference for the little things never really changed, including your love for the nostalgia of celebrating the way the both of you celebrated in your years in college.
with a fry in your mouth, you watched as natasha let out an uneasy chuckle halfway through dinner. then, she joked, “i guess you only stopped your losing streak after you left me, huh? maybe i was what was weighing you down for so long, stopping you from winning a grand slam earlier.”
“you weren’t.” natasha was a little taken aback at the seriousness, and the hint of vexation, of your tone. your expression too, had gone solemn.
“i–i mean–”
“–you weren’t the cause of my losing streak, natasha. and you definitely were the reason for my winning of a grand slam so early in my career. i want you to know that.” you were all i thought about before, during, and after my matches. you were all i ever thought about.
she nodded, indicating that she understood. the atmosphere had gotten awkward again, no thanks to natasha’s self-deprecation. but you let down your own guard a bit, and offered her a taste of your drink.
inevitably, you also asked, “how’s steve? did you and him make it? are you guys still together now?”
it was natasha’s turn to laugh, quite incredulously this time, to your face. your eyebrows raised, she let out another snort before she managed to calm herself down. “n-no! steve and i…we were never a thing. and we would never be, because…”
“...because?” you continued, but then natasha did a gesture, a flick of her wrist downwards, and her eyebrows telling you what it was suggestively, and it hit you. oh. oh.
the fit of giggles and chuckles that left the both of you at the same time was infectious, as both you natasha leaned forwards with how hard you were laughing. her hair shrouding a little of her face, she was still incredibly breathtaking even as she was snorting and laughing her heart out with you. you almost hadn’t wanted the moment to end, pure joy indescribable in both your faces.
the both of you talked, and talked even more, into the night. it was like the years had never passed, like nothing had ever changed. at dessert, she even spotted another couple ordering a milkshake, and plucked up the courage to ask you, “can we share a milkshake too?”
your eyes travelled to the couple, and the memories of how the both of you would head to the diner for your weekly cheat meal and share a milkshake after when you won matches all returning to you then. it was a bittersweet memory that you enjoyed very much with natasha.
she always liked the flavour with chocolate ribbons, and you loved vanilla. in the past, you would argue over the flavour that you would order, the other never backing down on their insistence for the superior flavour.
natasha, noticing your silence, and longing gaze at the couple, suddenly cleared her throat nervously. maybe it was too much, maybe she was being too much. “it’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to. you’re probably on a strict diet now, and it’s probably weird, to share a milkshake with someone who’s like a stranger, and–”
you returned your gaze to her, smiling. “–we can share a milkshake.”
you flagged the waitress down, and natasha’s heart skipped a beat when you told her that you wished to order a milkshake with chocolate ribbons without so much as a thought for your own preferred flavour. she remembers as well as you did of your little fights.
when the milkshake arrived, you even grabbed the little bottle of sprinkles by the table, and let it pour all over the top of the whipped cream, just like how natasha liked it. you remembered everything.
she caught herself from reaching over to kiss you, many times, as the both of you inserted straws into the drink and began sipping the sweet treat.
you could tell natasha was longing for something more, still. she guessed she hadn’t realised how much she had really missed you; of course she did, she always did, but seeing you in the flesh again, spending the night and catching up with you, it felt like she was taken back to a happier, simpler time. natasha never realised just how much she had lost, being apart from you.
however, on the other hand, you were scared, and doubtful, of the woman before you. had natasha really changed, or grown up, you weren’t sure. for all you knew the reason she was making you so happy, and was being so kind, in the moment, was all because you had won the grand slam. if you hadn’t, things would have been completely different. you couldn’t be more wrong.
natasha never cared about the grand slam, or the trophy you carried in, or even your career at all. all she wanted to see was you, and all she wanted was you. she just missed you.
you let natasha finish the shake, and when she did, you joked this time, “have you gotten enough insider scoop for your coverage of the US Open, then, ms. romanoff?”
you gestured towards the clip-on name tag natasha still had on her breast pocket, grinning at the title of senior reporter. it fit her so well. but that smile quickly disappeared, when instead of laughing along with you, natasha suddenly looked down, pushing the milkshake away dejectedly. a hurt look flashed onto her face, before she tried hiding it under the guise of looking away at something else.
“you think i said yes to dinner with you so i could get information for my firm?”
damage control. damage control, now, the sirens in your head immediately rang, as you sat up straighter, panicked at hearing her voice crack. “n-no, no. of course not. i was kidding, i didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“i’m not using you, if you think that’s what this is.”
“of course, i didn’t…” you choked on your words, “...that wasn’t in my mind at all. i trust you, natasha.”
it was a relief to hear, of course, but the sting was still there. however, in your desperation, and perhaps regret, still, you reached out your hand, holding hers, and natasha physically melted into your touch. “please, please believe me. it was a joke, which i realise now is a badly made one. i never meant for it to sound like you were using me, because…because i really enjoyed tonight. i really, really wanted to hang out with you, and this is the best way i thought we could celebrate my grand slam. i’m sorry.”
after all this time, natasha thought, she somehow still had you wrapped around her finger. she rubbed her thumb over yours, and nodded. “i understand. apology accepted.”
afterwards, you offered natasha a deal; free VIP passes to any future matches she wished to watch you in, in exchange for her forgiveness of the crudeness of your words. she found it adorable that you were still so apologetic, and touched when she got reminded that this was precisely the person she fell so hard for.
–
natasha appeared for almost every single match that you played when she had pockets of breaks away from work. wherever you were on the court, you could look up to find her there; smiling encouragingly and cheering you on regardless of the scores. even when there were so few spectators that she was only one of a handful, and even when it was a match that drew in the thousands.
you often hung out after, and outside, the matches, natasha following you around the country when she secured a promotion that allowed her the flexibility to work remotely, and became, as one could call it as accurately as they could, best friends. you talked to her about your woes and struggles of your schedule, and she noticed that you loved it when she talked about her journalism too. she was there for you as much as you were there for her through it all this time.
still, natasha always wishes there could be something more. it could have been pure selfishness on her part, or dissatisfaction from something unfinished, but was it so wrong to want to keep you all to herself? often, when she toured around with you for your matches, she would catch the occasional pining gaze of others upon you, wanting to experience what it was like to have a champion for a partner, and it would fuel her blood boiling at people who she barely even knew. other times, when there were celebrities, or public figures, who flirted with her in interviews, and she was in your presence, it almost made her even more upset when you would only look briefly in her direction, almost trying to gauge her response, before looking away again. was it so wrong for you to want her again?
this time, she was there to love you and support you through your losses. though you were no longer the irrational, insecure, and doubtful youth player that you were in your college days, a loss was a loss and it would still hit a professional player as hard as it would a rookie when it came to feeling like you could have done better. when your confidence was shaken, natasha would be there to hug you after your matches, whispering words of encouragement and telling you that you did your best out there. you hugged her back just as tight. when you received an unfair result, natasha was there to shit talk the umpire just as much as you were, allowing you to crack a grin and eventually end up laughing along with her on the poor person that was destined to give you the poor score. and finally, when you tell her that she could skip the next match if she wanted because you feared the result, she told you that she wasn’t going anywhere, and she would be just as happy to see you as she would be in any other match.
eventually, natasha proposed that the two of you forget about tennis altogether when you were alone and outside of the tennis courts. ice cream hangouts became simply talking about the flavour of the month instead of the impending match the following day, picking her up after her shifts at work became a nice solace for enjoying the music on the radio instead of talking about strategies that you could have used in matches earlier in the day, and movie nights became a time for you to rest your laurels for a bit, and lean your weight against natasha, to take away your stress and sorrows for the week instead of thinking about tennis the whole time. natasha would never know it was the respite you had so badly craved ever since you started playing professionally, and the closest thing to a work-life-balance you had between tennis and the woman you loved.
in those moments, natasha refused to talk about anything, or touch anything remotely close to tennis, when she was with you. she had reminded you that she was there to hang out with her friend outside the court, not the professional tennis player, and while it took you some time to dissociate your identity from all that you knew, which was tennis, you began to learn to like the person you were outside of the sport as well, all thanks to her.
and eventually, natasha noticed, you finally allowing yourself to look at anyone else in the face after losing matches, ready to confront and thank the crowd for their support, still. you seeking her for comfort after certain hard matches, instead of her coming to you, you letting someone else in to the world that you had carved a path for all by yourself, all those years ago. and with a support system like natasha, it was hard to lose many matches, not when you found confidence independent of your results and began climbing up the ladder to become one of the top tennis players of all time.
maybe the both of you had just grown older, maybe you both matured out of your college ways, or maybe something was different now; the way you would look at each other across the room and know, just know, what the other was thinking, what the other wanted. maybe something really had changed, when you would catch each other’s smiles and finish each other’s sentences. maybe natasha had changed, and so had you.
it was after a gruelling day in the office, natasha remembered, she wasn’t so sure of the date, but she had been of the time. she hadn’t asked you to, and she certainly told you to just go home after your match, since you would be tired and drained from the day, but you waited, in your car, until nearly 2 in the morning to pick her up and get her home safe. she had come out in a hurry, apologising for keeping you waiting and being so mentally exhausted from work herself. but you had gotten out of the car, and, taking her stuff away from her to load it into the back, you had come back for her afterwards, pulling her in for a tight, comforting hug before she could even open the car door. natasha immediately felt all of the stress and worries for the day melt away into the ground then, almost whimpering with how comforted she felt being in your arms. she felt like she could cry.
“it’s okay. you did great today.” you said, smiling down at her.
“how would you know?” she muttered into your sweater, letting you rock her back and forth for a minute, “you were busy being amazing at tennis.”
“i asked my manager to record you on the news while i played. watched it after. incredible how you could look so cool even when you’re delivering the news.” you got what you wanted when you heard her chuckle, finally letting go after making sure she knew she was off duty, and with you now.
your tennis rackets and equipment were still in the back of the car, and natasha got reminded just of the day you had before you even came to pick her up. “how was it? the match?”
you kept your answer brief, already driving into the parking lot of the diner the both of you first went after your grand slam win. natasha was craving for a milkshake after a long day. “i won.”
“that’s great!” she exclaimed, and you nodded, thinking that no matter how great it felt to win, somehow, the feeling of being able to see natasha after a long day felt even better.
the both of you ate in the car after, natasha laughing about a stupid thing your coach had told you during training, and you listening intently as she told you about a new unfolding story she was covering. it was safe, and familiar, and everything you had wanted after a match.
it was the way that natasha wiped a crumb off your cheek, eyes glistening with something you always knew was more than friendship, fingers soft against your skin. the realisation that you had always known, but never dared to admit, all came rushing back. it was now or never. you never wanted her to be apart from you ever again.
“natasha.”
she was busy finding the sprinkles in her shake. “mmm?”
“do you think we’ve changed?”
she paused for a moment, looking up at the dashboard, before letting out a nervous snort. “what makes you say that? what a serious topic for tonight.”
“because i’ve changed. i think i’ve changed, a lot.” you angled your body to face her fully, inviting her to do the same. she sensed the shift in emotion in your tone, and finally turned to look at you. your stance mirrored that of the one you had displayed so many times in the past, when you were apologising to her after a bad fight the both of you would have.
you continued. “i’m not…that kid anymore. that angry, hotheaded, smug, and insecure kid you knew back in college. i-i think i’ve changed, i’ve grown, and i don’t ever want to go back to what i was back then.”
“i know,” natasha probed, “i know you’ve changed. i’ve seen it in person.”
you nodded, biting the corner of your lip, and natasha sighed. “and i’ve changed too. i’m not someone…who projects her desires, her insecurities of losing, onto someone else anymore. i’ve found peace with myself, and the time apart from you…it’s really helped me find myself and what i wanted for my future. winning clearly doesn’t matter to me anymore, and though it is nice, i think being able to enjoy and live in the moment, with people i cherish and love, that’s what’s more important.”
“i’ve changed because of you.” the both of you managed to say at the same time, sending shocked looks to each other at least, before natasha laughed nervously and you grinned with your heart pumping in your chest.
she motioned for you to speak first, seeing as you had something so earnest on the tip of your tongue. “i was going to say…i’ve changed, and everything’s changed, but i don’t think i have loved you any less, over the years. my love for you, it is the one thing that’s remained the same.”
natasha knew and didn’t know what was happening, both at the same time, until you reached over the console, and held her shaking hand. “i still love you, i always have, over the years, until now. and i know you might call me stupid, or even rash, for trying to repair something that we clearly thought was broken back in college, but…but i think we can make it work, this time. i think we can try again, and have the love we always dreamed of back then, now, as adults.”
at her stunned silence, you persisted, “i’m not saying you have to say yes now, or for us to get back together now, but i want you to think about it. really think about it, because i am certain that you are the one i have always loved, and you are the one i want to spend the rest of my life loving. so–”
“–yes.”
it was your turn to stare at her in shock. “...yes?”
then, natasha had tears down her eyes again, this time filled with joy and relief, as she threw herself over the console, and into your arms. “yes, yes, you idiot! yes i’ll get back together with you, yes i want to love you for the rest of my life as much as you want to love me.”
she felt you chuckle in relief through her arms, bringing her in for a kiss right after.
–
“do you think you want kids? soon?” the topic had come up before, and while the both of you had discussed it briefly, it had never come to any real conclusion. natasha, naked and vulnerable and laying in your arms then, years after your confession outside the diner in your car, asked again.
you were still catching your breath beside her, the activities of the night after such a win tiring you out more quickly after the activities in the day. “i want whatever you want.”
“well…” natasha drew circles on the bare skin of your back, “...i want them. pretty soon. i think we should start a family.”
she felt your smile against her own skin, nodding in agreement. “sure.”
“sometimes i see the kids that show up at your matches, up in their parents arms and wearing your caps to cheer you on, or even the ball girls and boys eagerly rushing in and out to help you during the matches, and i can’t help but want them then and there. even now, i can’t help but want them right now, with us, in this moment.”
you leaned over to kiss her sensually, cradling her face in your hands, before returning, “my love, are you saying you have baby fever during my matches? and not a lovesick, guttural, lusting feeling for your fiancee that is playing–”
“–oh shut up!” she groaned, throwing a pillow at your face, “you’re the one that brought that stupid trophy to bed before you even thought about bringing me on it!”
she pointed towards the trophy at the end of the room, that natasha had almost kicked in frustration when she came in after her shower, sported in a brand new lingerie set just for you, and caught you hugging it and trying to fall asleep. you had to remind her that doing so would have broken your heart, and definitely your proposal to get married with her.
she felt herself being rolled over then, out of sight of the trophy, as you nipped on her skin and apologised until she gave in again. she always gave in when it came to you. “sorry. got jealous that my very beautiful, very sexy fiancee is busy looking at how cute the kids that support my matches are, instead of me. totally my fault.”
the glare natasha shot at you was met with another kiss that made her melt, but you weren’t free just yet. she rolled you back to straddle you, hands pushing against your shoulders to say, “i still want the kids.”
“my god, woman,” you sat up, pulling her down with you, “you just fucked my brains out, and we have a wedding to attend tomorrow. let me marry you first tomorrow, and we’ll have the kids after, okay? one thing at a time.”
it was getting pretty late, as she reluctantly grumbled her agreement. she was already breaking rules by sleeping with you the night before her own wedding; but how could she not? when her bride looked as gorgeous as the one she was snuggled up with, natasha didn’t mind breaking a few rules.
“fine, but if you dare bring that godforsaken trophy tomorrow, baby…”
that sprang your eyes open, lulling you out of the sleep you had been succumbing to. “come on, it’s wimbledon, i won wimbledon! don’t you think people deserve to see a wimbledon trophy in the flesh once in their lives?!”
“but not at our wedding!”
#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanoff#black widow#marvel cinematic universe#tennis player! reader#challengers#forty love#natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
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forty, love | part 2 | natasha romanoff
part 2 of forty, love | read part 3
synopsis: you lost, and natasha got what she wanted. or that's what you thought, at least.
natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
word count: 4.6k words
a/n: did y'all think i would leave you hanging just like that? come on now, i would never do that :D
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for the few seconds after the match, as the umpire announced the score officially, and declaring princeton as the winners, you were numb. there was nothing but ringing in your ears, no emotions, no feelings. you had simply laid your racket down on the court then, walking off with nothing but the ringing, and numbness, within.
you almost couldn’t remember anything during the prize-giving ceremony. how you stood on a podium only slightly shorter than the winner, how you were handed a silver trophy instead of a gold one, how the organisers smiled at you warmly, still managing to utter a “congratulations”. you didn’t remember if you even bothered smiling in the photographs they took.
then came the low hum. it sounded almost like white noise, but it was there. a low hum of something whirring around you, it could have been your coach, or your teammates, or even people squeezing in to try to get an autograph from you as you made your way to your dressing room. none of it mattered. it felt like you were walking on clouds, almost weightless as your feet carried you automatically to where you needed to be. you swiped your card against the door, and entered. it locked with a click after.
hunched over and your head in your hands was how natasha found you. she had begged the guards to let her into your dressing room when you had refused to open the door for anyone else, and reluctantly, knowing who she was to you, they had let her. the room was silent when she entered, you almost looked like a statue.
it was her turn to drop to her knees, facing you and trying to coax you to look at her. natasha managed to lift your head enough to see you, but not enough to look at her. she thought it was best to just lay your head on her shoulder, rocking you in comfort, in that position for a while. there were no tears against her shirt this time, strangely.
five minutes passed. she knew it would possibly take longer, but then your hands were on hers, tearing yourself away from her touch. natasha wanted to smile as she saw the beautiful hue in your eyes again.
but then, you said, “you should leave.”
natasha didn’t even feel like she deserved to feel used, because she had done this to herself. she had asked for this, she had threatened to leave you first. she bit her lip, and shook her head slowly. “no, no, no.”
“natasha, please leave.”
“i hadn’t meant what i said, i wasn’t…baby, i’m not leaving you.” suddenly, the truth of what she had said had become too terrifying to confront. of course she hadn’t meant it. of course she didn’t intend on leaving you. not like this. not just for something as stupid as this. how could she leave you just because you had lost on a single point in a match? didn’t you know her better than this?
natasha scrambled to her feet when you stood first, face devoid of any emotion. she thought it was less scary when you at least cried after losing. you made your way over to the trophy resting atop the vanity table, picked it up and shoved it towards natasha, and spat, “you didn’t have to say it out loud to mean it.”
then, natasha watched as you collected the rest of your items, and approached the door. she was still in shock, and remorse, but she knew at least, that if she allowed you to walk out this time, she would possibly never see you again. and so she gave chase, and before the door could unlock and you could step out, her arms were around your waist, her front pressed to your back, begging you to stay.
“wait, wait, please. you have to listen to me–”
“–there is nothing to listen to,” you didn’t understand why she was even trying to hold on, “we’re done. it’s over. i lost, you will leave. you made it very clear, and i have accepted this fate even before you said it out loud. we both know we’re done, so can you just make it easier and let me leave?”
“no, we were o-okay, we were good. why are you suddenly…?”
then, you turned to face her. “were we? tell me you see this playing out any better than it did today. tell me you would have really stayed.”
at her stunned silence, you took it as your confirmation. unlocking the door and pushing her off of you, you spared one last look at her, tears streaming down her cheeks and a hurt expression you would have killed to apologise for in the past, and said, “i hope you find someone better. someone who would always win for you.”
when natasha returned to your shared hotel room later on, she found that you had packed up all of your things and checked out early. your coach was kind enough to tell her that you had returned back to your dorms first. then, he gave her a sympathetic look, and told her that she shouldn’t try to find you, because you had advised your building security not to let her in.
–
a week after the match, however, natasha received a call from you. she was in the middle of waiting for the results of a scholarship interview, but it didn’t stop her from racing down the stairs, bursting out into the open lawn, and praying for complete silence so she could hear your voice better.
“hello…?” you realised she sounded hopeful, almost happy that you called.
“hi, natasha. can we meet?”
you were to come over to her dorm later that evening. you wanted to discuss some things, natasha heard it as you wanting to give your relationship a second chance. you offered to bring her dinner as a peace offering, she heard it as your invitation for a reconciliation date. she declined and told you she would be cooking for you both. you ended the call with a noncommittal grunt. she felt like the heavens had blessed her with a second chance.
when she went home, she deep-cleaned her room, went out to get a bouquet of your favourite flowers, and even enlisted the help of her friends to help cook and set up a candlelit dinner for the both of you. she made sure everything was perfect, down to a T, and she was going to make sure that you wouldn’t regret giving her a second chance.
you arrived ten minutes late in a t-shirt and jeans, and looking around at the setup of the room, the dim romantic lighting and the steak dinners on the makeshift table in her corner, it was then that you noticed natasha too, was in a dress that you always told her made her look like a million dollars.
she was moving on fast, you thought. a dinner date right after your unloading of the last of her things? perhaps the natasha you knew was not really the natasha that was in front of you then. you couldn’t control the annoyance, “guess you’ve moved on, then?”
the sneer on your face disappeared the moment you looked back at her. she was staring at the box full of her things that were cradled in your arms, tears threatening to fall from her eyes at the sight of it all. that’s when you realised. it was all for you.
you almost backed out. almost put the box down, shoved it back to where it belonged, strewn about your room and laying with your own belongings, and dropped to your knees in front of her. almost began repeating your usual i’m sorry, i’m sorry, forgive me, i love you in a million different ways, almost asking her to rethink all that had been done in the past week altogether. you almost went right back to her arms, wiping her tears and apologising for making her cry.
but you couldn’t do it. not anymore. natasha wasn’t yours now, and you were nothing to her. you needed to move on, you needed to be strong. so you gripped onto the box harder, and got on with what you wanted to say.
“i’m sorry i ended things that way…in such a crude manner…during the finals. you didn’t deserve that, and i was so vexed and caught up in the heat of the moment. our separation…it should’ve been done better.”
natasha didn’t know how else it could have been done better. how else you could have broken up with her that didn’t involve her getting her heart ripped out.
but you were steady, the words memorised and practised over and over in your head, natasha knew. “i came here, not to fix things or to try again at something we both know isn’t going to work. i’m sorry if i gave you that impression. but i want us to remain cordial, at the very least, and not hate each other. not that i could ever hate you, because…” you cleared the lump in your throat at natasha beginning to weep, “...because you were my best friend, my motivation, my…everything, for almost all of my college life here. so, i think we deserve it, we both deserve at least remaining friendly with each other, for the past 3 years we have shared. i don’t regret it, and i hope you didn’t either.”
natasha was choking up with tears by then, the makeup on her face running down her cheeks as she desperately tried to hold herself, to stop the goddamn tears from flowing like a river. it was so embarrassing. your lips were bleeding with how hard you were biting them, but you remained strong. you wanted nothing more than to beg for her forgiveness, for her to take you back, to tell you that you were wrong and that she loved you despite it all and that she was never going to leave you ever again, but you couldn’t. you had to harshly remind yourself that she had moved on, and you should too.
you gently laid the box by her bed, your shirt that had become hers over the years at the top of it, the only thing that you found hardest to let go of. it was yours, but you thought it was only fair that she had it. natasha sat on the bed, watching you stare at the shirt for a minute wistfully.
when you managed to pull yourself out of it, you turned back to her, the silent question ringing in the air. “you can um…keep my stuff. or throw it in the trash, burn it, give it away, whatever. it’s okay, you don’t need to return it back.”
natasha already knew she would be keeping all of it, for at least years after this.
you prepared to leave, taking one last look at the room you had spent so many nights in, made so many happy memories in, and smiled softly at natasha. she tried to mirror one back, but another tear fell, and she gave up altogether. she didn’t get up from her spot on the bed.
“what are you going to do now…?” her voice was shaky, afraid.
you shrugged. “the same things i have always done. tennis, college, aiming to win a grand slam. nothing much changes.”
except everything else had changed.
–
when you started performing considerably better, returning to the winning ways that everyone doubted you could ever get back to, you noticed more of your critics keeping their mouths shut, and more of the college’s funding being used to support your career. you were handpicked to represent the school for matches, and nobody had to worry about making a bad investment. nine times out of ten, you won. and when you lost, the audience noticed that no rackets were smashed anymore, no longing looks to the first row of the crowds in embarrassment and worry. you simply shook the bad result off, and returned the next round even stronger.
it was almost like a whole new player had been unveiled from the cocoon of what was shrouding her potential.
one night, hours before a match with a veteran player, you were up late in your room throwing a tennis ball against your door and catching it continuously, unable to sleep. it had been exactly six months after your breakup, and you rarely saw natasha around in school. you had heard from one source that she was back with her ex from the basketball team, then another that she was with someone else, then from another that she was with steve rogers, still. it didn’t matter; natasha never had an issue with finding suitors.
you would be lying if you didn’t miss her. some days, you stared into the empty space in your bed that you would often wake her up in on game days, and she would coax you to sleep in on bad days. you missed having someone to celebrate your wins with, even someone to encourage you when you were losing sets and games after. sometimes, you missed her so much that you wondered if it was worth it to even break it off at all, and if you would be happier if you had let her stay by your side.
thwock. distracted, your ball misses the target of your door, and hits the hinge. it ricochets off, and rolls underneath your dresser. you sighed, getting up to retrieve it back. as you bent down to the gap between the dresser and the ground, however, something else greeted you first.
it was a framed photograph of you and natasha, the last one that you had forgotten to pack and return to her. the both of you were at a new year’s eve party, kissing just as the ball dropped for the new year. a tight, restrictive force had found its way around your throat, as you flipped the dusty frame over to find out wishes you had written together to achieve in the new year.
yours had been a stupid one liner: To win a grand slam soon!
natasha’s handwriting was beautiful. your thumb grazed over it lovingly. her wish had made you shut your eyes for a minute after, choking down the feelings it evoked.
To love my girlfriend through it all.
her contact number was left on your phone’s display that night, as you finally fell asleep after contemplating calling her for another hour after that.
–
somewhere between graduation and your career flourishing, you qualified for the Australian Open, and was steadily moving up the rounds. by the time graduation day rolled around, the whole college inevitably knew who you were, and the bright future that awaited you.
natasha watched as you were given a minute or two to thank the college and its tennis department for their support for the past four years. her gaze twinkled in wistful remorse as she clapped the loudest within her section when you thanked the school one final time, and bowed upon receiving your degree.
there was even a mini autograph session at the end, as you laughed bashfully when a group of students crowded around you for pictures and autographs in view of your success in the games. natasha, watching from afar, realised that this was the happiest she had seen you in a while, and swallowed the bitter confrontation that she was not there to be happy with you.
she paced back and forth for a while, contemplating if she should do it, if it was worth it for her to try, but eventually, she worked up the courage to queue a little behind the other students, in hopes of saying a final goodbye to you. it was hard to find an opening, even harder to swallow her jealousy when she sees a girl slipping her number into your gown pocket after taking a picture with you.
but then you saw her, at the back of the crowd, pacing nervously, and your eyes locked. you thought she still looked so cute in her nervousness, and a little sad at seeing her in a gown mirroring yours, but not saying goodbye to college together. you wanted to put the pen and tennis ball you were signing down, and run up to her to scoop her in your arms to tell her you were sorry, and that you wanted her to take you back, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t do any of the sort, not anymore.
instead, natasha then saw you shake your head ever-so-slightly, telling her a silent no. you were telling her not to come any closer, and although she was holding onto something you couldn’t see that she tried to raise up, to tell you that she had wanted to give it to you, you still didn’t have the willpower to let her come over. if she did, it was over for you. you would have folded so easily.
natasha had no choice but to back away. on her way home, she threw the letter she had handwritten over sleepless nights and eyes full of tears, to wish you good luck and goodbye for the last time in your lives, into the trash can by her dorm.
–
game, set, match. and she advances!
incredible, what this player, who, not too long ago, was in the danger zone of not even qualifying for local challenger rounds, is now beating the likes of one of the greatest talents in our generation!
simply amazing. she’s booked herself another round.
you had beaten nearly all of your childhood idols at that point, when the magazines began painting you as tennis’ new prodigy and opponents began asking you to go easy on them before matches. people you never even dreamt of meeting, and then playing against, coming to shake your hand as you beat them round after round. to say you were overwhelmed, and eternally grateful, was an understatement. to become tennis’ next big thing at that stage in your career was something you could have only dreamed of. your career was taking off and the money was rolling in, and naturally, all eyes were on you.
however, the success and fame in your professional career didn’t necessarily translate to one in your personal one, when you found yourself still swiping through potential matches on dating apps, while waiting for your own date in the bathroom. when she returned, she steered the conversation to what you were doing for a living, and you caught yourself from rolling your eyes at the question.
i’m an accountant. i work in real estate. occasionally, you told them, a big data analyst. not a tennis player, never a tennis player. you refused to make the same mistake in your college years over again; you refused to reopen and revisit the scars that natasha left you years ago.
you told this one you were a data analyst, and she had bought it wholeheartedly. but when your drinks finished and more people returned after their days away to the hotel bar, a fan in a cap designed with your initials as the logo audibly gasped when he saw you, and naturally approached for a photo together. your date was taken aback, but you didn’t give her much time to react, placing your arm around her waist and walking the both of you out, under the guise of wanting to walk her home.
it turned out to be an even worse plan, however, when right around where she lived, was the biggest billboard you could have possibly gotten for your campaign with a luxury watch company. your face plastered right where she could see in plain view, she took a moment to look at it, then at you, then at it, then gasping too. you bit your lip and cringed.
“why didn’t you tell me?! god, i’m going out with a celebrity!” she was more ecstatic than you had been after beating your opponent in the round last week.
you shrugged. safe to say there wasn’t a second date after that one.
–
ranking in the top ten of the US Open by then, you were often asked about your relationships and your personal life. it frustrated the media to receive the answer that you were incredibly private, and constantly refused to divulge anything about it.
natasha was watching you on the television one day, and the question arose again. the interviewer had asked who you would credit as the reason for your success after all this while. she must have been in the universe’s favour, or the stars had aligned right at the perfect time, because she caught the very telecast that caught you cracking the little bit of the facade you had built up after college.
you gave the interviewer a polite smile, and she looked like she was ready to give up, prepared to hear about your evasion of the question and request for another. but this time…this time, you indulged, and said, “my ex-girlfriend, from back in college.”
natasha’s world stopped. she immediately screamed for her roommate to stop her singing in the shower, and turned up the volume of the television. the interviewer asked for more details about natasha, you were kind enough to tell her that you didn’t know if natasha was comfortable with being made public, and in respect of her privacy, that she be kept anonymous. the ones who knew, would know.
“and where is she now…? this, wonderful, ex-girlfriend of yours. why is she no longer a girlfriend anymore?”
you looked down for a moment, smiling sadly. “um, i don’t know, honestly. we don’t keep in touch anymore, but i hope that wherever she is, she is happy. and i want her to know that i will always be thankful for what she’s done for me, and that i loved her very much.”
the telecast cut to shots of you signing more caps and tennis balls shortly after. natasha didn’t even realise the steady stream of tears that had been flowing down her cheeks.
she screamed in frustration, and sadness, as she threw the remote forwards, knocking over a row of memorabilia and your tennis merchandise. there were rows and rows of tennis balls, caps, and little racket figurines purchased from your team that natasha had embarrassingly collected, as if having even small, tiny pieces of you was better than having none of you at all. the tennis balls were signed, but bought from resellers that natasha paid too much for, all while glowering with envy that these people, of all people, had the chance to meet you, talk to you, and get a hand-signed ball that they only intended to ever make a quick buck off.
steve had made fun of her once, that instead of spending hundreds for some marker ink on a ball, that she could have picked up the phone and just called you for one instead, but as she told him off for being so dismissive of her feelings, and yours, he quickly cowered in fear after. she didn’t want to disturb your peace, and winning streak, and had unfortunately settled for loving and supporting you from afar.
–
at the final round of the US Open, natasha’s employer had noticed her eyes poring over the office’s large-screen coverage of the grand slam for the past few weeks, and took pity on her, giving her passes to cover the finals on behalf of the company as a reward for all of her ground-breaking pieces for the year. in all of the years natasha had worked there, she had never felt so insurmountably happy, yet bone-crushingly nervous, upon being informed of the news.
it didn’t help that up from where she was, in the tiny box that was her luxury hospitality suite, she had practically a front-row view of your entire match. her eyes followed your hands, as they first shook hands by the net with the opponent, the reigning champion of the previous US Open, as they tightened your laces and prepared themselves for the gruelling match ahead, as they finally picked up the racket.
the last time natasha had watched a game of yours in person was in college. and right then, she was suddenly overwhelmed, with the nostalgia, and awe, that you carried yourself with, upon coming onto the court. your gait and waves had been the same, but the expression on your face, a little older, a little wiser, was now more polite, and less smug, no doubt hammered up by the tons of media training that you had been put through. your stance was even more fierce, and confident, than ever before. and when you played, oh boy, when you played, natasha, much like everyone else, was in a trance. they knew they had just bought tickets for a thriller, whenever you played.
college you and professional you were two different persons on two different sides of the same coin.
thwock. “in!” you dominated the first set.
the ball soared, and soared, and landed. the way you hit it back over the net activated the sensors, even though natasha was confident that her own two eyes saw the ball go over it. the umpire told you that you had touch the net, the crowd booed in disapproval, and you tried reasoning back. his word was final, and natasha had expected you to retort back even more fiercely, with an insult for him at the tip of your tongue, or a spiteful you don’t know how to play tennis that you would spit at him, but there was none of it.
natasha should have known, from all of the matches of you she watched. you had grown up, and matured. and this time, you simply kept your head down, nodded, and returned to position. the point was not yours.
but you dominated the second set. the opponent took the third. and the fourth. it was the last set then.
natasha’s hands were pressed up on the glass, watching you serve. it hit within the line by a few millimetres, but the opponent was just as quick, whacking it straight back, forcing you to a volley. but your feet recovered, and soon enough, you were controlling the pace and momentum of the game. it became apparent who was going to be the clear winner of the day.
thwock. when the final serve, the serve that mattered most to the both of you, and was a match point, was raised, natasha felt her eyes widening as it hit the racket, and travelled incredibly slowly to your side of the court. you raised your racket, expression set to hit it back, when suddenly, she saw it. the crack of a smile.
you lowered the racket. the ball was out. you had officially won the US Open.
natasha remembered screaming, jumping, pumping her fists in the air. she must have looked like a mad woman, being the only journalist to be celebrating like a diehard fan up in that box, but she didn’t care. none of them knew you like she did, none of them would ever know you like she did.
she thought that for a moment, you had looked up to her then, finding her in the crowd and making eye contact. her breath caught in her throat, but just as quickly, you looked away, and allowed the crowd to sing in your praises. it must have been a figment of natasha’s imagination.
a/n: sorry it got a bit too long, i might just consider a part 3 now hehe. but it looks like R is not the only one down bad for the other. who do you think has it worse for the other between these two?
#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanoff#black widow#marvel cinematic universe#tennis player! reader#challengers#forty love#natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
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YES PLEASE WRITE ABOUT THAT
the second i heard about all the merch nat had amassed i thought about what readers reaction would be if they would think its sweet or tease her or make fun of how she most definitely got ripped off for most of them but will now get them free (and the most important signature of all going on the marriage certificate duh)
But it also made me think what about readers 🤔
In my head reader has all of nat’s articles printed out some even framed
synopsis: just a short one-shot / drabble based on the cute request above!
read the original forty, love.
natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
word count: 1.9k words
it had been a spontaneous decision; natasha inviting you back to her apartment. the both of you were more than slightly tipsy at that point, and you were in no condition to drive back home. luckily, or not, the bar had been right by her place, and within walking distance of her way home.
natasha thanked her lucky stars that she had liquid courage fuelling her bravery, as she asked, “do you just want to go back to my place?”
at your surprised glance, she laughed, and slapped you on the shoulder. “n-not anything weird, i promise. you will take the couch, and i will be very cosy in my bedroom.”
you were holding her up by then, and the smirk on your face was so teasing, so smug for a moment, that natasha had to remind herself that she was drunk, and it was wrong to kiss a friend. a friend she very much had a deep history with, a friend that she wouldn’t want to stay just friends with.
“okay, lead the way, ms. romanoff,” you gestured out of the bar, and natasha and you leaned against each other the whole walk home, in the freezing temperatures of new york in winter.
it was only when she had let the both of you in through the threshold of her space, and cursed drunkenly as she tried removing her thick socks, that she noticed you weren’t by her side anymore. and you weren’t as drunk as she had been when you left the bar.
natasha heard a snicker, and when she turned to see you crouching over the television stand, her heartbeat began to raise in embarrassment and her palms cold.
she was across the room in the next moment, screaming, “no, no! don’t look at that!”
but you were quicker, and you caught her right as she tried to block your view of the rows and rows of memorabilia that she had of you, carefully curated and collected over the years. her flailing arms trying desperately to release herself from your hold and swipe the memorabilia off of the stand and out of your memory.
then, she heard your laughter. a hearty, amused rumble from the depths of your chest, ringing against her ears as you laughed, and laughed, at her embarrassment and the blatant obsession over your career that she had followed through the years. “oh, natasha, my natasha.”
if she even had half her mind right on trying not to make her cheeks any redder, she would have blushed at the proclamation of you calling her yours. but you were already kneeling back down to eye level with the memorabilia then, inspecting each one with amusement, and slight fondness, in your eyes. she began right after your qualification for the Australian Open, while you were still in college, but broken up.
natasha decided it was pointless trying to stop you, and simply resigned and fell flat on the couch behind her, sighing until you had your fill.
“this was from years ago!” you picked out a ball that had been used for your final round in the qualifiers, and natasha threw her arm over her eyes.
“i know.”
you picked out a cap this time, “i remembered signing only about ten of these to give out to fans during the festive season.”
“i know. i signed up for your team’s emailers, lucky draws, even bought your stupid posters and water bottles, anything, to get a chance of winning that thing.”
you let out another grin, and while she couldn’t see you, you let your eyes soften at the fact that she had done so much to support you, and you hadn’t realised. all these years. it made everything a little bit of a shame; the lost time and wasted efforts.
finally, you took a row of little figurines of your racket designs over the years, neatly arranged and kept in an acrylic casing. “nat, you could start a museum about me at this rate.”
“oh, shut up!” she shot up this time, trying to wrench it out of your grasp, but you pulled away, giggling at her cheeks reddening again.
“seriously, how much have you spent on all this? must’ve cost you thousands, i’m a really expensive player,” you gave her a cheeky grin, and she took your cheeks in between her fingers, pinching as hard as she could. you yelped in pain as you jumped back, “ouch!”
“i hate you, i hate you so much.”
you rolled her over, grabbing a marker that you had spotted lying nearby, and immediately taking her arm to sign on it. she tried to bite you this time, but you managed to escape just in time. “your collection seems to say otherwise.”
that night, the proposition for you to sleep on the couch and her in her own bedroom was quickly forgotten; as the both of you ended up play fighting all the way until you landed on her bed. natasha pointed you out on it, but you were adamant, and pulling the covers over the both of you, exhausted from the bar and natasha’s punches, you sighed happily. “too late, i’m here now. bed’s too warm.”
she grumbled that she hated you once more, as she came in closer and slung her arm over your midriff to pull you close, under the guise of still being cold. you decided not to point out that her limbs were practically tangled with yours in the morning, head on your chest as she slept as peacefully as a child who had just gotten their first tennis ball signed by you in a tournament.
it was only years later, when you tried to point it out on the day of registering your marriage, had natasha threatened you sleeping on the couch in your shared apartment again. this time, you knew she meant business; and the threat was most likely real, so you shut up quickly and followed her into the registry.
while you signed the certificate beside her, she caught you stifling a laugh again, and jabbed your side to ask you what it was about.
“nothing.”
“tell. me,” she glared at you, “or i’m not signing that thing.”
your eyes twinkled with amusement, you looked so entertained by your own memory. “j-just…i was just thinking…how much the you in the past would have paid for this signature right here, on this certificate. you were my number 1 collector and fan, of course.”
the witness couldn’t control his own chuckles, seeing natasha pull you in by the ear and scolding you for teasing her until her whole body turned red with shame.
afterwards, however, when the two of you were alone, did she finally admit, “i still am your number 1 collector and fan. don’t you ever forget that, or try to replace me.”
–
but natasha had her own arsenal of materials to make fun of you for your obsession with her too, of course. while you hadn’t had memorabilia or kept up with her over the years with no contact, that was a problem that was quickly alleviated once you learnt of natasha’s full-time job as a reporter and editor.
the next match natasha came to after your first grand slam win, your manager had asked her how her day at the office the previous night went, and while taken aback, he sheepishly admitted that you had asked him to, and to make sure she was comfortable at the seats. she had first chalked it up to a lucky coincidence that you knew she was on the news yesterday, reporting on a recent economic trend that hit the country.
then, it was all debunked when you came to her later, and while distracted with fans that were coming up to you at your hotel, you had left your phone unattended at the bar with natasha. it wasn’t really her fault you received a ping from a message then, to reveal your lockscreen had been changed to one of a scheduling sheet. upon closer inspection, it had been natasha’s schedule sheet, of when she would be on air for the month, complete with the locations and timings that the firm had published for her. she presumed the ones in red highlights were when you had your matches, and true enough, they were, when she found your manager helping to record a segment of her news portions one day, and having to admit to her that you had asked him to so you could watch her after to destress. she could hardly control the butterflies that erupted in her belly at the confession.
when the both of you had gotten closer and you would spend some dinners and mornings at her place, natasha would find that you had even pinned her as the top editor in the morning news you would read, always reading what she had published first before anyone else, as if her writing was your morning coffee. she chose not to say anything of it, silently gleaming at the fact that you paid so much attention to what she wrote.
you would often say, “i really liked that piece, the one on the impacts of artificial intelligence in sports,” or some other topic that she would have written, and point out your own thoughts on her piece. it was like having her own personal editor, with no judgments, no criticism. just love for what she had put out, and validation for her work. natasha was glad she had a supporter so ardent as you had yours.
and when the two of you had officially gotten together, natasha once received a text from your best friend during your match, while she was at work, and sighed at the opportunity that she had missed. however, when she did open up the text, it gave access to a video that said best friend had recorded, and there you were, in your dressing room before the match, crouched over the small television set there was, watching her cover the daily news like it had been an action movie. you paid attention to every word, eyes following her as she moved around like an entranced puppy, and when you had to get up and leave, natasha saw you leaning close and pressing a kiss from your fingers to the screen where she was, in replacement of the lips you couldn’t kiss in real life then, and she couldn’t control her burst of laughter. you had to know about this, at the very least.
you physically recoiled and clamped your eyes shut in embarrassment when you saw the video yourself, natasha still fighting hard to control the chuckles coming out of her, and you begging for her to delete whatever you had just seen. “nat, please, please!”
“no, this is hilarious!” she said between fits, “you are hilarious. is this your pre-match ritual, baby?”
“it is not! n-no, i can’t have anyone else see me like this, i can’t have the public see me like this,” you tried to wrestle her off for the phone, but only half-heartedly, because natasha was never in a million years going to let you delete it.
“oh relax, it’s only going to leak if you really, really piss me off one day, or if this phone gets hacked,” she replied, eyes still dancing in amusement as you hid your face in your hands, shaking your head in shame. “it’s kind of sweet, i must admit.”
you pouted at her. “promise me it’s not going anywhere. promise me you won’t send it to anyone else.”
she interlaced her pinky with yours, “i promise.”
natasha had already sent the video to your manager, however, and allowed you to become the laughing stock of your team just days after that match occurred.
#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow x reader#natasha romanoff#tennis player! reader#forty love#natasha romanoff x tennis player! reader
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Great job with forty, love. I loved every moment of it! I have a question though, do you take requests based off of one of your series? Because I’ll love to see how reader and Nat are as parents and how the reader becomes one of those athletes who brings their children to all their games and postgames.
thank you! yup i’m willing to take requests, just send them in here.
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i was listening to TTPD and i got to the song “loml” and just started tearing because it reminds me so much of ur natasha x tennis player R !!!
yes! i’ve always thought of that song quite fitting for them as well, in view of part 2 especially :))
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“because you can tell me straight up. i can take it. you’re my girlfriend, you can tell me, i can take it.”
R in fact, could not take it. 😂😂
sheeesh anon hitting right where it hurts!
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We should lock them up in ‘can’t get out of here until you guys open up to each other and communicate with even the itty bitty slightest thing’ room
reallll hahahaha
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